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University of California Berkeley 
 PHILIP WHALEN COLLECTION 
 
 THE PETER AND ROSELL HARVEY 
 MEMORIAL FUND 
 
THE 
 
 COMPLETE WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 
 

 J1MO 
 
 MMJJIW 
 

 / 
 
SHAKESPEARE 
 
 P. F. COLLIER & SON COMPANY 
 NEW YORK 
 
THE 
 
 COMPLETE WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 
 
 WITH AN ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE AND BACON 
 
 BY SIR HENRY IRVING 
 AND A BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION 
 
 P. F. COLLIER & SON COMPANY 
 NEW YORK 
 
 India Paper 
 
3H.T 
 
 T3J C 
 
 
 51ODAH CI 
 
 A H1IW 
 
 A d>lA 
 
 Manufactured in Great Britain 
 
TO 
 
 SIR HENRY IRVING 
 
 WHO, BY HIS 
 FINE INTELLECT AND SPLENDID ACCOMPLISHMENT 
 
 HAS, FOR MANY YEARS, 
 
 ILLUMINED SEVERAL OF THE GREAT PLAYS- 
 OF 
 
 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 THROUGHOUT THE STAGES OF ENGLAND AND AMERICA, 
 
 THIS VOLUME IS, BY PERMISSION, AND AS A TOKEN OF APPRECIATION 
 
 OF HIS MAGNIFICENT INTERPRETATION OF 
 
 ENGLAND'S GREATEST DRAMATIST 
 
 RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED 
 
fl OHW 
 
 >II3 
 
 as* A 'ijiu.: 
 
 3HT 'I 
 
 H>I7 
 az/, a r /i/.jo^a ^o SSOAH^ SHT TUOKOTJO/THT 
 
 Kdl'iOT A ?.A aXA t WOIcrfIMJia<I YS <?.! 3MUJO / 8IHT 
 
 Wi' TK;nms!QAM ^IH 10 
 

 r . v t ; 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION 
 
 SHAKESPEARE AND BACON, BY SIR HENRY IRVING 
 
 THE TEMPEST ...... 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR . . . 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL . 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE . . >; ? :A 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING . . 3i ? 3 
 
 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM . , 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST . ***? . W 
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE .... 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL . . ;;>.;, 
 
 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW . . . r * . / 
 
 THE WINTER'S TALE . . \ . 
 
 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS . '. ' V 
 
 KING JOHN . \, ; : ..... 
 
 THE LIFE AND* DEATH OF KING RICHARD II. . 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. . p?^ tf .J^! 
 
 KING HENRY V. ... ^^ 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. . 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. . 
 
 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. \ f ^ ^ 
 
 THE LIFE AND DEATH OF KING RICHARD III. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. . .716 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. ... , . . 752 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS ........ 791 
 
 CORIOLANUS . . ^ p.T/r . . . 819 
 
 JULIUS C/ESAR . j '"' . "* ' . .... 860 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA . "~7~" ..... 889 
 
 CYMBELINE .... . J ^, <r/> . 929 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS y^^ y^y. r H .y . ^. f - 969 
 
 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE . . . . . , /3T 998 
 
 KING LEAR j y . . ^^ 1026 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET .... , )grr/ . ?Tyj . { y , 1065 
 
 MACBETH . . . 1 iw U >Y'T> I'/T [OtXI ITH IIO 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK . . a>r 2/ai; Mf)H [ljy . 1127 
 
 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE . . ; nrr( ^1^ t[y? ( . r/ . } 1171 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 VENUS AND ADONIS . . . . \ , 2 J ? g J ? 1210 
 
 THE RAPE OF LUCRECE . . . . ... _.- ^"/^ ' ":' 1224 
 
 SONNETS . . . . . ". '.'". . '"! O 1246 
 
 A LOVER'S COMPLAINT . . . J . J3 ' ^ H J A ' ' .'^ tW / 1270 
 
 THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM . . *. ' .^ . v " ". 1274 
 
 SONNETS TO SUNDRY NOTES OF MUSIC . I 
 
 8 JlOJ-i .-:! "1C YQ3MI 
 THE PHOZNIX AND THE TURTLE 
 
 1 
 
 INDEX TO THE CHARACTERS IN SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC 
 
 WORKS . . . . . r ^ 1281 
 
 GLOSSARY ..... IV. yj /T3.II WVA * . 1300 
 
 006 '- : fc . .IY v;-'. /:::i:i O'/iJ -L r>iA^ ay j^a 
 
 III'/.. 
 
I 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 THERE is no name in the world of literature like the name of WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. Homer 
 broke as a sudden dawn through the darkness of the earlier ages, and sang the grandest of 
 heroic songs. Dante, when the gods of Homer were no more, towered up, proud and solitary, 
 with his sad and solemn dreams, his fierce hate, and his majestic love. Milton opened the gates 
 of death, of heaven, and of hell, and saw visions such as no man ever saw before or will see 
 again. But Homer, Dante, and Milton do not live in our heart of hearts, do not twine round 
 our affections, do not satisfy our souls as SHAKESPEARE does. Here and there we may find 
 touches of more daring sublimity, passages more steeped in learning, lines more instinct with 
 abstract thought ; but the greatest and best interpreter of human nature, the poet of the widest 
 sympathies, of the most delicate perceptions, of the profoundest knowledge of mankind, a greater 
 sculptor than Phidias, a truer painter than Raphael, came into the world at the pleasant town of 
 Stratford-upon-Avon in April, 1564. 
 
 He lived fifty-two years, he wrote thirty-seven plays and some miscellaneous poems, he was 
 buried in the town in which he was born, and his name has ever since filled the world. His 
 works are now one of the luxuries of life. It would be difficult to conceive of ourselves as still 
 unacquainted with Hamlet, and Macbeth, and Lear, and Othello. The realms of fancy would 
 appear uninhabited if Shakespeare's creations were withdrawn from them. Men are prouder 
 of the earth on which they live, and of themselves, because he was one of their fellow-men. 
 Coleridge called him the "myriad-minded;" and well he might, for there was no mood or 
 phase of mind which he did not realize. The most absolute courage, the most perfect manliness 
 were not less inherent in him than the most winning gentleness, the most exquisite tenderness. 
 The exuberance of his art is only equalled by the profoundness of his pathos. As a moral teacher 
 he takes precedence of all other uninspired writers. Vice never looks so odious, nor crime so 
 execrable, as when placed under the burning light of his indignation : the simplest virtue, the 
 humblest effort to do good, never shine so fair as when breathed upon by him. 
 
 The endless multiplication of editions of Shakespeare is the natural consequence of the effect 
 he produces and the benefits he confers. These benefits were felt in his lifetime, and have been 
 acknowledged at all times since with an ever-increasing enthusiasm. It is a mistake to suppose, 
 as some writers have done, that Shakespeare was at any period little read or lightly estimated. 
 No doubt, as education and habits of reading came to be more widely diffused, the demand for 
 his works increased ; but among those who did read, in the latter half of the sixteenth century 
 and downwards, Shakespeare was from the first and continuously felt to be a new power and a 
 new delight. All his most distinguished contemporaries regarded him with love and admiration. 
 His plays speedily attained the highest favour at Court ; Queen Elizabeth and her successor 
 James openly declared their preference for them. When Shakespeare died, Charles I. was 
 Prince of Wales and Milton was a child. One of the favourite amusements of the prince was to 
 witness representations of the Shakesperian drama at Whitehall ; and Milton, unfettered by that 
 Puritanism which rejected as evil everything connected with the stage, dedicated to the great 
 poet who had preceded him one of the noblest sonnets in our language. Dryden followed 
 Milton, and Pope came after Dryden, and in the day and generation of both Shakespeare's star 
 shone conspicuous, worshipped by none more than by the authors of the " Religio Laid " and 
 the"Dunciad. 
 
 In the year 1623, within seven years of Shakespeare's death, a complete edition of his plays 
 was published, with a glowing dedication to his friends, the Earls of Pembroke and Montgomery. 
 A second edition, in folio like the first, was brought out in 1632, a third in 1663, re-issued with 
 additions in 1664, and a fourth in 1685. Throughout the whole of the eighteenth century there 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 become the mother of Shakespeare : "how august a title," says De Quincey, "to the reverence 
 of infinite generations, and of centuries beyond the vision of prophecy ! " She bore her husband 
 eight children, four sons and four daughters. The two first were daughters, Jone or Joan, and 
 Margaret ; the third was William ; then followed Gilbert, another Joan, Anne, Richard, and 
 EdiTond, who was born in 1580, and was therefore sixteen years younger than William. With 
 the exception of the second Joan, all the poet's sisters died in childhood ; but his brothers attained 
 to mature age. 
 
 William, being the eldest son, and born when his father's fortunes were in the ascendant, was 
 no doubt looked carefully after. The year of his birth was one of terror and of woe in Stratford ; 
 for the plague which desolated London in 1563, and still continued there, spread over other 
 parts of England in 1564, and the red cross was seen on many a door in quiet country towns, 
 and was nowhere more alarmingly frequent than in Stratford. But, fortunately for mankind, 
 the plague spared the house of Shakespeare. He lay, like Horace 
 
 " Sacra 
 
 Lauroque, collataque myrto, 
 Non sine Dis animosus infans.' 
 
 They show the room still in which he was born, a low-roofed, antique apartment, but yet pos- 
 sessing an air of comfort, the walls of which are, in the words of Washington Irving, " covered 
 with names and inscriptions in every language, by pilgrims of all nations, ranks, and conditions, 
 from the prince to the peasant ; and present a simple but striking instance of the spontaneous and 
 universal homage of mankind to the great poet of nature." 
 
 And when, in happy boyhood, he opened his eyes upon the world, and wandered out into the 
 scenes that surrounded his home, he found them not only full of romantic beauty, but ennobled 
 by old associations and poetical traditions. The immediate neighbourhood of Stratford is 
 undulating and varied, with a picturesque variety of hill and dale, wood and meadowland, 
 through which the Avon flows in silver links. Dear was that river to the young poet dear no 
 doubt it was to every boy in Stratford ; but thoughts came to Shakespeare by its green bank 
 destined to shine as long as its waters run : 
 
 " Thou soft-flowing Avon, by thy silver stream 
 
 Of things more than mortal sweet Shakespeare would dream." 
 
 He had "an eye for all he saw." Under the hedgerow, through the meadows, on the 
 uplands, and in the beautiful bosom of the country, he noted every weed and wildflower. In 
 after years, when buried in the heart of London, he could see, when he listed, 
 
 "pvj y<J 'l'-\\&iii' ij'li; vr.ij I:::'- orfi:*, t JiJj Dns ~iHW' n< ^nloitfp bsv/ouoi faaiiqi.J 3u| 
 
 " The winking Mary -buds begin 
 To ope their golden eyes ; n 
 
 or, 
 
 " Daffodils 
 
 That come before the swallow dares, and take 
 The winds of March with beauty ; violets dim, 
 But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes 
 Or Cytherea?s breath. * 
 
 or else, 
 
 "A bank whereon the wild thyme blows, 
 
 Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows ; 
 Quite over-canopied with lush woodbine, 
 With sweet musk roses and with eglantine." 
 
 In the dingiest room, darkened by a city's smoke, he could return at will to the umbrageous oaks 
 and elms beneath whose shadows he had so often lain, and warble, as of old, - 
 
 " Under the greenwood tree 
 Who loves to lie with me* 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 And tune his merry throat 
 
 Unto the sweet bird's note, 
 Come hither, come hither, come hither ; 
 
 Here shall he see 
 
 No enemy 
 But winter and rough weather 1 " 
 
 When he extended his rambles to greater distances, they led him to some grand old castle, or 
 famous battle-field, or stately ecclesiastical edifice, inspiring a respectful reverence not untouched 
 with awe. He was twelve years old when Elizabeth made her celebrated visit to the Earl of 
 Leicester at Kenilworth. The series of princely entertainments with which the aspiring courtier 
 welcomed his sovereign attracted the whole surrounding district, and no doubt Stratford, which 
 was only a few miles off, sent its entire population to testify their admiration and loyalty. It is 
 more than probable that Shakespeare was one of the spectators, and that his imagination may 
 have been there for the first time fired with a love of gorgeous spectacle, and all the " pride, 
 pomp, and circumstance " of that great pageantry. 
 
 There was a good grammar or free school at Stratford in Shakespeare's time. It had been 
 founded in the reign of Henry VI., and had been patronized by Edward IV. We may take 
 it for granted that the poet attended that school, since he certainly lived at Stratford till after 
 his marriage, and there is no trace of his ever having been at any other seminary. The educa- 
 tion which the school afforded was not solely rudimental, but extended to the classical 
 languages. The more advanced scholars were afforded an opportunity of becoming familiar 
 with such authors as Terence, Sallust, Cicero, Pliny, Horace, and Virgil. How many years 
 Shakespeare attended this school we do not know, nor what figure he made at it. But we do 
 know that he had a quick and ready wit, a keen perception, and an admirable faculty in the 
 acquisition of knowledge. Admitting, therefore, as some have surmised, that all his schooling 
 took place between his eighth and his sixteenth years, that was time enough" for a youth of his 
 capacity to acquire a large if not a profound stock of learning. Shakespeare's first poems, the 
 " Venus and Adonis," the " Lucrece," and the " Passionate Pilgrim" evince strong classical 
 predilections ; and no one could have written them who had not drunk at the fountain of the 
 Greek and Latin authors. His plays are full of classical allusions and illustrations. " Troilus 
 and Cressida" possesses Homeric touches; " Coriolanus " and "Julius Csesar " have all the 
 fire of the grandest of the Roman poets, historians, and orators ; " Love's Labour's Lost," one 
 of his earliest comedies, breathes throughout of the youthful scholar ; and the " Comedy of 
 Errors" is founded, even to minute details, on the " Menajchmi" of Plautus. If Shakespeare 
 was not, even when a very young man, " a scholar, and a ripe one," he was at least one who 
 had profited much by the instructions of faithful teachers. What his ultimate attainments as a 
 linguist were is not perhaps a matter of great consequence, because he had that within him 
 
 inferentially admitted 
 
 Life of Shakespeare, that in a conversation which took place on one occasion between Jonson 
 and Sir John Suckling the latter said, most truly, that " if Jonson would produce any one topic 
 finely treated by any of the ancients, he (Suckling) would undertake to show something upon 
 the same subject, at least as well written, by Shakespeare." Mr. Capel Lofft, in the Introduc- 
 tion to his work entitled Aphorisms from Shakespeare, makes the following noteworthy observa- 
 tions : " If it were asked from what sources Shakespeare drew those abundant streams of 
 wisdom, carrying with their current the fairest and most unfading flowers of poetry, I should 
 be tempted to say he had what would be now considered a very reasonable portion of Latin ; 
 he was not wholly ignorant of Greek ; he had a knowledge of the French, so as to read it with 
 ease ; and, I believe, not less of the Italian. He was habitually conversant in the chronicles 
 of his country. He lived with wise and highly cultivated men, with Jonson, Essex, and 
 Southampton, in familiar friendship. He had deeply imbibed the Scriptures ; and his own 
 most acute, profound, active, and original genius (for there never was a truly great poet nor an 
 aphoristic writer of excellence without these accompanying qualities) must take the lead in the 
 solution." Pope, in the valuable Preface to his edition of Shakespeare, gives expression to 
 similar sentiments. " There is a vast difference," he says, " between learning and languages. 
 
 62 
 
xn BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 How far Shakespeare was ignorant of the latter I cannot determine ; but it is plain he had 
 much reading^ least, if they will not call it learning : nor is it any great matter, if a man has 
 knowledge, whether he has it from one language or from another. Nothing is more evident 
 than that he had a taste of natural philosophy, mechanics, ancient and modern history, poetical 
 learning, and mythology ; and that he was very knowing in the customs, rites, and manners of 
 antiquity," 
 
 Learning and the classics were much cultivated in Queen Elizabeth's reign, she herself settim? 
 an example of predilection for them. Previously these studies had been mainly confined to the 
 clergy and a few scholars by profession ; but now a general enthusiasm sprang up in the cause 
 of letters. The Queen, with the aid of her tutor, Roger Ascham, wrote a commentary on 
 Plato, and translated from the Greek two of the Orations of Isocrates, a Play of Euripides, and 
 portions of Xenophon and Plutarch ; and from the Latin, Sallust's History of the Jugurthine 
 War, Horace's De Arte Poetica, Boethius' De Consolatione Philosophic, and several of Cicero's 
 and Seneca's Epistles. She was also the founder of Westminster School, and of Jesus College, 
 Oxford ; whilst her successor James, who loved to be called the British Solomon, before 
 ascending the English throne, had given a charter to the University of Edinburgh. The whole 
 court circle, both male and female, and the upper classes generally, felt themselves constrained 
 to follow in the wake of royalty ; and the erudition which diffused itself during Elizabeth's 
 reign deepened into pedantry in that of James, About this time also, and even a little earlier, 
 the modern languages Spanish, French, and Italian came much into vogue. Italian, in 
 particular, was so much affected that the devotion to it almost rivalled the classical mania of the 
 day. Wyatt and Surrey took Petrarch for their model ; and Sir Philip Sidney, who died about 
 the time that Shakespeare went to London, and who may be said to have introduced pastoral 
 poetry into England, was, in his " Arcadia," an open imitator of Sannazaro. Most of the lyric 
 poems of the time are tinctured with an Italian style. It is traceable in several of Shakespeare's 
 miscellaneous pieces, and particularly in the subtleties and ingenuities with which his Sonnets 
 abound. His acquaintance with the stores of Italian fiction supplied him with the plots of some 
 of his finest plays ; and Italy may well be proud of our great bard's ardent attachment to her 
 soil, and just appreciation of her national and individual character. 
 
 As yet, however, he was but a schoolboy at Stratford, on whose young life some shadow was 
 about to fall. His father's fortunes declined. The cause has not been ascertained, but the fact 
 seems indisputable. His property was mortgaged ; debt pressed upon him ; he withdrew from 
 his municipal honours ; and the general belief seems to be that, finding himself in straitened 
 circumstances, he took his son William from school about the year 1578, and apprenticed him 
 to his own business. But here again we get upon debateable ground. No one knows as a fact 
 that Shakespeare ever dabbled in the wool-stapling business. Rowe and Malone, on no better 
 data apparently than the acquaintance which the poet has shown with legal terms, have fancied 
 that he must have been in an attorney's office. They might as well have fancied that he had 
 been bred a druggist, or a goldsmith, or a farrier, or an ornithologist, or a sailor, or a watch- 
 man, or any other trade under the sun ; for there is no trade under the sun with the technicali- 
 ties of which he does not seem familiar. The probability is (and we have nothing better than 
 probabilities to go upon), that till within a year or two of his marriage in 1582, when he was 
 eighteen years of age, he was at his studies ; and that, if his father then " needed him at home," 
 he gave his father such aid in his failing circumstances as he could. 
 
 An event happened in 1580 which was calculated to make a greater impression on the poet's 
 mind than all the entries in the Glover's Ledger. The Nurse in " Romeo and Juliet," when 
 speaking to Lady Capulet of Juliet's age, says, 
 
 " "Pis since the earthquake now eleven years. 
 gsbifloiriD srij hi. ttnsgisv 
 
 This play was written somewhere about eleven years after 1580, and on the 6th of April of that 
 year there occurred one of the severest earthquakes ever known in England. Holinshed, whose 
 historical writings Shakespeare apparently knew by heart, thus writes of it, " On the 6th of 
 April (1580), being Wednesday in Easter weeke, about six of the clocke, toward evening, a 
 sudden earthquake happening in London, and almost generallie throughout all England, caused 
 such an amazedness among the people as was wonderfull for the time, and caused them to make 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. xiii 
 
 their earnest praiers to Almighty God. The great clocke bell in the palace at Westminster 
 strake of itselfe against the hammer with the shaking of the earth, as diverse other clockes and 
 bells in the steeples of London and elsewhere did the like. The gentlemen of the Temple, 
 being then at supper, ran from the tables, and out of their halls, with their knives in their hands. 
 The people assembled at the plaiehouses in the fields were so amazed that, doubting the mine 
 of the galleries, they made haste to be gone. A piece of the Temple Church fell down ; and 
 some stones fell from St. Paul's Church, in London. The tops of diverse chimnies in the citie 
 fell down, the houses were so shaken. A part of the castell at Bishop Stratford, in Essex, fell 
 down. This earthquake indured in or about London not passing one minute of an houre, and 
 was no more felt. But afterward in Kent, and on the sea-coast, it was felt three times ; and at 
 Sandwich, at six of the clocke, the land not only quaked, but the sea also foamed, so that the 
 ships tottered. At Dover also, the same houre, was the like, so that a piece of the cliffe fell 
 into the sea, with also a piece of the castell wall there." 
 
 Shakespeare had probably not lost his impression of this earthquake when he made Othello 
 exclaim, after the murder of Desdemona, 
 
 " Methinks it should be now a huge eclipse 
 Of sun and moon, and that the affrighted globe 
 Should yawn at alteration. 1 ' 
 
 Or when he put into Hotspur's mouth, in " King Henry IV.," the words, 
 
 " Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth 
 In strange eruptions ; oft the teeming earth 
 Is with a kind of colic pinch'd and vex'd, 
 
 r '/-mf ^ . which, for enlargement striving, 
 Shakes the old beldame earth, and topples down 
 Steeples and moss-grown towers." 
 
 Or when Lennox, the morning after the murder of Duncan, utters these graphic lines,- 
 
 " The night has been unruly ; where we lay 
 Our chimneys were blown down ; and, as they say, 
 Lamentings heard i' the air ; strange screams of death, 
 And prophesying, with accents terrible, 
 Of dire combustion and confus'd events, 
 New hatched to the woeful time. The obscure bird 
 Clamour'd the livelong night : some say the earth 
 Was feverous and did shake." 
 
 Manhood was now dawning, and the mightiest though the tenderest of human passions was 
 waiting in the dawn for Shakespeare. 
 
 " As on the sweetest buds 
 The eating canker dwells, so eating love 
 Inhabits in the finest wits of all." 
 
 Shottery is a picturesque hamlet about a mile distant from Stratford. In a cottage there 
 dwelt Anne Hathaway, the daughter of Richard Hathaway, a substantial yeoman. "Shottery," 
 says Mr. Halliwell, in his elaborate Shakespearian work, "is a little hamlet in the parish of 
 Stratford, situated about a mile to the west of the town by a pathway across the fields. Some 
 years ago the meadows were thoroughly rural, and so was the village. Approaching the 
 hamlet from Stratford, at the entrance of the lane past the fields stands the Shakespeare Inn, a 
 pleasing example of the old half-timbered house that must formerly have been common in 
 Shottery, and of which a few lingering traces still remain, in spite of innovation. Proceeding 
 down the lane, as we arrive in sight of Anne Hathaway's cottage, a clear and ample brook 
 crossed the road, once traversed by means of a picturesque wooden bridge, composing a scene 
 that the most prosaic would admit harmonized with the idea of the locality of a poet's love." 
 
 The two families had probably been long acquainted, for there is evidence that John 
 Shakespeare and a Richard Hathaway were friends ; and, doubtless, William often took that 
 
XIV BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 path by the fields. Whether Anne was in reality beautiful we know not ; but she was to be our 
 Shakespeare's wife, and therefore she has an interest for all ages. Unfortunately, however, iu 
 the sober and unromantic matter of the lady's age siirgit aliquid amari. She was eight years 
 older than Shakespeare, for she was born in 1556, so that in the year of their marriage (1582) 
 she was twenty-six, and he was only eighteen. Yet let no fault be imputed to either. He was 
 no doubt older for his years, both in physical and mental development, than any of the youth of 
 Stratford ; that he possessed great manly beauty is a tradition handed down by A.ubrey, and 
 corroborated by the fact of his early success on the stage, and the lineaments of the most 
 authentic likenesses of him that remain. The first love of a glowing and intelligent youth, who 
 suddenly feels himself a man, is commonly older than himself. The girls with whom he ha? 
 romped as a boy are to him still girls ; but, impressed with the necessity of bestowing his affec- 
 tions somewhere, he experiences a glow of pride in finding them accepted by a full-grown 
 woman. And how should any woman have shut her heart to Shakespeare if he chose to woo 
 her? 
 
 They were married at the end of November or in December, 1582 ; and we need not suppose 
 that the alliance was against the wishes of either of the families, or that it was prompted by any 
 but disinterested motives and mutual attachment. His perfect understanding of the holiness 
 and the virtue of a well-assorted marriage appears from many passages of his works. How 
 finely Suffolk says, in the first part of " King Henry VI.," 
 
 " A dower, my lords ! disgrace not so your king, 
 That he should be so abject, base, and poor, 
 To choose for wealth, and not for perfect love. 
 Henry is able to enrich his queen, 
 And not to seek a queen to make him rich : 
 So worthless peasants bargain for their wives, 
 As market-men for oxen, sheep, or horse. 
 Marriage is a matter of more worth 
 Than to be dealt in by attorneyship ; 
 For what is wedlock forced but a hell, 
 An age of discord and continual strife ? 
 Whereas the contrary bringeth bliss, 
 And is a pattern of celestial peace." 
 
 And how pure and noble is that n6th Sonnet, in which he writes 
 
 " Let me not to the marriage of true minds 
 
 Admit impediments. Love is not love 
 Which alters when it alteration finds, 
 
 Or bends with the remover to remove : 
 O, no ! it is an ever-fixed mark, 
 
 That looks on tempests, and is never shaken ; 
 It is the star to every wandering bark, 
 
 Whose worth 's unknown although his height be taken. 
 Love 's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks 
 
 Within his bending sickle's compass come ; 
 Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, 
 
 But bears it out even to the edge of doom. 
 If this be error, and upon me prov'd, 
 I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd." 
 
 The course of Shakespeare's after-life took him much away from Stratford ; but, for aught 
 that is known to the contrary, he generally left his wife and children there, being unwilling, 
 perhaps, to expose them to the perils of that society in which he was obliged to mingle in 
 London. We are not entitled to suppose that he had any cause to complain of domestic un- 
 happiness. He paid regular visits to Stratford, and " the wife of his youth was the companion 
 of his latest years." He had three children Susannah, Hamnet, and Judith the two last 
 being twins. Susannah was born in May, 1583, and the other two in January, 1585. The 
 date of the birth of the first child being within seven months of the date of the marriage, has 
 led to some scandalous gossip. But an error of some months may have crept into the dates ; 
 and if it has not, we at all events know that Shakespeare behaved with honour, and kept the 
 troth he had plighted. His son Hamnet died in 1596, when he was eleven years and six 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. XV 
 
 months old. The two daughters grew up to womanhood, married, and survived their father a 
 number of years. They must have been well educated and well brought up ; for they both 
 obtained good husbanik. and lived in the respect and esteem of those who knew them. 
 Susannah married, in 1607, John Hall, a physician of considerable repute ; and when she died, 
 in 1649, it was recorded on her tombstone, apparently with truth, that she was "witty above 
 her sex," and " wise to salvation." She was the mother of only one child, Elizabeth, who was 
 born in February, 1608, so that the poet became a grandfather at forty-five. His grand- 
 daughter married, in 1626, Mr. Thomas Nash, a country gentleman of independent fortune. 
 On his death, in 1647, she again married, in 1649, Sir John Barnard, Knight, of Abington. 
 She died in 1669, and left no issue by either of her husbands. Judith, Shakespeare's younger 
 daughter, married Mr. Thomas Quiney, a vintner or wine merchant at Stratford, a month or 
 two before her father's death. She had by him three children ; but they all died young ; and 
 she herself followed them to the grave in 1662. The death, therefore, of Lady Barnard, in 
 1669, terminated the lineal descendants of Shakespeare. The collateral kindred, through his 
 sister Joan, had a much longer succession ; but it, too, came to an end about forty years ago. 
 Joan married, in 1599, William Hart, an honest tradesman, to whom she bore children; and 
 they and their descendants continued to live at Stratford for two hundred and thirty years. 
 None of the family ever achieved any distinction, except a grandchild, Charles Hart, who rose 
 as an actor to the first honours of the stage. One of the last of the Harts was an aged maiden, 
 who, in 1825, occupied the house in which her great ancestor was born, and showed visitors 
 some relics, together with a manuscript play written by herself, but of very humble merit. 
 
 In a very few years after his marriage, perhaps when he was twenty-two years of age, 
 a young husband and a young father, certainly not more than three or four years later, he 
 determined on going to London to push his fortune. There is a story, which is now almost 
 stereotyped into his biography, that he was induced to take this step in consequence of having 
 got himself into trouble by some unlawful meddling with the deer in the parks of Fullbroke 
 or Charlecote, belonging to Sir Thomas Lucy, a neighbouring country gentleman. That 
 Shakespeare knew every nook and corner, every sequestered dingle and romantic recess of those 
 old woods ; that he had a thousand times dived into their depths, and made himself famil'ar with 
 all the winged and four-footed animals that inhabited them, treasuring up those fancies and 
 visions to which he afterwards gave such exquisite realization in his " As You Like It," no one 
 need doubt. But that Shakespeare ever crossed the green paths as a vulgar stealer of deer, was 
 ever convicted of theft, and personally chastised for it, is a base and idle tale, to be treated with 
 the " summary indignation " which De Quincey has so well bestowed upon it. In the first 
 place, it seems to be ascertained, through the researches of Malone, that though Sir Thomas 
 Lucy had noble and extensive grounds, he had no deer park. In the next place, if it is neces- 
 sary to say more, the only punishment which could be imposed under the statute then in force 
 (the 5th of Elizabeth, cap. 21) for the suppression of deer-stealing was imprisonment for three 
 months, and a fine payable to the party offended. Whipping was out of the question ; and 
 there is not the slightest tradition or rumour that Shakespeare was ever imprisoned. Not one 
 of his literary rivals, some of whom tried to pick flaws in him at first, ever twitted him with any 
 such offence or its consequences. In the third place, Sir Thomas Lucy was High Sheriff of 
 Warwickshire, and Shakespeare was the oldest son of a chief magistrate of Stratford, with whom 
 it is more than probable the Sheriff was on familiar terms, and it is therefore most zVwprobable 
 that the one would commit the offence, or the other prosecute it. Rowe, his first biographer, 
 is responsible for having given circulation to the calumny, without any sufficient warrant. He 
 says, with much coolness, and a sort of vulgar familiarity, " Shakespeare had, by a misfortune 
 common enough to young fellows, fallen into ill company ; and amongst them some, that made 
 a frequent practice of deer-stealing, engaged him more than once in robbing a park that belonged 
 to Sir Thomas Lucy." Aubrey, an older authority than Rowe, is wholly silent on this scandal; 
 but a scribbler of the name of Davies improves considerably upon Rowe's version. He says, 
 ' Shakespeare was much given to all unlawfulness in stealing 'venison and rabbits, particularly 
 from Sir Lucy, who had him oft whipped, and sometimes imprisoned, and at last made him fly 
 his native country." And thus the rolling stone gathered moss, in spite of the proverb ; and 
 then there came an adjunct to it, that the first verses Shakespeare ever wrote were a lampoon 
 on Sir Thomas, and that these bred him further grief. The verses are still more apochryphal 
 
xvi BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 than the story. They were produced for the first time so late as 1778, by Steevens, from the 
 manuscript of the antiquary Oldys, who died in 1761. They are stupid and vulgar, beginning 
 with the lines, 
 
 ' A parliamente member, a justice of peace, 
 At home a poor scare-crowe. at London an asse ; " 
 
 which, as De Quincey remarks, resemble more a production of Charles II. 's reign, and were no 
 doubt levelled by an irritated poetaster at some other and later Lucy. It was contrary to 
 Shakespeare's whole nature to write epigrams or lampoons against anyone. The epithet 
 " gentle " has been indissolubly united with "his name. He was full of a gracious benignity. 
 He gave wilful offence to no nian. He had, assuredly, no unpleasant reminiscence of any 
 incident in his own life connected with the "poor sequestered stag" when he penned that 
 exquisite description of the wounded deer that came to languish 
 
 " Under an oak, whose antique root peeps out 
 Upon the brook that brawls along this wood ;" 
 
 or when he made the Duke say, in the Forest of Ardennes, 
 
 " Come, shall we go and kill us venison ? 
 And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools, 
 Being native burghers of this desert city, 
 Should in their own confines, with forked Leads, 
 Have their round haunches gor'd." 
 
 It may be although of this there is no substantial evidence that some youthful adventure, 
 prompted by no ignoble motive, but by the simple love of adventure, in which Shakespeare did 
 not keep altogether on the windy side of the law, was one of the causes which led to his leaving 
 Stratford. The truth, however, more probably is, that the hour had arrived when his expand- 
 ing mind began to aspire after greater things than the narrow sphere of a small provincial town, 
 when he felt the " wild pulsation " which genius so often feels before the tumult of life 
 begins, 
 
 " Yearning for the large excitement that the coming years would yield, 
 Eager-hearted as a boy when first he leaves his father's field. 
 
 it leaps _ 
 
 Underneath the light he looks at. in among the throngs of men." 
 
 So he bade farewell, doubtless with a throbbing heart, and not without some " natural tears," 
 to Anne Hathaway, Susannah, Hamnet, and Judith, making such arrangements for their com- 
 fort as his means afforded ; and, with the dauntless resolution of the soldier who is ever ready 
 to exclaim, 
 
 " Why, then, the world's mine oyster 
 Which I with sword will open," 
 
 he turned his back upon the humble houses ol Stratford, and all the scenes of his earlier days, 
 and plunged with a vague hope into the great Babel " among the throngs of men," as so many 
 thousands and thousands of youthful pilgrims have done from generation to generation. 
 
 Whether he had any direct and immediate intention of going upon the stage cannot now be 
 known. His first poetical pieces did not take a dramatic shape, but were rather didactic and 
 lyrical ; and there was no occasion to go to London to write them. Old Aubrey, however, 
 saw no mystery in the matter. lie simply says, " This William, being inclined naturally to 
 poetry and acting, came to London." It is possible that the visits of the players to Stratford 
 between the years 1579 and 1557 had some influence upon his resolution. Whatever was the 
 inducing cause, he became an actor ; and continued in that profession for eighteen or twenty 
 years namely, from 1586 to 1606. or thereby. Yet it would appear that there were moments 
 when he regretted he had ever condescended to tread the boards. In his 91 st Sonnet he 
 touchingly says, 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. XV11 
 
 " O, for my sake, do you with Fortune chide, 
 
 The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, 
 That did not better for my life provide 
 
 Than public means, which public manners breeds, 
 Hence comes it that my name receives a brand, 
 
 And almost then my nature is subdued 
 To what it works in, like the dyer's hand." 
 
 And again, in the Iioth Sonnet, 
 
 " Alas ! 'tis true, I have gone here and there, 
 And made myself" a motley to the view." 
 
 Eut this was not the normal state of Shakespeare's cheerful and unselfish mind. After alluding, 
 in the 29th Sonnet, to his occasional despondency, when he fancies himself " in disgrace with 
 fortune and men's eyes," he finely reverts at the close to the consolation derived from the 
 assured affection of the friend to whom it is addressed, 
 
 " Vet in these thoughts myself almost despising, 
 
 Haply I think on chee, and then my state, 
 Like to the lark at break of day arising 
 
 From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate, 
 For thy sweet love remember 1 d such wealth brings 
 
 That then I scorn to change my state with kings." 
 
 In 1593 his contemporary, Chettle, praised the excellence of his acting. Aubrey says ot him, 
 " He did act exceedingly well." It is on record that two of his parts were, the Ghost in his 
 own " Hamlet," and Adam in "As You Like It," the first of which affords scope for great 
 elocutionary powers, and the latter for the delineation of some fine points of character. It is 
 also handed down that he occasionally appeared in " kingly parts being, no doubt, well 
 adapted for them by his graceful and manly bearing. Queen Elizabeth and James, who were 
 both fond of theatrical entertainments, must frequently have seen him act ; and Ben Jonson no 
 doubt alludes to their estimation of him, both as an actor and a writer, in the well-known lines, 
 forming part of his tribute to the memory of his " beloved Master William Shakespeare," 
 
 " Sweet swan of Avon ! whit a sight it were 
 To see thee on our waters yet appear, 
 And make those flights upon the banks of Thames 
 That so did take Eliza and our James. ' 
 
 Whatever his powers as an actor were, one thing is clear, that no man ever understood better 
 the correct theory of acting, or had a profounder appreciation of what constitute its defects and 
 its excellences ; witness Hamlet's address to the players, and other passages, full of the soundest 
 precepts and most correct practical rules. 
 
 It is provoking that we are here obliged to notice another idle and trumpery legend about 
 Shakespeare, to which Dr. Samuel Johnson seems to have given credence, namely, that he sup- 
 ported himself, on first going to London, by holding the horses of those who rode to the play. 
 The great lexicographer's version of this fiction, which he says came from Mr. Pope, is as 
 follows : " In the time of Elizabeth, coaches being yet. uncommon, and hired eoache* not at 
 all in use, those who were too proud, too tender, or top idle to walk, went on horseback to any 
 distant business or diversion. Many came on horseback to the play, and when Shakespeare 
 fled to London from the terror of a criminal prosecution, his first expedient was to wait at the 
 door of the playhouse, and hold the horses of those who had no servants, that they might be 
 ready again after the performance. In this office he became so conspicuous for his care and 
 readiness that in a short time every man, as he alighted, called for Will Shakespeare, and 
 scarcely any other waiter was trusted with a horse while Will Shakespeare could be had. This 
 was the first dawn of better fortune. Shakespeare, finding more horses put into his hand than 
 he could hold, hired boys to wait under his inspection, who, when Will Shakespeare was sum- 
 moned, were immediately to present themselves, / am Shakespeare's boy^ sir." This is a piece of 
 transparent twaddle from beginning to end. It is not true that persons rode on horseback to 
 
xviii BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 the play ; and if they had, it is ridiculous to suppose that they would have entrusted their 
 horses to be held in the street in all weathers for a period of three or four hours. It is a 
 contemptible calumny that Shakespeare ever sunk so low as to stand shivering night after night 
 holding a horse, or, as the Doctor would have us believe, half-a-dozen horses, for the sake of a 
 few pence haughtily bestowed by town gallants who had been sitting at their ease witnessing 
 some play of Greene or of Marlowe, while Shakespeare, forsooth, already a man of two-ana" 
 twenty, brimming over with the highest fancies, consorted as a stable-boy with the lowest dregs' 
 of the street. This precious canard first appeared in a worthless book entitled The Lives of the 
 Poets, published as the work of Theophilus Gibber, but said to be written by a Scotchman of 
 the name of Shiels, who was an amanuensis of Dr. Johnson. Even Rowe rejected the story, 
 and there is not a shadow of foundation for it. 
 
 A theatre, considered merely in its aspect as a place ot amusement, was a very different thing 
 in the time of Shakespeare from what it has become since. With the increase of wealth, civil- 
 isation, and luxury, gorgeous theatres sprang up a century later in every populous city of Europe. 
 Architecture lent its most elaborate graces ; decorative art was exhausted to furnish the richest 
 embellishments ; every new mechanical appliance was made available to enhance the delusion 
 and increase the interest of the scene ; skilfully painted canvas realized the locality in which the 
 action was laid ; lights, unknown to our ancestors, brilliant as the day, yet capable of being 
 tempered to any strength, illuminated the scene ; music, instrumental and vocal, of the most 
 perfect kind, marbles, mirrors, gildings, draperies, every conceivable adjunct was present 
 calculated to add to sensuous delight ; and, finally, "fair women and brave men," in every 
 variety of attractive and picturesque costume, seemed to tread enchanted ground in presence of 
 a rapt and breathless audience* Such is what a theatre, a San Carlo or La Scala, latterly 
 became. When Shakespeare went to London it was a circular wooden booth, in many instances 
 open to the sky, except over the stage and gallery, where it was roofed in from the weather. 
 Some lanterns shed a dim light through the body of the house, and a few branches, with candles 
 stuck into them, hung over the stage. The orchestra, if so it might be called, was composed of 
 several trumpets, cornets, and hautboys. The stage itself was generally strewed with rushes, 
 except on extraordinary occasions, when it was matted. It had a fixed roof, painted blue to 
 represent the sky ; and when tragedies were performed it was generally hung with black. 
 There was little or no movable painted scenery. A board was hung up containing the name of 
 the place where the action was supposed to be. The stage properties were of the humblest 
 description. The exhibition of a bedstead indicated a bedchamber ; a table with pen and ink, a 
 sitting-room. A few rude models or drawings of towers, walls, trees, tombs, and animals, were 
 sometimes introduced. No such phenomenon as a female actress existed, or would have been 
 tolerated. All female parts were played by boys or young men, who frequently wore masks or 
 visards. The performance was often by daylight, beginning at three o'clock P.M. The prices 
 of admission varied from a shilling (or rather more) to a penny. At the conclusion of each 
 performance the actors knelt on the stage and offered up a prayer for the Queen. 
 
 Sir Philip Sidney, in a treatise published in 1583, graphically alludes to the rough and simple 
 condition of the stage. He says, " In most pieces the player, when he comes in, must ever 
 begin with telling where he is, or else the tale will not be conceived. Now you shall have three 
 ladies" (that is, boys in female attire) "walk to gather flowers, and then we must believe the 
 stage to be a garden ; by and by we hear news of a shipwreck in the same place, then we are to 
 blame if we accept it not for a rock. Upon the back of that comes out a hideous monster, with 
 fire and smoke, and then the miserable beholders are bound to take it for a cave ; while in the 
 meantime two armies fly in, represented with four swords and bucklers, and then what hard 
 heart will not receive it for a pitched field?" Shakespeare himself, in his prologue to ' 4 King 
 Henry the Fifth," asks pardon for the spirit 
 
 " that hath dar'd ?'v;/b) 
 
 On this unworthy scaffold to bring forth 
 So great an object : can this cockpit hold 
 The vasty fields of France ? or may we civ 
 
 asty fields of France ? or may we cram 
 n this wooden O the very casques 
 That did affright the air at Agincourt?' 
 
 Within this wooden O the very casques ^ 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. xix 
 
 It is one of the glories of Shakespeare that all this poverty of mechanical aid was to him a 
 matter of perfect indifference, and that, though professionally connected with the stage, he never 
 wrote a single line that smelt of the footlights and of stage varnish. His muse soared to the 
 " brightest heaven of invention ;" he wrote to suit no actor ; he adapted himself to no stage 
 conventionalities ; he never stooped to think whether his plays would be performed or not. All 
 that wondrous poetry emanated from him as light does from the sun, or music from an ./Eolian 
 harp. 
 
 It might have been a painful thought to a lesser genius that a painted or visared youth was to 
 desecrate Desdemona, caricature Ophelia, and render Juliet ludicrous. But it irked him not a 
 jot. He saw those radiant shapes in his mind's eye, and they were his and ours for evermore, 
 incapable of obscuration or debasement. What gratitude can be excessive, what love too much 
 for the man who has given us not only " the gentle lady married to the Moor " not only the 
 fair Ophelia not only the exquisite daughter of the Capulets, but Imogen, Hermione, Perdita, 
 Miranda, Viola, Isabella, Rosalind, Constance, Portia, Cordelia ! Thank heaven ! it was not 
 that they might "strut their hour" upon the stage that he conceived of beings such as these, 
 warmer, purer, and more tenderly human than the finest prototypes of classical antiquity. The 
 Antigones, the Electras, the Iphigenias beautiful impersonations though they be are cold, and 
 stately, and statuesque, beside the flesh and blood realities of Shakespeare. He delighted not to 
 paint abstraction, he dealt with the sensibilities which throb in every bosom, he touched 
 " the very pulse of the machine." The creature he presented to us was, as one of the greatest 
 of his successors has said, 
 
 * A being breathing thoughtful breath, 
 A traveller between life and death, 
 The reason firm, the temperate will, 
 Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill, 
 A perfect woman, nobly planned 
 To warn, to comfort, and command ; 
 And yet a spirit still, and bright 
 With something of angelic light." 
 
 If there be one thing more wonderful than another in Shakespeare's genius, it is his delicate and 
 profound appreciation of female character through every variety of shade, every gradation of 
 beauty. And he had his reward, though no Siddons or O'Neil, no Madame Mars, Pasta, Rachel 
 or Ristori ever gladdened his eye, or led him to anticipate that the portraits he had hung up in 
 the hearts of all the world might yet walk from their frames and speak his words to ravished 
 ears. 
 
 About the time when Shakespeare came to London, the taste for stage representations had so 
 much increased that there were already several probably six distinct companies of players in 
 London, besides two of children. It was only by becoming a member of a regularly licensed 
 company that a player could escape being considered, in the phraseology of the statute law, a 
 " vagabond." The Lord Chamberlain had the power of issuing, in favour of certain of the 
 court nobility, licenses which entitled the granter to incorporate a company of players. In this 
 way were founded the companies of Lords Leicester, Warwick, Howard, Essex, Derby, and 
 Arundel (afterwards the Lord Admiral's), and others. 
 
 The company which Shakespeare first joined is held to have been that of Lord Strange. This 
 was, however, afterwards absorbed into that which was the most distinguished both then and 
 afterwards. It was first called Lord Hunsdon's, then (after his appointment to the office) the 
 Lord Chamberlain's, and afterwards (in 1603) the King's. James Burbage was manager and 
 head of the Lord Chamberlain's company, and it was he who, in 1599, built the Globe Theatre, 
 whither his company now removed. In 1613 they began acting at the Blackfriars, between St. 
 Paul's and Blackfriars' Bridge, which Burbage had converted into a theatre in 1596. The 
 Blackfriars was a winter theatre, and was therefore roofed in, differing in that respect from the 
 Globe, where Shakespeare likewise continued to act. The Burbages, whose then company (the 
 Queen's) had visited Stratford in 1587, were in all probability of Warwickshire descent, and may 
 have been early acquaintances of Shakespeare. If this conjecture be correct, his introduction 
 to their theatre would not be a matter of any difficulty. He would be welcomed all the more 
 readily if known to be himself a composer ; for at that period there was a close alliance between 
 
XX BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 dramatic poetry and histrionic art. It was indeed almost an understood thing that the dramatist 
 should aid in the representation of his own pieces. Such men as Greene, Marlowe, Ben Jonson, 
 Heywood, Webster, and others, united both arts. 
 
 Richard Burbage, the son of James, who was born three years later than Shakespeare, and 
 died three years after him, was a devoted friend of the poet, and, according to all tradition, as 
 fine a Shakespearian actor as the stage has ever seen. It is said that his just and truthful re- 
 presentation of almost all Shakespeare's leading characters first riveted public attention on them. 
 He was not of large stature, but, in the words of one of his admiring contemporaries, he was 
 " beauty to the eye and music to the ear." He did not appear in comic parts ; but he had a 
 wide range of histrionic talent ; for it is recorded of him that he was equally delightful in the 
 youthful Pericles and the aged Lear, and that he achieved great success in Hamlet, Richard III., 
 Shylock, Romeo, Brutus, Othello, Macbeth, and Coriolanus. An old writer says, " One of 
 his chief parts wherein, beyond the rest, he moved the heart, was the grieved Moor," a well- 
 chosen epithet, and indicative that the actor had a delicate appreciation of the character. It 
 may readily be believed that dearer to the heart of Richard Burbage than all contemporary praise 
 were the four words in Shakespeare's last will, bequeathing to him a ring in token of the poet's 
 loving remembrance. 
 
 By the time James I. ascended the throne, Shakespeare's company was, as we have seen, in 
 possession of both the Globe and Blackfriars' theatres. James adopted the company as his own, 
 and its members were then for the first time designated His Majesty's servants. He granted 
 in their favour a royal license in the year 1603, in which he licenses and authorizes Laurence 
 Fletcher, William Shakespeare, Richard Burbage, John Hemings, and the rest of their associates, 
 " freely to use and exercise the art and faculty of playing comedies, tragedies, histories, inter- 
 ludes, morals, pastorals, stage plays, and such like other as they have already studied, or here- 
 after shall use or study, as well for the recreation of our loving subjects as for our solace and 
 pleasure when we shall think good to see them." This license was the more valuable that 
 it was not limited to " their now usual house, called the Globe," but entitled them "to show 
 and exercise publicly, to their best commodity, within any townhall or moute-halls, or other 
 convenient places within the liberties and freedom of any other city, university town, or burgh 
 whatsoever, within our said realms and dominions." 
 
 Shakespeare held shares possibly in the Blackfriars, certainly in the Globe, the one being 
 principally used as a summer and the other as a winter theatre. It is worthy of remark that 
 the brothers Burbage mention him before their other fellow-shareholders in a document referring 
 to the Globe theatre, and that, in the King's license in 1603, his name stands second. Laurence 
 Fletcher, who is mentioned before Shakespeare, and had succeeded James Burbage in the 
 management, had performed before King James in Scotland, where he was with his company 
 from October, 1599, to December, 1601. Fletcher must have taken the company to different 
 towns in Scotland, and must have conducted himself in a creditable manner, for the municipal 
 records of Aberdeen instruct that he was presented with the freedom of the city on October 
 22nd, 1601, and was entered as a burgess under the designation of " Comedian to His Majesty." 
 This suggests the interesting inquiry, whether Shakespeare did not also visit Scotland as one ot 
 Fletcher's associates. Sir John Sinclair, in his statistical account, when referring to the local 
 traditions respecting Macbeth's castle at Dunsinnan, infers from their coincidence with the 
 drama that Shakespeare, "in his capacity of actor, travelled in Scotland in 1599, and collected 
 on the spot materials for the exercise of his imagination." A subsequent writer objects that 
 Shakespeare could not have heard the country people pronounce the word Dunsinnan, as they 
 always put the accent on the second syllable, whereas he throws it on the last. It is true thai 
 he does so frequently, but not always, as witness the lines, 
 
 " Macbeth shall never vancjuish'd be until 
 Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinnan hill 
 Shall come against him." 
 
 Mr. Charles Knight argues strongly in favour of the probability of Shakespeare having been in 
 Scotland. He contends that the company which James patronized in Scotland, and the 
 manager of which is there recognized as " His Majesty's Comedian," was the same to which 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. xxi 
 
 he granted the letters patent in 1603. If so, Shakespeare was a leading member of it as well 
 in 1601 as in 1603, and could not be spared when an expedition was undertaken to Scotland. 
 Being also by this time a poet of distinction, Mr. Knight thinks that his presence would operate 
 as an additional inducement to the worthy magistrates of Aberdeen to confer the freedom of the 
 city on the head of the company. All this is very conjectural ; but yet all Scotchmen must 
 wish to believe that the poet saw with his own eyes their glens and mountains, heard their 
 ancient tongue, inquired concerning their national superstitions, and listened, not unmoved, to 
 some of their old-world stories of witches and weird women. 
 
 " Posters of the sea and land." 
 
 How pleasant it is to believe that he had himself observed the " temple-haunting martlet" 
 making its " pendant bed and procreant cradle " among the ruins of Macbeth's castle ; that he 
 had breathed the air of Birnam wood, and stood on the breezy forehead of Dunsinnan hill. 
 
 The supernatural machinery interwoven with the tragedy of " Macbeth " is founded on a 
 superstitious belief which was entertained during Shakespeare's lifetime by all classes both in 
 England and Scotland. In a sermon which Bishop Jewel preached before Elizabeth, he 
 beseeched Her Grace to understand that witches and sorcerers had marvellously increased 
 within the realm, and that through their malevolence Her Grace's subjects often pined away 
 even unto death ; their colour fading, their flesh rotting, their speech denied, and their senses 
 obscured. If any adversity, grief, sickness, loss of children, of corn, cattle, or other posses- 
 sions, happened to any one, witches were blamed for it. The Queen herself, " being under 
 excessive anguish by pains of her teeth^ in so much that she took no rest for, divers nights," a 
 Mrs. Dier was accused of having brought on the affliction by conjuration and witchcraft. If 
 there was a thunderstorm or a gale of wind one or two witches were seized and burned as a 
 preventative for the future. This popular frenzy was much encouraged by the publication, at 
 Edinburgh, in 1597, of a work entitled Daemonologie, by no less an author than King James 
 himself. This treatise owed its origin, it was said, to a discovery which the King had made, 
 that when he went to Denmark, in 1590, there was a conspiracy of two hundred witches to 
 drown him on his return. A London edition of the Daemonologie was issued in 1603, the 
 preface to which speaks of " the fearful abounding at this time in this country of these detest- 
 able slaves of the devil, the witches or enchanters." The legislature lent its sanction to the 
 belief : in a statute against witches, which was passed soon after the accession of James, and 
 was not repealed till 1736, it was enacted that any one who should practise any invocation or 
 conjuration of any evil or wicked spirit, or consult, covenant with, entertain or employ, feed or 
 reward any such evil or wicked spirit ; or who should take up any dead man, woman, or child 
 out of the grave, or the skin, bone, or other part of any dead person, to be employed in any 
 manner of witchcraft, sorcery, charm, or enchantment, whereby any person shall be killed, 
 destroyed, wasted, consumed, pined, or lamed in body ; such offenders, on being duly con- 
 victed, shall suffer death. The persons suspected of witchcraft were for the most part old, lame, 
 blear-eyed, and wrinkled women, who led sullen and solitary lives. They were credited with 
 the power of inducing on whom they chose, apoplexies, epilepsies, convulsions, fevers, and all 
 the other ills " that flesh is heir to." They could also raise spirits, dry up springs, turn the 
 course of running waters, go in and out without the aid of doors, and sail in shells and cock- 
 boats through and under tempestuous seas. James informs us in his book that they likewise 
 made images in wax or clay, which they wasted before a slow fire, giving them the names of 
 particular persons, who forthwith melted or dried away without knowing the cause of their 
 sickness. Spenser, in his great poem, describes the abode of a witch : 
 
 " There in a gloomy hollow glen she found 
 A little cottage, built of sticks and reeds 
 In homely wise, and wall'd with sods around, 
 In which a witch did dwell in loathly weeds 
 And wilful want, all careless of her needs ; 
 So choosing solitary to abide 
 Far from all neighbours, that her devilish deeds 
 And hellish arts from people she might hide, 
 And hurt far off, unknown, whomever she envied." 
 
xxii BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Shakespeare, with higher power, invests the witches in " Macbeth " with a sort of mysterious 
 grandeur, whilst he at the same time strictly conforms to the current superstitions regarding 
 them : 
 
 " What are these, 
 
 So wither'd, and so wild in their attire, 
 That look not like the inhabitants of earth, 
 And yet are on 't ? Live you ? or are you aught 
 That man may question ? You seem to understand rne, 
 By each at once her choppy finger laying 
 Upon her skinny lips : you should be women, 
 And yet your beards forbid me to interpret 
 That you are so." 
 
 The caldron scene in the fourth act is of the wildest and most imaginative description, and 
 though frequently adulterated on the modern stage by the introduction of sheer buffoonery, 
 must have thrilled with awe the unsceptical spectators to whom it was originally presented. 
 Macbeth himself, like his successor King James, believed in the " unknown power " : 
 
 " I conjure you, by that which you profess, 
 Howe'er you come to know it, answer me r 
 Though you untie the winds, and let them fight 
 Against die churches ; though the yesty waves 
 Confound and swallow navigation up ; 
 Thofgh bladed corn be lodg'd and trees blown down ; 
 Though castles topple on their warders* heads : 
 Though palaces and pyramids do slope 
 Their heads to their foundations ; though the treasure 
 Of nature's germins tumble all together, 
 Even till destruction sicken. answer me 
 To what I ask." 
 
 Shakespeare found another, a gentler and more loveable superstition, In the fairy 
 mythology, which he turned to such delightful account, especially in his " Midsummer Night's 
 Dream." The popular creed concerning fairies seems to have been of Scandinavian origin, and 
 was more pagan in character than those other beliefs in the supernatural, for which some 
 warrant was found in Scripture. Shakespeare added a new grace to fairy lore ; he almost 
 remodelled and re-invented it. The places to which fairies were supposed to be most attached, 
 --the green knoll, the opening in the wood, the crystal fountain ; the ornaments and costume 
 
 printless 
 
 hanging 
 
 " cankers in the musk rosebuds," their keeping 
 
 wondered at them, their singing their Queen Titania asleep, their stealing the honey-bags from 
 
 the humble bees, and plucking the wings from painted butterflies, their bringing "jewels from 
 
 the deep " for the bewildered Bottom, and feeding him with dew-berries, their putting a girdle 
 
 " round about the earth in forty minutes," all these, and many other traits of fairy life and 
 
 customs, we learn from him, and are indebted for the knowledge to the captivating enthusiasm 
 
 with which he entered into this ideal world, and sported with those favourite children of his 
 
 fancy. The very names he gave his fairies carry a charm with them, Oberon, Titania, Puck 
 
 or Robin Goodfellow, Peasblossom, Cobweb, Moth, Mustardseed, Cricket, Queen Mab ; to 
 
 which let us add Ariel, who slept in a cowslip's bell, and lived so merrily " under the blossom 
 
 that hangs on the bough." He, like Prospero, was known to you all, and was your familiar 
 
 friend 
 
 '' Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and groves. 
 
 And ye that on the sands with printless foot 
 
 Do chase the ebbing Neptune I 
 
 A graver superstition, if so it must be called, which takes the form of a belief in ghosts and 
 apparitions, and the reappearance of the spirits of the departed, was and is too deeply enwoven 
 with human nature to have been overlooked by Shakespeare. He dealt with it sparingly, but 
 with wonderful power, not unmixed with reverence. The supernatural visitation to Hamlet is 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. xxiii 
 
 conducted with a solemn grandeur and air of reality throughout that has never been equalled in 
 poetry. It is impossible to read the scene in which the ghost of the dead king appears, with- 
 out feeling convinced that it all happened as described. If ever a ghost was permitted to walk 
 the earth, and to hold communion with human beings, we cannot conceive of more perfectly 
 appropriate action and language than Shakespeare has used. Nor in any after-scene of the 
 play can it be forgot that Hamlet has gone through the ordeal of receiving that terrible 
 revelation from another world. He thenceforth looks at Ophelia, his mother, his stepfather, 
 with the eyes of one who has seen the dead. He has heard the " eternal blazon," and all other 
 "motives and cues for action" affect his mind subserviently. Scarcely less awful, though less 
 elaborately conducted, are the spectral appearances in "Julius Caesar," in "Macbeth," and in 
 " Richard the Third." Most touching and thrilling is the scene in which the ghost of Caesar 
 so suddenly appears to Brutus. There is a sort of retributive justice in it, which gives it a 
 naturalness and a probability. Brutus is alone in his tent on the night before the decisive 
 battle. He has had a quarrel with his best friend, Cassius, and he has unexpectedly received 
 the mournful intelligence of the death of Portia. A sadness has gathered upon him, against 
 which he contends proudly, but it overmatches his stoicism. His page, Lucius, from whom he 
 had asked for some music, has fallen asleep over his lute. Brutus resumes a book he had been 
 reading, having found the place where he had turned down the leaf. It is midnight, and he 
 is seated beside a solitary taper. He has just remarked how ill it burns, when the sudden ghost 
 of the man he had stabbed stands before him : 
 
 " Ha ! who comes here ? 
 I think it is the weakness of mine eyes 
 That shapes this monstrous apparition. 
 It comes upon me. Art thou anything ? 
 Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil, 
 That mak'st my blood cold and my hair to stare ? 
 Speak to me what thou art. 
 
 Ghost. Thy evil spirit, Brutus. 
 
 Bru. Why com st thou? 
 
 Ghost. To tell thee thou shall see me at Philippi. 
 
 Bru. Well; 
 Then I shall see thee again. 
 
 Ghost. Ay, at Philippi. (Exit Ghost. 
 
 Whether we take this as a reality, or as a spectral illusion visible only to a diseased and over- 
 wrought brain, no pale Nemesis ever made a ghastlier annunciation of approaching disaster and 
 death. 
 
 Dramatic literature in England before Shakespeare was in its infancy, and it was not an 
 Herculean infancy. The first original play regularly divided into acts and scenes, and making 
 pretension to a consistent action and a poetical delineation of character, was the tragedy of 
 "Gorboduc," or "Ferrex and Porrex," by Thomas Sackville, Lord Buckhurst, produced in 
 1561, just three years before Shakespeare was born. Prior to that period there were no plays 
 properly so called. There were itinerant jesters, who amused the common people with the 
 recitation of vulgar dialogue, there were interludes, as they were called, of a rather more 
 advanced kind, and there were a few rude farces, such as " Ralph Roister Doister," hardly any 
 of which have come down to us. "Gammer Gurton's Needle, which made a slight advance 
 towards comedy, was acted not long before 1575, several years after the " Ferrex and Porrex." 
 There had existed, it is true, from an earlier time, religious plays in rhyme, which the Church, 
 prior to the Reformation, did not generally discourage, and which were known by the names of 
 " Mysteries," " Moralities," and "Miracle" plays. The Mysteries and Miracle plays dealt 
 almost exclusively with scriptural narratives and personages, in a manner which nowadays 
 would be considered not a little profane : the Moralities did not present real, but allegorical 
 persons. 
 
 When the ice, however, was at length broken, and a play, bearing some remote resemblance 
 to the ancient models of Greece and Rome, was successfully produced, others speedily followed, 
 and something like a national drama arose. Richard Edwardes brought out his " Damon and 
 Pythias" and " Palamon and Arcite ;" Robert Wilmot and others, the " Tragedie of Tancred 
 and Gismond ;" Thomas Garter, the "Commedy of the Most Virtuous and Godlv Susanna ; " 
 
xxiv BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 George Peele, who was educated at Oxford, "Edward the First" (one of the species called 
 Chronicle Histories), "The Old Wives' Tale," and other plays ; John Lilly, "Sappho and 
 Phaon," "Endymion," and many other pieces; Thomas Kyd, "The Spanish Tragedy," a 
 continuation of "Jeronimo," perhaps also written by him ; and Robert Greene, " Friar Bacon" 
 and "James the Fourth slain at Flodden." Though some of these writers were not without 
 vigour and poetical spirit, they have achieved little general reputation beyond that of being our 
 earliest dramatists. Christopher Marlowe took a higher flight, and was beyond doubt the most 
 eminent dramatic poet anterior to Shakespeare. His life, however, was vicious ; and no poet 
 with a corrupted mind can ever produce the highest poetry. His plays, containing, as they do, 
 some vivid though imperfect delineations of character, and frequent passages of considerable 
 power, which, nevertheless, hardly justify Ben Jonson's phrase of "Marlowe's mighty line," 
 are much disfigured, with bombast, and are full of forced and unnatural incident. His principal 
 pieces are " Tamburlane the Great," in two parts, "Doctor Faustus," "The Jew of Malta," 
 and " Edward the Second." Of these "Doctor Faustus" is the most remarkable for origin- 
 ality and boldness. It contains a good deal of the fire at which Goethe afterwards lighted his 
 lamp. As a whole, however, Marlowe's writings have hardly as yet taken hold of the general 
 mind, and cannot be said to enjoy any wide popularity in the present day. 
 
 Shakespeare's immediate contemporaries and followers, catching apparently fresh inspiration 
 from him, and soaring far above the writers who had preceded them, formed a school of 
 dramatic literature which has never been equalled since, and which constitutes the chief glory 
 of the Elizabethan era. Around Shakespeare, the great central luminary, we find collected the 
 shining names of Ben Jonson, Massinger, Fletcher, Beaumont, Ford, Webster, Middleton, 
 Decker, and Chapman. A wonderful richness of power and matter is prominent in the works 
 of all these poets. We owe them much for many a noble thought and many a finely conceived 
 character. Their chief fault lay in a want of control over their own strength ; their freedom 
 and power were often misused ; the sense of moderation is wanting ; exuberance of fancy is 
 counted better than a high moral aim ; bombast is sometimes mistaken for sublimity. Like 
 certain portrait painters, they endeavour to intensify the likeness by exaggerating the character- 
 istic features, and they thus "overstep the modesty of nature." The learned German critic, 
 Gervinus, speaks truly of them when he says, " Everything in the minds engaged testifies of 
 sap and vigour, of life and motion, of luxuriant creative genius, of ready ability to satisfy a 
 glaring taste with glaring effects ; but the plastic hand of that master is absent who created his 
 works according to the demands of the highest ideal of art." Shakespeare as Dryden long ago 
 remarked, stands as high above them, 
 
 " Quantum lenta sclent inter viburna cupressi.** 
 
 Nevertheless, there is a mine of wealth in their works from which hundreds of feebler poets 
 have furtively enriched themselves, and in which the careful student will always find much 
 precious ore, easily separable from the surrounding alloy. 
 
 The twenty years which Shakespeare spent in London cannot but have passed pleasantly 
 in the society that surrounded and caressed him. He had his choice of all that was most 
 intellectual and all that was most refined. His moral character was without reproach ; his 
 disposition magnanimous and gentle ; his manner open and unassuming. " I loved the^man," 
 says Ben Jonson, " and do honour his memory 
 indeed honest, and of an open and free nature." 
 ness of dealing," his " generosity of mind and 
 candour." Aubrey, in his plain, prosaic way, says, " He was a handsome, well-shaped man, 
 very good company, and of a very ready and pleasant smooth wit." His "sugared sonnets 
 
 cated all the affection that was lavished on him, for it is evident from his writings that friend- 
 ship was the chief solace of his life. It was friends who were " precious " to him that filled his 
 heart, 
 
 " When to the sessions of sweet silent thought 
 He summoned up remembrance of things past." 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. xxv 
 
 The Earis of Southampton, Pembroke, and Montgomery, especially the first, were his cherished 
 and constant companions. The only two letters written by Shakespeare which have come down 
 to us, and which possess, therefore, a heightened interest, are those in which he dedicates to 
 Southampton his " Venus and Adonis " and his " Rape of Lucrece." The first was published 
 in 1593, and its style indicates that the friendship was then only in its bud which afterwards 
 ripened so fully. It is as follows : 
 
 " To the Right Honourable HENRY WRIOTHESLY, Earl of Southampton and Baron of Tichfield. 
 
 " RIGHT HONOURABLE, 
 
 " I know not how I shall offend in dedicating my unpolished lines to your lordship, 
 nor how the world will censure me for choosing so strong a prop to support so weak a burden : 
 only, if your honour seem but pleased, I account myself highly praised, and vow to take advan- 
 tage of all idle hours till I have honoured you with some graver labour. But if the first heir of 
 my invention prove deformed, I shall be sorry it had so noble a godfather, and never after ear 
 (cultivate] so barren a land, for fear it yield me still so bad a harvest. I leave it to your honour- 
 able survey, and your honour to your heart's content ; which I wish may always answer your 
 own wish and the world's hopeful expectation. Your honour's in all duty, 
 
 "WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE." 
 
 The " Lucrece " was published in May, 1594, and the more familiar style of the letter pre- 
 fixed to it indicates the rapid progress which had been made in the personal relationships of the 
 earl and the poet. It runs thus : 
 
 " The love I dedicate to your lordship is without end, whereot this pamphlet, without 
 beginning, is but a superfluous moiety (portion). The warrant I have of your honourable 
 disposition, not the worth of my untutored lines, makes it assured of acceptance. What I have 
 done is yours ; what I have to do is yours : being part in all I have devoted yours. Were my 
 worth greater my duty would show greater : meantime, as it is, it is bound to your lordship ; 
 to whom I wish long life, still lengthened with all happiness. Your lordship's in all duty, 
 
 " WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE." 
 
 Southampton was an enthusiastic lover ot the drama ; spent much time at the theatre ; and 
 no doubt frequently mingled with Shakespeare's friends there. He might meet sometimes with 
 Spenser and Bacon, with Raleigh and Pembroke, with Ben Jonson, Selden, Carew, and Mas- 
 singer. With some of these and Shakespeare he may have adjourned to that famous club at 
 the Mermaid, in Cornhill, where Fuller says there were many wit-combats between Shakespeare 
 and Jonson ; and of which Beaumont writes, 
 
 " What things have we seen 
 
 Done at the Mermaid ! heard words that have been 
 So nimble, and so full of subtle flame, 
 As if that every one from whom they came 
 Had meant to put his whole soul in a jest. 
 We left an air behind us, which alone 
 Was able to make the two next companies 
 Right witty, tho* but downright fools." 
 
 Nor did that " merrie com panic " confine itself to the Mermaid. Shakespeare has himseK 
 immortalized the Boar's Head in Eastcheap and the Garter at Windsor ; and Herrick asks 
 affectionately of Jonson, 
 
 " Ah, Ben ! 
 
 Say how or when 
 
 Shall we thy guests 
 Meet at those lyric feasts 
 
 Made at the Sun, 
 The Dog, the Triple Tun I 
 
xxvi BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Where we such clusters had 
 As made us nobly wild, not mad ; 
 
 And yet each verse of thine 
 Outdid the meat, outdid the frolic wine ! " 
 
 He had also his annual, if not more frequent, visits to Stratford, round which all his early 
 associations centred, and where his family lived. His father did not die till 1601, and his 
 mother survived for seven years later, having reached the ripe age of seventy. His brother 
 Gilbert had grown into manhood ; his sister Joan was passing through her teens ; Richard was 
 at school ; and Edmond, his youngest brother, was still so young as to be a playmate for his 
 daughter Susannah. Anne Hathaway watched over his two girls and his son Hamnet till the 
 sad year 1596, when the dark shadow crossed their threshold, and the boy was taken from them 
 on the nth August. Shakespeare no doubt attended the funeral with a saddened heart : but 
 in general his visits must have been occasions of great happiness to himself and his relatives. 
 He was rising in the world ; he had gained a handsome independence ; his name was becoming 
 famous. Rumours had reached Stratford that he was beloved by great nobles, and that 
 the Queen herself had smiled upon him. Sentiments of wonder and admiration would 
 mingle with the affection of his old friends : in him, however, they would find no change, 
 no lofty airs, no paltry affectation, the same simplicity, the same gentle earnestness. How 
 should the passing breath of popular applause excite any complacent vanity in one who was 
 too great to be conscious of effort, too full of immortality to be dependent on the "ignorant 
 present ! " 
 
 Some striking historical events happened during Shakespeare's residence in London. There 
 were, or had been immediately before, religious wars in France and the Netherlands ; conquests 
 in the West Indies ; discoveries in most quarters of the globe ; Drake's voyage round the 
 world ; a firmer establishment of English dominion in Ireland ; and the overthrow of the 
 ancient form of faith, and of the youthful Queen who was at its head, in Scotland. He 
 witnessed the cruelties which attended the execution of Babington and his thirteen fellow-con- 
 spirators. He heard the proclamation of the sentence of death against Mary Queen of Scots ; 
 and he must have shuddered over the details of the remorseless execution at Fotheringay on 
 the 8th of February, 1587. He beheld the gorgeous pageant at the public funeral of Sir 
 Philip Sydney, the brightest star of English chivalry. He mingled in all the excitement of the 
 threatened invasion of the land by Philip of Spain. He saw the camp formed at Tilbury, and 
 the thousands of citizens who flocked to it as volunteers in aid of the regular army ; for neither 
 then nor ever did Great Britain acquiesce in the possibility of a foreign invader taking possession 
 of one acre of her soil. The news of the approach of the mighty armament sounded in his 
 ears ; but the God of battles fought on the side of England, and the foe was scattered to the 
 winds. Was our Shakespeare in St. Paul's when Elizabeth gave thanks on her bended knees, 
 surrounded by Raleigh, and Hawkins, and Frobisher, and Drake, and Howard of ErBngham ? 
 By and by, he perhaps followed the body of Elizabeth herself, " covered with purple velvet, 
 and borne in a chariot," to her last resting-place in Westminster Abbey. And in other lands, 
 agitated with their own events, Tasso was, during the same period, weaving his epic song ; 
 Cervantes was composing his deathless story ; Lope de Vega was filling the stage of Spain with 
 his romantic dramas ; and Galileo was fathoming the scheme of the universe. It is somewhat 
 marvellous that to not one of these great contemporary incidents is there any direct allusion in 
 the writings of Shakespeare. The explanation must be, that he so entirely threw himself into 
 the scenes and characters he selected for his own themes, that his mind, intensifying itself upon 
 them, shut out for the time all that was foreign to them. 
 
 The order in which Shakespeare's plays were written, and the precise dates at which they 
 successively appeared, have given rise to much ingenious discussion. His ability as a dramatist 
 gradually matured itself : he did not start up, full-armed, at once. The satirical writer, Greene, 
 
 our feathers, that with ' his tiger's heart wrapped 
 a player's hide '" (a parody of a line in the Third Part of " King Henry the Sixth ") " supposes 
 he is as well able to bombaste out a blank verse as the best of you ; and being an absolute 
 Joannes factotum, is in his own conceit the only Shake- scene in a countrey." We are entitled, 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. xxvii 
 
 to conclude from this passage that Shakespeare had written for the stage before the year 1592, 
 and that he had most probably altered and adapted some of the earlier dramas. Drake is of 
 opinion that Shakespeare's first entire play was " Pericles," and that it was written in 1590. 
 Malone, on the other hand, influenced partly by the fact that in the first two folios of Shake- 
 speare's collected plays (and the first edition of the third) " Pericles" is not included, omits it 
 altogether from his enumeration, and puts at the head of his list the First, Second, and Third 
 Parts of " King Henry the Sixth," assigning the First to the year 1589, when Shakespeare was 
 twenty-five, and the Second and Third to 1591. Knight, in his turn, thinks " Titus Androni- 
 cus " was the first play, which he believes, in opposition to Coleridge and some other writers, 
 to have been written by Shakespeare. De Quincey names the " Two Gentlemen of Verona " as 
 the earliest, and calls it the least characteristically marked of all his plays, and, with the excep- 
 tion of " Love's Labour's Lost," the least interesting. Gervinus comes probably pretty near 
 the mark when he says that the seven pieces which lie at the outset of Shakespeare's career are, 
 "Titus Andronicus," " Pericles," the Three Parts of " King Henry the Sixth," the "Comedy 
 of Errors," and the " Taming of the Shrew." 
 
 In the original folio editions no chronological order is attempted, the plays being simply 
 divided into three classes, under the respective names of Comedies, Histories, and Tragedies. 
 The edition of 1623, and the two editions which followed, include, "Titus Andronicus ;" and 
 of all the thirty-seven plays now attributed to Shakespeare, they omit " Pericles" alone. That 
 play, however, is now commonly ranked as his with less hesitation than the drama which con- 
 tains the revolting parts of Aaron and Tamora. The horror which is accumulated upon horror 
 in "Titus Andronicus" exceeds all bounds ; yet it was not out of keeping with the immature 
 and sensational dramatic tastes of the period immediately preceding Shakespeare. The most 
 probable theory is that Shakespeare was requested to work the piece up from a version already 
 existing, and that he threw in numerous passages which even Coleridge admits could have been 
 written by no one else. Horror is an element of the tragic ; but the horror which consists in 
 presenting to the eyes of the spectators the mutilation of limbs, the cutting of throats, and the 
 eating of the baked flesh of murdered enemies, smells too much of the shambles. Shakespeare, 
 it may be supposed, performed reluctantly the task assigned to him, and felt strongly what he 
 makes one of the characters express, 
 
 " Twill vex thy soul to hear what I shall speak ; 
 For I must talk of murders, rapes, and massacres, 
 Acts of black night, abominable deeds, 
 Complots of mischief, treason, villanies, 
 Ruthful to hear, yet piteously performed." 
 
 It has been clearly ascertained that in his " Henry the Sixth," which is the feeblest of all his 
 historical dramas, Shakespeare did little more than revise and dress up two earlier pieces, which 
 have recently been published in the Transactions of the Shakespeare Society, under the editor- 
 ship of Mr. Halliwell. " Pericles," on the other hand, though an early production, is essenti- 
 ally Shakespearian. It is a long romance, dramatized upon a principle to which Shakespeare 
 always adhered. that a play admits of as much progressive action, lapse of time, and change of 
 locality, as an epic narrative. The liberties which are taken both with time and place are so 
 great that the ancient poet Gower (from whose Confessio Amantium the incidents of the play 
 are borrowed) has to be introduced at the commencement of each act, to inform the reader of a 
 variety of events supposed to have occurred, but which are not represented in the play. This 
 was going to the very verge of dramatic license, and was indicative of a hand still somewhat 
 inexperienced ; yet how fresh and vigorous and full of poetry many of the scenes are, and 
 how well the interest is sustained throughout ! 
 
 If Shakespeare did not know the full strength of his wing till he had made some lower 
 flights, it was not long ere 
 
 " None that beheld him but, like lesser lights 
 Did vail their crowns to his supremacy. 
 
 Between 1589 and 1613 he poured out upon the astonished world tne following works: 
 
 COMEDIES." The Two Gentlemen of Verona ; " " The Comedy of Errors ; " "The Taming 
 
xxvui BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 of the Shrew;" "Love's Labour's Lost;" "All's Well that Ends Well;" " Midsummer 
 Night's Dream;" "Much Ado about Nothing;" " Merry Wives of Windsor;" "Twelfth 
 Night." 
 
 TRAGI-COMEDIES. "Merchant of Venice;" " Measure for Measure ;" " Troilus and 
 Cressida ; " " Timon of Athens." 
 
 HISTORICAL PLAYS. First, Second, and Third Parts of " King Henry the Sixth ;" " King 
 John;" "Richard the Second;" "Richard the Third;" First and Second Parts of "King 
 Henry the Fourth ; " " King Henry the Fifth ; " " King Henry the Eighth." 
 
 ROMANTIC DRAMAS. " Pericles ; " " Cymbeline ; " " As You Like It ; " " Winter's Tale ;" 
 "The Tempest." 
 
 TRAGEDIES. "Titus Andronicus;" "Romeo and Juliet;" "Hamlet;" "Othello;" 
 "Lear;" "Macbeth;" and the Roman Tragedies, " Coriolanus ; " "Julius Caesar;" 
 " Antony and Cleopatra." 
 
 The precise order in which these thirty-seven plays appeared is not, after all, of much conse- 
 quence, and no two writers have exactly agreed regarding it. A collected edition of his works 
 was not issued during his lifetime, but a good many of his plays were published separately. It 
 has been ascertained that these came out in the following order, which, however, is no certain 
 indication of the order in which they were written, since the title-page frequently bears that the 
 piece had been acted for some time before it was printed : 1st, " Titus Andronicus," 1593 ; 
 2nd, " Richard the Third," 1594; 3rd, " Romeo and Juliet," 1596; 4th, "Love's Labour's 
 Lost," 1598; 5th, "Henry the Fifth," 1600; 6th, First Part of "King Henry the Fourth," 
 1598 ; ;th, Second Part of " King Henry the Fourth," 1600 ; 8th, " The Merchant of Venice," 
 1600; 9th, "Midsummer Night's Dream," 1600; loth, "Much Ado about Nothing," 1600; 
 lith, "Merry Wives of Windsor," 1602; I2th, "Hamlet," 1603; I3th, "King Lear," 1608; 
 I4th, " Pericles," 1609 ; and I5th, " Troilus and Cressida," 1609. It is not known that any of 
 the remaining twenty-two plays appeared in print till six years after his death. But such was the 
 prestige which already attached to his name, that numerous attempts were made to impose upon 
 the public spurious plays as his. The deception partially succeeded for a time ; but until lately 
 almost all critics, with the single exception of Schlegel, have given their verdict against the 
 genuineness of any of these productions. The names of the most prominent are " Edward the 
 Third;" " Arden of Feversham;" "Locrine;" the First Part of "Sir John Oldcastle;" 
 " The Life and Death of Thomas, Lord Cromwell ; " " The Merry Devil of Edmonton ; " and 
 " The Yorkshire Tragedy." Shakespeare may have had some slight hand in several of these, 
 he may have sketched in a scene or a character ; but that he was, in the proper sense, the author 
 of any of them cannot be credited. Others are " Macedorrus ; " "The London Prodigal;" 
 "The Puritan;" and "Fair Em." There is better reason for believing that he took a less 
 inconsiderable part in the composition of the " Two Noble Kinsmen," though that play is 
 commonly attributed to Fletcher, and was probably written mainly by him. 
 
 There are two ways in which the Shakespearian student may read his historical plays. He 
 may take them either in the order in which they were probably written, with the view of tracing 
 the development of the poet's style and manner ; or he may peruse them in chronological sequence 
 as illustrative of the successive periods with which they deal. In the first case they would be 
 read in the following order : The First, Second, and Third Parts of " King Henry the Sixth;" 
 "King John;" "King Richard the Second;" " King Richard the Third;" The First and 
 Second Parts of" King Henry the Fourth ;" " King Henry the Fifth ;" and " King Henry 
 the Eighth." In the order of history, on the other hand, " King John " comes first, his period 
 being from 119910 1216; then "Richard the Second," 1377 to 1399; "Henry the Fourth, 
 1399 to 1413 ; " Henry the Fifth," 1413 to 1422 ; " Henry the Sixth," 1422 to 1461 ; " Richard 
 the Third," 1483 to 1485 ; and " Henry the Eighth," 1509 to 1547. 
 
 Shakespeare wrote on an average a play every six months for nearly twenty years. The 
 variety is infinite ; the multiplication of human portraiture is unparalleled. The gayest fancy, 
 the broadest humour, the most piercing wit, alternate with the deepest pathos, the strongest 
 passion, the truest philosophy. It was human life, not a stilted conventionality, not an 
 academical rule, that Shakespeare cared for. He refused to be bound by the dogmas of a 
 school ; he felt that no other unity was essential if there was unity of impression harmony of 
 general conception. The Attic severity of the Greek drama repelled him ; he may have 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. xxix 
 
 acknowledged the art that pervaded it, but he missed the free movement of actual existence. 
 He saw that comedy and tragedy are blended indissolubly in man's life ; that tears and laughter 
 have one common source, and flow in the same channel. He recognised the truth that in our 
 mundane condition the greatest moral lessons are taught in the midst of those conflicting 
 emotions which shed upon surrounding objects alternate gloom and sunshine. The heart and 
 the head alike confess that he was right. He had made it apparent to the whole world that 
 yEschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides, Corneille, Racine, and Voltaire, great as they were, 
 took a narrower and feebler view of the true scope and aim of the drama, " whose end, both 
 at the first and now, was and is, to hold as 'twere the mirror up to nature, to show virtue her 
 own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time her form and pur- 
 pose." Hence it was that he fearlessly mingled the tragic with the comic element, that he 
 gave its silver lining to the cloud, that he brought " sceptre and crown " face to face with the 
 " poor crooked scythe and spade," that he made nature predominant over accident. 
 
 He had no models ; he had nothing to guide him but his own perspicacity. Chaucer was 
 the greatest of his predecessors, but he has drawn little from Chaucer. Neither can it be said 
 that his writings were a reflex of his own age. High literature and high art rarely or never 
 reflect their own age. Just because Shakespeare's are the finest plays the world has ever seen, 
 the special characteristics of the Elizabethan era are not to be found in them. They suit all 
 ages ; they are universal, not national. It is the boast of sculpture that in producing the per- 
 fection of ideal form it links itself with no particular time or place. So it is with Shakespeare ; 
 he grasps the essential, and cares little for the adventitious. His men and women are human 
 beings ; it matters not whether they wear the Greek peplos or the Roman toga, the rirfF and 
 stomacher of Elizabeth, or the jerkin and collar of James. Yet he ever takes care not to 
 generalise too much, or to forget in the typical the special features of character. His portraits 
 are not shadowy abstractions ; they are intensely individual ; but they present to us what is 
 inherent and permanent, not what is superficial and transitory. 
 
 No poet ever more entirely sunk himself in his own conceptions. He comes before us as 
 Hamlet or Falstaff, Macbeth or Malvolio, Othello or Launcelot Gobbo, never as Shakespeare. 
 He is whatever he chooses to be, from Coriolanus to Caliban. He finds a heap of dry bones, 
 and infuses vitality into them. He rarely or never takes the trouble of inventing a plot ; but 
 when he lights upon an insipid tale by Cinthio, or a ballad by some unknown chapman, he 
 touches it, as with Ithuriel's spear, and it starts up into a shining comedy or a heart-consuming 
 tragedy. Building, as he often did, on the foundation of some ancient chronicle or ,half- for- 
 gotten legend, it was he alone who supplied the scene with thought and action, filled it with 
 breath, and peopled it with living beings, whom once to know is to remember for ever. A 
 halfpenny broadside told the " Pityfull Historic of Two Loving Italians," or "of a Jew who 
 would for his Debt have a Pound of the Flesh of a Christian," and Shakespeare's genius, by a 
 magic alchemy, transmuted such materials as these into Romeo and Juliet, and Shy lock. 
 
 But had Shakespeare no faults ? The answer must be that perfection is not given to mortals. 
 Such faults as he had were the faults of one who had his feet entangled in the meshes of a 
 semi-enlightened age, and who was diffident of his right to set himself free at once by his own 
 strength. Some of the scenes and dialogues are repulsive to the taste of the present day, but 
 were not so when he wrote. Coarseness of language does not necessarily imply immorality of 
 principle. Shakespeare is ahead of all other writers of his time in this, that he never indulges 
 in coarseness for its own sake, but introduces it either with the view of illustrating character, or 
 of bringing us back with increased relish to the expression of higher and purer thoughts. He 
 adopts no story which has in itself a vicious tendency. He is not indeed always careful, as 
 more commonplace moralists may be, to make virtue triumph ; he sometimes carries his persons, 
 as if indifferently, through right and wrong. But the impression which every one of his works 
 leaves, is that its perusal has contributed to a healthy tone of feeling and to moral invigoration. 
 
 A few of his plots are loosely formed, and want regularity of design. He not only does not 
 avoid, but seems rather to rejoice in anachronisms. He gives to one age or nation the customs 
 and institutions of another. He intermixes the features of the heroic and feudal times. He 
 puts the names of the Roman gods in the mouths of the Druids ; he makes Hector auote 
 Aristotle ; and he introduces cannon in the reign of King John. These things may be dis- 
 agreeable to the antiquary, but they are only motes in the sunshine of Shakespeare's genius. 
 
XXX BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Another fault is imputed to him, traceable to the imitation of the manner of the Italian poets, 
 so prevalent in the latter half of the sixteenth century. It consists in a playful twisting of the 
 meaning of words, suggested sometimes by their sound, and sometimes by their juxtaposition. 
 Shakespeare evidently found pleasure in these concetti, or what Dr. Johnson calls " idle conceits 
 and contemptible equivocations." " A quibble," says the Doctor, who had somewhat ponder- 
 ous notions of humour, "is to Shakespeare what luminous vapours are to the traveller ; he 
 follows it at all adventures ; it is sure to lead him out of his way, and sure to engulf him in the 
 mire. It has some malignant power over his mind, and its fascinations are irresistible. What- 
 ever be the dignity or profundity of his disquisition, whether he be enlarging knowledge or 
 exalting affection, whether he be arousing attention with incidents or enchaining it in suspense, 
 let but a quibble spring up before him and he leaves his work unfinished. A quibble, poor 
 and barren as it is, gave him such delight that he was content to purchase it by the sacrifice of 
 reason, propriety, and truth." They who choose may agree with this Johnsonian criticism ; 
 but do not let them forget that Shakespeare, being himself 
 
 " A fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy," 
 
 ;.-.- o iibrirmftw 
 
 one who was " not only witty in himself, but the cause that wit is in other men," cared as little 
 for " quibbles " as Dr. Johnson. They suited the times, and he therefore gave them " as thick 
 as Tewkesbury mustard ; " but he fails not to say, through Lorenzo, in the " Merchant of 
 Venice," " How every fool can play upon the word ! I think the best grace of wit will 
 shortly turn into silence, and discourse grow commendable in none only but parrots." 
 
 In Germany, Shakespeare's supremacy as a dramatic poet has long been admitted. Lessing, 
 Herder, Goethe, Schlegel, Tieck, Gervinus, Ulrici, and others, have done much to naturalise 
 him among their countrymen, and to kindle enthusiasm for his genius. In France, on the 
 other hand, it is comparatively recently that he has met with a reception worthy of the intellect 
 of that country. Before Shakespeare could be thoroughly understood in France a system had , 
 to be overturned, the battle of the orders had to be fought, Aristotle and the unities had to be 
 weighed in the balance. Voltaire allowed Shakespeare the praise only of a clever "barbarian;" 
 and La Harpe dragged him by the heels behind the triumphal car of Racine. The French 
 poets were unable to conceive of a tragic drama not founded on the Greek model, of which 
 they produced highly successful imitations ; but, as was likely to happen with imitations, they 
 were colder and more pompous than the originals. In ancient Greece, where there were fewer 
 shades and diversities of character than there came to be as the world got older, there was a 
 stately grandeur, which to a certain extent atoned for its monotony, in the scenic representation 
 of an illustrious house contending in vain against the inexorable decrees of destiny. But when 
 the same stateliness and severity of artistic rule was transferred on the French stage to the halls 
 of the Cid and the courts of Bajazet and Mahomet, it was certain that human nature would 
 sooner or later rebel, and that, as hair-powder and furbelows went out, Shakespeare and real 
 life would come in. The film fell from the eyes of Le Mercier, Madame De Stael, and Guizot ; 
 and France at length owns that Voltaire, who said of Shakespeare that "he was without the 
 least spark of good taste, and without the slightest knowledge of rules," must "pale his 
 uneffectual fire " before the author of " Hamlet. 
 
 If taste consists in a quick and accurate appreciation of all that is graceful and harmonious, 
 not in artificial life alone, but in the world as God made it, no Frenchman, great or small, had 
 ever half the taste of Shakespeare. Taste is, indeed, too low and technical a term for his 
 intuitive perception of the true and the beautiful, and his exquisite delight in them. In reading 
 a play by Voltaire we imagine of a man " who has lived for a long time in apartments lighted 
 only by wax candles, chandeliers, or coloured glasses who has only breathed in the faint, 
 suffocating atmosphere of drawing-rooms who has seen only the cascades at the opera, calico 
 mountains, and garlands of artificial flowers." In reading a play by Shakespeare we imagine 
 of a man who was ever in the pure air that encompasses the sights and sounds of external 
 nature, and who found at will 
 
 " Tongues in trees, books in the running brook, 
 
 Sermons in stones, and good in everything." 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. xxxi 
 
 Of his fellow-beings his thoughts were, 
 
 "What a piece of work is man ! How noble in reason I how infinite in faculties ! in form and moving, how 
 express and admirable ! in action, how like an angel ! in apprehension, bow like a god ! the beauty of the world 1 
 
 the paragon of animals ! " 
 
 In the starry wilderness of space he recognised the music of eternity, 
 
 " Look, how the floor of heaven 
 Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold i 
 There 's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st 
 But in his motion like an angel sings, 
 Still quiring to the young-ey'd cherubins : 
 Such harmony is in immortal souls 
 But whilst this muddy vesture of decay 
 Doth grossly cl se us in, we cannot hear it." 
 
 In the changing seasons his feeling was but of one description of beauty passing into another, 
 
 " Hoary-headed frosts 
 Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose ; 
 And on old Hyem's chin and icy crown 
 An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds 
 Is, as in mockery, set." 
 
 In the works of man, no less than in the works of God, he took deep delight, the "cloud- 
 capp'd towers," the "gorgeous palaces," the " solemn temples." Of the Fine Arts he was an 
 earnest votary. Music, in particular, was a never-ending delight to him. His eloquent 
 denunciation of those who "are not moved with concord of sweet sounds" is written in a 
 thousand hearts. To his ear music was " the food of love" : he claims for it the distinction of 
 having been " ordained to refresh the mind of man." In that most exquisite scene at Belmont, 
 in the Fifth Act of the " Merchant of Venice," music intensifies the happiness of the youthful 
 lovers, 
 
 " How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank ! 
 
 Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music 
 
 Creep in our ears, soft stillness and the night 
 
 Become the touches of sweet harmony." 
 
 And Jessica only deepens into tenderness when she breathes into the ear of Lorenzo, 
 " I am never merry when I hear sweet music." 
 
 With what truth of feeling the Duke, in "The Twelfth Night," asks for a repetition of the 
 music he has just heard ! 
 
 jjoi ii;i '. i ' .'..:;[ <: ^ndaa od ,;.oad TOJicW --.'r8'!r jnu; ; b-uibmfe ; ^-- /i arri^o-:!! -->.' 
 ' That strain again ; it had a dying fall : 
 
 O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south, 
 
 That breathes upon a bank of violets, 
 
 Stealing and giving odour.'' 
 And again, 
 
 " That old and antique song we heard last night: 
 
 Methought it did relieve my passion much, 
 
 More than light airs and recollected tunes 
 
 Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times. " 
 
 Such examples could be largely multiplied ; but take as the only other the lines put into the 
 lips of Oberon, 
 
 " My gentle Puck, come hither : thou remember 'st 
 
 Since once I sat upon a promontory. 
 
 And heard a mermaid, on a dolphin s back, 
 
 Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath 
 
 That the rude sea grew civil at her song ; 
 
 And certain stars shot madly from their spheres, 
 
 To hear the sea-maid's music." 
 
xxxn BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Not contented with thus celebrating the charms of music, Shakespeare gave to be wedded to it 
 some of the most delicious of our English songs. They sparkle through his plays in rich pro- 
 fusion, many of them light, airy, and fanciful, like his own sprites, others full of a divine 
 melancholy. Painting and sculpture were hardly less prized by him ; and he had evidently a 
 learned knowledge of both. Of painting he says, " It tutors nature." Neither Titian, nor 
 Velasquez, nor he, greater than either, -who designed the Sibyls on the dome of the Sistine 
 Chapel, ever painted a nobler portrait than Hamlet does of the "buried Majesty of Denmark." 
 Raphael, on his most impassioned canvas, never exceeded the beauty of the description of 
 "fair Portia's counterfeit," given by the enamoured Bassanio. Perhaps Shakespeare had 
 before him a work of Julio Romano, for whom he is known to have entertained great admira- 
 tion, when he makes the Poet say of the picture exhibited by the Painter in the first scene of 
 " Timon of Athens," 
 
 " Admirable t How this grace 
 Speaks his own standing ! what a mental power 
 This eye shoots forth ! how big imagination 
 Moves in this lip ! to the dumbness of the gesture 
 One might interpret." 
 
 As regards sculpture, his understanding of the chief excellences of that art is sufficiently attested 
 by the language used when Paulina, in the " Winter's Tale," unvails to Leontes the supposed 
 statue of Hermione ; 
 
 ' ' Prepare 
 
 To see the life as lively mock'd as ever 
 Still sleep mock'd death. 
 
 Masterly done : 
 
 The very life seems warm upon her lip, 
 The fixture of her eye has motion in 't ; 
 There is an air comes from her J what fine chisel 
 Could ever yet cut breath ?" 
 
 And this was the semi-barbarian who, as the French scoffer declared, had no spark of taste ! 
 Thomas Carlyle spoke truer words when he said, "The noblest thing we men of England 
 have produced has been this Shakespeare." 
 
 After some years of persevering industry in London, Shakespeare found himself the possessor 
 of handsome means, which, as there is every reason to believe, continued steadily to increase. 
 Besides his partnership in the profits of the Globe Theatre, he may have been a shareholder in 
 the Blackfriars, and, in any case, he enjoyed his part of the actors' profits in both. To this 
 may have been added a proportion of the gains accruing from the successful representation of 
 his plays. De Quincey is of opinion that Shakespeare was the first man of letters in Great 
 Britain who realized a fortune by literature, Pope being the second, and Sir Walter Scott the 
 third. However this may be, it is certain that as soon as Shakespeare had money to invest, 
 his thoughts reverted to Stratford ; and, like Sir Walter Scott, he seems to have been ambitious 
 of giving stability to his family by the acquisition of landed rights. In the year 1597 he pur- 
 chased the best house in Stratford, known by the name of New Place, and in 1602 he bought, 
 at a considerable cost, one hundred and seven acres of land adjoining the house. On Shake- 
 speare's death, New Place went to his daughter, Mrs. Hall, in liferent, and then to her only 
 daughter, Elizabeth, afterwards Lady Barnard, in fee. It was sold in 1675 to Sir Edward 
 Walker, Garter King-at-Anns. From him it passed to his grandson, Sir John Clopton, who, 
 about the year 1702, made extensive alterations on it, and modernized its aspect both internally 
 and externally. Sir Hugh Clopton's son-in-law, Henry Talbot, brother to the Lord Chancellor 
 Talbot, sold New Place, in the year 1756, to the Rev. Francis Gastrell, Vicar of Frodsham, in 
 Cheshire. Of this reverend gentleman we fear it must be said that 
 
 " The motions of his spirit were dull as night, 
 And his affections dark as Erebus." 
 
 He must have known that he had the honour to own a house which was dear to Stratford and 
 sacred to all England ; and yet, in a fit of paltry rage at being forced to pay a poor's-rate on it 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. XXXlll 
 
 though he resided a part of the year at Lichfield, he declared, in -the year 1759, that New Place 
 should never be assessed again, and forthwith razed the building to the ground, sold off the 
 materials, and took his departure from Stratford amidst the execrations of its inhabitants. 
 Nor was this the only offence of this same Mr. Gastrell : he had committed three years before 
 another act of sacrilege hardly less atrocious. Shakespeare planted with his own hand, in 
 1609, or thereby, in the garden at New Place, a mulberry tree, which grew to a goodly size, 
 and produced abundant fruit. " The planting of this tree by Shakespeare," says Malone, " is 
 as well authenticated as anything of that nature can be. The Rev. Mr. Davenport informed 
 me that Mr. Hugh Taylor, the father of his clerk, who was in 1790 eighty-five years old, and 
 an alderman of Warwick, told him that he lived, when a boy, at the next house to New Place ; 
 that his family had inhabited the house for almost three hundred years ; that it was transmitted 
 from father to son, during the last and present century, that this tree (of the fruit of which he 
 had often eaten in his younger days, some of its branches hanging over his father's garden) was 
 planted by Shakespeare ; and that till this was planted there was no mulberry tree in that 
 neighbourhood." A similar tradition was preserved in the Clopton family; and in 1742 Sir 
 Hugh Clopton entertained the two celebrated actors, Garrick and MackUn, under the flourish- 
 ing and time-honoured branches. The aforesaid Vicar of Frodsham, however, the Rev. 
 Francis Gastrell, took a dislike to the tree, on account of its popularity, which exposed his 
 reverence to frequent requests to permit strangers to see it. This interruption to his own ease 
 was intolerable ; so the leaden-souled priest, who had never drawn one breath of inspiration in 
 the garden where Shakespeare had walked, ordered the tree, in the year 1756, when it was at 
 its full growth and of remarkable beauty, to be cut down and cleft into pieces for firewood. 
 When the assertion is made that a man may do what he likes with his own, it may be well to 
 remember that the slave-owner lashes the negro to within an inch of his life, and that the Rev. 
 Francis Gastrell cut down Shakespeare's mulberry tree and demolished his house. The New 
 Place property was, in 1862, purchased by a public subscription, due to the exertions of Mr. 
 Hall i well, and placed in charge of the Stratford corporation. 
 
 After his purchase of New Place and the adjacent lands, Shakespeare's relationships with 
 Stratford became closer and more constant. There is evidence that he at one time thought of 
 buying a messuage at Shottery, in remembrance, perhaps, of his youthful days of love-making 
 there. He farmed some land in the immediate vicinity of Stratford, which was probably 
 managed for him by his brother Gilbert. The books of the local Burgh Court show that decrees 
 were once or twice issued at Shakespeare's instance for the price of corn and other farm produce 
 owing to him. In the year 1 596 application was made to the Herald's College for a grant of a 
 coat of arms to John Shakespeare ; and there can be little doubt that this was done at the 
 instigation of his eldest son. The grant was not obtained till 1599. It bears in gremio that the 
 reasons for conceding it were that John Shakespeare's ' ' parentes and late antecessors " (above 
 which word is written " grandfather") had done " faithful and valiant service to the late most 
 prudent prince, King Henry VII.," for which they had by him been " advanced and rewarded"; 
 that since that time they had continued in these parts, " being of good reputation and credit," 
 and that the said John Shakespeare had married " the daughter and one of the heirs of Robert 
 Arden of Wilmcote, in the said county, esquire." In consideration of these premises, " and for 
 the encouragement of his posterity," a shield and coat of arms were assigned. The arms of the 
 Shakespeare family were, in a field of gold upon a bend sable, a spear of the first, the point 
 upward, headed argent ; and for a crest or cognizance, a falcon with his wings displayed, stand- 
 ing on a wreath of his colours, supporting a spear headed or steeled silver. These arms were 
 impaled upon another escutcheon with the ancient arms of Arden of Wilmscote, and the whole 
 were surmounted by the motto, " Non sanz droict" 
 
 It was probably not long after the year 1604 that Shakespeare transferred his headquarters 
 from London to Stratford. In that year his name still appears among the players of the King's 
 company ; but he is not known to have acted after 1603, when he was one of the actors in Ben 
 Jonson's " Sejanus," which was produced at the Globe in that year ; he did not perform in the 
 same author's " Volpone," which was brought out in 1605. In 1604 the London theatres were 
 closed for a time on account of the plague, and it is likely that Shakespeare then went to Strat- 
 ford. In a diary written in 1662 by the Rev. John Ward, Vicar at Stratfocd, the author says, 
 " Mr. Shakespeare frequented the plays all his younger time, but in his older days he lived at 
 
xxxiv BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Stratford, and supplied the stage with two plays every year, and for that had an allowance so 
 large that he spent at the rate of ^"1,000 a year." 
 
 Some events which took place in the Shakespearian circle early in the seventeenth century 
 must have occasioned alternate pain and pleasure. In September, 1601, his father died ; in 
 June, 1607, his daughter Susannah married Dr. John Hall ; on the last day of the same year he 
 buried, at the Church of St. Saviour's, Southwark, his youngest brother Edmond, who died at 
 the early age of twenty-seven, after a brief career as an actor ; in February, 1608, he became a 
 grandfather by the birth of a daughter to Mrs. Hall ; in the September following he lost his 
 mother, Mary Arden or Shakespeare ; on 3rd February, 1612, his brother Gilbert, and on 4th 
 February, 1613, his brother Richard, were buried at Stratford. 
 
 Among the plays which Shakespeare wrote between the years 1605 and 1613 are generally 
 included " King Lear," " Macbeth," "Julius Caesar," " Antony and Cleopatra," " Coriolanus," 
 " Troilus andCressida," "Cymbeline," " The Winter's Tale," "Othello," and "The Tempest." 
 It was believed by Thomas Campbell, De Quincey, and others, that " The Tempest " was his 
 last play ; and this would, as Campbell says, give it "a sort of sacredness." Campbell further 
 suggests that Shakespeare may be regarded as in some sort typified in Prospero, the potent and 
 benevolent magician ; and De Quincey, following up the same idea, conjectures that it was with 
 a prophetic feeling of the end that Shakespeare makes Prospero " solemnly and for ever renounce 
 his mysterious functions, symbolically break his enchanter's wand, and declare that he will bury 
 his books, his science, and his secrets 
 
 ' Deeper than did ever plummet sound.' " 
 
 It is not within the scope of the present biographical sketch to enter into any critical analysis 
 of Shakespeare's separate plays; but if " The Tempest " was written in his forty-ninth year, it 
 affords the completest evidence that his fancy retained all its freshness. None of his creations 
 are more original than Caliban and Ariel, none more beautiful than Miranda, none more lofty 
 than Prospero. It is difficult to say that " The Tempest " is finer, as a romantic drama, than 
 " As You Like It," " Cymbeline," or " The Winter's Tale," but it takes rank with these, and 
 is as luminous with poetry as any of them. 
 
 The last eight or nine years of Shakespeare's life were probably among the happiest which he 
 spent on this "bank and shoal of time." His mind was matured, his passions were softened, 
 the fever of expectation was over ; he had won his position, he had fulfilled the mission which 
 the Almiguty had assigned to him. And with how much tranquil earnestness had he done his 
 work ! He had involved himself in no hatreds ; stood aloof from all brawls and cavillings. 
 Party spirit was unknown to him ; polemics were distasteful. His works betray neither political 
 nor religious bias ; yet they teach, with the force almost of inspiration, the duties we owe to 
 society, and the homage that is due to religion. The advantages and the disadvantages of the 
 democratic, the aristocratic, and the monarchical elements, both in a state and in men, are treated 
 by him with the utmost impartiality. He fights a noble battle against class prejudices. He 
 delights in showing sympathy for the poor and the destitute, and " he makes the mighty of the 
 earth, who have forgotten poverty, remember it in their own adversity." His patriotic love for 
 " our sea- walled garden," 
 
 " This precious stone set in the silver sea," 
 
 and the grand words in which he has given expression to the sentiment, have quickened the 
 pulses of hundreds of thousands of his countrymen. His religion is catholic, not sectarian. He 
 teaches that the service of God is above the service of all lords and princes. He never alludes 
 to the great truths of Christianity except with the most profound reverence. When Angelo says 
 to Isabella 
 
 " Your brother is a forfeit of the law," 
 the answer is, 
 
 "Alas! alasl 
 
 Why, all the souls that were, were forfeit once, 
 
 And HE that might the 'vantage best have took. 
 
 Found out the remedy. How would you be 
 
 If He which is the top of judgment should 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. xxxv 
 
 But judge you as you are? O, think on that, 
 And mercy then will breathe within your lips, 
 Like man new made." 
 IBM >B|#0 A : ,iA\\vs: - .ttebf i-nA -,%nwj 
 
 " Shakespeare contented himself," says his loving and intelligent commentator, Mr. Cowden 
 Clarke, * c with the simple mission of teaching mankind a cheerful reliance upon the mercy and 
 benevolence of our good God ; to be just and kind to all men ; to seek out the good in things 
 evil, and not, after the new philosophy, to ferret out whatever of evil may lurk in things good. 
 He strove to make men wiser and better, and therefore happier." 
 
 May we not imagine him once more among the woods round Stratford, or upon the turfy up- 
 lands, weaving into shape the scenes of " Macbeth " or "Julius Caesar," or filling his imagina- 
 tion with "Cleopatra," " Coriolanus," or "Othello"? May we not follow him home to his 
 wife and children, all unconscious of his fine frenzies, his lofty meditations, but looking on with 
 smiles as he takes his granddaughter in his arms, and remembering, perhaps, his lines, 
 
 " Thy grandsire lovM thee well ; 
 Many a time he danc'd thee on his knee, 
 Sung thee asleep, his loving breast thy pillow ; 
 Many a matter hath he told to thee 
 Meet and agreeing with thy infancy?" 
 
 In such scenes as these may we not fancy him asking himself the question, 
 
 " Hath not old custom made this life more sweet 
 Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods 
 More free from peril than the envious court ? " 
 
 Or saying to some pleasant neighbour, 
 
 "So we'll live, " '.( 
 
 And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh 
 At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues 
 Talk of court news ; and we '11 talk with them too, 
 Who loses and who wins ; who 'sin, who's out ; 
 And take upon's the mystery of things, 
 As if we were God's spies ? " 
 
 During the four last years of Shakespeare's life few traces of him can be discovered. In 1614 
 there was a great fire in Stratford, which, aided by a strong wind, consumed, in less than two 
 hours, fifty-four dwelling-houses ; but New Place was not one of them. On the loth of 
 February, 1616, which was to be the year in which he was to be withdrawn from the world, 
 his younger daughter, Judith, was married to Mr. Thomas Quiney. This event, with other 
 considerations, probably led to his making his Will, which was executed on the 25th March 
 following ; he being then " in perfect health and memory." 
 
 His Will is one of the very few private and personal writings of Shakespeare which have come 
 down. The following particulars of the document are worthy of note : First, The devout 
 spirit in which it commences," I commend my soul into the hands of God my Creator, hop- 
 ing and assuredly believing, through the only merits of Jesus Christ my Saviour, to be made 
 partaker of life everlasting ; and my body to the earth whereof it is made." Second, The be- 
 quest of a handsome marriage portion to his daughter Judith, and a further bequest of the like 
 amount in the event of her surviving three years from the date of the Will, which she did. 
 Third, A legacy of twenty pounds (equal to about ^100 of present money) to his sister Joan 
 Hart, together with all his wearing apparel, and the house in which she dwelt. Fourth, Small 
 legacies to each of Joan Hart's three sons. Fifth, All his plate, except his " broad silver and 
 gilt bowl," to his grand-daughter Elizabeth Hall. Sixth, A legacy of a sum of money to the 
 poor of Stratford ; of his sword to Mr. Thomas Combe, who was then in his twenty-seventh 
 year, and was the son of an old acquaintance, John Combe ; and of ten small sums to ten 
 intimate friends, " to buy them rings," in memoriam, among which friends were Hamlet or 
 Hamnet Sadler, who had been godfather to Shakespeare's only son, William Walker, to whom 
 
xxxvi BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Shakespeare had himself been godfather, Anthony Nash, the father of Mr. Thomas Nash, who 
 afterwards married the poet's granddaughter, and " my fellows," that is, his brother actors, 
 John Hemings, Richard Burbage, and Henry Condell. Seventh, A bequest to his daughter 
 Susannah Hall of " that capital messuage or tenement" called the New Place, together with 
 other two tenements in Henley Street, and " all my barns, stables, orchards, gardens, lands, 
 tenements, and hereditaments whatsoever," in Stratford-upon-Avon, Old Stratford, Bishopton, 
 and Welcombe, and the messuage or tenement " in the Blackfriars in London, near the Ward- 
 robe," and to the oldest lawful son of her body, whom failing, the next oldest in regular suc- 
 cession ; whom all failing, to his granddaughter Elizabeth Hall, and the heirs male of her body; 
 whom failing, to his daughter Judith, and the heirs male of her body ; whom failing, to his heirs 
 whatsoever. Eighth, A legacy to his wife of his " second-best bed with the furniture." Ninth, 
 A legacy of his " broad silver gilt bowl " to his daughter Judith ; and, Tenth, A bequest of all 
 the rest of his "goods, chattels, leases, plate, jewels, and household stuff whatsoever," after 
 payment of his debts, and legacies, and funeral expenses, to his son-in-law, John Hall, who, 
 along with his wife Susannah, are appointed executors. 
 
 The leading feature of this Will is the desire manifested in it to found a family by a strict 
 entail of almost the whole real estate in favour, first, of the heirs male of his elder, and, next, of 
 his younger daughter, his only son having predeceased. This desire, however, was frustrated 
 by the death of Susannah Hall with no issue except Elizabeth, who died childless, and by all 
 Judith Quiney's children predeceasing her, so that the estates were scattered after the second 
 generation. There is another peculiarity of the Will which has attracted even more attention 
 namely, that it bequeath es to his wife only a second-best bed, and that, as originally written 
 out, she was not mentioned in it at all, the bequest being introduced by an ex post facto inter- 
 lineation. Malone drew unpleasant conclusions from this, which, however, seem groundless. 
 Mr. Charles Knight has pointed out that the wife was entitled to dower, and was thus amply 
 provided for by the ordinary operation of the law. Her provision would be all the greater from 
 the fact that, with a single exception, Shakespeare's estates were not copyhold, but freehold. A 
 handsome life-interest thus accrued to his widow, which rendered any testamentary bequest un- 
 necessary. It was therefore solely from an affectionate desire to show that she was not out of 
 the testator's mind that she was put down as a legatee. The best bed was one of those chattels 
 which the law gives to the heir along with the mansion-house ; but the second-best bed could 
 be disponad as the owner desired. And who knows, as Steevens suggests, but that it was far 
 more valued by Shakespeare and Anne than the newer heirloom ? Who knows but that thirty 
 years before it had been their bridal bed ? Both Knight and Halliwell have shown that in the 
 Wills of many men of substance executed about the same period, nothing but a very trifling 
 legacy was bequeathed to their wives, it being notorious that they were well and richly provided 
 for otherwise. Had Anne Hathaway been little regarded either by her husband or her children, 
 had she dwelt " but in the suburbs of their good pleasure," she would not have been buried 
 beside Shakespeare when she died, seven years after him, nor would a loving inscription, in 
 which she is specially designed as the " wife of William Shakespeare," been placed upon her 
 tombstone by her daughters. We may fairly, therefore, cherish the belief that he who wrote 
 "Julius Caesar " could say with Brutus, 
 
 " You are my true and honourable wife ; 
 As dear to me as are the ruddy drops 
 That visit my sad heart." 
 
 Shakespeare had no old age. He had barely reached his fifty-third year when he died. 
 Within a month of his decease he had declared himself to be "in perfect health and memory, 
 God be praised ! " What his last illness was, or how it was contracted, remains unknown. 
 There is an apocryphal tradition that his friends Ben Jonson and the poet Drayton, who was 
 afterwards deemed worthy of a tomb in Westminster Abbey, had come upon a visit, and that 
 Shakespeare's hospitality so overflowed that a fever supervened, which ran a short course to a 
 fatal termination. This may or may not be true. Had the world known then, so well as it 
 knows now, whom it was losing, a thousand chroniclers would have recorded the minutest par- 
 ticulars of the parting scene. As matters are, all that we know is the bare fact that he expired 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. xxxvii 
 
 at New Place on the 23rd April, 1616, and was interred on the 25th in the chancel of Stratford 
 Church. " That church," says Washington Irving, " stands on the banks of the Avon, on an 
 embowered point, and separated by adjoining gardens from the suburbs of the town. The 
 situation is quiet and retired, and the river runs murmuring at the foot of the churchyard, and 
 the elms which grow upon its banks droop their branches into its clear bosom. Small birds 
 have built their nests among the cornices and fissures of the walls, and keep up a continual 
 flutter and chirping, and rooks are sailing and cawing about its lofty gray spire." It is there 
 that Shakespeare " quiet consummation " hath. 
 
 A flat stone covers his grave, bearing the well-known inscription, 
 
 " Good friend, for Jesus' sake, forbear 
 To dig the dust enclosed here ; 
 Blest be the man that spares these stones 
 And curst be he that moves my bones." 
 
 Whether these lines were or were not Shakespeare's, they are at all events of an ancient date ; 
 for Dugdale quotes them in 1656 as his epitaph, cut on "a plain free-s:one, underneath which 
 his body is buried." Some writers have characterized them as doggerel ; but the author of the 
 Sketch Book says they " have in them something extremely awful, and show that solicitude about 
 the quiet of the grave which seems natural to fine sensibilities and thoughtful minds." They 
 had the merit, at any rate, of achieving their purpose, since they have secured for his native 
 place the permanent possession of his remains. 
 
 A few years after his death, and before 1623, a commemorative monument was erected on 
 the north wall of the chancel, near the grave. The design evinces some taste ; but the poetical 
 inscription, which is partly in Latin and partly in English, possesses little merit. The most 
 interesting portion of the monument is a bust of Shakespeare, the size of life, formed out of a 
 block of soft stone. The sculptor was one Gerard Johnson, a " tomb-maker," and contem- 
 porary of Shakespeare. The late Sir Francis Chantrey was of opinion that Johnson had 
 probably modelled the features from a cast of Shakespeare's face taken after death. Such a 
 cast may have been procured by his son-in-law, Dr. Hall, who was in London within a few 
 weeks of his death, and may then have placed the cast in Johnson's hands. It is to be feared, 
 however, that Johnson's knowledge of his art was not great. He painted over the whole work, 
 and produced a coloured image rather than a piece of sculpture. The hands and face were of 
 flesh-colour, the eyes of a light hazel, the hair and beard auburn, the doublet scarlet, and the 
 gown or tabard black ; the upper part of the cushion on which the arms rest was green, the 
 under half crimson, and the tassels gilt. Those colours all faded in the course of time ; they 
 were renovated in 1749; but in 1793 tne entire bust was covered with one or more coats of 
 white paint, which destroyed its original character, and altered the expression of the face. The 
 colours have since been carefully restored. This bust is the earliest, and, on the whole, the 
 most authentic portrait which exists ; and there is an individuality in the features, and in 
 the unmistakable forehead, which leads to the belief that it presents a general, though defective 
 resemblance of the great original. 
 
 There is only one other well-established contemporary likeness of Shakespeare, and that is 
 the print by Martin Droeshout, prefixed to the folio edition of 1623. The original engraving 
 was poorly executed ; and as impressions were taken from the plate for three subsequent 
 editions, the copies now commonly met with are much deteriorated. Considerable interest, 
 however, attaches to them, when it is recollected that the print was brought out by and for 
 persons who had seen Shakespeare, and who would have rejected it if altogether unlike. Ben 
 Jonson so far attests its accuracy in some lines which were printed under it, beginning, 
 
 igure that thou here see'st put 
 5 for gentle Shakespeare cut : 
 ein the graver had a strife 
 
 This fij 
 
 It was: 
 
 Wherein the graver had a str 
 
 With nature, to outdo the life." 
 
 There is a good deal of resemblance between this engraving and the bust, a fact which corrobo- 
 rates the authenticity of both. Various other Shakespearian portraits have from time to time 
 
xxxvill -BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 been brought forward as genuine ; but these have in no instance been proved to have been 
 executed from the life, and their value is consequently extremely problematical. 
 
 Cervantes and Shakespeare were taken from the world within ten days of each other the 
 former on the 23d of April, new style, and the latter on the same date, old style. The greatest 
 genius whom the authors of Don Quixote and King Lear left behind them was John Milton ; 
 but he was only seven years of age when they passed away. Another remarkable man was 
 approaching maturity, through whose instrumentality events, involving both good and evil, 
 were preparing for England. The long succession of her kings was to be broken, her con- 
 stitutional monarchy was to be overthrown, and a commonwealth was to be set up on its ruins. 
 Oliver Cromwell, however, was entering at college on the very day of Shakespeare's death ; 
 and no dream of coming regicide and civil war disturbed the poet's dying hours, or mingled 
 with the grief of those who surrounded his deathbed, and in whose breasts the predominant 
 sentiment must have been, 
 
 
 " This was the noblest Roman of them all. 
 His life was gentle ; and the elements 
 
 So mix'd in him that nature might stand up 
 And say to all the world, This was a man ! 
 
 bet us not think that he died " an untimely death." Who had ever done so much in fifty- 
 two years ? He gave expression to as many high and remarkable thoughts in that time as would 
 have graced and dignified a hundred ordinary lives, protracted to the longest span. No fruit 
 could have been expected from "the golden autumn of such a mind " superior to what its spring 
 and summer had produced. If wisdom be often found under " the silver livery of advised age," 
 it was equally found in Shakespeare's unblanched manhood. It was better that he sank beneath 
 the horizon at once, like the broad-orbed sun, than that he should have waned into gradual 
 dimness. If the spirits of the departed are cognizant, as we fondly trust they are, of the senti- 
 ments which animate the " breathers of this world," Shakespeare's may well be filled with 
 profoundest love and gratitude in the perception of how much it was permitted to contribute 
 towards the elevation and refinement of the world. 
 
 To the young, who may yet be unacquainted with his works, this Volume will be as a 
 newly-discovered mine, filled with inconceivable riches. To the more advanced it will afford 
 the means of reverting again and again to old-established loves and friendships, which only grow 
 the stronger with every fresh opportunity of renewed intercourse. The absence of notes and 
 commentaries need not be regretted. These, if wanted, can be found elsewhere in super-abun- 
 dance ; but Samuel Johnson, erroneous as many of his own commentaries were, never gave 
 sounder advice than when he recommended that they who wished to become fully acquainted 
 with the powers of Shakespeare, and who desired to feel the highest pleasure that the drama can 
 give, should read every play from the first scene to the last, "with utter negligence of all his 
 commentators." When fancy is once on the wing, as the Doctor truly says, it should not stoop 
 at correction or explanation : when the attention is strongly engaged with Shakespeare, let it 
 not turn aside to the name of Theobald or of Pope. Particular passages may be cleared by 
 notes ; but the general effect is weakened by the interruption. Obscurities and niceties may be 
 investigated when time permits and inclination prompts ; but in the beginning and in the end it 
 is best and safest to allow Shakespeare to speak for himself. 
 
 
-1* 
 
 SHAKESPEARE AND BACON. 
 
 ' ;;:1 ' .riOlICjSOnOD r -<' iHinf l.:!lJJiUITtifl 9ft| i/'^r.Kijjj 
 
 IT has occurred to me that the opinion of a player (for Shakespeare was both player and play- 
 wright) may have some interest in the controversy which seems to make a perennial appeal to 
 the curiosity of the public. I am encouraged to express this opinion by Judge Allen, of Boston, 
 who, at the end of his able treatise on " The Bacon -Shakespeare Question," does me the honour 
 of summing up the debate in some words of my own. " When the Baconians can show that Ben 
 Jonson was either a fool or a knave, or that the whole world of players and playwrights at that 
 time was in a conspiracy to palm off on the ages the most astounding cheat in history, they will 
 be worthy of serious attention." 
 
 I submit that this is exactly how the matter stands. Has any attempt been made to give 
 even the semblance of reason to the assumption that Bacon induced the whole world of players 
 and playwrights, and all his contemporaries who had relations with the theatre men like 
 Southampton and Herbert, and the officials of the Court, who were brought into constant and 
 close contact with the players to bolster up the fiction that Shakespeare wrote the masterpieces 
 for which he had the credit and the profit, and to keep the secret so close that nobody breathed a 
 word of it, nobody kept any memorandum of it, and everybody carried it to the grave? 
 Shakespeare was a man whose rapid advancement had excited bitter jealousies. He was 
 stigmatized by Robert Greene as the "Johannes Factotum" who was monopolizing the play- 
 wright's business. He was " the upstart crow, beautified with our feathers;" that is to say, the 
 jealous Greene saw him handling, re-writing, and vastly improving plays which, according to the 
 theatrical custom of the time, were wholly at the disposal of the manager who had bought them. 
 Young Shakespeare was called in to revise these works, and Greene cried aloud to all the 
 supplanted that such presumption was not to be borne ; and why was it not proclaimed then, that 
 Shakespeare could not write, that he was virtually illiterate, and that the plays he presumed to 
 turn from commonplace to genius were conveyed by him to Bacon, who laid the magic spell upon 
 them ? What spell did Bacon employ to prevent Greene from declaring the truth ? I am aware 
 that Bacon is said to have disclosed in the wondrous cipher that he wrote the plays of Greene. 
 This makes the complication still more entertaining. First, Bacon writes Greene ; then he beautifies 
 Shakespeare with Greene's feathers and makes Greene very angry ; but he will not let Greene 
 denounce Shakespeare as an impostor, for Greene is himself an impostor. Greene is entitled to 
 our sympathies, because it is obvious that in his name Bacon wrote poor stuff, whereas in 
 Shakespeare's name he wrote magnificently. Why this wanton injustice to poor Greene? The 
 cipher might tell us ; but this point is beneath its notice ; and when you consider that its chief 
 business is to stagger us with the revelation that Bacon was the " legitimate son of Queen 
 Elizabeth," you cannot expect more light on anybody so trivial as Greene. 
 
 The only explanation I can conjecture is that when Bacon suspected any writer as a likely 
 man to find Shakespeare out, he proceeded to bribe that person with his multifarious talents. I 
 cannot fit this process exactly to Greene's case, but who can fit any parts of this amazing story / 
 Still, Bacon is alleged to have written, in addition to Shakespeare and Greene, the works of Ben 
 Jonson and Marlowe, Spenser's "Faerie Queene," and Burton's "Anatomy of Melancholy." 
 This is pretty well, but it is not enough. There were Shakespeare's collaborators in his 
 historical plays to be reckoned with ; so Bacon must have done the collaboration himself or 
 silenced the collaborators. There was Fletcher, for example, whose hand is perceptible in 
 " King Henry VIII." To square Fletcher, Bacon had also to square Beaumont ; so we had 
 better add the works of Beaumont and Fletcher to Bacon's account. If he did not bribe all these 
 people in this fashion, how else could he have secured their complicity ? He had no money even 
 for his own needs. He had very little influence for the greater part of his career. Although he 
 was the "legitimate son of Queen Elizabeth," his unnatural mother showed not the smallest 
 
xl SHAKESPEARE AND BACON. 
 
 desire to advance his interests. What could he do, then, for the various poets and dramatists 
 who were privy to his authorship of Shakespeare, except write their plays and poems ? Is it 
 probable that they would have held their tongues on such terms ? 
 
 The Baconian theory requires our belief in a confederacy, the like of which never entered the 
 wildest imagination. All the plots in history pale beside it. How vain and childlike seem all 
 the secret societies compared with this brotherhood, which, to oblige Bacon, foisted Shakespeare 
 on the centuries as the supreme genius of our literature ! I don't think the Baconians have fully 
 grasped the magnitude of their own conception. They are still apt to suggest that Shakespeare 
 was very little known to his contemporaries. A critic in "The National Review" for August, 
 1902, tells us "there is not a rag of evidence that Shakespeare could write at all;" whereas 
 there is abundant evidence of what Webster, his fellow-dramatist, called his "copious industry." 
 His first editors, Heminge and Condell, his friends and fellow-actors, report that he wrote almost 
 without a blot. Ben Jonson, repeating that testimony, expresses the wish that Shakespeare had 
 blotted a good deal. Jonson thought the greater poet had too much facility and too little art. 
 We are asked to believe that these opinions were designed to deceive the world, that Heminge 
 and Condell deliberately lied, that Jonson blamed Shakespeare's fluency the better to hide the 
 fact that he could not write a line ; that, when Jonson said Shakespeare had " small Latin and 
 less Greek," this was to prevent the world from learning that Shakespeare never went to school, 
 knew neither Greek nor Latin, could barely scrawl an illegible signature, and did not know the 
 correct spelling of his own name. The name is spelt in the municipal records of Stratford in 
 sixteen ways ; therefore the Corporation of Stratford in those days was an illiterate body, and the 
 contemporary records were written by Bacon. Sir Walter Raleigh spelt his name in five ways ; 
 therefore he was illiterate, and Bacon wrote his works. No writer of that period appears to have 
 any fixed spelling for his name ; therefore Bacon wrote all the Elizabethan literature. But he 
 sometimes spelt his name with a "k;" whence springs a horrid suspicion that he may have been 
 illiterate, and that we have yet to learn who wrote Bacon. 
 
 Is this a whit more extravagant than the whole basis of the Baconian theory ? The moment it 
 is touched at any point it discloses the grossest absurdities. I defy any man to give me a 
 coherent account of the conceivable circumstances in which Bacon acquired that mastery of the 
 stage without which the Shakespearean drama could not have been written. The plays were not 
 evolved by a recluse in a closet. Some were based on earlier pieces never published, and 
 belonging solely to the theatres. How did Bacon come by them ? The plays were frequently 
 altered, and this must have needed close consultation with the players. How did Bacon manage 
 that ? How did he manage the collaboration with other writers in the historical dramas ? Many 
 of the dramatists then were actors, and one of Shakespeare's most striking qualities is consummate 
 stagecraft. What did Bacon know about the stage ? His life is as well known to us as the life 
 of any statesman or philosopher of our own time ; and where is there a particle of evidence that 
 he took even the smallest interest in the theatre ? You may be the mightiest genius that ever 
 breathed, but if you have not studied the art of writing for the stage, you will never write a good 
 acting play. Of this technique there is no more striking example than "Othello." It is a 
 masterpiece of pure exposition, which could have been achieved only by a man who had spent 
 years in the atmosphere of the theatre. The Baconians cannot grasp the elementary fact that the 
 Shakespearean plays were written exclusively for the stage by a playwright who was in the very 
 centre and heart of theatrical life, and not by an inspired outsider. The inspired outsider may 
 have an admirable story admirably written, but without any knowledge of the stage how is he to 
 get his characters on and off? You see the craft of Shakespeare in his exits and his entrances. 
 The knocking at the gate in " Macbeth," after the murder of Duncan, is one of those dramatic 
 incidents that hold you breathless. It is the stroke of fate, heralding the entrance of Macduff, 
 and the disclosure of the crime. An essay might be written on Shakespeare's exits alone. You 
 remember Shylock, when he leaves his house in Jessica's charge, and murmurs, with no suspicion 
 of treachery : 
 
 " Fast bind, fast find ; f> 
 A proverb never stale in thrifty mind." 
 
 That takes him off the stage effectively. Equally characteristic is lago's exit : 
 
 " This is the night 
 That either makes me or fordoes me quite." 
 
SHAKESPEARE AND BACON. xli 
 
 No actor ever had reason to complain that Shakespeare sent him tamely off, or brought him 
 feebly on. Apart from the genius of the poet, you have the irresistible evidence that Shakespeare 
 was a great dramatic constructor, who knew the stage as intimately as a watchmaker knows the 
 mechanism of a watch. How could Bacon acquire this experience ? 
 
 Shakespeare acquired it because he was an actor, and the hand of the actor is visible in all his 
 dramatic work. The plays are full of images drawn from the player's art. Laborious efforts 
 have been made to show that only Bacon could have known the law, philosophy, and natural 
 history that abound in Shakespeare's illustrations ; but how could Bacon have known or cared for 
 the letter and spirit of the actor's calling, which are still more conspicuous? These meet us 
 at every turn. A mimic play within a play is one of the dramatist's favourite devices. He 
 employs it in " Hamlet" with evident relish. He makes Hamlet a born actor, and an accom- 
 plished dramatic critic, whose dissertations on the art of acting and on theatrical affairs have a 
 point that must have come much nearer home than Elsinore. Here is a passage between Hamlet 
 and Horatio : 
 
 " Would not this, sir, and a forest of feathers if the rest of my fortunes turn Turk with me with 
 two Provincial roses on my razed shoes, get me a fellowship in a cry of players, sir ? 
 Half a share. 
 A whole one, I." 
 
 This, as Judge Allen says, " refers to the custom of paying players not by fixed sums, but in 
 proportion to the receipts." " Haifa share !" Even if Bacon had been acquainted with such a 
 custom, what possible interest could it have had for him ? Why should he have introduced it 
 into a dialogue? Not "Hamlet" alone, but all the plays are charged with these theatrical 
 associations. There is an apology in " Henry V." for the limited resources of the stage properties 
 for representing the field of Agincourt. This comes naturally from Shakespeare, but why should 
 it trouble Bacon? In " Romeo and Juliet" we are reminded of the time-limit of the play " the 
 two hours' traffic of our stage." What had Bacon to do witk such a detail? Shakespeare often 
 remarks upon the characteristics of audiences. Thus in " King Henry VIII." : 
 
 " There are the youths that thunder at a play-house, and fight for bitten apples ; that no audience, 
 but the Tribulation of Tower Hill, or the Limbs of Limehouse, their dear brothers, are able to endure." 
 
 Again in the same play : 
 
 " 'Tis ten to one this play can never please 
 All that are here : some come to take their ease 
 And sleep an act or two ; but those we fear 
 We have frighted with our trumpets." 
 
 These genial observations are natural to an actor, and especially to an actor-manager ; but is it 
 likely that Bacon would have bantered the somnolent pittites, or remarked the kindred spirits 
 between the lads of Tower Hill and the "limbs of Limehouse?" Would he have rebuked the 
 public taste for child actors in " Hamlet"? 
 
 "There is, sir, an eyrie of children, little eyases, that cry out on the top of the question, and 
 most tyrannically clapped for it : these are now the fashion." 
 
 Here are topics of the theatre in theatrical parlance ; but in the so-called parallels of thought and 
 expression between Shakespeare and Bacon they make no figure. There is not the smallest 
 reason to suppose that Bacon ever heard of them. The interests of the theatrical profession had 
 no concern for him. He was not the man to write 
 
 " Good my lord, will you see the players well bestowed? Do you hear, let them be well used ; for 
 they are the aostract and brief chronicles of the time : after your death you were better have a bad 
 epitaph than their ill report while you live." 
 
 It is this constant pre-occupation with the actor's work, vicissitudes, merits, and shortcomings, 
 which run through Shakespeare's imagery. Macbeth figures life as "a walking shadow," and 
 man as the player who "struts and frets his hour upon the stage." "All the world's a stage, 
 and the men and women merely players." Hamlet ma^ks the player's simulated grief for 
 
 are 
 
xlii SHAKESPEARE AND BACON. 
 
 Hecuba, and asks what he would do " had he the motive and the cue for passion that I have." 
 The cue is a perpetual symbol in Shakespeare, but not in Bacon : 
 
 " Had you not come upon your cue, my lord." 
 " Now we speak upon our cue, and our voice is imperial." 
 " ' Deceiving me ' is Thisby's cue : she is to enter now," 
 " You speak all your part at once, cues and all." 
 Who but an actor-playwright would harp upon the cue like this ? 
 
 " When my cue comes, call me, and I will answer." 
 
 Assuredly Bacon does not answer. Look where you will, these theatrical allusions spring to the 
 eye. Take " Coriolanus": 
 
 " It is a part that I shall blush in acting." 
 
 "You have put me now to such a part, which 
 Never I shall discharge to the life." 
 
 " Come, come, we'll prompt you." 
 
 I have forgo, my '^^X 
 Even to a lull disgrace." 
 
 In " King Richard II." we have this signal tribute to the actor who is not dull : 
 
 "As in a theatre, the eyes of men, 
 After a well-graced actor leaves the stage, 
 Are idly bent on him that enters next, 
 Thinking his prattle to be tedious ; 
 Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes 
 Did^cowl on gentle Richard." 
 
 Bacon was a historian. Is this the kind of parallel that would be likely to strike his mind in 
 commemorating the misfortunes of a king ? 
 
 In the technicalities of the stage Shakespeare is always accurate ; but when he employs legal 
 terms, he is often wrong. In geography he gave Bohemia a coast, much to the distress of Ben 
 Jonson. In navigation, he starts a ship from the gates of Milan. His knowledge of law was 
 supposed to be wonderful by Lord Campbell, but does not commend itself to Judge Allen. I 
 understand that the trial scene in "The Merchant of Venice" bears no resemblance to any 
 judicial procedure that ever was recorded in legal annals. It is evident that Shakespeare did not 
 care a jot for judicial procedure, and that the law which authorized Shylock to cut his pound of 
 Antonio's flesh, but forbade him to shed one drop of blood, was not sanctioned by the judgment 
 of Bacon. Campbell was not at the pains to discover how much law was known to Shakespeare's 
 contemporaries in playwriting. Judge Allen shows that legal terms abounded in ail the 
 Elizabethan plays, and that Shakespeare's contemporaries used them even more freely than he 
 did. Ben Jonson, Middleton, Chapman, Massinger, Peele, Wilkins, Webster, Sir Thomas 
 Wyat, Dekker, Barry, and Spenser, all made use of legal phraseology that is not to be found in 
 Shakespeare. Are these writers to be taken simply as emanations of Bacon's prodigal genius ? 
 If not, what becomes of the hypothesis that Bacon must have written Shakespeare because 
 Shakespeare so often quoted the jargon of lawyers ? There is no more reason for the contention 
 that Shakespeare's mind must be Bacon's because they have ideas and expressions in common. 
 Shakespeare was an original genius, but he was also a chartered borrower. He was the 
 microcosm of his time. He held Goethe's large views about plagiarism. Goethe said that Scott 
 borrowed from him, and that he borrowed from Scott, and he applauded both transactions. 
 Shakespeare seldom invented a plot, and it is impossible to measure the whole of his indebtedness 
 to old plays. Sometimes he quoted Marlowe with acknowledgment, and sometimes the 
 acknowledgment was omitted. It is clear that he had a great respect for Marlowe, who was his 
 model in several ways. If the Baconian enthusiasts explain this by assuming that Bacon wrote 
 both Shakespeare and Marlowe, they must produce something more rational than the cipher 
 story to account for the incredible connivance at Bacon's protean secrecy. In the first of Bacon's 
 
SHAKESPEARE AND BACON. xliii 
 
 essays, he uses the expression, "discoursing wits, for people of giddy minds." Ford writes 
 " discoursing brains " in exactly the same connection. Must Ford be added to the list of Bacon's 
 conquests? I am told that because Bacon uses the word "eager" in the sense employed by 
 Hamlet (" It is a nipping and an eager air "), therefore Hamlet must be Bacon's creation. Apply 
 this sort of reasoning to the whole Elizabethan drama, and you will involve the authorship of that 
 period in a tangle from which no cipher will rescue any intelligible fact. 
 
 What is the secret of Shakespeare's grasp of life ? Simply his prodigious faculty of assimila- 
 tion. He took in everything at the pores. He had no great scholarship. The translated 
 Plutarch served him so well that he turned whole passages into dramatic speeches without 
 changing a word. This, by the way, ought to prove that Plutarch wrote Shakespeare ; and if it 
 be urged that Plutarch had been dead some time, that cannot be a valid objection in the eyes of 
 people who believe that Bacon was the "legitimate son of Queen Elizabeth." They ought to 
 swallow anything, provided that it robs the hated Shakespeare of his glory. 
 
 But without great scholarship, and with absolutely careless notions about law and geography 
 and historical accuracy, Shakespeare had an immeasurable receptivity of all that concerned 
 human character. An oracle lately dismissed the idea that a great poet could have been a 
 poacher in his youth and could have consorted with topers. Where, then, did he study the 
 tavern company who flourish at the Boar's Head in Eastcheap? What gave him his relish for 
 the escapades of Prince Hal ? Why did he make Falstaff a hoary but lovable scamp ? Why did 
 he glory in Bardolph's nose ? What had Bacon to do with Bardolph's nose ? I have examined 
 the cipher for some information on this point, but the " legitimate son of Queen Elizabeth " never 
 mentions it. Sprung from the people, Shakespeare had the most intimate and sympathetic 
 knowledge of country folk and country life that our literature can show. His plays are a mine of 
 popular sayings, songs, customs, and legends. He uses profusely Warwickshire names, 
 Warwickshire traditions, Warwickshire places. Such names as De Bois, Jaques, Audrey, 
 Bardolph, Peto, were all among the patronymics of Stratford. Is it pretended that Bacon, 
 anywhere in his voluminous writings, exhibits this quality of sympathy, this interest in song and 
 story, this familiarity with Warwickshire ? What charm had folklore for the intellect which, at 
 the age of twenty-four, was addressing a great State paper to the Queen ? Is it possible to 
 conceive two master minds with characters, temperaments, and training so absolutely divergent 
 as those of Bacon and Shakespeare ? As Tennyson said, the philosopher who, in his Essay on 
 " Love," described it as a " weak passion " fit only for stage comedies, and deplored and despised 
 its influence over the world's noted men, could never have written " Romeo and Juliet." 
 And here I may say that nothing angered Tennyson more than the attempt to dethrone 
 Shakespeare. In his house at Freshwater on one occasion, when a guest had argued the 
 Baconian hypothesis, Tennyson rose from the table exclaiming, as he hastily left the room, "I 
 can't listen to you you, who would pluck the laurels from the brow of the dead Christ." It 
 was no more possible for Bacon's genius and endowment to produce Shakespeare than for 
 Shakespeare to write the "Novum Organum." 
 
 For, as the Baconians assiduously forget, Shakespeare was the greatest of poets, and Bacon 
 could not write a decent verse. Shakespeare was the supreme creator of dramatic character, and 
 Bacon has given us no more reason to suppose that he could create a character than that he could 
 construct a play. Shakespeare is mentioned in every contemporary list of poets, and Bacon is 
 mentioned as a poet only once. It is clear from this that he must have made some poetical 
 efforts, and that the critics had a poor opinion of them. This is not surprising when we consider 
 the sort of poetry that Bacon thought it worthy of his fame to bequeath to posterity. The year 
 before his death, when he was in possession of all his faculties, he wrote his metrical translations 
 of the Psalms. They do not contain a line that is above the level of Dr. Watts. 
 
 In " The Return from Parnassus," a play that was published in 1606, there is a scene between 
 Kemp and Burbage, two of Shakespeare's fellow-actors. They are represented as giving 
 dramatic hints to a couple of university students. Says Kemp : 
 
 " Few of the University pen plays well : they smell too much of that writer Ovid, and that writer 
 Metamorphosis, and talk too much of Proserpina and Jupiter. Why, here's our fellow Shakespeare 
 puts them all down ay, and Ben Tonson too. O that Ben Jonson is a pestilent fellow ! He brought 
 up Horace giving the poets a pill, but our fellow Shakespeare hath given him a purge that made him 
 bewray his credit." 
 
 This suggests that if any attempt had been made in that day to class Bacon's Watts-like Muse 
 
xliv SHAKESPEARE AND BACON. 
 
 with the inspiration of the " Sonnets," somebody would have been rude enough to give Bacon 
 "a purge." And how do the people who tell us glibly that Shakespeare was illiterate explain 
 this evidence that he was regarded as the master of the playwright's craft ? 
 
 Still more noteworthy is the absence of any plausible excuse for Bacon's fond preservation of 
 his worthless rhymes, and his neglect of the masterpieces that went by Shakespeare's name. 
 He gave the most minute directions for the publication of his literary remains. His secretary, 
 Dr. Rawley, was intrusted with this responsibility, and faithfully discharged it. Thirty years 
 after Bacon's death, Rawley published the first biography of his early patron, but said never a 
 word of Bacon's creation of Shakespeare. Why not ? As so many people were privy to the 
 glorious secret, Rawley must have known it. After thirty years there could have been no motive 
 for concealing it. Why was not Rawley instructed to make it known, an obviously surer way of 
 establishing Bacon's fame than burying it in a cipher? And where are the manuscripts? 
 Shakespeare left none, and this circumstance is pleaded against him by persons who do not take 
 the trouble to note that no other dramatic writer of the period left any manuscripts of plays. 
 Beaumont and Fletcher died in serene indifference to the fate of their works, which were not 
 published until they had been dead many years. Heywood left on record the reluctance with 
 which he consented to the publication of his own works. And we should remember there was 
 no Dramatic Authors' Society in those days for the protection of playwrights. The Elizabethan 
 dramatists could not see what they had to gain by publication. This may seem odd to us, but it 
 was an oddity clearly not confined to Shakespeare. Bacon, on the other hand, had an eye on 
 posterity. Hence his scrupulous care to secure a literary executor. Hence the certainty that if 
 he had written Shakespeare, he would have preserved the manuscripts. Hence the certainty that 
 he was not Shakespeare. 
 
 Bacon died in 1626, and the First Folio of Shakespeare was published in 1623. Now it is in 
 the First Folio that we have the blessed cipher. The theory is that Bacon edited the Folio in order 
 to introduce the cipher into the printing, but I ask any man who has ever written a book whether 
 he really believes that any author, in revising his proofs, would allow all the obscure passages 
 to go uncorrected? The First Folio, as Judge Allen says, is "a badly and carelessly printed 
 book ; " it is much more imperfect than some of the quartos that preceded it ; and yet we are 
 called upon to believe that Bacon either did not notice this, or did not care about it ! The 
 translations from the Psalms were accurately printed ; but the First Folio might go down to 
 posterity with all its imperfections on its head ! And it never occurred to Bacon to instruct his 
 faithful executor to prepare a revised edition ! 
 
 To any intelligent mind, unprejudiced by the nonsense about Shakespeare's illiteracy, it is 
 plain that the First Folio was not edited by its author, for the simple reason that the author was 
 dead. The players, Heminge and Condell, were not experts in editing, and they lamented that 
 Shakespeare had not lived for that task. That their testimony to the authorship is to be over- 
 thrown by the grotesque gabble of the cipher is not, I fancy, a contingency that will occupy any 
 serious historical student. When some historian like Mr. Morley or Mr. Gardiner, when some 
 accomplished scholar like Major Martin Hume, who has made the secret archives of the 
 Elizabethan period his special study, when some authority like the late beloved John Fiske, 
 whose contempt for the Baconian figment did not lack explicitness when a writer of this 
 distinction and calibre thinks it worth while to consider whether Bacon, whose family history is 
 as well known to us as that of Abraham Lincoln, was the " legitimate son of Queen Elizabeth, " 
 then I shall humbly await his judgment. Until that happens, we need not pay much attention to 
 the higgledy-piggledy of lettering by which the Donnellys and the Gallups construct the wonderful 
 cipher. Nothing could be easier than to make an equally impressive cipher which would show 
 that Darwin wrote Tennyson, Dickens, Thackeray, Bulwer Lytton, and Harrison Ainsworth. 
 But it would be more to the purpose if the Baconians would tell us why on earth Bacon could not 
 let the world know in his lifetime that he had written Shakespeare. If it was beneath the dignity 
 of a rising lawyer to acknowledge that he was the first poet and dramatist of his time, why was it 
 beneath the dignity of a fallen Lord Chancellor ? If men of good family like Surrey and Wyat 
 could publish romantic poetry without shame, why not Francis Bacon ? If Bacon could write a 
 masque for the Court (and he appears to have tried his hand in this line of theatricals), why 
 should his dignity forbid him to claim credit for the humours of Falstaff, for all 
 
 " Those flights upon the banks of Thames, 
 That so did take Eliza and our James " ? 
 
SHAKESPEARE AND BACON. xlv 
 
 I return to the point from which I started. Until it can be shown how the most alert intellectual 
 world of Elizabeth lent itself to a gigantic imposture of which there is no evidence except a silly 
 cipher, we cannot take the Baconians with the gravity they demand. When they say it is 
 incredible that a man of Shakespeare's education and upbringing could have written his plays, 
 3,nd tell us that Bacon wrote not only his own works but all Shakespeare and an ever-increasing 
 list of other authors as well, they ignore both the sense of proportion and the sense of the 
 ridiculous. I say little of the wanton eagerness with which they smirch the characters of men 
 who lived and died in the esteem of their fellows. There can be no reasonable doubt that 
 Shakespeare inspired the warmest admiration and personal affection. Ben Jonson's witness on 
 that score is emphatic. I fear that the desire to drag down Shakespeare from his pedestal, and 
 to treat the testimony of his personal friends as that of lying rogues, is due to that antipathy to 
 the actor's calling which has its eccentric manifestations even to this day. Some people, I 
 believe, are spiritually comforted by the notion that the plays which they misread at home, but 
 would on no account see enacted, were written not by a vagabond player who stole a deer in his 
 hot youth, and kept company with Bardolph's nose, but by a statesman, a philosopher, and a 
 judge, who was convicted of taking money from suitors, and degraded in his old age. I make 
 no complaint of this singular frame of mind, for its lack of charity touches not only Shakespeare 
 and his fellow-actors, men like Burbage and Edward Alleyn, on whose fame there is no 
 reproach. It gathers under one comprehensive anathema a whole society of distinguished men 
 in all ranks of life, poets and patrons, courtiers and critics. They all knew Shakespeare and his 
 work, and they are all accused as fools who were deceived by an illiterate mountebank, or as 
 knaves who were hired by the penniless, but " legitimate son of Queen Elizabeth." I have too 
 much respect for Shakespeare, for the stage to which he gave splendid and imperishable renown, 
 and for the calling in which all actors reverently follow his footsteps to suppose that he needs to 
 be shielded against ignorance or malice. 
 
 HENRY IRVING. 
 


 
 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 ALONSO, King of Naples. 
 
 SEBASTIAN, his brother. 
 
 PROSPERO, the rightful Duke of Milan. 
 
 ANTONIO, his brother, the usurping Duke of 
 
 Milan. 
 
 FERDINAND, son to the King of Naples. 
 GONZALO, an honest old Counsellor of Naples 
 ADRIAN, ) T , 
 FRANCISCO, { Lords ' 
 CALIBAN, a savage and deformed Slave. 
 TRINCULO, a Jester. 
 STEPHANO, a drunken Butler. 
 
 Master of a Ship, Boatswain, ana Mariners. 
 MIRANDA, daughter to PROSPERO. 
 
 ARIEL, an airy Spirit. 
 
 IRIS, -v 
 
 CERES, 
 
 JUNO, \Spirits. 
 
 Nymphs, 
 
 Reapers^ j 
 
 Other Spirits attending on PROSPERO. 
 
 SCENE, The Sea, with a Ship: afterwards an uninhabited Island. 
 
 ACT I. O, T: 
 
 SCENE I. On a Ship at Sea. A Storm, 
 with Thunder and Lightning. 
 
 Enter a Shipmaster and a Boatswain. 
 
 Master. Boatswain, 
 
 Boats. Here, master: what cheer? 
 
 Master. Good : Speak to the mariners : fall 
 to 't yarely, or we run ourselves aground ; 
 bestir, bestir. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Mariners. 
 
 Boats. Heigh, my hearts; cheerly, cheerly, 
 my hearts; yare, yare: take in the top-sail; 
 'Tend to the master's whistle. Blow till thou 
 burst thy wind, if room enough ! 
 
 Enter ALONSO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, 
 FERDINAND, GONZALO, and others. 
 
 A Ion. Good Boatswain, have care. Where's 
 the master? Play the men. 
 
 Boats. I pray now, keep below. 
 
 Ant. Where is the master, Boatswain? 
 
 Boats. Do you not hear him? You mar 
 our labour; keep your cabins: you do assist 
 the storm. 
 
 Gon. Nay, good, be patient. 
 
 Boats. When the sea is. Hence! What 
 care these roarers for the name of king? To 
 cabin : silence : trouble us not. 
 
 Gon. Good ; yet remember whom thou hast 
 aboard. 
 
 Boats. None that I more love than myself. 
 You are a counsellor: if you can command 
 
 these elements to silence, and work the peace 
 of the present, we will not hand a rope more ; 
 use your authority. If you cannot, give thanks 
 you have lived so long, and make yourself 
 ready in your cabin for the mischance of the 
 hour, if it so hap. Cheerly, good hearts. 
 Out of our way, I say. [Exit. 
 
 Gon. I have great comfort from this fellow : 
 methinks he hath no drowning mark upon him ; 
 his complexion is perfect gallows. Stand fast, 
 good fate, to his hanging! make the rope of 
 his destiny our cable, for our own doth little 
 advantage ! If he be not born to be hanged, 
 our case is miserable. [Exeunt. 
 
 Re-enter Boatswain. 
 
 Boats. Down with the top- mast; yare; 
 lower, lower; bring her to try with main- 
 course. [A cry within.] A plague upon this 
 howling ! They are louder than the weather, 
 or our office. 
 
 Re-enter SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, and GONZALO. 
 
 Yet again? what do you here? Shall we give 
 o'er, and drown? Have you a mind to sink? 
 
 Seb. A pox o' your throat! you bawling, 
 blasphemous, incharitable dog ! 
 
 Boats. Work you, then. 
 
 Ant. Hang, cur, hang ! you whoreson, in- 
 solent noise-maker, we are less afraid to be 
 drowned than thou art. 
 
 Gon. I Ml warrant him from drowning ; 
 though the ship were no stronger than a nut- 
 shell, and as leaky as an unstanch'd wench. 
 
 
THE TEMPEST. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 Boats. Lay her a-hold, a-hold: set her two 
 courses; off to sea again, lay her off. 
 
 Enter Mariners, wet. 
 
 Mar. All lost! to prayers, to prayers! all 
 lost ! \Exeunt. 
 
 Boats. What, must our mouths be cold? 
 
 Gon. The king and prince at prayers ! let us 
 
 assist them, 
 For our case is as theirs. 
 
 Seb. I am out of patience. 
 
 Ant. We are merely cheated of our lives by 
 
 drunkards. 
 This wide - chapp'd rascal ; Would thou 
 
 mightst lie drowning, 
 The washing of ten tides ! 
 
 Gon. He '11 be hanged yet ; 
 Though every drop of water swear against it, 
 And gape at wid'st to glut him. 
 [A confused noise within. ] Mercy on us ! We 
 split, we split ! Farewell, my wife and children ! 
 Farewell, brother ! We split, we split, we 
 split ! 
 
 Ant. Let 's all sink with the king. [Exit. 
 
 Seb. Let 's take leave of him. [Exit. 
 
 Gon. Now would I give a thousand furlongs 
 of sea for an acre of barren ground ; long heath, 
 brown furze, any thing: The wills above be 
 done ! but I would fain die a dry death. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. The Island; before the Cell of 
 
 PROSPERO. 
 
 ,j?,el briKtri .?.//;' r ooixsJqcnoD^iri 
 
 Enter PROSPERO and MIRANDA. 
 
 Mira. If by your art, my dearest father, you 
 
 have 
 
 Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them : 
 The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking 
 
 pitch, 
 But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's 
 
 cheek, 
 
 Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffer'd 
 With those that I saw suffer ! a brave vessel, 
 Who had, no doubt, some noble creatures in her, 
 Dash'd all to pieces. O, the cry did knock 
 Against my very heart ! poor souls ! they 
 
 perish'd. 
 
 Had I been any god of power, I would 
 Have sunk the sea within the earth, or e'er 
 It should the good ship so have swallowed, and 
 The freighting souls within her. 
 
 Pro. Be collected; 
 
 No more amazement ; tell your piteous heart, 
 There 's no harm done. 
 
 Mira. O, woe the day ! 
 
 Pro. No harm. 
 
 I have done nothing but in care of thee, 
 
 (Of thee, my dear one ! thee, my daughter !) who 
 Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing 
 Of whence I am ; nor that I am more better 
 Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell, 
 And thy no greater father. 
 
 Mira. More to know 
 
 Did never meddle with my thoughts. 
 
 Pro. 'Tis time 
 
 I should inform thee further. Lend thy hand, 
 
 And pluck my magic garment from me. So; 
 
 [Lays down his mantle. 
 
 Lie there my art. Wipe thou thine eyes ; have 
 
 comfort. 
 
 The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touch'd 
 The very virtue of compassion in thee, 
 I have with such provision in mine art 
 So safely order'd, that there is no soul 
 No, not so much perdition as an hair, 
 Betid to any creature in the vessel 
 Which thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st 
 
 sink. Sit down ; 
 For thou must now know further. 
 
 Mira. You have often 
 
 Begun to tell me what I am ; but stopp'd, 
 And left me to a bootless inquisition ; 
 Concluding, Stay, not yet. 
 
 Pro. The hour 's now come ; 
 
 The very minute bids thee ope thine ear; 
 Obey, and be attentive. Canst thou remember 
 A time before we came unto this cell? [not 
 I do not think thou canst ; for then thou wast 
 Out three years old. 
 
 Mira. Certainly, sir, I can. 
 
 Pro. By what ? by any other house, or person ? 
 Of any thing the image tell me, that 
 Hath kept with thy remembrance. 
 
 Mira. 'Tis far off; 
 
 And rather like a dream than an assurance 
 That my remembrance warrants: Had I not 
 Four or five women once, that tended me? 
 
 Pro. Thou hadst, and more, Miranda: But 
 how is it, [else 
 
 That this lives in thy mind? What seest thou 
 In the dark backward and abysm of time? 
 If thou remember'st aught, ere thou cam'st here, 
 How thou cam'st here, thou mayst. 
 
 Mira. But that I do not. 
 
 Pro. Twelve years since, Miranda, twelve 
 
 years since, 
 
 Thy father was the Duke of Milan, and 
 A prince of power. 
 
 Mira. Sir, are not you my father? 
 
 Pro. Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and 
 She said thou wast my daughter; and thy 
 
 father 
 
 Was Duke of Milan ; and his only heir 
 A princess ; no worse issued. 
 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 Mira. O, the heavens ! 
 
 Whatfoul play had we that we came from thence; 
 Or blessed was 't, we did ? 
 
 Pro. Both, both, my girl ; 
 
 By foul play as thou say'st, were we heaved 
 
 thence ; 
 But blessedly holp hither. 
 
 Mira. O, my heart bleeds 
 
 To think o' the teen that I have turn'd you to, 
 Which is from my remembrance ! Please, you, 
 further. 
 
 Pro. My brother, and thy uncle, call'd 
 
 Antonio 
 
 I pray thee, mark me, that a brother should 
 Be so perfidious ! he whom, next thyself, 
 Of all the world I loved, and to him put 
 The manage of my state ; as, at that time, 
 Through all the signiories it was the first, 
 And Prospero the prime duke ; being so reputed 
 In dignity, and, for the liberal arts, 
 Without a parallel : those being all my study, 
 The government I cast upon my brother, 
 And to my state grew stranger, being transported 
 And rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle 
 Dost thou attend me ? 
 
 Mira. Sir, most heedfully. 
 
 Pro. Being once perfected how to grant suits, 
 How to deny them ; whom to advance, and 
 
 whom 
 
 To trash for over-topping ; new created 
 The creatures that were mine ; I say, or chang'd 
 
 them, 
 
 Or else new form'd them ; having both the key 
 Of officer and office, set all hearts 
 To what tune pleased his ear ; that now he was 
 The ivy, which had hid my princely trunk, 
 And suck'd my verdure out on't. Thou 
 
 attend'st not ; 
 I pray thee, mark me. 
 
 Mira. O good sir, I do. [dedicate 
 
 Pro. I thus neglecting worldly ends, all 
 To closeness, and the bettering of my mind 
 With that, which, but by being so retired, 
 O'er-prized all popular rate, in my false brother 
 Awaked an evil nature : and my trust, 
 Like a good parent, did beget of him 
 A falsehood, in its contrary as great 
 As my trust was ; which had, indeed, no limit, 
 A confidence sans bound. He being thus 
 
 lorded, 
 
 Not only with what my revenue yielded, 
 But what my power might else exact, like one, 
 Who having, unto truth, by telling of it, 
 Made such a sinner of his memory, 
 To credit his own lie, he did believe 
 He was the duke ; out of the substitution, 
 And executing the outward face of royalty, 
 
 With all prerogative : Hence his ambition 
 Growing, Dost hear ? 
 
 Mira. Your tale, sir, would cure deafness. 
 
 Pro. To have no screen between this part he 
 
 And him he play'd it for, he needs will be 
 Absolute Milan : Me, poor man ! my library 
 Was dukedom large enough ; of temporal royalties 
 He thinks me now incapable : confederates 
 (So dry he was for sway) with the king of Naples, 
 To give him annual tribute, do him homage ; 
 Subject his coronet to his crown, and bend 
 The dukedom, yet unbowed, (alas, poor Milan !) 
 To most ignoble stooping. 
 
 Mira. O the heavens ! 
 
 Pro. Mark his condition, and the event ; then 
 If this might be a brother. [tell me, 
 
 Mira. I should sin 
 
 To think but nobly of my grandmother : 
 Good wombs have borne bad sons. 
 
 Pro. Now the condition. 
 
 This king of Naples being an enemy 
 To me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit ; 
 Which was that he in lieu o' the premises, 
 Of homage, and I know not how much tribute, 
 Should presently extirpate me and mine 
 Out of the dukedom ; and confer fair Milan, 
 With all the honours, on my brother : Whereon, 
 A treacherous army levied, one midnight 
 Fated to the purpose, did Antonio open 
 The gates of Milan ; and i' the dead of darkness, 
 The ministers for the purpose hurried thence 
 Me, and thy crying self. 
 
 Mira. Alack, for pity ! 
 
 I, not rememb'ring how I cried out then, 
 Will cry it o'er again : it is a hint, 
 That wrings mine eyes to 't. 
 
 Pro. Hear a little further, 
 
 And then I '11 bring thee to the present business 
 Which now 's upon us ; without the which, this 
 Were most impertinent. [story 
 
 Mira. Wherefore did they not, 
 
 That hour, destroy us ? 
 
 Pro. Well demanded, wench ; 
 
 My tale provokes that question. Dear, they 
 
 durst not ; 
 
 (So dear the love my people bore me) nor set 
 A mark so bloody on the business ; but 
 With colours fairer painted their foul ends. 
 In few, they hurried us aboard a bark ; 
 Bore us some leagues to sea; where they prepar'd 
 A rotten carcass of a boat, not rigg'd, 
 Nor tackle, sail, nor mast ; the very rats 
 Instinctively had quit it : there they hoist us. 
 To cry to the sea that roar'd to us ; to sigh 
 To the winds, whose pity, sighing back again, 
 Did us but loving wrong. 
 
 
THE TEMPEST. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 Alack ! what trouble 
 
 Mira. 
 Was I then to you ! 
 
 Pro. O ! a cherubim 
 
 Thou wast, that did preserve me ! Thou didst 
 
 smile, 
 
 Infused with a fortitude from heaven, 
 When I have deck'd the sea with drops full salt ; 
 Under my burden groan'd ; which raised in me 
 An undergoing stomach, to bear up 
 Against what should ensue. 
 
 Mira. How came we ashore ? 
 
 Pro. By Providence divine. 
 Some food we had, and some fresh water, that 
 A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo, 
 Out of his charity, (who being then appointed 
 Master of this design,) did give us; with 
 Rich garments, linens, stuffs, and necessaries, 
 Which since have steaded much ; so, of his 
 
 gentleness, 
 
 Knowing I loved my books, he furnish'd me, 
 From my own library, with volumes that 
 I prize above my dukedom. 
 
 Mira. Would I might 
 
 But ever see that man ! 
 
 Pro. Now I arise : 
 
 Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow. 
 Here in this island we arrived ; and here 
 Have I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit 
 Than other princes can, that have more time 
 For vainer hours, and tutors not so careful. 
 
 Mira. Heavens thank you for 't ! And now, 
 
 I pray you, sir, 
 
 (For still 'tis beating in my mind,) your reason 
 For raising this sea-storm ? 
 
 Pro. Know thus far forth. 
 
 By accident most strange, bountiful Fortune, 
 Now my dear lady, hath mine enemies 
 Brought to this shore : and by my prescience 
 I find my zenith doth depend upon 
 A most auspicious star ; whose influence 
 If now I court not, but omit, my fortunes 
 Will ever after droop. Here cease more ques- 
 tions, 
 
 Thou art inclin'd to sleep ; 'tis a good dulness, 
 
 And give it way; I know thou canst not choose. 
 
 [MIRANDA sleeps. 
 
 Come away, servant, come : I am ready now ; 
 Approach, my Ariel ; come. 
 
 .tibna If, 
 
 Enter ARIEL. [ come 
 
 Art. All hail, great master ! grave sir, hail ! I 
 To answer thy best pleasure ; be 't to fly, 
 To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride 
 On the curFd clouds ; to thy strong bidding, task 
 Ariel, and all his quality. 
 
 Pro. Hast thou, spirit, 
 
 Perform'd to point the tempest that I bade thee? 
 
 Ari. To every article. 
 
 I boarded the king's ship ; now on the beak, 
 Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin, 
 I flamed amazement : Sometimes, I 'd divide, 
 And burn in many places ; on the top-mast, 
 The yards, and bowsprit, would I flame dis- 
 tinctly, 
 Then meet and join : Jove's lightnings, the 
 
 precursors 
 
 O' the dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary 
 And sight-out-running were not : The fire, and 
 
 cracks 
 
 Of sulphurous roaring, the most mighty Neptune 
 Seem'd to besiege, and make his bold waves 
 Yea, his dread trident shake. [tremble, 
 
 Pro. My brave spirit ! 
 
 Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil 
 Would not infect his reason ? 
 
 Ari. Not a soul, 
 
 But felt a fever of the mad, and play'd 
 Some tricks of desperation : All, but mariners; 
 Plung'd in the foaming brine, and quit the vessel, 
 Thenall afire withme: the king'sson, Ferdinand, 
 With hair up-staring (then like reeds, not hair), 
 Was the first man that leap'd ; cried, Hell is 
 And all the devils are here ! [empty, 
 
 Pro. Why, that 's my spirit ! 
 
 But was not this nigh shore ? 
 
 Ari. Close by, my master. 
 
 Pro. But are they, Ariel, safe ? 
 
 Ari. Not a hair perish'd ; 
 
 On their sustaining garments not a blemish, 
 But fresher than before : and, as thou bad'st me, 
 In troops I have dispersed them 'bout the isle ; 
 The king's son have I landed by himself; 
 Whom I left cooling of the air with sighs, 
 In an odd angle of the isle, and sitting, 
 His arms in this sad knot. 
 
 Pro. Of the king's ship, 
 
 The mariners, say, how thou hast disposed, 
 And all the rest o' the fleet ? 
 
 Ari. Safely in harbour 
 
 Is the king's ship ; in the deep nook, where once 
 Thou call'dst me up at midnight to fetch dew 
 From the still- vex'd Bermoothes, there she's hid: 
 The mariners all under hatches stow'd : 
 Whom, with a charm join'd to vneir suffer'd 
 
 labour, 
 
 I have left asleep : and for the rest o' the fleet, 
 Which I dispersed, they all have met again ; 
 And are upon the Mediterranean flote, 
 Bound sadly home for Naples ; 
 Supposing that they saw the king's ship wreck'd, 
 And his great person perish. 
 
 Pro. Ariel, thy charge 
 
 Exactly is performed ; but there 's more work : 
 What is the time o' the day ? 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 5 
 
 Art. Past the mid season. 
 
 Pro. At least two glasses : The time 'twixt 
 
 six and now 
 Must by us both be spent most preciously. 
 
 Ari. Is there more toil? Since thou dost 
 
 give me pains, 
 
 Let me remember thee what thou hast promis'd, 
 Which is not yet perform'd me. 
 
 Pro. How now? moody? 
 
 What is 't thou canst demand? 
 
 Art. My liberty. 
 
 Pro. Before the time be out? No more ! 
 
 Ari. I pray thee 
 
 Remember, I have done thee worthy service ; 
 Told thee no lies, made no mistakings, serv'd 
 Without or grudge or grumblings : thou didst 
 
 promise 
 To bate me a full year. 
 
 Pro. Dost thou forget 
 
 From what a torment I did free thee? 
 
 Ari. No. 
 
 Pro. Thou dost ; and think'st 
 It much to tread the ooze of the salt deep; 
 To run upon the sharp wind of the north ; 
 To do me business in the veins o' the earth, 
 When it is bak'd with frost. 
 
 Ari. I do not, sir. 
 
 Pro. Thou liest, malignant thing ! Hast 
 
 thou forgot [envy, 
 
 The foul witch, Sycorax, who, with age and 
 
 Was grown into a hoop? hast thou forgot her? 
 
 Ari. No, sir. 
 
 Pro. Thou hast: Where was she 
 
 born ? speak ; tell me. 
 
 Ari. Sir, in Argier. 
 
 Pro. Oh, was she so? I must, 
 
 Once in a month, recount what thou hast been, 
 Which thou forget'st. This damn'd witch, 
 
 Sycorax, 
 
 For mischiefs manifold, and sorceries terrible 
 To enter human hearing, from Argier, 
 Thou know'st, was banished; for one thing 
 
 she did, 
 They would not take her life: Is not this true? 
 
 Ari. Ay, sir. 
 
 Pro. This blear-eyed hag was hither brought 
 with child, [slave, 
 
 And here was left by the sailors: Thou, my 
 As thou report'st thyself, wast then her servant : 
 And, for thou wast a spirit too delicate 
 To act her earthy and abhorr'd commands, 
 Refusing her grand 'hests, she did confine thee, 
 By help of her more potent ministers, 
 And in her most unmitigable rage, 
 Into a cloven pine ; within which rift 
 Imprisoned, thou didst painfully remain 
 A dozen years within which space she died, 
 
 And left thee there : where thou didst vent thy 
 
 groans, 
 As fast as mill-wheels strike: Then was this 
 
 island, 
 
 (Save for the son that she did litter here, 
 A freckled whelp, hag-born,) not honour'd with 
 A human shape. 
 
 Ari. Yes : Caliban her son. 
 
 Pro. Dull thing, I say so; he, that Caliban, 
 Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know'st 
 What torment I did find thee in : thy groans 
 Did make wolves howl , and penetrate the breasts 
 Of ever-angry bears ; it was a torment 
 To lay upon the damn'd, which Sycorax 
 Could not again undo ; it was mine art, 
 When I arriv'd, and heard thee, that made gape 
 The pine, and let thee out. 
 
 Ari. I thank thee, master. 
 
 Pro. If thou more murmur'st I will rend an 
 And peg thee in his knotty entrails, till [oak, 
 Thou hast howl'd away twelve winters. 
 
 Ari. Pardon, master: 
 
 I will be correspondent to command, 
 And do my sprit ing gently. 
 
 Pro. Do so ; and after two days 
 
 I will discharge thee. 
 
 Ari. That 's my noble master.' 
 
 What shall I do? say what? what shall I do? 
 
 Pro. Go, make thyself like to a nymph o' 
 
 the sea ; 
 
 Be subject to no sight but mine ; invisible 
 To every eye-ball else. Go, take this shape 
 And hither come in 't : hence, with diligence. 
 
 [Exit ARIEL. 
 
 Awake, dear heart, awake ! thou hast slept well ; 
 Awake ! 
 
 Mira. The strangeness of your story put 
 Heaviness in me. 
 
 Pro. Shake it off; Come on ; 
 
 We '11 visit Caliban, my slave, who never 
 Yields us kind answer. 
 
 Mira. 'Tis a villain, sir, 
 
 I do not love to look on. 
 
 Pro. But, as 'tis, 
 
 We cannot miss him : he does make our fire, 
 Fetch in our wood ; and serves in offices 
 That profit us. What ho ! slave ! Caliban ! 
 Thou earth, thou ! speak. 
 
 Cal. [ Within.} There 's wood enough within, 
 
 Pro. Come forth, I say; there's other busi- 
 ness for thee : 
 Come forth, thou tortoise! when? 
 
 Re-enter ARIEL, like a water-nymph. 
 
 Fine apparition ! My quaint Ariel, 
 Hark in thine ear. 
 
 Ari. My lord, it shall be done. [Exit. 
 
THE TEMPEST. 
 
 [ACT I. 
 
 Pro. Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil 
 
 himself 
 Upon thy wicked dam, come forth ! 
 
 Enter CALIBAN. 
 Cat. As wicked dew as e'er my mother 
 
 brush'd 
 
 With raven's feather from unwholesome fen, 
 Drop on you both ! a south-west blow on ye, 
 And blister you all o'er. 
 
 Pro. For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt 
 
 have cramps, 
 Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up ; 
 
 urchins 
 
 Shall, for that vast of night that they may work, 
 All exercise on thee ; thou shalt be pinch'd 
 As thick as honey-combs, each pinch more 
 
 stinging 
 Than bees that made them. 
 
 Cal. I must eat my dinner. 
 
 This island 's mine, by Sycorax my mother, 
 Which thou tak'st from me. When thou 
 
 earnest first, 
 Thou strok'dst me, and mad'st much of me ; 
 
 wouldst give me 
 
 Water with berries in 't ; and teach me how 
 To name the bigger light, and how the less, 
 That burn by day and night : and then I lov'd 
 
 thee, 
 
 And shew'd thee all the qualities o' the isle, 
 The fresh springs, brine pits, barren place, and 
 
 fertile ; 
 
 Cursed be I that did so ! All the charms 
 Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you ! 
 For I am all the subjects that you have, 
 Which first was mine own king ; and here you 
 
 sty me 
 
 In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me 
 The rest of the island. 
 
 Pro. Thou most lying slave, 
 
 Whom stripes may move, not kindness : I have 
 
 used thee, [thee 
 
 Filth as thou art, with human care ; and lodged 
 In mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate 
 The honour of my child. 
 
 Cal. O ho, O ho ! would it had been done ! 
 Thou didst prevent me ; I had peopled else 
 This isle with Calibans. 
 
 Pro. Abhorred slave ; 
 
 Which any print of goodness will not take, 
 Being capable of all ill ! I pitied thee, 
 Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee 
 
 each hour [savage, 
 
 One thing or other : when thou didst not, 
 Know thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble 
 
 like 
 A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes 
 
 With words that made them known : But thy 
 vile race, [good natures 
 
 Though thou didst learn, had that in 't which 
 Could not abide to be with : therefore wast thou 
 Deservedly confined into this rock, 
 Who hadst deserved more than a prison. 
 
 Cal. You taught me language; and my 
 
 profit on 't 
 
 Is, I know how to curse ; the red plague rid you, 
 For learning me your language ! 
 
 Pro. Hag-seed, hence ! 
 
 Fetch us in fuel ; and be quick, thou wert best, 
 To answer other business. Shrug'st thou, 
 
 malice ? 
 
 If thou neglect'st, or dost unwillingly 
 What I command, I '11 rack thee withold cramps; 
 Fill all thy bones with aches ; make thee roar, 
 That beasts shall tremble at thy din. 
 
 Cal. No, pray thee ! 
 
 I must obey : his art is of such power, [Aside. 
 It would control my dam's god, Setebos, 
 And make a vassal of him. 
 
 Pro. So, slave ; hence ! 
 
 [Exit CALIBAN. 
 Re-enter ARIEL invisible, playing and singing; 
 
 ARIEL'S SONG. 
 
 Come unto these yellow sands, 
 
 And then take hands : 
 Court'sied when you have, and kiss'd, 
 
 (The wild waves whist,) 
 Foot it featly here and there ; 
 And sweet sprites, the burden bear. 
 
 Hark, hark ! 
 Bur, Bowgh, wowgh, [Dispersedly. 
 
 The watch-dogs bark : 
 Bur, Bowgk, wowgh. [Disfersectly. 
 
 Hark, hark ! I hear 
 The strain of strutting chanticlere 
 Cry, Cock-a-doodle-doo. 
 
 Fer. Where should this music be ? i' the air, 
 
 or the earth ? 
 
 It sounds no more : and sure it waits upon 
 Some god of the island. Sitting on a bank 
 Weeping again the king my father's wreck, 
 This music crept by me upon the waters ; 
 Allaying both their fury, and my passion, 
 With its sweet air : thence I have follow'd it, 
 Or it hath drawn me rather : But 'tis gone. 
 No, it begins again. 
 
 ARIEL sings. 
 
 Full 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 : 
 
 [Burden, ding-dong. 
 Hark ! now I hear them, ding-dong bell. 
 
SCENE II. J 
 
 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 Fer. The ditty does remember my drown'd 
 
 father : 
 
 This is no mortal business, nor no sound 
 That the earth owes : I hear it now above me, 
 
 Pro. The fringed curtains of thine eye advance, 
 And say, what thou seest yond'. .fo. 
 
 Mira. What is 't ? a spirit ? 
 
 Lord, how it looks about ! Believe me, sir, 
 It carries a brave form : But 'tis a spirit. 
 
 Pro. No, wench ; it eats and sleeps, and 
 hath such senses [seest, 
 
 As we have, such : This gallant, which thou 
 Was in the wreck : and but he 's something 
 stain'd [call him 
 
 With grief, that 's beauty's canker, thou might'st 
 A. goodly person : he hath lost his fellows, 
 And strays about to find them. 
 
 Mira. I might call him 
 
 A thing divine ; for nothing natural 
 I ever saw so noble. 
 
 Pro. It goes on, [Aside. 
 
 As my soul prompts it : Spirit, fine spirit ! I'll 
 
 free thee 
 Within two days for this. 
 
 Fer. Most sure the goddess 
 
 On whom these airs attend ! Vouchsafe, my 
 
 prayer 
 
 May know, if you remain upon this island ; 
 And that you will some good instruction give, 
 How I may bear me here : My prime request, 
 Which I do last pronounce, is, O you wonder ! 
 If you be maid or no ? 
 
 Mira. No wonder, sir ; 
 
 But certainly a maid. 
 
 Fer. My language ! heavens ! 
 
 I am the best of them that speak this speech, 
 Were I but where 'tis spoken. 
 
 Pro. How ! the best ? 
 
 What wert thou, if the king of Naples heard thee? 
 
 Fer. A single thing, as I am now, that wonders 
 To hear thee speak of Naples : He does hear me; 
 And, that he does, I weep : myself am Naples ; 
 Who with mine eyes, ne'er since at ebb, beheld 
 The king my father wreck'd. 
 
 Mira. Alack, for mercy ! 
 
 Fer. Yes, faith, and all his lords : the Duke of 
 And his brave son, being twain. [Milan, 
 
 Pro. The Duke of Milan, 
 
 And his more braver daughter, could control 
 thee, [Aside. 
 
 If now 'twere fit to do 't : At the first sight 
 They have changed eyes : Delicate Ariel, 
 I'll set thee free for this ! A word, good sir ; 
 I fear you have done yourself some wrong : a 
 word. 
 
 Mira. Why speaks my father so ungently ? 
 This 
 
 Is the third man that e'er I saw ; the first 
 That e'er I sigh'd for : pity, move my father 
 To be inclined my way ! 
 
 Fer. O, if a virgin, 
 
 And your affection not gone forth, I '11 make you 
 The queen of Naples. 
 
 Pro. Soft, sir ; one word more. 
 
 They are both in cither's powers ; but this swift 
 
 business 
 
 I must uneasy make, lest too light winning [Aside. 
 Make the prize light. One word more ; I charge 
 
 thee, 
 
 That thou attend me : thou dost here usurp 
 The name thou ow'st not ; and hast put thyself 
 Upon this island, as a spy, to win it 
 From me, the lord on 't. 
 
 Fer. No, as I am a man. 
 
 Mira. There 's nothing ill can dwell in such a 
 If the ill spirit have so fair an house, [temple : 
 Good things will strive to dwell with 't. 
 
 Pro. Follow me. 
 
 [To FERD. 
 
 Speak not you for him ; he 's a traitor. Come. 
 I '11 manacle thy neck and feet together : 
 Sea-water shall thou drink ; thy food shall be 
 The fresh -brook muscles, wither'd roots, and 
 
 husks 
 Wherein the acorn cradled : Follow. 
 
 Fer. No ; 
 
 I will resist such entertainment, till 
 Mine enemy has more power. [He draws. 
 
 Mira. O dear father, 
 
 Make not too rash a trial of him, for 
 He 's gentle, and not fearful. 
 
 Pro. What, I say. 
 
 My foot my tutor ! Put thy sword up, traitor ; 
 Who makest a show, but darest not strike, thy 
 
 conscience 
 
 Is so possess'd with guilt : come from thy ward; 
 For I can here disarm thee with this stick, 
 And make thy weapon drop. 
 
 Mira. Beseech you, father ! 
 
 Pro. Hence ; hang not on my garments. 
 Mira. Sir, have pity ; 
 
 I '11 be his surety. 
 
 Pro. Silence ! one word more 
 
 Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. 
 
 What! 
 
 An advocate for an impostor ? hush ! 
 Thou think'st there are no more such shapes 
 as he, [wench ! 
 
 Having seen but him and Caliban : Foolish 
 To the most of men this is a Caliban, 
 And they to him are angels. 
 
 Mira. My affections 
 
 Are then most humble ; I have no ambition 
 To see a goodlier man. 
 
THE TEMPEST. 
 
 [ACT II. 
 
 Pro. Come on ; obey : [To FERD. 
 
 Thy nerves are in their infancy again, 
 And have no vigour in them. 
 
 Fer. So they are : 
 
 My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up. 
 My father's loss, the weakness which I feel, 
 The wreck of all my friends, or this man's 
 
 threats, 
 
 To whom I am subdued, are but light to me, 
 Might I but through my prison once a day 
 Behold this maid : all corners else o' the earth 
 Let liberty make use of ; space enough 
 Have I, in such a prison. 
 
 Pro. It works : Come on. 
 
 Thou hast done well, fine Ariel ! Follow me. 
 
 [To FERD. and MIR. 
 
 Hark, what thou else shall do me. [To ARIEL. 
 
 Mira. Be of comfort ; 
 
 My father 's of a better nature, sir. 
 Than he appears by speech ; this is unwonted, 
 Which now came from him. 
 
 Pro. Thou shalt be as free 
 
 As mountain winds : but then exactly do 
 All points of my command. 
 
 Art. To the syllable. 
 
 Pro. Come, follow : speak not for him. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 SCENE I. Another part of the Island. 
 
 Enter A-LOKSO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, 
 GONZALO, ADRIAN, FRANCISCO, and others. 
 
 Gon. Beseech you, sir, be merry : you have 
 (So have we all) of joy ; for our escape [cause 
 Is much beyond our loss : Our hint of woe 
 Is common ; every day, some sailor's wife, 
 The masters of some merchant, and the 
 
 merchant, 
 
 Have just our theme of woe : but for the miracle, 
 I mean our preservation, few in millions 
 Can speak like us : then wisely, good sir, weigh 
 Our sorrow with our comfort. 
 
 A Ion. Pr'ythee, peace. 
 
 Seb. lie receives comfort like cold porridge. 
 
 Ant. The visitor will not give him o'er so. 
 
 Seb. Look, he 's winding up the watch of his 
 By and by it will strike. [wit ; 
 
 Gon. Sir, 
 
 Seb. One, Tell. [offer'd, 
 
 Gon. When every grief is entertain'd, that's 
 Comes to the entertainer 
 
 Seb. A dollar. 
 
 Gon. Dolour comes to him, indeed ; you 
 have spoken truer than you purposed. 
 
 Seb. You have taken it wiselier than I meant 
 you should. 
 
 Gon. Therefore, my lord, 
 
 Ant. Fye, what a spendthrift is he of his 
 tongue ! 
 
 Alon. I pr'ythee spare. 
 
 Gon. Well, I have done : But yet 
 
 Seb. He will be talking. 
 
 Ant. Which of them, he, or Adrian, for a 
 good wager, first begins to crow ? 
 
 Seb. The old cock. 
 
 Ant. The cockrel. 
 
 Seb. Done : the wager ? 
 
 Ant. A laughter. 
 
 Seb. A match. 
 
 Adr. Though this island seem to be desert, 
 
 Seb. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Ant. So, you've paid. [sible, 
 
 Adr. Uninhabitable, and almost inacces- 
 
 Seb. Yet, 
 
 Adr. Yet, 
 
 Ant. He could not miss it. 
 
 Adr. It must needs be of subtle, tender, and 
 delicate temperance. 
 
 Ant. Temperance was a delicate wench. 
 
 Seb. Ay, and a subtle ; as he most learnedly 
 delivered. [sweetly. 
 
 Adr. The air breathes upon us here most 
 
 Seb. As if it had lungs, and rotten ones. 
 
 Ant. Or, as 'twere perfumed by a fen. 
 
 Gon. Here is everything advantageous to life. 
 
 Ant. True ; save means to live. 
 
 Seb. Of that there 's none, or little, [green! 
 
 Gon. How lush and lusty the grass looks ! how 
 
 Ant. The ground, indeed, is tawny. 
 
 Seb. With an eye of green in 't. 
 
 Ant. He misses not much. 
 
 Seb. No; he doth but mistake the truth totally. 
 
 Gon. But the rarity of it is (which is indeed 
 almost beyond credit) 
 
 Seb. As many vouch'd rarities are. 
 
 Gon. That our garments, being, as they were, 
 drenched in the sea, hold, notwithstanding, their 
 freshness and glosses ; being rather new dyed, 
 than stained with salt water. 
 
 Ant. If but one of his pockets could speak, 
 would it not say, he lies ? 
 
 Seb. Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report 
 
 Gon. Methinks, our garments are now as 
 fresh as when we put them on first in Africk, 
 at the marriage of the king's fair daughter 
 Claribel to the king of Tunis. 
 
 Seb. 'Twas a sweet marriage, and we pros- 
 per well in our return. 
 
 Adr. Tunis was never graced before with 
 such a paragon to their queen. 
 
 Gon. Not since widow Dido's time. 
 
 Ant. Widow ? a pox o' that ! How came 
 that widow in ? Widow Dido ! 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THE TEMPEST, 
 
 Seb. What if he had said, widower yEneas 
 too ? good lord, how you take it ! 
 
 Adr. Widow Dido, said you ? you make me 
 study of that : She was of Carthage, not of Tunis. 
 
 Gon. This Tunis, sir, was Carthage. 
 
 Adr. Carthage? 
 
 Gon. I assure you, Carthage. 
 
 Ant. His word is more than the miraculous 
 harp. 
 
 Seb. He hath raised the wall, and houses too. 
 
 Ant. What impossible matter will he make 
 easy next ? 
 
 Seb. I think he will carry this island home in 
 his pocket, and give it his son for an apple. 
 
 Ant. And, sowing the kernels of it in the 
 sea, bring forth more islands. 
 
 Gon. Ay ? 
 
 Ant. Why, in good time. 
 
 Gon. Sir, we were talking, that our garments 
 seem now as fresh as when we were at Tunis at 
 the marriage of your daughter, who is nowqueen. 
 
 Ant. And the rarest that e'er came there. 
 ' Seb. 'Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido. 
 
 Ant. O, widow Dido ; ay, widow Dido. 
 
 Gon. Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the 
 first day I wore it ? I mean, in a sort. 
 
 Ant. That sort was well fish'd for. 
 
 Gon. When I wore it at your daughter's 
 marriage ? 
 
 Alon. You cram these words into mine ears, 
 
 against 
 
 The stomach of my sense : Would I had never 
 Married my daughter there ! for, coming thence, 
 My son is lost ; and, in my rate, she too, 
 Who is so far from Italy removed, 
 I ne'er again shall see her. O thou mine heir 
 Of Naples and of Milan, what strange fish 
 Hath made his meal on thee ! 
 
 Fran. Sir, he may live ; 
 
 I saw him beat the surges under him, 
 And ride upon their backs ; he trod the water, 
 Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted 
 The surge most swoln that met him ; his bold 
 
 head 
 
 'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar'd 
 Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke 
 To the shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bow'd, 
 As stooping to relieve him ; I not doubt 
 He came alive to land. 
 
 Alon. . No, no, he 's gone. 
 
 Seb. Sir, you may thank yourself for this 
 great loss ; [daughter, 
 
 That would not bless our Europe with your 
 But rather lose her to an African ; 
 Where she, at least, is banish'd from your eye, 
 Who hath cause to wet the grief on 't. 
 
 -Alon. Pr'ythee, peace. 
 
 Seb. You were kneel'd to, and importun'd 
 
 otherwise 
 
 By all of us ; and the fair soul herself 
 Weigh'd, between lothness and obedience, at 
 Which end o' the beam she 'd bow. We have 
 
 lost your son, 
 
 I fear, for ever : Milan and Naples have 
 More widows in them of this business' making, 
 Than we bring men to comfort them : the fault 's 
 Your own. 
 
 Alon. So is the dearest of the loss. 
 
 Gon. My lord Sebastian, 
 
 The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness, 
 And time to speak it in ; you rub the sore, 
 When you should bring the plaster. 
 
 Seb. Very well. 
 
 Ant. And most chirurgeonly. 
 
 Gon. It is foul weather in us all, good sir, 
 When you are cloudy. 
 
 Seb. Foul weather ? 
 
 Ant. Very foul. 
 
 Gon. Had I a plantation of this isle, my lord, 
 
 Ant. He 'd sow it with nettle-seed. 
 
 Seb. Or docks, or mallows. 
 
 Gon. And were the king of it, what would I do? 
 
 Seb. 'Scape being drunk, for want of wine. 
 
 Gon. I' the commonwealth, I would by con- 
 traries 
 
 Execute all things : for no kind of traffic 
 Would I admit ; no name of magistrate ; 
 Letters should not be known ; no use of service, 
 Of riches, or of poverty ; no contracts, 
 Successions; bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none: 
 No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil : 
 No occupation ; all men idle, all ; 
 And women too ; but innocent and pure : 
 No sovereignty : 
 
 Seb. And yet he would be king on 't. 
 
 Ant. The latter end of his commonwealth 
 forgets the beginning. [duce 
 
 Gon. All things in common nature should pro- 
 Without sweat or endeavour : treason, felony, 
 Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine, 
 Would I not have ; but nature should bring forth, 
 Of its own kind, all foison, all abundance, 
 To feed my innocent people. 
 
 Seb. No marrying 'mong his subjects ? 
 . Ant. None, man; all idle; whores and knaves. 
 
 Gon. I would with such perfection govern, sir. 
 To excel the golden age. 
 
 Seb. Save his majesty ! 
 
 Ant. Long live Gonzalo ! 
 
 Gon. And, do you mark me, sir ? 
 
 Alon. Pr'ythee, no more: thou dost talk 
 nothing to me. 
 
 Gon. I do well believe your highness ; and 
 did it to minister occasion to these gentlemen, 
 
10 
 
 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 who are of such sensible and nimble lungs, that 
 they always use to laugh at nothing. 
 
 Ant. 'Twas you we laugh'd at. 
 
 Gon. Who, in this kind of merry fooling, am 
 nothing to you : so you may continue, and 
 laugh at nothing still. 
 
 Ant. What a blow was there given ! 
 
 Seb. An it had not fallen flat-long. 
 
 Gon. You are gentlemen of brave mettle ; you 
 would lift the moon out of her sphere, if she 
 would continue in it five weeks without changing. 
 
 Enter ARIEL invisible^ playing solemn music. 
 
 Seb. We would so, and then go a bat-fowling. 
 
 Ant. Nay, good my lord, be not angry. 
 
 Gon. No, I warrant you ; I will not adven- 
 ture my discretion so weakly. Will you laugh 
 me asleep, for I am very heavy ? 
 
 Ant. Go sleep, and hear us. 
 
 [All sleep but ALON. SEB. and ANT. 
 
 Alon. What, all so soon asleep ! I wish mine 
 eyes [I find 
 
 Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts : 
 They are inclined to do so. 
 
 Seb. Please you, sir, 
 
 Do not omit the heavy offer of it : 
 It seldom visits sorrow ; when it doth, 
 It is a comforter. 
 
 Ant. We two, my lord, 
 
 Will guard your person, while you take your rest, 
 And watch your safety. 
 
 Alon. Thank you : wondrous heavy. 
 
 [ALONSO sleeps. Exit ARIEL. 
 
 Seb. What a strange drowsiness possesses 
 them? 
 
 Ant. It is the quality o' the climate. 
 
 Seb. Why 
 
 Doth it not then our eyelids sink ! I find not 
 Myself disposed to sleep. 
 
 Ant. Nor I ; my spirits are nimble. 
 
 They fell together all, as by consent ; 
 They dropp'd, as by a thunder-stroke. What 
 might, [more : 
 
 Worthy Sebastian? O, what might? No 
 And yet, methinks, I see it in thy face, 
 What thou shouldst be: the occasion speaks 
 
 thee ; and 
 
 My strong imagination sees a crown 
 Dropping upon thy head. 
 
 Seb. What, art thou waking ? 
 
 Ant. Do you not hear me speak ? 
 
 Seb. I do ; and, surely, 
 
 It is a sleepy language ; and thou speak'st 
 Out of thy sleep : What is it thou didst say ? 
 This is a strange repose, to be asleep [ing, 
 With eyes wide open, standing, speaking, mov- 
 And yet so fast asleep. 
 
 Ant. Noble Sebastian, [wink'st 
 
 Thou lett'st. thy fortune sleep die rather ; 
 Whiles thou art waking. 
 
 Seb. Thou dost snore distinctly ; 
 
 There 's meaning in thy snores. 
 
 Ant. I am more serious than my custom : you 
 Must be so too, if heed me ; which to do 
 Trebles thee o'er. 
 
 Seb. Well, I am standing water. 
 
 Ant. I '11 teach you how to flow. 
 
 Seb. Do so : to ebb, 
 
 Hereditary sloth instructs me. 
 
 Ant. O, 
 
 If you but knew, how you the purpose cherish, 
 Whiles thus you mock it ! how, in stripping it, 
 You more invest it ! Ebbing men, indeed, 
 Most often do so near the bottom run, 
 By their own fear, or sloth. 
 
 Seb. Pr'ythee, say on : 
 
 The setting of thine eye, and cheek, proclaim 
 A matter from thee ; and a birth, indeed, 
 Which throes thee much to yield. 
 
 Ant. Thus, sir : 
 
 Although this lord of weak remembrance, this, 
 Who shall be of as little memory 
 When he is earth'd, hath here almost persuaded 
 (For he 's a spirit of persuasion only) 
 The king, his son 's alive : 'tis as impossible 
 That he's undrown'd as he that sleeps here 
 
 Seb. I have no hope [swims. 
 
 That he's undrown'd. 
 
 Ant. O, out of that no hope, 
 
 What great hope have you ! no hope, that way, is 
 Another way so high an hope, that even 
 Ambition cannot pierce a wink beyond, 
 But doubts discovery there. Will you grant, 
 
 with me, 
 That Ferdinand is drown'd ? 
 
 Seb. He 's gone. 
 
 Ant. Then, tell me, 
 
 Who 's the next heir of Naples ? 
 
 Seb. Claribel. 
 
 Ant. She that is queen of Tunis: shethatdwells 
 Ten leagues beyond man's life ; she that from 
 
 Naples 
 
 Can have no note, unless the sun were post 
 (The man i' the moon's too slow,) till new-born 
 Be rough and razorable ; she, from whom [chins 
 We were all sea-swallow'd, though some cast 
 
 again ; 
 
 And, by that, destined to perform an act, 
 Whereof what's past is prologue ; what to come, 
 In yours and my discharge. 
 
 Seb. What stuff is this ? How say you ? 
 'Tis true, my brother's daughter's queen of Tunis: 
 So is she heir of Naples ; 'twixt which regions 
 There is some space. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 ii 
 
 Ant. A space whose every cubit 
 
 Seems to cry out, How shall that Claribel 
 Measure tis back to Naples ? Keep in Tunis, 
 And let Sebastian wake ! Say, this were death 
 That now hath seized them ; why, they were 
 
 no worse 
 Than now they are: There be, that can rule 
 
 Naples, 
 
 As well as he that sleeps ; lords, that can prate 
 As amply and unnecessarily 
 As this Gonzalo ; I myself could make 
 A chough of as deep chat. O, that you bore 
 The mind that I do ! what a sleep were this 
 For your advancement! Do you understand me? 
 
 Seb. Methinks, I do. 
 
 Ant. And how does your content 
 
 Tender your own good fortune ? 
 
 Seb. I remember, 
 
 You did supplant your brother Prospero. 
 
 Ant. True : 
 
 And, look, how well my garments sit upon me ; 
 Much feater than before : My brother's servants 
 Were then my fellows, now they are my men. 
 
 Seb. But, for your conscience 
 
 Ant. Ay, sir ; where lies that ? if it were a 
 
 kybe, 
 
 'Twould put me to my slipper : But I feel not 
 This deity in my bosom ; twenty consciences, 
 That stand 'twixt me and Milan, candied be 
 they, [brother, 
 
 And melt, ere they molest ! Here lies your 
 No better than the earth he lies upon, 
 If he were that which now he 's like : whom I, 
 With this obedient steel, three inches of it, 
 Can lay to bed for ever : whiles you, doing thus 
 To the perpetual wink for aye might put 
 This ancient morsel, this Sir Prudence, who 
 Should not upbraid our course. For all the rest, 
 They '11 take suggestion, as a cat laps milk ; 
 They '11 tell the clock to any business that 
 We say befits the hour. 
 
 Seb. Thy case, dear friend, 
 
 Shall be my precedent ; as thou gott'st Milan, 
 I '11 come by Naples. Draw thy sword : one 
 stroke [pay'st ; 
 
 Shall free thee from the tribute which thou 
 And I the king shall love thee. 
 
 Ant. Draw together : 
 
 And when I rear my hand, do you the like, 
 To fall it on Gonzalo. 
 
 Seb. O, but one word. 
 
 [ They converse apart. 
 
 Music. Re-enter ARIEL, invisible. 
 Art. My master through his art foresees the 
 danger [forth, 
 
 That these his friends, are in ; and sends me 
 
 For else his project dies, to keep the living. 
 [Sings in GONZALO'S ear. 
 
 While you here do snoring lie. 
 Open-eyed conspiracy 
 
 His time doth take : 
 If of life you keep a care, 
 Shake off slumber, and beware : 
 
 Awake ! Awake ! 
 
 Ant. Then let us both be sudden. 
 
 Con. Now, good angels, preserve the king ! 
 [ They awake. 
 
 Alon. Why, how now, ho ! awake ! Why 
 
 are you drawn ? 
 Wherefore this ghastly looking ? 
 
 Gon. What's the matter ? 
 
 Seb. Whiles we stood here securing your 
 
 repose, 
 
 Even now, we heard a hollow burst of bellowing 
 Like bulls, or rather lions ; did it not wake you? 
 It struck mine ear most terribly. 
 
 Alon. I heard nothing. 
 
 Ant. O, 'twas a din to fright a monster's ear; 
 To make an earthquake ! sure it was the roar 
 Of a whole herd of Jions. 
 
 Alon. Heard you this, Gonzalo ? 
 
 Gon. Upon mine honour, sir, I heard a 
 
 humming, [me : 
 
 And that a strange one too, which did awake 
 
 I shaked you, sir, and cried ; as mine eyes open'd, 
 
 I saw their weapons drawn : there was a noise, 
 
 That 's verity : 'Best stand upon our guard ; 
 
 Or that we quit this place : let 's draw our 
 
 weapons. [further search 
 
 Alon. Lead off this ground ; and let 's make 
 For my poor son. 
 
 Gon. Heavens keep him from these beasts ! 
 For he is, sure, i' the island. 
 
 Alon. Lead away. 
 
 Ari. Prospero my lord shall know what I 
 
 have done : [Aside. 
 
 So, king, go safely on to seek thy son. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. Another part of the Island. 
 Enter CALIBAN, with a burden of wood. 
 
 A noise of thunder heard. 
 Cal. All the infections that the sun sucks up 
 From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and 
 
 make him 
 
 By inch-meal a disease ! His spirits hear me, 
 And yet I needs must curse. But they '11 nor 
 pinch, [mire, 
 
 Fright me with urchin-shows, pitch me i' the 
 Nor lead me, like a firebrand, in the dark 
 Out of my way, unless he bid them ; but 
 For every trifle they are set upon me : 
 Sometime like apes, that moe and chatter at me, 
 
12 
 
 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 And after, bite me ; then like hedge-hogs, which 
 Lie tumbling in my bare-foot way, and mount 
 Their pricks at my foot-fall ; sometime am I 
 All wound with adders, who, with cloven 
 
 tongues, 
 Do hiss me into madness : Lo ! now ! lo ! 
 
 Enter TRINCULO. 
 
 Here comes a spirit of his ; and to torment me, 
 For bringing wood in slowly : I'll fall flat ; 
 Perchance he will not mind me. 
 
 Trin. Here's neither bush nor shrub, to bear 
 off any weather at all, and another storm brew- 
 ing ; I hear it sing i' the wind ; yond same 
 black cloud, yond huge one, looks like a foul 
 bumbard that would shed his liquor. If it 
 should thunder, as it did before, I know not 
 where to hide my head : yond same cloud can- 
 not choose but fall by pailfuls. What have we 
 here ? a man or a fish ? dead or alive ? A fish: 
 he smells like a fish : a very ancient and fish- 
 like smell ; a kind of, not of the newest, Poor- 
 John. A strange fish ! Were I in England 
 now (as once I was), and had but this fish 
 painted, not a holiday fool there but would give 
 a piece of silver : there would this monster 
 make a man ; any strange beast there makes a 
 man : when they will not give a doit to relieve 
 a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a 
 dead Indian. Legg'd like a man ! and his fins 
 like arms ! Warm, o' my troth ! I do now 
 let loose my opinion, hold it no longer ; this is 
 no fish, but an islander, that hath lately suffered 
 by a thunder-bolt. [Thunder.'} Alas! the 
 storm is come again : my best way is to creep 
 under his gaberdine ; there is no other shelter 
 hereabout : Misery acquaints a man with 
 strange bedfellows. I will here shroud, till 
 the dregs of the storm be past. 
 
 Enter STEPHANO singing ; a bottle in kis hand. 
 
 Ste. I shall no more to sea, to sea, 
 
 Here shall I die ashore 5 
 
 This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man's 
 funeral : Well, here's my comfort. [Drinks. 
 
 The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I, 
 The gunner, and his mate, 
 
 Lov'd Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margery,. 
 But none of us car'd for Kate : 
 For she had a tongue with a tang, 
 Would cry to a sailor, Go, hang; 
 
 She lov'd not the savour of tar nor of pitch, 
 
 Yet a tailor might scratch her where'er she did itch : 
 Then to sea, boys, and let her go hang. 
 
 This is a scurvy tune too : But here 's my comfort. 
 
 Cat. Do not torment me : Oh ! [Drinks. 
 
 Ste. What's the matter? Have we devils 
 here ? Do you put tricks upon us with savages, 
 and men of Inde ? Ha ! I have not 'scaped 
 
 drowning, to be afeard now of your four legs ; 
 for it hath been said, As proper a man as ever 
 went on four legs cannot make him give ground: 
 and it shall be said so again, while Stephano 
 breathes at nostrils. 
 
 Cat. The spirit torments me : Oh ! 
 
 Ste. This is some monster of the isle, with 
 four legs : who hath got, as I take it, an ague : 
 Where the devil should he learn our language ? 
 I will give him some relief, if it be but for that : 
 If I can recover him, and keep him tame, and 
 get to Naples with him, he 's a present for any 
 emperor that ever trod on neat's leather. 
 
 Cal. Do not torment me, pr'ythee ; 
 I '11 bring my wood home faster. 
 
 Ste. He 's in his fit now ; and does not talk 
 after the wisest. He shall taste of my bottle : 
 if he have never drunk wine afore, it will go 
 near to remove his fit. If I can recover him, 
 and keep him tame, I will not take too much 
 for him : he shall pay for him that hath him, 
 and that soundly. [wilt 
 
 Cal. Thou dost me yet but little hurt ; thou 
 Anon ; I know it by thy trembling ; 
 Now Prosper works upon thee. 
 
 Ste. Come on your ways ; open your mouth: 
 here is that which will give language to you, 
 cat; open your mouth: this will shake your shak- 
 ing, I can tell you, and that soundly : you cannot 
 tell who 's your friend : open your chaps again. 
 
 Trin. I should know that voice : It should 
 be But he is drowned ; and these are devils : 
 Oh ! defend me ! 
 
 Ste. Four legs and two voices ; a most deli- 
 cate monster ! His forward voice now is to 
 speak well of his friend ; his backward voice is 
 to utter foul speeches, and to detract. If all 
 the wine in my bottle will recover him, I will 
 help his ague : Come Amen ! I will pour some 
 in thy other mouth. 
 
 Trin. Stephano, 
 
 Ste. Doth thy other mouth call me? Mercy! 
 mercy ! This is a devil, and no monster : I 
 will leave him ; I have no long spoon. 
 
 Trin. Stephano ! if thou beest Stephano, 
 touch me, and speak to me ; for I am Trinculo; 
 be not afeard, thy good friend Trinculo. 
 
 Ste. If thou beest Trinculo, come forth ; I'll 
 pull thee by the lesser legs : if any be Trinculo's 
 legs, these are they. Thou art very Trinculo 
 indeed : How cam'st thou to be the siege of 
 this moon-calf? Can he vent Trinculos ? 
 
 Trin. I took him to be killed with a thunder- 
 stroke : But art thou not drowned, Stephano ? 
 I hope, now, thou art not drowned. Is the 
 storm over-blown ? I hid me under the dead 
 moon-calf s gaberdine for fear of the storm. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 And art thou living, Stephano ? O Stephano, 
 two Neapolitans 'scaped ! 
 
 Ste. Pr'ythee, do not turn me about ; my 
 stomach is not constant. [sprites, 
 
 CaL These be fine things, and if they be not 
 That 's a brave god, and bears celestial liquor : 
 I will kneel to him. 
 
 Ste. How didst thou 'scape? how cam'st 
 thou hither? swear by this bottle, how thou 
 cam'st hither. I escaped upon a butt of sack, 
 which the sailors heaved overboard, by this 
 bottle ! which I made of the bark of a tree, 
 with mine own hands, since I was cast ashore. 
 
 CaL I '11 swear, upon that bottle, to be thy 
 True subject ; for the liquor is not earthly. 
 
 Ste. Here ; swear then how thou escap'dst. 
 
 Trin. Swam ashore, man, like a duck ; I 
 can swim like a duck, I'll be sworn. 
 
 Ste. Here, kiss the book : Though thou 
 canst swim like a duck, thou art made like a 
 goose. 
 
 Trin. O Stephano, hast any more of this ? 
 
 Ste. The whole butt, man ; my cellar is in a 
 rock by the sea-side, where my wine is hid. 
 How now, moon-calf? how does thine ague? 
 
 Cat. Hast thou not dropped from heaven ? 
 
 Ste. Out o' the moon, I do assure thee : I 
 was the man i' the moon, when time was. 
 
 Cat. I have seen thee in her, and I do adore 
 
 thee ; 
 
 My mistress showed me thee, and thy dog and 
 bush. 
 
 Ste. Come, swear to that ; kiss the book : I 
 will furnish it anon with new contents : swear. 
 
 Trin. By this good light, this is a very shal- 
 low monster: I afeard of him? a very weak 
 monster ; The man i' the moon ! a most poor 
 credulous monster: Well drawn, monster, in 
 good sooth. 
 
 CaL I '11 show thee every fertile inch o' the 
 
 island ; 
 And kiss thy foot : I pr'ythee, be my god. 
 
 Trin. By this light, a most perfidious and 
 drunken monster ; when his god 's asleep, he '11 
 rob his bottle. 
 
 CaL I '11 kiss thy foot : I '11 swear myself thy 
 subject. 
 
 Ste. Come on, then ; down, and swear. 
 
 Trin. I shall laugh myself to death at this 
 puppy- headed monster : a most scurvy monster ! 
 I could find in my heart to beat him, 
 
 Ste. Come, kiss. 
 
 Trin. but that the poor monster's in drink; 
 An abominable monster ! 
 
 CaL I '11 show thee the best springs ; I '11 
 
 pluck thee berries ; 
 I '11 fish for thee, and get thee wood enough. 
 
 A plague upon the tyrant that I serve ! 
 
 I '11 bear him no more sticks, but follow thee, 
 
 Thou wondrous man. 
 
 Trin. A most ridiculous monster ! to make 
 a wonder of a poor drunkard. 
 
 CaL I pr'ythee, let me bring thee where 
 
 crabs grow ; 
 
 And I with my long nails will dig thee pig-nuts; 
 Show thee a jay's nest, and instruct thee how 
 To snare the nimble marmozet ; I '11 bring thee 
 To clust'ring filberts, and sometimes I '11 get thee 
 Young sea-mells from the rock : Wilt thou go 
 
 with me ? 
 
 Ste. I pr'ythee now lead the way, without 
 any more talking. Trinculo, the king and all 
 our company else being drowned, we will in- 
 herit here. Here ; [To CAL.] bear my bottle. 
 Fellow Trinculo, we '11 fill him by and by again. 
 CaL Farewell^ master : farewell, farewell. 
 
 [Sings drunkenly. 
 
 Trin. A howling monster; a drunken monster. 
 CaL No more dams I '// make for fish / 
 Nor fetch in firing 
 At requiring, 
 
 Nor scrape trencher, nor wash dish ; 
 'Ban 'Ban, Ca- -Caliban, 
 Has a new master Get a new man. 
 Freedom, hey-day ! hey-day, freedom ! freedom, 
 
 hey-day, freedom ! 
 Ste. O brave monster ! lead the way. {Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. Before PROSPERO'S Cell. 
 Enter FERDINAND, bearing a log. 
 
 Fer. There be some sports are painful, and 
 
 their labour 
 
 Delight in them sets off: some kinds of baseness 
 Are nobly undergone ; and most poor matters 
 Point to rich ends. This my mean task would be 
 As heavy to me, as 'tis odious ; but 
 The mistress which I serve quickens what 's dead, 
 And makes my labours pleasures : Oh, she is 
 Ten times more gentle than her father's crabbed; 
 And he's composed of harshness. I must remove 
 Some thousands of these logs, and pile them up, 
 Upon a sore injunction : My sweet mistress 
 Weeps when she sees me work ; and says such 
 
 baseness 
 
 Had never like executor. I forget : [labours ; 
 But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my 
 Most busy, least when I do it. 
 
 Enter MIRANDA, and PROSPERO at a distance. 
 Mira. Alas, now ! pray you, 
 
 Work not so hard : I would the lightning had 
 
THE TEMPEST. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Burnt up those logs that you are enjoin'd to pile ! 
 Pray, set it down, and restyou : when this burns, 
 'Twill weep for having wearied you. My father 
 Is hard at study ; pray, now, rest yourself; 
 He 's safe for these three hours. 
 
 Fer. O most dear mistress, 
 
 The sun will set before I shall discharge 
 What I must strive to do. 
 
 Mir a. If you '11 sit down, 
 
 I '11 bear your logs the while : pray, give me that; 
 I '11 carry it to the pile. 
 
 Fer. No, precious creature : 
 
 I had rather crack my sinews, break my back, 
 Than you should such dishonour undergo, 
 While I sit lazy by. 
 
 Mira. It would become me 
 
 As well as it does you : and I should do it 
 With much more ease ; for my good will is to it, 
 And yours against. 
 
 Pro. [Aside.'] Poor worm ! thou art infected ; 
 This visitation shows it. 
 
 Mira. You look wearily. 
 
 Fer. No, noble mistress ; 'tis fresh morning 
 
 with me 
 
 When you are by at night. I do beseech you, 
 Chiefly that I might set it in my prayers, 
 What is your name? 
 
 Mira. Miranda : O my father, 
 
 I have broke your 'hest to say so ! 
 
 Fer. Admh'd Miranda ! 
 
 Indeed the top of admiration ; worth 
 What 's dearest to the world ! Full many a lady 
 I have eyed with best regard ; and many a time 
 The harmony of their tongues hath into bondage 
 Brought my too diligent ear : for several virtues 
 Have I lik'd several women : never any 
 With so full soul, but some defect in her 
 Did quarrel with the noblest grace she owed, 
 And put it to the foil : but you, O you, 
 So perfect and so peerless, are created 
 Of every creature's best. 
 
 Mira. I do not know 
 
 One of my sex ! no woman's face remember, 
 Save, from my glass, mine own ; nor have I seen 
 More that I may call men, than you, good friend, 
 And my dear father : how features are abroad, 
 I am skill-less of; but, by my modesty, 
 The jewel in my dower, I would not wish 
 Any companion in the world but you ; 
 Nor can imagination form a shape, 
 Besides yourself, to like of. But I prattle 
 Something too wildly, and my father's precepts 
 Therein forget. 
 
 Fer. I am, in my condition, 
 
 A prince, Miranda ; I do think, a king, 
 I would, not so ! and would no more endure 
 This wooden slavery than I would suffer 
 
 The flesh-fly blow my mouth. Hear my soul 
 
 speak : 
 
 The very instant that I saw you, did 
 My heart fly to your service ; there resides, 
 To make me slave to it ; and for your sake 
 Am I this patient log-man. 
 
 Mira. Do you love me? 
 
 Fer. O heaven, O earth, bear witness to this 
 
 sound, 
 
 And crown what I profess with kind event, 
 If I speak true ! if hollowly, invert 
 What best is boded me to mischief! I, 
 Beyond all limit of what else i' the world, 
 Do love, prize, honour you. 
 
 Mira. I am a fool 
 
 To weep at what I am glad of. 
 
 Pro. [Aside.] Fair encounter 
 
 Of two most rare affections ! Heavens rain grace 
 On that which breeds between them ! 
 
 Fer. Wherefore weep you? 
 
 Mira. Atmineunworthiness, that dare not offer 
 What I desire to give ; and much less take 
 What I shall die to want. But this is trifling : 
 And all the more it seeks to hide itself, 
 The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cun- 
 ning; 
 
 And prompt me, plain and holy innocence ! 
 I am your wife, if you will marry me ; 
 If not, I '11 die your maid : to be your fellotf 
 You may deny me ; but I '11 be your servant 
 Whether you will or no. 
 
 Fer. My mistress, dearest, 
 
 And I thus humble ever. 
 
 Mira. My husband, then ? 
 
 Fer. Ay, with a heart as willing 
 As bondage e'er of freedom : here 's my hand. 
 
 Mira. And mine, with my heart in't: and 
 
 now farewell 
 Till half an hour hence. 
 
 Fer. A thousand ! thousand ! 
 
 [Exeunt FERD. and MIRA. 
 
 Pro. So glad of this as they I cannot be, 
 Who are surprised withal ; but my rejoicing 
 At nothing can be more. I '11 to my book ; 
 For yet, ere supper time, must I perform 
 Much business appertaining. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. Another part of the Island. 
 
 Enter STEPHANO and TRINCULO ; CALIBAN 
 following with a bottle. 
 
 Ste. Tell not me ; when the butt is out, we 
 will drink water ; not a drop before : therefore 
 bear up, and board 'em: Servant-monster, 
 drink to me. 
 
 Trin. Servant-monster! the folly of this 
 island! They say there's but five upon this 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 isle : we are three of them ; if the other two be 
 brained like us, the state totters. 
 
 Sle. Drink, servant-monster, when I bid thee: 
 thy eyes are almost set in thy head. 
 
 Trin. Where should they be set else? he 
 were a brave monster indeed, if they were set 
 in his tail. 
 
 Sle. My man-monster hath drowned his 
 tongue in sack: for my part, the sea cannot 
 drown me : I swam, ere I could recover the 
 shore, five-and-thirty leagues, off and on, by 
 this light. Thou shalt be my lieutenant, mon- 
 ster, or my standard. [standard. 
 
 Trin. Your lieutenant, if you list; he's no 
 
 Ste. We '11 not run, monsieur-monster. 
 
 Trin. Nor go neither : but you '11 lie, like 
 dogs; and yet say nothing neither. 
 
 Ste. Moon-calf, speak once in thy life, if thou 
 beest a good moon-calf. 
 
 Cal. How does thy honour? Let me lick 
 
 thy shoe. 
 I '11 not serve him ; he is not valiant. 
 
 Trin. Thou liest, most ignorant monster: I 
 am in case to justle a constable. Why, thou 
 deboshed fish thou, was there ever a man a 
 coward that hath drunk so much sack as I to- 
 day? Wilt thou tell a monstrous lie, being 
 but half a fish and half a monster? 
 
 Cal. Lo, how he mocks me ! wilt thou let 
 him, my lord? 
 
 Trin. Lord, quoth he ! that a monster 
 should be such a natural ! 
 
 Cal. Lo, loagain ! bite him to death, I pr'y thee. 
 
 Ste. Trinculo, keep a good tongue in your 
 head : if you prove a mutineer, the next tree. 
 The poor monster 's my subject, and he shall 
 not suffer indignity. 
 
 Cal. I thank my noble lord. Wilt thou be 
 pleased to hearken once again to the suit I 
 made thee? 
 
 Ste. Marry will I: kneel and repeat it; I 
 will stand, and so shall Trinculo. 
 
 Enter ARIEL, invisible. 
 
 Cal. As I told thee before, I am subject to a 
 tyrant; a sorcerer, that by his cunning hath 
 cheated me of this island. 
 
 Ari. Thou liest. 
 
 Cal. Thou liest, thou jesting monkey, thou ; 
 I would my valiant master would destroy thee! 
 I do not lie. 
 
 Ste. Trinculo, if you trouble him any more 
 in his tale, by this hand, I will supplant some 
 of your teeth. 
 
 Trin. Why, I said nothing. 
 
 Ste. Mum,then,and no more. [ To CALIBAN. ] 
 Proceed. 
 
 Cal. I say, by sorcery he got this isle ; 
 From me he got it. If thy greatness will 
 Revenge it on him for I know thou dar'st, 
 But this thing dare not. 
 
 Ste. That 's most certain. 
 
 Cal. Thou shalt be lord of it, and I '11 serve thee. 
 
 Ste. How now shall this be compassed? 
 Canst thou bring me to the party? [asleep, 
 
 Cal. Yea, yea my lord ; I '11 yield him thee 
 Where thou mayst knock a nail into his head. 
 
 Ari. Thou liest ; thou canst not. 
 
 Cal. What a pied ninny 's this? Thou scurvy 
 
 patch ! 
 
 I do beseech thy greatness, give him blows, 
 And take his bottle from him : when that 's gone 
 He shall drink nought but brine; for I '11 not 
 
 show him 
 Where the quick freshes are. 
 
 Ste. Trinculo, run into no further danger; 
 interrupt the monster one word further, and, 
 by this hand, I '11 turn my mercy out of doors, 
 and make a stock -fish of thee. 
 
 Trin. Why, what did I? I did nothing. 
 I '11 go further off. 
 
 Ste. Didst thou not say, he lied? 
 
 Ari. Thou liest. 
 
 Ste. Do I so? take thou that. [Strikes htm.} 
 As you like this, give me the lie another time. 
 
 Trin. I did not give the lie. Out o' your 
 
 wits and hearing too? A pox o' your bottle ! 
 
 this can sack and drinking do. A murrain on 
 your monster, and the devil take your fingers ! 
 
 Cal. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Ste. Now, forward with your tale. Pr'ythee, 
 stand further off. 
 
 Cal. Beat him enough : after a little time, 
 I '11 beat him too. 
 
 Ste. Stand further. Come, proceed. 
 
 Cal. Why, as I told thee, 'tis a custom with him 
 I' the afternoon to sleep: there thou mayst brain 
 
 him, 
 
 Having first seized his books ; or with a log 
 Batter his skull, or paunch him with a stake, 
 Or cut his wezand with thy knife. Remember, 
 First to possess his books ; for without them 
 He 's but a sot, as I am, nor hath not 
 One spirit to command : they all do hate him 
 As rootedly as I. Burn but his books. 
 He has brave utensils, for so he calls them, 
 Which, when he has a house, he '11 deck withaf. 
 And that most deeply to consider is 
 The beauty of his daughter ; he himself 
 Calls her a nonpareil ; I never saw woman, 
 But only Sycorax my dam and she ; 
 But she as far surpasseth Sycorax, 
 As great'st does least. 
 
 Ste. Is it so brave a lass? 
 
i6 
 
 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 [ACT III. 
 
 Cal. Ay, lord; she will become thy bed, I war- 
 rant, 
 And bring thee forth brave brood. 
 
 Ste. Monster, I will kill this man : his 
 daughter and I will be king and queen ; save 
 our graces ! and Trinculo and thyself shall be 
 viceroys. Dost thou like the plot, Trinculo ? 
 
 Trin. Excellent. 
 
 Ste. Give me thy hand ; I am sorry I beat 
 thee : but while thou livest, keep a good tongue 
 in thy head. 
 
 Cal. Within this half hour will he be asleep ; 
 Wilt thou destroy him then ? 
 
 Ste. Ay, on mine honour. 
 
 Ari. This will I tell my master. 
 
 Cal. Thou mak'st me merry : I am full of 
 
 pleasure ; 
 
 Let us be jocund : will you troll the catch 
 You taught me but while-ere ? 
 
 Ste, At thy request, monster, I will do reason, 
 any reason. Come on, Trinculo, let us sing. 
 
 [Sings. 
 
 Flout 'em, and scout 'em; and scout 'em and flout ' em; 
 Thought is free. 
 
 Cal. That 's not the tune. 
 [ARiEL//<ay/.r the tune on a tabor and pipe. 
 
 Ste. What is this same ? 
 
 Trin. This is the tune of our catch, played 
 by the picture of Nobody. 
 
 Ste. If thou beest a man, show thyself in thy 
 likeness : if thou beest a devil, take 't as thou 
 list. 
 
 Trin. O, forgive me my sins ! 
 
 Ste. He that dies, pays all debts: I defy 
 thee : Mercy upon us ! 
 
 Cal. Art thou afeard ? 
 
 Ste. No, monster, not I. 
 
 Cal. Be not afeard ; the isle is full of noises, 
 Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight and 
 
 hurt not. 
 
 Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments 
 Will hum about mine ears; and sometimes voices, 
 That, if I then had waked after long sleep, 
 Will make me sleep again ; and then, in 
 dreaming, [riches 
 
 The clouds, methought, would open and show 
 Ready to drop upon me : that, when I waked, 
 I cried to dream again. 
 
 Ste. This will prove a brave kingdom to me, 
 where I shall have my music for nothing. 
 
 Cal. When Prospero is destroyed. 
 
 Ste. That shall be by and by : I remember 
 the story. 
 
 Trin. The sound is going away : let 's follow 
 it, and after, do our work. 
 
 Ste. Lead, monster, we '11 follow. I would 
 I could see this taborer : he lays it on. 
 
 Trin. Wilt come ? I '11 follow, Stephano. 
 
 \_Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. Another part of the Island. 
 
 Enter ALONSO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, 
 GONZALO, ADRIAN, FRANCISCO, and others. 
 
 Gon. By'r lakin, I can go no further, sir ; 
 My old bones ache : here 's a maze trod, indeed, 
 Through forth-rights and meanders ! by your 
 I needs must rest me. [patience. 
 
 Alon. Old lord, I cannot blame thee, 
 
 Who am myself attach'd with weariness, 
 To the dulling of my spirits : sit down, and rest. 
 Even here I will put off my hope, and keep it 
 No longer for my flatterer : he is drown'd 
 Whom thus we stray to find : and the sea mocks 
 Our frustrate search on land. Well, let him go. 
 
 Ant. I am right glad that he 's so out of hope. 
 {Aside to SEE. 
 
 Do not, for one repulse, forego the purpose 
 That you resolved to effect. 
 
 Seb. The next advantage 
 
 Will we take thoroughly. {Aside to ANT. 
 
 Ant. [Aside to SEE.] Let it be to-night ; 
 For, now they are oppress'd with travel, they 
 Will not, nor cannot, use such vigilance, 
 As when they are fresh. 
 
 Seb. [Aside to ANT. ] I say to-night ; no more. 
 Solemn and strange music ; and PROSPERO 
 
 above, invisible. Enter several strange 
 
 Shapes, bringing in a banquet ; they dance 
 
 about it with gentle actions of salutation, 
 
 and inviting the King, &c., to eat, they 
 
 depart. 
 
 Alon. What harmony is this? My good 
 friends hark ! 
 
 Gon. Marvellous sweet music ! 
 
 Alon. Give us kind keepers, heavens ! What 
 were these ? 
 
 Seb. A living drollery : now I will believe, 
 That there are unicorns ; that, in Arabia 
 There is one tree, the phoenix' throne ; one 
 At this hour reigning there. [phoenix 
 
 Ant. I'll believe both ; 
 
 And what does else want credit, come to me, 
 And I '11 be sworn 'tis true : travellers ne'er did lie, 
 Though fools at home condemn them. 
 
 Gon. If in Naples 
 
 I should report this now, would they believe me? 
 If I should say, I saw such islanders, 
 For, certes, these are people of the island, 
 Who, though they are of monstrous shape, yet, 
 
 note, 
 
 Their manners are more gentle-kind than of 
 Our human generation you shall find 
 Many, nay, almost any. 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 Pro. Honest lord, 
 
 Thou hast said well; for some of you there 
 
 present 
 Are worse than devils. [Aside. 
 
 Alon. I cannot toe much muse, 
 
 Such shapes, such gesture, and such sound, 
 
 expressing, , 
 
 Although they want the use of tongue, a kind 
 Of excellent dumb discourse. 
 
 Pro. Praise in departing. [A side. 
 
 Fran. They vanish'd strangely. 
 
 Seb. No matter, since 
 
 They have left their viands behind ; for we have 
 
 stomachs, 
 Will 't please you taste of what is here? 
 
 Alon. Not I. 
 
 Gon. Faith, sir, you need not fear. When 
 we were boys, [eers, 
 
 Who would believe that there were mountain- 
 Dew-lapp'd like bulls, whose throats had hang- 
 ing at them 
 
 Wallets of flesh? or that there were such men, 
 Whose heads stood in their breasts? which now 
 
 we find, 
 
 Each putter-out of one for five, will bring us 
 Good warrant of. 
 
 Alon. I will stand to, and feed, 
 
 Although my last : no matter, since I feel, 
 The best is past: Brother, my lord the duke, 
 Stand to, and do as we. 
 
 Thunder and lightning. Enter ARIEL like a 
 harpy ; claps his wings upon the table, and 
 with a quaint device the banquet vanishes. 
 
 Art. You are three men of sin, whom destiny, 
 That hath to instrument this lower world, 
 And what is in 't, the never-surfeited sea 
 Hath caused to belch up ; and on this island 
 Where man doth not inhabit ; you 'mongst men 
 Being most unfit to live. I have made you mad ; 
 And even with such like valour, men hang and 
 Their proper selves. [drown 
 
 [ALON., SEB. &c., draw thtir swords. 
 You fools! I and my fellows 
 Are ministers of fate ; the elements, 
 Of whom your swords are temper'd, may as well 
 Wound the loud winds, orwithbemock'd-at stabs 
 Kill the still-closing waters, as diminish 
 One dowle that 's in my plume ; my fellow- 
 ministers 
 
 Are like invulnerable ; if you could hurt, 
 Your swords are now too massy for your strengths, 
 And will not be uplifted. But, remember, 
 For that 's my business to you, that you three 
 From Milan did supplant good Prospero ; 
 Expos'd unto the sea, which hath requit it, 
 Him, and his innocent child : for which foul deed 
 
 The powers, delaying, not forgetting have 
 Incensed the seas and shores, yea, all the 
 
 creatures. 
 
 Against your peace : Thee, of thy son, Alonso, 
 They have bereft ; and do pronounce by me, 
 Ling'ring perdition, worse than any death 
 Can be at once, shall step by step attend 
 You and your ways; whose wraths to guard 
 
 you from, 
 
 Which here, in this most desolate isle ; else falls 
 U pon your heads, is nothing but heart's sorrow, 
 And a clear life ensuing, 
 
 He vanishes in thunder: then, to soft music, 
 enter the Shapes again, and dance with mops 
 and mows, and carry out the table. 
 
 Pro. [Aside.] Bravely the figure of this harpy 
 
 hast thou 
 
 Perform'd, my Ariel ; a grace it had devouring : 
 Of my instruction hast thou nothing 'bated, 
 In what thou hadst to say: so, with good life, 
 And observation strange, my meaner ministers 
 Their several kinds have done : my high charms 
 And these, mine enemies, are all knit up [work, 
 In their distractions : they now are in my power ; 
 And in these fits I leave them, whilst I visit 
 Young Ferdinand, who they suppose is 
 And his and my loved darling. [drown'd, 
 [Exit PROSPERO from above. 
 
 Gon. I' the name of something holy, sir, why 
 In this strange stare? [stand you 
 
 Alon. O, it is monstrous! monstrous! 
 
 Methought the billows spoke, and told me of it; 
 The winds did sing it to me ; and the thunder, 
 That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounced 
 The name of Prosper ; it did bass my trespass. 
 Therefore my son i' the ooze is bedded ; and 
 I '11 seek him deeper than e'er plummet sounded. 
 And with him there lie mudded. [Exit. 
 
 Seb. But one fiend at a time, 
 
 I '11 fight their legions o'er. 
 
 Ant. I '11 be thy second. 
 
 [Exeunt SEB. and ANT. 
 
 Gon. All three of them are desperate ; their 
 
 great guilt, 
 
 Like poison given to work a great time after, 
 Now 'gins to bite the spirits : I do beseech you 
 That are of suppler joints, follow them swiftly, 
 And hinder them from what this ecslacy 
 May now provoke them to. 
 
 Adr. Follow, I pray you. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. Before PROSPERO'S Cell. 
 
 Enter PROSPERO, FERDINAND, ^ZW^MIRANDA. 
 
 Pro. If I have too austerely punished you, 
 
i8 
 
 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Your compensation makes amends ; for I 
 Have given you here a thread of mine own life, 
 Or that for which I live ; who once again 
 I tender to thy hand : all thy vexations 
 Were but my trials of thy love, and thou 
 Hast strangely stood the test: here, afore Heaven, 
 I ratify this my rich gift. O Ferdinand, 
 Do not smile at me, that I boast her off, 
 Fbr thou shalt find she will outstrip all praise, 
 And make it halt behind her. 
 
 Fer. I do believe it, 
 
 Against an oracle. 
 
 Pro. Then, as my gift, and thine own 
 
 acquisition 
 
 Worthily purchas'd, take my daughter : But 
 If thou dost break her virgin knot before 
 All sanctimonious ceremonies may 
 With full and holy rite be minister'd, 
 No sweet aspersion shall the heavens let fal! 
 To make this contract grow : but barren hate, 
 Sour-eyed disdain, and discord, shall bestrew 
 The union of your bed with weeds so loathly, 
 That you shall hate it both : therefore, take 
 As Hymen's lamps shall light you. [heed, 
 
 Fer. As I hope 
 
 For quiet days, fair issue, and long life, 
 With such love as 'tis now; the murkiest den, 
 The most opportune place, the strong' st sugges- 
 Our worser Genius can, shall never melt [tion 
 Mine honour into lust ; to take away 
 The edge of that day's celebration, [foundev'd, 
 When I shall -think, or Phoebus' steeds are 
 Or night kept chain'd below. 
 
 Pro. Fairly spoke : 
 
 Sit, then, and talk with her, she is thine own. 
 What, Ariel ; my industrious servant, Ariel ! 
 
 Enter ARIEL. 
 
 Art. What would my potent master? here 
 I am. [service 
 
 Pro. Thou and thy meaner fellows your last 
 Did worthily perform ; and I must use you 
 In such another trick : go, bring the rabble, 
 O'er whom I give thee power, here, to this place: 
 Incite them to quick motion ; for I must 
 Bestow upon the eyes of this young couple 
 Some vanity of mine art ; it is my promise, 
 And they expect it from me. 
 
 Art. Presently? 
 
 Pro. Ay, with a twink. 
 
 Ari. Before you can say, Come and go, 
 And breathe twice ; and cry, so, so; 
 Each one, tripping on his toe, 
 Will be here with mop and mow : 
 Do you love me, master ? no ? [approach 
 
 Pro. Dearly, my delicate Ariel. Do not 
 Till thou dost hear me call. 
 
 Ari. Well I conceive. \*Exit. 
 
 Pro. Look thou be true: do not give dalliance 
 Too much the rein : the strongest oaths are straw 
 To the fire i' the blood : be more abstemious, 
 Or else, good night your vow ! 
 
 Fer. I warrant you, sir. 
 
 The white cold virgin snow upon my heart 
 Abates the ardour of my liver. 
 
 Pro. Well. 
 
 Now come, my Ariel : bring a corollary, 
 Rather than want a spirit : appear, and pertly. 
 No tongue ; all eyes ; be silent. [Soft music. 
 A Masqtte. Enter IRIS. 
 
 Iris. Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas 
 Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and pease ; 
 Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep, 
 Andflat meads thatch dwith stover, themtokeep; 
 Thy banks with peonied and lilied brims, 
 Which spongy April at thy 'hest betrims, 
 To make cold nymphs chaste crowns ; and thy 
 
 broom groves, 
 
 Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves, 
 Being lass-lorn ; thy pole-clipt vineyard ; 
 And thy sea-marge, sterile and rocky-hard, 
 Where thou thyself dost air: The queen o' the sky 
 Whose watery arch, and messenger, am I, 
 Bids thee leave these ; and with her sovereign 
 
 grace, 
 
 Here on this grass-plot, in this very place, 
 To come and sport : her peacocks fly amain 
 Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain. 
 Enter CERES. 
 
 Cer. Hail, many-colour'd messenger, that 
 
 ne'er 
 
 Dost disobey the wife of Jupiter ; 
 Who, with thy saffron wings, upon my flowers 
 Diffusest honey drops, refreshing showers ; 
 And with each end of thy blue bow dost crown 
 My bosky acres, and my unshrubb'd down, 
 Rich scarf to my proud earth ; why hath thy 
 
 queen 
 Summon'd me hither, to this short-grass'd green? 
 
 Iris. A contract of true love to celebrate ; 
 And some donation freely to estate 
 On the bless'd lovers. 
 
 Cer, Tell me, heavenly bow, 
 
 If Venus, or her son, as thou dost know, 
 Do now attend the queen? since they did plot 
 The means, that dusky Dis my daughter got, 
 Her and her blind boy's scandal'd company 
 I have forsworn. 
 
 Iris. Of her society 
 
 Be not afraid. I met her deity 
 Cutting the clouds towards Paphos ; and her son 
 Dove-drawn with her ; here thought they to have 
 done 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 Some wanton charm upon this man and maid, 
 Whose vows are that no bed-rite shall be paid 
 Till Hymen's torch be lighted ; but in vain ; 
 Mars' hot minion is return'd again ; 
 Her waspish-headed son has broke his arrows, 
 Swears he will shoot no more, but play with 
 And be a boy right out. [sparrows, 
 
 Cer. Highest queen of state, 
 
 Great Juno comes ; I know her by her gait. 
 
 Enter JUNO. 
 
 fun. How does my bounteous sister? Go 
 
 with me, 
 
 To bless this twain, that they may prosperous be, 
 And honour'd in their issue. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 fun. Honour, riches, marriage-blessing, 
 Long continuance, and increasing, 
 Hourly joys be still upon you ! 
 Juno sings her blessings on you. 
 
 Cer. Earth's increase, and foison plenty, 
 Barns and garners never empty ; 
 Vines, with clust'ring bunches growing ; 
 Plants, with goodly burden bowing ; 
 Spring come to you, at the farthest, 
 In the very end of harvest ! 
 Scarcity and want shall shun you 
 Ceres' blessing so is on you. 
 
 Per. This is a most majestic vision, and 
 Harmonious charmingly: May I be bold 
 To think these spirits? 
 
 Pro. Spirits, which by mine art 
 
 I have from their confines called to enact 
 My present fancies. 
 
 Fer. Let me live here ever; 
 
 So rare a wonder'd father, and a wise, 
 Makes this place Paradise. 
 
 QUNO and CERES whisper, and 
 send IRIS on employment. 
 
 Pro. Sweet now, silence ; 
 
 Juno and Ceres whisper seriously ; 
 There 's something else to do ; hush, and be mute, 
 Or else our spell is marr'd. 
 
 Iris. You nymphs, call'd Naiads, of the 
 wind'ring brooks, [looks, 
 
 With your sedged clowns, and ever harmless 
 Leave your crisp channels, and on this green land 
 Answer your summons : Juno does command. 
 Come, temperate nymphs, and help to celebrate 
 A contract of true love ; be not too late. 
 
 Enter certain Nymphs. 
 
 You sun-burn'd sicklemen, of August weary, 
 Come hither from the furrow, and be merry ; 
 Make holiday : your rye-straw hats put on, 
 And these fresh nymphs encounter every one 
 In country footing. 
 
 Enter certain Reapers, properly habited ; they 
 
 join with the Nymphs in a graceful dance; 
 
 towards the end whereof PROSPERO starts 
 
 suddenly, and speaks; after which, to a 
 
 strange, hollow, and confused noise, they 
 
 heavily vanish. 
 
 Pro. [Aside.] I had forgot that foul conspiracy 
 Of the beast Caliban and his confederates 
 Against my life; the minute of their plot-'^ 
 Is almost come. [ To the Spirits. ] Well done ; 
 avoid ; no more. [passion 
 
 Fer. This is strange : your father 's in some 
 That works him strongly. 
 
 Mira. Never till this day, 
 
 Saw I him touch'd with anger so distemper'd. 
 
 Pro. You do look, my son, in a moved sort, 
 As if you were dismay'd : be cheerful, sir : 
 Our revels now are ended : these our actors, 
 As I foretold you, were all spirits, and 
 Are melted into air, into thin air: 
 And, like the baseless fabric of this vision 
 The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, 
 The solemn temples, the great globe itself, 
 Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, 
 And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, 
 Leave not a rack behind : We are such stuff 
 As dreams are made of, and our little life 
 Is rounded with a sleep. Sir, I am vex'd; 
 Bear with my weakness ; my old brain is troubled, 
 Be not disturb'd with my infirmity ; 
 If you be pleased, retire into my cell, 
 And there repose ; a turn or two I 'II walk, 
 To still my beating mind. 
 
 Fer. Mira. We wish your peace. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Pro. Come, with a thought: I thank you; 
 Ariel, come. 
 
 Enter ARIEL. 
 Art. Thy thoughts I cleave to : What 's thy 
 
 pleasure? 
 
 Pro. Spirit, 
 
 We must prepare to meet with Caliban. 
 
 Art. Ay, my commander ; when I presented 
 
 Ceres, 
 
 I thought to have told thee of it ; but I fear'd 
 
 Lest I might anger thee. [varlets? 
 
 Pro. Say again, where didst thou leave these 
 
 Art. I told you, sir, they were red-hot with 
 
 drinking : 
 
 So full of valour that they smote the air 
 For breathing in their faces ; beat the ground 
 For kissing of their feet ; yet always bending 
 Towards their project : Then I beat my tabor, 
 At which, like unback'd colts, they prick'd their 
 
 ears, 
 Advanced their eyelids, lifted up their noees, 
 
20 
 
 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 As they smelt music ; so I charm'd their ears, 
 That, calf-like, they my lowing follow'd through 
 Tooth'd briers, sharp furzes, pricking goss, and 
 
 thorns, 
 
 Which enter 'd their frail shins : at last I left them 
 I' the filthy mantled pool beyond your cell, 
 There dancing up to the chills, that the foul lake 
 O'erstunk their feet. 
 
 Pro. This was well done, my bird ; 
 
 Thy shape invisible retain thou still : 
 The trumpery in my house, go, bring it hither, 
 For stale to catch these thieves. 
 
 Art. I go, I go. [Exit. 
 
 Pro. A devil, a born devil, on whose nature 
 Nurture can never stick ; on whom my pains, 
 Humanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost: 
 And as, with age, his body uglier grows, 
 So his mind cankers: I will plague them all, 
 
 Re-enter ARIEL, loaden with glistering 
 apparel, &c. 
 
 Even to roaring : Come, hang them on this line. 
 
 PROSPERO and ARIEL remain invisible. Enter 
 CALIBAN, STEPHANO, awaTTRiNCULO, all wet. 
 
 Cal. Pray you, tread softly, that the blind 
 
 mole may not 
 Hear a footfall : we now are near his cell. 
 
 Ste. Monster, your fairy, which you say is a 
 harmless fairy, has done little better than 
 played the Jack with us. 
 
 Trin. Monster, I do smell all horse-piss ; at 
 which my nose is in great indignation. 
 
 Ste. So is mine. Do you hear, monster r If I 
 should take a displeasure against you ; look you, 
 
 Trin. Thou wert but a lost monster. 
 
 Cal. Good, my lord, give me thy favour still : 
 Be patient, for the prize I '11 bring thee to 
 Shall hood- wink this mischance : therefore speak 
 All 's hush'd as midnight yet. [softly, 
 
 Trin. Ay, but to lose our bottles in the pool 
 
 Ste. There is not only disgrace and dis- 
 honour in that, monster, but an infinite loss. 
 
 Trin. That 's more to me than my wetting : 
 yet this is your harmless fairy monster. 
 
 Ste. I will fetch off my bottle, though I be 
 o'er ears for my labour. [here, 
 
 Cal. Pr 'ythee, my king, be quiet : Seest thou 
 This is the mouth o' the cell : no noise, and enter. 
 Do that good mischief, which may make this 
 
 island 
 
 Thine own for ever, and I, thy Caliban, 
 For aye thy foot-licker. 
 
 Ste. Give me thy hand : I do begin to have 
 bloody thoughts. 
 
 Trin. O king Stephano ! O peer ! O worthy 
 Stephano ! look, what a wardrobe here is for thee. 
 
 Cal. Let it alone, thou fool ; it is but trash. 
 
 Trin. O, ho, monster ; we know what be- 
 longs to a frippery. O king Stephano ! 
 
 Ste. Put off that gown, Trinculo ; by this 
 hand, I '11 have that gown. 
 
 Trin. Thy grace shall have it. [mean, 
 
 Cal. The dropsy drown this fool ! what do you 
 To dote thus on such luggage ? Let 's along, 
 And do the murder first : if he awake, 
 From toe to crown he'll fill our skins with 
 
 pinches ; 
 Make us strange stuff. 
 
 Ste. Be you quiet, monster. Mistress line, 
 is not this my jerkin ? Now is the jerkin under 
 the line : now, jerkin, you are like to lose your 
 hair, and prove a bald jerkin. 
 
 Trin. Do, do : We steal by line and level, 
 ain 't like your grace. 
 
 Ste. I thank thee for that jest : here 's a 
 garment for 't : wit shall not go unrewarded 
 while I am king of this country : Steal by line 
 and level, is an excellent pass of pate ; there 's 
 another garment for't. 
 
 Trin. Monster, come, put some lime upon 
 your fingers, and away with the rest. [time, 
 
 Cal. I will have none on 't : we shall lose our 
 And all be turned to barnacles, or to apes 
 With foreheads villanous low. 
 
 Ste. Monster, lay to your fingers ; help to bear 
 this away where my hogshead of wine is, or I '11 
 turn you out of my kingdom : go to, carry this. 
 
 Trin. And this. 
 
 Ste. Ay, and this. 
 
 A noise of hunters heard. Enter divers Spirits, 
 in shape of hounds^ and hunt them about. 
 PROSPERO and ARIEL setting them on. 
 
 Pro. Hey, Mountain , hey ! 
 
 Ari. Silver ! there it goes, Silver! [hark ! 
 
 Pro. Fury, Fury! there, Tyrant, there ! hark, 
 [CAL., STE., and TRIN. are driven out. 
 Go, charge mygoblins that they grind their joints 
 With dry convulsions ; shorten up their sinews 
 Withaged cramps; and more pinch-spotted make 
 Than pard or cat o' mountain. [them, 
 
 Ari. Hark, they roar. 
 
 Pro. Let them be hunted soundly : At this 
 Lie at my mercy all mine enemies : [hour 
 
 Shortly shall all my labours end, and thou 
 Shalt have the air at freedom : for a little 
 Follow, and do me service. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE 1. Before the Cell of PROSPERO. 
 Enter PROSPEROZW his magic robes; and ARIEL. 
 Pro. Now does my project gather to a head : 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 21 
 
 My charms crack not ; my spirits obey ; and time 
 Goes upright with his carriage. How 's the day? 
 
 Ari. On the sixth hour ; at which time, my 
 You said our work should cease. [lord, 
 
 Pro, I did say so, 
 
 When first I raised the tempest. Say, my spirit, 
 How fares the king and 's followers ? 
 
 Ari. Confin'd together 
 
 In the same fashion as you gave in charge ; 
 Just as you left them, sir ; all prisoners 
 In the lime-grove which weather-fends your cell; 
 They cannot budge till your release. The king, 
 His brother, and yours, abide all three distracted; 
 And the remainder mourning over them, 
 Brimful of sorrow and dismay ; but chiefly 
 Him you termed, sir, The good old lord Gonzalo; 
 His tears run down his beard, like winter's drops 
 From eaves of reeds : your charm so strongly 
 
 works them, 
 
 That if you now beheld them, your affections 
 Would become tender. 
 
 Pro. Dost thou think so, spirit? 
 
 Ari. Mine would, sir, were I human. 
 
 Pro. And mine shall. 
 
 Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling 
 Of their afflictions ? and shall not myself, 
 One of their kind, that relish all as sharply 
 Passion as they, l>e kindlier moved than thou art? 
 Though with their high wrongs I am struck to 
 
 the quick, 
 
 Yet, with my nobler reason, 'gainst my fury 
 Do I take part : the rarer action is 
 In virtue than in vengeance: they being penitent, 
 The sole drift of my purpose doth extend 
 Not a frown further. Go, release them, Ariel ; 
 My charms I '11 break, their senses I '11 restore, 
 And they shall be themselves. 
 
 Ari. I '11 fetch them, sir. [Exit. 
 
 Pro. Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, 
 
 and groves ; 
 
 And ye that on the sands with printless foot 
 Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him 
 When he comes back ; you demi-puppets that 
 By moonshine do the green sour ringlets make, 
 Whereof the ewe not bites; and you whose pastime 
 Is to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoice 
 To hear the solemn curfew ; by whose aid, 
 Weak masters though ye be, I have bedimm'd 
 The noontide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds, 
 And 'twixt the green sea and the azured vault 
 Set roaring war : to the dread rattling thunder 
 Have I given fire, and rifted Jove's stout oak 
 With his own bolt : the strong-based promontory 
 Have I made shake : and by the spurs pluck'd up 
 The pine and cedar : graves, at my command, 
 Have waked their sleepers, oped, and let them 
 forth 
 
 By my so potent art. But this rough magic 
 I here abjure : and, when I have required 
 Some heavenly music, which even now I do, 
 To work mine end upon their senses, that 
 This airy charm is for, I '11 break my staff, 
 Bury it certain fathoms in the earth, . 
 And deeper than did ever plummet sound 
 I '11 drown my book. [Solemn music. 
 
 Re-enter ARIEL : after him ALONSO, with a 
 frantic gesture , attended by GONZALO; SEBAS- 
 TIAN and ANTON 10 in like manner, attended by 
 ADRIAN and FRANCISCO : they all enter the 
 circle which PROSPERO had made, and there 
 stand charmed ; which PROSPERO observing, 
 speaks. 
 
 A solemn air, and the best comforter 
 To an unsettled fancy, cure thy brains, [stand, 
 Now useless, boil'd within thy skull ! There 
 For you are spell-stopp'd. 
 Holy Gonzalo, honourable man, 
 Mine eyes, even sociable to the show of thine, 
 Fall fellowly drops. The charm dissolves apace ; 
 And as the morning steals upon the night, 
 Melting the darkness, so their rising senses 
 Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle 
 Their clearer reason. O good Gonzalo, 
 My true preserver, and a loyal sir 
 To him thou follow'st ; I will pay thy graces 
 Home, both in word and deed. Most cruelly 
 Didst thou, Alonso, use me and my daughter : 
 Thy brother was a furtherer in the .act ; 
 Thou 'rt pinch 'd for 't now, Sebastian, flesh and 
 
 blood. 
 
 You brother mine, that entertain ambition, 
 Expell'd remorse and nature ; who, with Sebas- 
 tian, [strong, 
 Whose inward pinches therefore are most 
 Would here have kill'd your king ; I do forgive 
 thee, [ing 
 Unnatural though thou art. Their understand- 
 Begins to swell ; and the approaching tide 
 Will shortly fill the reasonable shore 
 That now lies foul and muddy. Not one of them 
 That yet looks on me, or would know me. Ariel, 
 Fetch me the hat and rapier in my cell ; 
 
 [Exit ARIEL. 
 
 I will disease me, and myself present 
 As I was sometime Milan : quickly, spirit ; 
 Thou shalt ere long be free. 
 
 ARIEL re-enters, singing, and helps to attire 
 PROSPERO. 
 
 Art. Where the bee sucks, there suck I ; 
 In the 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. 
 
22 
 
 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Pro. Why, that 3 s my dainty Ariel : I shall 
 
 miss thee; 
 
 But yet thou shalt have freedom : so, so, so. 
 To the king's ship, invisible as thou art : 
 There shalt thou find the mariners asleep 
 Under the hatches ; the master and the boatswain 
 Being awake, enforce them to this place ; 
 And presently, I pr'ythee. 
 
 Ari. I drink the air before me, and return 
 Or e'er your pulse twice beat. [Exit ARIEL. 
 
 Gon, All torment, trouble, wonder, and 
 
 amazement 
 
 Inhabits here. Some heavenly power guide us 
 Out of this fearful country ! 
 
 Pro. Behold, sir king, 
 
 The wronged Duke of Milan, Prospero : 
 For more assurance that a living prince 
 Does now speak to thee, I embrace thy body ; 
 And to thee and thy company I bid 
 A hearty welcome. 
 
 Alon. Whether thou beest he or no, 
 
 Or some enchanted trifle to abuse me, 
 As late I have been, I not know : thy pulse 
 Beats, as of flesh and blood ; and, since I saw 
 
 thee, 
 
 The affliction of my mind amends, with which, 
 I fear, a madness held me: this must crave, 
 An if this be at all, a most strange story. 
 Thy dukedom I resign ; and do entreat 
 Thou pardon me my wrongs. But how should 
 
 Prospero 
 Be living and be here? 
 
 Pro. First, noble friend, 
 
 Let me embrace thine age, whose honour cannot 
 Be measured or confined. 
 
 Gon. Whether this be 
 
 Or be not, I '11 not swear. 
 
 Pro. You do yet taste 
 
 Some subtilties o' the isle, that will not let you 
 Believe things certain. Welcome, my friends, 
 all : [Aside to SEE. and ANT. 
 
 But you, my brace of lords, were I so minded, 
 I here could pluck his highness' frown upon you, 
 And justify you traitors ; at this time 
 I '11 tell no tales. 
 
 Seb. The devil speaks in him. [Aside. 
 
 Pro. No: 
 
 For you, most wicked sir, whom to call brother 
 Would even infect my mouth, I do forgive 
 Thy rankest fault, all of them; and require 
 My dukedom of thee, which, perforce, I know 
 Thou must restore. 
 
 Alon. If thou beest Prospero, 
 
 Give us particulars of thy preservation : 
 How thov. hast met us here, who three hours since 
 Were wreck'd upon this shore ; where I have 
 lost- 
 
 How sharp the point of this remembrance is !-" 
 My dear son Ferdinand. 
 
 Pro. I am woe for 't, sir. 
 
 Alon. Irreparable is the loss ; and patience 
 Says it is past her cure. 
 
 Pro. I rather think 
 
 You have not sought her help ; of whose soft grace 
 For the like loss I have her sovereign aid, 
 And rest myself content. 
 
 Alon. You the like loss? 
 
 Pro. As great to me as late ; and, supportable 
 To make the dear loss, have I means much weaker 
 Than you may call to comfort you ; for I 
 Have lost my daughter. 
 
 Alon. A daughter ! 
 
 heavens, that they were living both in Naples, 
 The king and queen there ! that they were, I wish 
 Myself were mudded in that oozy bed 
 Where my son lies. When did you lose your 
 
 daughter? [lords 
 
 Pro. In this last tempest. I perceive these 
 At this encounter do so much admire 
 That they devour their reason, and scarce think 
 Their eyes do offices of truth, their words 
 Are natural breath : but, howsoe'er you have 
 Been justled from your senses, know for certain 
 That I am Prospero, and that very duke 
 Which was thrust forth of Milan; who most 
 
 strangely [landed, 
 
 Upon this shore, where you were wreck'd, was 
 To be the lord on 't. No more yet of this ; 
 For 'tis a chronicle of day by day, 
 Not a relation for a breakfast, nor 
 Befitting this first meeting. Welcome, sir ; 
 This cell 's my court : here have I few attendants, 
 And subjects none abroad: pray you, look in. 
 My dukedom since you have given me again, 
 
 1 will requite you with as good a thing : 
 
 At least bring forth a wonder, to content ye 
 As much as me my dukedom. 
 
 The entrance of the Cell opens ^ and discovers 
 FERDINAND and MIRANDA playing at chess. 
 
 Mira. Sweet lord, you play me false. 
 Fer. No, my dearest love, 
 
 I would not for the world. 
 
 Mira. Yes, for a score of kingdoms you should 
 
 wrangle, 
 And I would call it fair play. 
 
 Alon. If this prove 
 
 A vision of the island, one dear son 
 Shall I twice lose. 
 
 Seb. A most high miracle ! 
 
 Fer. Though the seas threaten, they are merci- 
 ful : 
 I have cursed them without cause. 
 
 [FfiRD. kneels to ALON. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 A Ion. Now all the blessings 
 
 Of a glad fatner compass thee about I 
 Arise and say how thou cam'st here. 
 
 Mira. O, wonder ! 
 
 How many goodly creatures are there here ! 
 How beauteous mankind is ! O brave new world, 
 That hath such people in \ ! 
 
 Pro. 'Tis new to thee. 
 
 Alon. What is this maid, with whom thou 
 
 wast at play ? 
 
 Your eld'st acquaintance cannot be three hours: 
 Is she the goddess that hath sever'd us, 
 And brought us thus together ? 
 
 Fer. Sir, she 's mortal ; 
 
 But by immortal providence she 's mine ; 
 I chose her when T could not ask my father 
 For his advice, nor thought I had one : she 
 Is daughter to this famous Duke of Milan, 
 Of whom so often I have heard renown 
 But never saw before ; of whom I have 
 Received a second life ; and second father 
 This lady makes him to me. 
 
 A Ion. I am hers : 
 
 But O, how oddly will it sound that I 
 Must ask my child forgiveness ! 
 
 Pro. There, sir, stop ; 
 
 Let us not burden our remembrances 
 With a heaviness that 's gone. 
 
 Gon. I have inly wept, 
 
 Or should have spoke ere this. Look down, you 
 
 gods, 
 
 And on this couple drop a blessed crown ; 
 For it is you that have chalk'd forth the way 
 Which brought us hither ! 
 
 Alon. I say, Amen, Gonzalo ! 
 
 Gon. Was Milan thrust from Milan, that his 
 
 issue 
 
 Should become kings of Naples ? O, rejoice 
 Beyond a common joy ; and set it down 
 With gold on lasting pillars : in one voyage 
 Did Claribel her husband find at Tunis ; 
 And Ferdinand, her brother, found a wife 
 Where he himself was lost ; Prospero his duke- 
 In a poor isle ; and all of us ourselves [dom 
 When no man was his own. 
 
 Alon. Give me your hands : 
 
 [70FERD. and MIR. 
 
 Let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart 
 That doth not wish you joy ! 
 
 Gon. Be 't so ! Amen ! 
 
 Re-enter ARIEL, with the Master and Boat- 
 swain amazedly following. 
 
 look, sir, look, sir ; here are more of us ! 
 
 1 prophesied, if a gallows were on land, 
 
 This fellow could not drown. Now, blasphemy, 
 
 That swear'st grace o'erboard, not an oath on 
 
 shore? 
 
 I last thou no mouth by land ? What is the news ? 
 Boats. The best news is, that we have safely 
 
 found 
 
 Our king and company : the next, our ship, 
 Which, but three glasses since, we gave out split, 
 Is tight, and yare, and bravely rigg'd, as when 
 We first put out to sea. 
 
 Ari. Sir, all this service "| 
 
 Have I done since I went. \ Aside. 
 
 Pro. My tricksy spirit ! j 
 
 Alon. These are not natural events ; they 
 
 strengthen [hither ? 
 
 From strange to stranger : Say, how came you 
 
 Boats. If I did think, sir, I were well awake, 
 
 I 'd strive to tell you. We were dead of sleep, 
 
 And, how, we know not, all clapp'd under 
 
 hatches, [noises 
 
 Where, but even now, with strange and several 
 Of roaring, shrieking, howling, jingling chains, 
 And more diversity of sounds, all horrible, 
 We were awaked ; straightway, at liberty : 
 Where we, in all her trim, freshly beheld 
 Our royal, good, and gallant ship ; our master 
 Capering to eye her : on a trice, so please you, 
 Even in a dream, were we divided from them, 
 And were brought moping hither. 
 Ari. Was 't well done?] 
 
 Pro. Bravely, my diligence. Thou > Aside. 
 
 shalt be free. J 
 
 Alon. This is as strangeamaze as e'er men trod: 
 And there is in this business more than nature 
 Was ever conduct of: some oracle 
 Must rectify our knowledge. 
 
 Pro. Sir, my liege, 
 
 Do not infest your mind with beating on 
 The strangeness of this business: atpick'd leisure, 
 Which shall be shortly, single I '11 resolve you, 
 Which to you shall seem probable, of ever)' 
 These happen'd accidents: till when, be cheerful, 
 And think of each thing well. Come hither, 
 
 spirit ; [Aside. 
 
 Set Caliban and his companions freai 
 Untie the spell. [Exit ARIEL.] How fares 
 
 my gracious sir ? 
 
 There are yet missing of your company 
 Some few odd lads that you remember not. 
 
 Re-enter ARIEL, driving in CALIBAN, STE- 
 PHANO, and TRINCULO, in their stolen 
 apparel. 
 
 Ste. Every man shift for all the rest, and let 
 no man take care for himself; for all is but for- 
 tune : Coragio, bully-monster, coragio ! 
 
 Trin. If these be true spies which I wear in 
 my head, here 's a goodly sight. 
 
THE TEMPEST. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Cal. O Setebos, these be brave spirits indeed ! 
 How fine my master is ! I am afraid 
 He will chastise me. 
 
 Seb. Ha, ha; 
 
 What things are these, my lord Antonio ! 
 Will money buy them ? 
 
 Ant. Very like ; one of them 
 Is a plain fish, and, no doubt, marketable. 
 
 Pro. Mark but the badges of these men, my 
 
 lords, [knave, 
 
 Then say if they be true. This mis-shapen 
 His mother was a witch ; and one so strong 
 That could control the moon, make flows and 
 
 ebbs, 
 
 And deal in her command, without her power : 
 These three have robb'd me: and this demi- 
 
 devil, 
 
 For he 's a bastard one, had plotted with them 
 To take my life : two of these fellows you 
 Must know and own ; this thing of darkness I 
 Acknowledge mine. 
 
 Cal. I shall be pinch'd to death. 
 
 A Ion. Is not this Stephano, my drunken butler? 
 
 Seb. He is drunk now : where had he wine ? 
 
 Alon. And Trinculo is reeling ripe: where 
 
 should they 
 
 Find this grand liquor that hath gilded them? 
 How cam'st thou in this pickle? 
 
 Trin. I have been in such a pickle since I 
 saw you last that, I fear me, will never out of 
 my bones : I shall not fear fly-blowing. 
 
 Seb. Why, how now, Stephano ? 
 
 Ste. O, touch me not ; I am not Stephano, 
 but a cramp. 
 
 Pro. You'd be king of the isle, sirrah ! 
 
 Ste. I should have been a sore one then. 
 
 Alon. This is as strange a thing as e'er I 
 look'd on. {Pointing to CALIBAN. 
 
 Pro. He is as disproportioned in his manners 
 As in his shape. Go, sirrah, to my cell ; 
 Take with you your companions ; as you look 
 To have my pardon, trim it handsomely. 
 
 Cal. Ay, that I will ; and I '11 be wise here- 
 after, 
 
 And seek for grace. What a thrice-double ass 
 Was I to take this drunkard for a god, 
 And worship this dull fool ! 
 
 Pro. Go to ; away ! 
 
 Alon. Hence, and bestow your luggage 
 where you found it. 
 
 Seb. Or stole it, rather. 
 
 {Exeunt CAL., STE.*, an 
 
 Pro. Sir, I invite your highness and your train 
 To my poor cell : where you shall take your rest 
 For this one night ; which (part of it) I'll waste 
 With such discourse as, I not doubt, shall 
 
 make it 
 
 Go quick away, the story of my life, 
 And the particular accidents gone by 
 Since I came to this isle : and in the morn 
 I '11 bring you to your ship, and so to Naples. 
 Where I have hope to see the nuptial 
 Of these our dear-beloved solemniz'd ; 
 And thence retire me to my Milan, where 
 Every third thought shall be my grave. 
 
 Alon. I long 
 
 To hear the story of your life, which must 
 Take the ear strangely. 
 
 Pro. I '11 deliver all ; 
 
 And promise you calm seas, auspicious gales, 
 And sail so expeditious, that shall catch 
 Your royal fleet afar off. My Ariel, chick, 
 That is thy charge : then to the elements 
 Be free, and fare thou well ! {Aside. ] Please 
 you, draw near. {Exeunt. 
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 SPOKEN BY PROSPERO. 
 
 Now my charms are all o'erthrown, 
 And what strength I have 's mine own. 
 Which is most faint : now 'tis true, 
 I must be here confined by you, 
 Or sent to Naples. Let me not, 
 Since I have my dukedom got, 
 And pardon'd the deceiver, dwell 
 In this bare island by your spell ; 
 But release iue from my bands 
 With the help of your good hands. 
 Gentle breath of yours my sails 
 Must fill, or else my project fails, 
 Which was to please. Now I want 
 Spirits to enforce, art to enchant ; 
 And my ending is despair 
 Unless I be relieved by prayer ; 
 Which pierces so, that it assaults 
 Mercy itself, and frees all faults. 
 As you from crimes would pardon'd be, 
 Let your indulgence set me free. 
 
 

 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 DUKE OF MILAN, Father to SILVIA. 
 
 ANTONIO, Father to PROTEUS. 
 THURIO, a foolish Rival to VALENTINE. 
 EGLAMOUR, Agent for SILVIA in her escape. 
 SPEED, a clownish Servant to VALENTINE. 
 LAUNCE, Servant to PROTEUS. 
 PANTHINO, Servant to ANTONIO. 
 
 Host, where JULIA lodges in Milan. 
 Outlaws. 
 
 JULIA, a Lady of Verona, beloved by PROTEUS. 
 SILVIA, the Duke's daughter t beloved by 
 
 VALENTINE. 
 LUCETTA, Waiting-woman to JULIA. 
 
 Servants. Musicians. 
 
 SCENE, Sometimes in VERONA ; sometimes in MILAN ; and on the frontiers </ MANTUA. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE \.-An open place in VERONA. 
 Enter VALENTINE and PROTEUS. 
 
 VaL Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus ; 
 Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits ; 
 Wer 't not affection chains thy tender days 
 To the sweet glances of thy honour'd love, 
 I rather would entreat thy company 
 To see the wonders of the world abroad, 
 Than, living dully siuggardiz'd at home, 
 Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness. 
 But since thoulov'st, love still, and thrive therein, 
 Even as I would, when I to love begin, [adieu ! 
 Pro. Wilt thou be gone ? Sweet Valentine, 
 Think on thy Proteus, when thou haply seest 
 Some rare noteworthy object in thy travel : 
 Wish me partaker in thy happiness 
 When thou dost meet good hap : and in thy 
 
 danger, 
 
 If ever danger do environ thee, 
 Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers, 
 For I will be thy beadsman, Valentine. 
 
 VaL And on a love-book pray for my success. 
 Pro. Upon some book I love I '11 pray for thee. 
 
 Val. That'sonsomeshallowstory of deep love, 
 How young Leander cross'd the Hellespont. 
 
 Pro. That 's a deep story of a deeper love ; 
 For he was more than over shoes in love. 
 
 VaL 'Tis true ; for you are over boots in love, 
 And yet you never swam the Hellespont. 
 
 Pro. Over the boots ! nay, give me not the 
 boots. 
 
 VaL No, I will not, for it boots thee not. 
 
 Pro. What ? 
 
 Val. To be in love, where scorn is bought 
 with groans ; 
 
 Coy looks with heart-sore sighs ; one fading 
 
 moment's mirth 
 
 With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights : 
 If haply won, perhaps a hapless gain ; 
 If lost, why then a grievous labour won ; 
 However, but a folly bought with wit, 
 Or else a wit by folly vanquished. [fool. 
 
 Pro. So, by your circumstance, you call me 
 VaL So, by your circumstance, I fear you'll 
 ve. 
 
 Pro. 'Tis love you cavil at ; I am not Love. 
 
 Val. Love is your master, for he masters you : 
 And he that is so yoked by a fool, 
 Methinks should not be chronicled for wise. 
 
 Pro. Yet writers say, As in the sweetest bud 
 The eating canker dwells, so eating love 
 Inhabits in the finest wits of all. [bud 
 
 VaL And writers say, As the most forward 
 Is eaten by the canker ere it blow, 
 Even so by love the young and tender wit 
 Is turn'd to folly ; blasting in the bud, 
 Losing his verdure even in the prime, 
 And all the fair effects of future hopes. 
 But wherefore waste I time to counsel thee 
 That art a votary to fond desire ? 
 Once more adieu : my father at the road 
 Expects my coming, there to see me shipp'd. 
 
 Pro. And thither will I bring thee, Valentine. 
 
 VaL Sweet Proteus, no ; now let us take our 
 
 leave. 
 
 At Milan let me hear from thee by letters 
 Of thy success in love, and what news else 
 Betideth here in absence of thy friend ; 
 And I likewise will visit thee with mine. 
 
 Pro. All happiness bechance to thee in Milan ! 
 
 VaL As much to you at home ! and so fare- 
 well. [Exit VALENTINE. 
 
 Pro. He after honour hunts, I after love : 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 He leaves his friends to dignify them more ; 
 I leave myself, my friends, and all for love. 
 Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphos'd me ; 
 Made me neglect my studies, lose my time, 
 War with good counsel, set the world at nought : 
 Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with 
 thought. 
 
 Enter SPEED. 
 
 Speed. Sir Proteus, save you. Saw you my 
 master ? 
 
 Fro. But now he parted hence, to embark for 
 Milan. 
 
 Speed. Twenty to one, then, he is shipp'd 
 
 already ; 
 And I have play'd the sheep in losing him. 
 
 Pro. Indeed a sheep doth very often stray 
 An if the shepherd be awhile away. 
 
 Speed. You conclude that my master is a 
 shepherd, then, and I a sheep ? 
 
 Pro. I do. 
 
 Speed. Why, then, my horns are his horns 
 whether I wake or sleep. 
 
 Pro. A silly answer, and fitting well a sheep. 
 
 Speed. This proves me still a sheep. 
 
 Pro. True ; and thy master a shepherd. 
 
 Speed. Nay ; that I can deny by a circum- 
 stance. 
 
 Pro. It shall go hard but I '11 prove it by 
 another. 
 
 Speed. The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not 
 the sheep the shepherd ; but I seek my master, 
 and my master seeks not me : therefore, I am 
 no sheep. 
 
 Pro. The sheep for fodder follow the shep- 
 herd, the shepherd for food follows not the 
 sheep ; thou for wages followest thy master, 
 thy master for wages follows not thee : there- 
 fore, thou art a sheep. 
 
 Speed. Such another proof will make me cry 
 baa. 
 
 Pro. But dost thou hear? gav'st thou my 
 letter to Julia ? 
 
 Speed. Ay, sir ; I, a lost mutton, gave your 
 letter to her, a laced mutton ; and she, a laced 
 mutton, gave me, a lost mutton, nothing for 
 my labour ! 
 
 Pro. Here 's too small a pasture for such a 
 store of muttons. 
 
 Speed. If the ground be overcharged you 
 were best stick her ? 
 
 Pro. Nay ; in that you are astray ; 'twere 
 best pound you. 
 
 Speed. Nay, sir; less than a pound shall 
 serve me for carrying your letter. 
 
 Pro. You mistake; I mean the pound, a 
 pinfold. 
 
 Speed. From a pound to a pin ? fold it over 
 
 and over, [your lover. 
 
 'Tis threefold too little for carrying a letter to 
 
 Pro. But what said she ? did she nod ? 
 
 Speed. {Nodding.} Ay. 
 
 Pro. Nod Ay why, that 's noddy. 
 
 Speed. You mistook, sir ; I say she did nod : 
 and you ask me if she did nod ; and I say, Ay. 
 
 Pro. And that set together is noddy. 
 
 Speed. Now you have taken the pains to set 
 it together, take it for your pains. 
 
 Pro. No, no ; you shall have it for bearing 
 the letter. 
 
 Speed. Well, I perceive I must be fain to 
 bear with you. 
 
 Pro. Why, sir, how do you bear with me ? 
 
 Speed. Marry, sir, the letter very orderly : 
 having nothing but the word noddy for my 
 pains. 
 
 Pro. Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit. 
 
 Speed. And yet it cannot overtake your slow 
 purse. 
 
 Pro. Come, come ; open the matter in brief: 
 what said she ? 
 
 Speed. Open your purse, that" the money and 
 the matter may be both at once delivered. 
 
 Pro. Well, sir, here is for your pains : what 
 said she? 
 
 Speed. Truly, sir, I think you '11 hardly win 
 her. 
 
 Pro. Why, couldst thou perceive so much 
 from her ? 
 
 Speed. Sir, I could perceive nothing at all 
 from her ; no, not so much as a ducat for de- 
 livering your letter : and being so hard to me 
 that brought your mind, I fear she '11 prove as 
 hard to you in telling her mind. Give her no 
 token but stones ; for she 's as hard as steel. 
 
 Pro. What! said she nothing ? 
 
 Speed. No, not so much as Take this for thy 
 pains. To testify your bounty, I thank you, 
 you have testern'd me ; in requital whereof, 
 hei._'eforth carry your letters yourself: and so, 
 sir, I '11 commend you to my master, [wreck, 
 
 Pro. Go, go ; begone, to save your ship from 
 Which cannot perish, having thee aboard, 
 Being destined to a drier death on shore. 
 I must go send some better messenger : 
 I fear my Julia would not deign my lines, 
 Receiving them from such a worthless post. 
 
 [Exeuril. 
 
 SCENE II.- The same. Garden of JULIA'S 
 
 House. 
 
 Enter JULIA and LUCETTA. 
 
 Jul. But say, Lucetta, now we are alone, 
 
 Wouldst thou then counsel me to fall in love ? 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 Luc. Ay, madam ; so you stumble not un- 
 
 heedfully. 
 
 Jul. Of all the fair resort of gentlemen 
 That every day with parle encounter me, 
 In thy opinion which is worthiest love? 
 
 Luc. Please you, repeat their names ; I '11 
 
 show my mind 
 
 According to my shallow simple skill. 
 Jul. What think'st thou of the fair Sir 
 Eglamour ? [fine ; 
 
 Luc. As of a knight well-spoken, neat, and 
 But, were I you, he never should be mine. 
 Jul. What think'st thou of the rich Mercatio? 
 Lite. Well of his wealth ; but of himself, so so. 
 Jtd. What think'st thou of the gentle Proteus? 
 Luc. Lord, lord ! to see what folly reigns 
 
 in us ! 
 
 Jul. How now ! what means this passion at 
 his name ? [shame 
 
 Luc. Pardon, dear madam ; 'tis a passing 
 That I, unworthy body as I am, 
 Should censure thus on lovely gentlemen. 
 Jul. Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest ? 
 L^^c. Then thus : of many good I think him best. 
 Jttl. Your reason ? 
 
 Luc. I have no other but a woman's reason ; 
 
 I think him so, because I think him so. 
 
 Jul. And wouldst thou have me cast my love 
 
 on him ? [away. 
 
 Luc, Ay, if you thought your love not cast 
 
 Jul. Why, he of all the rest hath never 
 
 moved me. [loves ye. 
 
 Luc. Yet he of all the rest, I think, best 
 
 Jul. His little speaking shows his love but 
 
 small. 
 
 Luc. Fire that is closest keptburnsmost of all. 
 Jul. They do not love that do not show their 
 love. [their love. 
 
 Luc. O, they love least that let men know 
 Jul. I would I knew his mind. 
 Luc. Peruse this paper, madam. 
 
 [ Gives a letter. 
 
 Jttl. [reads'] ' To Julia? Say, from whom? 
 Luc. That the contents will show. 
 Jul. Say, say ; who gave it thee ? 
 Luc. Sir Valentine's page; and sent, I think, 
 from Proteus : [the way, 
 
 He would have given it you ; but I, being in 
 Did in your name receive it ; pardon the fault, 
 
 I pray. 
 
 Jul. Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker ! 
 Dare you presume to harbour wanton lines ? 
 To whisper and conspire against my youth ? 
 Now, trust me, 'tis an office of great worth, 
 And you an officer fit for the pkce. 
 There, take the paper ; see it be return'd ; 
 Or else return no more into my sight. 
 
 Luc. To plead for love deserves more fee 
 
 Jul. Will you be gone ? [than hate. 
 
 Luc. That you may ruminate. [Exit. 
 
 Jul. And yet, I would I had o'erlook'd the 
 It were a shame to call her back again, [letter. 
 And pray her to a fault for^ which I chid her. 
 What fool is she, that knows I am a maid, 
 And would not force the letter to my view ? 
 Since maids, in modesty, say No to that 
 Which they would have the profferer construe Ay. 
 Fie, fie ! how wayward is this foolish love, 
 That, like a testy babe, will scratch the nurse, 
 And presently, all humbled, kiss the rod ! 
 How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence, 
 When willingly I would have had her here ! 
 How angrily I taught my brow to frown, 
 When inward joy enforced my heart to smile ! 
 My penance is to call Lucetta back, 
 And ask remission for my folly past : 
 What, ho ! Lucetta ? 
 
 Re-enter LUCETTA. 
 
 Luc. What would your ladyship ? 
 
 Jul. Is it near dinner time ? 
 
 Luc. I would it were ; 
 
 That you might kill your stomach on your mtat, 
 And not upon your maid. 
 
 Jul. What is 't you took up 
 
 So gingerly ? 
 
 Luc. Nothing. 
 
 Jul. Why didst thou stoop then ? 
 
 Luc. To take a paper up that I let fall. 
 
 Jul. And is that paper nothing ? 
 
 Luc. Nothing concerning me. 
 
 Jul. Then let it lie for those that it concerns. 
 
 Luc. Madam, it will not lie where it concerns, 
 Unless it have a false interpreter. 
 
 Jul. Some love of yours hath writ to you in 
 rhyme. 
 
 Luc. That I might sing it, madam, to a tune : 
 Give me a note : your ladyship can set. 
 
 Jul. As little by such toys as may be possible ; 
 Best sing it to the tune of Light o' love. 
 
 Luc. It is too heavy for so light a tune. 
 
 Jul. Heavy! belike ithath some burden, then. 
 
 Luc. Ay ; and melodious were it, would you 
 sing it. 
 
 Jul. And why not you ? 
 
 Lite. I cannot reach so high. 
 
 Jul. Let 's see your song. How now, 
 minion ? [it out : 
 
 Luc. Keep tune there still, so you will sing 
 And yet methinks I do not like this tune. 
 
 Jul. You do not ? 
 
 Luc. No, madam ; it is too sharp. 
 
 Jul. You, minion, are too saucy. 
 
 Luc. Nay, now you are too flat, 
 
28 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 [ACT I. 
 
 And mar the concord with too harsh a descant ; 
 There wanteth but a mean to fill your song. 
 Jul. The mean is drown'd with your unruly 
 
 base. 
 
 Luc. Indeed, I bid the base for Proteus, [me. 
 Jul. This babble shall not henceforth trouble 
 Here is a coil with protestation ! 
 
 \Tears the letter. 
 
 Go, get you gone ; and let the papers lie : 
 You would be fingering them, to anger me. 
 Lw. She makes it strange ; but she would 
 
 be best pleased 
 
 To be so anger'd with another letter. [Exit. 
 Jul. Nay, would I were so anger'd with the 
 same ! 
 
 hateful hands, to tear such loving words ! 
 Injurious wasps ! to feed on such sweet honey, 
 And kill the bees that yield it, with your stings ! 
 
 1 '11 kiss each several paper for amends. 
 
 And here is writ kind Julia; unkind Julia! 
 As in revenge of thy ingratitude, 
 I throw thy name against the bruising stones, 
 Trampling contemptuously on thy disdain. 
 Look, here is writ love-wounded Proteus : 
 Poor wounded name ! my bosom, as a bed, 
 Shall lodge thee till thy wound be throughly 
 
 heal'd ; 
 
 And thus I search it with a sovereign kiss, 
 But twice or thrice was Proteus written d >wn : 
 Be calm, good wind, blow not a word away 
 Till I have found each letter in the letter, [bear 
 Except mine own name ; that some whirlwind 
 Unto a ragged, fearful, hanging rock, 
 And throw it thence into the raging sea ! 
 Lo, here in one line is his name twice writ, 
 Poor forlorn Proteus, passionate Proteus, 
 To the sweet Julia; that I '11 tear away; 
 And yet I will not, sith so prettily 
 He couples it to his complaining names. 
 Thus will I fold them one upon another ; 
 Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will. 
 
 Re-enter LUCETTA. [stays. 
 
 Luc. Madam, dinner 's ready, and your father 
 ful. Well, let us go. 
 
 Luc. What ! shall these papers lie like tell- 
 tales here? [up. 
 Jul. If you respect them, best -to take them 
 Luc. Nay, I was taken up for laying them 
 
 down ; 
 
 Yet here they shall not lie for catching cold. 
 Jul. I see you have a month's mind to them. 
 Luc. Ay, madam, you may say what sights 
 
 you see ; 
 
 I see things too, although you judge I wink. 
 Jul. Come, come ; wilt please you go ? 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. The same. A Room in 
 ANTONIO'S Hotise. 
 
 Enter ANTONIO and PANTHINO. 
 
 Ant. Tell me, Panthino, what sad talk was 
 
 that 
 Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister? 
 
 Pan. 'Twas of his nephew Proteus, your son. 
 
 Ant. Why, what of him? 
 
 Pan. He wonder'd that your lordship 
 
 Would suffer him to spend his youth at home, 
 While other men, of slender reputation, 
 Put forth their sons to seek preferment out : 
 Some to the wars, to try their fortune there ; 
 Some to discover islands far away ; 
 Some to the studious universities. 
 For any, or for all these exercises, 
 He said that Proteus, your son, was meet ; 
 And did re ;uest me to importune you 
 To 1 t him spend his time no more at home, 
 Which would be great impeachment to his age, 
 In having known no travel in his youth, [that 
 
 Ant. Nor need'st thou much importune me to 
 Whereon this month I have been hammering. 
 I have consider'd well his loss of time, 
 And how he cannot be a perfect man, 
 Not being tried and tutor'd in the world : 
 Experience is by industry achieved, 
 And perfected by the swift course of time : 
 Then tell me, whither were I best to send him? 
 
 Pan. I think your lordship is not ignorant 
 How his companion, youthful Valentine, 
 Attends the emperor in his royal court. 
 
 Ant. I know it well. [him thither: 
 
 Pan. 'Twere good, I think, your lordship sent 
 There shall he practise tilts and tournaments, 
 Hear sweet discourse, converse with noblemen, 
 And be in eye of every exercise 
 Worthy his youth and nobleness of birth. 
 
 Ant. I like thy counsel; well hast thou advised: 
 And that thou may'st perceive how well I like it, 
 The execution of it shall make known ; 
 Even with the speediest execution 
 I will dispatch him to the emperor's court. 
 
 Pan. To-morrow, may it please you, Don Al- 
 With other gentlemen of good esteem, [phonso, 
 Are journeying to salute the emperor, 
 And to comrnend their service to his will. 
 
 Ant. Good company; with them shall Pro- 
 teus go. [him. 
 And in good time ; now will we break with 
 
 ts<I 
 
 Enter PROTEUS. 
 
 Pro. Sweet love ! sweet lines ! sweet life ! 
 Here is her hand, the agent of her heart ; 
 Her<- is her oath for love, her honour's pawn : 
 O that our fathers would applaud our loves, 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 29 
 
 To seal our happiness with their consents ! 
 
 heavenly Julia ! [there ? 
 Ant. How now? what letter are you reading 
 Pro. May 't please your lordship, 'tis a word or 
 
 Of commendation sent from Valentine, [two 
 Deliver'd by a friend that came from him. 
 
 Ant. Lend me the letter; let me see what news. 
 
 Pro. There is no news, my lord ; but that he 
 
 writes 
 
 How happily he lives, how well-beloved 
 And daily graced by the emperor ; 
 Wishing me with him, partner of his fortune. 
 
 Ant. And how stand you affected to his wish? 
 
 Pro. As one relying on your lordship's will, 
 And not depending on his friendly wish. 
 
 Ant. My will is something sorted with his wish . 
 Muse not that I thus suddenly proceed ; 
 For what I will, I will, and there an end. 
 
 1 am resolved that thou shalt spend some time 
 With Valentinus in the emperor's court ; 
 What maintenance he from his friends receives, 
 Like exhibition shalt thou have from me. 
 To-morrow be in readiness to go : 
 
 Excuse it not, for I am peremptory. 
 
 Pro. My lord, I cannot be so soon provided; 
 Please you, deliberate a day or two. [after thee : 
 
 Ant. Look, what thou want'st shall be sent 
 No more of stay ; to-morrow thou must go. 
 Come on, Panthino ; you shall be employ 'd 
 To hasten on his expedition. 
 
 {Exeunt ANT. and PAN. 
 
 Pro. Thus have I shunn'd the fire, for fear of 
 burning, [drown'd ; 
 
 And drench'd me in the sea, where I am 
 I fear'd to show my father Julia's letter, 
 Lest he should take exceptions to my love ; 
 And with the vantage of mine own excuse 
 Hath he excepted most against my love. 
 O, how this spring of love resembleth 
 The uncertain glory of an April day ; 
 Which now shows all the beauty of the sun, 
 And by and by a cloud takes all away ! 
 
 Re-enter PANTHINO. 
 
 Pan. Sir Proteus, your father calls for you ; 
 He is in haste ; therefore, I pray you, go. 
 
 Pro. Why, this it is! my heart accords thereto; 
 And yet a thousand times it answers no. 
 
 {Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. MILAN. An apartment in the 
 DUKE'S Palace. 
 
 Enter VALENTINE and SPEED. 
 Speed. [Picking ttp a glove.] Sir, your glove. 
 Val. Not mine ; my gloves are on. 
 
 Speed. Why, then, this may be yours; for this 
 is but one. [mine : 
 
 Val. Ha ! let me see : ay, give it me ; it 's 
 Sweet ornament that decks a thing divine ! 
 Ah, Silvia ! Silvia ! [Silvia ! 
 
 Speed. [Calling.'] Madam Silvia ! Madam 
 
 Val. How now, sirrah ? 
 
 Speed. She is not within hearing, sir. 
 
 Val. Why, sir, who bade you call her? 
 
 Speed. Your worship, sir ; or else I mistook. 
 
 Val. Well, you '11 still be too forward. 
 
 Speed. And yet I was last chidden for being too 
 slow. [Silvia ? 
 
 Val. Go to, sir; tell me, do you know Madam 
 
 Speed. She that your worship loves ? 
 
 Val. Why, how know you that I am in love? 
 
 Speed. Marry, by these special marks : first 
 you have learned, like Sir Proteus, to wreath your 
 arms like a mal-content ; to relish a love-song, 
 like a robin redbreast ; to walk alone, like one 
 that had the pestilence; to sigh, like a school -boy 
 that had lost his A B C ; to weep, like a young 
 wench that had buried her grandam ; to fast, like 
 one that takes diet ; to watch, like one that fears 
 robbing ; to speak puling, like a beggar at Hal- 
 lowmas. You were wont, when you laughed, to 
 crow like a cock ; when you walked, to walk like 
 one of the lions; when you fasted, it was presently 
 after dinner ; when you looked sadly, it was for 
 want of money: and now you are metamorphosed 
 with a mistress, that, when I look on you, I can 
 hardly think you my master. 
 
 Val. Are all these things perceived in me ? 
 
 Speed. They are all perceived without you. 
 
 Val. Without me ? they cannot. 
 
 Speed. Without you ? nay, that 's certain ; for, 
 without you were so simple, none else would: but 
 you are so without these follies, that these follies 
 are within you, and shine through you like the 
 water in a urinal ; that not an eye that sees you 
 but is a physician to comment on your malady. 
 
 Val. But tell me, dost thou know my lady 
 Silvia? 
 
 Speed. She that you gaze on so, as she sits at 
 supper ? 
 
 Val. Hast thou observed that? even she I mean. 
 
 Speed. Why, sir, I know her not. 
 
 Val. Dost thou know her by my gazing on 
 her, and yet knowest her not ? 
 
 Speed. Is she not hard favoured, sir ? 
 
 Val. Not so fair, boy, as well favoured. 
 
 Speed. Sir, I know that well enough. 
 
 Val. What dost thou know ? 
 
 Speed. That she is not so fair as (of you) well 
 favoured. 
 
 Val. I mean that her beauty is exquisite, but 
 her favour infinite. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 Speed. That 's because the one is painted and 
 the other out of all count. 
 
 Val. How painted? and how out of count? 
 
 Speed. Marry, sir, so painted, to make her 
 fair, that no man counts of her beauty. 
 
 Val. How esteemest thou me ? I account of 
 her beauty. 
 
 Speed. You never saw her since she was de- 
 formed. 
 
 Val. How long hath she been deformed? 
 
 Speed. Ever since you loved her. 
 
 Val. I have loved her ever since I saw her ; 
 and still I see her beautiful. 
 
 Speed. If you love her, you cannot see her. 
 
 Val. Why? 
 
 Speed. Because love is blind. O that you had 
 mine eyes ; or your own eyes had the lights they 
 were wont to have when you chid at Sir Pro- 
 teus for going ungartered ! 
 
 Val. What should I see then ? 
 
 Speed. Your own present folly and her pass- 
 ing deformity ; for he, being in love, could not 
 see to garter his hose ; and you, being in love, 
 cannot see to put on your hose. 
 
 Val. Belike, boy, then you are in love: for last 
 morning you could not see to wipe my shoes. 
 
 Speed. True, sir ; I was in love with my bed ; 
 I thank you, you swinged me for my love, which 
 makes me the bolder to chide you for yours. 
 
 Val. In conclusion, I stand affected to her. 
 
 Speed. I would you were set ; so your affec- 
 tion would cease. 
 
 Val. Last night she enjoined me to write 
 some lines to one she loves. 
 
 Speed. And have you ? 
 
 Val. I have. 
 
 Speed. Are they not lamely writ ? 
 
 Val. No, boy, but as well as I can do them ; 
 Peace ; here she comes. 
 
 Speed. O excellent motion ! O exceeding 
 puppet ! now will he interpret to her. 
 
 Enter SILVIA. 
 
 Val. Madam and mistress, a thousand good- 
 morrows. 
 
 Speed. O, give you good even ! Here's a 
 million of manners. [Aside. 
 
 Sil. Sir Valentine and servant, to you two 
 thousand. 
 
 Speed. He should give her interest, and she 
 gives it him. [Aside. 
 
 Val. As you enjoin'd me, I have writ your letter 
 Unto the secret nameless friend of yours ; 
 Which I was much unwilling to proceed in 
 But for my duty to your ladyship. 
 
 Stl. I thank you , gentle servant ; 'tis very clerkly 
 done. 
 
 Val. Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off; 
 For, being ignorant to whom it goes 
 I writ at random, very doubtfully. [pains ? 
 
 Sil. Perchance you think too much of so much 
 
 Val. No, madam; so it stead you, I will write, 
 Please you command, a thousand times as much; 
 And yet ; 
 
 Sil. A pretty period ! Well, I guess the sequel; 
 And yet I will not nameit: and yet I care not; 
 And yet take this again ; and yet I thank you ; 
 Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more. 
 
 Speed. And yet you will; and yet another yet. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Val. What means your ladyship? do you not 
 like it ? 
 
 Sil. Yes, yes; the lines are very quaintly writ: 
 But since unwillingly, take them again ; 
 Nay, take them. [Gives back the letter. 
 
 Val. Madam, they are for you. 
 
 Sil. Ay, ay, you writ them, sir, at my request; 
 But I will none of them ; they are for you : 
 I would have had them writ more movingly. 
 
 Val. Please you, I '11 write your ladyship 
 another. [over ; 
 
 Sil. And when it 's writ, for my sake read it 
 And if it please you, so ; if not y why, so. 
 
 Val. If it please me, madam ! what then ? 
 
 Stl. Why, if it please you, take it for your 
 
 labour. 
 And so good morrow, servant. [Exit SILVIA. 
 
 Speed. O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible, 
 As a nose on a man's face, or a weather-cock on 
 
 a steeple ! 
 My master sues to her ; and she hath taught her 
 
 suitor, 
 
 He being her pupil, to become her tutor. 
 O excellent device! was there ever heard a better? 
 That my master, being scribe, to himself should 
 write the letter ? 
 
 Val. How now, sir ? what are you reasoning 
 with yourself? 
 
 Speed. Nay, I was rhyming: 'tis you that have 
 the reason. 
 
 Val. To do what ? 
 
 Speed. To be a spokesman from Madam Silvia? 
 
 Val. To whom ? 
 
 Speed. To yourself : why, she woos you by a 
 figure. 
 
 Val. What figure ? 
 
 Speed. By a letter, I should say. 
 
 Val. Why, she hath not writ to me ? 
 
 Speed. What need she when she hath made 
 
 you write to yourself? Why, do you not perceive 
 
 Val. No, believe me. [the jest ? 
 
 Speed. No believing you indeed, sir. But did 
 you perceive her earnest ? 
 
 Val. She gave me none except an angry word. 
 
SCENE II. J 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 Speed. Why, she hath given you a letter. 
 
 Val. That 's the letter I writ to her friend. 
 
 Speed. And that letter hath she deliver'd, 
 and there an end. 
 
 Val. I would it were no worse. 
 
 Speed. I '11 warrant you 'tis as well. 
 For often you have writ to her ; and she, in 
 
 modesty, 
 Or else for want of idle time, could not again 
 
 reply; 
 
 Or fearing else some messenger that might her 
 mind discover, [her lover. 
 
 Herself hath taught her love himself to writeunto 
 All this I speak in print, for in print I found it. 
 Why muse you, sir ? 'tis dinner time. 
 
 Val. I have dined. 
 
 Speed. Ay, but hearken, sir ; though the 
 cameleon Love can feed on the air, I am one that 
 am nourished by my victuals, and would fain 
 have meat ; O, be not like your mistress ; be 
 moved, be moved. [Exetint. 
 
 SCENE II. VERONA. A Room in JULIA'S 
 House. 
 
 Enter PROTEUS and JULIA. 
 
 Pro. Have patience, gentle Julia. 
 
 Jul. I must, where is no remedy. 
 
 Pro. When possibly I can I will return. 
 
 Jul. If you turn not you will return the sooner: 
 Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake. 
 
 {Giving a ring. 
 
 Pro. Why, then, we '11 make exchange ; here, 
 take you this. 
 
 Jul. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss. 
 
 Pro. Here is my hand for my true constancy; 
 And when that hour o'erslips me in the day 
 Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake, 
 The next ensuing hour some foul mischance 
 Torment me for my love's forgetfulness ! 
 My father stays my coming ; answer net : 
 The tide is now : nay, not thy tide of tears ; 
 That tide will stay me longer than I should : 
 
 [Exit JULIA. 
 
 Julia, farewell. What ! gone without a word? 
 Ay ; so true love should do : it cannot speak ; 
 For truth hath better deeds than words to grace it. 
 
 Enter PANTHINO. 
 Pan. Sir Proteus, you are stay'd for. 
 Pro. Go ; I come, I come : 
 Alas ! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. The same. A Street. 
 
 Enter LAUNCE, hading a dog. 
 Latin. Nay, 'twill be this hour ere I have done 
 weeping ; all the kind of the Launces have this 
 
 very fault : I have received my proportion, like 
 the prodigiou.' son, and am going with Sir Pro- 
 teus to the Imperial's court. I think Crab my 
 dog be the sourest-natured dog that lives : my 
 mother weeping, my father wailing, my sister 
 crying, our maid howling, our cat wringing her 
 hands, and all our house in a great perplexity ; 
 yet did not this cruel -hearted cur shed one tear : 
 he is a stone, a very pebble stone, and has no 
 more pity in him than a dog : a Jew would have 
 wept to have seen our parting ; why, my grand- 
 am having no eyes, look you, wept herself blind 
 at my parting. Nay, I '11 show you the manner 
 of it : this shoe is my father ; no, this left shoe 
 is my father; no, no, this left shoe is my 
 mother ; nay, that cannot be so neither ; yes, it 
 is so, it is so ; it hath the worser sole. This shoe 
 with the hole in it is my mother, and this my 
 father. A vengeance on 't ! there 'tis. Now, 
 sir, this staff is my sister ; for, look you, she is 
 as white as a lily and as small as a wand ; this 
 hat is Nan our maid ; I am the dog : no, the 
 dog is himself, and I am the dog, O, the dog 
 is me, and I am myself ; ay, so, so. Now come 
 I to my father; Father, your blessing ; now 
 should not the shoe speak a word for weeping ; 
 now should I kiss my father ; well, he weeps on : 
 now come I to my mother (O, that she could 
 speak now !) like a wood woman ; well, I kiss 
 her : why there 'tis ; here 's my mother's breath 
 up and down ; now come I to my sister ; mark 
 the moan she makes : now the dog all this while 
 sheds not a tear, nor speaks a word ; but see 
 how I lay the dust with my tears. 
 
 Enter PANTHINO. 
 
 Pan. Launce, away, away about d ; thy mas- 
 ter is shipped, and thou art to jpost after with 
 oars. What 's the matter ! why weep'st thou, 
 man? Away, ass; you will lose the tide if you 
 tarry any longer. 
 
 Laun. It is no matter if the tied were lost ; 
 for it is the unkindest tied that ever man tied. 
 
 Pan. What's the unkindest tide? [dog. 
 
 Laun. Why, he that 's tied here : Crab, my 
 
 Pan. Tut, man ; I mean thou 'It lose the flood : 
 and, in losing the flood, lose thy voyage ; and, in 
 losing thy voyage, lose thy master ; and in los- 
 ing thy master, lose thy service ; and, in losing 
 thy service, Why dost, thou stop my mouth ? 
 
 Laun. For fear thou shouldst lose thy tongue. 
 
 Pan. Where should I lose my tongue ? 
 
 Laun. In thy tale. 
 
 Pan. In thy tail ? 
 
 Laun. Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the 
 master, and the service ? The tide ! Why, 
 man, if the river were dry, I am able to fill it 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 [ACT II. 
 
 with my tears ; if the wind were down, I could 
 drive the boat with my sighs. 
 
 Pan. Come, come away, man ; I was sent 
 to call thee. 
 
 Laun. Sir, call me what thou darest. 
 
 Pan. Wilt thou go ? 
 
 Laun. Well, I will go. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. MILAN. An Apartment in the 
 
 DUKE'S Palace. 
 
 Enter VALENTINE, SILVIA, THURIO, and 
 SPEED. 
 
 Sil. Servant 
 
 Val. Mistress? 
 
 Speed. Master, Sir Thurio frowns on you. 
 
 Val. Ay, boy, it 's for love. 
 
 Speed. Not of you. 
 
 Val. Of my mistress, then. 
 
 Speed. 'Twere good you knocked him. 
 
 Sil. Servant, you are sad. 
 
 Val. Indeed, madam, I seem so. 
 
 Thu. Seem you that you are not ? 
 
 Val. Haply I do. 
 
 Thu. So do counterfeits. 
 
 Val. So do you. 
 
 Thu. What seem I that I am not ? 
 
 Val. Wise. 
 
 Thu. What instance of the contrary ? 
 
 Val. Your folly. 
 
 Thu. And how quote you my folly ? 
 
 Val. I quote it in your jerkin. 
 
 Thu. My jerkin is a doublet. 
 
 Val. Well, then, I '11 double your folly. 
 
 Thu. How? 
 
 Sil. What, angry, Sir Thurio? do you change 
 Colour ? 
 
 Val. Give him leave, madam : he is a kind of 
 cameleon. 
 
 Thu. That hath more mind to feed on your 
 blood than live in your air. 
 
 Val. You have said, sir. 
 
 Thu. Ay, sir, and done too, for this time. 
 
 Val. I know it well, sir ; you always end ere 
 you begin. [quickly shot off. 
 
 Sil. A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and 
 
 Val. 'Tis indeed, madam; we thank the giver. 
 
 Sil. Who is that, servant ? . 
 
 Val. Yourself, sweet lady ; for you gave the 
 fire. Sir Thurio borrows his wit from your 
 ladyship's looks, and spends what he borrows 
 kindly in your company. 
 
 Thu. Sir, if you spend word for word with 
 me, I shall make your wit bankrupt. 
 
 Val. I know it well, sir ; you have an ex- 
 chequer of words, and, I think, no other trea- 
 sure to give your followers; for it appears by their 
 bare liveries that they live by your bare words. 
 
 Sil. No more, gentlemen, no more ; here 
 comes my father. 
 
 Enter DUKE. 
 
 Duke. Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard 
 
 beset. 
 
 Sir Valentine, your father 's in good health : 
 What say you to a letter from your friends 
 Of much good news ? 
 
 Val. My lord, I will be thankful 
 
 To any happy messenger from thence. 
 
 Duke. Knowyou Don Antonio, your country- 
 man ? [man 
 
 Val. Ay, my good lord ; I know the gentle- 
 To be of worth, and worthy estimation, 
 And not without desert so well reputed. 
 
 Duke. Hath he not a son ? [serves 
 
 Val. Ay, my good lord ; a son that well de- 
 The honour and regard of such a father. 
 
 Duke. You know him well ? 
 
 Val. I knew him as myself; for from our infancy 
 We have con versed and spent our hours together; 
 And though myself have been an idle truant, 
 Omitting the sweet benefit of time 
 To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection. 
 Yet hath Sir Proteus for that 's his name 
 Made use and fair advantage of his days ; 
 His years but young, but his experience old ; 
 His head unmellow'd, but his judgment ripe ; 
 And, in a word, for far behind his worth 
 Come all the praises that I now bestow, 
 He is complete in feature and in mind, 
 With all good grace to grace a gentleman. 
 
 Duke. Beshrew me, sir, but if he make this 
 He is as worthy for an empress' love [good, 
 As meet to be an emperor's counsellor. 
 Well, sir ; this gentleman is come to me, 
 With commendation from great potentates ; 
 And here he means to spend his time awhile : 
 I think 'tis no unwelcome news to you. [he. 
 
 Val. Should I have wished a thing it had been 
 
 Duke. Welcome him, then, according to his 
 
 worth ; 
 
 Silvia, I speak to you ; and you, Sir Thurio:- 
 For Valentine, I need not 'cite him to it : 
 I '11 send him hither to you presently. 
 
 [Exit DUKE. 
 
 Val. This is the gentleman I told your lady sh i p 
 Had come along with me, but that his mistress 
 Did hold his eyes lock'd in her crystal looks. 
 
 Sil. Belike that now she hath enfranchised 
 Upon some other pawn for fealty. [them 
 
 Val. Nay, sure, I think she holds them 
 prisoners still. [blind, 
 
 Sil. Nay, then, he should be blind ; and, being 
 How could he see his way to seek out you ? 
 
 Val. Why r lady, love hath twenty pair of eyes. 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 Thu. They say that love hath not an eye at all. 
 VaL To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself ; 
 Upon a homely object love can wink. 
 
 Enter PROTEUS. 
 
 SiL Have done, have done ; here comes the 
 gentleman. [seech you 
 
 VaL Welcome, dear Proteus! Mistress, I be- 
 Confirm his welcome with some special favour. 
 
 SiL His worth is warrant for his welcome 
 
 hither, 
 If this be he you oft have wish'd to hear from. 
 
 VaL Mistress, it is: sweet lady, entertain him 
 To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship. 
 
 SiL Too low a mistress for so high a servant. 
 
 Pro. Not so, sweet lady; but toomeanaservant 
 To have a look of such a worthy mistress. 
 
 VaL Leave off discourse of disability: 
 Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant. 
 
 Pro. My duty will I boast of, nothing else. 
 
 SiL And duty never yet did want his meed. 
 Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress. 
 
 Pro. I '11 die on him that says so but yourself. 
 
 SiL That you are welcome ? 
 
 Pro. No ; that you are worthless. 
 
 Enter Servant 
 Ser. Madam , my lord your father would speak 
 
 with you. 
 
 SiL I '11 wait upon his pleasure. [Exit Servant. 
 Come, Sir Thurio, 
 
 Go with me. Once more, new servant, welcome. 
 
 I '11 leave you to confer of home affairs ; 
 
 When you have done we look to hear from you. 
 
 Pro. We '11 both attend upon your ladyship. 
 
 [Exeunt SIL., THU., and SPEED. 
 
 VaL Now, tell me, how do all from whence 
 
 you came ? [much commended. 
 
 Pro. Your friends are well, and have them 
 
 VaL And how do yours ? 
 
 Pro. I left them all in health. 
 
 VaL How does your lady ? and how thrives 
 
 your love ? 
 
 Pro. My tales of love were wont to' weary you; 
 I know you joy not in a love-discourse. 
 
 VaL Ay, Proteus; but that life is alter'd now: 
 I have done penance for contemning love ; 
 Whosehighimperiousthoughtshave punish'd me 
 With bitter fasts, with penitential groans, 
 With nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs ; 
 For, in revenge of my contempt of love, 
 Love hath chased sleep from my enthralled eyes, 
 And made them watchers of mine own heart's 
 
 sorrow. 
 
 O, gentle Proteus, love's a mighty lord ; 
 And hath so humbled me, as I confess, 
 There is no woe to his correction, 
 
 Nor, to his service, no such joy on earth ! 
 Now no discourse, except it be of love ; 
 Now can I break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep, 
 Upon the very naked name of love. 
 
 Pro. Enough; I read your fortune in your eye: 
 Was this the idol that you worship so r 
 
 VaL Even she ; and is she not a heavenly saint? 
 
 Pro. No ; but she is an earthly paragon. 
 
 VaL Call her divine. 
 
 Pro. I will not natter her. 
 
 VaL O, flatter me; for love delights in praises. 
 
 Pro. When I was sick you gave me bitter pills, 
 And I must minister the like to you. 
 
 VaL Then speak the truth by her; if not divine, 
 Yet let her be a principality, 
 Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth. 
 
 Pro. Except my mistress. 
 
 VaL Sweet, except not any, 
 
 Except thou wilt except against my love. 
 
 Pro. Have I not reason to prefer mine own? 
 
 VaL And I will help thee to prefer her too : 
 She shall be dignified with this high honour- 
 To bear my lady's train, lest the base earth 
 Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss, 
 And, of so great a favour growing proud, 
 Disdain to root the summer-swelling flower, 
 And make rough winter everlastingly. [this ? 
 
 'Pro. Why, Valentine, what braggardism is 
 
 VaL Pardon me, Proteus : all I can is nothing 
 To her whose worth makes other worthies 
 She is alone, [nothing ; 
 
 Pro, Then let her alone. [own ; 
 
 VaL Not for the world; why, man, she is mine 
 And I as rich in having such a jewel 
 As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl, 
 The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold. 
 Forgive me that I do not dream on thee 
 Because thou seest me dote upon my loveojp.sfir 
 My foolish rival, that her father likes 
 Only for his possessions are so huge, 
 Is gone with her along ; and I must after, 
 For love, thou know*st is full of jealousy. 
 
 Pro. But she loves you ? 
 
 VaL Ay, we are betroth'd : 
 
 Nay, more ; our marriage hour, 
 With all the cunning manner of our flight, 
 Determined of : how I must climb her window, 
 The ladder made of cords ; and all the means 
 Plotted and 'greed on for my happiness. 
 Good Proteus, go with me to my chamber, 
 In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel. 
 
 Pro. Go on before ; I shall inquire you forth : 
 I must unto the road to disembark 
 Some necessaries that I needs must use ; 
 And then I'll presently attend you, 
 
 VaL Will you make haste ? 
 
 Pre. I will. [Exit VAL. 
 
34 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 Even as one heat another heat expels, o^yio 1 
 Or as one nail by strength drives out another, 
 So the remembrance of my former love 
 Is by a newer object quite forgotten. 
 Is it mine eye, or Valentinus' praise, 
 Her true perfection, or my false transgression, 
 That makes me, reasonless, to reason thus ? 
 She's fair; and so is Julia that I love, 
 That I did love, for now my love is thaw'd ; 
 Which like a waxen image 'gainst a fire 
 Bears no impression of the thing it was. 
 Methinks my zeal to Valentine is cold, 
 And that I love him not as I was wont t 
 
 ! but I love his lady too, too much ; 
 And that 's the reason I love him so little. 
 How shall I dote on her with more advice, 
 That thus without advice begin to love her ? 
 'Tis but her picture I have yet beheld, 
 And that hath dazzled my reason's light ; 
 But when I look on her perfections, 
 There is no reason but I shall be blind. 
 
 If I can check my erring love, I will : 
 
 If not, to compass her I '11 use my skill. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE V. The same. A Street. 
 ,-,:, Enter SPEED and LAUNCE. 
 Speed. Launce ! by mine honesty, welcome 
 to Milan. 
 
 Laun. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth ; for 
 
 1 am not welcome. I reckon this always that 
 a man is never undone till he be hanged ; nor 
 never welcome to a place till some certain shot 
 be paid and the hostess say, welcome. 
 
 Speed. Come on, you madcap ; I '11 to the 
 ale-house with you presently ; where, for one 
 shot of fivepence, thou shalt have five thou- 
 sand welcomes. But, sirrah, how did thy 
 master part with Madam Julia ? 
 
 Laun. Marry, after they closed in earnest 
 they parted very fairly in jest. 
 
 Speed. But shall she marry him ? 
 
 Laun. No. 
 
 Speed. How, then ? shall he marry her ? 
 
 Laun. No, neither. 
 
 Speed. What ! are they broken ? 
 
 Laun. No ; they are both as whole as a fish. 
 
 Speed. Why, then, how stands the matter 
 with them ? 
 
 Laun. Marry, thus ; when it stands well 
 with him it stands well with her. 
 
 Speed. What an ass art thou ? I understand 
 thee not. 
 
 Laun. What a block art thou, that thou 
 canst not ! My staff understands me. 
 
 Speed. What thou say'st ? 
 
 Laun. Ay, and what I do, too ; look thee, 
 I '11 but lean, and my staff understands me. 
 
 Speed. It stands under thee, indeed. [one. 
 
 Laun. Why, stand under and understand is all 
 
 Speed. But tell me true, wili't be a match ? 
 
 Laun. Ask my dog : if he say ay, it will ; if 
 he say no, it will ; if he shake his tail and say 
 nothing, it will. 
 
 Speed. The conclusion is, then, that it will. 
 
 Laun. Thou shalt never get such a secret 
 from me but by a parable. 
 
 Speed. 'Tis well that I get it so. But, 
 Launce, how say'st thou that my master is 
 become a notable lover? 
 
 Laun. I never knew him otherwise. 
 
 Speed. Than how? 
 
 Laun. A notable lubber as thou reportest 
 him to be. 
 
 Speed. Why, thou whoreson ass, thou mis- 
 takest me. 
 
 Laun. Why, fool, I meant not thee, I meant 
 thy master. 
 
 Speed. I tell thee, my master is become a 
 hot lover. 
 
 Laun. Why, I tell thee I care not though he 
 burn himself in love. If thou wilt go with me 
 to the ale-house, so ; if not, thou art an Hebrew, 
 a Jew, and not worth the name of a Christian. 
 
 Speed. Why? 
 
 Laun. Because thou hast not so much charit) 
 in thee as to go to the ale with a Christian. 
 Wilt thou go ? 
 
 Speed. At thy service. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI. The same. An Apartment in 
 
 the Palace. 
 Enter PROTEUS. 
 
 Pro. To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn : 
 To love fair Silvia shall I be forsworn ; 
 To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn; 
 And even that power which gave me first my oath 
 Provokes me to this threefold perjury. 
 Love bade me swear, and love bids me forswear : 
 
 sweet-suggesting love, if thou hast sinn'd, 
 Teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it. 
 At first I did adore a twinkling star, 
 
 But now I worship a celestial sun. 
 Unheedful vows may needfully be broken ; 
 And he wants wit that wants resolved will 
 To learn his wit to exchange the bad for better. 
 Fie, fie, unreverend tongue ! to call her bad, 
 Whose sovereignty so oft thou hast preferr'd 
 With twenty-thousand-soul-confirming oaths. 
 
 1 cannot leave to love, and yet I do ; 
 
 But there I leave to love where I should love. 
 Julia I lose, and Valentine I lose : 
 If I keep them, I needs must lose myself; 
 If I lose them, thus find I by their loss, 
 For Valentine, myself ; for Julia, Silvia. 
 
SCENE VII.] 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 35 
 
 I to myself am dearer than a friend : 
 For love is still more precious in itself : [fair ! 
 And Silvia witness heaven, that made her 
 Shows Julia but a swarthy Ethiope. 
 I will forget that Julia is alive, 
 Rememb'ring that my love to her is dead ; 
 And Valentine I '11 hold an enemy, 
 Aiming at Silvia as a sweeter friend. 
 I cannot now prove constant to myself 
 Without some treachery used to Valentine : 
 This night he meaneth with a corded ladder 
 To climb celestial Silvia's chamber-window 
 Myself in counsel, his competitor : 
 Now presently I '11 give her father notice 
 Of their disguising and pretended flight ; 
 Who, all enraged, will banish Valentine ; 
 For Thurio, he intends, shall wed his daughter: 
 But, Valentine, being gone, I '11 quickly cross, 
 By some sly trick, blunt Thurio'sdull proceeding. 
 Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift, 
 As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift ! [Exit. 
 
 SCENE VII. VERONA. A Room in JULIA'S 
 
 House. 
 
 Enter JULIA and LUCETTA. 
 Jttl. Counsel, Lucetta ! gentle girl, assist me ! 
 And, even in kind love, I do conjure thee, 
 Who art the table wherein all my thoughts 
 Are visibly character'd and engraved, 
 To lesson me ; and tell me some good mean, 
 How, with my honour, I may undertake 
 A journey to my loving Proteus. 
 
 L^lc. Alas ! the way is wearisome and long. 
 Jnl. A true-devoted pilgrim is not weary 
 To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps ; 
 Much less shall she that hath love's wings to fly, 
 And when the flight is made to one so dear, 
 Of such divine perfection, as Sir Proteus. 
 Luc. Better forbear till Proteus make return. 
 Jul. O, know'st thou not his looks are my 
 
 soul's food ? 
 
 Pity the dearth that I have pined in 
 By longing for that food so long a time. 
 Didst thou but know the inly touch of love, 
 Thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow 
 As seek to quench the fire of love with words. 
 
 Luc. I do not seek to quench your love's hot 
 
 But qualify the fire's extreme rage, [fire ; 
 
 Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason. 
 
 Jul. The more thou damm'st it up, the more 
 
 it burns ; 
 
 The current that with gentle murmur glides, 
 Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth 
 
 rage; 
 
 But when his fair course is not hindered, 
 He makes sweet music with theenamell'd stones, 
 Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge 
 
 / 
 
 Wit! 
 
 /* 
 
 Wha 
 
 He overtaketh in his pilgrimage ; 
 
 And so by many winding nooks he strays, 
 
 With willing sport, to the wild ocean. 
 
 Then let me go, and hinder not my course : 
 
 I '11 be as patient as a gentle stream, 
 
 And make a pastime of each weary step, 
 
 Till the last step have brought me to my love ; 
 
 And there I '11 rest as, after much turmoil, 
 
 A blessed soul doth in Elysium. 
 
 Luc. But in what habit will you go along ? 
 
 Jul. Not like a woman ; for I would prevent 
 The loose encounters of lascivious men ; 
 Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weeds 
 As may beseem some well-reputed page. [hair. 
 
 Luc. Why, then, your ladyship must cut your 
 
 Jul. No, girl ; I'll knit it up in silken strings, 
 
 ith twenty odd-conceited true-love knots : 
 To be fantastic may become a youth 
 Of greater time than I shall show to be. 
 
 Luc. What fashion, madam, shall I make 
 your breeches ? [lord, 
 
 T ul. That fits as well as " Tell me, good my 
 
 hat compass will you wear your farthingale?" 
 Why, even that fashion thou best lik'st, Lucetta. 
 
 Luc. You must needs have them with a cod- 
 piece, madam. 
 
 Jul. Out, out, Lucetta! that will be ill-favour'd. 
 
 Luc. A round hose, madam, now 's not worth 
 
 a pin, 
 Unless you have a cod-piece to stick pins on. 
 
 Jul. Lucetta, as thou lov'st me, let me have 
 What thou think'st meet, and is most mannerly : 
 But tell me, wench, how will the world repute me 
 For undertaking so unstaid a journey ? 
 I fear me it will make me scandaliz'd. [go not. 
 
 Luc. If you think so, then stay at home, and 
 
 Jul. Nay, that I will not. 
 
 Luc. Then never dream on infamy, but go. 
 If Proteus like your journey when you come, 
 No matter who 's displeas'd when you are gone : 
 I fear me he will scarce be pleased withal. 
 
 Jttl. That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear : 
 A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears, 
 And instances as infinite of love, 
 Warrant me welcome to my Proteus. 
 
 Luc. All these are servants to deceitful men. 
 
 Jul. Base men, that use them to so base effect f 
 But truer stars did govern Proteus' birth : 
 His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles ; 
 His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate ; 
 His tears pure messengers sent from his heart ; 
 His heart as far from fraud as heaven from earth. 
 
 Luc. Pray heaven he prove so when you 
 come to him ! [wrong, 
 
 Jttl. Now, as thou lov'st me, do him not that 
 To bear a hard opinion of his truth ; 
 Only deserve my love by loving him, 
 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 1 presently go with me to my chamber, 
 take a note of what I stand in need of 
 
 And 
 
 To 
 
 To furnish me upon my longing journey. 
 
 All that is mine I leave at thy dispose, 
 
 My goods, my lands, my reputation ; 
 
 Only, in lieu thereof, dispatch me hence : 
 
 Come, answer not, but to it presently ; 
 
 I am impatient of my tarriance. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 SCENE I. MILAN. An Ante-room in the 
 
 DUKE'S Palace. 
 Enter DUKE, THURIO, and PROTEUS. 
 
 Duke. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile; 
 We have some secrets to confer about. 
 
 [Exit THURIO. 
 
 Now, tell me, Proteus, what 's your will with 
 me ? [discover, 
 
 Pro. My gracious lord, that which I would 
 The law of friendship bids me to conceal ; 
 But, when I call to mind your gracious favours 
 Done to me, undeserving as I am, 
 My duty pricks me on to utter that [me. 
 
 Which else no worldly good should draw from 
 Know, worthy prince, Sir Valentine, my friend, 
 This night intends to steal away your daughter ; 
 Myself am one made privy to the plot. 
 I know you have determined to bestow her 
 On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates ; 
 And should she thus be stolen a\vay from you, 
 It would be much vexation to your age. 
 Thus, for my duty's sake, I rather chose 
 To cross my friend in his intended drift, 
 Than, by concealing it, heap on your head 
 A pack of sorrows, which would press you down, 
 Being unprevented, to your timeless grave. 
 
 Duke. Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest 
 
 care; 
 
 Which to requite, command me while I live. 
 This love of theirs myself have often seen, 
 Haply when they have judged me fast asleep ; 
 And oftentimes have purposed to forbid 
 Sir Valentine her company and my court : 
 But, fearing lest my jealous aim might err, 
 And so, unworthily, disgrace the man, 
 A rashness that I ever yet have shunn'd, 
 I gave him gentle looks ; thereby to find 
 That which thyself hast now disclos'd to me. 
 And, that thou may'st perceive my fear of this, 
 Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested, 
 I nightly lodge her in an upper tower, 
 The key whereof myself have ever kept ; 
 And thence she cannot be conveyed away, [mean 
 
 Pro. Know, noble lord, they have devised a 
 How he her chamber-window will ascend, 
 And with a corded ladder fetch her down ; 
 
 For which the youthful lover now is gone, 
 And this way comes he with it presently ; 
 Where, if it please you, you may intercept him. 
 But, good my lord, do it so cunningly, 
 That my discovery be not aimed at ; 
 For love of you, not hate unto my friend, 
 Hath made me publisher of this pretence. 
 
 Duke. Upon mine honour, he shall never know 
 That I had any light from thee of this. 
 
 Pro. Adieu, my lord ; Sir Valentine is com- 
 ing. [Exit. 
 
 Enter VALENTINE. 
 
 Duke. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast ? 
 
 Val. Please it your grace, there is a messenger 
 That stays to bear my letters to my friends, 
 And I am going to deliver them. 
 
 Duke. Be they of much import ? 
 
 Val. The tenor of them doth but signify 
 My health and happy being at your court. 
 
 Duke. Nay, then, no matter; stay with mo 
 
 awhile ; 
 
 I am to break with thee of some affairs 
 That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret. 
 'Tis not unknown to thee that I have sought 
 To match my friend, Sir Thurio, to my daughter. 
 
 Val. I know it well, my lord ; and, sure, the 
 match [man 
 
 Were rich and honourable ; besides, the gentle- 
 Is full of virtue, bounty, worth, and qualities 
 Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter : 
 Cannot your grace win her to fancy him ? 
 
 Duke. No, trust me; she is peevish, sullen, 
 
 froward, 
 
 Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty ; 
 Neither regarding that she is my child 
 Nor fearing me as if I were her father : 
 And, may I say to thee, this pride of hers, 
 Upon advice, hath drawn my love from her ; 
 And, where I thought the remnant of mine age 
 Should have been cherished by her child-like 
 
 duty, 
 
 I am now full resolved to take a wife, 
 And turn her out to who will take her in : 
 Then let her beauty be her wedding-dower ; 
 For me and my possession she esteems not. 
 
 Val. What would your grace have me to do 
 in this? 
 
 Duke. There is a lady, sir, in Milan, here, 
 Whom I affect ; but she is nice, and coy, 
 And nought esteems my aged eloquence : 
 Now, therefore, would I have thee to my tutor, 
 For long agone I have forgot to court : 
 Besides, the fashion of the time is chang'd ; 
 How and which way I may bestow myself. 
 To be regarded in her sun-bright eye. 
 
 Val. Win her with gifts,if she respect not words; 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 37 
 
 Dumb jewels often, in their silent kind, 
 More than quick words do move a woman's mind. 
 
 Duke, But she did scorn a present that I sent 
 her. [contents her : 
 
 Val. A woman sometimes scorns what best 
 Send her another ; never give her o'er ; 
 For scorn at first makes after-love the more. 
 If she do frown, 'tis not in hate of you, 
 But rather to beget more love in you : 
 If she do chide, 'tis not to have you gone ; 
 For why, the fools are mad if left alone. 
 Take no repulse whatever she doth say : 
 For, get you gone, she doth not mean away : 
 Flatter and praise, commend, extol their graces ; 
 Though ne'er so black , say they have angels' faces. 
 That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man, 
 If with his tongue he cannot win a woman. 
 
 Duke. But she I mean is promised by her 
 
 friends 
 
 Unto a youthful gentleman of worth ; 
 And kept severely from resort of men, 
 That no man hath access by day to her. 
 
 Val. Why, then, I would resort to her by night. 
 
 Duke. Ay, but the doors be lock'd, and keys 
 
 kept safe, 
 That no man hath recourse to her by night. 
 
 Val. What lets but one may enter at her 
 window ? [ground ; 
 
 Duke. Her chamber is aloft, far from the 
 And built so shelving, that one cannot climb it 
 Without apparent hazard of his life. [cords, 
 
 Val. Why, then, a ladder, quaintly made of 
 To cast up with a pair of anchoring hooks, 
 Would serve to scale another Hero's tower, 
 So bold Leander would adventure it. 
 
 Duke. Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood, 
 Advise me where I may have such a ladder. 
 
 Val. When would you use it? pray, sir, tell me 
 that. 
 
 Duke. This very night ; for love is like a child, 
 That longs for everything that he can come by. 
 
 Val. Byseven o'clock I '11 get you such a ladder. 
 
 Duke. But, hark thee ; I will go to her alone; 
 How shall I best convey the ladder thither ? 
 
 Val. It will be light, my lord, that you may 
 
 bear it 
 Under a cloak that is of any length. [turn. 
 
 D^tke. A cloak as long as thine will serve the 
 
 Val. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 Duke. Then let me see thy cloak : 
 I '11 get me one of such another length, [lord. 
 
 Val. Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my 
 
 Duke. How shall I fashion me to wear a 
 
 cloak ? 
 
 I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me. 
 What letter is this same ? What 's here ITo 
 Silvia ? 
 
 And here an engine fit for my proceeding ! 
 I '11 be so bold to break the seal for once. [Reads. 
 
 My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly ; 
 And slaves they are to me, that send them fly ing. 
 O, cmtld their master come and go as lightly, 
 Himself would lodge where senseless they are 
 
 lying. 
 
 My herald thoughts in thy piire bosom rest them, 
 While I, their king, that thither them impor- 
 tune, 
 Do curse the grace that -with such grace hath 
 
 bless 1 d them, 
 
 Becaitse myself do want my servants' 'fortune: 
 I ctirse myself, for they are sent by me, 
 That they shmild harbour where their lord 
 should be. 
 
 What's here ? 
 
 Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee : 
 'Tis so ; and here 's the ladder for the purpose. 
 Why, Phaeton, for thou art Merops' son, 
 Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car, 
 And with thy daring folly burn the world ? 
 Wilt thou reach stars because they shine on thee? 
 Go, base intruder ! over-weening slave ! 
 Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates ; 
 And think my patience, more than thy desert, 
 Is privilege for thy departure hence : 
 Thank me for this, more than for all the favours 
 Which, all too much, I have bestow'd on thee. 
 But if thou linger in my territories 
 Longer than swiftest expedition 
 Will give thee time to leave our royal court, 
 By heaven, my wrath shall far exceed the love 
 I ever bore ray daughter or thyself. 
 Begone, I will not hear thy vain excuse, 
 But, as thou lov'st thy life, make speed from 
 
 hence. [Exit DUKE. 
 
 Val. And why not death, rather than living 
 
 torment ? 
 
 To die is to be banish'd from myself ; 
 And Silvia is myself : banish'd from her 
 Is self from self : a deadly banishment ! 
 What light is light if Silvia be not seen ? 
 What joy is joy if Silvia be not by ? 
 Unless it be to think that she is by* >rr uxi 
 And feed upon the shadow of perfection. 
 Except I be by Silvia in the night 
 There is no music in the nightingale ; 
 Unless I look on Silvia in the day 
 There is no day for me to look upon : 
 She is my essence ; and I leave to be, 
 If I be not by her fair influence 
 Foster'd, illumined, cherish'd, kept alive, 
 I fly not death to fly his deadly doom : 
 Tarry I here I but attend on death ; 
 But fly I hence I fly away from life. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Enter PROTEUS and LAUNCE. 
 
 Pro, Run, boy, run, run, and seek him out. 
 
 Laun. So-ho ! so-ho ! 
 
 Pro. What seest thou ? 
 
 Laun. Him we go to find: there's not a hair 
 on 's head but 'tis a Valentine. 
 
 Pro. Valentine ? 
 
 Val. No. 
 
 Pro. Who then ? his spirit ? 
 
 Val. Neither. 
 
 Pro. What then.? WUM 
 
 Val. Nothing. [strike? 
 
 Laun. Can nothing speak? master, shall I 
 
 Pro. Whom wouldst thou strike ? 
 
 Laun. Nothing. 
 
 Pro. Villain, forbear. [you, 
 
 Laun. Why, sir, I '11 strike nothing : I pray 
 
 Pro. Sirrah, I say, forbear : Friend Valentine, 
 a word. [good news, 
 
 Val. My ears are stopp'd, and cannot hear 
 So much of bad already hath possess'd them. 
 
 Pro. Then in dumb silence will I bury mine, 
 For they are harsh, untuneable, and bad. 
 
 Val. Is Silvia dead ? 
 
 Pro. No, Valentine. 
 
 Val. No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia! 
 Hath she forsworn me ? 
 
 Pro. No, Valentine. [me ! 
 
 Val. No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn 
 What is your news ? 
 
 Laun. Sir, there 's a proclamation that you 
 are vanish'd. [news ; 
 
 Pro. That thou art banished ; O, that 's the 
 From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy friend. 
 
 Val. O, I have fed upon this woe already, 
 And now excess of it will make me surfeit. 
 Doth Silvia know that I am banished ? 
 
 Pro. Ay, ay ; and she hath offer'd to the 
 
 doom, 
 
 Which, unreversed, stands in effectual force, 
 A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears : 
 Those at her father's churlish feet she tender'd 
 With them, upon her knees, her humble self ; 
 Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became 
 
 them, 
 
 As if but now they waxed pale for woe : 
 But neither bended knees, pure hands held up, 
 Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears, 
 Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire ; 
 But Valentine, if he be ta'en, must die. 
 Besides, her intercession chafed him so, 
 When she for thy repeal was suppliant, 
 That to close prison he commanded her, 
 With many bitter threats of 'biding there. 
 
 Val. No more ; unless the next word that 
 
 thou speak'st 
 Have some malignant power upon my life : 
 
 If so, I pray thee, breathe it in mine ear, 
 
 As ending anthem of my endless dolour, [help, 
 
 Pro. Cease to lament for that thou canst not 
 And study help for that which thou lament'st. 
 Time is the nurse and breeder of all good. 
 Here if thou stay thou canst not see thy love ; 
 Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life. 
 Hope is a lover's staff ; walk hence with that, 
 And manage it against despairing thoughts. 
 Thy letters may be here though thou art hence : 
 Which, being writ to me, shall be deliver'd 
 Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love. 
 The time now serves not to expostulate : 
 Come, I '11 convey thee through the city gate ; 
 And, ere I part with thee, confer at large 
 Of all that may concern thy love affairs : 
 As thou lov'st Silvia, though not for thyself, 
 Regard thy danger, and along with me. 
 
 Val. I pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest 
 
 my boy, [gate. 
 
 Bid him make haste and meet me at the north 
 
 Pro. Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, 
 Valentine. 
 
 Val. O my dear Silvia, hapless Valentine ! 
 \Exeitnt VAL. and PRO. 
 
 Laun. I am but a fool, look you ; and yet I 
 have the wit to think my master is a kind of 
 knave : but that 's all one if he be but one knave. 
 He lives not now that knows me to be in love : 
 yet I am in love ; but a team of horse shall not 
 pluck that from me ; nor who 'tis I love, and 
 yet 'tis a woman : but what woman I will not 
 tell myself; and yet 'tis a milkmaid; yet 'tis 
 not a maid, for she hath had gossips : yet 'tis a 
 maid, for she is her master's maid, and serves 
 for wages. She hath more qualities than a 
 water-spaniel, which is much in a bare Chris- 
 tian. Here is the cat-log [Pulling out a paper} 
 of her conditions. Imprimis, She can fetch' and 
 carry. Why, a horse can do no more : nay, a 
 horse cannot fetch, but only carry ; therefore is 
 she better than a jade. Item, She can milk ; 
 look you, a sweet virtue in a maid with clean 
 hands. 
 
 Enter SPEED. 
 
 Speed. How now, Signior Launce? what news 
 with your mastership ? 
 
 Laim. With my master's ship? why, it is at sea. 
 
 Speed. Well, your old vice still ; mistake the 
 
 word. 
 What news, then, in your paper ? [heard'st. 
 
 Laun. The blackest news that ever thou 
 
 Speed. Why, man, how black ? 
 
 Laun. Why, as black as ink. 
 
 Speed. Let me read them. [read. 
 
 Laun. Fie on thee, jolthead; thou canst not 
 
 Speed. Thou liest, I can. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 39 
 
 Laun. I will try thee : Tell me this : Who 
 begot thee ? 
 
 Speed. Marry, the son of my grandfather. 
 
 Laun. O illiterate loiterer ! it was the son of 
 thy grandmother : this proves that thou canst 
 not read. 
 
 Speed. Come, fool, come: try me in thy paper. 
 
 Laun. There ; and St. Nicholas be thy speed ! 
 
 Speed. Imprimis, She can milk. 
 
 Laun. Ay, that she can. 
 
 Speed. Item, She brews good ale. 
 
 Laun. And thereof comes the proverb, 
 Blessing of your heart, you brew good ale. 
 
 Speed. Item, She can sew. 
 
 Laun. That 's as much as to say, can she so? 
 
 Speed. Item, She can knit. 
 
 Laun. What need a man care for a stock 
 with a wench, when she can knit him a stock. 
 
 Speed. Item, She can wash and scour. 
 
 Laun. A special virtue ; for then she need 
 not be washed and scoured. 
 
 Speed. Item, She can spin. 
 
 Laun. Then may I set the world on wheels, 
 when she can spin for her living. 
 
 Speed. Item, She hath many nameless virtues. 
 
 Laun. That 's as much as to say, bastard 
 virtues ; that, indeed, know not their fathers, 
 and therefore have no names. 
 
 Speed. Here follow her vices. 
 
 Laun. Close at the heels of her virtues. 
 
 Speed. Item, She is not to be kissed fasting, 
 in respect of her breath. 
 
 Laun. Well, that fault may be mended with 
 a breakfast. Read on. 
 
 Speed. Item, She hath a sweet mouth. 
 
 Laun. That makes amends for her sour breath. 
 
 Speed. Item, She doth talk in her sleep. 
 
 Laun. It 's no matter for that, so she sleep 
 not in her talk. 
 
 Speed. Item, She is slow in words. 
 
 Laun. O villain, that set this down among 
 her vices ! To be slow in words is a woman's 
 only virtue: I pray thee, out with't; and place 
 it for her chief virtue. 
 
 Speed. Item, She is proud. 
 
 Laun. Out with that too ; it was Eve's 
 legacy, and cannot be ta'en from her. 
 
 Speed. Item, She hath no teeth. 
 
 Laun. I care not for that neither, because I 
 love crusts. 
 
 Speed. Item, She is curst. 
 Laun. Well ; the best is, she hath no teeth to 
 bite. 
 
 Speed. Item, She will often praise her liquor. 
 Laun. If her liquor be good, she shall : if 
 she will not, I will ; for good things should be 
 praised. 
 
 Speed. Item, She is too liberal. 
 
 Latin. Of her tongue she cannot ; for that 's 
 writ down she is slow of: of her purse she 
 shall not ; for that I '11 keep shut : now of an- 
 other thing she may ; and that I cannot help. 
 Well, proceed. 
 
 Speed. Item, She hath more Jiair than wit, 
 and more faults than hairs, and more -wealth 
 than faults. 
 
 Laun. Stop there ; I '11 have her : she was 
 mine, and not mine, twice or thrice in that last 
 article. Rehearse that once more. 
 
 Speed. Item, She hath more hair than wit, 
 
 Laun. More hair than wit, it may be ; I '11 
 prove it : The cover of the salt hides the salt, 
 and therefore it is more than the salt ; the hair 
 that covers the wit is more than the wit ; for the 
 greater hides the less. What 's next ? 
 
 Speed. And more faults than hairs j 
 
 Laun. That's monstrous: O, that that were 
 out ! 
 
 Speed. And more wealth than faults. 
 
 Laun. Why, that word makes the faults 
 gracious. Well, I '11 have her : and if it be a 
 match, as nothing is impossible. 
 
 Speed. What then ? 
 
 Latin. Why, then will I tell thee, that thy 
 master stays for thee at the north gate. 
 
 Speed. For me ? 
 
 Laun. For thee? ay: who art thou? he hath 
 stay'd for a better man than thee. 
 
 Speed. And must I go to him ? 
 
 Laun. Thou must run to him, for thou hast 
 stay'd so long that going will scarce serve the turn. 
 
 Speed. Why didst not tell me sooner ? 'pox 
 of your love-letters ! [Exit. 
 
 Laun. Now will he be swinged for reading 
 my letter. An unmannerly slave that will thrust 
 himself into secrets ! I '11 after, to rejoice in the 
 boy's correction. [Exit. 
 
 r bftfjn!>; v / rr^> svo! ^rf bsov/ arfJ *{ 
 SCENE II. The same. A Room in the 
 DUKE'S Palace. 
 
 Enter DUKE and THURIO ; PROTEUS behind. 
 
 Duke. Sir Thurio, fear not but that she will 
 
 love you 
 Now Valentine is banish'd from her sight. 
 
 Thu. Since his exile she hath despised me 
 
 most, 
 
 Forsworn my company and rail'd at me, 
 That I am desperate of obtaining her. 
 
 Duke. This weak impress of love is as a figure 
 Trenched in ice ; which with an hour's heat 
 Dissolves to water and doth lose his form. 
 A little time will melt her frozen thoughts, 
 And worthless Valentine shall be forgot. HbnA 
 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 How now, Sir Proteus ? Is your countryman, 
 According to our proclamation, gone ? 
 
 Pro. Gone, my good lord. 
 
 Duke. My daughter takes his going grievously. 
 
 Pro. A little time, my lord, will kill that grief. 
 
 Duke. So I believe; but Thurio thinks not so. 
 Proteus, the good conceit I hold of thee. 
 For thou hast shown some sign of good desert, 
 Makes me the better to confer with thee. 
 
 Pro. Longer than I prove loyal to your grace, 
 Let me not live to look upon your grace, [effect 
 
 Duke. Thou know'st, how willingly I would 
 The match between Sir Thurio and my daughter. 
 
 Pro. I do, my lord. 
 
 Duke. And also I think, thou art not ignorant 
 How she opposes her against my will. 
 
 Pro. She did, my lord, when Valentine was 
 here. 
 
 Duke. Ay, and perversely she persevers so. 
 What might we do to make the girl forget 
 The love of Valentine and love Sir Thurio ? 
 
 Pro. The best way is to slander Valentine 
 With falsehood, cowardice, and poor descent ; 
 Three things that women highly hold in hate. 
 
 Duke. Ay, but she '11 think that it is spoke in 
 hate. 
 
 Pro. Ay, if his enemy deliver it : 
 Therefore it must, with circumstance, be spoken 
 By one whom she esteemeth as his friend, [him. 
 
 Duke. Then you must undertake to slander 
 
 Pro. And that, my lord, I shall be loth to do : 
 'Tis an ill office for a gentleman ; 
 Especially against his very friend. [tage him 
 
 Duke. Where your good word cannot advan- 
 Your slander never can endamage him ; 
 Therefore, the office is indifferent, 
 Being entreated to it by your friend. [it 
 
 Pro. You have prevail'd, my lord : if I can do 
 By aught that I can speak in his dispraise, 
 She shall not long continue love to him. 
 But say this weed her love from Valentine, 
 It follows not that she will love Sir Thurio. 
 
 Thu. Therefore, as you unwind her love 
 
 from him. 
 
 Lest it should ravel, and be good to none, 
 You must provide to bottom it on me : 
 Which must be done by praising me as much 
 A.S you in worth dispraise Sir Valentine. 
 
 Duke. And, Proteus, we dare trust you in 
 
 this kind ; 
 
 Because we know, on Valentine's report, 
 You are already love's firm votary, 
 And cannot soon revolt and change your mind. 
 Upon this warrant shall you have access 
 Where you with Silvia may confer at large ; 
 For she is lumpish, heavy, melancholy, 
 And, for your friend's sake, will be glad of you ; 
 
 Where you may temper her by your persuasion 
 To hate young Valentine and love my friend. 
 
 Pro. As much as I can do I will effect : 
 But you, Sir Thurio, are not sharp enough ; 
 You must lay lime to tangle her desires 
 By wailful sonnets, whose composed rhymes 
 Should be full fraught with serviceable vows. 
 
 Duke. Ay, much the force of heaven-bred 
 poesy. 
 
 Pro. Say that upon the altar of her beauty 
 You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart; 
 Write till your ink be dry ; and with your tears 
 Moist it again ; and frame some feeling line 
 That may discover such integrity : 
 For Orpheus' lute was strung with poets' sinews; 
 Whose golden touch could soften steel and 
 
 stones. 
 
 Make tigers tame and huge leviathans 
 Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands, 
 After your dire lamenting elegies, 
 Visit by night your lady's chamber-window 
 With some sweet concert : to their instruments 
 Tune a deploring dump ; the night's dead silence 
 Will well become such sweet complaining griev- 
 ance. 
 This, or else nothing, will inherit her. 
 
 Duke. This discipline shows thou hast been 
 in love. [practice : 
 
 Thu. And thy advice this night I '11 put in 
 Therefore, sweet Proteus, my direction-giver, 
 Let us into the city presently 
 To sort some gentlemen well skill'd in music : 
 I have a sonnet that will serve the turn 
 To give the onset to thy good advice. 
 
 Duke. About it, gentlemen, [supper : 
 
 Pro. We '11 wait upon your grace till after 
 And afterward determine our proceedings. 
 
 Duke. Even now about it ; I will pardon you. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. A Forest near MANTUA. 
 Enter certain Outlaws. 
 
 1 Out. Fellows, stand fast ; I see a passenger. 
 
 2 Out. If there be ten, shrink not, but down 
 
 with 'em. 
 
 Enter VALENTINE and SPEED. 
 
 3 Out. Stand, sir, and throw us that you 
 
 have about you ; 
 If not, we '11 make you sit, and rifle you. 
 
 Speed. Sir, we are undone ! these are the 
 
 villains 
 
 That all the travellers do fear so much. 
 Val. My friends, 
 
 1 Out. That 'snot so, sir; we are your enemies. 
 
 2 Out. Peace ; we '11 hear him. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 3 Out. Ay, by my beard, will we ; 
 For he 's a proper man. [lose ; 
 
 Val. Then know that I have little wealth to 
 A man I am crossed with adversity ; 
 My riches are these poor habiliments, 
 Of which if you should here disfurnish me, 
 You take the sum and substance that I have. 
 
 2 Out. Whither travel you ? 
 Val. To Verona. 
 
 I Out. Whence came you ? 
 Val. From Milan. 
 
 3 Out. Have you long sojourn'd there ? 
 Val. Some sixteen months ; and longer might 
 
 have stay'd 
 If crooked fortune had not thwarted me. 
 
 1 Out. What ! were you banish'd thence ? 
 Val. I was. 
 
 2 Out. For what offence ? [hearse ; 
 Val. For that which now torments me to re- 
 
 I kill'd a man, whose death I much repent ; 
 But yet I slew him manfully in fight, 
 Without false vantage or base treachery. 
 
 1 Out. Why, ne'er repent it, if it were done so. 
 But were you banish'd for so small a fault ? 
 
 Val. I was, and held me glad of such a doom. 
 
 2 Out. Have you the tongues ? [happy ; 
 Val. My youthful travel therein made me 
 
 Or else I often had been miserable. [friar, 
 
 3 Out. By the bare scalp of Robin Hood's fat 
 This fellow were a king for our wild faction. 
 
 1 Out. We '11 have him ; sirs, a word. 
 Speed. Master, be one of them ; 
 
 It is an honourable kind of thievery. 
 
 Val. Peace, villain ! [take to ? 
 
 2 Out. Tell us this. Have you anything to 
 Val. Nothing but my fortune. [men ; 
 
 3 Out. Know, then, that some of us are gentle- 
 Such as the fury of ungovern'd youth 
 Thrust from the company of awful men : 
 Myself was from Verona banish'd 
 
 For practising to steal away a lady, 
 An heir, and near allied unto the duke. 
 
 2 Out. And I from Mantua, for a gentleman, 
 Whom, in my mood, I stabb'd unto the heart. 
 
 1 Out. Andlforsuch like petty crimes as these. 
 But to the purpose, for we cite our faults 
 That they may hold excused our lawless lives, 
 And, partly, seeing you are beautified 
 
 With goodly shape, and by your own report 
 A linguist, and a man of such perfection 
 As we do in our quality much want ; 
 
 2 Out. Indeed, because you are a banish'd 
 
 man, 
 
 Therefore, above the rest, we parley to you. 
 Are you content to be our general ? 
 To make a virtue of necessity, 
 And live, as we do, in this wilderness ? 
 
 3 Out. What say'st thou ? wilt thou be of our 
 
 consort ? 
 
 Say ay, and be the captain of us all : 
 We '11 do thee homage, and be ruled by thee, 
 Love thee as our commander and our king. 
 
 1 Out. But if thou scorn our courtesy thou 
 
 diest. [have offer'd. 
 
 2 Out. Thou shalt not live to brag what we 
 Val. I take your offer, and will live with you, 
 
 Provided that you do no outrages 
 On silly women or poor passengers. 
 
 3 Out. No ; we detest such vile base practices. 
 Come, go with us, we'll bring thee to our crews, 
 And show thee all the treasure we have got ; 
 Which, with ourselves, all rest at thy dispose. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. MILAN. Court of the Palace. 
 Enter PROTEUS. 
 
 Pro. Already have I been false to Valentine, 
 And now I must be as unjust to Thurio. 
 Under the colour of commending him 
 I have access my own love to prefer ; 
 But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy, 
 To be corrupted with my worthless gifts. 
 When I protest true loyalty to her 
 She twits me with my falsehood to my friend : 
 When to her beauty I commend my vows 
 She bids me think how I have been forsworn 
 In breaking faith with Julia whom I loved : 
 And, notwithstanding all her sudden quips, 
 The least whereof would quell a lover's hope, 
 Yet, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my love 
 The more it grows, and fawneth on her still. 
 But here comes Thurio : now must we to her 
 
 window, 
 And give some evening music to her ear. 
 
 Enter THURIO and Musicians. 
 
 Thu. How now, Sir Proteus ? are you crept 
 before us ? [love 
 
 Pro. Ay, gentle Thurio ; for you know that 
 Will creep in service where it cannot go. [here. 
 
 Thu. Ay, but I hope, sir, that you love not 
 
 Pro. Sir, but I do ; or else I would be hence. 
 
 Thu. Whom? Silvia? 
 
 Pro. Ay, Silvia for your sake. [men, 
 
 Thu. I thank you for your own. Now, gentle- 
 Let's tune, and to it lustily awhile. 
 
 Enter HOST, at a distance ; and JULIA, in 
 boy's clothes. 
 
 Host. Now, my young guest ! methinks 
 you're allycholly ; I pray you, why is it ? 
 Jul. Marry, mine host, because I cannot be 
 
 merry. 
 Host. Come, we'll have you merry : I'll bring 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 LACT iv. 
 
 you where you shall hear music, and see the 
 gentleman that you ask'd for. 
 
 Jul. But shall I hear him speak ? 
 
 Host. Ay, that you shall. 
 
 ful. That will be music. [ Mrisic plays. 
 
 Host. Hark ! hark ! 
 
 /if/. Is he among these ? 
 
 Host. Ay ; but peace, let 's hear 'em.. 
 
 SONG. 
 Who is Silvia ? what is she, 
 
 That all our swains commend her? 
 Holy, fair, and wise is she, 
 
 The heavens such grace did lend her, 
 That she might admired be. 
 
 Is she kind as she is fair ? 
 
 For beauty lives with kindness : 
 Love doth to her eyes repair, 
 
 To help him of his blindness ; 
 And, being help'd, inhabits there. 
 
 Then to Silvia, let us sing, 
 
 That Silvia is excelling ; 
 She excels each mortal thing 
 
 Upon the dull earth dwelling . 
 To her let us garlands bring. 
 
 Host. How now ? are you sadder than you 
 
 were before ? 
 How do you, man ! the music likes you not. 
 
 Jul. You mistake ; the musician likes me not. 
 
 Host. Why, my pretty youth ? 
 
 Jul. He plays false, father. 
 
 Host. How ! out of tune on the strings ? 
 
 Jul. Not so ; but yet so false that he grieves 
 njy very heart-strings. 
 
 Host. You have a quick ear. 
 
 Jul. Ay, I would I were deaf ! it makes me 
 have a slow heart. 
 
 Host. I perceive you delight not in music. 
 
 Jul. Not a whit, when it jars so. 
 
 Host. Hark, what fine change is in the music. 
 
 Jul. Ay ; that change is the spite. 
 
 Host. You would have them always play but 
 one thing ? [thing. 
 
 Jul. I would always have one play but one 
 But, host, doth this Sir Proteus, that we talk 
 on, often re&ort unto this gentlewoman? 
 
 Host. I '11 tell you what, Launce, his man, 
 told me he loved her out of all nick. 
 
 Jul. Where is Launce ? 
 
 Host. Gone to seek his dog ; which, to- 
 morrow, by his master's command, he must 
 carry for a present to his lady. 
 
 Jul. Peace ! stand aside ! the company parts. 
 
 Pro. Sir Thurio, fear not you ! I will so plead 
 That you shall say my cunning drift excels. 
 Thu. Where meet we ? 
 
 Pro. At Saint Gregory's well. 
 
 Thu. Farewell. 
 
 {Exeunt THURIO and Musicians. 
 
 SILVIA appears above, at her window. 
 
 Pro. Madam, good even to your ladyship. 
 
 Sil. I thank you for your music, gentlemen : 
 Who is that that spake ? [truth, 
 
 Pro. One, lady, if you knew his pure heart's 
 You'd quickly learn to know him by his voice. 
 
 Sil. Sir Proteus, as I take it. [vant. 
 
 Pro. Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your ser- 
 
 Sil. What is your will ? 
 
 Pr . That I may compass yours. 
 
 Sil. You have your wish; my will is even this, 
 That presently you hie you home to bed, 
 Thou subtle, perjured, false, disloyal man ! 
 Think'st thou I am so shallow, so conceitless, 
 To be seduced by thy flattery, 
 That hast deceived so many with thy vows ? 
 Return, return, and make thy love amends. 
 For me, by this pale queen of night I swear 
 I am so far from granting thy request 
 That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit, 
 And by and by intend to chide myself 
 Even for this time I spend in talking to thee. 
 
 Pro. I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady ; 
 But she is dead. 
 
 Jul. 'Twere false if I should speak it ; 
 For I am sure she is not buried. [Aside. 
 
 Sil. Say that she be; yet Valentine, thy friend, 
 Survives ; to whom, thyself art witness, 
 I am betrothed. And art thou not ashamed 
 To wrong him with thy importiinacy ? 
 
 Pro. I likewise hear that Valentine is dead. 
 
 Sil. And so suppose am I ; for in his grave 
 Assure thyself my love is buried. 
 
 Pro. Sweet lady, let me rake it from the earth. 
 
 Sil. Go to thy lady's grave, and call hers thence ; 
 Or, at the least, in hers sepulchre thine. 
 Jul, He heard not that. [Aside. 
 
 Pro. Madam, if your heart be so obdurate, 
 Vouchsafe me yet your picture for my love ; 
 The picture that is hanging in your chamber ; 
 To that I '11 speak, to that I '11 sigh and weep : 
 For, since the substance of your perfect self 
 Is else devoted, I am but a shadow : 
 And to your shadow I will make true love. 
 Jul. If 'twere a substance, you would, sure, 
 
 deceive it, 
 And make it but a shadow, as I am. [Aside. 
 
 Sil. I am very loth to be your idol, sir ; 
 But, since your falsehood shall become you well 
 To worship shadows and adore false shapes, 
 Send to me in the morning, and I '11 send it : 
 And so, good rest. 
 
 Pro. As wretches have o'er-night. 
 
 That wait for execution in the morn. 
 
 [Exeunt PRO.; and SIL. , from above. 
 Jul. Host, will you go ? 
 
SCENE 1II.J 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 43 
 
 Host. By my hallidom, I was fast asleep. 
 
 Jttl. Pray you, where lies Sir Proteus ? 
 
 Host. Marry, at my house. Trust me, I 
 think 'tis almost day. 
 
 JuL Not so ; but it hath been the longest night 
 That e'er I watch'd, and the most heaviest. 
 
 {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. The same. 
 
 Enter EGLAMOUR. 
 
 Egl. This is the hour that Madam Silvia 
 Entreated me to call and know her mind ; 
 There's some great matter she'd employ me in. 
 Madam, madam ! 
 
 SILVIA appears above, at her window. 
 
 Sil. Who calls ? 
 
 Egl. Your servant and your friend ; 
 
 One that attends your ladyship's command. 
 
 Sil. Sir Eglamour, a thousand times good 
 morrow. 
 
 Egl. As many, worthy lady, to yourself. 
 According to your ladyship's impose, 
 I am thus early come to know what service 
 It is your pleasure to command me in. 
 
 Sil. O Eglamour, thou art a gentleman, 
 Think not I flatter, for I swear I do not, 
 Valiant, wise, remorseful, well accomplish'd. 
 Thou art not ignorant what dear good will 
 I bear unto the banish'd Valentine ; 
 Nor how my father would enforce me marry 
 Vain Thurio, whom my very soul abhorr'd. 
 Thyself hast loved ; and I have heard thee say 
 No grief did ever come so near thy heart 
 As when thy lady and thy true love died, 
 Upon whose grave thou vow'dst pure chastity. 
 Sir Eglamour, I would to Valentine, 
 To Mantua, where, I hear, he makes abode ; 
 And, for the ways are dangerous to pass, 
 I do desire thy worthy company, 
 Upon whose faith and honour I repose. 
 Urge not my father's anger, Eglamour, 
 But think upon my grief, a lady's grief ; 
 And on the justice of my flying hence, 
 To keep me from a most unholy match, 
 Which heaven and fortune still reward with 
 I do desire thee, even from a heart [plagues. 
 As full of sorrows as the sea of sands, 
 To bear me company, and go with me : 
 If not, to hide what I have said to thee, 
 That I may venture to depart alone. 
 
 Egl. Madam, I pity much your grievances ; 
 Which, since I know they virtuously are placed, 
 I give consent to go along with you ; 
 Recking as little what betideth me 
 As much I wish all good befortune you. 
 When will you go ? 
 
 Sil. This evening coming. 
 
 EgL Where shall I meet you ? 
 Sil. At Friar Patrick's cell, 
 
 Where I intend holy confession. 
 
 Egl. I will not fail your ladyship : 
 Good morrow, gentle lady. 
 
 SiL Good morrow, kind Sir Eglamour. 
 
 {Exeunt. 
 
 MiW I .TIE .-n-j^f-. \.wA 
 SCENE IV. The same. 
 
 Enter LAUNCE, with his dog. 
 
 Latin. When a man's servant shall play the 
 cur with him, look you, it goes hard : one that 
 I brought up of a puppy one that I saved 
 from drowning, when three of four of his blind 
 brothers and sisters went to it ! I have taught 
 him even as one would say precisely, Thus I 
 would teach a dog. I was sent to deliver him 
 as a present to Mistress Silvia from my master ; 
 and I came no sooner into the dining-chamber 
 but he steps me to her trencher and steals her 
 capon's leg. O, 'tis a foul thing when a cur 
 cannot keep himself in all companies ! I would 
 have, as one should say, one that takes upon 
 him to be a dog indeed, to be, as it were, a dog 
 at all things. If I had not had more wit than 
 he, to take a fault upon me that he did, I think 
 verily he had been hang'd for 't ; sure as I live 
 he had suffer'd for't ; you shall judge. He 
 thrusts me himself into the company of three 
 or four gentleman-like dogs under the duke's 
 table : he had not been there bless the mark 
 a pissing while, but all the chamber smelt 
 him. Out with the dog, says one ; What cui 
 is that ? says another ; Whip him out, says a 
 third ; Hang him up, says the duke. I, hav- 
 ing been acquainted with the smell before, 
 knew it was Crab ; and goes me to the fellow 
 that whips the dogs : Friend, quoth I, you 
 mean to whip the dog ? Ay, marry do I, quoth 
 he. You do him the more wrong, quoth I ; 
 'twas I did the thing yott wot of. He makes 
 me no more ado, but whips me out of the 
 chamber. How many masters would do this 
 for their servant ? Nay, I '11 be sworn, I have 
 sat in the stocks for puddings he hath stolen, 
 otherwise he had been executed : I have stood 
 on the pillory for geese he hath killed, other- 
 wise he had suffer'd for 't : thou thinkest not of 
 this now ! Nay, I remember the trick you 
 served me when I took my leave of Madam 
 Silvia ; did not I bid thee still mark me and do 
 as I do ? When didst thou see me heave up 
 my leg and make water against a gentle- 
 woman's farthingale? didst thou ever see me 
 do such a trick ? 
 
44 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Enter PROTEUS and JULIA. 
 
 Pro. Sebastian is thy name ? I like thee well, 
 
 And will employ thee in some service presently. 
 
 JuL In whatyou please ; I willdo what I can. 
 
 Pro. I hope thou wilt. How now, you whore- 
 son peasant? \To LAUNCE. 
 Where have you been these two days loitering? 
 
 Laun. Marry, sir, I carried Mistress Silvia 
 the dog you bade me. 
 
 Pro. And what says she to my little jewel? 
 
 Laun. Marry, she says your dog was a cur ; 
 and tells you currish thanks is good enough for 
 such a present. 
 
 Pro. But she received my dog? 
 
 Laun. No, indeed, she did not ; here have I 
 brought him back again. 
 
 Pro. What ! didst thou offer her this from me ? 
 
 Laun. Ay, sir ; the other squirrel was stolen 
 from me by the hangman's boys in the market- 
 place : and then I offer'd her mine own ; who 
 is a dog as big as ten of yours, and therefore 
 the gift the greater. 
 
 Pro. Go, get thee hence andfindmy dogagain, 
 Or ne'er return again into my sight. 
 Away, I say. Stay'st thou to vex me here? 
 A slave, that still an end turns me to shame. 
 
 [Exit LAUNCE. 
 
 Sebastian, I have entertain'd thee, 
 Partly that I have need of such a youth 
 That can with some discretion do my business, 
 For 'tis no trusting to yond foolish lout ; 
 But, chiefly, for thy face and thy behaviour, 
 Which if my augury deceive me not 
 Witness good bringing up, fortune, and truth : 
 Therefore, know thou, for this I entertain thee. 
 Go presently, and take this ring with thee, 
 Deliver it to Madam Silvia : 
 She loved me well deliver'd it to me. 
 
 ful. It seems you loved not her, to leave her 
 
 token : 
 She 's dead, belike. 
 
 Pro. Not so : I think she lives. 
 
 Jul. Alas! 
 
 Pro. Why dost thou cry, Alas ! 
 
 Jul. I cannot choose but pity her. 
 
 Pro. Wherefore shouldst thou pity her? 
 
 Jul. Because, methinks, that she loved you 
 
 as well 
 
 As you do love your lady Silvia : 
 She dreams on him that has forgot her love ; 
 You dote on her that cares not for your love. 
 'Tis pity love should be so contrary ; 
 And thinking on it makes me cry, Alas ! 
 
 Pro. Well, give her that ring, and therewithal 
 This letter ;~ that . 's her chamber. Tell my lady 
 I claim the promise for her heavenly picture. 
 
 Your message done, hie home unto my chamber, 
 Where thou shalt find me sad and solitary. 
 
 [Exit PROTEUS. 
 JuL How many women would do such a 
 
 message ? 
 
 Alas, poor Proteus ! thou hast entertain'd 
 A fox to be the shepherd of thy lambs ; 
 Alas, poor fool ! why do I pity him 
 That with his very heart despiseth me? 
 Because he loves her, he despiseth me ; 
 Because I love him, I must pity him. 
 This ring I gave him, when he parted from me, 
 To bind him to remember my good will : 
 And now am I unhappy messenger 
 To plead for that which I would not obtain ; 
 To carry that which I would have refused ; 
 To praise his faith, which I would have dispraised. 
 I am my master's true confirmed love, 
 But cannot be true servant to my master 
 Unless I prove false traitor to myself. 
 Yet will I woo for him ; but yet so coldly 
 As, heaven it knows, I woxtld not have him speed. 
 
 Enter SILVIA, attended. 
 
 Gentlewoman, good day! Iprayyou, bemy mean 
 To bring me where to speak with Madam Silvia. 
 
 Sil. What would you with her if that I be she? 
 
 Jul. If you be she I do entreat your patience 
 To hear me speak the message I am sent on. 
 Sil. From whom? 
 
 JuL From my master, Sir Proteus, madam, 
 
 Siil. Oh ! he sends you for a picture ? 
 
 JuL Ay, madam. 
 
 Sil. Ursula, bring my picture there. 
 
 [Picture brought. 
 
 Go, give your master this : tell him from me, 
 One Julia, that his changing thoughts forget, 
 Would better fit his chamber than this shadow. 
 
 Jul. Madam, please you peruse this letter. 
 Pardon me, madam ; I have unadvised 
 Delivered you a paper that I should not. 
 This is the letter to your ladyship. 
 
 Sil. I pray thee, let me look on that again. 
 
 Jul. It may not be ; good madam, pardon me- 
 
 Sil. There, hold. 
 
 I will not look upon your master's lines : 
 I know they are sturFd with protestations, 
 And full of new-found oaths; which he will break 
 As easily as I do tear his paper. [ring. 
 
 JuL Madam, he sends your ladyship this 
 
 Sil. The more shame for him that he sends 
 
 it me; 
 
 For I have heard him say a thousand times 
 His Julia gave it him at his departure : 
 Though his false finger have profaned the ring, 
 Mine shall not do his Julia so much wrong, 
 
 JuL She thanks you. 
 
SCENE IV. 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 45, 
 
 /* 
 
 Whe 
 
 Wh 
 
 Sil. What say'st thou ? 
 
 Jul, I thank you, madam, that you tender her : 
 Poor gentle woman ! my master wrongs her much. 
 
 Sil. Dost thou know her ? 
 
 Jul. Almost as well as I do know myself : 
 To think pon her woes, I do protest, 
 That I have wept an hundred several times. 
 
 Sil. Belike she thinks that Proteus hath for- 
 sook her. [sorrow. 
 
 //. I think she doth, and that 's her cause of 
 
 Sil. Is she not passing fair ? 
 
 Tul She hath been fairer, madam , than she is : 
 Then she did think my master loved her well, 
 She, in my judgment, was as fair as you ; 
 But since she did neglect her looking-glass, 
 And threw her sun-expelling mask away, 
 The air hath starv'd the roses in her cheeks, 
 And pinch'd the lily-tincture of her face, 
 That now she is become as black as I. 
 
 Sil. How tall was she ? 
 
 l. About my stature : for at Pentecost, 
 fhen all our pageants of delight were play'd, 
 Our youth got me to play the woman's part, 
 And I was trimm'd in Madam Julia's gown ; 
 Which serv'd me as fit, by all men's judgment, 
 As if the garment had been made for me : 
 Therefore, I know she is about my height. 
 And at that time I made her weep a-good, 
 For I did play a lamentable part ; 
 Madam, 'twas Ariadne, passioning 
 For Theseus' perjury and unjust flight ; 
 Which I so lively acted with my tears 
 That my poor mistress, moved therewithal, 
 Wept bitterly; and would I might be dead 
 If I in thought felt not her very sorrow ! 
 
 Sil, She is beholden to thee, gentle youth ! 
 Alas, poor lady ! desolate and left ! 
 I weep myself, to think upon thy words. 
 Here, youth, there is my purse : I give thee this 
 For thy sweet mistress' sake, because thou lov'st 
 
 her. 
 Farewell. {Exit SILVIA. 
 
 Jul. And she shall thank you for 't if e'er you 
 
 know her. 
 
 A virtuous gentlewoman, mild and beautiful. 
 I hope my master's suit will be but cold, 
 Since she respects my mistress' love so much. 
 Alas, how love can trifle with itself ! 
 Here is her picture. Let me see ; I think, 
 If I had such a tire, this face of mine 
 Were full as lovely as is this of hers : 
 And yet the painter flatter'd her a little, 
 Unless I flatter with myself too much. 
 Her hair is auburn, mine is perfect yellow : 
 If that be all the difference in his love, 
 I '11 get me such a colour'd periwig. 
 Her eyes are grey as glass ; and so are mine : 
 
 Ay, but her forehead 's low, and mine 's as high. 
 What should it be that he respects in her 
 But I can make respective in myself, 
 If this fond love were not a blinded god ? 
 Come, shadow, come, and take this shadow up, 
 For 'tis thy rival. O thou senseless form, 
 Thou shalt be worshipp'd, kiss'd, lov'd, and 
 
 ador'd ; 
 
 And were there sense in his idolatry 
 My substance should be statue in thy stead. 
 I '11 use thee kindly for thy mistress* sake, 
 That used me so ; or else, by Jove I vow, 
 I should have scratch'd out your unseeing eyes, 
 To make my master out of love with thee. 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. The same.- An Abbey. 
 Enter EGLAMOUR. 
 
 Egl. The sun begins to gild the western sky : 
 And now it is about the very hour 
 That Silvia at Patrick's cell should meet me. 
 She will not fail for love break not hours, 
 Unless it be to come before their time ; 
 So much they spur their expedition. 
 
 Enter SILVIA. 
 
 See where she comes : Lady, a happy evening! 
 
 Sil. Amen, amen ! go on, good Eglamour ! 
 Out at the postern by the abbey wall ; 
 I fear I am attended by some spies. [off! 
 
 Egl. Fear not : the forest is not three leagues 
 If we recover that, we are sure enough. 
 
 {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. The same. An Apartment in the 
 DUKE'S Palace. 
 
 : : f i - r; R J. V! *t\'j9"-: J'.T t~' ' ' 1 t<f- f fl 1 ( i i I 
 
 Enter THURIO, PROTEUS, and JULIA. 
 Thu. Sir Proteus, what says Silvia to my suit ? 
 Pro, O, sir, I find her milder than she was ; 
 And yet she takes exceptions at your person. 
 Thu. What ! that my leg is too long ? 
 Pro. No ; that it is too little. [rounder. 
 
 Thu. I '11 wear a boot to make it somewhat 
 Pro. But love will not be spurr'd to what it 
 
 loaths. 
 
 Thu. What says she to my face ? 
 
 Pro. She says it is a fair one. [black. 
 
 Thu. Nay, then, the wanton lies ; my face is 
 
 Pro. But pearls are fair ; and the old saying is, 
 
 Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies' eyes. 
 
 Jul. 'Tis true, such pearls as put out ladies 
 
 eyes; 
 For I had rather wink than look on them. 
 
 >J wod 5>ra b'ai&^W(h 
 
4 6 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Thu. How likes she my discourse? 
 Pro. Ill when you talk of war. [peace ? 
 
 Thu. But well when I discourse of love and 
 JuL But better, indeed, when you hold your 
 
 peace. [Aside. 
 
 Thu. What says she to my valour? 
 Pro. O, sir, she makes no doubt of that. 
 JuL She needs not, . when she knows it 
 
 cowardice. [Aside. 
 
 Thu. What says she to my birth ? 
 Pro. That you are well derived. 
 JuL True;fromagentlemantoafool. [Aside. 
 Thu. Considers she my possessions ? 
 Pro. O, ay ; and pities them. 
 Thu. Wherefore ? 
 
 JuL That such an ass should owe them. [Aside. 
 Pro. That they are out by lease. 
 JuL Here comes the Duke. 
 
 Enter DUKE. 
 
 Duke. How now, Sir Proteus? how now, 
 
 Thurio ? 
 Which of you saw Sir Eglamour of late ? 
 
 Thu. Not I. 
 
 Pro. Nor I. 
 
 Duke. Saw you my daughter ? 
 
 Pro. Neither. 
 
 Duke. Why, then she 's fled unto that peasant 
 
 Valentine ; 
 
 And Eglamour is in her company. 
 'Tis true ; for Friar Lawrence met them both, 
 As he in penance wander'd through the forest : 
 Him he knew well, and guess'd that it was she ; 
 But, being mask'd, he was not sure of it : 
 Besides, she did intend confession 
 At Patrick's cell this even ; and there she was not : 
 These likelihoods confirm her flight from hence : 
 Therefore, I pray you, stand not to discourse, 
 But mount you presently ; and meet with me 
 Upon the rising of the mountain -foot 
 That leads to wards Mantua, whither they are fled. 
 Dispatch, sweet gentlemen, and follow me. [Exit. 
 
 Thu. Why, this it is to be a peevish girl, 
 That flies her fortune when it follows her : 
 I '11 after ; more to be revenged on Eglamour 
 Than for the love of reckless Silvia. [Exit. 
 
 Pro. And I will follow, more for Silvia's love 
 Than hate of Eglamour that goes with her. [ Exit. 
 
 JuL And I will follow, more to cross that love 
 Than hate for Silvia, that is gone for love. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III. Frontiers of MANTUA. The Forest. 
 Enter SILVIA, and Outlaws. 
 
 i Out. Come, come ; 
 Be patient ; we must bring you to our captain. 
 
 SiL A thousand more mischances than this one 
 Have learn'd me how to brook this patiently. 
 
 2 Out. Come, bring her away. 
 
 1 Out. Where is the gentleman that was with 
 
 her ? [us, 
 
 2 Out. Being nimble-footed, he hath out-run 
 But Moyses and Valerius follow him. 
 
 Go thou with her to the west end of the wood ; 
 There is our captain : we'll follow him that's fled. 
 The thicket is beset ; he cannot 'scape. 
 
 I Out. Come, I must bring you to our cap- 
 tain's cave ; 
 
 Fear not ; he bears an honourable mind, 
 And will not use a woman lawlessly. 
 
 SiL O Valentine, this I endure for thee. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IN. Another part of the Forest. 
 Enter VALENTINE. 
 
 Val. How use doth breed a habit in a man ! 
 This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods, 
 I better brook than flourishing peopled towns 
 Here can I sit alone, unseen of any, 
 And to the nightingale's complaining notes 
 Tune my distresses and record my woes. 
 O thou that dost inhabit in my breast, 
 Leave not the mansion so long tenantless; 
 Lest, growing ruinous, the building fall, 
 And leave no memory of what it was ! 
 Repair me with thy presence, Silvia ; 
 Thou gentle nymph, cherish thy forlorn swain ! 
 What halloing and what stir is this to-day ! [law, 
 These are my mates, that make their wills their 
 Have some unhappy passenger in chase : 
 They love me well ; yet I have much to do 
 To keep them from uncivil outrages. 
 Withdraw thee, Valentine; who's this comes 
 here ? [Steps aside. 
 
 Enter PROTEUS, SILVIA, and JULIA. 
 Pro. Madam, this service I have done for 
 
 you, [doth, 
 
 Though you respect not aught your servant 
 To hazard life, and rescue you from him [love. 
 That would have forced your honour and your 
 Vouchsafe me, for my meed, but one fair look ; 
 A smaller boon than this I cannot beg, 
 And less than this, I am sure, you cannot give. 
 Val. How like a dream is this I see and hear J 
 Love, lend me patience to forbear awhile. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 SiL O miserable, unhappy that I am ! 
 Pro. Unhappy were you, madam, ere I came ; 
 But, by my coming, I have made you happy. 
 SiL By thy approach thou makest me most 
 
 unhappy. 
 
 /#/. And me, when he approacheth to your 
 presence. [Aside. 
 
 SiL Had I been seized by a hungry lion, 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 47 
 
 I would have been a breakfast to the beast, 
 Rather than have false Proteus rescue me. 
 O, heaven be judge how I love Valentine, 
 Whose life 's as tender to me as my soul ; 
 And full as much, for more there cannot be, 
 I do detest false, perjured Proteus : 
 Therefore begone : solicit me no more. 
 
 Pro. What dangerous action, stood it next to 
 
 death, 
 
 Would I not undergo for one calm look ? 
 O, 'tis the curse in love, and still approved, 
 When women cannot love where they 're be- 
 loved, [beloved. 
 
 SiL When Proteus cannot love where he's 
 Read over Julia 's heart, thy first best love, 
 For whose dear sake thou didst then rend thy faith 
 Into a thousand oaths ; and all those oaths 
 Descended into perjury, to love me. [two, 
 
 Thou hast no faith left now, unless thou hadst 
 And that 's far worse than none ; better have none 
 Than plural faith, which is too much by one : 
 Thou counterfeit to thy true friend ! 
 
 Pro. In love, 
 
 Who respects friends ? 
 
 SiL All men but Proteus. 
 
 Pro. Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words 
 Can no way change you to a milder form, 
 I '11 woo you like a soldier, at arms' end ; [you. 
 And love you 'gainst the nature of love force 
 
 Sil. O heaven ! 
 
 Pro. I '11 force thee yield to my desire. 
 
 VaL Ruffian, let go that rude uncivil touch ; 
 Thou friend of an ill fashion ! 
 
 Pro. Valentine ! 
 
 VaL Thou common friend, that 's without 
 
 faith or love, 
 
 For such is a friend now ; treacherous man ! 
 Thou hast beguil'd my hopes ; nought but mine 
 
 eye 
 
 Could have persuaded me. Now I dare not say 
 I have one friend alive ; thou wouldst disprove 
 me. [hand 
 
 Who should be trusted now, when one's right 
 Is perjured to the bosom ? Proteus, 
 I am sorry I must never trust thee more, 
 But count the world a stranger for thy sake, 
 f he private wound is deepest: O time, most curst! 
 'Mongstall foes, that a friend should be the worst. 
 
 Pro. My shame and guilt confound me. 
 Forgive me, Valentine : if hearty sorrow 
 Be a sufficient ransom for offence, 
 I tender it here ; I do as truly suffer 
 As e'er I did commit. 
 
 VaL Then I am paid ; 
 
 And once again I do receive thee honest. 
 Who by repentance is not satisfied 
 Is nor of heaven nor earth ; for these are pleased; 
 
 By penitence the Eternal's wrath 's appeas'd : 
 And, that my love may appear plain and free, 
 All that was mine in Silvia I give thee. 
 
 Jul. O, me, unhappy ! [Faints. 
 
 Pro. Look to the boy. [is the matter ? 
 
 VaL Why, boy ! why, wag ! how now? what 
 Look up ; speak. 
 
 Jul. O good sir, my master charged me 
 
 To deliver a ring to Madam Silvia ; 
 Which, out of my neglect, was never done. 
 Pro. Where is that ring, boy? 
 
 Jul. Here 'tis : this is it. 
 
 [Gives a ring. 
 
 Pro. How ! let me see : 
 Why, this is the ring I gave to Julia. 
 
 Jiil. O, cry you mercy, sir, I have mistook ; 
 This is the ring you sent to Silvia. 
 
 [Shows another ring. 
 
 Pro. But how earnest thou by this ring ? at 
 
 my depart 
 I gave this unto Julia. 
 
 Jul. And Julia herself did give it me ; 
 And Julia herself hath brought it hither. 
 
 Pro. How ! Julia ! 
 
 Jul. Behold her that gave aim to all thy oaths, 
 And entertain'd them deeply in her heart : 
 How oft hast thou with perjury cleft the root ? 
 O Proteus, let this habit make thee blush ! 
 Be thou asham'd that I have took upon me 
 Such an immodest raiment ; if shame live 
 In a disguise of love : 
 
 It is the lesser blot, modesty finds, [minds. 
 Women to change their shapes, than men their 
 
 Pro. Than men their minds ! 'tis true ; O 
 
 heaven ! were man 
 
 But constant, he were perfect : that one error 
 Fills him with faults ; makes him run through 
 
 all th' sins : 
 
 Inconstancy falls off ere it begins : 
 What is in Silvia's face but I may spy 
 More fresh in Julia's with a constant eye ? 
 VaL Come, come, a hand from either : 
 Let me be blest to make this happy close : 
 'Twere pity two such friends should be long foes. 
 
 Pro. Bear witness, Heaven, I have my wish 
 for ever. 
 
 Jul. And I have mine. 
 
 Enter Outlaws, with DUKE and THURIO. 
 
 Out. A prize, a prize, a prize '. 
 
 VaL Forbear, I say ; it is my lord the duke. 
 Your grace is welcome to a man disgrac'd, 
 Banished Valentine. 
 
 Duke. Sir Valentine ! 
 
 Thu. Yonder is Silvia ; and Silvia 's mine. 
 
 VaL Thurio, give back, or else embrace thy 
 death ; 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Come not within the measure of my wrath : 
 Do not name Silvia thine ; if once again, 
 Milan shall not behold thee. Here she stands, 
 Take but possession of her with a touch ; 
 I dare thee but to breathe upon my love. 
 
 Thu. Sir Valentine, I care not for her, I ; 
 I hold him but a fool that will endanger 
 His body for a girl that loves him not : 
 I claim her not, and therefore she is thine. 
 
 Duke. The more degenerateand baseart thou, 
 To make such means for her as thou hast done, 
 And leave her on such slight conditions. 
 Now, by the honour of my ancestry, 
 I do applaud thy spirit, Valentine, 
 And think thee worthy of an empress' love. 
 Know then, I here forget all former griefs, 
 Cancel all grudge, repeal thee home again. 
 Plead a new state in thy unrivall'd merit, 
 To which I thus subscribe, Sir Valentine, 
 Thou art a gentleman, and well derived ; 
 Take thou thy Silvia, for thou hast deserv'd her. 
 
 Val. I thank your grace : the gift hath made 
 
 me happy. 
 
 I now beseech you, for your daughter's sake, 
 To grant one boon that I shall ask of you. 
 
 Duke. I grant it for thine own, whate'er it be. 
 
 i'V i/oj te 
 
 rwrm^t Jzabommi OB rfonr: 
 
 T: . 
 
 Val. These banish'd men, that I have kept 
 
 withal, 
 
 Are men endued with worthy qualities ; 
 Forgive them what they have committed here, 
 And let them be recall'd from their exile : 
 They are reform'd, civil, full of good, 
 And fit for great employment, worthy lord. 
 
 Duke. Thou hast prevail'd ; I pardon them. 
 
 and thee ; 
 
 Dispose of them as thou know'st their deserts. 
 Come, let us go ; we will include all jars 
 With triumphs, mirth, and rare solemnity. 
 
 Val. And, as we walk along, I dare be bold 
 With our discourse to make your grace to smile: 
 What think you of this page, my lord ? 
 
 Duke. I think the boy hath grace in him ; he 
 blushes. [than boy. 
 
 Val. I warrant you, my lord ; more grace 
 
 Duke. What mean you by that saying ? 
 
 Val. Please you, I'll tell you, as we passalong, 
 That you will wonder what hath fortuned. 
 Come, Proteus : 'tis your penance, but to hear 
 The story of your loves discovered : 
 That done, our day of marriage shall be yours ; 
 One feast, one house, one mutual happiness. 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 ft on 'uO 
 
 :;{?1i*>-tl 11*1 
 
 ilweO 
 vcd 1 
 
 off// 
 Li 
 
 
 
MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 T. >r 
 
 SIR JOHN FALSTAFF. 
 
 FENTON. 
 
 SHALLOW, a Country Justice. 
 
 SLENDER, Cousin to SHALLOW. 
 
 MR. FORD, j two Gentlemen dwelling 
 
 MR. PAGE, ( Windsor. 
 
 WILLIAM PAGE, a boy, Son to MR. PAGE. 
 
 SIR HUGH EVANS, a Welsh Parson. 
 
 DR. CAIUS, a French Physician. 
 
 Host of the Garter Inn. 
 
 BARDOLPH, ) 
 
 PISTOL, \ Followers ^FALSTAFF. 
 
 NYM, ) 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 ROBIN, Page to FALSTAFF. 
 SIMPLE, Servant to SLENDER. 
 RUGBY, Servant to DR. CAIUS. 
 
 at 
 
 MRS. FORD. 
 MRS. PAGE. 
 
 MRS. ANNE PAGE, her Daughter, in to 
 with FENTON. 
 
 MRS. QUICKLY, Servant to DR. CAIUS. 
 Servants to PAGE, FORD, &c. 
 
 SCENE, WINDSOR ; and the parts adjacent. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. WINDSOR. Before PAGE'S House. 
 
 Enter Justice SHALLOW, SLENDER, and Sir 
 HUGH EVANS. 
 
 Shal. Sir Hugh, persuade me not ; I will 
 make a Star-chamber matter of it ; if he were 
 twenty Sir John Falstaffs he shall not abuse 
 Robert Shallow, esquire. 
 
 Slen. In the county of Gloster, justice of 
 peace, and coram. 
 
 Shal. Ay, cousin Slender, and Custalorum. 
 
 Slen. Ay, and Ratolorum too ; and a gentle- 
 man born, master parson ; who writes himself 
 Arniigero ; in any bill, warrant, quittance, or 
 obligation, Armigero ! 
 
 Shal. Ay, that we do ; and have done any 
 time these three hundred years. 
 
 Slen. All his successors, gone before him, 
 have done 't ; and all his ancestors, that come 
 after him, may: they may give the dozen white 
 luces in their coat. 
 
 Shal. It is an old coat. 
 
 Eva. The dozen white louses do become an 
 old coat well ; it agrees well, passant : it is a 
 familiar beast to man, and signifies love. 
 
 Shal. The luce is the fresh fish : the salt fish 
 is an old coat. 
 
 Slen. I may quarter, coz ? 
 
 Shal. You may, by marrying. 
 
 Eva. It is marrying indeed, if he quarter it. 
 
 Shal. Not a whit. 
 
 Eva. Yes, py'r lady ; if he has a quarter of 
 your coat, there is but three skirts for yourself, 
 
 in my simple conjectures : but this is all one. 
 If Sir John Falstaff have committed disparage- 
 ments unto you, I am of the church, and will 
 be glad to do my benevolence to make atone- 
 ments and compromises between you. 
 
 Shal. The Council shall hear it ; it is a riot. 
 
 Eva. It is not meet the Council hear a riot ; 
 there is no fear of Got in a riot ; the Council, look 
 you, shall desire to hear the fear of Got, and not 
 to hear a riot ; take your vizaments in that. 
 
 Shal. Ha ! o' my life, if I were young again, 
 the sword should end it. 
 
 Eva. It is petter that friends is the sword, 
 and end it : and there is also another device in 
 my prain, which, peradventure, prings goot dis- 
 cretions with it. There is Anne Page, which 
 is daughter to Master George Page, which is 
 pretty virginity. 
 
 Slen. Mistress Anne Page? She has brown 
 hair, and speaks small like a woman. 
 
 Eva. It is that fery person for all the 'orld, 
 as just as you will desire ; and seven hundred 
 pounds of monies, and gold, and silver, is her 
 grandsire, upon his death's bed, (Got deliver to 
 a joyful resurrection !) give, when she is able 
 to overtake seventeen years old : it were a goot 
 motion if we leave our pribbles and prabbles 
 and desire a marriage between Master Abraham 
 and Mistress Anne Page. 
 
 Shal. Did her grandsire leave her seven 
 hundred pound? [penny. 
 
 Eva. Ay, and her father is make her a petter 
 
 Shal. I know the young gentlewoman ; she 
 has good gifts. 
 
 
MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 Eva. Seven hundred pounds, and possibili- 
 ties, is goot gifts. 
 
 Shal. Well, let us see honest Master Page. 
 Is Falstaff there ? 
 
 Eva. Shall I tell you a lie ? I do despise a 
 liar as I do despise one that is false ; or, as I 
 despise one that is not true. The knight, Sir 
 John, is there ; and, I beseech you, be ruled 
 by your well-willers. I will peat the door 
 [knocks] for Master Page. What, hoa ! Got 
 pless your house here ! 
 
 Enter . 
 
 Page. Who's there ? 
 
 Eva. Here is Got's plessing, and your friend, 
 and Justice Shallow : and here young Master 
 Slender; that, peradventures, shall tell you 
 another tale, if matters grow to your likings. 
 
 Page. I am glad to see your worships well : 
 I thank you for my venison, Master Shallow. 
 
 Shal. Master Page, I am glad to see you ; 
 much good do it your good heart ! I wished 
 your venison better; it was ill killed: How 
 doth good Mistress Page? and I love you 
 always with my heart, la ; with my heart. 
 
 Page. Sir, I thank you. 
 
 Shal. Sir, I thank you ; by yea and no, I do. 
 
 Page. I am glad to see you, good Master 
 Slender. 
 
 Slen. How does your fallow greyhound, sir ? 
 I heard say he was outrun on Cotsale. 
 
 Page. It could not be judged, sir. 
 
 Slen. You '11 not confess ; you '11 not confess. 
 
 Shal. That he will not ; 'tis your fault ; 'tis 
 your fault : 'Tis a good dog. 
 
 Page. A cur, sir. 
 
 Shal. Sir, he 's a good dog, and a fair dog. 
 Can there be more said ? he is good, and fair. 
 Is Sir John Falstaff here ? 
 
 Page. Sir, he is within ; and I would I could 
 do a good office between you. 
 
 Eva. It isspoke asaChristians oughttospeak. 
 
 Shal. He hath wronged me, Master Page. 
 
 Page. Sir, he doth in some sort confess it. 
 
 Shal. If it be confessed, it is not redressed; 
 is not that so, Master Page? He hath wronged 
 me; indeed he hath; at a word he hath; 
 believe me ; Robert Shallow, esquire, saith he 
 is wronged. 
 
 Page. Here comes Sir John. 
 
 Enter Sir JOHN FALSTAFF, BARDOLPH, NYM, 
 and PISTOL. 
 
 Fal. Now, Master Shallow ; you '11 complain 
 of me to the king ? 
 
 Shal. Knight, you have beaten my men, killed 
 my deer, and broke open my lodge. 
 
 Fal. But not kissed your keeper's daughter ? 
 
 Shal* Tut, a pin ! this shall be answered. 
 
 Fal. I will answer it straight ; I have done 
 all this : That is now answered. 
 
 Shal. The Council shall know this. 
 
 Fal. 'Twere better for you if it were known 
 in counsel : you '11 be laughed at. 
 
 Eva. Pauca verba, Sir John, goot worts. 
 
 Fal. Good worts ! good cabbage. Slender, 
 I broke your head ; what matter have you 
 against me ? 
 
 Slen. Marry, sir, I have matter in my head 
 against you ; and against your coney-catching 
 rascals, Bardolph, Nym, and Pistol. They 
 carried me to the tavern, and made me drunk, 
 and afterwards picked my pocket. 
 
 Bard. You Banbury cheese ! 
 
 Slen. Ay, it is no matter. 
 
 Pist. How now, Mephostophilus ? 
 
 Slen. Ay, it is nc matter. 
 
 Nym. Slice, I say ! pauca^pauca; slice ! that 's 
 my humour. [tell, cousin ? 
 
 Slen. Where 's Simple, my man ? can you 
 
 Eva. Peace: I pray you! Now let us under- 
 stand. There is three umpires in this matter, 
 as I understand: that is Master Page,yW<?//V, 
 Master Page ; and there is myself, fidelidt, my- 
 self ; and the three party is, lastly and finally, 
 mine host of the Garter. [tween them. 
 
 Page. We three to hear it, and end it be- 
 
 Eva. Fery goot. I will make a prief of it in 
 my note-book; and we will afterwards 'ork upon 
 the cause, with as great discreetly as we can. 
 
 Fal. Pistol, 
 
 Pist. He hears with ears. 
 
 Eva. The tevil and his tarn ! what phrase is 
 this, He hears with ear? Why, it is affectations. 
 
 Fal. Pistol, did you pick Master Slender's 
 purse ? 
 
 Slen. Ay, by these gloves, did he, (or I would 
 I might never come in mine own great chamber 
 again else,) of seven groats in mill-sixpences, 
 and two Edward shovel -boards, that cost me 
 two shilling and two pence a-piece of Yead 
 Miller, by these gloves. 
 
 Fal. Is this true, Pistol ? 
 
 Eva. No ; it is false, if it is a pick-purse. 
 
 Pist. Ha, thou mountain - foreigner ! Sir 
 
 John, and master mine, 
 I combat challenge of this latten bilbo: 
 Word of denial in thy labras here ; 
 Word of denial : froth and scum, thou liest. 
 
 Slen. By these gloves, then, 'twas he. 
 
 Nym. Beadvised, sir, and pass good humours: 
 I will say, marry trap, with you, if you run the 
 nuthook's humour on me: that is the very note 
 of it 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 Slen. By this hat, then, he in the red face 
 had it : for though I cannot remember what I 
 did when you made me drunk, yet I am not 
 altogether an ass. 
 
 Fal. What say you, Searlet and John ? 
 
 Bard. Why, sir, for my part, I say the gentle- 
 man had drunk himself out of his five sentences. 
 
 Eva. It is his five senses ; fie, what the igno- 
 rance is ! 
 
 Bard. And being fap, sir, was, as they say, 
 cashiered: and so conclusions passed the careires. 
 
 Slen. Ay, you spake in Latin then too; but 'tis 
 no matter : I '11 ne'er be drunk whilst I live again, 
 but in honest, civil , godly company, for this trick. 
 If I be drunk, I 'll be drunk with those that have 
 the fear of God, and not with drunken knaves. 
 
 Eva. So Got 'udge me, that is a virtuousmind. 
 
 Fal. You hear all these matters denied, gentle- 
 men ; you hear it. 
 
 Enter Mrs. ANNE PAGE with wine , Mrs. 
 FORD and Mrs. PAGE following. 
 
 Page. Nay, daughter, carry the wine in ; we'll 
 drink within. [Exit ANNE PAGE. 
 
 Slen. O heaven ! this is Mistress Anne Page. 
 
 Page. How now, Mistress Ford ? 
 
 Fal. Mistress Ford, by my troth, you are very 
 well met: by your leave, good mistress. 
 
 [Kissing her. 
 
 Page. Wife, bid these gentlemen welcome : 
 Come, we have a hot venison pasty to dinner ; 
 come, gentlemen, I hope we shall drink down 
 all unkindness. 
 
 [Exenn( all but SHAL. , SLEN. , 
 and EVANS. 
 
 Slen, I had rather than forty shillings I had 
 my Book of Songs and Sonnets here. 
 
 Enter SIMPLE. 
 
 How now, Simple ! Where have you been ? I 
 must wait on myself, must I? You have not The 
 Book of Riddles about you, have you? 
 
 Situ. Book of Riddles ! why, did you not lend 
 it to Alice Shortcake upon All-hallowmas last, a 
 fortnight afore Michaelmas ? 
 
 Shal. Come, coz ; come, coz ; we stay for you. 
 A word with you, coz; marry this, coz; there is, 
 as 'twere, a tender, a kind of tender, made afar 
 off by Sir Hugh here. Do you understand me? 
 
 Slen. Ay, sir, you shall find me reasonable; if 
 it be so, I shall do that that is reason. 
 
 Shal. Nay, but understand me. 
 
 Slen. So I do, sir. 
 
 Eva. Give ear to his motions, Master Slender : 
 I will description the matter to you, if you be 
 capacity of it. 
 
 Slen. N ay , I will do as my cousin Shallow says : 
 
 I pray you, pardon me ; he 's a justice of peace 
 in his couatry, simple though I stand here. 
 
 Eva. But this is not the question ; the question 
 is concerning ycur marriage. 
 
 Shal. Ay, there ; s the point, sir. 
 
 Eva. Marry is it ; the very point of it ; to 
 Mistress Anne Page. 
 
 Slen. Why, if it be so, I will marry her upon 
 any reasonable demands. 
 
 Eva. But can you affection the 'oman? Let us 
 command to know that of your mouth, or of your 
 lips ; for divers philosophers hold that the lips 
 is parcel of the mouth. Therefore, precisely, 
 can you carry your good will to the maid ? 
 
 Shal. Cousin Abraham Slender, can you love 
 her? 
 
 Slen. I hope, sir, I will do as it shall be- 
 come one that would do reason. 
 
 Eva. Nay, Got's lords and his ladies, you 
 must speak possitable if you can carry her your 
 desires towards her. 
 
 Shal. That you must. Will you, upon good 
 dowry, marry her ? 
 
 Slen. I will do a greater thing than that upon 
 your request, cousin, in any reason. 
 
 Shal. Nay, conceive me, conceive me, sweet 
 coz ; what I do is to pleasure you, coz. Can 
 you love the maid? 
 
 Slen. I will marry her, sir, atyour request ; but 
 if there be no great love in the beginning, yet 
 Heaven may decrease it upon better acquaint- 
 ance, when we are married, and have more oc- 
 casion to know one another. I hope, upon 
 familiarity will grew more contempt : but if you 
 say, marry her, I will marry her, that I am freely 
 dissolved, and dissolutely. 
 
 Eva. It is a fery discretion answer ; save, ihe 
 faul' is in the 'ort dissolutely : the 'ort is, accord- 
 ing to our meaning, resolutely ; his meaning is 
 good. 
 
 Shal. Ay, I think my cousin meant well. [la. 
 
 Slen. Ay, or else I would I might be hanged, 
 
 Re-enter ANNE PAGE. 
 
 Shal Here comes fair Mistress Anne. Would 
 I were young for your sake, Mistress Anne ! 
 
 Anne. The dinner is on the table ; my father 
 desires your worships' company. 
 
 Shal. I will wait on him, fair Mistress Anne. 
 
 Eva. Od's plessed will ! I will not be absence 
 at the grace. 
 
 [Exeunt SHAL. and Str H. EVANS. 
 
 Ann* Will 't please your worship to come in, 
 sir? [am very well. 
 
 Sltn. No, I thank you, forsooth, heartily ; I 
 
 Anne. The dinner attends you, sir. 
 
 Sten. I am not a-hungry , I thank you, forsooth. 
 
MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 Go, sirrah, for all you are my man, go wait upon 
 my cousin Shallow. [Exit SIMPLE. ] A justice 
 of peace sometime may be beholden to his 
 friend for a man. I keep but three men and a 
 boy yet, till my mother be dead : but what 
 though ? yet I live like a poor gentleman born. 
 
 Anne. I may not go in without your worship ; 
 they will not sit till you come. 
 
 Slen. I' faith, I '11 eat nothing ; I thank you 
 as much as though I did. 
 
 Anne. I pray you, sir, walk in. 
 
 Slen. I had rather walk here, I thank you ; I 
 bruised my shin the other day with playing at 
 sword and dagger with a master of fence, three 
 veneys for a dish of stewed prunes ; and, by my 
 troth, I cannot abide the smell of hot meat since. 
 Why do your dogs bark so ? be there bears i' 
 the town ? [talked of. 
 
 Anne. I think there are, sir ; I heard them 
 
 Slen. I love the sport well ; but 1 shall as soon 
 quarrel at it as any man in England : You are 
 afraid, if you see the bear loose, are you not ? 
 
 Anne. Ay, indeed, sir. 
 
 Slen. That'smeatanddrinktomenow. I have 
 seen Sackerson loose twenty times ; and have 
 taken him by the chain: but, I warrant you, the 
 women have so cried and shrieked at it that it 
 passed : but women, indeed, cannot abide 'em ; 
 they are very ill-favoured rough things. 
 
 Re-enter PAGE. 
 
 Page. Come, gentle Master Slender, come ; 
 we stay for you. 
 
 Slen, I '11 eat nothing, I thank you, sir. 
 
 Page. By cock and pye, you shall not choose, 
 sir: come, come. 
 
 Slen. Nay, pray you, lead the way. 
 
 Page. Come on, sir. 
 
 Slen. Mistress Anne, yourself shall go first. 
 
 Anne. Not I, sir ; pray you, keep on. 
 
 Slen. Truly, I will not go first ; truly, la : I 
 will not do you that wrong. 
 
 Anne. I pray you, sir. 
 
 Slen. I '11 rather be unmannerly than trouble- 
 some : you do yourself wrong indeed, la. 
 
 ^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. The same. 
 Enter Sir HUGH EVANS and SIMPLE. 
 
 Eva. Go your ways, and ask of Doctor Caius' 
 house which is the way: and there dwells one 
 Mistress Quickly, which is in the manner of his 
 nurse, or his dry nurse, or his cook, or his 
 laundry, his washer, and his wringer. 
 
 Simp. Well, sir. 
 
 Eva. Nay, it is petter yet: give her this 
 letter ; for it is a 'oman that altogether "s acquain- 
 tance with Mistress Anne Page t and the letter 
 
 is, to desire and require her to solicit your master's 
 desires to Mistress Anne Page : I pray you, be- 
 gone ; I will make an end of my dinner ; there 's 
 pippins and cheese to come. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. A Room in the GARTER INN. 
 
 Enter FALSTAFF, HOST, BARDOLPH, 
 PISTOL, and ROBIN. 
 
 - 
 
 Fal. Mine host of the Garter, 
 
 Host. What says my bully-rook? Speak 
 scholarly and wisely. 
 
 FaL Truly, mine host, I must turn away some 
 of my followers. 
 
 Host. Discard, bully Hercules ; cashier : let 
 them wag ; trot, trot. 
 
 Fal. I sit at ten pounds a-week. 
 
 Host. Thou 'rt an emperor, Caesar, Keisar, and 
 Pheezar. I will entertain Bardolph ; he shall 
 draw, he shall tap : said I well, bully Hector ? 
 
 Fal. Do so, good mine host. 
 
 Host. I have spoke ; let him follow. Let me 
 see thee froth and lime: I am at a word : follow. 
 
 [Exit HOST. 
 
 Fal. Bardolph, follow him : a tapster is a good 
 trade : an old cloak makes a new jerkin ; a 
 withered servingman a fresh tapster. Go ; adieu. 
 
 Bard. It is a life that I have desired ; I will 
 thrive. [Exit BARDOLPH. 
 
 Pist. O base Gongarian wight ! wilt thou 
 the spigot wield ? 
 
 Nym. He was gotten in drink : is not the 
 humour conceited? His mind is not heroic, 
 and there 's the humour of it. 
 
 Fal. I am glad I am so acquit of this tinder- 
 box ; his thefts were too open ; his filching was 
 like^an unskilful singer ; he kept not time. 
 
 Nym. The good humour is, to steal at a 
 minute's rest. 
 
 Pist. Convey, the wise it call : Steal ! foh ; a 
 fico for the phrase ! 
 
 Fal. Well, sirs, I am almost out at heels. 
 
 Pist. Why, then, let kibes ensue. 
 
 Fal. There is no remedy; I must coney- 
 catch ; I must shift. 
 
 Pist. Young ravens must have food. 
 
 Fal. Which of you know Ford of this town? 
 
 Pist. I ken the wight ; he is of substance good. 
 
 Fal. My honest lads, I will tell you what I 
 am about. 
 
 Pist. Two yards, and more. 
 
 Fal. No quips now, Pistol. Indeed I am in 
 the waist two yards about : but I am now about 
 no waste ; I am about thrift. Briefly, I do mean 
 to make love to Ford's wife ; I spy entertainment 
 in her ; she discourses, she carves, she gives the 
 leer of invitation : I can construe the action of 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 her familiar style ; and the hardest voice of her 
 behaviour, to be English'd rightly, is, / am Sir 
 John Falstaff' s. 
 
 Pi si. He hath studied her well, and translated 
 her well ; out of honesty into English, [pass? 
 
 Nj'ni, The anchor is deep: will that humour 
 
 Fal. Now, the report goes, she has all the rule 
 of her husband's purse; she hath legions of angels. 
 
 Pist. As many devils entertain ; and, To her, 
 day, say L 
 
 Nym. The humour rises ; it is good : humour 
 me the angels. 
 
 Fal. I have writ me here a letter to her : and 
 here another to Page's wife ; who even now gave 
 me good eyes too, examined my parts with most 
 judicious eyliads : sometimes the beam of her 
 view gilded my foot, sometimes my portly belly. 
 
 Pist. Then did the sun on dunghill shine. 
 
 Nym. I thank thee for that humour. 
 
 FaL O, she did so course o'er my exteriors 
 with such a greedy intention, that the appetite 
 of her eye did seem to scorch me up like a burn- 
 ing-glass J Here's another letter to her: she 
 bears the purse too; she is a region in Guiana, 
 all gold and bounty. I will be cheater to them 
 both, and they shall be exchequers to me; they 
 shall be my East and West Indies, and I will 
 trade to them both. Go, bear thou this letter 
 to Mistress Page; and thou this to Mistress 
 Ford; we will thrive, lads, we will thrive. 
 
 Pist. Shall I Sir Pandarus of Troy become, 
 And bymyside wear steel? then, Lucifer take all ! 
 
 Nym. I will run no base humour: here, take 
 the humour letter ; I will keep the 'haviour of 
 reputation. [letters tightly ; 
 
 FaL Hold, sirrah, [to ROB.,] bear you these 
 Sail like my pinnace to these golden shores. 
 Rogues, hence, avaunt 1 vanish like hailstones, 
 go ; [pack ! 
 
 Trudge, plod, away, o' the hoof ; seek shelter, 
 Falstaff will learn the humour of this age, 
 French thrift, you rogues ; myself, and skirted 
 
 page. 
 
 [Exeunt FAL. and ROB. 
 
 Pist. Let vultures gripe thy guts ! for gourd 
 
 and fullam holds, 
 
 And high and low beguile the rich and poor ; 
 Tester I'll have in pouch when thou shalt lack, 
 Base Phrygian Turk ! 
 
 Nym. I have operations in my head, which 
 be humours of revenge. 
 
 Pist. Wilt thou revenge ? 
 
 Nym. By welkin, and her star ! 
 
 Pist. With wit or steel ? 
 
 Nym. With both the humours, I : 
 I will discuss the humour of this love to Page. 
 
 Pist. And I to Ford shall eke unfold, 
 How Falstaff, varlet vile, 
 
 His dove will prove, his gold will hold, 
 
 And his soft couch defile. 
 Nym. My humour shall not cool : I will in- 
 cense Page to deal with poison ; I will possess 
 him with yellowness, for the revolt of mien is 
 dangerous : that is my true humour. 
 
 Pist. Thou art the Mars of malcontents : I 
 second thee ; troop on. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. A Room in Dr. CAIUS'S House. 
 Enter Mrs. QUICKLY, SIMPLE, and RUGBY. 
 
 Quick. What: John Rugby! I pray thee go to 
 the casement and see if you can see my master, 
 Master Doctor Caius, coming : if he do, i' faith, 
 and find anybody in the house, here will be an 
 old abusing of God's patience and the king's 
 English. 
 
 Rug. I '11 go watch. [Exit RUGBY. 
 
 Quick. Go ; and we '11 have a posset for 't soon 
 at night, in faith, at the latter end of a sea-coal 
 fire. An honest, willing, kind fellow, as ever 
 servant shall come in house withal ; and I war- 
 rant you, no tell-tale, nor no breed-bate : his 
 worst fault is that he is given to prayer ; be is 
 something peevish that way ; but nobody but 
 has his fault ; but let that pass. Peter Simple, 
 you say your name is ? 
 
 Sim. Ay, for fault of a better. 
 
 Quick. And Master Slender y s your master ? 
 
 Sim. Ay, forsooth. 
 
 Quick. Does he not wear a great round beard, 
 like a glover's paring-knife ? 
 
 Sim. No, forsooth: he hath but a little wee face, 
 with a little yellow beard ; a Cain-colouredbeard. 
 
 Quick. A softly-sprighted man, is he not ? 
 
 Sim. Ay, forsooth : but he i? as tall a man of 
 his hands as any is between this and his head : he 
 hath fought with a warrener. 
 
 Quick. How say you ? O , I should remember 
 him. Does he not hold up his head, as it were? 
 and strut in his gait ? 
 
 Sim. Yes, indeed does he. 
 
 Quick. Well, heaven send Anne Page no worse 
 fortune ! Tell Master Parson Evans, I will do 
 what I can for your master : Anne is a good girl, 
 and I wish 
 
 Re-enter RUGBY. 
 
 Rug. Out, alas ! here comes my master. 
 
 Quick. We shall all be shent. Run in here, 
 good young man ; go into this closet. [Shuts 
 SIMPLE in the closet. ] He will not stay long. 
 What, John Rugby ! John, what John, I say ! 
 Go, John, go inquire for my master ; I doubt 
 he be not well that he comes not home : and 
 down t down, adown-a, &c. \Sings. 
 
54 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 [ACT I. 
 
 Enter Dr. CAIUS. 
 
 Caius. Vat is you sing? I do not like dese 
 toys. Pray you, go and vetch me in my closet 
 un bottier verd ; a box, a green-a box. Do 
 intend vat I speak ? a green-a box. 
 
 Quick. Ay,forsooth,I'll fetch it you. lamglad 
 he went not in himself: if he had found theyoung 
 man, he would have been horn-mad. [Aside. 
 
 Caius. Fe)fe,fc,fe! mafoi, il fait fort chaud. 
 fe irfen vats a la Cour y la grande affaire. 
 
 Quick. Is it this, sir ? 
 
 Caius. Ouy; incite leau mon pocket : depeche, 
 quickly : Vere is dat knave, Rugby ? 
 
 Quick. What, John Rugby ! John ? 
 
 Rug. Here, sir. 
 
 Caius. You are John Rugby, and you are Jack 
 Rugby. Come, take-a your rapier, and come 
 after my heel to de court. 
 
 Rug. 'Tis ready, sir, here in the porch. 
 
 Caius. By my trot, I tarry too long: Od'sme ! 
 Qrfayf oublie? dere is some simples in my closet 
 dat I viil not for the varld I shall leave behind. 
 
 Quick. Ah me! he'll find the young man 
 there, and be mad ! 
 
 Caius. Odiable, diable ! vat is in my closet? 
 Villany! larron! {Pulling SIMPLE out.} Rugby, 
 my rapier. 
 
 Quick. Good master, be content. 
 
 Caius. Verefore shall I be content-a ! 
 
 Quick. The young man is an honest man. 
 
 Caius. Vat shall de honest mando in my closet ? 
 dere is no honest man dat shall come in my closet. 
 
 Quick. I beseech you, be not so phlegmatic ; 
 hear the truth of it. He came of an errand to 
 me from Parson Hugh. 
 
 Caius. Veil? 
 
 Sim. Ay, forsooth, to desire her to 
 
 Quick. Peace, I pray you. [tale. 
 
 Caius. Peace-a your tongue : Speak -a your 
 
 Sim. To desire this honestgentlewoman, your 
 maid, tospeakagood word toMistress Anne Page 
 for my master, in the way of marriage. 
 
 Quick. This is all, indeed, la; but I'll ne'er 
 put my finger in the fire, and need not. 
 
 Caius. Sir Hugh send-a you ? Rugby, baillez 
 me some paper. Tarry you a little-a while. 
 
 [Writes. 
 
 Quick. I am glad he is so quiet : if he had been 
 thoroughly moved, you should have heard him so 
 loud, and so melancholy; but notwithstanding, 
 man, I '11 do your master whatgood I can: and the 
 very yea and the no is, the French doctor, my 
 master, I may call him my master, look you, for 
 I keep his house : and I wash, wring, brew, bake, 
 scour, dress meat and drink, make the beds, and 
 do all myself : 
 
 Sim. 'Tis a great charge to come under one 
 body's hand. 
 
 Quick. Are you avised o' that? you shall find 
 it a great charge : and to be up early and down 
 late; but notwithstanding, to tell you in 
 your ear ; I would have no words of it, my 
 master himself is in love with Mistress Anne 
 Page : but notwithstanding that, I know 
 Anne's mind, that's neither here nor there. 
 
 Caius. You jack'nape ; give-a dis letter to Sir 
 Hugh ; by gar, it is a shallenge ; I will cut his 
 troat in de park ; and I vill teach a scurvy jack - 
 a-nape priest to meddle or make : you may be 
 gone ; it is not good you tarry here : by gar, 
 I vill cut all his two stones ; by gar, he shall 
 not have a stone to trow at his dog. 
 
 [Exit SIMPLE. 
 
 Quick. Alas, he speaks but for his friend. 
 
 Caius. It is no matter -a for dat: do not 
 you tell-a me dat I shall have Anne Page for 
 myself? by gar, I will kill de Jack priest; 
 and I have appointed mine host of de Jar- 
 terre to measure our weapon : by gar, I vill 
 myself have Anne Page. 
 
 Quick. Sir, the maid loves you, and all shall 
 be well : we must give folks leave to prate. 
 What, the good-jer ! 
 
 Cius. Rugby, come to de court vit me. By 
 
 gar, if I have not Anne Page, I shall turn your 
 
 head out of my door : follow my heels, Rugby. 
 
 [Exeunt CAIUS and RUGBY. 
 
 Quick. You shall have An fool's-head of your 
 own. No, I know Anne's mind for that : never a 
 woman in Windsor knows more of Anne's mind 
 than I do ; nor can do more than I do with her, I 
 thank heaven. 
 
 Pent. [ Within.'} Who's within there ? ho ! 
 
 Quick. Who's there, I trow? Come near the 
 house, I pray you. 
 
 Enter FENTON. 
 
 Pent. How now, good woman; how dost thou ? 
 
 Quick. The better that it pleases your good 
 worship to ask. [Anne ? 
 
 Pent. What news ? How does pretty Mistress 
 
 Quick. In truth, sir, and she is pretty, and 
 honest, and gentle ; and one that is your friend, I 
 can tell you that by the way ; I praise heaven for 
 it. [Shall I not lose my suit ? 
 
 Pent. Shall I do any good, think'st thou? 
 
 Quick. Troth, sir, all is in his hands above: 
 but notwithstanding, Master Fenton, I '11 be 
 sworn on a book she loves you : Have not your 
 worship a wart above your eye ? 
 
 Pent. Yes, marry, have I ; what of that ? 
 
 Quick. Well, thereby hangs a tale ; good faith, 
 it is such another Nan ; but, I detest, an honest 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 55 
 
 maid as ever broke bread. We had an hour's talk 
 of that wart : I shall never laugh but in that 
 maid's company ! But, indeed, she is given too 
 much to allicholly and musing : But for you 
 Well, go to. 
 
 Pent. Well, I shall see her to-day. Hold, 
 there's money for thee ; let me have thy voice 
 in my behalf : if thou seest her before me, com- 
 mend me 
 
 Quick. Will I ? i' faith, that we will ; andl will 
 tell your worship more of the wart the next time 
 we have confidence ; and of other wooers. 
 
 Pent. Well, farewell ; I am in great haste 
 now. [Exit. 
 
 Quick. Farewell to your worship. Truly, an 
 honest gentleman ; but Anne loves him not ; for 
 I know Anne's mind as well as another does : 
 Out upon't I what have I forgot? [Exit. 
 
 :'l?b.T" v ?^mo? oriw Jio<xI ^ 331050 ^snriiD 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. Before PAGE'S House. 
 Enter Mrs. PAGE, with a letter. 
 
 Mrs. Page. What ! have I 'scaped love-letters 
 in the holiday time of my beauty, and am I now 
 a subject for them ? Let me see : [Reads. 
 
 Ask me no reason why I love you ; for though love 
 use reason for his precisian he admits him net for his 
 counsellor. You are not young ; no more am I; go to then, 
 there s sympathy; you are merry; so am I. Halhalthen 
 there's more sympathy ; you love sack, and so do I. 
 Would you desire better sympathy ? Let it suffice thee, 
 Mistress Page, (at the least, if the love of a soldier can 
 suffice,) that I love thee. I will not say, pity me : 'tis not 
 a soldier-like phrase : but I say s love me. By me, 
 
 Thine own true knight, 
 
 By day or night, 
 
 Or any kind of light, 
 
 With all his might, 
 
 For thee to fight, JOHN FALSTAFF. 
 
 What a Herod of Jewry is this ? O wicked, 
 wicked world ! one that is well-nigh worn to 
 pieces with age to show himself a young gallant ! 
 What an un weighed behaviour hath this Flemish 
 drunkard picked (with the devil's name) out of 
 my conversation, that he dares in this manner 
 assay me ? Why, he hath not been thrice in my 
 company ! What should I say to him ? I was 
 then frugal of my mirth : heaven forgive me ! 
 Why, I '11 exhibit a bill in the parliament 
 for the putting down of men. How shall I be 
 revenged on him? for revenged I will be, as 
 sure as his guts are made of puddings. 
 
 Enter Mrs. FORD. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Mistress Page 1 trust me, I was 
 going to your house 1 
 
 Mrs. Page. And, trust me, I was coming to 
 you. You look very ill. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Nay, I'll ne'er believe that; I 
 have to show to the contrary. 
 
 Mrs. Page. 'Faith, but you do, in my 
 mind. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Well, I do, then; yet, I say, I 
 could show you to the contrary. O, Mistress 
 Page, give me some counsel ! 
 
 Mrs. Page. What 's the matter, woman ? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. O woman, if it were not for one 
 trifling respect, I could come to such honour ! 
 
 Mrs. Page. Hang the trifle, woman ; take the 
 
 honour. What is it ? dispense with trifles ; 
 
 what is it ? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. If I would but go to hell for an 
 eternal moment, or so, I could be knighted. 
 
 Mrs. Page. What? thou liest! Sir Alice 
 Ford ! These knights will hack ; and so thou 
 shouldst not alter the article of thy gentry. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. We burn day-light : here, read, 
 read; perceive how I might be knighted. I 
 shall think the worse of fat men as long as I have 
 an eye to make difference of men's liking. And 
 yet he would not swear ; praised women's mod- 
 esty : and gave such orderly and well-behaved 
 reproof to all uncomeliness, that I would have 
 sworn his disposition would have gone to the 
 truth of his words ; but they do no more ad- 
 here and keep place together than the hundreth 
 psalm to the tune of Green sleeves. What tem- 
 pest, I trow, threw this whale, with so many 
 tuns of oil in his belly, ashore at Windsor? 
 How shall I be revenged on him? I think the 
 best way were to entertain him with hope till 
 the wicked fire of lust have melted him in his 
 own grease. Did you ever hear the like ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Letter for letter; but that the name 
 of Page and Ford differs ! To thy great comfort 
 in this mystery of ill opinions, here 's the twin- 
 brother of thy letter : but let thine inherit first ; 
 for, I protest, mine never shall. I warrant he 
 hath a thousand of these letters, writ with blank 
 space for different names, (sure more,) and these 
 are of the second edition. He will print them 
 out of doubt ; for he cares not what he puts 
 into the press when he would put us two. I 
 had rather be a giantess, and lie under Mount 
 Pelion. Well, I will find you twenty lascivious 
 turtles ere one chaste man. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Why, this is the very same ; the 
 very hand, the very words. What doth he think 
 of us? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Nay, I know not ; it makes me 
 almost ready to wrangle with mine own honesty. 
 I '11 entertain myself like one that I am not ac- 
 quainted withal : for, sure, unless he know some 
 
MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 [ACT n. 
 
 strain in me that I know not myself, he would 
 never have boarded me in this fury. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Boarding, call you it ? I '11 be 
 sure to keep him above deck. 
 
 Mrs. Page. So will I ; if he come under my 
 hatches, I '11 never to sea again. Let 's be re- 
 venged on him : let 's appoint him a meeting ; 
 give him a show of comfort in his suit ; and lead 
 him on with a fine baited delay, till he hath 
 pawned his horses to mine host of the Garter. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Nay, I will consent to act any vil- 
 
 lany against him that may not sully the chariness 
 
 of our honesty. O, that my husband saw this 
 
 letter ! it would give eternal food to his jealousy. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Why, look where he comes ; and 
 
 tny good man too ; he 's as far from jealousy as 
 
 I am from giving him cause ; and that, I hope, 
 
 is an unmeasurable distance. 
 
 Mrs. Ford, You are the happier woman. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Let's consult together against this 
 
 greasy knight: Come hither. {They retire. 
 
 Enter FORD, PISTOL, PAGE, and NYM. 
 
 Ford. Well, I hope it be not so. 
 
 Pist. Hope is a curtail dog in some affairs: 
 Sir John affects thy wife. 
 
 Ford* Why, sir, my wife is not young. 
 
 Pist. He woos both high and low, both rich 
 
 and poor, 
 
 Both young and old, one with another, Ford ; 
 He loves thy gally-mawfry ; Ford, perpend. 
 
 Ford. Love my wife? [go them, 
 
 Pist.- With liver burning hot. Prevent, or 
 Like Sir Actaeon he, with Ring-wood at thy 
 O, odious is the name. [heels : 
 
 Ford. What name, sir? 
 
 Pist. The horn, I say. Farewell. 
 Take heed ; have open eye ; for thieves do foot 
 by night : [do sing. 
 
 Take heed, ere summer comes, or cuckoo birds 
 
 Away, Sir Corporal Nym. 
 
 Believe it, Page j he speaks sense. 
 
 {Exit PISTOL. 
 
 Ford. I will be patient ; I will find out this. 
 
 Nym. And this is true {to PAGE]. I like not 
 the humour of lying. He hath wronged me 
 in some humours ; I should have borne the 
 humoured letter to her ; but I have a sword, 
 and it shall bite upon my necessity. He loves 
 your wife j there 's the short and the long. My 
 name is Corporal Nym ; I speak, and I avouch. 
 'Tis true : my name is Nym, and Falstaff loves 
 your wife. Adieu ! I love not the humour of 
 bread and cheese ; and there 's the humour of 
 it. Adieu. {Exit NYM. 
 
 Page. The humour of it, quotha ! here 's a 
 fellow frights humour out of his wits. 
 
 Ford. I will seek out Falstaff. 
 
 Page. I never heard such a drawling, affect- 
 ing rogue. 
 
 Ford. If I do find it, well. 
 
 Page. I will not believe such a Catalan though 
 the priest of the town commended him for a 
 true man. 
 
 Ford. 'Twas a good sensible fellow. Well. 
 
 Page. How now, Meg ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Whither go you, George ? Hark 
 you. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. How now, sweet Frank? why 
 art thou melancholy? 
 
 Ford. I melancholy ! I am not melancholy. 
 Get you home ; go. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. 'Faith, thou hast some crotchets 
 in thy head now. Will you go, Mistress Page ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Have with you. You '11 come to 
 
 dinner, George? Look, who comes yonder: 
 
 she shall be our messenger to this paltry knight. 
 
 {Aside to Mrs. FORD. 
 
 Enter Mrs. QUICKLY. 
 Mrs. Ford. Trust me, I thought on her: 
 she '11 fit it. 
 
 Mrs. Page. You are come to see my daughter 
 Anne? 
 
 Quick. Ay, forsooth ; and, I pray, how does 
 good Mistress Anne ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Go in with us and see ; we have 
 an hour's talk with you. 
 
 [Exeunt Mrs. PAGE, Mrs. FORD, 
 and Mrs. QUICKLY. 
 
 Page. How now, Master Ford ? 
 
 Ford. You heard what this knave told me ; 
 did you not ? 
 
 Page. Yes ; and you heard what the other 
 told me ? 
 
 Ford. Do you think there is truth in them ? 
 
 Page. Hang 'em slaves ; I do not think the 
 knight would offer it : but these that accuse him 
 in his intent towards our wives are a yoke of 
 his discarded men : very rogues, now they be 
 out of service. 
 
 Ford. Were they his men ? 
 
 Page. Marry, wer^ they. 
 
 Ford. I like it never the better for that. 
 Does he lie at the Garter ? 
 
 Page. Ay, marry, does he. If he should 
 intend this voyage towards my wife, I would 
 turn her loose to him ; and what he gets of her 
 more than sharp words, let it lie on my head. 
 
 Ford. I do not misdoubt my wife ; but I 
 would be loath to turn them together. A man 
 may be too confident : I would have nothing lie 
 on my head : I cannot be thus satisfied. 
 
 Page. Look where my ranting host of the 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 57 
 
 Garter comes : there is either liquor in his pate 
 or money in his purse when he looks so 
 merrily. How now, mine host? 
 
 ' 
 
 Enter HOST a nd SHALLOW. 
 
 Host. How now, bully-rook ! thou 'rt a gentle- 
 man : cavalero-justice, I say. 
 
 ShaL I follow, mine host, I follow. Good 
 even, and twenty, good Master Page ! Master 
 Page, will you go with us? we have sport in 
 hand. 
 
 Host. Tell him, cavalero-justice ; tell him, 
 bully-rook. 
 
 ShaL Sir, there is a fray to be fought be- 
 tween Sir Hugh the Welsh priest and Caius the 
 French doctor. 
 
 Ford. Good mine host o' the Garter, a word 
 with you. 
 
 Host. What say'st thou, bully-rook ? 
 
 [ TJiey go aside. 
 
 ShaL Will you \to PAGE] go with us to be- 
 hold it ? My merry host hath had the measur- 
 ing of their weapons ; and, I think, he hath 
 appointed them contrary places : for, believe 
 me, I hear the parson is no jester. Hark, I 
 will tell you what our sport shall be. 
 
 Host. Hast thou no suit against my knight, 
 my guest-cavalier. 
 
 Ford. None, I protest : but I '11 give you a 
 pottle of burnt sack to give me recourse to him, 
 and tell him my name is Brook ; only for a jest. 
 
 Host. My hand, bully : thou shalt have egress 
 and regress ; said I well ? and thy name shall 
 be Brook : it is a merry knight Will you go 
 on, hearts ? 
 
 ShaL Have with you, mine host. 
 
 Page. I have heard the Frenchman hath good 
 skill in his rapier. 
 
 ShaL Tut, sir, I could have told you more. 
 In these times you stand on distance, your passes, 
 stoccadoes, and I know not what : 'tis the heart, 
 Master Page ; 'tis here, 'tis here. I have seen 
 the time with my long sword I would have 
 made you four tall fellows skip like rats. 
 
 Host. Here, boys, here, here ! shall we wag? 
 
 Page. Have with you : I had rather hear 
 them scold than fight. 
 
 [Exeunt HOST, SHAL., and PAGE. 
 
 Ford. Though Page beasecurefool, andstands 
 so firmly on his wife's frailty, yet I cannot put off 
 my opinion so easily. She was in his company 
 at Page's house ; and what they made there I 
 know not. Well, I will look further into 't : and 
 I have a disguise to sound Falstaff : if I find her 
 honest, I lose not my labour ; if she be otherwise, 
 'tis labour well bestowed. I ovaii \JExit. 
 
 SCENE II. A Room in the Garter Inn. 
 Enter FALSTAFF and PISTOL. 
 
 Fal. I will not lend thee a penny. 
 
 Pist. Why, then the world 's mine oyster, 
 Which I with sword will open. 
 I will retort the sum in equipage. 
 
 Fal. Not a penny. I have been content, sir, 
 you should Jay my countenance to pawn : I have 
 grated upon my good friends for three reprieves 
 for you and your coach-fellow, Nym ; or else you 
 had looked through the grate, like a geminy of 
 baboons. I am damned in hell for swearing to 
 gentlemen my friends you were good soldiers and 
 tall fellows : and when Mistress Bridget lost the 
 handle of her fan, I took 't upon mine honour 
 thou hadst it not. [fifteen pence ? 
 
 Pist. Didst thou not share? hadst thou not 
 
 Fal. Reason, you rogue, reason. Think'st 
 thou I '11 endanger my soul gratis ? At a word, 
 hang no more about me, I am no gibbet for 
 you; go. A short knife and a throng; to your 
 manor of Pick thatch, go. You '11 not bear a 
 letter for me, you rogue ! you stand upon your 
 honour ! Why, thou unconfinable baseness, it is 
 as much as I can do to keep the terms of my 
 honour precise. I, I, I myself sometimes, leaving 
 the fear of heaven on the left hand, and hiding 
 mine honour in my necessity, am fain to shuffle, 
 to hedge, and to lurch; and yet you, rogue, will 
 ensconce your rags, your cat-a-mountain looks, 
 your red lattice phrases, and your bold-beating 
 oaths, under the shelter of your honour \ You 
 will not do it, you ? [of man ? 
 
 Pist. I do relent. What wouldst thou more 
 
 *fcr ROBIN. 
 
 Rob. Sir, here 's a woman would speak with 
 you. 
 
 Fal. Let her approach. 
 
 Enter Mrs. QUICKLY. 
 
 Quick. Give your worship good-morrow. 
 
 Fal. Good-morrow, good wife. 
 
 Quick. Not so, an 't please your worship. 
 
 Fal. Good maid, then. 
 
 Quick. I '11 be sworn; as my mother was, the 
 first hour I was born. 
 
 Fal. I do believe the swearer. What with me? 
 
 Quick. Shall I vouchsafe your worship a word 
 or two ? 
 
 Fal. Two thousand, tair woman ! and I '11 
 vouchsafe thee the hearing. 
 
 Quick. There is one, Mistress Ford, sir ; I 
 pray, come a little nearer this ways : I myself 
 dwell with Master Doctor Caius. 
 
 Fal. Well, on : Mistress Ford, you say, 
 
MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 Quick. Your worship says very true : I pray 
 your worship come a little nearer this ways. 
 
 Fal. I warrant thee nobody hears; mine 
 own people, mine own people. 
 
 Quick. Are they so? Heaven bless them, and 
 make them his servants ! 
 
 Fal. Well : Mistress Ford ; what of her ? 
 
 Quick. Why, sir, she 's a good creature. Lord, 
 lord ! your worship 's a wanton. Well, heaven 
 forgive you, and all of us, I pray ! 
 
 Fal. Mistress Ford; come, Mistress Ford, 
 
 Quick. Marry, this is the short and the long of 
 it ; you have brought her into such a canaries as 
 'tis wonderful. The best courtier of them all, 
 when the court lay at Windsor, could never have 
 brought her to such a canary. Yet there has been 
 knights, and lords, and gentlemen, with their 
 coaches ; I warrant you, coach after coach, letter 
 after letter, gift after gift ; smelling so sweetly, 
 (all musk) and so rushling, I warrant you, in silk 
 and gold ; and in such alligant terms ; and in such 
 wine and sugar of the best, and the fairest, that 
 would have won any woman's heart ; and, I war- 
 rant you, they could never get an eye-wink of 
 her. I had myself twenty angels given me this 
 morning ; but I defy all angels, (in any such sort, 
 as they say,) but in the way of honesty : and, I 
 warrant you, they could never get her so much as 
 sip on a cup with the proudest of them all : and 
 yet there has been earls, nay, which is more, 
 pensioners ; but, T warrant you, all is one 
 with her. 
 
 Fal. But what says she to me ? be brief, my 
 good she Mercury. 
 
 Quick. Marry, she hath received your letter ; 
 for the which she thanks you a thousand times ; 
 and she gives you to notify that her husband will 
 be absence from his house between ten and eleven. 
 
 Fal. Ten and eleven ? 
 
 Quick. Ay, forsooth ; and then you may come 
 and see the picture, she says, that you wot of? 
 Master Ford, her husband, will be from home. 
 Alas ! the sweet woman leads an ill life with 
 him ; he 's a very jealousy man : shs leads a very 
 frampold life with him, good heart. 
 
 Fal. Ten and eleven. Woman, commend 
 me to her ; I will not fail her. 
 
 Quick. Why, you say well : but I have an- 
 other messenger to your worship. Mistress Page 
 hath her hearty commendations to you too; and 
 let me tell you in your ear, she 's as fartuous a 
 civil, modest wife, and one (I tell you) that will 
 not miss you morning nor evening prayer, as any 
 is in Windsor, whoe'er be the other : and she 
 bade me tell your worship that her husband is 
 seldom from home; but she hopes there will 
 come a time. I never knew a woman so dote 
 
 upon a man ; surely I think you have charms, 
 la ; yes, in truth. 
 
 Fal. Not I, I assure thee ; setting the attraction 
 of my good parts aside, I have no other charms. 
 
 Quick. Blessing on your heart for 't ! 
 
 F*l. But, I pray thee, tell me this: has Ford's 
 wife and Page's wife acquainted each other how 
 they love me ? 
 
 Quick. That were a jest indeed ! they have 
 not so little grace, I hope: that were a trick 
 indeed ! But Mistress Page would desire you to 
 sendher your little page, of all loves : her husband 
 has a marvellous infection to the little page : and, 
 truly, Master Page is an honest man. Never a 
 wife in Windsor leads a better life than she does ; 
 do what she will, say what she will, take all, pay 
 all, go to bed when she list, rise when she list, all 
 is as she will ; and, truly, she deserves it : for if 
 there be a kind woman in Windsor, she is one. 
 You must send her your page ; no remedy. 
 
 Fal. Why, I will. 
 
 Quick. Nay, but do so then : and, look you, he 
 may come and go between you both ; and in any 
 case have a nay- word that you may know one 
 another's mind, and the boy never need to under- 
 stand any thing ; for 'tis not good that children 
 should know any wickedness : old folks, you 
 know, have discretion, as they say, and know 
 the world. 
 
 Fal. Fare thee well : commend me to them 
 both : there 's my purse ; I am yet thy debtor. 
 
 Boy, go along with this woman. This news 
 
 distracts me ! 
 
 [Exeunt QUICKLY and ROBIN. 
 
 Pist. This punk is one of Cupid's carriers : 
 Clap on more sails ; pursue ; up with your 
 fights ; give fire ; she is my prize, or ocean whelm 
 them all ! [Exit PISTOL. 
 
 Fal. Say'st thou so, old Jack ! go thy ways ; 
 I'll make more of thy old body than I have 
 done. Will they yet look after thee? Wilt 
 !:hou, after the expense of so much money, be 
 now a gainer ? Good body, I thank thee. Let 
 them say 'tis grossly done ; so it be fairly 
 done, no matter. 
 
 .Ew&rBARDOLPH. 
 
 Bard. Sir John, there's one Master Brook 
 below would fain speak with you, and be ac- 
 quainted with you ; and hath sent your worship 
 a morning's draught of sack. 
 
 Fal. Brook is his name? 
 
 Bard. Ay, sir. 
 
 Fal. Call him in ; [Exit BARDO1PH.] Such 
 Brooks are welcome to me that o'erflow such 
 liquor. Ah ! ha ! Mistress Ford and Mistress 
 Page, have I encompassed you ? go to ; via\ 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 59 
 
 Re-enter BARDOLPH, -with FORD disguised. 
 
 Ford. Bless you, sir. [me? 
 
 Fal. And you, sir. Would you speak with 
 
 Ford. I make bold to press with so little 
 preparation upon you. 
 
 Fal. You 're welcome ; what 's your will ? 
 Give us leave, drawer. [Exit BARDOLPH. 
 
 Ford. Sir, I am a gentleman that have spent 
 much ; my name is Brook. 
 
 Fal. Good Master Brook, I desire more 
 acquaintance of you. 
 
 Ford. Good Sir John, I sue for yours : not to 
 charge you ; for I must let you understand I 
 think myself in better plight for a lender than 
 you are : the which has something emboldened 
 me to this unseasoned intrusion : for they say if 
 money go before, all ways do lie open. [on. 
 
 Fal. Money is a good soldier, sir, and will 
 
 Ford. Troth, and I have a bag of money here 
 troubles me; if you will help me to bear it, Sir 
 ^ohn, take all or half for easingme of the carriage. 
 
 Fal. Sir, I know not how I may deserve to 
 be your porter. 
 
 Ford. I will tell you, sir, if you will give me 
 the hearing. 
 
 Fal. Speak, good Master Brook ; I shall be 
 glad to be your servant. 
 
 Ford. Sir, I hear you are a scholar, I will be 
 
 brief with you, and you have been a man 
 
 long known to me, though I had never so good 
 means as desire to make myself acquainted with 
 you. I shall discover a thing to you, wherein I 
 must very much lay open mine own imperfection: 
 but, good Sir John, as you have one eye upon my 
 follies, as you hear them unfolded, ti rn another 
 into the register of your own : that I may pass 
 with a reproof the easier, sith you yourself know 
 how easy it is to be such an offender. 
 
 Fal. Very well, sir; proceed. 
 
 Ford. There is a gentlewoman in this town, 
 her husband's name is Ford. 
 
 Fal. Well, sir. 
 
 Ford. I have long loved her, and I protest to 
 you bestowed much on her ; followed her with 
 a doting observance; engrossed opportunities 
 to meet her; fee'd every slight occasion that 
 could but niggardly give me sight of her; not 
 only bought many presents to give her, but have 
 given largely to many to know what she would 
 have given : briefly, I have pursued her as love 
 hath pursued me ; which hath been on the wing 
 of all occasions. But whatsoever I have merited, 
 either in my mind or in my means, meed, I am 
 sure, I have received none ; unless experience be 
 a jewel ; that I have purchased at an infinite rate; 
 and that hath taught me to say this : 
 
 Love like a shadow flies ; when substance love 
 
 pursues ; 
 Pur suing that that flies, and flying what pursues. 
 
 Fal. Have you received no promise of satis- 
 faction at her hands? 
 
 Ford. Never. [pose? 
 
 Fal. Have you importuned her to such a pur- 
 
 Ford. Never. 
 
 Fal. Of what quality was your love, then? 
 
 Ford. Like a fair house built upon another 
 man's ground ; so that I have lost my edifice by 
 mistaking the place where I erected it. 
 
 Fal. To what purpose have you unfolded this 
 to me? 
 
 Ford. Wfcen I have told you that, I have told 
 you all. Some say that though she appear honest 
 to me, yet in other places she enlargeth her mu h 
 so far that there is shrewd construction made of 
 her. Now, Sir John, here is the heart of my 
 purpose. You are a gentleman of excellent 
 breeding, admirable discourse, of great admit- 
 tance, authentic in your place and person, 
 generally allowed for your many war-like, court- 
 like, and learned preparations. 
 
 Fal. O, sir! 
 
 Ford. Believe it, for you know it : There is 
 money; spend it, spend it; spend more; spend 
 all I have ; only give me so much of your time in 
 exchange of it as to lay an amiable siege to the 
 honesty of this Fords wife; use your art of 
 wooing, win her to consent to you ; if any man 
 may, you may as soon as any. 
 
 Fal. Would it apply well to the vehemency 
 of your affection, that I should win what you 
 would enjoy? Methinks you prescribe to your- 
 self very preposterously. 
 
 Ford. O, understand my drift ! She dwells so 
 securely on the excellency of her honour that the 
 folly of my soul cares not present itself; she istoo 
 bright to be looked against. Now, could I come 
 to her with any , election in my hand, my desires 
 had instance and argument to commend them- 
 selves ; I could drive her then from the ward of 
 her purity, her reputation, her marriage vow, and 
 a thousand other her defences, which now are too 
 strongly embattled against me. What say you 
 to 't, Sir John ? 
 
 Fal. Master Brook, I will first make bold with 
 your money; next, give me your hand : and last, 
 as I am a gentleman, you shall, if you will, en- 
 joy Ford's wife. 
 
 Ford. O good sir ! 
 
 Fal. Master Brook, I say you shall. 
 
 Ford. Want no money, Sir John, you shall 
 want none. 
 
 Fal. Want no Mistress Ford, Master Brook, 
 
MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 [ACT II. 
 
 you shall want none. I shall be with her (I may 
 tell you) by her own appointment : even as you 
 came in to me her assistant, or go-between, parted 
 from me : I say, I shall be with her between ten 
 and eleven; for at that time the jealous rascally 
 knave, her husband, will be forth. Come you 
 to me at night ; you shall know how I speed. 
 
 Ford. I am blest in your acquaintance. Do 
 you know Ford, sir? 
 
 Fal. Hang him, poor cuckoldly knave ! I 
 know him not : yet I wrong him to call him 
 poor; they say the jealous wittolly knave hath 
 masses of money ; for the which his wife seems 
 to me well-favoured. I will use her as the key 
 of the cuckoldly rogue's coffer ; and there 's my 
 harvest-home. 
 
 Ford. I would you knew Ford, sir ; that you 
 might avoid him if you saw him. 
 
 Fal. Hang him, mechanical salt-butter rogue! 
 I will stare him out of his wits ; I will awe him 
 with my cudgel : it shall hang like a meteor o'er 
 the cuckold's horns : Master Brook, thou shalt 
 know, I will predominate o'er the peasant, and 
 thou shalt lie with his wife. Come to me soon 
 at night: Ford 's a knave, and I will aggravate 
 his stile ; thou, Master Brook, shalt know him 
 for a knave and cuckold : come to me soon at 
 tlight. \Exit. 
 
 Ford. What a damned Epicurean rascal is his! 
 My heart is ready to crack with impatience. 
 Who says this is improvident jealousy? My wife 
 hath sent to him, the hour is fixed, the match is 
 made. Would any man have thought this? See 
 the hell of having a false woman ! my bed shall be 
 abused, my coffers ransacked, my reputation 
 gnawn at; and I shall not only receive this 
 villanous wrong, but stand under the adoption of 
 abominable terms, and by him that does me this 
 
 wrong. Terms ! names ! Amaimon sounds 
 
 well ; Lucifer, well ; Bar bason, well ; yet they 
 are devils' additions, the names of fiends : but 
 cuckold ! wittol-cuckold ! the devil himself hath 
 not such a name. Page is an ass, a secure ass ! 
 he will trust his wife ; he will not be jealous ! I 
 will rather trust a Fleming with my butter, Parson 
 Hugh the Welshman with my cheese, an Irish- 
 man with my aqua-viiae bottle, or a thief to walk 
 my ambling gelding, than my wife with herself: 
 then she plots, then she ruminates, then she 
 devises : and what they think in their hearts they 
 may effect, they will break their hearts but they 
 will effect. Heaven be praised for my j ealousy ! 
 Eleven o'clock the hour : I will prevent this, 
 detect my wife, be revenged on Falstaft, and 
 laugh at Page. I will about it; better three 
 hours too soon than a minute too late. Fie, fie, 
 fie! cuckold! cuckold! cuckold! [Exit. 
 
 SCEN E II I. Windsor Park. 
 Enter CAIUS and RUGBY. 
 
 Cants. Jack Rugby ! 
 
 Rug. Sir? 
 
 Cams. Vat is de clock, Jack ? 
 
 Rtig. 'Tis past the hour, sir, that Sir Hugh 
 promised to meet. 
 
 Caius. By gar, he has save his soul, dat he is 
 no come ; he has pray his Pible veil, dat he is no 
 come : by gar, Jack Rugby, he is dead already, 
 if he be come. 
 
 Rug. He is wise, sir ; he knew your worship 
 would kill him if he came. 
 
 Caius. By gar, de herring is no dead, so as I 
 vill kill him. Take your rapier, Jack; I vill 
 tell you how I vill kill him. 
 
 Rtig. Alas, sir, I cannot fence. 
 
 Caius. Villany, take your rapier. 
 
 Rug. Forbear ; here 's company. 
 
 Enter HOST, SHALLOW, SLENDER, and PAGE. 
 
 Host. Bless thee, bully doctor. 
 
 Shal. Save you, Master Doctor Caius. 
 
 Page. Now, good master doctor ! 
 
 Slen. Give you good morrow, sir. 
 
 Caius. Vat be all you, one, two, tree, four, 
 come for? 
 
 Host. To see thee fight, to see thee foin, to see 
 thee traverse, to see thee here, to see thee there ; 
 to see thee pass thy punto, thy stock, thy reverse, 
 thy distance, thy montant. Is he dead, my Ethi- 
 opian? is he dead, my Francisco? ha, bully! 
 What says my ^Esculapius ? my Galen? my heart 
 of elder ? ha ! is he dead, bully Stale ? is he dead ? 
 
 Caius. By gar, he is de coward Jack priest of 
 the vorld ; he is not show his face. 
 
 Host. Thou art a Castilian King Urinal! 
 Hector of Greece, my boy ! 
 
 Caius. I pray you, bear vitness that me 
 have stay six, or seven, two, tree hours for him, 
 and he is no come. 
 
 Shal. He is the wiser man, master doctor : he 
 is a curer of souls, and you a curer of bodies ; if 
 you should fight, you go against the hair of your 
 professions; is it not true, Master Page? 
 
 Page. Master Shallow, you have yourself been 
 a great fighter, though now a man of peace. 
 
 Shal. Bodikins, Master Page, though I now 
 be old, and of the peace, if I see a sword out my 
 finger itches to make one : though we are justices, 
 and doctors, and churchmen, Master Page, we 
 have some salt of our youth in us; we are the 
 sons of women, Master Page. 
 
 Page. 'Tis true, Master Shallow. 
 
 Shal. It will be found so, Master Page. Mas- 
 ter Doctor Caius, I am come to fetch you home. 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 61 
 
 I am sworn of the peace ; you have showed your- 
 self a wise physician, and Sir Hugh hath shown 
 himself a wise and patient churchman : you must 
 go with me, master doctor. 
 
 Host. Pardon, guest justice: A word, Mon- 
 sieur Muck -water. 
 
 Cams. Muck-vater ! vat is dat ? 
 
 Host. Muck-water, in our English tongue, is 
 valour, bully. 
 
 Caius. By gar, then I have as much muck- 
 
 vater as de Englishman : Scurvy jack-dog 
 
 priest ! by gar, me vill cut his ears. 
 
 Host. He will clapper-claw thee tightly, bully. 
 
 Caius. Clapper -de-claw ! vat is dat? 
 
 Host. That is, he will make thee amends. 
 
 Caius. By gar, me do look he shall clapper- 
 de-claw me ; for, by gar, me vill have it. 
 
 Host. And I will provoke him to 't, or let him 
 wag. 
 
 Caius. Me tank you for dat. 
 
 Host. And, moreover, bully, But first, 
 master guest, and Master Page, and eke Caval- 
 ero Slender, go you through the town to Frog- 
 more. [Aside to them. 
 
 Page. Sir Hugh is there, is he ? 
 
 Host. He is there : see what humour he is in ; 
 and I will bring the doctor about by the fields. 
 Will it do well ? 
 
 Shal. We will do it. 
 
 Page> Shal.) and Slen. Adieu, good master 
 doctor. [Exeunt PAGE, SHAL., <zd?SLEN. 
 
 Caius. By gar, me vill kill de priest : for he 
 speak for a jack -an -ape to Anne Page. 
 
 Host. Let him die ; but first sheathe thy im- 
 patience ; throw cold water on thy choler ; go 
 about the fields with me through Frogmore ; I 
 will bring thee where Mistress Anne Page is, 
 at a farm-house, a-feasting ; and thou shall woo 
 her. Cryed game, said I well ? 
 
 Caius. By gar, me tank you for dat : by gar, 
 I love you ; and I shall procure-a you de good 
 guest, de earl, de knight, de lords, de gentle- 
 men, my patients. 
 
 Host. For the which I will be thy adversary 
 towards Anne Page ; said I well ? 
 
 Caius. By gar, 'tis good : veil said. 
 
 Host. Let us wag, then. 
 
 Caius. Come at my heels, Jack Rugby. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. A Field near Frogmore. 
 Enter Sir HUGH EVANS and SIMPLE. 
 
 Eva. I pray you now, good Master Slender's 
 serving-man, and friend Simple by your name, 
 which way have you looked for Master Caius, 
 that calls himself Doctor of Physick? 
 
 Sim. Marry, sir, the city-ward, the park- 
 ward, every way ; old Windsor way, and every 
 way but the town way. [also look that way. 
 
 Eva. I most fehemently desire you, you will 
 
 Sim. I will, sir. 
 
 Eva. 'Pless my soul ! how full of cholers I am, 
 and trempling of mind ! I shall be glad if he 
 have deceived me : how melancholies I am ! 
 I will knog his urinals about his knave's cos- 
 tard when I have good opportunities for the 
 'ork 'pless my soul ! [Sings. 
 
 To shallow rivers, to whose falls 
 Melodious birds sing madrigals ; 
 There will we make our peds of roses, 
 And a thousand fragrant posies. 
 To shallow 
 
 Mercy on me ! I have a great dispositions to cry. 
 
 Melodious birds sing madrigals 
 
 When as I sat in Pabylon 
 
 And a thousand vagram posies. 
 To shallow 
 
 Sim. Yonder he is, coming this way, Sir Hugh. 
 Eva. He's welcome : 
 
 To shallow rivers, to whose falls 
 
 Heaven prosper the right ! What weapons is 
 he? 
 
 Sim. No weapons, sir. There comes my 
 master, Master Shallow, and another gentle- 
 man, from Frogmore, over the stile, this way. 
 
 Eva. Pray you, give me my gown ; or else 
 keep it in your arms. 
 
 Enter PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER. 
 
 Shal. How now, master parson ? Good- 
 morrow, good Sir Hugh. Keep a gamester 
 from the dice, and a good student from his book, 
 and it is wonderful. 
 
 Slen. Ah, sweet Anne Page ! 
 
 Page. Save you, good Sir Hugh ! 
 
 Eva. 'Pless you from his mercy sake, all of you ! 
 
 Shal. What ! the sword and the word ! Do 
 you study them both, master parson? 
 
 Page. And youthful still, in your doublet and 
 hose, this raw rheumatic day? 
 
 Eva. There is reasons and causes for it. 
 
 Page. We are come to you to do a good office, 
 master parson. 
 
 Eva. Fery well : what is it ? 
 
 Page. Yonder is a most reverend gentleman, 
 who, belike having received wrong by some 
 person, is at most odds with his own gravity 
 and patience that ever you saw. 
 
 Shal. I have lived fourscore years and up- 
 ward ; I never heard a man of his place, gra- 
 vity, and learning, so wide of his own respect. 
 
62 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 [ACT III. 
 
 Eva. What is he ? 
 
 Page. I think you know him ; Master Doctor 
 Caius, the renowned French physician. 
 
 Eva. Got's will, and his passion of my heart ! 
 I had as lief you would tell me of a mess of 
 porridge. 
 
 Page. Why? 
 
 Eva. He has no more knowledge in Hibo- 
 crates and Galen, and he is a knave besides ; 
 a cowardly knave, as you would desires to be 
 acquainted withal. 
 
 Page. I warrant you he's the man should 
 fight with him. 
 
 Slen. O, sweet Anne Page ! 
 
 Skal. It appears so, by his weapons. Keep 
 them asunder ; here comes Doctor Caius. 
 
 Enter HOST, CAIUS, and RUGBY. 
 
 Page. Nay, good master parson, keep in your 
 weapon. 
 
 Shal. So do you, good master doctor. 
 
 Host. Disarm them, and let them question ; 
 let them keep their limbs whole and hack our 
 English. 
 
 Caius. I pray you, let-a me speak a word vit 
 your ear. Verefore vill you not meet -a me ? 
 
 Eva. Pray you use your patience: in good time. 
 
 Cains. By gar, you are de coward, de Jack 
 dog, John ape. 
 
 Eva. Pray you, let us not be laughing-stogs 
 to other men's humours ; I desire you in friend- 
 ship, and I will one way or another make you 
 amends : I will knog your urinals about your 
 knave's cogscomb, for missing your meetings 
 and appointments. 
 
 Caius. Diable ! -Jack Rugby, mine Host 
 de Jarterre, have I not stay for him to kill him, 
 have I not, at de place I did appoint ? 
 
 Eva. As I am a Christians soul, now, look 
 you, this is the place appointed. I '11 be judg- 
 ment by mine host of the Garter. 
 
 Host. Peace, I say, Gallia and Gaul, French 
 and Welsh ; soul-curer and body-curer. 
 
 Caius. Ay, dat is very good ! excellent ! 
 
 Host. Peace, I say ; hear mine host of the 
 Garter. Am I politic ? am I subtle ? am I a 
 Machiavel ? Shall I lose my doctor ? no ; he 
 gives me the potions and the motions. Shall I 
 lose my parson? my priest? my Sir Hugh? no; 
 he gives me the proverbs and the no-verbs. Give 
 me thy hand, terrestrial ; so : Give me thy 
 hand, celestial, so. Boys of art, I have deceived 
 you both ; I have directed you to wrong places ; 
 your hearts are mighty, your skins are whole, 
 and let burnt sack be the issue. Come, lay 
 their swords to pawn : Follow me, lad of 
 peace ; follow, follow, follow. 
 
 Shal. Trust me, a mad host : Follow, gentle- 
 men, follow. 
 
 Slen. O, sweet Anne Page ! 
 [Exeunt SHAL., SLEN., PAGE, and HOST. 
 
 Caius. Ha ! do I perceive dat ? have you 
 make-a de sot of us ? ha, ha ! 
 
 Eva. Thisiswell; hehasmadeushisvlouting- 
 stog, I desire you that we may be friends ; and 
 let us knog our prains together, to be revenge 
 on this same scall, scurvy, cogging companion, 
 the host of the Garter. 
 
 Caiiis. By gar, vit all my heart ; he promise 
 to bring me vere is Anne Page ; by gar, he de- 
 ceive me too. 
 
 Eva. Well, I will smite his noddles : Pray 
 you, follow. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. The Street in Windsor. 
 Enter Mrs. PAGE and ROBIN. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Nay, keep your way, little gal- 
 lant ; you were wont to be a follower, but now 
 you are a leader. Whether had you rather lead 
 mine eyes or eye your master's heels ? 
 
 Rob. I had rather, forsooth, go before you 
 like a man than follow him like a dwarf. 
 
 Mrs. Page. O you are a flattering boy ; now, 
 I see, you '11 be a courtier. 
 
 Enter FORD. 
 
 Ford. Well met, Mistress Page. Whither 
 go you ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Truly, sir, to see your wife. Is 
 she at home ? 
 
 Ford. Ay ; and as idle as she may hang to- 
 gether, for want of company ; I think, if your 
 husbands were dead, you two would marry. 
 
 Mrs. P&ge. Be sure of that, two other hus- 
 bands, [cock ? 
 
 Ford. Where had you this pretty weather- 
 
 Mrs. Page. I cannot tell what the dickens 
 his name is my husband had him off: What 
 do you. call your knight's name, sirrah ! . 
 
 Rob. Sir John Falstaff. 
 
 Ford. Sir John Falstaff ! 
 
 Mrs. Page. He, he ; I can never hit on 's 
 name. There is such a league between my good 
 man and he ! Is your wife at home indeed ? 
 
 Ford. Indeed she is. 
 
 Mrs. Page. By your leave, sir ; I am sick 
 till I see her. [Exeitnt Mrs. PAGE and ROBIN. 
 
 Ford. Has Page any brains? hath he any eyes? 
 hath he any thinking? Sure, they sleep ; he hath 
 no use of them. Why, this boy will carry a letter 
 twenty miles as easy as a cannon will shoot point- 
 blank twelve score. He pieces out his wife's in- 
 clination ; he gives her folly motion and advan- 
 tage : and now she 's going to my wife., and 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 Falstaff s boy with her. A man may hear this 
 shower sing in the wind ! and Falstaffs boy 
 with her ! Good plots ! they are laid ; and 
 our revolted wives share damnation together. 
 Well ; I will take him, then torture my wife, 
 pluck the borrowed veil of modesty from the so 
 seeming Mistress Page, divulge Page himself for 
 a secure and wilful Actseon ; and to these vio- 
 lent proceedings all my neighbours shall cry aim. 
 [Clock strikes.} The clock gives me my cue, 
 and my assurance bids me search ; there I shall 
 find Falstaff : I shall be rather praised for this 
 than mocked ; for it is as positive as the earth 
 is firm that Falstaff is there. I will go. 
 
 Enter PAGE, SHALLOW, SLENDER, HOST, 
 Sir HUGH EVANS, CAIUS, and RUGBY. 
 
 Shal., Page, &c. Well met, Master Ford. 
 
 Ford. Trust me, a good knot : I have good 
 cheer at home; and, I pray you, all go with me. 
 
 Shal. I must excuse myself, Master Ford. 
 
 Slen. And so must I, sir; we have appointed 
 to dine with Mistress Anne, and I would not 
 break with her for more money than I '11 speak of. 
 
 Shal. We have lingered about a match be- 
 tween Anne Page and my cousin Slender, and 
 fhis day we shall have our answer. [Page. 
 
 Slen. I hope I have your good will, father 
 
 Page. You have, Master Slender ; I stand 
 wholly for you : but my wife, master doctor, 
 is for you altogether. 
 
 Caius. Ay, by gar ; and de maid is love 
 a-me ; my nursh-a Quickly tell me so mush. 
 
 Host. What say you to young Master Fenton? 
 he capers, he dances, he has eyes of youth, he 
 writes verses, he speaks holiday, he smells 
 April and May ; he will carry 't, he will carry 't ; 
 'tis in his buttons ; he will carry 't. 
 
 Page. Not by my consent, I promise you. 
 The gentleman is of no having: he kept com- 
 pany with the wild Prince and Poins ; he is of 
 too high a region, he knows too much. No; he 
 shall not knit a knot in his fortunes with the 
 finger of my substance : if he take her, let him 
 take her simply; the wealth I have waits on my 
 consent, and my consent goes not that way. 
 
 ford. I beseech you, heartily, some of you go 
 home with me to dinner : besides your cheer, 
 you shall have sport ; I will show you a mon- 
 ster. Master doctor, you shall go ; so shall 
 you, Master Page ; and you, Sir Hugh. 
 
 Shal. Well, fare you well : we shall have 
 the freer wooing at Master Page's. 
 
 [Exeunt SHAL. and SLEN. 
 
 Cains. Go home, John Rugby; I come anon. 
 [Exit RUGBY. 
 
 Host. Farewell, my hearts, I will to my 
 
 honest knight Falstaff, and drink canary with 
 him. [Exit HOST. 
 
 Ford. [Aside.~\ I think I shall drink in pipe- 
 wine first with him ; I '11 make him dance. 
 Will you go, gentles ? 
 
 All. Have with you, to see this monster. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. A Room in FORD'S House. 
 
 Enter Mrs. FORD and Mrs. PAGE. 
 Mrs. Ford. What, John ! what, Robert ! 
 Mrs. Page. Quickly, quickly : Is the buek- 
 
 basket 
 Afrs. Ford. I warrant : What, Robin, I say. 
 
 Enter Servants, with a basket. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Come, come, come. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Here, set it down. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Give your men the charge ; we 
 must be brief. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Marry, as I told you before, John, 
 and Robert, be ready here hard by in the brew- 
 house; and when I suddenly call you, come forth, 
 and, without any pause or staggering, take this 
 basket on your shoulders : that done, trudge with 
 it in all haste, and carry it among the whitsters 
 in Datchet mead, and there empty it in the 
 muddy ditch, close by the Thames side. 
 
 Mrs. Page. You will do it ? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I have told them over and over ; 
 they lack no direction. Begone, and come when 
 you are sailed. [Exeunt Servants. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Here comes little Robin. 
 
 Enter ROBIN. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. How now, my eyas -musket? 
 what news with you ? 
 
 Rob. My master, Sir John, is come in at your 
 back-door, Mistress Ford, and requests your 
 company. [been true to us ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. You little Jack-a-lent, have you 
 
 Rob. Ay, I '11 be sworn. My master knows 
 not of your being here ; and hath threatened to 
 put me into everlasting liberty, if I tell you of it ; 
 for he swears he '11 turn me away. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Thou 'rt a good boy ; this secrecy of 
 thine shall be a tailor to thee, and shall make thee 
 a new doublet and hose. I '11 go hide me. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Do so. Go tell thy master I am 
 alone. Mrs. Page, remember you your cue. 
 
 [Exit ROBIN. 
 
 Mrs. Page. I warrant thee ; if I do not act 
 it, hiss me. [Exit Mrs. PAGE. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Go to then; we '11 use this un- 
 wholesome humidity, this gross watery pum- 
 pion; we'll teach him to know turtles from 
 jays. 
 
MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Enter FALSTAFF. 
 
 FaL Have 1 'caught thee, my heavenly jewel '? 
 Why, now let me die, for I have lived long 
 enough ; this is the period of my ambition : O 
 ' this blessed hour ! 
 
 Mrs. Ford. O sweet Sir John ! 
 
 FaL Mistress Ford, I cannot cog, I cannot 
 prate, Mrs. Ford. Now shall I sin in my wish. 
 I would thy husband were dead ; I '11 speak it 
 before the best lord, I would make thee my lady. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I your lady, Sir John ! alas, I 
 should be a pitiful lady. 
 
 FaL Let the court of France show me such 
 another ; I see how thine eye would emulate the 
 diamond : thou hast the right arched bent of the 
 brow, that becomes the ship-tire, the tire-valiant, 
 or any tire of Venetian admittance. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. A plain kerchief, Sir John : my 
 brows become nothing else; nor that well neither. 
 
 FaL Thou art a traitor to say so : thouwouldst 
 make an absolute courtier ; and the firm fixture of 
 thy foot would give an excellent motion to thy 
 gait, in a semi-circled farthingale. I see what 
 thou wert, if fortune thy foe were not ; nature is 
 thy friend. Come, thou canst not hide it. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Believe me, there 's no such thing 
 in me. 
 
 FaL What made me love thee ? let that per- 
 suade thee, there 's something extraordinary in 
 thee. Come, I cannot cog, and say thou art this 
 and that, like a many of these lisping hawthorn 
 buds that come like women in men's apparel, and 
 smell like Buckler's- bury in simple-time ; I can- 
 not : but I love thee ; none but thee ; and thou 
 deservest it. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Do not betray me, sir ; I fear 
 you love Mrs. Page. 
 
 FaL Thou mightst as well say I love to walk 
 by the counter-gate ; which is ashateful to me 
 as the reek of a lime-kiln. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Well, heaven knows how I love 
 you ; and you shall one day find it. 
 
 FaL Keep in that mind ; I '11 deserve it. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Nay, I must tell you, so you do, 
 or else I could not be in that mind. 
 
 Rob. [Within.} Mistress Ford, Mistress Ford! 
 here 's Mrs. Page at the door, sweating, and 
 blowing, and looking wildly, and would needs 
 speak with you presently. 
 
 FaL She shall not see me ; I will ensconce 
 me behind the arras. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Pray you, do so : she 's a very 
 tattling woman. [FALSTAFF hides himself. 
 
 Enter Mrs. PAGE and ROBIN. 
 What 's the matter ? how now ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. O Mistress Ford, what have you 
 
 done ? You 're shamed, you are overthrown, 
 you are undone for ever. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. What 's the matter, good Mistress 
 Page? 
 
 Mrs. Page. O well-a-day, Mistress Fora! 
 having an honest man to your husband, to give 
 him such cause of suspicion ! 
 
 Mrs. Ford. What cause of suspicion ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. What cause of suspicion ! out 
 upon you ! how am I mistook in you ? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Why, alas ! what 's the matter ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Your husband's coming hither, 
 woman, with all the officers in Windsor, to 
 search for a gentleman that, he says, is here now 
 in the house, by your consent, to vake an ill 
 advantage of his absence : you are undone. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Speak louder. [Aside.] 'Tis 
 not so, I hope. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Pray heaven it be not so, that 
 you have such a man here ; but 'tis more certain 
 your husband's coming with half Windsor at 
 his heels, to search for such a one. I come be- 
 fore to tell you : if you know yourself clear, why, 
 I am glad of it ; but if you have a friend here, 
 convey, convey him out. Be not amazed ; call 
 all your senses to you ; defend your reputation, 
 or bid farewell to your good life for ever. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. What shall I do? There is a 
 gentleman, my dear friend ; and I fear not mine 
 own shame so much as his peril : I had rather 
 than a thousand pounds he were out of the house. 
 
 Mrs. Page. For shame, never stand you had 
 ratlier, and you had rather; your husband's 
 here at hand, bethink you of some conveyance : 
 in the house you cannot hide him. O, how 
 have you deceived me ! Look, here is a basket ; 
 if he be of any reasonable stature, he may creep 
 in here ; and throw foul linen upon him, as if it 
 were going to bucking : or, it is whiting-time, 
 send him by your two men to Datchet mead. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. He 's too big to go in there. 
 What shall I do? 
 
 I'Sife 
 
 Re-enter FALSTAFF. 
 
 
 FaL Let me see 't, let me see 't ! O let me 
 see 't ! I '11 in, I '11 in ; follow your friend's 
 counsel : I '11 in. 
 
 Mrs. Page. What ! Sir John Falstaff ! Are 
 these your letters, knight ? 
 
 FaL I love thee, and none but thee ; help 
 me away : let me creep in here ; I '11 never 
 [He goes into the basket ; they cover him 
 -with foul linen. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Help to cover your master, boy. 
 Call your men, Mistress Ford : You dis- 
 sembling knight ! 
 
 Mrs. Ford. What, John ! Robert ! John \ 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 [Exit ROBIN. Re-enter Servants.] Go take 
 up these clothes here, quickly ; where 's the 
 cowl-staff ? look, how you drumble : carry them 
 to the laundress in Datchet mead; quickly, come. 
 
 Enter FORD, PAGE, CAIUS, and Sir HUGH 
 EVANS. 
 
 Ford. Pray you, come near : if I suspect 
 without cause, why, then make sport at me, 
 then let me be your jest ; I deserve it. How 
 now ? whither bear you this ? 
 
 Serv. To the laundress, forsooth. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Why, what have you to do 
 whither they bear it ? You were best meddle 
 with buck-washing 
 
 Ford. Buck ? I would I could wash myself 
 of the buck ! Buck, buck, buck ? Ay, buck ; 
 I warrant you, buck ; and of the season too ; It 
 shall appear. [Exeunt Servants with the 
 basket."] Gentlemen, I have dreamed to-night ; 
 I '11 tell you my dream. Here, here, here be my 
 keys : ascend my chambers, search, seek, find 
 out : I '11 warrant we '11 unkennel the fox : Let 
 me stop this way first : so, now uncape. 
 
 Page. Good Master Ford, be contented : 
 you wrong yourself too much. 
 
 Ford. True, Master Page. Up, gentlemen ; 
 you shall see sport anon : follow me, gentle- 
 men. [Exit. 
 
 Eva. This is fery fantastical humours and 
 jealousies. 
 
 Caius. By gar, 'tis no de fashion of France : 
 it is not jealous in France. 
 
 Page. Nay, follow him, gentlemen ; see the 
 issue of his search. 
 
 [Exeunt EVANS, PAGE, and CAIUS. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Is there not a double excellency 
 in this ? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I know not which pleases me 
 better, that my husband is deceived, or Sir John. 
 
 Mrs. Page. What a taking was he in when 
 your husband asked who was in the basket ! 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I am half afraid he will have 
 need of washing ; so throwing him into the 
 w'ater will do him a benefit. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Hang him, dishonest rascal ! I 
 would all of the same strain were in the same 
 distress. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I think my husband hath some 
 special suspicion of Falstaff's being here ; for I 
 never saw him so gross in his jealousy till 
 now. 
 
 Mrs. Page. I will lay a plot to try that : and 
 we will yet have more tricks with Falstaff : his 
 dissolute disease will scarce obey this medicine. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Shall we send that foolish carrion, 
 Mrs. Quickly, to him, and excuse his throwing 
 
 into the water ; and give him another hope, tc 
 betray him to another punishment ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. We'll do it; let him be sent for 
 to-morrow eight o'clock, to have amends. 
 
 Re-enter FORD, PAGE, CAIUS, and Sir HUGH 
 EVANS. 
 
 Ford. I cannot find him : maybe the knave 
 bragged of that he could not compass. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Heard you that ? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Ay, ay, peace : You use me 
 well, Master Ford, do you ? 
 
 Ford. Ay, I do so. [your thoughts ! 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Heaven make you better than 
 
 Ford. Amen. [Master Ford. 
 
 Mrs. Page. You do yourself mighty wrong, 
 
 Ford. Ay, ay ; I must bear it. 
 
 Eva. If there be any pody in the house, and in 
 the chambers, and in the coffers,and in the presses, 
 heaven forgive my sins at the day of judgment ! 
 
 Caius. By gar, nor I too ; dere is no bodies. 
 
 Page. Fie, fie, Master Ford ! are you not 
 ashamed? What spirit, what devil suggests this 
 imagination ? I would not have your distemper 
 in this kind for the wealth of Windsor Castle. 
 
 Ford. Tis my fault, Master Page: Isufferforit. 
 
 Eva. You suffer for a pad conscience : your 
 wife is as honest a 'omans as I will desires 
 among five thousand, and five hundred too. 
 
 Caius. By gar, I see 'tis an honest woman. 
 
 Ford. Well ; I promised you a dinner : 
 Come, come, walk in the park: I pray you, pardon 
 me ; I will hereafter make known to you why I have 
 done this. Come, wife ; come, Mistress Page ; 
 I pray you , pardon me ; pray heartily, pardon me. 
 
 Page. Let's go in, gentlemen; but, trust me, 
 we'll mock him. I do invite you to-morrow 
 morning to my house to breakfast ; after, we '11 
 a-birding together ; I have a fine hawk for the 
 bush. Shall it be so ? 
 
 Ford. Any thing. [company. 
 
 Eva. If there is one, I shall make two in the 
 
 Caius. If there be one or two, I shall make-a 
 de turd. 
 
 Eva. In your teeth : for shame. 
 
 Ford. Pray you go, Master Page. 
 
 Eva. I pray you now, remembrance to- 
 morrow on the lousy knave, mine host. 
 
 Caius. Dat is good ; by gar, vit all my heart. 
 
 Eva. A lousy knave ; to have his gibes and 
 his mockeries. [Exettnt. 
 
 SCENE IV. A Room in PAGE'S House. 
 Enter FENTON and Mrs. ANNE PAGE. 
 
 Fent. I see, I cannot get thy father's love ; 
 Therefore, no more turn me to him, sweet Nan. 
 
 c 
 
66 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 [ACT ni. 
 
 Anne. Alas 1 how then? 
 
 Pent. Why, thou must be thyself. 
 
 He doth object I am too great of birth ; 
 And that, my state being gall'd with my expense, 
 I seek to heal it only by his wealth. 
 
 Besides these, other bars he lays before me, 
 
 My riots past, my wild societies ; 
 And tells me 'tis a thing impossible 
 I should love thee but as a property. 
 
 Anne. Maybe he tells you true? 
 
 Pent. No ; heaven so speed me in my time to 
 
 come ! 
 
 Albeit, I will confess, thy father's wealth 
 Was the first motive that I woo'd thee, Anne : 
 Yet, wooing thee, I found thee of more value 
 Than stamps in gold, or sums in sealed bags ; 
 And 'tis the very riches of thyself 
 That now I aim at. 
 
 Anne. Gentle Master Fenton, 
 
 Yet seek my father's love ; still seek it, sir: 
 If opportunity and humblest suit 
 Cannot attain it, why then. Hark you hither. 
 {They converse apart, 
 
 Enter SHALLOW, SLENDER, and 
 Mrs. QUICKLY. 
 
 Shat. Break their talk, Mistress Quickly; 
 my kinsman shall speak for himself. 
 
 Slen I '11 make a shaft or a bolt on 't ; 'slid, 
 'tis but venturing. 
 
 Skal. Be not dismayed. 
 
 Slen. No ; she shall not dismay me. I care 
 not for that, but that I am afeard. 
 
 Quick. Hark ye; Master Slender would speak 
 a word with you. [choice. 
 
 Anne. I come to him. This is my father's 
 O, what a world of vile ill-fa vour'd faults 
 Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a- 
 year ! [Aside. 
 
 Quick. And how does good Master Fenton ? 
 Pray you, a word with you. 
 
 Shal. She's coming; to her, coz. O boy, 
 thou hadst a father J 
 
 Slen. I had a father, Mistress Anne my uncle 
 can tell you good jestsof him : Pray you, uncle, 
 tell Mistress Anne the jest, how my father stole 
 two geese out of a pen, good uncle. 
 
 Shal. Mistress Anne, my cousin loves you. 
 
 Slen. Ay, that I do ; as well as I love any 
 woman in Gloucestershire. [woman. 
 
 Shal. He will maintain you like a gentle- 
 
 Slen. Ay, that I will, come cut and long-tail, 
 under the degree of a 'squire. 
 
 Shal. He will make you a hundred and fifty 
 pounds jointure. [tor himself. 
 
 Anne. Good Master Shallow, let him woo 
 
 Shal. Marry, I thank you for it; I thank you 
 
 for that good comfort. She calls you, coz; I '11 
 leave you. 
 
 Anne. Now, Master Slender. 
 
 Slen. Now, good Mistress Anne. 
 
 Anne. What is your will ? 
 
 Slen. My will? 'od's heartlings, that 's a pretty 
 jest indeed ! I ne'er made my will yet, I thank 
 heaven ; I am not such a sickly creature, I give 
 heaven praise. [you with me? 
 
 Anne. I mean, Master Slender, what would 
 
 Slen. Truly, for mine own part I would little 
 or nothing with you. Your father and my 
 uncle have made motions : if it be my luck, so : 
 if not, happy man be his dole ! They can tell 
 you how things go better than I can. You 
 may ask your father ; here he comes. 
 
 Enter PAGE and Mrs. PAGE. 
 
 Page. Now, Master Slender : Love him, 
 
 daughter Anne. 
 
 Why, how now ! what does Master Fenton here ? 
 
 You wrong me, sir, thus still to haunt my house : 
 
 I told you, sir, my daughter is disposed of. 
 
 Fent. Nay, Master Page, be not impatient. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Good Master Fenton, come not 
 
 to my child. 
 
 Page. She is no match for you. 
 Fent. Sir, will you hear me ? 
 Page. No, good Master Fenton. 
 
 Come, Master Shallow; come, son Slender, 
 in : [Fenton. 
 
 Knowing my mind, you wrong me, Master 
 \Exeunt PAGE, SHAL., <zm/SLEN. 
 Quick. Speak to Mrs. Page. 
 Fent. Good Mistress Page, for that I love 
 
 your daughter 
 
 In such a righteous fashion as I do, [ners, 
 Perforce, against all checks, rebukes, and man- 
 I must advance the colours.of my love, 
 And not retire. Let me have your good will. 
 Anne. Good mother, do not marry me to 
 yond fool. [better husband. 
 
 Mrs. Page. I mean it not ; I seek you a 
 Quick. That 's my master, master doctor. 
 Anne. Alas ! I had rather be set quick i' the 
 
 earth, 
 
 And bowled to death with turnips. 
 Mrs. Page. Come, trouble not yourself. 
 
 Good Master Fenton, 
 I will not be your friend, nor enemy : 
 My daughter will I question how she loves you, 
 And as I find her, so am I affected ; 
 Till then, farewell, sir : She must needs go in ; 
 Her fatter will be angry. 
 
 ^Exeunt Mrs. PAGE and ANNE. 
 Tint. Farewell, gentle mistress; farewell, 
 Nan. 
 
SCENE V.] 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 Quick. This is my doing, now : Nay, said 
 I, will you cast away your child on a. fool, and 
 a physician ? Look on Master Fenton : this 
 is my doing. [to-night 
 
 Pent. I thank thee ; and I pray thee, once 
 
 Give my sweet Nan this ring. There 's for thy 
 
 pains. [Exit. 
 
 Quick. Now heaven send thee good fortune ! 
 A kind heart he hath : a woman would run 
 through fire and water for such a kind heart. 
 But yet I would my master had Mistress Anne : 
 or I would Master Slender had her : or, in 
 sooth, I would Master Fenton had her : I will 
 do what I can for them all three ; for so I have 
 promised, and 1 : 11 be as good as my word ; but 
 speciously for Master Fenton. Well, I must 
 of another errand to Sir John Falstaff from my 
 two mistresses. What a beast am I to slack 
 it ! [Exit. 
 
 SCENE V. A Room in the Garter Inn. 
 Enter FALSTAFF and BARDOLPH. 
 
 Fal. Bardolph, I say, 
 
 Bard. Here, sir. 
 
 Fal. Go fetch me a quart of sack ; put a 
 toast in 't. [Exit BARD. ] Have I lived to be 
 carried in a basket, like a barrow of butcher's 
 offal ; and to be thrown into the Thames ? 
 Well, if I be served such another trick, I '11 
 have my brains ta'en out and butter'd, and give 
 them to a dog for a new year's gift. The rogues 
 slighted me into the river with as little remorse 
 as they would have drowned a bitch's blind 
 puppies, fifteen i' the litter : and you may know 
 by my size that I have a kind of alacrity in 
 sinking ; if the bottom were as deep as hell 
 I should down. I had been drowned but that 
 the shore was shelvy and shallow : a death that 
 I abhor ; for the water swells a man ; and what 
 a thing should I have been when I had been 
 swelled ! I should have been a mountain of 
 mummy. 
 
 Re-enter BARDOLPH, with the wine. 
 
 Bard. Here 's Mistress Quickly, sir, to speak 
 with you. 
 
 Fal. Come, let me pour in some sack to the 
 Thames water ; for my belly 's as cold as if I had 
 swallowed snow-balls for pills to cool the reins. 
 Call her in. 
 
 Bard. Come in, woman. 
 
 Enter Mrs. QUICKLY. 
 
 Quick. By your leave ; I cry you mercy. 
 Give your worship good-morrow. 
 
 Fal. Take away these chalices. Go, brew 
 me a pottle of sack finely. 
 
 Bard. With eggs, sir ? 
 
 Fal. Simple of itself ; I '11 no pullet-sperm in 
 my brewage. [Exit Bardolph.] How now? 
 
 Quick. Marry, sir, I come to your worship 
 from Mistress Ford. 
 
 Fal. Mistress Ford ! I have had ford enough : 
 I was thrown into the ford : I have my belly 
 full of ford. 
 
 Quick. Alas the day ! good heart, that was 
 not her fault : she does so take on with her men ; 
 they mistook their erection. 
 
 Fal. So did I mine, to build upon a foolish 
 woman's promise. 
 
 Quick. Well, she laments, sir, for it, that it 
 would yearn your heart to see it. Her husband 
 goes this morning a-birding ; she desires you 
 once more to come to her between eight and 
 nine ; I must carry her word quickly : she '11 
 make you amends, I warrant you. 
 
 Fal. Well, I will visit her. Tell her so ; and 
 bid her think what a man is : let her consider 
 his frailty, and then judge of my merit. 
 
 Quick. I will tell her. [thou ? 
 
 Fal. Do so. Between nine and ten, say'st 
 
 Quick. Eight and nine, sir. 
 
 Fal. Well, begone : I will not miss her. 
 
 Quick. Peace be with you, sir. [Exit. 
 
 Fal. I marvel I hear not of Master Brook ; 
 he sent me word to stay within : I like his money 
 well. O, here he comes. 
 
 Enter FORD. 
 
 Ford. Bless you, sir ! 
 
 Fal. Now, Master Brook ? you come to know 
 what hath passed between me and Ford's wife. 
 
 Ford. That, indeed, Sir John, is my business. 
 
 Fal. Master Brook, I will not lie to you ; I 
 was at her house the hour she appointed me. 
 
 Ford. And how sped you, sir ? 
 
 Fal. Very ill-favouredly, Master Brook. 
 
 Ford. How so, sir? Did she change her 
 determination ? 
 
 Fal. No, Master Brook ; but the peaking cor- 
 nuto her husband, Master Brook, dwelling in a 
 continual 'larum of jealousy, comes me in the 
 instant of our encounter, after we had embraced, 
 kissed, protested, and, as it were, spoke the pro- 
 logue of our comedy ; and at his heels a rabble 
 of his companions, thither provoked and insti- 
 gated by his distemper, and forsooth, to search 
 his house for his wife's love. 
 
 Ford. What ! while you were there ? 
 
 Fal. While I was there. [not find you ? 
 
 Ford. And did he search for you and could 
 
 Fal. You shall hear. As good luck would 
 have it, comes in one Mistress Page ; gives in- 
 telligence of Ford's approach ; and, by her in- 
 
68 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 vention and Ford's wife's distraction, they con- 
 veyed me into a buck-basket. 
 
 Ford. A buck-basket ! 
 
 Fal. By the Lord, a buck-basket : rammed 
 me in with foul shirts and smocks, socks, foul 
 stockings, and greasy napkins ; that, Master 
 Brook, there was the rankest compound of vil- 
 lanous smell that ever offended nostril. 
 
 Ford. And how long lay you there ? 
 
 Fal. Nay, you shall hear, Master Brook, what 
 I have suffered to bring this woman to evil for 
 your good. Being thus crammed in the basket, 
 a couple of Ford's knaves, his hinds, were called 
 forth by their mistress to carry me in the name 
 of foul clothes to Datchet-lane : they took me on 
 their shoulders ; met the jealous knave their 
 master in the door ; who asked them once or 
 twice wnat they had in their basket : I quaked for 
 fear lest the lunatic knave would have searched 
 it ; but fate, ordaining he should be a cuckold, 
 held his hand. Well : on went he for a search, 
 and away went I for foul clothes. But mark the 
 sequel, Master Brook ; I suffered the pangs of 
 three several deaths : first, an intolerable fright 
 to be detected with a jealous rotten bell-wether : 
 next, to be compassed, like a good bilbo, in the 
 circumference of a peck, hilt to point, heel to 
 head : and tnen, to be stopped in, like a strong 
 distillation, with stinking clothes that fretted in 
 their own grease : think of that, a man of my 
 kidney, think of that : thatam as subject to heat 
 as butter ; a man of continual dissolution and 
 thaw ; it was a miracle to 'scape suffocation. And 
 in the height of this bath, when I was more than 
 half-stewed in grease, like a Dutch dish, to be 
 thrown into the Tham es , and cooled , glowing hot , 
 in that surge, like a horse-shoe ; think of that, 
 hissing hot, think of that, Master Brook. 
 
 Ford. In good sadness, sir, I am sorry that for 
 my sake you have suffered all this. My suit, then , 
 is desperate ; you '11 undertake her no more. 
 
 Fal. Master Brook, I will be thrown into Etna, 
 as I have been into Thames, ere I will leave her 
 thus. Her husband is this morning gone a- 
 birding : I have received from her another em- 
 bassy of meeting ; 'twixt eight and nine is the 
 hour, Master Brook. 
 
 Ford* 'Tis past eight already, sir. 
 
 Fal. Is it ? I will then address me to my ap- 
 pointment. Come to me at your convenient 
 leisure, and you shall know how I speed ; and the 
 conclusion shall be crowned with your enjoying 
 her. Adieu. You shall have her, Master Brook ; 
 Master Brook, you shall cuckold Ford. [Exit. 
 
 Ford. Hum ! ha ! is this a vision ? is this a 
 dream I do I sleep? Master Ford, awake; awake, 
 Master Ford : there's a hole made in your best 
 
 coat, Master Ford. This 'tis to be married ! this 
 'tistohave linen and buck-baskets ! Well, I will 
 proclaim myself what I am : I will now take the 
 lecher ; he is at my house : he cannot 'scape me j 
 'tis impossible he should ; he cannot creep into a 
 halfpenny purse nor into a pepper box ; but, lest 
 the devil that guides him should aid him, I will 
 search impossible places. Though what I am 1 
 cannot avoid, yet to be what I would not shall 
 not make me tame ; if I have horns to make 
 one mad, let the proverb go with me, I '11 be 
 horn mad. [Exit. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 SCENE I. The Street. 
 
 Enter Mrs. PAGE, Mrs. QUICKLY, and 
 WILLIAM. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Is he at Master Ford's already, 
 think'st thou ? 
 
 Quick. Sure he is by this ; or will be pre- 
 sently : but truly he is very courageous mad 
 about his throwing into the water. Mistress 
 Ford desires you to come suddenly. 
 
 Mrs. Page. I '11 be with her by and by ; I '11 
 but bring my young man here to school. Look, 
 where his master comes ; 'tis a playing day, I see* 
 
 Enter Sir HUGH EVANS. 
 How now, Sir Hugh ? no school to-day ? 
 
 Eva. No ; Master Slender is let the boys 
 leave to play. 
 
 Quick. Blessing of his heart ! 
 
 Mrs. Page. Sir Hugh, my husband says my 
 son profits nothing in the world at his book ; I 
 pray you ask him some questions in his accidence. 
 
 Eva. Come hither, William ; hold up your 
 head ; come. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Come on, sirrah : hold up your 
 head ; answer your master ; be not afraid. 
 
 Eva. William, how many numbers is in nouns? 
 
 Will. Two. 
 
 Quick. Truly, I thought there had been one 
 number more ; because they say od's nouns. 
 
 Eva. Peace your tattlings. What is fair, 
 William ? 
 
 Will. Pulcher. 
 
 Quick. Polecats ! there are fairer things than 
 polecats, sure. 
 
 Eva. You are a very simplicity, 'oman ; I 
 pray you, peace. What is lapis, William ? 
 
 Will. A stone. 
 
 Eva. And what is a stone, William ? 
 
 Will. A pebble. 
 
 Eva. No, it is lapis : I pray you remember 
 in your prain. 
 
 Will. Lapis. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 69 
 
 Eva. That is good, William. What is he, 
 William, that does Jend articles ? 
 
 Will. Articles are borrowed of the pronoun ; 
 and be thus declined, Singulariter, nominative, 
 hie, hac, hoc. 
 
 Eva. Nominative, hig, hag, hog : pray you, 
 mark : genitivo, huj^^,s. Well, what is your 
 accusative case ? 
 
 Will. Accusative, hinc. 
 
 Eva. I pray you, have your remembrance, 
 child. Acctisativo, hing, hang, hog. [rant you. 
 
 Quick. Hang hog is Latin for bacon, I war- 
 
 Eva. Leave your prabbles, 'oman. What is 
 the focative case, William ? 
 
 Will. Qvocativo, O. 
 
 Eva. Remember, William, focative is caret. 
 
 Quick. And that 's a good root. 
 
 Eva. 'Oman, forbear. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Peace. 
 
 Eva. What is your genitive case plural, 
 William ? 
 
 Will. Genitive case ? 
 
 Eva. Ay. 
 
 Will. Genitive, horum, harum, horum. 
 
 Quick. 'Vengeance of Jenny's case ! fie on 
 her ! never name her, child, if she be a whore. 
 
 Eva. For shame, 'oman. 
 
 Quick. You do ill to teach the child such 
 words : he teaches him to hick and to hack, 
 which they '11 do fast enough of themselves, and 
 to call horum : fie upon you ! 
 
 Eva. 'Oman, art thou lunatics ? hast thou no 
 understandings for thy cases, and the numbers 
 of the genders ? Thou art as foolish Christian 
 creatures as I would desires. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Pr'ythee, hold thy peace. 
 
 Eva. Show me now, William, some declen- 
 sions of your pronouns. 
 
 Will. Forsooth, I have forgot. 
 
 Eva. It is ki, kce, cod; if you forget your 
 kies, your kees, and your cods, you must be 
 preeches. Go your ways and play, go. 
 
 Mrs. Page. He is a better scholar than I 
 thought he was. . ,1 
 
 Eva. He is a good sprag memory. Fare- 
 well, Mistress Page. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Adieu, good Sir Hugh. [Exit 
 Sir HUGH.] Get you home, boy. Come, we 
 stay too long. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. A Room in FORD'S House. 
 Enter FALSTAFF and Mrs. FORD. 
 
 Fal. Mistress Ford, your sorrow hath eaten 
 up my sufferance : I see you are obsequious in 
 your love, and I profess requital to a hair's 
 breadth ; not only, Mistress Ford, in the simple 
 
 office of love, but in all the accoutrement, com- 
 plement, and ceremony of it. But are you sure 
 of your husband now ? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. He is a-birding, sweet Sir John. 
 
 Mrs. Page. [Within.'} What hoa, gossip 
 Ford, what hoa ! 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Step into the chamber, Sir John. 
 [Exit FALSTAFF. 
 
 Enter Mrs. PAGE. 
 
 Mrs. Page. How now, sweetheart ? who 's at 
 home beside yourself? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Why, none but mine own people. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Indeed ? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. No, certainly ; Speak louder. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Truly I am so glad you have 
 nobody here. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Why ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Why, woman, your husband is in 
 his old lunes again : he so takes on yonder with 
 my husband ; so rails against all married man- 
 kind : so curses all Eve's daughters, of what 
 complexion soever ; and so buffets himself on 
 the forehead, crying Peer-out, peer-out! that any 
 madness I ever yet beheld seemed but lameness, 
 civility, and patience, to this his distemper he is 
 in now : I am glad the fat knight is not here. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Why? does he talk of him? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Of none but him ; and swears he 
 was carried out, the last time he searched for 
 him, in a basket: protests to my husband he is now 
 here ; and hath drawn him and the rest of their 
 company from their sport to make another experi- 
 ment of his suspicion ; but I am glad the knight 
 is not here ; now he shall see his own foolery. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. How near is he, Mistress Page ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Hard by ; at street end ; he will 
 be here anon. [here. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I am undone ! The knight is 
 
 Mrs. Page. Why, then, you are utterly 
 ashamed, and he 's but a dead man. What a 
 woman are you ! Away with him, away with 
 him ; better shame than murder. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Which way should he go? How 
 should I bestow him ? Shall I put him into 
 the basket again ? 
 
 Re-enter FALSTAFF. 
 
 Fal. No, I '11 come no more i' the basket. 
 May I not go out ere he come ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Alas ! three of Master Ford's 
 brothers watch the door with pistols, that 
 none shall issue out : otherwise you might slip 
 away ere he came. But what make you here ? 
 
 Fal. What shall I do ? I Ml creep up into 
 the chimney. 
 
MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. There they always used to discharge 
 their birding pieces. Creep into the kiln -hole. 
 
 Fal. Where is it ? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. He will seek there, on my word. 
 Neither press, coffer, chest, trunk, well, vault, 
 but he hath an abstract for the remembrance 
 of such places, and goes to them by his note. 
 There is no hiding you in the house. 
 
 Fal. I '11 go out then. 
 
 Mrs. Page. If you go out in your own sem- 
 blance, you die, Sir John. Unless you go out 
 disguised, 
 
 Mrs. Ford. How might we disguise him ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Alas the day, I know not. There 
 is no woman's gown big enough for him ; other- 
 wise he might put on a hat, a muffler, and a 
 kerchief, and so escape. 
 
 Fal. Good hearts, devise something : any 
 extremity rather than a mischief. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. My maid's aunt, the fat woman 
 of Brentford, has a gown above. 
 
 Mrs. Page. On my word, it will serve him ; 
 she 's as big as he is : and there 's her thrummed 
 hat, and her muffle too. Run up, Sir John. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Go, go, sweet Sir John. Mistress 
 Page and I will look some linen for your head. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Quick, quick; we'll come dress 
 you straight : put on the gown the while. 
 
 [Exit FALSTAFF. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I would my husband would meet 
 him in this shape : he cannot abide the old 
 woman of Brentford ; he swears she 's a witch, 
 forbade her my house, and hath threatened to 
 beat her. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Heaven guide him to thy husband's 
 cudgel ; and the devil guide his cudgel after wards ! 
 
 Mrs. Ford. But is my husband coming ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Ay, in good sadness is he ; and 
 he talks of the basket too, howsoever he hath 
 had intelligence. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. We '11 try that ; for I '11 appoint 
 my men to carry the basket again to meet him 
 at the door with it as they did last time. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Nay, but he '11 be here presently : 
 let 's go dress him like the witch of Brentford. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I '11 first direct my men what they 
 shall do with the basket. - Go up, I '11 bring 
 linen for him straight. [Exit. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Hang him, dishonest varlet ! we 
 cannot misuse him enough. 
 
 We '11 leave a proof, by that which we will do, 
 Wives may be merry and yet honest too : 
 We do not act that often jest and laugh ; 
 "Tis old but true, Still swine eat all the draff. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Re-enter Mrs. FORD, with two Servants. 
 Mrs. Ford. Go, sirs, take the basket again 
 
 on your shoulders : your master is hard at door ; 
 if he bid you set it down, obey him : quickly, 
 despatch. [Exit. 
 
 1 Serv. Come, come, take it up. 
 
 2 Serv. Pray heaven it be not full of the 
 knight again. [much lead. 
 
 i Serv. I hope not ; I had as lief bear so 
 
 Enter FORD, PAGE, SHALLOW, CAIUS, and 
 Sir HUGH EVANS. 
 
 Ford. Ay, but if it prove true, Master Page, 
 have you any way then to unfool me again ? 
 Set down the basket, villain : Somebody call 
 my wife. You, youth in a basket, come out 
 here ! O, you panderly rascals ! there 's a knot, 
 a gin, a pack, a conspiracy against me. Now 
 shall the devil be shamed. What ! wife, I say ! 
 come, come forth ; behold what honest clothes 
 you send forth to bleaching. 
 
 Page. Why, this passes ! Master Ford, you are 
 not to go loose any longer ; you must be pinioned. 
 
 Eva. Why, this is lunatics ! this is mad as a 
 mad dog ! 
 
 Shal. Indeed, Master Ford, this is not well : 
 indeed. 
 
 Enter Mrs. FORD. 
 
 Ford. So say I too, sir. Come hither, Mis- 
 tress Ford; Mistress Ford, the honest woman, 
 the modest wife, the virtuous creature, that hath 
 the jealous fool to her husband ! I suspect 
 without cause, mistress, do I ? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Heaven be my witness, you do, 
 if you suspect me in any dishonesty. 
 
 Ford. Well said, brazen-face; hold it out. 
 Come forth, sirrah. 
 
 [Pulls the clothes out of the basket. 
 
 Page. This passes ! [clothes alone. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Are you not ashamed ? Let the 
 
 Ford. I shall find you anon. 
 
 Eva. 'Tis unreasonable ! Will you take up 
 your wife's clothes ? Come away. 
 
 Ford. Empty the basket, I say. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Why, man, why, 
 
 Ford. Master Page, as I am a man, there was 
 one conveyed out of my house yesterday in this 
 basket. Why may not he be there again ? In my 
 house I am sure he is : my intelligence is true : my 
 jealousy is reasonable. Pluck me out all the linen. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. If you find a man there he shall 
 die a flea's death. 
 
 Page. Here 's no man. 
 
 Shal. By my fidelity, this is not well, Master 
 Ford ; this wrongs you. 
 
 Eva. Master Ford, you must pray, and not 
 follow the imaginations of your own heart : this 
 is jealousies. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 Ford. Well, he 's not here I seek for. 
 
 Page. No, nor no where else but in your brain. 
 
 Ford. Help to search my house this one time : 
 if I find not what I seek, show no colour for my 
 extremity ; let me for ever be your table sport ; 
 let them say of me, As jealous as Ford, that 
 searched a hollow walnut for his wife's leman. 
 Satisfy me once more; once more search with me. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. What, hoa, Mistress Page ! come 
 you a"d the old woman down ; my husband 
 will come into the chamber. 
 
 Ford. Old woman! What old woman 's that? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Why, it is my maid's aunt of 
 Brentford. 
 
 Ford. A witch, a quean, an o'd cozening quean ! 
 Have I not forbid her my house ? She comes of 
 errands, does she? We are simple men ; we do 
 not know v/hat 's brought to pass under the pro- 
 fession of fortune telling. She works by charms, 
 by spells, by the figure, and such daubery as 
 this is ; beyond our element : we know nothing. 
 
 Come down, you witch, you hag you ; come 
 
 down, I say. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Nay, good, sweet husband; good 
 gentlemen, let him not strike the old woman. 
 
 Enter FALSTAFF in women's clothes, led by 
 Mrs. PAGE. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Gome, Mother Prat, come; give 
 me your hand. 
 
 Ford. I '11 prat her : Out of my door, 
 
 you witch, [beats hini\ you rag, you baggage, 
 you polecat, you ronyon ! out ! out ! I'll conjure 
 you, I '11 fortune-tell you. [Exit FALSTAFF. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Are you not ashamed? I think 
 you have killed the poor woman. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Nay, he will do it: Tis a goodly 
 credit for you. 
 
 Ford. Hang her, witch ! 
 
 Eva. By yea and no, I think the 'oman is a 
 witch indeed: I like not when a 'oman has a great 
 peard ; I spy a great peard under her muffler. 
 
 Ford. Will you follow, gentlemen? I be- 
 seech you follow; see but the issue of my 
 jealousy : if I cry out thus upon no trail, never 
 trust me when I open again. 
 
 Page. Let 's obey his humour a little farther. 
 Come, gentlemen. 
 
 [Exeunt PAGE, FORD, SHAL., and EVANS. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Trust me, he beat him most 
 pitifully. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Nay, by the mass, that he did 
 not ; he beat him most unpitifully methought. 
 
 Mrs. Page. I '11 have the cudgel hallowed 
 And hung o'er the altar; it hath done meritori- 
 ous service. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. What think you? May we, with 
 
 the warrant of womanhood and the witness of a 
 good conscience, pursue him with any further 
 revenge ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. The spirit of wantonness is, sure, 
 scared out of him ; if the devil have him not in 
 fee-simple, with fine and recovery, he will never, 
 I think, in the way of waste, attempt us again. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Shall we tell our husbands how 
 we have served him ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Yes, by all means ; if it be but to 
 scrape the figures out of your husband's brains. 
 If they can find in their hearts the poor unvirtu- 
 ous fat knight shall be any further afflicted, we 
 two will still be the ministers. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I'll warrant they'll have him 
 publicly shamed : and methinks there would be 
 no period to the jest should he not be publicly 
 shamed. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Come, to the forge with it then, 
 shape it: I would not have things cool. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. A Room in the Garter Inn. 
 Enter HOST and BARDOLPH. 
 
 Bard. Sir, the Germans desire to have three 
 of your horses: the duke himself will be to- 
 morrow at court, and they are going to meet him. 
 
 Host. What duke should that be comes so se- 
 cretly? I hear not of him in the court. Let me 
 speak with the gentlemen ; they speak English. 
 
 Bard. Ay, sir ; I '11 call them to you. 
 
 Host. They shall have my horses ; but I '11 
 make them pay ; I '11 sauce them : they have had 
 my houses a week at command ; I have turned 
 away my other guests : they must come off; I'll 
 sauce them. Come. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. A Room in FORD'S House. 
 
 Enter PAGE, FORD, Mrs. PAGE, Mrs. FORD, 
 and Sir HUGH EVANS. 
 
 Eva. 'Tis one of the pest discretions of a 
 'oman as ever I did look upon. 
 
 Page. And did he send you both these letters 
 at an instant? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Within a quarter of an hour. 
 
 Ford. Pardon me, wife. Henceforth, do 
 
 what thou wilt ; 
 
 I rather will suspect the sun with cold 
 Than thee with wantonness: now doth thy 
 
 honour stand, 
 
 In him that was of late an heretic, 
 As firm as faith. 
 
 Page. 'Tis well, 'tis well ; no more. 
 
 Be not as extreme in submission 
 As in offence ; 
 But let our plot go forward : let our wives 
 
MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Yet once again, to make us public sport, 
 Appoint a meeting with this old fat fellow, 
 Where we may take him and disgrace him for it. 
 Ford. There is no better way than that they 
 
 spoke of. 
 
 Page. How ! to send him word they '11 meet 
 him in the park at midnight ; fie, fie ; he '11 
 never come. 
 
 Eva. You say he has been thrown into the 
 rivers ; and has been grievously peaten as an old 
 'oman ; methinks there should be terrors in him 
 that he should not come ; methinks his flesh is 
 punished, he shall have no desires. 
 
 Page. So think I too. [when he comes, 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Devise but how you '11 use him 
 And let us two devise to bring him thither. 
 Mrs. Page. There is an old tale goes, that 
 
 Herne the hunter, 
 
 Sometime a keeper here in Windsor forest, 
 Doth all the winter time, at still midnight, 
 Walk roundaboutan oak, with great ragg'dhorns; 
 And there he blasts the tree, and takes the cattle, 
 And makes milch-kine yield blood, and shakes 
 
 a chain 
 
 In a most hideous and dreadful manner : [know 
 You have heard of such a spirit ; and well you 
 The superstitious idle-headed eld 
 Received, and did deliver to our age, 
 This tale of Herne the hunter for a truth, [fear 
 Page. Why, yet there want not many that do 
 In deep of night to walk by this Herne's oak : 
 But what of this ? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Marry, this is our device ; 
 That Falstaff at that oak shall meet with us, 
 Disguised, like Herne, with huge horns on his 
 
 head. [come, 
 
 Page. Well, let it not be doubted but he '11 
 
 And in this shape. When you have brought him 
 
 thither, 
 
 What shall be done with him? what is your plot? 
 Mrs. Page. That likewise have we thought 
 
 upon, and thus : 
 
 Nan Page my daughter, and my little son, 
 And three or four more of their growth, we '11 
 
 dress [white, 
 
 Like urchins, ouphes, and fairies, green and 
 With rounds of waxen tapers on their heads, 
 And rattles in their hands ; upon a sudden, 
 As Falstaff, she, and I, are newly met, 
 Let them from forth a saw- pit rush at once 
 With some diffused song ; upon their sight 
 We two in great amazedness will fly : 
 Then let them all encircle him about, 
 And fairy-like, to pinch the unclean knight ; 
 And ask him why that hour of fairy revel 
 In their so sacred paths he dares to tread 
 In shape profane. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. And till he tell the truth, 
 Let the supposed fairies pinch him sound, 
 And burn him with their tapers. 
 
 Mrs. Page. The truth being known, 
 
 We '11 all present ourselves, dis-horn the spirit, 
 And mock him home to Windsor. 
 
 Ford. The children must 
 
 Be practised well to this or they'll ne'er do't. 
 
 Eva. I will teach the children their behavi- 
 ours ; and I will be like a jack-an-apes also, to 
 burn the knight with my taber. 
 
 Ford. That will be excellent. I'll go buy 
 them vizards. [all the fairies, 
 
 Mrs. Page. My Nan shall be the queen of 
 Finely attired in a robe of white. [time 
 
 Page. That silk will I go buy; and in that 
 Shall Master Slender steal my Nan away. [A side. 
 And marry her at Eton. Go, send to Fal- 
 staff straight. [Brook ; 
 
 Ford. Nay, I '11 to him again, in name of 
 He '11 tell me all his purpose. Sure, he '11 come. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Fear not you that. Go, get us 
 
 properties, 
 And tricking for our fairies. 
 
 Eva. Let us about it. It is admirable plea- 
 sures, and fery honest knaveries. 
 
 [Exeunt PAGE, FORD, and EVANS 
 
 Mrs. Page. Go, Mistress Ford, 
 Send quickly to Sir John to know his mind. 
 
 [Exit Mrs. FORD. 
 
 I '11 to the doctor ; he hath my good-will, 
 And none but he, to marry with Nan Page. 
 That Slender, though well landed, is an idiot ; 
 And he my husband best of all affects : 
 The doctor is well money'd, and his friends 
 Potent at court ; he, none but he, shall have her, 
 Though twenty thousand worthier come to crave 
 her. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE V. A Room in the Garter Inn. 
 Enter HOST and SIMPLE. 
 
 Host. What wouldst thou have, boor ? what, 
 thick-skin? speak, breathe, discuss; brief, short, 
 quick, snap. 
 
 Sim. Marry, sir, I come to speak with Sir 
 John Falstaff from Master Slender. 
 
 Host. There's his chamber, hishouse,hiscastle, 
 his standing-bed and truckle-bed ; 'tis painted 
 about with the story of the Prodigal, fresh and 
 new. Go, knock and call ; he '11 speak like an 
 Anthropophaginian unto thee. Knock, I say. 
 
 Sim. There 's an old woman, a fat woman, 
 gone up into his chamber ; I '11 be so bold as 
 stay, sir, till she come down ; I come to speak 
 with her, indeed. 
 
 Host. Ha ! a fat woman ! the knight may be 
 
SCENE V.] 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 robbed : I '11 call. Bully knight ! Bully Sir 
 John ! speak from thy lungs military. Art thou 
 there ? it is thine host, thine Ephesian, calls. 
 
 Fal. [Above.] How now, mine host? 
 
 Host. Here 's a Bohemian-Tartar tarries the 
 coming down of thy fat woman. Let her descend , 
 bully, let her descend ; my chambers are honour- 
 able. Fie ! privacy ? fie ! 
 
 Enter FALSTAFF. 
 
 Fal. There was, mine host, an old fat woman 
 even now with me ; but she 's gone. 
 
 Sim. Pray you, sir, was 't not the wise woman 
 of Brentford ? 
 
 Fal. Ay, marry was it, muscle-shell. What 
 would you with her ? 
 
 Sim. My master, sir, my Master Slender, sent 
 to her, seeing her go thorough the streets, to 
 know, sir, whether one Nym, sir, that beguiled 
 him of a chain had the chain or no. 
 
 Fal. I spake with the old woman about it. 
 
 Sim. And what says she, I pray, sir ? 
 
 Fal. Marry, she says that the very same man 
 chat beguiled Master Slender of his chain cozened 
 him of it. 
 
 Sim. I would I could have spoken with the 
 woman herself ; I had other things to have spoken 
 with her too, from him. 
 
 Fal. What are they t let us know. 
 
 Host. Ay, come ; quick. 
 
 Sim. I may not conceal them, sir. 
 
 Fal. Conceal them, or thou diest. 
 
 Sim. Why, sir, they were nothing but about 
 Mistress Anne Page ; to know if it were my mas- 
 ter's fortune to have her or no. 
 
 Fal. 'Tis, 'tis his fortune. 
 
 Sim. What, sir ? 
 
 Fal. To have her, or no. Go ; say the 
 woman told me so. 
 
 Sim. May I be so bold to say so, sir ? 
 
 Fal. Ay, Sir Tike ; who more bold ? 
 
 Sim. I thank your worship: I shall make my 
 master glad with these tidings. [Ex SIMPLE. 
 
 Host. Thou art clerkly, thou art clerkly, Sir 
 John. Was there a wise woman with thee ? 
 
 Fal. Ay, that there was, mine host ; one that 
 hath taught me more wit than ever I learned 
 before in my life : and I paid nothing for it 
 neither, but was paid for my learning. 
 
 Enter BARDOLPH. 
 
 Bard. Out, alas, sir ! cozenage ! mere cozenage ! 
 
 Host. Where be my horses? speak well of 
 them, varletto. 
 
 Bard. Run away with the cozeners : for so 
 soon as I came beyond Eton they threw me off 
 from behind one of them in a slough of mire ; 
 
 and set spurs and away, like three German 
 devils, three Doctor Faustuses. 
 
 Host. They are gone but to meet the duke, 
 villain : do not say they be fled ; Germans are 
 honest men. 
 
 Enter Sir HUGH EVANS. 
 
 Eva. Where is mine host ? 
 
 Host. What is the matter, sir ? 
 
 Eva. Have a care of your entertainments : 
 there is a friend of mine come to town tells me 
 there is three couzin germans that has cozened 
 all the hosts of Readings, of Maidenhead, of 
 Colebrook, of horses and money. I tell you 
 for good-will, look you : you are wise, and full 
 of gibes and vlouting-stogs ; and 'tis not con- 
 venient you should be cozened : fare you well. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Enter Dr. CAIUS. 
 
 Caius. Vere is mine Host de Jarterre ? 
 
 Host. Here, master doctor, in perplexity 
 and doubtful dilemma. 
 
 Caius. I cannot tell vat is dat : but it is tell- 
 a me dat you make grand preparation for a 
 duke dejarmany : by my trot dere is no duke 
 dat de court is know to come ; I tell you for 
 good-vill : adieu. [Exit. 
 
 Host. Hue and cry, villain, go : assist me, 
 knight; I am undone: fly, run, hue and cry, 
 villain ! I am undone ! 
 
 [Exeunt HOST and BARD. 
 
 Fal. I would all the world might be cozened ; 
 for I have been cozened and beaten too. If it 
 should come to the ear of the court how I have 
 been transformed, and how my transformation 
 hath been washed and cudgelled, they would 
 melt me out of my fat, drop by drop, and liquor 
 fishermen's boots with me ; I warrant they 
 would whip me with their fine wits till I were 
 as crest-fallen as a dried pear. I never pros- 
 pered since I foreswore myself at trimero. 
 Well, if my wind were but long enough to say 
 my prayers, I would repent. 
 
 Ente Mrs. QUICKLY. 
 Now ! whence come you ? 
 
 Quick. From the two parties, forsooth. 
 
 Fal. The devil take one party and his dam 
 the other, and so they shall be both bestowed ! 
 I have suffered more for their sakes, more than 
 the villanous inconstancy of man's disposition 
 is able to bear. 
 
 Quick. And have not they suffered ? Yes, I 
 warrant ; speciously one of them ; Mistress 
 Ford, good heart, is beaten black and blue, 
 that you cannot see a white spot about her. 
 
 Fal. What tell'st thou me of black and blue? 
 
74 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 I was beaten myself into all the colours of the 
 rainbow ; and I was like to be apprehended 
 for the witch of Brentford ; but that my ad- 
 mirable dexterity of wit, my counterfeiting the 
 action of an old woman, delivered me, the 
 knave constable had set me i' the stocks, i' the 
 common stocks, for a witch. 
 
 Quick. Sir, let me speak with you in your 
 chamber : you shall hear how things go ; and, I 
 warrant, to your content. Here is a letter will 
 say somewhat. Good hearts, what ado here is 
 to bring you together ! Sure, one of you does 
 not serve heaven well, that you are so crossed. 
 
 Fal. Come up into my chamber. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI. Another Room in the Garter Inn. 
 Enter FENTON and HOST. 
 
 Host. Master Fen ton, talk not to me; my mind 
 is heavy, I will give over all. [purpose, 
 
 Pent. Yet hear me speak. Assist me in my 
 And, as I am a gentleman, I'll give thee 
 A hundred pound in gold, more than your loss. 
 
 Host. I will hear you, Master Fenton ; and 
 I will, at the least, keep your counsel. 
 
 Pent. From time to time I have acquainted you 
 With the dear love I bear to fair Anne Page ; 
 Who, mutually, hath answer'd my affection, 
 So far forth as herself might be her chooser, 
 Even to my wish : I have a letter from her 
 Of such contents as you will wonder at ; 
 The mirth whereof so larded with my matter 
 That neither, singly, can be manifested 
 Without the show of both; wherein fat Falstaff 
 Hath a great scene : the image of the jest 
 
 {Showing the letter. 
 
 I '11 show you here at large. Hark, good mine 
 host, [one, 
 
 To-night at Herne's oak, just 'twixt twelve and 
 Must my sweet Nan present the fairy queen : 
 The purpose why is here ; in which disguise, 
 While other jests are something rank on foot, 
 Her father hath commanded her to slip 
 Away with Slender, and with him at Eton 
 Immediately to marry : she hath consented : 
 Now, sir, 
 
 Her mother, ever strong against that match, 
 And firm for Doctor Caius, hath appointed 
 That he shall likewise shuffle her away 
 While other sports are tasking of their minds, 
 And at the deanery, where a priest attends, 
 Straight marry her : to this her mother's plot 
 She, seemingly obedient, likewise hath 
 Made promise to the doctor: Now thus it rests; 
 Her father means she shall be all in white ; 
 And in that habit, when Slender sees his time 
 To take her by the hand and bid her go, 
 
 She shall go with him : her mother hath intended, 
 The better to denote her to the doctor, 
 For they must all be mask'd and vizarded, 
 That, quaint in green, she shall be loose enrobed, 
 With ribands pendant, flaring 'bout her head; 
 And when the doctor spies his vantage ripe, 
 To pinch her by the hand, and, on that token, 
 The maid hath given consent to go with him. 
 
 Host. Which means she to deceive? father 
 or mother ? 
 
 Pent. Both, my good host, to go along with me: 
 And here it rests, that you '11 procure the vicar 
 To stay for me at church, 'twixt twelve and one, 
 And, in the lawful name of marrying, 
 To give our hearts united ceremony. [vicar : 
 
 Host. Well, husband your device; I '11 to the 
 Bring you the maid, you shall not lack a priest. 
 
 Pent. So shall I evermore be bound to thee; 
 Besides, I '11 make a present recompense. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. A Room in the Garter Inn. 
 Enter FALSTAFF and Mrs. QUICKLY. 
 
 Fal. Pr'ythee, no more prattling: go. 
 
 I '11 hold. This is the third time ; I hope good 
 luck lies in odd numbers. Away, go ; they 
 say there is divinity in odd numbers, either in 
 nativity, chance, or death. Away. 
 
 Quick. I '11 provide you a chain : and I '11 
 do what I can to get you a pair of horns. 
 
 Fal. Away, I say ; time wears : hold up your 
 head, and mince. [Exit Mrs. QUICKLY. 
 
 Enter FORD. 
 
 How now, Master Brook ? Master Brook, the 
 matter will be known to-night or never. Be 
 you in the Park about midnight, at Herne's 
 oak, and you shall see wonders. 
 
 Ford. Went you not to her yesterday, sir, as 
 you told me you had appointed. 
 
 Pal. I went to her, Master Brook, as you 
 see, like a poor old man ; but I came from her, 
 Master Brook, like a poor old woman. That 
 same knave, Ford her husband, hath the finest 
 mad devil of jealousy in him, Master Brook, 
 that ever governed frenzy. I will tell you. 
 He beat me grievously, in the shape of a 
 woman; for in the shape of man, Master 
 Brook, I fear not Goliath with a weaver's 
 beam ; because I know also life is a shuttle. I 
 am in haste ; go along with me ; I '11 tell you 
 all, Master Brook. Since I plucked geese, 
 played truant, and whipped top, I knew not 
 what it was to be beaten till lately. Follow 
 me : I '11 tell you strange things of this knave 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 75 
 
 Ford, on whom to-night I will be revenged, 
 and I will deliver his wife into your hand. 
 Follow. Strange things in hand, Master 
 Brook ! follow. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. Windsor Park. 
 Enter PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER. 
 
 Page. Come, come ; we '11 couch i* the 
 castle-ditch till we see the light of our fairies. 
 Remember, son Slender, my daughter. 
 
 Slen. Ay, forsooth ; I have spoke with her, 
 and we have a nay-word how to know one 
 another ; I come to her in white and cry mum ; 
 she cries budget ; and by that we know one 
 another. 
 
 ShaL That 's good too : but what needs either 
 your mum or her budget? the white will decipher 
 her well enough. It hath struck ten o'clock. 
 
 Page. The night is dark ; light and spirits 
 will become it well. Heaven prosper our 
 sport ! No man means evil but the devil, and 
 we shall know him by his horns. Let 's away ; 
 follow me. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. The Street in Windsor. 
 Enter Mrs. PAGE, Mrs. FORD, and Dr. CAIUS. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Master doctor, my daughter is 
 in green : when you see your time, take her by 
 the hand, away with her to the deanery, and 
 dispatch it quickly. Go before into the park ; 
 we two must go together. 
 
 Cams. I know vat I have to do ; adieu. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Fare you well, sir. [Exit 
 CAIUS.] My husband will not rejoice so much 
 at the abuse of Falstaff as he will chafe at the 
 doctor's marrying my daughter : but 'tis no 
 matter'; better a little chiding than a great deal 
 of heart-break. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Where is Nan now, and her 
 troop of fairies ? and the Welsh devil, Hugh ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. They are all couched in a pit 
 hard by Herne's oak, with obscured lights ; 
 which, at the very instant of FalstafFs and our 
 meeting, they will at once display to the night. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. That cannot choose but amaze 
 him. 
 
 Mrs. Page. If he be not amazed he will be 
 mocked ; if he be amazed he will every way be 
 mocked. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. We '11 betray him finely. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Against such lewdsters and their 
 
 lechery, 
 Those that betray them do no treachery. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. The hour draws on. To the 
 oak, to the oak ! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. Windsor Park. 
 
 Enter Sir HUGH EVANS, and Fairies. 
 
 Eva. Trib, trib, fairies; come; and remember 
 
 your parts : be pold, I pray you ; follow me into 
 
 the pit ; and when I give the watch-'ords, do as 
 
 I pid you. Come, come ; trib, trib. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. Another part of the Park. 
 
 Enter FALSTAFF disguised, with a buck's 
 "'] head on. 
 
 Fal. The Windsor bell hath struck twelve ; 
 the minute draws on. Now the hot-blooded 
 gods assist me : Remember, Jove, thou wast 
 a bull for thy Europa ; love set on thy horns. 
 O powerful love ! that in some respects 
 makes a beast a man ; in some other a man a 
 beast. You were also, Jupiter, a swan, for the 
 love of Leda : O omnipotent love ! how near 
 the god drew to the complexion of a goose ? 
 A fault done first in the form of a beast : O 
 Jove, a beastly fault ! and then another fault in 
 the semblance of a fowl ; think on 't, Jove ; a 
 foul fault. When gods have hot backs what 
 shall poor men do ? For me, I am here a 
 Windsor stag ; and the fattest, I think, i' the 
 forest. Send me a cool rut-time, Jove, or who 
 can blame me to piss my tallow ? Who comes 
 here ? my doe ? 
 
 Enter Mrs. FORD and Mrs. PAGE. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Sir John ? art thou there, my 
 deer ? my male deer ? 
 
 Fal. My doe with the black scut ? Let the 
 sky rain potatoes ; let it thunder to the tune of 
 Green Sleeves; hail kissing-comfits, and snow 
 eringoes ; let there come a tempest of provoca- 
 tion, I will shelter me here. [Embracing her. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Mistress Page is come with me, 
 sweetheart. 
 
 Fal. Divide me like a bribe-buck, each a 
 haunch : I will keep my sides to myself, my 
 shoulders for the fellow of this walk, and my 
 horns I bequeath your husbands. Am I a 
 woodman ? ha ! Speak I like Herne the 
 hunter? Why, now is Cupid a child of con- 
 science; he makes restitution. As I am a true 
 spirit, welcome ! [Noise within. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Alas ! what noise ? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Heaven forgive our sins ! 
 
 Fal. What should this be ? 
 
 ge. >- {.Theyrunoff. 
 
 Fal. I think the devil will not have me 
 damned lest the oil that is in me should set hell 
 on fire ; he would never else cross me thus. 
 
MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Enter Sir HUGH EVANS, like a satyr ; Mrs. 
 QUICKLY and PISTOL ; ANNE PAGE, as the 
 Fairy Queen, attended by her brother and 
 others, dressed like fairies, with waxen tapers 
 on their heads. 
 
 Quick. Fairies, black, gray, green, and white, 
 You moonshine revellers and shades of night, 
 You orphan-heirs of fixed destiny, 
 Attend your office and your quality. 
 Crier Hobgoblin, make the fairy o-yes. 
 
 Pist. Elves, list your names ; silence, you airy 
 
 toys. 
 
 Cricket, to Windsor chimneys shalt thou leap : 
 Where fires thou find'st unrak'd, and hearths un- 
 
 swept, 
 
 There pinch the maids as blue as bilberry : 
 Our radiant queen hates sluts and sluttery. 
 Fal. They are fairies ; he that speaks to them 
 shall die : [eye. 
 
 I '11 wink and couch : no man their works must 
 [Lies down upon his face. 
 Eva. Where's Pede? Go you, and where 
 
 you find a maid 
 
 That, ere she sleep, has thrice her prayers said, 
 Raise up the organs of her fantasy, 
 , Sleep she as sound as careless infancy ; 
 But those as sleep and think not on their sins, 
 Pinch them, arms, legs, backs, shoulders, sides, 
 
 and shins. 
 
 Qttick. About, about ; 
 
 Search Windsor castle, elves, within and out : 
 Strew good luck, ouphes, on every sacred room ; 
 That it may stand till the perpetual doom, 
 In state as wholesome as in state 'tis fit, 
 Worthy the owner and the owner it. 
 The several chairs of order look you scour 
 With juice of balm and every precious flower ; 
 Each fair instalment, coat, and several crest, 
 With loyal blazon evermore be blest ! 
 And nightly, meadow-fairies, look you sing, 
 Like to the Garter's compass, in a ring : 
 The expressure that it bears, green let it be, 
 More fertile-fresh than all the field to see ; 
 And, Hony soit ytii mal y pense write, 
 In emerald tufts, flowers purple, blue and white : 
 Like sapphire, pearl, and rich embroidery, 
 Buckled below fair knighthood's bending knee : 
 Fairies use flowers for their charactery. 
 Away ; disperse : but, 'tis one o'clock, 
 Our dance of custom, round about the oak 
 Of Herne the hunter, let us not forget. 
 
 Eva. Pray you, lock hand in hand ; your- 
 selves in order set : 
 
 And twenty glow-worms shall our lanterns be, 
 To guide our measure round about the tree. 
 But, stay : I smell a man of middle earth. 
 
 Fal. Heavens defend me from that Welsh 
 fairy ! lest he transform me to a piece of cheese ! 
 
 Pist. Vile worm, thou wast o'erlook'd even 
 in thy birth. 
 
 Quick. With trial-fire touch me his finger end: 
 If he be chaste, the flame will back descend 
 And turn him to no pain ; but if he start, 
 It is the flesh of a corrupted heart. 
 
 Pist. A trial, come. 
 
 Eva. Come, will this wood take fire ? 
 
 [ They burn him with their tapers. 
 
 Fal. Oh, oh, oh ! 
 
 Quick. Corrupt, corrupt, and tainted in desire ! 
 About him, fairies ; sing a scornful rhyme ; 
 And, as you trip, still pinch him to your time. 
 
 Eva. It is right ; indeed he is full of lecheries 
 and iniquity. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Fye on sinful fantasy ! 
 
 Fye on lust and luxury ! 
 
 Lust is but a bloody fire, 
 
 Kindkd with unchaste desire, 
 
 Fed in heart ; whose flames aspire, 
 
 As thoughts do blow them, higher and higher. 
 
 Pinch him, fairies, mutually ; 
 
 Pinch him for his villany ; 
 Pinch him, and burn him, and turn him about, 
 Till candles, and star-light, and moonshine be out. 
 
 During this song tJie fairies pinch FALSTAFF. 
 DffctorCAivs comes one way, and steals away 
 a fairy in green ; SLENDER another way, and 
 takes o^" a fairy in white ; and FENTON comes, 
 and steals away Mrs. ANNE PAGE. A noise 
 of hunting is made within. A II the fairies 
 run away. FALSTAFF pulls off his buck's 
 head and rises. 
 
 Enter PAGE, FORD, Mrs. PAGE, and Mrs. 
 FORD. They lay hold on him. 
 
 Page. Nay, do not fly ; I think we have 
 
 watch'd you now : 
 Will none but Herne the hunter serve your turn ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. I pray you come ; hold up the 
 
 jest no higher : 
 
 Now, good Sir John, how like you Windsor wives? 
 See you these, husband ? do not these fair yokes 
 Become the forest better than the town ? 
 
 Ford. Now, sir, who 's a cuckold now ? 
 Master Brook, Falstaff's a knave, a cuckoldly 
 knave ; here are his horns, Master Brook : and, 
 Master Brook, he hath enjoyed nothing of Ford's 
 but his buck -basket, his cudgel, and twenty 
 pounds of money ; which must be paid to 
 Master Brook ; his horses are arrested for it, 
 Master Brook. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Sir John, we have had ill luck ; 
 we could never meet. I will never take you 
 for my love again, but I will always count you 
 my deer. 
 
SCENE V.] 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 77 
 
 Fal. I do begin to perceive that I am made 
 an ass. 
 
 Ford. Ay, and an ox too ; both the proofs 
 are extant. 
 
 Fal. And these are not fairies ? I was three 
 or four times in the thought they were not 
 fairies : and yet the guiltiness of my mind, the 
 sudden surprise of my powers, drove the gross- 
 ness of the foppery into a received belief, in de- 
 spite of the teeth of all rhyme and reason, that 
 they were fairies. See now how wit may be 
 made a Jack-a-lent when 'tis upon ill employ- 
 ment. 
 
 Eva. Sir John Falstaff, serve Got and leave 
 your desires, and fairies will not pinse you. 
 
 Ford. Well said, fairy Hugh. 
 
 Eva. And leave you your jealousies too, I 
 pray you. 
 
 Ford. I will never mistrust my wife again, 
 till thou art able to woo her in good English. 
 
 Fal. Have I laid my brain in the sun, and 
 dried it, that it wants matter to prevent so gross 
 o'er-reaching as this? Am I ridden with a 
 Welsh goat too ? Shall I have a coxcomb of 
 frize ? 'Tis time I were choked with a piece of 
 toasted cheese. 
 
 Eva. Seese is not good to give putter ; your 
 pelly is all putter. 
 
 Fal. Seese and putter ! have I lived to stand 
 at the taunt of one that makes fritters of English? 
 This is enough to be the decay of lust and late- 
 walking through the realm. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Why, Sir John, do you think, 
 though we would have thrust virtue out of our 
 hearts by the head and shoulders, and have given 
 ourselves without scruple to hell, that ever the 
 devil could have made you our delight ? 
 
 Ford. What ! a hodge-puddirig? a bag of flax? 
 
 Mrs. Page. A puffed man ? 
 
 Page. Old, cold, withered, and of intolerable 
 entrails ? 
 
 Ford. And one that is as slanderous as Satan ? 
 
 Page. And as poor as Job ? 
 
 Ford. And as wicked as his wife ? 
 
 Eva. And given to ornications, and to 
 taverns, and sack, and wine, and metheglins, 
 and to drinkings, and swearings, and starings, 
 pribbles, and prabbles ? 
 
 Fal. Well, I am your theme : you have the 
 start of me ; I am dejected ; I am not able to 
 answer the Welsh flannel : ignorance itself is a 
 plummet o'er me ; use me as you will. 
 
 Ford. Marry, sir, we '11 bring you to Windsor, 
 to one Master Brook, that you have cozened of 
 money, to whom you should have been a pander: 
 over and above that you have suffered, I think, 
 to repay that money will be a biting affliction. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Nay, husband, let that go to 
 
 make amends : 
 Forgive that sum, and so we '11 all be friends. 
 
 Ford. Well, here 's my hand ; all 's forgiven 
 at last. 
 
 Page. Yet be cheerful, knight : thou shall eat 
 a posset to-night at my house ; where I will de- 
 sire thee to laugh at my wife, that now laughs 
 at thee. Tell her Master Slender hath married 
 her daughter. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Doctors doubt that : if Anne 
 Page be my daughter, she is by this Doctor 
 Caius' wife. {Aside. 
 
 Enter SLENDER. 
 
 Slen. Who ho ! ho ! father Page ! 
 
 Page. Son ! how now? how now, son ? have 
 you dispatched ? 
 
 Slen. Dispatched ! I '11 make the best in 
 Gloucestershire know on 't ; would I were 
 hanged, la, else. 
 
 Page. Of what, son ? 
 
 Slen. I cai:.e yonder at Eton to marry Mis- 
 tress Aune Page, and she's a great lubberly 
 boy. If it had not been i' the church I would 
 have swinged him, or he should have swinged 
 me. If I did not think it had been Anne Page, 
 would I might never stir, and 'tis a postmaster's 
 boy. 
 
 Page. Upon my life then you took the wrong. 
 
 Slen. What need you tell me that ? I think 
 so, when I took a boy for a girl. If I had been 
 married to him, for all he was in woman's ap- 
 parel, I would not have had him. 
 
 Page. Why, this is your own folly. Did not 
 I tell you how you should know my daughter 
 by her garments ? 
 
 Slen. I went to her in white and cried mum, 
 and she cried budget, as Anne and I had ap- 
 pointed ; and yet it was not Anne, but a post- 
 master's boy. 
 
 Eva. Jeshu ! Master Slender, cannot you see 
 but marry boys ? 
 
 Page. Oh, I am vexed at heart : what shal lido? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Good George, be not angry : I 
 knew of your purpose ; turned my daughter into 
 green ; and, indeed, she is now with the doctor 
 at the deanery, and there married. 
 
 Enter CAIUS. 
 
 Caius. Vere is Mistress Page? By gar, I 
 am cozened ; I ha' married un garfon, a boy ; 
 tin paisan, by gar, a boy ; it is not Anne Page : 
 by gar, I am cozened. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Why, did you take her in green ? 
 
 Caius. Ay, by gar, and 'tis a boy : by gar, 
 I '11 raise all Windsor. {Exit CAIUS. 
 
MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Ford. This is strange. Who hath got the 
 right Anne ? 
 
 Page. My heart misgives me : here comes 
 Master Fenton. 
 
 Enter FENTON and ANNE PAGE. 
 
 How now, Master Fenton ? 
 
 Anne. Pardon, good father ! good my mother, 
 pardon ! 
 
 Page. Now, Mistress, how chance you went 
 not with Master Slender ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Why went you not with master 
 doctor, maid? 
 
 Pent. You do amaze her : Hear the truth of it. 
 You would have married her most shamefully, 
 Where there was no proportion held in love. 
 The truth is, she and I, long since contracted, 
 Are now so sure that nothing can dissolve us. 
 The offence is holy that she hath committed : 
 And this deceit loses the name of craft, 
 Of disobedience, or unduteous title ; 
 Since therein she doth evitate and shun 
 A thousand irreligious cursed hours, [her. 
 
 Which forced marriagewould have brought upon 
 
 Ford. Stand not amazed : here isno remedy: 
 In love, the heavens themselves do guide the 
 
 state ; 
 
 Money buys lands, and wives are sold by fate. 
 Fal. I am glad, though you have ta'en a 
 special stand to strike at me, that your arrow 
 hath glanced. 
 
 Page. Well, what remedy? Fenton, heaven 
 
 give thee joy ! 
 
 What cannot be eschewed must be embraced. 
 Fal. When night-dogs run all sorts of deer 
 
 are chased. 
 Eva. I will dance and eat plums at your 
 
 wedding. 
 Mrs. Page. Well, I will muse no further : 
 
 Master Fenton, 
 
 Heaven give you many, many merry days ! 
 Good husband, let us every one go home, 
 And laugh this sport o'er by a country fire ; 
 Sir John and all. 
 
 Ford. Let it be so : Sir John, 
 To Master Brook you yet shall hold your word ; 
 For he, to-night, shall lie with Mistress Ford. 
 
 {Exeunt. 
 
 
 'v't'Ciont ifftAi :ysqai 
 
TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 ORSINO, .>#&? of Illyria. 
 
 SEBASTIAN, a young Gentleman, brother to 
 VIOLA. 
 
 ANTONIO, a Sea Captain, friend to SEBAS- 
 TIAN. 
 
 A SEA CAPTAIN, friend to VIOLA. 
 
 VALENTINE, \ Gentlemen attending on the 
 
 CURIO, / Duke. 
 
 SIR TOBY BELCH, Uncle <?/ OLIVIA. 
 
 SIR ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK. 
 
 MALVOLIO, Steward to OLIVIA. 
 CLOWN,* \ Servants to Ql^i^ 
 
 OLIVIA, a rich Countess. 
 VIOLA, in love with the Duke. 
 MARIA, OLIVIA'S Woman. 
 
 Lords, Priests, Sailors, Officers, Musicians, 
 and other Attendants. 
 
 SCENE, A City in ILLYRIA ; and the Sea-coast near it. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 
 SCENEI. An Apartment in //fcDuKE's Palace. 
 
 Enter DUKE, CURIO, Lords ; Musicians 
 attending. 
 
 Duke. If music be the food of love, play on, 
 Give me excess of it ; that, surfeiting, 
 The appetite may sicken and so die. 
 That strain again ; it had a dying fall ; 
 O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south, 
 That breathes upon a bank of violets, 
 Stealing, and giving odour. Enough; no more ; 
 'Tis not so sweet now as it was before. 
 O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou ! 
 That, notwithstanding thy capacity 
 Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there, 
 Of what validity and pitch soever, 
 But falls into abatement and low price 
 Even in a minute ! so full of shapes is fancy, 
 That it along is high-fantastical. 
 
 Cur. Will you go hunt, my lord ? 
 
 Duke. What, Curio? 
 
 Cur. The hart. 
 
 Duke. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have : 
 O, when mine eyes did see Olivia first, 
 Methought she purg'd the air of pestilence ; 
 That instant was I tum'd into a hart ; 
 And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds, 
 E'er since pursue me. How now ? what 
 news from her ? 
 
 Enter VALENTINE. 
 
 VaL So please my lord, I might not be ad- 
 mitted, 
 
 But from her handmaid do return this answer : 
 The element itself, till seven years' heat, 
 Shall not behold her face at ample view ; 
 
 But, like a cloistress, she will veiled walk, 
 And water once a-day her chamber round 
 With eye-o ending brine : all this to season 
 A brother's dead love, which she would keep fresh 
 And lasting in her sad remembrance. [frame, 
 Duke. O, she that hath a heart of that fine 
 To pay this debt of love but to a brother, 
 How will she love when the rich golden shaft 
 Hath kill'd the flock of all affections else 
 That live in her ! when liver, brain, and heart, 
 These sov'reign thrones, are all supplied and 
 
 fill'd,- 
 
 Her sweet perfections, with one self king ! 
 Away before me to sweet beds of flowers ; 
 Love- thoughts lie rich when canopied with 
 
 bowers. {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. The Sea-coast. 
 Enter VIOLA, Captain, and Sailors. 
 Vio. What country, friends, is this ? 
 Cap. Illyria, lady. 
 
 Vio. And what should I do in Illyria ? 
 My brother he is in Elysium. 
 Perchance he is not drown'd : What think 
 you, sailors? [sav'd. 
 
 Cap. It is perchance that you yourself were 
 Vio. O my poor brother ! and so perchance, 
 may he be. [with chance, 
 
 Cap. True, madam; and, to comfort you 
 Assure yourself, after our ship did split, 
 When you, and that poor number sav'd with you, 
 Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother, 
 Most provident in peril, bind himself, 
 Courage and hope both teaching him the prac- 
 tice, 
 
 To a strong mast that liv'd upon the sea ; 
 Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back, 
 
So 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT ; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 (ACT 
 
 I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves 
 So long as I could see. 
 
 Vio. For saying so, there 's gold : 
 
 Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope, 
 Whereto thy speech serves for authority, 
 The like of him. Know'st thou this country? 
 
 Cap. Ay, madam, well ; for I was bred and 
 
 born 
 Not three hours' travel from this very place. 
 
 Vio. Who governs here ? 
 
 Cap. A noble duke, in nature 
 
 As in his name. 
 
 Vio. What is his name ? 
 
 Cap. Orsino. 
 
 Vio. Orsino ! I have heard my father name 
 
 him. 
 He was a bachelor then. 
 
 Cap. And so is now, 
 
 Or was so very late : for but a month 
 Ago I went from hence ; and then 'twas fresh 
 In murmur, as you know, what great ones do, 
 The less will prattle of, that he did seek 
 The love of fair Olivia. 
 
 Vio. What's she? 
 
 Cap. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count 
 That died some twelvemonth since ; then leav- 
 ing her 
 
 In the protection of his son, her brother, 
 Who shortly also died : for whose dear love, 
 They say, she hath abjured the company 
 And sight of men. 
 
 Vio. O that I served that lady ! 
 
 And might not be delivered to the world, 
 Till I had made mine own occasion mellow 
 What my estate is. 
 
 Cap. That were hard to compass : 
 
 Because she will admit no kind of suit, 
 No, not the duke's. 
 
 Vio. There is a fair behaviour in thee, captain ; 
 And though that nature with a beauteous wall 
 Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee 
 I will believe thou hast a mind that suits 
 With this thy fair and outward character. 
 I pray thee, and I '11 pay thee bounteously, 
 Conceal me what I am ; and be my aid 
 For such disguise as, haply, shall become 
 The form of my intent. I '11 serve this duke ; 
 Thou shalt present me as an eunuch to him ; 
 It may be worth thy pains ; for I can sing, 
 And speak to him in many sorts of music 
 That will allow me very worth his service. 
 What else may hap to time I will commit ; 
 Only shape thou thy silence to my wit. 
 
 Cap. Be you his eunuch and your mute I '11 be ; 
 When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see ! 
 
 Vio. I thank thee. Lead me on. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. A Room in OLIVIA'S House. 
 Enter Sir TOBY BELCH and MARIA. 
 
 Sir To. What a plague means my niece, to 
 take the death of her brother thus ? I am sure 
 care 's an enemy to life. 
 
 Mar. By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come 
 in earlier o' nights ; your cousin, my lady, takes 
 great exceptions to your ill hours. 
 
 Sir To. Why, let her except, before excepted. 
 
 Mar. Ay, but you must confine yourself 
 within the modest limits of order. 
 
 Sir To. Confine? I '11 confine myself no finer 
 than I am : these clothes are good enough to drink 
 in, and so be these boots too ; an they be not, 
 let them hang themselves in their own straps. 
 
 Mar. That quaffing and drinking will undo 
 you : I heard my lady talk of it yesterday ; and 
 of a foolish knight that you brought in one 
 night here to be her wooer. 
 
 Sir To. Who ? Sir Andrew Ague-cheek ? 
 
 Mar. Ay, he. 
 
 Sir To. He 's as tall a man as any 's in Illyria. 
 
 Mar. What 's that to the purpose ? 
 
 Sir To. Why, he has three thousand ducats 
 a-year. 
 
 Mar. Ay, but he '11 have but a year in all 
 these ducats ; he 's a very fool, and a prodigal. 
 Sir To. Fye, that you '11 say so ! he plays o' 
 the viol-de-gambo, and speaks three or four 
 languages word for word without book, and 
 hath all the good gifts of nature. 
 
 Mar. He hath, indeed, almost natural : for, 
 besides that he 's a fool, he's a great quarreller ; 
 and, but that he hath the gift of a coward to 
 allay the gust he hath in quarrelling, 'tis 
 thought among the prudent he would quickly 
 have the gift of a grave. 
 
 Sir To. By this hand, they are scoundrels and 
 substractors that say so of him. Who are they ? 
 
 Mar. They that add, moreover, he 's drunk 
 nightly in your company. 
 
 Sir To. With drinking healths to my niece ; 
 I '11 drink to her as long as there is a passage in 
 my throat and drink in Illyria. He 's a coward 
 and a coystril that will not drink to my niece 
 till his brains turn o' the toe like a parish-top. 
 What, wench ? Castiliano-vulgo ! for here 
 comes Sir Andrew Ague-face. 
 
 Enter Sir ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK. 
 Sir And. Sir Toby Belch ! how now, Sir 
 Toby Belch ? 
 
 Sir To. Sweet Sir Andrew ? 
 
 Sir And. Bless you, fair shrew. 
 
 Mar. And you too, sir. 
 
 Sir To. Accost, Sir Andrew, accost 
 
SCENE in.] TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 81 
 
 Sir And. What 's that ? 
 
 Sir To. My niece's chamber-maid. 
 
 Sir And. Good Mistress Accost, I desire 
 better acquaintance. 
 
 Mar. My name is Mary, sir. 
 
 Sir And. Good Mistress Mary Accost, 
 
 Sir To. You mistake, knight : accost is, 
 front her, board her, woo her, assail her. 
 
 Sir And. By my troth, I would not under- 
 take her in this company. Is that the meaning 
 of accost ? 
 
 Mar. Fare you well, gentlemen. 
 
 Sir To. An thou let part so, Sir Andrew, 
 would thou mightst never draw sword again. 
 
 Sir And. An you part so, mistress, I would 
 I might never draw sword again. Fair lady, 
 do you think you have fools in hand ? 
 
 Mar. Sir, I have not you by the hand. 
 
 Sir And. Marry, but you shall have ; and 
 here 's my hand. 
 
 Mar. Now, sir, thought is free. I pray you, 
 bring your hand to the buttery-bar and let it 
 drink. 
 
 Sir And. Wherefore, sweetheart? what's 
 your metaphor ? 
 
 Mar. It's dry, sir. 
 
 Sir And. Why, I think so ; I am not such 
 an ass but I can keep my hand dry. But 
 what 's your jest ? 
 
 Mar. A dry jest, sir. 
 
 Sir And. Are you full of them ? 
 
 Mar. Ay, sir ; I have them at my fingers' 
 ends : marry, now I let go your hand I am barren. 
 
 [Exit MARIA. 
 
 Sir To. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of 
 canary : When did I see thee so put down ? 
 
 Sir And. Never in your life, I think ; unless 
 you see canary put me down. Methinks some- 
 times I have no more wit than a Christian or an 
 ordinary man has ; but I am a great eater of 
 beef, and, I believe, that does harm to my wit. 
 
 Sir To. No question. 
 
 Sir And. An I thought that, I 'd forswear it. 
 I '11 ride home to-morrow, Sir Toby. 
 
 Sir To. Pourquoy, my dear knight ? 
 
 Sir And. What is pourquoy ? do or not do ? 
 I would I had bestowed that time in the tongues 
 that I have in fencing, dancing, and bear-bait- 
 ing. O, had I but followed the arts ! 
 
 Sir To. Then hadst thou had an excellent 
 head of hair. 
 
 Sir And. Why, would that have mended my 
 hair? 
 
 Sir To. Past question ; for thou seest it will 
 not curl by nature. 
 
 Sir And. But it becomes me well enough, 
 does't not? 
 
 Sir To. Excellent ; it hangs like ilax on a 
 distaff ; and I hope to see a housewife take thee 
 between her legs and spin it off. 
 
 Sir And. Faith, I '11 home to-morrow, Sir 
 Toby ; your niece will not be seen ; or, if she 
 be, it 's four to one she '11 none of me ; the count 
 himself here hard by woos her. 
 
 Sir To. She '11 none o' the count ; she '11 not 
 match above her degree, neither in estate, years, 
 nor wit ; I have heard her swear it. Tut, there's 
 life in 't, man. 
 
 Sir And. I'll stay a month longer. I am 
 a fellow o' the strangest mind i' the world ; I 
 delight in masques and revels sometimes alto- 
 gether. 
 
 Sir To. Art thou good at these kick-shaws, 
 knight ? 
 
 Sir And. As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he 
 be, under the degree of my betters ; and yet I 
 will not compare with an old man. 
 
 Sir To. What is thy excellence in a galliard, 
 knight ? 
 
 Sir And. Faith, I can cut a caper. 
 
 Sir To. And I can cut the mutton to 't. 
 
 Sir And. And, I think, I have the back-trick 
 simply as strong as any man in Illyria. 
 
 Sir To. Wherefore are these things hid ? 
 wherefore have these gifts a curtain before them? 
 are they like to take dust, like Mistress Mall's 
 picture ? why dost thou not go to church in a 
 galliard and come home in a coranto ? My very 
 walk should be a jig ; I would not so much as 
 make water but in a sink-a-pace. What dost 
 thou mean ? is it a world to hide virtues in ? I 
 did think, by the excellent constitution of thy 
 leg, it was formed under the star of a galliard. 
 
 Sir And. Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indiffer- 
 ent well in a flame-coloured stock. Shall we 
 set about some revels? 
 
 Sir To. What shall we do else ? were we not 
 born under Taurus ? 
 
 Sir And. Taurus ? that 's sides and heart. 
 
 Sir To. No, sir ; it is legs and thighs. Let 
 me see thee caper : ha ! higher : ha, ha ! ex- 
 cellent ! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. A Room in the DUKE'S Palace. 
 Enter VALENTINE, and VIOLA in man's attire. 
 
 VaL If the duke continue these favours to- 
 wards you, Cesario, you are like to be much ad- 
 vanced ; he hath known you but three days, and 
 already you are no stranger. 
 
 Via. You either fear his humour or my negli- 
 gence, that you call in question the continuance 
 of his love. Is he inconstant, sir, in his favours ? 
 
 Val. No, believe me. 
 
TWELFTH NIGHT ; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 Enter DUKE, CURIO, and Attendants. 
 
 Vio. I thank you. Here comes the count. 
 
 Duke. Who saw Cesario, ho ? 
 
 Vio. On your attendance, my lord ; here. 
 
 Duke. Stand you awhile aloof. Cesario, 
 Thou know'st no less but all ; I have unclasp'd 
 To thee the book even of my secret soul : 
 Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her ; 
 Be not denied access, stand at her doors, 
 And tell them there thy fixed foot shall grow 
 Till thou have audience. 
 
 Vio. Sure, my noble lord, 
 
 If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow 
 As it is spoke, she never will admit me. 
 
 Duke. Be clamorous, and leap all civil bounds, 
 Rather than make unprofited return. 
 
 Vio. Say I do speak with her, my lord. 
 What then? 
 
 Duke. O, then unfold the passion of my love, 
 Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith : 
 It shall become thee well to act my woes ; 
 She will attend it better in thy youth 
 Than in a nuncio of more grave aspect. 
 
 Vio. I think not so, my lord. 
 
 Duke. Dear lad, believe it, 
 
 For they shall yet belie thy happy years 
 That say thou art a man : Diana's lip 
 Is not more smooth and rubious ; thy small pipe 
 Is as the maiden's organ, shrill and sound, 
 And all is semblative a woman's part. 
 I know thy constellation is right apt 
 For this affair : Some four or five attend him : 
 All, if you will ; for I myself am best 
 When least in company : Prosper well in this 
 And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord, 
 To call his fortunes thine. 
 
 Vio. I '11 do my best 
 
 To woo your lady : yet, \aside\ a barful strife ! 
 Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife. 
 
 SCENE V. A Room in OLIVIA'S House. 
 Enter MARIA and CLOWN. 
 
 Mar. Nay ; either tell me where thou hast 
 been, or I will not open my lips so wide as a 
 bristle may enter in -way of thy excuse : my lady 
 will hang thee for thy absence. 
 
 Clo. Let her hang me : he that is well hanged 
 in this world needs to fear no colours. 
 
 Mar. Make that good. 
 
 Clo. He shall see none to fear. 
 
 Mar. A good lenten answer : I can tell thee 
 where that saying was born, of, I fear no colours. 
 
 Clo. Where, good Mistress Mary ? 
 
 Mar. In the wars ; and that may you be bold 
 to say in your foolery. 
 
 Clo, Well, God give them wisdom that have 
 
 it ; and those that are fools, let them use their 
 talents. 
 
 Mar. Yet you will be hanged for being so 
 long absent : or, to be turned away ; is not 
 that as good as a hanging to you ? 
 
 Clo. Many a good hanging prevents a bad 
 marriage ; and for turning away, let summer 
 bear it out. 
 
 Mar. You are resolute, then ? 
 
 Clo. Not so neither : but I am resolved on 
 two points. 
 
 Mar. That, if one break, the other will hold ; 
 or, if both break, your gaskins fall. 
 
 Clo. Apt, in good faith ; very apt ! Well, 
 go thy way ; if Sir Toby would leave drinking, 
 thou wert as witty a piece of Eve's flesh as any 
 in Illyria. 
 
 Mar. Peace, you rogue ; no more o' that ; 
 here comes my lady : make your excuse wisely ; 
 you were best. [Exit. 
 
 Enter OLIVIA and MALVOLIO. 
 
 Clo. Wit, and 't be thy will, put me into good 
 fooling ! Those wits that think they have thee, 
 do very oft prove fools ; and I, that am sure I 
 lack thee, may pass for a wise man. For what 
 says Quinapalus? Better a witty fool than a 
 foolish wit. --God bless thee, lady ! 
 
 OK. Take the fool away. [the lady 
 
 Clo. Do you not hear, fellows? Take awa^. 
 
 OK. Go to, you 're a dry fool ; I '11 no more 
 of you : besides, you grow dishonest. 
 
 Clo. Two faults, madonna, that drink and 
 good counsel will amend : for give the dry fool 
 drink, then is the fool not dry ; bid the dis- 
 honest man mend himself : if he mend, he is no 
 longer dishonest ; if he cannot, let the botcher 
 mend him. Anything that's mended is but 
 patched ; virtue that transgresses is but patched 
 with sin ; and sin that amends is but patched 
 with virtue. If that this simple syllogism will 
 serve, so ; if it will not, what remedy ? As 
 there is no true cuckold but calamity, so beauty's 
 a flower : the lady bade take away the fool ; 
 therefore, I say again, take her away. 
 
 Oli. Sir, I bade them take away you. 
 
 Clo. Misprision in the highest degree ! Lady, 
 Cucullus non facit monachum ; that 's as much 
 as to say, I wear not motley in my brain. Good 
 madonna, give me leave to prove you a fool. 
 
 Oli. Can you do it ? 
 
 Clo. Dexterously, good madonna. 
 
 Oli. Make your proof. 
 
 Clo. I must catechise you for it, madonna. 
 Good my mouse of virtue, answer me. 
 
 OK. Well, sir, for want of other idleness, 
 I '11 'bide your proof. 
 
SCENE V.] 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 do. Good madonna, why mourn'st thou ? 
 
 Oli. Good fool, for my brother's death. 
 
 Clo. I think his soul is in hell, madonna. 
 
 OK. I know his soul is in heaven, fool. 
 
 Clo. The more fool you, madonna, to mourn 
 for your brother's soul being in heaven. Take 
 away the fool, gentlemen. 
 
 OH. What think you of this fool, Malvolio ? 
 doth he not mend ? 
 
 Mai. Yes; and shall do, till the pangs of 
 death shake him. Infirmity, that decays the 
 wise, doth ever make the better fool. 
 
 Clo. God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, 
 for the better increasing your folly ! Sir Toby 
 will be sworn that I am no fox ; but he will not 
 pass his word for twopence that you are no 
 fool. 
 
 OH. How say you to that, Malvolio ? 
 
 Mai. I marvel your ladyship takes delight in 
 such a barren rascal ; I saw him put down the 
 other day with an ordinary fool that has no more 
 brain than a stone. Look you now, he 's out 
 of his guard already ; unless you laugh and 
 minister occasion to him, he is gagged. I pro- 
 test, I take these wise men, that crow so at these 
 set kind of fools, no better than the fools' 
 zanies. 
 
 Oli. O, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, 
 and taste with a distempered appetite. To be 
 generous, guiltless, and of free disposition, is to 
 take those things for bird-bolts that you deem 
 cannon-bullets. There is no slander in an 
 allowed fool, though he do nothing but rail ; 
 nor nc railing in a known discreet man, though 
 he do nothing but reprove. 
 
 Clo. Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, 
 for thou speakest well of fools ! 
 
 Re-enter MARIA. 
 
 Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young 
 gentleman much desires to speak with you. 
 
 Oli. From the Count Orsino, is it ? 
 
 Mar. I know not, madam ; 'tis a fair young 
 man, and well attended. 
 
 Oli. Who of my people hold him in delay ? 
 
 Mar. Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman. 
 
 OK. Fetch him off, I pray you ; he speaks 
 nothing but madman. Fie on him! [Exit 
 MARIA.] Go you, Malvolio ; if it be a suit 
 from the count, I am sick, or not at home ; what 
 you will to dismiss it. {Exit MALVOLIO.] 
 Now you see, sir, how your fooling grows old, 
 and people dislike it. 
 
 Clo. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if 
 thy eldest son should be a fool : whose skull 
 Jove cram with brains, for here he comes, one 
 of thy kin, has a most weak/m mater. 
 
 Enter Sir TOBY BELCH. 
 
 Oli. By mine honour, half drunk. What is 
 he at the gate, cousin ? 
 
 Sir To. A gentleman. 
 
 Oli. A gentleman ? What gentleman ? 
 
 Sir To. 'Tis a gentleman here A plague o' 
 these pickle-herrings ! How now, sot ? 
 
 Clo. .Good Sir Toby, - 
 
 Oli. Cousin, cousin, how have you come so 
 early by this lethargy ? 
 
 Sir To. Lechery ! I defy lechery. There 's 
 one at the gate. 
 
 Oli. Ay, marry ; what is he ? 
 
 Sir To. Let him be the devil an he will, I 
 care not : give me faith, say I. Well, it 's all 
 one. [Exit. 
 
 OK. What 's a drunken man like, fool ? 
 
 Clo. Like a drowned man, a fool, and a mad- 
 man : one draught above heat makes him a fool ; 
 the second mads him ; and a third drowns him. 
 
 OK. Go thou and seek the coroner, and let 
 him sit o' my coz ; for he is in the third degree 
 of drink ; he 's drowned : go, look after him. 
 
 Clo. He is but mad yet, madonna ; and the 
 fool shall look to the madman. [Exit CLOWN. 
 
 Re-enter MALVOLIO. 
 
 Mai. Madam, yond young fellow swears he 
 will speak with you. I told him you were sick ; 
 he takes on him to understand so much, and 
 therefore comes to speak with you ; I told him 
 you were asleep; he seems to have a fore- 
 knowledge of that too, and therefore comes to 
 speak with you. What is to be said to him, 
 lady ? he 's fortified against any denial. 
 
 OK. Tell him, he shall not speak with me. 
 
 Mai. He has been told so ; and he says he '11 
 stand at your door like a sheriff's post, and be 
 the supporter of a bench, but he '11 speak with 
 you. 
 
 OK. What kind of man is he ? 
 
 Mai. Why, of mankind. 
 
 OK. What manner of man ? 
 
 Mai. Of very ill manner ; he '11 speak with 
 you, will you or no. 
 
 Ofa . Of what personage and years is he ? 
 
 Mai. Not yet old enough for a man, nor 
 young enough for a boy ; as a squash is before 
 'tis a peascod, or a codling, when 'tis almost an 
 apple : 'tis with him e'en standing water, be- 
 tween boy and man. He is very well-favoured, 
 and he speaks very shrewishly ; one would 
 think his mother's milk were scarce out of him. 
 
 Oli. Let him approach. Call in my gentle- 
 woman. 
 
 Mai. Gentlewoman, my lady calls. [Exit. 
 
TWELFTH NIGHT ; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 [ACT 1. 
 
 Re-enter MARIA. 
 OK, Give me my veil : come, throw it o'er 
 
 my face ; 
 We '11 once more hear Orsino's embassy. 
 
 Enter VIOLA. 
 
 Vio. The honourable lady of the house, 
 which is she ? 
 
 OK. Speak to me, I shall answer for her. 
 Your will ? 
 
 Vio. Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable 
 beauty, I pray you, tell me if this be the lady of 
 the house, for I never saw her : I would be loath 
 to cast away my speech ; for, besides that it is 
 excellently well penned. I have taken great 
 pains to con it. Good beauties, let me sustain 
 no scorn; I am very comptible, even to the 
 least sinister usage. 
 
 OIL Whence came you, sir ? 
 
 Vio. I can say little more than I have studied, 
 and that question 's out of my part. Good gentle 
 one, give me modest assurance, if you be the lady 
 of the house, that I may proceed in my speech. 
 
 OH. Are you a comedian ? 
 
 Vio. No, my profound heart : and yet, by 
 the very fangs of malice, I swear I am not that 
 I play. Are you the lady of the house ? 
 
 OIL If I do not usurp myself, I am. 
 
 Vio. Most certain, if you are she, you do 
 usurp yourself; for what is yours to bestow is not 
 yours to reserve. But this is from my commis- 
 sion : I will on with my speech in your praise, 
 and then show you the heart of my message. 
 
 OIL Come to what is important in 't : I for- 
 give you the praise. 
 
 Vio. Alas, I took great pains to study it, 
 and 'tis poetical. 
 
 OIL It is the more like to be feigned ; I pray 
 you keep it in. I heard you were saucy at my 
 gates ; and allowed your approach, rather to 
 wonder at you than to hear you. If you be not 
 mad, be gone ; if you have reason, be brief: 
 'tis not that time of moon with me to make 
 one in so skipping a dialogue. [way. 
 
 Mar. Will you hoist sail, sir ? here lies your 
 
 Vio. No, good swabber ; I am to hull here 
 a little longer. Some mollification for your 
 giant, sweet lady. 
 
 OIL Tell me your mind. 
 
 Vio, I am a messenger. 
 
 OIL Sure, you have some hideous matter to 
 deliver, when the courtesy of it is so fearful. 
 Speak your office. 
 
 Vio. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no 
 overture of war, no taxation of homage ; I hold 
 the olive in my hand : my words are as full of 
 peace as matter. 
 
 Oli. Yet you began rudely. What are you ? 
 what would you ? 
 
 Vio. The rudeness that hath appeared in me 
 have I learned from my entertainment. What 
 I am and what I would are as sacred as maiden- 
 heads': to your ears, divinity ; to any other's, 
 profanation. 
 
 OIL Give us the place alone : we will hear 
 this divinity. [Exit MARIA.] Now, sir, what 
 is your text ? 
 
 Vio. Most sweet lady, 
 
 OK. A comfortable doctrine, and much may 
 be said of it. Where lies your text ? 
 
 Vio. In Orsino's bosom. 
 
 Oli. In his bosom ? In what chapter of his 
 bosom ? 
 
 Vio. To answer by the method, in the first 
 of his heart. 
 
 OK. O, I have read it ; it is heresy. Have 
 you no more to say ? 
 
 Vio. Good madam, let me see your face. 
 
 Oli. Have you any commission from your lord 
 to negotiate with my face? you are now out of 
 your text : but we will draw the curtain and show 
 you the picture. Look you, sir, such a one as I 
 was this present. Is 't not well done ? 
 
 [ Unveiling. 
 
 Vio. Excellently done, if God did all. 
 
 OK. 'Tis in grain, sir; 'twill endure wind 
 and weather. [white 
 
 Vio. 'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and 
 Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on : 
 Lady, you are the cruel'st she alive, 
 If you will lead these graces to the grave, 
 And leave the world no copy. 
 
 OK. O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted ; I 
 will give out divers schedules of my beauty. It 
 shall be inventoried; and every particle and uten- 
 sil labelled to my will : as, item, two lips indif- 
 ferent red; item, two gray eyes with lids to 
 them ; item, one neck, one chin, and so forth. 
 Were you sent hither to praise me ? [proud ; 
 
 Vio. I see you what you are : you are too 
 But if you were the devil, you are fair. 
 My lord and master loves you. O, such love 
 Could be but recompens'd though you were 
 
 crown'd 
 The nonpareil of beauty ! 
 
 OK. How does he love me ? 
 
 Vio. With adorations, with fertile tears, 
 With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire. 
 
 OK. Your lord does know my mind, I can- 
 not love him : 
 
 Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, 
 Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth ; 
 In voices well divulged, free, learn'd and valiant, 
 And, in dimension and the shape of nature. 
 
SCENE V.] 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT ; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 A gracious person : but yet I cannot love him; 
 He might have took his answer long ago. 
 
 Vio. If I did love you in my master's flame, 
 With such a suffering, such a deadly life, 
 In your denial I would find no sense, 
 I would not understand it. 
 
 OH. Why, what would you ? 
 
 Vio. Make me a willow cabin at your gate, 
 And call upon my soul within the house ; 
 Write loyal cantons of contemned love, 
 And sing them loud, even in the dead of night; 
 Holla your name to the reverberate hills, 
 And make the babbling gossip of the air 
 Cry out Olivia ! O, you should not rest 
 Between the elements of air and earth, 
 But you should pity me. [parentage ? 
 
 OIL You might do much. What is your 
 
 Vio. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well: 
 I am a gentleman. 
 
 OH. Get you to your lord ; 
 
 I cannot love him : let him send no more ; 
 Unless, perchance, you come to me again, 
 To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well : 
 I thank you for your pains : spend this for me. 
 
 Vio. I am no fee'd post, lady; keep your purse; 
 My master, not myself, lacks recompense. 
 Love make his heart of flint that you shall love; 
 And let your fervour, like my master's, be 
 Placed in contempt ! Farewell, fair cruelty. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 OH. What is your parentage ? 
 Above my fortunes, yet my state is well : 
 
 I am a gentleman. 1 '11 be sworn thou art; 
 
 Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and 
 spirit, [soft ! soft ! 
 
 Do give thee fivefold blazon. Not too fast : 
 Unless the master were the man. How now ? 
 Even so quickly may one catch the plague ? 
 Methinks I feel this youth's perfections 
 With an invisible and subtle stealth 
 To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be. 
 What, ho, Malvolio ! 
 
 Re-enter MALVOLIO. 
 
 Mai. 
 
 Here, madam, at your service. 
 
 OH. Run after that same peevish messenger, 
 The county's man : he left this ring behind him, 
 Would I, or not ; tell him I '11 none of it. 
 Desire him not to flatter with his lord, 
 Nor hold him up with hopes ; I am not for him: 
 If that the youth will come this way to-morrow, 
 I '11 give him reasons for 't. Hie thec, Malvolio. 
 
 Mai. Madam, I will. [Exit. 
 
 OH. I do I know not what : and fear to find 
 Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind. 
 Fate, show thy force. Ourselves we do not owe: 
 What is decreed must be ; and be this so! f Exit. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I.T/ie Sea-coast. 
 
 Enter ANTONIO and SEBASTIAN. 
 
 Ant. Will you stay no longer ? nor will you 
 not that I go with you ? 
 
 Seb. By your patience, no : my stars shine 
 darkly over me ; the malignancy of my fate 
 might, perhaps, distemper yours ; therefore I 
 shall crave of you your leave that I may bear my 
 evils alone. It were a bad recompense for your 
 love, to lay any of them on you. 
 
 Ant. Let me yet know of you whither you 
 are bound. 
 
 Seb. No, 'sooth, sir; my determinate voyage 
 is mere extravagancy. But I perceive in you so 
 excellent a touch of modesty, that you will not 
 extort from me what I am willing to keep in ; 
 therefore it charges me in manners the rather to 
 express myself. You must know of me then, 
 Antonio, my name is Sebastian, which I called 
 Rodorigo ; my father was that Sebastian of 
 Messaline whom I know you have heard of: he 
 left behind him myself and a sister, both bom 
 in an hour. If the heavens had been pleased, 
 would we had so ended ! but you, sir, altered 
 that ; for some hours before you took me from 
 the breach of the sea was my sister drowned. 
 
 Ant. Alas the day ! 
 
 Seb. A lady, sir, though it was said she much 
 resembledme, wasyet of many accounted beauti- 
 ful : but though I could not, with such estimable 
 wonder, overfar believe that, yet thus far I will 
 boldly publish her, she bore a mind that envy 
 could not but call fair. She is drowned already, 
 sir, with salt water, though I seem to drown 
 her remembrance again with more. 
 
 Ant. Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment. 
 
 Seb. O, good Antonio, forgive me your trouble. 
 
 Ant. If you will not murder me for my love, 
 let me be your servant. 
 
 Seb. If you will not undo what you have done 
 that is, kill him whom you have recovered 
 desire it not. Fare ye well at once; my bosom is 
 full of kindness ; and I am yet so near the man- 
 ners of my mother that, upon the least occasion 
 more, mine eyes will tell tales of me. I am bound 
 to the Count Orsino's court : farewell. [Exit. 
 
 Ant. The gentleness of all the gods go with 
 
 thee ! 
 
 I have many enemies in Orsino's court, 
 Else would I very shortly see thee there : 
 But come what may, I do adore thee so 
 That danger shall seem sport, and I will go. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 
86 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT ; OK, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 SCENE II. A Street. 
 Enter VIOLA ; MALVOLIO following. 
 Mai. Were not you even now with the Coun- 
 tess Olivia ? 
 
 Vio. Even now, sir ; on a moderate pace I 
 have since arrived but hither. 
 
 Mai She returns this ring to you, sir ; you 
 might have saved me my pains, to have taken 
 it away yourself. She adds moreover, that you 
 should put your lord into a desperate assurance 
 she will none of him : and one thing more; that 
 you be never so hardy to come again in his 
 affairs, unless it be to report your lord's taking 
 of this. Receive it so. 
 
 Vio. She took the ring of me : I '11 none of it. 
 
 Mai, Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to her ; 
 
 and her will is, it should be so returned. If it be 
 
 worth stooping for, there it lies in your eye ; if 
 
 not, be it his that finds it [Exit. 
 
 Vio. I left no ring with her. What means 
 
 this lady ? 
 
 Fortune forbid my outside have not charm'd her! 
 She made good view of me ; indeed, so much, 
 That, sure, methought her eyes had lost her 
 
 tongue, 
 
 For she did speak in starts distractedly. 
 She loves me, sure ; the cunning of her passion 
 Invites me in this churlish messenger. 
 None of my lord's ring! why, he sent her none. 
 I am the man ; if it be so, as 'tis, 
 Poor lady, she were better love a dream. 
 Disguise, I see, thou art a wickedness 
 Wherein the pregnant enemy does much. 
 How easy is it for the proper-false 
 In women's waxen hearts to set their forms ! 
 Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we ; 
 For, such as we are made of, such we be. 
 How will this fadge? My master loves her 
 
 dearly, 
 
 And I, poor monster, fond as much on him ; 
 And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me. 
 What will become of this ? As I am man, 
 My state is desperate for my master's love ; 
 As I am woman, now alas the day ! 
 What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe? 
 O time, thou must untangle this, not I ; 
 It is too hard a knot for me to untie. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III. A Room in OLIVIA'S House. 
 
 Enter Sir TOBY BELCH and Sir ANDREW 
 AGUE-CHEEK. 
 
 Sir To. Approach, Sir Andrew: not to be 
 a-bed after midnight is to be up betimes ; and 
 dilttculo surgert) thou know'st. 
 
 Sir And. Nay ; by my troth, I know not : 
 but I know to be up late is to be up late. 
 
 Sir To. A false conclusion ; I hate it as an 
 unfilled can. To be up after midnight, and to 
 go to bed then is early : so that to go to bed 
 after midnight is to go to bed betimes. Do 
 not our lives consist of the four elements? 
 
 Sir And. Faith, so they say ; but I think it 
 rather consists of eating and drinking. 
 
 Sir To. Thou art a scholar ; let us therefore eat 
 and drink. Marian, I say ! a stoop of wine. 
 
 Enter CLOWN. 
 
 Sir And. Here comes the fool, i' faith. 
 
 Clo. How now, my hearts ? Did you never 
 see the picture of we three ? [catch. 
 
 Sir To. Welcome, ass. Now let 's have a 
 
 Sir And. By my troth, the fool has an ex- 
 cellent breast. I had rather than forty .shillings 
 I had such a leg ; and so sweet a breath to sing 
 as the fool has. In sooth, thou wast in very 
 gracious fooling last night when thou spokest of 
 Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians passing the equi- 
 noctial of Queubus ; 'twas very good, i' faith. 
 I sent thee sixpence for thy leman. Hadst it ? 
 
 Clo. I did impeticos thy gratillity ; for Mal- 
 volio's nose is no whipstock. My lady has a 
 white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle- 
 ale houses. 
 
 Sir And. Excellent ! Why, this is the best 
 fooling, when all is done. Now, a song. 
 
 Sir To. Come on ; there is sixpence for you : 
 let 's have a song. 
 
 Sir And. There 's a testril of me too : if one 
 knight give a 
 
 Clo. Would you have a love-song, or a song 
 of good life ? 
 
 Sir To. A love-song, a love-song. 
 
 Sir And. Ay, ay ; I care not for good life. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Clo. O, mistress mine, where are" you roaming ? 
 O stay and hear ; your true love 's coining, 
 
 That can sing both high and low : 
 Trip no further, pretty sweeting ; 
 Journeys end in lovers' meeting, 
 Every wise man's son doth know. 
 
 Sir And. Excellent good, i' faith. 
 Sir To. Good, good. 
 
 Clo. What is love? 'tis not hereafter ; 
 
 Present mirth hath present laughter ; 
 
 What's to come is still unsure : 
 In delay there lies no plenty ; 
 Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty, 
 
 Youth 's a stuff will not endure. 
 
 Sir And. A mellifluous voice, as I am true 
 knight. 
 Sir To. A contagious breath. 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT ; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 Sir And. Very sweet and contagious, i' faith. 
 
 Sir To. To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in 
 contagion. But shall we make the welkin dance 
 indeed ? Shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch 
 that will draw three souls out of one weaver ? 
 shall we do that ? 
 
 Sir And. An you love me, let 's do 't : I am 
 dog at a catch. 
 
 Clo. By'r lady, sir, and some dogs will 
 catch well. 
 
 Sir And. Most certain : let our catch be, 
 Thou knave. 
 
 Clo. Hold thy peace ', thou knave, knight? I 
 shall be constrained in't to call thee knave, 
 knight. 
 
 Sir And. 'Tis not the first time I have con- 
 strained one to call me knave. Begin, fool; it 
 begins Hold thy peace. 
 
 Clo. I shall never begin if I hold my peace. 
 
 Sir And. Good, i' faith ! Come begin. 
 
 [They sing a catch. 
 
 Enter MARIA. 
 
 Mar. What a caterwauling do you keep here ! 
 If my lady have not called up her steward, Mal- 
 volio, and bid him turn you out of doors, never 
 trust me. 
 
 Sir To. Mylady'sa Catalan, we are politicians; 
 Malvolio 's a Peg-a-Ramsay, and Three merry 
 men be we. Am not I consanguineous? am I not 
 of her blood? Tilly- valley, lady ! There dwelt a 
 man in Babylon, lady, lady. [Singing. 
 
 Clo. Beshrew me, the knight 's in admirable 
 fooling. 
 
 Sir And. Ay, he does well enough if he be 
 disposed, and so do I too ; he does it with a 
 better grace, but I do it more natural. 
 
 Sir To. O, the twelfth day of December ; 
 
 [Singing. 
 
 Mar. For the love o' God, peace. 
 
 Enter MALVOLIO. 
 
 Mai. My masters, are you mad ? or what are 
 you ? Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty, 
 but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night ? 
 Do ye make an ale-house of my lady's house, 
 that ye squeak out your coziers' catches without 
 any mitigation or remorse of voice ? Is there 
 no respect of place, persons, nor time, in you ? 
 
 Sir To. We did keep time, sir, in our catches. 
 Sneck up ! 
 
 Mai. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. 
 My lady bade me tell you that though she har- 
 bours you as her kinsman she 's nothing allied 
 to your disorders. If you can separate yourself 
 and your misdemeanours, you are welcome to 
 the house ; if not, an it would please you to 
 
 take leave of her, she is very willing to bid you 
 farewell. 
 
 Sir To. Farewell, dear heart, since I rmtst 
 needs be gone. 
 
 Mar. Nay, good Sir Toby. 
 
 Clo. His eyes do show his days are almost done. 
 
 Mai. Is 't even so ? 
 
 Sir To. But I will never die. 
 
 Clo. Sir Toby, there you lie. 
 
 Mai. This is much credit to you. 
 
 Sir To. Shall I bid him go ? [Singing. 
 
 Clo. What an if you do ? 
 
 Sir To. Shall I bid him go and spare not ? 
 
 Clo. O no, no, no, no, you dare not. 
 
 Sir To. Out o' tune ? sir, ye lie. Art any 
 more than a steward ? Dost thou think, because 
 thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes 
 and ale ? 
 
 Clo. Yes, by Saint Anne ; and ginger shall 
 be hot i' the mouth too. 
 
 Sir To. Thou'rt i' the right. Go, sir, rub your 
 chain with crumbs : A stoop of wine, Maria ! 
 
 Mai. Mistress Mary, if you prized my lady's 
 favour at anything more than contempt, you 
 would not give means for this uncivil rule ; she 
 shall know of it, by this hand. [Exit. 
 
 Mar". Go shake your ears. 
 
 Sir And.' 'Twere as good a deed as to drink 
 when a man 's a-hungry, to challenge him to the 
 field, and then to break promise with him and 
 make a fool of him. 
 
 Sir To. Do 't, knight ; I '11 write thee a chal- 
 lenge ; or I '11 deliver thy indignation to him by 
 word of mouth. 
 
 Mar. Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for to-night ; 
 since the youth of the count's was to-day with 
 my lady she is much out of quiet. For Monsieur 
 Malvolio, let me alone with him : if I do not gull 
 him into a nay word, and make him a common 
 recreation, do not think I have wit enough to lie 
 straight in my bed. I know I can do it. 
 
 Sir To. Possess us, possess us ; tell us some- 
 thing of him. 
 
 Mar. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of 
 Puritan. 
 
 Sir And. O, if I thought that, I 'd beat him 
 like a dog. 
 
 Sir To. What, for being a Puritan? thy 
 exquisite reason, dear knight ? 
 
 Sir And. I have no exquisite reason for 't, but 
 I have reason good enough. 
 
 Mar. The devil a Puritan that he is, or any- 
 thing constantly but a time pleaser : anaffection'd 
 ass that cons state without book and utters it by 
 great swarths ; the best persuaded of himself, so 
 crammed, as he thinks, with excellences, that it 
 is his ground of faith that all that look on him 
 
88 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 love him ; and on that vice in him will my re- 
 venge find notable cause to work. 
 
 Sir To. What wilt thou do ? 
 
 Mar. I will drop in his way some obscure 
 epistles of love ; wherein, by the colour of his 
 beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of his 
 gait, the expressure of his eye, forehead, and 
 complexion, he shall find himself most feelingly 
 personated. I can write very like my lady, your 
 niece ; on a forgotten matter we can hardly 
 make distinction of our hands. 
 
 Sir To. Excellent ! I smell a device. 
 
 Sir And. I have 't in my nose too. 
 
 Sir To. He shall think, by the letters that 
 thou wilt drop, that they come from my niece, 
 and that she is in love with him. [colour. 
 
 Mar. My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that 
 
 Sir And. And your horse now would make 
 him an ass. 
 
 Mar. Ass, I doubt not. 
 
 Sir And. O 'twill be admirable. 
 
 Mar. Sport royal, I warrant you. I know 
 my physic will work with him. I will plant 
 you two, and let the fool make a third, where 
 he shall find the letter ; observe his construc- 
 tion of it. For this night, to bed, and dream 
 on the event. Farewell. [Exit. 
 
 Sir To. Good-night, Penthesilea 1 . 
 
 Sir And. Before me, she 's a good wench. 
 
 Sir To. She's a beagle, true bred, and one 
 that adores me. What o* that ? 
 
 Sir And. I was adored once too. 
 
 Sir To. Let's to bed, knight. Thou hadst 
 need send for more money. 
 
 Sir And. If I cannot recover your niece I 
 am a foul way out. 
 
 Sir To. Send for money, knight ; if thou hast 
 her not i' the end, call me Cut. 
 
 Sir And. If I do not, never trust me ; take 
 it how you will. 
 
 Sir To. Come, come ; I '11 go burn some 
 sack ; 'tis too late to go to bed now : come, 
 knight ; come, knight. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. A Room in the DUKE'S Palace. 
 Enter DUKE, VIOLA, CURIO, and others. 
 
 Duke. Give me some music : Now, good 
 
 morrow, friends : 
 
 Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song, 
 That old and antique song we heard last night ; 
 Methought it did relieve my passion much ; 
 More than light airs and recollected terms 
 
 Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times : 
 
 Come, but one verse. 
 
 Cur. He is not here, so please your lordsh'ip, 
 that should sing it. 
 
 Duke. Who was it ? 
 
 Cur. Feste, the jester, my lord ; a fool that 
 the Lady Olivia's father took much delight in : 
 he is about the house. -^. -t 
 
 Duke. Seek him out, and play the tune the 
 while. [Exit CURIO. Music. 
 
 Come hither, boy. If ever thou shalt love, 
 In the sweet pangs of it remember me : 
 For, such as I am, all true lovers are ; 
 Unstaid and skittish in all motions else, 
 Save in the constant image of the creature 
 That is belov'd. How dost thou like this tune ? 
 
 Vio. It gives a very echo to the seat 
 Where Love is throned. 
 
 Duke. Thou dost speak masterly : 
 My life upon 't, young though thou art, thine eye 
 Hath stayed upon some favour that it loves ; 
 Hath it not, boy ? 
 
 Vio. A little, by your favour. 
 
 Duke. What kind of woman is 't ? 
 
 Vio. Of your complexion. 
 
 Ditke. She is not worth thee, then. What 
 years, i' faith? 
 
 Vio. About your years, my lord. 
 
 Duke. Too old, by heaven. Let still the 
 
 woman take 
 
 An elder than herself ; so wears she to him, 
 So sways she level in her husband's heart. 
 For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, 
 Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, 
 More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn 
 Than women's are. 
 
 Vio. I think it well, my lord. 
 
 Dttke. Then let thy love be younger than thy- 
 
 self. 
 
 Or thy affection cannot hold the bent : 
 For women are as roses, whose fair flower, 
 Being once display'd, doth fall that very hour. 
 
 Vio. And so they are : alas, that they are so ; 
 To die even when they to perfection grow ! 
 
 Re-enter CURIO and CLOWN. 
 Duke. O fellow, come, the song we had last 
 
 night : 
 
 Mark it, Cesario ; it is old and plain : 
 The spinsters and the knitters in the sun, 
 And the free maids, that weave their thread with 
 
 bones, 
 
 Do use to chant it : it is silly sooth, 
 And dallies with the innocence of love 
 Like the old age. 
 
 Clo. Are you ready, sir ? 
 Duke. Ay ; pr'ythee, sing. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Clo. Come away, come away, death. 
 And in sad cypress let me be laid ; 
 
 Fly away, fly away, breath ; 
 I am slain by a fair cruel maid. 
 
 [Music. 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 89 
 
 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 strown : 
 
 Not a friend, not a friend greet 
 My poor corpse where my bones shall be 
 
 thrown : 
 A thousand thousand sighs to save, 
 
 Lay me, O, where 
 Sad true lover never find my grave, 
 To weep there. 
 
 Duke, There 's for thy pains. [sir. 
 
 Clo. No pains, sir ; I take pleasure in singing, 
 
 Duke. I '11 pay thy pleasure, then. 
 
 Clo. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid one 
 time or another. 
 
 Duke. Give me now leave to leave thee. 
 
 Clo. Now, the melancholy god protect thee ; 
 and the tailor make thy doublet of changeable taf- 
 fata, for thy mind is a very opal ! I would have 
 men of such constancy put to sea, that their busi- 
 ness might be everything, and their intent every- 
 where ; for that 's it that always makes a good 
 voyage of nothing. Farewell. [Exit CLOWN. 
 
 Duke. Let all the rest give place. 
 
 [Exeunt CURIO and Attendants. 
 Once more, Cesario, 
 Get thee to yon same sovereign cruelty : 
 Tell her my love, more noble than the world, 
 Prizes not quantity of dirty lands ; 
 The parts that fortune hath bestow'd upon her, 
 Tell her, I hold as giddily as fortune ; 
 But 'tis that miracle and queen of gems 
 That Nature pranks her in attracts my soul. 
 
 Via. But if she cannot love you, sir ? 
 
 Duke. I cannot be so answer'd. 
 
 Vio. 'Sooth, but you must. 
 
 Say that some lady, as perhaps there is, 
 Hath for your love as great a pang of heart 
 As you have for Olivia : you cannot love her ; 
 You tell her so. Must she not then be answer'd ? 
 
 Duke. There is no woman's sides 
 Can bide the beating of so strong a passion 
 As love doth give my heart : no woman's heart 
 So big to hold so much ; they lack retention. 
 Alas, their love may be called appetite, 
 No motion of thejiver, but the palate, 
 That suffer surfeit, cloyment, and revolt ; 
 But mine is all as hungry as the sea, 
 And can digest as much : make no compare 
 Between that love a woman can bear me 
 And that I owe Olivia. 
 
 Vio. Ay, but I know, 
 
 Duke. What dost thou know? 
 
 Vio. Too well what love women to men may 
 owe. 
 
 In faith, they are as true of heart as we. 
 My father had a daughter loved a man, 
 As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman, 
 I should your lordship. 
 
 Duke. And what 's her history ? 
 
 Vio. A blank, my lord. She never told her 
 
 love, 
 
 But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, 
 Feed on her damask cheek : she pined in thought ; 
 And, with a green and yellow melancholy, 
 She sat like patience on a monument, 
 Smiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed ? 
 We men may say more, swear more ; but, indeed, 
 Our shows are more than will ; for still we prove 
 Much in our vows, but little in our love. 
 
 Duke. But died thy sister of her love, my boy? 
 
 Vio. I am all the daughters of my father's 
 
 house, 
 
 And all thebrothers too ; and yet I know not. 
 Sir, shall I to this lady ? 
 
 Duke. Ay, that 's the theme. 
 
 To her in haste : give her this jewel ; say 
 My love can give no place, bide no denay. 
 
 \Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. OLIVIA'S Garden. 
 
 Enter Sir TOBY BELCH, Sir ANDREW AGUE- 
 CHEEK, and FABIAN. 
 
 Sir To. Come thy ways, Signior Fabian. 
 
 Fab. Nay, I '11 come ; if I lose a scruple of this 
 sport let me be boiled to death with melancholy. 
 
 Sir To. Wouldst thou not be glad to have 
 the niggardly rascally sheep-biter come by some 
 notable shame ? 
 
 Fab. I would exult, man: you know he brought 
 me out o' favour with my lady about a bear-bait- 
 ing here. 
 
 Sir To. To anger him we'll have the bear 
 again ; and we will fool him black and blue : 
 Shall we not, Sir Andrew ? 
 
 Sir And. An we do not, it is pity of our lives. 
 
 Enter MARIA. 
 
 Sir To. Here comes the little villain : How 
 now, my nettle of India? 
 
 Mar. Get ye all three into the box-tree : Mal- 
 volio's coming down this walk ; he has been 
 yonder i' the sun, practising behaviour to his own 
 shadow this half -hour : observe him, for the love 
 of mockery ; for I know this letter will make a 
 contemplative idiot of him. Close, in the name 
 of j esting ! [ The men hide themselves. ] Lie thou 
 there ; [throws down a letter] for here comes the 
 trout that must be caught with tickling. 
 
 [Exit MARIA. 
 
TWELFTH NIGHT ; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 Enter MALVOLIO. 
 
 Mai. 'Tis but fortune ; all is fortune. Maria 
 once told me she did affect me : and I have heard 
 herself come thus near, that, should she fancy, it 
 should be one of my complexion. Besides, she 
 uses me with a more exalted respect than anyone 
 else that follows her. What should I think on 't ? 
 
 Sir To. Here 's an overweening rogue ! 
 
 Fab. O, peace ! Contemplation makes a rare 
 turkey-cock of him ; how he jets under his ad- 
 vanced plumes ! 
 
 Sir And. 'Slight, I could so beat the rogue : 
 
 Sir To. Peace, I say. 
 
 Mai. To be Count Malvolio ; 
 
 Sir To. Ah, rogue ! 
 
 Sir And. Pistol him, pistol him. 
 
 Sir To. Peace, peace. 
 
 Mai. There is example for 't ; the lady of the 
 Strachy married the yeoman of the wardrobe. 
 
 Sir And. Fie on him, Jezebel ! 
 
 Fab. O, peace ! now he 's deeply in ; look 
 how imagination blows him. 
 
 Mai. Having been three months married to 
 her, sitting in my state, [eye ! 
 
 Sir To. O for a stone-bow to hit him in the 
 
 Mai. Calling my officers about me in my 
 branched velvet gown ; having come from a day- 
 bed, where I have left Olivia sleeping. 
 
 Sir To. Fire and brimstone ! 
 
 Fab. O, peace, peace. 
 
 Mai. And then to have the humour of state : 
 and after a demure travel of regard, telling 
 them I know my place as I would they should 
 do theirs, to ask for my kinsman Toby. 
 
 Sir To. Bolts and shackles ! 
 
 Fab. O, peace, peace, peace! now, now. 
 
 Mai. Seven of my people, with an obedient 
 start, make out for him : I frown the while ; and 
 perchance, wind up my watch, or play with some 
 rich jewel. Toby approaches ; court'sies there 
 to me : 
 
 Sir To. Shall this fellow live ? 
 
 Fab. Though our silence be drawn from us 
 with cars, yet peace. 
 
 Mai. I extend my hand to him thus, quench- 
 ing my familiar smile with an austere regard of 
 control:: 
 
 Sir To. And does not Toby take you a blow 
 o' the lips then ? 
 
 Mai. Saying, Cousin Toby, my fortunes hav- 
 ing cast me on your niece, give me this preroga- 
 tive of speech : 
 
 Sir To. What, what? 
 
 Mai. You must amend your drunkenness. 
 
 Sir To. Out, scab ! [of our plot. 
 
 Fab. Nay, patience, or we break the sinews 
 
 Mai. Besides, you waste the treasure of your 
 time with a foolish knight / 
 
 Sir And. That 's me, I warrant you. 
 
 Mai. One Sir Andrew : 
 
 Sir And. I knew 'twas I ; for many do call 
 me fool. 
 
 Mai. What employment have we here ? 
 
 [ Taking up the letter. 
 
 Fab. Now is the woodcock near the gin. 
 
 Sir To. O, peace ! and the spirit of humours 
 intimate reading aloud to him ! 
 
 Mai. By my life, this is my lady's hand : these 
 be her very C's, her /'s, and her 7s ; and thus 
 makes she her great P's. It is in contempt of 
 question, her hand. 
 
 Sir And. Her C"s, her /'s, and her T's. 
 Why that ? 
 
 Mai. {reads.'} To the unknown beloved, this, 
 and my good wishes: her very phrases ! By your 
 leave, wax. Soft ! and the impressure her 
 Lucrece, with which she uses to seal : 'tis my 
 lady. To whom should this be ? 
 
 Fab. This wins him, liver and all. 
 
 Mai. [reads. ~\ Jove knows I love : 
 
 But -who ? 
 Lips do not move, 
 No man must know. 
 
 No man must know. What follows? the 
 numbers altered ! No man must know : If 
 this should be thee, Malvolio ? 
 
 Sir To. Marry, hang thee, brock ! 
 
 Mai. 2 may command where I adore : 
 
 But silence, like a Lucrece knife, 
 With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore; 
 M, O, A, 1, doth sway my life. 
 
 '-,"; '; 
 
 Fab, A fustian riddle ! 
 
 Sir To. Excellent wench, say I. 
 
 Mai. M, O, A, I, doth sway my life. Nay, 
 but first let me see, let me see, let me 
 see. 
 
 Fab. What a dish of poison hath she dressed 
 him ! 
 
 Sir To. And with what wing the stannyel 
 checks at it ! 
 
 Mai. I may command where I adore. Why, 
 she may command me : I serve her, she is my 
 lady. Why, this is evident to any formal 
 capacity. There is no obstruction in this ; 
 And the end, What should that alphabetical 
 position portend ? If I could make that re- 
 semble something in me, Softly ! M, O, A, 
 /. 
 
 Sir To. O, ay ! make up that : he is now 
 at a cold scent. ' 
 
 Fab. Sowter will cry upon't for all this, 
 though it be as rank as a fox. 
 
SCENE V.] 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 Mai. My Malvolio; M, why, that begins 
 my name. 
 
 Fab. Did not I say he would work it out ? 
 the cur is excellent at faults. 
 
 Mai. M, But then there is no consonancy 
 in the sequel ; that suffers under probation : 
 A should follow, but O does. 
 
 Fab. And O shall end, I hope, [him cry O. 
 
 Sir To. Ay, or I '11 cudgel him, and make 
 
 Mai. And then / comes behind. 
 
 Fab. Ay, an you had any eye behind you, 
 you might see more detraction at your heels 
 than fortunes before you. 
 
 Mai. M, 0, A) I ; This simulation is not as 
 the former : and yet, to crush this a little, it 
 would bow to me, for every one of these letters 
 are in my name. Soft ; here follows prose. 
 If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my stars 
 I am above thee ; but be not afraid of greatness. 
 Some are born great, some achieve greatness, 
 and some have greatness thrust upon them. 
 Thy fates open their hands ; let thy blood and 
 spirit embrace them. And, to inure thyself to 
 what thou art like to be, cast thy humble slough 
 and appear fresh. Be opposite with a kinsman, 
 surly with servants : let thy tongue tang argu- 
 ments of state ; put thyself into the trick of 
 singularity : She thus advises thee that sighs 
 for thee. Remember who commended thy yellow 
 stockings, and wished to see thee ever cross- 
 gartered. I say, remember. Go to / thou art 
 made, if thou desirest to be so ; if 'not ', let me see 
 thee a steward still, the fellow of sen>ants, and 
 not worthy to touch forttine's fingers. Fare- 
 well. She that would alter services with thee, 
 The fortiinate unhappy. 
 
 Daylight and champian discovers not more : 
 this is open. I will be proud, I will read 
 politic authors, I will baffle Sir Toby, I will 
 wash off gross acquaintance, I will be point -de- 
 vice, the very man. I do not now fool myself 
 to let imagination jade me ; for every reason 
 excites to this, that my lady loves me. She 
 did commend my yellow stockings of late, she 
 did praise my leg being cross-gartered ; and in 
 this she manifests herself to my love, and, with 
 a kind of injunction, drives me to these habits 
 of her liking. I thank my stars I am happy. 
 I will be strange, stout, in yellow stockings, 
 and cross-gartered, even with the swiftness of 
 putting on. Jove and my stars be praised ! 
 Here is yet a postscript. Thou canst not choose 
 but know who I am. If thou entertainest my 
 love, let it appear in thy smiling; thy smiles 
 become the& well: therefore in my presence still 
 smile, dear my sweet, I pSythce. Jove, I 
 
 thank thee. I will smile : I will do every- 
 thing that thou wilt have me. [Exit. 
 
 Fab. I will not give my part of this sport for a 
 pension of thousands to be paid from the Sophy. 
 
 Sir To. I could marry this wench for this 
 device : 
 
 Sir And. So could I too. 
 
 Sir To. And ask no other dowry with her 
 but such another jest. 
 
 Enter MARIA. 
 
 Sir And. Nor I neither. 
 
 Fab. Here comes my noble gull-catcher. 
 
 Sir To. Wilt thou set thy foot o' my neck ? 
 
 Sir And. Or o' mine either ? 
 
 Sir To. Shall I play my freedom at tray- 
 trip, and become thy bond-slave ? 
 
 Sir And. I' faith, or I either. 
 
 Sir To. Why, thou hast put him in such a 
 dream, that, when the image of it leaves him, 
 he must run mad. 
 
 Mar. Nay, but say true ; does it work upon 
 him? 
 
 Sir To. Like aqua-vitae with a midwife. 
 
 Mar. If you will then see the fruits of the 
 sport, mark his first approach before my lady : 
 he will come to her in yellow stockings, and 
 'tis a colour she abhors ; and cross-gartered, a 
 fashion she detests; and he will smile upon 
 her, which will now be so unsuitable to her 
 disposition, being addicted to a melancholy as 
 she is, that it cannot but turn him into a notable 
 contempt : if you will see it, follow me. 
 
 Sir To. To the gates of Tartar, thou most 
 excellent devil of wit ! 
 
 Sir And. I '11 make one too. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 SCENE I. OLIVIA'S Garden. 
 
 Enter VIOLA, and CLOWN with a tabor. 
 
 Via. Save thee, friend, and thy music. Dost 
 thou live by thy tabor ? 
 
 Clo. No, sir, I live by the church. 
 
 Vio. Art thou a churchman ? 
 
 Clo. No such matter, sir ; I do live by the 
 church; for I do live at my house, and my 
 house doth stand by the church. 
 
 Vio. So thou mayst say, the king lies by a 
 beggar, if a beggar dwell near him ; or the 
 church stands by thy tabor, if thy tabor stand 
 by the church. 
 
 Clo. You have said, sir. To see this age ! 
 A sentence ig but a cheveril glove to a good wit. 
 How quickly the wrong side may be turned 
 outward 1 
 
TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Vio. Nay, that : s certain ; they that dally nicely 
 with words may quickly make them wanton. 
 
 Clo. I would, therefore, my sister had had 
 no name, sir. 
 
 Vio. Why, man? 
 
 Clo. Why, sir, her name 's a word ; and to 
 dally with that word might make my sister 
 wanton. But indeed, words are very rascals, 
 since bonds disgraced them. 
 
 Vio. Thy reason, man ? 
 
 Clo. Troth, sir, I can yield you none without 
 words ; and words are grown so false, I am 
 loath to prove reason with them. 
 
 Vio. I warrant, thou art a merry fellow, and 
 carest for nothing. 
 
 Clo. Not so, sir, I do care for something : but 
 irt my conscience, sir, I do not care for you ; if 
 that be to care for nothing, sir, I would it would 
 make you invisible. 
 
 Vio. Art not thou the Lady Olivia's fool ? 
 
 Clo. No, indeed, sir ; the Lady Olivia has no 
 folly : she will keep no fool, sir, till she be 
 married ; and fools are as like husbands as 
 pilchards are to herrings, the husband's the 
 bigger ; I am, indeed, not her fool, but her 
 corrupter of words. 
 
 Vio. I saw thee late at the Count Orsino's. 
 
 Clo. Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb 
 like the sun ; it shines everywhere. I would 
 be sorry, sir-, but the fool should be as oft with 
 your master as with my mistress : I think I saw 
 your wisdom there. 
 
 Vio. Nay, an thou pass upon me, I'll no 
 more with thee. Hold, there's expenses for 
 thee. 
 
 Clo. Now Jove, in his next commodity of 
 hair, send thee a beard ! 
 
 Vio. By my troth, I '11 tell thee, I am almost 
 sick for one ; though I would not have it grow 
 on my chin. Is thy lady within ? 
 
 Clo. Would not a pair of these have bred, sir ? 
 
 Vio. Yes, being kept together and put to use. 
 
 Clo. I would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia, 
 sir, to bring a Cressida to this Troilus. 
 
 Vio. I understand you, sir ; 'tis well begged. 
 
 Clo. The matter, I hope, is not great, sir, 
 begging but a beggar : Cressida was a beggar. 
 My lady is within, sir. I will construe to them 
 whence you come ; who you are and what you 
 would are out of my welkin : I might say ele- 
 ment ; but the word is overworn. [Exit. 
 
 Vio. This fellow's wise enough to play the 
 
 fool; 
 
 And, to do that well, craves a kind of wit : 
 He must observe their mood on whom he jests, 
 The quality of persons, and the time j 
 And, like the haggard, check at every feather 
 
 That comes before his eye. This is a practice 
 
 As full of labour as a wise man's art : 
 
 For folly, that he wisely shows, is fit ; 
 
 But wise men, folly-fallen, quite taint their wit. 
 
 Enter Sir TOBY BELCH, and Sir ANDREW 
 AGUE-CHEEK. 
 
 Sir To. Save you, gentleman. 
 
 Vio. And you, sir. 
 
 Sir And. Dieu vous garde, monsieur. 
 
 Vio. Et vous aussi: votre seiviteur. 
 
 Sir And. I hope, sir, you are ; and I am yours. 
 
 Sir To. Will you encounter the house ? my 
 niece is desirous you should enter, if your trade 
 be to her. 
 
 Vio. I am bound to your niece, sir : I mean, 
 she is the list of my voyage. 
 
 Sir To. Taste your legs, sir; put them to 
 motion. 
 
 Vio. My legs do better understand me, sir, 
 than I understand what you mean by bidding 
 me taste my legs. 
 
 Sir To. I mean to go, sir, to enter. 
 
 Vio. I will answer you with gait and en- 
 trance : but we are prevented. 
 
 Enter' OLIVIA and MARIA. 
 
 Most excellent accomplished lady, the heavens 
 rain odours on you. 
 
 Sir And. That youth 's a rare courtier ! 
 Rain odours ! well. 
 
 Vio. My matter hath no voice, lady, but to 
 your own most pregnant and vouchsafed ear. 
 
 Sir And. Odours, pregnant, and vouch- 
 safed : I '11 get 'em all three ready. 
 
 OH. Let the garden door be shut, and leave 
 me to my hearing. 
 
 {Exeunt Sir To., Sir AND., and MAR. 
 Give me your hand, sir. [service. 
 
 Vio. My duty, madam, and most humble 
 
 Oli. What is your name ? [princess. 
 
 Vio. Cesario is your servant's name, fair 
 
 Oli. My servant, sir ! 'Twas never merry 
 
 world, 
 
 Since lowly feigning was call'd compliment : 
 You are servant to the Count Orsino, youth. 
 
 Vio. And he is yours, and his must needs be 
 
 yours ; 
 Your servant's servant is your servant, madam. 
 
 Oli. For him, I think not on him : for his 
 
 thoughts, [me ! 
 
 Would they were blanks rather than fill'd with 
 
 Vio. Madam, I come to whet your gentle 
 
 thoughts 
 On his behalf: 
 
 Oli. O, by your leave, I pray you ; 
 
 I bade you never speak again of him : 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 93 
 
 But, would you undertake another suit, 
 I had rather hear you to solicit that 
 Than music from the spheres. 
 
 Vio. Dear lady, 
 
 Oli. Give me leave, I beseech you : I did send, 
 After the last enchantment you did here, 
 A ring in chase of you ; so did I abuse 
 Myself, my servant, and, I fear me, you : 
 Under your hard construction must I sit ; 
 To force that on you, in a shameful cunning, 
 Which you knew none of yours. What might 
 
 you think ? 
 
 Have you not set mine honour at the stake, 
 And baited it with all the unmuzzl'd thoughts 
 That tyrannous heart can think? To one of 
 
 your receiving 
 
 Enough is shown ; a Cyprus, not a bosom, 
 Hides my poor heart : so let me hear you speak. 
 
 Vio. I pity you. 
 
 Oli. That 's a degree to love. 
 
 Vio. No, not a grise ; for 'tis a vulgar proof 
 That very oft we pity enemies. [again : 
 
 Oli. Why, then, methinks 'tis time to smile 
 
 world, how apt the poor are to be proud ! 
 If one should be a prey, how much the better 
 To fall before the lion than the wolf ! 
 
 [Clock strikes. 
 
 The clock upbraids me with the waste of time. 
 Be not afraid, good youth, I will not have you : 
 And yet, when wit and youth is come to 
 
 harvest, 
 
 Your wife is like to reap a proper man. 
 There lies your way due-west. 
 
 Vio. Then westward-ho : 
 
 Grace and good disposition 'tend your ladyship ! 
 You '11 nothing, madam, to my lord by me ? 
 
 Oli. Stay: 
 
 1 pr'ythee tell me what thou think'st of me. 
 
 Vio. That you do think you are not what you 
 are. 
 
 Oli. If I think so, I think the same of you. 
 
 Vio. Then think you right ; I am not what 
 I am. 
 
 Oli. I would you were as I would have you be ! 
 
 Vio. Would it be better, madam, that I am, 
 I wish it might ; for now I am your fool. 
 
 Oli. O what a deal of scorn looks beautiful 
 In the contempt and anger of his lip ! 
 A murd'rous guilt shows not itself more soon 
 Than love that would seem hid : love's night is 
 
 noon. 
 
 Cesario, by the roses of the spring, 
 By maidhood, honour, truth, and everything, 
 I love thee so that, maugre all thy pride, 
 Nor wit, nor reason, can my passion hide : 
 Do not extort thy reasons from this clause, 
 For, that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause : 
 
 But, rather, reason thus with reason fetter : 
 Love sought is good, but given unsought is 
 
 better. 
 
 Vio. By innocence I swear, and by my youth, 
 I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth. 
 And that no woman has ; nor never none 
 Shall mistress be of it, save I alone. 
 And so adieu, good madam ; never more 
 Will I my master's tears to you deplore. 
 
 Oli. Yet come again : for thou, perhaps, 
 
 mayst move 
 
 That heart, which now abhors, to like his love. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. A Room in OLIVIA'S House. 
 
 Enter Sir TOBY BELCH, Szr ANDREW AGUE- 
 CHEEK, and FABIAN. 
 
 Sir And. No, faith, I '11 not stay a jot longer. 
 
 Sir To. Thy reason, dear venom: give thy 
 reason. 
 
 Fab. You must needs yield your reason, Sir 
 Andrew. 
 
 Sir And. Marry, I saw your niece do more 
 favours to the count's serving man than ever she 
 bestowed upon me ; I saw 't i' the orchard. 
 
 Sir To. Did she see thee the while, old boy ? 
 tell me that. 
 
 Sir And. As plain as I see you now. 
 
 Fab. This was a great argument of love in her 
 toward you. 
 
 Sir Ana. 'Slight ! will you make an ass o' me ? 
 
 Fab. I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the 
 oaths of judgment and reason. 
 
 Sir To. And they have been grand jurymen 
 since before Noah was a sailor. 
 
 Fab. She did show favour to the youth in your 
 sight only to exasperate you, to awake your dor- 
 mouse valour, to put fire in your heart and brim- 
 stone in your liver. You should then have ac- 
 costed her ; and with some excellent jests, fire- 
 new from the mint, you should have banged the 
 youth into dumbness. This was looked for at 
 your hand, and this was baulked : the double gilt 
 of this opportunity you let time wash oft, and you 
 are now sailed into the north of my lady's 
 opinion ; where you will hang like an icicle on a 
 Dutchman's beard, unless you do redeem it by 
 some laudable attempt, either of valour or policy. 
 
 Sir And. And 't be any way, it must be with 
 valour : for policy I hate ; I had as lief be a 
 Brownist as a politician. 
 
 Sir To. Why, then, build me thy fortunes 
 upon the basis of valour. Challenge me the 
 count's youth to fight with him ; hurt him in 
 eleven places ; my niece shall take note of it : 
 and assure thyself there is no love-broker in the 
 
94 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 [ACT III. 
 
 world can more prevail in man's commenda- 
 tion with woman than report of valour. 
 
 Fab. There is no way but this, Sir Andrew. 
 
 Sir And. Will either of you bear me a chal- 
 lenge to him ? 
 
 Sir To. Go, write it in a martial hand ; be curst 
 and brief ; it is n<5 matter how witty, so it be elo- 
 quent and full of invention; taunt him with the 
 licence of ink: if thou thorfst him some thrice, 
 it shall not be amiss; and as many lies as will lie 
 in thy sheet of paper, although the sheet were 
 big enough for the bed of Ware in England, 
 set 'em down ; go about it. Let there be gall 
 enough in thy ink; though thou write with a 
 goose-pen, no matter. About it. 
 
 Sir And. Where shall I find you ? 
 
 Sir To. We '11 call thee at the cubiculo. Go. 
 [Exit Sir ANDREW. 
 
 Fab. This is a dear manikin toyou, Sir Toby. 
 
 Sir To. I have been dear to him, lad ; some 
 two thousand strong, or so. , 
 
 Fab. We shall have a rare letter from him : 
 but you '11 not deliver it. 
 
 Sir To. Never trust me then; and by all means 
 stir on the youth to an answer. I think oxen 
 and wainropes cannot hale them together. For 
 Andrew, if he were opened, and you find so much 
 blood in his liver as will clog the foot of a flea, 
 I '11 eat the rest of the anatomy. 
 
 Fab. And his opposite, the youth, bears in 
 his visage no great presage of cruelty. 
 
 Enter MARIA. 
 
 Sir To. Look where the youngest wren of 
 nine comes. 
 
 Mar. If you desire the spleen, and will laugh 
 yourselves into stitches, follow me : yon gull, 
 Malvolio, is turned heathen, a very renegade; 
 for there is no Christian, that means to be saved 
 by believing rightly, can ever believe such im- 
 possible passages of grossness. He 's in yellow 
 stockings. 
 
 Sir To. And cross-gartered ? 
 
 Mar. Most villanously ; like a pedant that 
 keeps a school i* the church. I have dogged 
 him like his murderer. He does ooey every 
 point of the letter that I dropped to betray 
 him. He does smile his face into more lines 
 than are in the new map, with the augmenta- 
 tion of the Indies : you have not seen such a 
 thing as 'tis ; I can hardly forbear hurling 
 things at him. I know my lady will strike 
 him ; if she do, he '11 smile, and take 't for a 
 great favour. 
 
 Sir To. Come, bring us, bring us where he 
 is. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. A Street. 
 Enter ANTONIO and SEBASTIAN. 
 
 Seb. I would not by my will have troubled 
 
 you; 
 
 But, since you make your pleasure of your pains, 
 I will no further chide you. > rr: ar 
 
 Ant. I could not stay behind you; my desire, 
 More sharp than filed steel, did spur me forth ; 
 And not all love to see you, though so much, 
 As might have drawn one to a longer voyage, 
 But jealousy what might befall your travel, 
 Being skilless in these parts; which to astranger, 
 Unguided and unfriended, often prove 
 Rough and unhospitable. My willing love, 
 The rather by these arguments of fear, 
 Set forth in your pursuit. 
 
 Seb. My kind Antonio, 
 
 I can no other answer make but thanks, 
 And thai iks, and ever thanks. Often good turns 
 Are shuffled off with such uncurrent pay; 
 But were my worth, as is my conscience, firm, 
 You should find better dealing. What's to do? 
 Shall we go see the reliques of this town ? 
 
 Ant. To-morrow, sir ; best, first, go see 
 your lodging. 
 
 Seb. I am not weary, and 'tis long to night; 
 I pray you, let us satisfy our eyes 
 With the memorials and the things of fame 
 That do renown this city. 
 
 Ant. Would you 'd pardon me : 
 
 I do not without danger walk these streets : 
 Once, in a sea-fight, 'gainst the count, his 
 
 galleys, 
 
 I did some service ; of such note, indeed, 
 That were I ta'en here, it would scarce be 
 answered. [people. 
 
 Seb. Belike you slew great number of his 
 
 Ant. The offence is not of such a bloody 
 
 nature ; 
 
 Albeit the quality of the time and quarrel 
 Might well have given us bloody argument. 
 It might have since been answered in repaying 
 What we took from them ; which, for traffic's 
 
 sake, 
 
 Most of our city did : only myself stood out : 
 For which, if I be lapsed in this place, 
 I shall pay dear. 
 
 Seb. Do not then walk too open. 
 
 Ant. It doth not fit me. Hold, sir, here 's 
 
 my purse ; 
 
 In the south suburbs, at the Elephant, 
 Is best to lodge : I will bespeak our diet 
 Whiles you beguile the time and feed your 
 
 knowledge 
 
 With viewing of the town; there shall you have 
 'me. 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT ; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 95 
 
 Seb. Why I your purse ? [toy 
 
 Ant. Haply your eye shall light upon some 
 You have desire to purchase ; and your store, 
 I think, is not for idle markets, sir. 
 
 Seb, I '11 be ycur purse-bearer, and leave you 
 for an hour. 
 
 Ant. To the Elephant. 
 
 Seb. I do remember. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. OLIVIA'S Garden. 
 Enter OLIVIA and MARIA. 
 
 Oli. I have sent after him. He says he '11 
 
 come ; 
 
 How shall I feast him ? what bestow on him ? 
 For youth is bought more oft than begged or 
 borrowed. 
 
 I speak too loud. 
 
 Where is Malvolio ? he is sad and civil, 
 And suits well for a servant with my fortunes; 
 Where is Malvolio ? 
 
 Mar. He 's coming, madam : 
 
 But in strange manner. He is sure possessed. 
 
 Oli. Why, what 's the matter ? does he rave ? 
 
 Mar. No, madam, 
 
 He does nothing but smile : your ladyship 
 Were best have guard about you if he come ; 
 For, sure, the man is tainted in his wits. 
 
 Oli. Go call him hither. I 'm as mad as he, 
 If sad and merry madness equal be. 
 
 Enter MALVOLIO. 
 How now, Malvolio ? 
 
 Mai. Sweet lady, ho, ho. 
 
 [Smiles fantastically. 
 
 Oli. Smil'st thou ? 
 I sent for thee upon a sad occasion. 
 
 Mai. Sad, lady ? I could be sad : this does 
 make some obstruction in the blood, this cross- 
 gartering. But what of that ; if it please the 
 eye of one, it is with me as the very true sonnet 
 is : Please one and please all. 
 
 Oli. Why, how dost thou, man? what is the 
 matter with thee ? 
 
 Mai. Not black in my mind, though yellow 
 in my legs. It did come to his hands, and 
 commands shall be executed. I think we do 
 know the sweet Roman hand. 
 
 Oli. Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio ? 
 
 Mai. To bed ? ay, sweetheart ; and I '11 
 come to thee. 
 
 Oli. God comfort thee ! Why dost thou 
 smile on, and kiss thy hand so oft ? 
 
 Mar. How do you, Malvolio ? 
 
 Mai. At your request? Yes; nightingales 
 answer daws. 
 
 Mar. Why appear you with this ridiculous 
 boldness before my lady ? 
 
 Mai. Be not afraid of greatness: 'twas well 
 writ. 
 
 Oli. What meanest thou by that, Malvolio ? 
 
 Mai. Some are born great, 
 
 Oli. Ha? 
 
 Mai. Some achieve greatness^ 
 
 Oli. What say'st thou ? 
 
 Mai. And some have greatness thrust upon 
 them. 
 
 Oli. Heaven restore thee ! 
 
 Mai. Remember who commended thy yellow 
 stockings ; 
 
 Oli. Thy yellow stockings ? 
 
 Mai. And wished to see thee cross -gartered. 
 
 Oli. Cross-gartered ? 
 
 Mai. Go to: thou art made, if thou desirest 
 to be so : 
 
 Oli. Am I made ? 
 
 Mai. If not, let me see thee a servant still. 
 
 Oli. Why, this is very midsummer madness. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Ser. Madam, the young gentleman of the 
 Count Orsino's is returned ; I could hardly 
 entreat him back ; he attends your ladyship's 
 pleasure. 
 
 Oli. I'll come to him. [Exit Servant.] 
 Good Maria, let this fellow be looked to. 
 Where 's my cousin Toby ? Let some of my 
 people have a special care of him ; I would not 
 have him miscarry for the half of my dowry. 
 
 [Exeunt OLIVIA and MARIA. 
 
 Mai. Oh, ho ! do you come near me now ? 
 no worse man than Sir Toby to look to me ? 
 This concurs directly with the letter : she sends 
 him on purpose that I may appear stubborn to 
 him ; for she incites me to that in the letter. 
 Cast thy humble slough, says she ; be oppositt 
 with a kinsman, surly with servants, let thy 
 tongue tang with arguments of state, put thy- 
 self into the trick of singularity ; and, con- 
 sequently, sets down the manner how; as, a 
 sad face, a reverend carriage, a slow tongue, in 
 the habit of some sir of note, and so forth. I 
 have limed her ; but it is Jove's doing, and 
 Jove make me thankful ! And, when she 
 went away now, Let this fellow be looked to : 
 Fellow ! not Malvolio, nor after my degree, 
 but fellow. Why, everything adheres together; 
 that no dram oi a scruple, no scruple of a 
 scruple, no obstacle, , no incredulous or unsafe 
 circumstance, What can be said? Nothing, 
 that can be, can come between me and the full 
 prospect of my hopes. Well, Jove, not I, is 
 the doer of this, and he is to be thanked. 
 
9 6 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Re-enter MARIA, with Sir TOBY BELCH and 
 FABIAN. 
 
 Sir To. Which way is he, in the name of 
 sanctity ? If all the devils of hell be drawn in 
 little, and Legion himself possessed him, yet 
 I '11 speak to him. 
 
 Fab. Here he is, here he is : How is 't with 
 you, sir ? how is 't with you, man ? 
 
 Mai. Go off ; I discard you ; let me enjoy 
 my private; go off. 
 
 Mar. Lo, how hollow the fiend speaks with- 
 in him ! did not I tell you ? Sir Toby, my 
 lady prays you to have a care of him. 
 
 Mai. Ah, ah ! does she so ? 
 
 Sir To. Go to, go to ; peace, peace, we 
 must deal gently with him ; let me alone. 
 How do you, Malvolio ? how is 't with you ? 
 What, man ! defy the devil : consider, he 's an 
 enemy to mankind. 
 
 Mai. Do you know what you say ? 
 
 Mar. La you, an you speak ill of the devil, 
 how he takes it at heart ! Pray God he be not 
 bewitched. 
 
 Fab. Carry his water to the wise woman. 
 
 Mar. Marry, and it shall be done to-morrow 
 morning, if I live. My lady would not lose 
 him for more than I '11 say. 
 
 Mai. How now, mistress ? 
 
 Mar. O lord ! 
 
 Sir To. Pr'ythee, hold thy peace ; this is 
 not the way. Do you not see you move him ? 
 let me alone with him. 
 
 Fab. No way but gentleness; gently, gently: 
 the fiend is rough, and will not be roughly used. 
 
 Sir To. Why, how now, my bawcock? how 
 dost thou, chuck. 
 
 Mai. Sir? 
 
 Sir To. Ay, Biddy, come with me. What, 
 man ! 'tis not for gravity to play at cherry-pit 
 with Satan. Hang him, foul collier ! 
 
 Mar. Get him to say his prayers ; good Sir 
 Toby, get him to pray. 
 
 Mai. My prayers, minx ? 
 
 Mar. No, I warrant you, he will not hear 
 of godliness. 
 
 Mai. Go, hang yourselves all ! you are idle 
 shallow things : I am not of your element ; 
 you shall know more hereafter. [Exit. 
 
 Sir To. Is 't possible ? 
 
 Fab. If this were played upon the stage now, 
 I could condemn it as an improbable fiction. 
 
 Sir To. His very genius hath taken the in- 
 fection of the device, man. 
 
 Mar. Nay, pursue him now ; lest the device 
 take air and taint. 
 
 Fab. Why, we shall make him mad indeed. 
 
 Mar. The house will be the quieter. 
 
 Sir To. Come, we '11 have him in a dark room 
 and bound. My niece is already in the belief 
 that he is mad ; we may carry it thus, for our 
 pleasure and his penance, till our very pastime, 
 tired out of breath, prompt us to have mercy on 
 him : at which time we will bring the device 
 to the bar, and crown thee for a finder of mad- 
 men. But see, but see. 
 
 Enter Sir ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK. 
 
 Fab. More matter for a May morning. 
 
 Sir And. Here 's the challenge, read it ; I 
 warrant there 's vinegar and pepper in 't. 
 
 Fab. Is 't so saucy ? 
 
 Sir And. Ay is it, I warrant him ; do but 
 read. 
 
 Sir To. Give me. [Reads. ] Youth, whatso- 
 ever thou art, thou art but a scurvy fellow. 
 
 Fab. Good and valiant. 
 
 Sir To. Wonder not, nor admire not in thy 
 mind, why I do call thee so, for I will show thee 
 no reason for'' t. 
 
 Fab. A good note : that keeps you from the 
 blow of the law. 
 
 Sir To. Thou contest to the Lady Olivia, and 
 in my sight she uses thee kindly : but thou liest 
 in thy throat ; that is not the matter I challenge 
 thee for. [less. 
 
 Fab. Very brief, and exceeding good sense- 
 
 Sir To. I will way lay thee going home; where 
 if it be thy chance to kill me, 
 
 Fab. Good. 
 
 Sir To. Thou killest me like a rogue and a 
 villain. 
 
 Fab. Still you keep o' the windy side of the 
 law. Good. 
 
 Sir To. Fare thee well ; and God have mercy 
 upon one of our souls ! He may have mercy upon 
 mine ; but my hope is better, and so look to thy- 
 self. Thy fmnd, as thou usest him, and thy 
 sworn enemy, ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK. 
 
 Sir To. If this letter move him not, his legs 
 cannot : I '11 give 't him. 
 
 Mar. You may have very fit occasion for 't ; 
 he is now in some commerce with my lady, and 
 will by and by depart. 
 
 Sir To. Go, Sir Andrew ; scout me for him 
 at the corner of the orchard, like a bum-bailiff ; 
 so soon as ever thou seest him, draw ; and, as 
 thou drawest, swear horrible ; for it comes to 
 pass oft that a terrible oath, with a swaggering 
 accent sharply twanged off, gives manhood more 
 approbation than ever proof itself would have 
 earned him. Away. 
 
 Sir And. Nay, let me alone for swearing. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT ; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 97 
 
 Sir To. Now will not I deliver his letter ; for 
 the behaviour of the young gentleman gives him 
 out to be of good capacity and breeding ; his em- 
 ployment between his lord and my niece con- 
 firms no less ; therefore this letter, being so 
 excellently ignorant, will breed no terror in the 
 yomh : he will find it comes from a clodpole. 
 But, sir, I will deliver his challenge by word of 
 mouth, set upon Ague-cheek a notable report of 
 valour, and drive the gentleman, as I know his 
 youth will aptly receive it, into a most hideous 
 opinion of his rage, skill , fury, and impetuosity. 
 This will so fright thenr both that they will kill 
 one another by the look, like cockatrices. 
 
 A - ' ' ^ '' ' ' ^ . . - ' , * ilj-- i { . . Vt '- *.. '> V. * 
 
 Enter OLIVIA and VIOLA. 
 
 Fab. Here he comes with your niece ; give 
 them way till he take leave, and presently after 
 him. 
 
 Sir To. I will meditate the while upon some 
 horrid message for a challenge. 
 
 [Exeunt Sir To., FAB., and MAR. 
 
 Oli. I have said too much unto a heart of 
 
 stone, 
 
 And laid mine honour too unchary on it : 
 There 's something in me that reproves my fault; 
 But such a headstrong potent fault it is 
 That it but mocks reproof. [bears 
 
 Vio. With the same 'haviour that your passion 
 Go on my master's griefs. [picture ; 
 
 Oli. Here, wear this jewel for me, 'tis my 
 Refuse it not, it hath no tongue to vex you : 
 And, I beseech you, come again to-morrow. 
 What shall you ask of me that I '11 deny, 
 That, honour saved, may upon asking give ? 
 
 Vio. Nothing but this, your true love for my 
 master. [that 
 
 Oli. How with mine honour may I give him 
 Which I have given to you ? 
 
 Vio. I will acquit you. 
 
 Oli. Well, come again to-morrow. Fare 
 
 thee well ; 
 A fiend like thee might bear my soul to hell. 
 
 \^LXlf. 
 
 TOieimvjU *:m';t ^>r= -^\ <'->. ;,- .-;,....; -.jSjsJ nfi ^ 
 
 Re-enter Sir TOBY BELCH and FABIAN. 
 
 Sir To. Gentleman, God save thee. 
 
 Vio. And you, sir. 
 
 Sir To. That defence thou hast, betake thee 
 to 't. Of what nature the wrongs are thou hast 
 done him, I know not; but thy intercepter, 
 full of despight, bloody as the hunter, attends 
 thee at the orchard end : dismount thy tuck, 
 be yare in thy preparation, for thy assailant is 
 quick, skilful, and deadly. 
 
 Vio. You mistake, sir ; I am sure no man 
 
 hath any quarrel to me ; my remembrance is 
 very free and clear from any image of offence 
 done to any man. 
 
 Sir To. You'll find it otherwise, I assure 
 you : therefore, if you hold your life at any 
 price, betake you to your guard ; for your op- 
 posite hath in him what youth, strength, skill, 
 and wrath can furnish man withal. 
 
 Vio. I pray you, sir, what is he ? 
 
 Sir To. He is a knight, dubbed with un- 
 hacked rapier, and on carpet consideration ; 
 but he is a devil in private brawl ; souls and 
 bodies hath he divorced three ; and his in- 
 censement at this moment is so implacable that 
 satisfaction can be none but by pangs of death 
 and sepulchre : hob, nob, is his word ; give 't 
 or take 't. 
 
 Vio. I will return again into the house and 
 desire some conduct of the lady. I am no 
 fighter. I have heard of some kind of men 
 that put quarrels purposely on others to taste 
 their valour : belike this is a man of that quirk. 
 
 Sir To. Sir, no ; his indignation derives it- 
 self out of a very competent injury ; therefore, 
 get you on, and give him his desire. Back you 
 shall not to the house, unless you undertake 
 that with me which with as much safety you 
 might answer him : therefore on, or strip you* 
 sword stark naked ; for meddle you must, 
 that's certain, or forswear to wear iron about 
 you. 
 
 Vio. This is as uncivil as strange. I be- 
 seech you, do me this courteous office as to 
 know of the knight what my offence to him is ; 
 it is something of my negligence, nothing of 
 my purpose. 
 
 Sir To. I will do so. Signior Fabian, stay 
 you by this gentleman till my return. 
 
 {Exit Sir TOBY. 
 
 Vio. Pray you, sir, do you know of this 
 matter ? 
 
 Fab. I know the knight is incensed against 
 you, even to a mortal arbitrement ; but nothing 
 of the circumstance more. 
 
 Vio. I beseech you, what manner of man is 
 he? 
 
 Fab. Nothing of that wonderful promise, to 
 read him by his form, as you are like to find 
 him in the proof of his valour. He is indeed, 
 sir, the most skilful, bloody, and fatal opposite 
 that you could possibly have found in any part 
 of Illyria. Will you walk towards him? I 
 will make your peace with him if I can. 
 
 Vio. I shall be much bound to you for 't. I 
 am one that would rather go with sir priest 
 than sir knight : I care not who knows so 
 much of my mettle. [Exeunt. 
 
 D 
 
TWELFTH NIGHT ; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 [ACT III. 
 
 Re-enter Sir TOBY with Sir ANDREW. 
 
 Sir To. Why, man, he's a very devil; I 
 have not seen such a virago. I had a pass with 
 him, rapier, scabbard, and all, and he gives me 
 the stuck-in with such a mortal motion that it 
 is inevitable ; and on the answer, he -pays you 
 as surely as your feet hit the ground they step 
 on. They say he has been fencer to the 
 Sophy. 
 
 Sir And. Pox on 't, I '11 not meddle with him. 
 
 Sir To. Ay, but he will not now be pacified : 
 Fabian can scarce hold him yonder. 
 
 Sir And. Plague on 't ; an I thought he had 
 been valiant, and so cunning in fence, I 'd have 
 seen him damned ere I 'd have challenged him. 
 Let him let the matter slip and I '11 give him 
 my horse, gray Capilet. 
 
 Sir To. I '11 make the motion. Stand here, 
 make a good show on 't ; this shall end without 
 the perdition of souls. Marry, I '11 ride your 
 horse as well as I ride you. [Aside. 
 
 Re-enter FABIAN and VIOLA. 
 
 I have his horse [to FAB.] to take up the quarrel; 
 I have persuaded him the youth ; s a devil. 
 
 Fab. He is as horribly conceited of him ; 
 and pants and looks pale, as if a bear were at 
 his heels. 
 
 Sir To. There 's no remedy, sir ; he will 
 fight with you for his oath sake: marry, he 
 hath better bethought him of his quarrel, and 
 he finds that now scarce to be worth talking 
 of : therefore draw, for the supportance of his 
 vow ; he protests he will not hurt you. 
 
 Via. Pray God defend me ! A little thing 
 would make me tell them how much I lack of 
 a man. [Aside. 
 
 Fab. Give ground if you see him furious. 
 
 Sir To. Come, Sir Andrew, there 's no re- 
 medy ; the gentleman will, for his honour's 
 sake, have one bout with you: he cannot by 
 the duello avoid it ; but he has promised me, 
 as he is a gentleman and a soldier, he will not 
 hurt you. Come on : to 't. 
 
 Sir And. Pray God, he keep his oath. 
 
 [Draws. 
 
 Enter ANTONIO. 
 
 Via. I do assure you 'tis against my will. 
 
 [Draws. 
 Ant. Put up your sword : if this young 
 
 gentleman 
 
 Have done offence, I take the fault on me ; 
 If you offend him I for him defy you. 
 
 [Drawing. 
 Sir To. You, sir ? why, what are you ? 
 
 Ant. One, sir, that for his love dares yet do 
 
 more 
 Than you have heard him brag to you he will. 
 
 Sir To. Nay, if you be an undertaker I am 
 for you. [Draws. 
 
 Enter two Officers. 
 
 Fab. O good Sir Toby, hold ; here come 
 the officers. 
 
 Sir To. I '11 be with you anon. 
 
 [To ANTONIO. 
 
 Via. Pray, sir, put up your sword, if you 
 please. [To Sir ANDREW. 
 
 Sir And. Marry, will I, sir ; and, for that I 
 promised you, I '11 be as good as my word. He 
 will bear you easily and reins well. 
 
 1 Off. This is the man ; do thy office. 
 
 2 Off. Antonio, I arrest thee at the suit 
 Of Count Orsino. 
 
 Ant. You do mistake me, sir. 
 
 1 Off. No, sir, no jot ; I know your favour 
 
 well, [head. 
 
 Though now you have no sea-cap on your 
 Take him away ; he knows I know him well. 
 Ant. I must obey. This comes from seeking 
 
 you; 
 
 But there 's no remedy ; I shall answer it. 
 What will you do ? Now my necessity [me 
 Makes me to ask you for my purse. It grieves 
 Much more for what I cannot do for you 
 Than what befalls myself. You stand amazed ; 
 But be of comfort. 
 
 2 Off. Come, sir, away. [money. 
 Ant. I must entreat of you some of that 
 
 Vio. What money, sir ? 
 
 For the fair kindness you have showed me here, 
 And part being prompted by your present 
 
 trouble, 
 
 Out of my lean and low ability [much ; 
 
 I'll lend you something; my having is not 
 I '11 make division of my present with you : 
 Hold, there is half my coffer. 
 
 Ant. Will you deny me now ? 
 
 Is 't possible that my deserts to you 
 Can lack persuasion ? Do not tempt my misery 
 Lest that it make me so unsound a man 
 As to upbraid you with those kindnesses 
 That I have done for you. 
 
 Vio. I know of none, 
 
 Nor know I you by voice or any feature : 
 I hate ingratitude more in a man 
 Than lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness, 
 Or any taint of vice whose strong corruption 
 Inhabits our frail blood. 
 
 Ant. O heavens themselves I 
 
 2 Off. Come, sir, I pray you go. 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT ; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 99 
 
 Ant. Let me speak a little. This youth that 
 
 you see here 
 I snatched one half out of the jaws of death, 
 
 Relieved him with such sanctity of love, 
 
 And to his image, which methought did promise 
 Most venerable worth, did I devotion. 
 
 i Off. What 's that to us ? The time goes 
 by; away. 
 
 Ant. But O how vile an idol proves this god ! 
 Thou hast, Sebastian, done good feature shame. 
 In nature there 's no blemish but the mind ; 
 None can be call'd deform'd but the unkind : 
 Virtue is beauty ; but the beauteous-evil 
 Are empty trunks o'erflourish'd by the devil. 
 
 I Off. The man grcws mad; away with him. 
 Come, come, sir. 
 
 Ant. Lead me on. 
 
 {Exeunt Officers with ANTONIO. 
 
 Via. Methinks his words do from such 
 
 passion fly 
 
 That he believes himself ; so do not I. 
 Prove true, imagination ; O prove true, 
 That I, dear brother, be now ta'en for you ! 
 
 Sir To. Come hither, knight ; come hither, 
 Fabian ; we '11 whisper o'er a couple or two of 
 most sage saws. 
 
 Vio. He named Sebastian; I my brother know 
 Yet living in my glass ; even such and so 
 In favour was my brother ; and he went 
 Still in this fashion, colour, ornament, 
 For him I imitate. O, if it prove, 
 Tempests are kind, and salt waves fresh in love! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Sir To. A very dishonest paltry boy, and 
 more a coward than a hare : his dishonesty ap- 
 pears in leaving his friend here in necessity, 
 and denying him ; and for his cowardship, ask 
 Fabian. 
 
 Fab. A coward, a most devout coward, re- 
 ligious in it. [him. 
 
 Sir And. 'Slid, I '11 after him again and beat 
 
 Sir To. Do, cuff him soundly, but never 
 draw thy sword. 
 
 Sir And. An' I do not, [Exit. 
 
 Fab. Come, let 's see the event. 
 
 Sir To. I dare lay any money 'twill be no- 
 thing yet. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 SCENE \.~The Street before OLIVIA'S House. 
 
 Enter SEBASTIAN and CLOWN. 
 Clo. Will you make me believe that I am 
 not sent for you ? 
 
 Seb. Go to, go to, thou art a foolish fellow j 
 Let me be clear of thee. 
 
 Clo. Well held out, i' faith ! No, I do not 
 know you ; nor I am not sent to you by my 
 lady, to bid you come speak with her ; nor 
 your name is not Master Cesario ; nor this is 
 not my nose neither. Nothing that is so is so. 
 
 Seb. I pr'ythee, vent thy folly somewhere 
 else. Thou knowst not me. 
 
 Clo. Vent my folly ! he has heard that word 
 of some great man, and now applies it to a fool. 
 Vent my folly ! I am afraid this great lubber, 
 the world, will prove a cockney. I pr'ythee 
 now, ungird thy strangeness, and tell me what 
 I shall vent to my lady. Shall I vent to her 
 that thou art coming ? 
 
 Seb. I pr'ythee, foolish Greek, depart from me ; 
 There 's money for thee ; if you tarry longer 
 I shall give worse paymant. 
 
 Clo. By my troth, thou hast an open hand : 
 These wise men that give fools money get 
 themselves a good report after fourteen years' 
 purchase. 
 
 Enter Sir ANDREW, Sir TOBY, and FABIAN. 
 
 Sit And. Now, sir, have I met you again ? 
 
 there 's for you. [Striking SEBASTIAN. 
 
 Seb. Why, there 's for thee, and there, and 
 
 there. 
 Are all the people mad ? 
 
 [Beating Sir ANDREW. 
 
 Sir To. Hold, sir, or I '11 throw your dagger 
 o'er the house. 
 
 Clo. This will I tell my lady straight. I would 
 not be in some of your coats for twopence. 
 
 [Exit CLOWN. 
 Sir To. Come on, sir ; hold. 
 
 [Holding SEBASTIAN. 
 
 Sir And. Nay, let him alone ; I '11 go an- 
 other way to work with him ; I '11 have an 
 action of battery against him, if there be any 
 law in Illyria : though I struck him first, yet 
 it 's no matter for that. 
 Seb. Let go thy hand. 
 
 Sir To. Come, sir, I will not let you go. 
 Come, my young soldier, put up your iron : you 
 are well fleshed ; come on. 
 
 Seb. I will be free from thee. What wouldst 
 
 thou now ? 
 
 If thou dar'st tempt me further, draw thy sword. 
 
 [Draws. 
 
 Sir To. What, what? Nay, then I must 
 have an ounce or two of this malapert blood 
 from you. [Draws. 
 
 Enter OLIVIA. 
 
 Oli. Hold, Toby; on thy life, I charge thee, 
 
 hold. 
 Sir To. Madam ? 
 
100 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT ; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 OIL Will it be ever thus? Ungracious wretch, 
 Fit for the mountains and the barbarous caves, 
 Where manners ne'er were preach'd ! Out of 
 my sight ! 
 
 Be not offended, dear Cesario ! 
 
 Rudesby, be gone ! I pr'ythee, gentle friend, 
 [Exeunt Sir To., Sir AND., and FAB. 
 Let thy fair wisdom, not thy passion, sway 
 In this uncivil and unjust extent 
 Against thy peace. Go with me to my house, 
 And hear thou there how many fruitless pranks 
 This ruffian hath botch'd up, that thou thereby 
 Mayst smile at this: thou shalt not choose but go; 
 Do not deny. Beshrew his soul for me, 
 He started one poor heart of mine in thee. 
 
 Seb. What relish is in this? how runs the stream? 
 Or am I mad ? or else this is a dream :- 
 Let fancy still my sense in Lethe steep ; 
 If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep ! 
 
 Oli. Nay, come, I pr'ythee. Would thou 'dst 
 be ruled by me ! 
 
 Seb. Madam, I will. 
 
 Oli. O, say so, and so be ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. A Room in OLIVIA'S House. 
 Enter MARIA and CLOWN. 
 
 Mar. Nay, I pr'ythee, put on this gown and 
 this beard ; make him believe thou art Sir 
 Topas the curate ; do it quickly : I '11 call Sir 
 Toby the whilst. [Exit MARIA. 
 
 Clo. Well, I'll put it on, and I will dissemble 
 myself in 't ; and I would I were the first that 
 ever dissembled in such a gown. I am not fat 
 enough to become the function well : nor lean 
 enough to be thought a good student : but to be 
 said, an honest man and a good housekeeper, 
 goes as fairly as to say, a careful man and a 
 great scholar. The competitors enter. 
 
 Enter Sir TOBY BELCH and MARIA. 
 
 Sir To. Jove bless thee, master parson. 
 
 Clo. Bonos dies, Sir Toby: for as the old 
 hermit of Prague, that never saw pen and ink, 
 very wittily said to a niece of King Gorboduc, 
 That that is, is: so I, being master parson, am 
 master parson : for what is that but that ? and 
 is but is ? 
 
 Sir To. To him, Sir Topas. 
 
 Clo. What, hoa, I say, Peace in this prison! 
 
 Sir To. The knave counterfeits well ; a good 
 knave. [there ? 
 
 Mai. [In an inner chamber. ~\ Who calls 
 
 Clo. Sir Topas the curate, who comes to 
 visit Malvolio the lunatic. 
 
 Mai. Sir Topas, Sir Topas, good Sir Topas, 
 go to my lady. 
 
 Clo. Out, hyperbolical fiend ! how vexest 
 thou this man ? talkest thou nothing but of 
 ladies ? 
 
 Sir To. Well said, master parson. 
 
 Mai. Sir Topas, never was man thus 
 wronged : good Sir Topas, do not think I am 
 mad; they have laid me here in hideous darkness. 
 
 Clo. Fie, thou dishonest Sathan ! I call thee 
 by the most modest terms ; for I am one of those 
 gentle ones that will use the devil himself with 
 courtesy. Say'st thou that house is dark ? 
 
 Mai. As hell, Sir Topas. 
 
 Clo. Why, it hath bay-windows, transparent 
 as barricadoes, and the clear storeys towards 
 the south-north are as lustrous as ebony; and 
 yet complainest thou of obstruction ? 
 
 Mai. I am not mad, Sir Topas; I say to you 
 this house is dark. 
 
 Clo. Madman, thou errest. I say there is no 
 darkness but ignorance; in which thou art more 
 puzzled than the Egyptians in their fog. 
 
 Mai. I say this house is as dark as ignor- 
 ance, though ignorance were as dark as hell ; 
 and I say there was never man thus abused. I 
 am no more mad than you are ; make the trial 
 of it in any constant question. 
 
 Clo. What is the opinion of Pythagoras con- 
 cerning wild-fowl ? 
 
 Mai. That the soul of our grandam might 
 haply inhabit a bird. 
 
 Clo. What thinkest thou of his opinion ? 
 
 Mai. I think nobly of the soul, and no way 
 approve of his opinion. 
 
 Clo. Fare thee well. Remain thou still in 
 darkness : thou shalt hold the opinion of 
 Pythagoras ere I will allow of thy wits ; and 
 fear to kill a woodcock lest thou dispossess the 
 soul of thy grandam. Fare thee well. 
 
 Mai. Sir Topas, Sir Topas ! 
 
 Sir To. My most exquisite Sir Topas ! 
 
 Clo. Nay, I am for all waters. 
 
 Mar. Thou mightst have done this without 
 thy beard and gown ; he sees thee not. 
 
 Sir To. To him in thine own voice, and 
 bring me word how thou findest him : I would 
 we were well rid of this knavery. If he may be 
 conveniently delivered, I would he were ; for I 
 am now so far in offence with my niece that I 
 cannot pursue with any safety this sport to the 
 upshot. Come by and by to my chamber. 
 
 [Exeunt Sir To. and MAR. 
 
 Clo. 
 
 Hey, Robin, jolly Robin, 
 
 Tell me how thy lady does. [Singing. 
 
 Mai. Fool, 
 
 Clo. My lady is unkind, perdy, 
 
 Mai. Fool, 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT ; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 101 
 
 Clo. Alas, why is she so? 
 
 Mai. Fool, I say ; 
 
 Clo. She loves another Who calls, ha ? 
 
 Mai. Good fool, as ever thou wilt deserve 
 well at my hand, help me to a candle, and pen, 
 ink, and paper ; as I am a gentleman, I will 
 live to be thankful to thee for 't. 
 
 Clo. Master Malvolio ! 
 
 Mai. Ay, good fool. 
 
 Clo. Alas, sir, how fell you besides your five 
 wits ? 
 
 Mai. Fool, there was never man so notori- 
 ously abused ; I am as well in my wits, fool, as 
 thou art. 
 
 Clo. But as well ? then you are mad indeed, 
 if you be no better in your wits than a fool. 
 
 Mai. They have here propertied me ; keep 
 me in darkness, send ministers to me, asses, and 
 do all they can to face me out of my wits. 
 
 Clo. Advise you what you say ; the minister 
 is here. Malvolio, Malvolio, thy wits the 
 heavens restore ! endeavour thyself to sleep, 
 and leave thy vain bibble-babble. 
 
 Mai. Sir Topas, 
 
 Clo. Maintain no words with him, good fellow. 
 Who, I, sir? not I, sir. God b' wi' you, good 
 Sir Topas. Marry, amen. I will, sir, I will. 
 
 Mai. Fool, fool, fool, I say, 
 
 Clo. Alas, sir, be patient. What say you, 
 sir ? I am shent for speaking to you. 
 
 Mai. Good fool, help me to some light and 
 some paper ; I tell thee I am as well in my 
 wits as any man in Illyria. 
 
 Clo. Well-a-day, that you were, sir ! 
 
 Mai. By this hand, I am : Good fool, some 
 ink, paper, and light, and convey what I will 
 set down to my lady ; it shall advantage thee 
 more than ever the bearing of letter did. 
 
 Clo. I will help you to 't. But tell me true, are 
 you not mad indeed? or do you but counterfeit? 
 
 Mai. Believe me, I am not ; I tell thee true. 
 
 Clo. Nay, I '11 ne'er believe a madman till I 
 see his brains. I will fetch you light, and 
 paper, and ink. 
 
 Mai. Fool, I '11 requite it in the highest de- 
 gree : I pr'ythee, be gone. 
 
 Clo. I am gone, sir, 
 
 And anon, sir, 
 I '11 be with you again, 
 In a trice. 
 
 Like to the old vice, 
 Your need to sustain ; 
 
 Who with dagger of lath, 
 In his rage and his wrath, 
 
 Cries ah, ha ! to the devil : 
 Like a mad lad, 
 Pare thy nails, dad, 
 
 Adieu, goodman drivel. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III. OLIVIA'S Garden. 
 Enter SEBASTIAN. 
 
 Seb. This is the air ; that is the glorious sun ; 
 This pearl she gave me, I do feel 't, and see 't : 
 And though 'tis wonder that enwraps me thus, 
 Yet 'tis not madness. Where 's Antonio, then ? 
 I could not find him at the Elephant ; 
 Yet there he was ; and there I found this credit, 
 That he did range the town to seek me out. 
 His counsel now might do me golden service : 
 For though my soul disputes well with my sense, 
 That this may be some error, but no madness, 
 Yet doth this accident and flood of fortune 
 So far exceed all instance, all discourse, 
 That I am ready to distrust mine eyes 
 And wrangle with my reason, that persuades me 
 To any other trust but that I am mad, 
 Or else the lady 's mad ; yet if 'twere so, 
 She could not sway her house, command her 
 
 followers, 
 
 Take and give back afiairs and their despatch 
 With such a smooth, discreet, and stable bearing 
 As I perceive she does : there 's something in '\ 
 That is deceivable. But here comes the lady. 
 
 Enter OLIVIA and a Priest. 
 
 Oli. Blame not this haste of mine. If you 
 
 mean well, 
 
 Now go with me and with this holy man 
 Into the chantry by : there, before him 
 And underneath that consecrated roof, 
 Plight me the full assurance of your faith, 
 That my most jealous and too doubtful soul 
 May live at peace. He shall conceal it 
 Whiles you are willing it shall come to note ; 
 What time we will our celebration keep 
 According to my birth. What do you say ? 
 Seb. I '11 follow this good man, and go with 
 
 you ; 
 And, having sworn truth, ever will be true. 
 
 Oli. Then lead the way, good father ; 
 
 And heavens so shine 
 That they may fairly note this act of mine ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 . V^JBE . ACT V. 
 SCENE I. The Street before OLIVIA'S House. 
 
 Enter CLOWN and FABIAN. 
 Fab. Now, as thou lovest me, let me see his 
 letter. 
 
 Clo. Good Master Fabian, grant me another 
 request. 
 
 Fab. Anything. 
 
 Clo. Do not desire to see this letter. 
 
102 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT ; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Fab. That is to give a dog ; and in recom- 
 pense, desire my dog again. 
 
 Enter DUKE, VIOLA, and Attendants. 
 
 Duke. Belong you to the Lady Olivia, 
 friends ? 
 
 Clo. Ay, sir ; we are some of her trappings. 
 
 Duke. I know thee well. How dost thou, 
 my good fellow ? 
 
 Clo. Truly, sir, the better for my foes and 
 the worse for my friends. [friends. 
 
 Duke. Just the contrary ; the better for thy 
 
 Clo. No, sir, the worse. 
 
 Duke. How can that be ? 
 
 Clo. Marry, sir, they praise me, and make 
 an ass of me ; now my foes tell me plainly I 
 am an ass : so that by my foes, sir, I profit in 
 the knowledge of myself, and by my friends I 
 am abused : so that, conclusions to be as kisses, 
 if your four negatives make your two affirma- 
 tives, why then, the worse for my friends and 
 the better for my foes. 
 
 Duke. Why, this is excellent. 
 
 Clo. By my troth, sir, no ; though it please 
 you to be one of my friends. 
 
 Duke. Thou shalt not be the worse for me ; 
 there 's gold. 
 
 Clo. But that it would be double-dealing, 
 sir, I would you could make it another. 
 
 Duke. O, you give me ill counsel. 
 
 Clo. Put your grace in your pocket, sir, for 
 this once, and let your flesh and blood obey it. 
 
 Duke. Well, I will be so much a sinner to 
 be a double-dealer : there 's another. 
 
 Clo. Primo, secundo, tertio, is a good play ; 
 and the old saying is, the third pays for all ; the 
 triplex, sir, is a good tripping measure ; or the 
 bells of St. Bennet, sir, may put you in mind ; 
 One, two, three. 
 
 Duke. You can fool no more money out of 
 me at this throw : if you will let your lady know 
 I am here to speak with her, and bring her 
 along with you, it may awake my bounty 
 further. 
 
 Clo. Marry, sir, lullaby to your bounty till I 
 come again. I go, sir ; but I would not have 
 you to think that my desire of having is the sin 
 of covetousness : but, as you say, sir, let your 
 bounty take a nap, I will awake it anon. 
 
 {Exit CLOWN. 
 
 Enter ANTONIO and Officers. 
 
 Vio. Here comes the man, sir, that did 
 rescue me. 
 
 Duke. That face of his I do remember well : 
 Yet, when I saw it last, it was besmeared 
 As black as Vulcan in the smoke of war : 
 
 A bawbling vessel was he captain of, 
 For shallow draught and bull: unprizable ; 
 With which such scathful grapple did he make 
 With the most noble bottom of our fleet, 
 That very envy and the tongue of loss 
 Cried fame and honour on him. What's the 
 
 matter? 
 
 I Off. Orsino, this is that Antonio [Candy : 
 That took the Phcenix and her fraught from 
 And this is he that did the Tiger board 
 When your young nephew Titus lost his leg : 
 Here in the streets, desperate of shame and state, 
 In private brabble did we apprehend him. 
 Vio. He did me kindness, sir ; drew on my 
 
 side ; 
 
 But, in conclusion, put strange speech upon me, 
 I know not what 'twas, but distraction. 
 
 Duke. Notable pirate ! thou salt-water thief ! 
 What foolish boldness brought thee to their 
 
 mercies, 
 
 Whom thou, in terms so bloody and so dear, 
 Hast made thine enemies ? 
 
 Ant. Orsino, noble sir, 
 
 Be pleased that I shake off these names you give 
 
 me ; 
 
 Antonio never yet was thief or pirate, 
 Though, I confess, on base and ground enough, 
 Orsino's enemy. A witchcraft drew me hither : 
 That most ingrateful boy there, by your side, 
 From the rude sea's enraged and foamy mouth 
 Did I redeem ; a wreck past hope he was : 
 His life I gave him, and did thereto add 
 My love, without retention or restraint, 
 All his in dedication : for his sake, 
 Did I expose myself, pure for his love, 
 Into the danger of this adverse town ; 
 Drew to defend him when he was beset : 
 Where being apprehended, his false cunning, 
 Not meaning to partake with me in danger, 
 Taught him to face me out of his acquaintance, 
 And grew a twenty-years-removed thing 
 While one would wink ; denied me mine own 
 
 purse, 
 
 Which I had recommended to his use 
 Not half an hour before. 
 
 Vio. How can this be 
 
 Duke. When came he to this town ? 
 
 Ant. To-day, my lord; and for three months 
 
 before, 
 
 No interim, not a minute's vacancy, 
 Both day and night did we keep company. 
 
 Enter OLIVIA and Attendants. 
 
 Dttke. Here comes the countess ; now 
 
 heaven walks on earth. 
 
 But for thee, fellow, fellow, thy words are 
 madness : 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT ; OK, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 103 
 
 Three months this youth hath tended upon 
 me ; 
 
 But more of that anon. Take him aside. 
 
 OIL What would my lord, but that he may 
 
 not have, 
 
 Wherein Olivia may seem serviceable ! 
 Cesario, you do not keep promise with me. 
 Vio. Madam? 
 
 Duke. Gracious Olivia, 
 
 Oli. What do you say, Cesario? Good 
 
 my lord, [me. 
 
 Vio. My lord would speak, my duty hushes 
 Oli. If it be aught to the old tune, my lord, 
 It is as fat and fulsome to mine ear 
 As howling after music. 
 
 Duke. Still so cruel ? 
 
 Oli. Still so constant, lord. [lady, 
 
 Duke. What ! to perverseness? you uncivil 
 To whose ingrate and unauspicious altars 
 My soul the faithfull'st offerings hath breathed 
 
 out 
 
 That e'er devotion tender'd ! What shall I do ? 
 Oli. Even what it please my lord, that shall 
 become him. [to do it. 
 
 Duke. Why should I not, had I the heart 
 Like to the Egyptian thief, at point of death, 
 Kill what I love ; a savage jealousy [this : 
 That sometime savours nobly? But hear me 
 Since you to non-regardance cast my faith, 
 And that I partly know the instrument 
 That screws me from my true place in your 
 
 favour, 
 
 Live you the marble -breasted tyrant still ; 
 But this your minion, whom I know you love, 
 And whom, by heaven I swear, I tender dearly, 
 Him will I tear out of that cruel eye 
 Where he sits crowned in his master's sprite. 
 Come, boy, with me ; my thoughts are ripe in 
 
 mischief: 
 
 I '11 sacrifice the lamb that I do love, 
 To spite a raven', heart within a dove. 
 
 {Going. 
 
 Vio. And I, most jocund, apt, and willingly, 
 To do you rest, a thousand deaths would die. 
 
 {Following. 
 
 Oli. Where goes Cesario ? 
 Vio. After him I love 
 
 More than I love these eyes, more than my life, 
 More, by all mores, than e'er I shall love wife ; 
 If I do feign, you witnesses above 
 Punish my life for tainting of my love ! 
 
 Oli. Ah me, detested ! how am I beguiled ? 
 
 Vio. Who does beguile you? who does do 
 
 you wrong ? [long ? 
 
 Oli. Hast thou forgot thyself? Is it so 
 
 Call forth the holy father. 
 
 [Exit an Attendant. 
 
 Duke. Come away. [To VIOLA. 
 
 Oli. Whither, my lord? Cesario, husband, 
 stay. 
 
 Duke. Husband? 
 
 Oli. Ay, husband, can he that deny ? 
 
 Duke. Her husband, sirrah ? 
 
 Vio. No, my lord, not I. 
 
 Oli. Alas, it is the baseness of thy fear 
 That makes thee strangle thy propriety : 
 Fear not, Cesario, take thy fortunes up ; 
 Be that thou know'st thou art, and then thou 
 art [father ! 
 
 As great as that thou fear'st O, welcome, 
 
 Re-enter Attendant and Priest. 
 
 Father, I charge thee, by thy reverence, 
 Here to unfold, though lately we intended 
 To keep in darkness what occasion now 
 Reveals before 'tis ripe, what thou dost know 
 Hath newly past between this youth and me. 
 
 Priest. A contract of eternal bond of love, 
 Confirmed by mutual joinder of your hands, 
 Attested by the holy close of lips, 
 Strengthen'd by interchangement of your rings ; 
 And all the ceremony of this compact 
 Sealed in my function, by my testimony : 
 Since when, my watch hath told me, toward 
 
 my grave 
 I have travelled but two hours. [thou be, 
 
 Duke. O thou dissembling cub ! what wilt 
 When time hath sowed a grizzle on thy case ? 
 Or will not else thy craft so quickly grow 
 That thine own trip shall be thine overthrow ? 
 Farewell, and take her ; but direct thy feet 
 Where thou and I henceforth may never meet. 
 
 Vio. My lord, I do protest, 
 
 Oli. O, do not swear ; 
 
 Hold little faith, though thou hast too much fear. 
 
 Enter Sir ANDREW AGUE-CHEEK, with his 
 head broke. 
 
 Sir And. For the love of God, a surgeon ; 
 send one presently to Sir Toby. 
 
 Oli. What's the matter? 
 
 Sir And. He has broke my head across, and 
 has given Sir Toby a bloody coxcomb too : for 
 the love of God, your help : I had rather than 
 forty pound I were at home. 
 
 Oli. Who has done this, Sir Andrew ? 
 
 Sir And. The count's gentleman, one 
 Cesario : we took him for a coward, but he 's 
 the very devil incardinate. 
 
 Duke. My gentleman, Cesario ? 
 
 Sir And. Od's lifelings, here he is : You 
 broke my head for nothing ; and that that I did 
 I was set on to do 't by Sir Toby. [hurt you : 
 
 Vio. Why do you speak to me? I never 
 
104 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 [ACT \. 
 
 YOH drew your sword upon me without cause ; 
 But I bespake you fair and hurt you not. 
 
 Sir And. If a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, 
 you have hurt me ; I think you set nothing by 
 a bloody coxcomb. 
 
 Enter Sir TOBY BELCH drunk, led by the 
 CLOWN. 
 
 Here comes Sir Toby halting ; you shall hear 
 more : but if he had not been in drink he would 
 have tickled you othergates than he did. 
 
 Duke. How now, gentleman ? how is 't with 
 you? 
 
 Sir To. That 's all one ; he has hurt me, and 
 there 's the end on 't. Sot, didst see Dick 
 surgeon, sot? 
 
 Clo. O he's drunk, Sir Toby, an hour agone ; 
 his eyes were set at eight i' the morning. 
 
 Sir To. Then he 's a rogue. After a passy- 
 measure, or a pavin, I hate a drunken rogue. 
 
 Oli. Away with him. Who hath made this 
 havoc with them ? 
 
 Sir And. I '11 help you, Sir Toby, because 
 we '11 be dressed together. 
 
 Sir To. Will you help an ass-head, and a cox- 
 comb, and a knave? a thin-faced knave, a gull? 
 
 Oli. Get him to bed, and let his hurt be 
 looked to. 
 
 . [Exeunt CLOWN, Sir To., and Sir AND. 
 ;;rv ;-. '.; .vntvi 
 
 OXKO v<1t a. Enter SEBASTIAN. 
 
 Seb. I am sorry, madam, I have hurt your 
 
 kinsman ; 
 
 But, had it been the brother of my blood, 
 I must have done no less, with wit and safety. 
 You throw a strange regard upon me, and 
 By that I do perceive it hath offended you ; 
 Pardon me, sweet one, even for the vows 
 We made each other but so late ago. 
 
 Duke. One face, one voice, one habit, and 
 
 two persons ; 
 A natural perspective, that is, and is not. 
 
 Seb. Antonio, O my dear Antonio ! 
 How have the hours rack'd and tortur'd me 
 Since I have lost thee. 
 
 Ant. Sebastian are you ? 
 
 Seb. Fear'st thou that, Antonio ? 
 
 Ant. How have you made division of your- 
 self? 
 
 An apple, cleft in two, is not more twin 
 Than these two creatures. Which is Sebastian? 
 
 Oli. Most wonderful ! 
 
 Seb. Do I stand there ? I never had a brother : 
 Nor can there be that deity in my nature 
 Of here and everywhere. I had a sister 
 Whom the blind waves and surges have de- 
 voured : 
 
 Of charity, what kin are you to me? [ To VIOLA. 
 What countryman? what name? what parentage? 
 
 Via. Of Messaline : Sebastian was my father ; 
 Such a Sebastian was my brother too ; 
 So went he suited to his watery tomb : 
 If spirits can assume both form and suit, 
 You come to fright us. 
 
 Seb. A spirit I am indeed : 
 
 But am in that dimension grossly clad, 
 Which from the womb I did participate. 
 Were you a woman, as the rest goes even, 
 I should my tears let fall upon your cheek, 
 And say Thrice welcome, drowned Viola ! 
 
 Vio. My father had a mole upon his brow. 
 
 Seb. And so had mine. 
 
 Vio. And died that day when Viola from her 
 
 birth 
 Had numbered thirteen years. 
 
 Seb. O, that record is lively in my soul ! 
 He finished, indeed, his mortal act 
 That day that made my sister thirteen years. 
 
 Vio. If nothing lets to make us happy both 
 But this my masculine usurp'd attire, 
 Do not embrace me till each circumstance 
 Of place, time, fortune, do cohere, and jump, 
 That I am Viola : which to confirm, 
 I '11 bring you to a captain in this town, [help 
 Where lie my maiden's weeds ; by whose gentle 
 I was preserv'd to serve this noble count ; 
 All the occurrence of my fortune since 
 Hath been between this lady and this lord. 
 
 Seb. So comes it, lady, you have been mis- 
 took : [BOLIVIA. 
 But nature to her bias drew in that. 
 You ~vould have been contracted to a maid ; 
 Nor are you therein, by my life, deceived ; 
 You are betroth'd both to a maid and man. 
 
 Duke. Be not amazed ; right noble is his 
 
 blood. 
 
 If this be so, as yet the glass seems true, 
 I shall have share in this most happy wreck : 
 Boy, thou hast said to me a thousand times, 
 
 [To VIOLA. 
 Thou never shouldst love woman like to me. 
 
 Vio. And all those sayings will I over-swear ; 
 And all those swearings keep as true in soul 
 As doth that orbed continent the fire 
 That severs day from night. 
 
 Duke. Give me thy hand ; 
 
 And let me see thee in thy woman's weeds. 
 
 Vio. The captain that did bring me first on 
 shore [action, 
 
 Hath my maid's garments : he, upon some 
 Is now in durance, at Malvolio's suit ; 
 A gentleman and follower of my lady's. 
 
 Oli. He shall enlarge him : Fetch Malvolio 
 hither : 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT ; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 105 
 
 And yet, alas, now I remember me, 
 
 They say, poor gentleman, he 's much distract. 
 
 Re-enter CLOWN, with a letter. 
 
 A most extracting frenzy of mine own 
 
 From my remembrance clearly banished his. 
 
 How does he, sirrah ? 
 
 Clo. Truly, madam, he holds Beelzebub at 
 the stave's end as well as a man in his case may 
 do : he has here writ a letter to you ; I should 
 have given it you to-day morning ; but as a 
 madman's epistles are no gospels, so it skills not 
 much when they are delivered. 
 Oli. Open it, and read it. 
 Clo. Look then to be well edified when the fool 
 delivers the madman : By the Lord, madam, 
 Oli. How now ! art thou mad ? 
 Clo. No, madam, I do but read madness : an 
 your ladyship will have it as it ought to be, you 
 must allow vox. 
 
 Oli. Pr'ythee, read i' thy right wits. 
 Clo. So I do, madonna ; but to read his right 
 wits is to read thus : therefore perpend, my 
 princess, and give ear. 
 
 Oli. Read it you, sirrah. [To FABIAN. 
 
 Fab. [reads.] By 'the Lord ', madam, you wrong 
 me, and the world shall know it : though you 
 have put me into darkness and given your 
 drunken cousin rule over me, yet have J the 
 benefit of my senses as well as your ladyship. I 
 have your own letter that induced me to the 
 semblance I ptit on ; with the which I doubt not 
 but to do myself much right or you nnich shame. 
 Think of me as you please. I leave my duty a 
 little unthought of, and speak out of my injury. 
 
 The madly used MALVOLIO. 
 Oli. Did he write this ? 
 Clo. Ay, madam. 
 
 Duke. This savours not much of distraction. 
 
 Oli. See him delivered, Fabian : bring him 
 
 hither. [Exit FABIAN. 
 
 My lord, so please you, these things further 
 
 thought on, 
 
 To think me as well a sister as a wife, 
 One day shall crown the alliance on 't, so please 
 
 you, 
 
 Here at my house, and at my proper cost. 
 Duke. Madam, I am most apt to embrace your 
 offer. [service done him, 
 
 Your master quits you ; [to VIOLA] and, for your 
 So much against the metal of your sex, 
 So far beneath your soft and tender breeding, 
 And since you called me master for so long, 
 Here is my hand ; you shall from this time be 
 Your master's mistress. 
 
 Oli. A sister ? you are she. 
 
 ' 
 
 Re-enter FABIAN with MALVOLIO. 
 
 Duke. Is this the madman ? 
 Oli. Ay, my lord, this same ; 
 
 How now, Malvolio ? 
 
 Mai. Madam, you have done me wrong, 
 Notorious wrong. 
 
 Oli. Have I, Malvolio? no. 
 
 Mai. Lady, you have. Pray you, peruse that 
 
 letter : 
 
 You must not now deny it is your hand, 
 Write from it, if you can, in hand or phrase ; 
 Or say, 'tis not your seal, nor your invention : 
 You can say none of this. Well, grant it then, 
 And tell me, in the modesty of honour, 
 Why you have given me such clear lights of 
 
 favour ; 
 
 Bade me come smiling and cross-garter'd to you ; 
 To put on yellow stockings, and to frown 
 Upon Sir Toby and the lighter people : 
 And, acting this in an obedient hope, 
 Why have you suffer'd me to be imprison'd, 
 Kept in a dark house, visited by the priest, 
 And made the most notorious geek and gull 
 That e'er invention play'd on ? tell me why. 
 
 Oli. Alas, Malvolio, this is not my writing, 
 Though, I confess, much like the character : 
 But, out of question, 'tis Maria's hand. 
 And now I do bethink me, it was she 
 First told me thou wast mad ; then cam'st in 
 
 smiling, 
 
 And in such forms which here were presuppos'd 
 Upon thee in the letter. Pr'ythee, be content : 
 This practice has most shrewdly pass'd upon 
 
 thee: 
 But, when we know the grounds and authors 
 
 of it, 
 
 Thou shalt be both the plaintiff and the judge 
 Of thine own cause. 
 
 Fab. Good madam, hear me speak ; 
 
 And let no quarrel, nor no brawl to come, 
 Taint the condition of this present hour, 
 Which I have wonder'd at. In hope it shall not, 
 Most freely I confess, myself and Toby 
 Set this device against Malvolio here, 
 Upon some stubborn and uncourteous parts 
 We had conceiv'd against him. Maria writ 
 The letter, at Sir Toby's great importance ; 
 In recompense whereof he hath married her. 
 How with a sportful malice it was follow'd 
 May rather pluck on laughter than revenge, 
 If that the injuries be justly weigh'd 
 That have on both sides past. 
 
 Oli. Alas, poor fool ! how have they baffled 
 
 thee! 
 
 Clo. Why, some are born great, some achieve 
 greatness, and some have greatness thrown upon 
 
io6 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 them. I was one, sir, in this interlude ; one Sir 
 Topas, sir ; but that 's all one : By the Lord, 
 fool, I am not mad ; But do you remember ? 
 Madam, why laugh you at such a barren rascal t 
 an you smile not, he 's gagged. And thus the 
 whirligig of time brings in his revenges. 
 
 Mai. I '11 be revenged on the whole pack of 
 you. [Exit. 
 
 Oli. He hath been most notoriously abus'd. 
 
 Duke. Pursue him, and entreat him to a 
 
 peace : 
 
 He hath not told us of the captain yet ; 
 When that is known, and golden time convents, 
 A solemn combination shall be made 
 Of our dear souls. Meantime, sweet sister, 
 We will not part from hence. Cesario, 
 
 come : 
 
 For so you shall be while you are a man ; 
 But, when in other habits you are seen, 
 Orsino's mistress, and his fancy's queen. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Clo. When that I was and a little tiny boy, 
 With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 
 A foolish thing was but a toy, 
 For the rain it raineth every day. 
 
 But when I came to man's estate, 
 \Vith hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 
 
 'Gainst knave and thief men shut their gate, 
 For the rain it raineth every day. 
 
 .1 . rnJaDBi .~ : t f'~!l ...' 
 
 But when I came, alas ! to wive, 
 
 
 , , 
 
 With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 
 
 By swaggering could I never thrive, 
 
 For the rain it raineth every day. 
 
 
 But when I came unto my bed, 
 With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 
 
 With toss-pots still had drunken head, 
 For the rain it raineth every day. 
 
 A great while ago the world began, 
 With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 
 
 But that 's all one, our play is done, 
 And we Ml strive to please you every day. 
 
 \Exit. 
 
 infill a'^ 
 
 
MtGD 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 VICENTIO, Duke of Vienna. 
 ANGELO, Lord Deputy in the Duke's absence. 
 ESCALUS, an ancient Lord y joined with AN- 
 GELO in the Deputation. 
 CLAUDIO, a young Gentleman. 
 Lucio, a Fantastic. 
 TWO OTHER LIKE GENTLEMEN. 
 
 VARRIUS, a Gentleman, Servant to the Duke. 
 
 PROVOST. 
 
 THOMAS, \ . . 
 
 PETER, / *" Friars ' 
 
 A JUSTICE. 
 
 ELBOW, a simple Constable. 
 
 FROTH, a foolish Gentleman. 
 CLOWN, Servant to MRS. OVERDONE. 
 ABHORSON, an Executioner. 
 BARNARDINE, a dissolute Prisoner. 
 
 ISABELLA, Sister to CLAUDIO. 
 MARIANA, betrothed to ANGELO. 
 JULIET, beloved by CLAUDIO. 
 FRANCISCA, a Nun. 
 MISTRESS OVERDONE, a Bawd. 
 
 Lords, Gentlemen, Guards, Officers, ana 
 other Attendants. 
 
 SCENE, VIENNA. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. An Apartment in the DUKE'S 
 Palace. 
 
 KE, ESCALUS, Lords, and Attendants. 
 
 Duke. Escalus, 
 
 Escal. My lord. 
 
 Duke. Of government the propertiestounfold, 
 Would seem in me to affect speech and discourse; 
 Since I am put to know that your own science 
 Exceeds, in that, the lists of all advice 
 My strength can give you : then no more remains 
 But that to your sufficiency, as your worth isable, 
 And let them work. The nature of our people, 
 Our city's institutions, and the terms 
 For common justice, you are as pregnant in 
 As art and practice hath enriched any 
 That we remember. There is our commission, 
 From which we would not have you warp. 
 
 Call hither, 
 I say, bid come before us Angelo. 
 
 [Exit an Attendant. 
 
 What figure of us think you he will bear ? 
 For you must know we have with special soul 
 Elected him our absence to supply ; 
 Lent him our terror, drest him with our love, 
 And given his deputation all the organs 
 Of our own power : what think you of it ? 
 
 EscaL If any in Vienna be of worth 
 To undergo such ample grace and honour, 
 It is Lord Angelo. 
 
 Enter ANGELO. 
 Duke. Look where he comes. 
 
 Ang. Always obedient to your grace's will, 
 I come to know your pleasure. 
 
 Duke. Angelo, 
 
 There is a kind of character in thy life, 
 That to the observer doth thy history 
 Fully unfold. Thyself and thy belongings 
 Are not thine own so proper as to waste 
 Thyself upon thy virtues, they on thec. 
 Heaven doth with us as we with torches do, 
 Not light them for themselves : for if our virtues 
 Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike 
 As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely 
 
 touch'd 
 
 But to fine issues : nor nature never lends 
 The smallest scruple of her excellence 
 But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines 
 Herself the glory of a creditor, 
 Both thanks and use. But I do bend my speech 
 To one that can my part in him advertise ; 
 Hold, therefore, Angelo ; 
 In our remove be thou at full ourself : 
 Mortality and mercy in Vienna 
 Live in thy tongue and heart! Old Escalus, 
 Though first in question, is thy secondary : 
 Take thy commission. 
 
 Ang. Now, good my lord, 
 
 Let there be some more test made of my metal, 
 Before so noble and so great a figure 
 Be stamped upon it. 
 
 Duke. No more evasion : 
 
 We have with a leaven'd and prepared choice 
 Proceeded to you ; therefore take your honours. 
 Our haste from hence is of so quick condition 
 That it prefers itself, and leaves unquestion'd 
 
io8 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 LACT i. 
 
 Matters of needful value. We shall write to you 
 As time and our concernings shall importune 
 How it goes with us : and do look to know 
 What doth befall ycu here. So, fare you well : 
 To the hopeful execution do I leave you 
 Of your commissions. 
 
 Ang. Yet, give leave, my lord, 
 
 That we may bring you something on the way. 
 
 Duke. My haste may not admit it ; 
 Nor need you, on mine honour, have to do 
 With any scruple : your scope is as mine own : 
 So to enforce or qualify the laws 
 As to your soul seems good. Give me your hand ; 
 I '11 privily away : I love the people, 
 But do not like to stage me to their eyes : 
 Though it do well, I do not relish well 
 Their loud applause and aves vehement : 
 Nor do I think the man of safe discretion 
 That does affect it. Once more, fare you well. 
 
 Ang: The heavens give safety to your pur- 
 poses ! [happiness. 
 
 EscaL Lead forth and bring you back in 
 
 Duke. I thank you. Fare you well. [Exit. 
 
 EscaL I shall desire you, sir, to give me leave 
 To have free speech with you ; and it concerns me 
 To look into the bottom of my place : 
 A power I have, but of what strength and nature 
 I am not yet instructed. [together, 
 
 Ang. 'Tis so with me. Let us withdraw 
 And we may soon our satisfaction have 
 Touching that point. 
 
 EscaL I '11 wait upon your honour. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 yA'llB HJS 313WJ ,3(1 tO ffetO> OJJ 
 
 SCENE II. A Street. 
 Enter Lucio and two GENTLEMEN. 
 
 Lucio. If the duke, with the other dukes, 
 come not to composition with the King of 
 Hungary, why, then, all the dukes fall upon 
 the king. [the King of Hungary's ! 
 
 1 Gent. Heaven grant us its peace, but not 
 
 2 Gent. Amen. 
 
 Lucio. Thou concludest like the sanctimoni- 
 ous pirate that went to sea with the ten com- 
 mandments, but scraped one out of the table. 
 
 2 Gent. Thou shalt not steal ? 
 
 Lucio. Ay, that he razed. 
 
 1 Gent. Why, 'twas a commandment to com- 
 mand the captain and all the rest from their 
 functions ; they put forth to steal. There 's 
 not a soldier of us all that, in the thanksgiving 
 before meat, doth relish the petition well that 
 prays for peace. 
 
 2 Gent. I never heard any soldier dislike it. 
 Lucio. I believe thee ; for I think thou never 
 
 wast where grace was said. 
 
 2 Gent. No ? a dozen times at least. 
 
 I Gent. What ? in metre ? 
 
 Lttcio. In any proportion or in any language. 
 
 I Gent. I think, or in any religion. 
 
 Lucio. Ay ! why not ? Grace is grace, de- 
 spite of all controversy. As for example ; 
 thou thyself art a wicked villain, despite of all 
 grace. 
 
 I Gent. Well, there went but a pair of 
 shears between us. 
 
 Lucio. I grant ; as there may between the 
 lists and the velvet. Thou art the list. 
 
 i Gent. And thou the velvet : thou art good 
 velvet ; thou art a three-piled piece, I warrant 
 thee : I had as lief be a list of an English 
 kersey as be piled, as thou art piled, for a 
 French velvet. Do I speak feelingly now ? 
 
 Lucio. I think thou dost ; and, indeed, with 
 most painful feeling of thy speech. I will, out 
 of thine own confession, learn to begin thy 
 health ; but, whilst I live, forget to drink after 
 thee. 
 
 1 Gent. I think I have done myself wrong ; 
 have I not ? 
 
 2 Gent. Yes, that thou hast ; whether thou 
 art tainted or free. 
 
 Lucio. Behold, behold, where Madam Miti- 
 gation comes ! I have purchased as many 
 diseases under her roof as come to &\\ 
 
 2 Gent. To what, I pray ? 
 
 1 Gent. Judge. 
 
 2 Gent. To three thousand dollars a-year. 
 i Gent. Ay, and more. 
 
 Lucio. A French crown more. 
 
 I Gent. Thou art always figuring diseases in 
 me, but thou art full of error ; I am sound. 
 
 Lucio. Nay, not as one would say, healthy ; 
 but so sound as things that are hollow : thy 
 bones are hollow : impiety has made a feast of 
 thee. 
 
 Enter BAWD. 
 
 I Gent. How now ! which of your hips has 
 the most profound sciatica ? 
 
 Bawd. Well, well; there's one yonder ar- 
 rested and carried to prison was worth five 
 thousand of you all. 
 
 I Gent. Who 's that, I pray thee ? 
 
 Bawd. Marry, sir, that's Claudio, Signior 
 Claudio. 
 
 I Gent. Claudio to prison ! 'tis not so. 
 
 Bawd. Nay, but I know 'tis so : I saw him 
 arrested ; saw him carried away ; and, which 
 is more, within these three days his head 's to 
 be chopped off. 
 
 Lucio. But, after all this fooling, I would 
 not have it so. Art thou sure of this ? 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 109 
 
 Bawd. I am too sure of it : and it is for 
 getting Madam Julietta with child. 
 
 Lticio. Believe me, this may be : he pro- 
 mised to meet me two hours since ; and he was 
 ever precise in promise-keeping. 
 
 2 Gent. Besides, you know, it draws some- 
 thing near to the speech we had to such a pur- 
 pose, [proclamation. 
 
 I Gent. But most of all agreeing with the 
 
 Lucio. Away ; let 's go learn the truth of it. 
 [Exetmt Lucio and GENTLEMEN. 
 
 Bawd. Thus, what with the war, what with 
 the sweat, what with the gallows, and what 
 with poverty, I am custom-shrunk. How now! 
 what 's the news with you ? 
 
 Enter CLOWN. 
 
 Clo. Yonder man is carried to prison. 
 
 Bawd. Well : what has he done ? 
 
 Clo. A woman. 
 
 Bawd. But what 's his offence ? 
 
 Clo. Groping for trouts in a peculiar river. 
 
 Bawd. What ! is there a maid with child by 
 him? 
 
 Clo. No; but there's a woman with maid 
 by him. You have not heard of the proclama- 
 tion, have you ? 
 
 Bawd. What proclamation, man ? 
 
 Clo. All houses in the suburbs of Vienna 
 must be plucked down. [the city ? 
 
 Bawd. And what shall become of those in 
 
 Clo. They shall stand for seed : they had 
 gone down too, but that a wise burgher put in 
 for them. 
 
 Bawd. But shall all our houses of resort in 
 the suburbs be pulled down ? 
 
 Clo. To the ground, mistress. 
 
 Bawd. Why, here 's a change indeed in the 
 commonwealth ! What shall become of me ? 
 
 Clo. Come ; fear not you : good counsellors 
 lack no clients : though you change your place 
 you need not change your trade ; I '11 be your 
 tapster still. Courage ; there will be pity taken 
 on you : you that have worn your eyes almost 
 out in the service, you will be considered. 
 ^ Bawd. What's to do here, Thomas Tapster? 
 Let 's withdraw. 
 
 Clo. Here comes Signior Claudio, led by 
 the provost to prison : and there 's Madam 
 Juliet. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. The same. 
 
 Enter PROVOST, CLAUDIO, JULIET, and 
 Officers ; Lucio and two GENTLEMEN. 
 
 Claud. Fellow, why dost thou show me thus 
 
 to the world ? 
 Bear me to prison, where I am committed. 
 
 Prov. I do it not in evil disposition, 
 But from Lord Angelo by special charge. 
 
 Claud. Thus can the demi-god Authority 
 Make us pay down for our offence by weight. 
 The words of heaven ; on whom it will, it will ; 
 On whom it will not, so ; yet still 'tis just. 
 
 Lucio. Why, how now, Claudio ? whence 
 comes this restraint ? [liberty : 
 
 Claud. Frorr too much liberty, my Lucio, 
 As surfeit is the father of much fast, 
 So every scope by the immoderate use 
 Turns to restraint. Our natures do pursue, 
 Like rats that ravin down their proper bane, 
 A thirsty evil ; and when we drink we die. 
 
 Lucio. If I could speak so wisely under an 
 arrest, I would send for certain of my creditors ; 
 and yet, to say the truth, I had as lief have the 
 foppery of freedom as the morality of imprison- 
 ment. What's thy offence, Claudio? 
 
 Claud. What but to speak of would offend 
 again. 
 
 Lucio. What, is it murder ? 
 
 Claud. No. 
 
 Lucio. Lechery ? 
 
 Claud. Call it so. 
 
 Prov. Away, sir ; you must go. 
 
 Claud. One word, good friend : Lucio, a 
 uv*x'v : . word with you. [ Takes him aside. 
 
 Lucio. A hundred, if they '11 do you any good. 
 Is lechery so looked after ? 
 
 Claud. Thus it stands with me : Upon a 
 
 true contract 
 
 I got possession of Julietta's bed : 
 You know the lady ; she is fast my wife, 
 Save that we do the denunciation lack 
 Of outward order : this we came not to 
 Only for propagation of a dower 
 Remaining in the coffer of her friends ; 
 From whom we thought it meet to hide our love 
 Till time had made them for us. But it chances 
 The stealth of our most mutual entertainment, 
 With character too gross, is writ on Juliet. 
 
 Lucio. With child, perhaps? 
 
 Claud. Unhappily, even so. 
 And the new deputy now for the duke, 
 Whether it be the fault and glimpse of newness, 
 Or whether that the body public be 
 A horse whereon the governor doth ride, 
 Who, newly in the seat, that it may know 
 He can command, lets it straight feel the spur : 
 Whether the tyranny be in his place, 
 Or in his eminence that fills it up, 
 I stagger in. But this new governor 
 Awakes me all the enrolled penalties 
 Which have, like unscour'd armour, hung by 
 
 the wall 
 So long that nineteen zodiacs have gone round 
 
no 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 And none of them been worn ; and, for a name, 
 Now puts the drowsy and neglected act 
 Freshly on me ; 'tis surely for a name. 
 
 Lucio. I warrant it is : and thy head stands 
 so tickle on thy shoulders that a milkmaid, if 
 she be in love, may sigh it off. Send after the 
 duke, and appeal to him. [found. 
 
 Clatid. I have done so, but he 's not to be 
 I pr'ythee, Lucio, do me this kind service : 
 This day my sister should the cloister enter, 
 And there receive her approbation : 
 Acquaint her with the danger of my state ; 
 Implore her, in my voice, that she make friends 
 To the strict deputy ; bid herself assay him ; 
 I have great hope ia that : for in her youth 
 There is a prone and speechless dialect 
 Such as moves men ; beside, she hath prosper- 
 ous art 
 
 When she will play with reason and discourse, 
 And well she can persuade. 
 
 Lucio. I pray she may ; as well for the en- 
 couragement of the like, which else would stand 
 under grievous imposition, as for the enjoying of 
 thy life, who I would be sorry should be thus 
 foolishly lost at a game of tick-tack. I '11 to her. 
 
 Claud, I thank you, good friend Lucio. 
 
 Lucio. Within two hours, 
 
 Claud. Come, officer, away. \_Ex9ttnt. 
 
 SCENE IV. A Monastery. 
 Enter DUKE and Friar THOMAS. 
 
 Duke. No ; holy father ; throw away that 
 
 thought ; 
 
 Believe not that the dribbling dart of love 
 Can pierce a complete bosom : why I desire thee 
 To give me secret harbour hath a purpose 
 More grave and wrinkled than the aims and ends 
 Of burning youth. 
 
 Fri. May your grace speak of it ? 
 
 Duke. My holy sir, none better knows than 
 
 you 
 
 How I have ever lov'd the life remov'd, 
 And held in idle price to haunt assemblies 
 Where youth, and cost, and witless bra very keeps. 
 I have deliver'd to Lord Angelo, 
 A man of stricture and firm abstinence, 
 My absolute power and place here in Vienna 
 And he supposes me travel I'd to Poland ; 
 For so I have strew'd it in the common ear, 
 And so it is received. Now, pious sir, 
 You will demand of me why I do this ? 
 
 Fri. Gladly, my lord. [laws, 
 
 Duke. We have strict statutes and most biting 
 The needful bits and curbs for headstrong 
 
 steeds, 
 Which for these fourteen years we have let sleep, 
 
 Even like an o'ergrown lion in a cave, 
 
 That goes not out to prey. Now, as fond 
 
 fathers, 
 
 Having bound up the threat'ning twigs of birch, 
 Only to stick it in their children's sight 
 For terror, not to use, in time the rod 
 Becomes more mock 'd than fear'd : so our decrees , 
 Dead to infliction, to themselves are dead ; 
 And liberty plucks justice by the nose ; 
 The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart 
 Goes all decorum. 
 
 Fri. It rested in your grace 
 
 To unloose this tied-up justice when you pleas'd : 
 And it in you more dreadful would have seem'd 
 Than in Lord Angelo. 
 
 Duke. I do fear, too dreadful : 
 
 Sith 'twas my fault to give the people scope, 
 'Twould be my tyranny to strike and gall them 
 For what I bid them do : for we bid this be done 
 When evil deeds have their permissive pass 
 And not the punishment. Therefore, indeed, 
 
 my father, 
 
 I have on Angelo impos'd the office ; 
 Who may, in the ambush of my name, strikehome, 
 And yet my nature never in the fight, 
 To do it slander. And to behold his sway, 
 I will, as 'twere a brother of your order, 
 Visit both prince and people : therefore, I 
 
 pr'ythee, 
 
 Supply me with the habit, and instruct me 
 How I may formally in person bear me 
 Like a true friar. More reasons for this action 
 At our more leisure shall I render you ; 
 Only, this one : Lord Angelo is precise ; 
 Stands at a guard with envy ; scarce confesses 
 That his blood flows, or that his appetite 
 Is more to bread than stone : hence shall we see, 
 If power change purpose, what our seemers be. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. A Nunnery. 
 Enter ISABELLA and FRANCISCA. 
 
 Isab. And have you nuns no further privileges? 
 
 Fran. Are not these large enough ? 
 
 Isab. Yes, truly: I speak not as desiring more, 
 But rather wishing a more strict restraint 
 Upon the sisterhood, the votaries of St. Clare. 
 
 Lucio. Ho! Peace be in this place! \Within. 
 
 Isab. Who 's that which calls ? 
 
 Fran. It is a man's voice. Gentle Isabella, 
 Turn you the key, and know his business of him ; 
 You may, I may not ; you are yet unsworn : 
 When you have vow'd, you must not speak with 
 
 men 
 
 But in the presence of the prioress ; [face ; 
 Then, if you speak, you must not show your 
 
SCENE V.] 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 in 
 
 Or, if you show your /ace, you must not speak. 
 He calls again ; I pray you answer him. 
 
 [Exit FRANCISCA. 
 
 I sab. Peace and prosperity ! Who is 't that 
 calls ? 
 
 _ 
 Enter LuciO. . 
 
 Lucio. Hail, virgin, if you be ; as those 
 
 cheek-roses 
 
 Proclaim you are no less ! Can you so stead me 
 As bring me to the sight of Isabella, 
 A novice of this place, and the fair sister 
 To her unhappy brother Claudio ? 
 
 Isab. Why her unhappy brother? let me ask ; 
 The rather, for I now must make you know 
 I am that Isabella, and his sister. 
 
 Lucio. Gentle and fair, your brother kindly 
 
 greets you : 
 Not to be weary with you, he 's in prison. 
 
 Isab. Woe me ! For what ? 
 
 Lucio. For that which, if myself might be his 
 
 judge, 
 
 He should receive his punishment in thanks : 
 He hath got his friend with child. 
 
 Isab. Sir, make me not your story. 
 
 Lucio. It is true. 
 
 I would not though 'tis my familiar sin 
 With maids to seem the lapwing, and to jest 
 Tongue far from heart play with all virgins so : 
 I hold you as a thing ensky'd and sainted ; 
 By your renouncement an immortal spirit ; 
 And to be talk'd with in sincerity, 
 As with n saint. [me. 
 
 Isab. You do blaspheme the good in mocking 
 
 Lucio. Do not believe it. Fewness and 
 
 truth, 'tis thus: 
 
 Your brother and his lover have embraced : 
 As those that feed grow full : as blossoming time, 
 That from the seedness the bare fallow brings 
 To teeming foison ; even so her plenteous womb 
 Expresseth his full tilth and husbandry. 
 
 Isab. Some one with child by him ? My 
 cousin Juliet ? 
 
 Lucio. Is she your cousin ? 
 
 Isab. Adoptedly ; as schoolmaids change 
 
 their names 
 By vain though apt affection. 
 
 Lucio. She it is. 
 
 Isab. O, let him marry her ! 
 
 Lucio. This is the point. 
 
 The duke is very strangely gone from hence ; 
 Bore many gentlemen, myself being one, 
 In hand, and hope of action : but we do learn 
 By those that know the very nerves of state, 
 His givings out were of an infinite distance 
 From his true-meant design. Upon his place, 
 And with full line of his authority, 
 
 Governs Lord Angelo : a man whose blood 
 Is very snow-broth ; one who never feels 
 The wanton stings and motions of the sense. 
 But doth rebate and blunt his natural edge 
 With profits of the mind, study, and fast. 
 He, to give fear to use and liberty, 
 Which have for long run by the hideous law, 
 As mice by lions, hath pick'd out an act, 
 Under whose heavy sense your brother's life 
 Falls into forfeit : he arrests him on it ; 
 And follows close the rigour of the statute 
 To make him an example ; all hope is gone. 
 Unless you have the grace by your fair prayer 
 To soften Angelo : and that 's my pith 
 Of business 'twixt you and your poor brother. 
 
 Isab. Doth he so seek his life ? 
 
 Lucio. Has censur'd him 
 
 Already ; and, as I hear, the provost hath 
 A warrant for his execution. 
 
 Isab. Alas ! what poor ability 's in me 
 To do him good. 
 
 Lucio. Assay the power you have. 
 
 Isab. My power ! alas, I doubt, 
 
 Lucio. Our doubts are traitors, 
 
 And make us lose the good we oft might win 
 By fearing to attempt. Go to Lord Angelo, 
 And let him learn to know, when maidens sue, 
 Men give like gods ; but when they weep and 
 
 kneel, 
 
 All their petitions are as freely theirs 
 As they themselves would owe them. 
 
 Isab. I '11 see what I can do. 
 
 Lucio. But speedily. 
 
 Isab. I will about it straight ; 
 No longer staying but to give the mother 
 Notice of my affair. I humbly thank you : 
 Commend me to my brother : soon at night 
 I '11 send him certain word of my success. 
 
 Lucio. I take my leave of you. 
 
 Isab. Good sir, adieu. 
 
 \_Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. A Hall in ANGELO'S House. 
 
 Enter ANGELO, ESCALUS, a JUSTICE, PRO- 
 VOST, Officers, and other Attendants. 
 
 Ang. We must not make a scarecrow of the 
 
 law, 
 
 Setting it up to fear the birds of prey, 
 And let it keep one shape till custom make it 
 Their perch, and not their terror. 
 
 Escal. Ay, but yet 
 
 Let us be keen, and rather cut a little 
 Than fall and bruise to death. Alas ! this 
 gentleman, 
 
112 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 Whom I would save, had a most noble father. 
 Let but your honour know, - 
 Whom I believe to be most strait in virtue, 
 That, in the working of your own affections, 
 Had time coher'd with place, or place with 
 
 wishing, 
 
 Or that the resolute acting of your blood 
 Could have attain'd the effect of your own 
 
 purpose, 
 
 Whether you had not sometime in your life 
 Err'd in this point which now you censure him, 
 And pull'd the law upon you. 
 
 Ang. 'Tis one thing to be tempted, Escalus, 
 Another thing to fall. I not deny. 
 The jury, passing on the prisoner's life, 
 May, in the sworn twelve, have a thief or two 
 Guiltier than him they try. What's open 
 
 made to justice, 
 
 That justice seizes. What know the laws 
 That thieves do pass on thieves ? 'Tis very 
 
 pregnant, 
 
 The jewel that we find, we stoop and take it, 
 Because we see it ; but what we do not see 
 We tread upon, and never think of it. 
 You may not so extenuate his offence 
 For I have had such faults ; but rather tell me, 
 When I, that censure him, do so offend, 
 Let mine own judgment pattern out my death, 
 And nothing come in partial. Sir, he must die. 
 
 EscaL Be it as your wisdom will. 
 
 Ang. Where is the provost ? 
 
 Prov. Here, if it like your honour. 
 
 Ang. See that Claudio 
 
 Be executed by nine to-morrow morning : 
 Bring him his confessor ; let him be prepared ; 
 For that 's the utmost of his pilgrimage. 
 
 [Exit PROVOST. 
 
 EscaL Well, heaven forgive him ! and for- 
 give us all ! 
 
 Some rise by sin and some by virtue fall : 
 Some run from brakes of vice, and answer none ; 
 And some condemned for a fault alone. 
 
 Enter ELBOW, FROTH, CLOWN, Officers, &c. 
 
 Elb. Come, bring them away: if these be 
 good people in a commonweal that do nothing 
 but use their abuses in common houses, I know 
 no law ; bring them away. 
 
 Ang. How now, sir ! What 's your name ? 
 and what 's the matter ? 
 
 Elb. If it please your honour, I am the poor 
 duke's constable, and my nme is Elbow ; I do 
 lean upon justice, sir, and do bring in here be- 
 fore your good honour two notorious bene- 
 factors. 
 
 Ang. Benefactors! Well; what benefactors 
 are they? are they not malefactors? 
 
 Elb. If it please your honour, I know not 
 well what they are : but precise villains they 
 are, that I am sure of ; and void of all profana- 
 tion in the world that good Christians ought to 
 have. [officer. 
 
 EscaL This comes off well ; here 's a wise 
 
 Ang. Go to ; what quality are they of ? 
 Elbow is your name ? Why dost thou not 
 speak, Elbow? 
 
 Clo. He cannot, sir ; he 's out at elbow. 
 
 Ang. What are you, sir ? 
 
 Elb. He, sir ? a tapster, sir ; parcel-bawd ; 
 one that serves a bad woman ; whose house, 
 sir, was, as they say, plucked down in the 
 suburbs ; and now she professes a hot-house, 
 which, I think, is a very ill house too. 
 
 EscaL How know you that ? 
 
 Elb. My wife, sir, whom I detest before 
 heaven and your honour, 
 
 EscaL How ! thy wife ! 
 
 Elb. Ay, sir ; who, I thank heaven, is an 
 honest woman, 
 
 EscaL Dost thou detest her therefore ? 
 
 Elb. I say, sir, I will detest myself also, as 
 well as she, that this house, if it be not a 
 bawd's house, it is pity of her life, for it is a 
 naughty house. 
 
 EscaL How dost thou know that, constable? 
 
 Elb. Marry, sir, by my wife ; who, if she 
 had been a woman cardinally given, might 
 have been accused in fornication, adultery, and 
 all uncleanliness there. 
 
 EscaL By the woman's means? 
 
 Elb. Ay, sir, by Mistress Overdone's means : 
 but as she spit in his face, so she defied him. 
 
 Clo. Sir, if it please your honour, this is not so. 
 
 Elb. Prove it before these varlets here, thou 
 honourable man, prove it. 
 
 EscaL Do you hear how he misplaces ? 
 
 [To ANGELO. 
 
 Clo. Sir, she came in great with child ; and 
 longing saving your honour's reverence for 
 stewed prunes, sir ; we had but two in the 
 house, which at that very distant time stood, 
 as it were, in a fruit-dish, a dish of some three- 
 pence ; your honours have seen such dishes ; 
 they are not China dishes, but very good 
 dishes. [sir. 
 
 EscaL Go to, go to ; no matter for the dish, 
 
 Clo. No, indeed, sir, not of a pin ; you are 
 therein in the right : but to the point. As I 
 say, this Mistress Elbow, being, as I say, with 
 child, and being great-bellied, and longing, as 
 I said, for prunes ; and having but two in the 
 dish, as I said, Master Froth here, this very 
 man, having eaten the rest, as I said, and, as I 
 say, paying for them very honestly ; for, as 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 you know, Master Froth, I could not give you 
 threepence again, 
 
 Froth. No, indeed. 
 
 do. Very well : you being then, if you be 
 remembered, cracking the stones of the afore- 
 said prunes, 
 
 Froth. Ay, so I did, indeed. 
 
 Clo. Why, very well : I telling you then, if 
 you be remembered, that such a one and such 
 a one were past cure of the thing you wot of, 
 unless they kept very good diet, as I told 
 you, 
 
 Froth. All this is true. 
 
 Clo. Why, very well then. 
 
 Escal. Come, you are a tedious fool : to the 
 purpose. What was done to Elbow's wife that 
 he hath cause to complain of? Come me to 
 what was done to her. 
 
 Clo. Sir, your honour cannot come to that yet. 
 
 Escal. No, sir, nor I mean it not. 
 
 Clo. Sir, but you shall come to it, by your 
 honour's leave. And, I beseech you, look into 
 Master Froth here, sir ; a man of fourscore 
 pound a-year ; whose father died at Hallow- 
 mas: was't not at Hallowmas, Master Froth? 
 
 Froth. All-hallond eve. 
 
 Clo. Why, very well ; I hope here be truths : 
 He, sir, sitting, as I say, in a lower chair, sir ; 
 'twas in the Bunch of Grapes, where, indeed, 
 you have a delight to sit, have you not ? 
 
 Froth. I have so ; because it is an open 
 room, and good for winter. [truths. 
 
 Clo. Why, very well then ; I hope here be 
 
 Ang. This will last out a night in Russia, 
 When nights are longest there: I '11 take my leave, 
 And leave you to the hearing of the cause ; 
 Hoping you '11 find good cause to whip them all. 
 
 Escal. I think no less. Good morrow to 
 
 your lordship. [Exit ANGBLO. 
 
 Now, sir, come on : what was done to Elbow's 
 
 wife, once more ? [her once. 
 
 Clo. Once, sir? there was nothing done to 
 
 Elb. I beseech you, sir, ask him what this 
 man did to my wife. 
 
 Clo. I beseech your honour, ask me. 
 
 Escal. Well, sir : what did this gentleman 
 to her ? 
 
 Clo. I beseech you, sir, look in this gentle- 
 man's face. Good Master Froth, look upon 
 his honour ; 'tis for a good purpose. Doth 
 your honour mark his face ? 
 
 Escal. Ay, sir, very well. 
 
 Clo. Nay, I beseech you, mark it well. 
 
 Escal. .Well, I do so. 
 
 Clo. Doth your honour see any harm in his face? 
 
 Escal. Why, no. 
 
 Cfa. I '11 be supposed upon a book, his face 
 
 is the worst thing about him. Good then ; if 
 bis face be the worst thing about him, how 
 could Master Froth do the constable's wife any 
 harm ? I would know that of your honour. 
 
 Escal. He 'sin the right. Constable, what 
 say you to it ? 
 
 Elb. First, an it like you, the house is a re- 
 spected house ; next, this is a respected fellow ; 
 and his mistress is a respected woman. 
 
 Clo. By this hand, sir, his wife is a more re- 
 spected person than any of us all. 
 
 Elb. Varlet, thou liest ; thou liest, wicked 
 varlet : the time is yet to come that she was 
 ever respected with man, woman, or child. 
 
 Clo. Sir, she was respected with him before 
 he married with her. 
 
 Escal. Which is the wiser here ? Justice or 
 Iniquity ? Is this true ? 
 
 Elb. O thou caitiff ! O thou varlet ! O thou 
 wicked Hannibal ! I respected with her before 
 I was married to her ? If ever I was respected 
 with her, or she with me, let not your worship 
 think me the poor duke's officer. Prove this, 
 thou wicked Hannibal, or I '11 have mine 
 action of battery on thee. 
 
 Escal. If he took you a box o' th' ear, you 
 might have your action of slander too. 
 
 Elb. Marry, I thank your good worship for 
 it. What is 't your worship's pleasure I should 
 do with this wicked caitiff? 
 
 Escal. Truly, officer, because he hath some 
 offences in him that thou wouldst discover if 
 thou couldst, let him continue in his courses 
 till thou knowest what they are. 
 
 Elb. Marry, I thank your worship for it. 
 Thou seest, thou wicked varlet, now, what 's 
 come upon thee ; thou art to continue now, 
 thou varlet ; thou art tc continue. 
 
 Escal. Where were } >\i born, friend ? 
 
 [To FROTH. 
 
 Froth. Here in Vienna, sir. 
 
 Escal. Are you of fourscore pounds a-year ? 
 
 Froth. Yes, an 't please you, sir. 
 
 Escal. So. What trade are you of, sir ? 
 
 [To the CLOWN. 
 
 Clo. A tapster ; a poor widow's tapster. 
 
 Escal. Your mistress's name ? 
 
 Clo. Mistress Overdone. 
 
 Escal. Hath she had any more than one 
 husband ? 
 
 Clo. Nine, sir ; Overdone by the last. 
 
 Escal. Nine ! Come hither to me, Master 
 Froth. Master Froth, I would not have you 
 acquainted with tapsters : they will draw you, 
 Master Froth, and you will hang them. Get 
 you gone, and let me hear no more of you. 
 
 Froth. I thank your worship. For mine 
 
114 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 FACT IT. 
 
 own part, I never come into any room in a tap- 
 house but I am drawn in. 
 
 Escal. Well ; no more of it, Master Froth : 
 farewell. [Exit FROTH.] Come you hither 
 to me, master tapster ; what 's your name, 
 master tapster ? 
 
 Clo. Pompey. 
 
 Escal. What else? 
 
 Clo. Bum, sir. 
 
 Escal. 'Troth, and your bum is the greatest 
 thing about you ; so that, in the beastliest 
 sense, you are Pompey the great. Pompey, 
 you are partly a bawd, Pompey, howsoever 
 you colour it in being a tapster. Are you not? 
 come, tell me true ; it shall be the better for you. 
 
 Clo. Truly, sir, I am a poor fellow that 
 would live. 
 
 Escal. How would you live, Pompey? by 
 being a bawd ? What do you think of the 
 trade, Pompey ? is it a lawful trade ? 
 
 Clo. If the law would allow it, sir. 
 
 Escal. But the law will not allow it, Pom- 
 pey : nor it shall not be allowed in Vienna. 
 
 Clo. Does your worship mean to geld and 
 splay all the youth in the city ? 
 
 Escal. No, Pompey. 
 
 Clo. Truly, sir, in my poor opinion, they 
 .vill to 't then. If your worship will take order 
 for the drabs and the knaves, you need not to 
 fear the bawds. 
 
 Escal. There are pretty orders beginning, I 
 can tell you. It is but heading and hanging. 
 
 Clo. If you head and hang all that offend 
 that way but for ten year together, you '11 be 
 glad to give out a commission for more heads. 
 If this law hold in Vienna ten year, I '11 rent 
 the fairest house in it, after threepence a bay. 
 If you live to see this < ome to pass, say Pom- 
 pey told you so. 
 
 Escal. Thank you, *ood Pompey: and, in 
 requital of your prophecy, hark you, I advise 
 you, let me not find you before me again upon 
 any complaint whatsoever, no, not for dwell- 
 ing where you do ; if I do, Pompey, I shall 
 beat you to your tent, and prove a shrewd 
 Csesar to you ; in plain dealing, Pompey, I 
 shall have you whipt : so for this time, Pom- 
 pey, fare you well. 
 
 Clo. I thank your worship for your good 
 counsel ; but I shall follow it as the flesh and 
 fortune shall better determine. 
 Whip me ? No, no ; let carman whip his jade ; 
 The valiant heart's not whipt out of his trade. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Escal. Come hither to me, Master Elbow ; 
 come hither, Master Constable. How long have 
 you been Jn this place of constable ? 
 
 Elb. Seven year and a half, sir. 
 
 Escal. I thought, by your readiness in the 
 office, you had continued in it some time. You 
 say seven years together ? 
 
 Elb. And a half, sir. 
 
 Escal. Alas ! it hath been great pains to you ! 
 They do you wrong to put you so oft upon 't. Are 
 there not men in your ward sufficient to serve it? 
 
 Elb. Faith, sir, few of any wit in such mat- 
 ters : as they are chosen, they are glad to choose 
 me for them ; I do it for some piece of money, 
 and go through with all. 
 
 Escal. Look you, bring me in the names of 
 some six or seven, the most sufficient of your 
 parish. 
 
 Elb. To your worship's house, sir ? 
 
 Escal. To my house. Fare you well. [Exit. 
 ELBOW.] What's o'clock, think you ? 
 
 Just. Eleven, sir. 
 
 Escal. I pray you home to dinner with me. 
 
 Just. I humbly thank you. 
 
 Escal. It grieves me for the death of Claudio ; 
 But there 's no remedy. 
 
 Just. Lord Angelo is severe. 
 
 Escal. It is but needful : 
 
 Mercy is not itself, that oft looks so ; 
 Pardon is still the nurse of second woe : 
 But yet, Poor Claudio 1 There 's no remedy. 
 Come, sir. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. Another Room in the same. 
 Enter PROVOST and a Servant. 
 
 Serv. He 's hearing of a cause ; he will come 
 
 straight. 
 I '11 tell him of you. [know 
 
 Prov. Pray you do. [Exit Servant.] I'll 
 His pleasure ; may be he will relent. Alas, 
 He hath but as offended in a dream ! 
 All sects, all ages, smack of this vice ; and he 
 To die for it ! 
 
 f.*r:'fM fj .^5 r.-'ffV, -. 9f/f fTr r j }< C -,',;; .\--,fff) 
 
 Enter ANGELO. 
 
 Ang. Now, what 's the matter, provost? 
 
 Prov. Is it your will Claudio shall die to- 
 morrow ? 
 
 Ang. Did I not tell thee yea? hadst thou 
 
 not order ? 
 Why dost thou ask again ? 
 
 Prov. Lest I might be too rash : 
 
 Under your good correction, I have seen 
 When, after execution, judgment hath 
 Repented o'er his doom. 
 
 Ang. Go to ; let that be mine : 
 
 Do you your office, or give up your place, 
 And you shall well be spared. 
 
 Prov* I crave your honour's pardon : 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 What shall be done, sir, with the groaning Juliet? 
 She 3 s very near her hour. 
 
 Ang. Dispose of her 
 
 To some more fitter place ; and that with speed. 
 
 Re-enter Servant. 
 
 Set v. Here is the sister of the man condemned 
 Desires access to you. 
 
 Ang. Hath he a sister ? 
 
 Prov. Ay, my good lord ; a very virtuous maid, 
 And to be shortly of a sisterhood, 
 If not already. 
 
 Ang. Well, let her be admitted. 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 
 See you the fornicatress be remov'd ; 
 Let her have needful but not lavish means ; 
 There shall be order for it. 
 
 I 
 
 Enter Lucio and ISABELLA. 
 
 Prov. Save your honour ! [Offering to retire. 
 
 Ang. Stay a little while. [To ISAB.] You 
 are welcome. What 's your will ? 
 
 Isab. I am a woeful suitor to your honour, 
 Please but your honour hear me. 
 
 Ang. Well ; what 's your suit ? 
 
 Isab. There is a vice that most I do abhor, 
 And most desire should meet the blow of justice ; 
 For which I would not plead, but that I must ; 
 For which I must not plead, but that I am 
 At war 'twixt will and will not. 
 
 Ang. Well ; the matter ? 
 
 Isab. I have a brother is condemn'd to die ; 
 I do beseech you, let it be his fault, 
 And not my brother. 
 
 Prov. Heaven give thee moving graces. 
 
 Ang. Condemn the fault and not the actor of it ! 
 Why, every fault 's condemn'd ere it be done ; 
 Mine were the very cipher of a function, 
 To find the fault whose fine stands in record, 
 And let go by the actor. 
 
 Isab. O just but severe law ! 
 
 I had a brother, then. Heaven keep your hon- 
 our ! [Retiring. 
 
 Lucio. [To ISAB.] Give't not o'er so: 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 more tame a tongue desire it : 
 To him, I say. 
 
 Isab. Must he needs die ? 
 
 Ang< Maiden, no remedy. 
 
 Isab. Yes ; I do think that you might pardon 
 
 him, 
 And neither heaven nor man grieve at the mercy. 
 
 Ang. I will not do 't. 
 
 Isab. But can you, if you would ? 
 
 Ang. Look, what I will not, that I cannot do. 
 
 Isab. But might you do 't, and do the world 
 
 no wrong, 
 
 If so your heart were touch'd with that remorse 
 As mine is to him. 
 
 Ang. He 's sentenc'd ; 'tis too late. 
 
 Lucio. You are too cold. [ To ISABELLA. 
 
 Isab. Too late? why, no; I, that do speak a 
 
 word, 
 
 May call it back again. Well, believe this, 
 No ceremony that to great ones 'longs, 
 Not the king's crown nor the deputed sword, 
 The marshal's truncheon nor the judge's robe, 
 Become them with one half so good a grace 
 As mercy does. If he had been as you, 
 And you as he, you would have slipp'd like him ; 
 But he, like you, would not have been so stern. 
 
 Ang. Pray you, be gone. 
 
 Isab. I would to heaven I had your potency. 
 And you were Isabel ! should it then be thus ? 
 No ; I would tell what 'twere to be a judge 
 And what a prisoner. 
 
 Lucio. Ay, touch him ; there 's the vein. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Ang. Your brother is a forfeit of the law, 
 And you but waste your words. 
 
 Isab. Alas ! alas ! 
 
 Why, all the souls that were were forfeit once ; 
 And He that might the vantage best have took 
 Found out the remedy. How would you be 
 If He, which is the top of judgment, should 
 But judge you as you are ? O, think on that ; 
 And mercy then wijl breathe within your lips, 
 Like man new made. 
 
 Ang. Be you content, fair maid : 
 
 It is the law, not I, condemns your brother : 
 Were he my kinsman, brother, or my son, 
 It should be thus with him ; he must die to- 
 morrow, [him, spare him ! 
 
 Isab. To-morrow! O that 's sudden ! Spare 
 He's not prepared for death. Even for our 
 
 kitchens 
 
 We kill the fowl of season : shall we serve heaven 
 With less respect than we do minister [you : 
 Toour gross selves? Good, good my lord, bethink 
 Who is it that hath died for this offence ? 
 There 's many have committed it. 
 
 Lucio. Ay, well said. 
 
 Ang. The law hath not been dead, though 
 
 it hath slept : 
 
 Those many had not dared to do that evil 
 If the first man that did the edict infringe 
 Had answer'd for his deed : now 'tis awake ; 
 Takes note of what is done ; and, like a prophet, 
 Looks in a glass that shows what future evils, 
 Either now, or by remissness new-conceiv'd, 
 And so in progress to be hatch'd and born, 
 
MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 Are now to have no successive degrees, 
 But, where they live, to end. 
 
 Isab. Yet show some pity. 
 
 Ang. I show it most of all when I shjw justice; 
 For then I pity those I do not know, 
 Which a dismiss'd offence would after gall, 
 And do him right thatj answering one foul wrong, 
 Lives not to act another. Be satisfied ; 
 Your brother dies to-morrow : be content. 
 
 Isab. So you must be the first that gives this 
 
 sentence ; 
 
 And he that suffers. O, it is excellent 
 To have a giant's strength ; but it is tyrannous 
 To use it like a giant. 
 
 Lucio. That 's well said. 
 
 Isab. Could great men thunder 
 As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet, 
 For every pelting petty officer 
 Would use his heaven for thunder : nothing but 
 
 thunder. 
 
 Merciful heaven ! 
 
 Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt, 
 Splitt'st the unwedgeable and gnarled oak 
 Than the soft myrtle ; but man, proud man ! 
 Dress'd in a little brief authority, 
 Most ignorant of what he 's most assured, 
 His glassy essence, like an angry ape, 
 Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven 
 As make the angels weep; who, with our spleens, 
 Would all themselves laugh mortal. 
 
 Lucio. O, to him, to him, wench : he will re- 
 lent; 
 He 's coming ; I perceive 't. 
 
 Prov. Pray heaven she win him ! 
 
 Isab. We cannot weigh our brother with our- 
 self : [them ; 
 
 Great men may jest with saints : 'tis wit in 
 But, in the less, foul profanation. 
 
 Lucio. Thou 'rt in the right, girl ; more o' that. 
 
 Isab. That in the captain 's but a choleric word 
 Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy. 
 
 Lucio. Art advised o' that ? more on 't. 
 
 Ang. Why do you put these sayings upon me ? 
 
 Isab. Because authority, though it err like 
 
 others, 
 
 Hath yet a kind of medicine in itself 
 That skins the vice o' the top. Go to you r bosom ; 
 Knock there ; and ask your heart what it doth 
 
 know 
 
 That's like my brother's fault; if it confess 
 A natural guiltiness such as is his, 
 Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue 
 Against my brother's life. 
 
 Ang. She speaks, and 'tis 
 
 Such sense that my sense breeds with it. 
 
 Fare you well. 
 
 Isab. Gentle, my lord, turn back. 
 
 Ang. I will bethink me : Come again to- 
 morrow, [lord, turn back. 
 
 Isab. Hark how I '11 bribe you. Good, my 
 
 Ang. How ! bribe me ? 
 
 Isab. Ay, with such gifts that heaven shall 
 share with you. 
 
 Lucio. You had marr'd all else. 
 
 Isab. Not with fond shekels of the tested gold, 
 Or stones, whose rates are either rich or poor 
 As fancy values them : but with true prayers, 
 That shall be up at heaven, and enter there, 
 Ere sunrise : prayers from preserved souls, 
 From fasting maids, whose minds are dedicate 
 To nothing temporal. 
 
 Ang. Well ; come to me 
 
 To-morrow. 
 
 Lucio. Go to ; it is well ; away. 
 
 [Aside to ISABELLA. 
 
 Isab. Heaven keep your honour safe ! 
 
 Ang. Amen : for I 
 
 Am that waygoing to temptation, [Aside. 
 
 Where prayers cross. 
 
 Isab. At what hour to-morrow 
 
 Shall I attend your lordship ? 
 
 Ang. At any time 'fore noon. 
 
 Isab. Save your honour ! 
 
 [Exeunt Lucio, ISAB. , and PROV. 
 
 Ang. From thee ; even from thy virtue ! 
 What's this? what's this? Is this her fault or 
 mine ? [Ha ! 
 
 The tempter or the tempted, who sins most ? 
 Not she ; nor doth she tempt ; but it is I 
 That, lying by the violet, in the sun 
 Do, as the carrion does, not as the flower, 
 Corrupt with virtuous season. Can it be 
 That modesty may more betray our sense 
 Than woman's lightness ? Having waste 
 
 ground enough, 
 
 Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary 
 And pitch our evils there ? O, fie, fie, fie ! 
 What dost thou ? or what art thou, Angelo ? 
 Dost thou desire her foully for those things 
 That make her good ? O, let her brother live ; 
 Thieves for their robbery have authority 
 When judges steal themselves. What ! do I 
 
 love her, 
 
 That I desire to hear her speak again [on ? 
 And feast upon her eyes ? What is 't I dream 
 O cunning enemy, that, to catch a saint, 
 With saints dost bait thy hook ! Most dangerous 
 Is that temptation that doth goad us on 
 Tosin in loving virtue : never could the strumpet, 
 With all her double vigour, art, and nature, 
 Once stir my temper ; but this virtuous maid 
 Subdues me quite. Ever till now, 
 When men were fond, I smil'd and wonder'd 
 how. [Exit. 
 
SCENE III,] 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 117 
 
 SCENE III. A Room in a Prison. 
 
 Enter DUKE, habited like a Friar , and 
 PROVOST. 
 
 Duke. Hail to you, provost ! so I think you 
 are. [good friar ? 
 
 Prov. I am the provost. What's your will, 
 
 Duke. Bound by my charity and my bless'd 
 
 order, 
 
 I come to visit the afflicted spirits uh;i 
 Here in the prison : do me the common right 
 To let me see them, and to make me know 
 The nature of their crimes, that I may minister 
 To them accordingly. [were needful. 
 
 Frov. I would do more than that, if more 
 
 Enter JULIET. 
 
 Look, here comes one ; a gentlewoman of mine, 
 Who, falling in the flames of her own youth, 
 Hath blister'd her report. She is with child; 
 And he that got it, sentenc'd : a young man ; 
 More fit to do another such offence 
 Than die for this. 
 
 Duke. When must he die ? 
 
 Prov. As I do think, to-morrow, 
 I have provided for you ; stay awhile 
 
 [To JULIET. 
 And you shall be conducted. [carry ? 
 
 Duke. Repent you, fair one, of the sin you 
 
 Juliet. I do ; and bear the shame most 
 patiently. 
 
 Duke. I '11 teach you how you shall arraign 
 
 your conscience. 
 
 And try your penitence, if it be sound 
 Or hollowly put on. 
 
 Tuliet. ' I '11 gladly learn. 
 
 Duke. Love you the man that wrong'd you ? 
 
 Juliet. Yes, as I love the woman that 
 wrong'd him. [act 
 
 Duke. So then, it seems, your most offenceful 
 Was mutually committed ? 
 
 Juliet. Mutually. [than his. 
 
 Duke. Then was your sin of heavier kind 
 
 Juliet. I do confess it, and repent it, father. 
 
 Duke. 'Tis meet so, daughter : but lest you 
 
 do repent [shame, 
 
 As that the sin hath brought you to this 
 
 Which sorrow is always toward ourselves, not 
 
 heaven, [love it, 
 
 Showing we would not spare heaven as we 
 
 But as we stand in fear, 
 
 Juliet. I do repent me as it is an evil, 
 And take the shame with joy. 
 
 Duke. There rest. 
 
 Your partner, as I hear, must die to-morrow, 
 And I am going with instruction to him. 
 
 Juliet. Grace go with you ! 
 
 Duke. Benedicite! [Exit. 
 
 Juliet. Must die to-morrow ! O, injurious 
 
 law, 
 
 That respites me a life whose very comfort 
 Is still a dying horror ! 
 
 Prov. Tis pity of him ! [Exeunt. 
 
 Joo ntvi !< iu.-v. <;ir' JjsriT 
 SCENE TV. A Room in ANGELO'S House. 
 
 Enter ANGELO. 
 Ang. When I would pray and think, I think 
 
 and pray [words ; 
 
 To several subjects. Heaven hath my empty 
 Whilst my invention, hearing not my tongue. 
 Anchors on Isabel : Heaven in my mouth, 
 As if I did but only chew his name ; 
 And in my heart the strong and swelling evil 
 Of my conception. The state whereon I studied 
 Is like a good thing, being often read, 
 Grown sear'd and tedious ; yea, my gravity, 
 Wherein let no man hear me I take pride, 
 Could I with boot change for an idle plume, 
 Which the air beats for vain. O place ! O 
 
 form ! 
 
 How often dost thou with thy case, thy habit, 
 Wrench awe from fools, and tie the wiser souls 
 To thy false seeming ? Blood, thou still art 
 . ,,., blood: 
 
 Let's write good angel on the devil's horn, 
 'Tis not the devil's crest. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 One Isabel, a sister, 
 
 How now, who's there ? 
 
 Serv. 
 Desires access to you. 
 
 Ang. Teach her the way. [Exit Serv. 
 O heavens ! 
 
 Why does my blood thus muster to my heart, 
 Making both it unable for itself 
 And dispossessing all the other parts 
 Of necessary fitness ? [swoons ; 
 
 So play the foolish throngs with one that 
 Come all to help him, and so stop the air 
 By which he should revive : and even so 
 The general, subject to a well-wished king, 
 Quit their own part, and in obsequious fondness 
 Crowd to his presence, where their untaught love 
 Must needs appear offence. 
 
 Enter ISABELLA. 
 How now, fair maid ? 
 
 Isab. I am come to know your pleasure. 
 
 Ang. That you might know it, would much 
 
 better please me [not live. 
 
 Than to demand what 'tis. Your brother can- 
 
 hab. Even so? Heaven keep your honour! 
 
 [Retiring. 
 
iiS 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 [ACT n. 
 
 Ang. Yet may he live awhile : and, it may 
 
 be, 
 As long as you or I : yet he must die. 
 
 I sab. Under your sentence ? 
 
 Ang. Yea. [prieve, 
 
 Isab. When, I beseech you ? that in his re- 
 Longer or shorter, he may be so fitted 
 That his soul sicken not. [as good 
 
 Ang. Ha ! Fie, these filthy vices ! It were 
 To pardon him that hath from nature stolen 
 A man already made, as to remit [image 
 
 Their saucy sweetness that do coin heaven's 
 In stamps that are forbid ; 'tis all as easy 
 Falsely to take away a life true made 
 As to put metal in restrained means 
 To make a false one. [earth. 
 
 Isab. 'Tis set down so in heaven, but not in 
 
 Ang. Say you so? then I shall poze you 
 
 quickly. 
 
 Which had you rather, that the most just law 
 Now took your brother's life ; or, to redeem him 
 Give up your body to such sweet uncleanness 
 As she that he hath stain'd ? 
 
 Isab. Sir, believe this, 
 
 I had rather give my body than my soul. 
 
 Ang. I talk not of your soul ; our compell'd 
 
 sins 
 Stand more for number than accompt. 
 
 Isab. How say you ? 
 
 Ang. Nay, I '11 not warrant that ; for I can 
 
 speak 
 
 Against the thing I say. Answer to this ; 
 I, now the voice of the recorded law, 
 Pronounce a sentence on your brother's life : 
 Might there not be a charity in sin, 
 To save this brother's life ? 
 
 Isab. Please you to do 't, 
 
 I '11 take it as a peril to my soul 
 It is no sin at all, but charity. 
 
 Ang. Pleas'd you to do 't at peril of your soul, 
 Were equal poise of sfn and charity. 
 
 Isab. That I do beg his life, if it be sin, 
 Heaven let me bear it ! you granting of my suit, 
 If that be sin, I '11 make it my morn prayer 
 To have it added to the faults of mine, 
 And nothing of your answer. 
 
 Ang. Nay, but hear me : 
 
 Your sense pursues not mine : either you are 
 
 ignorant 
 Or seem so, craftily ; and that 's not good. 
 
 Isab. Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good 
 But graciously to know I am no better. 
 
 Ang. Thus wisdom wishes to appear most 
 
 bright 
 
 When it doth tax itself : as these black masks 
 Proclaim an enshield beauty ten times louder 
 Than beauty could, displayed. But mark me; 
 
 To be received plain, I '11 speak more gross : 
 Your brother is to die. 
 
 Isab. So. 
 
 Ang. And his offence is so, as it appears 
 Accountant to the law upon that pain. 
 
 Isab. True. 
 
 Ang. Admit no other way to save his life, 
 As I subscribe not that, nor any other, 
 But in the loss of question, that you, his sister, 
 Finding yourself desir'd of such a person, 
 Whose credit with the judge, or own great place, 
 Could fetch your brother from the manacles 
 Of the all-binding law ; and that there were 
 No earthly mean to save him but that either 
 You must lay down the treasures of your body 
 To this suppos'd, or else let him suffer ; 
 What would you do? 
 
 Isab. As much for my poor brother as myself: 
 That is, were I under the terms of death, 
 The impression of keen whips I 'd wear as rubies, 
 And strip myself to death, as to a bed 
 That longing I have been sick for, ere I'd yield 
 My body up to shame. 
 
 Ang. Then must your brother die. 
 
 Isab. And 'twere the cheaper way : 
 Better it were a brother died at once 
 Than that a sister, by redeeming him, 
 Should die for ever. [sentence 
 
 Ang. Were not you, then, as cruel as the 
 That you have slandered so ? 
 
 Isab. Ignominy in ransom and free pardon 
 Are of two houses ; lawful mercy is 
 Nothing akin to foul redemption. [tyrant ; 
 
 Ang. You seem'd of late to make the law a 
 And rather prov'd the sliding of your brother 
 A merriment than a vice. 
 
 Isab. O, pardon me, my lord ; it oft falls out, 
 To have what we would have, we speak not 
 
 what we mean : 
 
 I something do excuse the thing I hate, 
 For his advantage that I dearly love. 
 
 Ang. We are all frail. 
 
 Isab. Else let my brother die, 
 
 If not a feodary, but only he, 
 Owe, and succeed by weakness. 
 
 Ang. Nay, women are frail too. 
 
 Isab. Ay, as the glasses where they view 
 
 themselves ; 
 
 Which are as easy broke as they make forms. 
 Women ! Help heaven ! men their creation mar 
 In profiting by them. Nay, call us ten times 
 
 frail ; 
 
 For we are soft as our complexions are, 
 And credulous to false prints. 
 
 Ang. I think it well : 
 
 And from this testimony of your own sex, 
 Since* I suppose, we are made to be no stronger 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 119 
 
 Than faults may shake our frames, let me be 
 
 bold; 
 
 I do arrest your words. Be that you are, 
 That is, a woman ; if you be more, you 're none ; 
 If you be one, as you are well express'd 
 By all external warrants, show it now 
 By putting on the destin'd livery. [lord, 
 
 Isab. I have no tongue but one : gentle, my 
 Let me intreat you, speak the former language. 
 
 Ang. Plainly conceive, I love you. 
 
 Isab. My brother did love Juliet ; and you 
 
 tell me 
 That he shall die for it. 
 
 Ang. He shall not, Isabel, if you give me love. 
 
 Isab. I know your virtue hath a license in 't, 
 Which seems a little fouler than it is, 
 To pluck on others. 
 
 Ang. Believe me, on mine honour, 
 
 My words express my purpose. 
 
 Isab. Ha ! little honour to be much believed, 
 And most pernici< -us purpose ! Seeming, 
 
 seeming ! 
 
 I will proclaim thee, Angelo ; look for 't : 
 Sign me a present pardon for my brother 
 Or, with anoutstretch'd throat, I '11 tell the world 
 Aloud what man thou art. 
 
 Ang. Who will believe thee, Isabel ? 
 
 My unsoil'd name, the austereness of my life, 
 My vouch against you, and my place i' the state 
 Will so your accusation overweigh 
 That you shall stifle in your own report, 
 And smell of calumny. I have begun ; 
 And now I give my sensual race the rein : 
 Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite ; 
 Lay by all nicety and prolixious blushes 
 That banish what they sue for : redeem thy 
 
 brother 
 
 By yielding up thy body to my will ; 
 Or else he must not only die the death, 
 But thy unkindness shall his death draw out 
 To lingering sufferance : answer me to-morrow, 
 Or, by the affection that now guides me most, 
 I '11 prove a tyrant to him. As for you, 
 Say what you can, my false o'erweighs your 
 true. [Exit. 
 
 Isab. To whom shall I complain ? Did I 
 
 tell this, 
 
 Who would believe me ? O perilous mouths, 
 That bear in them one and the self-same tongue 
 Either of condemnation or approof ! 
 Bidding the .aw make court'sy to their will ; 
 Hooking both right and wrong to the appetite, 
 To follow as it draws ! I '11 to my brother : 
 Though he hath fallen by promptureof the blood, 
 Yet hath he in him such a mind of honour 
 That, had he twenty heads to tender down 
 On twenty bloody blocks, he J d yield them up 
 
 Before his sister should her lx>dy stoop 
 
 To such abhorr'd pollution. 
 
 Then, Isabel, live chaste, and, brother, die : 
 
 More than our brother is our chastity. 
 
 I '11 tell him yet of Angelo's request, 
 
 And fit his mind to death for his soul's rest. 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 A/-T TTT 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. A Room in the Prison. 
 Enter DUKE, CLAUDIO, and PROVOST. 
 
 Duke. So, then you hope of pardon from 
 
 Lord Angelo ? 
 
 Claud. The miserable have no other medicine 
 But only hope : 
 
 I have hope to live, and am prepar'd to die. 
 Duke. Be absolute for death ; either death or 
 
 life [with life, 
 
 Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus 
 If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing [art, 
 
 That none but fools would keep : a breath thou 
 Servile to all the skiey influences 
 That dost this habitation, where thou keep'st, 
 Hourly afflict ; merely, thou art death's fool ; 
 For him thou labour'st by thy flight to shun, 
 And yet runn'st toward him still. Thou art not 
 
 noble ; 
 
 For all the accommodations that thou bear'st 
 Are nurs'd by baseness. Thou art by no means 
 
 valiant ; 
 
 For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork 
 Of a poor worm. Thy best of rest is sleep, 
 And that thou oft provok'st ; yet grossly fear'st 
 Thy death, which is no more. Thou art not 
 
 thyself: 
 
 For thou exist'st on many a thousand grains 
 That issue out of dust. Happy thou art not ; 
 For what thou hast not, still thou striv'st to get ; 
 And what thou hast, forgett'st. Thou art not 
 
 certain ; 
 
 For thy complexion shifts to strange effects, 
 After the moon. If thou art rich, thou art poor; 
 For, like an ass whose back with ingots bows, 
 Thou bear'st thy heavy riches but a journey, 
 And death unloads thee. Friend hast thou 
 
 none ; 
 
 For thine own bowels, which do call thee sire, 
 The mere effusion of thy proper loins, 
 Do curse the gout, serpigo, and the rheum, 
 For ending thee no sooner. Thou hast nor 
 
 youth nor age, 
 
 But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep, 
 Dreaming on both : for all thy blessed youth 
 Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms 
 Of palsied eld ; and when thou art old and rich 
 
120 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 [ACT III. 
 
 Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor 
 beauty, [this 
 
 To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in 
 That bears the name of life ? Yet in this life 
 Lie hid more thousand deaths : yet death we 
 
 fear, 
 That makes these odds all even. 
 
 Claud. I humbly thank you. 
 
 To sue to live, I find I seek to die ; 
 And, seeking death, find life. Let it come on. 
 Isab. {Within.'] What, ho! Peace here; 
 
 grace and good company ! 
 Prov. Who 's there ? come in : the wish de- 
 serves a welcome. 
 
 Duke. Dear sir, ere long I '11 visit you again. 
 Claud. Most holy sir, I thank you. 
 
 Enter ISABELLA. 
 
 Isab. My business is a word or two with 
 Claudio. [here 's your sister. 
 
 Prov. And very welcome. Look, signior, 
 
 Duke. Provost, a word with you. 
 
 Prov. As many as you please. 
 
 Duke. Bring me to hear them speak where 
 I may be conceal'd. 
 
 {Exeunt DUKE and PROVOST. 
 
 Claud. Now, sister, what 's the comfort ? 
 
 Isab. Why, as all comforts are ; most good 
 
 in deed : 
 
 Lord Angelo, having affairs to heaven, 
 Intends you for his swift embassador, 
 Where you shall be an everlasting lieger : 
 Therefore, your best appointment make with 
 
 speed ; 
 To-morrow you set on. 
 
 Claud. Is there no remedy ? 
 
 Isab. None, but such remedy as, tosave a head. 
 To cleave a heart in twain. 
 
 Claud. But is there any ? 
 
 Isab. Yes, brother, you may live : 
 There is a devilish mercy in the judge, 
 If you '11 implore it, that will free your life, 
 But fetter you till death. 
 
 Claud. Perpetual durance ? 
 
 Isab. Ay, just perpetual durance ; a restraint, 
 Though all the world's vastidity you had, 
 To a determin'd scope. 
 
 Claud. But in what nature ? 
 
 Isab. In such a one as, you consenting to 't, 
 Would bark your honour from that trunk you 
 
 bear, 
 And leave you naked. 
 
 Claud. Let me know the point. 
 
 Isab. O, I do fear thee, Claudio; and I quake, 
 Lest thou a feverous life shouldst entertain, 
 And six or seven winters more respect 
 Than a perpetual honour.. Dar'st thou die ? 
 
 The sense of death is most in apprehension ; 
 And the poor beetle that we tread upon, 
 In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great 
 As when a giant dies. 
 
 Claud. Why give you me this shame ? 
 
 Think you I can a resolution fetch 
 From flowery tenderness ? If I must die 
 I will encounter darkness as a bride, 
 And hug it in mine arms. [father's grave 
 
 Isab. There spake my brother ; there my 
 Did utter forth a voice ! Yes, thou must die : 
 Thou art too noble to conserve a life 
 In base appliances. This out ward -sainted de- 
 puty, 
 
 Whose settled visage and deliberate word 
 Nips youth i' the head, and follies doth emmew 
 As falcon doth the fowl, is yet a devil ; 
 His filth within being cast, he would appear 
 A pond as deep as hell. 
 
 Claud. The princely Angelo * 
 
 Isab. O, 'tis the cunning livery of hell, 
 The damned'st body to invest and cover 
 In princely guards ! Dost thou think, Claudio, 
 If I would yield him my virginity 
 Thou mightst be freed ? 
 
 Claud. O heavens ! it cannot be. 
 
 Isab. Yes, he would give it thee, from this 
 
 rank offence 
 
 So to offend him still. This night 's the time 
 That I should do what I abhor to name, 
 Or else thou diest to-morrow. 
 
 Claud. Thou shalt not do 't 
 
 Isab. O, were it but my life, 
 I 'd throw it down for your deliverance 
 As frankly as a pin. 
 
 Claud. Thanks, dear Isabel. 
 
 Isab. Be ready, Claudio, for your death to- 
 morrow. 
 
 Claud. Yes. Has he affections in him 
 That thus can make him bite the law by the nose 
 When he would force it ? Sure it is no sin ; 
 Or of the deadly seven it is the least. 
 
 Isab. Which is the least ? 
 
 Claud, If it were damnable, he, being so wise, 
 Why would he for the momentary trick 
 Be perdurably fined ? O Isabel ! 
 
 Isab. What says my brother ? 
 
 Claud. Death is a fearful thing. 
 
 Isab. And shamed life a hateful. 
 
 Claud. Ay, but to die, and go we know not 
 
 where ; 
 
 To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot ; 
 This sensible warm motion to become 
 A kneaded clod ; and the delighted spirit 
 To bathe in fiery floods or to reside 
 In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice $ 
 To be imprison'd in the viewless winds, 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 121 
 
 O you beast ! 
 O dishonest wrecch ! 
 
 And blown with restless violence round about 
 The pendent world ; or to be worse than worst 
 Of those that lawless and incertain thoughts 
 Imagine howling ! 'tis too horrible ! 
 The weariest and most loathed worldly life 
 That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment 
 Can lay on nature is a paradise 
 To what we fear of death. 
 
 Isab. Alas ! alas ! 
 
 Claud. Sweet sister, let me live : 
 
 What sin you do to save a brother's life 
 Nature dispenses with the deed so far 
 That it becomes a virtue. 
 
 Isab. 
 
 faithless coward ! 
 
 Wilt thou be made a man out of my vice ? 
 Is 't not a kind of incest to take life [I think ? 
 From thine own sister's shame. What should 
 Heaven shield my mother play'd my father 
 
 fair! 
 
 For such a warped slip of wilderness 
 Ne'er issued from his blood. Take my defiance: 
 Die ; perish ! might but my bending down 
 Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed : 
 
 1 '11 pray a thousand prayers for thy death, 
 No word to save thee. 
 
 Claud. Nay, hear me, Isabel. 
 
 Isab. O fie, fie, fie ! 
 
 Thy sin 's not accidental, but a trade : 
 Mercy to thee would prove itself a bawd : 
 'Tis best that thou diest quickly. [Going. 
 
 Claud. O hear me, Isabella. 
 
 Re-enter DUKE. 
 
 Duke. Vouchsafe a word, young sister, but 
 one word. 
 
 Isab. What is your will ? 
 
 Dtike. Might you dispense with your leisure 
 I would by and by have some speech with you: 
 the satisfaction I would require is likewise 
 your own benefit. 
 
 Isab. I have no superfluous leisure ; my stay 
 must be stolen out of other affairs ; but I will 
 attend you awhile. 
 
 Duke. [To CLAUDIO aside."] Son, I have 
 overheard what hath passed between you and 
 your sister. Angelo had never the purpose to 
 corrupt her ; only he hath made an essay of her 
 virtue to practise his judgment with the dis- 
 position of natures ; she, having the truth of 
 honour in her, hath made him that gracious 
 denial which he is most glad to receive : I am 
 confessor to Angelo, and I know this to be 
 true ; therefore prepare yourself to death. Do 
 not satisfy your resolution with hopes that are 
 fallible : to-morrow you must die ; go to your 
 knees and make ready. 
 
 Claud. Let me ask my sister pardon. I am 
 so out of love with life that I will sue to be 
 rid of it. 
 
 Duke. Hold you there. Farewell. 
 
 [Exit CLAUDIO. 
 
 - 
 Re-enter PROVOST. 
 
 Provost, a word with you. 
 
 Prov. What's your will, father? 
 
 Duke. That, now you are come, you will be 
 gone. Leave me a while with the maid ; my 
 mind promises with my habit no loss shall 
 touch her by my company. 
 
 Prov. In good time. [Exit PROVOST. 
 
 Duke. The hand that hath made you fair 
 hath made you good : the goodness that is 
 cheap in beauty makes beauty brief in goodness; 
 but grace, being the soul of your complexion, 
 should keep the body of it ever fair. The 
 assault that Angelo hath made to you, fortune 
 hath conveyed to my understanding ; and, but 
 that frailty hath examples for his falling, I 
 should wonder at Angelo. How will you do 
 to content this substitute, and to save your 
 brother ? 
 
 Isab. I am now going to resolve him ; I had 
 rather my brother die by the law than my son 
 should be unlawfully born. But O, how much 
 is the good duke deceived in Angelo ! If ever 
 he return, and I can speak to him, I will open 
 my lips in vain, or discover his government. 
 
 Duke. That shall not be much amiss : yet, 
 as the matter now stands, he will avoid your 
 accusation ; he made trial of you only. There- 
 fore fasten your ear on my advisings ; to the 
 love I have in doing good a remedy presents 
 itself. I do make myself believe that you may 
 most uprighteously do a poor wronged lady a 
 merited benefit ; redeem your brother from the 
 angry law ; do no stain to your own gracious 
 person ; and much please the absent duke if, 
 peradventure, he shall ever return to have 
 hearing of this business. 
 
 Isab. Let me hear you speak further ; I have 
 spirit to do anything that appears not foul in 
 the truth of my spirit. 
 
 Duke. Virtue is bold, and goodness never 
 fearful. Have you not heard speak of Mariana, 
 the sister of Frederick the great soldier who 
 miscarried at sea ? 
 
 Isab. I have heard of the lady, and good 
 words went with her name. 
 
 Duke. Her should this Angelo have married ; 
 
 was affianced to her by oath, and the nuptial 
 
 "appointed: between which time of the contract 
 
 and limit of the solemnity her brother Frederick 
 
 was wrecked at sea, having in that perished 
 
112 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 vessel the dowry of his sister. But mark how 
 heavily this befell to the poor gentlewoman : 
 there she lost a noble and renowned brother, 
 in his love toward her ever most kind and 
 natural ; with him the portion and sinew of her 
 fortune, her marriage-dowry ; with both, her 
 combinate husband, this well-seeming Angelo. 
 
 Isab. Can this be so ? Did Angelo so leave 
 her? 
 
 Duke. Left her in her tears, and dried not 
 one of them with his comfort ; swallowed his 
 vows whole, pretending, in her, discoveries of 
 dishonour ; in few, bestowed her on her own 
 lamentation, which she yet wears for his sake ; 
 and he, a marble to her tears, is washed with 
 them, but relents not. 
 
 Isab. What a merit were it in death to take 
 this poor maid from the world ! What corrup- 
 tion in this life that it will let this man live ! 
 But hovr out of this can she avail ? 
 
 Duke. It is a rupture that you may easily 
 heal ; and the cure of it not only saves your 
 brother, but keeps you from dishonour in doing 
 it. 
 
 Isab. Show me how, good father. 
 
 Duke. This forenamed maid hath yet in her 
 the continuance of her first affection ; his un- 
 just unkindness, that in all reason should have 
 quenched her love, hath, like an impediment in 
 the current, made it more violent and unruly. Go 
 you to Angelo ; answer his requiring with a plaus- 
 ible obedience ; agree with his demands to the 
 point: only refer yourself to this advantage, 
 first, that your stay with him may not be long ; 
 that the time may have all shadow and silence 
 in it ; and the place answer to convenience : this 
 being granted in course, now follows all. We 
 shall advise this wronged maid to stead up your 
 appointment, go in your place ; if the encounter 
 acknowledge itself hereafter, it may compel him 
 to her recompense : and here, by this, is your 
 brother saved, your honour untainted, the poor 
 Mariana advantaged, and the corrupt deputy 
 scaled'. The maid will I frame and make fit 
 for his attempt. If you think well to carry this 
 as you may, the doubleness of the benefit de- 
 fends the deceit from reproof. What think you 
 of it? 
 
 Isab. The image of it gives me content already ; 
 and I trust it will grow to a most prosperous 
 perfection. 
 
 Duke. It lies much in your holding up. 
 Haste you speedily to Angelo : if for this night 
 he entreat you to his bed, give him promise of 
 satisfaction. I will presently to St. Luke's ; 
 there, at the moated grange, resides this de- 
 jected Mariana. At that place call upon me ; 
 
 and despatch with Angelo, that it may be 
 quickly. 
 
 Isab. I thank you for this comfort. Fare 
 you well, good father. [Exeunt severally. 
 
 SCENE II. The Street before the Prison. 
 
 Enter DUKE, as a Friar ; to him ELBOW, 
 CLOWN, and Officers. 
 
 Elb. Nay, if there be no remedy for it, but 
 that you will needs buy and sell men and women 
 like beasts, we shall have all the world drink 
 brown and white bastard. 
 
 Duke. O heavens ! what stuff is here ? 
 
 Clo. 'Twas never merry world since, of two 
 usuries, the merriest was put down, and the 
 worser allowed by order of law a furred gown 
 to keep him warm ; and furred with fox and 
 lamb-skins, too, to signify that craft, being 
 richer than innocency, stands for the facing. 
 
 Elb. Come your way, sir. Bless you, good 
 father friar. 
 
 Duke. And you, good brother father. 
 What offence hath this man made you, sir ? 
 
 Elb. Marry, sir, he hath offended the law; 
 and, sir, we take him to be a thief too, sir ; for 
 we havefound upon him, sir, a strange picklock, 
 which we have sent to the deputy. 
 
 Duke. Fie, sirrah ; a bawd, a wicked bawd ! 
 The evil that thou causest to be done, 
 That is thy means to live. Do thou but think 
 What 'tis to cram a maw or clothe a back 
 From such a filthy vice . say to thyself, 
 From their abominable and beastly touches 
 I drink, I eat, array myself, and live. 
 Canst thou believe thy living is a life, 
 So stinkingly depending ? Go mend, go mend. 
 
 Clo. Indeed, it does stink in some sort, sir ; 
 but yet, sir, I would prove 
 
 Duke. Nay, if the devil have given thee proofs 
 
 for sin, 
 
 Thou wilt prove his. Take him to prison, officer ; 
 Correction and instruction must both work 
 Ere this rude beast will profit. 
 
 Elb. He must before the deputy, sir ; he has 
 given him warning : the deputy cannot abide a 
 whoremaster : if he be a whoremonger, and 
 comes before him, he were as good go a mile 
 on his errand. 
 
 Duke. That we were all, as some would 
 
 seem to be, 
 
 Free from our faults, as faults from seeming 
 free! 
 
 Elb. His neck will come to your waist, a cord, 
 sir. 
 
 Clo. I spy comfort; I cry bail ! Here's \ 
 gentleman, and a friend of mine. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE, 
 
 123 
 
 Enter Lucio. 
 
 Lucio. How now, noble Pompey ? What, at 
 the heels of Caesar ! Art thou led in triumph ? 
 What, is there none of Pygmalion's images, 
 newly made woman, to be had now, for putting 
 the hand in the pocket and extracting it clutched? 
 What reply, ha ? What say'st thou to this tune, 
 matter, and method ? Is 't not drowned i' the 
 last rain, ha ? What say'st thou to 't ? Is the 
 world as it was, man ? Which is the way ? Is 
 it sad, and few words ? or how ? The trick of it ? 
 
 Duke. Still thus, and thus ! still worse ! 
 
 Lucio. How doth my dear morsel, thy mis- 
 tress? Procures she still, ha? 
 
 Clo. Troth, sir, she hath eaten up all her 
 beef, and she is herself in the tub. 
 
 Liicio. Why, 'tis good : it is the right of it : 
 it must be so : ever your fresh whore and your 
 powdered bawd : an unshunned consequence ; 
 it must be so. Art going to prison, Pompey ? 
 
 Clo. Yes, faith, sir. 
 
 Lucio. Why, 'tis not amiss, Pompey. Fare- 
 well ; go, say I sent thee thither. For debt, 
 Pompey ? or how ? 
 
 Elb. For being a bawd, for being a bawd. 
 
 Lucio. Well, then, imprison him: if imprison- 
 ment be the due of a bawd, why, 'tis his right ; 
 bawd is he doubtless, and of antiquity, too : 
 bawd-born. Farewell, good Pompey. Com- 
 mend me to the prison, Pompey. You will 
 turn good husband now, Pompey; you will 
 keep the house. 
 
 Clo. I hope, sir, your good worship will be 
 my bail. 
 
 Liicio. No, indeed, will I not, Pompey ; it 
 is not the wear. I will pray, Pompey, to in- 
 crease your bondage : if you take it not patiently, 
 why, your mettle is the more. Adieu, trusty 
 Pompey. Bless you, friar. 
 
 Duke. And you. 
 
 Lucio. Does Bridget paint still, Pompey, ha? 
 
 Elb. Come your ways, sir ; come. 
 
 Clo. You will not bail me then, sir ? 
 
 Lucio. Then, Pompey, nornow. What news 
 abroad, friar ? what news ? 
 
 Elb. Come your ways, sir ; come. 
 
 Lucio. Go, to kennel, Pompey, go : 
 
 {Exeunt ELBOW, CLOWN, and Officers. 
 Wh^t news, friar, of the duke ? 
 
 Duke. I know none. Can you tell me of 
 any? 
 
 Lucio. Some say he is with the Emperor of 
 Russia ; other some, he is in Rome : but where 
 is he, think you ? 
 
 Duke. I know not where; but wheresoever, 
 I wish him well. 
 
 Lucio. It was a mad fantastical trick of him 
 to steal from the state and usurp the beggary he 
 was never born to. Lord Angelo dukes it well 
 in his absence ; he puts transgression to't. 
 
 Duke. He does well in 't 
 
 Lucio. A little more lenity to lechery would 
 do no harm in him : something too crabbed that 
 way, friar. 
 
 Duke. It is too general a vice, and severity 
 must cure it. 
 
 Lucio. Yes, in good sooth, the vice is of a 
 great kindred ; it is well allied : but it is im 
 possible to extirp it quite, friar, till eating and 
 drinking be put down. They say this Angelo 
 was not made by man and woman after the down- 
 right way of creation : is it true, think you ? 
 
 Duke. How should he be made, then ? 
 
 Lucio. Some report a sea-maid spawned him ; 
 some, that he was begot between two stock- 
 fishes. But it is certain that, when he makes 
 water, his urine is congealed ice ; that I know 
 to be true : and he is a motion ungenerative ; 
 that 's infallible. 
 
 Ditke. You are pleasant, sir, and speak apace. 
 
 Lucio. Why, what a ruthless thing is this in 
 him, for the rebellion of a cod-piece to take away 
 the life of a man ? Would the duke that is ab- 
 sent have done this ? Ere he would have hanged 
 a man for the getting a hundred bastards, he 
 would have paid for the nursing a thousand. 
 He had some feeling of the sport ; he knew the 
 service, and that instructed him to mercy. 
 
 Duke. I never heard the absent duke much 
 detected for women ; he was not inclined that 
 way. 
 
 Lucio. O, sir, you are deceived. 
 
 Duke. 'Tis not possible. 
 
 Lucio. Who, not the duke? yes, your beggar 
 of fifty ; and his use was to put a ducat in her 
 clack-dish : the duke had crotchets in him. He 
 would be drunk too : that let me inform you. 
 
 Duke. You do him wrong, surely. 
 
 Lucio. Sir, I was an inward of his. A shy 
 fellow was the duke : and I believe I know the 
 cause of his withdrawing. 
 
 Duke. What, I pr'ythee, might be the cause? 
 
 Lucio. No, pardon ; 'tis a secret must be 
 locked within the teeth and the lips : but this 
 I can let you understand, the greater file of 
 the subject held the duke to be wise. 
 
 Duke. Wise ? why, no question but he was. 
 
 Lucio. A very superficial, ignorant, unweigh- 
 ing fellow. 
 
 Duke. Either this is envy in you, folly, or 
 mistaking ; the very stream of his life, and the 
 business he hath helmed, must, upon a war. 
 ranted need, give him a better proclamation. , 
 
124 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Let him be but testimonied in his own bring- 
 ings forth, and he shall appear to the envious a 
 scholar, a statesman, and a soldier. Therefore 
 you speak unskilfully -, or, if your knowledge 
 be more, it is much darkened in your malice. 
 
 Lucio. Sir, I know him, and I love him. 
 
 Duke. Love talks with better knowledge, 
 and knowledge with dearer love. 
 
 Lucio. Come, sir, I know what I know. 
 
 Duke, I can hardly believe that, since you 
 Know not what you speak. But, if ever the 
 duke return, as our prayers are he may, let 
 me desire you to make your answer before him. 
 If it be honest you have spoke, you have courage 
 to maintain it : I am bound to call upon you ; 
 and, I pray you, your name ? 
 
 Lucio. Sir, my name is Lucio ; well known 
 to the duke. 
 
 Duke. He shall know you better, sir, if I 
 may live to report you. 
 
 Lucio. I fear you not. 
 
 Duke. O, you hope the duke will return no 
 more ; or you imagine me too unhurtful an 
 opposite. But, indeed, I can do you little 
 harm : you '11 forswear this again. 
 
 Lucio. I '11 be hanged first ! thou art deceived 
 in me, friar. But no more of this. Canst thou 
 tell if Claudio die to-morrow or no ? 
 
 Duke. Why should he die, sir ? 
 
 Lucio. Why, for filling a bottle with a tun- 
 dish. I would the duke we talk of were re- 
 turned again : this ungenitured agent will un- 
 people the province with continency ; sparrows 
 must not build in his house-eaves because they 
 are lecherous. The duke yet would have dark 
 deeds darkly answered ; he would never bring 
 them to light : would he were returned ! 
 Marry, this Claudio is condemned for untrus- 
 sing. Farewell, good friar : I pr'ythee, pray 
 for me. The duke, I say to thee again, would 
 eat mutton on Fridays. He 's now past it ; yet, 
 and I say to thee, he would mouth with a beggar 
 though she smelt brown bread and garlic : say 
 that I said so. Farewell. [Exit. 
 
 Duke. No might nor greatness in mortality 
 Can censure 'scape ; back-wounding calumny 
 The whitest virtue strikes. What king so strong 
 Can tie the gall up in the slanderous tongue ? 
 But who comes here ? 
 
 EnterEscALUS, PROVOST, BAWD,<W^ Officers. 
 
 Escal. Go, away with her to prison. 
 
 Bawd. Good my lord, be good to me ; your 
 honour is accounted a merciful man ; good my 
 lord. 
 
 Escal. Double and treble admonition, and 
 
 still forfeit in the same kind? This would 
 make mercy swear and play the tyrant. 
 
 Prov. A bawd of eleven years' continuance, 
 may it please your honour. 
 
 Bawd. My lord, this is one Lucio's informa- 
 tion against me : Mistress Kate Keepdown was 
 with child by him in the duke's time ; he pro- 
 mised her marriage ; his child is a year and a 
 quarter old come Philip and Jacob : I have 
 kept it myself ; and see how he goes about to 
 abuse me. 
 
 Escal. That fellow is a fellow of much 
 licence : let him be called before us. Away 
 with her to prison. Go to ; no more words. 
 {Exeunt BAWD and Officers.] Provost, my 
 brother Angelo will not be altered, Claudio 
 must die to-morrow : let him be furnished with 
 divines, and have all charitable preparation : 
 if my brother wrought by my pity it snould not 
 be so with him. 
 
 Prov. So please you, this friar hath been 
 with him, and advised him for the entertain- 
 ment of deatu. 
 
 Escal. Good even, good father. 
 
 Duke. Bliss and goodness on you ! 
 
 Escal. Of whence are you ? [is now 
 
 Duke. Not of this country, though my chance 
 To use it for my time : I am a brother 
 Of gracious order, late come from the see 
 In special business from his holiness. 
 
 Escal. What news abroad i' the world ? 
 
 Duke. None, but that there is so great a fever 
 on goodness, that the dissolution of it must cure 
 it : novelty is only in request ; and it is as dan- 
 gerous to be aged in any kind of course as it is 
 virtuous to be constant in any undertaking. 
 There is scarce truth enough alive to make 
 societies secure ; but security enough to make 
 fellowships accursed : much upon this riddle 
 runs the wisdom of the world. This news is 
 old enough, yet it is every day's news. I pray 
 you, sir, of what disposition was the duke ? 
 
 Escal. One that, above ail other strifes, con- 
 tended especially to know himself. 
 
 Duke. What pleasure was he given to ? 
 
 Escal. Rather rejoicing to see another merry, 
 than merry at anything which professed to make 
 him rejoice : a gentleman of all temperance. 
 But leave we him to his events, with a prayer 
 they may prove prosperous ; and let me desire 
 to know how you find Claudio prepared. I am 
 made to understand that you have lent him 
 visitation. 
 
 Duke. He professes to have received no sini- 
 ster measure from his judge, but most willingly 
 humbles himself to the determination of justice : 
 yet had he framed to himself, by the instruction . 
 
SCENE II. 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE* 
 
 of his frailty, many deceiving promises of life ; 
 which I, by my good leisure, have discredited 
 to him, and how is he resolved to die. 
 
 EscaL You have paid the heavens your func- 
 tion and the prisoner the very debt of your call- 
 ing. I have laboured for the poor gentleman 
 to the extremest shore of my modesty ; but my 
 brother justice have I found so severe that he 
 hath forced me to tell him he is indeed justice. 
 
 Duke. If his own life answer the straitness 
 of his proceeding, it shall become him well ; 
 wherein if he chance to fail, he hath sentenced 
 himself. 
 
 EscaL I am going to visit the prisoner. 
 Fare you well. 
 
 Duke. Peace be with you ! 
 
 [Exeunt ESCAL. and PROV. 
 He who the sword of heaven will bear 
 Should be as holy as severe ; 
 Pattern in himself to know, 
 Grace to stand, and virtue go ; 
 More nor less to others paying 
 Than by self-offences weighing. 
 Shame to him whose cruel striking 
 Kills for faults of his own liking ! 
 Twice treble shame on Angelo, 
 To weed my vice and let his grow ! 
 O, what may man within him hide, 
 Though angel on the outward side ! 
 How may likeness, made in crimes, 
 Making practice on the times, 
 Draw with idle spiders 3 strings 
 Most pond'rous and substantial things ! 
 Craft against vice I must apply ; 
 With Angelo to-night shall He 
 His old betrothed but despis'd ; 
 So disguise shall, by the disguis'd, 
 Pay with falsehood false exacting, 
 And perform an old contracting. [Exit. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. A Room in MARIANA'S House. 
 MARIANA discovered sitting ; a Boy singing, 
 
 SONG. 
 Take, O take those lips away, 
 
 That so sweetly were forsworn ; 
 And those eyes, the break of day, 
 
 Lights that do mislead the morn : 
 But my kisses bring again, 
 
 Bring again ; 
 Seals of lovt, but seal'd in vain, 
 
 Sealed in vain. 
 
 Mart. Break off thy song, and haste thee 
 
 quick away ; 
 
 Here comes a man of comfort, whose advice 
 Hath often still'd my brawling discontent. 
 
 [Exit Boy. 
 
 Enter DUKE. 
 
 I cry you mercy, sir ; and well could wish 
 You had not found me here so musical : 
 Let me excuse me, and believe me so, [woe. 
 My mirth it much displeas'd, but pleas'd my 
 
 Duke. 5 Tis good : though music* oft hath such 
 
 a charm 
 
 To make bad good and good provoke to harm. 
 I pray you, tell me, hath anybody inquired for 
 me here to-day ? much upon this time have I 
 promised here to meet. 
 
 Mart. You have not been inquired after : I 
 have sat here all day. 
 
 Enter ISABELLA. 
 
 Duke. I do constantly believe you. The 
 time is come even now. I shall crave your 
 forbearance a little : may be I will call upon 
 you anon, for some advantage to yourself. 
 
 Mari. I am always bound to you. [Exit. 
 
 Duke. Very well met, and welcome. 
 What is the news from this good deputy ? 
 
 Isab. He hath a garden circummur'd with 
 
 brick, 
 
 Whose western side is with a vineyard back'd ; 
 And to that vineyard is a planched gate 
 That makes his opening with this bigger key : 
 This other doth command a little door 
 Which from the vineyard to the garden leads ; 
 There have I made my promise to call on him 
 Upon the heavy middle of the night. 
 
 Duke. But shall you on your knowledge find 
 this way ? 
 
 Isab. I have ta'en a due and wary note upon 't ; 
 With whispering and most guilty diligence, 
 In action all of precept, he did show me 
 The way twice o'er. 
 
 Duke. Are there no other tokens 
 
 Between you 'greed concerning her observance? 
 
 Isab. No, none, but only a repair i' the dark ; 
 And that I have possess'd him my most stay 
 Can be but brief : for I have made him know 
 I have a servant comes with me along, 
 That stays upon me ; whose persuasion is 
 I come about my brother. 
 
 Duke* 'Tis well borne up. 
 
 I have not yet made known to Mariana. 
 A word of this. What, ho ! within ! come forth. 
 
 Re-enter MARIANA. 
 
 
 I pray you be acquainted with this maid ; 
 She comes to do you good. 
 
 Isab. I do desire the like. 
 
 Duke. Do you persuade yourself that I re 
 spect you ? 
 
126 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Mart, Good friar, I know you do, and I 
 have found it. [the hand, 
 
 Duke. Take, then, this your companion by 
 Who hath a story ready for your ear : 
 I shall attend your leisure ; but make haste ; 
 The vaporous night approaches. 
 Mart. Will't please you walk aside ? 
 
 [Exeunt MARL and ISAB. 
 Dtike. O place and greatness, millions of 
 
 false eyes 
 
 Are stuck upon thee ! volumes of report 
 Run with these false and most contrarious quests 
 Upon thy doings ! thousand 'scapes of wit 
 Make thee the father of their idle dream, 
 And rack thee in their fancies ! -Welcome ! 
 How agreed ? 
 
 Re-enter MARIANA and ISABELLA. 
 
 hab. She'll take the enterprise upon her, 
 
 father, 
 If you advise it. 
 
 Duke. It is not my consent, 
 
 But my entreaty too. 
 
 Isab. Little have you to say, 
 
 When you depart from him, but, soft and low, 
 Remember now my brother. 
 
 Marl. Fear me not. 
 
 Duke. Nor, gentle daughter, fear you not at 
 
 all: 
 
 He is your husband on a pre-contrlct : 
 To bring you thus together 'tis no sin, 
 Sith that the justice of your title to him 
 Doth flourish the deceit. Come, let us go ; 
 Our corn 's to reap, for yet our tilth 's to sow. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. A Room in the Prison. 
 Enter PROVOST and CLOWN. 
 
 Prov. Come hither, sirrah. Can you cut off 
 a man's head ? 
 
 Clo. If the man be a bachelor, sir, I can : 
 but if he be a married man, he is his wife's head, 
 and I can never cut off a woman's head. 
 
 Prov. Come, sir, leave me your snatches and 
 yield me a direct answer. To-morrow morning 
 are to die Claudio and Barnardine. Here is in 
 our prison a common executioner who in his 
 office lacks a helper ; if you will take it on you 
 to assist him, it shall redeem you from your 
 gyves; if not, you shall have your full time of 
 imprisonment, and your deliverance with an 
 unpitied whipping ; for you have been a no- 
 torious bawd. 
 
 Clo. Sir, I have been an unlawful bawd time 
 out of mind ; but yet I will be content to be a 
 
 lawful hangman. I would be glad to receive 
 some instruction from my fellow-partner. 
 
 Prov. What ho, Abhorson ! Where's Ab- 
 horson, there ? 
 
 Enter ABHORSON. 
 
 Abhor. Do you call, sir ? 
 
 Prov. Sirrah, here 's a fellow will help you 
 to-morrow in your execution. If you think it 
 meet, compound with him by the year, and let 
 him abide here with you ; if not, use him for the 
 present, and dismiss him. He cannot plead his 
 estimation with you ; he hath been a bawd. 
 
 Abhor. A bawd, sir? Fie upon him ; he will 
 discredit our mystery. 
 
 Prov. Go to, sir ; you weigh equally ; a 
 feather will turn the scale. [Exit. 
 
 Clo. Pray, sir, by your good favour, for, 
 surely, sir, a good favour you have, but that you 
 have a hanging look, do you call, sir, your 
 occupation a mystery ? 
 
 Abhor. Ay, sir ; a mystery. 
 
 Clo. Painting, sir, I have heard say, is a mys- 
 tery ; and your whores, sir, being members of 
 my occupation, using painting, do prove my 
 occupation a mystery : but what mystery there 
 should be in hanging, if I should be hanged, I 
 cannot imagine. 
 
 Abhor. Sir, it is a mystery. 
 
 Clo. Proof. 
 
 Abhor. Every true man's apparel fits your 
 thief : if it be too little for your thief, your true 
 man thinks it big enough ; if it be too big for 
 your thief, your thief thinks it little enough : so 
 every true man's apparel fits your thief. 
 
 Re-enter PROVOST. 
 
 Prov. Are you agreed ? 
 
 Clo. Sir, I will serve him ; for I do find your 
 hangman is a more penitent trade than your 
 bawd ; he doth oftener ask forgiveness. 
 
 Prov. You, sirrah, provide your block and 
 your axe to-morrow four o'clock. 
 
 Abhor. Come on, bawd; I will instruct thee 
 in my trade ; follow. 
 
 Clo. I do desire to learn, sir ; and I hope, if 
 you have occasion to use me for your own turn, 
 you shall find me yare : for, truly sir, for your 
 kindness I owe you a good turn. 
 
 Prov. Call hither Barnardine and Claudio. 
 
 [Exeunt CLO. and ABHOR. 
 One has my pity ; not a jot the other, 
 Being a murderer, though he were my brother. 
 
 Enter CLAUDIO. 
 
 Look, here's the warrant, Claudia, for thy death ; 
 'Tis now dead midnight, and by eight to-morrow 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 127 
 
 Thou must be made immortal. Where 's Bar- 
 nardine ? [labour 
 
 Claud. As fast lock'd up in sleep as guiltless 
 When it lies starkly in the traveller's bones : 
 He will not wake. 
 
 Prov. Who can do good on him ? 
 
 Well, go, prepare yourself. But, hark ! what 
 noise ? [Knocking within. 
 
 Heaven give your spirits comfort ! 
 
 [Exit CLAUDIO. 
 By and by ! 
 
 I hope it is some pardon or reprieve 
 For the most gentle Claudio. Welcome, father. 
 
 Enter DUKE. 
 
 Duke. The best and wholesomest spirits of 
 
 the night [of late ? 
 
 Envelop you, good provost ! Who call'd here 
 
 Prov. None, since the curfew rung. 
 
 Duke. Not Isabel ? 
 
 Prov. No. 
 
 Duke. They will, then, ere 't be long. 
 
 Prov. What comfort is for Claudio ? 
 
 Duke. There 's some in hope. 
 
 Prov. It is a bitter deputy. 
 
 Duke. Not so, not so ; his life is parallel'd 
 Even with the stroke and lineof his great justice ; 
 He doth with holy abstinence subdue 
 That in himself which he spurs on his power 
 To qualify in others : were he meal'd 
 With that which he corrects, then were he 
 
 tyrannous ; 
 
 But this being so, he's just. Now are they come. 
 [Knocking within. PROVOST goes out. 
 This is a gentle provost : seldom when 
 The steeled gaoler is the friend of men. 
 How now ? what noise ? That spirit 's possess'd 
 with haste [strokes. 
 
 That wounds the unsisting postern with these 
 
 PROVOST returns, speaking to one at the door. 
 
 Prov. There he must stay until the officer 
 Arise to let him in ; he is call'd up. [yet, 
 
 Dtike. Have you no countermand for Claudio 
 But he must die to-morrow ? 
 
 Prov. None, sir, none. 
 
 Duke. As near the dawning, Provost, as it is, 
 You shall hear more ere morning. 
 
 Prov. Happily 
 
 You something know ; yet I believe there comes 
 No countermand ; no such example have we : 
 Besides, upon the very siege of justice, 
 Lord Angelo hath to the public ear 
 Profess'd the contrary. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 Duke. This is his lordship's man. 
 
 Prov. And here comes Claudio's pardon. 
 
 Mess. My lord hath sent you this note ; and 
 by me this further charge, that you swerve not 
 from the smallest article of it, neither in time, 
 matter, or other circumstance. Good-morrow ; 
 for as I take it, it is almost day. 
 
 Prov. I shall obey him. [Exit Messenger. 
 
 Duke. This is his pardon ; purchas'd by such 
 sin, [Aside. 
 
 For which the pardoner himself is in : 
 Hence hath offence his quick celerity 
 When it is borne in high authority : 
 When vice makes mercy, mercy's so extended 
 That for the fault's love is the offender friended. 
 Now, sir, what news ? 
 
 Prov. I told you : Lord Angelo, belike 
 thinking me remiss in mine office, awakens me 
 with this unwonted putting on ; methinks 
 strangely, for he hath not used it before. 
 
 Duke. Pray you, let 's hear. 
 
 Prov. [Reads.] Whatsoever you may hear to 
 the contrary, let Claudio be executed by four of 
 the clock ; and, in the afternoon, Bamardine : 
 for my better satisfaction, let me have Claudius 
 head sent me by five. Let this be duly per- 
 formed ; with a thought that more depends on 
 it thai, v~e must yet deliver. Thus fail not to 
 do your office, as you will answer it at your peril. 
 What say you to this, sir ? 
 
 Duke. What is that Barnardine who is to be 
 executed in the afternoon ? 
 
 Prov. A Bohemian born ; but here nursed 
 up and bred : one that is a prisoner nine years 
 old. 
 
 Duke. How came it that the absent duke had 
 not either delivered him to his liberty or executed 
 him? I have heard it was ever his manner to do so. 
 
 Pro-J. His friends still wrought reprieves for 
 him : and, indeed, his fact, till now in the 
 government of Lord Angelo, came not to an 
 undoubtful proof. 
 
 Duke. Is it row apparent ? 
 
 Prov. Most manifest, and not denied by him- 
 self. 
 
 Duke. Hath he borne himself penitently in 
 prison ? How swems he to be touched ? 
 
 Prov. A man that apprehends death no more 
 dreadfully but as a drunken sleep ; careless, 
 reakless, and fearless of what 's past, present, 
 or fo come ; 'nscnsible of mortality and desper- 
 ately mortal. 
 
 Du,le. He wants advice. 
 
 Prov. He will hear none ; he hath evermore 
 had the liberty of the prison ; give him leave to 
 escape h nee, he would not : drunk many times 
 a-day, if not many days entirely drunk. We 
 have very often awaked him, as if to carry him 
 
128 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 [ACT IV. 
 
 to execution, and showed him a seeming war- 
 rant for it : it hath not moved him at all. 
 
 Duke. More of him anon. There is written 
 in your brow, Provost, honesty and constancy : 
 if I read it not truly, my ancient skill beguiles 
 me ; but in the boldness of my cunning I will 
 lay myself in hazard. Claudio, whom here you 
 have a warrant to execute, is no greater forfeit 
 to the law than Angelo who hath sentenced 
 him. To make you understand this in a mani- 
 fested effect, I crave but four days' respite ; for 
 the which you are to do me both a present and 
 a dangerous courtesy. 
 
 Prov, Pray, sir, in what ? 
 
 Duke. In the delaying death. 
 
 Prov. Alack ! how may I do it ? having the 
 hour limited ; and an express command, under 
 penalty, to deliver his head in the view of 
 Angelo ? I may make my case as Claudio's, 
 to cross this in the smallest. 
 
 Duke. By the vow of mine order, I warrant 
 you, if my instructions may be your guide. 
 Let this Barnardine be this morning executed, 
 and his head borne to Angelo. 
 
 Prov. Angelo hath seen them both, and 'ill 
 discover the favour. 
 
 Duke. O, death 's a great disguiser : and you 
 may add to it. Shave the head and tie the 
 beard ; and say it was the desire of the penitent 
 to be so bared before his death. You know the 
 course is common. If anything fall to you upon 
 this, more than thanks and good fortune, by the 
 saint whom I profess, I will plead against it 
 with my life. 
 
 Prov. Pardon me, good father ; it is against 
 my oath. 
 
 Duke. Were you sworn to the duke, or to 
 the deputy ? 
 
 Prov. To him and to his substitutes. 
 
 Duke. You will think you have made no 
 offence if the duke avouch the justice of your 
 dealing ? 
 
 Prov. But what likelihood is in that ? 
 
 Duke. Not a resemblance, but a certainty. 
 Yet since I see you fearful that neither my coat, 
 integrity, nor my persuasion can with ease at- 
 tempt you, I will go further than I meant, to 
 pluck all fears out of you. Look you, sir, here 
 is the hand and seal of the duke. You know 
 the character, I doubt not ; and the signet is 
 not strange to you. 
 
 Prov. I know them both. 
 
 Duke. The contents of this is the return of 
 the duke ; you shall anon over-read it at your 
 pleasure ; where you shall find, within these 
 two days he will be here. This is a thing that 
 Angelo knows not : for he this very day receives 
 
 letters of strange tenor : perchance of the duke's 
 death ; perchance entering into some monastery ; 
 but, by chance, nothing of what is writ. Look, 
 the unfolding star calls up the shepherd. Put 
 not yourself into amazement how these things 
 should be : all difficulties are but easy when 
 they are known. Call your executioner, and off 
 with Barnardine's head : I will give him a pre- 
 sent shrift, and advise him for a better place. 
 Yet you are amazed : but this shall absolutely 
 resolve you. Come away ; it is almost clear 
 dawn. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. Another Room in the same. 
 Enter CLOWN. 
 
 do. I am as well acquainted here as I was 
 in our house of profession : one would think it 
 were Mistress Overdone's own house, for here 
 be many of her old customers. First, here 's 
 young Master Rash ; he 's in for a commodity 
 of brown paper and old ginger, ninescore and 
 seventeen pounds; of which he made five marks, 
 ready money : marry, then, ginger was not 
 much in request, for the old women were all 
 dead. Then is there here one Master Caper, 
 at the suit of Master Threepile the mercer, for 
 some four suits of peach-coloured satin, which 
 now peaches him a beggar. Then have we here 
 young Dizy, and young Master Deepvow, and 
 Master Copperspur, and Master Starvelackey 
 the rapier and dagger-man, and young Dropheir 
 that killed lusty Pudding, and Master Forth- 
 right the tilter, and brave Master Shoetie the 
 great traveller, and wild Halfcan that s abbed 
 Pots, and; I think, -orty more ; all great doers 
 in our ti '.ue, and are now " or the Lord's sake." 
 
 Enter ABHORSON. 
 
 
 Abhor. Sirrah, bring Barnardine hither. 
 
 Clo. Master Barn, din, ! you must rise and 
 be hanged, Master Barnardine ! 
 
 Aohor. "V.hat, ho, Barnardine ! 
 
 Barnar. \Within.~} A pox o } your throats ! 
 Who : lakes that noise there ? What are you ? 
 
 Clo. Your friend, sir ; the hangman. You 
 must be so good, sir, to rise and be put to death. 
 
 Barnar. [Within.'] Away, you rogue, away; 
 I am sleepy. 
 
 Abhor. Tell him he must awake, and that 
 quickly too. 
 
 Clo. Pray, Master Barnardine, awake till 
 you are executed, and sleep afterwards. 
 
 Abhor. Go in to him, and fetch him out. 
 
 Clo. He is coming, sir, he is coming ; I hear 
 his straw rustle. 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 129 
 
 Enter BARNARDINE. 
 
 Abhor. Is the axe upon the block, sirrah ? 
 
 Clo. Very ready, sir. 
 
 Barnar. How now, Abhorson ? what 's the 
 news with you ? 
 
 Abhor. Truly, sir, I would desire you to clap 
 into your prayers ; for, look you, the warrant 's 
 come. 
 
 Barnar. You rogue, I have been drinking 
 all night ; I am not fitted for 't. 
 
 Clo. O, the better, sir ; for he that drinks 
 all night and is hanged betimes in the morning 
 may sleep the sounder all the next day. 
 
 Enter DUKE. 
 
 Abhor. Look you, sir, here comes your 
 ghostly father. Do we jest now, think you ? 
 
 Duke. Sir, induced by my charity, and hear- 
 ing how hastily you are to depart, I am come to 
 advise you, comfort you, and pray with you. 
 
 Barnar. Friar, not I ; I have been drinking 
 hard all night, and I will have more time to 
 prepare me, or they shall beat out my brains 
 with billets : I will not consent to die this day, 
 that 's certain. 
 
 Duke. O, six, you must ; and therefore, I 
 
 beseech you, 
 Look forward on the journey you shall go. 
 
 Barnar. I swear I will not die to-day for 
 any man's persuasion. 
 
 Duke. But hear you, 
 
 Barnar. Not a word ; if you have anything 
 to say to me, come to my ward ; for thence 
 will not I to-day. [Exit. 
 
 Duke. Unfit to live or die. O gravel heart ! 
 After him, fellows ; bring him to the block. 
 
 [Exeunt ABHOR, and CLOWN. 
 
 Enter PROVOST. 
 
 Prov. Now, sir, how do you find the prisoner? 
 
 Duke. A creature unprepar'd, unmeet for 
 
 death ; 
 
 And to transport him in the mind he is 
 Were damnable. 
 
 Prov. Here in the prison, father, 
 
 There died this morning of a cruel fever 
 One Ragozine, a most notorious pirate, 
 A man of Claudio's years ; his beard and head 
 Just of his colour. What if we do omit 
 This reprobate till he were well inclined ; 
 And satisfy the deputy with the visage 
 Of Ragozine, more like to Claudio ? 
 
 Duke. O, 'tis an accident that Heaven pro- 
 vides ! 
 
 Despatch it presently ; the hour draws on 
 Prefix'd by Angelo : see this be done, 
 
 And sent according to command ; whiles I 
 Persuade this rude wretch willingly to die. 
 
 Prov. This shall be done, good father, pre- 
 
 sently. 
 
 But Barnardine must die this afternoon : 
 And how shall we continue Claudio, 
 To save me from the danger that might come 
 If he were known alive ? 
 
 Duke. Let this be done ; 
 
 Put them in secret holds ; both Barnardine and 
 Claudio. [ing 
 
 Ere twice the sun hath made his journal greet- 
 To the under generation, you shall find 
 Your safety manifested. 
 
 Prov. I am your free dependent. 
 
 Duke. Quick, despatch, 
 
 And send the head to Angelo. 
 
 [Exit PROVOST. 
 
 Now will I write letters to Angelo, [tents 
 The provost, he shall bear them, whose con- 
 Shall witness to him I am near at home, 
 And that, by great injunctions, I am bound 
 To enter publicly : him I '11 desire 
 To meet me at the consecrated fount, 
 A league below the city ; and from thence, 
 By cold gradation and weal-balanced form, 
 We shall proceed with Angelo. 
 ' 
 
 - r . . 
 
 Re-enter PROVOST. 
 
 Prov. Here is the head ; I '11 carry it myself. 
 
 Duke. Convenient is it. Make a swift return ; 
 For I would commune with you of such things 
 That want no ear but yours. 
 
 Prov. I '11 make all speed. [Exit. 
 
 I sab. [Within.] Peace, ho, be here ! 
 
 Duke. The tongue of Isabel. She's come 
 
 to know 
 
 If yet her brother's pardon be come hither : 
 But I will keep her ignorant of her good, 
 To make her heavenly comforts of despair 
 When it is least expected. 
 
 X-id-ptri.'rt b&A. , 
 
 Enter ISABELLA. , OT {ylj : i;il s 
 
 Isab. Ho, by your leave ! 
 
 Duke. Good morning to you, fair and gracious 
 
 daughter. 
 
 Isab. The better, given me by so holy a man. 
 
 Hath yet the deputy sent my brother's pardon? 
 
 Duke. He hath released him, Isabel, from 
 
 the world : 
 
 His head is off and sent to Angelo. 
 Isab. Nay, but it is not so. 
 Duke. It is no other : 
 
 Show your wisdom, daughter, in your close 
 
 patience. 
 
 Isab. O, I will to him and pluck out his eyes. 
 Duke. You shall not be admitted to his sight- 
 
130 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Isab. Unhappy Claudio ! Wretched Isabel ! 
 Injurious world ! Most damned Angelo I 
 
 Duke. This nor hurts him nor profits you a 
 
 jot: 
 
 Forbear it, therefore; give your cause to Heaven. 
 Mark what I say ; which you shall find 
 By every syllable a faithful verity : 
 The duke comes home to-morrow ; nay, dry 
 
 your eyes ; 
 
 One of our convent, and his confessor, 
 Gives me this instance. Already he hath carried 
 Notice to Escalus and Angelo, 
 Who do prepare to meet him at the gates, 
 There to give up their power. If you can, 
 
 pace your wisdom 
 
 In that good path that I would wish it go, 
 And you shall have your bosom on this wretch, 
 Grace of the duke, revenges to your heart, 
 And general honour. 
 
 Isab. I am directed by you. 
 
 Duke. This letter, then, to Friar Peter give ; 
 'Tis that he sent me of the duke's return : 
 Say, by this token, I desire his company 
 At Mariana's house to-night. Her cause and 
 
 yours 
 
 I '11 perfect him withal ; and he shall bring you 
 Before the duke ; and to the head of Angelo 
 Accuse him home, and home. For my poor self, 
 I am combined by a sacred vow, 
 And shall be absent. Wend you with this letter : 
 Command these fretting waters from your eyes 
 With a light heart ; trust not my holy order 
 If I pervert your course. Who 's here ? 
 
 .fo^ocji lift 'jxsm II I . .ws^V 
 
 Enter LuciO. 
 
 Lucio. Good even, 
 
 Friar ; where is the provost ? 
 
 Duke. Not within, sir. 
 
 Lucie. O, pretty Isabella, I am pale at mine 
 heart to see thine eyes so red : thou must be 
 patient : I am fain to dine and sup with water 
 and bran; I dare not for my head fill my belly; 
 one fruitful meal would set me to 't. But they 
 say the duke will be here to-morrow. By my 
 troth, Isabel, I loved thy brother. If the old 
 fantastical duke of dark corners had been at 
 home, he had lived. [Exit ISABELLA. 
 
 Duke. Sir, the duke is marvellous little be- 
 holding to your reports ; but the best is, he 
 lives not in them. 
 
 Lucio. Friar, thou knowest not the duke so 
 well as I do : he 's a better woodman than thou 
 takest him for. [Fare ye well. 
 
 Duke. Well, you '11 answer this one day. 
 
 Lucio. Nay, tarry ; I '11 go along with thee ; 
 I can tell thee pretty tales of the duke. 
 
 Duke. You have told me too many of him 
 
 already, sir, if they be true : if not true, none 
 were enough. 
 
 Lucio. I was once before him for getting a 
 wench with child. 
 
 Duke. Did you such a thing ? 
 
 L^lcio. Yes, marry, did I : but was fain to 
 forswear it ; they would else have married me 
 to the rotten medlar. 
 
 Duke. Sir, your company is fairer than hon- 
 est. Rest you well. 
 
 Lucio. By my trot , I '11 go with thee to the 
 lane's end. If bawdy talk offend you, we'll 
 have very little of it. Nay, friar, I am a kind 
 of burr ; I shall stick. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. A Room in ANGELO'S House. 
 Enter ANGELO and ESCALUS. 
 
 Escal. Every letter he hath writ hath dis- 
 vouched other. 
 
 Ang. In most uneven and distracted manner. 
 His actions show much like to madness ; pray 
 heaven his wisdom be not tainted ! And why 
 meet him at the gates, and re-deliver our 
 authorities there ? 
 
 Escal. I guess not. 
 
 Ang. And why should we proclaim it in an 
 hour before his entering, that if any crave re- 
 dress of injustice, they should exhibit their peti- 
 tions in the streets ? 
 
 Escal. He shows his reason for that : to have 
 a despatch of complaints ; and to deliver us 
 from devices hereafter, which shall then have 
 no power to stand against us. 
 
 Ang. Well, I beseech you. let it be pro- 
 claimed : 
 
 Betimes i' the morn I '11 call you at your house : 
 Give notice to such men of sort and suit 
 As are to meet him. 
 
 Escal. I shall, sir : fare you well. [Exit. 
 
 Ang. Good night. [nant, 
 
 This deed unshapes me quite, makes me unpreg- 
 And dull to all proceedings. A deflower'd maid ! 
 And by an eminent body that enforced 
 The law against it ! But that her tender shame 
 Will not proclaim against her maiden loss, 
 How might she tongue me ? Yet reason dares 
 
 her no : 
 
 For my authority bears a credent bulk, 
 That no particular scandal once can touch 
 But it confounds the breather. He should 
 have liv'd, [sense, 
 
 Save that his riotous youth, with dangerous 
 Might in the times to come have ta'en revenge, 
 By so receiving a dishonour'd life 
 With ransom of such shame. Would yet he 
 had liv'd J 
 
SCENE V.] 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 Alack, when once our grace we have forgot, 
 Nothing goes right ; we would, and we would 
 noi. {Exit. 
 
 SCENE V. Fields withotit the Town. 
 
 Enter DUKE in his own habit^ and Friar 
 PETER. 
 
 Duke. These letters at fit time deliver me. 
 
 {Giving letters. 
 
 The provost knows our purpose and our plot. 
 The matter being afoot, keep your instruction 
 And hold you ever to our special drift ; 
 Though sometimes you do blench from this to 
 that [house, 
 
 As cause doth minister. Go, call at Flavins' 
 And tell him where I stay : give the like notice 
 To Valentinus, Rowland, and to Crassus, 
 And bid them bring the trumpets to the gate ; 
 But send me Flavius first. 
 
 F. Peter. It shall be speeded well. 
 
 {Exit FRIAR. 
 r/sttaw % idbi^K arir^a 
 
 Enter VARRIUS. 
 
 Duke. I thank thee, Varrius ; thou hast made 
 good haste : [friends 
 
 Come, we will walk. There 's other of our 
 Will greet us here anon, my gentle Varrius. 
 
 {Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE VI. Street near the City Gate. 
 Enter ISABELLA and MARIANA. 
 
 Isab. To speak so indirectly I am loath ; 
 I would say the truth ; but to accuse him so, 
 That is your part : yet I 'm advis'd to do it ; 
 He says, to 'vailfull purpose. 
 
 Mart. Be ruled by him. 
 
 Isab. Besides, he tells me that, if peradven- 
 
 ture 
 
 He speak against me on the adverse side, 
 I should not think it strange ; for 'tis a physic 
 That 's bitter to sweet end. 
 
 Mart. I would friar Peter. 
 
 Isab. O, peace ; the friar is come. 
 
 juk orou >:f --el ii' ' ''' -r>i ' --.I V-.-'~ '"*' 
 
 Enter Friar PETER. 
 
 F. Peter. Come, I have found you out a 
 
 stand most fit^nav-: 
 
 Where you may have such vantage on the duke 
 He shall not pass you. Twice have the trum- 
 pets sounded ; 
 
 The generous and gravest citizens 
 Have hent the gates, and very near upon 
 The duke is entering ; therefore, hence, away. 
 
 {Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 SCENE \.A public Place near the City Gate. 
 
 MARIANA (veiled), ISABELLA, and PETER, at 
 a distance Enter at opposite doors DUKE, 
 VARRIUS, Lords; ANGELO, ESCALUS, Lucio, 
 PROVOST, Officers, and Citizens. 
 Duke. My very worthy cousin, fairly met ; 
 Our old and faithful friend, we are glad to see 
 you. [royal grace ! 
 
 Ang. and Escal. Happy return be to your 
 Duke. Many and hearty thankings to you both. 
 We have made inquiry of you ; and we hear 
 Such goodness of your justice that our soul 
 Cannot but yield you forth to public thanks, 
 Forerunning more requital. 
 
 Ang. You make my bonds still greater. 
 
 Duke. O, your desert speaks loud ; and I 
 
 should wrong it 
 
 To lock it in the wards of covert bosom, 
 When it deserves, with characters of brass, 
 A forted residence 'gainst the tooth of time 
 And rasure of oblivion. Give me your hand, 
 And let the subject see, to make them know 
 That outward courtesies would fain proclaim 
 Favours that keep within. Come, Escalus ; 
 You must walk by us on our other hand : 
 And good supporters are you. 
 
 PETER and ISABELLA come forward. 
 
 F. Peter. Now is your time ; speak loud, 
 and kneel before him. [regard 
 
 Isab. Justice, O royal duke ! Vail your 
 Upon a wrong'd, I 'd fain have said, a maid ! 
 O worthy prince, dishonour not your eye 
 By throwing it on any other object 
 Till you have heard me in my true complaint, 
 And give me justice, justice, justice, justice ! 
 
 Duke. Relate your wrongs. In what? By 
 
 whom ? Be brief : 
 
 Here is Lord Angelo shall give you justice. 
 Reveal yourself to him. 
 
 Isab. O, worthy duke. 
 
 You bid me seek redemption of the devil : 
 Hear me yourself ; for that which I must speak 
 Must either punish me, not being believ'd, 
 Or wring redress from you ; hear me, O, hear 
 me here. [firm : 
 
 Ang. My lord, her wits, I fear me, are not 
 She hath been a suitor to me for her brother, 
 Cut off by course of justice. 
 
 Isab. By course of justice ! 
 
 Ang. And she will speak most bitterly and 
 strange. [I speak : 
 
 Isab. Most strange, but yet most truly, will 
 That Angelo 's forsworn, is it not strange ? 
 
132 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 That Angelo 's a murderer, is 't not strange ? 
 That Angelo is an adulterous thief, 
 An hypocrite, a virgin-violator, 
 Is it not strange and strange ? 
 
 Duke. Nay, it is ten times strange. 
 
 Isab. It is not truer he is Angelo 
 Than this is all as true as it is strange : 
 Nay, it is ten times true ; for truth is truth 
 To the end of reckoning. 
 
 Duke. Away with her ! Poor soul, 
 
 She speaks this in the infirmity of sense. 
 
 Isab. O prince, I conjure thee, as thou believ'st 
 There is another comfort than this world, 
 That thou neglect me not with that opinion 
 That I am touch'd with madness : make not 
 impossible [sible 
 
 That which but seems unlike ; 'tis not impos- 
 But one, the wicked'st caitiff on the ground, 
 May seem as shy, as grave, as just, as absolute 
 As Angelo ; even so may Angelo, 
 In all his dressings, characts, titles, forms, 
 Be an arch-villain ; believe it, royal prince, 
 If he be less, he 's nothing ; but he 's more, 
 Had I more name for badness. 
 
 Duke. By mine honesty, 
 
 If she be mad, as I believe no other, 
 Her madness hath the oddest frame of sense, 
 Such a dependency of thing on thing, 
 As e'er I heard in madness. 
 
 Isab. O gracious duke, 
 
 Harp not on that : nor do not banish reason 
 For inequality ; but let your reason serve 
 To make the truth appear where it seems hid 
 And hide the false seems true. 
 
 Duke. Many that are not mad 
 
 Have, sure, more lack of reason. What would 
 you say ? 
 
 Isab. I am the sister of one Claudio, 
 Condemn'd upon the act of fornication 
 To lose his head ; condemn'd by Angelo : 
 I, in probation of a sisterhood, 
 Was sent to by my brother : one Lucio 
 As then the messenger ; 
 
 Lucio. That 's I, an 't like your grace : 
 
 I came to her from Claudio, and desir'd her 
 To try her gracious fortune with Lord Angelo 
 For her poor brother's pardon. 
 
 Isab. That 's he, indeed. 
 
 Duke. You were not bid to speak. 
 
 Lucio. No, my good lord : 
 
 Nor wish'd to hold my peace. 
 
 Duke. I wish you now, then ; 
 
 Pray you, take note of it : and when you have 
 A business for yourself, pray Heaven you then 
 Be perfect. 
 
 Lucio. I warrant your honour, [to it. 
 
 Duke. The warrant 's for yourself; take heed 
 
 Isab. This gentleman told somewhat of my 
 tale. 
 
 Lucio. Right. [wrong 
 
 Duke. It may be right ; but you are in the 
 To speak before your time. Proceed. 
 
 Isab. I went 
 
 To this pernicious caitiff deputy. 
 
 Duke. That 's somewhat madly spoken. 
 
 Isab. Pardon it ; 
 
 The phrase is to the matter. [ceed. 
 
 Duke. Mended again. The matter ; pro- 
 
 hab. In brief, to set the needless process by, 
 How I persuaded, how I pray'd, and kneel'd, 
 How he refell'd me, and how I replied, 
 For this was of much length, the vile conclusion 
 I now begin with grief and shame to utter : 
 He would not, but by gift of my chaste body 
 To his concupiscible intemperate lust, 
 Release my brother; and, after muchdebatement, 
 My sisterly remorse confutes mine honour, 
 And I did yield to him. But the next morn 
 
 betimes, 
 
 His purpose surfeiting, he sends a warrant 
 For my poor brother's head. 
 
 Duke. This is most likely 
 
 Isab. O, that it were as like as it is true ! 
 
 Duke. By heaven, fond wretch, thou know' st 
 
 not what thou speak'st, 
 Or else thou art suborn'd against his honour 
 In hateful practice. First, his integrity 
 Stands without blemish: next, it imports no 
 
 reason 
 
 That with such vehemency he should pursue 
 Faults proper to himself: if he had so offended, 
 He would have weigh'd thy brother by himself, 
 And not have cut him off. Some one hath set 
 
 you on ; 
 
 Confess the truth, and say by whose advice 
 Thou cam'st here to complain. 
 
 Isab. And is this all ? 
 
 Then, O you blessed ministers above, 
 Keep me in patience ; and, with ripen'd time, 
 Unfold the evil which is here wrapt up 
 In countenance ! Heaven shield your grace 
 
 from woe, 
 As I, thus wrong'd, hence unbelieved go ! 
 
 Duke. I know you'd fain be gone. An 
 
 officer ! 
 
 To prison with her ! Shall we thus permit 
 A blasting and a scandalous breath to fall 
 On him so near us? This needs must be a 
 
 practice. 
 Who knew of your intent and coming hither ? 
 
 Isab. One that I would were here, friar Lodo- 
 wick. 
 
 Duke. A ghostly father, belike. Who knows 
 that Lodowick ? 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 133 
 
 Lucio. My lord, I know him ; 'tis a meddling 
 
 friar. [lord, 
 
 I do not like the man : had he been lay, my 
 
 For certain words he spake against your grace 
 
 In your retirement, I had swing'd him soundly. 
 
 Duke. Words against me? This a good 
 
 friar, belike ! 
 
 And to set on this wretched woman here 
 Against our substitute! Let this friar be found. 
 
 Lucio. But yesternight, my lord, she and that 
 
 friar 
 
 I saw them at the prison : a saucy friar, 
 A very scurvy fellow. 
 
 F. Peter. Bless'd be your royal grace ! 
 
 I have stood by, my lord, and I have heard 
 Your royal ear abus'd. First, hath this woman 
 Most wrongfully accus'd your substitute ; 
 Who is as free from touch or soil with her 
 As she from one ungot. 
 
 Duke. We did believe no less. 
 
 Know you that friar Lodowick that she speaks 
 
 of? [holy; 
 
 F. Peter. I know him for a man divine and 
 Not scurvy, nor a temporary meddler, 
 As he 's reported by this gentleman ; 
 And, on my trust, a man that never yet 
 Did, as he vouches, misreport your grace. 
 
 Lucio. My lord, most villanously ; believe it. 
 
 F. Peter. Well, he in time may come to clear 
 
 himself ; 
 
 But at this instant he is sick, my lord, 
 Of a strange fever. Upon his mere request, 
 Being come to knowledge that there was com- 
 plaint 
 
 Intended 'gainst Lord Angelo, came I hither 
 To speak, as from his mouth, what he doth know 
 Is true and false ; and what he, with his oath 
 And all probation, will make up full clear, 
 Whensoever he 's convented. First, for this 
 
 woman 
 
 To justify this worthy nobleman, 
 So vulgarly and personally accus'd, 
 Her shall you hear disproved to her eyes, 
 Till she herself confess it. 
 
 Duke. Good friar, let 's hear it. 
 
 [ISABELLA is carried off", guarded ; and 
 
 MARIANA comes forward. 
 Do you not smile at this, Lord Angelo ? 
 O heaven ! the vanity of wretched fools ! 
 Give us some seats. Come, cousin Angelo ; 
 In this I '11 be impartial ; be you judge 
 Of your own cause. Is this the witness, friar? 
 First, let her show her face, and after speak. 
 
 Mart. Pardon, my lord ; I will not show my 
 
 face 
 Until my husband bid me. 
 
 Duke. What ! are you married ? 
 
 Mari. No, my lord. 
 
 Duke. Are you a maid ? 
 
 Mari. No, my lord. 
 
 Dttke. A widow, then ? 
 
 Mari. Neither, my lord. 
 
 Duke. Why, you 
 
 Are nothing then : neither maid, widow, nor 
 wife? 
 
 Lucio. My lord, she may be a punk; for many 
 of them are neither maid, widow, nor wife. 
 
 Duke. Silence that fellow : I would he had 
 
 some cause 
 To prattle for himself. 
 
 Lucio. Well, my lord. [married ; 
 
 Mari. My lord, I do confess I ne'er was 
 And I confess, besides, I am no maid : 
 I have known my husband ; yet my husband 
 
 knows not 
 That ever he knew me. 
 
 Lucio. He was drunk, then, my lord; it can 
 be no better. 
 
 Duke. For the benefit of silence, would thou 
 wert so too. 
 
 Lucio. Well, my lord. 
 
 Duke. This is no witness for Lord Angelo. 
 
 Mari. Now I come to 't, my lord : 
 She that accuses him of fornication, 
 In self-same manner doth accuse my husband ; 
 And charges him, my lord, with such a time 
 When I '11 depose I had him in mine arms, 
 With all the effect of love. 
 
 Ang. Charges she more than me ? 
 
 Man. Not that I know. 
 
 Duke. No ? you say, your husband. 
 
 Mari. Why, just, my lord, and that is Angelo, 
 Who thinks he knows that he ne'er knew my 
 
 body, 
 But knows he thinks that he knows Isabel's. 
 
 Ang. This is a strange abuse. Let 's see thy 
 face. [mask. 
 
 Mari. My husband bids me ; now I will un- 
 
 \Unveiling. 
 
 This is that face, thou cruel Angelo, [on : 
 
 Which once thou swor'st was worth the looking 
 This is the hand which, with a vow'd contract, 
 Was fast belock'd in thine : this is the body 
 That took away the match from Isabel, 
 And did supply thee at thy garden-house 
 In her imagin'd person. 
 
 Duke. Know you this woman ? 
 
 Lucio. Carnally, she says. 
 
 Duke. Sirrah, no more. 
 
 Lucio. Enough, my lord. [woman ; 
 
 Ang. My lord, I must confess I know this 
 And five years since there was some speech of 
 
 marriage 
 Betwixt myself and her ; which was broke off, 
 
134 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Partly for that her promis'd proportions 
 Came short of composition ; but in chief 
 For that her reputation was disvalued 
 In levity : since which time of five years [her, 
 I never spake with her, saw her, nor heard from 
 Upon my faith and honour. 
 
 Mart. Noble prince, 
 
 As there comes light from heaven and words 
 
 from breath, 
 
 As there is sense in truth and truth in virtue, 
 I am affianc'd this man's wife as strongly 
 As words could make up vows : and, my good 
 lord, [house, 
 
 But Tuesday night last gone, in his garden- 
 He knew me as a wife. As this is true, 
 Let me in safety raise me from my knees, 
 Or else for ever be confixed here, 
 A marble monument ! 
 
 Ang. I did but smile till now : 
 
 Now, good my lord, give me the scope of 
 
 justice j 
 
 My patience here is touch'd. I do perceive 
 These poor informal women are no more 
 But instruments of some more mightier member 
 That sets them on. Let me have way, my lord, 
 To find this practice out. 
 
 Duke. Ay, with my heart ; 
 
 And punish them unto your height of pleasure. 
 Thou foolish friar, and thou pernicious woman, 
 Compact with her that 's gone, thinkst thou thy 
 oaths, [saint, 
 
 Though they would swear down each particular 
 Were testimonies against his worth and credit, 
 That 's seal'd in approbation ? You, Lord 
 
 Escalus, 
 
 Sit with my cousin ; lend him your kind pains 
 To find out this abuse, whence 'tis deriv'd. 
 There is another friar that set them on ; r> r , iu a 
 Let him be sent for. {he indeed 
 
 F. Peter. Would he were here, my lord ; for 
 Hath set the women on this complaint : 
 Your provost knows the place where he abides, 
 And he may fetch him. 
 
 Duke. Go, do it instantly. [Exit PROVOST. 
 And you, my noble and well-warranted cousin, 
 Whom it concerns to hear this matter forth, 
 Do with your injuries as seems you best 
 In any chastisement. I for awhile [well 
 
 Will leave you : but stir not you till you have 
 Determined upon these slanderers. 
 
 Escal. My lord, we '11 do it thoroughly. {Exit 
 DUKE. ] Signior Lucio, did notyou say you knew 
 that friar Lodowick to be a dishonest person ? 
 
 Litcio. Cucullus non facit monachum: honest 
 in nothing but in his clothes ; and one that hath 
 spoke most villanous speeches of the duke. 
 
 Escal. We shall entreat you to abide here till 
 
 he come, and enforce them against him: we shall 
 find this friar a notable fellow. 
 
 Lucio. As any in Vienna, on my word. 
 
 Escal. Call that same Isabel here once again 
 \to an Attendant]; I would speak with her. 
 Pray you, my lord, give me leave to question ; 
 you shall see how I handle her. 
 
 Lucio. Not better than he, by her own report. 
 
 Escal. Say you ? 
 
 Lucio. Marry, sir, I think if you handled her 
 privately she would sooner confess : perchance, 
 publicly, she '11 be ashamed. 
 
 Re-enter Officers, with ISABELLA. 
 
 Escal. I will go darkly to work with her. 
 
 Lucio. That ! s the way ; for women are light 
 at midnight. 
 
 Escal. Come on, mistress [to ISABELLA] : 
 here 's a gentlewoman denies all that you have 
 said. 
 
 Re-enter the DUKE, in the Friar's habit y 
 and PROVOST. 
 
 Lucio. My lord , here comes the rascal I spoke 
 of; here with the provost. 
 
 Escal. In very good time : speak not you to 
 him till we call upon you. 
 
 Lucio. Mum. 
 
 EscaL Come, sir : did you set these women 
 on to slander Lord Angel o ? they have confessed 
 you did. .f )T of v 
 
 Duke. 'Tis false. n.xiV 
 
 EscaL How ! know you where you are ? 
 
 Duke. Respect to your great place ! and let 
 
 the devil 
 
 Be sometime honour'd for his burning throne! 
 Where is the duke? 'tis he should hear me speak. 
 
 Escal. The duke's in us ; and we will hear 
 
 you speak : 
 Look you speak justly. 
 
 Duke. Boldly, at least. But, O, poor souls, 
 Come you to seek the lamb here of the fox, 
 Good night to your redress ! Is the duke gone? 
 Then is your cause gone too. The duke 's unjust 
 Thus to retort your manifest appeal, 
 And put your trial in the villain's mouth 
 Which here you come to accuse. [of. 
 
 Lucio. This is the rascal ; this is he I spoke 
 
 EscaL Why, thou unreverend and unhallow'd 
 
 friar ! 
 
 Is 't not enough thou hast suborn'd these women 
 To accuse this worthy man, but, in foul mouth, 
 And in the witness of his proper ear, 
 To call him villain ? 
 
 And then to glance from him to the duke him- 
 self, 
 To tax him with injustice ? Take him hence ; 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 135 
 
 To the rack with him. We'll touze you joint 
 
 by joint, 
 But we will know this purpose. What! unjust? 
 
 Duke. Be not so hot ; the duke 
 Dare no more stretch this finger of mine than he 
 Dare rack his own ; his subject am I not. 
 Nor here provincial. My business in this state 
 Made me a looker-on here in Vienna, 
 Where I have seen corruption boil and bubble 
 Till it o'errun the stew : laws for all faults, 
 But faults socountenanc'dthat the strong statutes 
 Stand like the forfeits in a barber's shop, 
 As much in mock as mark. 
 
 Escal. Slander to the state ! Away with him 
 to prison ! 
 
 Ang. What can you vouch against him, Signior 
 
 Lucio ? 
 Is this the man that you did tell us of ? 
 
 Lucio. 'Tis he, my lord. Come hither, good- 
 man bald-pate. Do you know me ? 
 
 Duke. I remember you, sir, by the sound of 
 your voice. I met you at the prison, in the ab- 
 sence of the duke. 
 
 Lucio. O did you so ? And do you remember 
 what you said of the duke ? 
 
 Duke. Most notedly, sir. 
 
 Lucio. Do you so, sir ? And was the duke a 
 fleshmonger, a fool, and a coward, as you then 
 reported him to be ? 
 
 Duke. You must, sir, change persons with me 
 ere you make that my report : you, indeed, spoke 
 so of him ; and much more, much worse. 
 
 Lucio. O thou damnable fellow ! Did not I 
 pluck thee by the nose for thy speeches ? 
 
 Duke. I protest I love the duke as I love 
 myself. 
 
 Ang. Hark how the villain would gloze now, 
 after his treasonable abuses ! 
 
 Escal. Such a fellow is not to be talked withal. 
 Away with him to prison ! Where is the provost ? 
 Away with him to prison ! lay bolts enough 
 upon him : let him speak no more. Away with 
 those giglots too, and with the other confederate 
 companion ! 
 
 [The PROVOST lays hands on the DUKE. 
 
 Duke. Stay, sir ; stay awhile. 
 
 Ang. What ! resists he ? Help him, Lucio. 
 
 Lucio. Come, sir ; come, sir ! come, sir ; foh, 
 sir. Why, you bald-pated, lying rascal ! you 
 must be hooded, must you ? Show your knave's 
 visage, with a pox to you ! show your sheep- 
 biting face, and be hanged an hour ! Will 't 
 not off? 
 
 [Pulls off the Friar's hood, and discovers 
 the DUKE. 
 
 Duke. Thou art the first knave that e'er made 
 a duke. 
 
 F'rst, Provost, let me bail these gentle three : 
 
 Sneak not away, sir [to Lucio] ; for the friar and 
 
 you 
 Musthave a word anon : Lay hold on him. 
 
 Lucio. This may prove worse than hanging. 
 
 Duke. What you have spoke I pardon ; sit 
 
 you down. [To ESCALUS. 
 
 We '11 borrow place of him. Sir, by your leave : 
 
 [To ANGELO. 
 
 Hast thou or word, or wit, or impudence 
 That yet can do thee office ? If thou hast, 
 Rely upon it till my tale be heard, 
 And hold no longer out. 
 
 Ang. O my dread lord, 
 
 I should be guiltier than my guiltiness, 
 To think I can be undiscernible, 
 WTien I perceive your grace, like power divine, 
 Hath look'dupon my passes. Then, good prince, 
 No longer session hold upon my shame, 
 But let my trial be mine own confession : 
 Immediate sentence then, and sequent death, 
 Is all the grace I beg. 
 
 Duke. Come hither, Mariana : 
 
 Say, wast thou e'er contracted to this woman ? 
 
 Ang. I was, my lord. 
 
 Duke. Go, take her hence and marry her in- 
 stantly. 
 
 Do you the office, friar ; which consummate, 
 Return him here again. Go with him, Provost. 
 [Exeunt ANG., MARL, PET., and PROV. 
 
 Escal. My lord, I am more amazed at his 
 
 dishonour 
 Than at the strangeness of it. 
 
 Duke. Come hither, Isabel : 
 
 Your friar is now your prince. As I was then 
 Advertising and holy to your business, 
 Not changing heart with habit, I am still 
 Attorney'd at your service. 
 
 Isab. O give me pardon, 
 
 That I, your vassal, have employ 'd and pain'd 
 Your unknown sovereignty. 
 
 Duke. You are pardon'd, Isabel. 
 
 And now, dear maid, be you as free to us. 
 Your brother's death, I know, sits at your heart ; 
 And you may marvel why I obscur'd myself, 
 Labouring to save his life, and would not rather 
 Make rash remonstrance of my hidden power 
 Than let him so be lost. O most kind maid, 
 It was the swift celerity of his death, 
 Which I did think with slower foot came on. 
 That brain'd my purpose. But peace be with 
 
 him! 
 
 That life is better life, past fearing death, 
 Than that which lives to fear: make it your 
 
 comfort, 
 So happy is your brother. 
 
 Isab. I do, my lord. 
 
136 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Re-enter ANGELO, MARIANA, PETER, and 
 PROVOST. 
 
 Duke. For this new-married man approaching 
 
 here, 
 
 Whose salt imagination yet hath wrong'd 
 Your well-defended honour, you must pardon 
 For Mariana's sake: but as he adjudg'd your 
 
 brother, 
 
 Being criminal, in double violation 
 Of sacred chastity and of promise -breach 
 Thereon dependent, for your brother's life, 
 The very mercy of the law cries out 
 Most audible, even from his proper tongue, 
 An Angela for Claudia, death for death. 
 Haste still pays haste, and leisure answers leisure ; 
 Like doth quit like, and measure still for measure. 
 Then, Angelo, thy fault thus manifested, 
 Which though thou wouldst deny, denies thee 
 
 vantage, 
 
 We do condemn thee to the very block 
 Where Claudio stoop'd to death, and with like 
 
 haste. 
 Away with him. 
 
 Mart. O my most gracious lord, 
 
 I hope you will not mock me with a husband ! 
 Duke. It is your husband mock'd you with a 
 
 husband, w } 
 
 Consenting to the safeguard of your honour, 
 I thought your marriage fit ; else imputation, 
 For that he knew you, might reproach your life, 
 And choke your good to come : for his posses- 
 sions, 
 
 Although by confiscation they are ours, 
 We do instate and widow you withal, 
 To buy you a better husband. 
 
 Mart. O my dear lord, 
 
 I crave no other, nor no better man. 
 
 Duke. Never crave him ; we are definitive. 
 Mari. Gentle, my liege, [Kneeling. 
 
 Duke. You do but lose your labour. 
 
 Away with him to death. Now, sir \to Lucio], 
 
 to you. [my part ; 
 
 Mari. O my good lord ! Sweet Isabel, take 
 Lend me your knees, and all my life to come 
 I '11 lend you all my life to do you service. 
 
 Duke. Against all sense you do importune her: 
 Should she kneel down, in. mercy of this fact, 
 Her brother's ghost his paved bed would break, 
 And take her hence in horror. 
 
 Mari. Isabel, 
 
 Sweet Isabel, do yet but kneel by me ; 
 Holdup your hands, say nothing, I'll speak all. 
 They say, best men are moulded out of faults ; 
 And, for the most, become much more the better 
 For being a little bad : so may my husband, 
 O Isabel, will you not lend a knee ? 
 
 Duke. He dies for Claudio's death. 
 
 Isab. Most bounteous sir, [Kneeling, 
 
 Look, if it please you, on this man condemn'd, 
 As if my brother liv'd : I partly think 
 A due sincerity govern'd his deeds 
 Till he did look on me ; since it is so, 
 Let him not die. My brother had but justice, 
 In that he did the thing for which he died : 
 For Angelo, 
 
 His act did not o'ertake his bad intent, 
 And must be buried but as an intent [jects ; 
 That perish'd by the way : thoughts are no sub- 
 Intents but merely thoughts. 
 
 Mari. Merely, my lord. 
 
 Duke. Your suit 's unprofitable ; stand up, I 
 
 say. 
 
 I have bethought of another fault. 
 Provost, how came it Claudio was beheaded 
 At an unusual hour ? 
 
 Prov. It was commanded so. 
 
 Duke. Had you a special warrant for the 
 deed ? [message. 
 
 Prov. No, my good lord ; it was by private 
 
 Duke. For which I do discharge you of your 
 
 office : 
 Give up your keys. 
 
 Prov. Pardon me, noble lord : 
 
 I thought it was a fault, but knew it not ; 
 Yet did repent me, after more advice : 
 For testimony whereof, one in the prison, 
 That should by private order else have died, 
 I have reserved alive. 
 
 Duke. What 'she? 
 
 Prov. His name is Barnardine. 
 
 Duke. I would thou hadst done so by 
 
 Claudio. 
 Go fetch him hither ; let me look upon him. 
 
 [Exit PROVOST. 
 
 Escal. I am sorry one so learned and so wise 
 As you, Lord Angelo, have still appear'd, 
 Should slip so grossly, both in the heat of blood 
 And lack of temper'd judgment afterward. 
 
 Ang. I am sorry that such sorrow I procure : 
 And so deep sticks it in my penitent heart 
 That I crave death more willingly than mercy ; 
 'Tis my deserving, and I do entreat it. 
 
 Re-enter PROVOST, with BARNARDINE, 
 CLAUDIO (muffled}, aw</ JULIET. 
 
 Duke. Which is that Barnardine ? 
 
 Prov. This, my lord. 
 
 Duke. There was a friar told me of this 
 
 man : 
 
 Sirrah, thou art said to have a stubborn soul, 
 That apprehends no further than this world, 
 And squar'st thy life according. Thou 'rt con- 
 demn'd ; 
 
SCENE I.J 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 137 
 
 But, for those earthly faults, I quit them all, 
 And pray thee take this mercy to provide 
 
 For better times to come : Friar, advise him ; 
 
 I leave him to your hand. What muffled 
 fellow 's that ? 
 
 Prov. This is another prisoner that I sav'd, 
 Who should have died when Claudio lost his 
 
 head; 
 As like almost to Claudio as himself. 
 
 [ Unmuffles CLAUDIO. 
 
 Duke. If he be like your brother, \to 
 
 ISABELLA], for his sake 
 Is he pardon'd ; and, for your lovely sake, 
 Give me your hand, and say you will be mine; 
 He is my brother too : but fitter time for that. 
 By this Lord Angelo perceives he ''s safe ; 
 Methinks I see a quick'ning in his eye. 
 Well, Angelo, your evil quits you well : 
 Look that you love your wife ; her worth worth 
 
 yours. 
 
 I find an apt remission in myself; 
 And yet here's one in place I cannot pardon. 
 You, sirrah \io Lucio], that knew me for a 
 
 fool, a coward, 
 
 One all of luxury, an ass, a madman ; 
 Wherein have I so deserved of you 
 That you extol me thus ? 
 
 Lucio. 'Faith, my lord, I spoke it but 
 according to the trick. If you will hang me 
 for it, you may; but I had rather it would 
 please you I might be whipped. 
 
 Duke. Whipp'd first, sir, and hang'd after. 
 Proclaim it, Provost, round about the city, 
 If any woman 's wrong'd by this lewd fellow, 
 As I have heard him swear himself there 's one 
 
 Whom he begot with child, let her appear, 
 And he shall marry her : the nuptial finish'd, 
 Let him be whipp'd and hang'd. 
 
 Lucio. I beseech your highness, do not 
 
 marry me to a whore ! Your highness said 
 
 even now I made you a duke ; good my lord, 
 
 do not recompense me in making me a cuckold. 
 
 Duke. Upon mine honour, thou shalt marry 
 
 her. 
 
 Thy slanders I forgive ; and therewithal 
 Remit thy other forfeits. Take him to prison; 
 And see our pleasure herein executed. 
 
 Lucio. Marrying a punk, my lord, is press- 
 ing to death, whipping, and hanging. 
 
 Duke. Slandering a prince deserves it. 
 
 [Exeunt Officers with LUCIO. 
 She, Claudio, that you wrong'd, look you re- 
 store. 
 
 Joy to you, Mariana ! Love her, Angelo ; 
 I have confess'd her, and I know her virtue. 
 Thanks, good friend Escalus, for thy much 
 
 goodness 
 
 There 's more behind that is more gratulate. 
 Thanks, Provost, for thy care and secrecy ; 
 We shall employ thee in a worthier place. 
 Forgive him, Angelo, that brought you home 
 The head of Ragozine for Claudio's : 
 The offence pardons itself. Dear Isabel, 
 I have a motion much imports your good ; 
 Whereto if you '11 a willing ear incline, 
 What's mine is yours, and what is yours is 
 
 mine : 
 
 So, bring us to our palace ; where we '11 show 
 
 What 's yet behind that 's meet you all should 
 
 know. \Exeunt. 
 
 
 
 one 
 
 rft^rf 
 
 'i fnof r, oj y 
 ? oJ bwi /-. 
 
 onorf Iljs.ijii 
 ru ,oa zl Jl 
 
 
 >& sgorLr narfj wnl eoo-rr! err ^ 
 

 
 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 DON PEDRO, Prince of Arragon. 
 DON JOHN, his bastard Brother, 
 CLAUDIO, a young Lord of Florence, favourite 
 
 to DON PEDRO. 
 BENEDICK, a young Lord of Padua, favourite 
 
 likewise </DoN PEDRO. 
 LEONATO, Govemo r of Messina. 
 ANTONIO, his Brother. 
 BALTHAZAR, Servant to DON PEDRO. 
 
 BORACHIO, 
 
 CONRADE, 
 
 \ Followers of DON JOHN. 
 
 j- two foolish Officers. 
 * 
 
 tJrfW 
 
 
 DOGBERRY, 
 VERGES, 
 A SEXTON. 
 A FRIAR. 
 A BOY. 
 
 HERO, Daughter to LEONATO. 
 BEATRICE, Niece to LEONATO. 
 MARGARET, \ Gent i ewomen a ttendingon HERO. 
 
 URSULA, J 
 
 Messengers, Watch, and Attendants. 
 
 SCENE, MESSINA. 
 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. Before LEONATO'S House. 
 
 Enter LEONATO, HERO, BEATRICE, and 
 others, with a Messenger. 
 
 Leon. I learn in this letter that Don Pedro 
 of Arragon comes this night to Messina. 
 
 Mess. He is very near by this ; he was not 
 three leagues off when I left him. 
 
 Leon. How many gentlemen have you lost 
 in this action ? 
 
 Mess. But few of any sort, and none of name. 
 
 Leon. A victory is twice itself when the 
 achiever brings home full numbers. I find 
 here that Don Pedro hath bestowed much 
 honour on a young Florentine called Claudio. 
 
 Mess. Much deserved on his part, and 
 equally remembered by Don Pedro. He hath 
 borne himself beyond the promise of his age ; 
 doing, in the figure of a lamb, the feats of a 
 lion : he hath, indeed, better bettered expecta- 
 tion than you must expect of me to tell you 
 how. 
 
 Leon. He hath an uncle here in Messina 
 will be very much glad of it. 
 
 Mess. I have already delivered him letters, 
 and there appears much joy in him ; even so 
 much that joy could not show itself modest 
 enough without a badge of bitterness. 
 
 Leon. Did he break out into tears ? 
 
 Mess. In great measure. 
 
 Leon. A kind overflow of kindness. There 
 are no faces truer than those that are so washed. 
 
 How much better is it to weep at joy than to 
 joy at weeping ? 
 
 Beat. I pray you, is Signior Montanto re- 
 turned from the wars or no ? 
 
 Mess. I know none of that name, lady ; there 
 was none such in the army of any sort. 
 
 Leon. What is he that you ask for, niece ? 
 
 Hero. My cousin means Signior Benedick of 
 Padua. 
 
 Mess. O, he is returned, and as pleasant as 
 ever he was. 
 
 Beat. He set up his bills here in Messina, 
 and challenged Cupid at the flight: and my 
 uncle's fool, reading the challenge, subscribed 
 for Cupid, and challenged him at the bird-bolt. 
 I pray you, how many hath he killed and 
 eaten in these wars ? But how many hath he 
 killed ? for, indeed, I promised to eat all of his 
 killing. 
 
 Leon. Faith, niece, you tax Signior Bene- 
 dick too much ; but he '11 be meet with you, I 
 doubt it not. 
 
 Mess. He hath done good service, lady, in 
 these wars. 
 
 Beat. You had musty victual, and he hath 
 holp to eat it : he is a very valiant trencher- 
 man ; he hath an excellent stomach. 
 
 Mess. And a good soldier too, lady. 
 
 Beat. And a good soldier to a lady : but 
 what is he to a lord ? 
 
 Mess. A lord to a lord, a man to a man ; 
 stuffed with all honourable virtues. 
 
 Beat. It is so, indeed : he is no less than a 
 stuffed man : but for the stuffing, well, we 
 are all mortal. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 139 
 
 Leon. You must not, sir, mistake my niece : 
 there is a kind of merry war betwixt Signior 
 Benedick and her : they never meet but there 
 is a skirmish of wit between them. 
 
 Beat. Aias, he gets nothing by that. In 
 our last conflict four of his five wits went halt- 
 ing off, and now is the old man governed with 
 one : so that if he have wit enough to keep 
 himself warm, let him bear it for a difference 
 between himself and his horse ; for it is all the 
 wealth that he hath left, to be known a reason- 
 able creature. Who is his companion now? 
 He hath every month a new sworn brother. 
 
 Mess. Is it possible ? 
 
 Beat. Very eas'ly possible: he wears his 
 faith but as the fashion of his hat ; it ever 
 changes with the next block. 
 
 Mess. I see, lady, the gentleman is not in 
 your books. 
 
 Beat. No : an he were I would burn my 
 study. But, I pray you, who is his companion? 
 Is there no young squarer, now, that will make 
 a voyage with him to the devil ? 
 
 Mess. He is most in the company of the 
 right noble Claudio. 
 
 Beat. O Lord ! he will hang upon him like 
 a disease : he is sooner caught than the pestil- 
 ence, and the taker runs presently mad. God 
 help the noble Claudio ! if he have caught the 
 Benedick, it will cost him a thousand pound ere 
 he be cured. 
 
 Mess. I will hold friends with you, lady. 
 
 Beat. Do 4 good friend. 
 
 Leon. You will never run mad, niece. 
 
 Beat. No, not till a hot January. 
 
 Mess. Don Pedro is approached. 
 
 Enter Don PEDRO, attended by BALTHAZAR 
 and others, Don JOHN, CLAUDIO, and BENE- 
 DICK. 
 
 D. Pedro. Good Signior Leonato, you are 
 come to meet your trouble : the fashion of the 
 world is to avoid cost, and you encounter it. 
 
 Leon. Never came trouble to my house in 
 the likeness of your grace ; for trouble being 
 gone, comfort should remain ; but when you 
 depart from me, sorrow abides, and happiness 
 takes his leave. 
 
 Z>. Pedro. You embrace your charge too 
 willingly. I think this is your daughter. 
 
 Leon. Her mother hath many times told me 
 sc. [her? 
 
 Bene. Were you in doubt, sir, that you asked 
 
 Leon. Signior Benedick, no ; for then were 
 you a child. 
 
 D. Pedro. You have it full, Benedick : we 
 
 may guess by this what you are, being a man. 
 Truly, the lady fathers herself. Be happy, 
 lady ! for you are like an honourable father. 
 
 Bene. If Signior Leonato be her father, she 
 would not have his head on her shoulders for 
 all Messina, as like him as she is. 
 
 Beat. I wonder that you will still be talking, 
 Signior Benedick ; nobody marks you. 
 
 Bene. What, my dear lady Disdain ! are you 
 yet living ? 
 
 Beat. Is it possible disdain should die while 
 she hath such meet food to feed it as Signior 
 Benedick ? Courtesy itself must convert to 
 disdain if you come in her presence. 
 
 Bene. Then is courtesy a turn-coat. But it 
 is certain I am loved of all ladies, only you ex- 
 cepted : and I would I could find in my heart 
 that I had not a hard heart : for, truly, I love 
 none. 
 
 Beat. A dear happiness to women ; they 
 would else have been troubled with a pernicious 
 suitor. I thank God, and my cold blood, I am 
 of your humour for that : I had rather hear my 
 dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves 
 me. 
 
 Bene. God keep your ladyship still in that 
 mind ! so some gentleman or other shall 'scape 
 a predestinate scratched face. 
 
 Beat. Scratching could not make it worse an 
 'twere such a face as yours were. 
 
 Bene. Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher. 
 
 Beat. A bird of my tongue is better than a 
 beast of yours. 
 
 Bene. I would my horse had the speed of 
 your tongue, and so good a continuer. But 
 keep your way o' God's name ; I have done. 
 
 Beat. You always end with a jade's trick ; I 
 know you of old. 
 
 D. Pedro. This is the sum of all : Leonato, 
 Signior Claudio, and Signior Benedick, my 
 dear friend Leonato hath invited you all. I 
 tell him we shall stay here at the least a month ; 
 and he heartily prays some occasion may de- 
 tain us longer : I dare swear he is no hypocrite, 
 but prays from his heart. 
 
 Leon. If you swear, my lord, you shall not 
 be forsworn. Let me bid you welcome, my 
 lord : being reconciled to the prince your 
 brother, I owe you all duty. 
 
 D. John. I thank you : I am not of many 
 words, but I thank you. 
 
 Leon. Please it your grace lead on ? 
 
 D. Pedro. Your hand, Leonato ; we will go 
 together. 
 
 [Exeunt all but BENE. , and CLAUD. 
 
 Claud. Benedick, didst thou note the daugh- 
 ter of Signior Leonato ? 
 
140 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 [ACT I. 
 
 Bene. I noted her not, but I looked on her. 
 
 Claud. Is she not a modest young lady ? 
 
 Bene. Do you question me, as an honest 
 man should do, for my simple true judgment ; 
 or would you have me speak after my custom, 
 as being a professed tyrant to their sex ? 
 
 Claud. No, I pray thee, speak in sober 
 judgment. 
 
 Bene. Why, i' faith, methinks she is too low 
 for a high praise, too brown for a fair praise, 
 and too little for a great praise : only this com- 
 mendation I can afford her ; that were she 
 other than she is, she were unhandsome ; and 
 being no other but as she is, I do not like her. 
 
 Claud. Thou thinkest I am in sport : I pray 
 thee, tell me truly how thou likest her. 
 
 Bene. Would you buy her, that you inquire 
 after her ? 
 
 Claud. Can the world buy such a jewel ? 
 
 Bene. Yea, and a case to put it into. But 
 speak you this with a sad brow ? or do you play 
 the flouting Jack, to tell us Cupid is a good hare- 
 finder, and Vulcan a rare carpenter ? Come, 
 in what key shall a man take you to go in the 
 song? 
 
 Claud. In mine eye, she is the sweetest lady 
 that ever I looked on. 
 
 Bene. I can see yet without spectacles, and 
 I see no such matter : there 's her cousin, an 
 she were not possessed with a fury, exceeds her 
 as much in beauty as the first of May doth the 
 last of December. But I hope you have no in- 
 tent to turn husband, have you ? 
 
 Claud. I would scarce trust myself, though I 
 had sworn the contrary, if Hero would be my 
 wife. 
 
 Bene. Is it come to this, i' faith ? Hath not 
 the world one man but he will wear his cap 
 with suspicion ? Shall I never see a bachelor 
 of threescore again ? Go to, i' faith ; an thou 
 wilt needs thrust thy neck into a yoke, wear 
 the print of it, and sigh away Sundays. Look, 
 Don Pedro is returned to seek you. 
 
 Re-enter Don PEDRO. 
 
 D. Pedro. What secret hath held you here, 
 that you followed not to Leonato's ? 
 
 Bene. I would your grace would constrain 
 me to tell. 
 
 D. Pedro. I charge thee on thy allegiance. 
 
 Bene. You hear, Count Claudio : I can be 
 secret as a dumb man, I would have you think 
 so ; but on my allegiance, mark you this, 
 on my allegiance : He is in love. With who? 
 Now that is your grace's part. Mark how 
 short his answer is : With Hero, Leonato's 
 short daughter. 
 
 Claud. If this were so, so were it uttered. 
 
 Bene. Like the old tale, my lord : "It is 
 not so, nor 'twas not so ; but, indeed, God for- 
 bid it should be so." 
 
 Claud. If my passion change not shortly, 
 God forbid it should be otherwise. 
 
 D. Pedro. Amen, if you love her ; for the 
 lady is very well worthy. 
 
 Claud. You speak this to fetch me in, my 
 lord? 
 
 D. Pedro. By my troth, I speak my thought. 
 
 Claiid. And, in faith, my lord, I spoke mine. 
 
 Bene. And, by my two faiths and troths, my 
 lord, I spoke mine. 
 
 Claud. That I love her, I feel. 
 
 D. Pedro. That she is worthy, I know. 
 
 Bene. That I neither feel how she should be 
 loved, nor know how she should be worthy, is 
 the opinion that fire cannot melt out of me : I 
 will die in it at the stake. 
 
 D. Pedro. Thou wast ever an obstinate 
 heretic in the despite of beauty. 
 
 Claud. And never could maintain his part 
 but in the force of his will. 
 
 Bene. That a woman conceived me, I thank 
 her ; that she brought me up, I likewise give 
 her most humble thanks ; but that I will have 
 a recheat winded in my forehead, or hang my 
 bugle in an invisible baldrick, all women shall 
 pardon me. Because I will not do them the 
 wrong to mistrust any, I will do myself the 
 right to trust none ; and the fine is, for the 
 which I may go the finer, I will live a 
 bachelor. 
 
 D. Pedro. I shall see thee, ere I die, look 
 pale with love. 
 
 Bene. With anger, with sickness, or with 
 hunger, my lord ; not with love : prove that 
 ever I lose more blood with love than I will 
 get again with drinking, pick out mine eyes 
 with a ballad-maker's pen, and hang me up at 
 the door of a brothel-house, for the sign of 
 blind Cupid. 
 
 D. Pedro. Well, if ever thou dost fall from 
 this faith, thou wilt prove a notable argument. 
 
 Bene. If I do, hang me in a bottle like a cat, 
 and shoot at me ; and he that hits me, let him 
 be clapped on the shoulder and called Adam. 
 
 D. Pedro. Well, as time shall try : 
 In time the savage bull doth bear the yoke. 
 
 Bene. The savage bull may ; but if ever the 
 sensible Benedick bear it, pltick off the bull's 
 horns and set them in my forehead : and let me 
 be vilely painted ; and in such great letters as 
 they write Here is good horse to hire, let them 
 signify under my sign, Here you may see Bene- 
 dick the married man. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 141 
 
 Claud. If this should ever happen, thou 
 wouldst be horn-mad. 
 
 D. Pedro. Nay, if Cupid have not spent all 
 his quiver in Venice, thou wilt quake for this 
 shortly. 
 
 Bene. I look for an earthquake too, then. 
 
 D. Pedro. Well, you will temporise with the 
 hours. In the meantime, good Signior Bene- 
 dick, repair to Leonato's ; commend me to 
 him, and tell him I will not fail him at supper ; 
 for, indeed, he hath made great preparation. 
 
 Bene. I have almost matter enough in me 
 for such an embassage ; and so I commit you 
 
 Claud. To the tuition of God : From my 
 house, if I had it 
 
 D. Pedro. The sixth of July. Your loving 
 friend, Benedick. 
 
 Bene. Nay, mock not, mock not. The body 
 of your discourse is sometime guarded with 
 fragments, and the guards are but slightly 
 basted on neither : ere you flout old ends any 
 further, examine your conscience ; and so I 
 leave you. [Exit BENEDICK. 
 
 Claud. My liege, your highness now may do 
 me good. 
 
 D. Pedro. My love is thine to teach ; teach 
 
 it but how, 
 
 And thou shalt see how apt it is to learn 
 Any hard lesson that may do thee good. 
 
 Clatid. Hath Leonato any son, my lord ? 
 
 D. Pedro. No child but Hero, she 's his only 
 
 heir : 
 Dost thou affect her, Claudio ? 
 
 Claud. O my lord, 
 
 When you went onward on this ended action, 
 I looked upon her with a soldier's eye, 
 That liked, but had a rougher task in hand 
 Than to drive liking to the name of love : 
 But now I am return'd, and that war-thoughts 
 Have left their places vacant, in their rooms 
 Come thronging soft and delicate desires, 
 All prompting me how fair young Hero is, 
 Saying, I liked her ere I went to wars. 
 
 D. Pedro. Thou wilt be like a lover presently, 
 And tire the hearer with a book of words : 
 If thou dost love fair Hero, cherish it ; 
 And I will break with her, and with her father, 
 And thou shalt have her. Was 't not to this end 
 That thou began'st to twist so fine a story? 
 
 Claud. How sweetly do you minister to love, 
 That know love's grief by his complexion ! 
 But lest my liking might too sudden seem, 
 I would have salv'd it with a longer treatise. 
 
 D. Pedro. What need the bridge much 
 
 broader than the flood ! 
 The fairest grant is the necessity. 
 Look, what will serve is fit : 'tis once, thou lov'st; 
 
 And I will fit thee with the remedy. 
 
 I know we shall have revelling to-night : 
 
 I will assume thy part in some disguise, 
 
 And tell fair Hero I am Claudio ; 
 
 And in her bosom I '11 unclasp my heart, 
 
 And take her hearing prisoner with the force 
 
 And strong encounter of my amorous tale : 
 
 Then, after, to her father will I break ; 
 
 And the conclusion is, she shall be thine : 
 
 In practice let us put it presently. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. A Room in LEONATO'S House. 
 Enter , severally , LEONATO and ANTONIO. 
 
 Leon. How now, brother! Where is my cousin, 
 your son? Hath he provided this music? 
 
 Ant. He is very busy about it. But, 
 brother, I can tell you strange news that you 
 yet dreamed not of. 
 
 Leon. Are they good ? 
 
 Ant. As the event stamps them ; but they 
 have a good cover ; they show well outward. 
 The prince and Count Claudio, walking in a 
 thick-pleached alley in my orchard, were thus 
 much overheard by a man of mine : the prince 
 discovered to Claudio that he loved my niece 
 your daughter, and meant to acknowledge it 
 this night in a dance ; and, if he found her ac- 
 cordant, he meant to take the present time by 
 the top, and instantly break with you of it. 
 
 Leon. Hath the fellow any wit that told you 
 this? 
 
 Ant. A good sharp fellow ; I will send for 
 him, and question him yourself. 
 
 Leon. No, no ; we will hold it as a dream, 
 till it appear itself: but I will acquaint my 
 daughter withal, that she may be the better 
 prepared for an answer, if peradventure this be 
 true. Go you and tell her of it. [Several persons 
 cross the stage.] Cousins, you know what you 
 have to do. O, I cry you mercy, friend : you 
 go with me, and I will use your skill. Good 
 cousin, have a care this busy time. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. Another Room in LEONATO'S 
 House. 
 
 Enter Don JOHN and CONRADE. 
 
 Con. What the good-year, my lord ! why are 
 you thus out of measure sad ? 
 
 D. John. There is no measure in the oc- 
 casion that breeds it ; therefore the sadness is 
 without limit. 
 
 Con. You should hear reason. 
 
 D.John. And when I have heard it, what 
 blessing bringeth it ? [sufferance. 
 
 Con. If not a present remedy, yet a patient 
 
 
142 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 [ACT II. 
 
 D. John. I wonder that thou, being as thou 
 say'st thou art born under Saturn, goest about 
 to apply a moral medicine to a mortifying mis- 
 chief. I cannot hide what I am : I must be 
 sad when I have cause, and smile at no man's 
 jests ; eat when I have stomach, and wait for 
 no man's leisure ; sleep when I am drowsy, and 
 'tend to no man's business ; laugh when I am 
 merry, and claw no man in his humour. 
 
 Con. Yea, but you must not make the full 
 show of this till you may do it without control- 
 ment. You have of late stood out against your 
 brother, and he hath ta'en you newly into his 
 grace ; where it is impossible you should take 
 true root but by the fair weather that you make 
 yourself: it is needful that you frame the 
 season for your own harvest. 
 
 D. John. I had rather be a canker in a hedge 
 than a rose in his grace ; and it better fits my 
 blood to be disdained of all than to fashion a 
 carriage to rob love from any : in this, though 
 I cannot be said to be a flattering honest man, 
 it must not be denied that I am a plain-dealing 
 villain. I am trusted with a muzzle and en- 
 franchised with a clog : therefore I have de- 
 creed not to sing in my cage. If I had my 
 mouth I would bite ; if I had my liberty I 
 would do my liking : in the meantime let me 
 be that I am, and seek not to alter me. 
 
 Con. Can you make no use of your discontent ? 
 
 D. John. I make all use of it, for I use it only. 
 Who comes here ? What news, Borachio ? 
 
 Enter BORACHIO. 
 
 Bora. I came yonder from a great supper : 
 the prince, your brother, is royally entertained 
 by Leonato ; and I can give you intelligence of 
 an intended marriage. 
 
 D.John. Will it serve for any model to 
 build mischief on ? What is he for a fool that 
 betroths himself to unquietness ? 
 
 Bora. Marry, it is your brother's right hand. 
 
 D. John. Who ! the most exquisite Claudio? 
 
 Bora. Even he. 
 
 D. John. A proper squire ! And who, and 
 who ? which way looks he ? 
 
 Bora. Marry, on Hero, the daughter and 
 heir of Leonato. 
 
 D. John. A very forward March-chick ! 
 How came you to this ? 
 
 Bora. Being entertained for a perfumer, as I 
 was smoking a musty room, comes me the 
 prince and O audio hand in hand, in sad con- 
 ference. I whipt me behind the arras, and 
 there heard it agreed upon that the prince 
 should woo Hero for himself, and, having 
 obtained her, give her to Count Claudio. 
 
 D. John. Come, come, let us thither ; this 
 may prove food to my displeasure : that young 
 start-up hath all the glory of my overthrow. 
 If I can cross him any way, I bless myself every 
 way. You are both sure, and will assist me ? 
 
 Con. To the death, my lord. 
 
 D. John. Let us to the great supper : their 
 cheer is the greater that I am subdued. Would 
 the cook were of my mind ! Shall we go prove 
 what 's to be done ? 
 
 Bora. We '11 wait upon your lordship. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 SCENE I. A Hall in LEONATO'S House. 
 
 Enter LEONATO, ANTONIO, HERO, BEATRICE, 
 and others. 
 
 Leon. Was not Count John here at supper ? 
 
 Ant. I saw him not. 
 
 Beat. Plow tartly that gentleman looks ! I 
 never can see him but I am heart-burned an 
 hour after. 
 
 Hero. He is of a very melancholy disposition. 
 
 Beat. He were an excellent man that were 
 made just in the mid-way between him and 
 Benedick : the one is too like an image, and 
 says nothing ; and the other too like my lady's 
 eldest son, evermore tattling. 
 
 Leon. Then half Signior Benedick's tongue 
 in Count John's mouth, and half Count John's 
 melancholy in Signior Benedick's face, 
 
 Beat. With a good leg and a good foot, uncle, 
 and money enough in his purse, such a man 
 would win any woman in the world, if he 
 could get her good-will. 
 
 Leon. By my troth, niece, thou wilt never 
 get thee a husband if thou be so shrewd of thy 
 tongue. 
 
 Ant. In faith, she is too curst. 
 
 Beat. Too curst is more than curst. I shall 
 lessen God's sending that way : for it is said, 
 God sends a curst cow short horns ; but to a 
 cow too curst he sends none. 
 
 Leon. So, by being too curst, God will send 
 you no horns. 
 
 Beat. Just if he send me no husband ; for the 
 which blessing I am at him upon my knees every 
 morning and evening. Lord ! I could not en- 
 dure a husband with a beard on his face : I had 
 rather lie in the woollen. 
 
 Leon. You may light upon a husband that 
 hath no beard. 
 
 Beat. What should I do with him ? dress him 
 in my apparel, and make him my waiting gentle- 
 woman ? He that hath a beard is more than a 
 youth ; and he that hath no beard is less than a 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 143 
 
 man : and he that is more than a youth is not for 
 me ; and he that is less than a man I am not for 
 him : therefore I will even take sixpence in earnest 
 of the bear-ward, and lead his apes into hell. 
 
 Leon. Well then, go you into hell ? 
 
 Beat. No ; but to the gate ; and there will 
 the devil meetme, like an old cuckold, with horns 
 on his head, and say, Get you to heaven, Beatrice; 
 get you to heaven : here '.r no place for you maids : 
 so deliver I up my apes and away to Saint Peter 
 for the heavens ; he shows me where the bache- 
 lors sit, and there live we as merry as the day 
 is long. 
 
 Ant. Well, niece [to HERO], I trust you will 
 be ruled by your father. 
 
 Beat. Yes, faith; it's my cousin's duty to make 
 courtesy, and say, Father, as it please you : but 
 yet for all that, cousin, let him be a handsome 
 fellow, or else make another courtesy, and say, 
 Father, as it please me. 
 
 Leon. Well, niece, I hope to see you one day 
 fitted with a husband. 
 
 Beat. Not till God make men of some other 
 metal than earth. Would it not grieve a woman 
 to be over-mastered with a piece of valiant dust ! 
 to make an account of her life to a clod of way- 
 ward marl? No, uncle, I '11 none : Adam's sons 
 are my brethren ; and, truly, I hold it a sin to 
 match in my kindred. 
 
 Leon. Daughter, remember what I told you : 
 if the prince do solicit you in that kind, you 
 know your answer. 
 
 Beat. The fault will be in the music, cousin, if 
 you be not wooed in good time : if the prince be 
 too important, tell him there is measure in every- 
 thing, and so dance out the answer. For, hear 
 me, Hero, wooing, wedding, and repenting is as 
 a Scotch jig, a measure, and a cinque-pace : the 
 first suit is hot and hasty, like a Scotch jig, and 
 full as fantastical; the wedding, mannerly modest 
 as a measure, full of state and ancientry ; and 
 then comes repentance, and, with his bad legs, 
 falls into the cinque-pace faster and faster, till 
 he sink into his grave. 
 
 Leon. Cousin, you apprehend passing 
 shrewdly. 
 
 Beat. I have a good eye, uncle ; I can see a 
 church by daylight. 
 
 Leon. The revellers are entering, brother; 
 make good room. 
 
 Enter Don PEDRO, CLAUDJO, BENEDICK, BAL- 
 THAZAR ; Don JOHN, BORACHIO, MARGARET, 
 URSULA, and others, masked. 
 D. Pedro. Lady, will you walk about with 
 
 your friend ? 
 Hero. So you walk softly, and look sweetly, 
 
 and say nothing, I am yours for the walk ; and, 
 especially, when I walk away. 
 
 D. Pedro. With me in your company ? 
 
 Hero. I may say so, when I please. 
 
 D. Pedro. And when please you to say so ? 
 
 Hero. When I like your favour ; for God de- 
 fend the lute should be like the case 1 
 
 D. Pedro. My visor is Philemon's roof ; with- 
 in the house is Jove. 
 
 Hero. Why, then, your visor should be 
 thatched. 
 
 D. Pedro. Speak low, if you speak love. 
 
 [ Takes her aside. 
 
 Balth. Well, I would you did like me. 
 
 Marg. So would not I, for your own sake ; 
 for I have many ill qualities. 
 
 Balth. Which is one ? 
 
 Marg. I say my prayers aloud. 
 
 Balth. I love you the better ; the hearers 
 may cry Amen. 
 
 Marg. God match me with a good dancer ! 
 
 Balth. Amen. 
 
 Marg. And God keep him out of my sight 
 when the dance is done ! Answer, clerk. 
 
 Balth. No more words ; the clerk is answered. 
 
 Urs. I know you well enough ; you are Sig- 
 nior Antonio. 
 
 Ant. At a word, I am not. 
 
 Urs. I know you by the waggling of your head. 
 
 Ant. To tell you true, I counterfeit him. 
 
 Urs. You could never do him so ill-well un- 
 less you were the very man. Here 's his dry hand 
 up and down : you are he ; you are he. 
 
 Ant. At a word, I am not. 
 
 Urs. Come, come ; do you think I do not 
 know you by your excellent wit? Can virtue 
 hide itself? Go to ; mum ; you are he : graces 
 will appear, and there 's an end. 
 
 Beat. Will you not tell me who told you so ? 
 
 Bene. No, you shall pardon me. 
 
 Beat. Nor will you not tell me who you are ? 
 
 Bene. Not now. 
 
 Beat. That I was disdainful ! and that I had 
 my good wit out of the Hundred Merry Tales ! 
 Well, this was Signior Benedick that said so. 
 
 Bene. What 'she? 
 
 Beat. I am sure you know him well enough. 
 
 Bene. Not I, believe me. 
 
 Beat. Did he never make you laugh ? 
 
 Bene. I pray you, what is he ? 
 
 Beat. Why, he is the prince's jester : a very 
 dull fool ; only his gift is in devising impossible 
 slanders : none but libertines delight in him ; and 
 the commendation is not in his wit but in his vil- 
 lany ; for he both pleaseth men and angers them, 
 and then they laugh at him and beat him. I am 
 sure he is in the fleet : I would he had boarded me. 
 
 
144 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 Bene. When I know the gentleman I '11 tell 
 him what you say. 
 
 Beat. Do, do : he '11 but break a comparison or 
 two on me ; which, perad venture, not marked, 
 or not laughed at, strikes him into melancholy ; 
 and then there 's a partridge wing saved, for the 
 fool will eat no supper that night. [Music with- 
 in.] We must follow the leaders. 
 
 Bene. In every good thing. 
 
 Beat. Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will leave 
 them at the next turning. 
 
 [Dance. Then exeunt all but Don JOHN, 
 BORACHIO, and CLAUDIO. 
 
 D.John. Sure, my brother is amorous on Hero, 
 and hath withdrawn her father to break with 
 him about it. The ladies follow her, and but 
 one visor remains. [his bearing. 
 
 Bora. And that is Claudio. I know him by 
 
 D. fohn. Are not you Signior Benedick ? 
 
 Claud. You know me well ; I am he. 
 
 D. John. Signior, you are very near my brother 
 in his Icve : he is enamoured on Hero ; I pray you 
 dissuade him from her ; she is no equal for his 
 birth : you may do the part of an honest man in it. 
 
 Claud. How know you he loves her ? 
 
 D. John. I heard him swear his affection. 
 
 Bora. So did I too ; and he swore he would 
 marry her to-night. 
 
 D. John. Come, let us to the banquet. 
 
 [Exeunt Don JOHN and BORACHIO. 
 
 Claud. Thus answer I in name of Benedick, 
 But hear these ill news with the ears of Claudio. 
 'Tis certain so ; the prince woos for himself. 
 Friendship is constant in all other things 
 Save in the office and affairs of love : 
 Therefore, all hearts in love use their own tongues : 
 Let every eye negotiate for itself, 
 And trust no agent : for beauty is a witch, 
 Against whose charms faith melteth into blood. 
 This is an accident of hourly proof, [Hero ! 
 Which I mistrusted not: farewell, therefore, 
 
 Re-enter BENEDICK. 
 
 Bene. Count Claudio ? 
 
 Claud. Yea, the same. 
 
 Bene. Come, will you go with me ? 
 
 Claud. Whither? 
 
 Bene. Even to the next willow, about your own 
 business, count. What fashion will you wear 
 the garland of? About your neck, like an 
 usurer's chain? or under your arm like a lieu- 
 tenant's scarf? You must wear it one way, for 
 the prince hath got your Hero. 
 
 Claud. I wish him joy of her. 
 
 Bene. Why, that's spoken like an honest 
 drover; so they sell bullocks. But did you 
 think the prince would have served you thus ? 
 
 Claud. I pray you, leave me. 
 
 Bene. Ho ! now you strike like the blind man; 
 'twas the boy that stole your meat, and you '11 
 beat the post. 
 
 Claud. If it will not be, I '11 leave you. [Exit. 
 
 Bene. Alas, poor hurt fowl ! Now will he creep 
 
 into sedges. But, that my Lady Beatrice 
 
 should know me, and not know me ! The prince's 
 fool ! Ha, it may be I go under that title because 
 I am merry. Yea, but so I am apt to do myself 
 wrong : I am not so reputed : it is the base, the 
 bitter disposition of Beatrice that puts the world 
 into her person, and so gives me out. Well, 
 I '11 be revenged as I may. 
 
 Re-enter Don PEDRO. 
 
 D. Pedro. Now, signior, where 's the count ? 
 Did you see him ? 
 
 Bene. Troth, my lord, I have played the part 
 of Lady Fame. I found him here as melancholy 
 as a lodge in a warren ; I told him, and I think 
 I told him true, that your grace had got the 
 good-will of this young lady ; and I offered him 
 my company to a willow tree, either to make him 
 a garland, as being forsaken, or to bind him up 
 a rod, as being worthy to be whipped. 
 
 D. Pedro. To be whipped ! What 's his fault ? 
 
 Bene. The flat transgression of a school-boy, 
 who, being overjoyed with rinding a bird's nest, 
 shows it his companion, and he steals it. 
 
 D. Pedro. Wilt thou make a trust a transgres- 
 sion ? The transgression is in the stealer. 
 
 Bene. Yet it had not been amiss the rod had 
 been made, and the garland too ; for the garland 
 he might have worn himself ; and the rod he 
 might have bestowed on you, who, as I take it, 
 have stolen his bird's nest. 
 
 D. Pedro. I will but teach them to sing, and 
 restore them to the owner. 
 
 Bene. If their singing answer your saying, 
 by my faith, you say honestly. 
 
 D. Pedro. The Lady Beatrice hath a quarrel 
 to you ; the gentleman that danced with her 
 told her she is much wronged by you. 
 
 Bene. O, she misused me past the endurance of 
 a block ; an oak but with one green leaf on it 
 would have answered her ; my very visor began 
 to assume life and scold with her : she told me, 
 not thinking I had been myself, that I was the 
 prince's jester ; that I was duller than a great 
 thaw ; huddling jest upon jest with such impos- 
 sible conveyance upon me, that I stood like a man 
 at a mark, with a whole army shooting at me. 
 She speaks poniards, and every word stabs : if 
 her breath were as terrible as her terminations, 
 there were no living near her ; she would infect 
 to the north star. I would not marry her though 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 145 
 
 she were endowed with all that Adam had left 
 him before he transgressed : she would have 
 made Hercules have turned spit ; yea, and have 
 cleft his club to make the fire too. Come, talk 
 not of her : you shall find her the infernal Ate 
 in good apparel. I would to God some scholar 
 would conjure her ; for certainly, while she is 
 here, a man may live as quiet in hell as in a 
 sanctuary ; and people sin upon purpose, be- 
 cause they would go thither ; so, indeed, all 
 disquiet, horror, and perturbation follows her. 
 D. Pedro. Look, here she comes. 
 
 Re-enter CLAUDIO and BEATRICE, LEONATO 
 and HERO. 
 
 Bene. Will your grace command me any ser- 
 vice to the world's end ? I will go on the 
 slightest errand now to the antipodes that you 
 can devise to send me on ; I will fetch you a 
 toothpicker now from the farthest inch of Asia ; 
 bring you the length of Prester John's foot ; 
 fetch you a hair off the great Cham's beard ; do 
 you any embassage to the Pigmies ; rather 
 than hold three words' conference with this 
 harpy. You have no employment for me ? 
 
 D. Pedro. None, but to desire your good 
 company. 
 
 Bene. O God, sir, here 's a dish I love not ; 
 I cannot endure my Lady Tongue. [Exit. 
 
 D. Pedro. Come, lady, come ; you have lost 
 the heart of Signior Benedick. 
 
 Beat. Indeed, my lord, he lent it me awhile ; 
 and I gave him use for it, a double heart for 
 his single one : marry, once before he won it 
 of me with false dice, therefore your grace may 
 well say I have lost it. 
 
 D. Pedro. You have put him down, lady, 
 you have put him down. 
 
 Beat. So I would not he should do me, my 
 lord, lest I should prove the mother of fools. 
 I have brought Count Claudio, whom you sent 
 me to seek. [fore are you sad ? 
 
 D. Pedro. Why, how now, count ! where- 
 
 Claud. Not sad, my lord. 
 
 D. Pedro. How then ? Sick ? 
 
 Clattd. Neither, my lord. 
 
 Beat. The count is neither sad, nor sick, nor 
 merry, nor well : but civil, count ; civil as an 
 orange, and something of that jealous com- 
 plexion. 
 
 D. Pedro. V faith, lady, I think your blazon 
 to be true ; though I '11 be sworn, if he be so, 
 his conceit is false. Here, Claudio, I have 
 wooed in thy name, and fair Hero is won. I 
 have broke with her father, and his good-will 
 obtained : name the day of marriage, and God 
 give thee joy ! 
 
 Leon. Count, take of me my daughter, and 
 with her my fortunes ; his grace hath made the 
 match, and all grace say Amen to it ! 
 
 Beat. Speak, count, 'tis your cue. 
 
 Claud. Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: 
 I were but little happy if I could say how much. 
 Lady, as you are mine, I am yours : I give 
 away myself for you, and dote upon the ex- 
 change. 
 
 Beat. Speak, cousin ; or, if you cannot, stop 
 his mouth with a kiss, and let not him speak 
 neither. [heart. 
 
 D. Pedro. In faith, lady, you have a merry 
 
 Beat. Yea, my lord ; I thank it, poor fool, 
 it keeps on the windy side of care. My cousin 
 tells him in his ear that he is in her heart. 
 
 Claud. And so she doth, cousin. 
 
 Beat. Good lord, for alliance ! Thus goes 
 every one to the world but I, and I am sun- 
 burnt ; I may sit in a corner and cry heigh- 
 ho ! for a husband. 
 
 D. Pedro. Lady Beatrice, I will get you one. 
 
 Beat. I would rather have one of your father's 
 getting. Hath your grace ne'er a brother like 
 you ? Your father got excellent husbands, if a 
 maid could come by them. 
 
 D. Pedro. Will you have me, lady ? 
 
 Beat. No, my lord, unless I might have 
 another for working-days ; your grace is too 
 costly to wear every day. But, I beseech your 
 grace, pardon me ; I was born to speak all 
 mirth and no matter. 
 
 D. Pedro. Your silence most offends me, and 
 to be merry best becomes you ; for, out of 
 question, you were born in a merry hour. 
 
 Beat. No, sure, my lord, my mother cried ; 
 but then there was a star danced, and under 
 that was I born. Cousins, God give you joy ! 
 
 Leon. Niece, will you look to those things I 
 told you of? 
 
 Beat. I cry you mercy, uncle. By your 
 grace's pardon. [Exit BEATRICE. 
 
 D. Pedro. By my troth, a pleasant-spirited 
 lady. 
 
 Leon. There 's little of the melancholy ele- 
 ment in her, my lord : she is never sad but 
 when she sleeps ; and not ever sad then ; for I 
 have heard my daughter say she hath often 
 dreamed of unhappiness, and waked herself 
 with laughing. 
 
 D. Pedro. She cannot endure to hear tell of 
 a husband. 
 
 Leon. O, by no means she mocks all her 
 wooers out of suit. [Benedick. 
 
 D. Pedro. She were an excellent wife for 
 
 Leon. O Lord, my lord, if they were but a 
 week married, they would talk themselves mad. 
 
146 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 D. Pedro. Count Claudio, when mean you to 
 go to church? 
 
 Claud. To-morrow, my lord. Time goes on 
 crutches till love have all his rites. 
 
 Leon. Not till Monday, my dear son, which 
 is hence a just seven-night ; and a time too brief 
 too, to have all things answer my mind. 
 
 D. Pedro. Come, you shake the head at so 
 long a breathing ; but I warrant thee, Caudio, 
 the time shall not go dully by us. I will in the 
 interim undertake one of Hercules' labours; 
 which is, to bring Signior Benedick and the 
 Lady Beatrice into a mountain of affection the 
 one with the other. I would fain have it a 
 match ; and I doubt not but to fashion it if you 
 three will but minister such assistance as I shall 
 give you direction. 
 
 Leon. My lord, I am for you, though it cost 
 me ten nights' watchings. 
 
 Clattd. And I, my lord. 
 
 D. Pedro. And you too, gentle Hero? 
 
 Hero. I will do any modest office, my lord, 
 to help my cousin to a good husband. 
 
 D. Pedro. And Benedick is not the unhope- 
 fullest husband that I know: thus far can I 
 praise him ; he is of a noble strain, of approved 
 valour, and confirmed honesty. I will teach 
 you how to humour your cousin that she shall 
 fall in love with Benedick : and I, with your 
 two helps, will so practise on Benedick, that, 
 in despite of his quick wit and his queasy 
 stomach, he shall fall in love with Beatrice. 
 If we can do this, Cupid is no longer an archer ; 
 his glory shall be ours, for we are the only love- 
 gods. Go in with me, and I will tell you my 
 drift. {Exeunt. 
 
 i-j'bnij . - ix\< R xu'-v Via/ft narfr iwf 
 
 SCENE II. Another Room in LEONATO'S 
 House. 
 
 Enter Don JOHN and BORACHIO. 
 - 
 
 D.John. It is so: the Count Claudio shall 
 marry the daughter of Leonato. 
 
 Bora. Yea, my lord, but I can cross it. 
 
 D.John. Any bar, any cross, any impedi- 
 ment will be medicinal to me; I am sick in 
 displeasure to him ; and whatsoever comes 
 athwart his affection ranges evenly with mine. 
 How canst thou cross this marriage? 
 
 Bora. Not honestly, my lord ; but so covertly 
 that no dishonesty shall appear in me. 
 
 D. John. Show me briefly how. 
 
 Bora. I think I told your lordship a year 
 since how much I am in the favour of Margaret, 
 the waiting-gentlewoman to Hero. 
 
 D. John. I remember. 
 
 Bora. I can at any unseasonable instant of 
 
 the night appoint her to look out at her lady's 
 chamber-window. 
 
 D. John. What life is in that, to be the death 
 of this marriage? 
 
 Bora. The poison of that lies in you to tem- 
 per. Go you to the prince your brother ; spare 
 not to tell him that he hath wronged his honour 
 in marrying the renowned Claudio whose esti- 
 mation do you mightily hold up to a con- 
 taminated stale, such a one as Hero. 
 
 D. John. What proof shall I make of that? 
 
 Bora. Proof enough to misuse the prince, to 
 vex Claudio, to undo Hero, and kill Leonato. 
 Look you for any other issue? 
 
 D.John. Only to despite them I will en- 
 deavour anything. 
 
 Bora. Go, then ; find me a meet hour to draw 
 Don Pedro and the Count Claudio alone : tell 
 them that you know that Hero loves me ; intend 
 a kind of zeal both to the prince and Claudio, 
 as, in love of your brother's honour, who hath 
 made this match, and his friend's reputation, 
 who is thus like to be cozened with the sem- 
 blance of a maid, that you have discovered 
 thus. They will scarcely believe this without 
 trial: offer them instances; which shall bear 
 no less likelihood than to see me at her chamber- 
 window ; hear me call Margaret Hero ; hear 
 Margaret term me Borachio; and bring them 
 to see this the very night before the intended 
 wedding : for, in the meantime I will so fashion 
 the matter that Hero shall be absent; and there 
 shall appear such seeming truth of Hero's dis- 
 loyalty that jealousy shall be called assurance, 
 and all the preparation overthrown. 
 
 D. John. Grow this to what adverse issue it 
 can, I will put it in practice. Be cunning in 
 the working this, and thy fee is a thousand 
 ducats. 
 
 Bora. Be you constant in the accusation, and 
 my cunning shall not shame me. 
 
 D. John. I will presently go learn their day 
 of marriage. ^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. LEONATO'S Garden. 
 Enter BENEDICK and a Boy. 
 
 Bene. Boy, 
 
 Boy. Signior. 
 
 Bene. In my chamber- window lies a book ; 
 bring it hither to me in the orchard. 
 
 Boy. I am here already, sir. 
 
 Bene. I know that; but I would have thee 
 hence and here again. [Exit Boy.] I do 
 much wonder that one man, seeing how much 
 another man is a fool when he dedicates his 
 behaviours to love, will| after he hath laughed 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 147 
 
 at such shallow follies in others, become the 
 argument of his own scorn by falling in love. 
 And such a man is Claudio. I have known 
 when there was no music with him but the drum 
 and fife ; and now had he rather hear the tabor 
 and the pipe : I have known when he would 
 have walked ten mile afoot to see a good 
 armour ; and now will he lie ten nights awake 
 carving the fashion of a new doublet. He was 
 wont to speak plain and to the purpose, like an 
 honest man and a soldier; and now is he turned 
 orthographer ; his words are a very fantastical 
 banquet, just so many strange dishes. May I 
 be so converted, and see with these eyes ? I 
 cannot tell ; I think not : I will not be sworn 
 but Love may transform me to an oyster ; but 
 I '11 take my oath on it, till he have made an 
 oyster of me he shall never make me such a 
 fool. One woman is fair ; yet I am well : an- 
 other is wise ; yet I am well : another virtuous; 
 yet I am well : but till all graces be in one 
 woman, one woman shall not come in my grace. 
 Rich she shall be, that 's certain ; wise, or I '11 
 none ; virtuous, or I '11 never cheapen her ; 
 fair, or I '11 never look on her ; mild, or come 
 not near me ; noble, or not I for an angel ; of 
 good discourse, an excellent musician, and her 
 hair shall be of what colour it please God. Ha! 
 the prince and Monsieur Love ! I will hide 
 me in the arbour. [ Withdraws. 
 
 Enter Don PEDRO, LEONATO, and CLAUDIO. 
 
 D. Pedro. Come, shall we hear this music ? 
 Claud. Yea, my good lord. How still the 
 
 evening is, 
 
 As hushed on purpose to grace harmony ! 
 D. Pedro. See you where Benedick hath hid 
 himself? [ended, 
 
 Clattd. O, very well, my lord : the music 
 We '11 fit the kid-fox with a pennyworth. 
 
 Enter BALTHAZAR, with Music. 
 
 D. Pedro. Come, Balthazar,. we '11 hear that 
 song again. [voice 
 
 Balth. O, good my lord, tax not so bad a 
 To slander music any more than once. 
 
 D. Pedro. It is the witness still of excellency 
 To put a strange face on his own perfection : 
 I pray thee, sing, and let me woo no more. 
 
 Balth. Because you talk of wooing, I will 
 
 sing: 
 
 Since many a wooer doth commence his suit 
 To her he thinks not worthy ; yet he woos ; 
 Yet will he swear he loves. 
 
 D. Pedro. Nay, pray thee, come : 
 
 Or, if thou wilt hold longer argument, 
 Do it in notes. 
 
 Baltk. Note this before my notes, 
 
 There 's not a note of mine that 's worth the 
 noting. [he speaks ; 
 
 D. Pedro. Why, these are very crotchets that 
 Note notes, forsooth, and noting ! [Music. 
 
 Bene. Now, divine air ! now is his soul 
 ravished ! Is it not strange that sheeps' guts 
 should hale souls out of men's bodies ? Well, 
 a horn for my money, when all 's done. 
 
 BALTHAZAR sings. 
 
 Sigh no mure, ladies, sigh no more ; 
 
 Men were deceivers ever ; 
 One foot in sea and one on shore, 
 To one thing constant never ; 
 Then sigh not so, 
 But let them go, 
 And be you blithe and bonny ; 
 Converting all your sounds of woe 
 Into. Hey nonny, nonny. 
 
 Sing no more ditties, sing no mo 
 Of dumps so dull and heavy ; 
 
 The fraud of men was ever so 
 Since summer first was leavy. 
 Then sigh not so, &c. 
 
 D. Pedro. By my troth, a good song. 
 
 Balth. And an ill singer, my lord. 
 
 Claud. Ha, no ; no, faith ; thou singesfwell 
 enough for a shift. 
 
 Bene. [Aside.} An he had been a dog that 
 should have howled thus they would have 
 hanged him : and I pray God his bad voice 
 bode no mischief ! I had as lief have heard the 
 night-raven, come what plague could have come 
 after it. 
 
 D. Pedro. Yea, marry [to CLAUDIO]. Dost 
 thou hear, Balthazar ! I pray thee get us some 
 excellent music ; for to-morrcw night we would 
 have it at the lady Hero's chamber-window. 
 
 Balth. The best I can, my lord. 
 
 D. Pedro. Do so: farewell. [Exeunt BAL- 
 THAZAR and MusL.~\ Come hither, Leonato. 
 What was it you told me ot to-day, that your 
 niece Beatrice was in love with Signior Bene- 
 dick ? 
 
 Claud. O ay : stalk on, stalk on : the fowl 
 sits [aside to PEDRO]. I did never think that 
 lady would have loved any man. 
 
 Leon. No, nor I neither; but most wonderful 
 that she should so dote on Signior Benedick, 
 whom she hath in all outward behaviours seemed 
 ever to abhor. 
 
 Bene. Is 't possible ? Sits the wind in that 
 corner ? [Aside. 
 
 Leon. By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell 
 
14* 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 what to think of it ; but that she loves him with 
 an enraged affection, it is past the infinite of 
 thought. 
 
 D. Pedro. May be she doth but counterfeit. 
 
 Clatid. 'Faith, like enough. 
 
 Leon. O God ! counterfeit ! There was 
 never counterfeit of passion came so near the 
 life of passion as she discovers it. 
 
 D. Pedro. Why, what effects of passion 
 shows she ? 
 
 Claud. Bait the hook well ; this fish will 
 bite. [Aside. 
 
 Leon. What effects, my lord ! She will sit 
 you, You heard my daughter tell you how. 
 
 Claud. She did, indeed. 
 
 D. Pedro. How, how, I pray you? You 
 amaze me : I would have thought her spirit had 
 been invincible against all assaults of affection. 
 
 Leon. I would have sworn it had, my lord ; 
 especially against Benedick. 
 
 Bene. \_Aside.~} I should think this a gull, but 
 that the white-bearded fellow speaks it : knav- 
 ery cannot, sure, hide itself in such reverence. 
 
 Claud. He hath ta'en the infection ; hold it 
 up. [Aside. 
 
 D. Pedro. Hath she made her affection 
 known to Benedick. 
 
 Leon. No ; and swears she never will : that 's 
 her torment. 
 
 Claud. 'Tis true, indeed ; so your daughter 
 says : Shall /, says she, that have so oft en- 
 countered him with scorn, write to him that I 
 love him? 
 
 Leon. This says she now, when she is begin- 
 ning to write to him : for she '11 be up twenty 
 times a night : and there will she sit in her 
 smock till she have writ a sheet of paper : my 
 daughter tells us all. 
 
 Claud. Now you talk of a sheet of paper, I 
 remember a pretty jest your daughter told us of. 
 
 Leon. O ! When she had writ it, and was 
 reading it over, she found Benedick and Beat- 
 rice between the sheet ? 
 
 Claud. That. 
 
 Leon. O ! she tore the letter into a thousand 
 halfpence ; railed at herself that she should be 
 so immodest to write to one that she knew 
 would flout her. / measure him, says she, by 
 my own spirit ; for I should jlout him if he 
 writ to me ; yea^ though I love him, I should. 
 
 Claud. Then down upon her knees she falls, 
 weeps, sobs, beats her heart, tears her hair, 
 prays, curses; O sweet Benedick! God give 
 me patience ! 
 
 Leon. She doth indeed ; my daughter says 
 so ; and the ecstasy hath so much overborne 
 her that my daughter is sometime afraid she 
 
 will do a desperate outrage to herself. It is 
 very true. 
 
 D. Pedro. It were good that Benedick knew 
 of it by some other, if she will not discover it. 
 
 Claud. To what end ? He would but make 
 a sport of it, and torment the poor lady worse. 
 
 D. Pedro. An he should, it were an alms to 
 hang him. She 's an excellent sweet lady ; 
 and, out of all suspicion, she is virtuous. 
 
 Claud. And she is exceeding wise. 
 
 D. Pedro. In everything but in loving Bene- 
 dick. 
 
 Leon. O my lord, wisdom and blood com- 
 bating in so tender a body, we have ten proofs 
 to one that blood hath the victory. I am sorry 
 for her, as I have just cause, being her uncle 
 and her guardian. 
 
 D. Pedro. I would she had bestowed this 
 dotage on me : I would have daffed all other 
 respects and made her half myself. I pray you, 
 tell Benedick of it, and hear what he will say. 
 
 Leon. Were it good, think you ? 
 
 Claud. Hero thinks surely she will die ; for 
 she says she will die if he love her not ; and 
 she will die ere she makes her love known : and 
 she will die if he woo her, rather than she will 
 'bate one breath of her accustomed crossness. 
 
 D. Pedro. She doth well ; if she should 
 make tender of her love, 'tis very possible he '11 
 scorn it : for the man, as you know all, hath a 
 contemptible spirit. 
 
 Claud. He is a very proper man. 
 
 D. Pedro. He hath, indeed, a good outward 
 happiness. 
 
 Claud. 'Fore God, and in my mind, very wise. 
 
 D. Pedro. He doth, indeed, show some 
 sparks that are like wit. 
 
 Leon. And I take him to be valiant. 
 
 D. Pedro. As Hector, I assure you : and in 
 the managing of quarrels you may say he is 
 wise ; for either he avoids them with great dis- 
 cretion, or undertakes them with a most 
 Christian-like fear. 
 
 Leon. If he do fear God, he must necessarily 
 keep peace ; if he break the peace, he ought to 
 enter into a quarrel with fear and trembling. 
 
 D. Pedro. And so will he do ; for the man 
 doth fear God, howsoever it seems not in him 
 by some large jests he will make. Well, I am 
 sorry for your niece. Shall we go see Benedick, 
 and tell him of her love ? 
 
 Claud. Never tell him, my lord ; let her 
 wear it out with good counsel. 
 
 Leon. Nay, that 's impossible ; she may 
 wear her heart out first. 
 
 D. Pedro. Well, we '11 hear further of it by 
 your daughter : let it cool the while. I love 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 149 
 
 Benedick well : and I could wish he would 
 modestly examine himself, to see how much he 
 is unworthy to have so good a lady. 
 
 Leon. My lord, will you walk ? dinner is 
 ready. 
 
 Claud. If he do not dote on her upon this, I 
 will never trust my expectation. [Aside. 
 
 D. Pedro. Let there be the same net spread 
 for her : and that must your daughter and her 
 gentlewoman carry. The sport will be when 
 they hold one an opinion of another's dotage, 
 and no such matter ; that 's the scene that I 
 would see, which will be merely a dumb show. 
 Let us send her to call him in to dinner. [Aside. 
 [Exeunt Don PEDRO, CLAUDIO, am/LEONATO. 
 
 BENEDICK advances from the arbour. 
 
 Bene. This can be no trick. The conference 
 was sadly borne. They have the truth of this 
 from Hero. They seem to pity the lady ; it 
 seems her affections have their full bent. Love 
 me ! why, it must be requited. I hear how I 
 am censured : they say I will bear myself 
 proudly if I perceive the love come from her ; 
 they say, too, that she will rather die than give 
 any sign of affection. I did never think to 
 marry I must not seem proud. Happy are 
 they that hear their detractions and can put 
 them to mending. They say the lady is fair ; 
 'tis a truth, I can bear them witness : and 
 virtuous 'tis so, I cannot reprove it ; and wise, 
 but for loving me. By my troth, it is no addi- 
 tion to her wit ; nor no great argument of her 
 folly, for I will be horribly in love with her. 
 I may chance have some odd quirks and rem- 
 nants of wit broken on me because I have 
 railed so long against marriage ; but doth not 
 the appetite alter ? A man loves the meat in 
 his youth that he cannot endure in his age. 
 Shall quips, and sentences, and these paper 
 bullets of the brain awe a man from the career 
 of his humour ? No : the world must be 
 peopled. When I said I would die a bachelor 
 I did not think I should live till I were married. 
 Here comes Beatrice. By this day, she 's a 
 fair lady : I do spy some marks of love in her. 
 
 Enter BEATRICE. 
 
 Beat. Against my will I am sent to bid you 
 
 come in to dinner. [pains. 
 
 Bene. Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your 
 
 Beat. I took no more pains for those thanks 
 
 than you take pains to thank me ; if it had 
 
 been painful I would not have come. [sage ? 
 
 Bene. You take pleasure, then, in the mes- 
 
 Beat. Yea, just so much as you may take 
 
 upon a knife's point, and choke a daw withal. 
 You have no stomach, signior ; faie you well. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Bene. Ha ! Against my will I am sent to bid 
 you come to dinner there 's a double meaning in 
 that. / took no more pains for those thanks 
 than you took pains to thank me that 's as 
 much as to say, Any pains that I take for you is 
 as easy as thanks. If I do not take pity of her. 
 I am a villain ; if I do not love her, I am a 
 Jew : I will go get her picture. [Exit. 
 
 ACT. III. 
 
 SCENE L LEONATO'S Garden. 
 Enter HERO, MARGARET, and URSULA. 
 
 Hero. Good Margaret, run thee into the 
 
 parlour ; 
 
 There shall thou find my cousin Beatrice 
 Proposing with the prince and Claudio : 
 Whisper her ear, and tell her I and Ursula 
 Walk in the orchard, and our whole discourse 
 Is all of her ; say that thou overheard'st us ; 
 And bid her steal into the pleached bower, 
 Where honeysuckles, ripen'd by the sun, 
 Forbid the sun to enter ; like favourites, 
 Made proud by princes, that advance their pride 
 Against that power that bred it : there will 
 
 she hide her, 
 
 To listen our propose. This is thy office, 
 Bear thee well in it, and leave us alone. 
 
 Marg. I '11 make her come, I warrant you, 
 presently. [Exit. 
 
 Hero. Now, Ursula, when Beatricedoth come 
 As we do trace this alley up and down, 
 Our talk must only be of Benedick : 
 When I do name him, let it be thy part 
 To praise him more than ever man did merit : 
 My talk to thee must be how Benedick 
 Is sick in love with Beatrice. Of this matter 
 Is little Cupid's crafty arrow made, 
 That only wounds by hearsay. Now begin ; 
 
 Enter BEATRICE, behind. 
 
 For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs 
 Close by the ground, to hear our conference. 
 
 Urs. The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish 
 Cut with her golden oars the silver stream, 
 And greedily devour the treacherous bait : 
 So angle we for Beatrice ; who even now 
 Is couched in the woodbine coverture : 
 Fear you not my part of the dialogue. 
 
 Hero. Then go we near her, that her ear lose 
 
 nothing 
 Of the false sweet bait that we lay for it. 
 
 [ They advance to the bower. 
 
ISO 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 [ACT III. 
 
 No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful ; 
 I know her spirits are as coy and wild 
 As haggards of the rock. 
 
 Urs. But are you sure 
 
 That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely ? 
 
 Hero. So says the prince and my new-trothed 
 lord. [madam ? 
 
 Urs. And did they bid you tell her of it, 
 
 Hero. They did entreat me to acquaint her 
 
 of it ; 
 
 But I persuaded them, if they lov'd Benedick, 
 To wish him wrestle with affection, 
 And never to let Beatrice know of it. [man 
 
 Urs. Why did you so ? Doth not the gentle- 
 Deserve as full, as fortunate a bed 
 As ever Beatrice shall couch upon ? [serve 
 
 Hero. O God of love ! I know he doth de- 
 As much as may be yielded to a man : 
 But nature never framed a woman's heart 
 Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice : 
 Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes, 
 Misprizing what they look on ; and her wit 
 Values itself so highly, that to her 
 All matter else seems weak : she cannot love, 
 Nor take no shape nor project of affection, 
 She is so self-endeared. 
 
 Urs. Sure, I think so ; 
 
 And therefore, certainly, it were not good 
 She knew his love, lest she make sport at it. 
 
 Hero. Why, you speak truth : I never yet 
 saw man, [featured, 
 
 How wise, how noble, young, how rarely 
 But she would spell him backward : if fair-faced, 
 She 'd swear the gentleman should be her sister ; 
 If black, why, Nature, drawing of an antic, 
 Made a foul blot ; if tall, a lance ill-headed ; 
 If low, an agate very vilely cut : 
 If speaking, why, a vane blown with all winds ; 
 If silent, why, a block moved with none. 
 So turns she every man the wrong side out ; 
 And never gives to truth and virtue that 
 Which simpleness and merit purchaseth. 
 
 Urs. Sure, sure, such carping is not com- 
 mendable, [fashions 
 
 Hero. No : not to be so odd and from all 
 As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable : 
 But who dare tell her so ? If I should speak, 
 She 'd mock me into air ; O, she would laugh 
 
 me 
 
 Out of myself, press me to death with wit. 
 Therefore let Benedick, like covered fire, 
 Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly : 
 It were a better death than die with mocks ; 
 Which is as bad as die with tickling. [say. 
 
 Urs. Yet tell her of it ; hear what she will 
 
 Hero. No ; rather I will go to Benedick 
 And counsel him to fight against his passion : 
 
 And, truly , I '11 devise some honest slanders 
 To stain my cousin with. One doth not know 
 How much an ill word may empoison liking. 
 
 Urs. O, do not do your cousin such a wrong. 
 She cannot be so much without true judgment, 
 Having so swift and excellent a wit 
 As she is priz'd to have, as to refuse 
 So rare a gentleman as Signior Benedick. 
 
 Hero. He is the only man of Italy, 
 Always excepted my dear Claudio. 
 
 Urs. I pray you be not angry with me, madam, 
 Speaking my fancy ; Signior Benedick, 
 For shape, for bearing, argument, and valour, 
 Goes foremost in report through Italy. 
 
 Hero. Indeed, he hath an excellent good 
 name. [it. 
 
 Urs. His excellence did earn it ere he had 
 When are you married, madam ? [go in ; 
 
 Hero. Why, every day ; to-morrow. Come, 
 I '11 show thee some attires, and have thy counsel 
 Which is the best to furnish me to-morrow. 
 
 Urs. [Aside.} She's lim'd, I warrant you; 
 we have caught her, madam. 
 
 Hero. If it prove so, then loving goes by 
 
 haps : 
 
 Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps. 
 [Exeunt HERO and URSULA. 
 
 BEATRICE advances. 
 
 Beat. What fire is in mine ears ? Can this 
 be true ? [much ? 
 
 Stand I condemn'd for pride, and scorn so 
 Contempt, farewell ! and maiden pride, adieu ! 
 
 No glory lives behind the back of such. 
 And, Benedick, love on ; I will requite thee ; 
 
 Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand : 
 If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee 
 
 To bind our loves up in a holy band : 
 For others say thou dost deserve, and I 
 Believe it better than reportingly. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. A Room in LEONATO'S House. 
 
 Enter Don PEDRO, CLAUDIO, BENEDICK, aitd 
 LEONATO. 
 
 D. Pedro. I do but stay till your marriage be 
 consummate, and then I go toward Arragon. 
 
 Claud. I'll bring you thither, my lord, if 
 you '11 vouchsafe me. 
 
 D. Pedro. Nay, that would be as great a soil 
 in the new gloss of your marriage as to show a 
 child his new coat, and forbid him to wear it. 
 I will only be bold with Benedick for his com- 
 pany ; for, from the crown of his head to the 
 sole of his foot, he is all mirth ; he hath twice 
 or thrice cut Cupid's bow-string, and the little 
 hangman dare not shoot at him : he hath a heart 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 as sound as a bell, and his tongue is the clapper ; 
 for what his heart thinks his tongue speaks. 
 
 Bene. Gallants, I am not as I have been. 
 
 Lewi. So say I ; methinks you are sadder. 
 
 Claud. I hope he be in love. 
 
 D.Pedro. Hang him, truant; there's no 
 true drop of blood in him to be truly touched 
 with love : if he be sad he wants money. 
 
 Bene. I hav the toothache. 
 
 D. Pedro. Draw it. 
 
 Bene. Hang it ! 
 
 Claud. You must hang it first and draw it 
 afterwards. 
 
 D. Pedro. What, sigh for the toothache ! 
 
 Leon. Where is but a humour or a worm I 
 
 Bene. Well, every one can master a grief but 
 he that has it. 
 
 Claud. Yet, say I, he is in love. 
 
 D. Pedro. There is no appearance of fancy 
 in him, unless it be a fancy that he hath to 
 strange disguises ; as, to be a Dutchman to-day, 
 a Frenchman to-morrow, or in the shape of two 
 countries at once, as a German from the waist 
 downward, all slops, and a Spaniard from the 
 hip upward, no doublet. Unless he have a 
 fancy to this foolery, as it appears he hath, he 
 is no fool for fancy,- as you would have it appear 
 he is. 
 
 Claud. If he be not in love with some woman 
 there is no believing old signs : he brashes his 
 hat o' mornings : what should that bode ? 
 
 D. Pedro. Hath any man seen him at the 
 barber's? 
 
 Claud. No, but the barber's man hath been 
 seen with him ; and the old ornament of his 
 cheek hath already stuffed tennis-balls. 
 
 Leon. Indeed, he looks younger than he did, 
 by the loss of a beard. 
 
 D. Pedro. Nay, he rubs himself with civet. 
 Can you smell him out by that ? 
 
 Claud. That 's as much as to say the sweet 
 youth 's in love. 
 
 D. Pedro. The greatest note of it is his 
 melancholy. [face ? 
 
 Claud. And when was he wont to wash his 
 
 D. Pedro. Yea, or to paint himself? for the 
 which I hear what they say of him. 
 
 Claud. Nay, but his jesting spirit ; which is 
 now crept into a lute-string, and now governed 
 by stops. 
 
 D. Pedro. Indeed, that tells a heavy tale for 
 him : conclude, conclude, he is in love. 
 
 Claud. Nay, but I know who loves him. 
 
 D. Pedro. That would I know too ; I war- 
 rant one that knows him not. 
 
 Claud. Yes, and his ill conditions ; and, in 
 despite of all, dies for him. 
 
 D. Pedro. She shall be buried with her face 
 upwards. 
 
 Bene. Yet is this no charm for the toothache. 
 
 Old signior, walk aside with me ; I have 
 
 studied eight or nine wise words to speak to 
 
 you, which these hobby-horses must not hear. 
 
 {Exeunt BENEDICK and LEONATO. 
 
 D. Pedro. For my life, to break with him 
 about Beatrice. 
 
 Claud. 'Tis even so : Hero and Margaret 
 have by this played their parts with Beatrice ; 
 and then the two bears will not bite one another 
 when they meet. 
 
 ' 
 
 Enter Don JOHN. 
 
 D. John. My lord and brother, God save you. 
 
 D. Pedro. Good den, brother. 
 
 D. John. If your leisure served, I would 
 speak with you. 
 
 D. Pedro. In private ? 
 
 D. John. If it please you ; yet Count 
 Claudio may hear ; for what I would speak of 
 concerns him. 
 
 D. Pedro. What 's the matter ? 
 
 D. John. Means your lordship to be married 
 to-morrow. ? [ To CLAUDIO. 
 
 D. Pedro. You know he does. 
 
 D. John. I know not that, when he knows 
 what I know. 
 
 Claud. If there be any impediment, I pray 
 you discover it. 
 
 D. John. You may think I love you not ; let 
 that appear hereafter, and aim better at me by 
 that I now will manifest. For my brother, I 
 think he holds you well, and in dearness of 
 heart hath holp to effect your ensuing marriage ; 
 surely suit ill spent, and labour ill bestowed ! 
 
 D. Pedro. Why, what 's the matter? 
 
 D. John. I came hither to tell you : and, 
 circumstances shortened, for she hath been too 
 long a-talking of, the lady is disloyal. 
 
 Claud. Who? Hero? 
 
 D. John. Even she ; Leonato's Hero, your 
 Hero, every man's Hero. 
 
 Claud. Disloyal? 
 
 D. John. The word is too good to paint out 
 her wickedness ; I could say she were worse : 
 think you of a worse title and I will fit her to 
 it. Wonder not till further warrant : go but 
 with me to-night, you shall see her chamber- 
 window entered, even the night before her 
 wedding-day : if you love her then, to-morrow 
 wed her ; but it would better fit your honour 
 to change your mind. 
 
 Claud. May this be so? 
 
 D. Pedro. I will not think it. 
 
 D. John. If you dare not trust that you see, 
 
152 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 [ACT III. 
 
 confess not that you know : if you will follow 
 me I will show you enough ; and when you 
 have seen more, and heard more, proceed 
 accordingly. 
 
 Claud. If I see anything to-night why I 
 should not marry her to-morrow, in the con- 
 gregation where I should wed, there will I 
 shame her. 
 
 D. Pedro. And, as I wooed for thee to ob- 
 tain her, I will join with thee to disgrace her. 
 
 D. John. I will disparage her no farther till 
 you are my witnesses : bear it coldly but till 
 midnight, and let the issue show itself. 
 
 D. Pedro. O day untowardly turned ! 
 
 Claud. O mischief strangely thwarting ! 
 
 D. John. O plague right well prevented ! 
 So will you say when you have seen the sequel. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. A Street. 
 
 Enter DOGBERRY and VERGES, with the 
 Watch. 
 
 Dogb. Are you good men and true ? 
 
 Verg. Yea, or else it were pity but they 
 should suffer salvation, body and soul. 
 
 Dogb. Nay, that were a punishment too good 
 for them, if they should have any allegiance in 
 them, being chosen for the prince's watch. 
 
 Verg. Well, give them their charge, neigh- 
 bour Dogberry. 
 
 Dogb. First, who think you the most desert- 
 less man to be constable ? 
 
 1 Watch. Hugh Oatcake, sir, or George 
 Seacoal ; for they can write and read. 
 
 Dogb. Come hither, neighbour Seacoal : God 
 hath blessed you with a good name : to be a 
 well-favoured man is the gift of fortune : but to 
 write and read comes by nature. 
 
 2 Watch. Both which, master constable, 
 
 Dogb. You have ; I knew it would be your 
 answer. Well, for your favour, sir, why, give 
 God thanks, and make no boast of it ; and for 
 your writing and reading, let that appear when 
 there is no need of such vanity. You are 
 thought here to be the most senseless and fit 
 man for the constable of the watch ; therefore 
 bear you the lantern. This is your charge ; 
 you shall comprehend all vagrom men ; you 
 are to bid any man stand, in the prince's name. 
 
 2 Watch. How if 'a will not stand ? 
 
 Dogb. Why, then, take no note of him, but 
 let him go ; and presently call the rest of the 
 watch together, and thank God you are rid of 
 a knave. 
 
 Verg. If he will not stand when he is bidden, 
 he is none of the prince's subjects. 
 
 Dogb. True, and they are to meddle with 
 none but the prince's subjects. You shall also 
 make no noise in the streets ; for for the watch 
 to babble and talk is most tolerable and not to 
 be endured. 
 
 2 Watch. We will rather sleep than talk ; 
 we know what belongs to a watch. 
 
 Dogb. Why, you speak like an ancient and 
 most quiet watchman ; for I cannot see how 
 sleeping should offend : only, have a care that 
 your bills be not stolen. Well, you are to call 
 at all the ale-houses, and bid them that are 
 drunk get them to bed. 
 
 2 Watch. How if they will not ? 
 
 Dogb. Why, then, let them alone till they 
 are sober ; if they make you not then the 
 better answer, you may say they are not the 
 men you took them for. 
 
 2 Watch. Well, sir. 
 
 Dogb. If you meet a thief, you may suspect 
 him, by virtue of your office, to be no true man : 
 and, for such kind of men, the less you meddle 
 or make with them, why, the more is for your 
 honesty. 
 
 2 Watch. If we know him to be a thief, 
 shall we not lay hands on him ? 
 
 Dogb. Truly, by your office you may ; but I 
 think they that touch pitch will be defiled : the 
 most peaceable way for you, if you do take a 
 thief, is to let him show himself what he is, and 
 steal out of your company. 
 
 Verg. You have been always called a merci- 
 ful man, partner. 
 
 Dogb. Truly, I would not hang a dog by my 
 will ; much more a man who hath any honesty 
 in him. 
 
 Verg. If you hear a child cry in the night 
 you must call to the nurse and bid her still it. 
 
 2 Watch. How if the nurse be asleep and 
 will not hear us ? 
 
 Dogb. Why, then, depart in peace, and let 
 the child wake her with crying : for the ewe 
 that will not hear her lamb when it baas will 
 never answer a calf when he bleats. 
 
 Verg. 'Tis very true. 
 
 Dogb. This is the end of the charge. You, 
 constable, are to present the prince's own per- 
 son ; if you meet the prince in the night you 
 may stay him. 
 
 Verg. Nay, by J r lady, that I think 'a cannot. 
 
 Dogb. Five shillings to one on 't, with any 
 man that knows the statues, he may stay him : 
 marry, not without the prince be willing : for, 
 indeed, the watch ought to offend no man ; and 
 it is an offence to stay a man against his will. 
 
 Verg. By 'r lady, I think it be so. 
 
 Dogb. Ha, ha, ha! Well, masters, good 
 
SCENE 111.] 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 153 
 
 night : an there be any matter of weight 
 chances, call up me : keep your fellows' 
 counsels and your own, and good night. 
 Come, neighbour. 
 
 2 Watch. Well, masters, we hear our 
 charge : let us go sit here upon the church- 
 bench till two, and then all to bed. 
 
 Dogb. One word more, honest neighbours : 
 I pray you, watch about Signior Leonato's 
 door ; for the wedding being there to-morrow, 
 there is a great coil to-night. Adieu, be vigi- 
 lant, I beseech you. 
 
 [Exeunt DOGBERRY and VERGES. 
 
 Enter BORACHIO and CONRADE. 
 
 Bora. What, Conrade ! 
 
 Watch. Peace, stir not. [Aside. 
 
 Bora. Conrade, I say ! 
 
 Con. Here, man, I am at thy elbow. 
 
 Bora. Mass, and my elbow itched; I thought 
 there would a scab follow. 
 
 Con. I will owe thee an answer for that ; and 
 now forward with thy tale. 
 
 Bora. Stand thee close then under this pent- 
 house, for it drizzles rain ; and I will, like a 
 true drunkard, utter all to thee. 
 
 Watch. [Aside.] Some treason, masters; 
 yet stand close. 
 
 Bora. Therefore know, I have earned of Don 
 John a thousand ducats. [so dear ? 
 
 Con. Is it possible that any villany should be 
 
 Bora. Thou shouldst rather ask if it were 
 possible any villany should be so rich; for when 
 rich villains have need of poor ones, poor ones 
 may make what price they will. 
 
 Con. I wonder at it. 
 
 Bora. That shows thou ait unconfirmed. 
 Thou knowest that the fashion of a doublet, or 
 a hat, or a cloak is nothing to a man. 
 
 Con. Yes, it is apparel. 
 
 Bora. I mean the fashion. 
 
 Con. Yes, the fashion is the fashion. 
 
 Bora. Tush ! I may as well say the fool 's 
 the fool. But seest thou not what a deformed 
 thief this fashion is ? 
 
 Watch. I know that Deformed ; 'a has been 
 a vile thief this seven year ; 'a goes up and 
 down like a gentleman : I remember his name. 
 
 Bora. Didst thou not hear somebody ? 
 
 Con. No ; 'twas the vane on the house. 
 
 Bora. Seest thou not, I say, what a deformed 
 thief this fashion is ? how giddily he turns about 
 all the hot bloods between fourteen and five- 
 and-thirty ? sometimes fashioning them like 
 Pharaoh's soldiers in the reechy painting; some- 
 times like god Bel's priests in the old church 
 window ; sometimes like the shaven Hercules 
 
 in the smirched worm-eaten tapestry, where his 
 cod-piece seems as massy as his club ? 
 
 Con. All this I see ; and see that the fashion 
 wears out more apparel than the man. But art 
 not thou thyself giddy with the fashion too, that 
 thou hast shifted out of thy tale into telling me 
 of the fashion ? 
 
 Bora. Not so neither ; but know that I have 
 to-night wooed Margaret, the Lady Hero's 
 gentlewoman, by the name of Hero ; she leans 
 me out at her mistress's chamber-window, bids 
 me a thousand times good night, I tell this 
 tale vilely : I should first tell thee, how the 
 prince, Claudio, and my master, planted and 
 placed and possessed by my master Don John, 
 saw afar off in the orchard this amiable en- 
 counter. 
 
 Con. And thought they Margaret was Hero? 
 
 Bora. Two of them did, the prince and 
 Claudio ; but the devil my master knew she 
 was Margaret ; and partly by his oaths, which 
 first possessed them, partly by the dark night, 
 which did deceive them, but chiefly by my 
 villany, which did confirm any slander that 
 Don John had made, away went Claudio en- 
 raged ; swore he would meet her, as he was 
 appointed, next morning at the temple, and 
 there, before the whole congregation, shame 
 her with what he saw over-night, and send her 
 home again without a husband. 
 
 1 Watch. We charge you in the prince's 
 name, stand. 
 
 2 Watch. Call up the right master constable: 
 we have here recovered the most dangerous 
 piece of lechery that ever was known in the 
 commonwealth. 
 
 1 Watch. And one Deformed is one of them; 
 I know him, 'a wears a lock. 
 
 Con. Masters, masters ! 
 
 2 Watch. You'll be made bring Deformed 
 forth, I warrant you. 
 
 Con. Masters, 
 
 I Watch. Never speak ; we charge you, let 
 us obey you to go with us. 
 
 Bora. We are like to prove a goodly commo- 
 dity, being taken up of these men's bills. 
 
 Con. A commodity in question, I warrant 
 you. Come, we '11 obey you. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. A Room in LEONATO'S House. 
 Enter HERO, MARGARET, and URSULA. 
 
 Hero. Good Ursula, wake my cousin Beat- 
 rice, and desire her to rise. 
 Urs. I will, lady. 
 
 Hero. And bid her come hither. ; oV 
 UTS. Well. {Exit URSULA, 
 
154 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 [ACT HI. 
 
 Marg. Troth, I think your other rabato were 
 better. [this. 
 
 Hero. No, pray thee, good Meg, I '11 wear 
 
 Marg. By my troth, it 's not so good ; and I 
 warrant your cousin will say so. 
 
 Hero. My cousin 's a fool, and thou art an- 
 other ; I '11 wear none but this. 
 
 Marg. I like the new tire within excellently, 
 if the hair were a thought browner : and your 
 gown 's a most rare fashion, i' faith. I saw the 
 Duchess of Milan's gown that they praise so. 
 
 Hero. O, that exceeds, they say. 
 
 Marg. By my troth, it 's but a night-gown in 
 respect of yours. Cloth of gold, and cuts, and 
 laced with silver; set with pearls, down-sleeves, 
 side-sleeves, and skirts round, underborne with 
 a blueish tinsel : but for a fine, quaint, graceful, 
 and excellent fashion, yours is worth ten on 't. 
 
 Hero. God give me joy to wear it, for my 
 heart is exceeding heavy ! 
 
 Marg. 'Twill be heavier soon, by the weight 
 of a man. 
 
 Hero. Fie upon thee ! art not ashamed ? 
 
 Marg. Of what, lady ? of speaking honour- 
 ably ? Is not marriage honourable in a beggar? 
 Is not your lord honourable without marriage? 
 I think, you would have me say, saving your 
 reverence, a husband: an bad thinking do not 
 wrest true speaking I '11 offend nobody. Is 
 there any harm in the heavier for a husband? 
 None, I think, an it be the right husband and 
 the right wife ; otherwise 'tis light, and not 
 heavy. Ask my Lady Beatrice else, here she 
 comes. 
 
 Enter BEATRICE. 
 
 Hero. Good morrow, coz. 
 
 Beat. Good morrow, sweet Hero. 
 
 Hero. Why, how now ! do you speak in the 
 sick tune ? 
 
 Beat. I am out of all other tune, methinks. 
 
 Marg. Clap 's into Light a' love ; that goes 
 without a burden : do you sing it and I '11 dance 
 it. 
 
 Beat. Yea, Light o' love, with your heels ! 
 then if your husband have stables enough, you Ml 
 see he shall lack no barns. 
 
 Marg. O illegitimate construction ! 1 scorn 
 that with my heels. 
 
 Beat. 'Tis almost five o'clock, cousin ; 'tis 
 time you were ready. By my troth, I am ex- 
 ceeding ill : hey-ho ! 
 
 Marg. For a hawk, a horse, or a husband ? 
 
 Beat. For the letter that begins them all, H. 
 
 Marg. Well, an you be not turned Turk, 
 there 's no more sailing by the star. 
 
 Beat. What means the fool, trow ? 
 
 Marg. Nothing I ; but God send every one 
 their heart's desire ! 
 
 Hero. These gloves the count sent me ; they 
 are an excellent perfume. 
 
 Beat. I am stuffed, cousin, I cannot smell. 
 
 Marg. A maid and stuffed ! there 's goodly 
 catching of cold. 
 
 Beat. O, God help me ! God help me ! how 
 long have you professed apprehension ? 
 
 Marg. Ever since you left it : doth not my 
 wit become me rarely ? 
 
 Beat. It is not seen enough; you should wear 
 it in your cap. By my troth, I am sick. 
 
 Marg. Get you some of this distilled Carduus 
 Benedictus and lay it to your heart ; it is the 
 only thing for a qualm. 
 
 Hero. There thou prick'st her with a thistle. 
 
 Beat. Benedictus! why Benedictus? you have 
 some moral in this Benedictus. 
 
 Marg. Moral ? no, by my troth, I have no 
 moral meaning ; I meant plain holy-thistle. 
 You may think, perchance, that I think you are 
 in love : nay, by 'r lady, I am not such a fool 
 to think what I list ; nor I list not to think what 
 I can ; nor, indeed, I cannot think, if I would 
 think my heart out of thinking, that you are in 
 love, or that you will be in love, or that you 
 can be in love : yet Benedick was such another, 
 and now is he become a man : he swore he 
 would never marry ; and yet now, in despite of 
 his heart, he eats his meat without grudging : 
 and how you may be converted I know not ; 
 but methinks you look with your eyes as other 
 women do. [keeps? 
 
 Beat. What pace is this that thy tongue 
 
 Marg. Not a false gallop. 
 
 Re-enter URSULA. 
 
 Urs. Madam, withdraw; the prince, the 
 count, Signior Benedick, Don John, and all 
 the gallants of the town are come to fetch you 
 to church. 
 
 Hero. Help to dress me, good coz, good 
 Meg, good Ursula. \_Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. Another Room in LEONATO'S 
 House. 
 
 Enter LEONATO, with DOGBERRY and VERGES. 
 
 Leon. What would you with me, honest 
 neighbour ? 
 
 Dogb. Marry, sir, I would have some confi- 
 dence with you that decerns you nearly. 
 
 Leon. Brief, I pray you ; for you see 'tis a 
 busy time with me. 
 
 Dogb. Marty, this it is, sir. 
 
 Verg. Yes, in truth it is, sir. 
 
SCENE V.] 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 Leon. What is it, my good friends ? 
 
 Dogb. Goodman Verges, sir, speaks a little 
 off the matter : an old man, sir, and his wits 
 are not so blunt as, God help, I would desire 
 they were ; but, in faith, honest as the skin 
 between his brows. 
 
 Verg. Yes, I thank God I am as honest as 
 any man living that is an old man and no 
 honester than J. 
 
 Dogb. Comparisons are odorous : palabras, 
 neighbour Verges. 
 
 Leon. Neighbours, you are tedious. 
 
 Dogb. It pleases your worship to say so, but 
 we are the poor duke's officers : but, truly, for 
 mine own part, if I were as tedious as a king, I 
 could find in my heart to bestow it all of year 
 worship. 
 
 Leon. All thy tediousness on me ! ha ! 
 
 Dogb. Yea, and 'twere a thousand times more 
 than 'tis : for I hear as good exclamation on 
 your worship as of any man in the city ; and 
 though I be but a poor man, I am glad to hear 
 it. 
 
 Verg. And so am I. [say. 
 
 Leon. I would fain know what you have to 
 
 Verg. Marry, sir, our watch to-night, except- 
 ing your worship's presence, have ta'en a couple 
 of as arrant knaves as any in Messina. 
 
 Dogb. A good old man, sir ; he will be talk- 
 ing ; as they say, When the age is in the wit is 
 out ; God help us ! if is a world to see ! Well 
 said, i' faith, neighbour Verges: well, God 's a 
 good man ; an two men ride of a horse, one 
 must ride behind. An honest soul, i' faith, sir; 
 by my troth he is. as ever broke bread: but God 
 is to be worshipped. All men are not alike, 
 alas, good neighbour ! [of you. 
 
 Leon. Indeed, neighbour, he comes too short 
 
 Dogb. Gifts that God gives. 
 
 Leon. I must leave you. 
 
 Dogb. One word, sir : our watch, sir, have 
 indeed comprehended two auspicious persons, 
 and we would have them this morning examined 
 before your worship. 
 
 Leon. Take their examination yourself, and 
 bring it me ; I am now in great haste, as it may 
 appear unto you. 
 
 Dogb. It shall be suffigance. [well. 
 
 Leon. Drink some wine ere you go: fare you 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My lord, they stay for you to give your 
 daughter to her husband. 
 
 Leon. I will wait upon them ; I am ready. 
 
 [Exeunt LEON, and Messenger. 
 
 Dogb. Go, good partner, go, get you to 
 
 Francis Seacoal ; bid him bring his pen and 
 
 inkhorn to the gaol : we are now to examina- 
 tion these men. 
 
 Verg. And we must do it wisely. 
 Dogb. We will spare for no wit, I warrant 
 you; here's that [touching his forehead] shall 
 drive some of them to a non com . only get the 
 learned writer to set down our excommunication, 
 and meet me at the gaol. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. The inside of a Chunk. 
 
 Enter Don PEDRO, Don JOHN, LEONATO, 
 FRIAR, CLAUDIO. BENEDICK. HERO, and 
 BEATRICE, &-'<. 
 
 Leon. Come, Friar Francis, be brief ; only 
 to the plain form of marriage, and you shall re- 
 count their particular duties afterwards. 
 
 Friar. You come hither, my lord, to marry 
 this lady ? 
 
 Claud. No. [to marry her. 
 
 Leon. To be married to her, friar ; you come 
 
 Friar. Lady, you come hither to be married 
 to this count? 
 
 Hero. I do. 
 
 Friar. If either of you know any inward im- 
 pediment why you should not be conjoined J 
 charge you, on your souls, to utter it. 
 
 Claud. Know you any, Hero ? 
 
 Hero. None, my lord. 
 
 Friar Know you any, count ? 
 
 Leon. I dare make his answer, none. 
 
 Claud. O, what men dare do ! what men 
 may do ! what men daily do ! not knowing 
 what they do ! 
 
 Bene. How now ! Interjections ? Why ; 
 then, some be of laughing, as, ha ! ha ! he 5 
 
 Claud. Stand thee by, friar : Father, by 
 
 your leave ; 
 
 Will you with free and unconstrained scui 
 Give me this maid, your daughter ? 
 
 Leon. As freely, son, as God did give her me. 
 
 Claud. And what have I to give you back, 
 
 whose worth 
 May counterpoise this rich and precious gift ? 
 
 D. Pedro. Nothing, unless you render her 
 again. [thankfulness. 
 
 Claud. Sweet prince, you learn me noble 
 There, Leonato, take her back again ; 
 Give not this rotten orange to your friend ; 
 She 's but the sign and semblance of her 
 
 honour. 
 
 Behold, how like a maid she blushes here 1 
 O, what authority and show of truth 
 Can cunning sin cover itself withal ! 
 Comes not that blood as modest evidence 
 
156 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 To witness simple virtue? Would you notswear, 
 All you that see her, that she were a maid, 
 By these exterior shows ? But she is none : 
 She knows the heat of a luxurious bed : 
 Her blush is guiltiness; not modesty. 
 
 Leon. What do you mean, my lord ? 
 
 Claud. Not to be married, 
 
 Not to knit my soul to an approved wanton. 
 
 Leon. Dear, my lord, if you, in your own 
 
 proof, 
 
 Have vanquish'd the resistance of her youth, 
 And made defeat of her virginity, 
 
 Claud. I know what you would say : if I 
 
 have known her, 
 
 You '11 say, she did embrace me as a husband, 
 And so extenuate the 'forehand sin : 
 No, Leonato, 
 
 I never tempted her with word too large ; 
 But, as a brother to his sister, show'd 
 Bashful sincerity and comely love. 
 
 Hero. And seem'd I ever otherwise to you f 
 
 Claud. Out on thy seeming ! I will write 
 
 against it : 
 
 You seem to me as Dian in her orb ; 
 As chaste as is the bud ere it be blown ; 
 But you are more intemperate in your blood 
 Than Venus, or those pamper'd animals 
 That rage in savage sensuality. [so wide ? 
 
 Hero. Is my lord well, that he doth speak 
 
 Claud. Sweet prince, why speak not you ? 
 
 D. Pedro. What should I speak ? 
 
 I stand dishonour'd, that have gone about 
 To link my dear friend to a common stale. 
 
 Leon. Are these things spoken ? or do I but 
 dream ? 
 
 D.John. Sir, they are spoken, and these 
 things are true. 
 
 Bene. This looks not like a nuptial. 
 
 Hero. True ! O God ! 
 
 Claud. Leonato, stand I here ? [brother ? 
 Is this the prince ? Is this the prince's 
 Is this face Hero's ? Are our eyes our own ? 
 
 Leon. All this is so ; but what of this, my 
 lord ? [your daughter ; 
 
 Claud. Let me but move one question to 
 And, by that fatherly and kindly power 
 That you have in her, bid her answer truly. 
 
 Leon. I charge thee do so, as thou art my 
 child. 
 
 Hero. O God defend me ! how am I beset ! 
 What kind of catechising call you this ? 
 
 Claud. To make you answer truly to your 
 name. [name 
 
 Hero. Is it not Hero ? Who can blot that 
 With any just reproach ? 
 
 Claud. Marry, that can Hero ; 
 
 Hero itself can blot out Hero's virtue. 
 
 What man was he talk'd with you yesternight 
 Out at your window, betwixt twelve and one ? 
 Now, if you are a maid, answer to this. 
 
 Hero. I talk'd with no man at that hour, my 
 lord. [Leonato, 
 
 D. Pedro. Why, then are you no maiden. 
 I am sorry you must hear : upon mine honour, 
 Myself, my brother, and this grieved count, 
 Did see her, hear her, at that hour last night, 
 Talk with a ruffian at her chamber-window ; 
 Who hath, indeed, most like a liberal villain, 
 Confess'd the vile encounters they have had 
 A thousand times in secret. 
 
 D. John. Fie, fie ! they are 
 
 Not to be named, my lord, not to be spoke of ; 
 There is not chastity enough in language, 
 Without offence, to utter them. Tnus, pretty 
 
 lady, 
 I am sorry for thy much misgovernment. 
 
 Claud. O Hero ! what a Hero hadst thou 
 
 been 
 
 If half thy outward graces had been placed 
 About thy thoughts and counsels of thy heart ! 
 But fare thee well, most foul, most fair ! fare- 
 well, 
 
 Thou pure impiety and impious purity ! 
 For thee I '11 lock up all the gates of love, 
 And on my eyelids shall conjecture hang, 
 To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm, 
 And never shall it more be gracious. 
 
 Leon. Hath no man's dagger here a point 
 for me ? [HERO swoons. 
 
 Beat. Why, how now, cousin ? wherefore 
 sink you down ? 
 
 D. John. Come, let us go : these things. 
 
 come thus to light, 
 Smother her spirits up. 
 
 [Exeunt D. PEDRO, D. JOHN, and CLAUD. 
 
 Bene. How doth the lady ? 
 
 Beat. Dead, I think ; help, uncle ; 
 
 Hero ! why, Hero ! Uncle ! Signior Bene- 
 dick ! friar ! 
 
 Leon. O fate, take not away thy heavy hand ! 
 Death is the fairest cover for her shame 
 That may be wish'd for. 
 
 Beat. How now, cousin Hero ? 
 
 Friar. Have comfort, lady. 
 
 Leon. Dost thou look up ? 
 
 Friar. Yea ; wherefore should she not ? 
 
 Leon. Wherefore ! Why, doth not every 
 
 earthly thing 
 
 Cry shame upon her ? Could she here deny 
 The story that is printed in her blood ? 
 Do not live, Hero ; do not ope thine eyes : 
 For did I think thou wouldst not quickly die, 
 Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy 
 shames, 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 157 
 
 Myself would, on the rearward of reproaches, 
 Strike at thy life. Griev'd I I had but one ? 
 Chid I for that at frugal nature's frame ? 
 O, one too much by thee ! Why had I one ? 
 Why ever wast thou lovely in my eyes ? 
 Why had I not, with charitable hand, 
 Took up a beggar's issue at my gates ; 
 Who, smirched thus and mir'd with infamy, 
 I might have said, No part of it is mine ; 
 This shame derives itself from unknown loins ? 
 But mine, and mine I lov'd, and mine I prais'd, 
 And mine that I was proud on ; mine so much 
 That I myself was to myself not mine, 
 Valuing of her ; why, she O, she is fallen 
 Into a pit of ink, that the wide sea 
 Hath drops too few to wash her clean again, 
 And salt too little, which may season give 
 To her foul tainted flesh ! 
 
 Bene. Sir, sir, be patient : 
 
 For my part, I am so attir'd in wonder 
 I know not what to say. 
 
 Beat. O, on my soul, my cousin is belied ! 
 
 Bene. Lady, were you her bedfellow last 
 night ? [night 
 
 Beat. No, truly not : although, until last 
 I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow. 
 
 Leon. Confirm'd, confirm'd ! O, that is 
 
 stronger made 
 
 Which was before barr'd up with ribs of iron ! 
 Would the two princes lie ? and Claudio lie, 
 Who lov'd her so that, speaking of her foulness, 
 Wash'd it with tears ? Hence from her ! let 
 her die. 
 
 Friar. Hear me a little ; 
 For I have only been silent so long, 
 And given way unto this course of fortune, 
 By noting of the lady : I have mark'd 
 A thousand blushing apparitions start 
 Into her face ; a thousand innocent shames 
 In angel whiteness bear away those blushes ; 
 And in her eye there hath appear'd a fire 
 To burn the errors that these princes hold 
 Against her maiden truth. Call me a fool j 
 Trust not my reading, nor my observation, 
 Which with experimental seal doth warrant 
 The tenor of my book ; trust not my age, 
 My reverence, calling, nor divinity, 
 If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here 
 Under some biting error. 
 
 Leon. Friar, it cannot be : 
 
 Thou seest that all the grace that she hath left 
 Is that she will not add to her damnation 
 A sin of perjury ; she not denies it : 
 Why seek'st thou then to cover with excuse 
 That which appears in proper nakedness ? 
 
 Friar. Lady, what man is he you are 
 accused of? 
 
 Hero. They know that do accuse me ; I 
 
 know none : 
 
 If I know more of any man alive 
 Than that which maiden modesty doth warrant, 
 Let all my sins lack mercy ! O my father, 
 Prove you that any man with me convers'd 
 At hours unmeet, or that I yesternight 
 Maintained the change of words with any 
 
 creature, 
 Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death ! 
 
 Friar. There is some strange misprision in 
 the princes. [honour ; 
 
 Bene. Two of them have the very bent of 
 And if their wisdoms be misled in this, 
 The practice of it lives in John the bastard, 
 W'hose spirits toil in frame of villanies. 
 
 Leon. I know not. If they speak but truth 
 of her, [honour, 
 
 These hands shall tear her ; if they wrong her 
 The proudest of them shall well hear of it. 
 Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine, 
 Nor age so eat up my invention, 
 Nor fortune made such havoc of my means, 
 Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends, 
 But they shall find, awak'd in such a kind, 
 Both strength of limb and policy of mind, 
 Ability in means and choice of friends, 
 To quit me of them throughly. 
 
 Friar. Pause awhile, 
 
 And let my counsel sway you in this case. 
 Your daughter here the princes left for dead ; 
 Let her awhile be secretly kept in, 
 And publish it that she is dead indeed : 
 Maintain a mourning ostentation, 
 And on your family's old monument 
 Hang mournful epitaphs, and do all rites 
 That appertain unto a burial. 
 
 Leon. What shall become of this? What 
 will this do ? [behalf 
 
 Friar. Marry, this, well carried, shall on her 
 Change slander to remorse ; that is some good ; 
 But not for that dream I on this strange course, 
 But on this travail look for greater birth. 
 She dying, as it must be so maintain'd, 
 Upon the instant that she was accus'd, 
 Shall be lamented, pitied, and excus'd 
 Of every hearer : for it so falls out 
 That what we have we prize not to the worth 
 Whiles we enjoy it ; but being lack'd and lost, 
 Why, then we rack the value ; then we find 
 The virtue that possession would not show us 
 Whiles it was ours. So will it fare with Claudio : 
 When he shall hear she died upon his words, 
 The idea of her life shall sweetly creep 
 Into his study of imagination ; 
 And every lovely organ of her life 
 Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit 
 
158 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 More moving delicate, and full of life, 
 Into the eye and prospect of his soul, 
 Than when she liv'd indeed : then shall he 
 
 mourn, 
 
 If ever love had interest in his liver, 
 And wish he had not so accused her ; 
 No, though he thought his accusation true. 
 Let this be so, and doubt not but success 
 Will fashion the event in better shape 
 Than I can lay it down in likelihood. 
 But if all aim but this be levell'd false, 
 The supposition of the lady's death 
 Will quench the wonder of her infamy : 
 And, if it sort not well, you may conceal her, 
 As best befits her wounded reputation, 
 In some reclusive and religious life, 
 Out of all eyes, tongues, minds, and injuries. 
 
 Bene. Signior Leonato, let the friar advise 
 
 you ; 
 
 And though you know my inwardness and love 
 Is very much unto the prince and Claudio, 
 Yet, by mine honour, I will deal in this 
 As secretly and justly as your soul 
 Should with your body. 
 
 Leon. Being that I flow in grief 
 
 The smallest twine may lead me. 
 
 Friar. 'Tis well consented ; presently away ; 
 
 For to strange sores strangely they strain the 
 
 cure. 
 Come, lady, die to live : this wedding-day 
 
 Perhaps is but prolonged ; have patience, and 
 endure. 
 [Exeunt FRIAR, HERO, and LEON. 
 
 Bene. Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this 
 while ? 
 
 Beat. Yea, and I will weep a while longer. 
 
 Bene. I will not desire that. 
 
 Beat. You have no reason ; I do it freely. 
 
 Bene. Surely, I do believe your fair cousin 
 is wrong'd. 
 
 Beat. Ah, how much might the man deserve 
 of me that would right her ! 
 
 Bene. Is there any way to show such friend- 
 ship? 
 
 Beat. A very even way, but no such friend. 
 
 Bene. May a man do it ? 
 
 Beat. It is a man's office, but not yours. 
 
 Bene. I do love nothing in the world so well 
 as you. Is not that strange ? 
 
 Beat. As strange as the thing I know not. 
 It were as possible for me to say I loved noth- 
 ing so well as you : but believe me not ; and 
 yet I lie not ; I confess nothing, nor I deny 
 nothing. I am sorry for my cousin. 
 
 Bene. By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me. 
 
 Beat. Do not swear by it and eat it. 
 
 Bene. I will swear by it that you love me ; 
 
 and I will make him eat it that says I love not 
 you. 
 
 Beat. Will you not eat your word ? I j 
 
 Bene. With no sauce that can be devised to 
 it : I protest I love thee. 
 
 Beat. Why, then, God forgive me ! 
 
 Bene. What offence, sweet Beatrice ? 
 
 Beat. You have stayed me in a happy hour : 
 I was about to protest I loved you. 
 
 Bene. And do it with all thy heart ? 
 
 Beat. I love you with so much of my heart 
 that none is left to protest. 
 
 Bene. Come, bid me do anything for thee. 
 
 Beat. Kill Claudio. 
 
 Bene. Ha ! not for the wide world. 
 
 Beat. You kill me to deny it. Farewell. 
 
 Bene. Tarry, sweet Beatrice. 
 
 Beat. I am gone though I am here ; there 
 is no love in you : nay, I pray you, let me go. 
 
 Bene. Beatrice, 
 
 Beat. In faith, I will go. 
 
 Bene. We '11 be friends first. 
 
 Beat. You dare easier be friends with me 
 than fight with mine enemy. 
 
 Bene. Is Claudio thine enemy ? 
 
 Beat. Is he not approved in the height a 
 villain that hath slandered, scorned, dishonoured 
 my kinswoman ? O that I were a man ! 
 What ! bear her in. hand until they come to 
 take hands, and then with public accusation, 
 uncovered slander, unmitigated rancour, O 
 God, that I were a man ! I would eat his heart 
 in the market-place ! 
 
 Bene. Hear me, Beatrice ; 
 
 Beat. Talk with a man out at a window ! a 
 proper saying ! 
 
 Bene. Nay but, Beatrice ; 
 
 Beat. Sweet Hero ! she is wronged, she is 
 slandered, she is undone. 
 
 Bene. Beat 
 
 Beat. Princes and counties ! Surely, a 
 princely testimony, a goodly count. -confect ; a 
 sweet gallant, surely ! O that I were a man 
 for his sake ! or that I had any friend would be 
 a man for my sake ! But manhood is melted 
 into courtesies, valour into compliment, and 
 men are only turned into tongue, and trim ones 
 too : he is now as valiant as Hercules that only 
 tells a lie and swears it. I cannot be a man 
 with wishing, therefore I will die a woman 
 with grieving. [I love thee. 
 
 Bene. Tarry, good Beatrice. By this hand, 
 
 Beat. Use 'it for my love some other way 
 than swearing by it. 
 
 Bene. Think you in your soul the Count 
 Claudio hath wronged Hero ? [soul. 
 
 Beat. Yea, as sure as I have a thought or a 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 159 
 
 Bene. Enough, I am engaged ; I will chal- 
 lenge him ; I will kiss your hand and so leave 
 you. By this hand, Claudio shall render me a 
 dear account. As you hear of me, so think of 
 me. Go, comfort your cousin ; I must say she 
 is dead ; and so, farewell. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. A Prison. 
 
 Enter DOGBERRY, VERGES, and SEXTON, in 
 gowns ; and the Watch, with CONRADE and 
 BORACHIO. 
 
 Dogb. Is our whole dissembly appeared ? 
 
 Verg. O, a stool and a cushion for the 
 sexton ! 
 
 Sexton. Which be the malefactors ? 
 
 Dogb. Marry, that am I and my partner r 
 
 Verg. Nay, that 's certain ; we have the ex- 
 hibition to examine. 
 
 Sexton. But which are the offenders that are 
 to be examined ? let them come before master 
 constable. 
 
 Dogb. Yea, marry, let them come before me. 
 What is your name, friend ? 
 
 Bora. Borachio. 
 
 Dogb. Pray write down Borachio. 
 
 Yours, sirrah? [Conrade. 
 
 Con. I am a gentleman, sir, and my name is 
 
 Dogb. Write down master gentleman Con- 
 rade. Masters, do you serve God ? 
 
 Con. \**T -L. 
 Bora. j Yea, sir, we hope. 
 
 Dogb. Write down that they hope they 
 serve God : and write God first ; for God de- 
 fend but God should go before such villains ! 
 Masters, it is proved already that you are little 
 better than false knaves ; and it will go near to 
 be thought so shortly. How answer you for 
 yourselves ? 
 
 Con. Marry, sir, we say we are none. 
 
 Dogb. A marvellous witty fellow, I assure 
 you ; but I will go about with him. Come you 
 hither, sirrah : a word in your ear, sir ; I say 
 to you, it is thought you are false knaves. 
 
 Bora. Sir, I say to you, we are none. 
 
 Dogb. Well, stand aside. 'Fore God, they 
 are both in a tale. Have you writ down that 
 they are none ? 
 
 Sexton. Master constable, you go not the 
 way to examine ; you must call forth the Watch 
 that are their accusers. 
 
 Dogb. Yea, marry, that's the eftest way. 
 Let the Watch come forth. Masters, I charge 
 you in the prince's name, accuse these men. 
 
 I Watch. This man said, sir, that Don John, 
 the prince's brother, was a villain. 
 
 Dogb. Write down Prince John a villain. 
 
 Why, this is flat perjury, to call a prince's 
 brother villain. 
 
 Bora. Master constable, 
 
 Dogb. Pray thee, fellow, peace ; I do not 
 like thy look, I promise thee. 
 
 Sexton. What heard you him say else ? 
 
 2 Watch. Marry, that he had received a 
 thousand ducats off Don John for accusing the 
 Lady Hero wrongfully. 
 
 Dogb. Flat burglary as ever was committed. 
 
 Verg. Yea, by the mass, that it is. 
 
 Sexton. What else, fellow? 
 
 1 Watch. And that Count Claudio did 
 mean, upon his words, to disgrace Hero before 
 the whole assembly, and not marry her. 
 
 Dogb. O villain ! thou wilt be condemned 
 into everlasting redemption for this. 
 Sexton. What else ? 
 
 2 Watch. This is all. 
 
 Sexton. And this is more, masters, than you 
 can deny. Prince John is this morning secretly 
 stolen away; Hero was in this manner accused, 
 in this very manner refused, and upon the grief 
 of this suddenly died. Master constable, let 
 these men be bound and brought to Leonato's ; 
 I will go before and show him their examina- 
 tion. [Exit. 
 
 Dogb. Come, let them be opinioned. 
 
 Verg. Let them be in band. 
 
 Con. Off, coxcomb ! 
 
 Dogb. God 's my life ! where 's the sexton ? 
 let him write down the prince's officer, cox- 
 comb. Come, bind them. Thou naughty 
 
 varlet ! 
 
 Con. Away ! you are an ass, you are an ass. 
 
 Dogb. Dost thou not suspect my place? 
 Dost thou not suspect my years ? O that he 
 were here to write me down an ass ! but, 
 masters, remember, that I am an ass ; though 
 it be not written down, yet forget not that I am 
 an ass. No, thcu villain, thou art full of piety, 
 as shall be proved upon thee by good witness. 
 I am a wise fellow ; and, which is more, an 
 officer ; and, which is more, a householder ; 
 and, which is more, as pretty a piece of flesh 
 as any is in Messina : and one that knows the 
 law, go to ; and a rich fellow enough r go to ; 
 and a fellow that hath had losses ; and one 
 that hath two gowns, and everything handsome 
 about him. Bring him away. O that I had 
 been writ down an ass ! [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 SCENE I. Before LEONATO'S House. 
 
 Enter LEONATO and ANTONIO. 
 Ant. If you go on thus you will kill yourself ; 
 
i6o 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 [ACT V. 
 
 And 'tis not wisdom thus to second grief 
 Against yourself. 
 
 Leon. I pray thee, cease thy counsel, 
 
 Which falls into mine ears as profitless 
 As water in a sieve : give not me counsel ; 
 Nor let no comforter delight mine ear 
 But such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine. 
 Bring me a father that so lov'd his child, 
 Whose joy of her is overwhelm'd like mine, 
 And bid him speak of patience ; [mine, 
 
 Measure his woe the length and breadth of 
 And let it answer every strain for strain ; 
 As thus for thus, and such a grief for such, 
 In every lineament, branch, shape, and form : 
 If such a one will smile, and stroke his beard, 
 Cry sorrow, wag ! and hem when he should 
 groan, [drunk 
 
 Patch grief with proverbs, make misfortune 
 With candle-wasters, bring him yet to me, 
 And I of him will gather patience. 
 But there is no such man : for, brother, men 
 Can counsel and speak comfort to that grief 
 Which they themselves not feel ; but, tasting it, 
 Their counsel turns to passion, which before 
 Would give preceptial medicine to rage, 
 Fetter strong madness in a silken thread, 
 Charm ache with air and agony with words : 
 No, no ; 'tis all men's office to speak patience 
 To those that wring under the load of sorrow ; 
 But no man's virtue nor sufficiency 
 To be so moral when he shall endure [sel : 
 The like himself : therefore, give me no coun- 
 My griefs cry louder than advertisement. 
 Ant. Therein do men from children nothing 
 differ. [blood ; 
 
 Leon. I pray thee, peace ; I will be flesh and 
 For there was never yet philosopher 
 That could endure the toothache patiently, 
 However they have writ the style of gods, 
 And make a pish at chance and sufferance. 
 Ant. Yet bend not all the harm upon your- 
 self; 
 
 Make those that do offend you suffer too. 
 Leon. There thou speak'st reason : nay, I 
 
 will do so. 
 
 My soul doth tell me Hero is belied ; 
 And that shall Claudio know ; so shall the 
 
 prince, 
 And all of them that thus dishonour her. 
 
 Ant. Here comes the prince and Claudio 
 hastily. 
 
 Enter Don PEDRO and CLAUDIO. 
 
 D. Pedro. Good den, good den. 
 
 Claud. Good day to both of you. 
 
 Leon. Hear you, my lords, 
 
 Pedro. We have some haste, Leonato. 
 
 Leon. Some haste, my lord ! well, fare you 
 
 well, my lord : 
 
 Are you so hasty now ? well, all is one. 
 D. Pedro. Nay, do not quarrel with us, good 
 old man. [ling, 
 
 Ant. If he could right himself with quarrel- 
 Some of us would lie low. 
 
 Claud. Who wrongs him ? 
 
 Leon. Marry, thou dost wrong me : thou dis- 
 sembler, thou : 
 
 Nay, never lay thy hand upon thy sword 
 I fear thee not. 
 
 Claud. Marry, beshrew my hand 
 
 If it should give your age such cause of fear : 
 In faith, my hand meant nothing to rny swoid. 
 Leon. Tush, tush, man; never fleer and jest 
 
 at me; 
 
 I speak not like a dotard nor a fool ; 
 As, under privilege of age, to brag [do 
 
 What I have done being young, or what would 
 Were I not old. Know, Claudio, to thy head. 
 Thou hast so wrong'd mine innocent child and 
 
 me 
 
 That I am forc'd to lay my reverence by, 
 And with gray hairs and bruise of many days, 
 Do challenge thee to trial of a man. 
 I say thou hast belied mine innocent child ; 
 Thy slander hath gone through and through her 
 
 heart, 
 And she lies buried with her ancestors, 
 
 ! in a tomb where never scandal slept, 
 Save this of hers, fram'd by thy villany. 
 
 Claud. My villany ! 
 
 Leon. Thine, Claudio ; thine, I say. 
 
 D. Pedro. You say not right, old man. 
 Leon. My lord, my lord, 
 
 1 '11 prove it on his body if he dare, 
 Despite his nice fence and his active practice, 
 His May of youth and bloom of lustihood. 
 
 Claud. Away ! I will not have to do with 
 you. 
 
 Leon. Canst thou so daff me ? Thou hast 
 
 kill'd my child ; 
 If thou kill'st me, boy, thou shalt kill a man. 
 
 Ant. He shall kill two of us, and men indeed ; 
 But that 's no matter ; let him kill one first ; 
 Win me and wear me, let him answer me. 
 Come, follow me, boy ; come, boy, follow me: 
 Sir boy, I '11 whip you from your foining fence; 
 Nay, as I am a gentleman, I will. 
 
 Leon. Brother, [my niece ; 
 
 Ant. Content yourself. God knows I lov'd 
 And she is dead, slander'd to death by villains, 
 That dare as well answer a man, indeed, 
 As I dare take a serpent by the tongue : 
 Boys, apes, braggarts, Jacks, milksops ! 
 
 Leon* Brother Antony, 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 161 
 
 Ant. Hold you content. What, man ! I 
 know them, yea, [scruple, 
 
 And what they weigh, even to the utmost 
 Scambling, out-facing, fashion-mong'ring boys, 
 That he, and cog, and flout, deprave and slander, 
 Go anticly, and show outward hideousness, 
 And speak off half a dozen dangerous words, 
 How they might hurt their enemies, if they 
 
 durst ; 
 And this is all. 
 
 Leon. But, brother Antony, 
 
 Ant. Come, 'tis no matter ; 
 
 Do not you meddle, let me deal in this. 
 
 D. Pedro. Gentlemen both, we will not wake 
 
 your patience. 
 
 My heart is sorry for your daughter's death ; 
 But, on my honour, she was charg'd with nothing 
 But what was true, and very full of proof, 
 
 Leon. My lord, my lord, 
 
 D. Pedro. I will not hear you. 
 
 Leon. No ? 
 
 Come, brother, away. I will be heard ; 
 
 Ant. And shall, 
 
 Or some of us will smart for it. 
 
 {Exeunt LEON, and ANT. 
 
 D. Pedro. See, see ; here comes the man we 
 went to seek. 
 
 Enter BENEDICK. 
 
 Claud. Now, signior ! what news ? 
 
 Bene. Good day, my lord. 
 
 D.Pedro. Welcome, signior: you are almost 
 come to part almost a fray. 
 
 Claud. We had like to have had our two noses 
 snapped off with two old men without teeth. 
 
 D. Pedro. Leonato and his brother. What 
 think'st thou ? Had we fought, I doubt we 
 should have been too young for them. 
 
 Bene. In a false quarrel there is no true 
 valour. I came to seek you both. 
 
 Claud. We have been up and down to seek 
 thee ; for we are high proof melancholy, and 
 would fain have it beaten away. Wilt thou use 
 thy wit ? 
 
 Bene. It is in my scabbard : shall I draw it ? 
 
 D. Pedro. Dost thou wear thy wit by thy 
 side? 
 
 Claud. Never any did so, though very many 
 have been beside their wit. I will bid thee 
 draw, as we do the minstrels; draw, to pleasure 
 us. 
 
 D. Pedro. As I am an honest man, he looks 
 pale. Art thou sick or angry ? 
 
 Claud. What! courage, man ! What though 
 care killed a cat, thou hast mettle enough in 
 thee to kill care. 
 
 Bene. Sir, I shall meet your wit in the career, 
 
 an you charge it against me. I pray you, choose 
 another subject. 
 
 Claud. Nay, then, give him another staff; 
 this last was broke cross. 
 
 D. Pedro. By this light, he changes more 
 and more ; I think he be angry indeed. 
 
 Claud. If he be, he knows how to turn his 
 girdle. 
 
 Bene. Shall I speak a word in your ear ? 
 
 Claud. God bless me from a challenge 1 
 
 Bene. You are a villain; I jest not: I will 
 make it good how you dare, with what you 
 dare, and when you dare. Do me right, or I 
 will protest your cowardice. You have killed 
 a sweet lady, and her death shall fall heavy on 
 you. Let me hear from you. 
 
 Claud. Well, I will meet you, so I may have 
 good cheer. 
 
 D. Pedro. What, a feast ? a feast ? 
 
 Claud. T faith, I thank him; he hath bid me 
 to a calf s head and a capon, the which if I do 
 not carve most curiously, say my knife's naught. 
 Shall i not find a woodcock too ? 
 
 Bene. Sir, your wit ambles well ; it goes 
 easily. 
 
 D. Pedro. I '11 tell thee how Beatrice praised 
 thy wit the other day : I said thou hadst a 
 fine wit ; True, says she, a fine little one. No, 
 said I, a great wit ; Right, says she, a great 
 gross one. Nay, said I, a good wit. Just, 
 said she, it hurts nobody. Nay, said I, the 
 gentleman is wise. Certain, said she, a "wise 
 gentleman. Nay, said I, he hath the tongues* 
 That I believe, said she, for he swore a thing 
 to me on Monday night which he foreswore on 
 Tuesday morning ; there 's a double tongue; 
 there's two tongues. Thus did she, an hour 
 together, trans-shape thy particular virtues ; yet, 
 at last, she concluded, with a sigh, thou wast 
 the properest man in Italy. v ,\h 
 
 Claud. For the which she wept heartily, and 
 said she cared not. 
 
 D. Pedro. Yea, that she did ; but yet, for 
 all that, an if she did not hate him deadly, she 
 would love him dearly : the old man's daughter 
 told us all. 
 
 Claud. All, all ; and, moreover, God saw him 
 when he was hid in the garden. 
 
 D. Pedro. But when shall we set the savage 
 bull's horns on the sensible Benedick's head ? 
 
 Claud. Yea, and text underneath, Here 
 dwells Benedick the married man ? 
 
 Bene. Fare you well, boy ; you know my 
 mind. I will leave you now to your gossip- 
 like humour : you break jests as braggarts do 
 their blades, which, God be thanked, hurt not. 
 My lord, for your many courtesies I thank 
 
 F 
 
162 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 you : I must discontinue your company : your 
 brother the bastard is fled from Messina: you 
 have among you killed a sweet and innocent 
 lady. For my Lord Lackbeard there, he and 
 I shall meet ; and till then, peace be with him. 
 [Exit BENEDICK. 
 
 D. Pedro. He is in earnest. 
 
 Claud. In most profound earnest ; and I '11 
 warrant you for the love of Beatrice. 
 
 D. Pedro. And hath challenged thee? 
 
 Claud. Most sincerely. 
 
 D. Pedro. What a pretty thing man is when 
 he goes in his doublet and hose, and leaves off 
 his wit ! 
 
 Claud. He is then a giant to an ape: but 
 then is an ape a doctor to such a man. 
 
 D. Pedro. But, soft, you, let be; pluck up, 
 my heart, and be sad! Did he not say my 
 brother was fled? 
 
 Enter DOGBERRY, VERGES, a:td the Watch, 
 with CONRADE and BORACHIO. 
 
 Dogb. Come, you, sir ; if justice cannot tame 
 you, she shall ne'er weigh more reasons in her 
 balance; nay, an you be a cursing hypocrite 
 once, you must be looked to. 
 
 D. Pedro. How now ! two of my brother's 
 men bound ! Borachio one ! 
 
 Claud. Hearken after their offence, my lord. 
 
 D. Pedro. Officers, what offence hath these 
 men done? 
 
 Dogb. Marry, sir, they have committed false 
 report; moreover, they have spoken untruths; 
 secondarily, they are slanders ; sixth and lastly, 
 they have belied a lady; thirdly, they have 
 verified unjust things: and, to conclude, they 
 are lying knaves. 
 
 D. Pedro. First, I ask thee what they have 
 done ; thirdly, I ask thee what 's their offence ; 
 sixth and lastly, why they are committed ; and, 
 to conclude, what you lay to their charge? 
 
 Claud. Rightly reasoned, and in his own 
 division ; and, by my troth, there 's one mean- 
 ing well suited. 
 
 D. Pedro. Whom have you offended, masters, 
 that you are thus bound to your answer? this 
 learned constable is too cunning to be under- 
 stood. What's your offence? 
 
 Bora. Sweet prince, let me go no further to 
 mine answer ; do you hear me, and let this count 
 kill me. I have deceived even your very eyes : 
 what your wisdoms could not discover these 
 shallow fools have brought to light; who, in 
 the night, overheard me confessing to this man 
 how Don John your brother incensed me to 
 slander the Lady Hero ; how you were brought 
 into the orchard, and saw me court Margaret in 
 
 Hero's garments ; how you disgraced her, when 
 you should marry her : my villany they have 
 upon record ; which I had rather seal with my 
 death than repeat over to my shame. The 
 lady is dead upon mine and my master's false 
 accusation ; and, briefly, I desire nothing but 
 the reward of a villain. 
 
 D. Pedro. Runs not this speech like iron 
 through your blood ? [it. 
 
 Claiid. I have drunk poison whiles he uttered 
 
 D. Pedro. But did my brother set thee on to 
 this? 
 
 Bora. Yea, and paid me richly for the prac- 
 tice of it. [treachery : 
 
 D. Pedro. He is compos'd and fram'd of 
 And fled he is upon this villany. [appear 
 
 Claud. Sweet Hero!, now thy image doth 
 In the rare semblance that I lov'd it first. 
 
 Dogb. Come, bring away the plaintiffs ; by 
 this time our sexton hath reformed Signior 
 Leonato of the matter : and, masters, do not 
 forget to specify, when time and place shall 
 serve, that I am an ass. 
 
 Verg. Here, here comes master Signior 
 Leonato and the sexton too. 
 
 Re-enter LEONATO and ANTONIO, with the 
 SEXTON. 
 
 Leon. Which is the villain ? let me see his 
 
 eyes, 
 
 That when I note another man like him 
 I may avoid him : which of these is he ? 
 
 Bora. If you would know your wronger, look 
 on me. 
 
 Leon. Art thou the slave that with thy 
 
 breath hast kill'd 
 Mine innocent child ? 
 
 Bora. Yea, even I alone. 
 
 Leon. No, not so, villain ; thou bely'st thyself: 
 Here stand a pair of honourable men 
 A third is fled that had a hand in it. 
 I thank you, princes, for my daughter's death ; 
 Record it with your high and worthy deeds ; 
 'Twas bravely done, if you bethink you of it. 
 
 Claud. I know not how to pray your patience, 
 Yet I must speak. Choose your revenge your- 
 self; 
 
 Impose me to what penance your invention 
 Can lay upon my sin : yet sinned I not 
 But in mistaking. 
 
 D. Pedro. By my soul, nor I ; 
 And yet, to satisfy this good old man, 
 I would bend under any heavy weight 
 That he '11 enjoin me to. 
 
 Leon. I cannot bid you bid my daughter live 
 That were impossible ; but, I pray you both, 
 Possess the people in Messina here 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 163 
 
 wrong, 
 
 How innocent she died : and, if your love 
 
 Can labour aught in sad invention, 
 
 Hang her an epitaph upon her tomb, 
 
 And sing it to her bones ; sing it to-nieht : 
 
 To-morrow morning come you to my house ; 
 
 And since you could not be my son-in-law, 
 
 Be yet my nephew : my brother hath a daughter, 
 
 Almost the copy of my child that's dead. 
 
 And she alone is heir to both of us ; 
 
 Give her the right you should have given her 
 
 cousin, 
 And so dies my revenge. 
 
 Claud. O, noble sir, 
 
 Your overkindness doth wring tears from me ! 
 I do embrace your offer ; and dispose 
 For henceforth of poor Claudio. 
 
 Leon. To-morrow, then, I will expect your 
 
 coming ; 
 
 To-night I take my leave. This naughty man 
 Shall face to face be brought to Margaret 
 Who, I believe, was pack'd in all this wr< 
 Hir'd to it by your brother. 
 
 Bora. No, by my soul, she was not ; 
 
 Nor knew not what she did when she spoke to 
 
 me ; 
 
 But always hath been just and virtuous 
 In anything that I do know by her. 
 
 Dogb. Moreover, sir, which, indeed, is not 
 under white and black, this plaintiff here, the 
 offender, did call me ass: I beseech you, let it 
 be remembered in his punishment. And also, 
 the Watch heard them talk of one Deformed : 
 they say he wears a key in his ear and a lock 
 hanging by it, and borrows money in God's 
 name ; the which he hath used so long, and 
 never paid, that now men grow hard-hearted, 
 and will lend nothing for God's sake : pray 
 you, examine him upon that point. 
 
 Leon. I thank thee for thy care and honest 
 pains. 
 
 Dogb. Your worship speaks like a most thank- 
 ful and reverend youth, and I praise God for you. 
 
 Leon. There 's for thy pains. 
 
 Dogb. God save the foundation ! 
 
 Leon. Go ; I discharge thee of thy prisoner, 
 and I thank thee. 
 
 Dogb. I leave an arrant knave with your wor- 
 ship ; which I beseech your worship to correct 
 yourself, for the example of others. God keep 
 your worship ; I wish your worship well ; God 
 restore you to health ; I humbly give you leave 
 to depart; and if a merry meeting may be wished, 
 God prohibit it. Come, neighbour. 
 
 {Exeunt DOGB., VERG., and Watch. 
 
 Leon. Until to-morrow morning, lords, fare- 
 well, [to-morrow. 
 
 Ant. Farewell, my lords ; we look for you 
 
 D. Pedro. -We will not fail. 
 
 Claud. To-night I '11 mourn with Hero. 
 
 [Exeunt D. PEDRO and CLAUD. 
 Leon. Bring you these fellows on : we '11 talk 
 
 with Margaret 
 
 How her acquaintance grew with this lewd fellow. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. LEONATO'S Garden. 
 Enter BENEDICK and MARGARET, meeting. 
 
 Bene. Pray thee, sweet Mistress Margaret, 
 deserve well at my hands by helping me to the 
 speech of Beatrice. 
 
 Marg. Will you then write me a sonnet in 
 praise of my beauty ? 
 
 Bene. In so high a style, Margaret, that no 
 man living shall come over it ; for, in most 
 comely truth, thou deservest it. 
 
 Marg. To have no man come over me? why, 
 shall I always keep below stairs ? 
 
 Bene. Thy wit is as quick as the greyhound's 
 mouth ; it catches. 
 
 Marg. And yours as blunt as the fencer's 
 foils, which hit, but hurt not. 
 
 Bene. A most manly wit, Margaret ; it will 
 not hurt a woman ; and so, I pray thee, call 
 Beatrice : I give thee the bucklers. 
 
 Marg. Give us the swords ; we have bucklers 
 of our own. 
 
 Bene. If you use them, Margaret, you must 
 put in the pikes with a vice ; and they are dan- 
 gerous weapons for maids. 
 
 Marg. Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who, 
 I think, hath legs. {Exit MARGARET. 
 
 Bene. And therefore will come. [Singing. 
 
 The god of love, 
 That sits above, 
 And knows me, and knows me, 
 How pitiful I deserve, 
 
 I mean in singing ; but in loving Leander the 
 good swimmer, Troilus the first employer of pan- 
 ders, and a whole book full of these quondam 
 carpet-mongers, whose names yet run smoothly 
 in the even road of a blank verse, why, they were 
 never so truly turned over and over as my poor 
 self in love. Marry, I cannot show it in rhyme; 
 I have tried ; I can find out no rhyme to lady but 
 baby an innocent rhyme ; for scorn, horn a 
 hard rhyme ; for school, fool a babbling rhyme ; 
 very ominous endings. No, I was not born 
 under a rhyming planet, nor I cannot woo in 
 festival terms. 
 
 Enter BEATRICE. 
 
 Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come when I 
 called thee ? 
 
|64 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 IACTV. 
 
 Beat. Yea, signior, and depart when you bid 
 me. 
 
 Bene. O, stay but till then ! 
 
 Beat. Then, is spoken ; fare you well now : 
 and yet, ere I go, let me go with .hat I came 
 for, which is, with knowing what hath passed 
 between you and Claudio, 
 
 Bene. Only foul words j and thereupon I 
 will kiss thee. 
 
 Beat. Foul words is but foul wind and foul 
 wind is but foul breath, and foul breath is noi- 
 some ; therefore I will depart unkissed. 
 
 Bene. Thou hast frighted the word out of his 
 right sense, so forcible is thy wit. But, I must 
 tell thee plainly, Claudio undergoes my challenge ; 
 and either I must shortly hear from him, or I 
 will subscribe him a coward. And, I pray thee 
 now, tell me, for which of my bad parts didst 
 thou first fail in love with me? 
 
 Beat. For them all together ; which main- 
 tained so politic a state of evil that they will 
 not admit any good part to intermingle with 
 them. But for which of my good parts did you 
 first suffer love for me ? 
 
 Bene. Suffer love ; a good epithet ! I do suffer 
 love, indeed, for I love thee against my will. 
 
 Beat. In soite of your heart, I think ; alas ! 
 poor heart ! If you spite it for my sake, I will 
 spite it for yours ; for I will never love that 
 which my friend hates. [ably. 
 
 Bene. Thou and I are too wise to woo peace- 
 
 Beat. Itappears not in this confession? there's 
 not one wise man among twenty that will praise 
 himself. 
 
 ^ Bene. An old, an old instance, Beatrice, that 
 lived in the time of good neighbours : if a man 
 do not erect in this age his own tomb ere he dies, 
 he shall live no longer in monument than the 
 bell rings and the widow weeps. 
 
 Beat. And how long is that, think you ? 
 
 Bene. Question : why, an hour in clamour, 
 and a quarter in rheum : therefore it is most 
 expedient for the wise (if Don Worm, his con- 
 science, find no impediment to the contrary) to 
 be the trumpet of his own virtues, as I am to 
 myself. So much for praising myself, who, I 
 myself will bear witness, is praiseworthy, and 
 now tell me, how doth your cousin ? 
 
 Beat. Very ill. 
 
 Bene. And how do you ? 
 
 Beat. Very ill too. 
 
 bene. Serve God y love me, and mend : there 
 will I leave you too, for here comes one in naste. 
 
 Enter URSULA. 
 
 Urs. Madam, you must come to your uncle. 
 Yonder 's old coil at home : it is proved my 
 
 Lady Hero hath been falsely accused, the prince 
 and Clauaio mightily abused ; and Don John 
 is the author of all, who is fled and gone. Will 
 you come presently ? 
 
 Beat. Will you go hear this news, signior ? 
 
 Bene. I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, 
 and be buried in thy eyes ; and, moreover, I will 
 go with thee to thy uncle's. [Exeunt* 
 
 SCENE III. The inside of a Church. 
 
 Enter Don, PEDRO, CL/UDIO, and Attendants, 
 
 with music and tapers. 
 Claud. Is thi the monument of Leonato ? 
 Atten. It is, my lord. 
 C/aud. reads from a scroll.] 
 
 Done to death by slanderous tongues 
 
 Was the Hero that here lies : 
 Death in guerdon ot her wrongs, 
 
 Givus her fame which never dies : 
 So the life, that died with shame, 
 Lives in death with glorious fame. 
 
 Hantr thou there upon the tomb, {affixing it. 
 Praising her when I am dumb. 
 
 Now, music, sound, and sing your solemn hymn, 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Pardon, Goddess of the night, 
 Those that slew thy virgin knight ; 
 For the which, with songs of woe, 
 Round about her tomb they go. 
 
 Midnight, assist our moan ! 
 
 Help us to sigh and groan, 
 Heavily, heavily; 
 
 Graves, yawn, and yiild your dead, 
 
 Till death be uttered, 
 Heavily, heavily. 
 
 Claud. Now unto thy bones goocl night : 
 
 Yearly will I do this rite. 
 D. Pedro. Good morrow, masters ; put youi 
 
 torches out : 
 
 The wol veb have prey 'd ; and look , the gen tie day, 
 Before the wheels of Phoebus, round about 
 
 Dapples the drowsy east with spots of gray. 
 
 Thanks to you all, and leave us : fare you well. 
 
 Ctaud. Good morrow, masters; each his 
 
 several way. [other weeds ; 
 
 D. Pedro. Come, let us hence, and put on 
 
 And then to Leonato's we will go. [speeds 
 
 Claud. And Hymen now with luckier issue 
 
 Than this, for whom we render'd up this woe 1 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. A Room in LEONATO'S House. 
 
 Enter LEONATO, ANTONIO, BENEDICK, BEAT- 
 RICE, MARGARET, URSULA, FRIAR, and 
 
 HERO. 
 
 Frtar. Did I not tell you she was innocent ? 
 Leon. So are the prince and Claudio, who 
 accus'd her 
 
SCENE I V.I 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING, 
 
 165 
 
 Upon the error that you heard debated i 
 But Margaret was in some fault for this, 
 Although against her will, as it appeals 
 In the true course of all the question. 
 
 Ant. Well, I am glad that all things sort so 
 well. 
 
 Bene. And so am I, being else by faith enforc'd 
 To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it. 
 
 Leon. Well, daughter, and you gentlewomen 
 
 all, 
 
 Withdraw into a chamber by yourselves ; 
 And when I send for you, come hither mask'd : 
 The prince and Claudio promis'd by this hour 
 To visit me. You know your office, brother ; 
 You must be father to your brother's daughter, 
 And give her to young Claudio. 
 
 [Exeunt Ladies. 
 
 Ant. Which I will do with confirm 'd coun- 
 tenance. 
 
 Bene. Friar, I must entreat your pains, I think. 
 
 Friar. To do what, signior? 
 
 Bene. To bind me, or undo me, one of them. 
 Signior Leonato, truth it is, good signior, 
 Your niece regards me with an eye of favour. 
 
 Leon. That eye my daughter lent her. Tis 
 most true. 
 
 Bene. And I do with an eye of love requite her. 
 
 Leon. The sight whereof, I think, you had 
 
 from me, 
 
 From Claudio, and the prince. But what 's your 
 will? 
 
 Bene. Your answer, sir, is enigmatical : 
 But, for my will, my will is your good-will 
 May stand with ours, this day to be conjoin'd 
 In the estate of honourable marriage ; 
 In which, good friar, I shall desire your help. 
 
 Leon. My heart is with your liking. 
 
 Friar. And my help. 
 
 Here come the prince and Claudio. 
 
 Enter Don PEDRO and CLAUDIO, with Attend- 
 ants. 
 
 D. Pedro. Good morrow to this fair assembly. 
 Leon. Good morrow, prince ; good morrow, 
 
 Claudio ; 
 
 We here attend you. Are you yet determin'd 
 
 To-day to marry with my brother's daughter ? 
 
 Claud. I '11 hold my mind were she an Kthiope 
 
 Leon. Call her forth, brother ; here's the friar 
 
 ready. [Exit ANTONIO. 
 
 D. Pedro. Good morrow, Benedick. Why, 
 
 what 's the matter, 
 That you have such a February face, 
 So full of frost, of storm, and cloudiness ? 
 
 Claud. Ithhikhethinksuponthesavagebull. 
 Tush, fear not, man ; we '11 tip thy horns with 
 gold, 
 
 And all Europa shall rejoice at thee, 
 As once Europa did at lusty Jove, 
 When he would play the noble beast in love. 
 Bene. Bull Jove, sir, had an amiable low ; 
 And some such strange bull leap'd your father's 
 
 cow, 
 
 And got a calf in that same noble feat 
 Much like to you, for you have just his bleat. 
 
 Re-enter ANTONIO, with the Ladies masked. 
 
 Claud. For this I owe you : here come other 
 
 reckonings. 
 
 Which is the lady I must seize upon ? 
 Ant. This same is she, and I do give you her. 
 Claud. Why, then, she 's mine. Sweet, let 
 me see your face. [hand 
 
 Leon No, that you shall not, till you take her 
 Before this friar, and swear to marry her. 
 Claud. Give me your hand before this holy 
 
 friar ; 
 
 I am your husband if you lik ' ot me. 
 Hero. And when I lived I was your other wife: 
 [ Unmasking. 
 
 And when you lov'd you were my other husband. 
 Claud. Another Hero? 
 Hero. Nothing certainer : 
 
 One Hero died defil'd ; but I do live, 
 And, surely as I live, I am a maid. [dead ! 
 D. Pedro. The former Hero ! Hero that is 
 Leon. She died, my lord, but whiles her 
 
 slander liv'd. 
 
 Friar. All this amazement can I qualify ; 
 When, after that the holy rites are ended, 
 I'll tell you largely of fair Hero's death : 
 Meantime let wonder seem familiar, 
 And to the chapel let us presently. 
 
 Bene. Soft and lair, friar. Which is Beatrice ? 
 Beat. I answer to that name; [Unmasking. 
 What is your will ? 
 
 Bene. Do not you love me ? 
 
 Beat. No, no more than reason. 
 
 Bene. Why, then your uncle, and the prince, 
 
 and Claudio 
 
 Have been deceived ; for they swore you did. 
 Beat. Do not you love me ? 
 Bene. No, no more than reason. 
 
 Beat. Why, then my cousin, Margaret, and 
 
 Ursula, 
 
 Are much deceived ; for they did swear you did. 
 
 Bene. They swore that you were almost sick 
 
 for me. [dead for me. 
 
 Beat. They swore that you were well-nigh 
 
 Bene. 'Tis no such matter. Then you do 
 
 not love me ? 
 
 Beat. No, truly, but in friendly recompense. 
 Leon. Come, cousin, I am sure you love the 
 gentleman. 
 
166 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Claud. And I '11 be sworn upon 't that he 
 
 loves her ; 
 
 For here 's a paper written in his hand 
 A halting sonnet of his own pure brain, 
 Fashion'd to Beatrice. 
 
 Hero. And here 's another, 
 
 Writ in my cousin's hand, stolen from her 
 
 pocket, 
 Containing her affection unto Benedick. 
 
 Bene. A miracle ! here 's our own hands 
 against our hearts ! Come, I will have thee ; 
 but, by this light, I take thee for pity. 
 
 Beat. I would not deny you ; but, by this 
 good day, I yield upon great persuasion ; and 
 partly to save your life, for I was told you were 
 in a consumption. 
 
 Bene. Peace ; I will stop your mouth. 
 
 \Kissing her. 
 
 D. Pedro. How dost thou, Benedick the 
 married man ? 
 
 Bene. I 'li tell thee what, prince ; a college 
 of wit-crackers cannot flout me out of my 
 humour. Dost thou think I care for a satire, 
 or an epigram ? No : if a man will be beaten 
 with brains, he shall wear nothing handsome 
 about him. In brief, since I do purpose to 
 marry, I will think nothing to any purpose that 
 the vrorld can say against it; and therefore 
 
 never flout at me for what I have said against 
 it ; for man is a giddy thing, and this is my 
 conclusion. For thy part, Claudio, I did think 
 to have beaten thee ; but in that thou art like 
 to be my kinsman, live unbruised, and love my 
 cousin. 
 
 Claud. I had well hoped thou wouldst have 
 denied Beatrice, that I might have cudgelled 
 thee out of thy single life, to make thee a 
 double dealer ; which, out of question thou 
 wilt be if my cousin do not look exceeding 
 narrowly to thee. 
 
 Bene. Come, come, we are friends : let 's 
 have a da,nce ere we are married, that we may 
 lighten our own hearts and our wives' heels. 
 
 Leon. We '11 have dancing afterwards. 
 
 Bene. First, o' my word ; therefore, play, 
 music. Prince, thou art sad ; get thee a wife, 
 get thee a wife : there is no staff more reverend 
 than one tipped with horn. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 Mess. My lord, your brother John is ta'en in 
 
 flight, 
 
 And brought with arm'd men back to Messina. 
 
 Bene. Think not on him till to-morrow : I '11 
 
 devise thee brave punishments for him. Strike 
 
 up, pipers. \Dance. Exeunt. 
 
 
 
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 t ; baviaosb rfoyrrr 
 
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A' MIDSUMMER NIGHTS DREAM. 
 
 *-jn !i.._ Dfus i afiiio -!5O jfifi* fit D'jDi'i'O'i'j "/j'^JiurKJiinnl 
 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 THESEUS, Duke of Athens. 
 EGEUS, Father to HERMIA. 
 
 PHILOSTRATE, Masterofthe Revels to THESEUS. 
 
 QUINCE, the Carpenter. 
 
 SNUG, the Joiner. 
 
 BOTTOM, the Weaver. 
 
 FLUTE, the Bellows -mender. 
 
 SNOUT, the Tinker. 
 
 STARVELING, the Tailor. 
 
 HIPPOLYTA, Queen of the Amazons^ betrothed 
 
 to THESEUS. 
 HERMIA, Daughter to EGEUS, in love with 
 
 LYSANDER. 
 HELENA, in love with DEMETRIUS. 
 
 OBERON, King of tJie F'airies. 
 TITAN i A, ^M<?^W of ' tJie Fairies. 
 PUCK, ^ ROBIN GOODFELLOW, a 
 PEASBLOSSOM, ^ 
 
 ?, EB ' ^-^. 
 
 MOTH, 
 MUSTARDSEED,J 
 
 PYRAMUS, 
 
 THISBE, 
 
 WALL, 
 
 MOONSHINE, 
 
 LION, 
 
 Characters in the Interlude 
 performed by the Clowns. 
 
 acra VOY 3-K^-nno oh. I ^C\A. . 
 
 Other Fairies attending their King ana Queen. 
 Attendants on THESEUS and HIPPOLYTA. 
 
 SCENE, ATHENS, and a Wood not far from it. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Kfirt vrn . 
 
 SCENE I. ATHENS. A Room in the Palace 
 of THESEUS. 
 
 Enter THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, PHILOSTRATE, 
 and Attendants. 
 
 The. Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour 
 Draws on apace ; four happy days bring in 
 Another moon : but, oh, methinks, how slow 
 This old moon wanes ! she lingers my desires, 
 Like to a step-dame or a dowager, 
 Long withering out a young man's revenue. 
 
 Hip. Four days will quickly steep themselves 
 
 in nights ; 
 
 Four nights will quickly dream away the time ; 
 And then the moon, like to a silver bow 
 New bent in heaven, shall behold the night 
 Of our solemnities. 
 
 The. Go, Philostrate, 
 
 Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments ; 
 Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth ; 
 Turn melancholy forth to funerals 
 The pale companion is not ibr our pomp. 
 
 [Exit PHILOSTRATE. 
 Hippolyta, I woo'd thee with my sword, 
 And won thy love doing thee injuries ; 
 But I will wed thee in another key, 
 With pomp, with triumph, and with revelling. 
 
 Enter EGEUS, HERMIA, LYSANDER, and 
 
 DEMETRIUS. 
 
 Ege. Happy be Theseus, our renowned dukef 
 The. Thanks, good Egeus : what 's the news 
 
 with thee ? 
 
 Ege. Full of vexation come I, with complaint 
 Against my child, my daughter Hermia. 
 Stand forth, Demetrius. My noble lord, 
 This man hath my consent to marry her : 
 Stand forth, Lysander ; and, my gracious duke. 
 This hath bewitch'd the bosom of my child. 
 Thou, thon, Lysander, thou hast given her 
 
 rhymes, 
 
 And interchang'd love-tokens with my child : 
 Thou hast by moonlight at her window sung, 
 With feigning voice, verses of feigning love ; 
 And stol'n the impression of her fantasy 
 With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gawds, con- 
 ceits, [sengers, 
 Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweatmeats, mes- 
 Of strong prevailment in unharden'd youth ; 
 With cunning hast thou filch'd my daughter's 
 
 heart; 
 
 Turned her obedience, which is due to me, 
 To stubborn harshness. And, my gracious 
 
 duke, 
 
 Be it so she will not here before your grace 
 Consent to marry with Demetrius, 
 I beg the ancient privilege of Athens, 
 
168 
 
 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 As she is mine I may dispose of her : 
 Which shall be either to this gentleman 
 Or to her death ; according to our law 
 Immediately provided in that case. 
 
 The. What say you, Hermia? be advis'd, 
 
 fair maid : 
 
 To you your father should be as a god ; 
 One that compos'd your beauties ; yea, and one 
 To whom you are but as a form in wax, 
 By him imprinted, and within his power 
 To leave the figure, or disfigure it. 
 Demetrius is a worthy gentleman. 
 
 Her. So is Lysander. 
 
 The. In himself he is : 
 
 But, in this kind, wanting your father's voice, 
 The other must be held the worthier. [eyes. 
 
 Her. I would my father look'd but with my 
 
 The. Rather your eyes must with his judg- 
 ment look. 
 
 Her. I do entreat your grace to pardon me. 
 I know not by what power I am made bold, 
 Nor how it may concern my modesty 
 In such a presence here to plead my thoughts : 
 But I beseech your grace that I may know 
 The worst that may befall me in this case 
 If I refuse to wed Demetrius. 
 
 The. Either to die the death, or to abjure 
 For ever the society of men. 
 Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires, 
 Know of your youth, examine well your blood, 
 Whether, if you yield not to your father's choice, 
 You can endure the livery of a nun ; 
 For aye to be in shady cloister mew'd, 
 To live a barren sister aJl your life, 
 Chanting faint hymns to the cold, fruitless moon. 
 Thrice blessed they that master so their blood 
 To undergo such maiden pilgrimage : 
 But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd, 
 Than that which, withering on the virgin thorn, 
 Grows, lives, and dies in single blessedness. 
 
 Her. So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord, 
 Ere I will yield my virgin patent up 
 Unto his lordship, whose unwished yoke 
 My soul consents not to give sovereignty. 
 
 The. Take time to pause ; and by the next 
 
 new moon, 
 
 The sealing-day betwixt my love and me, 
 For everlasting bond of fellowship, 
 Upon that day either prepare to die 
 For disobedience to your father's will ; 
 Or else to wed Demetrius, as he would ; 
 Or on Diana's altar to protest 
 For aye austerity and single life. [der, yield 
 
 Dem. Relent, sweet Hermia ; and, Lysan- 
 Thy crazed title to my certain right. 
 
 Lys. You have her father's love, Demetrius ; 
 Let me have Hermia's : do you marry him. 
 
 Ege. Scornful Lysander! true, he hath my 
 
 love ; 
 
 And what is mine my love shall render him ; 
 And she is mine ; and all my right of her 
 I do estate unto Demetrius. 
 
 Lys. I am, my lord, as well deriv'd as he, 
 As well possess'd ; my love is more than his ; 
 My fortunes every way as fairly rank'd, 
 If not with vantage, as Demetrius's ; 
 And, which is more than all these boasts can be, 
 I am belov'd of beauteous Hermia : 
 Why should not I then prosecute my right ? 
 Demetrius, I '11 avouch it to his head, 
 Made love to Nedar's daughter, Helena, 
 And won her soul ; and she, sweet lady, dotes. 
 Devoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry, 
 Upon this spotted and inconstant man. 
 
 The. I must confess that I have heard so much, 
 And with Demetrius thought to have spoke 
 
 thereof ; 
 
 But, being over-full of self-affairs, 
 My mind did lose it. But, Demetrius, come ; 
 And come, Egeus ; you shall go with me ; 
 I have some private schooling for you both. 
 For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself 
 To fit your fancies to your father's will, 
 Or else the law of Athens yields you up, 
 Which by no means we may extenuate, 
 To death, or to a vow of single life. 
 Come, my Hippolyta : what cheer, my love ? 
 Demetrius, and Egeus, go along : 
 I must employ you in some business 
 Against our nuptial, and confer with you 
 Of something nearly that concerns yourselves. 
 
 Ege. With duty and desire we follow you. 
 [Exeunt THES. , HIP., EGE., DEM., and Train. 
 
 Lys. How now, my love ! why is your cheek 
 
 so pale ? 
 How chance the roses there do fade so fast ? 
 
 Her. Belike for want of rain, which I could 
 
 well 
 Beteem them from the tempest of mine eyes. 
 
 Lys. Ah me ! for aught that ever I could read, 
 Could ever hear by tale or history, 
 The course of true love never did run smooth : 
 But either it was different in blood, [low ! 
 
 Her. O cross ! too high to be enthrall 'd to 
 
 Lys. Or else misgraffed in respect of years ; 
 
 Her. O spite ! too old to be engag'd to young ! 
 
 Lys. Or else it stood upon the choice of 
 friends : 
 
 Her. O hell ! to choose love by another's 
 eye ! 
 
 Lys. Or, if there were a sympathy in choice, 
 War, death, or sickness, did lay siege to it, 
 Making it momentary as a sound, 
 Swift as a shadow, short as any dream ; 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 169 
 
 Brief as the lightning in the collied night 
 That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth, 
 And ere a man hath power to say, Behold ! 
 The jaws of darkness do devour it up : 
 So quick bright things come to confusion. 
 
 Her. If, then, true lovers have been ever 
 
 cross'd, 
 
 It stands as an edict in destiny : 
 Then let us teach our trial patience, 
 Because it is a customary cross ; [sighs, 
 
 As due to love as thoughts, and dreams, and 
 Wishes, and tears, poor fancy's followers. 
 
 Lys. A good persuasion ; therefore, hear me, 
 
 Hermia. 
 
 I have a widow aunt, a dowager 
 Of great revenue, and she hath no child : 
 From Athens is her house remote seven leagues ; 
 And she respects me as her only son. 
 There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee ; 
 And to that place the sharp Athenian law 
 Cannot pursue us. If thou lov'st me, then, 
 Steal forth thy father's house to-morrow night ; 
 And in the wood a league without the town, 
 Where I did meet thee once with Helena, 
 To do observance to a morn of May, 
 There will I stay for thee. 
 
 Her. My good Lysander ! 
 
 I swear to thee by Cupid's strongest bow, 
 By his best arrow with the golden head, 
 By the simplicity of Venus' doves, 
 By that which knitteth souls and prospers loves, 
 And by that fire which burn'd the Carthage 
 
 queen, 
 
 When the false Trojan under sail was seen, 
 By all the vows that ever men have broke, 
 In number more than ever woman spoke, 
 In that same place thou hast appointed me, 
 To-morrow truly will I meet with thee. 
 
 Lys. Keep promise, love. Look, here comes 
 Helena. 
 
 Enter HELENA. 
 
 Her. God speed fair Helena ! Whither away? 
 HeL Call you me fair ? that fair again unsay. 
 Demetrius loves your fair. O happy fair ! 
 Your eyes are lode-stars ; and your tongue 's 
 
 sweet air 
 
 More tuneable than lark to shepherd's ear, 
 When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds 
 
 appear. 
 
 Sickness is catching : O, were favour so, 
 Yours would I catch, fair Hermia, ere I go ; 
 My ear should catch your voice, my eye your 
 
 eye, [melody. 
 
 My tongue should cacch your tongue's sweet 
 Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated, 
 The rest I '11 give to be to you translated. 
 
 O, teach me how you look ; and with what art 
 You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart. 
 
 Her. I frown upon him, yet he loves me still. 
 
 Hel. O that your frowns would teach my 
 smiles such skill ! 
 
 Her. I give him curses, yet he gives me love. 
 
 Hel. O that my prayers could such affection 
 move ! [me. 
 
 Her. The more I hate, the more he follows 
 
 Hel. The more I love, the more he hateth me. 
 
 Her. His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine. 
 
 HeL None, but your beauty : would that fault 
 were mine ! [face ; 
 
 Her. Take comfort ; he no more shall see my 
 Lysander and myself will fly this place..-wrM) 
 Before the time I did Lysander see, 
 Seem'd Athens like a paradise to me : 
 O then, what graces in my love do d-.vell, 
 That he hath turn'd a heaven unto hell ! 
 
 Lys. Helen, to you our minds we will unfold : 
 To-morrow night, when Phoebe doth behold 
 Her silver visage in the watery glass, 
 Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass, 
 A time that lovers' flights doth still conceal, 
 Through Athens' gates have we devis'd to steal. 
 
 Her. And in the wood where often you and I 
 Upon faint primrose beds were wont to lie, 
 Emptying our Losoms of their counsel sweet, 
 There my Lysander and myself shall meet : 
 And thence from Athens turn away our eyes, 
 To seek new friends and stranger companies. 
 Farewell, sweet playfellow : pray thou for us, 
 And good luck grant thee thy Demetrius ! 
 Keep word, Lysander : we must starve our sight 
 From lovers' food, till morrow deep midnight. 
 
 Lys. I will, my Hermia. {Exit HERMIA. 
 
 Helena adieu : 
 As you on him, Demetrius dote on you ! 
 
 {Exit LYS. 
 
 Hel. How happy some o'er other some can be \ 
 Through Athens I am thought as fair as she. 
 But what of that ? Demetrius thinks not so ; 
 He will not know what all but he do know. 
 And as he errs, doting on Hermia's eyes, 
 So I, admiring of his qualities. 
 Things base and vile, holding no quantity, 
 Love can transpose to form and dignity. 
 Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind : 
 And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind. 
 Nor hath love's mind of any judgment taste ; 
 Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste : 
 And therefore is love said to be a child, 
 Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd. 
 As waggish boys in game themselves forswear, 
 So the boy Love is perjur'd everywhere : 
 For ere Demetrius look d on Hermia's eyne, 
 He hail'd down oaths that he was only mine ; 
 
170 
 
 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 And when this hail some heat from Hermia felt, 
 So he dissolv'd, and showers of oaths did melt. 
 I will go tell him of fair Hermia's flight ; 
 Then to the wood will he to-morrow night 
 Pursue her ; and for this intelligence 
 If I have thanks, it is a dear expense : 
 But herein mean I to enrich my pain, 
 To have his sight thither and back again. 
 
 \_Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. The Same. A Room in a Cottage. 
 
 Enter SNUG, BOTTOM, FLUTE, SNOUT, 
 QUINCE, and STARVELING. 
 
 Quin. Is all our company here ? 
 
 Bot. You were best to call them generally, 
 man by man, according to the scrip. 
 
 Quin. Here is the scroll of every man's name, 
 which is thought fit, through all Athens, to play 
 in our interlude before the duke and duchess on 
 his wedding-day at night. 
 
 Bot. First, good Peter Quince, say what the 
 play treats on; then read the names of the 
 actors ; and so grow to a point. 
 
 Quin. Marry, our play is The most lament- 
 able comedy, and most cruel death of Pyramus 
 and Thisby. 
 
 Bot. A very good piece of work, I assure you, 
 and a merry. Now, good Peter Quince, call 
 forth your actors by the scroll. Masters, spread 
 yourselves. [the weaver. 
 
 Quin. Answer, as I call you. Nick Bottom, 
 
 Bot. Ready. Name what part I am for, and 
 proceed. [Pyramus. 
 
 Quin. You, Nick Bottom, are set down for 
 
 Bot. What is Pyramus ? a lover, or a tyrant? 
 
 Quin. A lover, that kills himself most gal- 
 lantly for love. 
 
 Bot. That will ask some tears in the true per- 
 forming of it. If I do it, let the audience look 
 to their eyes ; I will move storms ; I will con- 
 dole in some measure. To the rest : yet my 
 chief humour is for a tyrant : I could play Ercles 
 rarely, or a part to tear a cat in, to make all 
 split. 
 
 The raging rocks, And Phibbus* car 
 
 With shivering shocks, Shall shine from far, ' 
 
 Shall break the locks And make and mar 
 
 Of prison gates : . The foolish Fates. 
 
 This was lofty ! Now, name the rest of the 
 players. This is Ercles' vein, a tyrant's vein ; 
 a lover is more condoling. 
 
 Quin. Francis Flute, the bellows-mender. 
 
 Flu. Here, Peter Quince. 
 
 Quin. You must take Thisby on you. 
 
 Flu. What is Thisby ? a wandering knight ? 
 
 Quin. It is the lady that Pyramus must love. 
 
 Flu. Nay, faith, let me not play a woman ; 
 I have a beard coming. 
 
 Quin. That 's all one ; you shall play it in a 
 mask, and you may speak as small as you will. 
 
 Bot. An I may hide my face, let me play 
 Thisby too : I '11 speak in a monstrous little 
 voice; Thisne^ Thisne.-Ah^ Pyramus , my 
 lover dear ; thy Thisby dear! and lady dear I 
 
 Quin. No, no, you must play Pyramus ; and, 
 Flute, you Thisby. 
 
 Bot. Well, proceed. 
 
 Quin. Robin Starveling, the tailor. 
 
 Star. Here, Peter Quince. 
 
 Quin. Robin Starveling, you must play 
 Thisby 's mother. Tom Snout, the tinker. 
 
 Snout. Here, Peter Quince. 
 
 Quin. You, j Pyramus's father ; myself, 
 Thisby's father; Snug, the joiner, you, the 
 lion's part : and, I hope, here is a play fitted. 
 
 Snug. Have you the lion's part written? pray 
 you, if it be, give it me, for I am slow of study. 
 
 Quin. You may do it extempore, for it is 
 nothing but roaring. 
 
 Bot. Let me play the lion too : I will roar, 
 that I will do any man's heart good to hear me 5 
 I will roar, that I will make the duke say, Let 
 him roar again, let him roar again. 
 
 Quin. An you should do it too terribly you 
 v/ould fright the duchess and the ladies, that 
 they would shriek ; and that were enough to 
 hang us all. 
 
 All. That would hang us every mother's son. 
 
 Bot. I grant you, friends, if that you should 
 fright the ladies out of their wits, they would 
 have no more discretion but to hang us : but I 
 will aggravate my voice so that I will roar you 
 as gently as any sucking dove ; I will roar you 
 an 'twere any nightingale. 
 
 Quin. You can play no part but Pyramus . 
 for Pyramus is a sweet-faced man ; a proper 
 man, as one shall see on a summer's day ; a 
 most lovely, gentleman -like man; therefore 
 you must needs play Pyramus. 
 
 Bot. Well, I will undertake it. What beard 
 were I best to play it in ? 
 
 Quin. Why, what you will. 
 
 Bot. I will discharge it in either your straw- 
 coloured beard, your orange-tawny beard, your 
 purple-in-grain beard, or your French-crown- 
 colour beard, your perfect yellow. 
 
 Quin. Some of your French crowns have no 
 hair at all, and then you will play barefaced. 
 But, masters, here are your parts : and I am to 
 entreat you, request you, and desire you, to 
 con them by to-morrow night ; and meet me in 
 the palace wood, a mile without the town, by 
 moonlight ; there will we rehearse : for if we 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 A MIDSUMMER NIGHTS DREAM. 
 
 171 
 
 meet in the city, we shall be dogg'd with com- 
 pany, and our devices known. In the mean- 
 time I will draw a bill of properties, such as 
 our play wants. I pray you, fail me not. 
 
 Bot. We will meet ; and there we may re- 
 hearse more obscenely and courageously. Take 
 pains ; be perfect ; adieu. 
 
 Quin. At the duke's oak we meet. 
 
 Bot. Enough ; hold, or cut bow-strings. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. A Wood near Athens. 
 Enter a Fairy at one door, and PUCK at another. 
 Puck. How now, spirit ! whither wander you ? 
 Fai. Over hill, over dale, 
 
 Thorough bush, thorough brier, 
 Over park, over pale, 
 
 Thorough flood, thorough fire, 
 I do wander everywhere, 
 Swifter than the moon's sphere ; 
 And I serve the fairy queen, 
 To dew her orbs upon the careen. 
 The cowslips tall her pensioners be : 
 In their gold coats spots you see ; 
 Those be rubies, fairy favours, 
 In those freckles live their savours : 
 I must go seek some dew-drops here, 
 And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear. 
 Farewell, thou lob of spirits ; I '11 be gone : 
 Omr queen and all our elves come here anon. 
 Puck. The king doth keep his revels here to- 
 night ; 
 
 Take heed the queen come not within his sight. 
 For Oberon is passing fell and wrath, 
 Because that she, as her attendant, hath 
 A lovely boy, stol'n from an Indian king ; 
 She never had so sweet a changeling : 
 And jealous Oberon would have the child 
 Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild : 
 But she perforce withholds the loved boy, 
 Crowns him with flowers, and makes him all 
 
 her joy : 
 
 And now they never meet in grove or green, 
 By fountain clear or spangled starlight sheen, 
 But they do square ; that all their elves, for fear, 
 Creep into acorn cups, and hide them there. 
 Fai. Ekher I mistake your shape and mak- 
 ing quite, 
 
 Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite 
 CalPd Robin Goodfellow : are you not he 
 That frights the maidens of the villagery; 
 Skim milk, and sometimes labour in the quern, 
 And bootless make the breathless housewife 
 
 churn ; 
 And sometime make the drink to bear no barm ; 
 
 M islead night- wanderers, laughing at their harm ? 
 Those that Hobgoblin call you, and sweet Puck, 
 You do their work, and they shall have good luck: 
 Are not you he ? 
 
 Puck. Thou speak'st aright ; 
 
 I am that merry wanderer of the night. 
 I jest to Oberon, and make him smile, 
 When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile, 
 Neighing in likeness of a filly foal : 
 And sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl, 
 In very likeness of a roasted crab ; 
 And, when she drinks, against her lips I bob, 
 And on her wither'd dew-lap pour the ale. 
 The wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale, 
 Sometime for three -foot stool mistaketh me ; 
 Then slip I from her bum, down topples she, 
 And tailor cries, and falls into a cough ; 
 And then the whole quire hold their hips and 
 
 loffe, 
 
 And waxen in their mirth, and neeze, and swear 
 A merrier hour was never wasted there. 
 But room, fairy, here comes Oberon. _v<iT 
 Fai. And here my mistress. Would that lie 
 
 were gone ! 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Enter OBERON at one door, -with his Train, 
 a/fc/TlTANIA, at ano her, with hers. 
 
 Obe. Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania. 
 
 Tita. What, jealous Oberon ! Fairies, skip 
 
 hence ; 
 I have forsworn his bed and company. 
 
 Obe. Tarry, rash wanton : am not I thy lord? 
 
 Tita. Then I must be thy lady : but I know 
 When thou hast stol'n away from fairy-land, 
 And in the shape of Corin sat all day, 
 Playing on pipes of corn, and versing love 
 To amorous Phillida. Why art thou here, 
 Come from the farthest steep of India ? 
 But that, forsooth, the bouncing Amazon, 
 Your buskin'd mistress and your warrior love, 
 To Theseus must be wedded ; and you come 
 To give their bed joy and prosperity. 
 
 Obe. How can'st thou thus, or shame, 
 
 Titania, 
 
 Glance at my credit with Hippolyta, 
 Knowing I know thy love to Theseus ? 
 Didst thou not lead him through the glimmer- 
 ing night 
 
 From Perigenia, whom he ravish'd? 
 And make him with fair ^gle break his faith, 
 With Ariadne and Antiopa ? 
 
 Tita. These are the forgeries of jealousy : 
 And never, since the middle summer's spring, 
 Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead, 
 By paved fountain, or by rushy brook, 
 Or on the beached margent of the sea. 
 
172 
 
 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind, 
 But with thy brawls thou hast disturb'd our 
 
 sport. 
 
 Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain, 
 As in revenge, have suck'd up from the sea 
 Contagious fogs ; which, falling in the land, 
 Have every pelting river made so proud 
 That they have overborne their continents: 
 The ox hath therefore stretch'd his yoke in vain, 
 The ploughman lost his sweat ; and the green 
 
 corn 
 
 Hath rotted ere his youth attain'd a beard : 
 The fold stands empty in the drowned field, 
 And crows are fatted with the murrain flock ; 
 The nine men's morris is fill'd up with mud ; 
 And the quaint mazes in the wanton green, 
 For lack of tread, are undistinguishable : 
 The human mortals want their winter here ; 
 No night is now with hymn or carol blest : 
 Therefore the moon, the governess of floods, 
 Pale in her anger, washes all the air, 
 That rheumatic diseases do abound : 
 And thorough this distemperature we see 
 The seasons alter : hoary-headed frosts 
 Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose ; 
 And on old Hyem's chin and icy crown 
 An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds 
 Is, as in mockery, set : the spring, the summer, 
 The childing autumn, angry winter, change 
 Their wonted liveries ; and the maz'd world, 
 By their increase, now knows not which is 
 
 which : 
 
 And this same progeny of evils comes 
 From our debate, from our dissension : 
 We are their parents and original. 
 
 Obe. Do you amend it, then: it lies in you: 
 Why should Titania cross her Oberon? 
 I do but beg a little changeling boy 
 To be my henchman. 
 
 Tita. Set your heart at rest ; 
 
 The fairy- land buys not the child of me. 
 His mother was a vot'ress of my order : 
 And, in the spiced Indian air, by night, 
 Full often hath she gossip'd by my side ; 
 And sat with me on Neptune's yellow sands, 
 Marking the embarked traders on the flood ; 
 When we have laugh'd to see the sails conceive, 
 And grow big-bellied with the wanton wind : 
 Which she, with pretty and with swimming gait, 
 Following, her womb then rich with my 
 
 young squire, 
 
 Would imitate ; and sail upon the land, 
 To fetch me trifles, and return again, 
 As from a voyage, rich with merchandise. 
 But she, being mortal, of that boy did die; 
 And for her sake I do rear up her boy : 
 And for her sake I will not part with him. 
 
 Obe. How long within this wood intend you 
 
 stay? 
 
 Lday. 
 
 Tita. Perchance till after Theseus' wedding- 
 If you will patiently dance in our round, 
 And see our moonlight revels, go with us ; 
 If not, shun me, and I will spare your haunts. 
 Obe. Give me that boy and I will go with thee. 
 Tita. Not for thy fairy kingdom. Fairies, 
 
 away : 
 We shall chide downright if I longer stay. 
 
 [Exit TITANIA and her Train. 
 Obe. Well, go thy way: thou shalt not from 
 
 this grove 
 
 Till I torment thee for this injury. 
 My gentle Puck, come hither: thou remember' st 
 Since once I sat upon a promontory, 
 And heard a mermaid, on a dolphin's back, 
 Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath, 
 That the rude sea grew civil at her song, 
 And certain stars shot madly from their spheres 
 To hear the sea-maid's music. 
 
 Puck. I remember. 
 
 Obe. That very time I saw, but thou 
 
 couldst not, 
 
 Flying between the cold moon and the earth, 
 Cupid all arm'd : a certain aim he took 
 At a fair vestal, throned by the west ; 
 And loos'd his love-shaft smartly from his bow, 
 As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts : 
 But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft 
 Quench'd in the chaste beams of the watery 
 
 moon ; 
 
 And the imperial votaress passed on, 
 In maiden meditation, fancy-free. 
 Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell : 
 It fell upon a little western flower, 
 Before milk-white, now purple with love's 
 
 wound, 
 
 And maidens call it love-in-idleness. 
 Fetch me that flower ; the herb I show'd thee 
 
 once : 
 
 The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid 
 Will m tke or man or woi.mn madly dote 
 Upon the next live creature that it sees. 
 Fetch me this herb . and be thou here again 
 Ere the leviathan can swim a league. 
 
 Puck. I '11 put a girdle round about the earth 
 In forty minutes. [Exit PUCK. 
 
 Obe. Having once this juice, 
 
 I '11 watch Titania when she is asleep, 
 And drop the liquor of it in her eyes : 
 The next thing then she waking looks upon, 
 Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull, 
 On meddling monkey, or on busy ape, 
 She shall pursue it with the soul of love. 
 And ere I take this charm off from her sight, 
 As I can take it with another herb, -*?rnog 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 173 
 
 I '11 make her render up her page to me. 
 But who comes here? I am invisible ; 
 And I will overhear their conference. 
 
 Enter DEMETRIUS, HELEN & following hint. 
 
 Dem. I love thee not, therefore pursue me 
 
 not. 
 
 Where is Lysander and fair Hermia ? 
 The one I '11 slay, the other slayeth me. 
 Thou told'st me they were stol'n into this wood, 
 And here am I, and wood within this wood, 
 Because I cannot meet with Hermia. 
 Hence, get thee gone, and follow me no more. 
 
 Hel. You draw me, you hard-hearted ada- 
 mant ; 
 
 But yet you draw not iron, for my heart 
 Is true as steel. Leave you your power to draw, 
 And I shall have no power to follow you. 
 
 Dem. Do I entice you? Do I speak you fair ? 
 Or, rather, do I not in plainest truth 
 Tell you I do not, nor I cannot love you ? 
 
 HeL And even for that do I love you the more. 
 I am your spaniel ; and, Demetrius, 
 The more you beat me, I will fawn on you : 
 Use me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me, 
 Neglect me, lose me ; only give me leave, 
 Unworthy as I am, to follow you. 
 What worser place can I beg in your love, 
 And yet a place of high respect with me, 
 Than to be used as you use your dog ? 
 
 Dem. Tempt not too much the hatred of ray 
 
 spirit ; 
 For I am sick when I do look on thee. 
 
 Hel. And I am sick when I look not on you. 
 
 Dem. You do impeach your modesty too much, 
 To leave the city, and commit yourself 
 Into the hands of one that loves you not ; 
 To trust the opportunity of night, 
 And the ill counsel of a desert place, 
 With the rich worth of your virginity. 
 
 HeL Your virtue is my privilege for that. 
 It is not night when I do see your face, 
 Therefore I think I am not in the night : 
 Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company ; 
 For you, in my respect, are all the world : 
 Then how can it be said I am alone 
 When all the world is here to look on me ? 
 
 Dem. I '11 run from thee, and hide me in the 
 
 brakes, 
 And leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts. 
 
 Hel. The wildest hath not such a heart as you. 
 Run when you will, the story shall be chang'd ; 
 Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase ; 
 The dove pursues the griffin ; the mild hind 
 Makes speed to catch the tiger, bootless speed, 
 When cowardice pursues and valour flies. 
 
 Dem. I will not stay thy questions ; let me go : 
 
 Or, if thou follow me, do not believe 
 But I shall do thee mischief in the wood. 
 
 HeL Ay, in the temple, in the town, the field, 
 You do me mischief. Fie, Demetrius ! 
 Your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex : 
 We cannot fight for love as men may do : 
 We should be woo'd, and were not made to woo. 
 I '11 follow thee, and make a heaven of hell, 
 To die upon the hand 1 love so well. 
 
 [Exeunt DEM. and HEL. 
 
 Obe. Far- thee well, nymph : ere he do leave 
 
 this grove, 
 Thou shalt fly him, and he shall seek thy love. 
 
 Re-enter PUCK. 
 Hast thou the flower there ? Welcome, wanderer. 
 
 Puck. Ay, there it is. 
 
 Obe. I pray thee, give it me. 
 
 I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows, 
 Where ox-lips and the nodding violet grows ; 
 Quite over-canopied with lush woodbine, 
 With sweet musk roses, and with eglantine : 
 There sleeps Titan ia sometime of the night, 
 Lulled in these flowers witn dances and delight ; 
 And there the snake throws her enamell'd skin, 
 Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in : 
 And with the juice of this I '11 streak her eyes, 
 And make her full of hateful fantasies. 
 Take thou some of it, and seek through thisgrove: 
 A sweet Athenian lady is in love 
 With a disdainful youth : anoint his eyes ; 
 But do it when the next thing he espies 
 May be the lady : thou shalt know the man 
 By the Athenian garments he hath on. 
 Effect it with some care, that he may prove 
 More lond on her than she upon her love : 
 And look thou meet me ere the first cock crow. 
 
 Puck. Fear not, my lord, your servant shall 
 do so. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. Another part of the Wood. 
 
 Enter TlTANlA, -with her Train. 
 Tita. Come, now a roundel and a fairy song ; 
 Then, for the third part of a minute, hence ; 
 Some to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds ; 
 Some war with rere -mice for their leathern wings, 
 To make my small elves coats ; and some keep 
 back [wonders 
 
 The clamorous owl, that nightly hoots and 
 At our quaint spirits. Sing me now asleep ; 
 Then to your offices, and let me rest. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 i. 
 I Fat. You spotted snakes, with double tongue, 
 
 Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen ; 
 Newts and blind-worms do no wrong ; 
 Come not near our fairy queen : 
 
174 
 
 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 tence 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Philomel, with melody, 
 Sing in our sweet lullaby : 
 Lulla, lulla, lullaby ; lulla, lulla, lullaby : 
 Never harm, nor spell, nor charm, 
 Come our lovely lady nigh ; 
 So, good-night, witu lullaby; 
 
 II. 
 ! Fai. Weaving spiders, come not here ; 
 
 Hence, you long-legg'd spinners, hi 
 Beetles black, approach not near ; 
 Worm nor snail do no offence. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Philomel, with melody, &c. 
 
 I Fai. Hence, away ; now all is well : 
 One, aloof, stand sentinel. 
 
 [Exeunt Fairies. TITANIA sleeps. 
 
 Enter OBERON. 
 
 Obe. What thou seest, when thou dost wake, 
 [Squeezes the flower on TITANIA'S eyelids. 
 Do it for thy true-love take ; 
 Love and languish for his sake ; 
 Be it ounce, or cat, or bear, 
 Pard, or boar with bristled hair, 
 In thy eye that shall appear 
 When thou wak'st, it is thy dear ; 
 Wake when some vile thing is near. \_Exit. 
 
 Enter LYSANDER and HERMIA. 
 
 Lys. Fair love, you faint with wandering in 
 the wood ; 
 
 And, to speak troth, I have forgot our way ; 
 We '11 rest us, Hermia, if you think it good, 
 
 And tarry for the comfort of the day. 
 
 Her. Be it so, Lysander : find you out a bed, 
 For I upon this bank will rest my head. 
 
 Lys. One turf shall serve as pillow for us both; 
 One heart, one bed, two bosoms, and one troth. 
 
 Her. Nay, good Lysander ; for my sake, my 
 
 dear, 
 Lie farther off yet, do not lie so near. 
 
 Lys. O, take the sense, sweet, of my innocence; 
 Love takes the meaning in love's conference. 
 I mean, that my heart unto yours is knit ; 
 So that but one heart we can make of it : 
 Two bosoms interchained with an oath ; 
 So then two bosoms and a single troth. 
 Then by your side no bed-room me deny ; 
 For lying so, Hermia, I do not lie. 
 
 Her. Lysander riddles very prettily : 
 Now much beshrew my manners and my pride 
 If Hermia meant to say Lysander lied. 
 But, gentle friend, for love and courtesy 
 Lie farther off; in human modesty, 
 Such separation as may well be said 
 
 Becomes a virtuous bachelor and a maid : 
 
 So far be distant ; and, good night, sweet friend: 
 
 Thy love ne'er alter till thy sweet life end ! 
 
 Lys. Amen, amen, to that fair prayer, say I; 
 And then end life when I end loyalty ! 
 Here is my bed : Sleep give thee all his rest ! 
 
 Her. With half that wish the wisher's eyes be 
 pressed! \Theysleep. 
 
 Enter PUCK. 
 
 I)fiA 
 
 Puck. Through the forest have I gone, 
 But Athenian found I none, 
 On whose eyes I might approve 
 This flower's force in stirring love. 
 Night and silence ! who is here ? 
 Weeds of Athens he doth wear : 
 This is he, my master said, 
 Despised the Athenian maid ; 
 And here the maiden, sleeping sound, 
 On the dank and dirty ground. 
 Pretty soul ! she durst not lie 
 Near this lack-love, this kill-courtesy 
 Churl, upon thy eyes I throw 
 All the power this charm doth owe ; 
 When thou wak'st let love forbid 
 Sleep his seat on thy eyelid : 
 So awake when I am gone ; 
 For I must now to Oberon. \Exit. 
 
 Enter DEMETRIUS and HELENA, running. 
 
 Hel. Stay, though thou kill me, sweet Deme- 
 trius. 
 
 Dem. I charge thee, hence, and do not haunt 
 me thus. 
 
 HeL O, wilt thou darkling leave me? donotso. 
 
 Dem. Stay on thy peril ; I alone will go. 
 
 \Exit DEMETRIUS. 
 
 Hel. O, I am out 01 breath in this fond chase ! 
 The more my prayer the lesser is my grace. 
 Happy is Hermia, wheresoe'er she lies, 
 For she hath blessed and attractive eyes. 
 How came her eyes so bright ? Not with salt tears: 
 If so, my eyes are oftener wash'd than hers. 
 No, no, I am as ugly as a bear ; 
 For beasts that meet me run away for fear : 
 Therefore no marvel though Demetrius 
 Do, as a monster, fly my presence thus. 
 What wicked and dissembling glass of mine 
 Made me com pare with Hermia's sphery eyne ? 
 But who is here ? Lysander ! on the ground ! 
 Dead? or asleep? I see no blood, no wound. 
 Lysander, if you live, good sir, awake. 
 
 Lys. And run through fire I will for thy sweet 
 
 sake. [ Waking. 
 
 Transparent Helena ! Nature here shows art, 
 
 That through thy bosom makes me see thy heart. 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 A MIDSUMMER NIGHrS DREAM. 
 
 '75 
 
 Where is Demetrius ? O, how fit a word 
 Is that vile name to perish on my sword ! 
 
 Hel. Do not say so, Lysander ; say not so : 
 What though he love your Hermia? Lord, 
 
 what though ? 
 Yet Hermia still loves you : then be content. 
 
 Lys. Content with Hermia? No : I do repent 
 The tedious minutes I with her have spent. 
 Not Hermia but Helena I love : 
 Who will not change a raven for a dove ? 
 The will of man is by his reason sway'd ; 
 And reason says you are the worthier maid. 
 Things growing are not ripe until their season ; 
 So I, being young, till now ripe not to reason ; 
 And touching now the point of human skill, 
 Reason becomes the marshal to my will, 
 And leads me to your eyes, where I o'erlook 
 Love's stories, written in love's richest book. 
 Hel. Wherefore was I to this keen mockery 
 
 born ? 
 
 When at your hands did I deserve this scorn ? 
 Is 't not enough, is 't not enough, young man, 
 That I did never, no, nor never can 
 Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye, 
 But you must flout my insufficiency ? 
 Good troth, you do me wrong, good sooth, 
 
 you do 
 
 In such disdainful manner me to woo. 
 But fare you well : perforce I must confess, 
 I thought you lord of more true gentleness. 
 O, that a lady of one man refus'd, 
 Should of another therefore be abus'd ! [Exit. 
 Lys. She sees not Hermia : Hermia, sleep 
 
 thou there ; 
 
 And never mayst thou come Lysander near ! 
 For, as a surfeit of the sweetest things 
 The deepest loathing to the stomach brings ; 
 Or, as the heresies that men do leave 
 Are hated most of those they did deceive ; 
 So thou, my surfeit and my heresy, 
 Of all be hated, but the most of me ! 
 And, all my powers, address your love and might 
 To honour Helen, and to be her knight ! [Exit. 
 Her. [Starting.'} Help me, Lysander, help 
 
 me! do thy best 
 
 To pluck this crawling serpent from my breast ! 
 Ah me, for pity ! what a dream was here ! 
 Lysander, look how I do quake with fear ! 
 Methought a serpent eat my heart away, 
 And you sat smiling at his cruel prey. 
 Lysander ! what, removed ? Lysander ! lord ! 
 What, out of hearing? gone? no sound, no word? 
 Alack, where are you? speak, an if you hear ; 
 Speak, of all loves ! I swoon almost with fear. 
 No ? then I well perceive you are not nigh : 
 Either death or you 1 3 11 find immediately. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. The Wood. The Queen of Fairies 
 lying asleep. 
 
 Enter QUINCE, SNUG, BOTTOM, FLUTE, 
 SNOUT, and STARVELING. 
 
 Bot. Are we all met ? 
 
 Qttin. Pat, pat ; and here s a marvellous con- 
 venient place for our rehearsal. This green plot 
 shall be our stage, this hawthorn brake our 
 tiring-house ; and we will do it in action, as we 
 will do it before the duke. 
 
 Bot. Peter Quince, 
 
 Quin. What say'st thou, bully Bottom ? 
 
 Bot. There are things in this comedy of Pyra* 
 mus and Thisby that will never please. First, 
 Pyramus must draw a sword to kill himself; 
 which the ladies cannot abide. How answer 
 you that? 
 
 Snout. By'r lakin, a parlous fear. 
 
 Star. I believe you must leave the killing out, 
 when all is done. 
 
 Bot. Not a whit : I have a device to make all 
 well. Write me a prologue ; and let the pro- 
 logue seem to say, we will do no harm with our 
 swords, and that Pyramus is not killed indeed : 
 and for the more better assurance, tell them 
 that I Pyramus am not Pyramus, but Bottom 
 the weaver : this will put them out of fear. 
 
 Quin. Well, we will have such a prologue ; 
 and it shall be written in eight and six. 
 
 Bot. No, make it two more ; let it be written 
 in eight and eight. 
 
 Snozit. Will not the ladies be afeard of the 
 lion? 
 
 Star. I fear it, I promise you. 
 
 Bot. Masters, you ought to consider with 
 yourselves : to bring in, God shield us ! a lion 
 among ladies is a most dreadful thing : for there 
 is not a more fearful wild-fowl than your lion 
 living ; and we ought to look to it. 
 
 Snout. Therefore another prologue must tell 
 he is not a lion. 
 
 Bot. Nay, you must name his name, and half 
 his face must be seen through the lion's neck ; 
 and he himself must speak through, saying thus, 
 or to the same defect, "Ladies," or " Fair 
 Ladies ! I would wish you, or, I would request 
 you, or, I would entreat you, not to fear, not 
 to tremble : my life for yours. If you think I 
 come hither as a lion, it were pity of my life. 
 No, I am no such thing ; I am a man as other 
 men are : " and there, indeed, let him name 
 his name, and tell them plainly he is Snug the 
 joiner. 
 
 Quin. Well, it shall be so. But there is two 
 
176 
 
 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 hard things ; that is, to bring the moonlight into 
 a chamber: for, you know, Pyramus and Thisby 
 meet by moonlight. 
 
 Snug. Doth the moon shine that night we 
 play our play ? 
 
 Bot. A calendar, a calendar ! look in the 
 almanack ; find out moonshine, find out moon- 
 shine. 
 
 Quin. Yes, it doth shine that night 
 
 Bot. Why, then you may leave a casement 
 of the great chamber-window, where we play, 
 open ; and the moon may shine in at the case- 
 ment. 
 
 Quin. Ay ; or else one must come in with a 
 bush of thorns and a lantern, and say he comes 
 to disfigure or to present the person of moon- 
 shine. Then there is another thing : we must 
 have a wall in the great chamber ; for Pyramus 
 and Thisby, says the story, did talk through the 
 chink of a wall. 
 
 Snug. You never can bring in a wall. What 
 say you, Bottom ? 
 
 Bot. Some man or other must present wall : 
 and let him have some plaster, or some loam, 
 or some rough-cast about him, to signify wall ; 
 or let him hold his fingers thus, and through 
 that cranny shall Pyramus and Thisby whisper. 
 
 Quin. If that may be, then all is well. Come, 
 sit down, every mother's son, and rehearse your 
 parts, Pyramus, you begin : when you have 
 spoken your speech, enter into that brake ; and 
 so every one according to his cue. 
 
 Ji rJ, ;.^>'W , r . , .cVt 
 Enter PUCK behind. 
 
 Puck. What hempenhomespunshave we swag- 
 gering here, 
 
 So near the cradle of the fairy queen ? 
 What, a play toward ! I '11 be an auditor j 
 An actor too, perhaps, if I see cause. 
 
 Quin. Speak, Pyramus. Thisby, stand forth. 
 
 Pyr* Thisby) the flowers of odious savours 
 sweety 
 
 Quin. Odours, odours. 
 
 Pyr. odours savours sweet : 
 
 So doth thy breathy my dearest Thisby dear. 
 Bttt harky a voice / stay thou but here awhile^ 
 
 And by and by I will to thee appear. [Exit. 
 
 Puck. A stranger Pyramus than e'er played 
 here ! [Aside. Exit. 
 
 This. Must I speak now ? 
 
 Quin. Ay, marry, must you : for you must 
 understand he goes but to see a noise that he 
 heard, and is to come again. 
 
 This. Most radiant Pyramus ', most lily white 
 of hue, 
 
 Of colour like the red rose on triumphant brier, 
 Most brisky Juvenal^ and eke most lovely Jew, 
 
 As true as truest horsey that yet would never 
 
 tire, 
 /'// meet 1hee t Pyramus , at Ninny 's tomb. 
 
 Quin. Ninus 3 tomb, man : why, you must 
 not speak that yet : that you answer to Pyramus. 
 You speak all your part at once, cues and all. 
 Pyramus enter : your cue is past ; it is, never 
 tire. 
 
 J?e-enterP\JCK,atid'BoTTOM. with anass'shead. 
 This. O, As true as truest horse, that yet 
 
 would never tire. 
 Pyr. If I were fairy Thisby , / were only 
 
 thine : 
 
 Quin. O monstrous ! O strange ! we are 
 
 haunted. Pray, masters ! fly, masters ! Help ! 
 
 [Exeunt Clowns. 
 
 Puck. I '11 follow you ; I '11 lead you about a 
 round, [through brier ; 
 
 Through bog, through bush, through brake, 
 Sometime a horse I '11 be, sometime a hound, 
 
 A hog, a headless bear, sometime a fire ; 
 And neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, and 
 
 burn, 
 
 Like horse, hound, hog, bear, fire, at every turn. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Bot. Why do they run away? this is a knavery 
 of them to make me afeard. 
 
 -lyff uov 
 
 Re-enter SNOUT,,: . 
 
 Snout. O Bottom, thou art changed ! what 
 do I see on thee ? 
 
 Bot. What do you see ? you see an ass-head 
 of your own, do you ? 
 
 t ... , jjjytfj fo-l/i 
 
 Re-enter QUINCE. 
 
 Quin. Bless thee, Bottom ! bless thee! thou 
 art translated. [Exit. 
 
 Bot. I see their knavery; this is to make 
 an ass of me ; to fright me, if they could. But 
 I will not stir from this place, do what they can : 
 I will walk up and down here, and I will sing, 
 that they shall hear I am not afraid. [Singst 
 
 The ousel-cock, so black of hue, 
 
 With orange-tawny bill, 
 The throstle with bis note so true, 
 
 The wren with Httle quilt 
 
 Tita. What angel wakes me from my flowery 
 bed? [Waking* 
 
 Bot. The finch, the sparrow, and the lark, 
 
 The plain-song cuckoo gray, 
 Whose note full many a man doth mark. 
 And dares not answer nay ; 
 
 for, indeed, who would set his wit to so fool- 
 ish a bird? who would give a bird the lie, though 
 he cry cuckoo never so ? 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 177 
 
 Tito. I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again : 
 Mine ear is much enamour'd of thy note. 
 So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape ; [me, 
 And thy fair virtue's force perforce doth move 
 On the first view, to say, to swear, I love thee. 
 
 Bot. Methinks, mistress, you should have 
 little reason for that : and yet, to say the truth, 
 reason and love keep little company together 
 now-a-days : the more the pity that some honest 
 neighbours will not make them friends. Nay, 
 I can gleek upon occasion. 
 
 Tito. Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful. 
 
 Bot. Not so, neither : but if I had wit enough 
 to get out of this wood, I have enough to serve 
 mine own turn. 
 
 Tito,. Out of this wood do not desire to go ; 
 Thou shalt remain here whether thou wilt or no. 
 I am a spirit of no common rate, 
 The summer still doth tend upon my state ; 
 And I do love thee : therefore, go with me, 
 I '11 give thee fairies to attend on thee ; 
 And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep, 
 And sing, while thou on pressed flowers dost 
 
 sleep : 
 
 And I will purge thy mortal grossneos so 
 That thou shalt like an airy spirit go. 
 Peasblossom ! Cobweb ! Moth ! and Mustard- 
 seed ! 
 
 Enter Four Fairies. 
 
 1 Fai. Ready. 
 
 2 Fai. And I. 
 
 3 Fai. And I. 
 
 4 Fai. Where shah we go? 
 Tito. Be kind and courteous to this gentle- 
 man ; 
 
 Hop in his walks and gambol in his eyes ; 
 Feed him with apricocks and dewberries, 
 With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries ; 
 The honey bags steal from the humble-bees, 
 And, for night-tapers, crop their waxen thighs, 
 And light them at the fiery glow-worm's eyes, 
 To have my love to bed and to arise ; 
 And pluck the wings from painted butterflies, 
 To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes : 
 Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies. 
 
 1 Fai. Hail, mortal ! 
 
 2 Fai. Hail ! 
 
 3 Fai. Hail ! 
 
 4 Fai. Hail ! 
 
 Bot. I cry your worship's mercy heartily. I 
 beseech your worship's name. 
 
 Cob. Cobweb. 
 
 Bot. I shall desire you of more acquaintance, 
 good Master Cobweb. If I cut my finger I 
 shall make bold with you. Your name, honest 
 gentleman ? 
 
 Peas. Peasblossom. 
 
 Bot. 1 pray you, commend me to Mistress 
 Squash, your mother, and to Master Peascod, 
 your father. Good Master Peasblossom, I shall 
 desire you of more acquaintance too. Your 
 name, I beseech you, sir ? 
 
 Mus. Mustardseed. 
 
 Bot. Good Master Mustardseed, I know your 
 patience well : that same cowardly giant-like 
 ox-beef hath devoured many a gentleman of 
 your house : I promise you, your kindred hath 
 made my eyes water ere now. I desire you 
 more acquaintance, good Master Mustardseed. 
 
 Tita. Come, wait upon him ; lead him to my 
 bower. 
 
 The moon, methinks, looks with a watery eye ; 
 And when she weeps, weeps every little flower, 
 
 Lamenting some enforced chastity. 
 
 Tie up my love's tongue, bring him silently. 
 
 {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. Another part of 'the Wood. 
 
 <*j ttr** --\ ^Tit -^ iiTT / -vipj *-"*'f te i t T : ffr rf ** "W/H 
 
 Enter OBERON. 
 
 Obe. I wonder if Titania be awak'd ; 
 Then what it was that next came in her eye, 
 Which she must dote on in extremity. 
 
 : sin c-J wl fA 
 Enter PUCK. 
 
 Here comes my messenger. How now, mad 
 
 spirit ? 
 
 What night-rule now about this haunted grove? 
 Puck. My mistress with a monster is in love. 
 Near to her close and consecrated bower, 
 While she 'was in her dull and sleeping hour, 
 A crew of patches, rude mechanicals, 
 That work for bread upon Athenian stalls, 
 Were met together to rehearse a play 
 Intended for great Theseus' nuptial day. 
 The shallowest thickskin of that barren sort 
 Who Pyramus presented in their sport, 
 Forsook his scene and enter'd in a brake ; 
 When I did him at this advantage take, 
 An ass's nowl I fixed on his head ; 
 Anon, his Thisbe must be answered, [spy, 
 And forth my mimic comes. When they him 
 As wild geese that the creeping fowler eye, 
 Or russet-pated choughs, many in sort, 
 Rising and cawing at the gun's report, 
 Sever themselves, and madly sweep the sky, 
 So at his sight away his fellows fly : 
 And at our stamp here o'er and o'er one falls ; 
 He murder cries, and help from Athens calls. 
 Their sense, thus weak, lost with their fears, 
 
 thus strong, 
 
 Made senseless things begin to do them wrong ? 
 For briers and tboms at their apparel snatch ; 
 
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Some sleeves, some hats : from yielders all 
 
 things catch. 
 
 I led them on in this distracted fear, 
 And left sweet Pyramus translated there : 
 When in that moment, so it came to pass, 
 Titania wak'd, and straightway lov'd an ass. 
 
 Obe. This fails out better than I could devise. 
 But hast thou yet latch'd the Athenian's eyes 
 With the love-juice, as I did bid thee do ? 
 
 Puck. I took him sleeping, that is finish'd 
 
 too, 
 
 And the Athenian woman by his side ; 
 That, when he wak'd, of force she must be ey'd. 
 
 Enter DEMETRIUS and HERMIA. 
 Obe. Stand close ; this is the same Athenian. 
 Puck. This is the woman, but not this the 
 man. [so ? 
 
 Dem. O, why rebuke you him that loves you 
 Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe. 
 Her. Now I but chide, but I should use thee 
 
 worse; 
 
 For thou, I fear, hast given me cause to curse. 
 If thou hast slain Lysander in his sleep, 
 Being o'er shoes in blood, plunge in the deep, 
 And kill me too. 
 
 The sun was not so true unto the day 
 As he to me : would he have stol'n away 
 From sleeping Hermia ? I '11 believe as soon 
 This whole earth may be bor'd ; and that the 
 
 moon 
 
 May through the centre creep, and so displease 
 Her brother's noontide with the antipodes. 
 It cannot be but thou hast murder'd him ; 
 So should a murderer look ; so dead, so grim. 
 Dem. So should the murder'd look ; and so 
 
 should I, 
 Pierc'd through the heart with your stern 
 
 cruelty : 
 
 Yet you, the murderer, look as bright, as clear, 
 As yonder Venus in her glimmering sphere. 
 Her. What 's this to my Lysander ? where 
 
 is he? 
 
 Ah, good Demetrius, wilt thou give him me ? 
 Dem. I had rather give his carcass to my 
 
 hounds. 
 
 Her. Out, dog ! out, cur ! thou driv'st me 
 past the bounds [then? 
 
 Of maiden's patience. Hast thou slain him, 
 Henceforth be never number'd among men ! 
 Oh ! once tell true, tell true, even for my sake ; 
 Durst thou have look'd upon him, being awake, 
 And hast thou kill'd him sleeping ? O brave 
 
 touch ! 
 
 Could not a worm, an adder, do so much ? 
 An adder did it ; for with doubler tongue 
 Than thine, thou serpent, never adder stung. 
 
 Dem. You spend your passion on a mispris'd 
 
 mood : 
 
 I am not guilty of Lysander's blood ; 
 Nor is he dead, for aught that I can tell. 
 Her. I pray thee, tell me, then, that he is well. 
 Dem. An if I could, what should I get there- 
 fore ? 
 
 Her. A privilege never to see me more. 
 And from thy hated presence part I so : 
 See me no more whether he be dead or no. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Dem. There is no following her in this fierce 
 
 vein : 
 
 Here, therefore, for awhile I will remain. 
 So sorrow's heaviness doth heavier grow 
 For debt that bankrupt sleep doth sorrow owe ; 
 Which now in some light measure it will pay, 
 If for his tender here I make some stay. 
 
 [Lies down. 
 
 Obe. What hast thou done ? thou hast mis- 
 taken quite, [sight : 
 And laid the love- juice on some true-love's 
 Of thy misprision must perforce ensue 
 Some true-love turn'd, and not a false turn'd 
 true. [holding troth, 
 Puck. Then fate o'er-rules, that, one man 
 A million fail, confounding oath on oath. 
 Obe. About the wood go, swifter than the 
 
 wind, 
 
 And Helena of Athens look thou find : 
 All fancy-sick she is, and pale of cheer, 
 With sighs of love, that cost the fresh blood 
 
 dear. 
 
 By some illusion see thou bring her here ; 
 I '11 charm his eyes against she do appear. 
 
 Puck. I go, I go ; look how I go, 
 Swifter than arrow from the Tartar's bow. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Obe. Flower of this purple dye, 
 Hit with Cupid's archery, 
 Sink in apple of his eye ! 
 When his love he doth espy, 
 Let her shine as gloriously 
 As the Venus of the sky. 
 When thou wak'st, if she be by, 
 Beg of her for remedy. 
 
 _ rn.JisH .ft. l 
 Re-enter PUCK. 
 
 Puck. Captain of our fairy band, 
 
 Helena is here at hand, 
 
 And the youth mistook by me 
 
 Pleading for a lover's fee ; 
 
 Shall we their fond pageant see ? 
 
 Lord, what fools these mortals be .' 
 Obe. Stand aside : the noise they make 
 
 Will cause Demetrius to awake. 
 Puck. Then will two at once woo one, 
 
SCENE II. j 
 
 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 179 
 
 That must needs be sport alone ; 
 And those things do best please me 
 That befall preposterously. 
 
 Enter LYSANDER and HELENA. 
 
 Lys. Why should you think that I should 
 woo in scorn ? 
 
 Scorn and derision never come in tears. 
 Look, when I vow, I weep ; and vows so born, 
 
 In their nativity all truth appears. 
 How can these things in me seem scorn to you, 
 Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true? 
 
 Hel. You do advance your cunning more 
 and more. 
 
 When truth kills truth, O devilish-holy fray ! 
 These vows are Hermia's : will you give her 
 o'er? 
 
 Weigh oath with oath and you will nothing 
 
 weigh : 
 
 Your vows to her and me, put in two scales, 
 Will even weigh ; and both as light as tales. 
 
 Lys. I had no judgment when to her I swore. 
 
 HeL Nor none, in my mind, now you give 
 her o'er. [you. 
 
 Lys. Demetrius loves her, and he loves not 
 
 Dem. [Awaking.] O Helen, goddess, nymph, 
 
 perfect, divine ! 
 
 To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne? 
 Crystal is muddy. O, how ripe in show 
 Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow ! 
 That pure congealed white, high Taurus' snow, 
 Fann'd with the eastern wind, turns to a crow 
 When thou hold'st up thy hand : O let me kiss 
 This princess of pure white, this seal of bliss ! 
 
 HeL O spite ! O hell ! I see you all are bent 
 To set against me for your merriment. 
 If you were civil, and knew courtesy, 
 You would not do me thus much injury. 
 Can you not hate me, as I know you do, 
 But you must join in souls to mock me too ? 
 If you were men, as men you are in show, 
 You would not use a gentle lady so; 
 To vow, and swear, and superpraise my parts, 
 When I am sure you hate me with your hearts. 
 You both are rivals, and love Hermia ; 
 And now both rivals, to mock Helena : 
 A trim exploit, a manly enterprise, 
 To conjure tears up in a poor maid's eyes 
 With your derision ! None of noble sort 
 Would so offend a virgin, and extort 
 A poor soul's patience, all to make you sport. 
 
 Lys. You are unkind, Demetrius ; be not so ; 
 For you love Hermia : this you know I know : 
 And here, with all good will, with all my heart, 
 In Hermia's love I yield you up my part ; 
 And yours of Helena to me bequeath, 
 Whom I do love, and will do to my death. 
 
 Hel. Never did mockers waste more idle 
 breath. [none : 
 
 Dem. Lysander, keep thy Hermia ; I will 
 If e'er I lov'd her, all that love is gone. 
 My heart with her but as guest-wise sojourn'd ; 
 And now to Helen is it home return'd, 
 There to remain. 
 
 Lys. Helen, it is not so. 
 
 Dem. Disparage not the faith thou dost not 
 
 know, 
 
 Lest, to thy peril, thou aby it dear. 
 Look where thy love comes ; yonder is thy dear. 
 
 Enter HERMIA. 
 
 Her. Dark night, that from the eye his func- 
 tion takes, 
 
 The ear more quick of apprehension makes ; 
 Wherein it doth impair the seeing sense, 
 It pays the hearing double recompense : 
 Thou art not by mine eye, Lysander, found ; 
 Mine ear, I thank it, brought me to thy sound. 
 But why unkindly didst thou leave me so ? 
 
 Lys. Why should he stay whom love doth 
 press to go ? 
 
 Her. What love could press Lysander from 
 my side ? [bide, 
 
 Lys. Lysander's love, that would not let him 
 Fair Helena, who more engilds the night 
 Than all yon fiery oes and eyes of light. 
 Why seek'st thou me? could not this make 
 
 thee know 
 The hate I bare thee made me leave thee so? 
 
 Her. You speak not as you think ; it cannot 
 be. 
 
 Hel. Lo, she is one of this confederacy ! 
 Now I perceive they have conjoin'd all three 
 To fashion this false sport in spite of me. 
 Injurious Hermia ! most ungrateful maid ! 
 Have you conspir'd, have you with these con- 
 
 triv'd 
 
 To bait me with this foul derision ? 
 Is all the counsel that we two have shar'd, 
 The sisters' vows, the hours that we have spent, 
 When we have chid the hasty-footed time 
 For parting us, O, is all forgot ? 
 All school -days' friendship, childhood innocence? 
 We, Hermia, like two artificial gods, 
 Have with our neelds created both one flower, 
 Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion, 
 Both warbling of one song, both in one key ; 
 As if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds 
 Had been incorporate. So we grew together, 
 Like to a double cherry, seeming parted ; 
 But yet a union in partition, 
 Two lovely berries moulded on one stem : 
 So, with two seeming bodies, but one heart, 
 Two of the first, like coats in heraldry, 
 
i8o 
 
 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Due but to one, and crowned with one crest. 
 And will you rent our ancient love asunder, 
 To join with men in scorning your poor friend? 
 It is not friendly, 'tis not maidenly : 
 Our sex, as well as I, may chide you for it, 
 Though I alone do feel the injury. 
 
 Her. I am amazed at your passionate words : 
 I scorn you not ; it seems that you scorn me. 
 
 Hel. Have you not sent Lysander, as in scorn, 
 To follow me, and praise my eyes and face ? 
 And made your other love, Demetrius, 
 Who even but now did spurn me with his foot, 
 To call me goddess, nymph, divine, and rare, 
 Precious, celestial ? Wherefore speaks he this 
 To her he hates ? and wherefore doth Lysander 
 Deny your love, so rich within his soul, 
 And tender me, forsooth, affection, 
 But by your setting on, by your consent ? 
 What though I be not so in grace as you, 
 So hung upon with love, so fortunate ; 
 But miserable most, to love unlov'd ? 
 This you should pity, rather than despise. 
 
 Her. I understand not what you mean by 
 this. 
 
 Hel. Ay, do persever, counterfeit sad looks, 
 Make mows upon me when I turn my back ; 
 Wink at each other ; hold the sweet jest up : 
 This sport, well carried, shall be chronicled. 
 If you have any pity, grace, or manners, 
 You would not make me such an argument. 
 But, fare ye well : 'tis partly mine own fault ; 
 Which death, or absence, soon shall remedy. 
 
 Lys. Stay, gentle Helena ; hear my excuse ; 
 My love, my life, my soul, fair Helena ! 
 
 Hel. O excellent ! 
 
 Her. Sweet, do not scorn her so. 
 
 Dem. If she cannot entreat, I can compel. 
 
 Lys. Thou canst compel no more than she 
 
 entreat ; 
 Thy threats have no more strength than her 
 
 weak prayers. 
 
 Helen, I love thee ; by my life I do ; 
 I swear by that which I will lose for thee 
 To prove him false that says I love thee not. 
 
 Dem. I say I love thee more than he can do. 
 
 Lys. If thou say so, withdraw, and prove it 
 too. 
 
 Dem. Quick, come, 
 
 Her. Lysander, whereto tends all this ? 
 
 Lys. Away, you Ethiope ! 
 
 Dem. No, no, sir : he will 
 
 Seem to break loose ; take on as you would 
 
 follow : 
 But yet come not. You are a tame man ; go ! 
 
 Lys. Hang off, thou cat, thou burr: vile 
 
 thing, let loose, 
 Or I will shake thee from me like a serpent. 
 
 Her. Why are you grown so rude? what 
 
 change is this, 
 Sweet love? 
 
 Lys. Thy love ? out, tawny Tartar, out ! 
 Out, loath'd medicine ! hated potion, hence ! 
 
 Her. Do you not jest? 
 
 Hel. Yes, 'sooth ; and so do you. 
 
 Lys. Demetrius, I will keep my word with 
 thee. 
 
 Dem. I would I had your bond ; for I perceive 
 
 A weak bond holds you ; I '11 not trust your 
 
 word. [kill her dead? 
 
 Lys. What ! should I hurt her, strike her, 
 Although I hate her I '11 not harm her so. 
 
 Her. What ! can you do me greater harm 
 than hate ? [love ? 
 
 Hate me ! wherefore ? O me ! what news, my 
 Am not I Hermia ? Are not you Lysander ? 
 I am as fair now as I was ere while, [left me : 
 Since night you lov'd me ; yet since night you 
 Why, then, you left me, O, the gods forbid ! 
 In earnest, shall I say ? 
 
 Lys. Ay, by my life ; 
 
 And never did desire to see thee more. 
 Therefore be out of hope, of question, doubt, 
 Be certain, nothing truer ; 'tis no jest 
 That I do hate thee and love Helena. 
 
 Her. O me ! you juggler ! you canker- 
 blossom ! [night, 
 You thief of love ! What ! have you come by 
 And stol'n my love's heart from him ? 
 
 Hel. Fine, i' faith J 
 
 Have you no modesty, no maiden shame, 
 No touch of bashfulness? What ! will you tear 
 Impatient answers from my gentle tongue ? 
 Fie, fie ! you counterfeit, you puppet, you ! 
 
 Her. Puppet ! why so ? Ay, that way goes 
 
 the game. 
 
 Now I perceive that she hath made compare 
 Between our statures ; she hath urg'd her height j 
 And with her personage, her tall personage, 
 Her height, forsooth, she hath prevail'd with 
 
 him. 
 
 And are you grown so high in his esteem 
 Because I am so dwarfish and so low ? 
 How low am I, thou painted maypole ? speak ; 
 How low am I ? I am not yet so low 
 But that my nails can reach unto thine eyes. 
 
 Hel. I pray you, though you mock me, gentle- 
 men, 
 
 Let her not hurt me. I was never curst ; 
 I have no gift at all in shrewishness ; 
 I am a right maid for my cowardice ; 
 Let her not strike me. You perhaps may think 
 Because she 's something lower than myself, 
 That I can match her. 
 
 Her. Lower 1 hark, again. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 A MIDSUMMER NIGHTS DREAM. 
 
 181 
 
 Bel. Good Hermia, do not be so bitter with me. 
 I evermore did love you, Hermia ; 
 Did ever keep your counsels ; never wrong' d you; 
 Save that, in love unto Demetrius, 
 I told him of your stealth unto this wood : 
 He follow'd you ; for love I follow'd him ; 
 But he hath chid me hence, and threaten'd me 
 To strike me, spurn me, nay, to kill me too : 
 And now, so you will let me quiet go, 
 To Athens will I bear my folly back, 
 And follow you no farther. Let me go-. 
 You see how simple and how fond I am. 
 
 Her. Why, get you gone : who is 't that hin- 
 ders you ? 
 
 Hel. A foolish heart that I leave here behind. 
 
 Her. What ! with Lysander ? 
 
 Hel. With Demetrius. 
 
 Lys. Be not afraid : she shall not harm thee, 
 Helena. 
 
 Dem. No, sir, she shall not, though you take 
 her part. 
 
 Hel. O, when she 's angry, she is keen and 
 
 shrewd : 
 
 She was a vixen when she went to school ; 
 And, though she be but little, she is fierce. 
 
 Her. Little again! nothing but low and little! 
 Why will you suffer her to flout me thus ? 
 Let me come to her. 
 
 Lys. Get you gone, you dwarf ; 
 
 You minimus, of hind'ring knot-grass made ; 
 You bead, you acorn. 
 
 Dem. You are too officious 
 
 In her behalf that scorns your services. 
 Let her alone : speak not of Helena ; 
 Take not her part ; for if thou dost intend 
 Never so little show of love to her, 
 Thou shalt aby it. 
 
 Lys. Now she holds me not ; 
 
 Now follow, if thou dar'st, to try whose right, 
 Or thine or mine, is most in Helena. 
 
 Dem. Follow 1 nay, I '11 go with thee, cheek 
 by jole. {Exeunt LYS. and DEM. 
 
 Her. You, mistress, all this coil is 'long of you: 
 Nay, go not back. 
 
 Hel. I will not trust you, I ; 
 
 Nor longer stay in your curst company. 
 Your hands than mine are quicker for a fray ; 
 My legs are longer though, to run away. 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 Her. I am amaz'd, and know not what to say. 
 [Exit, pursuing HELENA. 
 
 Obe. This is thy negligence : still thou mis- 
 
 tak'st, 
 Or else commit'st thy knaveries wilfully. 
 
 Puck. Believe me, king of shadows, I mistook. 
 Did not you tell me I should know the man 
 By the Athenian garments he had on ? 
 
 And so far blameless proves my enterprise, 
 That I have 'nointed an Athenian's eyes : 
 And so far am I glad it so did sort, 
 As this their jangling I esteem a sport. 
 
 Obe. Thou seest these lovers seek a place to 
 
 fight: 
 
 Hie therefore, Robin, overcast the night ; 
 The starry welkin cover thou anon 
 With drooping fog, as black as Acheron 
 And lead these testy rivals so astray, 
 As one come not within another's way. 
 Like to Lysander sometime frame thy tongue, 
 Then stir Demetrius up with bitter wrong ; 
 And sometime rail thou like Demetrius ; 
 And from each other look thou lead them thus, 
 Till o'er their brows death -counterfeiting sleep 
 With leaden legs and batty wings doth creep : 
 Then crush this herb into Lysandei's eye ; 
 Whose liquor hath this virtuous property, 
 To take from thence all error with his might, 
 And make his eyeballs roll with wonted sight 
 When they next wake, all this derision 
 Shall seem a dream and fruitless vision ; 
 And back to Athens shall the lovers wend, 
 With league whose date till death shall never end. 
 Whiles I in this affair do thee employ, 
 I '11 to my queen, and beg her Indian boy ; 
 And then I will her charmed eye release 
 From monster's view, and all things shall be 
 peace. 
 
 Puck. My fairy lord, this must be done with 
 
 haste, 
 
 For night's swift dragons cut the clouds full fast; 
 And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger, 
 At whose approach ghosts, wandering here and 
 
 there, 
 
 Troop home to churchyards : damned spirits all, 
 That in cross- ways and floods have burial, 
 Already to their wormy beds are gone ; 
 For fear lest day should look their shames upofc 
 They wilfully exile themselves from light, 
 And must for aye consort with black-brow'd 
 night. 
 
 Obe. But we are spirits of another sort ? 
 I with the morning's love have oft made sport ; 
 And, like a forester, the groves may tread 
 Even till the eastern gate, all fiery-red, 
 Opening on Neptune with fair blessed beams, 
 Turns into yellow gold his salt-green streams. 
 But, notwithstanding, haste ; make no delay : 
 We may effect this business yet ere day. 
 
 [Exit OBE. 
 
 Puck. Up and down, up and down ; 
 
 I will lead them up and down : 
 
 I am fear'd in field and town ; 
 
 Goblin, lead them up and down. 
 Here comes one. 
 
1 82 
 
 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 [ACT IV. 
 
 Enter LYSANDER. 
 
 Lys. Where art thou, proud Demetrius? speak 
 thou now. [art thou? 
 
 Puck. Here, villain ; drawn and ready. Where 
 Lys. I will be with thee straight. 
 Puck. Follow me, then, 
 
 To plainer ground. 
 
 [Exit LYS. as following the voice. 
 
 Enter DEMETRIUS. 
 
 Dem. Lysander ! speak again. 
 
 Thou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled ? 
 Speak. In some bush ? where dost thou hide 
 thy head ? [stars, 
 
 Puck. Thou coward, art thou bragging to the 
 Telling the bushes that thou look'st for wars, 
 And wilt not come ? Come, recreant ; come, 
 
 thou child ; 
 
 I '11 whip thee with a rod : he is defiled 
 That draws a sword on thee. 
 
 Dem. Yea, art thou there ? 
 
 Puck. Follow my voice ; we '11 try no man- 
 hood here. [Exeunt, 
 
 Re-enter LYSANDER. 
 
 Lys. He goes before me, and still dares me on; 
 When I come where he calls, then he is gone. 
 The villain is much lighter heeled than I : 
 I follow'd fast, but faster he did fly ; 
 That fallen am I in dark uneven way, 
 And here will rest me. Come, thou gentle day! 
 
 [Lies down. 
 
 For if but once thou show me thy gray light, 
 I '11 find Demetrius, and revenge this spite. 
 
 [Sleeps. 
 
 Re-enter PUCK and DEMETRIUS. 
 
 Puck. Ho, ho ! ho, ho ! Coward, why com'st 
 
 thou not ? 
 
 Dem. Abide me if thou dar'st ; for well I wot 
 Thou runn'st before me, shifting every place ; 
 And dar'st not stand, nor look me in the face. 
 Where art thou ? 
 
 Pttck. Come hither ; I am here. 
 
 Dem. Nay, then, thou mock'st me. Thou 
 
 shalt buy this dear, 
 If ever I thy face by daylight see : 
 Now, go thy way. Faintness constraineth me 
 To measure out my length on this cold bed. 
 By day's approach look to be visited. 
 
 [Lies down and sleeps. 
 
 Enter HELENA. 
 
 Hel. O weary night, O long and tedious night, 
 Abate thy hours ! Shine comforts from the east, 
 
 That I may back to Athens by daylight, 
 From these that my poor company detest : 
 And sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow's eye, 
 Steal me awhile from mine own company. 
 
 [Sleeps. 
 Puck. Yet but three ? Come one more ; 
 
 Two of both kinds makes up four. 
 
 Here she comes, curst and sad : 
 
 Cupid is a knavish lad, 
 
 Thus to make poor females mad. 
 
 Enter HERMIA. 
 
 Her. Never so weary, never so in woe, 
 Bedabbled with the dew, and torn with briers ; 
 I can no farther crawl, no farther go ; 
 
 My legs can keep no pace with my desires. 
 Here will I rest me till the break of day. 
 Heaven shield Lysander, if they mean a fray ! 
 
 [Lies down. 
 Puck. On the ground 
 Sleep sound : 
 I '11 apply 
 To your eye, 
 Gentle lover, remedy. 
 [Squeezing the juice on LYSANDER'S eye. 
 When thou wak'st, 
 Thou tak'st 
 True delight 
 In the sight 
 
 Of thy former lady's eye : 
 And the country proverb known, 
 That every man should take his own, 
 In your waking shall be shown : 
 Jack shall have Jill; 
 Nought shall go ill ; [be well. 
 The man shall have his mare again, and all shall 
 [Exit PUCK. DEM., HEL., &-V, sleep. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. The Wood. 
 
 Enter TITANIA and BOTTOM, Fairies attend- 
 ing ; OBERON behind, unseen. 
 
 Tita. Come, sit thee down upon this flowery 
 bed, 
 
 While I thy amiable cheeks do coy, 
 And stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth head, 
 
 And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy. 
 
 Bot. Where 's Peasblossom ? 
 
 Peas. Ready. 
 
 Bot. Scratch my head, Peasblossom. 
 Where 's Monsieur Cobweb ? 
 
 Cob. Ready. 
 
 Bot. Monsieur Cobweb ; good monsieur, get 
 your weapons in your hand and kill me a red-hip- 
 ped humble-bee on the top of a thistle; and, good 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 monsieur, bring me the honey- bag. Do not fret 
 yourself too much in the action, monsieur ; and, 
 good monsieur, have a care the honey-bag break 
 not ; I would be loath to have you over-flown 
 with a honey-bag, signior. Where's Monsieur 
 Mustardseed ? 
 
 Must. Ready. [seed. 
 
 Bot. Give me your neif, Monsieur Mustard- 
 Pray you, leave your courtesy, good monsieur. 
 
 Must. What 's your will ? 
 
 Bot. Nothing, good monsieur, but to help 
 Cavalero Cobweb to scratch. I must to the bar- 
 ber's, monsieur ; for methinks I am marvellous 
 hairy about the face : and I am such a tender ass, 
 if my hair do but tickle me I must scratch. 
 
 Tito. What, wilt thou hear some music, my 
 sweet love ? 
 
 Bot. I have a reasonable good ear in music ; 
 let us have the tongs and the bones. [eat. 
 
 Tit a. Or say, sweet love, what thou desir'st to 
 
 Bot. Truly, a peck of provender ; I could 
 munch your good dry oats. Methinks I have a 
 great desire to a bottle of hay : good hay, sweet 
 hay, hath no fellow. 
 
 Tita. I have a venturous fairy that shall seek 
 The squirrel's hoard, and fetch thee new nuts. 
 
 Bot. I had rather have a handful or two of 
 dried peas. But, I pray you, let none of your 
 people stir me ; I have an exposition of sleep 
 come upon me. [arms. 
 
 Tita. Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my 
 Fairies, be gone, and be all ways away. 
 So doth the woodbine the sweet honeysuckle 
 Gently en twist, the female ivy so 
 Enrings the barky fingers of the elm. 
 O, how I love thee ! how I dote on thee ! 
 
 [They sleep. 
 
 OBERON advances. Enter PUCK. 
 Obe. Welcome, good Robin. Seest thou this 
 
 sweet sight ? 
 
 Her dotage now I do begin to pity. 
 For, meeting her of late behind the wood, 
 Seeking sweet savours for this hateful fool, 
 I did upbraid her, and fall out with her : 
 For she his hairy temples then had rounded 
 With coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers ; 
 And that same dew, which sometime on the buds 
 Was wont to swell like round and orient pearls, 
 Stood now within the pretty fiow'rets' eyes, 
 Like tears that did their own disgrace bewail. 
 When I had, at my pleasure, taunted her, 
 And she, in mild terms, begg'd my patience, 
 I then did ask of her her changeling child ; 
 Which straight she gave me, and her fairy sent 
 To bear him to my bower in fairy-land. 
 And now I have the boy, I will undo 
 
 This hateful imperfection of her eyes. 
 And, gentle Puck, take this transformed scalp 
 From off the head of this Athenian swain ; 
 That he awaking when the other do, 
 May all to Athens back again repair, 
 And think no more of this night's accidents 
 But as the fierce vexation of a dream. 
 But first I will release the fairy queen. 
 Be as thou wast wont to be ; 
 
 [ Touching her eyes -with an herb. 
 See as thou wast wont to see : 
 Dian's bud o'er Cupid's flower 
 Hath such force and blessed power. 
 Now, my Titania ; wake you, my sweet queen. 
 Tita. My Oberon ! what visions have I seen ! 
 Methought I was enamour'd of an ass. 
 Obe. There lies your love. 
 Tita. How came these things to pass ? 
 
 O, how mine eyes do loathe his visage now ! 
 Obe. Silence awhile. Robin, take off this 
 
 head. 
 
 Titania, music call ; and strike more dead 
 Than common sleep, of all these five, the sense. 
 Tita. Music, ho ! music ; such as charmeth 
 
 sleep. 
 Puck. Now, when thou wak'st, with thine 
 
 own fool's eyes peep. 
 Obe. ound, music. [Still untsic.} Come, 
 
 my queen, take hands with me, 
 And rock the ground whereon these sleepers be. 
 Now thou and I are new in amity, 
 And will to-morrow midnight solemnly 
 Dance in Duke Theseus' house triumphantly, 
 And bless it to all fair posterity : 
 There shall the pairs of faithful lovers be 
 Wedded, with Theseus, all in jollity. 
 Puck. Fairy king, attend and mark ; 
 
 I do hear the morning lark. 
 Obe. Then, my queen, in silence sad, 
 Trip we after the night's shade : 
 We the globe can compass soon, 
 Swifter than the wand'ring moon. 
 Tita. Come, my lord ; and in our flight, 
 Tell me how it came this night 
 That I sleeping here was found, 
 With these mortals on the ground. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 [Horns sound within. 
 
 Enter THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, EGEUS, and 
 Train. 
 
 The. Go, one of you, find out the forester ; 
 For now our observation is perform'd ; 
 And since we have the vaward of the day, 
 My love shall hear the music of my hounds, 
 Uncouple in the western valley ; . go : 
 Despatch, I say, and find the forester. 
 
184 
 
 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 We will, fair queen, up to the mountain's top, 
 And mark the musical confusion 
 Of hounds and echo in conjunction. 
 
 Hip. I was with Hercules and Cadmus once, 
 When in a wood of Crete they bay'd the bear 
 With hounds of Sparta : never did I hear 
 Such gallant chiding ; for, besides the groves, 
 The skies, the fountains, every region near 
 Seem'd all one mutual cry : I never heard 
 So musical a discord, such sweet thunder. 
 The. My hounds are bred out of the Spartan 
 
 kind, 
 
 So flew'd, so sanded ; and their heads are hung 
 With ears that sweep away the morning dew ; 
 Crook-kneed and dew-lap'd like Thessalian 
 
 bulls ; 
 
 Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouth like bells, 
 Each under each. A cry more tuneable 
 Was never holla'd to, nor cheer'd with horn, 
 In Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly : 
 Judge when you hear. But, soft, what nymphs 
 are these ? [asleep ; 
 
 Ege. My lord, this is my daughter here 
 And this Lysander ; this Demetrius is ; 
 This Helena, old Nedar's Helena : 
 I wonder of their being here together. 
 
 The. No doubt, they rose up early to observe 
 The rite of May ; and, hearing our intent, 
 Came here in grace of our solemnity. 
 But speak, Egeus ; is not this the day 
 That Hermia should give answer of her choice? 
 Ege. It is, my lord. 
 The. Go, bid the huntsmen wake them with 
 
 their horns. 
 
 \Horns, and shout within. DEM., LYS., 
 
 HER., and HEL., awake and start tip. 
 
 The. Good-morrow, friends. Saint Valentine 
 
 is past ; 
 
 Begin these wood-birds but to couple now ? 
 Lys. Pardon, my lord. 
 
 \He and the rest kneel to THESEUS. 
 The. I pray you all, stand up. 
 
 I know you two are rival enemies ; 
 How comes this gentle concord in the world, 
 That hatred is so far from jealousy 
 To sleep by hate, and fear no enmity ? 
 
 Lys. My lord, I shall reply amazedly, 
 Half 'sleep, half waking: but as yet, I swear, 
 I cannot truly say how I came here : 
 But, as I think, for truly would I speak- 
 And now I do bethink me, so it is, 
 I came with Hermia hither : our intent [be 
 Was to be gone from Athens, where we might 
 Without the peril of the Athenian law. 
 Ege. Enough, enough, my lord; you have 
 
 enough ; 
 I beg the law", the law upon his head. 
 
 They would have stol'n away, they would, 
 
 Demetrius, 
 
 Thereby to have defeated you and me : 
 You of your wife, and me of my consent, 
 Of my consent that she should be your wife. 
 
 Dem. My lord, fair Helen told me of their 
 
 stealth, 
 
 Of this their purpose hither to this wood ; 
 And I in fury hither follow'd them, 
 Fair Helena in fancy following me. 
 But, my good lord, I wot not by what power, 
 But by some power it is,' my love to Hermia 
 Melted as doth the snow seems to me now 
 As the remembrance of an idle gawd 
 Which in my childhood I did dote upon : 
 And all the faith, the virtue of my heart, 
 The object and the pleasure of mine eye, 
 Is only Helena. To her, my lord, 
 Was I betroth'd ere I saw Hermia : 
 But, like in sickness, did I loathe this food ; 
 But, as in health, come to my natural taste, 
 Now do I wish it, love it, long for it, 
 And will for evermore be tiue to it. ,.;/,;> 
 
 The. Fair lovers, you arc fortunately met : 
 Of this discourse we more will hear anon. 
 Egeus, I will overbear your will ; 
 For in the temple, by and by with us, 
 These couples shall eternally be knit. 
 And, for the morning now is something worn, 
 Our purpos'd hunting shall be set aside. 
 Away with us to Athens three and three, 
 We '11 hold a feast in great solemnity. 
 Come, Hippolyta. 
 
 [Exeunt THE., HIP., EGE., and Train. 
 
 Dem. These things seem small and undistin- 
 
 guishable, 
 Like far-off mountains turned into clouds. 
 
 Her. Methinks I see these things with parted 
 
 eye, 
 When everything seems double. 
 
 Hel. So methinks : 
 
 And I have found Demetrius like a jewel. 
 Mine own, and not mine own. 
 
 Dem. It seems to me 
 
 That yet we sleep, we dream. Do you not 
 
 think 
 The duke was here, and bid us follow him ? 
 
 Her. Yea, and my father. 
 
 Hel. And Hippolyta. 
 
 Lys. And he did bid us follow to the temple. 
 
 Dem. Why, then, we are awake : let 's follow 
 
 him; 
 And by the way let us recount our dreams. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 As they go out, BOTTOM awa&es. 
 Bot. When my cue comes, call me, and I will 
 
SCENE 1 1. J 
 
 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 185 
 
 answer : my next is, Most fair Pyramus. 
 
 Heigh-ho ! Peter Quince ! Flute, the bellows- 
 mender! Snout, the tinker ! Starveling! God's 
 my life, stolen hence, and left me asleep ! I 
 have had a most rare vision. I have had a 
 dream past the wit of man to say what dream 
 it was. Man is but an ass if he go about to ex- 
 pound this dream. Methought 1 was there is 
 no man can tell what. Methought I was, and 
 methought I had, But man is but a patched 
 fool, if he will offer to say what methought I had. 
 The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man 
 hath not seen ; man's nand is not able to taste, 
 his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report 
 what my dream was. I will get Peter Quince 
 to write a ballad of this dream : it shall be called 
 Bottom's Dream, because it hath no bottom ; 
 and I will sing it in the latter end of a play, be- 
 fore the duke : peradventure, to make it the 
 more gracious, I shall sing it at her death. {Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. ATHENS. A Room in QUINCE'S 
 House. 
 
 Enter QUINCE, FLUTE, SNOUT, and STARVE- 
 LING. 
 
 Quin. Have you sent to Bottom's house ? is 
 he come home yet ? 
 
 Star. He cannot be heard of. Out of doubt, 
 he is transported. 
 
 Flu. If he come not, then the play is marred ; 
 it goes not forward, doth it ? 
 
 Quin. It is not possible : you have not a man 
 in all Athens able to discharge Pyramus but he. 
 
 Flu. No ; he hath simply the best wit of any 
 handicraft man in Athens. 
 
 Quin. Yea, and the best person too : and he 
 is a very paramour for a sweet voice. 
 
 Flu. You must say paragon : a paramour is, 
 God bless us, a thing of naught. 
 
 Enter SNUG. 
 
 Snug. Masters, the duke is coming from the 
 temple ; and there is two or three lords and 
 ladies more married : if our sport had gone for- 
 ward we had all been made men. 
 
 Flu. O sweet bully Bottom ! Thus hath he 
 lost sixpence a-day during his life ; he could not 
 have 'scaped sixpence a-day : an the duke had 
 not given him sixpence a-day for playing Pyra- 
 mus, I'll be hanged; he would have deserved 
 it : sixpence a-day in Pyramus, or nothing. 
 
 Enter BOTTOM. 
 
 Bot. Where are these lads ? where are these 
 hearts? 
 
 Quin. Bottom ! O most courageous day ! 
 O most happy hour 1 
 
 Bot. Masters, I am to discourse wonders: 
 but ask me not what ; for if I tell , ou, I am no 
 true Athenian. I will tell you everything, right 
 as it fell out. 
 
 Quin. Let us hear, sweet Bottom. 
 
 Bot. Not a word of me. All that I will tell 
 you is, that the duke hath dined. Get your 
 apparel together ; good strings to your beards, 
 new ribbons to your pumps ; meet presently at 
 the palace ; every man look over his part ; for, 
 the short and the long is, our play is preferred. 
 In any case, let Thisby have clean linen ; and 
 let not him that plays the lion pare his nails, for 
 they shall hang out for the lion's claws. And, 
 most dear actors, eat no onions nor garlick ; for 
 we are to utter sweet breath; and I do not 
 doubt but to hear them say it is a sweet comedy. 
 No more words : away ! go ; away ! \Exetmi. 
 
 navj 
 ACT V 
 
 SCENE I. ATHENS. An Apartment in the 
 Palace of THESEUS. 
 
 Entet THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, PHILOSTRATE, 
 Lords and Attendants. 
 
 Hip. 'Tis strange, my Theseus, that these 
 lovers speak of. 
 
 The. More strange than true. I never may 
 
 believe 
 
 These antique fables, nor these fairy toys. 
 Lovers and madmen have such seething brains, 
 Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend 
 More than cool reason ever comprehends. 
 The lunatic, the lover, and the poet 
 Are of imagination all compact : 
 One sees more devils than vast hell can hold ; 
 That is the madman : the lover, all as frantic^ 
 Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt : 
 The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, 
 Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth 
 
 to heaven, 
 
 And, as imagination bodies forth 
 The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen 
 Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing 
 A local habitation and a name. 
 Such tricks hath strong imagination, 
 That, if it would but apprehend some joy, 
 It comprehends some bringer of that joy ; 
 Or in the night, imagining some fear, 
 How easy is a bush supposed a bear ? 
 
 Hip. But all the story of the night told over. 
 And all their minds transfigur'd so together, 
 More witnessed! than fancy's images, 
 And grows to something of great constancy % 
 But, howsoever, Strange and admirable. 
 
1 86 
 
 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Enter LYSANDER, DEMETRIUS, HERMIA, and 
 
 HELENA. 
 
 - - 3t;iJ 
 
 The. Here comfc the lovers, full of joy and 
 
 mirth. 
 
 Joy, gentle friends ! joy and fresh days of love 
 Accompany your hearts ! 
 
 Ly S , More than to us 
 
 Wait on your royal walks, your board, your bed ! 
 
 The. Come now ; what masques, what dances 
 
 shall we have, 
 
 To wear away this long age of three hours 
 Between our after-supper and bed-time ? 
 Where is our usual manager of mirth ? 
 What revels are in hand ? Is there no play, 
 To ease the anguish of a torturing hour ? 
 Call Philostrate. 
 
 Philost. Here, mighty Theseus. 
 
 The. Say, what abridgment have you for this 
 
 evening ? 
 What masque? what music? How shall we 
 
 beguile 
 The lazy time, if not with some delight ? 
 
 Philost. There is a brief how many sports 
 
 are ripe ; 
 
 Make choice of which your highness will see 
 first. [Giving a paper. 
 
 The. [reads.'} The battle with the Centaurs, 
 to be siing 
 
 By an Athenian eunuch to the harp. 
 We '11 none of that : that I have told my love, 
 In glory of my kinsman Hercules. 
 
 The riot of the tipsy Bacchanals, 
 
 Tearing the Thracian singer in their rage. 
 That is an old device, and it was play'd 
 When I from Thebes came last a conqueror. 
 
 The thrice-three Muses mourning for the death 
 
 Of learning, late deceased in beggary * 
 That is some satire, keen and critical, 
 Not sorting with a nuptial ceremony. 
 
 A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus, 
 
 And his love Thisbe ; very tragical mirth. 
 Merry and tragical ! tedious and brief ! 
 That is, hot ice and wondrous strange snow. 
 How shall we find the concord of this discord ? 
 
 Philost. A play there is, my lord, some ten 
 
 words long, 
 
 Which is as brief as I have known a play ; 
 But by ten words, my lord, it is too long, 
 Which makes it tedious : for in all the play 
 There is not one word apt, one player fitted : 
 And tragical, my noble lord, it is ; 
 For Pyramus therein doth kill himself: 
 Which when I saw rehears'd, I must confess, 
 Made mine eyes water ; but more merry tears 
 The passion of loud laughter never shed. 
 
 The. What are they that do play it ? 
 
 Philost. Hard-handed men that work in 
 
 Athens here, 
 
 Which never labour'd in their minds till now ; 
 And now have toil'd their unbreath'd memories 
 With this same play against your nuptial. 
 
 The. And we will hear it. 
 
 Philost. No, my noble lord, 
 
 It is not for you : I have heard it over, 
 And it is nothing, nothing in the world ; 
 Unless you can find sport in their intents, 
 Extremely stretch'd, and conn'd with cruel pain, 
 To do you service. 
 
 The. I will hear that play ; 
 
 For never anything can be amiss 
 When simpleness and duty tender it. 
 Go, bring them in : and take your places, ladies. 
 [Exit PHILOSTRATE. 
 
 Hip. I love not to see wretchedness o'er- 
 
 charged, 
 And duty in his service perishing. [thing. 
 
 The. Why, gentle sweet, you shall see no such 
 
 Hip. He says they can do nothing in this kind. 
 
 The. The kinder we, to give them thanks 
 
 for nothing. 
 
 Our sport shall be to take what they mistake : 
 And what poor duty cannot do, 
 Noble respect takes it in might, not merit. 
 Where I have come, great clerks have purposed 
 To greet me with premeditated welcomes ; 
 Where I have seen them shiver and look pale, 
 Make periods in the midst of sentences, 
 Throttle their practis'd accent in their fears, 
 And, in conclusion, dumbly have broke off, 
 Not paying me a welcome. Trust me, sweet, 
 Out of this silence yet I pick'd a welcome 
 And in the modesty of fearful duty 
 I read as much as from the rattling tongue 
 Of saucy and audacious eloquence. 
 Love, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity 
 In least speak most to my capacity. 
 
 Enter PHILOSTRATE. 
 
 Philost. So please your grace, the prologue 
 
 is address'd. 
 The. Let him approach. 
 
 [Flourish of Trumpets. 
 
 Enter Prologue. 
 
 Prol. If we offend, it is with our good will. 
 
 That you should think we come not tc offend 
 But with good will. To shyw our simple skill^ 
 
 That is the true beginning of our end. 
 Consider, then, we come but in despite. 
 
 We do not me as minding to content you. 
 Our true intent is. All for your delight 
 
 We are not here. That you should here re 
 pentyou. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 i87 
 
 The actors are at hand: and, by their show, 
 You shall know all that you are like to know. 
 
 The. This fellow doth not stand upon points. 
 
 Lys. He hath rid hL prologue like a rough 
 clt ; he knows not the stop. A good moral, 
 my lord : it is not enough to speak, but to 
 speak true. 
 
 Hip. Indeed he hath played on this prologue 
 like a child on a recorder ; a sound, but not in 
 government. 
 
 The. His speech was like a tangled chain ; 
 nothing impaired, but all disordered. Who is 
 next? 
 
 Enter PYRAMUS and THISBE, WALL, MOON- 
 SHINE, and LlON, as in dumb show. 
 
 Prol. Gentles, perchance you wonder at this 
 show ; [plain. 
 
 But wonder on, till truth make all things 
 This man is Pyramus, if you would know ; 
 
 This beauteous lady Thisby is, certain. 
 This man, with lime and rough-cast, doth per- 
 sent [sunder : 
 
 Wall, that vile Wall which did these lovers 
 And through Wall's chink, poor souls, they are 
 content 
 
 To whisper, at the which let no man wonder. 
 This man, with lantern, dog, and bush of thorn, 
 
 Presenteth Moonshine : for, if you will know, 
 By moonshine did these lovers think no scorn 
 
 To meet at Ninus' tomb, there, there to woo. 
 This grisly beast, which by name Lion hight, 
 The trusty Thisby, coming first by night, 
 Did scare away, or rather did affright : 
 And as she fled, her mantle she did fall ; 
 
 Which Lion vile with bloody mouth did stain : 
 Anon comes Pyramus, sweet youth, and tall, 
 
 And finds his trusty Thisby's mantle slain ; 
 Whereat with blade, with bloody blameful blade, 
 
 He bravely broach'd his boiling bloody breast ; 
 And Thisby, tarrying in mulberry shade, 
 
 His dagger drew, and died. For all the rest, 
 Let Lion, Moonshine, Wall, and lovers twain 
 At large discourse while here they do remain. 
 {Exeunt Prol., THIS., LION, and MOON. 
 
 The. I wonder if the lion be to speak, 
 
 Dem. No wonder, my lord : one lion may, 
 when many asses do. 
 
 Wall. In this same interlude it doth befall 
 That I, one Snout by name, present a wall : 
 And such a wall as I would have you think 
 That had in it a crannied hole or chink, 
 Through which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisby, 
 Did whisper often very secretly. [show 
 
 This loam, this rough-cast, and this stone doth 
 That I am that same wall ; the truth is so : 
 
 And this the cranny is, right and sinister, 
 Through which the fearful lovers are to whisper. 
 
 The. Would you desire lime and hair to 
 speak better ? 
 
 Dem. It is the wittiest partition that ever I 
 heard discourse, my lord. 
 
 The. Pyramus draws near the wall : silence ! 
 
 Enter PYRAMUS. 
 
 Pyr. O grim-look'd night ! O night with 
 hue so black ! 
 
 night, which ever art when day is not ! 
 O night, O night, alack, alack, alack, 
 
 1 fear my Thisby's promise is forgot ! 
 And thou, O wall, O sweet, O lovely wall, 
 
 That stand'st between her father's ground 
 
 and mine ; 
 
 Thou wall, O wall, O sweet and lovely wall, 
 Show me thy chink, to blink through with 
 mine eyne. 
 
 [WALL holds up his fingers. 
 Thanks, courteous wall : Jove shield thee well 
 
 for this! 
 
 But what see I? No Thisby do I see. 
 O wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss ; 
 Curst be thy stones for thus deceiving me ! 
 The. The wall, methinks, being sensible, 
 should curse again. 
 
 Pyr. No, in truth, sir, he should not. De~ 
 ceiving me is Thisby's cue : she is to enter now, 
 and I am to spy her through the wall. You 
 shall see it will fall pat as I told you. Yonder 
 she comes. 
 
 Enter THISBE. 
 
 This. O wall, full often hast thou heard my 
 
 moans, 
 
 For parting my fair Pyramus and me : 
 My cherry lips have often kiss'd thy stones : 
 Thy stones with lime and hair knit up in thee. 
 Pyr. I see a voice ; now will I to trie chink, 
 To spy an I can hear my Thisby's face. 
 Thisby ! 
 
 This. My love ! thou art my love, I think. 
 Pyr. Think what thou wilt, I am thy lover's 
 
 grace : 
 And like Limander am I trusty still. 
 
 This. And I like Helen, till the fates me kill. 
 Pyr. Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true. 
 This. As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you. 
 Pyr. O, kiss me through the hole of this 
 
 vile wall. 
 
 This. I kiss the wall's hole, not your lips at all. 
 Pyr. Wilt thou at Ninny's tomb meet me 
 
 straightway? 
 This. 'Tide life, 'tide death, I come without 
 
 delay. 
 
1 88 
 
 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Wall. Thus have I, wall, my part discharged 
 
 so; 
 And, being done, thus wall away doth go. 
 
 [Exeunt WALL, PYR., andTms. 
 
 The. Now is the mural down between the 
 two neighbours. 
 
 Dem. No remedy, my lord, when walls are 
 so wilful to hear without warning. 
 
 Hip. This is the silliest stuff that ever I heard. 
 
 The. The best in this kind are but shadows ; 
 and the worst are no worse, if imagination 
 amend them. [not theirs. 
 
 Hip. It must be your imagination then, and 
 
 The. If we imagine no worse of them than 
 they of themselves, they may pass for excellent 
 men. Here come two noble beasts in, a moon 
 and a lion. 
 
 _ T , , Jin .v noiiT 
 
 Enter LION and MOONSHINE. 
 
 Lion. You, ladies, you, whose gentle hearts 
 do fear [floor, 
 
 The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on 
 May now, perchance, both quake and tremble 
 here, 
 
 When lion rough in wildest rage doth roar. 
 Then know that I, one Snug, the joiner, am 
 A lion fell, nor else no lion's dam : 
 For if I should as lion come in strife 
 Into this place, 'twere pity of my life. 
 
 The. A very gentle beast, and of a good con- 
 science, [e'er I saw. 
 
 Dem. The very best at a beast, my lord, that 
 
 Lys. This lion is a very fox for his valour. 
 
 The. True ; and a goose for his discretion. 
 
 Dem. Not so, my lord ; for his valour can- 
 not carry his discretion; and the fox carries 
 the goose. 
 
 The. His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry 
 his valour; for the goose carries not the fox. 
 It is well : leave it to his discretion, and let us 
 listen to the moon. 
 
 Moon. This lantern doth the horned moon 
 present: [head. 
 
 Dem. He should have worn the horns on his 
 
 The. He is no crescent, and his horns are 
 invisible within the circumference. 
 
 Moon. This lantern doth the horned moon 
 
 present ; 
 Myself the man i' the moon do seem to be. 
 
 The. This is the greatest error of all the rest : 
 the man should be put into the lantern. How 
 is it else the man i' the moon? 
 
 Dem. He dares not come there for the candle : 
 for, you see, it is already in snuff. 
 
 Hip. I am weary of this moon: would he 
 would change \ 
 
 The. It appears, by his small light of discre- 
 
 tion, that he is in the wane: but yet, in 
 courtesy, in all reason, we must stay the time. 
 
 Lys. Proceed, moon. 
 
 Moon. All that I have to say, is to tell you 
 that the lantern is the moon ; I, the man in the 
 moon; this thorn-bush, my thorn-bush; and 
 this dog, my dog. 
 
 Dem. Why, all these should be in the 
 lantern ; for all these are in the moon. But, 
 silence ; here comes Thisbe. 
 
 ~ _, .imrrujjiavoji 
 
 Enter THISBE. 
 
 This. This is old Ninny's tomb. Where is 
 my love? 
 
 Lion. Oh ! 
 
 [The LION roars. THISBE rims off. 
 
 Dem. Well roared, lion. 
 
 The. Well run, Thisbe. 
 
 Hip. Well shone, moon. Truly, the moon 
 shines with a good grace. 
 
 The. Well moused, lion. 
 
 [The LION tears THISBE'S mantle and exit. 
 
 Dem. And so comes Pyramus. 
 
 Lys. And then the lion vanishes. 
 gtS'ff- 
 
 Enter PYRAMUS. 
 
 Pyr. Sweet moon, I thank thee for thy 
 sunny beams ; [bright : 
 
 I thank thee, moon, for shining now so 
 For, by thy gracious, golden, glittering streams. 
 I trust to taste of truest Thisby's sight, 
 But stay ; O spite ! 
 But mark, poor knight, 
 What dreadful dole is here ! 
 Eyes, do you see ? 
 How can it be ? 
 O dainty duck ! O dear ! 
 Thy mantle good, 
 What ! stained with blood ? 
 Approach, ye furies fell ! 
 O fates ! come, come ; 
 Cut thread and thrum ; 
 Quail, rush, conclude, and quell ! 
 The. This passion, and the death of a deai 
 friend, would go near to make a man look sad. 
 Hip. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man. 
 Pyr. O wherefore, nature, didst thou lions 
 
 frame ? 
 
 Since lion vile hath here deflower'd my dear : 
 Which is no, no which was the fairest dame 
 That liv'd, that Wd, that lik'd, that look'd 
 with cheer. 
 
 Come, tears, confound ; 
 Out, sword, and wound 
 The pap of Pyramus : 
 Ay, that left pap, 
 Where heart doth hop : 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Thus die I, thus, thus, thus. 
 Now am I dead, 
 Now am I fled ; 
 My soul is in the sky : 
 
 Tongue, lose thy light ! 
 Moon, take thy flight ! 
 New die, die, die, die, die. 
 
 [Dies. Exit MOONSHINE. 
 
 Dem. No die, but an ace, ior him ; for he is 
 
 but one. [he is nothing. 
 
 Lys. Less than an ace, man ; for he is dead; 
 
 7'he. With the help of a surgeon he might 
 
 yet recover and prove an ass. 
 
 Hip. How chance moonshine is gone before 
 Thisbe comes back and finds her lover ? 
 
 The. She will find him by starlight. Here 
 she comes ; and her passion ends the play. 
 
 Enter THISBE. 
 
 Hip. Methinks she should not use a long 
 one for such a Pyramus : I hope she wiil be 
 brief. 
 
 Dem. A mote will turn the balance, which 
 Pyramus, which Thisbe, is the better. 
 
 Lys. She hath spied him already with those 
 sweet eyes. 
 
 Dem. And thus she moans, videlicet. 
 
 This. Asleep, my love ? 
 
 What, dead, my dove ? 
 O Pyramus, arise, 
 
 Speak, speak. Quite dumb? 
 Dead, dead ? A tomb 
 Must cover thy sweet eyes. 
 These lily brows, 
 This cherry nose, 
 These yellow cowslip cheeks, 
 Are gone, are gone : 
 Lovers, make moan ! 
 His eyes were green as leeks. 
 O Sisters Three, 
 Come, come to me, 
 With hands as pale as milk ; 
 Lay them in gore, 
 Since you have shore 
 With shears his thread of silk. 
 Tongue, not a word : 
 Come, trusty sword ; 
 Come, blade, my breast imbrue : 
 And farewell, friends : 
 Thus Thisby ends * 
 
 Adieu, adieu, adieu. {Dies. 
 
 The. Moonshine and lion are left to bury 
 the dead. 
 
 Dem. Ay, and wall too. 
 JBot. No, I assure you ; the wall is down 
 that parted their fathers. Will it please you to 
 
 see the epilogue, or to hear a Bergomask dance 
 between two of our company. 
 
 The. No epilogue, I pray you ; for your play 
 needs no excuse. Never excuse ; for when the 
 players are all dead there need none to be 
 blamed. Marry, if he that writ it had played 
 Pyramus, and hanged himself in Thisbe's 
 garter, it would have been a fine tragedy : and 
 so it is, truly ; and very notably discharged. 
 But come, your Bergomask : let your epilogue 
 alone. [Here a dance of CLOWNS. 
 
 The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve: 
 Lovers, to bed ; 'tis almost fairy time. 
 I fear we shall out-sleep the coming morn, 
 As much as we this night have overwatch'd. 
 This palpable-gross play hath well beguil'd 
 The heavy gait of night. Sweet friends, to bed. 
 A fortnight hold we this solemnity, 
 In nightly revels and new jollity. {Exeunt. 
 ' 
 
 SCENE II. 
 Enter PUCK. 
 
 Pttck. Now the hungry lion roars, 
 
 And the wolf behowls the moon ; 
 Whilst the heavy ploughman snores, 
 
 All with weary task fordone. 
 Now the wasted brands do glow, 
 
 Whilst the scritch-owl, scritching loud, 
 Puts the wretch that lies in woe 
 
 In remembrance of a shroud. 
 Now it is the time of night 
 
 That the graves, all gaping wide, 
 Every one lets forth its sprite, 
 
 In the church-way paths to glide : 
 And we fairies, that do run 
 
 By the triple Hecate's team, 
 From the presence of the sun 
 
 Following darkness like a dream, 
 Now are frolic ; not a mouse 
 
 Shall disturb this hallow'd house: 
 I am sent with broom before, 
 
 To sweep the dust behind the door. 
 
 Enter OBERON aw^/TiTANiA, with /^zr Train. 
 
 Obe. Through this house give glimmering 
 light, 
 
 By the dead and drowsy fire : 
 Every elf and fairy sprite 
 
 Hop as light as bird from brier : 
 And this ditty, after me, 
 Sing and dance it trippingly. 
 Tita. First, rehearse your song by rote, 
 To each word a warbling note, 
 Hand in hand, with fairy grace, 
 Will we sing, and bless this place. 
 
190 
 
 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 [ACT V. 
 
 SONG AND DANCE. 
 
 Obe. Now, until the break of day, 
 Through this house each fairy stray, 
 To the best bride-bed will we, 
 Which by us shall blessed be " r 
 And the issue there create 
 Ever shall be fortunate. 
 So shall all the couples three 
 Ever true in loving be ; 
 And the blots of Nature's hand 
 Shall not in their issue stand : 
 Never mole, hare-lip, nor scar, 
 Nor mark prodigious, such as are 
 Despised in nativity, 
 Shall upon their children be. 
 With this field-dew consecrate, 
 Every fairy take his gate ; 
 And each several chamber bless, 
 Through this palace, with sweet peace ; 
 E'er shall it in safety rest, 
 
 And the owner of it biest. 
 Trip away : 
 Make no stay : 
 Meet me all by break of day. 
 
 {Exeunt OBE., TITA., and Train. 
 Puck. If we shadows have offended, 
 Think but this and all is mended 
 That you have but slumber'd here 
 While these visions did appear. 
 And this weak and idle theme, 
 No more yielding but a dream, 
 Gentles, do not reprehend ; 
 If you pardon, we will mend. 
 And, as I'm an honest Puck, 
 If we have unearned luck 
 Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue, 
 We will make amends ere long ; 
 Else the Puck a liar call : 
 So, good night unto you all. 
 Give me your hands, if we be friends, 
 And Robin shall restore amends. [Exit* 
 
 
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 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 
 
 . l V fMii ,JK 
 
 
 
 moil 
 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 FERDINAND, King of Navarre. 
 
 BIRON, ) 
 
 LONGAVILLE, \ Lords attending on the KING. 
 
 DUMAIN. ) 
 
 BOYET, \ Lords attending on the PRINCESS 
 
 MERCADE, / OF FRANCE. 
 
 DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO, a Fantastical 
 
 Spaniard. 
 
 SIR NATHANIEL, a Curate. 
 HOLOFERNES, a Schoolmaster 
 DULL, a Constable. 
 COSTARD, a Clown. 
 
 SCENE, NAVARRE. 
 
 fw. ^fauts oi f j*rfj 
 
 ; feix-.i -.ti\f. xi*&3n&&3iil oj j H-jjiT 
 MOTH, Page to ARMADO. 
 A Forester. 
 
 ,'.\':i:-'' ^n-i'J^fJJ-; :'-< ' 
 
 PRINCESS OF FRANCE. 
 ROSALINE, 
 
 ,M& oi '{hmH 
 M , Ladies attending on the 
 
 1>1AK.1A, > PRTlMriS-<;<I 
 
 KATHARINE, J 'f ^ , 
 
 JAQUENETTA, a Country Wench. 
 
 Officers and Others, Attendants on the KING 
 and PRINCESS. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. NAVARRE. A Park> with a Palace 
 in it. 
 
 Enter the KING, BIRON, LONGAVILLE, and 
 DUMAIN. 
 
 King. Let fame, that all hunt after in their 
 
 lives, 
 
 Live register'd upon our brazen tombs, 
 And then grace us in the disgrace of death ; 
 When, spite of cormorant devouring time, 
 The endeavour of this present breath may buy 
 That honour which shall bate his scythe's keen 
 
 edge, 
 
 And make us heirs of all eternity. 
 Therefore, brave conquerors, for so you are, 
 That war against your own affections, 
 And the huge army of the world's desires, 
 Our late edict shall strongiy stand in force : 
 Navarre shall be the wonder of the world ; 
 Our court shall be a little Academe, 
 Still and contemplative in living art. 
 You three, Bir<5n, Dumain, and Longaville, 
 Have sworn for three years' term to live with me 
 My fellow-scholars, and to keep those statutes 
 That are recorded in this schedule here : 
 Your oaths are pass'd ; and now subscribe your 
 
 names, 
 
 That his own hand may strike his honour down 
 That violates the smallest branch herein : 
 If you are arm'd to do as sworn to do, 
 Subscribe to your deep oaths, and keep it too. 
 Long. I am resolved ; 'tis but a three years' 
 
 fast: 
 
 The mind shall banquet though the body pine : 
 Fat paunches have lean pates ; and dainty bits 
 Make rich the ribs, but bankrupt quite the wits. 
 
 Dutn. My loving lord, Dumain is mortified: 
 The grosser manner of these world's delights 
 He throws upon the gross world's baser slaves : 
 To love, to wealth, to pomp, I pine and die ; 
 With all these living in philosophy. 
 
 Biron. I can but say their protestation over ; 
 So much, dear liege, I have already sworn, 
 That is, to live and study here three years. 
 But there are other strict observances : 
 As, not to see a woman in that term ; 
 Which I hope well is not enrolled there : 
 And one day in a week to touch no food, 
 And but one meal on every day beside ; 
 The which I hope is not enrolled there : 
 And then, to sleep but three hours in the night, 
 And not be seen to wink of all the day, 
 When I was wont to think no harm all night, 
 And make a dark night too of half the day, 
 Which I hope well is not enrolled there : 
 O, these are barren tasks, too hard to keep ; 
 Not to see ladies study fast not sleep. 
 
 King. Your oath is pass'd to pass away from 
 these. [please ; 
 
 Biron. Let me say no, my liege, an if you 
 I only swore to study with your grace, 
 And stay here in your court for three years' space. 
 
 Long. You swore to that, Biron, and to the 
 rest. [Jest. 
 
 Biron. By yea and nay, sir, then I swore in 
 What is the end of study ? let me knew. 
 
 King. Why, that to know which else we 
 should not know. 
 
192 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 Biron. Things hid and barr'd, you mean, 
 from common sense ? 
 
 King. Ay, that isStudy's god-like recompense. 
 
 Biron. Come on, then, I will swear to study 
 
 so, 
 
 To know the thing I am forbid to know : 
 As thus, to study where I well may dine, 
 
 When I to feast expressly am forbid ; 
 Or study where to meet some mistress fine, 
 
 When mistresses from common sense are hid : 
 Or, having sworn too-hard-a-keeping oath, 
 Study to break it, and not break my troth. 
 If study's gain be thus, and this be so, 
 Study knows that which yet it doth not know : 
 Swear me to this, and I will ne'er say no. 
 
 King. These be the stops that hinder study 
 
 quite. 
 And train our intellects to vain delight. 
 
 Biron. Why, all delights are vain ; but that 
 
 most vain 
 
 Which, with pain purchas'd, doth inherit pain: 
 As painfully to pore upon a book [while 
 
 To seek the light of truth ; while truth the 
 Doth falsely blind the eyesight of his look : 
 
 Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile. 
 So, ere you find where light in darkness lies, 
 Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes. 
 Study me how to please the eye indeed, 
 
 By fixing it upon a fairer eye ; 
 Who dazzling so, that eye shall be his heed, 
 
 And give him light that it was blinded by. 
 Study is like the heaven's glorious sun. 
 
 That will not be deep-search'd with saucy 
 
 looks; 
 Small have continual plodders ever won, 
 
 Save base authority from others' books, 
 These earthly godfathers of heaven's lights, 
 
 That give a name to every fixed star, 
 Have no more profit of their shining nights 
 
 Than those that walk and wot not what they 
 
 are. 
 
 Too much to know is to know naught but fame ; 
 And every godfather can give a name. 
 
 King. How well he 's read, to reason against 
 reading ! 
 
 Dum. Proceeded well, to stop all good pro- 
 ceeding ! 
 
 Long. He weeds the corn, and still lets grow 
 the weeding. 
 
 Biron. The spring is near, when green geese 
 are a-breeding. 
 
 Dum. How follows that ? 
 
 Biron. Fit in his place and time. 
 
 Dum. In reason nothing. 
 
 Biron. Something then in rhyme. 
 
 Long. Biron is like an envious sneaping frost, 
 
 That bites the first-born infants of the spring. 
 
 Biron. Well, say I am ; why should proud 
 
 summer boast 
 
 Before the birds have any cause co sing ? 
 Why should I joy in an abortive birth ? 
 At Christmas I no more desire a rose 
 Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled shows ; 
 But like of each thing that in season grows. 
 So you, to study now it is too late, 
 Climb o'er the house to unlock the little gate. 
 
 King. Well, sit you out : go home, Bir6n : 
 adieu. [stay with you : 
 
 Biron. No, my good 'ord ; I have sworn to 
 And, though I have for barbarism spoke more 
 
 Than for that angel knowledge you can say, 
 Yet confident I '11 keep what I have swore, 
 
 And bide the penance of each three years' day. 
 Give me the paper, let me read the same ; 
 And to the strict'st decrees I '11 write my name. 
 
 King. How well this yielding rescues thee 
 from shame ! 
 
 Biron. \reads. ] Item, That no woman shall 
 come within a mile of my court. - 
 And hath this been proclaim 'd ? 
 
 Long. Four days ago. 
 
 Biron. Let 's see the penalty. 
 \_Read s.~\ On pain of losing her tongtte. 
 
 Whodevis'dthisi 
 
 Long. Marry, that did I. 
 
 Biron. Sweet lord, and why ? [penalty. 
 
 Long. To fright them hence with that dread 
 
 Biron. A dangerous law against gentility. 
 
 \_Reads.~\ Item, If any man be seen to talk 
 with a woman within the term of three years, 
 he shall endure such public shame as the rest of 
 the court can possibly devise. 
 This article, my liege, yourself must break ; 
 
 For well you know here comes in embassy 
 The French king's daughter, with yourself to 
 3T;fc j. speak, 
 
 A maid of grace and complete majesty. 
 About surrender-up of Aquitain 
 
 To her decrepit, sick, and bed-rid father : 
 Therefore this article is made in vain, 
 
 Or vainly comes the admired princess hither 
 
 King. What say you, lords ? why, this was 
 quite forgot^ 
 
 Biron. So study evermore is over-shot ; 
 While it doth study to have what it would, 
 It doth forget to do the thing it should : 
 And when it hath the thing it hunteth most, 
 'Tis won as towns with fire, so won, so lost. 
 
 King. We must, of force, dispense with this 
 
 decree ; 
 She must He here on mere necessity. 
 
 Biron. Necessity will make us all forsworn 
 
 Three thousand times within this three years' 
 space : 
 
SCENE I.j 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 
 
 193 
 
 For every man with his affects is born ; 
 
 Not by might master'd, but by special grace : 
 If I break faith, this word shall speak for me, 
 I am forsworn on mere necessity. 
 So to the laws at large I write my name : 
 
 [Subscribes. 
 
 And he that breaks them in the least degree 
 Stands in attainder of eternal shame. 
 
 Suggestions are to others as to me ; 
 But I believe, although I seem so loath ; 
 I am the last that will last keep his oath. 
 But is there no quick recreation granted ? 
 
 King. Ah, that there is : our court, you know, 
 is haunted 
 
 With a refined traveller of Spain ; 
 A man in all the world's new fashion planted, 
 
 That hath a mint of phrases in his brain : 
 One whom the music of his own vain tongue 
 
 Doth ravish, like enchanting harmony ; 
 A man of complements, whom right and wrong 
 
 Have chose as umpire of their mutiny : 
 This child of fancy, that Armado hight, 
 
 For interim to our studies, shall relate, 
 In high-born words, the worth of many a knight 
 
 From tawny Spain, lost in the world's debate. 
 How you delight, my lords, I know not, I ; 
 But, I protest, I love to hear him lie, 
 And I will use him for my minstrelsy. 
 
 Biron. Armado is a most illustrious wight, 
 A man of fire-new words, fashion's own knight. 
 
 Long. Costard, the swain, and he shall be 
 
 our sport ; 
 And so to study three years is but short. 
 
 Enter DULL with a letter, and COST \RD. 
 
 Dull. Which is the duke's own person ? 
 
 Biron. This, fellow ; what wouldst ? 
 
 Dull. I myself reprehend his own person, 
 for I am his grace's tharborough : but I would 
 see his own person in flesh and blood. 
 
 Biron. This is he. 
 
 Dull. Signior Arme Arme commends you. 
 There's villany abroad : this letter will tell you 
 more. 
 
 Cost. Sir, the contempts thereof are as touch- 
 ing me. 
 
 King. A letter from the magnificent Armado. 
 
 Biron. How low soever the matter, I hope 
 in God for high words. 
 
 Long. A high hope for a low heaven : God 
 grant us patience ! 
 
 Biron. To hear ? or forbear laughing ? 
 
 Long. To hear meekly, sir, and to laugh 
 moderately ; or to forbear both. 
 
 Biron. Well, sir, be it as the style shall give 
 us cause to climb in the merriness. 
 
 Cost. The matter is to me, sir, as concerning 
 
 Jaquenetta. The manner of it is, I was taken 
 with the manner. 
 
 Biron. In what manner ? 
 
 Cost. In manner and form following, sir, all 
 those three : I was seen with her in the manor 
 house, sitting with her upon the form, and taken 
 following her into the park ; which, put together, 
 is in manner and form following. Now, sir, for 
 the manner, it is the manner of a man to speak 
 to a woman : for the form, in some form. 
 
 Biron. For the following, sir ? 
 
 Cost. As it shall follow in my correction : and 
 God defend the right ! 
 
 King. Will you hear this letter with attention ? 
 
 Biron. As we would hear an oracle. 
 
 Cost. Such is the simplicity of man to 
 hearken after the flesh. 
 
 King, [reads.'] Great deputy, the welkin's 
 vicegerent and sole dominator of Navarre, my 
 soul s earth's God and body's fostering patron, 
 
 Cost. Not a word of Costard yet. 
 
 King, [reads.] So it is, 
 
 Cost. It may be so : but if he say it is so, he 
 is, in telling true, but so so. 
 
 King. Peace ! 
 
 Cost. be to me, and every man that dares 
 not fight ! 
 
 King. No words ! 
 
 Cost. of other men's secrets, I beseech you. 
 
 King, [reads.] So it is, besieged with sable- 
 coloured melancholy, I did commend the black- 
 oppressing humour to the most wholesome physic 
 of thy health-giving air ; and, as I am a gentle- 
 man, betook myself to walk. The time when ? 
 About the sixth hour ; when beasts most graze, 
 birds best peck, and men sit down to that nourish- 
 ment which is called supper : so much for the 
 time when. Now for the ground which ; which, 
 I mean, I walked upon : it is ycleped thy park. 
 Then for the place where ; where, I mean, I did 
 encounter that obscene and most preposterous 
 event that draweth from my snow-white pen the 
 ebon-coloured ink, which here thou viewest, be- 
 holdest, surveyest, or seest: but to the place 
 where, it standeth north-north-east and by- 
 east from the west corner of thy curious-knotted 
 garden. There did I see that low-spirited 
 swain, that base minnow of thy mirth, 
 
 Cost. Me. [soul, 
 
 King. that unlettered small-knowing 
 
 Cost. Me. 
 
 King. that shallow vassal, 
 
 Cost. Still me. [tard, 
 
 King. which, as I remember, hight Cos- 
 
 Cost. O, me. 
 
 King. sorted and consorted, contrary to 
 thy established proclaimed edict and continent 
 
194 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 canon, with with, O, with but with this I 
 passion to say wherewith, 
 
 Cost. With a wench. 
 
 King. with a child of our grandmother Eve, 
 a female ; or, for thy more sweet understanding, 
 a woman. Him, I as my ever esteemed duty 
 pricks me on, have sent to thee, to receive the 
 meed of punishment, by thy sweet grace's 
 officer, Antony Dull, a man of good repute, 
 carriage, bearing, and estimation. 
 
 Dull. Me, an't shall please you; I am 
 Antony Dull. 
 
 King, [reads.'} For Jaquenetta, so is the 
 weaker vessel called, which I apprehended with 
 the aforesaid swain, I keep her as a vessel of 
 thy law's fury ; and shall, at the least of thy 
 sweet notice, bring her to trial. Thine, in all 
 compliments of devoted and heart-burning heat 
 of duty, DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO. 
 
 Biron. This is not so well as I looked for, 
 but the best that ever I heard. 
 
 King. Ay, the best for the worst. But, 
 sirrah, what say you to this ? 
 
 Cost. Sir, I confess the wench. 
 
 King. Did you hear the proclamation ? 
 
 Cost. I do confess much of the hearing it, 
 but little of the marking of it. 
 
 King. It was proclaimed a year's imprison- 
 ment, to be taken with a wench. 
 
 Cost. I was taken with none, sir ; I was 
 taken with a damosel. 
 
 King. Well, it was proclaimed damosel. 
 
 Cost. This was no damosel neither, sir ; she 
 was a virgin. [virgin. 
 
 King. It is so varied too ; for it was proclaimed 
 
 Cost. If it were, I deny her virginity ; I was 
 taken with a maid. 
 
 King. This maid will not serve your turn, sir. 
 
 Cost. This maid will serve my turn, sir. 
 
 King. Sir, I will pronounce your sentence : 
 you shall fast a week with bran and water. 
 
 Cost. I had rather pray a month with mutton 
 and porridge. 
 
 JCing. And Don Armado shall be your 
 
 keeper. 
 
 My Lord Biron, see him delivered over. 
 And go we, lords, to put in practice that 
 
 Which each to other hath so strongly sworn. 
 [Exeunt KING, LONG., and DUM. 
 
 Biron. I '11 lay my head to any good man'shat, 
 
 These oaths and laws will prove an idle scorn. 
 Sirrah, come on. 
 
 Cost. I suffer for the truth, sir : for true it is, I 
 was taken with Jaquenetta, and Jaquenetta is a 
 truegirl ; and therefore, Welcome the sour cup of 
 prosperity 1 Affliction may one day smile again, 
 and till then, Sit thee down, sorrow ! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. Another part of the Park. 
 Enter ARMADO and MOTH. 
 
 Arm. Boy, what sign is it when a man of 
 great spirit grows melancholy ? 
 
 Moth. A great sign, sir, that he will look sad. 
 
 Arm. Why, sadness is one and the self-same 
 thing, dear imp. 
 
 Moth. No, no ; O lord, sir, no. 
 
 Arm. How canst thou part sadness and 
 melancholy, my tender juvenal ? 
 
 Moth. By a familiar demonstration of the 
 working, my tough senior. 
 
 Arm. Why tough senior? why tough senior? 
 
 Moth. Why tender juvenal? why tender 
 juvenal ? 
 
 Arm. I spoke it, tender juvenal, as a con- 
 gruent epitheton appertaining to thy young 
 days, which we may nominate tender. 
 
 Moth. And I, tough senior, as an appertinent 
 title to your old time, which we may name tough. 
 
 Arm. Pretty, and apt. 
 
 Moth. How mean you, sir ; I pretty, and my 
 saying apt ? or I apt, and my saying pretty ? 
 
 Arm. Thou pretty, because little. 
 
 Moth. Little pretty, because little. Where- 
 fore apt ? 
 
 Arm. And therefore apt, because quick. 
 
 Moth. Speak you this in my praise, master ? 
 
 Arm. In thy condign praise. 
 
 Moth. I will praise an eel with the same praise. 
 
 Arm. What, that an eel is ingenious ? 
 
 Moth. That an eel is quick. 
 
 Arm. I do say thou art quick in answers : 
 thou heatest my blood. 
 
 Moth. I am answered, sir. 
 
 Arm. I love not to be crossed. 
 
 Moth. He speaks the mere contrary ; 
 crosses love not him. [Aside. 
 
 Arm. I have promised to study three years 
 with the duke. 
 
 Moth. You may do it in an hour, sir. 
 
 Arm. Impossible. 
 
 Moth. How many is one thrice told ? 
 
 Arm. I am ill at reckoning ; it fitteth the 
 spirit of a tapster. [sir. 
 
 Moth. You are a gentleman and a gamester, 
 
 Arm. I confess both, they are both the 
 varnish of a complete man. 
 
 Moth. Then, I am sure, you know how much 
 the gross sum of deuce -ace amounts to. 
 
 Arm. It doth amount to one more than two. 
 
 Moth. Which the base vulgar do call three. 
 
 Arm. True. 
 
 Moth. Why, sir, is this such a piece of study? 
 Now here is three studied ere you'll thrice 
 
SCENB II.] 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 
 
 195 
 
 wink : and how easy it is to put years to the 
 word three, and study three years in two words, 
 the dancing horse will tell you. 
 
 Arm. A most fine figure I 
 
 Moth. To prove you a cipher. [Aside. 
 
 Arm. I will hereupon confess I am in love : 
 and, as it is base for a soldier to love, so am I in 
 love with a base wench. If drawing my sword 
 against the humour of affection would deliver 
 me from the reprobate thought of it, I would 
 take desire prisoner, and ransom him to any 
 French courtier for a new devised courtesy. I 
 think scorn to sigh ; methinks, I should out- 
 swear Cupid. Comfort me, boy : what great 
 men have been in love ? 
 
 Moth. Hercules, master. 
 
 Arm. Most sweet Hercules ! More author- 
 ity, dear boy, name more ; and, sweet my child, 
 let them be men of good repute and carriage. 
 
 Moth. Samson, master ; he was a man of good 
 carriage, great carriage, for he carried the town- 
 gates on his back like a porter : and he was in 
 love. 
 
 Arm. O well-knit Samson ! strong-jointed 
 Samson ! I do excel thee in my rapier as much 
 as thou didst me in carrying gates. I am in 
 love too : who was Samson's love, my dear 
 Moth? 
 
 Moth. A woman, master. 
 
 Arm. Of what complexion ? 
 
 Moth. Of all the four, or the three, or the 
 two ; or one of the four. 
 
 Arm. Tell me precisely of what complexion. 
 
 Moth. Of the sea-water green, sir. 
 
 Arm. Is that one of the four complexions ? 
 
 Moth. As I have read, sir : and the best of 
 them too. 
 
 Arm. Green, indeed, is the colour of lovers; 
 but to have a love of that colour, methinks 
 Samson had small reason for it. He surely 
 affected her for her wit. 
 
 Moth. It was so, sir ; for she had a green wit. 
 
 Arm. My love is most immaculate white and 
 red. 
 
 Moth. Most maculate thoughts, master, are 
 masked under such colours. 
 
 Arm. Define, define, well-educated infant. 
 
 Moth. My father's wit and my mother's 
 tongue, assist me ! 
 
 Arm. Sweet invocation of a child ; most 
 pretty, and pathetical ! 
 
 Moth. If she be made of white and red, 
 
 Her faults will ne'er be known ; 
 For blushing cheeks by faults are bred, 
 
 And fears by pale white shown : 
 Then if she fear, or be to blame, 
 By this you shall not know ; 
 
 For still her cheeks possess the same 
 
 Which native she doth owe. 
 A dangerous rhyme, master, against the reason 
 of white and red. 
 
 Arm. Is there not a ballad, boy, of the King 
 and the Beggar. 
 
 Moth. The world was very guilty of such a 
 ballad some three ages since : but, I think, now 
 'tis not to be found; or, if it were, it would 
 neither serve for the writing nor the tune. 
 
 Arm. I will have the subject newly writ o'er, 
 that I may example my digression by some 
 mighty precedent. Boy, I do love that coun- 
 try girl that I took in the park with the rational 
 hind Costard : she deserves well. 
 
 Moth. To be whipped : and yet a better love 
 than my master. [Aside. 
 
 Arm. Sing, boy; my spirit grows heavy in 
 love. [light wench. 
 
 Moth. And that's great marvel, loving a 
 
 Arm. I say, sing. 
 
 Moth. Forbear till this company be past. 
 
 *irf :-?o/i >bt-,p-! :v: . :!*>;j : ->rf: ,*Oii -"<&yi -j;i 
 
 Enter DULL, CosTARD, and JAQUENETTA. 
 
 Dull. Sir, the duke's pleasure is, that you 
 keep Costard safe : and you must let him take 
 no delight nor no penance; but 'a must fast 
 three days a-week. For this damsel, I must 
 keep her at the park: she is allowed for the 
 day-woman. Fare you well. [Maid. 
 
 Arm. I do betray myself with blushing. 
 
 Jaq. Man. 
 
 Arm. I will visit thee at the lodge. 
 
 Jaq. That 's here by. 
 
 Arm. I know where it is situate. 
 
 Jaq. Lord, how wise you are ! 
 
 Arm. I will tell thee wonders. 
 
 Jaq. With that face? 
 
 Arm. I love thee. 
 
 Jaq. So I heard you say. 
 
 Arm. And so farewell. 
 
 Jaq. Fair weather after you ! 
 
 Dull. Come, Jaquenetta, away. 
 
 {Exeunt DULL and JAQUENETTA. 
 
 Arm. Villain thou shalt fast for thy offences 
 ere thou be pardoned. <* \*& 
 
 Cost. Well, sir, I hope, when I do it I shall 
 do it on a full stomach. 
 
 Arm. Thou shalt be heavily punished. 
 
 Cost. I am more bound to you than your 
 fellows, for they are but lightly rewarded. 
 
 Arm. Take away this villain ; shut him up. 
 
 Moth. Come, you transgressing slave : away. 
 
 Cost. Let me not be pent up, sir ; I will fast, 
 being loose. 
 
 Moth. No, sir ; that were fast and loose : thou 
 shalt to prison. 
 
196 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 
 
 [ACT II, 
 
 Cost. Well, if ever I do see the merry days of 
 desolation that I have seen, some shall see 
 
 Muth. What shall some see ? 
 
 Cost. Nay, nothing, Master Moth, but what 
 they look upon. It is not for prisoners to be too 
 silent in their words ; and therefore I will say 
 nothing : I thank God I have as little patience 
 as anotner man ; and therefore I can be quiet. 
 [Exeunt MOTH and COSTARD. 
 
 Arm. I do affect the very ground, which is 
 base, where her shoe, which is baser, guided by 
 her foot, which is basest, doth tread. I shall be 
 forsworn, which is a great argument of false- 
 hood, if I love. And how can that be true love 
 which is falsely attempted? Love is a familiar ; 
 love is a devil : there is no evil angel but love. 
 Yet Samson was so tempted, and he had an 
 excellent strength : yet was Solomon so seduced, 
 and he had a very good wit. Cupid's butt-shaft 
 is too hard for Hercules's club, and therefore too 
 much odds jp3r a Spaniard's rapier. The first and 
 second cause will not serve my turn ; the passado 
 he respects not, the duello he regards not : his 
 disgrace is to be called boy ; but his glory is to 
 subdue men. Adieu, valour ! rust, rapier ! be 
 still, drum ! for your manager is in love ; yea, 
 he loveth. Assist me, some extemporal god of 
 rhyme, for I am sure I shall turn sonneteer. 
 Devise, wit ; write- pen ; for I am for whole 
 volumes in folio. [Exit. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. Another part of the Park. A Pavi- 
 lion and Tents at a distance. 
 
 Enter the PRINCESS OF FRANCE, ROSALINE, 
 MARIA, KATHARINE, BOYET, Lords, and 
 other Attendants. 
 
 Boyet. Now, madam, summon up your dear- 
 est spirits : 
 
 Consider who the king your father sends ; 
 To whom he sends ; and what 's his embassy : 
 Yourself, held precious in the world's esteem, 
 To parley with the sole inheritor 
 Of all perfections that a man may owe, 
 Matchless Navarre ; the plea of no less weight 
 Than Aquitain, a dowry for a queen. 
 Be now as prodigal of all dear grace 
 As nature was in making graces dear 
 When she did starve the general world beside, 
 And prodigally gave them all to you. 
 
 Prin. Good Lord Boyet, my beauty, though 
 
 but mean, 
 
 Needs not the painted flourish of your praise ; 
 Beauty is bought by judgment of the eye, 
 Not utter'd by base sale of chapmen's tongues : 
 
 I am less proud to hear you tell my worth 
 Than you much willing to be counted wise 
 In spending your wit in the praise of mine. 
 But now to task the tasker : good Boyet, 
 You are not ignorant, all-telling fame 
 Doth noise abroad, Navarre hath made a vow, 
 Till painful study shall out-wear three years 
 No woman may approach his silent court : 
 Therefore to us seemeth it a needful course, 
 Before we enter his forbidden gates, 
 To know his pleasure ; and in that behalf, 
 Bold of your worthiness, we single you 
 As our best -moving fair solicitor. 
 Tell him the daughter of the King of France, 
 On serious business, craving quick despatch, 
 Importunes personal conference with his grace. 
 Haste, signify so much ; while we attend, 
 Like humbly-visag'd suitors, his high will. 
 
 Boyet. Proud of employment, willingly I go. 
 
 Prin. All pride is willing pride, and yours is 
 so. [Exit BOYET. 
 
 Who are the votaries, my loving lords, 
 That are vow-fellows with this virtuous duke ? 
 
 I Lord. Longaville is one. 
 
 Prin. Know you the man ? 
 
 Mar. I know him, madam ; at a marriage feast, 
 Between Lord Perigort and the beauteous heii 
 Of Jaques Falconbridge, solemnized 
 In Normandy, saw I this Longaville : 
 A man of sovereign parts he is esteem'd ; 
 Well fitted in the arts, glorious in arms : 
 Nothing becomes him ill that he would well. 
 The only soil of his fair virtue's gloss, 
 If virtue's gloss will stain with any soil, 
 Is a sharp wit matched with too blunt a will ; 
 Whose edge Rath power to cut, whose will still 
 
 wills 
 It should none spare that come within his power. 
 
 Prin. Some merry mocking lord, belike ; is 't 
 so? 
 
 Mar. They say so most that most his humours 
 know. 
 
 Prin. Such short-liv'd wits do wither as they 
 
 grow. 
 Who are the rest ? [youth, 
 
 Kath. The young Dumain, awell-accomplish'd 
 Of all that virtue love for virtue lov'd : 
 Most power to do most harm, least knowing ill; 
 For he hath wit to make an ill shape good, 
 And shape to win grace though he had no wit. 
 I saw him at the Duke Alenson's once ; 
 And much too little of that good I saw 
 Is my report to his great worthiness. 
 
 Ros. Another of these students at that time 
 Was there with him : if I have heard a truth, 
 Biron they call him ; but a merrier man, 
 Within the limit of becoming mirth, 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 
 
 197 
 
 I never spent an hour's talk withal : 
 His eye begets occasion for his wit : 
 For every object that the one doth catch, 
 The other turns to a mirth-moving jest ; 
 Which his fair tongue conceit's expositor 
 Delivers in such apt and gracious words 
 That aged ears play truant at his tales, 
 And younger hearings are quite ravished ; 
 So sweet and voluble is his discourse. 
 
 Prin. God bless my ladies ! are they all in love, 
 That every one her own hath garnished 
 With such bedecking ornaments of praise? 
 
 Mar. Here comes Boyet. 
 
 Re-enter BOYET. 
 
 Prin. Now, what admittance, lord? 
 
 Boyet. Navarre had notice of your fair ap- 
 proach ; 
 
 And he and his competitors in oath 
 Were all address'd to meet you, gentle lady, 
 Before I came. Marry, thus much I have learnt, 
 He rather means to lodge you in the field, 
 Like one that comes here to besiege his court, 
 Than seek a dispensation for his oath, 
 To let you enter his unpeopled house. 
 Here comes Navarre. {The Ladies mask. 
 
 Enter KING, LONGAVILLE, DUMAIN, BIRON, 
 and Attendants. 
 
 King. Fair princess, welcome to the court of 
 
 Navarre. 
 
 Prin. Fair, I give you back again ; and wel- 
 come I have not yet : the roof of this court is too 
 high to be yours ; and welcome to the wide fields 
 too base to be mine. [court. 
 
 King. You shall be welcome, madam, to my 
 Prin. I will be welcome then ; conduct me 
 thither. [oath. 
 
 King. Hear me, dear lady, I have sworn an 
 Prin. Our lady help my lord ! he '11 be for- 
 sworn, [will. 
 King. Not for the world, fair madam, by my 
 Prin. Why, will shall break it ; will, and no- 
 thing else. 
 
 King. Your ladyship is ignorant what it is. 
 Prin. Were my lord so, his ignorance were 
 
 wise, 
 
 Where now his knowledge must prove ignorance. 
 I hear your grace hath sworn-out housekeeping : 
 'Tis deadly sin to keep that cath, my lord, 
 And sin to break it : 
 But pardon me, I am too sudden bold ; 
 To teach a teacher ill beseemeth me. 
 Vouchsafe to read the purpose of my coming, 
 And suddenly resolve me in my suit. 
 
 [Gives a paper. 
 King. Madam, I will, if suddenly I may. 
 
 Prin. You will the sooner that I were away ; 
 For you '11 prove perjur'd if you make me stay. 
 
 Biron. Did not I dance with you in Brabant 
 once? 
 
 Ros. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once? 
 
 Biron. I know you did. 
 
 Ros. How needless was it then 
 
 To ask the question ! 
 
 Biron. You must not be so quick. 
 
 Ros. 'Tis 'long of you, that spur me with such 
 questions. 
 
 Biron. Your wit 's too hot, it speeds too fast, 
 'twill tire. 
 
 Ros. Not till it leave the rider in the mire. 
 
 Biron. What time o' day? 
 
 Ros. The hour that fools should ask, 
 
 Biron. Now fair befall your mask ! 
 
 Ros. Fair fall the face it covers ! 
 
 Biron. And send you many lovers ! 
 
 Ros. Amen, so you be none. 
 
 Biron. Nay, then will I be gone. 
 
 King. Madam, your father here doth intimate 
 The payment of a hundred thousand crowns ; 
 Being but the one-half of an entire sum 
 Disbursed by my father in his wars. 
 But say that he or we, as neither have, 
 Receiv'd that sum, yet there remains unpaid 
 A hundred thousand more; in surety of the 
 
 which, 
 
 One part of Aquitain is bound to us, 
 Although not valued to the money's worth. 
 If, then, the king your father will restore 
 But that one-half which is unsatisfied, 
 We will give up our right in Aquitain, 
 And hold fair friendship with his majesty. 
 But that, it seems, he little purposeth, 
 For here he doth demand to have repaid 
 An hundred thousand crowns; and not demands, 
 On payment of a hundred thousand crowns, 
 To have his title live in Aquitain ; 
 Which we much rather had depart withal, 
 And have the money by our father lent, 
 Than Aquitain so gelded as it is. 
 Dear princess, were not his requests so far 
 From reason's yielding, your fair self should make 
 A yielding, 'gainst some reason, in my breast, 
 And go well satisfied to France again. 
 
 Prin. You do the king my father too much 
 
 wrong, 
 
 And wrong the reputation of your name, 
 In so unseeming to confess receipt 
 Of that which hath so faithfully been paid. 
 
 King. I do protest I never heard of it ; 
 And if you prove it, I '11 repay it back, 
 Or yield up Aquitain. 
 
 Prin. We arrest your word : 
 
 Boyet, you can produce acquittances 
 
I 9 8 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 For such a sum from special officers 
 Of Charles his father. 
 
 King. Satisfy me so. [come, 
 
 Boyet. So please your grace, the packet is not 
 Where that and other specialties are bound ; 
 To-morrow you shall have a sight of them. 
 
 King. It shall suffice me ; at which interview 
 All liberal reason I will yield unto. 
 Meantime receive such welcome at my hand 
 As honour, without breach of honour, may 
 Make tender of to thy true worthiness : 
 You may not come, fair princess, in my gates ; 
 But here without you shall be so receiv'd 
 As you shall deem yourself lodg'd in my heart, 
 Though so denied fair harbour in my house. 
 Your own good thoughts excuse me, ana farewell : 
 To-morrow shall we visit you again. 
 
 Prin. Sweet health and fair desires consort 
 your grace ! [place ! 
 
 King. Thy own wish wish I thee in every 
 [Exeunt KING and his Train. 
 
 Biron. Lady, I will commend you to my own 
 heart. 
 
 Ros. Pray you, do my commendations; I 
 would be glad to see it. 
 
 Biron. I would you heard it groan. 
 
 Ros. Is the fool sick? 
 
 Biron. Sick at heart. 
 
 Ros. Alack, let it blood. 
 
 Biron. Would that do it good ? 
 
 Ros. My physic says ay. 
 
 Biron. Will you prick 't with your eye? 
 
 Ros. No poynt> with my knife. 
 
 Biron. Now, God save thy life ! 
 
 Ros. And yours from long living ! 
 
 Biron. I cannot stay thanksgiving. 
 
 [Retiring. 
 
 Dum. Sir, I pray you, a word ! what lady is 
 that same? 
 
 Boyet. The heir of Alen9on, Katharine her 
 name. 
 
 Dum. A gallant lady! Monsieur, fare you well. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Long. I beseech you a word : what is she in 
 the white? [the light. 
 
 Boyet. A woman sometimes, an you saw her in 
 
 Long. Perchance, light in the light. I desire 
 her name. 
 
 Boyet. She hath but one for herself ; to desire 
 that were a shame. 
 
 Long. Pray you, sir, whose daughter? 
 
 Boyet. Her mother's, I have heard. 
 
 Long. God's blessing on your beard T . 
 
 Boyet. Good sir, be not offended : 
 She is an heir of Falconbridge. 
 
 Long. Nay, my choler is ended. 
 She is a most sweet lady. 
 
 Boyet. Not unlike, sir : that may be. 
 
 [Exit LONG. 
 
 Biron. What's her name in the cap? 
 
 Boyet. Rosaline, by good hap. 
 
 Biron. Is she wedded or no ? 
 
 Boyet. To her will, sir, or so. 
 
 Biron. You are welcome, sir : adieu ! [you. 
 
 Boyet. Farewell to me, sir, and welcome to 
 [Exit BIRON. Ladies unmask. 
 
 Mar. That last is Biron, the merry mad-cap 
 
 lord; 
 Not a word with him but a jest. 
 
 Boyet. And every jest but a word. 
 
 Prin. It was well done of you to take him at 
 his word. [board. 
 
 Boyet. I was as willing to grapple as he was to 
 
 Mar. Two hot sheeps, marry ! 
 
 Boyet. And wherefore not ships I 
 
 No sheep, sweet lamb, unless we feed on your 
 
 lips. [finish the jest ? 
 
 Mar. You sheep and I pasture : shall that 
 
 Boyet. So you grant pasture for me. 
 
 [Offering to kiss her. 
 
 Mar. Not so, gentle beast ; 
 
 My lips are no common, though several they be. 
 
 Boyet. Belonging to whom ? 
 
 Mar. To my fortunes and me. 
 
 Prin. Good wits will be jangling: but, 
 
 gentles, agree : 
 
 The civil war of wits were much better used 
 On Navarre and his book-men ; for here 'tis 
 abus'd. [lies, 
 
 Boyet. If my observation, which very seldom 
 By the heart's still rhetoric disclos'd with eyes, 
 Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected. 
 
 Prin. With what ? [affected. 
 
 Boyet. With that which we lovers entitle 
 
 Prin. Your reason ? [retire 
 
 Boyet. Why, all his behaviours did make their 
 To the court of his eye, peeping thorough de- 
 sire : 
 His heart, like an agate, with your print im- 
 
 press'd, 
 
 Proud with his form, in his eye pride express'd : 
 His tongue, all impatient to speak and not see, 
 Did stumble with haste in his eye-sight to be ; 
 All senses to that sense did make their repair, 
 To feel only looking on fairest of fair: 
 Methought all his senses were lock'd in his eye, 
 As jewels in crystal for some prince to buy ; 
 Who, tend' ring their own worth from where they 
 
 were glass'd, 
 
 Did point you to buy them, along as you pass'd. 
 His face's own margent did quote such amazes 
 That all eyes saw his eyes enchanted with gazes : 
 I '11 give you Aquitain, and all that is his, 
 An you give him for my sake but one loving kiss. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 
 
 '99 
 
 Prin. Come to our pavilion: Boyet is dis- 
 
 pos'd [eye hath disclos'd : 
 
 Boyet. But to speak that in words which his 
 
 I only have made a mouth of his eye, 
 
 By adding a tongue which I know will not lie. 
 
 Ros. Thou art an old love -monger, and 
 
 speak'st skilfully. [news of him. 
 
 Mar. He is Cupid's grandfather, and learns 
 
 Ros. Then was Venus like her mother ; for 
 
 her father is but grim. 
 Boyet. Do you hear, my mad wenches ? 
 Mar. No. 
 
 Boyet. What, then ; do you see ? 
 
 Ros. Ay, our way to be gone. 
 Boyet. You are too hard for me. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. A part of the Park. 
 Enter ARMADO and MOTH. 
 
 Arm. Warble, child ; make passionate my 
 sense of hearing. 
 
 Moth. Concolinel [Singing. 
 
 Arm. Sweet air ! Go, tenderness of years ! 
 take this key, give enlargement to the swain, 
 bring him festinately hither ; I must employ him 
 in a letter to my love. 
 
 Moth. Master, will you win your love with a 
 French brawl ? 
 
 Arm. How mean'st thou ? brawling in French ? 
 
 Moth. No, my complete master: but to jig 
 off a tune at the tongue's end, canary to it with 
 your feet, humour it with turning up your eye- 
 lids ; sigh a note and sing a note ; sometime 
 through the throat, as if you swallowed love with 
 singing love ; sometime through the nose, as if 
 you snuffed up love by smelling love ; with your 
 hat penthouse-like, o'er the shop of your eyes ; 
 with your arms crossed on your thin belly- 
 doublet, like a rabbit on a spit ; or your hands 
 in your pocket, like a man after the old paint- 
 ing ; and keep not too long in one tune, but a 
 snip and away. These are complements, these 
 are humours ; these betray nice wenches that 
 would be betrayed without these; and make 
 them men of note, do you note me? that most 
 are affected to these. [ence ? 
 
 Arm. How hast thou purchased this experi- 
 
 Moth. By my penny of observation. 
 
 Arm. But O, but O 
 
 Moth. the hobby-horse is forgot. 
 
 Arm. Callest thou my love hobby-horse ? 
 
 Moth. No, master ; the hobby-horse is but a 
 colt, and your love perhaps a hackney. But have 
 you forgot your love? 
 
 Arm. Almost I had. 
 
 Moth. Negligent student 1 learn her by heart. 
 
 Arm. By heart and in heart, boy. 
 
 Moth. And out of heart, master : all those 
 three I will prove. 
 
 Arm. What wilt thou prove? 
 
 Moth. A man, if I live ; and this, by, in, and 
 without, upon the instant: by heart you love 
 her, because your heart cannot come by her ; in 
 heart you love her, because your heart is in love 
 with her ; and out of heart you love her, being 
 out of heart that you cannot enjoy her. 
 
 Arm. I am all these three. 
 
 Moth. And three times as much more, and 
 yet nothing at all. 
 
 Arm. Fetch hither the swain ; he must carry 
 me a letter. 
 
 Moth. A message weW sympathized ; a horse 
 to be amba&iador for an ass 1 
 
 Arm. Ha, ha! what sayest thou? 
 
 Moth. Many, sir, you must send the ass upon 
 the horse, for he is very slow-gaited. But I go. 
 
 Arm. The way is but short : away. 
 
 Moth. As swift as lead, sir. 
 
 Arm. Thy meaning, pretty ingenious ? 
 Is not lead a metal heavy, dull, and slow? 
 
 Moth. Minime, honest master; or rather, 
 master, no. 
 
 Arm. I say lead is slow. 
 
 Moth. You are too swift, sir, to say so: 
 Is that lead slow which is fired from a gun ? 
 
 Arm. Sweet smoke of rhetoric ! [he : 
 
 He reputes me a cannon ; and the bullet, that 's 
 I shoot thee at the swain. 
 
 Moth. Thump, then, and I flee. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Arm. A most acute Juvenal; voluble and 
 
 free of grace ! [face : 
 
 By thy favour, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy 
 
 Most rude melancholy, valour gives thee place. 
 
 My herald is return'd. 
 
 Re-enter MOTH with COSTARD. 
 
 Moth. A wonder, master ; here 's a Costard 
 broken in a shin. 
 
 Arm. Some enigma, some riddle: come, 
 thy r envoy ; begin. 
 
 Cost. No egma, no riddle, no V envoy ; no 
 salve in the mail, sir : O, sir, plantain, a plain 
 plantain ; no I 'envoy -, no F envoy ^ no salve, sir, 
 but a plantain ! 
 
 Arm. By virtue thou enforcest laughter ; thy 
 silly thought, my spleen; the heaving of my 
 lungs provokes me to ridiculous smiling: O, 
 pardon me, my stars ! Doth the inconsiderate 
 take salve for fenvoy^ and the word F envoy for 
 a salve ? [V envoy a salve \ 
 
 Moth. Do the wise think them other? is not 
 
200 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 No, page: it is an epilogue or dis- 
 course, to make plain [sain. 
 Some obscure precedence that hath tofore been 
 I will example it : 
 
 The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee 
 Were still at odds, being but three. 
 There 's the moral. Now the I' envoy, [again. 
 Moth. I will add the f envoy. Say the moral 
 Arm. The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee 
 
 Were still at odds, being but three : 
 Moth. Until the goose came out of door, 
 
 And stay'd the odds by adding four. 
 Now will I begin your moral, and do you follow 
 with my V envoy. 
 
 The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, 
 Were still at odds, being but three : 
 Arm. Until the goose came out of door, 
 
 Staying the odds by adding four. 
 Moth. A good P envoy ) ending in the goose ; 
 Would you desire more? 
 
 Cost. The boy hath sold him a bargain, a 
 
 goose, that's flat: [fat. 
 
 Sir, your pennyworth is good, an your goose be 
 
 To sell a bargain well is as cunning as fast and 
 
 loose : 
 
 Let me see a fat V envoy ; ay, that 's a fat goose. 
 Arm. Come hither, come hither. How did 
 
 this argument begin ? 
 Moth. By saying that a Costard was broken in 
 
 a shin. 
 Then call'd you for the V envoy. 
 
 Cost. True, and I for a plantain : thus came 
 your argument in ; [bought ; 
 
 Then the boy's fat V envoy, the goose that you 
 And he ended the market. 
 
 Arm. But tell me ; how was there a Costard 
 broken in a shin ? 
 
 Moth. I will tell you sensibly. 
 Cost. Thou hast no feeling of it, Moth; I 
 will speak that V envoy. 
 
 I, Costard, running out, that was safely within, 
 Fell over the threshold and broke my shin. 
 Arm. We will talk no more of this matter. 
 Cost. Till there be more matter in the shin. 
 Arm. Sirrah, Costard, I will enfranchise thee. 
 Cost. O, marry me to one Frances ; I smell 
 some F envoy, some goose in this. 
 
 Arm. By my sweet soul, I mean setting thee 
 at liberty, enfreedoming thy person ; thou wert 
 immured, restrained, captivated, bound. 
 
 Cost. True, true; and now you will be my 
 purgation, and let me loose. 
 
 Arm. I give thee thy liberty, set thee from 
 durance ; and, in lieu thereof, impose on thee 
 nothing but this : bear this significant to the 
 country maid Jaquenetta : there is remuneration 
 \giving him money} ; for the best ward of mine 
 
 honour is rewarding my dependents. Moth, 
 
 follow. [Exit. 
 
 Moth. Like the sequel, I. Signior Costard, 
 
 adieu. 
 
 Cost. My sweet ounce of man's flesh ! my in- 
 cony Jew ! [Exit MOTH. 
 Now will I look to his remuneration. Remun- 
 eration ! O, that 's the Latin word for three 
 farthings: three farthings remuneration. 
 What's the price of this inkle? A penny. 
 No, I* II give you a remuneration : why, it carries 
 it. Remuneration! why, it is a fairer name 
 than French crown. I will never buy and sell 
 out of this word. 
 
 Enter BIRON. 
 
 Biron. O, my good knave Costard ! exceed- 
 ingly well met. 
 
 Cost. Pray you, sir, how much carnation 
 ribbon may a man buy for a remuneration? 
 
 Biron. What is a remuneration? 
 
 Cost. Marry, sir, halfpenny farthing, [silk. 
 
 Biron. O, why then, three-farthings-worth of 
 
 Cost. I thank your worship: God be with 
 you! 
 
 Biron. O, stay, slave ; I must employ thee ; 
 As thou wilt win my favour, good my knave, 
 Do one thing for me that I shall entreat. 
 
 Cost. When would you have it done, sir? 
 
 Biron. O, this afternoon. 
 
 Cost. Well, I will do it, sir : fare you well. 
 
 Biron. O, thou knowest not what it is. 
 
 Cost. I shall know, sir, when I have done it. 
 
 Biron. Why, villain, thou must know first. 
 
 Cost. I will come to your worship to-morrow 
 morning. 
 
 Biron. It must be done this afternoon. 
 
 Hark, slave, it is but this ; 
 The princess comes to hunt here in the park, 
 And in her train there is a gentle lady ; 
 When tongues speak sweetly, then they name 
 
 her name, 
 
 And Rosaline they call her : ask for her ; 
 And to her white hand see thou do commend 
 This seal'd-up counsel. There 's thy guerdon ; 
 go. [Gives him money. 
 
 Cost. Garden, O sweet garden ! better than 
 remuneration; elevenpence farthing better: 
 most sweet gardon ! I will do it, sir, in print. 
 Gardon remuneration. [Exit. 
 
 Biron. O !--and I, forsooth, in love ! I, that 
 
 have been love's whip ; 
 A very beadle to a humorous sigh ; 
 A critic ; nay, a night-watch constable ; 
 A domineering pedant o'er the boy, 
 Than whom no mortal so magnificent ! 
 This wimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy; 
 
SCENE T. 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 
 
 201 
 
 This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid : 
 
 Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms, 
 
 The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans, 
 
 Liege of all loiterers and malcontents, 
 
 Dread prince of plackets, king of codpieces, 
 
 Sole imperator, and great general 
 
 Of trotting paritors : O my little heart ! 
 
 And I to be a corporal of his field, 
 
 And wear his colours like a tumbler's hoop ! 
 
 What ! I ! I love ! I sue ! I seek a wife ! 
 
 A woman, that is like a German clock, 
 
 Still a-repairing ; ever out of frame ; 
 
 And never going aright, being a watch, 
 
 But being watch'd that it may still go right ! 
 
 Nay, to be perjur'd, which is worst of all ; 
 
 And, among three, to love the worst of all ; 
 
 A whitely wanton with a velvet brow, 
 
 With two pitch balls stuck in her face for eyes ; 
 
 Ay, and, by heaven, one that will do the deed, 
 
 Though Argus were her eunuch and her guard : 
 
 And I to sigh for her ! to watch for her ! 
 
 To pray for her ! Go to ; it is a plague 
 
 That Cupid will impose for my neglect 
 
 Of his almighty dreadful little might. 
 
 Well, I will love, write, sigh, pray, sue, watch, 
 
 groan ; 
 
 Some men must love my lady, and some Joan. 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. A part of the Park. 
 
 Enter the PRINCESS, ROSALINE, MARIA, 
 KATHARINE, BOYET, Lords, Attendants, 
 and a Forester. 
 
 Prin. Was that the king that spurr'd his horse 
 
 so hard 
 Against the steep uprising of the hill ? 
 
 Boyet. I know not ; but I think it was not he. 
 
 Prin. Whoe'er he was, he show'd a mount- 
 ing mind. 
 
 Well, lords, to-day we shall have our despatch ; 
 On Saturday we will return to France. 
 Then, forester, my friend, where is the bush 
 That we must stand and play the murderer in ? 
 
 For. Here by, upon the edge of yonder cop- 
 pice; 
 A stand where you may make the fairest shoot. 
 
 Prin. I thank my beauty, I am fair that shoot, 
 And thereupon thou speak'st the fairest shoot. 
 
 For. Pardon me, madam, for I meant not so. 
 
 Prin. What, what? first praise me, and 
 
 again say no ? 
 O short-livM pride ! Not fair ? alack for woe ! 
 
 For. Yes, madam, fair. 
 
 Prin. Nay, never paint me now j 
 
 Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow. 
 
 Here, good my glass, take this for telling true ; 
 
 {Giving him money. 
 
 Fair payment for foul words is more than due. 
 
 For. Nothing but fair is that which you in- 
 herit, [merit. 
 
 Prin. See, see, my beauty will be sav'd by 
 O heresy in fair, fit for these days ! [praise. 
 A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair 
 But come, the bow : now mercy goes to kill, 
 And shooting well is then accounted ill. 
 Thus will I save my credit in the shoot : 
 Not wounding, pity would not let me do 't ; 
 If wounding, then it was to show my skill, 
 That more for praise than purpose meant to kill. 
 And, out of question, so it is sometimes, 
 Glory grows guilty of detested crimes ; [part, 
 W T hen, for fame's sake, for praise, an outward 
 We bend to that the working of the heart : 
 As I, for praise alone, now seek to spill [ill. 
 The poor deer's blood, that my heart means no 
 
 Boyet. Do not curst wives hold that self- 
 sovereignty 
 
 Only for praise' sake, when they strive to be 
 Lords o'er their lords ? [afford 
 
 Prin. Only for praise : and praise we may 
 To any lady that subdues a lord. 
 Here comes a member of the commonwealth. 
 
 Enter COSTARD. 
 
 Cost. God dig-you-den all ! Pray you, which 
 is the head-lady ? [that have no heads. 
 
 Prin. Thou shall know her, fellow, by the rest 
 
 Cost. Which is the greatest lady, the highest? 
 
 Prin. The thickest and the tallest. 
 
 Cost. The thickest and the tallest ! it is so ; 
 
 truth is truth. [wit, 
 
 An your waist, mistress, were as slender as my 
 
 One of these maids' girdles for your waist should 
 
 be fit. [est here. 
 
 Are not you the chief woman? you are the thick - 
 
 Prin. What 's your will, sir? what 's your 
 will? [one Lady Rosaline. 
 
 Cost. I have a letter from Monsieur Biron, to 
 
 Prin. O, thy letter, thy letter ; he 's a good 
 friend of mine : [carve ; 
 
 Stand aside, good bearer. Boyet, you can 
 Break up this capon. 
 
 Boyet. I am bound to serve. 
 
 This letter is mistook, it importeth none here f 
 It is writ to Jaquenetta. 
 
 Prin. We will read it, I swear : 
 
 Break the neck of the wax, and every one give 
 ear. 
 
 Boyet. [reads.] By heaven, that thou art fair 
 is most infallible ; true that thou art beauteous ; 
 truth itself that thou art lovely. More fairer than 
 
202 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 fair, beautiful than beauteous, truer than truth 
 itself: have commiseration on thy heroical 
 vassal ! The magnanimous and most illustrious 
 king Cophetua set eye upon the pernicious and 
 indubitate beggar Zenelophon; and he it was 
 that might rightly say, veni, vidi, vici ; which to 
 anatomize in the vulgar, O base and obscure 
 vulgar ! videlicet, he came, saw, and overcame : 
 he came one ; saw two ; overcame three. Who 
 came? the king: why did he come? to see: why 
 did he see? to overcome : to whom came he? to 
 the beggar: what saw he? the beggar: who 
 overcame he? the beggar. The conclusion is 
 victory; on whose side? the king's: the cap- 
 tive is enriched; on whose side? the beggar's: 
 the catastrophe is a nuptial; on whose side? 
 the king's? no on both in one, or one in both. 
 I am the king ; for so stands the comparison : 
 thou the beggar ; for so witnesseth thy lowliness. 
 Shall I command thy love? I may: shall I en- 
 force thy love? I could: shall I entreat thy love? 
 I will. What shalt thou exchange for rags? 
 robes : for tittles ? titles : for thyself? me. 
 Thus, expecting thy reply, I profane my lips on 
 thy foot, my eyes on thy picture, and my heart 
 on thy every part. 
 
 Thine in the dearest design of industry, 
 DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO. 
 Thus dost thou hear the Nemean lion roar 
 
 'Gainst thee, thou lamb, that standest as his 
 
 prey; 
 Submissive fall his princely feet before, 
 
 And he from forage will incline to play : 
 But if thou strive, poor soul, what art thou then ? 
 Food for his rage, repasture for his den. 
 
 Prin. What plume of feathers is he that in- 
 dited this letter? 
 
 What vane? what weather-cock? did you ever 
 hear better? 
 
 Boyet. I am much deceiv'd but I remember 
 the style. [erewhile. 
 
 Prin. Else your memory is bad, going o'er it 
 
 Boyet. This Armado is a Spaniard, that keeps 
 here in court ; [sport 
 
 A phantasm, a Monarcho, and one that makes 
 To the prince and his book-mates. 
 
 Prin. Thou fellow, a word : 
 
 Who gave thee this letter? 
 
 Cost. I told you ; my lord. 
 
 Prin. To whom shouldst thou give it? 
 
 Cost. From my lord to my lady. 
 
 Prin. From which lord to which lady? 
 
 Cost. From my Lord Biron, a good master of 
 
 mine, 
 To a lady of France that he call'd Rosaline. 
 
 Prin. Thou hast mistaken this letter. Come, 
 lords, away. 
 
 Here, sweet, put up this ; 'twill be thine another 
 day. [Exeunt PRINCESS and Train. 
 Boyet. Who is the shooter? who is the shooter? 
 Ros. Shall I teach you to know? 
 Boyet. Ay, my continent of beauty. 
 Ros. Why, she that bears the bow. 
 
 Finely put off! [thou marry, 
 
 Boyet. My lady goes to kill horns; but, if 
 Hang me by the neck if horns that year mis- 
 carry. 
 Finely put on ! 
 
 Ros. Well then, I am the shooter. 
 
 Boyet. And who is your deer? 
 
 Ros. If we choose by the horns, yourself: 
 
 come near. 
 Finely put on indeed ! 
 
 Mar. You still wrangle with her, Boyet, and 
 
 she strikes at the brow. [her now? 
 
 Boyet. But she herself is hit lower : have I hit 
 
 Ros. Shall I come upon thee with an old say. 
 
 ing, that was a man when King Pepin of France 
 
 was a little boy, as touching the hit it? 
 
 Boyet. So I may answer thee with one as old, 
 that was a woman when Queen Guinever of 
 Britain was a little wench, as touching the hit it. 
 
 [Singing. 
 
 Ros. Thou canst not hit it, hit it, hit it, 
 Thou canst not hit it, my good man. 
 Boyet. An I cannot, cannot, cannot, 
 An I cannot, another can. 
 
 [Exeunt Ros. and KATH. 
 Cost. By my troth, most pleasant ! how both 
 
 did fit it ! 
 Mar. A mark marvellous well shot ; for they 
 
 both did hit it. 
 
 Boyet. A mark ! O, mark but that mark ! A 
 
 mark, says my lady ! [it may be. 
 
 Let the mark have a prick in } t, to mete at, if 
 
 Mar. Wide p' the bow-hand ! I' faith your 
 
 hand is out. 
 Cost. Indeed, 'a must shoot nearer, or he '11 
 
 ne'er hit the clout. 
 
 Boyet. And if my hand be out, then belike 
 
 your hand is in. [the pin. 
 
 Cost. Then will she get the upshot by cleaving 
 
 Mar. Come, come, you talk greasily, your 
 
 lips grow foul. 
 Cost. Shei too hard for you at pricks, sir; 
 
 challenge her to bowl. 
 
 Boyet. lifear too much rubbing ; good-night, 
 my good owl. 
 
 [Exeunt BOYET and MARIA. 
 
 Cost. By my soul, a swain ! a most simple 
 
 clown ! [down ! 
 
 Lord, lord ! how the ladies and I have put him 
 
 O' my troth, most sweet jests! most incony 
 
 vulgar wit ! 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 
 
 When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely, as 
 
 it were, so fit. 
 Armador o' the one side, O, a most dainty 
 
 man ! [fan ! 
 
 To see him walk before a lady and to bear her 
 To see him kiss his hand ! and how most sweetly 
 
 'a will swear ! 
 
 And his page o' t'other side, that handful of wit ! 
 Ah, heavens, it is a most pathetical nit 1 
 Sola, sola ! [Shouting -within. 
 
 [Exit COSTARD running. 
 
 SCENE II. Another part of the Park. 
 
 Enter HOLOFERNES, Sir NATHANIEL, and 
 DULL. 
 
 Nath. Very reverend sport, truly ; and done 
 in the testimony of a good conscience. 
 
 Hoi. The deer was, as you know, sanguis, 
 in blood ; ripe as a pomewater, who now hang- 
 eth like a jewel in the ear of ccelo, the sky, the 
 welkin, the heaven ; and anon falleth like a crab 
 on the face of terra ^ the soil, the land, the 
 earth. 
 
 Nath. Truly, Master Holoternes, the epithets 
 are sweetly varied, like a scholar at the least: 
 but, sir, I assure ye it was a buck of the first 
 head. 
 
 Hoi. Sir Nathaniel, haud credo. 
 
 Dull. 'Twas not a haud credo; 'twas a pricket. 
 
 Hoi. Most barbarous intimation ! yet a kind 
 of insinuation, as it were, in via, in way, of 
 explication ; facere^ as it were, replication, 
 or, rather, ostentare, to show, as it were, his 
 inclination, after his undressed, unpolished, 
 uneducated, unpmned, untrained, or, rather, 
 unlettered, or, ratherest, unconfirmed fashion, 
 to insert again my haud credo for a deer. 
 
 Dull. I said the deer was not a haud credo ; 
 'twas a pricket. 
 
 Hoi. Twice sod simplicity, bis coctusl 
 O thou monster Ignorance, how deformed dost 
 thou look ! 
 
 Nath. Sir, he hath never fed of the dainties 
 
 that are bred in a book ; 
 
 He hath not eat paper, a.-> it were ; he hath not 
 drunk ink ; his intellect is not replenished ; he 
 is only an animal, only sensible in the duller 
 parts ; 
 And such barren plants are set before us that 
 
 we thankful should be, 
 Which we of taste and feeling are, for those 
 parts that do fructify in us more than he. 
 For as it would ill become me to be vain, in- 
 discreet, or a fool, 
 
 So, were there a patch set on learning, to see 
 him in a school : 
 
 But, omne bene, say I ; being of an old father's 
 
 mind, [wind. 
 
 Matty can brook the weather that love not the 
 
 Dull. You two are book-men : can you tell 
 
 by your wit 
 
 What was a month old at Cain's birth that 's not 
 five weeks old as yet ? 
 
 Hoi. Dictynna, good man Dull ; Dictynna, 
 good man Dull. 
 
 Dull. What is Dictynna ? 
 
 Nath. A title to Phoebe, to Luna, to the moon. 
 
 Hoi. The moon was a month old when Adam 
 was no more, [five-score. 
 
 And raught not to five weeks when he came to 
 The allusion holds in the exchange. 
 
 Dull. 'Tis true indeed ; the collusion holds 
 in the exchange. 
 
 Hoi. God comfort thy capacity ! I say the 
 allusion holds in the exchange. 
 
 Dull. And I say the pollusion holds in the 
 exchange; for the moon is never but a month 
 old : and I say beside, that 'twas a pricket that 
 the orincess killed. 
 
 Hoi. Sir Nathaniel, will you hear an extem- 
 poral epitaph on the death of the deer ? and, to 
 humour the ignorant, I have called the deer the 
 princess killed a pricket. 
 
 Nath. Perge, good Master Holo femes, flerge ; 
 so it shall please you to abrogate scurrility. 
 
 Hoi. I will something affect the letter ; for 
 it argues facility. 
 
 The praiseful princess pierc'd and prick'd a 
 pretty pleasing pricket ; 
 
 Some say a sore ; but not a sore, till now 
 
 made sore with shooting. 
 The: dogs did yell ; put 1 to sore, then sorel 
 jumps from thicket ; [a-hooting. 
 
 Or pricket, sore, or else sorel ; the people fall 
 
 If sore be sore, then 1 to sore makes fifty sores ; 
 
 O sore 1 ! [one more 1. 
 
 Of one sore I an hundred make by adding but 
 
 Nath. A rare talent ! 
 
 Dull. If a talent be a claw, look how he 
 claws him with a talent. 
 
 Hoi. This is a gift that I have, simple, simple ; 
 a foolish extravagant spirit, full of forms, 
 figures, shapes, objects, ideas, apprehensions, 
 motions, revolutions: these are begot in the 
 ventricle of memory, nourished in the womb of 
 pia mater ^ and delivered upon the mellowing 
 of occasion. But the gift is good in those in 
 whom it is acute, and I am thankful for it. 
 
 Nath. Sir, I praise the Lord for you ; and 
 so may my parishioners ; for their sons are well 
 tutored by you, and their daughters profit very 
 greatly under you : you are a good member of 
 the commonwealth. 
 
204 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 
 
 I ACT iv. 
 
 HoL Meherc&y if their sons be ingenious, 
 they shall want no instruction : if their daughters 
 be capable, I will put it to them : but, vir 
 sapit qui pauca loquitur : a soul feminine salut- 
 eth us. 
 
 Enter JAQUENETTA and COSTARD. 
 
 Jaq. God give you good-morrow, master 
 person. 
 
 Hoi. Master person, quasi pers-on. And 
 if one should be pierced, which is the one ? 
 
 Cost. Marry, master schoolmaster, he that is 
 likest to a hogshead. 
 
 Hoi. Of piercing a hogshead ! a good lustre 
 of conceit in a turf of earth ; fire enough for a 
 flint, pearl enough for a swine; 'tis pretty; it is 
 well. 
 
 Jaq. Good master person, be so good as 
 read me this letter ; it was given me by Costard, 
 and sent me from Don Armado : I beseech you, 
 read it. 
 
 Hoi. Fauste, precor gelidd quando pecus omne 
 
 nib umbrd [Mantuan ! 
 
 Ruminat, and so forth. Ah, good old 
 
 I may speak of thee as the traveller doth of 
 
 Venice : 
 
 Vinegia, Vinegia, 
 
 Chi non te vede, ei non te pregia. 
 Old Mantuan! old Mantuan! who under- 
 standeth thee not, loves thee not? Ut, re, sel, 
 fa, mi, fa. Under pardon, sir, what are the 
 contents? or rather, as Horace says in his 
 What, my soul, verses? 
 
 Nath. Ay, sir, and very learned. 
 Hoi. Let me hear a staff, a stanza, a verse ; 
 Lege, domine. 
 
 Nath. [reads.] If love make me forsworn, 
 how shall I swear to love ? [vow'd ! 
 Ah, never faith could hold if not to beauty 
 Though to myself forsworn, to thee I '11 faith- 
 ful prove ; 
 Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee 
 
 like osiers bow'd. 
 Study his bias leaves, and makes his book 
 
 thine eyes; 
 Where all those pleasures live that art 
 
 would comprehend: 
 
 If knowledge be the mark, to know thee 
 
 shall suffice ; [thee commend : 
 
 Well learned is that tongue that well can 
 
 All ignorant that soul that sees thee without 
 
 wonder, 
 Which is to me some praise that I thy 
 
 parts admire, 
 
 Thy eye Jove's lightning bears, thy voice his 
 
 dreadful thunder, [sweet fire. 
 
 Which, not to anger bent, is music and 
 
 Celestial as thou art, O pardon, love, this 
 wrong, 
 
 That sings heaven's praise with such an 
 earthly tongue. 
 
 Hoi. You find not the apostrophes, and so 
 miss the accent : let me supervise the canzonet 
 Here are only numbers ratified; but, for the 
 elegancy, facility, and golden cadence of poesy, 
 caret. Ovidius Naso was the man : and why, 
 indeed, Naso ; but for smelling out the oderi- 
 ferous flowers of fancy, the jerks of invention? 
 Imitari is nothing: so doth the hound his 
 master, the ape his keeper, the tired horse his 
 rider. But damosella virgin, was this directed 
 to you ? 
 
 Jaq. Ay, sir, from one Monsieur Biron, one 
 of the strange queen's lords. 
 
 hoi. I will overglance the superscript. 
 
 To the snow-white hand of the most beauteous 
 Lady Rosaline. 
 
 I will look again on the intellect of the letter, 
 for the nomination of the party writing to the 
 person written unto: 
 
 Your Ladyship's in all desired employment, 
 
 BIRON. 
 
 Sir Nathaniel, this Biron is one of the votaries 
 with the king; and here he hath framed a 
 letter to a sequent of the stranger queen's, 
 which accidentally, or by the way of pro- 
 gression, hath miscarried. Trip and go, my 
 sweet ; deliver this paper into the royal hand of 
 the king; it may concern much. Stay not thy 
 compliment ; I forgive thy duty : adieu. 
 
 Jaq. Good Costard, go with me. Sir, God 
 save your life ! 
 
 Cost. Have with thee, my girl. 
 
 {Exeunt COST, and JAQ. 
 
 Nath. Sir, you have done this in the fear of 
 God, very religiously ; and, as a certain father 
 saith 
 
 Hoi. Sir, tell not me of the father ; I do fear 
 colourable colours. But to return to the verses: 
 did they please you, Sir Nathaniel ? 
 
 Nath. Marvellous well for the pen. 
 
 Hoi. I do dine to-day at the father's of a 
 certain pupil of mine ; where if, before repast, 
 it shall please you to gratify the table with a 
 grace, I will, on my privilege I have with the 
 parents of the foresaid child or pupil, under- 
 take your ben venuto; where I will prove those 
 verses to be very unlearned, neither savouring 
 of poetry, wit, nor invention : I beseech your 
 society. 
 
 Nath. And thank you too : for society, saith 
 the text, is the happiness of life. 
 
 Hoi. And certes, the text most infallibly 
 concludes it. Sir \to DULL], I do invite you 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 
 
 205 
 
 too; you shall not say me nay: pauca verba. 
 Away ; the gentles are at their game, and we 
 will to our recreation. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. Another part of 'the Park. 
 Enter BiRON, with a paper. 
 
 Biron. The king he is hunting the deer; I 
 am coursing myself : they have pitched a toil; 
 I am toiling in a pitch, pitch that defiles: 
 defile! a foul word. Well, sit thee down, 
 sorrow ! for so they say the fool said, and so 
 say I, and I the fool. Well proved, wit ! By 
 the Lord, this love is as mad as Ajax : it kills 
 sheep; it kills me, I a sheep: well proved 
 again on my side ! I will not love : if I do, 
 hang me ; i' faith, I will not. O, but her eye, 
 by this light, but for her eye I would not 
 love her; yes, for her two eyes. Well, I do 
 nothing in the world but lie, and lie in my 
 throat. By heaven, I do love: and it hath 
 taught me to rhyme, and to be melancholy; 
 and here is part of my rhyme, and here my 
 melancholy. Well, she hath one o' my sonnets 
 already ; the clown bore it, the fool sent it, and 
 the lady hath it: sweet clown, sweeter fool, 
 sweetest lady ! By the world, I would not care 
 a pin if the other three were in. Here comes 
 one with a paper; God give him grace to 
 groan. [Gets up into a tree. 
 
 Enter the KING, with a paper. 
 
 King. Ah me ! 
 
 Biron. [aside. ] Shot, by heaven ! Proceed, 
 sweet Cupid ; thou hast thumped him with thy 
 bird-bolt under the left pap ; I' faith, secrets. 
 
 King, [reads.] So sweet a kiss the golden sun 
 gives not 
 
 To those fresh morning drops upon the rose, 
 
 As thy eyebeams, when their fresh rays have 
 
 smote [flows : 
 
 The night of dew that on my cheeks down 
 Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright 
 
 Through the transparent bosom of the deep, 
 As doth thy face through tears of mine give light: 
 
 Thou shin'st in every tear that I do weep ; 
 No drop but as a coach doth carry thee ; 
 
 So ridest thou triumphing in my woe. 
 Do but behold the tears that swell in me, 
 
 And they thy glory through my grief will show: 
 But do not love thyself; then thou wilt keep 
 My tears for glasses, and still make me weep. 
 O queen of queens, how far dost thou excel ! 
 No thought can thinknor tongue of mortal tell. 
 How shall she know my griefs? I'll drop the 
 
 paper; 
 
 Sweet leaves, shade folly. Who is he comes here? 
 
 [Steps aside. 
 
 Enter LONGAVILLE, with a paper. 
 
 What, Longaville ; and reading ! listen, ear. 
 
 Biron. Now, in thy likeness, one more fool, 
 
 appear ! [Aside. 
 
 Long. Ah me ! I am forsworn. 
 
 Biron. Why, Le comes in like a perjure, 
 
 tearing papers. [Aside. 
 
 King. In love, I hope: sweet fellowship in 
 
 shame ! [Aside. 
 
 Biron. One drunkard loves another of the 
 
 name. [Aside. 
 
 Long. Am I the first that have been perjur'd so ? 
 
 Biron. [aside.'} I could put thee in comfort; 
 
 not by two that i know : 
 Thou mak'st the triumviry, the corner cap of 
 
 society, 
 The shape of Love's Tyburn that hangs up 
 
 simplicity. 
 Long. I fear these stubborn lines lack power 
 
 to move : 
 
 O sweet Maria, empress of my love ! 
 These numbers will I tear and write in prose. 
 Biron. [aside.] O, rhymes are guards on 
 
 wanton Cupid's hose : 
 Disfigure not his slop. . 
 
 Long. This same shall go. 
 
 [He reads the sonnet. 
 
 Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye, 
 'Gainst whom the world cannot hold argu- 
 ment, 
 Persuade my heart to this false perjury? 
 
 Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment. 
 A woman I forswore : but I will prove, 
 
 Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee ; 
 My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love ; 
 
 Thy grace beinggain'd curesall disgrace in me. 
 Vows are but breath, and breath a vapour is : 
 Then thou, fair sun, which on my earth dost 
 
 shine, 
 
 Exhal'st this vapour vow ; in thee it is : 
 If broken, then it is no fault of mine : 
 If by me broke, what fool is not so wise 
 To lose an oath to win a paradise? 
 
 Biron. [aside.'] This is the liver vein, which 
 
 makes flesh a deity, 
 
 A green goose a goddess : pure, pure idolatry. 
 Go4 amend us, God amend ! we are much out 
 
 o' the way. 
 
 Long. By whom shall I send this? Com- 
 pany! stay. [Stepping aside. 
 Biron. [aside.] All hid, all hid, an old infant 
 
 play. 
 
 Like a demi-god here sit I in the sky, 
 And wretched fools' secrets heedfully o'er-eye. 
 More sacks to the mill 1 O heavens, I have my 
 wish! 
 
LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Enter DUMAIN, with a paper. 
 
 Dumain transform'd : four woodcocks in a dish ! 
 Dum. O most divine Kate ! 
 Biron O most profane coxcomb ! 
 
 {Aside. 
 
 Dum. By heaven, the wonder of a mortal eye ! 
 
 Biron. By earth, she is but corporal : there 
 
 you lie. {Aside. 
 
 Dum. Her amber hairs for foul have amber 
 
 quoted. 
 
 Biron. An amber-colour'd raven was well 
 noted. [Aside. 
 
 Dum. As upright as the cedar. 
 J3iron. Stoop, I say; 
 
 Her shoulder is with child. {Aside. 
 
 Dum. As fair as day. 
 
 Biron. Ay, as some days ; but then no sun 
 must shine. {Aside. 
 
 Dum. O that I had my wish ! 
 Long. And I had mine ! 
 
 {Aside. 
 
 King. And I mine too, good Lord ! {Aside. 
 Biron. Amen, so I had mine : is not that a 
 good word? {Aside. 
 
 Dum. I would forget her ; but a fever she 
 Reigns in my blood, and will remember'd be. 
 Biron. A fever in your blood? why, then 
 
 incision 
 
 Would let her out in saucers : sweet misprision ! 
 
 {Aside. 
 Dum. Once more I '11 read the ode that I 
 
 have writ. 
 
 Biron. Once more I '11 mark how love can 
 vary wit. {Aside. 
 
 Dum. {reads.] On a day, alack the day ! 
 Love, whose month is ever May, 
 Spied a blossom passing fair 
 Playing in the wanton air : 
 Through the velvet leaves the wind 
 All unseen, can passage find ; 
 That the lover, sick to death, 
 Wish'd himself the heaven's breath. 
 Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow : 
 Air, would I might triumph so ! 
 But, alack, my hand is sworn 
 Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn : 
 Vow, alack, for youth unmeet; 
 Youth so apt to pluck a sweet. 
 Do not call it sin in me 
 That I am forsworn for thee : 
 Thou for whom even Jove would swear 
 Juno but an Ethiope were ; 
 And deny himself for Jove, 
 Turning mortal for thy love. 
 This will I send ; and something else more plain, 
 That shall express my true love*s fasting pain. 
 
 O, would the King, Biron, and Longaville, 
 Were lovers too ! Ill, to example ill, 
 Would from my forehead wipe a perjur'd.note; 
 For none offend where all alike do dote. 
 
 Long. Dumain {advancing], thy love is faf 
 
 from charity, 
 
 That in love's grief desir'st society : 
 You may look pale, but I should blush, I know, 
 To be o'erheard and taken napping so. 
 
 King. Come, sir {advancing], you blush ; as 
 
 his your case is such ; 
 
 You chide at him, offending twice as much: 
 You do not love Maria; Longaville 
 Did never sonnet for her sake compile ; 
 Nor never lay his wreathed arms athwart 
 His loving bosom, to keep down his heart. 
 I have been closely shrouded in this bush, 
 And mark'd you both, and for you both did 
 blush. [fashion ; 
 
 I heard your guilty rhymes, observ'd your 
 Saw sighs reek from you, noted well your passion: 
 Ah me ! says one ; O Jove ! the other cries ; 
 One her hairs were gold, crystal the other's eyes; 
 You would for paradise break faith and troth ; 
 
 {To LONG. 
 
 And Jove for your love would infringe an oath. 
 
 {To DUMAIN. 
 
 What will Bir6n say when that he shall hear 
 A faith infring'd which such a zeal did swear? 
 How will he scorn ! how will he spend his wit ! 
 How will he triumph, leap, and laugh at it ! 
 For all the wealth that ever I did see 
 I would not have him know so much by me. 
 Biron. Now step I forth to whi p hypocrisy. 
 {Descends from the tree 
 Ah, good my liege, I pray thee pardon me. 
 Good heart, what grace hast thou, thus to re- 
 prove 
 
 These worms for loving, that art most in love? 
 Your eyes do make no coaches ; in your tears 
 There is no certain princess that appears : 
 You'll not be perjur'd 'tis a hateful thing; 
 Tush, none but minstrels like of sonneting. 
 But are you not asham'd ? nay, are you not, 
 All three of you, to be thus much o'ershot? 
 You found his mote ; the king your mote did see ; 
 But I a beam do find in each of three. 
 O, what a scene of foolery I have seen, 
 Of sighs, of groans, of sorrow, and of teen ! 
 O me, with what strict patience have I sat 
 To see a king transformed to a gnat ! 
 To see great Hercules whipping a gig, 
 And profound Solomon tuning a jig, 
 And Nestor play at push-pin with the boys, 
 And critic Timon laugh at idle toys ! 
 Where lies thy grief, O, tell me, good Dumain? 
 And, gentle Longaville, where lies thy pain? 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 
 
 207 
 
 And where my liege's? all about the breast: 
 A caudle, ho ! 
 
 King. Too bitter is thy jest. 
 
 Are we betray'd thus to thy over- view? 
 
 Biron. Not you to me, but I betray'd by you : 
 I, that am honest; I, that hold it sin 
 To break the vow I am engaged in ; 
 I am betray'd by keeping company 
 With moon -like men of strange inconstancy. 
 When shall you see me write a thing in rhyme? 
 Or groan for Joan? or spend a minute's time 
 In pruning me? When shall you hear that I 
 Will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye, 
 A gait, a state, a brow, a breast, a waist, 
 A leg, a limb? 
 
 King. Soft ! whither away so fast? 
 
 A true man or a thief that gallops so? 
 
 Biron. I post from love ; good lover, let me 
 
 go- 
 Enter JAQUENETTA and COSTARD. 
 
 faq. God bless the king ! 
 King. What present hast thou there? 
 
 Cost. Some certain treason. 
 King. What makes treason here? 
 
 Cost. Nay, it makes nothing, sir. 
 King. If it mar nothing neither, 
 
 The treason and you go in peace away together. 
 /ay. I beseech your grace, let this letter be 
 
 read; 
 
 Our parson misdoubts it ; 'twas treason he said. 
 King. Biron, read it over. 
 
 [Giving him the letter. 
 Where hadst thou it? 
 faq. Of Costard. 
 King. Where hadst thou it? 
 Cost. Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio. 
 King. How now ! what is in you? why dost 
 
 thou tear it? 
 
 Biron. A toy, my liege, a toy: your grace 
 needs not fear it. 
 
 Long. It did move him to passion, and 
 
 therefore let's hear it. 
 
 Dum. It is Birdn's writing, and here is his 
 
 name. [Picks up the pieces. 
 
 Biron. Ah, you whoreson loggerhead \to 
 
 COSTARD], you were born to do me 
 
 shame. 
 
 Guilty, my lord, guilty ; I confess, I confess. 
 King. What? 
 Biron. That you three fools lack'd me fool 
 
 to make up the mess ; 
 He, he, and you, my liege, and I, 
 Are pick-purses in love, and we deserve to die. 
 O, dismiss this audience, and I shall tell you 
 
 more. 
 Dum. Now the number is even. 
 
 Biron. True, true; we are four; 
 
 Will these turtles be gone? 
 
 King. Hence, sirs, away. 
 
 Cost. Walk aside the true folk, and let the 
 traitors stay. 
 
 {Exeunt COST. anetjAQ. 
 
 Biron. Sweet lords, sweet lovers, O let us 
 embrace ! 
 
 As true we are as flesh and blood can be ; 
 The sea will ebb and flow, heaven show his face ; 
 
 Young blood will not obey an old decree : 
 We cannot cross the cause why we were born ; 
 Therefore of all hands must we be forsworn. 
 
 King* What ! did these rent lines show some 
 love of thine? 
 
 Biron. Did they, quoth you? Who sees the 
 
 heavenly Rosaline 
 That, like a rude and savage man of Inde 
 
 At the first opening of the gorgeous east, 
 Bows not his vassal head ; and, strucken blind, 
 
 Kisses the base ground with obedient breast ? 
 What peremptory eagle-sighted eye 
 Dares look upon the heaven of her brow, 
 That is not blinded by her majesty? 
 
 King. What zeal, what fury hath inspir'd 
 
 thee now? 
 
 My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon, 
 She an attending star, scarce seen a light. 
 
 Biron. My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Bir6n : 
 
 O, but for my love, day would turn to night ! 
 Of all complexions the cull'd sovereignty 
 
 Do meet, as at a fair, in her fair cheek; 
 Where several worthies make one dignity ; 
 
 Where nothing wants that want itself doth 
 
 seek. 
 Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues, 
 
 Fie, painted rhetoric ! O, she needs it not ; 
 To things of sale a seller's praise belongs ; 
 
 She passes praise : then praise too short doth 
 
 blot. 
 A wither'd hermit, five-score winters worn, 
 
 Might shake off fifty, looking in her eye: 
 Beauty doth varnish age, as if new-born, 
 
 And gives the crutch the cradle's infancy. 
 O, 'tis the sun, that maketh all things shine ! 
 
 King. By heaven, thy love is black as ebony. 
 
 Biron. Is ebony like her? O wood divine! 
 
 A wife of such wood were felicity. 
 O, who can give an oath? where is a book? 
 
 That I may swear beauty doth beauty lack 
 If that she learn not of her eye to look : 
 
 No face is fair that is not full so black. 
 
 King. O paradox! Black is the badge of hell, 
 
 The hue of dungeons, and the scowl of night; 
 And beauty's crest becomes the heavens welL 
 
 Biron. Devils soonest tempt, resembling 
 spirits of light. 
 
208 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 O, if in black my lady's brows be deckt, 
 
 It mourns that painting and usurping hair 
 Should ravish doters with a false aspect ; 
 
 And therefore is she born to make black fair. 
 Her favour turns the fashion of the days ; 
 
 For native blood is counted painting now ; 
 And therefore red, that would avoid dispraise, 
 Paints itself black, to imitate her brow. 
 Dum. To look like her are chimney-sweepers 
 black. [bright. 
 
 Long. And, since her time, are colliers counted 
 King. And Ethiopes of their sweet complex- 
 ion crack. [is light. 
 Dum. Dark needs no candles now, for dark 
 Biron. Your mistresses dare never come in 
 ; v&i rain, 
 
 For fear their colours should be washed away. 
 King. 'Twere good yours did; for, sir, to 
 
 tell you plain, 
 
 I '11 find a fairer face not wash'd to-day. 
 Biron. I '11 prove her fair, or talk till dooms- 
 day here. 
 
 King. No devil will fright thee then so much 
 
 as she. [dear. 
 
 Dum. I never knew man hold vile stuff so 
 
 Long. Look, here 's thy love : my foot and 
 
 her face see. {Showing his shoe. 
 
 Biron. O, if the streets were paved with 
 
 thine eyes 
 
 Her feet were much too dainty for such tread ! 
 Dum. O vile ! then, as she goes, what up- 
 ward lies 
 
 The street should see as she walk'd over head. 
 King. But what of this? are we not all in 
 love? [forsworn. 
 
 Biron. O, nothing so sure ; and thereby all 
 King. Then leave this chat; and, good 
 
 Bir6n, now prove 
 
 Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn. 
 Dum. Ay, marry, there; some flattery for 
 
 this evil. 
 
 Long. O, some authority how to proceed ; 
 Some tricks, some quillets, how to cheat the 
 
 devil. 
 
 Dum. Some salve for perjury. 
 Biron. O, 'tis more than need ! 
 
 Have at you, then, affection's men-at-arms : 
 Consider what you first did swear unto ; 
 To fast, to study, and to see no woman ; 
 Flat treason 'gainst the kingly state of youth. 
 Say, can you fast? your stomachs are too young, 
 And abstinence engenders maladies. 
 And where that you have vow'd to study, lords, 
 In that each of you hath forsworn his book, 
 Can you still dream, and pore, and thereon look ? 
 Why, universal plodding prisons up 
 The nimble spints in the arteries, 
 
 As motion and long-during action tires 
 The sinewy vigour of the traveller. 
 Now, for not looking on a woman's face, 
 You have in that forsworn the use of eyes, 
 And study, too, the causer of your vow : 
 For when would you, my liege, or you, or you, 
 In leaden contemplation, have found out 
 Such fiery numbers as the prompting eyes 
 Of beauteous tutors have enrich'd you with ? 
 Other slow arts entirely keep the brain, 
 And therefore, finding barren practisers, 
 Scarce show a harvest of their heavy toil ; 
 But love, first learned in a lady's eyes, 
 Lives not alone immured in the brain, 
 But, with the motion of all elements, 
 Courses as swift as thought in every power, 
 And gives to every power a double power 
 Above their functions and their offices. 
 It adds a precious seeing to the eye : 
 A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind ; 
 A lover's ear will hear the lowest sound, 
 When the suspicious head of theft is stopp'd ; 
 Love's feeling is more soft and sensible 
 Than are the tender horns of cockled snails ; 
 Love's tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in 
 
 taste : 
 
 For valour, is not love a Hercules, 
 Still climbing trees in the Hesperides? 
 Subtle as sphinx ; as sweet and musical 
 As bright Apollo s lute, strung with his hair? 
 And when love speaks, the voice of all the gods 
 Make/ heaven drowsy with the harmony. 
 Never durst poet touch a pen to write 
 Until his ink were temper'd with love's sighs : 
 O, then his lines would ravish savage ears, 
 And plant in tyrants mild humility. 
 From women's eyes this doctrine I derive : 
 They sparkle still the right Promethean fire ; 
 They are the books, the arts, the academes, 
 That show, contain, and nourish all the world, 
 Else none at all in aught proves excellent. 
 Then fools you were these women to forswear ; 
 Or, keeping what is sworn, you will prove fools. 
 For wisdom's sake a word that all men love, 
 Or for love's sake a word that loves all men, 
 Or for men's sake, the authors of these women, 
 Or women's sake, by whom we men are men, 
 Let us once lose our oaths to find ourselves, 
 Or else we lose ourselves to keep our oaths : 
 It is religion to be thus forsworn ; 
 For charity itself fulfils the law, 
 And who can sever love from charity? 
 
 King. Saint Cupid, then! and, soldiers, to 
 the field ! [them, lords ; 
 
 Biron. Advance your standards, and upon 
 Pell-mell, down with them ! but be first advis'd 
 In conflict that you get the sun of them- 
 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 
 
 209 
 
 Ijmg. Now to plain-dealing ; lay these glozes 
 
 by; 
 
 Shall we resolve to woo these girls of France? 
 King. And win them too: therefore let us 
 
 devise 
 
 Some entertainment for them in their tents. 
 Biron. First, from the park let us conduct 
 
 them thither; 
 
 Then homeward every man attach the hand 
 Of his fair mistress : in the afternoon 
 We will with some strange pastime solace them, 
 Such as the shortness of the time can shape ; 
 For revels, dances, masks, and merry hours, 
 Forenm fair Love, strewing her way with flowers. 
 King, Away, away ! no time shall be omitted, 
 That will be time, and may by us be fitted. 
 Biron. Allans! A lions ! Sow'd cockle 
 
 reap'd no corn ; 
 
 And justice always whirls in equal measure : 
 Light wenches may prove plagues to men 
 
 forsworn ; 
 If so, our copper buys no better treasure. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 SCENE I. Another part of the Park. 
 
 Enter HOLOFERNES, Sir NATHANIEL, and 
 DULL. 
 
 Hoi. Satis quod sufficit. 
 
 Nath. I praise God for you, sir : your reasons 
 at dinner have been sharp and sententious; 
 pleasant without scurrility, witty without affec- 
 tion, audacious without impudency, learned 
 without opinion, and strange without heresy. 
 I did converse this quondam day with a com- 
 panion of the king's, who is intituled, nomin- 
 ated, or called, Don Adriano de Armado. 
 
 Hoi. Novi hominem tanquam te : his humour 
 is lofty, his discourse peremptory, his tongue 
 filed, his eye ambitious, his gait majestical, and 
 his general behaviour vain, ridiculous, and 
 thrasonical. He is too picked, too spruce, too 
 affected, too odd, as it were, too peregrinate, 
 as I may call it. 
 
 Nath. A most singular and choice epithet. 
 [ Takes out his table-book. 
 
 Hoi. He draweth out the thread of his ver- 
 bosity finer than the staple of his argument. I 
 abhor such fanatical fantasms, such insociable 
 and point-devise companions; such rackers of 
 orthography, as to speak dout, fine, wnen he 
 should say doubt; det, when he should pro- 
 nounce debt, d, e, b, t, not d, e, t: he clepeth 
 a calf, cauf; half, hauf; neighbour vocatur 
 nebour ; neigh abbreviated ne. This is abho- 
 minable (which he would call abominable), it 
 
 insinuateth me of insanie : Ne inUlligis,dominc? 
 to make frantic, lunatic. 
 
 Nath. Laus Deo t bone intelligo. 
 
 Hoi. Bone! bone for bene: Priscian a 
 
 little scratched ; 'twill serve. 
 
 Nath. Videsne quis venit? 
 
 Hoi. Video ) et gaudeo. 
 
 Enter ARMADO, MOTH, and COSTARD. 
 
 Arm. Chirra! [To MOTH. 
 
 Hoi. Quare Chirra, not sirrah? 
 
 Arm. Men of peace, well encountered. 
 
 Hoi. Most military sir, salutation. 
 
 Moth. They have been at a great feast of lan- 
 guages and stolen the scraps. 
 
 [ To COSTARD, aside. 
 
 Cost. O, they have lived long on the alms- 
 basket of words ! I marvel thy master hath not 
 eaten thee for a word ; for you art not so long 
 by the head as honorificabilitudinitatibus : thou 
 art easier swallowed than a flap-dragon. 
 
 Moth. Peace ; the peal begins. [tered? 
 
 Arm. Monsieur [to HOL.], are you not let- 
 
 Moth. Yes, yes; he teaches boys the horn- 
 book ; What is a, b, spelt backward with the 
 horn on his head. 
 
 Hoi. Ba, pueritta, with a horn added. 
 
 Moth. Ba, most silly sheep, with a horn. 
 You hear his learning. 
 
 Hoi. QtiiS) quiz, thou consonant? 
 
 Moth. The third of the five vowels, if you 
 repeat them ; or the fifth, if I. 
 
 Hoi. I will repeat them, a, e, i. 
 
 Moth. The sheep ; the other two concludes 
 it ; o, u. 
 
 Arm. Now, by the salt wave of the Mediter- 
 raneum, a sweet touch, a quick venew of wit : 
 snip, snap, quick and home; it rejoiceth my 
 intellect : true wit. [which is wit-old. 
 
 Moth. Offered by a child to an old man; 
 
 Hoi. What is the figure? what is the figure? 
 
 Moth. Horns. [thy gig. 
 
 Hoi. Thou disputest like an infant : go whip 
 
 Moth. Lend me your horn to make one, and 
 I will whip about your infamy circum circa; a 
 gig of a cuckold's horn ! 
 
 Cost. An I had but one penny in the world 
 thou shouldst have it to buy gingerbread : hold, 
 there is the very remuneration I had of thy 
 master, thou halfpenny purse of wit, thou pigeon- 
 egg of discretion. O, an the heavens were so 
 pleased that thou wert but my bastard, what a 
 joyful father wouldst thou make me ! Go to ; 
 thou hast it ad dunghill, at the fingers' ends, as 
 they say. [unguem. 
 
 Hoi. O, I smell false Latin; dunghill for 
 
 Arm, Arts-man, pr&ambula; we will be 
 
210 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 
 
 [ACT V. 
 
 singled from the barbarous. Do you not edu- 
 cate youth at the charge-house on the top of 
 the mountain? 
 
 Hoi. Or mons, the hill. [tain. 
 
 Arm. At your sweet pleasure, for the moun- 
 
 HoL I do, sans question. 
 
 Arm. Sir, it is the king's most sweet pleasure 
 and affection to congratulate the princess at her 
 pavilion, in the posteriors of this day; which 
 the rude multitude call the afternoon. 
 
 Hoi. The posterior of the day, most generous 
 sir, is liable, congruent, and measurable for the 
 afternoon: the word is well culled, choice; 
 sweet and apt, I do assure you, sir, I do assure. 
 
 Arm. Sir, the king is a noble gentleman, and 
 my familiar, I do assure you, very good friend : 
 For what is inward between us, let it pass : I 
 do beseech thee, remember thy courtesy : I be- 
 seech thee, apparel thy head; and among 
 other importunate and most serious designs, 
 and of great import indeed too ; but let that 
 pass ; for I must tell thee, it will please his grace, 
 by the world, sometime to lean upon my poor 
 shoulder; and with his royal finger, thus, dally 
 with my excrement, with my mustachio: but, 
 sweet heart, let that pass. By the world, I re- 
 count no fable ; some certain special honours it 
 pleaseth his greatness to impart to Armado, a 
 soldier, a man of travel, that hath seen the world : 
 but let that pa^s. The very all of all is, but, 
 sweet heart, I do implore secrecy, that the king 
 would have me present the princess, sweet chuck, 
 with some delightful ostentation, or show, or 
 pageant, or antic, or fire-work. Now, under- 
 standing that the curate and your sweet self are 
 good at such eruptions and sudden breaking out 
 of mirth, as it were, I have acquainted you 
 withal, to the end to crave your assistance. 
 
 Hoi. Sir, you shall present before her the nine 
 worthies. Sir Nathaniel, as concerning some 
 entertainment of time, some show in the pos- 
 terior of this day, to be rendered by our assist- 
 ance, die king's command, and this most 
 gallant, illustrate, and learned gentleman, be- 
 fore the princess; I say, none so fit as to 
 present the nine worthies. 
 
 Nath. Where will you find men worthy 
 enough to present them? 
 
 Hoi. Joshua, yourself; myself, or this gal- 
 lant gentleman, Judas Maccabaeus ; this swain, 
 because of his great limb or joint, shall pass 
 Pompey the Great ; the page, Hercules. 
 
 Arm. Pardon, sir ; error : he is not quantity 
 enough for that worthy's thumb : he is not so 
 big as the end of his club. 
 
 Hoi. Shall I have audience? he shall pre- 
 sent Hercules in minority : his enter and exit 
 
 shall be strangling a snake; and I will have 
 an apology for that purpose. 
 
 Moth. An excellent device! so, if any of 
 the audience hiss, you may cry: Well done, 
 Hercules! now thou crushest the snake! that 
 is the way to make an offence gracious, though 
 few have ihe grace to do it. 
 
 Arm. For the rest of the worthies? 
 
 Hoi. I will play three myself. 
 
 Moth. Thrice-worthy gentleman ! 
 
 Arm. Shall I tell you a thing? 
 
 Hoi. We attend. 
 
 Arm. We will have, if this fadge not, an 
 antic. I beseech you, follow. 
 
 Hoi. Via, goodman Dull ! thou hast spoken 
 no word all this while 
 
 Dull. Nor understood none neither, sir, 
 
 Hoi. Allans! we will employ thee. 
 
 Dull. I '11 make one in a dance, or so ; or I 
 will play on the tabor to the worthies, and 
 let them dance tne hay. 
 
 Hoi. Most dull, honest Dull ! to our sport, 
 away. [Exeunt. 
 
 Park, 
 ^avilion. 
 
 SCENE II. Another part of the 
 Before the PRINCESS'S Pavilio 
 
 Enter the PRINCESS, KATHARINE, ROSALINE, 
 
 and MARIA. 
 Prin. Swfiet hearts, we shall be rich ere we 
 
 depart, 
 
 If fairings come thus plentifully in : 
 A lady wall'd about with diamonds ! 
 Look you what I have from the loving king. 
 Ros. Madam, came nothing else along with 
 that? [in rhyme 
 
 Prin. Nothing but this? yes, as much love 
 As would be cramm'd up in a sheet of paper, 
 Writ on both sides the leaf, margent and all ; 
 That he was fain to seal on Cupid's name. 
 Ros. That was the way to make his godhead 
 
 wax; 
 
 For he hath been five thousand years a boy. 
 Kath. Ay, and a shrewd unhappy gallows too. 
 Ros. You '11 ne'er be friends with him ; he 
 kill'd your sister. [heavy ; 
 
 Kath. He made her melancholy, sad, and 
 And so she died : had she been light, like you, 
 Of such a merry, nimble, stirring spirit, 
 She might have been a grandam ere she died : 
 And so may you ; for a light heart lives long. 
 Ros. What 's your dark meaning, mouse, of 
 
 this light word? 
 
 Kath. A light condition in a beauty dark. 
 Ros. We need more light to find your mean- 
 ing out. [snuff ; 
 
 Kath. You '11 mar the light by taking it in 
 Therefore, I Ml darkly end the argument. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 
 
 211 
 
 Ros. Look what you do, you do it still i' the 
 dark. [wench. 
 
 Kath. So do not you; for you are a light 
 
 Ros. Indeed, I weigh not youj and there- 
 fore light. 
 
 Kath. You weigh me not ? O, that 's you 
 care not for me. [care. 
 
 Ros. Great reason ; for, Past cure is still past 
 
 Prin. Well bandied both ; a set of wit well 
 
 play'd. 
 
 But, Rosaline, you have a favour too: 
 Who sent it? and what is it? 
 
 Ros. I would you knew ! 
 
 An if my face were but as fair as yours. 
 My favour were as great ; be witness this, 
 Nay, I have verses too, I thank Biron : 
 The numbers true ; and, were the numbering too, 
 I were the fairest goddess on the ground : 
 I am compar'd to twenty thousand fairs. 
 O, he hath drawn my picture in his letter ! 
 
 Prin. Anything like? 
 
 Ros. Much in the letters; nothing in the praise. 
 
 Prin. Beauteous as ink ; a good conclusion. 
 
 Kath. Fair as a text B in a copy-book. 
 
 Ros. 'Ware pencils, ho ! let me not die your 
 
 debtor. 
 
 My rod dominical, my golden letter: 
 O that your face were not so full of O's ! 
 
 Kath. A pox of that jest! and beshrew all 
 shrows! [from fair Dumain? 
 
 Prin. But, Katharine, what was sent to you 
 
 Kath. Madam, this glove. 
 
 Prin. Did he not send you twain? 
 
 Kath. Yes, madam ; and, moreover, 
 Some thousand verses of a faithful lover ; 
 A huge translation of hypocrisy, 
 Vilely compil'd, profound simplicity. 
 
 Mar. This, and these pearls, to me sent 
 
 Lpngaville ; 
 The letter is too long by half a mile. [heart 
 
 Prin. I think no less. Dost thou not wish in 
 The chain were longer and the letter short ? 
 
 Mar. Ay, or I would these hands might 
 never part. 
 
 Prin. We are wise girls to mock our lovers so. 
 
 Ros. They are worse fools to purchase mock- 
 ing so. 
 
 That same Biron I '11 torture ere I go. 
 O that I knew he were but in by the week ! 
 How I would make him fawn, and beg, and seek, 
 And wait the season, and observe the times, 
 And spend his prodigal wits in bootless rhymes, 
 And shape his service wholly to my 'hests, 
 And make him proud to make me proud that 
 
 jests ! 
 
 So portent-like would I o'ersway his state 
 That he should be my fool and I his fate. 
 
 Prin. None are so surely caught, when they 
 
 are catch'd, 
 
 As wit turn'd fool : folly, in wisdom hatch'd, 
 Hath wisdom's warrant, and the help of school, 
 And wit's own grace to grace a learned fool. 
 
 Ros. The blood of youth burns not with such 
 
 excess 
 As gravity's revolt to wantonness. 
 
 Mar. Folly in fools bears not so strong a note 
 As foolery in the wise, when wit doth dote, 
 Since all the power thereof it doth apply 
 To prove, by wit, worth in simplicity. [face. 
 
 Prin. Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his 
 
 Enter BOYET. 
 
 Boyet. O, I am stabb'd with laughter! 
 Where's her grace? 
 
 Prin. Thy news, Boyet? 
 
 Boyet. Prepare, madam, prepare! 
 
 Arm, wenches, arm ! encounters mounted are 
 Against your peace : Love doth approach dis- 
 
 guis'd, 
 
 Armed in arguments ; you '11 be surpris'd : 
 Muster your wits : stand in your own defence ; 
 Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly hence. 
 
 Prin. Saint Dennis to Saint Cupid ! What 
 
 are they [say 
 
 That charge their breath against us? say, scout, 
 
 Boyet. Under the cool shade of a sycamore 
 I thought to close mine eyes some half an hour ; 
 When, lo ! to interrupt my purpos'd rest, 
 Toward that shade I might behold addrest 
 The king and his companions : warily 
 1 stole into a neighbour thicket by, 
 And overheard what you shall overhear, 
 That, by and by, disguis'd they will be here. 
 Their herald is a pretty knavish page, 
 That well by heart hath conn'd his embassage : 
 Action and accent did they teach him there ; 
 Thus must thou speak and thus thy body bear\ 
 And ever and anon they made a doubt 
 Presence majestical would put him out; 
 For, quoth the king, an angel s halt thou see; 
 Yet fear not thou, but speak audaciously. 
 The boy reply 'd, An angel is not evil; 
 I should have fear 1 d her had she been a devil. 
 With that all laugh'd, and clapp'd him on the 
 
 shoulder, 
 
 Making the bold wag by their praises bolder. 
 One rubb'd hiselbow, thus, andfleer'd, andswore 
 A better speech was never spoke before: 
 Another with his finger and his thumb 
 Cried, Via ! we will do 't, come what will come: 
 The third he caper'd, and cried, All goes well. 
 The fourth turn'd on the toe, and down he fell 
 With that they all did tumble on the ground, 
 With such a zealous laughter, so profound. 
 
212 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 That in this spleen ridiculous appears, 
 
 To check their folly, passion's solemn tears. 
 
 Prin. But what, but what, come they to 
 visit us? [thus, 
 
 Boyet. They do, they do ; and are apparel'd 
 Like Muscovites, or Russians, as I guess ; 
 Their purpose is to parle, to court, and dance ; 
 And every one his love-suit will advance 
 Unto his several mistress ; which they '11 know 
 By favours several which they did bestow. 
 
 Prin. And will they so? the gallants shall 
 
 be task'd : 
 
 For, ladies, we will every one be mask'd ; 
 And not a man of them shall have the grace, 
 Despite of suit, to see a lady's face. 
 Hold, Rosaline, this favour thou shalt wear ; 
 And then the king will court thee for his dear ; 
 Hold, take thou this, my sweet, and give me 
 
 thine ; 
 
 So shall Biron take me for Rosaline. 
 And change your favours too ; so shall your loves 
 Woo contrary, deceiv'd by these removes. 
 
 Ros. Come on, then ; wear the favours most 
 in sight. [tent? 
 
 Kath. But, in this changing, what is your in- 
 
 Prin. The effect of my intent is to cross theirs : 
 They do it but in mocking merriment ; 
 And mock for mock is only my intent. 
 Their several counsels they unbosom shall 
 To loves mistook ; and so be mock'd withal 
 Upon the next occasion that we meet 
 With visages display'd to talk and greet. 
 
 Ros. But shall we dance if they desire us to 't ? 
 
 Prin. No ; to the death we will not move a 
 
 foot: 
 
 Nor to their penn'd speech render we no grace : 
 But while 'tis spoke, each turn away her face. 
 
 Boyet. Why, that contempt will kill the 
 
 speaker's heart, 
 And quite divorce his memory from his part. 
 
 Prin. Therefore I do it ; and I make no doubt 
 The rest will ne'er come in if he be out. 
 There 's no such sport as sport by sport o'er- 
 
 thrown ; 
 
 To make theirs ours, and ours none but our own : 
 So shall we stay, mocking intended ^Sme ; 
 And they, well mock'd, depart away with shame. 
 [ Trumpets sound within. 
 
 Boyet. The trumpet sounds ; be mask'd ; the 
 maskers come. [The Ladies mask. 
 
 Enter the KING, BIRON, LONGAVILLE, and 
 DUMAIN, in Russian habits and masked; 
 MOTH, Musicians, and Attendants. 
 
 Moth. All hail the richest beauties on the earth ! 
 Boyet. Beauties no richer than rich taffeta. 
 
 Moth. A holy parcel of the fairest dames ! 
 
 [ The Ladies turn their backs to hint. 
 That ever turn 'd their backs to mortal views! 
 Biron. Their eyes, villain, their eyes. 
 Moth. T/fat ever t^^rn' > d their eyes to mortal 
 
 views! 
 Out 
 
 Boyet. True ; out indeed. [vouchsafe 
 
 Moth. Out of your favours, heavenly spirits 
 Not to behold 
 
 Biron. Once to behold, rogue. 
 
 Moth. Once to behold with your sun-beamed 
 
 eyes, with your sun-beamed eyes 
 
 Boyet. They will not answer to that epithet ; 
 You were best call it daughter beameu eyes. 
 Moth. They do not mark me, and that brings 
 
 me out. 
 
 Biron. Is this your perfectness? begone, you 
 
 rogue. [Exit MOTH. 
 
 Ros. What would these strangers? Know 
 
 their minds, Boyet : 
 
 If they do speak our language, 'tis our will 
 That some plain man recount our purposes : 
 Know what they would. 
 Boyet. What would you with the princess? 
 Biron. Nothing but peace and gentle visita- 
 tion. 
 
 Ros. What would they, say they? [tion. 
 Boyet. Nothing but peace and gentle visita- 
 Ros. Why, that they have ; and bid them so 
 be gone. [gone. 
 
 Boyet. She says you havfc it, and you may be 
 King. Say to her we have measured many 
 
 miles 
 
 To tread a measure with her on this grass. 
 Boyet. They say that they have measured 
 
 many a mile 
 To tread a measure with you on this grass. 
 
 Ros. It is not so. Ask them how many inches 
 Is in one mile : if they have measur'd many, 
 The measure, then, of one is easily told. 
 
 Boyet. If to come hither you have measur'd 
 
 miles, 
 
 And many miles, the princess bids you tell 
 How many inches do fill up one mile. [step*. 
 tliron. Tell her we measure them by weary 
 Boyet. She hears herself. 
 Ros. How many weary steps, 
 
 Of many weary miles you have o'ergone, 
 Are number'd in the travel of one mile? 
 
 Biron. We number nothing that we spend 
 
 for you ; 
 
 Our duty is so rich, so infinite, 
 That we may do it still without accompt. 
 Vouchsafe to show the sunshine of your face, 
 That we, like savages, may worship it. 
 
 Ros. My face is but a moon, and clouded toa 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 
 
 213 
 
 King. Blessed are clouds, to do as such 
 clouds do ! [shine, 
 
 Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, to 
 Those clouds removed, upon our wat'ry eyne. 
 Ros. O vain petitioner ! beg a greater matter ; 
 Thou now request's! but moonshine in the water. 
 King. Then, in our measure do but vouch- 
 safe one change : 
 
 Thou bid'st me beg ; this begging is not strange. 
 
 Ros. Play music, then : nay, you must do it 
 
 soon. [Music plays. 
 
 Not yet ; no dance : thus change I like the 
 
 moon. 
 King. Will you not dance? How come you 
 
 thus estrang'd? 
 
 Ros. You took the moon at fill 1; but now 
 
 she 's chang'd. [man. 
 
 King. Yet still she is the moon and I the 
 
 The music plays ; vouchsafe some motion to it. 
 
 Ros. Our ears vouchsafe it. 
 
 King. But your legs should do it. 
 
 Ros. Since you are strangers, and come here 
 
 by chance, [dance. 
 
 We'll not be nice; take hands; we will not 
 
 King. Why take we hands, then? 
 
 Ros. Only to part friends ; 
 
 Court'sy, sweet hearts; and so the measure 
 
 ends. [nice. 
 
 King. More measure of this measure ; be not 
 
 Ros. We can afford no more at such a price. 
 
 King. Prize you yourselves : what buys your 
 
 company? 
 
 Ros. Your absence only. 
 
 King. That can never be. 
 
 Ros. Then cannot we be bought: and so 
 
 adieu ; 
 
 Twice to your visor and half once to you ! 
 King. If you deny to dance, let } s hold more 
 
 chat. 
 
 Ros. In private then. 
 
 King. I am best pleas'd with that. 
 
 [ They converse apart. 
 
 Biron. White-handed mistress, one sweet 
 
 word with thee. [three. 
 
 Prin. Honey, and milk, and sugar; there is 
 
 Biron. Nay, then, two treys, an if you 
 
 grow so nice, [dice ! 
 
 Metheglin, wort, and malmsey; well run, 
 
 There 's half a dozen sweets. 
 
 Prin. Seventh sweet, adieu ! 
 
 Since you can cog, I '11 play no more with you. 
 Biron. One word in secret. 
 Prin. Let it not be sweet. 
 
 Biron. Thou griev'st my gall. 
 Prin. Gall? bitter. 
 
 Therefore meet. 
 \ They converse apart. 
 
 Duni. Will you vouchsafe with me to cnange 
 
 a word? 
 Alar. Name it. 
 Duni. Fair lady, 
 
 Mar. Say you so? Fair lord, 
 
 Take that for your fair lady. 
 
 Duni. Please it you, 
 
 As much in private, and I '11 bid adieu. 
 
 [ They converse apart. 
 Kath. What, was your visard made without 
 
 a tongue? 
 
 Long. I know the reason, lady, why you ask. 
 
 Kath. O for your reason ! quickly, sir ; I 
 
 long. [your mask, 
 
 Long. You have a double tongue within 
 
 And would afford my speechless visard half. 
 
 Kath. Veal, quoth the Dutchman; is not 
 
 veal a calf? 
 
 Long. A calf, fair lady ! 
 Kath. No, a fair lord calf. 
 
 Long. Let 's part the word. 
 Kath. No, I '11 not be your half : 
 
 Take all, and wean it ; it may prove an ox. 
 Long. Look how you butt yourself in these 
 
 sharp mocks ! 
 
 Will you give horns, chaste lady? do not so. 
 Kath. Then die a calf, before your horns do 
 
 row. 
 ne word in private with you ere I die. 
 Kath. Bleat softly, then ; the butcher hears 
 you cry. [ They converse apart. 
 
 Boyet. The tongues of mocking wenches are 
 
 as keen 
 
 As is the razor's edge invisible, 
 Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen ; 
 
 Above the sense of sense ; so sensible 
 
 Seemeth their conference; their conceits have 
 
 wings, [swifter things. 
 
 Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, 
 
 Ros. Not one word more, my maids ; break 
 
 off, break off. [scoff! 
 
 Biron. By heaven, all dry-beaten with pure 
 
 King. Farewell, mad wenches; you have 
 
 simple wits. 
 
 [Exeunt KING, LORDS, Music, and Attendants. 
 Prin. Twenty adieus, my frozen Musco- 
 vites. 
 
 Are these the breed of wits so wonder'd at? 
 Boyet. Tapers they are, with your sweet 
 
 breaths puffed out. 
 Ros. Well - liking wits they have ; gross, 
 
 gross; fat, fat. 
 
 Prin. O poverty in wit, kingly- poor flout ! 
 Will they not, think you, hang themselves to- 
 night ? 
 
 Or ever, but in visards, show their faces? 
 This pert Biron was out of countenance quite. 
 
214 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Ros. O, they were all in lamentable cases ! 
 The king was weeping-ripe for a good word. 
 
 Prin. Bir6n did swear himself out of all suit. 
 
 Mar. Dumain was at my service, and his 
 
 sword : [mute. 
 
 No point, quoth I; my servant straight was 
 
 Kath. Lord Longaville said I came o'er his 
 
 heart ; 
 And trow you what he called me? 
 
 Prin. Qualm, perhaps. 
 
 Kath. Yes, in good faith. 
 
 Prin. Go, sickness as thou art ! 
 
 Ros. Well, better wits have worn plain 
 
 statue-caps. 
 But will you hear? the king is my love sworn. 
 
 Prin. And quick Bir6n hath plighted faith 
 to me. [born. 
 
 Kath. And Longaville was for my service 
 
 Mar. Dumain is mine, as sure as bark on 
 tree. [ear : 
 
 Boyet. Madam, and pretty mistresses, give 
 Immediately they will again be here 
 In their own shapes ; for it can never be 
 They will digest this harsh indignity. 
 
 Prin. Will they return? 
 
 Boyet. They will, they will, God knows, 
 
 And leap for joy, though they are lame with 
 
 blows ; [repair, 
 
 Therefore, change favours ; and, when they 
 
 Blow like sweet roses in this summer air. 
 
 Prin. How blow? how blow? speak to be 
 understood. -[bud: 
 
 Boyet. Fair ladies mask'd are roses in their 
 Dismask'd, their damask sweet commixture 
 
 shown, 
 Are angels vailing clouds, or roses blown. 
 
 Prin. Avaunt, perplexity ! What shall we do 
 If they return in their own shapes to woo? 
 
 Ros. Good madam, if by me you '11 be advis'd, 
 Let's mock thessi still, as well known as dis- 
 
 guis'd : 
 
 Let us Complain to them what fools were here, 
 Disguis'd like Muscovites, in shapeless gear ; 
 And wonder what they were, and to what end 
 Their shallow shows and prologue vilely penn'd, 
 And their rough carriage so ridiculous, 
 Should be presented at our tent to us. [hand. 
 
 Boyet. Ladies, withdraw ; the gallants are at 
 
 Prin. Whip to our tents, as roes run over land. 
 [Exeunt PRIN., Ros., KATH.. W</MAR. 
 
 Re-enter the KING, BIRON, LONGAVILLE, and 
 DUMAIN, in their proper habits. 
 
 King. Fair sir, God save you ! Where is the 
 princess ? [maj esty 
 
 Boyet. Gone to her tent. Please it your 
 Command me any service to her thither? 
 
 King. That she vouchsafe me audience for 
 one word. 
 
 Boyet. I will ; and so will she, I know, my 
 lord. {Exit. 
 
 Biron. This fellow pecks up wit as pigeons 
 
 peas, 
 
 And utters it again when God doth please : 
 He is wit's pedlar, and retails his wares 
 At wakes, and wassels, meetings, markets, fairs ; 
 And we that sell by gross, the Lord doth know, 
 Have not the grace to grace it with such show. 
 This gallant pins the wenches on his sleeve, 
 Had he been Adam, he had tempted Eve: 
 He can carve too, and lisp : why this is he 
 That kiss'd away his hand in courtesy: 
 This is the ape of form, monsieur the nice, 
 That, when he plays at tables, chides the dice 
 In honourable terms ; nay, he can sing 
 A mean most meanly ; and in ushering, 
 Mend him who can : the ladies call him sweet ; 
 The stairs, as he treads on them, kiss his feet : 
 This is the flower that smiles on every one, 
 To show his teeth as white as whale's bone : 
 And consciences that will not die in debt 
 Pay him the due of honey-tongu'd Boyet. 
 
 King. A blister on his sweet tongue, with my 
 
 heart, 
 That put Armado's page out of his part ! 
 
 Biron. See where it comes! Behaviour, what 
 
 wert thou [now? 
 
 Till this man show'd thee? and what art thou 
 
 Re-enter the PRINCESS, ushered by BOYET; 
 ROSALINE, MARIA, KATHARINE, and At- 
 tendants. 
 
 King. All hail, sweet madam, and fair time 
 
 of day ! 
 
 Prin. Fair, in all hail, is foul, as I conceive. 
 King. Construe my speeches better, if you 
 
 may. 
 Prin. Then wish me better, I will give you 
 
 leave. 
 
 King. We came to visit you ; and purpose now 
 To lead you to our court : vouchsafe it then. 
 Prin. This field shall hold me ; and so hold 
 
 your vow: 
 
 Nor God, nor I, delight in perjur'd men. 
 King. Rebuke me not for that which you 
 
 provoke ; 
 
 The virtue of your eye must break my oath. 
 Prin. You nickname virtue : vice you should 
 
 have spoke; 
 
 For virtue's office never breaks men's troth. 
 Now, by my maiden honour, yet as pure 
 
 As the unsullied lily; I protest, 
 A world of torments though I should endure, 
 I would not yield to be your house's guest: 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 
 
 So much I hate a breaking cause to DC 
 Of heavenly oaths, vow'd with integrity. 
 King. O, you have liv'd in desolation here, 
 Unseen, un visited, much to our shame. 
 Prin. Not so, my lord ; it is not so, I swear ; 
 We have had pastime here, and pleasant game; 
 A mess of Russians left us but of late. 
 King. How, madam ! Russians ! 
 Prin. Ay, in truth, my lord ; 
 
 Trim gallants, full of courtship and of state. 
 Ros. Madam, speak true. It is not so, my 
 
 lord; 
 
 My lady, to the manner of the days, 
 In courtesy, gives undeserving praise. 
 We four, indeed, confronted here with four 
 In Russian habit ; here they stayM an hour 
 And talk'd apace; and in that hour, my lord, 
 They did not bless us with one happy word. 
 I dare not call them fools ; but this I think, 
 When they are thirsty, fools would fain have 
 drink. [sweet, 
 
 Biron. This jest is dry to me. Fair, gentle 
 Your wit makes wise things foolish ; when we 
 
 greet 
 
 With eyes best seeing heaven's fiery eye, 
 By light we lose light : your capacity 
 Is of that nature, that to your huge store 
 Wise things seem foolish and rich things but 
 poor [my eye, 
 
 Ros. This proves you wise and rich, for in 
 Biron. I am a fool, and full of poverty. 
 Ros. But that you take what doth to you 
 
 belong, 
 
 It were a fault to snatch words from my tongue. 
 Biron. O, I am yours, and all that I possess. 
 Ros. All the fool mine? 
 Biron. I cannot give you less. 
 
 Ros. Which of the visards was it that you 
 
 wore? 
 
 Biron. Where? when? what visard? why de- 
 mand you this? [ous case 
 Ros. There, then, that visard ; that superflu- 
 That hid the worse and show'd the better face. 
 King. We are descried : they '11 mock us now 
 
 downright. 
 
 Dum. Let us confess, and turn it to a jest. 
 Prin. Amaz'd, my lord? why looks your high- 
 ness sad? 
 Ros. Help, hold his brows ! he '11 swoon ! 
 
 Why look you pale? 
 Sea-sick, I think, coming from Muscovy. 
 Biron. Thus pour the stars down plagues for 
 
 perjury. 
 
 Can any face of brass hold longer out? 
 Here stand I, lady: dart thy skill at me; 
 Bruise me with scorn, confound me with a 
 flout; 
 
 Thrust thy sharp wit quite through my ignor- 
 ance; 
 
 Cut me to pieces with thy keen conceit ; 
 And I will wish thee never more to dance, 
 
 Nor never more in Russian habit wait. 
 O, never will I trust to speeches penn'd, 
 
 Nor to the motion of a school-boy's tongue ; 
 Nor never come in visard to my friend ; 
 
 Nor woo in rhyme, like a blind harper's song : 
 Taffeta phrases, silken terms precise, 
 
 Three-pil'd hyperboles, spruce affectation, 
 Figures pedantical ; these summer-flies 
 
 Have blown me full of maggot ostentation ; 
 I do forswear them : and I here protest, 
 
 By this white glove,- how white the hand, 
 
 God knows! 
 Henceforth my wooing mind shall be express'd 
 
 In russet yeas, and honest kersey noes : 
 And, to begin, wench, so God help me, la! 
 My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw. 
 
 Ros. Sans sans, I pray you. 
 
 Biron. Yet I have a trick 
 
 Of the old rage : bear with me, I am sick ; 
 I '11 leave it by degrees. Soft, let us see ; 
 Write, Lord have mercy on us, on those three; 
 They are infected; in their hearts it lies: 
 They have the plague, and caught it of your 
 
 eyes: 
 
 These lords are visited ; you are not free, 
 For the Lord's tokens on you do I see. 
 
 Prin. No, they are free that gave these tokens 
 to us. [undo us. 
 
 Biron. Our states are forfeit : seek not to 
 
 Ros. It is not so ; for how can this be true, 
 That you stand forfeit, being those that sue? 
 
 Biron. Peace ; for I will not have to do with 
 you. 
 
 Ros. Nor shall not, if I do as I intend. 
 
 Biron. Speak for yourselves ; my wit is at an 
 end. [transgression 
 
 King. Teach us, sweet madam, for our rude 
 Some fair excuse. 
 
 Prin. The fairest is confession. 
 
 Were you not here but even now, disguis'd ? 
 
 King. Madam, I was. 
 
 Prin. And were you well advis'd? 
 
 King. I was, fair madam. 
 
 Prin. When you then were here, 
 
 What did you whisper in your lady's ear? 
 
 King. That more than all the world I did re- 
 spect her. [reject her. 
 
 Prin. When she shall challenge this you will 
 
 King. Upon mine honour, no. 
 
 in. Peace, peace, forbear; 
 
 Your oath once^ broke, you force not to forswear. 
 
 King. Despise me when I break this oath of 
 mine. 
 
216 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Prin, I will : and therefore keep it : Rosa- 
 line, 
 What did the Russian whisper in your ear ? 
 
 Ros. Madam, he swore that he did hold me 
 
 dear 
 
 As precious eyesight ; and did value me 
 Above this world : adding thereto, moreover, 
 That he would wed me, or else die my lover. 
 
 Prin. God give thee joy of him ! the noble 
 
 lord 
 Most honourably doth uphold his word. 
 
 King. What mean you, madam ? by my life, 
 
 my troth, 
 I never swore this lady such an oath, [plain ; 
 
 Ros. By heaven you did ; and, to confirm it 
 You gave me this : but take it, sir, again. 
 
 King. My faith and this the princess I did 
 
 give; 
 I knew her by this jewel on her sleeve. 
 
 Prin. Pardon me, sir; this jewel she did wear; 
 And Lord Bir6n, I thank him, is my dear : 
 What ; will you have me, or your pearl again? 
 
 Biron. Neither of either ; I remit both 
 
 twain. 
 
 I see the trick on 't ; here was a consent, 
 Knowing aforehand of our merriment, 
 To dash it like a Christmas comedy : [zany, 
 Some carry-tale, some please-man, some slight 
 Some mumble-news, some trencher-knight, 
 some Dick, [trick 
 
 That smiles his cheek in years, and knows the 
 To make my lady laugh when she 's dispos'd, 
 Told our intents before : which once disclos'd, 
 The ladies did change favours ; and then we, 
 Following the signs, woo'd but the sign of she. 
 Now, to our perjury to add more terror, 
 We are again forsworn, in will and error. 
 Much upon this it is : and might not you 
 
 [To BOYET. 
 
 Forestal our sport, to make us thus untrue ? 
 Do not you know my lady's foot by the squire, 
 
 And laugh upon the apple of her eye ? 
 And stand between her back, sir, and the fire, 
 
 Holding a trencher, jesting merrily ? 
 You put our page out : go, you are allpw'd ; 
 Die when you will, a smock shall be your shroud. 
 You leer upon me, do you? there 's an eye 
 Wounds like a leaden sword. 
 
 Boyet. Full merrily 
 
 Hath this brave manage, this career, been run. 
 
 Biron. Lo, he is tilting straight ! Peace ; I 
 have done. 
 
 Enter COSTARD. 
 
 Welcome, pure wit ! thou partest a fair fray. 
 
 Cost. O Lord, sir, they would know 
 Whether the three worthies shall come in or no. 
 
 Biron. What, are there but three ? 
 
 Cost. No, sir ; but it is vara fine, 
 
 For every one pursents three. 
 
 Biron. And three times thrice is nine. 
 
 Cost. Not so, sir ; under correction, sir ; I 
 
 hope it is not so : 
 You cannot beg us, sir, I can assure you, sir : 
 
 we know what we know ; 
 I hope, sir, three times thrice, sir, 
 
 Biron. Is not nine. 
 
 Cost. Under correction, sir, we know where- 
 until it doth amount. [for nine. 
 
 Biron. By Jove, I always took three threes 
 
 Cost. O Lord, sir, it were pity you should 
 get your living by reckoning, sir. 
 
 Biron. How much is it ? 
 
 Cost. O Lord, sir, the parties themselves, 
 the actors, sir, will show whereuntil it doth 
 amount ; for my own part, I am, as they say, 
 but to parfect one man in one poor man ; 
 Pompion the Great, sir. 
 
 Biron. Art thou one of the worthies ? 
 
 Cost. It pleased them to think me worthy of 
 Pompion the Great : for mine own part, I 
 know not the degree of the worthy ; but I am 
 to stand for him. 
 
 Biron. Go, bid them prepare. 
 
 Cost. We will turn it finely off, sir ; we will 
 take some care. [Exit COSTARD. 
 
 King. Biron, they will shame us ; let them 
 not approach. 
 
 Biron. We are shame-proof, my lord : and 
 
 'tis some policy 
 
 To have one show worse than the king's and 
 his company. 
 
 King. I say they shall not come. [now : 
 
 Prin. Nay, my good lord, let me o'errule you 
 That sport best pleases that doth least know how; 
 Where zeal strives to content, and the contents 
 Die in the zeal of them which it presents, 
 Their form confounded makes mostform in mirth, 
 When great things labouring perish in their birth. 
 
 Biron. A right description of our sport, my 
 lord. 
 
 Enter ARMADO. 
 
 Arm. Anointed, I implore so much expense 
 of thy royal sweet breath as will utter a brace of 
 words. [ARMADO converses -with the KING, 
 and delivers him a paper. 
 
 Prin. Doth this man serve God ? 
 
 Biron. Why ask you ? [making. 
 
 Prin. He speaks not like a man of God s 
 
 Arm. That 's all one, my fair, sweet, honey 
 monarch : for, I protest, the schoolmaster is ex- 
 ceeding fantastical ; too, too vain ; too, too vain : 
 but we will put it, as they say, to fortuna della 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 
 
 217 
 
 guerra. I wish you the peace of mind, most 
 royal couplement ! [Exit ARMADO. 
 
 King. Here is like to be a good presence of 
 worthies. He presents Hector of Troy ; the 
 swain, Pompey the Great ; the parish curate, 
 Alexander ; Armado's page, Hercules ; the 
 pedant, Judas Maccaboeus. 
 And if these four worthies in their first show 
 thrive, [other five. 
 
 These four will change habits and present the 
 
 Biron. There is five in the first show. 
 
 King. You are deceived, 'tis not so. 
 
 Biron. The pedant, the braggart, the hedge- 
 priest, the fool, and the boy; [again 
 Abate throw at novum ; and the whole world 
 Cannot prick out five such, take each one in his 
 vein. [comes amain. 
 
 King. The ship is under sail, and here she 
 [Seats brought for the KING, PRIN., &>c. 
 
 Pageant of the Nine Worthies. 
 Enter COSTARD, armed, for Pompey. 
 
 Cost. I Pompey am 
 
 Boyet. You lie, you are not he. 
 
 Cost. I Pompey am 
 
 Boyet. With libbard's head on knee. 
 
 Biron. Well said, old mocker; I must needs 
 be friends with thee. [Big, 
 
 Cost. I Pompey am, Pompey sur named the 
 
 Dum. The Great. 
 
 Cost. It is Great, sir ; Pompey stirnamed the 
 
 Great, 
 
 That oft infield, with targe and shield, did make 
 
 my foe to sweat ; [chance, 
 
 And travelling along this coast, I here am come by 
 
 And lay my arms before the legs of this sweet lass 
 
 of France. [had done. 
 
 If your ladyship would say, Thanks, Pompey, I 
 
 Prin. Great thanks, great Pompey. 
 
 Cost. 'Tis not so much worth ; but I hope I 
 was parfect : I made a little fault in Great. 
 
 Biron. My hat to a halfpenny, Pompey proves 
 the best worthy. 
 
 Enter Sir NATHANIEL, armed, for Alexander. 
 
 Nath. When in the world I liifd, I was the 
 
 worlds commander ; 
 
 By east, west, north, and south I spread my con- 
 quering might : 
 My' scutcheon plain declares that lamAlisandcr. 
 
 Boyet. Your nose says, no, you are not; for it 
 stands too right. 
 
 Biron. Your nose smells no in this, most 
 tender-smelling knight. 
 The conqueror is dismay'd. Proceed, 
 good Alexander. 
 
 Nath. When in the world I li??d, I was the 
 world's commander : [sander. 
 
 Boyet. Most true, 'tis right ; you were so, Ali- 
 
 Biroit. Pompey the Great, 
 
 Cost. Your servant, and Costard. 
 
 Biron. Take away the conqueror, take away 
 Alisander. 
 
 Cost. O, sir [to NATH.], you have overthrown 
 Alisander the conqueror ! You will be scraped 
 out of the painted cloth for this : your lion, that 
 holds his ptoll-ax sitting on a close stool, will be 
 given to Ajax : he will be the ninth worthy. A 
 conqueror and afeard to speak ! run away for 
 shame, Alisander. [S/rNATH. retires.] There, 
 an 't shall please you ; a foolish mild man ; an 
 honest man, look you, and soon dashed ! he is a 
 marvellous good neighbour, insooth ; and a very 
 good bowler : but, for Alisander, alas, you see, 
 how 'tis, a little o'erparted. But there are 
 worthies a-coming will speak their mind in some 
 other sort. 
 
 Prin. Stand aside, good Pompey. 
 
 Enter HOLOFERNES, armed, for Judas ; and 
 MOTH, armed, for Hercules. 
 
 Hoi. Great Hercules is presented by this imp, 
 
 Whose club kitfd Cerberus, that three-headed 
 
 canus ; 
 And when he was a babe, a child, a shrimp, 
 
 Thus did he strangle serpents in his manus: 
 Quoniam he seemeth in minority, 
 Ergo I come with this apology. 
 Keep some state in thy exit, and vanish. 
 
 [MOTH retires. 
 Judas I am, 
 
 Dum. A Judas ! 
 
 Hoi. Not Iscariot, sir, 
 Judas I am, yckped Maccabaus. 
 
 Dum. Judas Maccabaeus clipt is plain Judas. 
 
 Biron. A kissing traitor. How art thou 
 proved Judas? 
 
 Hoi. Judas I am, 
 
 Dum. The more shame for you, Judas. 
 
 Hoi. What mean you, sir ? 
 
 Boyet. To make Judas hang himself. 
 
 Hoi. Begin, sir ; you are my elder. 
 
 Biron. Well followed : Judas was hanged on 
 an elder. 
 
 Hoi. I will not be put out of countenance. 
 
 Biron. Because thou hast no face. 
 
 Hoi. What is this? 
 
 Boyet. A cittern head. 
 
 Dum. The head of a bodkin. 
 
 Biron. A death's face in a ring. [seen. 
 
 Long. The face of an old Roman coin, scarce 
 
 Boyet. The pummel of Caesar's faulchion. 
 
 Dum. The carvM-bone face on a flask. 
 
218 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 
 
 LACT v. 
 
 Biron. St. George's half-cheek in a brooch. 
 
 Dwn. Ay, and in a brooch of lead. 
 
 Biron. Ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth- 
 drawer ; 
 
 And now, forward; for we have put thee in coun- 
 tenance. 
 
 HoL You have put me out of countenance 
 
 Biron. False : we have given thee faces. 
 
 Hoi. But you have outfaced them all. 
 
 Biron. An thou wert a lion we would do so. 
 
 Boyet. Therefore, as he is an ass, let him go. 
 And so adieu, sweet Jude 1 nay, why dost thou 
 stay? 
 
 Ditm. For the latter end of his name. 
 
 Biron. For the ass to the Jude ; give it him: 
 Jud-as, away. 
 
 Hoi. This is not generous, not gentle, not 
 humble. 
 
 Boyet. A light for Monsieur Judas ! it grows 
 dark, he may stumble. [baited ! 
 
 Prin. Alas, poor Maccabaeus, how hath he been 
 
 Enter ARMADO, armed, for Hector. 
 
 Biron. Hide thy head, Achilles : here comes 
 Hector in arms. 
 
 Dunt. Though my mocks come home by me, 
 
 1 will now be merry. [this. 
 
 King. Hector was but a Trojan in respect of 
 
 Boyet. But is this Hector? 
 
 Dum. I think Hector was not so clean - 
 timbered. 
 
 Long. His leg is too big for Hector. 
 
 Dum. More calf, certain. 
 
 Boyet. No ; he is best indued in the small. 
 
 Biron. This cannot be Hector. [faces. 
 
 Dum. He 's a god or a painter, for he makes 
 
 Arm. The armipotent Mars, of lances the al- 
 mighty, 
 Gave Hector a gift, 
 
 Ditm. A gilt nutmeg. 
 
 Biron. A lemon. 
 
 Long. Stuck with cloves. 
 
 Dum. No, cloven. 
 
 Arm. Peace ! 
 The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty, 
 
 Gave Hector a gift, the heir of I lion ; \_yea, 
 A man so breathed, that certain he would fight, 
 
 From morn till night, out of his pavilion. 
 
 2 am that flower, 
 
 Dum. That mint. 
 
 Long. That columbine. 
 
 Arm. Sweet Lord Longaville, rein thy tongue. 
 
 Long. I must rather give it the rein, for it runs 
 against Hector. 
 
 Dum, Ay, and Hector 's a greyhound, 
 
 Arm. The sweet war-man is dead and rotten ; 
 sweet chucks, beat not the bones of the buried : 
 
 when he breathed, he was a man. But I will 
 
 forward with my device. Sweet royalty [to the 
 
 PRINCESS], bestow on me the sense of hearing. 
 
 [BiRON whispers COSTARD. 
 
 Prin. Speak, brave Hector : we are much de* 
 lighted. 
 
 Arm. I do adore thy sweet grace's slipper. 
 
 Boyet. Loves her by the foot. 
 
 Dum. He may not by the yard. \bal, 
 
 Arm. This Hector far surmounted Hanni- 
 
 Cost. The party is gone, fellow Hector ; she 
 is gone : she is two months on her way. 
 
 Arm. What meanest thou? 
 
 Cost. Faith, unless you play the honest Trojan, 
 the poor wench is cast away : she 's quick ; the 
 child brags in her belly already ; 'tis yours. 
 
 Arm. Dost thou infamonize me among poten- 
 tates? thou shalt die. 
 
 Cost. Then shall Hector be whipped for Jaque- 
 netta that is quick by him, and hanged for Pom- 
 pey that is dead by him. 
 
 Dum. Most rare Pompey ! 
 
 Boyet. Renowned Pompey! 
 
 Biron. Greater than great, great, great, great 
 Pompey ! Pompey the Huge ! 
 
 Dum. Hector trembles. 
 
 Biron. Pompey is mov'd. More Ates, more 
 Ates ! stir them on ! stir them on ! 
 
 Dum. Hector will challenge him. 
 
 Biron. Ay, if he have no more man's blood 
 in 's belly than will sup a flea. 
 
 Arm. By the north pole, I do challenge thee. 
 
 Cost. I will not fight with a pole, like a northern 
 man: I'll slash; I'll do it by the sword. I 
 pray you, let me borrow my arms again. 
 
 Dum. Room for the incensed worthies. 
 
 Cost. I '11 do it in my shirt. 
 
 Dum. Most resolute Pompey ! 
 
 Moth. Master, let me take you a button-hole 
 lower. Do you not see Pompey is uncasing for 
 the combat? What mean you? you will lose 
 your reputation. 
 
 Arm. Gentlemen and soldiers, pardon me; I 
 will not combat in my shirt. 
 
 Dum. You may not deny it : Pompey hath 
 made the challenge. 
 
 Arm. Sweet bloods, I both may and will. 
 
 Biron. What reason have you for 't? 
 
 Arm. The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt; 
 I go wool ward for penance. 
 
 Boyet. True, and it was enjoined him in Rome 
 for want of linen ; since when, I '11 be sworn, he 
 wore none but a dish-clout of Jaquenetta's ; and 
 that 'a wears next his heart for a favour. 
 
 Enter MERCADE. 
 Mer. God save you, madam ! 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 
 
 219 
 
 Prin. Welcome, Mercade ; 
 But that thou interrupt'st our merriment. 
 
 Mer. I am sorry, madam ; for the news I 
 
 bring 
 Is heavy in my tongue. The king your father, 
 
 Prin. Dead, for my life ! 
 
 Mer. Even so ; my tale is told. [cloud. 
 
 hiron. Worthies, away; the scene begins to 
 
 Arm. For mine own part, I breathe free 
 breath : I have seen the day of wrong through 
 the little hole of discretion, and I will right my- 
 self like a soldier. [Exeunt Worthies. 
 
 King. How fares your Majesty? 
 
 Prin. Boyet, prepare ; I will away to-night. 
 
 King. Madam, not so; I do beseech you, 
 stay. [lords, 
 
 Prin. Prepare, I say. I thank you, gracious 
 For all your fair endeavours ; and entreat 
 Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe, 
 In your rich wisdom, to excuse or hide 
 The liberal opposition of our spirits ; 
 If over-boldly we have borne ourselves 
 In the converse of breath, your gentleness 
 Was gui ty of it. Farewell, worthy lord ; 
 A heavy heart bears not a nimble tongue : 
 Excuse me so, coming so short of thanks 
 For my great suit so easily obtain'd. [form 
 
 King. The extreme parts of time extremely 
 All causes to the purpose of his speed ; 
 And often, at his very loose, decides 
 That which long process could not arbitrate : 
 And though the mourning brow of progeny 
 Forbid the smiling courtesy of love 
 The holy suit which fain it would convince, 
 Yet, since love's argument was first on foot, 
 Let not the cloud of sorrow justle it 
 From what it purpos'd : since to wail friends lost 
 Is not by much so wholesome-profitable 
 As to rejoice at friends but newly found. 
 
 Prin. I understand you not my griefs are 
 dull. [of grief; 
 
 Biron, Honest plain words best pierce the ear 
 And by these badges understand the king. 
 For your fair sakes have we neglected time, 
 Play'd foul play with our oaths ; your beauty, 
 
 ladies, 
 
 Hath much deform 'd us, fashioning our humours 
 Even to the opposed end of our intents : 
 And what in us hath seem'd ridiculous, 
 As love is full of unbefitting strains, 
 All wanton as a child, skipping, and vain ; 
 Form'd by the eye, and therefore, like the eye, 
 Full of strange shapes, of habits, and of forms, 
 Varying in subjects as the eye doth roll 
 To every varied object in his glance : 
 Which party-coated presence of loose love 
 Put on by us, if in your heavenly eyes 
 
 Have misbecom'd our oaths and gravities, 
 Those heavenly eyes that look into these faults 
 Suggested us to make. Therefore, ladies, 
 Our love being yours, the error that love makes 
 Is likewise yours : we to ourselves prove false, 
 By being once false, for ever to be true 
 To those that make us both fair ladies, you : 
 And even that falsehood, in itself a sin, 
 Thus purifies itself and turns to grace, [love ; 
 
 Prin. We have receiv'd your letters, full of 
 Your favours, the ambassadors of love ; 
 And, in our maiden council, rated them 
 At courtship, pleasant jest, and courtesy, 
 As bombast, and as lining to the time : 
 But more devout than this in our respects 
 Have we not been ; and therefore met your loves 
 In their own fashion, like a merriment. 
 
 Dum. Our letters, madam, show'dmuch more 
 than jest. 
 
 Long. So did our looks. 
 
 Ros. We did not quote them so. 
 
 King. Now, at the latest minute of the hour, 
 Grant us your loves. 
 
 Prin. A time, methinks, too short 
 
 To make a world-without-end bargain in. 
 No, no, my lord, your grace is perjur'd much, 
 Full of dear guiltiness ; and therefore this, 
 If for my love as there is no such cause 
 You will do aught, this shall you do for me : 
 Your oath I will not trust ; but go with speed 
 To some forlorn and naked hermitage, 
 Remote from all the pleasures of the world ; 
 There stay until the twelve celestial signs 
 Have brought about their annual reckoning. 
 If this austere insociable life 
 Change not your offer, made in heat of blood , 
 If frosts and fasts, hard lodging and thin weeds, 
 Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love, 
 But that it bear this trial, and last love, 
 Then, at the expiration of the year, 
 Come, challenge, challenge me by these deserts, 
 And, by this virgin palm now kissing thine, 
 I will be thine ; and, till that instant, shut 
 My woeful self up in a mournful house, 
 Raining the tears of lamentation 
 For the remembrance of my father's death. 
 If this thou do deny, let our hands part, 
 Neither intitled in the other's heart. 
 
 King. If this, or more than this, I would deny, 
 
 To flatter up these powers of mine with rest, 
 The sudden hand of death close up mine eye ! 
 
 Hence ever, then, my heart is in thy breast. 
 
 Biron. And what to me, my love? and what~ 
 to me? [rank ; 
 
 Ros. You must be purged too ; your sins are 
 You are attaint with faults and perjury ; 
 Therefore, if you my favour mean to get, 
 

 22O 
 
 1 A twelvemonth shall you spend, and never rest, 
 But seek the weary beds of people sick. 
 " Dum. But what to me, my love ? but what 
 
 to me? 
 Kath. A wife ! A beard, fair health, and 
 
 honesty ; 
 
 With threefold love I wish you all these three. 
 Dum. O, shall I say I thank you, gentle 
 
 wife? 
 
 Kath. Not so, my lord ; a twelvemonth 
 
 and a day [say : 
 
 I '11 mark no words that smooth-fac'd wooers 
 
 Come when the king doth to my lady come, 
 
 Then, if I have much love I '11 give you some. 
 
 Dum. I '11 serve thee true and faithfully till 
 
 then. 
 Kath. Yet swear not, lest you be forsworn 
 
 again. 
 
 Long. What says Maria? 
 Mar. At the twelvemonth's end 
 
 I '11 change my black gown for a faithful friend. 
 Long. I '11 stay with patience ; but the time 
 
 is long. 
 
 Mar. The liker you ; few taller are so young. 
 Biron. Studies my lady? mistress, look on 
 
 me; 
 
 Behold the window of my heart, mine eye, 
 What humble suit attends thy answer there ! 
 Impose some service on me for thy love. 
 Ros. Oft have I heard of you, my Lord 
 
 Biron, 
 
 Before I saw you : and the world's large tongue 
 Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks, 
 Full of comparisons and wounding flouts, 
 Which you on all estates will execute 
 That lie within the mercy of your wit. 
 To weed this wormwood from your fruitful 
 
 brain, 
 
 And therewithal to win me, if you please, 
 Without the which I am not to be won, 
 You shall this twelvemonth term from day to 
 
 day 
 
 Visit the speechless sick, and still converse 
 With groaning wretches ; and your task shall be, 
 With all the fierce endeavour of your wit 
 To enforce the pained impotent to smile. 
 Biron. To move wild laughter in the throat 
 
 of death ! 
 
 It cannot be ; it is impossible : 
 Mirth cannot move a soul in agony. 
 
 Ros. Why, that 's the way to choke a gibing 
 
 spirit, 
 
 Whose influence is begot of that loose grace 
 Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools : 
 A jest's prosperity lies in the ear 
 Of him that hears it, never in the tongue 
 Of him that makes it : then, if sickly ears, 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Deaf d with the clamours of their own dear 
 
 groans, 
 
 Will hear your idle scorns, continue them, 
 And I will have you and that fault withal ; 
 But if they will not, throw away that spirit, 
 And I shall find you empty of that fault, 
 Right joyful of your reformation. 
 Biron. A twelvemonth ! well, befall what 
 
 will befall, 
 
 I '11 jest a twelvemonth in an hospital. 
 Prin. Ay, sweet my lord ; and so I take my 
 leave. {To the KING. 
 
 King. No, madam : we will bring you on 
 your way. [play ; 
 
 Biron. Our wooing doth not end like an old 
 Jack h&th not Jill : these ladies' courtesy 
 Might well have made out- sport a comedy. 
 King. Come, sir, it wants a twelvemonth 
 
 and a day, 
 And then 'twill end. 
 
 Biron. That 's too long for a play. 
 
 Enter ARMADO. 
 
 Arm. Sweet majesty, vouchsafe me,- 
 
 Prin. Was not that' Hector? 
 
 Dum. The worthy knight of Troy. 
 
 Arm. I will kiss thy royal finger, and take 
 leave : I am a votary ; I have vowed to Jaquen- 
 etta to hold the plough for her sweet love three 
 years. But, most esteemed greatness, will you 
 hear the dialogue that the two learned men have 
 compiled in praise of the owl and the cuckoo ? 
 it should have followed in the end of our show. 
 
 King. Call them forth quickly, we will do so. 
 
 Arm. Holla ! approach. 
 
 Enter HOLOFERNES ; NATHANIEL, MOTH, 
 COSTARD, and others. 
 
 This side is Hiems, Winter this Ver, the 
 Spring j the one maintained by the owl, the 
 other by the cuckoo. Vcr, begin. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 i. 
 
 Spring. When daisies pied, and violets blue, 
 And lady-smocks all silver-white, 
 And cuckoo-buds of yellow^ hue, 
 
 Do paint the meadows with delight, 
 The cuckoo then, on every tree, 
 Mocks married men, for thus sings he 
 
 Cuckoo ; 
 
 Cuckoo, cuckoo, O word of fear, 
 Unpleasing to a married ear ! 
 
 :&& !o \\iii 
 II. 
 When shepherds pipe on oaten straws, 
 
 And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks, 
 When turtles tread, and rooks and daws, 
 And maidens bleach their summer smocks, 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 
 
 221 
 
 The cuckoo then, on every tree, 
 Mocks married men, for thus sings be 
 
 Cuckoo ; 
 
 Cuckoo, cuckoo, O word of fear, 
 Unpleasing to a married ear ! 
 
 Winter. When icicles hang by the wall, 
 
 And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, 
 And Tom bears logs into the hall, 
 
 And milk comes Irozen home in pail, 
 When blood is nipp'd and ways be foul, 
 Then nightly sings the staring owl 
 
 To-who ; 
 
 Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note, 
 While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 
 
 When all aloud the wind doth blow, 
 
 And coughing drowns the parson's saw, 
 And birds sit brooding in the snow, 
 
 And Marions nose looks red and raw, 
 When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, 
 Then nightly sings the staring owl 
 
 To-who ; 
 
 Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note, 
 While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 
 
 Arm. The words of Mercury are harsh after 
 the songs of Apollo. You that way ; we this 
 way. [Exeunt. 
 

 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 
 DUKE OF VENICE. 
 
 PRINCE OF MOROCCO. ) ., 
 
 PRINCE OF ARRAGON! } Smtors * PORTIA ' 
 
 ANTONIO, the Merchant of Venice. 
 
 BASSANIO, his Friend. 
 
 SAL!RINO 
 
 bALARINO, 
 
 GRATIANO, 
 LORENZO, in love -with JESSICA. 
 SHYLOCK, a Jew. 
 TUBAL, a Jew, his Friend. 
 LAUNCELOT GOBBO, a Clown> Servant to 
 SHYLOCK. 
 
 Friends to ANTONIO and 
 
 OLD GOBBO, Father to LAUNCELOT. 
 SALERIO, a Messenger from Venice. 
 LEONARDO, Servant to BASSANIO. 
 BALTHAZAR, 
 STEPHANO, 
 
 \Servants to PORTIA. 
 
 PORTIA, a rich Heiress. 
 NERISSA, her Waiting-maid. 
 JESSICA, Daughter to SHYLOCK. 
 
 Magnificoes of Venice, Officers of the Court of 
 Justice, Gaoler, Servants, and other Atten- 
 dants. 
 
 SCENE, Partly at VENICE, and partly at BELMONT, the Seat 0/ PORTIA, on the Continent. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. VENICE. A Street. 
 Enter ANTONIO, SALARINO, and SOLANIO. 
 
 Ant. In sooth, I know not why I am so sad : 
 It wearies me ; you say it wearies you ; 
 But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, 
 What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born, 
 I am to learn ; 
 
 And such a want-wit sadness makes of me 
 That I have much ado to know myself. 
 
 Salar. Your mind is tossing on the ocean ; 
 There, where your argosies, with portly sail, 
 Like signiors and rich burghers of the flood, 
 Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea, 
 Do overpeer the petty traffickers 
 That curt'sy to them, do them reverence, 
 As they fly by them with their woven wings. 
 
 Solan. Believe me, sir,had I such venture forth, 
 The better part of my affections would 
 Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still 
 Plucking the grass, to know where sits the 
 
 wind ; 
 
 Peering in maps for ports, and piers, and roads ; 
 And every object that might make me fear 
 Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt 
 Would make me sad. 
 
 Salar. My wind, cooling my broth, 
 
 Would blow me to an ague when I thought 
 What harm a wind too great might do at sea. 
 I should not see the sandy hour-glass run 
 But I should think of shallows and of flats 
 
 And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand, 
 Vailing her high-top lower than her ribs, 
 To kiss her burial. Should I go to church, 
 And see the holy edifice of stone, 
 And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks, 
 Which, touching but my gentle vessel's side, 
 Would scatter all her spices on the stream, 
 Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks, 
 And, in a word, but even now worth this, 
 And now worth nothing? Shall I have the 
 
 thought 
 
 To think on this ; and shall I lack the thought 
 That such a thing bechanc'd would make me 
 
 sad? 
 
 But tell not me ; I know Antonio 
 Is sad to think upon his merchandize. [it, 
 
 Ant. Believe me, no : I thank my fortune for 
 My ventures are not in one bottom trusted, 
 Nor to one place ; nor is my whole estate 
 Upon the fortune of this present year : 
 Therefore my merchandize makes me not sad. 
 
 Solan. Why, then you are in love. 
 
 Ant. Fie, fie! 
 
 Solan. Not in love neither ? Then let 's say 
 
 you are sad 
 
 Because you are not merry : and 'twere as easy 
 For you to laugh, and leap, and say you are 
 merry, [Janus, 
 
 Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed 
 Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time : 
 Some that will evermore peep through their eyes, 
 And laugh, like parrots, at a bag-piper : 
 And other of such vinegar aspect, 
 
SCENE I.J 
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 223 
 
 That they '11 not show their teeth in way of smile, 
 Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable. 
 Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman, 
 Gratiano and Lorenzo. Fare ye well ; 
 We leave you now with better company. 
 
 Salar. I would have stayM till I had made 
 
 you merry. 
 If worthier friends had not prevented me. 
 
 Ant. Your worth is very dear in my regard. 
 I take it your own business calls on you, 
 And you embrace the occasion to depart. 
 
 Enter BASSANIO, LORENZO, and GRATIANO. 
 
 Salar. Good-morrow, my good lords. 
 
 Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we 
 
 laugh? say, when? 
 You grow exceeding strange: must it be so? 
 
 Solar. We '11 make our leisures to attend on 
 yours. {Exeunt SALAR. and SOLAN. 
 
 Lor. My Lord Bassanio, since you have 
 
 found Antonio, 
 
 We two will leave you ; but at dinner-time, 
 I pray you, have in mind where we must meet. 
 
 Bass. I will not fail you. 
 
 Gra. You look not well, Signior Antonio ; 
 You have too much respect upon the world : 
 They lose it that do buy it with much care. 
 Believe me, you are marvellously chang'd. 
 
 Ant. I hold the world but as the world, 
 
 Gratiano 
 
 A stage, where every man must play a part, 
 And mine a sad one. 
 
 Gra. Let me play the fool : 
 
 With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come ; 
 And let my liver rather heat with wine 
 Than my heart cool with mortifying groans. 
 Why should a man, whose blood is warm within, 
 Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster? 
 Sleep when he wakes? and creep into the 
 
 jaundice 
 
 By being peevish? I tell thee what, Antonio, 
 I love thee, and it is my love that speaks, 
 There are a sort of men whose visages 
 Do cream and mantle like a standing pond, 
 And do a wilful stillness entertain, 
 With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion 
 Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit ; 
 As who should say, I am Sir Oracle, 
 And, when I ope my lips, let no dog bark ! 
 O, my Antonio, I do know of these, 
 That therefore only are reputed wise 
 For saying nothing ; who, I am very sure, 
 If they should speak, would almost damn those 
 ears [fools. 
 
 Which, hearing them, would call their brothers 
 I '11 tell thee more of this another time : 
 But fish not, with this melancholy bait, 
 
 For this fool's gudgeon, this opinion. 
 Come, good Lorenzo. Fare ye well awhile; 
 I '11 end my exhortation after dinner. [time : 
 
 Lor. Well, we will leave you then till dinner- 
 I must be one of these same dumb wise men, 
 For Gratiano never lets me speak. [moe, 
 
 Gra. Well, keep me company but two years 
 Thou shah not know the sound of thine own 
 tongue. 
 
 Ant. Farewell: I'llgrowatalkerforthisgear. 
 
 Gra. Thanks, i' faith; for silence is only 
 
 commendable [dible. 
 
 In a neat's tongue dried and a maid not ven- 
 
 \Exeunt GRA. and LOR. 
 
 Ant. Is that anything now? 
 
 Bass. Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of 
 nothing, more than any man in all Venice. 
 His reasons are as two grains of wheat hid in 
 two bushels of chaff: you shall seek all day ere 
 you find them; and, when you have them, 
 they are not worth the search. [same 
 
 Ant. Well ; tell me now, what lady is this 
 To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage, 
 That you to-day promis'd to tell me of? 
 
 Bass. 'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio, 
 How much I have disabled mine estate 
 By something showinf a more swelling port 
 Than my faint means would grant continuance: 
 Nor do I now make moan to be abridg'd 
 From such a noble rate ; but my chief care 
 Is to come fairly off from the great debts 
 Wherein my time, something too prodigal, 
 Hath left me gag'd. To you, Antonio, 
 I owe the most, in money and in love; 
 And from your love I have a warranty 
 To unburthen all my plots and purposes 
 How to get clear of all the debts I owe. [it * 
 
 Ant. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know 
 And if it stand, as you yourself still do, 
 Within the eye of honour, be assur'd 
 My purse, my person, my extremest means 
 Lie all unlock'd to your occasions. [shaft, 
 
 Bass. In my school-days, when I had lost one 
 I shot his fellow of the self-same flight 
 The self-same way, with more advised watch, 
 To find the other forth ; and by advent'ring both 
 I oft found both: I urge this childhood proof, 
 Because what follows is pure innocence. 
 I owe you much ; and, like a wilful youth, 
 That which I owe is lost : but if you please 
 To shoot another arrow that self-way .ttf\ 
 Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt, 
 As I will watch the aim, or to find both 
 Or bring your latter hazard back again, 
 And thankfully rest debtor for the first, [time 
 
 Ant. You know me well, and herein spent but 
 To wind about my love with circumstance ; 
 
224 
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 And out of doubt you do me now more wrong, 
 In making: question of my uttermost, 
 Than if you had made waste of all I have. 
 Then do but say to me what I should do, 
 That in your knowledge may by me be done, 
 And I am press'd unto it : therefore, speak. 
 
 Bass. In Belmont is a lady richly left, 
 And she is fair, and fairer than that word, 
 Of wondrous virtues : sometimes from her eyes 
 I did receive fair speechless messages : 
 Her name is Portia ; nothing undervalued 
 To Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia. 
 Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth ; 
 For the four wind? blow in from every coast 
 Renowned suitors and her sum y locks 
 Hang on her temples like a golden fleece ; 
 Which makes her seat of Belmont Colchos' 
 
 strand, 
 And many Jasons come in quest of her. 
 
 my Antonio, had I but the means 
 To hold a rival place with one of them, 
 
 1 have a mind presages me such thrift 
 
 That I should questionless be fortunate, [sea; 
 Ant. Thou know'st that all my fortunes are at 
 Neither have I money nor commodity 
 To raise a present sum : therefore go forth ; 
 Try what my credit can in Venice do : 
 That shall be rack'd, even to the uttermost, 
 To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia, 
 Go, presently inquire, and so will I, 
 Where money is ; and I no question make 
 To have it of my trust or for my sake. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ;3YoI ni bns '{.yflora ni t j<;ci e.'Ij uwo I. 
 SCENE II. BELMONT. A Room in PORTIA'S 
 House. 
 
 Enter PORTIA and NERISSA. 
 
 For. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is 
 a- weary of this great world. 
 
 Ner. You would be, sweet madam, if your 
 miseries were in the same abundance as youi 
 good fortunes are : and yet for aught I see, they 
 are as sick that surfeit with too much as they 
 that starve with nothing. It is no mean happi- 
 ness, therefore, to be seated in the mean : 
 superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but 
 competency lives longer. 
 
 For. Good sentences, and well pronounced. 
 
 Ner. They would be better if well followed. 
 
 For. If to do were as easy as to know what 
 were good to do, chapels had been churches, 
 and poor men's cottages princes' palaces. It is 
 a good divine that follows his own instructions : 
 I can easier teach twenty what were good to be 
 done, than be one of the twenty to follow mine 
 own teaching. The brain may devise laws for 
 
 the blood, but a hot temper leaps over a cold 
 decree ; such a hare is madness, the youth, to 
 skip o'er the meshes of good council, the cripple. 
 But this reasoning is not in the fashion to choose 
 me a husband. O me, the word choose! I 
 may neither choose whom I would nor refuse 
 whom I dislike; so is the will of a living 
 daughter curbed by the will of a dead father. 
 Is it not hard, Nerissa, that I cannot choose 
 one, nor refuse none? 
 
 Ner. Your lather was ever virtuous; and 
 holy men, at their death, have good inspirations ; 
 therefore, the lottery that he hath devised in 
 these three chests, of gold, silver, and lead, 
 whereof who chooses his meaning chooses you, 
 will, no doubt, never be chosen by any rightly 
 but one who you shall rightly love. But what 
 warmth is there in your affection towards any 
 of these princely suitors that are already come? 
 
 For. I pray thee, over-name them ; and as 
 thou namest them, I will describe them; and 
 according to my description, level at my affec- 
 tion. 
 
 Ner. First, there is the Neapolitan prince. 
 
 For. Ay, that 's a colt indeed, for he doth 
 nothing but talk of his horse ; and he makes it 
 a great appropriation to his own good parts that 
 he can shoe him himself:, I am much afraid my 
 lady his mother played false with a smith. 
 
 Ner. Then is there the County Palatine. 
 
 For. He doth nothing but frown; as who 
 should say, An if you will not have me, choose: 
 he hears merry talcs and smiles not : I fear he 
 will prove the weeping philosopher when he 
 grows old, being so full of unmannerly sadness 
 in his youth. I had rather be married to a 
 death's head with a bone in his mouth than to 
 either of these. God defend me from these two! 
 
 Ner. How say you by the French lord, 
 Monsieur Le Bon? 
 
 For. God made him, and therefore let him 
 pass for a man. In truth, I know it is a sin to 
 be a mocker: but, he! why, he hath a horse 
 better than the Neapolitan's ; a better bad habit 
 of frowning than the Count Palatine: he is 
 every man and no man ; if a throstle sing he falls 
 straight a-capering ; he will fence with his own 
 shadow : if I should marry him I should marry 
 twenty husbands. If he would despise me 1 
 would forgive him ; for if he love me to mad- 
 ness I shall never requite him. 
 
 Ner. What say you then to Falconbridgc, 
 the young baron of England? 
 
 For. You know I say nothing to him ; for he 
 understands not me, nor I him : he hath neither 
 Latin, French, nor Italian ; and you will come 
 into the court and swear that I have a poor 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 225 
 
 pennyworth in the English. He is a proper 
 man's picture ; but, alas ! who can converse 
 with a dumb show? How oddly he is suited ! 
 I think, he bought his doublet in Italy, his 
 round hose in France, his bonnet in Germany, 
 and his behaviour everywhere. 
 
 Ner. What think you of the Scottish lord, 
 his neighbour? 
 
 For. That he hath a neighbourly charity in 
 him ; for he borrowed a box of the ear of the 
 Englishman, and swore he would pay him again 
 when he was able : I think the Frenchman be- 
 came his surety, and sealed under for another. 
 
 Ner. How like you the young German, the 
 Duke of Saxony's nephew? 
 
 For. Very vilely in the morning when he is 
 sober ; and most vilely in the afternoon when 
 he is drunk ; when he is best he is a little worse 
 than a man ; and when he is worst, he is little 
 better than a beast. An the worst fall that ever 
 fell, I hope I shall make shift to go without 
 him. 
 
 Ner. If he should offer to choose, and choose 
 the right casket, you should refuse to perform 
 your father's will if you should refuse to accept 
 him. 
 
 For. Therefore, for fear of the worst, I pray 
 thee set a deep glass of Rhenish wine on the 
 contrary casket : for, if the devil be within and 
 that temptation without, I know he will choose 
 it. I will do anything, Nerissa, ere I will be 
 married to a sponge. 
 
 Ner. You need not fear, lady, the having any 
 of these lords ; they have acquainted me with 
 their determinations; which is indeed, to return 
 to their home, and to trouble you with no more 
 suit, unless you may be won by some other 
 sort than your father's imposition, depending 
 on the caskets. 
 
 For. If I live to be as old as Sibylla, I will 
 die as chaste as Diana, unless I be obtained by 
 the manner of my father's will. I am glad this 
 parcel of wooers are so reasonable ; for there is 
 not one among them but I dote on his very 
 absence, and I pray God grant them a fair 
 departure. 
 
 Ner. Do you not remember, lady, in your 
 father's time, a Venetian, a scholar and a 
 soldier, that came hither in company of the 
 Marquis of Montferrat? 
 
 For. Yes, yes, it was Bassanio ; as I think, 
 so was he called. 
 
 Ner. True, madam ; he, of all the men that 
 ever my foolish eyes looked upon, was the best 
 deserving a fair lady. 
 
 For. I remember him well ; and I r*mmber 
 him worthy of thy praise. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 How now ! what news? 
 
 Serv. The four strangers seek for you, madam, 
 to take their leave ; and there is a forerunner 
 come from a fifth, the prince of Morocco, who 
 brings word, the prince his master will be here 
 to-night. 
 
 For. If I could bid the fifth welcome with so 
 good heart as I can bid the other four farewell, 
 I should be glad of his approach : if he have 
 the condition of a saint and the complexion of 
 a devil, I had rather he should shrive me than 
 wive me. 
 
 Come, Nerissa. Sirrah, go before. 
 Whiles we shut the gate upon one wooer, 
 another knocks at the door. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. VENICE. A Public Place. 
 Enter BASSANIO and SHYLOCK. 
 
 Shy. Three thousand ducats, well. 
 
 Bass. Ay, sir, for three months. 
 
 Shy. For three months, well. 
 
 Bass. For the which, as I told you, Antonio 
 shall be bound. 
 
 Shy. Antonio shall become bound, well. 
 
 Bass. May you stead me? Will you plea- 
 sure me? Shall I know your answer? 
 
 Shy. Three thousand ducats for three months, 
 and Antonio bound. 
 
 Bass. Your answer to that. 
 
 Shy. Antonio is a good man. 
 
 Bass. Have you heard any imputation to the 
 contrary? 
 
 Shy. Ho, no, no ; no, no ; my meaning, in 
 saying he is a good man, is to have you under- 
 stand me that he is sufficient: yet his means 
 are in supposition : he hath an argosy bound to 
 Tripolis, another to the Indies; I understand, 
 moreover, upon the Rialto, he hath a third at 
 
 Mexico, a fourth for England, and other 
 
 ventures he hath, squandered abroad. But 
 ships are but boards, sailors but men : there be 
 land-rats and water-rats, water-thieves and land- 
 thieves ; I mean pirates ; and then there is the 
 peril of waters, winds, and rocks. The man 
 is, notwithstanding, sufficient ; three thousand 
 ducats : I think I may take his bond. 
 
 Bass. Be assured you may. 
 
 Shy. I will be assured I may; and, that I 
 may be assured, I will bethink me. May I 
 speak with Antonio? 
 
 Bass. If it please you to dine with us. 
 
 Shy. Yes, to smell pork ; to eat of the habi- 
 tation which your prophet, the Nazarite, con- 
 jured the devil into; I will buy with you, sell 
 with you, talk with you, walk with you, and so 
 
 H 
 
220 
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 [ACT r. 
 
 following; but I will not eat with you, drink 
 with you, nor pray with you. What news on 
 the Rialto? Who is he conies here? 
 
 Enter ANTONIO. 
 
 Bass. This is Signior Antonio. 
 
 Shy. [Aside.] How like a fawning publican 
 
 he looks! 
 
 I hate him for he is a Christian ; 
 But more for that, in low simplicity, 
 He lends out money gratis, and brings down 
 The rate of usance here with us in Venice. 
 If I can catch him once upon the hip, 
 I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. 
 He hates our sacred nation ; and he rails, 
 Even there where merchants most do congregate, 
 On me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift, 
 Which he calls interest. Cursed be my tribe 
 If I forgive him ! 
 
 Bass. Shylock, do you hear? 
 
 Shy. I am debating of my present store : 
 And, by the near guess of my memory, 
 I cannot instantly raise up the gross 
 Of full three thousand ducats. What of that? 
 Tubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tribe, 
 Will furnish rne. But soft ! how many months 
 Do you desire? Rest you fair, good signior: 
 
 [ To ANTONIO. 
 Your worship was the last man in our mouths. 
 
 Ant. Shylock, albeit I neither lend nor 
 
 borrow, 
 
 By taking nor by giving of excess, 
 Yet, to supply the ripe wants of my friend, 
 I '11 break a custom. Is he yet possess'd 
 How much he would? 
 
 Shy. Ay, ay, three thousand ducats. 
 
 Ant. And for three monthc. [me so. 
 
 Shy. I had forgot, three months ; you told 
 
 Well then, your bond; and, let me see, 
 
 But hear you : 
 
 Methought you said you neither lend nor borrow 
 Upon advantage. 
 
 Ant. I do never use it. 
 
 Shy. When Jacob graz'd his uncle Laban's 
 
 sheep, 
 
 This Jacob from our holy Abraham was 
 As his wise mother wrought in his behalf 
 The third possessor ; ay, he was the third, 
 
 Ant. And what of him ? did he take interest? 
 
 Shy. No, not take interest; not, as you 
 
 would say, 
 
 Directly interest : mark what Jacob did. 
 When Laban and himself were compromis'd 
 That all the eaniings which were streak'd and 
 pied [rank, 
 
 Should fall as Jacob's hire; the ewes, being 
 In end of autumn turned to the rams : 
 
 And when the work of generation was 
 Between these woolly breeders in the act, 
 The skilful shepherd peel'd me certain wands, 
 And, in the doing of the deed of kind, 
 He stuck them up before the fulsome ewes, 
 Who, then conceiving, did in eaning time 
 Fall party-colour'd lambs, and those were 
 
 Jacob's. 
 
 This was a way to thrive, and he was blest; 
 And thrift is blessing if men steal it not. 
 
 Ant. This was a venture, sir, that Jacob 
 
 serv'd for ; 
 
 A thing not in his power to bring to pass, 
 But sway'd and fashion'd by the hand of heaven. 
 Was this inserted to make interest good? 
 Or is your gold and silver ewes and rams? 
 
 Shy. I cannot tell ; I make it breed as fast : 
 But note me, signior. 
 
 Ant. Mark you this, Bassanio, 
 
 The devil can cite scripture for his purpose. 
 An evil soul producing holy witness 
 Is like a villain with a smiling cheek 
 A goodly apple rotten at the heart : 
 O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath ! 
 
 Shy. Three thousand ducats, 'tis a good 
 
 round sum. [rate. 
 
 Three months from twelve, then let me see the 
 
 Ant. Well, Shylock, shall we be beholden 
 to you? 
 
 Shy. Signior Antonio, many a time and oft, 
 In the Rialto, you have rated me 
 About my moneys and my usances : 
 Still have I borne it with a patient shrug ; 
 For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe : 
 You call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog, 
 And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine, 
 And all for use of that which is mine own. 
 Well, then, it now appears you need my help : 
 Go to, then ; you come to me, and you say, 
 Shylocky we would have moneys: you say so ; 
 You, that did void your rheum upon my beard, 
 And foot me as you spurn a stranger cur 
 Over your threshold : moneys is your suit. 
 What should I say to you? Should I not say, 
 Hath a dog money? is it possible 
 A cur can lend three thousand ducats? or 
 Shall I bend low, and in a bondman's key, 
 With 'bated breath and whispering humbleness, 
 
 Say this? 
 
 Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last 
 You spurted me such a day ; another time 
 You called me dog; and for these courtesies 
 /'// lend you thus much moneys. 
 
 Ant. I am as like to call thee so again, 
 To spit on thee again, to spurn thee too. 
 If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not 
 As to thy friends, (for when did friendship take 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 227 
 
 A breed for barren metal of his friend ?) 
 But lend it rather to thine enemy, 
 Who if he break, thou mayst with better face 
 Exact the penalty. 
 
 Shy. Why, look you, how you storm ! 
 
 I would be friends with you, and have your love, 
 Forget the shames that you have stain'd me with, 
 Supply your present wants, and take no doit 
 Of usance for my moneys, and you '11 not hear me : 
 This is kind I offer. 
 
 Bass. This were kindness. 
 
 Sky. This kindness will I show. 
 
 Go with me to a notary, seal me there 
 Your single bond ; and, in a merry sport, 
 If you repay me not on such a day, 
 In such a place, such sum or sums as are 
 Express'd in the condition, let the forfeit 
 Be nominated for an equal pound 
 Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken 
 In what part of your body pleaseth me. [bond, 
 
 Ant. Content, in faith : I Ml seal to such a 
 And say there is much kindness in the Jew. 
 
 Bass. You shall not seal to such a bond for 
 
 me: 
 I'll rather dwell in my necessity. [it ; 
 
 Ant. Why fear not, man ; I will not forfeit 
 Within these two months that 's a month before 
 This bond expires I do expect return 
 Of thrice three times the value of this bond. 
 
 Shy. O father Abraham, what these Chris- 
 tians are, 
 
 Whose own hard dealings teaches them suspect 
 The thoughts of others 1 Pray you, tell me this ; 
 If he should break his day, what should I gain 
 By the exaction of the forfeiture? 
 A pound of man's flesh, taken from a man, 
 Is not so estimable, profitable neither, 
 As flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say, 
 To buy his favour I extend this friendship ; 
 If he will take it, so; if not, adieu; 
 And for my love, I pray you wrong me not. 
 
 Ant. Yes, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond. 
 
 Shy. Then meet me forthwith at the notary's ; 
 Give him direction for this merry bond, 
 And I will go and purse the ducats straight, 
 See to my house, left in the fearful guard 
 Of an unthrifty knave, and presently 
 I will be with you. 
 
 Ant. Hie thee, gentle Jew; 
 
 [Exit SHYLOCK. 
 
 This Hebrew will turn Christian: he grows 
 kind. [mind. 
 
 Bass. I like not fair terms and a villain's 
 
 Ant. Come on; in this there can be no 
 
 dismay ; 
 
 My ships come home a month before the day. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. BELMONT. A Room in PORTIA'S 
 House. 
 
 Flourish of Garnets. Enter the PRINCE OF 
 MOROCCO and his Train; PORTIA, NERISSA, 
 and other of her Attendants. 
 
 Mor. Mislike me not for my complexion, 
 The shadow'd livery of the burnish'd sun, 
 To whom I am a neighbour, and near bred. 
 Bring me the fairest creature northward born, 
 Where Phoebus' fire scarce thaws the icicles, 
 And let us make incision for your love, 
 To prove whose blood is reddest, his or mine. 
 I tell thee lady, this aspect of mine 
 Hath fearM the valiant ; by my love, I swear, 
 The best-regarded virgins of our clime 
 Have lov'd it too : I would not change this hue, 
 Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen. 
 
 For. In terms of choice I am not solely led 
 By nice direction of a maiden's eyes : 
 Besides, the lottery of my destiny 
 Bars me the right of voluntary choosing: 
 But, if my father had not scanted me, 
 And hedg'd me by his wit, to yield myself 
 His wife who wins me by that means I told you, 
 Yourself, renowned prince, then stood as fair 
 As any comer I have look'd on yet 
 For my affection. 
 
 Mor. Even for that I thank you ; 
 
 Therefore, I pray you, lead me to the caskets, 
 To try my fortune. By this scimitar, 
 That slew the Sophy, and a Persian prince 
 That won three fields of Sultan Solyman, 
 I would out-stare the sternest eyes that look, 
 Out-brave the heart most daring on the earth, 
 Pluck the young sucking cubs from the she-bear, 
 Yea, mock the lion when he roars for prey, 
 To win thee, lady. But, alas the while ! 
 If Hercules and Lichas play at dice 
 Which is the better man, the greater throw 
 May turn by fortune from the weaker hand : 
 So is Alcides beaten by his page ; 
 And so may I, blind fortune leading me, 
 Miss that which one unworthier may attain, 
 And die with grieving. 
 
 For. You must take your chance ; 
 
 And either not attempt to choose at all, 
 Or swear before you choose, if you choose wrong, 
 Never to speak to lady afterward 
 In way of marriage ; therefore be advis'd. 
 
 Mor. Nor will not; come, bring me unto 
 my chance. 
 
 For. First, forward to the temple: after 
 
 dinner 
 Your hazard shall be mad. 
 
22$ 
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 CACT ii. 
 
 Mor. Good fortune then ! 
 
 To make me blest or cursed'st among men. 
 
 [Cornets and exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. VENICE. A Street. 
 
 --jfi jr "^ iVcruv-i. . 
 
 Enter LAUNCELOT GOBBO. 
 
 Laun. Certainly my conscience will serve me 
 to run from this Jew, my master. The fiend is 
 at mine elbow, and tempts me, saying to me, 
 Gobbo, Launcelot Gobbo, good Launcelot, or good 
 Gobbo, or good Launcelot Gobbo, use your legs, 
 take the start, run away. My conscience says, 
 No; take heed, honest Launcelot ; take heed, 
 honest Gobbo: or as aforesaid, honest Launce- 
 let Gobbo ; do not run, scorn running -with thy 
 heels. Well, the most courageous fiend bids 
 me pack: Via! says the fiend ; away! says the 
 fiend, for the heavens ; rouse up a brave mind, 
 says the fiend, and run. Well, my conscience, 
 hanging about the neck of my heart, says very 
 wisely to me, My honest friend, Launcelot, 
 being an honest man's son, or rather an honest 
 woman's son ; for indeed, my father did 
 something smack, something grow to, he had a 
 kind of taste; well, my conscience says, Launce- 
 lot, budge not. Budge, says the fiend. Budge 
 not, says my conscience. Conscience, say I, 
 you counsel well; fiend, say I, you counsel 
 well : to be ruled by my conscience, I should 
 stay with the Jew, my master, who (God bless 
 the mark !) is a kind of devil ; and, to run away 
 from the Jew, I should be ruled by the fiend, 
 who, saving your reverence, is the devil him- 
 self. Certainly the Jew is the very devi. incar- 
 nation : and, in my conscience, my conscience 
 is but a kind of hard conscience, to offer to 
 counsel me to stay with the Jew. . The fiend 
 gives the more friendly counsel: I will run, 
 fiend ; my heels are at your commandment ; I 
 will run. 
 
 Enter Old GOBBO, with a basket. 
 
 Gob. Master young man, you, I pray you, 
 which is the way to master Jew's? 
 
 Laun. [Aside.] O heavens, this is my true 
 begotten father! who, being more than sand- 
 blind, high-gravel blind, knows me not: I 
 will try confusions with him. 
 
 Gob. Master young gentleman, I pray you, 
 which is the way to Master Jew's? 
 
 Laun. Turn up on your right hand at the next 
 turning, but, at the next turning of all, on your 
 left; marry, at the very next turning, turn of no 
 hand, but turn down indirectly to the Jew's 
 house. 
 
 Gob, By God's sonties, 'twill be a hard way to 
 
 hit. Can you tell me whether one Launcelot, 
 that dwells with him, dwell with him or no? 
 
 Laun. Talk you of young Master Launcelot? 
 [Aside.] Mark me now; now will I raise the 
 waters. Talk you of young Master Launcelot? 
 
 Gob. No master, sir, but a poor man's son : 
 his father, though I say it, is an honest exceeding 
 poor man, and, God be thanked, well to live. 
 
 Laun. Well, let his father be what 'a will, 
 we talk of young Master Launcelot. [sir. 
 
 Gob. Your worship's friend, and Launcelot, 
 
 Laun. But I pray you, ergo, old man, ergo, I 
 beseech you, talk you of young Master Launce- 
 lot? [ship- 
 
 Gob. Of Launcelot, an 't please your master- 
 
 Laun. Ergo, Master Launcelot. Talk not 
 of Master Launcelot, father; for the young 
 gentleman, according to Fates and Destinies, 
 and such odd sayings, the Sisters Three, and 
 such branches of learning, is indeed deceased : 
 or. as you would say in plain terms, gone to 
 heaven. 
 
 Gob. Marry, God forbid! the boy was the 
 very staff of my age, my very prop. 
 
 Laun. Do I look like a cudgel or a hovel- 
 post, astaff or a prop? Do you know me, father? 
 
 Gob. Alack the day, I know you not, young 
 gentleman: but, I pray you, tell me, is my boy 
 (God rest his soul !) alive or dead? 
 
 Laun. Do you not know me, father? 
 
 Gob. Alack, sir, I am sand-blind, I know 
 you not. 
 
 Laun. Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes you 
 might fail of the knowing me : it is a wise father 
 that knows his own child. Well, old man, I will 
 tell you news of your son. Give me your bles- 
 sing ; truth will come to light ; murder cannot 
 be hid long: a man's son may; but, in the end, 
 truth will out. 
 
 Gob. Pray you, sir, stand up; I am sure you 
 are not Launcelot, my boy. 
 
 Laun. Pray you, let 's have no more fooling 
 about it, but give me your blessing; I am 
 Launcelot, your boy that was, your son that is, 
 your child that shall be. 
 
 Gob. I cannot think you are my son. 
 
 Laun. I know not what I shall think of thaf, 
 but I am Launcelot, the Jew's man ; and I am 
 sure Margery your wife is my mother. 
 
 Gob. Her name is Margery, indeed : I '11 be 
 sworn, if thou be Launcelot, thou art mine own 
 flesh and blood. Lord worshipped might he be ! 
 what a beard hast thou got! thou hast got more 
 hair on thy chin than Dobbin my thill-horse has 
 on his tail. 
 
 Laun. It should seem, then, that Dobbin's 
 tail grows backward; I am sure he had more 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 229 
 
 itn. nu mm, lauici. 
 
 b. God bless your worship! [me? 
 
 55. Gramercy: wouldst thou aught with 
 
 hair of his tail than I have of my face when I last 
 saw him. 
 
 Gob. Lord, how art thou changed! How 
 dost thou and thy master agree ? I have brought 
 him a present. How 'gree you now? 
 
 Latin. Well, well; but, for mine own part, as 
 I have set up my rest to run away, so I will not 
 rest till I have run some ground. My master 's 
 a very Jew : give him a present ! give him a 
 halter : I am famished in his service ; you may 
 tell every finger I have with my ribs. Father, I 
 am glad you are come ; give me your present to 
 one Master Bassanio, who indeed gives rare new 
 liveries : if I serve not him, I will run as far as 
 God has any ground. O rare fortune ! here comes 
 the man ; to him, father; for I am a Jew if I 
 serve the Jew any longer. 
 
 Enter BASSANIO, with LEONARDO, and 
 other Followers. 
 
 Bass. You may do so ; but let it be so hasted 
 that supper be ready at the farthest by five of the 
 clock. See these letters delivered; put the 
 liveries to making ; and desire Gratiano to come 
 anon to my lodging. [Exit a Servant. 
 
 Laun. To him, father. 
 
 Gob. 
 
 Bass. 
 
 Gob. Here 's my son, sir, a poor boy, 
 
 Lann. Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew's 
 man, that would, sir, as my father shall specify, 
 
 Gob. He hath a great infection, sir, as one 
 would say, to serve, 
 
 Laun. Indeed, the short and the long is, I 
 serve the Jew, and have a desire, as my father 
 shall specify, 
 
 Gob. His master and he, saving your wor- 
 ship's reverence, are scarce cater-cousins, 
 
 Latin. To be brief, the very truth is, that the 
 Jew having done me wrong, doth cause me, as 
 my father, being I hope an old man, shall 
 frutify unto you, 
 
 Gob. I have here a dish of doves that I would 
 bestow upon your worship ; and my suit is, 
 
 Laun. In very brief, the suit is impertinent 
 to myself, as your worship shall know by this 
 honest old man ; and, though I say it, though 
 old man, yet, poor man, my father. 
 
 Bass. One speak for both. What would you? 
 
 Laun. Serve you, sir. 
 
 Gob. That is the very defect of the matter, sir. 
 
 Bass. I know thee well ; thou hast obtain'd 
 
 thy suit : 
 
 Shylock, thy master, spoke with me this day, 
 And hath preferr'd thee if it be preferment 
 To leave a rich Jew's service, to become 
 The follower of so poor a gentleman. 
 
 Laun. The old proverb is very well parted 
 between my master, Shylock, and you, sir; you 
 have the grace of God, sir, and he hath enough. 
 
 Bass. Thou speak'st it well. Go, father, 
 
 with thy son. 
 
 Take leave of thy old master, and inquire 
 My lodging out. Give him a livery 
 
 [To his Followers. 
 More guarded than his fellows' : see it done. 
 
 Laun. Father, in. I cannot get a service, 
 no: I have ne'er a tongue in my head. 
 Well ; [looking on his palni\ if any man in Italy 
 have a fairer table which doth offer to swear 
 upon a book, I shall have good fortune ! Go 
 to, here '3 a simple line of life! here 's a small 
 trifle of wives: alas, fifteen wives is nothing, 
 eleven widows and nine maids is a simple com- 
 ing in for one man 1 and then to 'scape drown- 
 ing thrice, and to be in peril of my life with 
 the edge of a feather-bed; here are simple 
 'scapes ! Well, if Fortune be a woman, she 's 
 a good wench for this gear. Father, come: 
 I '11 take my leave of the Tew in the twinkling 
 of an eye. [Exeunt LAUN. and Old GOB. 
 
 Bass. I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on 
 this: [stowM, 
 
 These things being bought and orderly be- 
 Return in haste, for I dp feast to-night 
 My best esteem'd acquaintance; hie thee, go. 
 
 Leon. My best endeavours shall be done 
 
 herein. 
 
 .yuano! fin nfi&ua fi>:-.i ! U3ibA .swaX 
 Enter GRATIANO. 
 
 Gra. Where is your master? 
 
 Leon. Yonder, sir, he walks. [Exit. 
 
 Gra. Signior Bassanio, 
 
 Bass. Gratiano! 
 
 Gra. I have a suit to you. 
 
 Bass. You have obtain'd it 
 
 Gra. You must not deny me: I must go 
 with you to Belmont. [Gratiano; 
 
 Bass. Why, then you must. But hear thee, 
 Thou art too wild, too rude, and bold of voice; 
 Parts that become thee happily enough, 
 And in such eyes as ours appear not faults ; 
 But where thou art not known, why, there 
 
 they show 
 
 Something too liberal. Pray thee, take pain 
 To allay with some cold drops of modesty 
 Thy skipping spirit; lest, through thy wUd be- 
 haviour, 
 
 I be misconstrued in the place I go to, 
 And lose my hopes. 
 
 Gra. Signior Bassanio, hear me : 
 
 If I do not put on a sober habit, 
 Talk with respect, and swear but now and then, 
 Wear prayer-books inmy pocket, look demurely, 
 
230 
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 Nay more, while grace is saying, hood mine eyes 
 
 Thus with my hat, and sigh, and say amen, 
 
 Use all the observance of civility, 
 
 Like one well studied in a sad ostent 
 
 To please his grandam, never trust me more. 
 
 Bass. Well, we shall see your bearing. 
 
 Gra. Nay, but I bar to-night ; you shall not 
 
 gage me 
 By what we do to-night. 
 
 Bass. No, that were pity ; 
 
 I would entreat you rather to put on 
 Your boldest suit of mirth, for we have friends 
 That purpose merriment. But fare you well : 
 I have some business. 
 
 Gra. And I must to Lorenzo and the rest ; 
 But we will visit you at supper-time. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. The same. A Room in SHY- 
 LOCK'S House. 
 
 Enter JESSICA and LAUNCELOT. 
 
 Jes. I am sorry thou wilt leave my father so : 
 Our house is hell ; and thou, a merry devil, 
 Didst rob it of some taste of tediousness. 
 But fare thee well ; there is a ducat for thee : 
 And, Launcelot, soon at supper shalt thou see 
 Lorenzo, who is thy new master's guest : 
 Give him this letter ; do it secretly ; 
 And so farewell : I would not have my father 
 See me in talk with thee. 
 
 Laun. Adieu ! tears exhibit my tongue. 
 Most beautiful pagan, most sweet Jew! if a 
 Christian did not play the knave, and get thee, 
 I am much deceived. But, adieu ! these foolish 
 drops do somewhat drown my manly spirit ; 
 adieu ! [Exit. 
 
 Jes. Farewell, good Launcelot. 
 Alack, what heinous sin is it in me 
 To be asham'd to be my father's child ! 
 But though I am a daughter to his blood, 
 I am not to his manners. O Lorenzo, 
 If thou keep promise, I shall end this strife, 
 Become a Christian, and thy loving wife. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV. The same. A Street. 
 
 Enter GRATIANO, LORENZO, SALARINO, and 
 SOLANIO. 
 
 Lor. Nay, we will slink away in supper-time ; 
 Disguise us at my lodging, and return 
 All in an hour. 
 
 Gra. We have not made good preparation. 
 
 Salar. We have not spoke us yet of torch - 
 bearers. [order'd ; 
 
 Solan. 'Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly 
 And better, in my mind, not undertook. 
 
 Lor. 'Tis now but four o'clock ; we have two 
 
 hours 
 To furnish us ; 
 
 Enter LAUNCELOT, with a letter. 
 
 Friend Launcelot, what's the news? 
 
 Laun. An it shall please you to break up 
 this, it shall seem to signify. 
 
 Lor. Iknowthehand: in faith, 'tis a fair hand; 
 And whiter than the paper it writ on 
 Is the fair hand that writ. 
 
 Gra. Love-news, in faith. 
 
 Laun. By your leave, sir. 
 
 Lor. Whither goest thou? 
 
 Laun. Marry, sir, to bid my old master, the 
 Jew, to sup to-night with my new master, the 
 Christian. [Jessica 
 
 Lor. Hold here, take this : tell gentle 
 I will not fail her; speak it privately; go. 
 Gentlemen, [Exit LAUNCELOT. 
 
 Will you prepare you for this masque to-night? 
 I am provided of a torch-bearer. 
 
 Salar. Ay, marry, I '11 be gone about it straight. 
 
 Solan. And so will I. 
 
 Lor. Meet me and Gratiano 
 
 At Gratiano's lodging some hour hence. 
 
 Salar. 'Tis good we do so. 
 
 [Exeunt SALAR. and SOLAN. 
 
 Gra. Was not that letter from fair Jessica? 
 
 Lor. I must needs tell thee all. She hath 
 
 directed 
 
 How I shall take her from her father's house ; 
 What gold and jewels she is furnish'd with; 
 What page's suit she hath in readiness. 
 If e'er the Jew her father come to heaven, 
 It will be for his gentle daughter's sake : 
 And never dare misfortune cross her foot, 
 Unless she do it under this excuse, 
 That she is issue to a faithless Jew. 
 Come, go with me ; peruse this as thou goest : 
 Fair Jessica shall be my torch-bearer. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V.The same. Before SHYLOCK'S 
 
 House. 
 
 Enter SHYLOCK and LAUNCELOT. 
 Shy. Well, thou shalt see ; thy eyes shall be 
 
 thy judge, 
 
 The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio: 
 What, Jessica ! thou shalt not gormandize 
 As thou hast done with me ; What, Jessica ! 
 And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out ; 
 Why, Jessica, I say ! 
 
 Laun. Why, Jessica ! [call. 
 
 Shy. Who bids thee call? I do not bid thee 
 Laun. Your worship was wont to tell me I 
 could do nothing without bidding. 
 
SCENE V.] 
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 231 
 
 Enter JESSICA. 
 
 Jes. Call you? what is your will? 
 Sky. I am bid forth to supper, Jessica: 
 There are my keys. But wherefore should I go? 
 I am not bid for love ; they flatter me : 
 But yet I '11 go in hate, to feed upon 
 The prodigal Christian. Jessica, my girl, 
 Look to my house. I am right "loath to go; 
 There is some ill a-brewing towards my rest, 
 For I did dream of money-bags to-night. 
 
 Lattn. I beseech you, sir, go; my young 
 master doth expect your reproach. 
 Shy. So do I his. 
 
 Laun. And they have conspired together, 
 I will not say you shall see a masque; but if 
 you do, then it was not for nothing that my 
 nose fell a-bleeding on Black-Monday last at 
 six o'clock i' the morning, falling out that year 
 on Ash-Wednesday was four year in the after- 
 noon. 
 
 Shy. What! are there masques? Hear you 
 
 me, Jessica : 
 
 Lock up my doors; and when you hear the drum, 
 And the vile squeaking of the wry-neck'd fife, 
 Clamber not you up to the casements then, 
 Nor thrust your head into the public street 
 To gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces : 
 But stop my house's ears, I mean my case- 
 ments : 
 
 Let not the sound of shallow foppery enter 
 My sober house. By Jacob's staff, I swear 
 I have no mind of feasting forth to-night : 
 But I will go. Go you before me, sirrah ; 
 Say I will come. 
 
 Laun. I will go before, sir. 
 
 Mistress, look out at window for all this ; 
 There will come a Christian by 
 Will be worth a Jewess' eye. [Exit. 
 
 Shy. What says that fool of Hagar's off- 
 spring, ha? [nothing else. 
 Jes. His words were, Farewell, mistress ; 
 Shy. The patch is kind enough, but a huge 
 
 feeder, 
 
 Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day 
 More than the wild cat : drones hive not with 
 
 me ; 
 
 Therefore I part with him ; and part with him 
 To one that I would have him help to waste 
 His borrowed purse. Well, Jessica, go in ; 
 Perhaps I will return immediately : 
 Do as I bid you ; 
 
 Shut doors after you : fast bind, fast find 
 A proverb never stale in thrifty mind. [Exit. 
 Jes. Farewell; and if my fortune be not 
 
 cross'd, 
 I have a father, you a daughter, last. [Extt. 
 
 SCENE VI. The same. 
 Enter GRATIANO and SALARINO, mas/ted. 
 
 Gra. This is the pent-house under which 
 
 Lorenzo 
 Desir'd us to make stand. 
 
 Salar. His hour is almost past. 
 
 Gra. And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour, 
 For lovers ever run before the clock. 
 
 Salar. O, ten times faster Venus' pigeons fly 
 To seal love's bonds new made, than they are 
 
 wont 
 To keep obliged faith unforfeited ! [feast 
 
 Gra. That ever holds; who riseth from a 
 With that keen appetite that he sits down? 
 Where is the horse that doth untread again 
 His tedious measures with the unbated fire 
 That he did pace them first ? All things that are, 
 Are with more spirit chased than enjoy'd. 
 How like a younker or a prodigal 
 The scarfed bark puts from her native bay, 
 Hugg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind ! 
 How like the prodigal doth she return, 
 With over-weather' d ribs and ragged sails, 
 Lean, rent, and beggar'd by the strumpet wind ! 
 
 Solar. Here comes Lorenzo; more of this 
 hereafter. 
 
 Enter LORENZO. 
 Lor. Sweet friends, your patience for mj 
 
 long abode ; 
 
 Not I, but my affairs, have made you wait : 
 When you shall please to play the thieves for wives 
 I '11 watch as long for you then. Approach ; 
 Here dwells my father Jew. Ho! who 's within? 
 
 Enter JESSICA, above^ in boys clothes. 
 
 Jes. Who are you? Tell me, for more certainty, 
 Albeit I '11 swear that I do know your tongue. 
 
 Lor. Lorenzo, and thy love. 
 
 Jes. Lorenzo, certain ; and my love indeed ; 
 For who love I so much? and now who knows 
 But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours? 
 
 Lor. Heaven and thy thoughts are witness 
 that thou art. [pains. 
 
 Jes. Here, catch this casket ; it is worth the 
 I am glad 'tis night, you do not look on me, 
 For I am much asham'd of my exchange : 
 But love is blind, and lovers cannot see 
 The pretty follies that themselves commit ; 
 For if they could, Cupid himself would blush 
 Tc see me thus transformed to a boy. 
 
 Lor. Descend, for you must be my torch - 
 bearer. [shames? 
 
 Jes. What! must I hold a candle to my 
 They in themselves, good sooth, are too, too 
 light. 
 
232 
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 Why, 'tis an office of discovery, love ; 
 And I should be obscur'd. 
 
 Lor. So are you, sweet, 
 
 Even in the lovely garnish of a boy. 
 But come at once ; 
 
 For the close night doth play the runaway, 
 And we are stay'd for at Bassanio's feast. 
 
 fes. I will make fast the doors, and gild my- 
 self 
 
 With some more ducats, and be with you 
 straight. [Exit, above. 
 
 Gra. Now, by my hood, a Gentile, and no 
 Jew. 
 
 Lor. Beshrew me, but I love her heartily : 
 For she is wise, if I can judge of her ; 
 And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true ; 
 And true she is, as she hath prov'd herself; 
 And therefore, like herself, wise, fair, and true. 
 Shall she be placed in my constant soul. 
 
 Enter JESSICA, below. 
 
 What, art thou come? On> gentlemen, away; 
 Our masquing mates by this time for us stay. 
 [Exit, with JES. and SALAR. 
 
 Enter ANTONIO. 
 
 Ant. Who 's there? 
 
 Gra. Signior Antonio I 
 
 Ant. Fie, fie"^ Gratiano! where are all the 
 
 rest? 
 'Tis nine o'clock: our friends all stay for 
 
 you: 
 
 No mask to-night : the wind is come about ; 
 Bassanio presently will go aboard : 
 I have sent twenty out to seek for you. 
 
 Gra. I am glad on 't ; I desire no more delight 
 Than to be under sail, and gone to-night. 
 
 \Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VII. BELMONT. A Room in 
 PORTIA'S House. 
 
 Flourish of Cornets. Enter PORTIA, with the 
 PRINCE OF MOROCCO, and their Trains. 
 
 For. Go draw aside the curtains, and discover 
 The several caskets to this noble prince. 
 Now make your choice. 
 
 Mor. The first of gold, who this inscription 
 bears ; [desire. 
 
 Who chooseth me shall gain what many men 
 The second, silver, which this promise carries ; 
 Who. chooseth me shall get as mtich as he deserves. 
 This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt; 
 IVho chooseth me must give and hazard all he 
 
 hath. 
 How shall I know if I do choose the right? 
 
 For. The one of them contains my picture, 
 
 prince ; 
 
 If you choose that, then I am yours withal. 
 Mor. Some god direct my judgment ! Let 
 
 me see, . 
 
 I will survey the inscriptions back again : 
 What says this leaden casket? [hat fa 
 
 Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he 
 Must give for what? for lead? hazard for lead? 
 This casket threatens : men that hazard all 
 Do it in hope of fair advantages : 
 A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross : 
 I '11 then nor give nor hazard aught for lead. 
 What says the silver with her virgin hue? 
 Who choossth me shall get as much as he deserves. 
 As much as he deserves! Pause there, Morocco, 
 And weigh thy value with an even hand ; 
 If thou be'st rated by thy estimation, 
 Thou dost deserve enough ; and yet enough 
 May not extend so far as to the lady ; 
 And yet to be afeard of my deserving 
 Were but a weak disabling of myself. 
 As much as I deserve ! Why, that 's the lad}- : 
 I do in birth deserve her, and in fortunes, 
 In graces, and in qualities of breeding ; 
 But more than these, in love I do deserve. 
 What if I stray'd no further, but chose here? 
 Let 's see once more this saying grav'd in gold. 
 Who chooseth me shall gain -what many men 
 desire. [her : 
 
 Why, that's the lady: all the world desires 
 From the four corners of the earth they come, 
 To kiss this shrine, this mortal breathing saint. 
 The Hyrcanian deserts and the vasty wilds 
 Of wide Arabia are as throughfares now 
 For princes to come view fair Portia : 
 The wat'ry kingdom, whose ambitious head 
 Spits in the face of heaven, is no bar 
 To stop the foreign spirits ; but they come, 
 As o'er a brook, to see fair Portia. 
 One of these three contains her heavenly picture, 
 Is't like that lead contains her? 'Twere dam- 
 nation 
 
 To think so base a thought : it were too gross 
 To rid her cerecloth in the obscure grave. 
 Or shall I think in silver she 's immur'd, 
 Being ten times undervalued to tried gold? 
 O sinful thought ! Never so rich a gem [land 
 Was set in worse than gold. They have in Eng- 
 A coin that bears the figure of an angel 
 Stamped in gold ; but that 's insculp'd upon ; 
 But here an angel in a golden bed 
 Lies all within. Deliver me the key; 
 Here do I choose, and thrive I as I may ! 
 For. There, take it, prince ; and if my form 
 
 lie there, 
 Then I am yours. [He opens the golden casket. 
 
SCENE VIII.] 
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE, 
 
 233 
 
 Mor. O hell ! what have we here ? 
 A carrion Death, within whose empty eye 
 There is a written scroll ! I '11 read the writing. 
 
 All that glisters is not gold, 
 Often have you heard that told ; 
 Many a man his life hath sold 
 But my outside to behold ; 
 Gilded tombs do worms infold. 
 Had you been as wise as bold, 
 Young in limbs, in judgment old, 
 Your answer had not been inscroll'd 
 Fare you well ; your suit is cold. 
 
 Cold indeed, and labour lost : 
 Then, farewell heat ; and, welcome frost. 
 Portia, adieu ! I have too griev'd a heart 
 To take a tedious leave : thus losers part. 
 
 [Exit with his Train. 
 
 For. A gentle riddance. Draw the cur- 
 tains, go. 
 Let all of his complexion choose me so. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VIII. VENICE. A Street. 
 Enter SALARINO and SOLANIO. 
 
 Salar. Why, man, I saw Bassanio under sail ; 
 With him is Gratiano gone along ; 
 And in their ship I am sure Lorenzo is not. 
 Solan. The villain Jew with outcries rais'd 
 
 the duke, 
 
 Who went with him to search Bassanio's ship. 
 Salar. He came too late, the ship was under 
 
 sail: 
 
 But there the duke was given to understand 
 That in a gondola were seen together 
 Lorenzo and his amorous Jessica : 
 Besides, Antonio certify'd the duke 
 They were not with Bassanio in his ship. 
 
 Solan. I never heard a passion so confused, 
 So strange, outrageous, and so variable 
 As the dog Jew did utter in the streets : 
 My daughter ! O my ducats ! O my daughter! 
 Fled with a Christian ! O my Christian du- 
 cats 1 
 
 Justice I the law! my ducats and my daughter! 
 A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats. 
 Of double ducats, stolen from me by my daughter ! 
 And jewels, two s tones , two rich and precious 
 
 stones, 
 
 Stolen by my daughter ! Justice ! findtht girl! 
 
 She hath the stones iipon her and the ducats! 
 
 Salar. Why, all the boys in Venice follow 
 
 him, [ducats. 
 
 Crying, his stones, his daughter, and his 
 
 Solan. Let good Antonio look he keep his 
 
 day, 
 Or he shall pay for this. 
 
 Marry, well remember'd; 
 
 I reason'd with a Frenchman yesterday, 
 Who told me, in the narrow seas that part 
 The French and English, there miscarried . 
 A vessel of our country richly fraught : 
 I thought upon Antonio when he told me, 
 And wish'd in silence that it were not his. 
 
 Solan. You were best to tell Antonio what 
 
 you hear ; 
 Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him. 
 
 Salar. A kinder gentleman treads not the 
 
 earth. 
 
 I saw Bassanio and Antonio part : 
 Bassanio tola him he would make some speed 
 Of 'as return ; he answer'd Do not so ; 
 Shibber not business for my sake, Bassanio, 
 But stay the very riping of the time ; rfor 
 And for the Jew's bond which he hath of me. 
 Let it not enter in your mind of love : 
 Be merry ; and employ your chief est thoughts 
 To courtship, and suck fair ostents of love 
 As shall conveniently become you there. 
 And even there, his eye being big with tears, 
 Turning his face, he put his hand behind him. 
 And with affection wondrous sensible 
 He wrung Bassanio's hand ; and so they parted. 
 
 Solan. I think he only loves the world for him, 
 I pray thee, let us go and find him out, 
 And quicken his embraced heaviness 
 With some delight or other. 
 
 Salar. Do we so. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IX. BELMONT. A Room in PORTIA'S 
 
 House. 
 
 i won 
 
 Enter NERISSA, with a Servant. 
 
 Ner. Quick, quick, I pray thee; draw the 
 
 curtain straight : 
 
 The Prince of Arragon hath ta'en his oath, 
 And comes to his election presently. 
 
 Flourish of Cornets. Enter the PRTKCE OF 
 ARRAGON, PORTIA, and their Trains. 
 
 For. Behold, there stand the caskets, noble 
 
 prince. 
 
 If you choose that wherein I am contain'd, 
 Straight shall our nuptial rites be solemniz'd . 
 But if you fail, without more speech, my lord, 
 You must be gone from hence immediately. 
 
 Ar. I am enjoin'd by oath to observe three 
 
 things : 
 
 First, never to unfold to any one 
 Which casket 'twas I chose ; next, if I fail 
 Of the right casket, never in my life 
 To woo a maid in way of marriage ; lastly, 
 If I do fail in fortune of my choice, 
 Immediately to leave you and be gone. 
 
234 
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 For. To these injunctions every one doth 
 
 swear 
 
 That comes to hazard for my worthless self. 
 Ar. And so have I address'd me. Fortune 
 
 now [lead. 
 
 To my heart's hope! Gold, silver, and base 
 Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he 
 
 hath: 
 
 You shall look fairer ere I give or hazard. 
 What says the golden chest? ha ! let me see : 
 Who chooseth me shall gain what many men 
 
 desire. [meant 
 
 What many men desire. That many may be 
 By the fool multitude, that choose by show, 
 Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach ; 
 Which pries not to the interior, but, like the 
 
 martlet, 
 
 Builds in the weather on the outward wall, 
 Even in the force and road of casualty. 
 I will not choose what many men desire, 
 Because I will not jump with common spirits, 
 And rank me with the barbarous multitudes. 
 Why, then, to thee, thou silver treasure-house; 
 Tell me once more what title thou dost bear : 
 Who chooseth me shall get as mttch as he deserves: 
 And well said too ; for who shall go about 
 To cozen fortune, and be honourable [snme 
 Without the stamp of merit ! Let none pre- 
 To wear an undeserved dignity. 
 O, that estates, degrees, and offices, 
 Were not deriv'd corruptly! and that clear 
 
 honour 
 
 Were purchas'd by the merit of the wearer ! 
 How many then should cover that stand bare ! 
 How many be commanded that command ! 
 How much low peasantry would then be 
 
 glean'd [honour 
 
 From the true seed of honour ! and how much 
 Pick'd from the chaff and ruin of the times, 
 To be new varnish'd ! Well, but to my choice. 
 Who chooseth me shall get as much as he 
 
 deserves: 
 
 I will assume desert. Give me a key for this, 
 And instantly unlock my fortunes here. 
 
 [He opens the silver casket. 
 For. Too long a pause for that which you 
 
 find there. [idiot 
 
 Ar. What 's here ? the portrait of a blinking 
 Presenting me a schedule ! I will read it. 
 How much unlike art thou to Portia ! 
 How much unlike my hopes and my deservings ! 
 Who choosetk me shall have as much as he 
 
 deserves. 
 
 Did I deserve no more than a fool's head ? 
 Is that my prize ? are my deserts no better ? 
 
 For. To offend and judge are distinct offices 
 And of opposed natures. 
 
 Ar. 
 
 What is here? 
 
 
 The fire seven limes tried this ; 
 Seven times tried that judgment is 
 That did never choose amiss : 
 Some there be that shadows kiss ; 
 Such have but a shadow's bliss : 
 There be fools alive, I wis, 
 Silver" d o'er ; and so was this. 
 Take what wife you will to bed, 
 I will ever be your head : 
 So be gone : you are sped. 
 
 Still more fool I shall appear 
 
 By the time I linger here : 
 
 With one fool's head I came to woo, 
 
 But I go away with two. 
 
 Sweet, adieu ! I '11 keep my oath, 
 
 Patiently to bear my roth. 
 
 [Exit with his Train. 
 
 For. Thus hath the candle singed the moth. 
 O these deliberate fools ! when they do choose, 
 They have the wisdom by their wit to lose. 
 Ner. The ancient saying is no heresy, 
 Hanging and wiving goes by destiny. 
 For. Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. Where is my lady? 
 
 For. Here; what would my lord? 
 
 Serv. Madam, there is alighted at your gate 
 A young Venetian, one that comes before 
 To signify the approaching of his lord : 
 From whom he bringeth sensible regreets ; 
 To wit, besides commends and courteous breath, 
 Gifts of rich value. Yet I have not seen 
 So likely an ambassador of love : 
 A day in April never came so sweet, 
 To show how costly summer was at hand, 
 As this forespurrer comes before his lord. 
 
 For. No more, I pray thee ; I am half afeard 
 Thou wilt say anon he is some kin to thee, 
 Thou spend'st such high-day wit :n praising 
 
 him. 
 
 Come, come, Nerissa ; for I long to see 
 Quick Cupid's post, that comes so mannerly. 
 
 Ner. Bassanio, lord Love, if thy will it be ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. VENICE. A Street. 
 Enter SoLANio and SALARINO. 
 
 Solan. Now, what news on the Rialto? 
 
 Salar. Why, yet it lives there unchecked, 
 that Antonio hath a ship of rich lading wrecked 
 on the narrow seas ; the Goodwins I think they 
 call the place ; a very dangerous flat and fatal, 
 where the carcases of many a tall ship lie buried, 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 335 
 
 as they say, if my gossip report be an honest 
 woman of her word. 
 
 Solan. I would she were as lying a gossip in 
 that as ever knapped ginger or made her neigh- 
 bours believe she wept for the death of a third 
 husband. But it is true, without any slips of 
 prolixity or crossing the plain highway of talk, 
 that the good Antonio, the honest Antonio, 
 
 O that I had a title good enough to keep 
 
 his name company ! 
 
 Salar. Come, the full stop. 
 
 Solan. Ha, what sayest thou? Why the 
 end is, he hath lost a ship. 
 
 Salar. I would it might prove the end of his 
 losses ! 
 
 Solan. Let me say amen betimes, lest the 
 devil cross my prayer ; for here he comes in the 
 likeness of a Jew. 
 
 Enter SHYLOCK. 
 
 How now, Shylock ? what news among the mer- 
 chants? 
 
 Shy. You knew, none so well, none so well 
 as you, of my daughter's flight. 
 
 Salar. That 's certain : I, for my part, knew 
 the tailor that made the wings she flew withal. 
 
 Solan. And Shylock, for his own part, knew 
 the bird was fledg'd ; and then it is the com- 
 plexion of them all to leave the dam. 
 
 Shy. She is damned for it. 
 
 Salar. That 's certain, if the devil may be her 
 judge. 
 
 Shy. My own flesh and blood to rebel ! 
 
 Solan. Out upon it, old carrion ! rebels it at 
 these years? 
 
 Shy. I say my daughter is my flesh and blood. 
 
 Salar. There is more difference between thy 
 flesh and hers than between jet and ivory ; more 
 between your bloods than there is between red 
 wine and Rhenish. But tell us, do you hear 
 whether Antonio have had any loss at sea or 
 no? 
 
 Shy. There I have another bad match: a 
 bankrupt, a prodigal, who dare scarce show his 
 head on the Rialto ; a beggar, that was used 
 to come so smug upon the mart ; let him look 
 to his bond ! he was wont to call me usurer ; 
 let him look to his bond ! he was wont to lend 
 money for a Christian courtesy ; let him look 
 to his bond. 
 
 Salar. Why, I am sure if he forfeit thou wilt 
 not take his flesh. What 's that good for? 
 
 Shy. To bait fish withal : if it will feed no- 
 thing else it will feed my revenge. He hath 
 disgraced me and hindered me of half a million ; 
 laughed at my losses, mocked at my gains, 
 scorned my nation, thwarted my bargains. 
 
 cooled my friends, heated mine enemies ! and 
 what 's his reason? I am a Jew ! Hath not a 
 Jew eyes? hath not a Jew hands, organs, di- 
 mensions, sensesj affections, passions? fed with 
 the same food, hurt with the same weapons, sub- 
 ject to the same diseases, healed by the same 
 means, warmed and cooled by the same winter 
 and summer as a Christian is ? If you prick us, 
 do we not bleed? if you tickle us, do we not 
 laugh? if you poison us, do we not die? and if 
 you wrong us, shall we not revenge? If we are 
 like you in the rest, we will resemble you in 
 that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his 
 humility? revenge. If a Christian wrong a Jew, 
 what should his sufferance be by Christian 
 example? why, revenge. The villany you teach 
 me I will execute ; and it shall go hard but I 
 will better the instruction. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. Gentlemen, my master Antonio is at 
 his house, and desires to speak with you both. 
 
 Salar. We have been up and down to seek 
 him. 
 
 Solan. Here comes another of the tribe; a 
 third cannot be matched unless the devil himself 
 turn Jew. 
 
 [Exeunt SOLAN., SALAR., aw^Serv. 
 
 Enter TUBAL. 
 
 Shy. How now, Tubal, what news from 
 Genoa? hast thou found my daughter? 
 
 Tub. I often came where I did hear of her, 
 but cannot find her. 
 
 Shy. Why there, there, there, there! a 
 diamond gone, cost me two thousand ducats in 
 Frankfort! The curse never fell upon our 
 nation till now ; I never felt it till now : two 
 thousand ducats in that; and other precious, 
 precious jewels. I would my daughter were 
 dead at my foot, and the jewels in her ear! 
 would she were hearsed at my foot, and the 
 ducats in her coffin ! No news of them ? Why, 
 so : and I know not what 's spent in the search. 
 Why, thou loss upon loss ! the thief gone with 
 so much, and so much to find the thief; and no 
 satisfaction, no revenge : nor no ill luck stirring 
 but what lights o' my shoulders ; no sighs but o' 
 my breathing ; no tears but o'" my shedding. 
 
 Tub. Yes, other men have ill luck too? 
 Antonio, as I heard in Genoa, 
 
 Shy. What, what, what? ill luck, ill luck? 
 
 Tub. hath an argosy cast away coming from 
 Tripolis. 
 
 Shy. I thank God, I thank God. Is it true? 
 is it true? 
 
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Tub. I spoke with some of the sailors that 
 escaped the wreck. 
 
 Sky. I thank thee, good Tubal. Good news, 
 good news: ha ! ha! Where? in Genoa? 
 
 Tub. Your daughter spent in Genoa, as I heard, 
 one night, fourscore ducats. 
 
 Sky. Thou stick' st a dagger in me : 1 shall 
 
 never see my gold again. Fourscore ducats at 
 a sitting ! fourscore ducats ! 
 
 Tub. There came divers of Antonio's creditor's 
 in my company to Venice that swear he cannot 
 choose but break. 
 
 Shy. I am very glad of it : I '11 plague him ; 
 I '11 torture him : I am glad of it. 
 
 Tub. One of them showed me a ring that he 
 /lad of your daughter for a monkey. 
 
 Shy. Out upon her! Thou torturest me, 
 Tubal. It was my turquoise : I had it of Leah 
 when I was a bachelor : I would not have given 
 it for a wilderness of monkeys. 
 
 Tub. But Antonio is certainly undone. 
 
 Shy. Nay, that 's true ; that 's very true. Go, 
 Tubal, fee me an officer; bespeak him a fort- 
 night before. I will have the heart of him if he 
 forfeit ; for, were he out of Venice, I can make 
 what merchandize I will. Go, go, Tubal, and 
 meet me at our synagogue : go, good Tubal ; at 
 our synagogue, Tubal. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. BELMONT. A Room in PORTIA'S 
 House. .,, . M0 i 
 
 Enter BASSANIO, PORTIA, GRATIANO, 
 NERISSA, and Attendants. 
 
 Por. I pray you, tarry : pause a day or two 
 Before you hazard ; for, in choosing wrong, 
 I lose your company ; therefore forbear awhile : 
 There's something tells me, butit isnot love, 
 I would not lose you : and you know yourself 
 Hate counsels not in such a quality : 
 But lest you should not understand me well, 
 And yet a maiden hath no tongue but thought, 
 I would detain you here some month or two 
 Before you venture for me. I could teach you 
 How to choose right, but then I am forsworn ; 
 So will I never be ; so may you miss me : 
 But if you do, you '11 make me wish a sin, 
 That I had been forsworn. Beshrew your eyes, 
 They have o'erlook'ci me and divided me ; 
 
 One half of me isyours, the other half yours, 
 
 Mine own, I would say ; but if mine, then yours, 
 And so all yours. O ! these naughty times 
 Put bars between the owners and their rights ; 
 And so, though yours, not yours. Prove it so, 
 Let fortune go to hell for it, not I. 
 I speak too long ; but 'tis to peise the time, 
 
 To eke it, and to draw it out in length, 
 To stay you from election. 
 
 Bass. Let me choose ; 
 
 For, as I am, I live upon the rack. 
 
 Por. Upon the rack, Bassanio? then confess 
 What treason there is mingled with your love. 
 
 Bass. None but that ugly treason of mistrust, 
 Which makes me fear the enjoying of my love : 
 There may as well be amity and life 
 'Tween snow and fire, as treason and my love. 
 
 Por. Ay, but I fear you speak upon the rack, 
 Where men, enforced, do speak anything. 
 
 Bass. Promise me life, and I '11 confess the 
 truth. 
 
 Por. Well, then, confess and live. 
 
 Bass. Confess and love 
 
 Had been the very sum of my confession : 
 
 happy torment, when my torturer 
 Doth teach me answers for deliverance ! 
 But let me to my fortune and the caskets. 
 
 [Curtain drawn from before the caskets. 
 Por. Away, then. I am lock'd in one ot 
 
 them; 
 
 If you do love me you will find me out.-^X 
 Nerissa and the rest, stand all aloof.- 
 Let music sound while he doth make his choice; 
 Then, if he lose, he makes a swan-like end, 
 Fading in music : that the comparison [stream 
 May stand more proper, my eye shall be the 
 And wat'ry death-bed for him. He may win, 
 And what is music then? then music is 
 Even as the flourish when true subjects bow 
 To a new-crowned monarch : such it is 
 As are those dulcet sounds in break of day 
 That creep into the dreaming bridegroom's ear 
 And summon him to marriage. Now he goes, 
 With no less presence but with much more love 
 Than young Alcides when he did redeem 
 The virgin tribute paid by howling Troy 
 To the sea-monster. I stand for sacrifice ; 
 The rest aloof are the Dardanian wives, 
 With bleared visages, come forth to view 
 The issue of the exploit. Go, Hercules ! 
 Live thou, I live. With much, much more 
 
 dismay 
 
 1 view the fight than thou that mak'st the fray. 
 
 Music and the following Song whilst BASSANIO 
 comments on the caskets to himself. 
 
 Tell me, where is fancy bred, 
 Or in the heart, or in the head? 
 How begot, how nourished? 
 Reply, reply. 
 
 It is engender d in the eyes, 
 With gazing fed ; and fancy dies 
 In the cradle where it lies : 
 Let us all ring fancy's knell ; 
 
 I'll begin it, Ding, dong, bell. 
 
 All. Ding, aong, be!L 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 237 
 
 Bass. So may the outward shows be least 
 
 themselves ; 
 
 The world is still deceiv'd with ornament. 
 In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt 
 But, being season'd with a gracious voice, 
 Obscures the show of evil ? In religion, 
 What damned error but some sober brow 
 Will bless it, and approve it with a text, 
 Hiding the grossness with fair ornament? 
 There is no vice so simple but assumes 
 Some mark of virtue on his outward parts. 
 How many cowards, whose hearts are all as false 
 As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins 
 The beards of Hercules and frowning Mars ; 
 Who, inward search'd, have livers white as 
 
 milk ! 
 
 And these assume but valour's excrement 
 To render them redoubted. Look on beauty 
 And you shall see 'tis purchas'd by the weight 
 Which therein works a miracle in nature, 
 Making them lightest that wear most of it : 
 So are those crisped snaky golden locks, 
 Which make such wanton gam bols with the wind , 
 Upon supposed fairness, often known 
 To be the dowry of a second head 
 The skull that bred them in the sepulchre. 
 Thus ornament is but the guiled shore 
 To a most dangerous sea ; the beauteous scarf 
 Veiling an Indian beauty ; in a word, 
 The seeming truth which cunning times put on 
 To entrap the wisest. Therefore, thou gaudy 
 
 gold, 
 
 Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee : 
 Nor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge 
 'Tween man and man : but thou, thou meagre 
 lead, [aught, 
 
 Which rather threat'nest than dost promise 
 Thy plainness moves me more than eloquence, 
 And here choose I. Joy be the consequence ! 
 For. How all the other passions fleet to air, 
 As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embrac'd de- 
 spair, 
 And shudd'ring fear, and green-ey*d jealousy ! 
 
 love, be moderate, allay thy ecstacy, 
 
 In measure rain thy joy, scant this excess ; 
 
 1 feel too much thy blessing ; make it less, 
 For fear I surfeit ! 
 
 Bass. What find I here ? 
 
 [Opening the leaden casket. 
 Fair Portia's counterfeit ? What demi-god 
 Hath come so near creation ? Move these eyes ? 
 Or whether, riding on the balls of mine, 
 Seem they in motion ? Here are sever'd lips, 
 Parted with sugar breath j so sweet a bar [hairs 
 Should sunder such sweet friends. Here in her 
 The painter plays the spider, and hath woven 
 A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men, 
 
 Faster than gnats in cobwebs. But her eyes ! 
 How could he see to do them ? having made one, 
 Methinks it should have power to steal both his, 
 And leave itself unfurnish'd. Yet look how far 
 The substance of my praise doth wrong this 
 
 shadow 
 
 In underprizing it, so far this shadow [scroll, 
 Doth limp behind the substance. Here's the 
 The continent and summary of my fortune. 
 
 You that choose not by the view, 
 Chance as fair and choose as true ! 
 Since this fortune falls to you, 
 Be content and seek no new. 
 If you be well pleased with this, 
 And hold your fortune for your bliss, 
 Turn you where your lady is, 
 And claim her with a loving kiss. 
 
 A gentle scroll. Fair lady, by your leave: 
 
 [Kissing her, 
 
 I come by note, to give and to receive. 
 Like one of two contending in a prize, 
 That thinks he hath done well in people's eyes, 
 Hearing applause and universal shout, 
 Giddy in spirit, still gazing, in a doubt 
 Whether those peals of praise be his or no, 
 So, thrice fair lady, stand I even so ; 
 As doubtful whether what I see be true, 
 Until confirm'd, sign'd, ratified by you. 
 For. You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I 
 
 stand, 
 
 Such as I am : though for myself alone 
 I would not be ambitious in my wish 
 To wish myself much better ; yet for you 
 I would be trebled twenty times myself ; 
 A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times 
 More rich ; 
 
 That only to stand high in your account 
 I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends, 
 Exceed account : but the full sum of me 
 Is sum of something, which, to term in gross, 
 Is an unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, unpractis'd : 
 Happy in this, she is not yet so old 
 But she may learn ; and happier than this, 
 She is not bred so dull but she can learn ; 
 Happiest of all is, that her gentle spirit 
 Commits itself to yours to be directed, 
 As from her lord, her governor, her king. 
 Myself, and what is mine, to you and yours 
 Is now converted : but now I was the lord 
 Of this fair mansion, master of my servants, 
 Queen o'er myself j and even now, but now 
 This house, these servants, and this same my- 
 self 
 
 Are yours, my lord ; I give them with this ring, 
 Which when you part from, lose, or give away, 
 Let it presage the ruin of your love, 
 And be my vantage to exclaim on you. 
 
238 
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Bass. Madam, you have bereft me of all 
 
 words ; 
 
 Only my blood speaks to you in my veins : 
 And there is such confusion in my powers, 
 As, after some oration fairly spoke 
 By a beloved prince, there doth appear 
 Among the buzzing pleased multitude, 
 Where every something, being blent together, 
 Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy, [ring 
 Express'd, and not express'd. But when this 
 Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence; 
 O, then, be bold to say Bassanio's dead. 
 
 Ner. My lord and lady, it is now our time 
 That have stood by and seen our wishes prosper 
 To cry, good joy. Good joy, my lord and lady ! 
 
 Gra. My Lord Bassanio, and my gentle lady, 
 I wish you all the joy that you can wish ; 
 For I am sure you can wish none from me : 
 And, when your honours mean to solemnize 
 The bargain of your faith, I do beseech you, 
 Even at that time I may be married too. 
 
 Bass. With all my heart, so thou canst get 
 a wife. 
 
 Gra. I thank your lordship; you have get 
 
 me one. 
 
 My eyes, my lord, can look as swift as yours: 
 You saw the mistress, I beheld the maid ; 
 You lov'd, I lov'd ; for intermission 
 No more pertains to me, my lord, than you. 
 Your fortune stood upon the caskets there, 
 And so did mine too, as the matter falls.- 
 For wooing here until I sweat again, 
 And swearing till my very roof was dry 
 With oaths of love, at last, if promise last, 
 I got a promise of this fair one here, 
 To have her love provided that your fortune 
 Achiev'd her mistress. 
 
 For. Is this true, Nerissa? 
 
 Ner. Madam, it is, so you stand pleas'd withal. 
 
 Bass. And do you, Gratiano, mean good faith? 
 
 Gra. Yes, faith, my lord. 
 
 Bass. Our feast shall be much honour'd in 
 your marriage. 
 
 Gra. We'll play with them, the first boy 
 for a thousand ducats. 
 
 Ner. What, and stake down? 
 
 Gra. No; we shall ne'er win at that sport, 
 
 and stake down. 
 
 But who comes here ? Lorenzo and his infidel ? 
 What, and my old Venetian friend, Solanio ! 
 
 Enter LORENZO, JESSICA, and SOLANIO. 
 
 Bass. Lorenzo and Solanio, welcome hither, 
 If that the youth of my new interest here 
 Have power to bid you welcome. By your leave, 
 I bid my very friends and countrymen, 
 Sweet Portia, welcome. 
 
 For. So do I, my lord ; 
 
 They are entirely welcome. [lord, 
 
 Lor. I thank your honour. For my part, my 
 My purpose was not to have seen you here ; 
 But meeting with Solanio by the way, 
 He did entreat me past all saying nay, 
 To come with him along. 
 
 Solan. I did, my lord, 
 
 And I have reason for it. Signior Antonio 
 Commends him to you. 
 
 [Gives BASSANIO a letter. 
 
 Bass. Ere I ope his letter, 
 
 I pray you, tell me how my good friend doth. 
 
 Solan. Not sick, my lord, unless it be in mind; 
 Nor well, unless in mind : his letter there 
 Will show you his estate. 
 
 [BASS, reads the letter. 
 
 Gra. Nerissa, cheer yond stranger ; bid her 
 welcome. [Venice ? 
 
 Your hand, Solanio: what's the news from 
 How doth that royal merchant, good Antonio? 
 I know he will be glad of our success : 
 We are the Jasons ; we have won the fleece. 
 
 SoHn. Would you had won the fleece that 
 he hath lost ! [same paper, 
 
 For. There are some shrewd contents in yond 
 That steal the colour from Bassanio's cheek ; 
 Some dear friend dead ; else nothing in the world 
 Could turn so much the constitution [worse ? 
 Of any constant man. What, worse and 
 With leave, Bassanio ; I am half yourself, 
 And I must freely have the half of anything 
 That this same paper brings you. 
 
 Bass. O sweet Portia, 
 
 Here are a few of the unpleasant'st words 
 That ever blotted paper ! Gentle lady, 
 When I did first impart my love to you 
 I freely told you all the wealth I had 
 Ran in my veins I was a gentleman ; 
 And then I told you true : and yet, dear lady, 
 Rating myself at nothing, you shall see 
 How much I was a braggart. When I told you 
 My state was nothing, I should then have told 
 
 you 
 
 That I was worse than nothing; for, indeed, 
 I have engag'd myself to a dear friend, 
 Engag'd my friend to his mere enemy, 
 To feed my means. Here is a letter, lady, 
 The paper as the body of my friend, 
 And every word in it a gaping wound, 
 Issuing life-blood. But is it true, Solanio? 
 Have all his ventures fail'd? What! not one 
 
 hit? 
 
 From Tripolis, from Mexico, and England ; 
 From Lisbon, Barbary, and India? 
 And not one vessel 'scape the dreadful touch 
 Of merchant -mar ring rocks? 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 239 
 
 Solan. Not one, my lord. 
 
 Besides, it should appear that if he had 
 The present money to discharge the Jew 
 He would not take it. Never did I know 
 A creature that did bear the shape of man 
 So keen and greedy to confound a man : 
 He plies the duke at morning and at night, 
 And doth impeach the freedom of the state 
 If they deny him justice : twenty merchants, 
 The duke himself, and the magnificoes 
 Of greatest port have all persuaded with him ; 
 But none can drive him from the envious plea 
 Of forfeiture, of justice, and his bond. 
 
 Jes. When I was with him I have heard him 
 
 swear 
 
 To Tubal and to Chus, his countrymen, 
 That he would rather have Antonio's flesh 
 Than twenty times the value of the sum 
 That he did owe him; and I know, my lord, 
 If law, authority, and power deny not, 
 It will go hard with poor Antonio. 
 
 Por. Is it your dear friend that is thus in 
 trouble? 
 
 Bass. The dearest friend to me, the kindest 
 
 man, 
 
 The best condition'd and unwearied spirit 
 In doing courtesies ; and one in whom 
 The ancient Roman honour more appears 
 Than any that draws breath in Italy. 
 
 Por. What sum owes he the Jew? 
 
 Bass. For me, three thousand ducats. 
 
 Por. What ! no more? 
 
 Pay him six thousand, and deface the bond ; 
 Double six thousand, and then treble that, 
 Before a friend of this description 
 Shall lose a hair through Bassanio's fault 
 First, go with me to church, and call me wife, 
 And then away to Venice to your friend ; 
 For never shall you lie by Portia's side 
 With an unquiet soul. You shall have gold 
 To pay the petty debt twenty times over ; 
 When it is paid bring your true friend along : 
 My maid Nerissa and myself, meantime, 
 Will live as maids and widows. Come, away ; 
 For you shall hence upon your wedding-day : 
 Bid your friends welcome, show a merry cheer : 
 Since you are dear bought, I will love you 
 
 dear. 
 But let me hear the letter of your friend. 
 
 Bass. [Reads.] Sweet Bassanio, my ships have 
 all miscarried, my creditors grow cruel, my 
 estate is very low, my bond to the Jew is forfeit; 
 and since, in paying it, it is impossible I 
 should live, all debts are cleared between you 
 and /, if I might but see you at my death: not- 
 withstanding, use your pleasure ; if your love 
 do not persuade you to come, let not my letter. 
 
 Por. O love, despatch all business, and be 
 
 gone. 
 Bass. Since I have your good leave to go 
 
 away, 
 
 I will make haste: but, till I come again, 
 No bed shall e'er be guilty of my stay, 
 No rest be interposer 'twixt us twain. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. VENICE. A Street. 
 
 Enter SHYLOCK, SALARINO, ANTONIO, and 
 Gaoler. 
 
 Shy. Gaoler, look to him. Tell not me of 
 
 mercy ; 
 
 This is the fool that lent out money gratis. 
 Gaoler, look to him. 
 
 Ant. Hear me yet, good Shylock. 
 
 Shy. I '11 have my bond : speak not against 
 
 my bond. 
 
 I have sworn an oath that I will have my bond. 
 Thou call'dst me dog before thou hadst a cause : 
 But, since I am a dog, beware my fangs : 
 The duke shall grant me justice. I do wonder, 
 Thou naughty gaoler, that thou art so fond 
 To come abroad with him at his request. 
 
 Ant. I pray thee, hear me speak. 
 
 Shy. I'll have my bond; I will not hear 
 
 thee speak : 
 
 I'll have my bond ; and therefore speak no more. 
 I '11 not be made a soft and dull-ey'd fool, 
 To shake the head, relent, and sigh, and yield 
 To Christian intercessors. Follow not ; 
 I '11 have no speaking : I will have my bond. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Salar. It is the most impenetrable cur 
 That ever kept with men. 
 
 Ant. Let him alone ; 
 
 I '11 follow him no more with bootless prayers. 
 He seeks my life ; his reason well I know : 
 I oft deliver'd from his forfeitures 
 Many that have at times made moan to me ; 
 Therefore he hates me. 
 
 Salar. I am sure the duke 
 
 Will never grant this forfeiture to hold. 
 
 Ant. The duke cannot deny the course of law ; 
 For the commodity that strangers have 
 With us in Venice, if it be denied, 
 Will much impeach the justice of the state ; 
 Since that the trade and profit of the city 
 Consisteth of all nations. Therefore, go : 
 These griefs and losses have so 'bated me 
 That I shall hardly spare a pound of flesh 
 
 To-morrow to my bloody creditor. 
 
 Well, gaoler, on. Pray God, Bassanio come 
 To see me pay his debt, and then I care not ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
240 
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 SCENE IV. BELMONT. A Room in PORTIA'S 
 
 /A9f be. House. 
 
 Enter PORTIA, NERISSA, LORENZO, JESSICA, 
 and BALTHAZAR. 
 
 Lor. Madam, although I speak it in your 
 
 presence, 
 
 You have a noble and a true conceit 
 Of god-like amity, which appears most strongly 
 In bearing thus the absence of your lord. 
 But if you knew to whom you show this honour, 
 How true a gentleman you send relief, 
 How dear a lover of my lord your husband, 
 I know you would be prouder of the work 
 Than customary bounty can enforce you. 
 
 Por. I never did repent for doing good, 
 Nor shall not now : for in companions 
 That do converse and waste the time together, 
 Whose souls do bear an equal yoke of love, 
 There must be needs a like proportion 
 Of lineaments, of manners, and of spirit, 
 Wnich makes me think that this Antonio, 
 Being the bosom lover of my lord, 
 Must needs be like my lord. If it be so, 
 How little is the cost I have bestow'd 
 In purchasing the semblance of my soul 
 From out the state of hellish cruelty ! 
 This comes too near the praising of myself; 
 Therefore, no more of it: hear other things. 
 Lorenzo, I commit into your hands 
 The husbandry and manage of my house 
 Until my lord's return : for mine own part, 
 I have toward heaven breath'd a secret vow 
 To live in prayer and contemplation, 
 Only attended by Nerissa here, 
 Until her husband and my lord's return : 
 There is a monastery two miles off, 
 And there we will abide. I do desire you 
 Not to deny this imposition, 
 The which my love and some necessity 
 Now lays upon you. 
 
 Lor. Madam, with all my heart 
 
 I shall obey you in all fair commands. 
 
 Por. My people do already know my mind, 
 And will acknowledge you and Jessica 
 In place of Lord Bassanio and myself. 
 So fare you well till we shall meet again. 
 
 Lor. Fair thoughts and happy hours attend on 
 you! 
 
 fes. I wish your ladyship all heart's content. 
 
 Por. I thank you for your wish, and am well 
 
 pleas'd 
 
 To wish it back on you : fare you well, Jessica. 
 [Exeunt JESSICA and LORENZO. 
 Now, Balthazar, 
 As I have ever found thee honest, true, 
 
 So let me find thee still. Take this same letter, 
 And use thou all the endeavour of a man 
 In speed to Padua; see thou render thia-i sdT 
 Into my cousin's hand, Doctor Bellario ; 
 And, look, what notes and garments he doth 
 
 give thee 
 
 Bring them, I pray thee, with imagin'd speed 
 Unto the tranect, to the common ferry [words, 
 Which trades to Venice : waste no time in 
 But get thee gone ; I shall be there before thee. 
 
 Baltk. Madam, I go with all convenient 
 speed. [Exit. 
 
 Por. Come on, Nerissa ; I have work in hand 
 That you yet know not of: we '11 see our hus- 
 bands 
 Before they think of us. urO O j 
 
 Ner. Shall they see us? 
 
 Por. They shall, Nerissa ; but in such a habit 
 That they shall think we are accomplished 
 With that we lack. I '11 hold thee any wager, 
 When we are both accouter'd like young men, 
 I '11 prove the prettier fellow of the two, 
 And wear my dagger with the braver grace ; 
 And speak, between the change of man and boy, 
 With a reed voice; and turn two mincing steps 
 In*o a manly stride ; and speak of frays, 
 Like a fine bragging youth : and tell quaint lies, 
 How honourable ladies sought my love, 
 Which I denying, they fell sick and died; 
 I could not do withal : then I '11 repent, 
 And wish, for all that, that I had not kill'd them: 
 And twenty of these puny lies I '11 tell, 
 That men shall swear I have discontinued school 
 Above a twelvemonth. I have within my mind 
 A thousand raw tricks of these bragging Jacks 
 Which I will practise. 
 
 Ner. Why, shall we turn to men? 
 
 Por, Fie ! what a question 's that 
 If thou wert ne'er a lewd interpreter? 
 But come, I '11 tell thee all my whole device 
 When I am in my coach, which stays for us 
 At the park -gate ; and, therefore, haste away, 
 For we must measure twenty miles to-day. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 **. -X^IO'* 
 
 SCENE V.Tke same. A Garden. 
 Enter LAUNCELOT and JESSICA. 
 
 Laun. Yes, truly ; for, look you, the sins of 
 the father are to be laid upon the children; 
 therefore, I promise you, I fear you. I was 
 always plain with you, and so now I speak my 
 agitation of the matter : therefore, be of good 
 cheer; for, truly, I think you are damned. 
 There is but one hope in it that can do you any 
 good; and that is but a kind of bastard hope 
 neither. 
 
SCENE V.j 
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 241 
 
 Jes. And what hope is that, I pray thee ? 
 
 Laun. Marry, you may partly hope that your 
 father got you not, that you are not the Jew's 
 daughter. 
 
 Jes. That were a kind of bastard hope, in- 
 deed; so the sins of my mother should be 
 visited upon me. 
 
 Laiin. Truly then I fear you are damned both 
 by father and mother: thus when I shun Scylla, 
 your father, I fall into Charybdis, your, mother ; 
 well, you are gone both ways. 
 
 Jes. I shall be saved by my husband ; he hath 
 made me a Christian. 
 
 Laun. Truly, the more to blame he : we were 
 Christians enow before ; e'en as many as could 
 well live, one by another. This making of 
 Christians will raise the price of hogs; if we 
 grow all to be pork eaters we shall not shortly 
 have a rasher on the coals for money. 
 
 Jes. I '11 tell my husband, Launcelot, what 
 you say ; here he comes. 
 
 Enter LORENZO. 
 
 jfjii ji- '..'.. * 173 v/ f.s v_sm tfu/ 
 
 Lor. I shall grow jealous of you shortly, 
 Launcelot, if you thus get my wife into corners. 
 
 Jes. Nay, you need not fear for us, Lorenzo ; 
 Launcelot and I are out : he tells me flatly there 
 is no mercy for me in heaven, because I am a 
 Jew's daughter : and he says you are no good 
 member of the commonwealth ; for, in convert- 
 ing Jews to Christians, you raise the price of 
 pork. 
 
 Lor. I shall answer that better to the 
 commonwealth than you can the getting up of 
 the negro's belly ; the Moor is with child by you, 
 Launcelot. 
 
 Latin. It is much that the Moor should be 
 more than reason: but if she be less than an 
 honest woman, she is indeed more than I took 
 her for. 
 
 Lor. How every fool can play upon the 
 word ! I think the best grace of wit will shortly 
 turn into silence, and discourse grow commend- 
 able in none only but parrots. Go in, sirrah ; 
 bid them prepare for dinner. 
 
 Laun. That is done, sir; they have all 
 stomachs. 
 
 Lor. Goodly lord, what a wit-snapper are 
 you ! then bid them prepare dinner. 
 
 Laun. That is done too, sir : only, cover is 
 the word. 
 
 Lor. Will you cover, then, sir? 
 
 Laun. Not so, sir, neither ; I know my duty. 
 
 Lor. Yet more quarrelling with occasion ! 
 Wilt thou show the whole wealth of thy wit in 
 an instant? I pray thee, understand a plain 
 man in his plain meaning : go to thy fellows ; 
 
 bid them cover the table, serve in the meat, 
 and we will come in to dinner. 
 
 Laun. For the table, sir, it shall be served 
 in ; for the meat, sir, it shall be covered ; for 
 your coming in to dinner, sir, why, let it be as 
 humours and conceits shall govern. [Exit. 
 
 Lor. O dear discretion, how his words are 
 
 suited ! 
 
 The fool hath planted in his memory 
 An army of good words ; and I do know 
 A many fools that stand in better place, 
 Garnish'd like him, that for a tricksy word 
 Defy the matter. How cheer'st thou, Jessica? 
 And now, good sweet, say thy opinion, 
 How dost thou like the Lord Bassanio's wife? 
 
 Jes. Past all expressing. It is very meet 
 The Lord Bassanio live an upright life ; 
 For, having such a blessing in his lady, 
 He finds the joys of heaven here on earth ; 
 And, il on earth he do not mean it, then 
 In reason he should never come to heaven. 
 Why, if two gods should play some heavenly 
 
 match, 
 
 And on the wager lay two earthly women, 
 And Portia one, there must be something else 
 Pawn'd with the other ; for the poor rude world 
 Hath not her fellow. 
 
 Lor. Even such a husband 
 
 Hast thou of me as she is for a wife. 
 
 Jes. Nay, but ask my opinion too of that. 
 
 Lot. I will anon; first let us go to dinner. 
 
 Jes. Nay, let me praise you while I have a 
 stomach. 
 
 Lor. No, pray thee, let it serve for table-talk : 
 Then, howsoe'er thou speak'st, 'mong other 
 
 things 
 I shall digest it. 
 
 Jes. Well, I '11 set you forth. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. VENICE, A Court of Justice. 
 
 Enter the DUKE, the Magnificoes : ANTONIO, 
 BASSANIO, GRAfiANo, SALARINO, SOLA- 
 
 NIO, and others. 
 \ 
 
 Duke. What, is Antonio here? 
 
 Ant. Ready, so please your grace. 
 
 Duke. I am sorry for thee j thou art come to 
 
 answer 
 
 A stony adversary, an inhuman wretch 
 Uncapable of pity, void and empty 
 From any dram of mercy. 
 
 Ant. I have heard 
 
 Your grace hath ta'en great pains to qualify 
 His rigorous course; but since he stands ob- 
 durate. 
 
242 
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 And that no lawful means can carry me 
 Out of his envy's reach, I do oppose 
 My patience to his fury, and am arm'd 
 To suffer, with a quietness of spirit, 
 The very tyranny and rage of his. 
 
 Duke. Go one, and call the Jew into the 
 court. [my lord. 
 
 Solan. He's ready at the door: he comes, 
 
 Enter SHYLOCK. 
 
 Duke. Make room, and let him stand before 
 
 our face. 
 
 Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too, 
 That thou but lead'st this fashion of thy malice 
 To the last hour of act ; and then, 'tis thought, 
 Thou'lt show thy mercy and remorse, more 
 
 strange 
 
 Than is thy strange apparent cruelty ; 
 And where thou now exact' st the penalty, 
 Which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh, 
 Thou wilt not only lose the forfeiture, 
 But, touch'd with human gentleness and love, 
 Forgive a moiety of the principal, 
 Glancing an eye of pity on his losses, 
 That have of late so huddled on his back ; 
 Enough to press a royal merchant down, 
 And pluck commiseration of his state 
 From brassy bosoms and rough hearts of flint, 
 From stubborn Turks and Tartars, never train'd 
 To offices of tender courtesy. 
 We all expect a gentle answer, Jew. 
 
 Shy. I have possess'd your grace of what I 
 
 purpose ; 
 
 And by our holy Sabbath have I sworn 
 To have the due and forfeit of my bond. 
 If you deny it, let the danger light 
 Upon your charter and your city's freedom. 
 You '11 ask me why I rather choose to have 
 A weight of carrion flesh than to receive 
 Three thousand ducats : I '11 not answer that : 
 But say, it is my humour. Is it answered? 
 What if my house be troubled with a rat, 
 And I be pleas'd to give ten thousand ducats 
 To have it baned? What, are you answer'd yet ? 
 Some men there are love not a gaping pig ; 
 Some that are mad if they behold a cat ; 
 And others, when the bagpipe sings i' the nose, 
 Cannot contain their urine ; for affection, 
 Master of passion, sways it to the mood 
 Of what it likes or loathes. Now, for your 
 
 answer, 
 
 As there is no firm reason to be render'd 
 Why he cannot abide a gaping pig ; 
 Why he, a harmless necessary cat ; 
 Why he, a swollen bagpipe, but of force 
 Must yield to such inevitable shame 
 As to offend, himself being offended : 
 
 So can I give no reason, nor I will not, 
 More than a lodg'd hate and a certain loathing 
 I bear Antonio, that I follow thus 
 A losing suit against him. Are you answer'd? 
 
 Bass. This is no answer, thou unfeeling man, 
 To excuse the current of thy cruelty. 
 
 Shy. I am not bound to please thee with my 
 answer. [love? 
 
 Bass. Do all men kill the thing they do not 
 
 Shy. Hates any man the thine he would not 
 kill? 
 
 Bass. Every offence is not a hate at first. 
 
 Shy. What ! wouldst thou have a serpent 
 sting thee twice? [the Jew : 
 
 Ant. I pray you, think you question with 
 You may as well go stand upon the beach 
 And bid the main-flood bait his usual height ; 
 You may as well use question with the wolf 
 Why he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb ; 
 You may as well forbid the mountain pines 
 To wag their high tops, and to make no noise, 
 When they are fretted with the gusts of heaven ; 
 You may as well do anything most hard 
 As seek to soften that, than which what's 
 harder? [you* 
 
 His Jewish heart. Therefore, I do beseech 
 Make no more offers, use no further means, 
 But, with all brief and plain conveniency, 
 Let me have judgment and the Jew his will. 
 
 Bass. For thy three thousand ducats here is 
 six. 
 
 Shy. If every ducat in six thousand ducats 
 Were in six parts, and every part a ducat, 
 I would not draw them ; I would have my bond. 
 
 Duke. How shalt thou hope for mercy, 
 rend'ring none? [no wrong? 
 
 Shy. What judgment shall I dread, doing 
 You have among you many a purchas'd slave, 
 Which, like your asses, and your dogs, and mules, 
 You use in abject and in slavish parts, 
 Because you bought them. Shall I say to you, 
 Let them be free, marry them to your heirs? 
 Why sweat they under burdens? let their beds 
 Be made as soft as yours, and let their palates 
 Be season'd with such viands? You will 
 
 answer, 
 
 The slaves are ours : So do I answer you ; 
 The pound of flesh which I demand of him 
 Is dearly bought, is mine, and I will have it: 
 If you deny me, fie upon your law ! 
 There is no force in the decrees of Venice. 
 I stand for judgment: answer: shall I have it? 
 
 Duke. Upon my power I may dismiss this 
 
 court, 
 
 Unless Bellario, a learned doctor, 
 Whom I have sent for to determine this, 
 Come here to-day. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 243 
 
 Solan. My lord, here stays without 
 
 A messenger with letters from the doctor, 
 New come from Padua. [senger. 
 
 Duke. Bring us the letters; call the mes- 
 
 Bass. Good cheer, Antonio! What, man, 
 courage yet ! [and all, 
 
 The Jew shall have my flesh, blood, bones, 
 Ere thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood. 
 
 Ant. I am a tainted wether of the flock, 
 Meetest for death : the weakest kind of fruit 
 Drops earliest to the ground, and so let me : 
 You cannot better be employ'd, Bassanio, 
 Than to live still, and write mine epitaph. 
 
 Enter NERISSA, dressed like a lawyers clerk. 
 
 Duke. Came you from Padua, from Bellario? 
 
 Ner. From both, my lord : Bellario greets 
 
 your grace. [Presents a letter. 
 
 Bass. Why dost thou whet thy knife so 
 
 earnestly? [rupt there. 
 
 Shy. To cut the forfeiture from that bank- 
 
 Gra. Not on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh 
 
 Jew, 
 
 Thou mak'st thy knife keen : but no metal can, 
 
 No, not the hangman's axe, bear half the 
 
 keenness [thee? 
 
 Of thy sharp envy. Can no prayers pierce 
 
 Shy. No ; none that thou hast wit enough to 
 
 make. 
 
 Gra. O, be thou damn'd, inexorable dog ! 
 And for thy life let justice be accus'd. 
 Thou almost mak'st me waver in my faith, 
 To hold opinion with Pythagoras, 
 That souls of animals infuse themselves 
 Into the trunks of men : thy currish spirit 
 Govern'd a wolf, who, hang'd for human 
 
 slaughter, 
 
 Even from the gallows did his fell soul fleet, 
 And, whilst thou lay'st in thy unhallow'd dam, 
 Infus'd itself in thee ; for thy desires 
 Are wolfish, bloody, starv'd, and ravenous. 
 Shy. Till thou canst rail the seal from off 
 
 my bond 
 
 Thou but offend' st thy lungs to speak so loud : 
 Repair thy wit, good youth, or it will fall 
 To cureless ruin. I stand here for law. 
 
 Duke. This letter from Bellario doth 
 
 commend 
 
 A young and learned doctor to our court : 
 Where is he? 
 
 Ner. He attendeth here hard by, 
 
 To know your answer, whether you '11 admit 
 
 him. 
 Duke. With all my heart : some three or 
 
 four of you 
 
 Go give him courteous conduct to this place. 
 Meantime, the court shall hear Bellario*s letter. 
 
 [Clerk reads.} Your grace shall understand that, at 
 the receipt of your letter, I am very sick ; but in the 
 instant that your messenger came, in loving visitation 
 was with me a young doctor of Rome ; his name is Balt- 
 hazar: I acquainted him with the cause in controversy 
 between the Jew and Antonio the merchant : we turned 
 o'er many books together : he is furnish d with my 
 opinion ; which, better'd with his own learning (the 
 greatness whereof I cannot enough commend), comes 
 
 with him, at my importunity to fill up your grace's re- 
 quest in my stead. I beseech you, let his lack of year 
 be no impediment to let him lack a reverend estimation 
 
 for I never knew so young a body with so old a head. I 
 leave him to your gracious acceptance, whose trial shall 
 better publish his commendation. 
 
 Duke. You hear the learn'd Bellario, what 
 
 he writes: . 
 And here, I take it, is the doctor come. 
 
 Enter PORTIA, dressed like a doctor of laws. 
 
 Give me your hand: came you from old 
 Bellario? 
 
 For. I did, my lord. [place. 
 
 Duke. You are welcome : take your 
 
 Are you acquainted with the difference 
 That holds this present question in the court ? 
 
 For. I am informed throughly of the cause. 
 Which is the merchant here, and which the 
 Jew? [forth. 
 
 Duke. Antonio and old Shylock, both stand 
 
 For. Is your nair * Shylock ? 
 
 Shy. Shylock is my name. 
 
 For. Of a stiange nature is the suit you 
 
 follow : 
 
 Yet in such rule, that the Venetian law 
 Cannot impugn you as you do proceed. 
 You stand within his danger, do you not? 
 
 [To ANTONIO. 
 
 Ant. Ay, so he says. 
 
 For. Do you confess the bond? 
 
 Ant. I do. 
 
 For. Then must the Jew be merciful. 
 
 Shy. On what compulsion must I? tell me 
 that. 
 
 For. The quality of mercy is not strain'd ; 
 It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven 
 Upon the place beneath : it is twice bless'd ; 
 It blesseth him that gives and him that takes : 
 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest ; it becomes 
 The throned monarch better than his crown; 
 His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, 
 The attribute to awe and majesty, 
 Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings ; 
 Bui mercy is above this scepter'd sway, 
 It is enthroned in the heart of kings, 
 It is an attribute to God himself; 
 And earthly power doth then show likest God's 
 When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, 
 Though justice be thy plea consider this 
 
244 
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 [ACT IV. 
 
 That in the course of justice none of us 
 Should see salvation : we do pray for mercy ; 
 And that same prayer doth teach us all to render 
 The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much 
 To mitigate the justice of thy plea ; 
 Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice 
 Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant 
 there. [law, 
 
 Shy. My deeds upon my head ! I crave the 
 The penalty and forfeit of my bond. 
 
 For. Is he not able to discharge the money? 
 
 Bass. Yes; here I tender it for him in the 
 
 court ; 
 
 Yea, twice the sum : if that will not suffice 
 I will be bound to pay it ten times o'er, 
 On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart : 
 If this will not suffice, it must appear [you, 
 That malice bears down truth. And I beseech 
 Wrest once the law to your authority : 
 To do a great right do a little wrong, 
 And curb this cruel devil of his will. [Venice 
 
 For. It must not be; there is no power in 
 Can alter a decree established : 
 'Twill be recorded for a precedent, 
 And many an error, by the same example, 
 Will rush into the state : it cannot be. 
 
 Shy. A Daniel come to judgment! yea, a 
 
 Daniel ! 
 O wise young judge 1 how I do honour thee ! 
 
 For. I pray you, let me look upon the bond. 
 
 Shy. Here 'tis, most reverend doctor; here 
 it is. 
 
 For. Shylock, there's thrice thy money 
 offered thee. 
 
 Shy. An oath, an oath ; I have an oath in 
 
 heaven : 
 
 Shall I lay perjury upon my soul? 
 No, not for Venice. 
 
 For. Why, this bond is forfeit; 
 
 And lawfully by this the Jew may claim 
 A pound of flesh, to be by him cut oft 
 Nearest the merchant's heart. Be merciful ! 
 Take thrice thy money ; bid me tear the bond. 
 
 Shy. When it is paid according to the tenor. 
 It doth appear you are a worthy judge ; 
 You know the law; your exposition 
 Hath been most sound : I charge you by the law, 
 Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar, 
 Proceed to judgment : by my soul I swear 
 There is no power in the tongue of man 
 To alter me. I stay here on my bond. 
 
 Ant. Most heartily I do beseech the court 
 To give the judgment. 
 
 For. Why then, thus it is. 
 
 You must prepare your bosom for his knife : 
 
 Shy. O noble judge! O excel lent young man! 
 
 For. For the intent and purpose of the law 
 
 Hath full relation to the penalty, 
 
 Which here appeareth due upon the bond. 
 
 Shy. 'Tis very true: O wise and upright 
 
 judge, 
 How much more elder art thou than thy looks! 
 
 For. Therefore, lay bare your bosom. 
 
 Shy. Ay, his breast : 
 
 So says the bond; doth it not, noble judge? 
 Nearest his heart : those are the very words. 
 
 For. It is so. Are there balance here to weigh 
 The flesh? 
 
 Shy. I have them ready. 
 
 For. Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on 
 
 your charge, 
 To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death. 
 
 Shy. Is it so nominated in tne bond? 
 
 For. It is not so express'd ; but what of that? 
 'Twere good you do so much for charity. 
 
 Shy. I cannot find it ; 'tis not in the bond. 
 
 For. Come, merchant, have you anything to 
 say? 
 
 Ant. But little; I am arm'd and well pre- 
 
 par'd. 
 
 Give me your hand, Bassanio ; fare you well ! 
 Grieve not that I am fallen to this for you ; 
 For herein fortune shows herself more kind 
 Than is her custom : it is still her use 
 To let the wretched man out-live his wealth, 
 To view with hollow eye and wrinkled brow 
 An age of poverty; from which lingering penance 
 Of such misery doth she cut me off. 
 Commend me to your honourable wife ; 
 Tell her the process of Antonio's end ; 
 Say how I lov'd you ; speak me fair in death ; 
 And, when the tale is told, bid her be judge 
 Whether Bassanio had not once a love. 
 Repent not you that you shall lose your friend, 
 And he repents not that he pays your debt ; 
 For, if the Jew do cut but deep enough, 
 I '11 pay it instantly with all my heart. 
 
 Bass. Antonio, I am married to a wife 
 Which is as dear to me as life itself ; 
 But life itself, my wife, and all the world 
 Are not with me esteem'd above thy life ; 
 I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all 
 Here to this devil, to deliver you. 
 
 For. Your wife would give you little thanks 
 
 for that, 
 If she were by to hear you make the offer. 
 
 Gra. I have a wife whom, I protest, I love; 
 I would she were in heaven, so she could 
 Entreat some power to change this currish Jew. 
 
 Ner. 'Tis well you offer it behind her back ; 
 The wish would make else an unquiet house. 
 
 Shy. These be the Christian husbands: I 
 
 have a daughter; 
 Would any of the stock of Barrabas 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 245 
 
 Had been her husband, rather than a Christian ! 
 
 [Aside. 
 We trifle time ; I pray thee, pursue sentence. 
 
 For. A pound of that same merchant's flesh 
 
 is thine ; 
 The court awards it and the law doth give it. 
 
 Shy. Most rightful judge ! [his breast ; 
 
 For. And you must cut this flesh from off 
 The law allows it and the court awards it. 
 
 Shy. Most learned judge! A sentence; 
 come, prepare. [else. 
 
 For. Tarry a little; there is something 
 This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood ; 
 The words expressly are a pound of flesh : 
 Take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of 
 
 flesh; 
 
 But, in the cutting, if thou dost shed [goods 
 One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and 
 Are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate 
 Unto the state of Venice. [learned judge ! 
 
 Gra. O upright judge! Mark, Jew; O 
 
 Shy. Is that the law? 
 
 For. Thyself shall see the act : 
 
 For, as thou urgest justice, be assur'd 
 Thou shall have justice, more than thou desir'st. 
 
 Gra. O learned judge! Mark, Jew; a 
 learned judge ! [thrice, 
 
 Shy. I take this offer then, pay the bond 
 And let the Christian go. 
 
 Bass. Here is the money. 
 
 For. Soft; [haste: 
 
 The Jew shall have all justice: soft; no 
 He shall have nothing but the penalty. 
 
 Gra. O Jew ! an upright judge, a learned 
 judge ! [flesh. 
 
 For. Therefore, prepare thee to cut off the 
 Shed thou no blood ; nor cut thou less nor more 
 But just a pound of flesh : if thou tak'st more 
 Or less than a just pound, be it but so much 
 As makes it light or heavy in the substance, 
 Or the division of the twentieth part 
 Of one poor scruple : nay, if the scale do turn 
 But in the estimation of a hair, 
 Thou diest, and all thy goods are confiscate. 
 
 Gra. A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew ! 
 Now, infidel, I have thee on the hip. 
 
 For. Why doth the Jew pause ? take thy for- 
 feiture. 
 
 Shy. Give me my principal, and let me go. 
 
 Bass. I have it ready for thee ; here it is. 
 
 For. He hath refus'd it in the open court ; 
 He shall have merely justice, and his bond. 
 
 Gra. A Daniel, still say I; a second Daniel ! 
 I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word. 
 
 Shy. Shall I not have barely my principal ? 
 
 For. Thou shalthave nothing but the forfeiture 
 To be so taken at thy peril, Jew. 
 
 Shy. Why, then the devil give him good of it ! 
 I '11 stay no longer question. 
 
 For. Tarry, Jew* ! 
 
 The law hath yet another hold on you. 
 It is enacted in the laws of Venice, 
 If it be prov'd against an alien, 
 That by direct or indirect attempts 
 He seek the life of any citizen, 
 The party 'gainst the which he doth contrive 
 Shall seize one half his goods ; the other half 
 Comes to the privy coffer of the state ; 
 And the offender's life lies in the mercy 
 Of the duke only, 'gainst all other voice. 
 In which predicament, I say, thou stand'st; 
 For it appears by manifest proceeding, 
 That indirectly, and directly too, 
 Thou hast contriv'd against the very life 
 Of the defendant ; and thou hast incurr'd 
 The danger formerly by me rehears'd. 
 Down, therefore, and beg mercy of the duke. 
 
 Gra. Beg that thou mayst have leave to hang 
 
 thyself: 
 
 And yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state, 
 Thou hast not left the value of a cord ; 
 Therefore, thou must be hang'd at the state 
 charge. [spirit, 
 
 Duke. That thou shalt see the difference of our 
 I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it : 
 For half thy wealth, it is Antonio's: 
 The other half comes to the general state, 
 Which humbleness may drive unto a fine. 
 
 For. Ay, for the state ; not for Antonio. 
 
 Shy. Nay, take my life and all, pardon not that: 
 You take my house when you do take the prop 
 That doth sustain my house ; you take my life 
 When you do take the means whereby I live. 
 
 For. What mercy can you render him, Antonio? 
 
 Gra. A halter gratis ; nothing else : for God's 
 sake. 
 
 Ant. So please my lord the duke, and all 
 
 the court, 
 
 To quit the fine for one half of his goods; 
 I am content, so he will let me have 
 The other half in use, to render it, 
 Upon his death, unto the gentleman 
 That lately stole his daughter : 
 Two things provided more, that for this favour, 
 He presently become a Christian ; 
 The other, that he do record a gift, 
 Here in the court, of all he dies possess'd 
 Unto his son Lorenzo and his daughter. 
 
 Duke. He shall do this ; or else I do recant 
 The pardon that I late pronounced here. 
 
 For. Art thou contented, Jew? what dost thou 
 say? 
 
 Shy. I am content. 
 
 For. Clerk, draw a deed of gift. 
 
2 4 6 
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 [ACT IV. 
 
 Shy. I pray you, give me leave to go from 
 
 hence : 
 
 I am not well ; send the deed after me 
 And I will sign it. 
 
 Duke. Get thee gone, but do it. 
 
 Gra. In christening, thou shalt have two god- 
 fathers: 
 Had I been judge, thou shouldst have had ten 
 
 more, 
 To bring thee to the gallows, not the font. 
 
 [Exit SHYLOCK. 
 Duke. Sir, I entreat you home with me to 
 
 dinner. 
 
 For. I humbly do desire your grace of par- 
 don; 
 
 I must away this night toward Padua ; 
 And it is meet I presently set forth. 
 
 Duke. I am sorry that your leisure serves you 
 
 not. 
 
 Antonio, gratify this gentleman ; 
 For, in my mind, you are much bound to him. 
 [Exeunt DUKE, Magnificoes, and Train. 
 Bass. Most worthy gentleman, I and my friend 
 Have by your wisdom been this day acquitted 
 Of grievous penalties ; in lieu whereof, 
 Three thousand ducats, due unto the Jew, 
 We freely cope your courteous pains withal. 
 Ant. And stand indebted, over and above 
 In love and service to you evermore. 
 
 Por. He is well paid that is well satisfied, 
 And I, delivering you, am satisfied, 
 And therein do account myself well paid : 
 My mind was never yet more mercenary. 
 I pray you, know me when we meet again ; 
 I wish you well, and so I take my leave. 
 
 Bass. Dear sir, of force I must attempt you 
 
 further ; 
 
 Take some remembrance of us, as a tribute, 
 Not as a fee : grant me two things, I pray you, 
 Not to deny me, and to pardon me. 
 
 Por. You press me far, and therefore I will 
 
 yield. 
 
 Givemeyourglovcs, 1*11 wear them foryoursake; 
 And, for your love, I '11 take this ring from you: 
 Do not draw back your hand ; I '11 take no 
 
 more; 
 And you in love shall not deny me this. 
 
 Bass. This ring, good sir, alas, it is a trifle; 
 I will not shame myself to give you this. 
 
 Por. I will have nothing else but only this ; 
 And now, methinks, I have a mind to it. 
 Bass. There 's more depends on this than on 
 
 the value. 
 
 The dearest ring in Venice will I give you, 
 And find it out by proclamation; 
 Only for this, I pray you, pardon me. 
 Por. I see, sir, you are liberal in offers: 
 
 You taught me first to beg ; and now, methinks, 
 
 You teach me how a beggar should be answer'd. 
 
 Bass. Good sir, this ring was given me by my 
 
 wife; 
 
 And, when she put it on, she made me vow 
 That I should neither sell, nor give, nor lose it. 
 Por. That 'scuse serves many men to save 
 
 their gifts. 
 
 An if your wife be not a mad woman, 
 And know how well I have deserv'd this ring, 
 She would not hold out enemy for ever, 
 For giving it to me. Well, peace be with you! 
 [Exeunt PORTIA and NERISSA. 
 Ant. My Lord Bassanio, let him have the ring: 
 Let his deservings, and my love withal, 
 Be valued 'gainst your wife's commandment. 
 
 Bass. Go, Gratiano, run and overtake him, 
 Give him the ring ; and bring him, if thou canst. 
 Unto Antonio's house : away, make haste. 
 
 [Exit GRATIANO. 
 
 Come, you and I will thither presently ; 
 And in the morning early will we both 
 Fly toward Belmont. Come, Antonio. 
 
 [Exeum 
 
 SCENE II. The same. A Street. 
 Enter PORTIA and NERISSA. 
 
 Por. Inquire the Jew's house out, give him 
 
 this deed, 
 
 And let him sign it ; we '11 away to-night, 
 And be a day before our husbands home. 
 This deed will be well welcome to Lorenzo. 
 
 Enter GRATIANO. 
 
 Gra. Fair sir, you are well overta'en : 
 My Lord Bassanio, upon more advice, 
 Hath sent you here this ring ; and doth entreat 
 Your company at dinner. 
 
 Por. That cannot be : 
 
 His ring I do accept most thankfully. 
 And so, I pray you, tell him. Furthermore, 
 I pray you, show my youth old Shylock's house. 
 
 Gra. That will I do. 
 
 Ner. Sir, I would speak with you : 
 I '11 see if I can get my husband's ring, 
 
 [To PORTIA. 
 Which I did make him swear to keep for ever. 
 
 Por. Thou mayst, I warrant. We shall have 
 
 old swearing 
 
 That they did give the rings away to men ; 
 But we '11 outface them, and outswear them too. 
 Away, make haste ; thou know'st where I will 
 tarry. 
 
 Ner. Come, good sir, will you show me to 
 this house? [Exeunt. 
 
SCKNfc I.] 
 
 THE MERCHANT OK VENICE. 
 
 247 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. BELMONT. . Pleasure grounds of 
 PORTIA'S House. 
 
 Enter LORENZO and JESSICA. 
 
 Lor. The moon shines bright ! In such a 
 
 night as this, 
 
 When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees, 
 And they did make no noise ; in such a night, 
 Troilus, methinks, mounted the Trojan walls, 
 And sigh'd his soul toward the Grecian tents, 
 Where Cressid lay that night. 
 
 Jes. In such a night 
 
 Did Thisbe fearfully o'ertrip the dew, 
 And saw the lion's shadow ere himself, 
 And ran dismay'd away. 
 
 Lor. In such a night 
 
 Stood Dido with a willow in her hand 
 Upon the wild sea-banks, and wav'd her love 
 To come again to Carthage. 
 
 Jes. In such a night 
 
 Medea gather'd the enchanted herbs 
 That did renew old /Eson. 
 
 Lor. In such a night 
 
 Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew 
 And, with an unthrift love, did run from Venice 
 As far as Belmont. 
 
 Jes. In such a night 
 
 Did young Lorenzo swear he lov'd her well 
 Stealing her soul with many vows of faith, 
 And ne'er a true one. 
 
 Lor. In such a night 
 
 Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew, 
 Slander her love, and he forgave it her. 
 
 Jes. I would out-night you, did nobody come : 
 But, hark, I hear the footing of a man. 
 
 Enter STEPHANO. 
 
 Lor. Who comes so fast in silence of the night? 
 
 Steph. A friend. 
 
 Lor. A friend ! what friend ? your name, I 
 pray you, friend ? 
 
 Steph. Stephano is my name; and I bring word 
 My mistress will before the break of day 
 Be here at Belmont ; she doth stray about 
 By holy crosses, where she kneels and prays 
 For happy wedlock hours. 
 
 Lor. Who comes with her? 
 
 Steph. None but a holy hermit and her maid. 
 I pray you, is my master yet return'd? 
 
 Lor. He is not, nor we have not heard from 
 
 him. 
 
 But go we in, I pray thee, Jessica, 
 And ceremoniously let us p'repare 
 Some welcome for the mistress of the house. 
 
 Enter LAUNCELOT. 
 
 Laun. Sola, sola, wo ha, ho, sola, sola t 
 
 Lor. Who calls? 
 
 Laun. Sola! did you se Master Lorenzo 
 and Mistress Lorenzo ? sola, sola ! 
 
 Ij>r. Leave hollaing, man : here. 
 
 Laun. Sola! where? where? 
 
 Lor. Here. 
 
 Laun. Tell him there 's a post come from my 
 master with his horn full of good news ; my 
 master will be here ere morning. [Exit. 
 
 Lor. Sweet soul, let 's in, and there expect 
 
 their coming. 
 
 And yet no matter ; why should we go in ? 
 My friend Stephano, signify, I pray you, 
 Within the house, your mistress is at hand : 
 And bring your music forth into the air. 
 
 [Exit STEPHANO. 
 
 How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank ! 
 Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music 
 Creep in our ears ; soft stillness and the night 
 Become the touches of sweet harmony. 
 Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven 
 Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold ; 
 There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st 
 But in his motion like an angel sings, 
 Still quiring to the young-ey'd cherubims : ( 
 Such harmony is in immortal souls ; 
 But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay 
 Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it 
 
 Enter Musicians. 
 
 Come, ho, and wake Diana with a hymn ; 
 With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear, 
 And draw her home with music. [Music. 
 
 Jes. I am never merry when I hear sweet 
 
 music. 
 
 Lor. The reason is, your spirits are attentive: 
 For do but note a wild and wanton herd, 
 Or race of youthful and unhandled colts, 
 Fetching mad bounds, bellowing, and neighing 
 
 loud, 
 
 Which is the hot condition of their blood 
 If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound, 
 Or any air of music touch their ears, 
 You shall perceive them make a mutual stand, 
 Their savage eyes turn'd to a modest gaze 
 By the sweet power of music : therefore the poet 
 Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and 
 
 floods; 
 
 Since naught so stockish, hard, and full of rage 
 But music for the time doth change his nature. 
 The man that hath no music in himself, 
 Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds, 
 Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils ; 
 The motions of his spirit are dull as night. 
 
2 4 8 
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 And his affections dark as Erebus : 
 
 Let no such man be trusted. Mark the music. 
 
 Enter PORTIA and NERISSA, at a distance. 
 
 For. That light we see is burning in my 
 
 hall : 
 
 How far that little candle throws his beams ! 
 So shines a good deed in a naughty world. 
 Ner. When the moon shone we did not see 
 
 the candle. 
 
 For. So doth the greater glory dim the less : 
 A substitute shines brightly as a king 
 Until a king be by ; and then his state 
 Empties itself, as doth an inland brook 
 Into the main of waters. Music ! hark ! 
 Ner. It is your music, madam, of the 
 
 house. 
 
 For. Nothing is good, I see, without respect ; 
 Methinks it sounds much sweeter than by 
 
 day. 
 
 Ner. Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam. 
 For. The crow doth sing as sweetly as the 
 
 lark 
 
 When neither is attended ; and, I think, 
 The nightingale, if she should sing by day, 
 When every goose is cackling, would be 
 
 thought 
 
 No better a musician than the wren. 
 How many things by season season'd are 
 To their right praise and true perfection ! 
 Peace, ho ! the moon sleeps with Endymion, 
 And would not be awaked ! [Music ceases. 
 
 Lor. That is the voice, 
 
 Or I am much deceived, of Portia. 
 For. He knows me, as the blind man knows 
 
 the cuckoo, 
 By the bad voice. 
 
 Lor. Dear lady, welcome home. 
 
 For. We have been praying for our husbands' 
 
 welfare, 
 
 Which speed, we hope, the better for our words. 
 Are they return'd? 
 
 Lor. Madam, they are not yet ; 
 
 But there is come a messenger before, 
 To signify their coming. 
 
 for. #u Go in, Nerissa, v ^ 7 < 
 
 Give order to my servants that they take 
 No note at all of our being absent hence ; 
 Nor you, Lorenzo j Jessica, nor you. 
 
 [A tucket sounds. 
 Lor. Your husband is at hand, I hear his 
 
 trumpet : 
 
 We are no tell-tales, madam ; fear you not. 
 For. This night methinks is but the daylight 
 
 sick 
 
 It looks a little paler ; 'tis a day 
 Such as the day is when the sun is hid, 
 
 Enter BASSANIO, ANTONIO, GRATIANO, and 
 their followers. 
 
 Bass. We should hold day with the Antipodes 
 If you would walk in absence of the sun. 
 
 For. Let me give light, but let me not be 
 
 light; 
 
 For a light wife doth make a heavy husband, 
 And never be Bassanio so for me ; [lord. 
 
 But God sort all ! you are welcome home, my 
 
 Bass. I thank you, madam ; give welcome to 
 
 my friend. 
 
 This is the man ; this is Antonio, 
 To whom I am so infinitely bound. [him, 
 
 For. You should in all sense be much bound to 
 For, as I hear, he was much bound for you. 
 
 Ant. No more than I am well acquitted of. 
 
 For. Sir, you are very welcome to our house : 
 It must appear in other ways than words, 
 Therefore, I scant this breathing courtesy. 
 
 [GRA. and NER. seem to talk apart. 
 
 Gra. By yonder moon, I swear you do me 
 
 wrong; 
 
 In faith, I gave it to the judge's clerk : 
 Would he were gelt that had it, for my part, 
 Since you do take it, love, so much at heart. 
 
 For. A quarrel, ho, already? what's the 
 matter? 
 
 Gra. About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring 
 That she did give me ; whose posy was, 
 For all the world, like cutler's poetry 
 Upon a knife, Love me, and leave me not. 
 
 Ner. What, talk you .of the posy, or the 
 
 value? 
 
 You swore to me, when I did give it you, 
 That you would wear it till your hour of death ; 
 And that it should lie with you in your grave : 
 Though not for me, yet for your vehement oaths 
 You should have been respective, and have kept 
 
 it. 
 
 Gave it a judge's clerk ! no, God 's my judge, 
 The clerk will ne'er wear hair on 's face that 
 
 ,.&-= ted it. 
 
 Gra. He will, an if he live to be a man. 
 
 Ner. Ay, if a woman live to be a man. 
 
 Gra. Now, by this hand, I gave it to a 
 
 , cc . youth, 
 
 A kind of boy ; a little scrubbed boy 
 No higher than thyself, the judge's clerk ; 
 A prating boy that begg'd it as a fee ; 
 I could not for my heart deny it him. 
 
 For. You were to blame, I must be plain 
 
 with you, 
 
 To part so slightly with your wife's first gift ; 
 A thing stuck on with oaths upon your finger, 
 And so riveted with faith unto your flesh. 
 I gave my love a ring, and made him swear 
 
SCENE I.J 
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 249 
 
 Never to part with it, and here he stands ; 
 I dare be sworn for him, he would not leave it 
 Nor pluck it from his finger for the wealth 
 That the world masters. Now, in faith, 
 
 Gratiano, 
 
 You give your wife too unkind a cause of grief; 
 An 'twere to me, I should be mad at it. [off, 
 
 Bass. Why, I were best to cut my left hand 
 And swear I lost the ring defending it. [Aside. 
 
 Gra. My Lord Bassanio gave his ring away 
 Unto the judge that begg'd it, and, indeed, 
 Deserv'd it too ; and then the boy, his clerk, 
 That took some pains in writing, he begg'd 
 
 mine: 
 
 And neither man nor master would take aught 
 But the two rings. 
 
 For. What ring gave you, my lord? 
 
 Not that, I hope, which you receiv'd of me. 
 
 Bass, If I could add a lie unto a fault 
 I would deny it ; but you see my finger 
 Hath not the ring upon it ; it is gone. 
 
 For. Even so void is your false heart of truth. 
 By heaven, I will ne'er come in your bed 
 Until I see the ring. 
 
 Ner. Nor I in yours 
 
 Till I again see mine. 
 
 Bass. Sweet Portia, 
 
 If you did know to whom I gave the ring, 
 If you did know for whom I gave the ring, 
 And would conceive for what I gave the ring, 
 And how unwillingly I left the ring, 
 "When naught would be accepted but the ring, 
 You would abate the strength of your dis- 
 pleasure. 
 
 For. If you had known the virtue of the ring, 
 Or half her worthiness that gave the ring, 
 Or your own honour to contain the ring, 
 You would not then have parted with the ring. 
 What man is there so much unreasonable, 
 If you nad pleas'd to have defended it 
 With any terms of zeal, wanted the modesty 
 To urge the thing held as a ceremony? 
 Nerissa teaches me what to believe ; 
 I '11 die for '*, but some woman had the ring. 
 
 Bass. No, by mine honour, madam, by my 
 
 soul, 
 
 No woman had it, but a civil doctor, 
 Which did refuse three thousand ducats of me, 
 And begg'd the ring ; the which I did deny him, 
 And suffer' d him to go displeas'd away ; 
 Even he that had held up the very life 
 Of my dear friend. What should I say, sweet 
 
 lady? 
 
 I was enforc'd to send it after him ; 
 I was beset with shame and courtesy: 
 My honour would not let ingratitude 
 So much besmear it. Pardon me, good lady ; 
 
 For by these blessed candles of the night, 
 Had you been there, I think you would have 
 
 begg'd 
 The ring of me to give the worthy doctor. 
 
 For. Let not that doctor e'er come near my 
 
 house: 
 
 Since he hath got the jewel that I lovM, 
 And that which you did swear to keep for me, 
 I will become as liberal as you ; 
 I '11 not deny him anything I have, 
 No, not my body, nor my husband's bed : 
 Know him I shall, I am well sure of it : 
 Lie not a night from home; watch me like 
 
 Argus: 
 
 If you do not, if I be left alone, 
 Now, by mine honour, which is yet mine own, 
 I '11 have that doctor for my bedfellow. 
 
 Ner. And I his clerk ; therefore be well ad- 
 
 vis'd 
 How you do leave me to mine own protection. 
 
 Gra. Well, do you so : let not me take him 
 
 then; 
 For, if I do, I '11 mar the young clerk's pen. 
 
 Ant. I am the unhappy subject of these 
 quarrels. [notwithstanding. 
 
 For. Sir, grieve not you ; you are welcome 
 
 Bass. Portia, forgive me this enforced wrong ; 
 And, in the hearing of these many friends, 
 I swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes, 
 Wherein I see myself, 
 
 For. Mark you but that f 
 
 In both my eyes he doubly sees himself : 
 In each eye one : swear by your double self, 
 And there 's an oath of credit. 
 
 Bass. Nay, but hear me : 
 
 Pardon this fault, and by my soul I swear, 
 I never more will break an oath with thee. 
 
 Ant. I once did lend my body for his wealth ; 
 Which, but for him that had your husband's ring, 
 Had quite miscarried : I dare be bound again, 
 My soul upon the forfeit, that your lord 
 Will never more break faith advisedly. 
 
 For. Then you shall be his surety : give him 
 
 this; 
 And bid him keep it better than the other. 
 
 Ant. Here, Lord Bassanio; swear to keep 
 this ring. [doctor ! 
 
 Bass. By heaven, it is the same I gave the 
 
 For. I had it of him : pardon me, Bassanio t 
 For by this ring the doctor lay with me. 
 
 Ner. And pardon me, my gentle Gratiano ; 
 For that same scrubbed boy, the doctor's clerk, 
 In lieu of this, last night did lie with me. 
 
 Gra. Why, this is like the mending of high- 
 ways 
 
 In summer, where the ways are fair enough : 
 What ! are we cuckolds ere we have deserved it? 
 
250 
 
 THE MERCHAMT OF VENICE. 
 
 [ACT V. 
 
 Por. Speak not so grossly. You are all 
 
 amaz'd : 
 
 Here is a letter, read it at your leisure ; 
 It comes from Padua, from Bellario : 
 There you shall find that Portia was the doctor ; 
 Nerissa there, her clerk : Lorenzo here 
 Shall witness I set forth as soon as you, 
 And but even now return'd ; I have not yet 
 Enter*d my house. Antonio, you are welcome ; 
 And I have better news in store for you 
 Than you expect : unseal this letter soon ; 
 There you shall find three of your argosies 
 Are richly come to harbour suddenly : ion ' 
 You shall not know by what strange accident 
 I chanced on this letter. 
 
 Ant. I am dumb. 
 
 Bass. Were you the doctor; and I knew you 
 not? [cuckold? 
 
 Gra. Were you the clerk that is to make me 
 
 Ner. Ay, but the clerk that never means to 
 
 doit, 
 Unless he live until he be a man. [fellow ; 
 
 Bass. Sweet doctor, you shall be my bed- 
 When I am absent, then lie with my wife. 
 
 Ant. Sweet lady, you have given me life 
 and living ; 
 
 zifeafnrrf <b3?,'viJu< 
 
 rlA,,r^. ..,-.-, , 
 
 "*(y\ 
 
 rlJocf ] 
 
 For here I read for certain that my ships 
 Are safely come to road. 
 
 Por. How now, Lorenzo? 
 
 My clerk hath some good comforts too for you. 
 
 Ner. Ay, and I '11 give them him without a 
 
 fee. 
 
 There do I give to you and Jessica, 
 From the rich Jew, a special deed of gift, 
 After his death, of all he dies possess'd of. 
 
 Lor. Fair ladies, you drop manna in the way 
 Of starved people. 
 
 Por. It is almost morning, 
 
 And yet, I am sure, you are not satisfied 
 Of these events at full. Let us go in ; 
 And charge us there upon inter'gatories, 
 And we will answer all things faithfully. 
 
 Gra. Let it be so : the first inter'gatory 
 That my Nerissa shall be sworn on is, 
 Whether till the next night she had rathei 
 
 stay, 
 
 Or go to bed now, being two hours to day : 
 But were the day come, I should wish it dark, 
 That I were couching with the doctor's clerk. 
 Well, while I live, I '11 fear no other thing 
 So sore as keeping safe Nerissa's ring. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
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AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 DUKE, Kving in exile. 
 
 FREDERICK, Brother to tlu DUKE, and Usurper 
 of his Dominions. 
 
 AMIENS, ) Lords attending upon the DUKE in 
 
 JAQUES, J his Banishment. 
 
 LE BEAU V a Courtier attending upon FRE- 
 DERICK. 
 
 CHARLES, his Wrestler. 
 
 OLIVER, 
 
 JAQUES, \ Sons o/SiR ROWLAND DE Bois. 
 
 ORLANDO, 
 
 ADAM, j 
 
 DENNIS, \ 
 
 TOUCHSTONE, a Clown. 
 
 Servants to OLIVER, 
 
 SIR OLIVER MARTEXT, a Vicar. 
 
 WILLIAM, a Cotmtry Fellow^ in love tmtA 
 
 AUDREY. 
 A Person representing- HYMEN. 
 
 ROSALIND, Daughter to the banished DUKE. 
 CELIA, Daughter to FREDERICK. 
 PHEBE, a Shepherdess. 
 AUDREY, a Country Wench. 
 
 Lords belonging to the two Dukes; Pages, 
 Foresters, and other Attendants. 
 
 The SCENE lies first near OLIVER'S House; afterwards partly in the Usurper's Court and 
 partly in the Forest of ARDEN. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. An Orchard near OLIVER'S House. 
 Enter ORLANDO and ADAM. 
 
 Orl. As I remember, Adam, it was upon 
 this fashion, bequeathed me by will but poor 
 a thousand crowns, and, as thou say'st, charged 
 my brother, on his blessing, to breed me well : 
 and there begins my sadness. My brother 
 Jaques he keeps |t school, and report speaks 
 goldenly of his profit : for my part, he keeps 
 me rustically at home, or, to speak more pro- 
 perly, stays me here at home unkept : for call 
 you that keeping for a gentleman of my birth 
 that differs not from the stalling of an ox? His 
 horses are bred better; for, besides that they 
 are fair with their feeding, they are taught their 
 manage, and to that end riders dearly hired : 
 but I, his brother, gain nothing under him but 
 growth ; for the which his animals on his dung- 
 hills are as much bound to him as I. Besides 
 this nothing that he so plentifully gives me, 
 the something that nature gave me, his coun- 
 tenance seems to take from me: he lets me 
 feed with his hinds, bars me the place of a 
 brother, and as much as in him lies, mines my 
 gentility with my education. This is it, Adam, 
 that grieves me ; and the spirit of my father, 
 which I think is within me, begins to mutiny 
 against this servitude : I will no longer endure 
 
 it, though yet I know no wise remedy how to 
 avoid it 
 
 Adam. Yonder comes my master, your 
 brother. 
 
 Orl. Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear 
 how he will shake me up. [ADAM retires. 
 
 Enter OLIVER. 
 
 Oli. Now, sir! what make you here? 
 
 Orl. Nothing: I am not taught to make 
 anything. 
 
 Oli. What mar you then, sir? 
 
 Orl. Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar 
 that which God made, a poor unworthy brother 
 of yours, with idleness. 
 
 Oli. Marry, sir, be better employed, and be 
 naught awhile. 
 
 Orl. Shall I keep your hogs, and eat husk? 
 with them? What prodigal portion have I 
 spent that I should come to such penury? 
 
 Oli. Know you where you are, sir? 
 
 Orl. O, sir, very well : here in your orchard. 
 
 Oli. Know you before whom, sir? 
 
 Orl. Ay, better than him I am before knows 
 me. I know you are my eldest brother: and 
 in the gentle condition of blood you should so 
 know me. The courtesy of nations allows you 
 my better, in that you are the first-born ; but 
 the same tradition takes not away my blood, 
 were there twenty brothers betwixt us : I have 
 as much of my father in me as you ; albeit, I 
 
252 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 [ACT 
 
 confess, your coming before me is nearer to his 
 reverence. 
 
 Oli. What, boy! 
 
 Orl. Come, come, elder brother, you are 
 too young in this. 
 
 Oli. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain? 
 
 Orl. I am no villain : I am the youngest 
 son of Sir Rowland de Bois : he was my father; 
 and he is thrice a villain that says such a father 
 begot villains. Wert thou not my brother I 
 would not take this hand from thy throat till 
 this other had pulled out thy tongue for saying 
 so : thou hast railed on thyself. 
 
 Adam. [Coming forward.} Sweet masters, be 
 patient ; for your father's remembrance, be at 
 accord. 
 
 OH. Let me go, I say. 
 
 Orl. I will not, till I please : you shall hear 
 me. My father charged you in his will to give 
 me good education : you have trained me like 
 a peasant, obscuring and hiding from me all 
 gentleman- like qualities : the spirit of my father 
 grows strong in me, and I will no longer en- 
 dure it : therefore, allow me such exercises as 
 may become a gentleman, or give me the poor 
 al lottery my father left me by testament; with 
 that I will go buy my fortunes. 
 
 Oli. And what wilt thou do? beg, when that 
 is spent? Well, sir, get you in : I will not long 
 be troubled with you: you shall have some 
 part of your will : I pray you, leave me. 
 
 Orl. I will no further offend you than be- 
 comes me for my good. 
 
 Oli. Get you with him, you old dog. 
 
 Adam. Is old dog my reward? Most true, 
 I have lost my teeth in your service. God be 
 with my old master ! he would not have spoke 
 such a word. {Exeunt ORLANDO and ADAM. 
 
 Oli. Is it even so? begin you to grow upon 
 me? I will physic your rankness, and yet give 
 no thousand crowns neither. Holla, Dennis ! 
 
 Enter DENNIS. 
 
 Den. Calls your worship? 
 
 Oli, Was not Charles, the duke's wrestler, 
 here to speak with me? 
 
 Den. So please you, he is here at the door, 
 and importunes access to you. 
 
 Oli. Call him in. [Exit DENNIS.] 'Twill 
 be a good way; and to-morrow the wrestling 
 is. 
 
 'A trov he-old la flohJihaoo 
 
 Enter CHARLES. ^^ 
 
 Cha. Good morrow to your v/orship. 
 Oli. Good Monsieur Charles ! what 's the 
 new news at the new court? 
 
 Cha. There 's no news at the court s sir, but 
 
 the old news ; that is, the old duke is banished 
 by his younger brother the new duke; and 
 three or four loving lords have put themselves 
 into voluntary exile with him, whose lands 
 and revenues enrich the new duke ; therefore 
 he gives them good leave to wander. 
 
 Oli. Can you tell if Rosalind, the duke's 
 daughter, be banished with her father? 
 
 Cha. O no; for the duke's daughter, her 
 cousin, so loves her, being ever from theii 
 cradles bred together, that she would have 
 followed her exile, or have died to stay behind 
 her. She is at the court, and no less beloved 
 of her uncle than his own daughter ; and never 
 two ladies loved as they do. 
 
 Oli. Where will the old duke live? - 
 
 Cha. They say he is already in the forest of 
 Arden, and a many merry men with him ; and 
 there they live like the old Robin Hood of 
 England: they say many young gentlemen 
 flock to him every day, and fleet the time care- 
 lessly, as they did in the golden world. 
 
 Oli. What, you wrestle to-morrow before 
 the new duke? 
 
 Cha. Marry, do I, sir; and I came to ac- 
 quaint you with a matter. I am given, sir, 
 secretly to understand that your younger 
 brother, Orlando, hath a disposition to come 
 in disguis'd against me to try a fall. To- 
 morrow, sir, I wrestle for my credit ; and he 
 that escapes me without some broken limb shall 
 acquit him well. Your brother is but young 
 and tender; and, for your love, I would be 
 loath to foil him, as I must, for my own honour, 
 if he come in: therefore, out of my love to 
 you, I came hither to acquaint you withal ; that 
 either you might stay him from his intendment, 
 or brook such disgrace well as he shall run 
 into; in that it is a thing of his own search, 
 and altogether against my will. 
 
 Oli. Charles, I thank thee for thy love to 
 me, which thou shalt find I will most kindly 
 requite. I had myself notice of my brother's 
 purpose herein, and have by underhand means 
 laboured to dissuade him from it; but he is 
 resolute. I'll tell thee, Charles, it is the 
 stubbornest young fellow of France; full of 
 ambition, an envious emulator of every man's 
 good parts, a secret and villanous contriver 
 against me his natural brother; therefore use 
 thy discretion: I had as lief thou didst break 
 his neck as his finger. And thou wert best 
 look to 't ; for if thou dost him any slight dis- 
 grace, or if he do not mightily grace himself on 
 thee, he will practise against thee by poison, 
 entrap thee by some treacherous device, and 
 never leave thee till he hath ta'en thy life by 
 
SCENE II.J 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 253 
 
 some indirect means or other: for, I assure 
 thee, and almost with tears I speak it, there is 
 not one so young and so villanous this day 
 living. I speak but brotherly of him; but 
 should I anatomize him to thee as he is, I must 
 blush and weep, and thou must look pale and 
 wonder. 
 
 Cha. I am heartily glad I came hither to 
 you. If he come to-morrow I '11 give him his 
 payment. If ever he go alone again I '11 never 
 wrestle for prize more: and so, God keep 
 your worship ! {Exit. 
 
 OH. Farewell, good Charles. Now will I 
 stir this gamester : I hope I shall see an end of 
 him ; for my soul, yet I know not why, hates 
 nothing more than he. Yet he 's gentle ; never 
 schooled and yet learned ; full of noble device ; 
 of all sorts enchantingly beloved ; and, indeed, 
 so much in the heart of the world, and especially 
 of my own people, who best know him, that I 
 am altogether misprised : but it shall not be so 
 long ; this wrestler shall clear all : nothing re- 
 mains but that I kindle the boy thither, which 
 now I '11 go about. [Exit. 
 
 ^gojibifiwiol ?iti no frHo nw- f.i.1 , ho'. son no ><' 
 SCENE II. A Lawn before the DUKE'S Palace. 
 
 Enter ROSALIND and CELIA. 
 
 Cel. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be 
 merry. 
 
 Ros. Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I 
 am mistress of; and would you yet I were 
 merrier? Unless you could teach me to forget 
 a banished father, you must not learn me how 
 to remember any extraordinary pleasure. 
 
 Cel. Herein I see thou lovest me not with 
 the full weight that I love thee ; if my uncle, 
 thy banished father, had banished thy uncle, 
 the duke my father, so thou hadst been still 
 with me, I could have taught my love to take 
 thy father for mine; so wouldst thou, if the 
 truth of thy love to me were so righteously 
 tempered as mine is to thee. 
 
 Ros. Well, I will forget the condition of my 
 estate, to rejoice in yours. 
 
 Cel, You know my father hath no child but 
 I, nor none is like to have ; and, truly, when 
 he dies thou shalt be his heir : for what he hath 
 taken away from thy father perforce, I will 
 render thee again in affection : by mine honour, 
 I will; and when I break that oath, let me 
 turn monster; therefore, my sweet Rose, my 
 dear Rose, be merry. 
 
 Ros. From henceforth I will, coz, and devise 
 sports : let me see ; what think you of falling in 
 love? 
 
 Cel. Marry, I pr'ythee, do, to make sport 
 
 withal : but love no man in good earnest ; nor 
 no further in sport neither than with safety of a 
 pure blush thou mayst in honour come off again. 
 
 Ros. What shall be our sport, then? 
 
 Cel. Let us sit and mock the good housewife 
 Fortunefrom her wheel, that her gifts may hence- 
 forth be bestowed equally. 
 
 Ros. I would we could do so ; for her bene- 
 fits are mightily mispiuced: and the bountiful 
 blind woman doth most mistake in her gifts to 
 women. 
 
 Cel. 'Tis true : for those that she makes fair 
 she scarce makes honest; and those that she 
 makes honest she makes very ill-favouredly. 
 
 Ros. Nay; now thou goest from fortune's 
 orifice to nature's : fortune reigns in gifts of the 
 world, not in the lineaments of nature. 
 
 Cel. No ; when nature hath made a fair crea- 
 ture may she not by fortune fall into the fire? 
 Though nature hath given us wit to flout at for- 
 tune, hath not fortune sent in this fool to cut off 
 the argument? 
 
 luK>M r tlKAttft& 
 
 hnter TOUCHSTONE. 
 
 Ros. Indeed, there is fortune too hard for 
 nature, when fortune makes nature's natural the 
 cutter off of nature's wit. 
 
 Cel. Peradventure this is not fortune's work 
 neither, but nature's, who perceiveth our natural 
 wits too dull to reason of such goddesses, and 
 hath sent this natural for our whetstone : for 
 always the dulness of the fool is the whetstone 
 of the wits. How now, wit? whither wander 
 you? 
 
 Touch. Mistress, you must come away to your 
 father. 
 
 Cel. Were you made the messenger? 
 
 Touch. No, by mine honour ; but I was bid 
 to come for you. 
 
 Ros. Where learned you that oath, fool f 
 
 Touch. Of a certain knight that swore by his 
 honour they were good pancakes, and swore by 
 his honour the mustard was naught : now, I 'II 
 stand to it, the pancakes were naught and the 
 mustard was good : and yet was not the knight 
 forsworn. 
 
 Cel. How prove you that, in the great heap of 
 your knowledge? 
 
 Ros. Ay, marry ; now unmuzzle your wisdom. 
 
 Touch. S land you both for tn now: stroke your 
 chins, and swear by your beards that I am a 
 knave. 
 
 Cel. By our beards, if we had them, thou art. 
 
 Touch. By my knavery, if I had it, then I were: 
 but if you swear by that that is not, you are not 
 forsworn : no more was this knight, swearing by 
 his honour, for he never had any; or if he had. 
 
254 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 he had sworn it away before ever he saw those 
 pancakes or that mustard. 
 
 Cel. Pr'ythee, who is't that thou mean'st? 
 
 Touch. One that old Frederick, your father, 
 loves. 
 
 Cel. My father's love is enough to honour him 
 enough: speak no more of him: you'll be 
 whipp'd for taxation one of these days. 
 
 J^ouch. The more pity that fools may not speak 
 wisely what wise men do foolishly. 
 
 Cel. By my troth, thou say'st true : for since 
 the little wit that fools have was silenced, the 
 little foolery that wise men have makes a great 
 show. Here comes Monsieur Le Beau. 
 
 Ros. With his mouth full of news. 
 
 Cel. Which he will put on us as pigeons feed 
 their young. 
 
 Ros. Then shall we be news-crammed. 
 
 Cel. All the better; we shall be the more 
 marketable. 
 
 Enter LE BEAU. 
 
 Bonjoitr, Monsieur Le Beau. What 's the news ? 
 
 Le Beau. Fair princess, you have lost much 
 good sport. 
 
 Cel. Sport ! of what colour? 
 
 Le Beatt. What colour, madam? How shall 
 I answer you? 
 
 Ros. As wit and fortune will. 
 
 Touch. Or as the destinies decree. 
 
 Cel. Well said ; that was laid on with a trowel. 
 
 Touch. Nay, if I keep not my rank, 
 
 Ros. Thou loosest thy old smell. 
 
 Le Beau. You amaze me, ladies: I would have 
 told you of good wrestling, which you have lost 
 the sight of. 
 
 Ros. Yet tell us the manner of the wrestling. 
 
 Le Beau. I will tell you the beginning, and, 
 if it please your ladyships, you may see the end ; 
 for the best is yet to do ; and here, where you 
 are, they are coming to perform it. 
 
 Cel. Well, the beginning, that is dead and 
 buried. 
 
 Le Beau. There comes an old man and his 
 three sons, 
 
 Cel. I could match this beginning with an old 
 tale. 
 
 Le Beau. Three proper young men, of ex- 
 cellent growth and presence, with bills on their 
 necks, 
 
 Ros. Be it known unto all men by these pre- 
 sents, 
 
 Le Beau. The eldest of the three wrestled 
 with Charles, the duke's wrestler; which Charles 
 in a moment threw him, and broke three of his 
 ribs, that there is little hope of life in him : so 
 he served the second, and so the third. Yonder 
 
 they lie ; the poor old man, their father, making 
 such pitiful dole over them that all the beholders 
 take his part with weeping. 
 
 Ros. Alas! 
 
 Touch. But what is the sport, monsieur, that 
 the ladies have lost? 
 
 Le Beau. Why, this that I speak of. 
 
 Touch. Thus men may grow wiser every day! 
 It is the first time that ever I heard breaking of 
 ribs was sport for ladies. 
 
 Cel. Or I, I promise thee. 
 
 Ros. But is there any else longs to see this 
 broken music in his sides? is there yet another 
 dotes upon rib-breaking? Shall we see this 
 wrestling, cousin? 
 
 Le Beau. You must, if you stay here: for here 
 is the place appointed for the wrestling, and they 
 are ready to perform it. 
 
 Cel. Yonder, sure, they are coming: let us 
 now stay and see it. 
 
 Flourish. Enter DUKE FREDERICK, Lords, 
 ORLANDO, CHARLES, and Attendants. 
 
 Duke F. Come on ; since the youth will not 
 be entreated, his own peril on his forwardness. 
 
 Ros. Is yonder the man? 
 
 Le Beau. Even he, madam. 
 
 Cel. Alas, he is too young : yet he looks suc- 
 cessfully. 
 
 Duke F. How now, daughter, and cousin? 
 are you crept hither to see the wrestling? 
 
 Ros. Ay, my liege : so please you give us leave. 
 
 Duke F. You will take little delight in it, I 
 can tell you, there is such odds in the men. In 
 pity of the challenger's youth I would fain dis- 
 suade him, but he will not be entreated. Speak 
 to him, ladies ; see if you can move him. 
 
 Cel. Call him hither, good Monsieur Le Beau. 
 
 Duke F. Do so ; I '11 not be by. 
 
 [DUKE F. goes apart. 
 
 Le Beau. Monsieur the challenger, the prin- 
 cesses call for you. 
 
 Orl. I attend them with all respect and duty. 
 
 Ros. Young man, have you challenged Charles 
 the wrestler? 
 
 Orl. No, fair princess ; he is the general chal- 
 lenger : I come but in, as others do, to try with 
 him the strength of my youth. 
 
 Cel. Young gentleman, your spirits are too 
 bold for your years. You have seen cruel proof 
 of this man's strength : if you saw yourself with 
 your eyes, or knew yourself with your judgment, 
 the fear of your adventure would counsel you to 
 a more equal enterprise. We pray you, for your 
 own sake, to embrace your own safety, and give 
 over this attempt. 
 
 Ros. Do, young sir ; your reputation shall not 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 255 
 
 therefore be misprised : we will make it our suit 
 to the duke that the wrestling might not go for- 
 ward. 
 
 OrL I beseech you, punish me not with your 
 hard thoughts: wherein I confess me much guilty, 
 to deny so fair and excellent ladies anything. 
 But let your fair eyes and gentle wishes go with 
 me to my trial : wherein if I be foiled, there is 
 butoneshamed thatwasnever gracious; if killed, 
 but one dead that is willing to be so : I shall do 
 my friends no wrong, for I have none to lament 
 me: the world no injury, for in it I have nothing; 
 only in the world I fill up a place, which may 
 be better supplied when I have made it empty. 
 
 Ros. The little strength that I have, I would 
 it were with you. 
 
 Cd. And mine to eke out hers. 
 
 Ros. Fare you well. Pray heaven, I be de- 
 ceived in you ! 
 
 Cel. Your heart's desires be with you. 
 
 Cha. Come, where is this young gallant that 
 is so desirous to lie with his mother earth? 
 
 Orl. Ready, sir ; but his will hath in it a more 
 modest working. 
 
 Duke F. You shall try but one fall. 
 
 Cha. No ; I warrant your grace, you shall not 
 entreat him to a second, that have so mightily 
 persuaded him from a first. 
 
 Orl. You mean to mock me after ; you should 
 not have mocked me before: but come your 
 ways. 
 
 Ros. Now, Hercules be thy speed, young man! 
 
 Cel. I would I were invisible, to catch the 
 strong fellow by the leg. 
 
 [CHARLES and ORLANDO wrestle. 
 
 Ros. O excellent young man ! 
 
 Cel. If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can 
 tell who should down. 
 
 [CHARLES is thrown. Shout. 
 
 Duke F. No more, no more. 
 
 Orl. Yes, I beseech your grace; I am not yet 
 well breathed. 
 
 Duke F. How dost thou, Charles? 
 
 Le Beau. He cannot speak, my lord. 
 
 Duke F. Bear him away. 
 
 [CHARLES is borne out. 
 What is thy name, young man? 
 
 OrL Orlando, my liege ; the youngest son of 
 Sir Rowland de Bois. u [man else. 
 
 Duke F. I would thou hadst been son to some 
 The world esteem'd thy father honourable, 
 But I did find him still mine enemy : [deed 
 Thou shouldst have better pleas'd me with this 
 Hadst thou descended from another house. 
 But fare thee well ; thou art a gallant youth ; 
 I would thou hadst told me of another father. 
 {Exeunt DUKE F., Train, and LE BEAU. 
 
 Cel. Were I my father, co2, would I do this ? 
 
 Orl, I am more proud to be Sir Rowland's son, 
 His youngest son ; and would not change that 
 
 calling 
 To be adopted heir to Frederick. 
 
 Ros. My father loved Sir Rowland as his soul, 
 And all the world was of my father's mind : 
 Had I before known this young man his son, 
 I should have given him tears unto entreaties, 
 Ere he should thus have ventur'd. 
 
 Cel. Gentle cousin, 
 
 Let us go thank him, and encourage him : 
 My father's rough and envious disposition 
 Sticks me at heart. Sir, you have well deserv'd: 
 If you do keep your promises in love 
 But justly, as you have exceeded promise, 
 Your mistress shall be happy. 
 
 Ros. Gentleman, 
 
 [Giving him a chain from her neck. 
 Wear this for me ; one out of suits with fortune, 
 That could give more, but that her hand lacks 
 
 means. 
 Shah we go, coz? 
 
 Cel. Ay. Fare you well, fair gentleman. 
 
 Orl. Can I not say, I thank you? My better 
 partsi solos [stands up 
 
 Are all thrown down ; and that which here 
 Is but a quintain, a mere lifeless block. 
 
 Ros. He calls us back : my pride fell with my 
 
 fortunes : 
 
 I '11 ask him what he would. Did you call, sir? 
 Sir, you have wrestled well, and overthrown 
 More than your enemies. 
 
 Cel. Will you go, coz? 
 
 Ros. Have with you. Fare you well. 
 
 [Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA. 
 
 Orl. What passion hangs these weights upon 
 
 my tongue? 
 
 I cannot speak to her, yet she urg'd conference. 
 O poor Orlando ! thou art overthrown : 
 Or Charles, or something weaker, masters thee. 
 
 Re-enter LE BEAU. 
 
 Le Beau. Good sir, I do in friendship counsel 
 
 you 
 
 To leave this place. Albeit you have deserv'd 
 High commendation, true applause, and love, 
 Yet such is now the duke's condition, 
 That he misconstrues all that you have done. 
 The duke is humorous ; what he is, indeed, 
 More suits you to conceive than I to speak of. 
 
 Orl. I thank you, sir: and pray you, tellme this; 
 Which of the two was daughter of the duke 
 That here was at the wrestling? [manners ; 
 
 Le Beau. Neither his daughter, if we judge by 
 But yet, indeed, the smaller is his daughter: 
 The other is daughter to the banish'd duke, 
 
2 5 6 
 
 AS YOU LIKE XT. 
 
 [ACT 1. 
 
 And here detain'd by her usurping uncle, 
 To keep his daughter company; whose loves 
 Are dearer than the natural bond of sisters. 
 But I can tell you that of late this duke 
 Hath ta'en displeasure 'gainst his gentle niece, 
 Grounded upon no other argument 
 But that the people praise her for her virtues 
 And pity her for her good father's sake ; 
 And, on my life, his malice 'gainst the lady 
 Will suddenly break forth. Sir, fare you well ! 
 Hereafter, in a better world than this, 
 I shall desire more love and knowledge of you. 
 Orl. I rest much bounden to you : fare you 
 well ! \_Exit LE BEAU. 
 
 Thus must I from the smoke into the smother; 
 From tyrant duke unto a tyrant brother : 
 But heavenly Rosalind ! {Exit. 
 
 SCENE III. A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter CELIA and ROSALIND. 
 
 Cel. Why, cousin; why, Rosalind ; Cupid 
 have mercy! Not a word? 
 
 Ros. Not one to throw at a dog. 
 
 Cel. No, thy words are too precious to be 
 cast away upon curs, throw some of them at me ; 
 come, lame me with reasons. 
 
 Ros. Then there were two cousins laid up; 
 when the one should be lamed with reasons and 
 the other mad without any. 
 
 Cel. But is all this for your father? 
 
 Ros. No, some of it is for my father's child. 
 0, how full of briers is this working-day world ! 
 
 Cel. They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon 
 thee in holiday foolery ; if we walk not in the 
 trodden paths our very petticoats will catch them. 
 
 Ros. I could shake them off my coat : these 
 burs are in my heart. 
 
 Cel. Hem them away. [have him. 
 
 Ros. I would try, if I could cry hem and 
 
 Cel. Come, come, wrestle with thy affections. 
 
 Ros. O, they take the part of a better 
 wrestler than myself. 
 
 Cel. O, a good wish upon you ! you will try 
 in time, in despite of a fall. But, turning these 
 jests out of service, let us talk in good earnest : 
 is it possible, on such a sudden, you should fall 
 into so strong a liking with old Sir Rowland's 
 youngest son ? [dearly. 
 
 Ros. The duke my father loved his father 
 
 Cel. Doth it therefore ensue that you should 
 love his son .dearly? By this kind of chase I 
 should hate him, for my father hated his father 
 dearly; yet I hate not Orlando. 
 
 Ros. No, 'faith, hate him not, for my sake. 
 
 CeL Why should I not? doth he not deserve 
 well? 
 
 Ros. Let me love him for that ; and do you 
 love him because I do. Look, here comes the 
 duke. 
 
 Cel. With his eyes full of anger. 
 
 Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with Lords. 
 
 Duke F. Mistress, despatch you with you* 
 
 safest haste, ' : ;**; 
 
 And get you from our court. 
 
 Ros. Me, uncle? 
 
 DukeF. You, cousin: 
 
 Within these ten days if that thou be'st found 
 So near our public court as twenty miles, 
 Thou diest for it. 
 
 Ros. I do beseech your grace, 
 
 Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me : 
 If with myself I hold intelligence, 
 Or have acquaintance with mine own desires ; 
 If that I do not dream, or be not frantic, 
 As I do trust I am not, then, dear uncle, 
 Never so much as in a thought unborn 
 Did I offend your highness. 
 
 Duke F. Thus do all traitors ; 
 
 If their purgation did consist in words, 
 They are as innocent as grace itself: 
 Let it suffice thee that I trust thee not. 
 
 Ros. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a 
 
 traitor : 
 Tell me whereon the likelihood depends. 
 
 Duke F. Thou art thy father's daughter; 
 there 's enough. [dukedom ; 
 
 Ros. So was I when your highness took his 
 So wa I when your highness banish'd him: 
 Treason is not inherited, my lord : 
 Or, if we did derive it from our friends, 
 What's that to me? my father was no traitor! 
 Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much 
 To think my poverty is treacherous. 
 
 Cel. Dear sovereign, hear me speak, [sake, 
 
 Duke F. Ay, Celia : we stay'd her for your 
 Else had she with her father rang'd along. 
 
 Cel. I did not then entreat to have her stay r 
 It was your pleasure, and your own remorse : 
 I was too young that time to value her; 
 But now I know her : if she be a traitor, 
 Why so am I : we still have slept together, 
 Rose at an instant, learn'd, played, eat together? 
 And wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's swans, 
 Still we went coupled and inseparable. 
 
 Duke F. She is too subtle for thee ; and her 
 
 smoothness, 
 
 Her very silence, and her patience 
 Speak to the people, and they pity her. 
 Thou art a fool : she robs thee of thy name ; 
 And thou wilt show more bright and seem 
 
 more virtuous 
 When she is gone : then open not thy lips; 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 257 
 
 Firm and irrevocable is my doom 
 
 Which I have pass'd upon her ; she is banish'd. 
 
 Cel. Pronounce that sentence, then, on me, 
 
 my liege: 
 I cannot live out of her company. [yourself: 
 
 Duke F. You are a fool. You, niece, provide 
 If you outstay the time, upon mine honour, 
 And in the greatness. of my word, you die. 
 
 [Exeunt DUKE F. and Lords. 
 
 Cel. O my poor Rosalind ! whither wilt thou 
 
 go? 
 
 Wilt thou change fathers ? I will give thee mine. 
 I charge thee, be not thou more griev'd than I 
 am. 
 
 Ros. I have more cause. 
 
 Cel. Thou hast not, cousin ; 
 
 TVythee, be cheerful: know'st thou not the 
 
 duke 
 Hath banish'd me, his daughter? 
 
 Ros. That he hath not. 
 
 Cel. No ! hath not? Rosalind lacks, then, the 
 
 love 
 
 Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one : 
 Shall we be sunder'd? shall we part, sweet girl? 
 No ; let my father seek another heir. 
 Therefore devise with me how we may fly, 
 Whither to go, and what to bear with us : 
 And do not seek to take your change upon you, 
 To bear your griefs yourself, and leave me out ; 
 For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale, 
 Say what thou canst, I '11 go along with thee. 
 
 Ros. Why, whither shall we go? 
 
 Cel. To seek my uncle in the forest of Arden. 
 
 Ros. Alas ! what danger will it be to us, 
 Maids as we are, to travel forth so far? 
 Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold. 
 
 Cel. I '11 put myself in poor and mean attire, 
 And with a kind of umber smirch my face ; 
 The like do you ; so shall we pass along, 
 And never stir assailants. 
 
 Ros. Were it not better, 
 
 Because that I am more than common tall, 
 That I did suit me all points like a man? 
 A gallant curtle-axe upon my thigh, 
 A boar spear in my hand ; and, in my heart 
 Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will, 
 We '11 have a swashing and a martial outside, 
 As many other mannish cowards have 
 That do outface it with their semblances. 
 
 Cel. What shall I call thee when thou art a 
 man? [own page, 
 
 Ros. I '11 have no worse a name than Jove's 
 And, therefore, look you call me Ganymede. 
 But what will you be call'd ? [state : 
 
 Cel. Something that hath a reference to my 
 No longer Celia, but Aliena. 
 
 Ros. But, cousin, what if we assay'd to steal 
 
 The clownish fool out of your father's court? 
 Would he not be a comfort to our travel? 
 Cel. He '11 go along o'er the wide world with 
 
 me; 
 
 Leave me alone to woo him. Let 's away, 
 And get our jewels and our wealth together ; 
 Devise the fittest time and safest way 
 To hide us from pursuit that will be made 
 After my flight. Now go we in content 
 To liberty, and not to banishment. \Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 SCENE I. The Forest of Arden. 
 
 Enter DUKE Senior, AMIENS, and other Lords, 
 in the dress of Foresters. 
 
 Duke S. Now, my co-mates and brothers in 
 
 exile, 
 
 Hath not old custom made this life more sweet 
 Than that of painted pomp? Are not these 
 
 woods 
 
 More free from peril than the envious court? 
 Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, 
 The seasons' difference : as the icy fang 
 And churlish chiding of the winter's wind, 
 Which when it bites and blows upon my body, 
 Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say, 
 This is no flattery : these are counsellors 
 That feelingly persuade me what I am. 
 Sweet are the uses of adversity ; 
 Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, 
 Wears yet a precious jewel in his head ; 
 And this our life, exempt from public haunt, 
 Finds tongues in trees, books in the nmning 
 
 brooks, 
 
 Sermons in stones, and good in everything. 
 I would not change it. 
 
 Ami. Happy is your grace, 
 That can translate the stubbornness cf lortune 
 Into so quiet and so sweet a style. [son ? 
 
 Duke S. Come, shall we go and kill us veni- 
 And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools, 
 Being native burghers of this desert city, 
 Should, in their own confines, with forked heads 
 Have their round haunches gor'd. 
 
 I Lord. Indeed, my lord, 
 
 Tha melancholy Jaques grieves at that ; 
 And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp 
 Than doth your brother that hath banish'd you. 
 To-day my lord of Amiens and myself 
 Did steal behind him as he lay along 
 Under an oak, whose antique root peeps out 
 Upon the brook that brawls along this wood : 
 To the which place a poor sequester'd stag, 
 That from the hunters' aim had ta'en a hurt, 
 Did come to languish ; and, indeed, my lord, 
 
 I 
 
258 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 The wretched animal heav'd forth such groans, 
 That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat 
 Almost to bursting ; and the big round tears 
 Cours'd one another down his innocent nose 
 In piteous chase : and thus the hairy fool, 
 Much marked of the melancholy Jaques, 
 Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook, 
 Augmenting it with tears. 
 
 Duke S. But what said Jaques? 
 
 Did he not moralize the spectacle? 
 
 1 Lord. O, yes, into a thousand similies. 
 First, for his weeping into the needless stream ; 
 Poor deer, quoth he, thou matfst a testament 
 As worldlings do, wring thy sum of more 
 
 To that which had too much : then, being there 
 
 alone, 
 
 Left and abandoned of his velvet friends ; 
 ' Tis right, quoth he ; thus misery doth part 
 The flux of company : anon, a careless herd, 
 Full of the pasture, jumps along by him, 
 And never stays to greet him; Ay, quoth 
 
 Jaques, 
 
 Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens ; 
 * Tis just the fashion : wherefore do you look 
 Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there ? 
 Thus most invectively he pierceth through 
 The body of the country, city, court, 
 Yea, and of this our life : swearing that we 
 Are mere usurpers, tyrants, and what 's worse, 
 To fright the animals, and to kill them up 
 In their assign'd and native dwelling-place. 
 Duke S. And did you leave him in this con- 
 templation? [menting 
 
 2 Lord. We did, my lord, weeping and com- 
 Upon the sobbing deer. 
 
 Duke S. Show me the place : 
 
 I love to cope him in these sullen fits, 
 For then he 's full of matter. 
 
 2 Lord. I '11 bring you to him straight. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter DUKE FREDERICK, Lords, and Attend- 
 ants. 
 
 Duke F. Can it be possible that no man saw 
 
 them? 
 
 It cannot be : some villains of my court 
 Are of consent and sufferance in this. 
 
 1 Lord. I cannot hear of any that did see her. 
 The ladies, her attendants of her chamber, 
 Saw her a-bed ; and in the morning early 
 They found the bed untreasur'd of their 
 
 mistress. [so oft 
 
 2 Lord. My lord, the roynish clown, at whom 
 Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing. 
 Hesperia, the princess* gentlewoman, 
 
 Confesses that she secretly o'erheard 
 
 Your daughter and her cousin much commend 
 
 The parts and graces of the wrestler 
 
 That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles ; 
 
 And she believes, wherever they are gone, 
 
 That youth is surely in their company. 
 
 Duke F. Send to his brother; fetch that 
 
 gallant hither: -.^i 
 
 If he be absent, bring his brother to me, 
 I '11 make him find him : do this suddenly; 
 And let not search and inquisition quail 
 To bring again these foolish runaways. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. Before OLIVER'S House. 
 Enter ORLANDO and ADAM, meeting. 
 
 Or I. Who's there? 
 
 Adam. What! my young master? O, my 
 
 gentle master ! 
 
 O, my sweet master 1 O you memory 
 Of old Sir Rowland ! why, what make you here? 
 Why are you virtuous? why do people love you? 
 And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and 
 
 valiant? 
 
 Why would you be so fond to overcome 
 The bony prizer of the humorous duke? 
 Your praise is come too swiftly home before you. 
 Know you not, master, to some kind of men 
 Their graces serve them but as enemies? 
 No more do yours ; your virtues, gentle master, 
 Are sanctified and holy traitors to you. 
 O, what a world is this, when what is comely 
 Envenoms him that bears it ! 
 
 Orl. Why, what 's the matter? 
 
 Adam. O unhappy youth, 
 
 Come not within these doors ; within this roof 
 The enemy of all your graces lives : 
 Your brother, no, no brother ; yet the son 
 Yet not the son ; I will not call him son 
 Of him I was about to call his father, 
 Hath heard your praises; and this night he 
 
 means 
 
 To burn the lodging where you used to lie, 
 And you within it : if he fail of that, 
 He will have other means to cut you off; 
 I overheard him and his practices. 
 This is no place; this house is but a butchery: 
 Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it. [me go? 
 
 Orl. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have 
 
 Adam. No matter whither, so you come not 
 here. 
 
 Orl. What, wouldst thou have me go and 
 
 beg my food? 
 
 Or with a base and boisterous sword enforce 
 A thievish living on the common road? 
 This I must do, or know not what to do : 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 259 
 
 Yet this I will not do, do how I can : 
 I rather will subject me to the malice 
 Of a diverted blood and bloody brother. 
 
 Adam. But do not so. I have five hundred 
 
 crowns, 
 
 The thrifty hire I sav'd under your father, 
 Which I did store to be my foster-nurse 
 When service should in my old limbs lie lame, 
 And unregarded age in corners thrown ; 
 Take that : and He that doth the ravens feed, 
 Yea, providently caters for the sparrow, 
 Be comfort to my age ! Here is the gold ; 
 All this I give you. Let me be your servant ; 
 Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty: 
 For in my youth I never did apply 
 Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood ; 
 Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo 
 The means of weakness and debility; 
 Therefore my age is as a lusty winter, 
 Frosty, but kindly: let me go with you; 
 I '11 do the service of a younger man 
 In all your business and necessities. [pears 
 
 Orl. O good old man ; how well in thee ap- 
 The constant service of the antique world, 
 When service sweat for duty, not for meed ! 
 Thou art not for the fashion of these times, 
 Where none will sweat but for promotion ; 
 And having that, do choke their service up 
 Even with the having: it is not so with thee. 
 But, poor old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree, 
 That cannot so much as a blossom yield 
 In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry: 
 But come thy ways, we '11 go along together; 
 And ere we have thy youthful wages spent 
 We '11 light upon some settled low content. 
 
 Adam. Master, go on ; and I will follow thee 
 To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty. 
 From seventeen years till now almost fourscore 
 Here lived I, but now live here no more. 
 At seventeen years many their fortunes seek; 
 But at fourscore it is too late a week: 
 Yet fortune cannot recompense me better 
 Than to die well, and not my master's debtor. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE TV. The Forest of Arden. 
 
 Enter ROSALIND in boy's clothes, CELIA 
 dressed like a shepherdess, and TOUCHSTONE. 
 
 Ros. O Jupiter ! how weary are my spirits ! 
 
 Touch. I care not for my spirits if my legs 
 were not weary. 
 
 Ros. ^ I could find in my heart to disgrace 
 my man's apparel, and to cry like a woman : 
 but I must comfort the weaker vessel, as doub- 
 let and hose ought to show itself courageous to 
 petticoat: therefore, courage, good Aliena 
 
 CcL I pray you, bear with me ; I can go no 
 farther. 
 
 Touch. For my part, I had rather bear with 
 you than bear you : yet I should bear no cross 
 if I did bear you; for, I think, you have no 
 money in your purse. 
 
 Ros. Well, this is the forest of Arden. 
 
 Touch. Ay, now am I in Arden : the more 
 fool I ; when I was at home I was in a better 
 place ; but travellers must be content. 
 
 Ros. Ay, be so, good Touchstone. Look 
 you, who comes here? a young man and an old 
 in solemn talk. 
 
 Enter CORIN and SILVIUS. 
 
 Cor. That is the way to make her scorn you 
 still. [love her ! 
 
 Sit. O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do 
 
 Cor. I partly guess ; for I have lov'd ere now. 
 
 Sil. No, Corin, being old, thou canst not 
 
 guess; 
 
 Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover 
 As ever sigh'd upon a midnight pillow: 
 But if thy love were ever like to mine, 
 As sure I think did never man love so, 
 How many actions most ridiculous 
 Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy? 
 
 Cor. Into a thousand that I have forgotten. 
 
 Sil. O, thou didst then ne'er love so heartily: 
 If thou remember'st not the slightest folly 
 That ever love did make thee run into, 
 Thou hast not lov'd : 
 Or if thou hast not sat as I do now, 
 Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise, 
 Thou hast not lov'd : 
 Or if thou hast not broke from company 
 Abruptly, as my passion now makes me, 
 Thou hast not lov'd: O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe! 
 [Exit SILVIUS. 
 
 Ros. Alas, poor shepherd ! searching of thy 
 
 wound, 
 I have by hard adventure found mine own. 
 
 Touch. And I mine. I remember, when I 
 was in love I broke my sword upon a stone, 
 and bid him take that for coming a-night to 
 Jane Smile : and I remember the kissing of her 
 ballet, and the cow's dugs that her pretty 
 chapp'd hands had milk'd: and I remember 
 the wooing of a peascod instead of her ; from 
 whom I took two cods, and, giving her them 
 again, said with weeping tears, Wear these for 
 my sake. We that are true lovers run into 
 strange capers ; but as all is mortal in nature, 
 so is all nature in love mortal in folly. [of. 
 
 Ros. Thou speak'st wiser than thou art 'ware 
 
 Touch. Nay, I shall ne'er be 'ware of mine 
 own wit till I break my shins against it 
 
260 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 Ros. Jove, Jove ! this shepherd's passion 
 Is much upon my fashion. [stale with me. 
 
 Touch. And mine : but it grows something 
 
 Cel. I pray you, one of you question yond man 
 If he for gold will give us any food: 
 I faint almost to death. 
 
 Touch. Holla, you clown ! 
 
 Ros. Peace, fool ; he 's not thy kinsman. 
 
 Cor. Who calls? 
 
 Toiich. Your betters, sir. 
 
 Cor. Else are they very wretched. 
 
 Ros. Peace, I say. 
 
 Good even to you, friend. 
 
 Cor. And to you, gentle sir, and to you all. 
 
 Ros. I pr'ythee, shepherd, if that love or gold 
 Can in this desert place buy entertainment, 
 Bring us where we may rest ourselves and feed : 
 Here 's a young maid with travel much op- 
 
 press'd, 
 And faints for succour. 
 
 Cor, Fair, sir, I pity her, 
 
 And wish, for her sake more than for mine own, 
 My fortunes were more able to relieve her : 
 But I am shepherd to another man, 
 And do not shear the fleeces that I graze: 
 My master is of churlish disposition, 
 And little recks to find the way to heaven 
 By doing deeds of hospitality: 
 Besides, his cote, his flocks, and bounds of feed 
 Are now on sale ; and at our sheepcote now, 
 By reason of his absence, there is nothing 
 That you will feed on ; but what is, come see, 
 And in my voice most welcome shall you be. 
 
 Ros. What is he that shall buy his flock and 
 pasture? [but erewhile, 
 
 Cor. That young swain that you saw here 
 That little cares for buying anything. 
 
 Ros. I pray thee, if it stand with honesty, 
 Buy thou the cottage, pasture, and the flock, 
 And thou shalt have to pay for it of us. 
 
 Cel. And we will mend thy wages. I like 
 
 this place, 
 And willingly could waste my time in it. 
 
 Cor. Assuredly the thing is to be sold : 
 Go with me : if you like, upon report, 
 The soil, the profit, and this kind of life, 
 I will your very faithful feeder be, 
 And buy it with your gold right suddenly. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 rrorb 
 
 SCENE V. Another part of the Forest. 
 
 Enter AMIENS, JAQUES, and others. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Ami. Under the greenwood tree, 
 
 Who loves to lie with me, 
 And tune his merry note 
 Unto the sweet bird's throat, 
 
 Come hither, come hither, come hither ; 
 Here shall he see 
 No enemy, 
 But winter and rough weather. 
 
 Jaq. More, more, I pr'ythee, more. 
 
 Ami. It will make you melancholy, Mon- 
 sieur Jaques. 
 
 Jaq. I thank it. More, I pr'ythee, more. 
 I can suck melancholy out of a song, as a 
 weasel sucks eggs. More, I pr'ythee, more. 
 
 Ami. My voice is ragged ; I know I cannot 
 please you. 
 
 Jaq. I do not desire you to please me, I do 
 desire you to sing. Come, more: another 
 stanza: call you them stanzas? 
 
 Ami. What you will, Monsieur Jaques. 
 
 Jaq. Nay, I care not for their names ; they 
 owe me nothing. Will you sing? [myself. 
 
 Ami. More at your request than to please 
 
 Jaq. Well then, if ever I thank any man, I '11 
 thank you: but that they call compliment is 
 like the encounter of two dog-apes ; and when 
 a man thanks me heartily, methinks I have 
 given him a penny, and he renders me the 
 beggarly thanks. Come, sing; and you that 
 will not, hold your tongues. 
 
 Ami. Well, I'll end the song. Sirs, cover 
 the while: the duke will drink under this tree: 
 he hath been all this day to look you. 
 
 Jaq. And I have been all this day to avoid 
 him. He is too disputable for my company: 
 I think of as many matters as he ; but I give 
 heaven thanks, and make no boast of them. 
 Come, warble, come. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Who doth ambition shun, [A II together here. 
 
 And loves to live i' the sun, 
 
 Seeking the food he eats, 
 
 And pleas'd with what he gets, 
 Come hither, come hither, come hither ; 
 
 Here shall he see 
 
 No enemy. 
 But winter and rough weather. 
 
 Jaq. I '11 give you a verse to this note, that 
 I made yesterday in despite of my invention. 
 Ami. And I '11 sing it 
 Jaq. Thus it goes : 
 
 If it do come to pass 
 
 That any man turn ass, 
 
 Leaving his wealth and ease 
 
 A stubborn will to please, 
 Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame; 
 
 Here shall he see 
 
 Gross fools as he, 
 An if he will come to Ami. 
 
 Ami. What's that ducdame? 
 
 Jaq. 'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools 
 
SCENE VI.j 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 261 
 
 into a circle. I '11 go sleep, if I can ; if I can- 
 not. I '11 rail against all the first-born of Egypt. 
 Ami. And I '11 go seek the duke ; his ban- 
 quet is prepared. [Exeunt severally. 
 
 SCENE VI. Another part of the Forest. 
 Enter ORLANDO and ADAM. 
 
 Adam. Dear master, I can go no farther : O, 
 I die for food ! Here lie I down, and measure 
 out my grave. Farewell, kind master. 
 
 Orl. Why, how now, Adam! no greater 
 heart in thee? Live a little; comfort a little; 
 cheer thyself a little. If this uncouth forest 
 yield anything savage, I will either be food for 
 it or bring it for food to thee. Thy conceit is 
 nearer death than thy powers. For my sake 
 be comfortable : hold death awhile at the arm's 
 end : I v/ill here be with thee presently ; and 
 if I bring thee not something to eat, I '11 give 
 thee leave to die: but if thou diest before I 
 come, thou art a mocker of my labour. Well 
 said ! thou look'st cheerily: and I '11 be with 
 thee quickly. Yet thou liest in the bleak air: 
 come, I will bear thee to some shelter; and 
 thou shalt not die for lack of a dinner if there 
 live anything in this desert. Cheerily, good 
 Adam ! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VII. Another part of the Forest. 
 
 A 7 able set. 
 
 Enter DUKE Senior, AMIENS, and others. 
 Duke S. I think he betransform'd into a beast; 
 For I can nowhere find him like a man. 
 
 I Lord. My lord, he is but even now gone 
 
 hence; 
 Here was he merry, hearing of a song. 
 
 Duke S. If he, compact of jars, grow musical, 
 We shall have shortly discord in the spheres. 
 Go, seek him ; tell him I would speak with him. 
 I Lord. He saves my labour by his own ap- 
 proach. 
 
 Enter JAQUES. 
 
 Duke S. Why, how now, monsieur ! what a 
 
 life is this, 
 
 That your poor friends must woo your company? 
 What ! you look merrily. 
 
 Jaq. A fool, a fool ! 1 met a fool i' the forest, 
 
 A motley fool ; a miserable world ! 
 As I do live by food, I met a fool, 
 Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun, 
 And rail'd on Lady Fortune in good terms, 
 In good set terms, and yet a motley fool. 
 Good-morrow, fool, quoth I : No, sir, quoth he, 
 Call me not fool till heaven hath sent meforttine. 
 And then he drew a dial from his poke, 
 
 And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye, 
 Says very wisely, It is ten o'clock: 
 7'/'ius may we see, quoth he, how the world wags. 
 ' Tis but an hour ago since it was nine ; 
 And after one hour more 'twill be eleven ; 
 And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe, 
 And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot ; 
 And thereby hangs a tale. When I did hear 
 The motley fool thus moral on the time, 
 My lungs began to crow like chanticleer, 
 That fools should be so deep contemplative ; 
 And I did laugh, sans intermission, 
 An hour by his dial. O noble fool ! 
 A worthy fool ! Motley 's the only wear. 
 
 Duke S. What fool is this? [courtier, 
 
 Jaq. O worthy fool ! One that hath been a 
 And says, if ladies be but young and fair, 
 They have the gift to know it: and in his brain, 
 Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit 
 After a voyage, he hath strange places cramm'd 
 With observation, the which he vents 
 In mangled forms. O that I were a fool 1 
 I am ambitious for a motley coat. 
 Duke S. Thou shalt have one. 
 Jaq. It is my only suit, 
 
 Provided that you weed your better judgments 
 Of all opinion that grows rank in them 
 That I am wise. I must have liberty 
 Withal, as large a charter as the wind, 
 To blow on whom I please; for so fools ha vet 
 And they that are most galled with my folly, 
 They most must laugh. And why, sir, must 
 
 they so? 
 
 The why is plain as way to parish church : 
 He that a fool doth very wisely hit 
 Doth very foolishly, although he smart, 
 Not to seem senseless of the bob; if not, 
 The wise man's folly is anatomiz'd 
 Even by the squandering glances of the fool. 
 Invest me in my motley ; give me leave 
 To speak my mind, and I will through and through 
 Cleanse the foul body of the infected world, 
 If they will patiently receive my medicine. 
 Duke S. Fie on thee ! I can tell what thou 
 
 wouldst do. 
 
 Jaq. What, for a counter, would I do but good? 
 Duke S. Most mischievous foul sin, in chid- 
 ing sin : 
 
 For thou thyself hast been a libertine, 
 As sensual as the brutish sting itself ; 
 And all the embossed sores and headed evils 
 That thou with license of free foot hast caught, 
 Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world. 
 
 Jaq. Why, who cries out on pride, 
 That can therein tax any private party? 
 Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea, 
 Till that the weary very means do ebb? 
 
262 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 What woman in the city do I name 
 
 When that I say, The city-woman bears 
 
 The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders? 
 
 Who can come in and say that I mean her, 
 
 When such a one as she, such is her neighbour? 
 
 Or what is he of basest function, 
 
 That says his bravery is not on my cost, 
 
 Thinking that I mean him, but therein suits 
 
 His folly to the metal of my speech? 
 
 There then; how then? what then? Let me see 
 
 wherein 
 
 My tongue hath wrong'd him : if it do him right, 
 Then he hath wrong'd himself; if he be free, 
 Why then, my taxing like a wild goose flies, 
 Unclaim'd of any man. But who comes here? 
 
 Enter ORLANDO, with his sword arawn. 
 
 OrL Forbear, and eat no more. 
 
 Jaq. Why, I have eat none yet. 
 
 OrL Nor shalt not, till necessity be serv'd. 
 
 Jaq. Of what kind should this cock come of? 
 
 Duke S. Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy 
 
 distress : 
 
 Or else a rude despiser of good manners, 
 That in civility thou seem'st so empty? [point 
 
 OrL You touch'd my vein at first: the thorny 
 Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show 
 Of smooth civility: yet am I inland bred, 
 And know some nurture. But forbear, I say; 
 He dies that touches any of this fruit 
 Till I and my affairs are answered. 
 
 Jaq. An you will not be answered with reason, 
 I must die. 
 
 Duke S. What would you have? your gentle- 
 ness shall force 
 More than your force move us to gentleness. 
 
 OrL I almost die for food, and let me have it. 
 
 Duke S. Sit down and feed, and welcome to 
 our table. [you: 
 
 OrL Speak you so gftntly? Pardon me, I pray 
 I thought that all things had been savage here; 
 And therefore put I on the countenance 
 Of stern commandment. But whate'er you are 
 That in this desert inaccessible, 
 Under the shade of melancholy boughs, 
 Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time; 
 If ever you have look'd on better days, 
 If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church, 
 If ever sat at any good man's feast, 
 If ever from your eyelids wip'd a tear, 
 And know what 'tis to pity and be pitied, 
 Let gentleness my strong enforcement be : 
 In the which hope I blush, and hide my sword. 
 
 Duke S. True is it that we have seen better 
 
 days, 
 
 And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church, 
 And sat at good men's feasts, and wip'd our eyes 
 
 Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd : 
 And therefore sit you down in gentleness, 
 And take upon command what help we have, 
 That to your wanting may be niinister'd. 
 
 OrL Then but forbear your food a little while, 
 Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn, 
 And give it food. There is an old poor man, 
 Who after me hath many a weary step 
 Limp'd in pure love : till he be first suffic'd, 
 Oppress' d with two weak evils, age and hunger, 
 I will not touch a bit. 
 
 Duke S. Go find him out, 
 
 And we will nothing waste till you return. 
 
 OrL I thank ye ; and be bless'd for your good 
 comfort ! [Exit. 
 
 Duke S. Thou seest we are not all alone un- 
 happy; 
 
 This wide and universal theatre 
 Presents more woeful pageants than the scene 
 Wherein we play in. 
 
 Jaq. All the world 's a stage, 
 
 And all the men and women merely players ; 
 They have their exits and their entrances ; 
 And one man in his time plays many parts, 
 His acts being seven ages. At first the infant, 
 Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms ; 
 Then the whining school-boy, with his satchel 
 And shining morning face, creeping like snail 
 Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, 
 Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad 
 Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier, 
 Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, 
 Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, 
 Seeking the bubble reputation 
 Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the 
 
 justice, 
 
 In fair round belly with good capon lin'd, 
 With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, 
 Full of wise saws and modern instances ; 
 And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts 
 Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon, 
 With spectacles on nose and pouch on side ; 
 His youthful hose, well sav'd, a world too wide 
 For his shrunk shank ; and his big manly voice, 
 Turning again toward childish treble, pipes 
 And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, 
 That ends this strange eventful history, 
 Is second childishness and mere oblivion ; 
 Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything. 
 
 Re-enter ORLANDO with ADAM. 
 
 Dttke S. Welcome. Set down your venerable 
 
 burden, 
 And let him feed. 
 
 OrL I thank you most for him. 
 
 Adam. So had you need : 
 I scarce can speak to thank you for myself. 
 
SCENE VII.] 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 263 
 
 DukeS. Welcome; fall to: I will not trouble 
 
 you 
 
 As yet, to question you about your fortunes. 
 Give us some music; and, good cousin, sing. 
 
 AMIENS sings. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 i. 
 
 Blow, blow, thou winter wind, 
 Thou art not so unkind 
 As man s ingratitude ; 
 Thy tooth is not so keen, 
 Because thou art not seen, 
 
 Although thy breath be rude. 
 Heigh-ho ! sing, heigh-ho ! unto the green holly : 
 Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly : 
 Then, heigh-ho, the holly ' 
 This life is most jolly. 
 
 Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, 
 That dost not bite so nigh 
 
 As benefits forgot \ 
 Though thou the waters warp, 
 Thy sting is not so sharp 
 
 As friend remember'd not. 
 Heigh-ho 1 sing, heigh-ho ! &c. 
 
 Duke S. If that you were the good Sir Row- 
 land's son, 
 
 As you have whisper'd faithfully you were, 
 And as mine eye doth his effigies witness 
 Most truly limn'd and living in your face, 
 Be truly welcome hither : I am the duke 
 That lov'd your father. The residue of your 
 
 fortune, 
 
 Go to my cave and tell me. Good old man, 
 Thou art right welcome as thy master is ; 
 Support him by the arm. Give me your hand, 
 And let me all your fortunes understand. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 SCENE I. A Room in the Palace, 
 
 Enter DUKE FREDERICK, OLIVER, Lords, 
 and Attendants. 
 
 Duke F. Not see him since? Sir, sir, that 
 
 cannot be : 
 
 But were I not the better part made mercy, 
 I should not seek an absent argument 
 Of my revenge, thou present. But look to it : 
 Find out thy brother wheresoe'er he is : 
 Seek him with candle ; bring him dead or living 
 Within this twelvemonth, or turn thou no more 
 To seek a living in our territory. 
 Thy lands, and all things that thou dost call thine 
 Worth seizure, do we seize into our hands, 
 Till thou canst quit thee by thy brother's mouth 
 Of what we think against thee. 
 
 Oli. O that your highness knew my heart in 
 
 this! 
 
 I never lov'd my brother in my life. 
 Duke F. More villain thou. Well, push him 
 
 out of doors, 
 
 And let my officers of such a nature 
 Make an extent upon his house and lands: 
 Do this expediently, and turn him going. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. The Forest of Arden. 
 Enter ORLANDO, with a paper. 
 
 Orl. Hang there, my verse, in witness of my 
 love ; [vey 
 
 And thou, thrice-crowned queen of night, sur- 
 With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above, 
 
 Thy huntress' name, that my full life doth sway. 
 O Rosalind ! these trees shall be my books, 
 
 And in their barks my thoughts I '11 character, 
 That every eye which in this forest looks 
 
 Shall see thy virtue witness'd everywhere. 
 Run, run, Orlando : carve on every tree, 
 The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive she. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Enter CORIN and TOUCHSTONE. 
 
 Cor. And how like you this shepherd's Iife 9 
 Master Touchstone? 
 
 Touch. Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, 
 it is a good life ; but in respect that it is a shep- 
 herd's life, it is naught. In respect that it is 
 solitary, I like it very well ; but in respect that 
 it is private, it is a very vile life. Now in re- 
 spect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well 
 but in respect it is not in the court, it is tedious. 
 As it is a spare life, look you, it fits my humour 
 well ; but as there is no more plenty in it, it 
 goes much against my stomach. Hast any 
 philosophy in thee, shepherd? 
 
 Cor. No more but that I know the more one 
 sickens the worse at ease he is; and that he 
 that wants money, means, and content, is with- 
 out three good friends; that the property of 
 rain is to wet, and fire to burn ; that good pas 
 ture makes fat sheep ; and that a great cause 
 of the night is lack of the sun ; that he that 
 hath learned no wit by nature nor art may com- 
 plain of good breeding, or comes of a very dull 
 kindred. 
 
 Touch. Such a one is a natural philosopher. 
 Wast ever in court, shepherd? 
 
 Cor. No, truly. 
 
 Touch. Then thou art damned. 
 
 Cor. Nay, I hope, 
 
 Twch. Truly, thou art damned ; like an ill- 
 roasted egg, all on one side. 
 
AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Cor. For not being at court? Your reason. 
 
 Touch. Why, if thou never wast at court 
 thou never saw'st good manners ; if thcu never 
 saw'st good manners, then thy manners must 
 be wicked j and wickedness is sin, and sin is 
 damnation. Thou art in a parlous state, shep- 
 herd. 
 
 Cor. Not a whit, Touchstone : those that 
 are good manners at the court are as ridiculous 
 in the country as the behaviour of the country 
 is most mockable at the court. You told me 
 you salute not at the court, but you kiss your 
 hands; that courtesy would be uncleanly if 
 courtiers were shepherds. 
 
 Touch. Instance, briefly; come, instance. 
 
 Cor. Why, we are still handling our ewes ; 
 and their fells, you know, are greasy. 
 
 Touch. Why, do not your courtier's hands 
 sweat? and is not the grease of a mutton as 
 wholesome as the sweat of a man? Shallow, 
 shallow: a better instance, I say; come. 
 
 Cor. Besides, our hands are hard. 
 
 Touch. Your lips will feel them the sooner. 
 Shallow again: a more sounder instance j 
 come. 
 
 Cor. And they are often tarred over with 
 the surgery of our sheep; and would you have 
 us kiss tar? The courtier's hands are perfumed 
 with civet. 
 
 Touch. Most shallow man ! thou worms- 
 meat, in respect of a good piece of flesh, in- 
 deed ! Learn of the wise, and perpend : civet 
 is of a baser birth than tar, the very uncleanly 
 flux of a cat. Mend the instance, shepherd. 
 
 Cor. You have too courtly a wit for me: 
 I '11 rest. 
 
 Touch. Wilt thou rest damned ? God help 
 thee, shallow man! God make incision in 
 thee! thou art raw. 
 
 Cor. Sir, I am a true labourer: I earn that 
 I eat, get that I wear ; owe no man hate, envy 
 no man's happiness; glad of other men's good, 
 content with my harm ; and the greatest of my 
 pride is, to see my ewes graze and my lambs 
 suck. 
 
 Touch. That is another simple sin in you; to 
 bring the ewes and the rams together, and to 
 offer to get your living by the copulation of 
 cattle : to be bawd to a bell-wether ; and to 
 betray a she-lamb of a twelvemonth to a 
 crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly ram, out of all 
 reasonable match. If thou be'st not damned 
 for this, the devil himself will have no shep- 
 herds; I cannot see else how thou shouldst 
 'scape. 
 
 Cor. Here comes young Master Ganymede, 
 my new mistress'?; brother. 
 
 Enter ROSALIND, reading a paper. 
 
 JRos. From the east to western Ind, 
 No jewel is like Rosalind. 
 Her worth, being mounted on the wind, 
 Through all the world bears Rosalind. 
 All the pictures fairest lin'd 
 Are but black to Rosalind. 
 Let no face be kept in mind 
 But the fair of Rosalind. 
 
 Touch. I '11 rhyme you so eight years to- 
 gether, dinners, and suppers, and sleeping 
 hours excepted : It is the right butter-woman's 
 rank to market. 
 
 Ros. Out, fool ! 
 
 Touch. For a taste : 
 
 If a hart do lack a hind, 
 
 Let him seek out Rosalind. 
 
 If the cat will after kind, 
 
 So, be sure, will Rosalind. 
 
 Winter garments must be lin'd, 
 
 So must slender Rosalind. 
 
 They that reap must sheaf and bind,-= 
 
 Then to cart with Rosalind. 
 
 Sweetest nut hath sourest rind, 
 
 Such a nut is Rosalind. 
 
 He that sweetest rose will find 
 
 Must find love's prick, and Rosalind. 
 
 This is the very false gallop of verses: why do 
 you infect yourself with them? 
 
 Ros. Peace, you dull fool ! I found them on 
 a tree. 
 
 Touch. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit. 
 
 Ros. I '11 graff it with you, and then I shall 
 graff it with a medlar: then it will be the 
 earliest fruit in the country: for you'll be 
 rotten ere you be half ripe, and that 's the right 
 virtue of the medlar. 
 
 Touch. You have said; but whether wisely 
 or no, let the forest judge. 
 
 Enter CELI A, reading a paper. 
 
 Ros. Peace! 
 Here comes my sister, reading : stand aside ! 
 
 Cel. Why should this a desert be? 
 
 For it is unpeopled ? No ; 
 Tongues I '11 hang on every tree, 
 
 That shall civil sayings show : 
 Some, how brief the life of man 
 
 Runs his erring pilgrimage, 
 That the stretching of a span 
 
 Buckles in his sum of age. 
 Some, of violated vows 
 
 'Twixt the souls of friend and friend; 
 But upon the fairest boughs, 
 
 Or at every sentence* end, 
 Will I Rosalinda write, 
 
 Teaching all that read to know 
 The quintessence of every sprite 
 
 Heaven would in little show. 
 Therefore heaven nature charg'd 
 
 That one body should be fill'd 
 With all graces wide enlarg'd: 
 
 Nature presently distill'd 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 265 
 
 Helen's cheek, but not her heart; 
 
 Cleopatra's majesty; 
 Atalanta's better part; 
 
 Sad Lucretia's modesty. 
 Thus Rosalind of many parts 
 
 By heavenly synod was devis'd, 
 Of many faces, eyes, and hearts, 
 
 To have the touches dearest priz'd. 
 Heaven would that she these gifts should have, 
 And I to live and die her slave. 
 
 Ros. O most gentle Jupiter ! what tedious 
 homily of love have you wearied your parish- 
 ioners withal, and never cried, Have patience, 
 
 CeL How now ! back, friends ; shepherd, 
 go off a little : go with him, sirrah. 
 
 Touch. Come, shepherd, let us make an 
 honourable retreat ; though not with bag and 
 baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage. 
 
 [Exeunt CORIN and TOUCH. 
 
 CeL Didst thou hear these verses? 
 
 Ros. O yes, I heard them all, and more 
 too ; for some of them had in them more feet 
 than the verses would bear. 
 
 CeL That 's no matter ; the feet might bear 
 the verses. 
 
 Ros. Ay, but the feet were lame, and could 
 not bear themselves without the verse, and 
 therefore stood lamely in the verse. 
 
 CeL But didst thou hear without wondering 
 how thy name should be hanged and carved 
 upon these trees? 
 
 Ros. I was seven of the nine days out of the 
 wonder before you came ; for look here what I 
 found on a palm tree: I was never so be- 
 rhymed since Pythagoras' time, that I was an 
 Irish rat, which I can hardly remember. 
 
 CeL Trow you who hath done this? 
 
 Ros. Is it a man? 
 
 Cel. And a chain, that you once wore, about 
 his neck. Change you colour? 
 
 Ros. I pray thee, who? 
 
 Cel. O lord, lord ! it is a hard matter for 
 friends to meet : but mountains may be re- 
 moved with earthquakes, and so encounter. 
 
 Ros. Nay, but who is it? 
 
 CeL Is it possible? 
 
 Ros. Nay, I pr'ythee now, with most peti- 
 tionary vehemence, tell me who it is. 
 
 Cel. O wonderful, wonderful, and most 
 wonderful wonderful ! and yet again wonderful, 
 and after that, out of all whooping! 
 
 Ros. Good my complexion! dost thou think, 
 though I am caparisoned like a man, I have 
 a doublet and hose in my disposition? One 
 inch of delay more is a South-sea of discovery. 
 I pr'ythee, tell me, who is it? quickly, and 
 speak apace. I would thou couldst stammer, 
 that thou mightst pour this concealed man out 
 
 of thy mouth, as wine comes out of a narrow- 
 mouthed bottle; either too much at once or 
 none at all. I pr'ythee take the cork out of 
 thy mouth, that I may drink thy tidings. 
 
 CeL So you may put a man in your belly. 
 
 Ros. Is he of God's making? What manner 
 of man? Is his head worth a hat or his chin 
 worth a beard? 
 
 Cel. Nay, he hath but a little beard. 
 
 Ros. Why, God will send more if the man 
 will be thankful : let me stay the growth of 
 his beard if thou delay me not the knowledge 
 of his chin. 
 
 CeL It is young Orlando, that tripped up the 
 wrestler's heels and your heart both in an in- 
 stant. 
 
 Ros. Nay, but the devil take mocking : speak 
 sad brow and true maid. 
 
 CeL F faith, coz, 'tis he. 
 
 Ros. Orlando? 
 
 CeL Orlando. 
 
 Ros. Alas the day ! what shall I do with my 
 doublet and hose? What did he when thou 
 saw'st him? What said he? How look'd he? 
 Wherein went he? What makes he here? 
 Did he ask for me ? Where remains he ? How 
 parted he with thee ? and when shalt thou see 
 him again? Answer me in one word. 
 
 CeL You must borrow me Gargantua's 
 mouth first: 'tis a word too great for any 
 mouth of this age's size. To say ay and no to 
 these particulars is more than to answer in a 
 catechism. 
 
 Ros. But doth he know that I am in this 
 forest, and in man's apparel? Looks he as' 
 freshly as he did the day he wrestled? 
 
 CeL It is as easy to count atomies as to re- 
 solve the propositions of a lover: but take a 
 taste of my finding him, and relish it with good 
 observance. I found him under a tree, like a 
 dropped acorn. 
 
 Res. It may well be called Jove's tree, 
 when it drops forth such fruit. 
 
 CeL Give me audience, good madam. 
 
 Ros. Proceed. 
 
 CeL There lay he, stretched along like a 
 wounded knight. 
 
 Ros. Though it be pity to see such a sight, 
 it well becomes the ground. 
 
 CeL Cry, holla! to thy tongue, I pr'ythee; 
 it curvets unseasonably. He was furnished 
 like a hunter. 
 
 Ros. O, ominous ! he comes to kill my heart. 
 
 CeL I would sing my song without a bur- 
 den : thou bring'st me out of tune. 
 
 Ros. Do you not know I am a woman? when 
 I think, I must speak. Sweet, say on. 
 
266 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Cel. You bring me out. Soft! comes he not 
 here? 
 
 Ros. 'Tis he: slink by, and note him. 
 
 [CELIA and ROSALIND retire. 
 
 Enter ORLANDO and JAQUES. 
 
 Jaq. I thank you for your company; but, 
 good faith, I had as lief have been myself 
 alone. 
 
 OrL And so had I; but yet, for fashion's sake, 
 I thank you too for your society. [as we can. 
 
 faq. God be with you: let's meet as little 
 
 OrL I do desire we may be better strangers. 
 
 Jaq. I pray you, mar no more trees with 
 writing love-songs in their barks. 
 
 OrL I pray you, mar no more of my verses 
 with reading them ill-favouredly. 
 
 Jaq. Rosalind is your love's name? 
 
 OrL Yes, just. 
 
 Jaq. I do not like her name. 
 
 OrL There was no thought of pleasing you 
 when she was christened. 
 
 Jaq. What stature is she of? 
 
 OrL Just as high as my heart. 
 
 Jaq. You are full of pretty answers. Have 
 you not been acquainted with goldsmiths' 
 wives, and conned them out of rings? 
 
 OrL Not so ; but I answer you right painted 
 cloth, from whence you have studied your 
 questions. 
 
 Jaq. You have a nimble wit : I think it was 
 made of Atalanta's heels. Will you sit down 
 with me? and we two will rail against our 
 mistress the world, and all our misery. 
 
 OrL I will chide no breather in the world 
 but myself, against whom I know most faults. 
 
 Jaq. The worst fault you have is to be in 
 love. 
 
 OrL 'Tis a fault I will not change for your 
 best virtue. I am weary of you. 
 
 Jaq. By my troth, I was seeking for a fool 
 when I found you. 
 
 OrL He is drowned in the brook ; look but 
 in, and you shall see him. 
 
 Jaq. There I shall see mine own figure. 
 
 OrL Which I take to be either a fool or a 
 cipher. 
 
 Jaq. I '11 tarry no longer with you : farewell, 
 good Signior Love. 
 
 OrL I am glad of your departure : adieu, good 
 Monsieur Melancholy. 
 
 [ZfcwVjAQ. CEL. and Ros. come forward. 
 
 Ros. I will speak to him like a saucy lacquey, 
 and under that habit play the knave with him. 
 Do you hear, forester ? 
 
 OrL Very well : what would you ? 
 
 Ros. I pray you, what is't o'clock? 
 
 OrL You should ask me what time o' day ; 
 there 's no clock in the forest. 
 
 Ros. Then there 's no true lover in the forest, 
 else sighing every minute and groaning every 
 hour would detect the lazy foot of time as well 
 as a clock. 
 
 OrL And why not the swift foot of time ? had 
 not that been as proper? 
 
 Ros. By no means, sir. Time travels in 
 divers paces with divers persons. I will tell 
 you who time ambles withal, who time trots 
 withal, who time gallops withal, and who he 
 stands still withal. 
 
 OrL I pr'ythee, who doth he trot withal? 
 
 Ros. Marry, he trots hard with a young maid 
 between the contract of her marriage and the 
 day it is solemnized ; if the interim be but a 
 se'nnight, time's pace is so hard that it seems 
 the length of seven years. 
 
 OrL Who ambles time withal? 
 
 Ros. With a priest that lacks Latin and a 
 rich man that hath not the gout : for the one 
 sleeps easily, because he cannot study; and the 
 other lives merrily, because he feels no pain ; 
 the one lacking the burden of lean and wasteful 
 learning ; the other knowing no burden of heavy 
 tedious penury. These time ambles withal. 
 
 OrL Who doth he gallop withal? 
 
 Ros. With a thief to the gallows ; for though 
 he go as softly as foot can fall, he thinks himselt 
 too soon there. 
 
 OrL Who stays it still withal? 
 
 Ros. With lawyers in the vacation ; for they 
 sleep between term and term, and then they 
 perceive not how time moves. 
 
 OrL Where dwell you, pretty youth? 
 
 Ros. With this shepherdess, my sister ; here 
 in the skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a 
 petticoat. 
 
 OrL Are you native of this place? 
 
 Ros. As the coney, that you see dwell where 
 she is kindled. 
 
 OrL Your accent is something finer than you 
 could purchase in so removed a dwelling. 
 
 Ros. I have been told so of many : but in- 
 deed an old religious uncle of mine taught me 
 to speak, who was in his youth an inland man ; 
 one that knew courtship too well, for there he 
 fell in love. I have heard him read many 
 lectures against it; and I thank God I am not 
 a woman, to be touched with so many giddy 
 offences as he hath generally taxed their whole 
 sex withal. 
 
 OrL Can you remember any of the principal 
 evils that he laid to the charge of women ? 
 
 Rot. There were none principal ; they were 
 all like one another as halfpence are; every one 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 267 
 
 fault seeming monstrous till his fellow fault came 
 to match it. 
 
 Orl. I pr'ythee, recount some of them. 
 
 Ros. No ; I will not cast away my physic but 
 on those that are sick. There is a man haunts 
 the forest that abuses our young plants with 
 carving Rosalind on their barks; hangs odes 
 upon hawthorns, and elegies on brambles ; all, 
 forsooth, deifying the name of Rosalind : if I 
 could meet that fancymonger I would give him 
 some good counsel, for he seems to have the 
 quotidian of love upon him. 
 
 Orl. I am he that is so love-shaked: I pray 
 you, tell me your remedy. 
 
 Ros. There is none of my uncle's marks upon 
 you : he taught me how to know a man in love; 
 in which cage of rushes I am sure you are not 
 prisoner. 
 
 Orl. What were his marks ? 
 
 Ros. A lean cheek; which you have not: a 
 blue eye and sunken; which you have not: an 
 unquestionable spirit; which you have not: a 
 beard neglected; which you have not: but I 
 pardon you for that ; for simply your having in 
 beard is a younger brother'srevenue: then your 
 hose should be ungartered, your bonnet un- 
 banded, your sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe un- 
 tied, and everything about you demonstrating 
 a careless desolation. But you are no such man; 
 you are rather point-device in your accoutre- 
 ments; as loving yourself than seeming the lover 
 of any other. 
 
 Orl. Fair youth, I would I could make thee 
 believe I love. 
 
 Ros. Me believe it ! you may as soon make 
 her that you love believe it ; which, I warrant, 
 she is apter to do than to confess she does: that 
 is one of the points in the which women still 
 give the lie to their consciences. But, in good 
 sooth, are you he that hangs the verses on the 
 trees, wherein Rosalind is so admired ? 
 
 Orl. I swear to thee, youth, by the white 
 hand of Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortun- 
 ate he. 
 
 Ros. But are you so much in love as your 
 rhymes speak ? 
 
 Orl. Neither rhyme nor reason can express 
 how much. 
 
 Ros. Love is merely a madness ; and, I tell 
 you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip 
 as madmen do : and the reason why they are 
 not so punished and cured is, that the lunacy is 
 so ordinary that the whippers are in love too. 
 Yet I profess curing it by counsel. 
 
 Orl. Did you ever cure any so ? 
 
 Ros. Yes, one ; and in this manner. He was 
 to imagine me his love, his mistress ; and I set 
 
 him every day to woo me : at which time would 
 I, being but a moonish youth, grieve, be effem- 
 inate, changeable, longing, end liking ; proud, 
 fantastical, apish, shallow, inconstant, full of 
 tears, full of smiles; for every passion something, 
 and for no passion truly anything, as boys and 
 women are for the most part cattle of this 
 colour : would now like him, now loath him ; 
 then entertain him, then forswear him ; now 
 weep for him, then spit at him ; that I drave 
 my suitor from his mad humour of love to a 
 loving humour of madness ; which was, to for- 
 swear the full stream of the world, and to live 
 in a nook nearly monastic. And thus I cured 
 him ; and this way will I take upon me to wash 
 your liver as clean as a sound sheep's heart, that 
 there shall not be one spot of love in 't. 
 
 Orl. I would not be cured, youth. 
 
 Ros. I would cure you if you would but call 
 me Rosalind, and come every day to my cote 
 and woo me. 
 
 Orl. Now, by the faith of my love, I will : 
 tell me where it is. 
 
 Ros. Go with me to it, and I '11 show it you : 
 and, by the way, you shall tell me where in the 
 forest you live. Will you go ? 
 
 Orl. With all my heart, good youth. 
 
 Ros. Nay, you must call me Rosalind. 
 Come, sister, will you go ? [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. Another part of the Forest. 
 
 Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY ; JAQUES at 
 a distance observing them. 
 
 Touch. Come apace, good Audrey; I will 
 fetch up your goats, Audrey. And how, Audrey? 
 am I the man yet? Doth my simple feature 
 content you ? 
 
 Aud. Your features ! Lord warrant us ! what 
 features? 
 
 Touch. I am here with thee and thy goats, 
 as the most capricious poet, honest Ovid, was 
 among the Goths. 
 
 Jaq. O knowledge ill-inhabited ! worse than 
 Jove in a thatch'd house. [Aside. 
 
 Touch. When a man's verses cannot be under- 
 stood, nor a man's good wit seconded with the 
 forward child understanding, it strikes a man 
 more dead than a great reckoning in a little 
 room. Truly, I would the gods had made thee 
 poetical. 
 
 Aud. I do not know what poetical is : is it 
 honest in deed and word? is it a true thing? 
 
 Touch. No, truly : for the truest poetry is the 
 most feigning ; and lovers are given to poetry ; 
 and what they swear in poetry may be said, as 
 lovers, they do feign. 
 
268 
 
 AS VOU LIKE IT. 
 
 [ACT 
 
 Attd. Do you wish, then, that the gods had 
 made me poetical? 
 
 Touch. I do, truly, for thou swear'st to me 
 thou art honest; now, if thou wert a poet I 
 might have some hope thou didst feign. 
 
 Aud. Would you not have me honest? 
 
 Touch. No, truly, unless thou wert hard- 
 favoured ; for honesty coupled to beauty is to 
 have honey a sauce to sugar. 
 
 Jaq. A material fool ! [Aside. 
 
 Aud. Well, I am not fair; and therefore I 
 pray the gods make me honest ! 
 
 Touch. Truly, and to cast away honesty upon 
 a foul slut were to put good meat into an unclean 
 dish. 
 
 And. I am not a slut, though I thank the 
 gods I am foul. 
 
 Touch. Well , praised be the gods for thy foul- 
 ness ! sluttishness may come hereafter. But be 
 it as it may be, I will many thee : and to that 
 end I have been with Sir Oliver Martext, the 
 vicar of the next village ; who hath promised to 
 meet me in this place of the forest, and to 
 couple us. 
 
 faq. I would fain see this meeting. [Aside, 
 
 Aud. Well, the gods give us joy ! 
 
 Touch. Amen. A man may, if he were of a 
 fearful heart, stagger in this attempt ; for here 
 we have no temple but the wood, no assembly 
 but horn-beasts. But what though? Courage ! 
 As horns are odious, they are necessary. It is 
 said, Many a man knows no end of his goods : 
 right ; many a man has good horns and knows 
 no end of them. Well, that is the dowry of his 
 wife; 'tis none of his own getting. Horns? 
 
 Ever to poor men alone ? No, no; the noblest 
 
 deer hath them as huge as the rascal. Is the 
 single man therefore blessed? No: as a walled 
 town is more worthier than a village, so is the 
 forehead of a married man more honourable 
 than the bare brow of a bachelor : and by how 
 much defence is better than no skill, by so much 
 is a horn more precious than to want. Here 
 comes Sir Oliver. 
 
 Enter Sir OLIVER MARTEXT. 
 
 Sir Oliver Martext, you are well met. Will 
 you despatch us here under this tree, or shall 
 we go with you to your chapel? [woman ? 
 
 Sir Oli. Is there none here to give the 
 
 Touch. I will not take her on gift of any man. 
 
 Sir Oli. Truly, she must be given, or the 
 marriage is not lawful. 
 
 Jaq. [Discovering himself.] Proceed, pro- 
 ceed ; I '11 give her. 
 
 Touch. Good even, good Master Whai-ye- 
 call't: how do you, sir? You are very well 
 
 met : God 'ild you for your last company : I 
 am very glad to see you : even a toy in hand 
 here, sir : nay ; pray be covered. 
 
 faq. Will you be married, motley? 
 
 Touch. As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse 
 his curb, and the falcon her bells, so man hath 
 his desires ; and as pigeons bill, so wedlock 
 would be nibbling. 
 
 Jaq. And will you, being a man of your 
 breeding, be married under a bush, like a 
 beggar? Get you to church and have a good 
 priest that can tell you what marriage is : this 
 fellow will but join you together as they join 
 wainscot : then one of you will prove a shrunk 
 panel, and like green timber, warp, warp. 
 
 Touch. I am not in the mind but I were 
 better to be married of him than of another : for 
 he is not like to mai'ry me well ; and not being 
 well married, it will be a good excuse for me 
 hereafter to leave my wife. [Aside. 
 
 Jaq. Go thou with me, and let me counsel 
 thee. 
 
 Touch. Come, sweet Audrey; 
 We must be married or we must live in bawdry. 
 Farewell, good master Oliver ! Not, 
 
 O sweet Oliver; 
 
 O brave Oliver, 
 
 Leave me not behind thee ; 
 
 But,- 
 
 Wind away, 
 
 Begone I say, 
 I will not to wedding with thee. 
 
 [Exeunt JAQ. , TOUCH., and AUD. 
 Sir Oli. 'Tis no matter ; ne'er a fantastical 
 knave of them all shall flout me out of my call- 
 ing. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV. Another part of the Forest. Be- 
 fore a Cottage. 
 
 Enter ROSALIND and CELIA. 
 
 Ros. Never talk to me; I will weep. 
 
 Cel. Do, I pr'ythee ; but yet have the grace 
 to consider that tears do not become a man. 
 
 Ros. But have I not cause to weep? 
 
 Cel. As good cause as one would desire; there- 
 fore weep. 
 
 Ros. His very hair is of the dissembling colour. 
 
 Cel. Something browner than Judas's: marry, 
 his kisses are Judas's own children. 
 
 Ros. I' faith, his hair is of a good colour. 
 
 Cel. An excellent colour : your chestnut was 
 ever the only colour. 
 
 Ros. And his kissin is as full of sanctity as 
 the touch of holy bread. 
 
 Cel. He hath bought a pair of cast lips of 
 Diana : a nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not 
 
SCENE V.] 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 269 
 
 more religiously ; the very ice of chastity is in 
 them. 
 
 Ros. But why did he swear he would come this 
 morning, and comes not ? 
 
 CeL Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him. 
 
 jRos. Do you think so ? 
 
 CeL Yes ; I think he is not a pickpurse nor 
 a horse-stealer ; but for his verity in love, I do 
 think him as concave as a covered goblet or a 
 worm-eaten nut. 
 
 Ros. Not true in love? [in. 
 
 CeL Yes, when he is in ; but I think he is not 
 
 Ros. You have heard him swear downright he 
 was. 
 
 CeL Was is not is : besides, the oath of a lover 
 is no stronger than the word of a tapster ; they 
 are both the confirmers of false reckonings. He 
 attendshere in the forest on the duke, your father. 
 
 Ros. I met the duke yesterday, and had much 
 question with him. He asked me of what par- 
 entage I was ; I told him, of as good as he ; so 
 he laughed and let me go. But what talk we of 
 fathers when there is such a man as Orlando ? 
 
 CeL O, that 's a brave man ! he writes brave 
 erses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, 
 and breaks them bravely, quite traverse, athwart 
 the heart of his lover ; as a puny tilter, that spurs 
 lis horse but on one side, breaks his staff like a 
 noble goose: but all 's brave that youth mounts 
 and folly guides. Who comes here? 
 
 Enter CoRIN. 
 
 Cor. Mistress and master, you have oft inquired 
 After the shepherd that complain'd of love, 
 Who you saw sitting by me on the turf, 
 Praising the Droud disdainful shepherdess 
 That was his mistress. 
 
 CeL Well, and what of him? 
 
 Cor. If you will see a pageant truly play'd, 
 Between the pale complexion of true love 
 And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain, 
 Go hence a little, and I shall conduct you, 
 If you will mark it. 
 
 Ros. O, come, let us remove : 
 
 The sight of lovers feedeth those in love. 
 
 say 
 Exeunt. 
 
 Bring us unto this sight, and you shall sa 
 I '11 prove a busy actor in their play. [E 
 
 SCENE V. Another part of the Forest. 
 Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE. 
 
 SiL Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me ; do not, 
 
 Phebe: 
 
 Say that you love me not ; but say not so 
 In bitterness. The common executioner, 
 Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes 
 hard, 
 
 Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck 
 But first begs pardon. Will you sterner be 
 Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops? 
 
 Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN, at a 
 distance. 
 
 V.'i. l\ ~A ,?cOT 1 > I .'; i . I JJcf 
 
 Phe. I would not be thy executioner : 
 I fly thee, for I would not injure thee. 
 Thou tell'st me there is murder in mine eye : 
 'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable, 
 That eyes, that are the frail'st and softest things, 
 Who shut their coward gates on atomies, 
 Should be called tyrants, butchers, murderers! 
 Now I do frown on thee with all my heart ; 
 And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill 
 
 thee: 
 
 Now counterfeit to swoon ; why, now fall down ; 
 Or, if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame, 
 Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers. 
 Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee: 
 Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains 
 Some scar of it ; lean but upon a rush, 
 The cicatrice and capable impressure [eyes, 
 Thy palm some moment keeps ; but now mine 
 Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not ; 
 Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes 
 That can do hurt. 
 
 SiL O dear Phebe, 
 
 If ever, as that ever may be near, 
 You meet in some Iresh cheek the power of fancy, 
 Then shall you know the wounds invisible 
 That love's keen arrows make. 
 
 Phe. But till that time 
 
 Come not thou near me ; and when that time 
 
 comes 
 
 Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not ; 
 As till that time I shall not pity thee. 
 
 Ros. [Advancing.] And why, I pray you? Who 
 
 might be your mother, 
 That you insult, exult, and all at once, 
 Over the wretched? What though you have nc 
 
 beauty, 
 
 As, by my faith, I see no more in you 
 Than without candle may go dark to bed, 
 Must you be therefore proud and pitiless? 
 Why, what means this? Why do you look on me? 
 I see no more in you than in the ordinary 
 Of nature's sale-work : Od's my little life, 
 I think she means to tangle my eyes too ! 
 No, faith, proud mistress, hope not after it ; 
 'Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair, 
 Your bugle eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream, 
 That can entame my spirits to your worship. 
 You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow 
 
 her, 
 
 Like foggy south, puffing with wind and rain? 
 You are a thousand times a properer man 
 
270 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 [ACT IV. 
 
 Than she a woman. 'Tis such fools as you 
 That make the world full of ill-favour 3 d children: 
 'Tis not her glass, but you that flatters her; 
 And out of you she sees herself more proper 
 Than any of her lineaments can show ner ; 
 But, mistress, know yourself; down on your 
 
 knees, 
 
 And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's love : 
 For I must tell you friendly in your ear, 
 Sell when you can; you are not for all markets: 
 Cry the man mercy; love him; take his offer: 
 Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer. 
 So take her to thee, shepherd ; fare you well. 
 
 Phe. Sweet youth, I pray you chide a year to- 
 gether: 
 I had rather hear you chide than this man woo. 
 
 Ros. He 's fallen in love with her foulness, and 
 she '11 fall in love with my anger. If it be so, as 
 fast as she answers thee with frowning looks, 
 I '11 sauce her with bitter words. Why look you 
 so upon me ? 
 
 Phe. For no ill-will I bear you. 
 
 Ros. I pray you, do not fall in love with me, 
 For I am falser than vows made in wine : 
 Besides, I like you not. If you will know my 
 
 house, 
 
 'Tis at the tuft of olives here hard by. 
 Will you go, sister ? Shepherd, ply her hard. 
 Come, sister. Shepherdess, look on him better, 
 And be not proud ; though all the world could 
 
 see, 
 
 None could be so abus'd in sight as he. 
 Come to our flock. 
 
 {Exeunt Ros., CEL., and COR. 
 
 Phe. Dead shepherd ! now I find thy saw of 
 
 might ; 
 Who ever lov'd that lorfd not at first sight ? 
 
 Sil. Sweet Phebe,- 
 
 Phe. Ha ! what say'st thou, Silvius? 
 
 Sil. Sweet Phebe, pity me. 
 
 Pke. Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius. 
 
 Sil. Wherever sorrow is, relief would be : 
 If you do sorrow at my grief in love, 
 By giving love, your sorrow and my griet 
 Were both extermin'd. [bourly ? 
 
 Pke. Thou hast my love : is not that neigh- 
 
 Sil. I would have you. 
 
 Phe. Why, that were covetousness. 
 
 Silvius, the time was that I hated thee ; 
 And yet it is not that I bear thee love : 
 But since that thou canst talk of love so well, 
 Thy company, which erst was irksome to me, 
 I will endure ; and I '11 employ thee too : 
 But do not look for further recompense 
 Than thine own gladness that thou art employ'd. 
 
 Sil. So holy and so perfect is my love, 
 And I in such a poverty of grace, 
 
 That I shall think it a most plenteous crop 
 To glean the broken ears after the man 
 That the main harvest reaps : lose now and then 
 A scatter'd smile, and that I '11 live upon. 
 
 Phe. Know'st thou the youth that spoke to 
 me erewhile ? 
 
 Sil. Not very well ; but I have met him oft ; 
 And he hath bought the cottage and the bounds 
 That the old carlot once was master of. [him; 
 
 Phe. Think not I love him, though I ask for 
 'Tis but a peevish boy : yet he talks well ; 
 But what care I for words ? yet words do well 
 When he that speaks them pleases those that hear. 
 It is a pretty youth: not very pretty: [him: 
 But, sure, he 's proud; and yet his pride becomes 
 He '11 make a proper man: the best thing in him 
 Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue 
 Did make offence, his eye did heal it up. 
 He is not tall; yet for his years he 's tall ; 
 His leg is but so-so; and yet 'tis well: 
 There was a pretty redness in his lip; 
 A little riper and more lusty red 
 Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the 
 
 difference 
 
 Betwixt the constant red and mingled damask. 
 There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd 
 
 him 
 
 In parcels as I did, would have gone near 
 To fall in love with him: but, for my part, 
 I love him not, nor hate him not; and yet 
 I have more cause to hate him than to love him : 
 For what had he to do to chide at me ? 
 He said mine eyes were black, and my hair black; 
 And, now I am remember'd, scorn'd at me : 
 I marvel why I answer 'd not again : 
 But that 's all one; ommittance is not quittance. 
 I '11 write to him a very taunting letter, 
 And thou shalt bear it: wilt thou, Silvius? 
 
 Sil. Phebe, with all my heart. 
 
 Phe. I '11 write it straight, 
 
 The matter 's in my head and in my heart: 
 I will be bitter with him, and passing short: 
 Go with me, Silvius. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 
 SCENE \.-ForestofArden. 
 Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and JAQUES. 
 
 Jaq. I pr'ythee, pretty youth, let me be better 
 acquainted with the 2. 
 
 j?os. They say you are a melancholy fellow. 
 
 Jaq. I am so; I do love it better than laughing. 
 
 Ros. Those that are in extremity of either are 
 abominable fellows, and betray themselves to 
 every modern censure worse than drunkards. 
 
 Jaq. Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 271 
 
 Ros. Why, then, 'tis good to be a post. 
 
 Jaq. I have neither the scholar's melancholy, 
 which is emulation; nor the musician's, which is 
 fantastical ; nor the courtier's, which is proud; 
 nor the soldier's, which is ambitious; nor the 
 lawyer's which is politic ; nor the lady's, 
 which is nice ; nor the lover's, which is all 
 these : but it is a melancholy of mine own, com- 
 pounded of many simples, extracted from many 
 objects : and, indeed, the sundry contemplation 
 of my travels, in which my often rumination 
 wraps me in a most humorous sadness. 
 
 Ros. A traveller ! By my faith, you have great 
 reason to be sad : I fear you have sold your own 
 lands to see other men's; then, to have seen much, 
 and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor 
 hands. 
 
 Jaq. Yes, I have gained my experience. 
 
 Ros. And your experience makes you sad : I 
 had rather have a fool to make me merry than 
 experience to make me sad ; and to travel for it 
 too. 
 
 Enter ORLANDO. 
 
 Or I. Good day, and happiness, dear Rosalind! 
 Jaq. Nay, then, God be wi' you, an you talk 
 in blank verse. 
 
 Ros. Farewell, monsieur traveller : look you 
 lisp and wear strange suits ; disable all the bene- 
 fits of your own country ; be out of love with 
 your nativity, and almost chide God for making 
 you that countenance you are ; or I will scarce 
 think you have swam in a gondola. \Exit 
 TAQUES.] Why, how now, Orlando! where 
 have you been all this while ? You a lover ! 
 An you serve me such another trick, never come 
 in my sight more. 
 
 Orl. My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour 
 of my promise. 
 
 Ros. Break an hour's promise in love! He that 
 will divide a minute into a thousand parts, and 
 break but a part of a thousandth part of a minute 
 in the affairs of love, it may be said of him that 
 Cupid hath clapped him o' the shoulder, but 
 I warrant him heart-whole. 
 
 Orl. Pardon me, dear Rosalind. 
 
 Ros. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no 
 more in my sight : I had as lief be woo'd of a 
 snail. 
 
 Orl. Of a snail ! 
 
 Ros. Ay, of a snail} for though he comes 
 slowly, he carries his house on his head; a 
 better jointure, I think, than you can make a 
 woman : besides, he brings his destiny with him. 
 
 Orl. What's that? 
 
 Ros. Why, horns; which such as you are 
 feun to be beholden to your wives for : but he 
 
 comes armed in his fortune, and prevents the 
 slander of his wife. 
 
 Orl. Virtue is no horn-maker ; and my Rosa- 
 lind is virtuous. 
 
 Ros. And I am your Rosalind. 
 
 Cel. It pleases him to call you so; but he 
 hath a Rosalind of a better leer than you. 
 
 Ros. Come, woo me, woo me ; for now I am 
 in a holiday humour, and like enough to con- 
 sent. What would you say to me now, an I 
 were your very very Rosalind? 
 
 Orl. I would kiss before I spoke. 
 
 Ros. Nay, you were better speak first ; and 
 when you were gravelled for lack of matter, 
 you might take occasion to kiss. Very good 
 orators, when they are out, they will spit ; and 
 for lovers lacking, God warn us! matter, 
 the cleanliest shift is to kiss. 
 
 Orl. How if the kiss be denied? 
 
 Ros. Then she puts you to entreaty, and 
 there begins new matter. 
 
 Orl. Who could be out, being before his be' 
 loved mistress? 
 
 Ros. Marry, that should you, if I were your 
 mistress ; or I should think my honesty ranker 
 than my wit. 
 
 Orl. What, of my suit? 
 
 Ros. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of 
 your suit. Am not I your Rosalind? 
 
 Orl. I take some joy to say you are, because 
 I would be talking of her. [you. 
 
 Ros. Well, in her person, I say, I will not have 
 
 Orl. Then, in mine own person, I die. 
 
 Ros. No, faith, die by attorney. The poor 
 world is almost six thousand years ola, and in 
 all this time there was not any man died in his 
 own person, videlicet, in a love-cause. Troilus 
 had his brains dashed out with a Grecian club ; 
 yet he did what he could to die before ; and he 
 is one of the patterns of love. Leander, he 
 would have lived many a fair year, though Hero 
 had turned nun, if it had not been for a hot 
 midsummer-night; for, good youth, he went 
 but forth to wash him in the Hellespont, and, 
 being taken with the cramp, was drowned ; and 
 the foolish chroniclers of that age found it was 
 Hero of Sestos. But these are all lies ; men 
 have died from time to time, and worms have 
 eaten them, but not for love. 
 
 Orl. I would not have my right Rosalind of 
 this mind ; for, I protest, her frown might kill 
 me. 
 
 Ros. By this hand, it will not kill a fly. But 
 come, now I will be your Rosalind in a more 
 coming-on disposition ; and ask me what you 
 will, I will grant it. 
 
 OrL Then love me, Rosalind. 
 
 
272 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Ros. Yes, faith will I, Fridays and Satur- 
 days, and all. 
 
 OrL And wilt thou have me? 
 
 Ros. Ay, and twenty such. 
 
 OrL What say'st thou? 
 
 Ros. Are you not good? 
 
 OrL I hope so. 
 
 Ros. Why, then, can one desire too much of 
 a good thing? Come, sister, you shall be the 
 priest, and marry us. Give me your hand, 
 Orlando : What do you say, sister? 
 
 OrL Pray thee, marry us. 
 
 Cel. I cannot say the words. 
 
 Ros. You must begin, Will you, Or- 
 lando ', 
 
 Cel. Go to : Will you, Orlando, have to 
 
 wife this Rosalind? 
 
 OrL I will. 
 
 Ros. Ay, but when? 
 
 OrL Why, now; as fast as she can marry us. 
 
 Ros. Then you must say, / take thee, Rosa- 
 lind, for wife. 
 
 OrL I take thee, Rosalind, for wife. 
 
 Ros. I might ask you for your commission ; 
 but, I do take thee, Orlando, for my husband: 
 there's a girl goes before the priest; and, 
 certainly, a woman's thoughts run before her 
 actions. 
 
 OrL So do all thoughts ; they are winged. 
 
 Ros. Now tell me how long you would have 
 her, after you have possessed her. 
 
 OrL For ever and a day. 
 
 Ros. Say a day, without the ever. No, no, 
 Orlando: men are April when they woo, 
 Decemoer when they wed: maids are May 
 when they are maids, but the sky changes when 
 they are wives. I will be more jealous of thee 
 than a Barbary cock-pigeon over his hen ; more 
 clamorous than a parrot against rain; more 
 new-fangled than an ape; more giddy in my 
 desires than a monkey : I will weep for nothing, 
 like Diana in the fountain, and I will do that 
 when you are disposed to be merry ; I will 
 laugh like a hyen, and that when thou art in- 
 clined to sleep. 
 
 OrL But will my Rosalind do so? 
 
 Ros. By my life, she will do as I do. 
 
 OrL O, but she is wise. 
 
 Ros. Or else she could not have the wit to 
 do this: the wiser, the way warder: make the 
 doors upon a woman's wit, and it will out at 
 the casement ; shut that, and it will out at the 
 keyhole; stop that, 'twill fly with the smoke 
 out at the chimney. 
 
 OrL A man that had a wife with such a wit, 
 he might say, Wit, -whither wilt? 
 
 Ros. Nay, you might keep that check for it, 
 
 till you met your wife's wit going to your neigh- 
 bour's bed. [that? 
 
 OrL And what wit could wit have to excuse 
 
 Ros. Marry, to say, she came to seek you 
 there. You shall never take her without her 
 answer, unless you take her without her tongue. 
 O, that woman that cannot make her fault her 
 husband's occasion, let her never nurse her 
 child herself, for she will breed it like a fool. 
 
 OrL For these two hours, Rosalind, I will 
 leave thee. [hours ! 
 
 Ros. Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two 
 
 OrL I must attend the duke at dinner: by 
 two o'clock I will be with thee again. 
 
 Ros. Ay, go your ways, go your ways; I 
 knew what you would prove ; my friends told 
 me as much, and I thought no less: that 
 flattering tongue of yours won me: 'tis but 
 one cast away, and so, come, death! Two 
 o'clock is your hour? 
 
 OrL Ay, sweet Rosalind. 
 
 Ros. By my troth, and in good earnest, and 
 so God mend me, and by all pretty oaths that 
 are not dangerous, if you break one jot of your 
 promise, or come one minute behind your hour, 
 I will think you the most pathetical break- 
 promise, and the most hollow lover, and the 
 most unworthy of her you call Rosalind, that 
 may be chosen out of the gross band of the un- 
 faithful : therefore beware my censure, and keep 
 your promise. 
 
 OrL With no less religion than if thou wert 
 indeed my Rosalind: so, adieu! 
 
 Ros. Well, time is the old justice that ex- 
 amines all such offenders, and let time try: 
 adieu! \Exit ORLANDO. 
 
 Cel. You have simply misus'd our sex in 
 your love-prate: we must have your doublet 
 and hose plucked over your head, and show 
 the world what the bird hath done to her own 
 nest. 
 
 Ros. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, 
 that thou didst know how many fathom deep I 
 am in love! But it cannot be sounded: my 
 affection hath an unknown bottom, like the 
 bay of Portugal. 
 
 Cel. Or rather, bottomless; that as fast as 
 you pour affection in, it runs out. 
 
 Ros. No; that same wicked bastard of 
 Venus, that was begot of thought, conceived of 
 spleen, and born of madness; that blind rascally 
 boy, that abuses every one's eyes, because his 
 own are out, let him be judge how deep I am 
 in love: I '11 tell thee, Aliena, I cannot be out 
 of the sight of Orlando : I '11 go find a shadow, 
 and sigh till he come. 
 
 Cel. And I'll sleep, {Exeunt. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 273 
 
 SCENE II. Another part of the Forest. 
 Enter JAQUES and Lords, in the habit of 
 
 Foresters. 
 Jaq. Which is he that killed the deer ? 
 
 1 Lord. Sir, it was I. 
 
 Jaq. Let 's present him to the duke, like a 
 Roman conqueror ; and it would do well to set 
 the deer's horns upon his head for a branch of 
 victory. Have you no song, forester, for this 
 purpose ? 
 
 2 Lord. Yes, sir. 
 
 Jaq. Sing it; 'tis no matter how it be in 
 tune, so it make noise enough. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 1. What shall he have that kill'd the deer? 
 
 2. His leather skin and horns to wear. 
 
 i. Then sing him home: 
 
 [ The rest shall bear this burden. 
 Take thou no scorn to wear the horn; 
 It was a crest ere thou wast born. 
 
 1. Thy father's father wore it; 
 
 2. And thy father bore it: 
 
 All. The horn, the horn, the lusty horn, 
 
 Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. Another part of the Forest. 
 Enter ROSALIND and CELIA. 
 
 Ros. How say you now? Is it not past two 
 o'clock ? And here much Orlando ! 
 
 Cel. I warrant you, with pure love and 
 troubled brain, he hath ta'en his bow and 
 arrows, and is gone forth to sleep. Look, 
 who comes here. 
 
 Enter SlLVlUS. 
 
 Sil. My errand is to you, fair youth ; 
 My gentle Phebe bid me give you this : 
 
 {Giving a letter. 
 
 I know not the contents ; but, as I guess 
 By the stern brow and waspish action 
 Which she did use as she was writing of it, 
 It bears an angry tenor : pardon me, 
 I am but as a guiltless messenger. [letter, 
 
 Ros. Patience herself would startle at this 
 And play the swaggerer ; bear this, bear all : 
 She says I am not fair ; that I lack manners ; 
 She calls me proud, and that she could not 
 
 love me, 
 
 Were man as rare as Phoenix. Od's my will ! 
 Her love is not the hare that I do hunt- 
 Why writes she so to me? Well, shepherd, well, 
 This is a letter of your own device. 
 
 Sil. No, I protest, I know not the contents: 
 Phebe did write it. 
 
 Ros. Come, come, you are a fool, 
 
 And turn'd into the extremity of love. 
 I saw her hand: she has a leathern hand, 
 
 A freestone-colour'd hand: I verily did think 
 That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her 
 
 hands ; 
 
 She has a huswife's hand: but that 's no matter : 
 I say she never did invent this letter: 
 This is a man's invention, and his hand. 
 
 Sil. Sure, it is hers. 
 
 Ros. Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel style ; 
 A style for challengers : why, she defies me, 
 Like Turk to Christian : woman's gentle brain 
 Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention, 
 Such Ethiop words, blacker in their effect 
 Than in their countenance. Will you hear the 
 letter? 
 
 Sil. So please you, for I never heard it yet; 
 Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty. 
 
 Ros. She Phebes me : mark how the tyrant 
 writes. [Reads.'} 
 
 Art thou god to shepherd turn'd, 
 That a maiden's heart hath burn'd? 
 
 Can a woman rail thus? 
 Sil. Call you this railing ? 
 
 Ros. Why, thy godhead laid apart, 
 
 Warr'st thou with a woman's heart? 
 
 Did you ever hear such railing ? 
 
 Whiles the eye of man did woo me, 
 That could do no vengeance to me. 
 
 Meaning me a beast. 
 
 If the scorn of your bright eyne 
 Have power to raise such love in mine, 
 Alack, in me what strange effect 
 Would they work in mild aspect? 
 Whiles you chid me I did love ; 
 How then might your prayers move ? 
 He that brings this love to thee 
 Little knows this love in me : 
 And by him seal up thy mind ; 
 Whether that thy youth and kind 
 Will .he faithful offer take 
 Of me, and all that I can make ; 
 Or else by him my love deny, 
 And then 1 '11 study how to die. 
 
 Sil. Call you this chiding ? 
 
 Cel. Alas, poor shepherd! 
 
 Ros. Do you pity him ? no, he deserves no 
 pity. Wilt thou love such a woman? What, 
 to make thee an instrument, and play false 
 strains upon thee ! Not to be endured ! Well, 
 go your way to her, for I see love hath made 
 thee a tame snake, and say this to her; that 
 if she love me, I charge her to love thee: if she 
 will not, I will never have her, unless thou en- 
 treat for her. If you be a true lover, hence, 
 and not a word; for here comes more company. 
 [Exit SILVIUS. 
 _ i ,*-J .'.v> 
 
 Enter OLIVER. 
 
 Oli. Good-morrow, fair ones: pray you, if 
 you know 
 
274 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Where in the purlieus of this forest stands 
 A sheep-cote fenc'd about with olive trees? 
 Cel. West of this place, down in the neigh- 
 bour bottom : 
 
 The rank of osiers, by the murmuring stream, 
 .Left on your right hand, brings you to the place. 
 But at this hour the house doth keep itself; 
 There 's none within. 
 
 OK. If that an eye may profit by a tongue, 
 Then should I know you by description ; 
 Such garments, and such years. The boy is fair , 
 Of female favoiir^ and bestows hivtself 
 Like a ripe sister : the woman low. 
 And browner than her brother. Are not you 
 The owner of the house I did inquire for? 
 Cel. It is no boast, being ask'd, to say we are. 
 Oli. Orlando doth commend him to you both ; 
 And to that youth he calls his Rosalind 
 He sends this bloody napkin: are you he? 
 Ros. I am : what must we understand by 
 
 this? 
 Oli. Some of my shame ; if you will know of 
 
 me 
 
 What man I am, and how, and why, and where 
 This handkerchief was stain'd. 
 
 Cel. I pray you, tell it. 
 
 Oli. When last the young Orlando parted 
 
 from you, 
 
 He left a promise to return again 
 Within an hour ; and, pacing through the forest, 
 Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy, 
 Lo, what befell ! he threw his eye aside, 
 And, mark, what object did present itself! 
 Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'd with 
 
 age, 
 
 And high top bald with dry antiquity, 
 A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair, 
 Lay sleeping on his back : about his neck 
 A green and gilded snake had wreath'd itself, 
 Who, with her head, nimble in threats, ap- 
 
 proach'd 
 
 The opening of his mouth ; but suddenly, 
 Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself, 
 And with indented glides did slip away 
 Into a bush : under which bush's shade 
 A lioness, with udders all drawn dry, 
 Lay couching, head on ground, with cat-like 
 
 watch, ['tis 
 
 When that the sleeping man should stir; for 
 The royal disposition of that beast 
 To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead : 
 This seen, Orlando did approach the man, 
 And found it was his brother, his elder brother. 
 Cel. O, I have heard him speak of that same 
 
 brother ; 
 
 And he did render him the most unnatural 
 That liv'd 'mongst men. 
 
 Oli. And well he might so do, 
 
 For well I know he was unnatural. [there, 
 
 Ros. But, to Orlando: did he leave him 
 Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness? 
 
 Oli. Twice did he turn his back, and pur- 
 
 pos'd so ; 
 
 But kindness, nobler ever than revenge, 
 And nature, stronger than his just occasion, 
 Made him give battle to the lioness, 
 Who quickly fell before him ; in which hurtling 
 From miserable slumber I awak'd. 
 
 Cel. Are you his brother? 
 
 Ros. Was it you he rescued? 
 
 Cel. Was't you that did so oft contrive to 
 kill him? 
 
 Oli. 'Twas I ; but 'tis not I : I do not shame 
 To tell you what I was, since my conversion 
 So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am. 
 
 Ros. But, for the bloody napkin? 
 
 Oli. By and by. 
 
 When from the first to last, betwixt us two, 
 Tears our recountments had most kindly bath'd, 
 As, how I came into that desert place; 
 In brief, he led me to the gentle duke, 
 Who gave me fresh array and entertainment, 
 Committing me unto my brother's love, 
 Who led me instantly unto his cave, 
 There stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm 
 The lioness had torn some flesh away, 
 Which all this while had bled ; and now he 
 
 fainted, 
 
 And cried, in fainting, upon Rosalind. 
 Brief, I recover'd him, bound up his wound, 
 And, after some small space, being strong at 
 
 heart, 
 
 He sent me hither, stranger as I am, 
 To tell this story, that you might excuse 
 His broken promise, and to give this napkin, 
 Dy'd in his blood, unto the shepherd-youth 
 That he in sport doth call his Rosalind. 
 
 Cel. Why, how now, Ganymede ! sweet 
 Ganymede ! [ROSALIND faints. 
 
 Oli. Many will swoon when they do look on 
 blood. 
 
 Cel. There is more in it: Cousin Gany- 
 mede! 
 
 Oli. Look, he recovers. 
 
 Ros. I would I were at home. 
 
 Cel. We '11 lead you thither : 
 I pray you, will you take him by the arm? 
 
 Oli. Be of good cheer, youth : you a man ? 
 You lack a man's heart. 
 
 Ros. I do so, I confess it. Ah, sir, a body 
 would think this was well counterfeited. I pray 
 you, tell your brother how well I counterfeited. 
 Heigh-ho! 
 
 Oli. This was not counterfeit \ there is too 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 275 
 
 great testimony in your complexion that it was 
 a passion of earnest. 
 
 Ros. Counterfeit, I assure you. 
 
 OH. Well, then, take a good heart, and 
 counterfeit to be a man. 
 
 ffos. So I do : but, i' faith, I should have 
 been a woman by right. 
 
 CeL Come, you look paler and paler : pray 
 you, draw homewards. Good sir, go with us. 
 
 OIL That will I, for I must bear answer back 
 How you excuse my brother, Rosalind. 
 
 Ros. I shall devise something: but, I pray 
 you, commend my counterfeiting to him. Will 
 you go? [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. The Forest of Arden. 
 Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY. 
 
 Touch. We shall find a time, Audrey; 
 patience, gentle Audrey. 
 
 And. Faith, the priest was good enough, for 
 all the old gentleman's saying. 
 
 Touch. A most wicked Sir Oliver, Audrey, a 
 mosf vile Martext. But, Audrey, there is a 
 youth here in the forest lays claim to you. 
 
 Aud. Ay, I know who 'tis : he hath no in- 
 terest in me in the world : here comes the man 
 you mean. 
 
 Enter WILLIAM. 
 
 Touch. It is meat and drink to me to see a 
 clown : By my troth, we that have good wits 
 have much to answer for ; we shall be flouting ; 
 we cannot hold. 
 
 Will. Good even, Audrey. 
 
 Aud. God ye good even, William. 
 
 Will. And good even to you, sir. 
 
 Touch. Good even, gentle friend. Cover 
 thy head, cover thy head; nay, pr'ythee, be 
 covered. How old are you, friend? 
 
 Will. Five-and-twenty, sir. 
 
 Touch. A ripe age. Is thy name William? 
 
 Will. William, sir. 
 
 Touch. A fair name. Wast born i' the forest 
 here? 
 
 Will. Ay, sir, I thank God. [rich? 
 
 Touch. Thank God ; a good answer. Art 
 
 Will. Faith, sir, so-so. 
 
 Touch. So-so is good, very good, very excel- 
 lent good : and yet it is not ; it is but so-so. 
 Art thou wise? 
 
 Will. Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit. 
 
 Touch. Why, thou say'st well. I do now re- 
 member a saying ; The fool doth think he is wise, 
 but the wise man knows himself to be a fool. 
 
 The heathen philosopher, when he had a desire 
 to eat a grape, would open his lips when he put 
 it into his mouth ; meaning thereby that grapes 
 were made to eat and lips to open. You do 
 love this maid ? 
 
 Will. I do, sir. 
 
 Totich. Give me your hand. Art thou learned ? 
 
 Will. No, sir. 
 
 Touch. Then learn this of me : to have is 
 to have ; for it is a figure in rhetoric that drink, 
 being poured out of a cup into a glass, by filling 
 the one doth empty the other ; for all your 
 writers do consent that ipse is he ; now, you are 
 not ipse^ for I am he. 
 
 Will. Which he, sir? 
 
 Touch. He, sir, that must marry this woman. 
 Therefore, you clown, abandon, which is in 
 the vulgar, leave, the society, which in the 
 boorish is company, of this female, which in 
 the common is woman, which together is 
 abandon the society of this female ; or, clown, 
 thou perishest ; or, to tay better understanding, 
 diest ; or, to wit, I kill thee, make thee away, 
 translate thy life into death, thy liberty into 
 bondage : I will deal in poison with thee, or in 
 bastinado, or in steel ; I will bandy with thee 
 in faction ; I will o'er-run thee with policy ; I 
 will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways ; there- 
 fore tremble, and depart. 
 
 Aud. Do, good William. 
 
 Will. God rest you merry, sir. [Exit. 
 
 Enter CORIN. 
 
 Cor. Our master and mistress seek you ; 
 come away, away I 
 
 Touch. Trip, Audrey, trip, Audrey ; I at- 
 tend, I attend. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. Another part of the Forest. 
 Enter ORLANDO and OLIVER. 
 
 Orl. Is 't possible that, on so little acquaint- 
 ance, you should like her? that, but seeing, 
 you should love her? and, loving, woo? and, 
 wooing, she should grant? and will you per- 
 se ver to enjoy her ? 
 
 Oli. Neither call the giddiness of it in ques- 
 tion, the poverty of her, the small acquaintance, 
 my sudden wooing, nor her sudden consenting; 
 but say with me, I love Aliena ; say, with hei; 
 that she loves me ; consent with both, that we 
 may enjoy each other : it shall be to your good; 
 for my father's house, and all the revenue that 
 was old Sir Rowland's, will I estate upon you, 
 and here live and die a shepherd. 
 
 Orl. You have my consent. Let your wedding 
 be to-morrow : thither will I invite the duke 
 
2 7 6 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 and all his contented followers. Go you and 
 prepare Aliena ; for, look you, here comes my 
 Rosalind. 
 
 Enter ROSALIND. 
 
 Ros. God save you, brother. 
 
 OIL And you, fair sister. [Exit. 
 
 Ros. O, my dear Orlando, how it grieves me 
 to see thee wear thy heart in a scarf. 
 
 Orl. It is my arm. 
 
 Ros, I thought thy heart had been wounded 
 with the claws of a lion. 
 
 Orl. Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a 
 lady. 
 
 Ros. Did your brother tell you how I counter- 
 feited to swoon when he show'd me your hand- 
 kercher. 
 
 Orl. Ay, and greater wonders than that. 
 
 Ros. O, I know where you are : nay, 'tis 
 true : there was never anything so sudden but 
 the fight of two rams and Caesar's thrasonical 
 brag of / came, saw, and overcame : for your 
 brother and my sister no sooner met, but they 
 looked ; no sooner looked, but they loved ; no 
 sooner loved, but they sighed ; nc sooner signed, 
 but they asked one another the reason; no 
 sooner knew the reason, but they sought the 
 remedy : and in these degrees have they made 
 a. pair of stairs to marriage, which they will 
 climb incontinent, or else be incontinent be- 
 fore marriage : they are in the very wrath of 
 love, and they will together : clubs cannot part 
 them. 
 
 Orl. They shall be married to-morrow ; and 
 I will bid the duke to the nuptial. But O, how 
 bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through 
 another man's eyes ! By so much the more shall 
 I to-morrow be at the height of heart-heaviness, 
 by how much I shall think my brother happy 
 in having what he wishes for. 
 
 Ros. Why, then, to-morrow I cannot serve 
 your turn for Rosalind? 
 
 Orl. I can live no longer by thinking. 
 
 Ros. I will weary you, then, no longer with 
 idle talking. Know of me, then, for now I 
 speak to some purpose, that I know you are a 
 gentleman of good conceit : I speak not this that 
 you should bear a good opinion of my know- 
 ledge, insomuch I say I know you are ; neither 
 do I labour for a greater esteem than may in 
 some little measure draw a belief from you, to 
 do yourself good, and not to grace me. Believe, 
 then, if you please, that I can do strange things : 
 I have, since I was three year old, conversed 
 with a magician, most profound in his art, and 
 yet not damnable. If you do love Rosalind so 
 near the heart as your gesture cries it out, when 
 
 your brother marries Aliena, shall you marry 
 her : I know into what straits of fortune she is 
 driven ; and it is not impossible to me, if it ap- 
 pear not inconvenient to you, to set her before 
 your eyes to-morrow, human as she is, and 
 without any danger. 
 
 Orl. Speak'st thou in sober meanings? 
 
 Ros. By my life, I do ; which I tender dearly, 
 though I say I am a magician. Therefore, put 
 you in your best array, bid your friends ; for if 
 you will be married to-morrow, you shall ; and 
 to Rosalind, if you will. Look, here comes a 
 lover cf mine, and a lover of hers. 
 
 Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE. 
 
 Phe. Youth, you have done me much un- 
 
 gentleness, 
 To show the letter that I writ to you. 
 
 Ros. I care not, if I have : it is my study 
 To seem despiteful and ungentle to you : 
 You are there follow'd by a faithful shepherd ; 
 Look upon him, love him ; he worships you. 
 
 Phe. Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis 
 to love. 
 
 Sil. It is to be all made of sighs and 
 
 tears; 
 And so am I for Phebe. 
 
 Phe. And I for Ganymede. 
 
 Orl. And I for Rosalind. 
 
 Ros. And I for no woman. 
 
 Sil. It is to be all made of faith and service ;- 
 And so am I for Phebe. 
 
 Phe. And I for Ganymede. 
 
 Orl. And I for Rosalind. 
 
 Ros. And I for no woman. 
 
 Sil. It is to be all made of fantasy, 
 All made of passion, and all made of wishes ; 
 All adoration, duty, and obedience, 
 All humbleness, all patience, and impatience, 
 All purity, all trial, all observance ; 
 And so am I for Phebe. 
 
 Phe. And so am I for Ganymede. 
 
 Orl. And so am I for Rosalind. 
 
 Ros. And so am I for no woman. 
 
 Phe. If this be so, why blame you me to 
 love you? \_To ROSALIND. 
 
 Sil. If this be so, why blame you me to 
 love you ? .[To PHEBE. 
 
 Orl. If this be so, why blame you me to 
 love you? 
 
 Ros. Why do you speak too, Why blame 
 you me to love you? 
 
 Orl. To her that is not here, nor doth not 
 hear. 
 
 Ros. Pray you, no more of this ; 'tis like the 
 howling of Irish wolves against the moon.' I 
 will help you [to SILVIUS] if I can: I would 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 277 
 
 love you [to PHEBE] if I could. To-morrow 
 meet me all together. I will marry you [to 
 PHEBE] if ever I marry woman, and I '11 be 
 married to-morrow: I will satisfy you [to OR- 
 LANDO] if ever I satisfied man, and you shall 
 be married to-morrow : I will content you [to 
 SILVIUS] if what pleases you contents you, and 
 you shall be married to-morrow. As you [to 
 ORLANDO] love Rosalind, meet ; as you [to 
 SILVIUS] love Phebe, meet ; and as I love no 
 woman, I '11 meet. So, fare you well; I have 
 left you commands. 
 
 Sil. I '11 not fail, if I live. 
 
 Phe. Nor I. 
 
 Or/. Nor I. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. Another part of the Forest. 
 Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY. 
 
 Touch. To-morrow is the joyful day, Audrey; 
 to-morrow will we be married. 
 
 And. I do desire it with all my heart ; and 
 I hope it is no dishonest desire to desire to be 
 a woman of the world. Here come two of the 
 banished duke's pages. 
 
 Enter two Pages. 
 
 1 Page. Well met, honest gentleman. 
 Touch. By my troth, well met. Come sit, 
 
 sit, and a song. 
 
 2 Page. We are for you : sit i' the middle. 
 
 I Page. Shall we clap into't roundly, with- 
 out hawking, or spitting, or saying we are 
 hoarse, which are the only prologues to a bad 
 voice ? 
 
 . 2 Page, r faith, i' faith ; and both in a tune, 
 like two gipsies on a horse. 
 
 SONG. 
 i. 
 
 It was a lover and his lass, 
 With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 
 
 That o ! er the green corn-field did pass 
 
 In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, 
 When birds do sing, hty ding a ding, ding : 
 
 Sweet lovers love the spring. 
 
 Between the acres of the rye, 
 
 With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 
 These pretty country folks would lie, 
 
 In the spring time, &c. 
 
 This_ carol they began that hour, 
 With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino. 
 
 How that a life was but a flower 
 In the spring time, &c. 
 
 And therefore take the present time, 
 With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 
 
 For love is crowned with the prime 
 In the spring time, &c. 
 
 Touch. Truly, young gentlemen, though 
 there was no great matter in the ditty, yet the 
 note was very untimeable. 
 
 I Page. You are deceived, sir; we kept 
 time, we lost not our time. 
 
 Touch. By my troth, yes ; I count it but 
 time lost to hear such a foolish song. God be 
 with you ; and God mend your voices ! Come, 
 Audrey. [Exeunt. 
 
 -j?amt ri.Ulo sloiiO *;' ni Iwirv.JO 
 I)-fii'-.-.j fvjij ;'' ror a -{ J" va>\ 
 
 SCENE IV. Another part of the Forest. 
 
 Enter DUKE Senior^ AMIENS, JAQUES, OR- 
 LANDO, OLIVER, and CELIA. 
 
 Duke S. Dost thou believe, Orlando, that 
 
 the boy 
 Can do all this that he hath promised? 
 
 Ori. I sometimes do believe and sometimes 
 
 do not ; [fear. 
 
 As those that fear they hope, and know they 
 
 Enter ROSALIND, SILVIUS, and PHEBE. 
 
 Ros. Patience once more, whiles our com- 
 pact is urg'd : 
 
 You say, if I bring in your Rosalind, 
 
 [To the DUKE. 
 You will bestow her on Orlando here? 
 
 Duke S. That would I, had I kingdoms to 
 give with her. 
 
 Ros. And you say you will have her, when 
 
 I brinor her? [To ORLANDO. 
 
 Orl. That would I, were I of all kingdoms 
 
 king. 
 
 Ros. You say you '11 marry me if I be willing? 
 
 [To PHEBE. 
 
 Phe. That will I, should I die the hour after. 
 Ros. But if you do refuse to marry me, 
 You '11 give yourself to this most faithful shep- 
 herd ? 
 
 Phe. So is the bargain. 
 
 Ros. You say that you'll have Phebe, if she 
 
 will? [To SILVIUS. 
 
 Sil. Though to have her and death were 
 
 both one thing. 
 Ros. I have promis'd to make all this matter 
 
 even. 
 Keep you your word, O duke, to give your 
 
 daughter ; 
 
 You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter ; 
 Keep you your word, Phebe, that you'll 
 marry me ; 
 
278 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Or else, refusing me, to wed this shepherd : 
 Keep your word, Silvius, that you '11 marry her 
 If she refuse me : and from hence I go, 
 To make these doubts all even. 
 
 [Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA. 
 
 Duke S. I do remember in this shepherd-boy 
 Some lively touches of my daughter's favour. 
 
 Or!. My lord, the first time that I ever saw 
 
 him, 
 
 Methought he was a brother to your daughter : 
 But, my good lord, this boy is forest-born, 
 And hath been tutor'd in the rudiments 
 Of many desperate studies by his uncle, 
 Whom he reports to be a great magician, 
 Obscured in the circle of this forest. 
 
 Jaq. There is, sure, another flood toward, 
 and these couples are coming to the ark. Here 
 comes a pair of very strange beasts, which in 
 all tongues are called fools. 
 
 Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY. 
 
 Touch. Salutation and greeting to you all ! 
 
 Jaq. Good my lord, bid him welcome. This 
 is the motley-minded gentleman that I have so 
 often met in the forest : he hath been a courtier, 
 he swears. 
 
 Touch. If any man doubt that, let him put 
 me to my purgation. I have trod a measure ; 
 I have flattered a lady; I have been politic with 
 my friend, smooth with mine enemy; I have 
 undone three tailors ; I have had four quarrels, 
 and like to have fought one. 
 Jaq. And how was that ta'en up? 
 
 Touch. Faith, we met, and found the quarrel 
 was upon the seventh cause. 
 
 Jaq. How seventh cause? Good my lord, 
 like this fellow. 
 
 Duke S. I like him very well. 
 
 Touch. God 'ild you, sir ; I desire you of the 
 like. I press in here, sir, amongst the rest of 
 the country copulatives, to swear and to for- 
 swear ; according as marriage binds and blood 
 breaks: A poor virgin, sir, an ill-favoured 
 thing, sir, but mine own; a poor humour of 
 mine, sir, to take that that no man else will : 
 rich honesty dwells like a miser, sir, in a poor- 
 house ; as your pearl in your foul oyster. 
 
 Duke S. By my faith, he is very swift and 
 sententious. 
 
 Touch. According to the fool's bolt, sir, and 
 such dulcet diseases. 
 
 Jaq. But, for the seventh cause; how did 
 you find the quarrel on the seventh cause? 
 
 Touch. Upon a lie seven times removed ; 
 bear your body more seeming, Audrey : as 
 thus, sir, I did dislike the cut of a certain 
 courtier's beard ; he sent me word, if I said his 
 
 beard was not cut well, he was in the mind it 
 was : this is called the Retort courteous. If I 
 sent him word again, it was not well cut, he 
 would send me word he cut it to please himself: 
 this is called the Quip modest. If again, it was 
 not well cut, he disabled my judgment : this is 
 called the Reply churlish. If again, it was not 
 well cut, he would answer, I spake not true : 
 this is called the Reproof valiant. If again, it 
 was not well cut, he would say, I lie: this is 
 called the Countercheck quarrelsome: and so, 
 to the Lie circumstantial, and the Lie direct. 
 
 Jaq. And how oft did you say his beard was 
 not well cut? 
 
 Touch. I durst go no farther than the Lie 
 circumstantial^ nor he durst not give me the 
 Lie direct ; and so we measured swords and 
 parted. 
 
 Jaq. Can you nominate in order now the de- 
 grees of the lie? 
 
 Touch. O, sir, we quarrel in print by the 
 book, as you have books for good manners : I 
 will name you the degrees. The first, the Re- 
 tort courteous; the second, the Quip modest: 
 the third, the Reply churlish ; the fourth, the 
 Reproof valiant ; the fifth, the Countercheck 
 quarrelsome; the sixth, the Lie with circum- 
 stance ; the seventh, the Lie direct. All these 
 you may avoid but the lie direct ; and you may 
 avoid that too with an If. I knew when seven 
 justices could not take up a quarrel ; but when 
 the parties were met themselves, one of them 
 thought but of an 7f, as If you said so, then 2 
 said so; and they shook hands, and swore 
 brothers. Your If\s the only peace-maker: 
 much virtue in If. 
 
 Jaq. Is not this a rare fellow, my lord? he 's 
 as good at anything, and yet a fool. 
 
 Duke S. He uses his folly like a stalking- 
 horse, and under the presentation of that he 
 shoots his wit. 
 
 Enter HYMEN, hading ROSALIND in woman's 
 clothes; and CELIA. 
 
 Still Music. 
 
 Hym. Then is there mirth in heaven, 
 When earthly things made even 
 
 Atone together. 
 
 Good duke, receive thy daughter : 
 Hymen from heaven brought her, 
 
 Yea, brought her hither. 
 That thou mightst join her hand with his, 
 Whose heart within her bosom is. 
 
 Ros. To you I give myself, for I air yours. 
 
 [To DUKE S. 
 To you I give myself, for I am yours. 
 
 [To ORLANDO. 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 279 
 
 Duke S. If there be truth in sight, you are 
 
 my daughter. 
 OrL If there be truth in sight, you are my 
 
 Rosalind. 
 
 Phe. If sight and shape be true, 
 Why, then, my love, adieu ! 
 
 Ros. I '11 have no father, if you be not he : 
 [To DUKE S. 
 i '11 have no husband, if you be not he : 
 
 [To ORLANDO. 
 Nor e'er wed woman, if you be not she. 
 
 [To PHEBE. 
 
 Hym. Peace, ho ! I bar confusion : 
 'Tis I must make conclusion 
 
 Of these most strange events : 
 Here 's eight that must take hands, 
 To join in Hymen's bands, 
 
 If truth holds true contents. 
 You and you no cross shall part : 
 
 [To ORLANDO and ROSALIND. 
 You and you are heart in heart : 
 
 [To OLIVER and CELIA. 
 You to his love must accord, [ To PHEBE. 
 Or have a woman to your lord : 
 You and you are sure together, 
 
 [To TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY. 
 As the winter to foul weather. 
 Whiles a wedlock -hymn we sing, 
 Feed yourselves with questioning, 
 That reason wonder may diminish, 
 How thus we met, and these things finish. 
 
 SONG. 
 Wedding is great Juno's crown ; 
 
 P blessed bond of board and bed ! 
 'Tis Hymen peoples every town ; 
 
 High wedlock, then, be honoured ; 
 Honour, high honour and renown, 
 To Hymen, god of every town 1 
 
 Duke S. O my dear niece, welcome thou art 
 
 to me! 
 
 Even daughter, welcome in no less degree. 
 Phe. I will not eat my word, now thou art 
 
 mine; 
 Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine. 
 
 [To SILVIUS. 
 
 Enter JAQUES DE Bois. 
 
 Jaq. de B. Let me have audience for a word 
 
 or two ; 
 
 I am the second son of old Sir Rowland, 
 That bring these tidings to this fair assembly : 
 J)uke Frederick, hearing how that every day 
 Men of great worth resorted to this forest, 
 Address'd a mighty power ; which were on 
 
 foot, 
 In his own conduct, purposely to take 
 
 His brother here, and put him to the sword : 
 And to the skirts of this wild wood he came ; 
 Where, meeting with an old religious man, 
 After some question with him, was converted 
 Both from his enterprise and from the world ; 
 His crown bequeathing to his banish'd brother, 
 And all their lands restored to them again 
 That were with him exil'd. This to be true 
 I do engage my life. 
 
 Duke S. Welcome, young man : 
 
 Thou offer' st fairly to thy brother's wedding : 
 To one, his lands withheld ; and to the other, 
 A land itself at large, a potent dukedom. 
 First, in this forest, let us do those ends 
 That here were well begun and well begot : 
 And after, every of this happy number, 
 That have endur'd shrewd days and nights with 
 
 us, 
 
 Shall share the good of our returned fortune, 
 According to the measure of their states. 
 Meantime, forget this new-fall'n dignity, 
 And fall into our rustic revelry : 
 Play, music ! and you, brides and bridegrooms 
 
 all, 
 With measure heap'd in joy, to the measures 
 
 fall. 
 faq. Sir, by your patience. If I heard you 
 
 rightly, 
 
 The duke hath put on a religious life, 
 And thrown into neglect the pompous court? 
 Jaq. de B. He hath. 
 
 Jaq. To him will I : out of these convertites 
 There is much matter to be heard and learn* d. 
 You to your former honour I bequeath ; 
 
 [To DUKE S. 
 Your patience and your virtue well deserves 
 
 it: 
 You [to ORLANDO] to a love that your true 
 
 faith doth merit : 
 You [to OLIVER] to your land, and love, and 
 
 great allies: 
 You [to SILVIUS] to a long and well-deserved 
 
 bed: 
 And you [to TOUCHSTONE] to wrangling; for 
 
 thy loving voyage 
 Is but for two months victual'd. So to your 
 
 pleasures ; 
 
 I am for other than for dancing measures. 
 Duke S. Stay, Jaques, stay. 
 Jaq. To see no pastime I : what you would 
 
 have 
 I '11 stay to know at your abandon'd cave. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Duke S. Proceed, proceed: we will begin 
 
 these rites, 
 As we do trust they '11 end, in true delights. 
 
 [A dance 
 
280 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 tfos. It is not the fashion to see the lady the 
 epilogue ; but it is no more unhandsome than 
 to see the lord the prologue. If it be true that 
 good wine needs no bush, 'tis true that a good 
 play needs no epilogue. Yet to good wine 
 they do use good bushes ; and good plays prove 
 the better by the help of good epilogues. What 
 a case am I in, then, that am neither a good 
 epilogue nor cannot insinuate with you in the 
 behalf of a good play ! I am not furnished like 
 a beggar : therefore to beg will not become me: 
 
 my way is to conjure you ; and I '11 begin with 
 the women. I charge you, O women, for the 
 love you bear to men, to like as much of this 
 play as please you : and I charge you, O men, 
 for the love you bear to women, as I perceive 
 by your simpering, none of you hates them, - 
 that between you and the women the play may 
 please. If I were a woman, I would kiss as 
 many of you as had beards that pleased me, 
 complexions that liked me, and breaths that I 
 defied not . and, I am sure, as many as have 
 good beards, or good faces, or sweet breaths, 
 will, for my kind offer, when I make curtsy, 
 bid me farewell. [Exeunt. 
 
 aw J .icft itud ?.l 
 
 I cllUoKslq 
 
 n-siif istffjQ *ot ma 1 
 
 
 A .v*\ 
 
 -:;di ra I 
 
 Midi Mil 
 
 
 i . ^;; 
 

 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 KING OF FRANCE. 
 
 DUKE OF FLORENCE. 
 
 BERTRAM, Count of Rousillon. 
 
 LAFEU, an old Lord. 
 
 PAROLLES, a follower <?/ BERTRAM. 
 
 Several young French Lords, that serve with 
 
 BERTRAY in the Florentine War. 
 Steward, ) Serva nts to the COUNTESS OF Rou- 
 MHO* 
 
 COUNTESS OF ROUSILLON, Mother to BER 
 
 TRAM 
 
 HELENA, a Gentlewoman protected by tht 
 
 COUNTESS. 
 
 An old Widow of Florence. 
 DIANA, Daughter to the Widow. 
 VIOLENTA, 1 Neighbours and F 
 MARIANA, f Widow. 
 
 Lords a-ttending on the KING ; Officers , 
 Soldiers, &c., French and Florentine. 
 
 SCENE, Partly in FRANCE, and partly in TUSCANY. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. ROUSILLON. A Room in the 
 COUNTESS'S Palace. 
 
 Enter BERTRAM, the COUNTESS OF ROUSIL- 
 LON, HELENA, and LAFEU, in mounting. 
 
 Count. In delivering my son from me, I bury 
 a second husband. 
 
 Ber. And I, in going, madam, weep o'er my 
 father's death anew: but I must attend his 
 majesty's command, to whom I am now in 
 ward, evermore in subjection. 
 
 Laf. You shall find of the king a husband, 
 madam ; you, sir, a father : he that so gener- 
 ally is at all times good, must of necessity hold 
 his virtue to you ; whose worthiness would stir 
 it up where it wanted, rather than lack it 
 where there is such abundance. 
 
 Count. What hope is there of his majesty's 
 amendment ? 
 
 Laf. He hath abandoned his physicians, 
 madam ; under whose practices he hath perse- 
 cuted time with hope ; and finds no other ad- 
 vantage in the process but only the losing of 
 hope by time. 
 
 Count. This young gentlewoman had a 
 father O, that had! how sad a passage 'tis ! 
 whose skill was almost as great as his honesty ; 
 had it stretched so far, would have made nature 
 immortal, and death should have play for lack 
 of work. Would, for the king's sake, he were 
 living ! I think it would be \he death of the 
 king's disease. 
 
 Laf. How called you the man you speak of, 
 madam? 
 
 
 Count. He was famous, sir, in his profession, 
 and it was his great right to be so, Gerard de 
 Narbon. 
 
 Laf. He was excellent, indeed, madam : the 
 king very lately spoke of him admiringly and 
 mourningly : he was skilful enough to have 
 lived still, if knowledge could be set up against 
 mortality. 
 
 Ber. What is it, my good lord, the king lan- 
 guishes of? 
 
 Laf. A fistula, my lord. 
 
 Ber. I heard not of it before. 
 
 Laf. I would it were not notorious. Was 
 this gentlewoman the daughter of Gerard de 
 Narbon? 
 
 Count. His sole child, my lord; and be- 
 queathed to my overlooking. I have those 
 hopes of her good that her education promises : 
 her dispositions she inherits, which make fair 
 gifts fairer ; for where an unclean mind carries 
 virtuous qualities, there commendations go with 
 pity, they are virtues and traitors too : in her 
 they are the better for their simpleness; she 
 derives her honesty, and achieves her goodness. 
 
 Laf. Your commendations, madam, get from 
 her tears. 
 
 Count. 'Tis the best brine a maiden can 
 season her praise in. The remembrance of her 
 father never approaches her heart but the tyr- 
 anny of her sorrows takes all livelihood from 
 her cheek. No more of this, Helena, go to, 
 no more ; lest it be rather thought you affect a 
 sorrow than to have. 
 
 Hel. I do affect a sorrow indeed ; but I have 
 it too. 
 
 Laf. Moderate lamentation is the right of 
 
282 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 [ACT r. 
 
 the dead; excessive grief the enemy to the 
 living. 
 
 Count. If the living be enemy to the grief, 
 the excess makes it soon mortal. 
 
 Ber. Madam, I desire your holy wishes. 
 
 Laf. How understand we that? 
 
 Count Be thou blest, Bertram ! and succeed 
 
 thy father 
 
 In manners, as in shape ! thy blood and virtue 
 Contend for empire in thee, and thy goodness 
 Share with thy birthright ! Love all, trust a few, 
 Do wrong to none : be able for thine enemy 
 Rather in power than use ; and keep thy friend 
 Under thy own life's key: be check'd f or silence, 
 But never tax'd for speech. What heaven more 
 will, [down, 
 
 That thee may furnish and my prayers pluck 
 Fall on thy head ! Farewell. My lord, 
 'Tis an unseason'd courtier ; good my lord, 
 Advise him. 
 
 Laf. He cannot want the best 
 That shall attend his love. 
 
 Count. Heaven bless him! Farewell, Ber- 
 tram. [Exit COUNTESS. 
 Ber. The best wishes that can be "orged in 
 your thoughts \to HELENA] be servants to you ! 
 Be comfortable to my mother, your mistress, 
 and make much of her. 
 
 Laf. Farewell, pretty lady: you must hold 
 the credit of your father. 
 
 [Exeunt BER. and LAF. 
 Hel. O, were that all ! I think not on my 
 father; [more 
 
 And these great tears grace his remembrance 
 Than those I shed for him. What was he like? 
 I have forgot him ; my imagination 
 Carries no favour in't but Bertram's. 
 I am undone : there is no living, none, 
 If Bertram be away. It were all one 
 That I should love a bright particular star, 
 And think to wed it, he is so above me : 
 In his bright radiance and collateral light 
 Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. 
 The ambition in my love thus plagues itself: 
 The hind that would be mated by the lion 
 Must die for love. J Twas pretty, though a 
 
 plague, 
 
 To see him every hour ; to sit and draw 
 His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls, 
 In our heart's table, heart too capable 
 Of every line and trick of his sweet favour : 
 But now he 's gone, and my idolatrous fancy 
 Must sanctify his relics. Who comes here? 
 One that goes with him: I love him for his 
 
 sake; 
 
 And yet I know him a notorious liar, 
 Think him a great way fool, solely a coward; 
 
 Yet these fix'd evils sit so fit in him 
 
 That they take place when virtue's steely bone,'? 
 
 Look bleak i' the cold wind : withal, full oft 
 
 we see 
 Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly. 
 
 Enter PAROLLES. 
 
 Par. Save you, fair queen ! 
 
 Hel. And you, monarch ! 
 
 Par. No. 
 
 Hel. And no. 
 
 Par. Are you meditating on virginity? 
 
 Hel, Ay. You have some stain of soldier in 
 you : let me ask you a question. Man is enemy 
 to virginity j how may we barricado it against 
 him? 
 
 Par. Keep him out. 
 
 Hel. But he assails ; and our virginity, though 
 valiant in the defence, yet is weak : unfold to 
 us some warlike resistance. 
 
 Par. There is none: man, sitting down be- 
 fore you, will undermine you, and blow you up. 
 
 Hel. Bless our poor virginity from under- 
 miners and blowers-up! Is there no military 
 policy how virgins might blow up men? 
 
 Par. Virginity being blown down, man will 
 quicklier be blown up: marry, in blowing him 
 down again, with the breach yourselves made, 
 you lose your city. It is not politic in the 
 commonwealth of nature to preserve virginity. 
 Loss of virginity is rational increase ; and there 
 was never virgin got till virginity was first lost. 
 That you were made of is metal to make virgins. 
 Virginity, by being once lost, may be ten times 
 found ; by being ever kept, it is ever lost : 'tis 
 too cold a companion ; away with it ! 
 
 Hel. I will stand for 't a little, though there- 
 fore I die a virgin. 
 
 Par. There's little can be said in't; 'tis 
 against the rule of nature. To speak on the 
 part of virginity is to accuse your mothers; 
 which is most infallible disobedience. He that 
 hangs himself is a virgin : virginity murders 
 itself; and should be buried in highways, out 
 of all sanctified limit, as a desperate offendress 
 against nature. Virginity breeds mites, much 
 like a cheese ; consumes itself to the very par- 
 ing, and so dies with feeding his own stomach 
 Besides, virginity is peevish, proud, idle, made 
 of self-love ; which is the most inhibited sin in 
 the canon. Keep it not; you cannot choose 
 but lose by 't : out with 't ! within ten years it 
 will make itself ten, which is a goodly increase ; 
 and the principal itself not much the worse : 
 away with it ! 
 
 Hel. How might one do, sir, to lose it to her 
 own liking? 
 
SCENE I.J 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 283 
 
 Par. Let me see : marry, ill, to like him that 
 ne'er it likes. 'Tis a commodity will lose the 
 gloss with lying ; the longer kept, the less worth : 
 off with 't while 'tis vendible : answer the time 
 of request. Virginity, like an old courtier, wears 
 her cap out of fashion; richly suited, but un- 
 suitable: just like the brooch and the tooth- 
 pick which wear not now. Your date is better 
 in your pie and your porridge than in your cheek. 
 And your virginity, your old virginity, is like 
 one of our French withered pears ; it looks ill, 
 it eats drily ; marry, 'tis a withered pear ; it was 
 formerly better ; marry, yet 'tis a withered pear. 
 Will you anything with it? 
 
 Hel. Not my virginity yet. 
 There shall your master have a thousand loves, 
 A mother, and a mistress, and a friend, 
 A phoenix, captain, and an enemy, 
 A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign, 
 A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear : 
 His humble ambition, proud humility, 
 His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet, 
 His faith, his sweet disaster ; with a world 
 Of pretty, fond, adoptious Christendoms, 
 That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he 
 I know not what he shall: God send him 
 
 well ! 
 The court 's a learning-place ; and he is one, 
 
 Par. What one, i' faith? 
 
 Hel. That I wish well. 'Tis pity 
 
 Par. What'spi^y? 
 
 Hel. That wishing well had not a body in 't 
 Which might be felt ; that we, the poorer born, 
 Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes, 
 Might with effects of them follow our friends, 
 And show what we alone must think ; which 
 
 never 
 Returns us thanks. 
 
 Enter a Page. 
 
 Page. Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for 
 you. [Exit Page. 
 
 Par. Little Helen, farewell : if I can re- 
 member thee, I will think of thee at court. 
 
 Hel. Monsieur Parolles, you were born under 
 a charitable star. 
 
 Par. Under Mars, I. 
 
 Hel. I especially think, under Mars. 
 
 Par. Why under Mars? 
 
 Hel. The wars have so kept you under that 
 you must needs be born under Mars. 
 
 Par. When he was predominant. 
 
 Hel. When he was retrograde, I think, rather. 
 
 Par. Why think you so? [fight. 
 
 Hel. You go so much backward when you 
 
 Par. That 's for advantage. 
 
 Hel. So is running away, when fear proposes 
 
 the safety : but the composition that your valour 
 and fear makes in you is a virtue of a good wing, 
 and I like the wear well. 
 
 Par. I am so full of businesses I cannot answer 
 thee acutely. I will return perfect courtier ; in 
 the which my instruction shall serve to natural- 
 ize thee> so thou wilt be capable of a courtier's 
 counsel, and understand what advice shall 
 thrust upon thee ; else thou diest in thine un- 
 thankfulness, and thine ignorance makes thee 
 away: farewell. When thou hast leisure, say 
 thy prayers; when thou hast none, remember 
 thy friends : get thee a good husband, and use 
 him as he uses thee : so, farewell. [Exit. 
 
 Hel. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, 
 Which we ascribe to heaven : the fated sky 
 Gives us free scope ; only doth backward pull 
 Our slow designs when we ourselves are dull. 
 What power is it which mounts my love so 
 
 high 
 
 That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye? 
 The mightiest space in fortune nature brings 
 To join like likes, and kiss like native things. 
 Impossible be strange attempts to those 
 That weigh their pains in sense, and do suppose 
 What hath been cannot be : who ever strove 
 To show her merit that did miss her love? 
 The king's disease, my project may deceive 
 
 me, 
 
 But my intents are fix'd, and will not leave me. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 -PARIS. A Room in the KING'S 
 Palace. 
 
 Flourish of cornets. Enter the KING OF 
 FRANCE, with Letters ; Lords and others 
 attending. 
 
 King. The Florentines and Senoys are by the 
 
 ears; 
 
 Have fought with equal fortune, and continue 
 A braving war. 
 
 I Lord. So 'tis reported, sir. 
 
 King. Nay, 'tis most credible; we here re- 
 ceive it 
 
 A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria, 
 With caution that the Florentine will move us 
 For speedy aid ; wherein our dearest friend 
 Prejudicates the business, and would seem 
 To have us make denial. 
 
 I Lord. His love and wisdom, 
 
 Approv'd so to your majesty, may plead 
 For amplest credence. 
 
 King. He hath arm'd our answer, 
 
 And Florence is denied before he comes: 
 Yet, foi our gentlemen that mean to see 
 
284 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 [ACT I. 
 
 The Tuscan service, freely have they leave 
 To stand on either part. 
 
 2 Lord. It well may serve 
 
 A nursery to our gentry, who are sick 
 For breathing and exploit. 
 
 King. What 's he comes here ? 
 
 Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES. 
 
 I Lord. It is the Count Rousillon, my good 
 
 lord, 
 Young Bertram. 
 
 King. Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face ; 
 Frank nature, rather curious than in haste, 
 Hath well compos'd thee. Thy father's moral 
 
 parts 
 Mayst thou inherit too ! Welcome to Paris. 
 
 Ber. My thanks and duty are your majesty's. 
 
 King. I would I had that corporal soundness 
 
 now, 
 
 As when thy father and myself in friendship 
 First tried our soldiership ! He did look far 
 Into the service of the time, and was 
 Discipled of the bravest : he lasted long ; 
 But on us both did haggish age steal on, 
 And wore us out of act. It much repairs me 
 To talk of your good father. In his youth 
 He had the wit which I can well observe 
 To-day in our young lords ; but they may jest 
 Till their own scorn return to them unnoted, 
 Ere they can hide their levity in honour 
 So like a courtier : contempt nor bitterness 
 Were in his pride or sharpness ; if they were, 
 His equal had awak'd them ; and his honour, 
 Clock to itself, knew the true minute when 
 Exception bid him speak, and at this time 
 His tongue obey'd his hand : who were be'.ow 
 
 him 
 
 He us'd as creatures of another place ; 
 And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks 
 Making them proud of his humility, 
 In their poor praise he humbled. Such a man 
 Might be a copy to these younger times; [now 
 Which, follow'd well, would demonstrate them 
 But goers backward. 
 
 Ber. His good remembrance, sir, 
 
 Lies richer in your thoughts than on his tomb ; 
 So in approof lives not his epitaph 
 As in your royal speech. [always say, 
 
 King. Would I were with him ! He would 
 Methinks I hear him now ; his plausive words 
 He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them, 
 To grow there, and to bear, Let me not live, 
 Thus his good melancholy oft began, 
 On the catastrophe and heel of pastime, 
 When it was out, Let me not live, quoth he, 
 After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff 
 Of younger spirits j whose apprehensive senses 
 
 All bttt new things disdain; whose judgments 
 are \stancies 
 
 Mere fathers of their garments ; whose con- 
 Expire before their fashions : This he wish'd: 
 I, after him, do after him wish too, 
 Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home, 
 I quickly were dissolv'd from my hive, 
 To give some labourers room. 
 
 2 Lord. You are lov'd, sir : 
 
 They that least lend it you shall lack you first. 
 
 King. I fill a place, I know't. How long 
 
 is't, count, 
 
 Since the physician at your father's died? 
 He was much fam'd. 
 
 Ber. Some six months since, my lord. 
 
 King. If he were living I would try him yet; 
 Lend me an arm ; the rest have worn me out 
 With several applications : nature and sickness 
 Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count ; 
 My son 's no dearer. 
 
 Ber. Thank your majesty. 
 
 \Exeunt. Flotirish. 
 
 SCENE III. ROUSILLON. A Room in thi 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter COUNTESS, Steward, and Clown. 
 
 Count. I will now hear : what say you of this 
 gentlewoman? 
 
 Ste-v. Madam, the care I have had to even 
 your content, I wish might be found in the 
 calendar of my past endeavours; for then we 
 wound our modesty, and make foul the clear- 
 ness of our deservings, when of ourselves we 
 publish them. 
 
 Count. What does this knave here? Gel 
 you gone, sirrah : the complaints I have heard 
 of you I do not at all believe ; 'tis my slowness 
 that I do not ; for I know you lack not folly ta 
 commit them, and have ability enough to make 
 such knaveries yours. 
 
 Clo. 'Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am 
 a poor fellow. 
 
 Count. Well, sir. 
 
 Clo. No, madam, 'tis not so well that I am 
 poor; though many of the rich are damned: 
 but if I may have your ladyship's good will to 
 go to the world, Isbel the woman and I will do 
 as we may. 
 
 Count. Wilt thou needs be a beggar? 
 
 Clo. I do beg your good will in this case. 
 
 Count. In what case? 
 
 Clo. In Isbel's case and mine own. Service 
 is no heritage : and I think I shall never have 
 the blessing of God till I have issue of my body; 
 for they say bairns are blessings. [marry. 
 
 Count. Tell me thy reason why thou wilt 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL, 
 
 285 
 
 Clo. My poor body, madam, requires it: I 
 am driven on by the flesh; and he must needs 
 go that the devil drives. 
 
 Count. Is this all your worship's reason? 
 
 Clo. Faith, madam, I have other holy 
 reasons, such as they are. 
 
 Count. May the world know them ? 
 
 Clo. I have been, madam, a wicked creature, 
 as you and all flesh and blood are; and, in- 
 deed, I do marry that I may repent. 
 
 Count. Thy marriage, sooner than thy wicked- 
 ness. 
 
 Clo. I am out of friends, madam ; and I hope 
 to have friends for my wife's sake. 
 
 Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave. 
 
 Clo. You are shallow, madam, in greal 
 friends : for the knaves come to do that for me 
 which I am a-weary of. He that ears my land 
 spares my team, and gives me leave to inn the 
 crop : if I be his cuckold, he 's my drudge : he 
 that comforts my wife is the cherisher of my 
 flesh and blood ; he that cherishes my flesh 
 and blood loves my flesh and blood ; he that 
 loves my flesh and blood is my friend ; ergo, 
 he that kisses my wife is my friend. If men 
 could be contented to be what they are, there 
 were no fear in marriage ; for young Charbon 
 the puritan and old Poysam the papist, how- 
 some'er their hearts are severed in religion, 
 their heads are both one ; they may joll homs 
 together like any deer i' the herd. 
 
 Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and 
 calumnious knave? 
 
 Clo. A prophet I, madam ; and I speak the 
 truth the next way: 
 
 For I the ballad will repeat, 
 Which men full true shall find ; 
 
 Your marriage comes by destiny, 
 Your cuckoo sings by kind. 
 
 Count. Get you gone, sir ; I '11 talk with you 
 more anon. 
 
 Stew. May it please you, madam, that he 
 bid Helen come to you ; of her I am to speak. 
 
 Count. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would 
 speak with her ; Helen I mean. 
 
 Clo. [Singmg.]Vfa& this fair face the cause, quoth 
 she, 
 
 Why the Grecians sacked Troy? 
 Fond done, done fond, 
 
 Was this Kin? Priam's joy? 
 With that she sighed as she stood, 
 With that she sighed as she stood, 
 
 And gave this sentence then : 
 Among nine bad if one be good, 
 Among nine bad if one be good, 
 
 There 's yet one good ia ten. 
 
 Count. What, one good in ten? you corrupt 
 the song, sirrah. 
 
 Clo. One good woman in ten, madam, which 
 is a purifying o' the song: would God would 
 serve the world so all the year ! we 5 d find no 
 fault with the tithe-woman if I were the parson: 
 one in ten, quoth a' ! an we might have a good 
 woman born but for every blazing star, or at an 
 earthquake, 'twould mend the lottery well: a 
 man may draw his heart out ere he pluck one. 
 
 Count. You 'II be gone, sir knave, and do as 
 I command you ! 
 
 Clo. That man should be at woman's com- 
 mand, and yet no hurt done ! Though honesty 
 be no puritan, yet it will do no hurt ; it will 
 wear the surplice of humility over the black 
 gown of a big heart. I am going, forsooth: 
 the business is for Helen to come hither. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Count. Well, now. 
 
 Stew. I know, madam, you love your gentle- 
 woman entirely. 
 
 Count. Faith, I do: her father bequeathed 
 her to me ; and she herself, without other ad- 
 vantage, may lawfully make title to as much 
 love as she finds : there is more owing her than 
 is paid ; and more shall be paid her than she '11 
 demand. 
 
 Stew. Madam, I was very late more near her 
 than I think she wished me: alone she was, 
 and did communicate to herself her own words 
 to her own ears ; she thought, I dare vow for 
 her, they touched not any stranger sense. Her 
 matter was, she loved your son: Fortune, she 
 said, was no goddess, that had put such differ- 
 ence betwixt their two estates ; Love no god, 
 that would not extend his might only where 
 qualities were level : Diana no queen of virgins, 
 that would suffer her poor knight surprise, with- 
 out rescue in the first assault, cr ransom after- 
 ward. This she delivered in the most bitter 
 touch of sorrow that e'er I heard virgin ex- 
 claim in : which I held my duty speedily to ac- 
 quaint you withal; sithence, in the loss that 
 may happen, it concerns you Something to know 
 it. 
 
 Count. You have discharged this honestly; 
 keep it to yourself: many likelihoods informed 
 me of this before, which hung so tottering in 
 the balance that I could neither believe nor 
 misdoubt. Pray you, leave me: stall this in 
 your bosom ; and I thank you for your honest 
 care : I will speak with you further anon. 
 
 [Exit Steward. 
 
 Count. Even so it was with me when I was 
 young : [thorn 
 
 If ever we are nature's, these are ours ; this 
 Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong ; 
 
 Our blood to us, this to our blood is born,- 
 
286 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 [ACT I. 
 
 It is the show and seal of nature's truth, 
 Where love's strong passion is impress'd in 
 
 youth : 
 
 By our remembrances of days foregone, 
 Such were our faults : or then we thought them 
 
 none. 
 
 Enter HELENA. 
 
 Her eye is sick on 't ; I observe her now. 
 
 Hel. What is your pleasure, madam? 
 
 Count. You know, Helen, 
 
 I am a mother to you. 
 
 Hel. Mine honourable mistress. 
 
 Count. Nay, a mother: 
 
 Why not a mother? When I said a mother, 
 Methought you saw a serpent: what's in 
 
 mother, 
 
 That you start at it? I say I am your mother; 
 And put you in the catalogue of those 
 That were emwombed mine. 'Tis often seen 
 Adoption strives with nature ; and choice breeds 
 A native slip to us from foreign seeds : 
 You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan, 
 Yet I express to you a mother's care : 
 God's mercy, maiden ! does it curd thy blood 
 To say I am thy mother? What's the matter, 
 That this distemper'd messenger of wet, 
 The many-colour'd iris, rounds thine eye? 
 Why, that you are my daughter? 
 
 Hel. That I am not. 
 
 Count. I say, I am your mother. 
 
 Hel. Pardon, madam; 
 
 The Count Rousillon cannot be my brother : 
 I am from humble, he from honour'd name ; 
 No note upon my parents, his all noble ; 
 My master, my dear lord he is ; and I 
 His servant live, and will his vassal die : 
 He nvist not be my brother. 
 
 Count. Nor I your mother ? 
 
 Hel. You are my mother, madam; would 
 
 you were, 
 
 So that my lord your son were not my brother, 
 Indeed my mother! or were you both our 
 
 mothers, 
 
 I care no more for than I do for heaven, 
 So I were not his sister. Can't no other, 
 But, I your daughter, he must be my brother? 
 
 Count. Yes, Helen, you might be my 
 daughter-in-law : [mother 
 
 God shield you mean it not! daughter and 
 So strive upon your pulse. What ! pale again? 
 My fear hath catch' d your fondness : now I see 
 The mystery of your loneliness, and find 
 Your salt tears' head. Now to all sense 'tis 
 
 gross 
 
 You love my son ; invention is asham'd, 
 Against the proclamation of thy passion, 
 
 To say thou dost not : therefore tell me true ; 
 But tell me then, 'tis so; for, look, thy cheeks 
 Confess it, one to the other ; and thine eyes 
 See it so grossly shown in thy be 1 aviours, 
 That in their kind they speak it ; only sin 
 And heDish obstinacy tie thy tongue, [so? 
 
 That truth should be suspected. Speak, is't 
 If it be so, you have wound a goodly clue ; 
 If it be not, forswear 't : howe'er, I charge thee, 
 As heaven shall work in me for thine avail, 
 To tell me truly. 
 
 Hel. Good madam, pardon me ! 
 
 Count. Do you love my son? 
 
 Hel. Your pardon, noble mistress ! 
 
 Count. Love you my son? 
 
 Hel. Do not you love him, madam? 
 
 Count. Go not about ; my love hath in 't a 
 bond, [disclose 
 
 Whereof the world takes note: come, come, 
 The state of your affection ; for your passions 
 Have to the full appeach'd. 
 
 Hel. Then I confess, 
 
 Here on my knee, before high heaven and you, 
 That before you, and next unto high heaven, 
 I love your son : 
 
 My friends were poor, but honest ; so 's my love : 
 Be not offended ; for it hurts not him 
 That he is lov'd of me : I follow him not 
 By any token of presumptuous suit ; 
 Nor would I have him till I do deserve him ; 
 Yet never know how that desert should be. 
 I know I love in vain, strive against hope ; 
 Yet in this captious and intenible sieve 
 I still pour in the waters of my love, 
 And lack not to lose still : thus, Indian-like, 
 Religious in mine error, I adore 
 The sun, that looks upon his worshipper, 
 But knows of him no more. My dearest 
 
 madam, 
 
 Let not your hate encounter with my love, 
 For loving where you do; but, if yourself, 
 Whose aged honours cites a virtuous youth, 
 Did ever, in so true a frame of liking, 
 Wish chastely, and love dearly, that your Dian 
 Was both herself and love ; O, then, give pity 
 To her whose state is such that cannot choose 
 But lend and give where she is sure to lose ; 
 That seeks not to find that her search implies. 
 But, riddle-like, lives sweetly where she dies ! 
 
 Count. Had you not lately an intent, spea 
 
 truly, 
 To go to Paris? 
 
 Hel. Madam, I had. 
 
 Count. Wherefore? tell true. 
 
 Hel. I will tell truth ; by grace itself I swear. 
 You know my father left me some prescriptions 
 Of rare and prov'd effects, such as his reading 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 287 
 
 And manifest experience had collected 
 
 For general sovereignty ; and that he will'd me 
 
 In heedfulest reservation to bestow them, 
 
 As notes whose faculties inclusive were 
 
 More than they were in note : amongst the rest 
 
 There is a remedy, approv'd, set down, 
 
 To cure the desperate languishings whereof 
 
 The king is render'd lost. 
 
 Count. This was your motive 
 
 For Paris, was it? speak. [this; 
 
 HeL My lord your son made me to think of 
 Else Paris, and the medicine, and the king, 
 Had from the conversation of my thoughts 
 Haply been absent then. 
 
 Count. But think you, Helen, 
 
 If you should tender your supposed aid, 
 He would receive it? He and his physicians 
 Are of a mind; he, that they cannot help him, 
 They, that they cannot help: how shall they 
 
 credit 
 
 A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools, 
 Embowell'd of their doctrine, have left off 
 The danger to itself? 
 
 HeL There 's something in 't 
 
 More than my father's skill, which was the 
 
 greatest 
 
 Of his profession, that his good receipt 
 Shall, for my legacy, be sanctified 
 By the luckiest stars in heaven: and, would 
 
 your honour 
 
 But give me leave to try success, I 'd venture 
 The well-lost life of mine on his grace's cure 
 ty such a day and hour. 
 
 Count. Dost thou believe 't? 
 
 HeL Ay, madam, knowingly. 
 
 Count. Why, Helen, thou shalt have my 
 
 leave, and love, 
 
 Means, and attendants, and my loving greetings 
 To those of mine in court : I '11 stay at home, 
 And pray God's blessings into thy attempt : 
 Be gone to-morrow ; and be sure of this, 
 "Vhat I can help thee to thou shalt not miss. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. PARIS. A Room in the KING'S 
 Palace. 
 
 Flourish. Enter KING, with young Lords 
 taking leave for the Florentine war; BER- 
 TRAM, PAROLLES, and Attendants. 
 King. Farewell, young lord; these warlike 
 prin ciples [fare wel 1 : 
 
 Do not throw from you: and you, my lord, 
 Share the advice betwixt you ; if both gain all, 
 The gift doth stretch itself as 'tis received, 
 And is enough for both. 
 
 1 Lord. It is our hope, sir, 
 After well-enter'd soldiers, to return 
 And find your grace in health. 
 
 King. No, no, it cannot be ; and yet my heart 
 Will not confess he owes the malady 
 That doth my life besiege. Farewell, young lords; 
 Whether I live or die, be you the sons 
 Of worthy Frenchmen ; let higher Italy, 
 Those bated that inherit but the fall 
 Of the last monarchy, see that you come 
 Not to woo honour, but to wed it ; when 
 The bravest questant shrinks, find what you 
 
 seek, 
 That fame may cry you loud : I say, farewell. 
 
 2 Lord. Health, at your bidding, serve your 
 
 majesty ! 
 
 King. Those girls of Italy, take heed of them; 
 They say our French lack language to deny, 
 If they demand : beware of being captives 
 Before you serve. 
 
 Both. Our hearts receive your warnings. 
 King. Farewell. Come hither to me. 
 
 [The KING retires to a couch. 
 
 1 Lord. O my sweet lord, that you will stay 
 
 behind us ! 
 Par. 'Tis not his fault ; the spark 
 
 2 Lord. O, tis brave wars! 
 Par. Most admirable: I have seen those 
 
 wars. [with, 
 
 Ber. I am commanded here, and kept a coil 
 
 Too young, and the next year -, and 'tis too early. 
 
 Par. An thy mind stand to it, boy, steal 
 
 away bravely. [smock, 
 
 Ber. I shall stay here the forehorse to a 
 
 Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry, 
 
 Till honour be bought up, and no sword worn 
 
 But one to dance with ! By heaven, I '11 steal 
 
 away. 
 
 1 Lord. There 's honour in the theft. 
 
 Par. Commit it, count. 
 
 2 Lord. I am your accessary; and so fare- 
 
 well, [tured body. 
 
 Ber. I grow to you, and our parting is a tor- 
 
 1 Lord. Farewell, captain. 
 
 2 Lord. Sweet Monsieur Parolles! 
 
 Par. Noble heroes, my sword and yours are 
 kin. Good sparks and lustrous, a word, good 
 metals. You shall find in the regiment of the 
 Spinii one Captain Spurio, with his cicatrice, an 
 emblem of war, here on his sinister cheek; it 
 was this very sword entrenched it : say to him 
 I live ; and observe his reports for me. 
 
 2 Lord. We shall, noble captain. 
 
 Par. Mars dote on you for his novices 1 
 [Exeunt Lords.] What will ye do? 
 
 Ber. Stay ; the king 
 
 Par. Use a more spacious ceremony to the 
 
288 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 [ACT n. 
 
 noble lords ; you have restrained yourself with- 
 in the list of too cold an adieu: be more ex- 
 pressive to them ; for they wear themselves in 
 the cap of the time ; there do muster true gait, 
 eat, speak, and move under the influence of the 
 most received star ; and though the devil lead 
 the measure, such are to be followed: after 
 them, and take a more dilated farewell. 
 
 Ber. And I will do so. 
 
 Par. Worthy fellows ; and like to prove most 
 sinewy sword-men. 
 
 \Exeunt BERTRAM and PAROLLES. 
 
 Enter LAFEU. 
 
 Laf. Pardon, my lord \kneeling\ for me 
 and for my tidings. 
 
 King. I '11 fee thee to stand up. 
 
 Laf. Then here's a man stands that has 
 
 bought his pardon. [mercy ; 
 
 I would you had kneel'd, my lord, to ask me 
 
 And that, at my bidding, you could so stand up. 
 
 King. I would I had; so I had broke thy 
 
 pate, 
 And ask'd thee rnercy for 't. 
 
 Laf. Good faith, across ; 
 
 But, my good lord, 'tis thus : Will you be cured 
 Of your infirmity? 
 
 King. No. 
 
 Laf. O, will you eat 
 
 No grapes, my royal fox? yes, but you will 
 My noble grapes, and if my royal fox 
 Could reach them : I have seen a medicine 
 That 's able to breathe life into a stone, 
 Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary 
 With spritely fire and motion j whose simple 
 
 touch 
 
 Is powerful to araise King Pipin, nay, 
 To give great Charlemain a pen in his hand 
 And write to her a love-line. 
 
 King. What her is that? 
 
 Laf. Why, doctor she: my lord, there 's one 
 arriv'd, [honour, 
 
 If you will see her, now, by my faith and 
 If seriously I may convey my thoughts 
 In this my light deliverance, I have spoke 
 With one that in her sex, her years, profession, 
 Wisdom, and constancy hath amaz'd me more 
 Than I dare blame my weakness : will you see 
 her, [ness? 
 
 For that is her demand, and know her busi- 
 That done, laugh well at me. 
 
 King. Now, good Lafeu, 
 
 Bring in the admiration ; that we with thee 
 May spend our wonder too, or take off thine 
 By wondering how thou took'st it. 
 
 Laf. Nay, I '11 fit you, 
 
 And not be all day neither, \Exit LAFEU. 
 
 King. Thus he his special nothing ever pro- 
 logues. 
 
 Re-enter LAFEU with HELENA. 
 
 Laf. Nay, come your ways. 
 
 King. This haste hath wings indeed. 
 
 Laf. Nay, come your ways ; 
 This is his majesty : say your mind to him : 
 A traitor you do look like ; but such traitors 
 His majesty seldom fears : I am Ciessid's uncle, 
 That dare leave two together: fare you well. 
 
 (.Exit. 
 
 King. Now, fair one, does your business 
 follow us? [was 
 
 Hel. Ay, my good lord. Gerard cle Narbon 
 My father ; in what he did profess well found. 
 
 King. I knew him. 
 
 Hel. The rather will I spare my praises to- 
 wards him. 
 
 Knowing him is enough. On his bed of death 
 Many receipts he gave me ; chiefly one, 
 Which, as the dearest issue of his practice, 
 And of his old experience the only darling, 
 He bade me store up as a triple eye, [so 
 
 Safer than mine own two, more dear : I have 
 And, hearing your high majesty is touch'd 
 With that malignant cause wherein the honour 
 Of my dear father's gift stands chief in power, 
 I come to tender it, and my appliance, 
 With all bound humbleness. 
 
 King. We thank you, maiden; 
 
 But may not be so credulous of cure, 
 When our most learned doctors leave us, and 
 The congregated college have concluded 
 That labouring art can never ransom nature 
 From her inaidable estate, I say we must not 
 So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope, 
 To prostitute our past-cure malady 
 To empirics ; or, to dissever so 
 Our great self and our credit, to esteem 
 A senseless help, when help past sense we deem. 
 
 Hel. My duty, then, shall pay me for rny 
 
 pains: 
 
 I will no more enforce mine office on you ; 
 Humbly entreating from your royal thoughts 
 A modest one to bear me back again. 
 
 King. I cannot give thee less, to be call'd 
 grateful. [I give 
 
 Thou thought'st to help me ; and such thanks 
 As one near death to those that wish him live: 
 But what at full I know, thou know'st no part; 
 I knowing all my peril, thott no art. 
 
 Hel. What I can do can do no hurt to try, 
 Since you set up your rest 'gainst remedy. 
 He that of greatest works is finisher 
 Oft does them by the weakest minister : 
 So holy writ in babes hath judgment shown. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 When judges have been babes. Great floods 
 
 have flown 
 
 From simple sources ; and great seas have dried 
 When miracles have by the greatest been denied. 
 Oft expectation fails, and most oft there 
 Where most it promises ; and oft it hits 
 Where hope is coldest, and despair most fits. 
 
 King. I must not hear thee : fare thee well, 
 
 kind maid; 
 
 Thy pains, not used, must by thyself be paid : 
 Proffers, not took, reap thanks for their reward. 
 
 Hel. Inspired merit so by breath is barred : 
 It is not so with Him that all things knows, 
 As 'tis with us that square our guess by shows : 
 But most it is presumption in us when 
 The help of heaven we count the act of men. 
 Dear sir, to my endeavours give consent : 
 Of heaven, not me, make an experiment. 
 I am not an impostor, that proclaim 
 Myself against the level of mine aim ; 
 But know I think, and think I know most sure, 
 My art is not past power nor you past cure. 
 
 King. Art thou so confident? Within what 
 
 space 
 Hop'st thou my cure? 
 
 Hel. The greatest grace lending grace, 
 
 Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring 
 Their fiery torcher his diurnal ring ; 
 Ere twice in murk and occidental damp 
 Moist Hesperus hath quench'd his sleepy lamp; 
 Or four-and-twenty times the pilot's glass 
 Hath told the thievish minutes how they pass ; 
 What is infirm from your sound parts shall 
 
 fly, 
 
 Health shall live free, and sickness freely die. 
 
 King. Upon thy certainty and confidence, 
 What dar'st thou venture? 
 
 Hel. Tax of impudence, 
 
 A strumpet's boldness, a divulged shame, 
 Traduc'a by odious ballads ; my maiden's name 
 Sear'd otherwise ; ne worse of worst extended, 
 With vilest torture let my life be ended. 
 
 King. Methinks in thee some blessed spirit 
 
 doth speak ; 
 
 His powerful sound within an organ weak : 
 And what impossibility would slay 
 In common sense, sense saves another way. 
 Thy life is dear ; for all that life can rate 
 Worth name of life in thee hath estimate: 
 Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, all 
 That happiness in prime can happy call ; 
 Thou this to hazard needs must intimate 
 Skill infinite, or monstrous desperate. 
 Sweet practiser, thy physic I will try : 
 That ministers thine own death if I die. 
 
 Hel. If I break time, or flinch in property 
 Of what I spoke, unpitied let me die ; 
 
 ' 
 
 And well deserv'd. Not helping, death's my 
 
 fee; 
 
 But, if I help, what do you promise me? 
 King. Make thy demand. 
 Hel. But will you make it even? 
 
 King. Ay, by my sceptre and my hopes of 
 
 heaven. [hand, 
 
 Hel. Then shall thou give me, with thy kingly 
 What husband in thy power I will command: 
 Exempted be from me the arrogance 
 To choose from forth the royal blood of France, 
 My low and humble name to propagate 
 With any branch or image of thy state : 
 But such a one, thy vassal, whom I know 
 Is free for me to ask, thee to bestow. 
 King. Here is my hand; the premises ob- 
 
 serv'd, 
 
 Thy will by my performance shall be serv'd ; 
 So make the choice of thy own time, for I, 
 Thy resolv'd patient, on thee still rely. 
 More should I question thee, and more I 
 
 must, 
 Though more to know could not be more to 
 
 trust, 
 From whence thou cam'st, how tended on. 
 
 But rest - 
 
 Unquestion'd welcome and undoubted blest. 
 
 Give me some help here, he ! If thou proceed 
 
 As high as ,*rord, my deed shall match thy deed. 
 
 [Flourish. Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. ROUSILLON. A Room in the 
 COUNTESS'S Palace. 
 
 Enter COUNTESS and CLOWN. 
 
 Count. Come on, sir ; I shall now put yon to 
 the height of your breeding. 
 
 Clo. I will show myself highly fed and lowly 
 taught : I know my business is but to the court. 
 
 Count. To the court ! why, what place make 
 you special, when you put off that with such 
 contempt? But to the court ! 
 
 Clo. Truly, madam, if God have lent a man 
 any manners, he may easily put it off at court : 
 he that cannot make a leg, put off 's cap, kiss 
 his hand, and say nothing, has neither leg, 
 hands, lip, nor cap; and, indeed, such a 
 fellow, to say precisely, were not for the court: 
 but, for me, I have an answer will serve all 
 men. 
 
 Count. Marry, that 's a bountiful answer that 
 fits all questions. 
 
 Clo. It is like a barber's chair, that fits all 
 buttocks, the pin-buttock, the quatch-buttock, 
 the brawn -buttock, or any buttock . 
 
 Count, Will your answer serve fit to all ques- 
 tions? 
 
290 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 [ACT II. 
 
 Clo. As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an 
 attorney, as your French crown for your taffeta 
 punk, as Tib's rush for Tom's forefinger, as a 
 pancake for Shrove-Tuesday, a morris for May- 
 day, as the nail to his hole, the cuckold to his 
 horn, as a scolding quean to a wrangling knave, 
 as the nun's lip to the friar's mouth; nay, as the 
 pudding to his skin. 
 
 Count. Have you, I say, an answer of such 
 fitness for all questions? 
 
 Clo. From below your duke to beneath your 
 constable, it will fit any question. 
 
 Count. It must be an answer of most mon- 
 strous size that must fit all demands. 
 
 Clo. But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the 
 learned should speak truth of it : here it is, and 
 all that belongs to't. Ask me if I am a 
 courtier : it shall do you no harm to learn. 
 
 Count. To be young again, if we could : I 
 will be a fool in question, hoping to be the wiser 
 by your answer. I pray you, sir, are you a 
 courtier? 
 
 Clo. O Lord, sir ! There 's a simple putting 
 off; more, more, a hundred of them. 
 
 Count. Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that 
 Joves you. [me. 
 
 Clo. O Lord, si* ! Thick, thick ; spare not 
 
 Count. I think, sir, you can eat none of this 
 homely meat. 
 
 Clo. O Lord, sir! Nay, put me to't, I 
 warrant you. 
 
 Count. You were lately whipped, sir, as I 
 think. 
 
 Clo. O Lord, sir ! spare not me. 
 
 Count. Do you cry, O Lord, sir! at your 
 whipping, and spare not me? Indeed, your O 
 Lord, sir! is very sequent to your whipping : 
 you would answer very well to a whipping, if 
 you were but bound to 't. 
 
 Clo. I ne'er had worse luck in my life in my 
 Lord, sir! I see things may serve long, but 
 not serve ever. 
 
 Count. I play the noble housewife with the 
 time, to entertain it so merrily with a fool. 
 
 Clo. O Lord, sir ! Why, there 't serves well 
 again. 
 
 Count. An end, sir, to your business. Give 
 
 Helen this, 
 
 And urge her to a present answer back : 
 Commend me to my kinsmen and my son : 
 This is not much. 
 
 Clo. Not much commendation to them. 
 
 Count. Not much employment for you : you 
 understand me? 
 
 Clo. Most fruitfully : I am there before my 
 lgs. 
 
 Count. Haste you again. [Exeunt severally. 
 
 SCENE III. PARIS. A Room in the KING'S 
 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES. 
 
 Laf. They say miracles are past ; and we have 
 our philosophical persons to make modern and 
 familiar things supernatural and causeless. 
 Hence is it that we make trifles of terrors, en- 
 sconcing ourselves into seeming knowledge 
 when we should submit ourselves to an unknown 
 fear. 
 
 Par. Why, 'tis the rarest argument of wonder 
 that hath shot out in our latter times. 
 
 Ber. And so 'tis. 
 
 Laf. To be relinquish'd of the artists, 
 
 Par. So I say ; both of Galen and Paracelsus. 
 
 Laf. Of all the learned and authentic fel- 
 lows, 
 
 Par. Right; so I say. 
 
 Laf. That gave him out incurable, - 
 
 Par. Why, there 'tis ; so say I too. 
 
 Laf. Not to be helped, 
 
 Par. Right ; as 'twere a man assured of a, 
 
 Laf. Uncertain life and sure death. [said. 
 
 Par. Just; you say well: so would I have 
 
 Laf. I may truly say, it is a novelty to the 
 world. 
 
 Par. It is indeed : if you will have it in show- 
 ing, you shall read it in, What do you call 
 there? 
 
 Laf. A showing of a heavenly effect in an 
 earthly actor. [same. 
 
 Par. That 's it I would have said ; the very 
 
 Laf. Why, your dolphin is not lustier : 'fore 
 me, I speak in respect, 
 
 Par. Nay, 'tis strange, 'tis very strange ; that 
 is the brief and the tedious of it ; and he is of a 
 most facinorous spirit that will not acknowledge 
 it to be the, 
 
 Laf. Very hand of heaven. 
 
 Par. Ay; so I say. 
 
 Laf. In a most weak, 
 
 Par. And debile minister, great power, great 
 transcendence: which should, indeed, give us 
 a further use to be made than alone the recovery 
 of the king, as to be, 
 
 Laf. Generally thankful. 
 
 Par. I would have said it; you say well. 
 Here comes the king. 
 
 Enter KING, HELENA, and Attendants. 
 
 Laf. Lustic, as the Dutchman says : I '11 like 
 a maid the better, whilst I have a tooth in my 
 head : why, he 's able to lead her a coranto. 
 
 Par. Mort du Vinaigrel is not this Helen? 
 
 Laf. 'Fore God, I think so. 
 
SCENE II!.] 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL, 
 
 291 
 
 King: Go, call before me all the lords in 
 court. \Exit an Attendant. 
 
 Sit, my preserver, by thy patient's side ; 
 And with this healthful hand, whose banish'd 
 
 sense 
 
 Thou hast repeal'd, a second time receive 
 The confirmation of my promis'd gift, 
 Which but attends thy naming. 
 
 Enter several Lords. 
 
 Fair maid, send forth thine eye: this youthful 
 
 parcel 
 
 Of noble bachelors stand at my bestowing, 
 O'er whom both sovereign power and father's 
 
 voice 
 
 I have to use : thy frank election make ; 
 
 Thou hast power to choose, and they none to 
 
 forsake. [mistress 
 
 Hel. To each of you one fair and virtuous 
 
 Fall, when love please! marry, to each, but 
 
 one! 
 
 Laf. I 'd give bay Curtal, and his furniture, 
 My mouth no more were broken than these boys', 
 And writ as little beard. 
 
 King. Peruse them well : 
 
 Not one of those hut had a noble father. 
 
 Hel. Gentlemen, 
 
 Heaven hath, through me, restor'd the king to 
 
 health. [you. 
 
 AIL We understand it, and thank heaven for 
 
 Hel. I am a simple maid, and therein 
 
 wealthiest 
 
 That I protest I simply am a maid. 
 Please it, your majesty, I have done already : 
 The blushes in my cheeks thus whisper me 
 We blush that thou shouldst choose ; but> be re- 
 
 fus'd, 
 
 Let the white death sit on thy cheek for ever; 
 We '// ner come there again. 
 
 King. Make choice ; and, see, 
 
 Who shuns thy love shuns all his love in me. 
 
 Hel. Now, Dian, from thy altar do I fly, 
 And to imperial Love, that god most high, 
 Do my sighs stream. Sir, will you hear my 
 suit? 
 
 1 Lord. And grant it. 
 
 Hel. Thanks, sir ; all the rest is mute. 
 
 Laf. I had rather be in this choice than throw 
 ames-ace for my life. [eyes, 
 
 Hel. The honour, sir, that flames in your fair 
 Before I speak, too threateningly replies: 
 Love make your fortunes twenty times above 
 Her that so wishes, and her humble love ! 
 
 2 Lord. No better, if you please. 
 
 Hel. My wish receive, 
 
 Which great Love grant ! and so I take my 
 leave. 
 
 Laf Do all they deny her? An they were 
 sons of mine I 'd have them whipped ; or I 
 would send them to the Turk to make eunuchs 
 of. 
 
 Hel. [To third Lord.] Be not afraid that I 
 
 your hand should take ; 
 I '11 never do you wrong for your own sake : 
 Blessing upon your vows ! and in your bed 
 Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed ! 
 
 Laf These boys are boys of ice ; they Ml none 
 have her : sure, they are bastards to the English ; 
 the French ne'er got them. [good 
 
 Hel. You are too young, too happy, and too 
 To make yourself a son out of my blood. 
 
 4 Lord. Fair one, I think not so. 
 
 Laf. There's one grape yet, I am sure thy 
 father drank wine. But if thou beest not an ass, 
 I am a youth of fourteen ; I have known thee 
 already. 
 
 Hel. [To BERTRAM.] I dare not say I take 
 
 you ; but I give 
 
 Me and my service, ever whilst I live, 
 Into your guiding power. This is the man. 
 
 King. Why, then, young Bertram, take her ; 
 she 's thy wife. [highness, 
 
 Ber. My wife, my liege ! I shall beseech your 
 In such a business give me leave to use 
 The help of mine own eyes. 
 
 King. Know'st thou not, Bertram, 
 
 What she has done for me? 
 
 Ber. Yes, my good lord; 
 
 But never hope to know why I should marry 
 
 her. [my sickly bed. 
 
 King. Thou know'st she has rais'd me from 
 
 Ber. But follows it, my lord, to bring me 
 
 down 
 
 Must answer for your raising ? I know her well ; 
 She had her breeding at my father's charge : 
 A poor physician's daughter my wife ! Disdain 
 Rather corrupt me ever ! [the which 
 
 King. 'Tis only title thou disdain'st in her, 
 I can build up. Strange is it that our bloods, 
 Of colour, weight, and heat, pour'd all together, 
 Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off 
 In differences so ttighty. If she be 
 All that is virtuous, save what thou dislik'st, 
 A poor physician's daughter, thou dislik'st 
 Of virtue for the name : but do not so : 
 From lowest place when virtuous things proceed, 
 The place is dignified by the doer's deed : 
 Where great additions swell 's, and virtue none, 
 It is a dropsied honour : good alone 
 Is good without a name ; vileness is so : 
 The property by what it is should go, 
 Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair ; 
 In these to nature she 's immediate heir ; 
 And these breed honour: that is honour's scorn 
 
292 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 Which challenges itself as honour's born, 
 And is not like the sire : honours thrive, 
 When rather from our acts we them derive 
 Than our fore-goers : the mere word 's a slave, 
 Debauch'd on every tomb ; on every grave 
 A lying trophy ; and as oft is dumb 
 Wftere dust and damn'd oblivion is the tomb 
 Of honour 5 d bones indeed. What should be 
 
 said? 
 
 If thou canst like this creature as a maid, 
 I can create the rest : virtue and she 
 Is her own dower ; honour and wealth from me. 
 Ber. I cannot love her, nor will strive to do't. 
 King. Thou wrong'st thyself, if thou shouldst 
 
 strive to choose. [am glad : 
 
 Hel. That you are well restor'd, my lord, I 
 
 Let the rest go. [defeat, 
 
 King. My honour 's at the stake ; which to 
 
 I must produce my power. Here, take her 
 
 hand, 
 
 Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift ; 
 That dost in vile misprision shackle up 
 My love and her desert ; that canst not dream 
 We, poising us in her defective scale, 
 Shall weigh thee to the beam; that wilt not 
 
 know 
 
 It is in us to plant thine honour where 
 We please to have it grow. Check thy con- 
 tempt : 
 
 Obey our will, which travails in thy good : 
 Believe not thy disdain, but presently 
 Do thine own fortunes that obedient right 
 Which both thy duty owesand our power claims 
 Or I will throw thee from my care for ever, 
 Into the staggers and the careless lapse [hate 
 Of youth and ignorance ; both my revenge and 
 Loosing upon thee in the name of justice, 
 Without all terms of pity. Speak! thine 
 
 answer ! 
 
 Ber. Pardon, my gracious lord ; for I submit 
 My fancy to your eyes : when I consider 
 What great creation, and "What dole of honour 
 Flies where you bid it, I find that she, which 
 
 late 
 
 Was in my nobler thoughts most base, is now 
 The praised of the king ; who, so ennobled, 
 Is as 'twere born so. 
 
 King. Take her by the hand, 
 
 And tell her she is thine: to whom I promise 
 A counterpoise ; if not to thy estate, 
 A balance more replete. 
 
 Ber. I take her hand. 
 
 King. Good fortune and the favou*of the king 
 Smile upon this contract ; whose ceremony 
 Shall seem expedient on the now-born brief, 
 And be performed to-night : the solemn feast 
 Shall more attend upon the coming space, 
 
 Expecting absent friends. As thou lov'st her, 
 Thy love 's to me religious ; else, does err. 
 
 [Exeunt KING, BER., HEL., Lords, 
 and Attendants. 
 
 Laf. Do you hear, monsieur? a word with 
 you. 
 
 Par, Your pleasure, sir? 
 
 Laf. Your lord and master did well to make 
 his recantation. 
 
 Par. Recantation ! My lord ! my master ! 
 
 Laf. Ay; is it not a language I speak? 
 
 Par. A most harsh one, and not to be under- 
 stood without bloody succeeding. My master ! 
 
 Laf. Are you companion to the Count 
 Rousillon? [is man. 
 
 Par. To any count ; to all counts ; to what 
 
 Laf. To what is count's man : count's master 
 is of another style. 
 
 Par. You are too old, sir; let it satisfy you, 
 you are too old. 
 
 Laf, I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man; 
 to which title age cannot bring thee. 
 
 Par. What I dare too well do, I dare not do. 
 
 Laf I did think thee, for two ordinaries, to 
 be a pretty wise fellow ; thou didst make toler- 
 able vent of thy travel ; it might pass : yet the 
 scarfs and the bannerets about thee did mani- 
 foldly dissuade me from believing thee a vessel 
 of too great a burden. I have now found thee ; 
 when I lose thee again I care not : yet art thou 
 good for nothing but taking up ; and that thou 
 art scarce worth. 
 
 Par. Hadst thou not the privilege of antiquity 
 upon thee, 
 
 Laf. Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, 
 lest thou hasten thy trial ; which if Lord have 
 mercy on thee for a hen ! So, my good window 
 of lattice, fare thee well : thy casement I need 
 not open, for" I look through thee. Give me 
 thy hand. [indignity. 
 
 Par. My lord, you give me most egregious 
 
 Laf. Ay, with all my heart; and thou art 
 worthy of it. 
 
 Par. I have not, my lord, deserved it. 
 
 Laf. Yes, good faith, every dram of it : and 
 I will not bate thee a scruple. 
 
 Par. Well, I shall be wiser. 
 
 Laf. E'en as soon as thou canst, for thou hast 
 to pull at a smack o' the contrary. If ever thou 
 beest bound in thy scarf and beaten, thou shalt 
 find what it is to be proud of thy bondage. I 
 have a desire to hold my acquaintance with thee, 
 or rather my knowledge, that I may say, in the 
 default, he is a man I know. 
 
 Par. My lord, you do me most insupportable 
 vexation. 
 
 Laf. I would it were hell-pains for thy sake, 
 
SCENE III. j 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 293 
 
 and my poor doing eternal : for doing I am past ; 
 as I will by thee, in what motion age will give 
 me leave. [Exit. 
 
 Par. Well, thou hast a son shall take this 
 disgrace off me; scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy lord I 
 Well, I must be patient ; there is no fettering 
 of authority. I '11 beat him, by my life, if I can 
 meet him with any convenience, an he were 
 double and double a lord. I '11 have no more 
 pity of his age than I would have of I '11 beat 
 him, an if I could but meet him again. 
 
 Re-enter LAFEU. 
 
 Laf. Sirrah, your lord and master 's married ; 
 there 's news for you ; you have a new mistress. 
 
 Par. I most unfeignedly beseech your lord- 
 ship to make some reservation of your wrongs : 
 he is my good lord : whom I serve above is xny 
 master. 
 
 Laf. Who? God? 
 
 Par. Ay, sir. 
 
 Laf. The devil it is that 's thy master. Why 
 dost thou garter up thy arms o' this fashion? 
 dost make hose of thy sleeves? do other servants 
 so? Thou wert best set thy lower part where 
 thy nose stands. By mine honour, if I were 
 but two hours younger I 'd beat thee : methink'st 
 thou art a general offence, and every man should 
 beat thee. I think thou wast created for men 
 to breathe themselves upon thee. 
 
 Par. This is hard and undeserved measure, 
 my lord. 
 
 Laf. Go to, sir ; you were beaten in Italy for 
 picking a kernel out of a pomegranate ; you are 
 a vagabond, and no true traveller : you are more 
 saucy with lords and honourable personages than 
 the heraldry of your birth and virtue gives you 
 commission. You are not worth another word, 
 else I 'd call you knave. I leave you. [Exit. 
 
 Par. Good, very good ; it is so then. Good, 
 very good ; let it be concealed awhile. 
 
 Enter BERTRAM. 
 
 Ber. Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever ! 
 Par. What is the matter, sweet heart? 
 Ber. Although before the solemn priest I 
 
 have sworn, 
 I will not bed her. 
 
 Par. What, what, sweet heart? 
 Ber. O my Parolles, they have married me ! 
 I '11 to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her. 
 Par. France is a dog-hole, and it no more 
 
 merits 
 
 The tread of a man's foot : to the wars ! 
 Ber. There 's letters from my mother ; what 
 
 the import is 
 I know not yet, 
 
 1 
 
 Par. Ay, that would be known. To the wars, 
 
 my ix>y, to the wars 1 
 He wears his honour in a box unseen 
 That hugs his kicksy-wicksy here at home, 
 Spending his manly marrow in her arms, 
 Which should sustain the bound and high curvet 
 Of Mars's fiery steed. To other regions ! 
 France is a stable; we, that dwell in 't, jades; 
 Therefore, to the war ! [house, 
 
 Ber. It shall be so; I'll send her to my 
 Acquaint my mother with my hate to her, 
 And wherefore I am fled; write to the king 
 That which I durst not speak : his present gift 
 Shall furnish me to these Italian fields 
 Where noble fellows strike : war is no strife 
 To the dark house and the detested wife. 
 
 Par. Will this caprichio hold in thee, art 
 sure? [me. 
 
 Ber. Go with me to my chamber and advise 
 I '11 send her straight away : to-morrow 
 I '11 to the wars, she to her single sorrow. 
 
 Par. Why, these balls bound ; there 's noise 
 
 in it. 'Tis hard ; 
 
 A young man married is a man that 's marr'd : 
 Therefore away, and leave her bravely; go: 
 The king has done you wrong: but, hush! 'tis 
 so. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. The same. Atwther Room in the 
 same. 
 
 Enter HELENA and Clown. 
 
 Hel. My mother greets me kindly: is she 
 well? 
 
 Clo. She is not well; but yet she has her 
 health: she's very merry; but yet she is not 
 well : but thanks be given, she 's very well, and 
 wants nothing i' the world; but yet she is not 
 well. 
 
 Hel. If she be very well, what does she ail, 
 that she 's not very well? 
 
 Clo. Truly, she 's very well indeed, but for 
 two things. 
 
 Hel. What two things? 
 
 Clo. One, that she 's not in heaven, whither 
 God send her quickly ! the other, that she 's in 
 earth, from whence God send her quickly ! 
 
 Enter PAROLLES. 
 
 Par. Bless you, my fortunate lady ! 
 
 HeL I hope, sir, I have your good will to 
 have mine own good fortunes. 
 
 Par. You had my prayers to lead them on ; 
 and to keep them on, have them still. O, my 
 knave, how does my old lady? 
 
 Clo. So that you had her wrinkles and I her 
 money, I would she did as you say. 
 
294 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 [ACT II. 
 
 Par. Why, I say nothing. 
 Clo. Marry, you are the wiser man ; for many 
 a man's tongue shakes out his master's undoing : 
 to say nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, 
 and to have nothing, is to be a great part of your 
 title ; which is within a very little of nothing. 
 
 Par. Away ! thou 'rt a knave. 
 
 Clo. You should have said, sir, before a 
 knave thou art a knave ; that is, before me thou 
 art a knave : this had been truth, sir. 
 
 Par. Go to, thou art a witty fool; I have 
 found thee. 
 
 Clo. Did you find me in yourself, sir? or 
 were you taught to find me? The search, sir, 
 was profitable ; and much fool may you find in 
 you, even to the world's pleasure and the in- 
 crease of laughter. 
 
 Par. A good knave, i' faith, and well fed. 
 Madam, my lord will go away to-night : 
 A very serious business calls on him. 
 The great prerogative antS right of love, 
 Which, as your due, time claims, he does ac- 
 knowledge ; 
 
 But puts it off to a compell'd restraint ; 
 Whose want and whose delay is strew'd with 
 
 sweets ; 
 
 Which they distil now in the curbed time, 
 To make the coming hour o'erflow with joy, 
 And pleasure drown the brim. 
 
 Hel. What's his will else? 
 
 Par. That you will take your instant leave o' 
 the king, [ing, 
 
 And make this haste as your own good proceed- 
 Strengthen'd with what apology you think 
 May make it probable need. 
 
 Hel. What more commands he? 
 
 Par. That, having this obtain'd, you pre- 
 sently 
 Attend his further pleasure. 
 
 Hel. In everything I wait upon his will. 
 
 Par. I shall report it so. 
 
 Hel. I pray you. Come, sirrah. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. Another Room in the same. 
 Enter LAFEU and BERTRAM. 
 
 Laf. But I hope your lordship thinks not him 
 a soldier. [proof. 
 
 Ber. Yes, my lord, and of very valiant ap- 
 
 Laf. You have it from his own deliverance. 
 
 Ber. And by other warranted testimony. 
 
 Laf. Then my dial goes not true : I took this 
 lark for a bunting. 
 
 Ber. I do assure you, my lord, he is very 
 great in knowledge, and accordingly valiant. 
 
 Laf. I have, then, sinned against his experi- 
 
 ence and transgressed against his valour ; and 
 my state that way is dangerous, since I cannot 
 yet find in my heart to repent. Here he comes : 
 I pray you, make us friends ; I will pursue the 
 amity. 
 
 Enter PAROLLES. 
 
 Par. These things shall be done, sir. 
 
 \To BER. 
 
 Laf. Pray you, sir, who 's his tailor? 
 
 Par. Sir! 
 
 Laf. O, I know him well, I, sir ; he, sir. is 
 a good workman, a very good tailor. 
 
 Ber. Is she gone to the king? [Aside to PAR. 
 
 Par. She is. 
 
 Ber. Will she away to-night? 
 
 Par. As you '11 have her. [treasure, 
 
 Ber. I have writ my letters, casketed my 
 Given order for our horses ; and to-night, 
 When I should take possession of the bride, 
 End ere I do begin. 
 
 Laf. A good traveller is something at the 
 latter end of a dinner; but one that lies three- 
 thirds and uses a known truth to pass a thou- 
 sand nothings with, should be once heard and 
 thrice beaten. God save you, captain. 
 
 Ber. Is there any unkindness between my 
 lord and you, monsieur? 
 
 Par. I know not how I have deserved to run 
 into my lord's displeasure. 
 
 Laf. You have made shift to run into 't, boots 
 and spurs and all, like him that leaped into the 
 custard ; and out of it you '11 run again, rather 
 than suffer question for your residence, [lord. 
 
 Ber. It may be you have mistaken him, my 
 
 Laf. And shall do so ever, though I took him 
 at his prayers. Fare you well, my lord ; and 
 believe this of me, there can be no kernel in 
 this light nut ; the soul of this man is his clothes : 
 trust him not in matter of heavy consequence ; 
 I have kept of them tame, and know their 
 natures. Farewell, monsieur: I have spoken 
 better of you than you have or will deserve at 
 my hand ; but we must do good against evil. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Par. An idle lord, I swear. 
 
 Ber. I think so. 
 
 Par. Why, do you not know him? [speech 
 
 Ber. Yes, I do know him well ; and common 
 Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog. 
 
 Enter HELENA. 
 
 Hel. I have, sir, as I was commanded from 
 you, [leave 
 
 Spoke with the king, and have procured his 
 For present parting ; only, he desires 
 Some private speech with you. 
 
SCENE V. I 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT END'S WELL. 
 
 295 
 
 Ber. I shall obey his will. 
 
 You must not marvel, Helen, at my course, 
 Which holds not colour with the time, nor does 
 The ministration and required office 
 On my particular. Prepared I was not 
 For such a business j therefore am I found 
 So much unsettled: this drives me to entreat 
 
 you 
 
 That presently you take your way for home, 
 And rather muse than ask why I entreat you : 
 For my respects are better than they seem ; 
 And my appointments have in them a need 
 Greater than shows itself at the first view 
 To you that know them not. This to my 
 mother : [ Giving a letter. 
 
 'Twill be two days ere I shall see you ; so 
 I leave you to your wisdom. 
 
 Hel. Sir, I can nothing say 
 
 But that I am your most obedient servant. 
 
 Ber. Come, come, no more of that. 
 
 Hel. And ever shall 
 
 With true observance seek to eke out that 
 Wherein toward me my homely stars have fail'd 
 To equal my great fortune. 
 
 Ber. Let that go : 
 
 My haste is very great. Farewell ; hie home. 
 
 Hel. Pray, sir, your pardon. 
 
 Ber. Well, what would you say? 
 
 Hel. I am not worthy of the wealth I owe ; 
 Nor dare I say 'tis mine, and yet it is ; [steal 
 But, like a timorous thief, most fain would 
 What law does vouch mine own. 
 
 Ber. What would you have? 
 
 Hel. Something ; and scarce so much : no- 
 thing, indeed. [faith, yes; 
 I would not tell you what I would, my lord : 
 Strangers and foes do sunder and not kiss. 
 
 Ber. I pray you, stay not, but in haste to 
 horse. [my lord. 
 
 Hel. I shall not break your bidding, good 
 
 Ber. Where are my other men, monsieur? 
 
 Farewell, ' [Exit HELENA. 
 
 Go thou toward home, where I will never come 
 
 Whilst I can shake my sword or hear the 
 
 drum: 
 Away, and for our flight. 
 
 Par. Bravely, coragio ! {Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. FLORENCE. A Room in the 
 DUKE'S Palace. 
 
 Flourish. Enter the DUKE OF FLORENCE, 
 attended; two French Lords, and Soldiers. 
 
 Duke. So that, from point to point, now 
 have you heard 
 
 Th** fundamental reasons of this war ; 
 
 W T hose great decision hath much blood let forth, 
 
 And more thirsts after. 
 
 I Lord. Holy seems the quarrel 
 
 Upon your grace's part ; black and fearful 
 On the opposer. [France 
 
 Ditke. Therefore we marvel much our cousin 
 Would, in so just a business, shut his bosom 
 Against our borrowing prayers. 
 
 1 Lord. Good my lord, 
 The reasons of our state I cannot yield, 
 
 But like a common and an outward man 
 That the great figure of a council frames 
 By self-unable motion : therefore dare not 
 Say what I think of it, since I have found 
 Myself in my uncertain grounds to fail 
 As often as I guess'd. 
 
 Duke. Be it his pleasure. 
 
 2 Lord. But I am sure the younger of our 
 
 nature, 
 
 That surfeit on their ease, will day by day 
 Come here for physic. 
 
 Duke. Welcome shall they be; 
 
 And all the honours that can fly from us 
 Shall on them settle. You know your places 
 
 well; 
 
 When better fall, for your avails they fell : 
 To-morrow to the field. {Flourish. Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. ROUSILLON. A Room in the 
 COUNTESS'S Palace. 
 
 Enter COUNTESS and CLOWN. 
 
 Count. It hath happened all as I would have 
 had it, save that he comes not along with her. 
 
 Clo. By my troth, I take my young lord to 
 be a very melancholy man. 
 
 Count. By what observance, I pray you? 
 . Clo. Why, he will look upon his boot and 
 sing; mend the ruff and sing; ask questions 
 and sing; pick his teeth -and sing. I know a 
 man that had this trick of melancholy sold a 
 goodly manor for a song. 
 
 Count. Let me see what he writes, and when 
 he means to come. {Opening a letter. 
 
 Clo. I have no mind to Isbel, since I was at 
 court: our old ling and our Isbels o' the 
 country are nothing like your old ling and your 
 Isbels o' the court : the brains of my Cupid 's 
 knocked out; and I begin to love, as an old 
 man loves money, with no stomach. 
 
 Count. What have we here? 
 
 Clo. E'en that you have there. {Exit. 
 
 Count. {Reads .] / have sent you a daughter- 
 in-law: she hath recovered the king and undone 
 me. I have wedded her y not bedded her ; and 
 sworn to make the not eternal* You shall hear 
 
 
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 [ACT III. 
 
 / am run away: know it before the report come. 
 If there be breadth enough in the world I will 
 hold a long distance. My duty to you. 
 
 Your unfortunate son, 
 
 BERTRAM. 
 
 This is not well, rash and unbridled boy, 
 To fly the favour? Qf so good a king ; 
 To pluck his indignation on thy head 
 By the misprizing of a maid too virtuous 
 For the contempt of empire. 
 
 Re-enter Clown. 
 
 Clo. O madam > yonder is heavy news within, 
 between two soldiers and my young lady. 
 
 Count. What is the matter? 
 
 Clo. Nay, there is some comfort in the news, 
 some comfort ; your son will not be killed so 
 soon as I thought he would. 
 
 Count. Why should he be killed? 
 
 Clo. So say I, madam, if he run away, as I 
 hear he does : the danger is in standing to 't ; 
 that 's the loss of men, though it be the getting 
 of children. Here they come will tell you 
 more : for my part, I only hear your son was 
 run away. [Exit. 
 
 Enter HELENA and two Gentlemen. 
 
 1 Gent. Save you, good madam. 
 
 Hel. Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone. 
 
 2 Gent. Do not say so. [gentlemen, 
 Count. Think upon patience. Pray you, 
 
 I have felt so many quirks of joy and grief 
 That the first face of neither, on the start, 
 Can woman me unto 't. Where is my son, I 
 pray you? [of Florence : 
 
 2 Gent. Madam, he 's gone to serve the duke 
 We met him thitherward ; for thence we came, 
 And, after some despatch in hand at court, 
 Thither we bend again. [passport. 
 
 Hel. Look on his letter, madam ; here 's my 
 [Reads. 1 When thou canst get the ring upon my 
 
 finger, which never shall come off, and show 
 
 me a child begotten of thy body that I am 
 
 father to, then call me husband; but in such 
 
 a then / write a never. 
 This is a dreadful sentence. 
 
 Count. Brought you this letter, gentlemen? 
 
 1 Gent. Ay, madam; 
 And, for the contents' sake, are sorry for our 
 
 pains. 
 
 Count. I pr'ythee, lady, have a better cheer; 
 If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine, 
 Thou robb'st me of a moiety. He was my son : 
 But I do wash his name out of my blood, 
 And thou art all my child. Towards Florence 
 
 is he? 
 
 2 Gent. Ay, madam. 
 
 Count. And to be a soldier? 
 
 2 Gent. Such is his noble purpose : and, be- 
 lieve 't, 
 
 The duke will lay upon him all the honour 
 That good convenience claims. 
 
 Count. Return you thither? 
 
 i Gent. Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing 
 
 of speed. 
 
 If el. [Reads.] Till I have no wife \ T have no- 
 thing in France. 
 'Tis bitter. 
 
 Count. Find you that there? 
 
 Hel. Ay, madam. 
 
 I Gent. 'Tis but the boldness of his hand. 
 
 haply, 
 Which his heart was not consenting to. 
 
 Count. Nothing in France until he have no 
 
 wife! 
 
 There 's nothing here that is too good for him 
 But only she ; and she deserves a lord 
 That twenty such rude boys might tend upon, 
 And call her hourly mistress. Who was with 
 
 him? 
 
 I Gent. A servant only, and a gentleman 
 Which I have sometime known. 
 
 Count. Parolles, was't not? 
 
 I Gent. Ay, my good lady, he. 
 
 Count. A very tainted fellow, and full of 
 
 wickedness. 
 
 My son corrupts a well -derived nature 
 With his inducement. 
 
 1 Gent. Indeed, good lady, 
 The fellow has a deal of that too much, 
 Which iolds him much to have. 
 
 Count. You are welcome, gentlemen, 
 I will entreat you, when you see my son, 
 To tell him that his sword can never win 
 The honour that he loses : more I '11 entreat you 
 Written to bear along. 
 
 2 Gent. We serve you, madam, 
 In that and all your worthiest affairs, [tesies. 
 
 Count. Not so, but as we change our cour- 
 Will you draw near? 
 
 [Exeunt COUNT, and Gentlemen. 
 
 Hel. Till I have no wife, I have nothing in 
 
 France. 
 
 Nothing in France until he has no wife ! 
 Thou shalthave none, Rousillon, none in France; 
 Then hast thou all again. Poor lord ! is 't I 
 That chase thee from thy country, and expose 
 Those tender limbs of thine to the event 
 Of the none-sparing war? and is it I [thou 
 That drive thee from the sportive court, where 
 Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark 
 Of smoky muskets? O you leaden messengers, 
 That ride upon the violent speed of fire. 
 Fly with false aim : move the still-peering air, 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 297 
 
 That sings with piercing ; do not touch my lord! 
 Whoever shoots at him, I set him there ; 
 Whoever charges on his forward breast, 
 I am the caitiff that do hold him to it ; 
 And, though I kill him not, I am the cause 
 His death was so effected : better 'twere 
 I met the ravin lion when he roar'd 
 With sharp constraint of hunger ; better 'twere 
 That all the miseries which nature owes 
 Were mine at once. No ; come thou home, 
 
 Rousillon, 
 
 Whence honour but of danger wins a scar, 
 As oft it loses all. I will be gone : 
 My being here it is that holds thee hence i 
 Shall I stay here to do't? no, no, although 
 The air of paradise did fan the house, 
 And angels offic'd all : I will be gone, 
 That pitiful rumour may report my flight, 
 To consolate thine ear. Come, night ; end, day! 
 For with the dark, poor thief, I '11 steal away. 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 SCENE III. FLORENCE. Before the DUKE'S 
 Palace. 
 
 Flourish. Enter the DUKE OF FLORENCE, 
 "BERTRAM, PAROLLES, Lords, Officers, 
 Soldiers, and others. 
 
 Duke. The general of our horse thou art; 
 
 and we, 
 
 Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence 
 Upon thy promising fortune. 
 
 Ber. Sir, it is 
 
 A charge too heavy for my strength ; but yet 
 We '11 strive to bear it, for your worthy sake, 
 To the extreme edge of hazard. 
 
 Duke. Then go thou forth ; 
 
 And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm, 
 As thy auspicious mistress ! 
 
 Ber. This very day, 
 
 Great Mars, I put myself into thy file ; 
 Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall prove 
 A lover of thy drum, hater of love. {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. ROUSILLON. A Room in the 
 COUNTESS'S Palace. 
 
 Enter COUNTESS and Steward. 
 
 Count. Alas ! and would you take the letter 
 of her? [done, 
 
 Might you not know she would do as she has 
 By sending me a letter? Read it again. 
 
 Stew. [Reads.] I am St. Jaques* pilgrim , 
 
 thither gone: 
 
 Ambitious love hath so in me offended 
 That barefoot plod I the cold ground upon, 
 With sainted vow my faults to have amended. 
 
 Write, write, that from the bloody course ofwa* 
 
 My dearest maste/ t your dear son, may hie: 
 Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far 
 
 His name with zealous fc/votir sanctify: 
 His taken labours bid him me forgive; 
 
 I, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth 
 From courtly friends, with camping foes to live, 
 
 Where death and danger dog the heels cj 
 
 worth: 
 
 He is too good and fair for death and me; 
 Whom I myself embrace, to set him free. 
 
 Count. Ah, what sharp stings are in her 
 
 mildest words ! 
 
 Rinaldp, you did never lack advice so much 
 As letting her pass so ; had I spoke with her, 
 I could have well diverted her intents, 
 Which thus she hath prevented. 
 
 Stew. Pardon me, madam: 
 
 If I had given you this at over-night, [writes, 
 She might have been o'erta'en; and yet she 
 Pursuit would be but vain. 
 
 Count. What angel shall 
 
 Bless this unworthy husband? he cannot thrive, 
 Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to 
 
 hear, 
 
 And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath 
 Of greatest justice. Write, write, Rinaldo, 
 To this unworthy husband of his wife : 
 Let every word weigh heavy of her worth, 
 That he does weigh too light: my greatest 
 
 grief, 
 
 Though little he do feel it, set down sharply. 
 Despatch the most convenient messenger: 
 When, haply, he shall hear that she is gone 
 He will return ; and hope I may that she, 
 Hearing so much, will speed her foot again, 
 Led hither by pure love : which of them both 
 Is dearest to me I have no skill in sense 
 To make distinction: provide this messen- 
 ger: 
 
 My heart is heavy, and mine age is weak ; 
 Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me 
 speak. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. Without the Walls of FLORENCE, 
 
 Enter an old Widow of Florence, DIANA, Vio- 
 LENTA, MARIANA, and other Citizens. 
 
 Wid. Nay, come; for if they do approach 
 the city we shall lose all the sight. 
 
 Dia. They say the French count has done 
 most honourable service. 
 
 Wid. It is reported that he has taken their 
 greatest commander; and that with his own 
 hand he slew the duke's brother. [A tucket 
 afar off .} We have lost our labour; they are 
 
2 9 8 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 [ACT III. 
 
 gone a contrary way : hark ! you may know by 
 their trumpets. 
 
 Mar. Come, let's return again, and suffice 
 ourselves with the report of it. Well, Diana, 
 take heed of this French earl : the honour of a 
 maid is her name ; and no legacy is so rich as 
 honesty. 
 
 Wid. I have told my neighbour how you have 
 been solicited by a gentleman his companion. 
 
 Mar. I know that knave; hang him! one 
 Parolles : a filthy officer he is in those sugges- 
 tions for the young earl. Beware of them, 
 Diana; their promises, enticements, oaths, 
 tokens, and all these engines of lust, are not 
 the things they go under : many a maid hath 
 been seduced by them; and the misery is, 
 example, that so terrible shows in the wreck of 
 maidenhood, cannot for all that dissuade suc- 
 cession, but that they are limed with the twigs 
 that threaten them. I hope I need not to ad- 
 vise you further ; but I hope your own grace 
 will keep you where you are, though there 
 were no further danger known but the modesty 
 which is so lost. 
 
 Dia. You shall not need to fear me. 
 
 Wid. I hope so. Look, here comes a pil- 
 grim : I know she will lie at my house : thither 
 they send one another; I '11 question her. 
 
 Enter HELENA in the dress of a pilgrim. 
 
 God save you, pilgrim ! Whither are you bound ? 
 
 Hel. To Saint Jaques-le-Grand. 
 Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you? 
 
 Wid. At the Saint Francis here, beside the 
 port. 
 
 Hel. Is this the way? 
 
 Wid. Ay, marry, is it. Hark you! They 
 come this way. [A march afar off. 
 If you will tarry, holy pilgrim, 
 But till the troops come by, 
 I will conduct you where you shall be lodg'd ; 
 The rather for I think I know your hostess 
 As ample as myself. 
 
 Hel. Is it yourself? 
 
 Wid. If you shall please so, pilgrim. 
 
 Hel. I thank you, and will stay upon your 
 leisure. 
 
 Wid. You came, I think, from France? 
 
 Hel. I did so. 
 
 Wid. Here you shall see a countryman of 
 
 yours 
 That has done worthy service. 
 
 Hel. His name, I pray you. 
 
 Dia. The Count Rousillon : know you such 
 a one? [of him: 
 
 Hel. But by the ear, that hears most nobly 
 His face I know not. 
 
 Dia. Whatsoe'er he is, 
 
 He's bravely taken here. He stole from 
 
 France, 
 
 As 'tis reported, for the king had married him 
 Against his liking: think you it is so? 
 
 Hel. Ay, surely, mere the truth; I know 
 his lady. [count 
 
 Dia. There is a gentleman that serves the 
 Reports but coarsely of her. 
 
 Hel. What's his name? 
 
 Dia. Monsieur Parolles. 
 
 Hel. O, I believe with him, 
 
 In argument of praise, or to the worth 
 Of the great count himself, she is too mean 
 To have her name repeated ; all her deserving 
 Is a reserved honesty, and that 
 I have not heard examin'd. 
 
 Dia. Alas, poor lady I 
 
 'Tis a hard bondage to become the wife 
 Of a detesting lord. 
 
 Wid. Ay, right; good creature, whereso- 
 
 e'er she is 
 Her heart weighs sadly : this young maid 
 
 might do her 
 A shrewd turn if she pleas'd. 
 
 Hel. How do you mean? 
 
 May be, the amorous count solicits her 
 In the unlawful purpose. 
 
 Wid. He does, indeed; 
 
 And brokes with all that can in such a suit 
 Corrupt the tender honour of a maid ; 
 But she is arm'd for him, and keeps her guard 
 In honestest defence. 
 
 Mar. The gods forbid else ! 
 
 Wid. So, now they come : 
 
 Enter, with a drum and colours, a party of the 
 Florentine army, BERTRAM, and PAROLLES. 
 
 That is Antonio, the duke's eldest son ; 
 That, Escalus. 
 
 Hel. Which is the Frenchman? 
 
 Dia. He ; 
 
 That with the plume : 'tis a most gallant fellow. 
 I would he lov'd his wife: if he were honester 
 He were much goodlier : is 't not a handsome 
 
 fentleman ? 
 ike him well. [same knave 
 
 Dia. 'Tis pity he is not honest? yond's that 
 That leads him to these places ; were I his lady 
 I 'd poison that vile rascal. 
 
 Hel. Which is he ? 
 
 Dia. The jack-an-apes with scarfs. Why is 
 he melancholy? 
 
 Hel. Perchance he 's hurt i' the battle. 
 
 Par. Lose our drum ! well. 
 
 Mar. He 's shrewdly vexed at something : 
 look, he has spied us. 
 
SCENE VI.] 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 299 
 
 Wid. Marry, hang you ! 
 
 Mar. And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier ! 
 
 \Exeunt BER., PAR., Officers, and Soldiers. 
 
 Wid. The troop is past. Come, pilgrim, I 
 
 will bring you 
 
 Where you shall host : of enjoin'd penitents 
 There 3 s four or five, to great Saint Jacques 
 
 bound, 
 Already at my house. 
 
 Hel. I humbly thank you : 
 
 Please it this matron and this gentle maid 
 To eat with us to-night ; the charge and thanking 
 Shall be for me : and, to requite you further, 
 I will bestow some precepts on this virgin, 
 Worthy the note. 
 
 Both. We '11 take vour offer kindly. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE \\.~-Camp before FLORENCE. 
 Enter BERTRAM, and the two French Lords. 
 
 1 Lord. Nay, good my lord, put him to 't ; 
 let him have his way. 
 
 2 Lord. If your lordship find him not a hild- 
 ing, hold me no more in your respect. 
 
 I Lord. On my life, my lord, a bubble. 
 Ber. Do you think I am so far deceived in 
 him? 
 
 1 Lord. Believe it, my lord, in mine own 
 direct knowledge, without any malice, but to 
 speak of him as my kinsman, he 's a most not- 
 able coward, an infinite and endless liar, an 
 hourly promise-breaker, the owner of no one 
 good quality worthy your lordship's entertain- 
 ment. 
 
 2 Lord. It were fit you knew him ; lest, re- 
 posing too far in his virtue, which he hath not, 
 he might, at some great and trusty business, in 
 a main danger, fail you. 
 
 Ber. I would I knew in what particular 
 action to try him. 
 
 2 Lord. None better than to let him fetch off 
 his drum, which you hear him so confidently 
 undertake to do. 
 
 i Lord. I, with a troop of Florentines, will 
 suddenly surprise him ; such I will have, whom 
 I am sure he knows not from the enemy : we 
 will bind and hoodwink him so that he shall 
 suppose no other but that he is carried into the 
 leaguer of the adversaries when we bring him 
 to our tents. Be but your lordship present at 
 his examination : if he do not, for the promise 
 of his life, and in the highest compulsion of 
 base fear, offer to betray you, and deliver all 
 the intelligence in his power against you, and 
 that with the divine forfeit of his soul upon 
 oath, never trust my judgment in anything. 
 
 2 Lord. O, for the love of laughter, let him 
 fetch off his drum ; he says he has a stratagem 
 for '"t : when your lordship sees the bottom of 
 his success in 't, and to what metal this counter- 
 feit lump of ore will be melted, if you give him 
 not John Drum's entertainment, your inclining 
 cannot be removed. Here he comes. 
 
 1 Lord. O, for the love of laughter, hinder 
 not the humour of his design : let him fetch off 
 his drum in any hand. 
 
 Enter PAROLLES. 
 
 Ber. How now, monsieur? this drum sticks 
 sorely in your disposition. 
 
 2 Lord. A pox on 't ; let it go ; 'tis but a 
 drum. 
 
 Par. But a drum! Is't but a drum? A 
 drum so lost ! There was an excellent com- 
 mand ! to charge in with our horse upon our 
 own wings, and to rend our own soldiers. 
 
 2 Lord. That was not to be blamed in the 
 command of the service ; it was a disaster oi 
 war that Csesar himself could not have pre- 
 vented, if he had been there to command. 
 
 Ber. Well, we cannot greatly condemn our 
 success : some dishonour we haa in the loss ol 
 that drum; but it is not to be recovered.. 
 
 Par. It might have been recovered. 
 
 Ber. It might, but it is not now. 
 
 Par. It is to be recovered: but that the 
 merit of service is seldom attributed to the trur 
 and exact performer, I would have that drum 
 or another, or hie jacet. 
 
 Ber. Why, if you have a stomach to 't, mon- 
 sieur, if you think your mystery in stratagem 
 can bring this instrument of honour again into 
 his native quarter, be magnanimous in the en- 
 terprise, and go on ; I will grace the attempt 
 for a worthy exploit ; if you speed well in it, 
 the duke shall both speak of it, and extend to 
 you what further becomes his greatness, even 
 to the utmost syllable of your worthiness. 
 
 Par. By the hand of a soldier, I will under- 
 take it. 
 
 Ber. But you must not now slumber in it. 
 
 Par. I '11 about it this evening : and I will 
 presently pen down my dilemmas, encourage 
 myself in my certa ity, put myself into my 
 mortal preparation, and, by midnight, look to 
 hear further from me. 
 
 Ber. May I be bold to acquaint his grace 
 you are gone about it? 
 
 Par. I know not what the success will be, 
 my lord, but the attempt I vow. 
 
 Ber. I know thou art valiant; and, to the 
 possibility of thy soldiership, will subscribe for 
 thee. Farewell. 
 
 
300 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Par. I love not many words. [Exit. 
 
 1 Lord. No more than a fish loves water. 
 Is not this a strange fellow, my lord? that so 
 confidently seems to undertake this business, 
 which he knows is not to be done ; damns him- 
 self to do, and dares better be damned than to 
 do't. 
 
 2 Lord. You do not know him, my lord , as 
 we do : certain it is that he will steal himself 
 into a man's favour, and for a week escape a 
 great deal of discoveries ; but when you find 
 him out, you have him ever after. 
 
 Ber. Why, do you think he will make no 
 deed at all of this, that so seriously he does 
 address himself unto? 
 
 1 Lord. None in the world ; but return with 
 an invention, and clap upon you two or three 
 probable lies : but we have almost embossed 
 him, you shall see his fall to-night : for indeed 
 he is not for your lordship's respect. 
 
 2 Lord. We '11 make you some sport with 
 the fox ere we case him. He was first smoked 
 by the old Lord Lafeu : when his disguise and 
 he is parted, tell me wnat a sprat you shall find 
 him ; which you shall see this very night. 
 
 i Lord. I must go look my twigs ; he shall 
 be caught. 
 Ber. Your brother, he shall go along with me. 
 
 1 Lord. As 't please your lordship : I '11 leave 
 you. [Exit. 
 
 Ber. Now will I lead you to the house, and 
 
 show you 
 The lass I spoke of. 
 
 2 Lord. But you say she's honest. 
 Ber. That 's all the fault : I spoke with her 
 
 but once, [her, 
 
 And found her wondrous cold ; but I sent to 
 By this same coxcomb that we have i' the wind, 
 Tokens and letters which she did re-send ; 
 And this is all I have done. She's a fair 
 
 creature ; 
 Will you go see her? 
 
 2 Lord. With all my heart, my lord. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VII. FLORENCE. A Room in the 
 Widow's House. 
 
 Enter HELENA and Widow. 
 
 Hel. If you misdoubt me that I am not she, 
 I know not how I shall assure you further, 
 But I shall lose the grounds I work upon. 
 
 Wid* Though my estate be fallen, I was 
 
 well born, 
 
 Nothing acquainted with these businesses ; 
 And would not put my reputation now 
 In any staining act. 
 
 Hel. Nor would I wish you. 
 
 First give me trust, the count he is my husband, 
 And what to your sworn counsel I have spoken 
 Is so from word to word ; and then you cannot, 
 By the good aid that I of you shall borrow, 
 Err in bestowing it. 
 
 Wid. I should believe you ; 
 
 For you have show'd me that which well 
 
 approves 
 You 're great in fortune. 
 
 Hel. Take this purse of gold, 
 
 And let me buy your friendly help thus far, 
 Which I will over-pay, and pay again, 
 When I have found it. The count he wooes 
 
 your daughter, 
 
 Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty, 
 Resolv'd to carry her : let her, in fine, consent, 
 As we '11 direct her how 'tis best to bear it, 
 Now his important blood will naught deny 
 That she '11 demand : a ring the county wears, 
 That downward hath succeeded in his house 
 From son to son, some four or five descents 
 Since the first father wore it : this ring he holds 
 In most rich choice ; yet, in his idle fire, 
 To buy his will, it would not seem too dear, 
 Howe'er repented after. 
 
 Wid. Now I see 
 
 The bottom of your purpose. 
 
 Hel. You see it lawful then : it is no more 
 But that your daughter, ere she seems as won, 
 Desires this ring ; appoints him an encounter ; 
 In fine, delivers me to fill the time, 
 Herself most chastely absent ; after this, 
 To marry her, I '11 add three thousand crowns 
 To what is past already. 
 
 Wid. I have yielded: 
 
 Instruct my daughter how she shall persevei, 
 That time and place, with this deceit so lawful, 
 May prove coherent. Every night he comes 
 With musics of all sorts, and songs compos'd 
 To her unworthiness : it nothing steads us 
 To chide him from our eaves ; for he persists, 
 As if his life lay on 't. 
 
 Hel. Why, then, to-night 
 
 Let us assay our plot ; which, if it speed, 
 Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed, 
 And lawful meaning in a lawful act ; 
 Where both not sin, and yet a sinful fact : 
 But let 's about it. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. Without the FLORENTINE Camp. 
 
 Enter first Lord, with five or six Soldiers in 
 ambush. 
 
 I Lord. He can come no other way but by 
 this hedge-corner. When you sally upon him 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 301 
 
 speak what terrible language you will ; though 
 you understand it not yourselves, no matter; 
 for we must not seem to understand him, un- 
 less some one among us, whom we must pro- 
 duce for an interpreter. 
 
 i Sold. Good captain, let me be the inter- 
 preter. 
 
 i Lord. Art not acquainted with him? knows 
 he not thy voice? 
 
 I Sold. No, sir, I warrant you. 
 
 I Lord. But what linsey-woolsey hast thou 
 to speak to us again? 
 
 I Sold. Even such as you speak to me. 
 
 I Lord. He must think us some band of 
 strangers i' the adversary's entertainment. 
 Now he hath a smack of all neighbouring lan- 
 guages; therefore we must every one be a man 
 of his own fancy, not to know what we speak 
 to one another; so we seem to know, is to 
 know straight our purpose : chough's language, 
 gabble enough, and good enough. As for you, 
 interpreter, you must seem very politic. But 
 couch, ho! here he comes; to beguile two 
 hours in a sleep, and then to return and swear 
 the lies he forges. 
 
 iiiJtoUJryi --/ 
 Enter PAROLLES. 
 
 Par. Ten o'clock : within these three hours 
 'twill be time enough to go home. What shall 
 I say I have done? It must be a very plausive 
 invention that carries it : they begin to smoke 
 me: and disgraces have of late knocked too 
 often at my door. I find my tongue is too 
 foolhardy; but my heart hath the fear of Mars 
 before it, and of his creatures, not daring the 
 reports of my tongue. 
 
 I Lord. This is the first truth that e'er thine 
 own tongue was guilty of. [Aside. 
 
 Par. What the devil should move me to 
 undertake the recovery of this drum ; being not 
 ignorant of the impossibility, and knowing I 
 had no such purpose? I must give myself some 
 hurts, and say I got them in exploit : yet slight 
 ones will not carry it : they will say, Came you 
 off with so little? and great ones I dare not 
 
 five. Wherefore, what *s the instance? Tongue, 
 must put you into a butter-woman's mouth, 
 and buy myself another of Bajazet's mule, if 
 you prattle me into these perils. 
 
 I Lord. Is it possible he should know what 
 he is, and be that he is ? [Aside. 
 
 Par. I would the cutting of my garments 
 would serve the turn, or the breaking of my 
 Spanish sword. 
 
 I Lord. We cannot afford you so. [Azidi. 
 
 Par. Or the baring of my beard; and to say 
 it was in stratagem. 
 
 I Lord. 'T would not do. [Aside. 
 
 Par. Or to drown my clothes, and say I was 
 stripped. 
 
 i Lord. Hardly serve. [Aside. 
 
 Par. Though I swore I leaped from the 
 window of the citadel, 
 
 I Lord. How deep? [Aside. 
 
 Par. Thirty fathom. 
 
 i Lord. Three great oaths would scarce 
 make that be believed. [Aside. 
 
 Par. I would I had any drum of the enemy's j 
 I would swear I recovered it. 
 
 I Lord. You shall hear one anon. [Aside. 
 
 Par. A dram now of the enemy's ! 
 
 [Alarum within. 
 
 I Lord. Throca movousus, cargo, cargo, cargo. 
 
 All. Cargo, cargo, cargo, villianda par corbo, 
 cargo. 
 
 Par. O ! ransom, ransom : Do not hide 
 mine eyes. [ They seize and blindfold him. 
 
 1 Sold. Boskos throimildo boskos. 
 
 Par. I know you are the Musko's regiment, 
 And I shall lose my life for want of language : 
 If there be here German- or Dane, low Dutch, 
 Italian, or French, let him speak to me ; 
 I will discover that which shall undo 
 The Florentine. 
 
 2 Sold. Boskos vauvado : 
 
 I understand thee, and can speak thy tongue : 
 
 Kerelybonto : Sir, 
 
 Betake thee to thy faith, for seventeen poniards 
 Are at thy bosom. 
 
 Par. ' Oh ! 
 
 I Sold. O, pray, pray, pray. 
 
 Manka revania dulche. 
 
 I Lord. Oscorbi dulchos volivorco. 
 
 i Sold. The general is content to spare thee 
 
 yet; 
 And, hoodwink'd as thou art, will lead thee 
 
 on 
 
 To gather from thee : haply thou mayst inform 
 Something to save thy Hie. 
 
 Par. O, let me live, 
 
 And all the secrets of our camp I '11 show, 
 Their force, their purposes : nay, I '11 speak that 
 Which you will wonder at. 
 
 I Sold. But wilt thou faithfully? 
 
 Par. If I do not, damn me. 
 
 I Sold. Acordo linta. 
 
 Come on ; thou art granted space. 
 
 [Exit, with PAROLLES guarded. 
 
 1 Lord. Go, tell the Count Rousillon and 
 
 my brother 
 We have caught the woodcock, and will keep 
 
 him muffled 
 Till we do hear from them. 
 
 2 Sold. Captain, I will 
 
3 02 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 1 Lord. He will betray us all unto our- 
 
 selves ; 
 Inform 'em that. 
 
 2 Sold. So I will, sir. 
 
 I Lord. Till then I '11 keep him dark, and 
 safely lock'd. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. FLORENCE. A Room in the 
 Widow's House. 
 
 Enter BERTRAM and DIANA. 
 
 Ber. They told me that your name was 
 Fontibell. 
 
 Dia. No, my good lord, Diana. 
 
 Ber. Titled goddess ; 
 
 And worth it, with addition ! But, fair soul, 
 In your fine frame hath love no quality? 
 If the quick fire of youth light not your mind, 
 You are no maiden, but a monument ; 
 When you are dead, you should be such a one 
 As you are now, for you are cold and stern ; 
 And now you should be as your mother was 
 When your sweet self was got. 
 
 Dia. She then was honest. 
 
 Ber. So should you be. 
 
 Dia. No : 
 
 My mother did but duty ; such, my lord, 
 As you owe to your wife. 
 
 Ber. No more of that ! 
 
 I pr'ythee, do not strive against my vows : 
 I was compell'd to her ; but I love thee 
 By love's own sweet constraint, and will for ever 
 Do thee all rights of service. 
 
 Dia. Ay, so you serve us 
 
 Till we serve you : but when you have our roses 
 You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves, 
 And mock us with our bareness. 
 
 Ber. How have I sworn? 
 
 Dia. 'Tis not the many oaths that make the 
 
 truth, 
 
 But the plain single vow that is vow'd true. 
 What is not holy, that we swear not by, 
 But take the Highest to witness: then, pray 
 
 you, tell me, 
 
 If I should swear by Jove's great attributes 
 I lov'd you dearly, would you believe my oaths, 
 When I did love you ill? this has no holding, 
 To swear by him whom I protest to love, 
 That I will work against him: therefore your 
 
 oaths 
 
 Are words and poor conditions ; but unseal'd, 
 At least in my opinion. 
 
 Ber. Change it, change it ; 
 
 Be not so holy-cruel : love is holy ; 
 And my integrity ne'er knew the crafts [off, 
 That y^u do charge men with. Stand no more 
 But give thyself unto my sick desires, 
 
 Who then recover : say thou art mine, and ever 
 My love as it begins shall so persever. [case, 
 
 Dia. I see that men make hopes, in such a 
 
 That we'll forsake ourselves. Give me that 
 
 ring. [power 
 
 Ber. I '11 lend it thee, my dear, but have no 
 To give it from me. 
 
 Dia. Will you not, my lord? 
 
 Ber. It is an honour 'longing to our house, 
 Bequeathed down from many ancestors ; 
 Which were the greatest obloquy i' the world 
 In me to lose. 
 
 Dia. Mine honour 's such a ring : 
 
 My chastity 's the jewel of our house, 
 Bequeathed down from many ancestors ; 
 Which were the greatest obloquy i' the world 
 In me to lose. Thus your own proper wisdom 
 Brings in the champion honour on my part, 
 Against your vain assault. 
 
 Ber. Here, take my ring : 
 
 My house, mine honour, yea, my life be thine, 
 And I '11 be bid by thee. 
 
 Dia. When midnight comes knock at my 
 
 chamber- window ; 
 
 I '11 order take my mother shall not hear. 
 Now will I charge you in the band of truth, 
 When you have conquer'd my yet maiden-bed, 
 Remain there but an hour, nor speak to me: 
 My reasons are most strong; and you shall 
 
 know them 
 
 When back again this ring shall be deliver'd ; 
 And on your finger, in the night, I '11 put 
 Another ring; that what in time proceeds 
 May token to the future our past deeds. 
 Adieu till then ; then fail not. You have won 
 A wife of me, though there my hope be done. 
 
 Ber. A heaven on earth I have won by woo- 
 ing thee. [Exit. 
 
 Dia. For which live long to thank both 
 heaven and me ! 
 
 You may so in the end. 
 
 My mother told me just how he would woo, 
 As if she sat in his heart ; she says all men 
 Have the like oaths : he hath sworn to marry me 
 When his wife 's dead ; therefore I '11 lie with him 
 When I am buried. Since Frenchmen are so 
 
 braid, 
 
 Marry that will, I '11 live and die a maid : 
 Only, in this disguise, I think 't no sin 
 To cozen him that would unjustly win. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III. The Florentine Camp. 
 
 Enter the two French Lords, and two QT three 
 Soldiers. 
 
 i Lord. You have not given him his mother's 
 letter? 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 303 
 
 2 Lord. I have delivered it an hour since : 
 there is something in 't that stings his nature ; 
 for, on the reading it, he changed almost into 
 another man. 
 
 1 Lord. He has much worthy blame laid upon 
 him for shaking off so good a wife and so sweet 
 a lady. 
 
 2 Lord. Especially he hath incurred the ever- 
 lasting displeasure of the king, who had even 
 tuned his bounty to sing happiness to him. I 
 will tell you a thing, but you shall let it dwell 
 darkly with you. 
 
 1 Lord. When you have spoken it, 'tis dead, 
 and I am the grave of it. 
 
 2 Lord. He hath perverted a young gentle- 
 woman here in Florence, of a most chaste re- 
 nown ; and this night he fleshes his will in the 
 spoil of her honour: he hath given her his 
 monumental ring, and thinks himself made in 
 the unchaste composition. 
 
 1 Lord. Now, God delay our rebellion: as 
 we are ourselves, what things are we ! 
 
 2 Lord. Merely our own traitors. And as in 
 the common course of all treasons, we still see 
 them reveal themselves, till they attain to their 
 abhorred ends ; so he that in this action con- 
 trives against his own nobility, in his proper 
 stream o'erflows himself. 
 
 1 Lord. Is it not meant damnable in us to be 
 trumpeters of our unlawful intents? We shall 
 not then have his company to-night? 
 
 2 Lord. Not till after midnight; for he is 
 dieted to his hour. 
 
 1 Lord. That approaches apace: I would 
 gladly have him see his company anatomized, 
 that he might take a measure of his own judg- 
 ments, wherein so curiously he had set this 
 counterfeit. 
 
 2 Lord. We will not meddle with him till he 
 come ; for his presence must be the whip of the 
 other. [these wars? 
 
 1 Lord. In the meantime, what hear you of 
 
 2 Lord. I hear there is an overture of peace. 
 
 1 Lord. Nay, I assure you, a peace con- 
 cluded. 
 
 2 Lord. What will Count Rousillon do then? 
 will he travel higher, or return again into 
 France? 
 
 1 Lord. I perceive, by this demand, you are 
 not altogether of his council. 
 
 2 Lord. Let it be forbid, sir ; so should I be 
 a great deal of his act. 
 
 i Lord. Sir, his wife, some two months since, 
 fled from his house : her pretence is a pilgrim- 
 age to St. Jaques-le-Grand ; which holy under- 
 taking, with most austere sanctimony, she ac- 
 complished; and, there residing, the tenderness 
 
 of her nature became as a prey to her grief; in 
 fine, made a groan of her last breath ; and now 
 she sings in heaven. 
 
 2 Lord. How is this justified ? 
 
 1 Lord. The stronger part of it by her own 
 letters, which make her story true even to the 
 point of her death : her death itself, which could 
 not be her office to say is come, was faithfully 
 confirmed by the rector of the place. 
 
 2 Lord. Hath the count all this intelligence? 
 
 1 Lord. Ay, and the particular confirmations, 
 point from point, to the full arming of the 
 verity. 
 
 2 Lord. I am heartily sorry that he '11 be 
 glad of this. 
 
 1 Lord. How mightily, sometimes, we make 
 us comforts of our losses ! 
 
 2 Lord. And how mightily, some other times, 
 we drown our gain in tears ! The great dignity 
 that his valour hath here acquired for him shall 
 at home be encountered with a shame as ample. 
 
 1 Lord. The web of our life is of a mingled 
 yarn, good and ill together : our virtues would 
 be proud if our faults whipped them not ; and 
 our crimes would despair if they were not 
 cherished by our virtues. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 How now? where's your master? 
 
 Serv. He met the duke in the street, sir ; of 
 whom he hath taken a solemn leave : his lord- 
 ship will next morning for France. The duke 
 hath offered him letters of commendations to 
 the king. 
 
 2 Lord. They shall be no more than needfu/ 
 there, if they were more than they can com- 
 mend. 
 
 1 Lord. They cannot be too sweet for the 
 king's tartness. Here 's his lordship now. 
 
 Enter BERTRAM. 
 
 How now, my lord, is't not after midnight? 
 
 Ber. I have to-night despatched sixteen busi- 
 nesses, a month's length a- piece, by an abstract 
 of success : I have conge'd with the duke, done 
 my adieu with his nearest; buried a wife, 
 mourned for her ; writ to my lady-mother I am 
 returning; entertained my convoy; and, be- 
 tween these main parcels of despatch, effected 
 many nicer needs: the last was the greatest, 
 but that I have not ended yet. 
 
 2 Lord. If the business be of any difficulty, 
 and this morning your departure hence, it re- 
 quires haste of your lordship. 
 
 Ber. I mean, the business is not ended, as 
 fearing to hear of it hereafter. But shall we 
 have this dialogue between the fool and the 
 
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 soldier? Come, bring forth this counterfeit 
 
 model : has deceived me like a double-meaning 
 prophesier. 
 
 2 Lord. Bring him forth. [Exeunt Soldiers. ] 
 Has sat in the stocks all night, poor gallant 
 knave. 
 
 Ber. No rratter; his heels have deserved it, 
 in usurping his spurs so long. How does he 
 carry himself? 
 
 1 Lord. I have told your lordship already; 
 the stocks carry him. But to answer you as 
 you would be understood; he weeps like a 
 wench that had shed her milk : he hath con- 
 fessed himself to Morgan, whom he supposes to 
 be a friar, from the time of his remembrance 
 to this very instant disaster of his setting i' the 
 stocks: and what think you he hath confessed? 
 
 Ber. Nothing of me, has he? 
 
 2 Lord. His confession is taken, and it shall 
 be read to his face : if your lordship be in 't, as 
 I believe you are, you must have the patience to 
 hear it. 
 
 Re-enter Soldiers, with PAROLLES. 
 
 Ber. A plague upon him ! muffled ! he can 
 3ay nothing of me ; hush, hush ! 
 
 I Lord. Hoodman comes ! Porto tartarossa. 
 
 I Sold. He calls for the tortures : what will 
 you say without 'em? 
 
 Par. I will confess what I know without con- 
 straint ; if ye pinch me like a pasty I can say 
 no more. 
 
 i Sold. Bosko chimurco. 
 
 I Lord. Boblibindo chicurmurco. 
 
 i Sold. You are a merciful general: Our 
 general bids you answer to what I shall ask you 
 out of a note. 
 
 Par. And truly, as I hope to live. 
 
 i Sold. First demand of him how many horse 
 the duke is strong. What say you to that ? 
 
 Par. Five or six thousand; but very weak 
 and unserviceable : the troops are all scattered, 
 and the commanders very poor rogues, upon 
 my reputation and credit, and as I hope to live. 
 
 i Sold. Shall I set down your answer so? 
 
 Par. Do; I'll take the sacrament on't, how 
 and which way you will. [slave is this ! 
 
 Ber. All 's one to him. What a past-saving 
 
 1 Lord. You are deceived, my lord ; this is 
 Monsieur Parolles, the gallant militarist (that 
 was his own phrase), that had the whole theoric 
 of war in the knot of his scarf, and the practice 
 in the chape of his dagger. 
 
 2 Lord. I will never trust a man again for 
 keeping his sword clean; nor believe he can 
 have everything in him by wearing his apparel 
 neatly. 
 
 I Sold. Well, that 's set down. 
 
 Par. Five or six thousand horse, I said, I 
 will say true, or thereabouts, set down, for 
 I '11 speak truth. 
 
 I Lord. He 's very near the truth in this. 
 
 Ber. But I con him no thanks for 't in the 
 nature he delivers it. 
 
 Par. Poor rogues, I pray you say. 
 
 I Sold. Well, that 's set down. 
 
 Par. I humbly thank you, sir: a truth's a 
 truth, the rogues are marvellous poor. 
 
 I Sold. Demand of him of what strength they 
 are a-foot. What say you to that? 
 
 Par. By my troth, sir, if I were to live this 
 present hour I will tell true. Let me see : 
 Spurio a hundred and fifty, Sebastian so many, 
 Corambus so many, Jacques so many ; Guiltian, 
 Cosmo, Lodowick, and Gratii, two hundred 
 fifty each: mine own company, Chitopher, 
 Vaumond, Bentii, two hundred fifty each : so 
 that the muster-file, rotten and sound, upon my 
 life, amounts not to fifteen thousand poll ; half 
 of the which dare not shake the snow from off 
 their cassocks lest they shake themselves to 
 pieces. 
 
 Ber. What shall be done to him? 
 
 i Lord. Nothing, but let him have thanks. 
 Demand of him my condition, and what credit 
 I have with the duke. 
 
 i Sold. Well, that 's set down. You shall 
 demand of him whether one Captain Dumain 
 be the camp, a frenchman; what his reputa- 
 tion is with the duke, what his valour, honesty, 
 expertness in wars ; or whether he thinks it were 
 not possible, with well-weighing sums of gold, to 
 corrupt him to a revolt. 
 What say you to this? what do you know of it? 
 
 Par. I beseech you, let me answer to the 
 particular of the inter'gatories : demand them 
 singly. 
 
 I Sold. Do you know this Captain Dumain? 
 
 Par. I know him: he was a botcher's 
 'prentice in Paris, from whence he was whipped 
 for getting the shrieve's fool with child : a dumb 
 innocent that could not say him nay. 
 
 [i Lord lifts up his hand in anger. 
 
 Ber. Nay, by your leave, hold your hands ; 
 though I know his brains are forfeit to the next 
 tile that falls. 
 
 i Sold. Well, is this captain in the Duke of 
 Florence's camp? 
 
 Par. Upon my knowledge, he is, and lousy. 
 
 I Lord. Nay, look not so upon me ; we shall 
 hear of your lordship anon. 
 
 I Sold. What is his reputation with the duke? 
 
 Par. The duke knows him for no other but 
 a poor officer of mine j and writ to me this other 
 
SCENE 111.7 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 305 
 
 day to turn him out o' the band : I think I have 
 his letter in my pocket. 
 
 I Sold. Marry, we '11 search. 
 
 Par. In good sadness, I do not know ; either 
 it is there or it is upon a file, with the duke's 
 other letters, in my tent. 
 
 i Sold. Here 'tis; here's a paper. Shall I 
 read it to you ? 
 
 Par. I do not know if it be it or no. 
 
 Ber. Our interpreter does it well. 
 
 I Lord. Excellently. 
 
 I Sold. [Reads. ] Dian, the Count 's a fool, and 
 full of gold, 
 
 Par. That is not the duke's letter, sir ; that 
 is an advertisement to a proper maid in Florence, 
 one Diana, to take heed of the allurement of 
 one Count Rousillon, a foolish, idle boy, but, 
 for all that, very ruttish : I pray you, sir, put it 
 up again. 
 
 1 Sold. Nay, I'll read it first, by your favour. 
 Par. My meaning in 't, I protest, was very 
 
 honest in the behalf of the maid ; for I knew the 
 young count to be a dangerous and lascivious 
 boy, who is a whale to virginity, and devours 
 up all the fry it finds. 
 
 Ber. Damnable ! both sides rogue ! 
 
 . I Sold. [^Mfc.]Whenheswearsoaths,bidhimdrop 
 
 gold, and take it : 
 
 After he scores, he never pays the score ; 
 Half won is match well made ; match, and well make it; 
 
 He ne'er pays after -debts, take it before ; 
 And say a soldier, Dian, told thee this, 
 Men are to mell with, boys are not to kiss ; 
 For count of this, the count 's a fool, I know it, 
 Who pays before, but not when he does owe it. 
 Thine, as he vow'd to thee in thine ear, 
 
 PAROLLES. 
 
 Ber. He shall be whipped through the army 
 with this rhyme in his forehead. 
 
 2 Lord. This is your devoted friend, sir, the 
 manifold linguist, and the armipotent soldier. 
 
 Ber. I could endure anything before but a 
 cat, and now he 's a cat to me. 
 
 I Sold. I perceive, sir, by our general's looks 
 we shall be fain to hang you. 
 
 Par. My life, sir, in any case : not that I am 
 afraid to die, but that, my offences being many, 
 I would repent out the remainder of nature : 
 let me live, sir, in a dungeon, i' the stocks, or 
 anywhere, so I may live. 
 
 i Sold. We '11 see what may be done, so you 
 confess freely; therefore, once more to this 
 Captain Dumain : you have answered to his re- 
 putation with the duke, and to his valour : what 
 is his honesty ? 
 
 Par. He will steal, sir, an egg out of a 
 cloister ; for rapes and ravishments he parallels 
 Nessus. He professes not keeping of oaths; 
 
 in breaking them he is stronger than Hercules. 
 He will lie, sir, with such volubility that you 
 would think truth were a fool : drunkenness is 
 his best virtue, for he will be swine-drunk ; and 
 in his sleep he does little harm, save to his bed- 
 clothes about him ; but they know his conditions 
 and lay him in straw. I have but little more 
 to say, sir, of his honesty ; he has everything 
 that an honest man should not have ; what an 
 honest man should have he has nothing. 
 
 I Lord. I begin to love him for this. 
 
 Ber. For this description of thine honesty? 
 A pox upon him for me ; he is more and more 
 a cat. 
 
 i Sold. What say you to his expertness in 
 war? 
 
 Par. Faith, sir, has led the drum before the 
 English tragedians, to belie him I will not, 
 and more of his soldiership I know not, except 
 in that country he had the honour to be the 
 officer at a place there called Mile-end, to in- 
 struct for the doubling of files : I would do the 
 man what honour I can, but of this I am not 
 certain. 
 
 I Lord. He hath out-villanied villany so far 
 that the rarity redeems him. 
 
 Ber. A pox on him ! he 's a cat still. 
 
 I Sold. His qualities being at this poor price, 
 I need not to ask you if gold will corrupt him 
 to revolt. 
 
 Par. Sir, for a quart (fecit he will sell the 
 fee-simple of his salvation, the inheritance oi 
 it ; and cut the entail from all remainders, and 
 a perpetual succession for it perpetually. 
 
 1 Sold. What 's his brother, the other Cap- 
 tain Dumain? 
 
 2 Lord. Why does he ask him of me? 
 I Sold. What 'she? 
 
 Par. E'en a crow of the same nest ; not al- 
 together so great as the first in goodness, but 
 greater a great deal in evil. He excels his 
 brother for a coward, yet his brother is reputed 
 one of the best that is : in a retreat he outruns 
 any lackey ; marry, in coming on he has the 
 cramp. 
 
 I Sold. If your life be saved, will you under- 
 take to betray the Florentine? 
 
 Par. Ay, and the captain of his horse, Count 
 Rousillon. 
 
 i Sold. I'll whisper with the general, and 
 know his pleasure. 
 
 Par. I '11 no more drumming ; a plague of all 
 drums ! Only to seem to deserve well, and to 
 beguile the supposition of that lascivious young 
 boy, the count, have I run into this danger: 
 yet who would have suspected an ambush where 
 I was taken? {Aside. 
 
306 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 [ACT rv. 
 
 i Sold. There is no remedy, sir, but you 
 must die : the general says, you that have so 
 traitorously discovered the secrets of your army, 
 and made such pestiferous reports of men very 
 nobly held, can serve the world for no honest 
 use; therefore you must die. Come, heads- 
 man, off with his head. 
 
 Par. O Lord ! sir, let me live, or let me see 
 my death. 
 
 1 Sold. That shall you, and take your leave 
 of all your friends. [ Unmuffling him. 
 So look about you : know you any here? 
 
 Ber. Good morrow, noble captain. 
 
 2 Lord. God bless you, Captain Parolles. 
 
 1 Lord. God save you, noble captain. 
 
 2 Lord. Captain, what greeting will you to 
 my Lord Lafeu? I am for France. 
 
 I Lord. Good captain, will you give me a 
 
 copy of the sonnet you writ to Diana in behalf 
 
 of the Count Rousillon? an I were not a very 
 
 coward I 'd compel it of you ; but fare you well. 
 
 [Exeunt BERTRAM, Lords, &c. 
 
 I Sold. You are undone, captain: all but 
 your scarf ; that has a knot on 't yet. 
 
 Par. Who cannot be crushed with a plot? 
 
 I Sold. If you could find out a country where 
 but women were that had received so much 
 shame, you might begin an impudent nation. 
 Fare you well, sir ; I am for France too : we 
 shall speak of you there. [Exit. 
 
 Par. Yet I am thankful : if my heart were 
 
 great, 
 'Twould burst at this. Captain I '11 be no 
 
 more; 
 
 But I will eat and drink, and sleep as soft 
 As captain shall : simply the thing I am 
 Shall make me live. Who knows himself a 
 
 braggart, 
 
 Let him fear this ; for it will come to pass 
 That every braggart shall be found an ass. 
 Rust, sword ! cool, blushes ! and, Parolles, live 
 Safest in shame ! being fool'd, by foolery thrive ! 
 There 's place and means for every man alive. 
 I '11 after them. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV. FLORENCE. A Room in the 
 Widow's House. 
 
 Enter HELENA, Widow, and DIANA. 
 
 Hel. That you may well perceive I have not 
 
 wrong'd you, 
 
 One of the greatest in the Christian world 
 Shall be my surety; 'fore whose throne 'tis 
 
 needful, 
 
 Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneel : 
 Time was I did him a desired office, 
 Dear almost as his life; which gratitude 
 
 Through flinty Tartar's bosom would peep forth, 
 And answer, thanks : I duly am informed 
 His grace is at Marseilles ; to which place 
 We have convenient convoy. You must know 
 I am supposed dead : the army breaking, 
 My husband hies him home; where, heaven 
 
 aiding, 
 
 And by the leave of my good lord the king, 
 We '11 be before our welcome. 
 
 Wid. Gentle madam, 
 
 You never had a servant to whose trust 
 Your business was more welcome. 
 
 Hel. Nor you, mistress, 
 
 Ever a friend whose thoughts more truly labour 
 To recompense your love : doubt not but heaven 
 Hath brought me up to be your daughter's 
 
 dower, 
 
 As it hath fated her to be my motive 
 And helper to a husband. But, O strange men ! 
 That can such sweet use make of what they 
 
 hate, 
 
 When saucy trusting of the cozen'd thoughts 
 Defiles the pitchy night ! so lust doth play 
 With what it loathes, for that which is away: 
 But more of this hereafter. You, Diana, 
 Under my poor instructions yet must suffer 
 Something in my behalf. 
 
 Dia. Let death and honesty 
 
 Go with your impositions, I am yours 
 Upon your will to suffer. 
 
 Hel. Yet, I pray you : 
 
 But with the word the time will bring on 
 
 summer, 
 
 When briers shall have leaves as well as thorns, 
 And be as sweet as sharp. We must away ; 
 Our waggon is prepar'd, and time revives us : 
 All 's well that ends well : still the fine 's the 
 
 crown : 
 Whate'er the course, the end is the renown. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. ROUSILLON. A Room in the 
 COUNTESS'S Palace. 
 
 Enter COUNTESS, LAFEU, and Clown. 
 
 Laf. No, no, no, your son was misled with 
 a snipt-taffeta fellow there, whose villanous 
 saffron would have made all the unbaked and 
 doughy youth of a nation in his colour : your 
 daughter-in-law had been alive at this hour, 
 and your son here at home, more advanced by 
 the king than by that red-tailed humble-bee I 
 speak of. 
 
 Count. I would I had not known him ! it 
 was the death of the most virtuous gentlewoman 
 that ever nature had praise for creating : if she 
 had partaken of my flesh, and cost me the 
 
SCENS V.] 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 307 
 
 dearest groans of a mother, I could not have 
 owed her a more rooted love. 
 
 Laf. 'Twas a good lady, 'twas a good lady : 
 we may pick a thousand salads ere we light on 
 such another herb. 
 
 Clo, Indeed, sir, she was the sweet mar- 
 joram of the salad, or rather, the herb of grace. 
 
 Laf. They are not salad-herbs, you knave ; 
 they are nose-herbs. 
 
 Clo. I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir ; I 
 have not much skill in grass. 
 
 Laf. Whether dost thou profess thyself, a 
 knave or a fool ? 
 
 Clo. A fool, sir, at a woman's service, and a 
 knave at a man's. 
 
 Laf. Your distinction ? 
 
 Clo. I would cozen the man of his wife, and 
 do his service. [deed. 
 
 Laf. So you were a knave at his service, in- 
 
 Clo. And I would give his wife my bauble, 
 sir, to do her service. 
 
 Laf. I will subscribe for thee ; thou art both 
 knave and fool. 
 
 Clo. At your service. 
 
 Laf. No, no, no. 
 
 Clo. Why, sir, if I cannot serve you, I can 
 serve as great a prince as you are. 
 
 Laf. Who 's that ? a Frenchman ? 
 
 Clo. Faith, sir, 'a has an English name ; but 
 his phisnomy is more hotter in France than 
 there. 
 
 Laf. What prince is that? 
 
 Clo. The black prince, sir ; alias, the prince 
 of darkness ; alias, the devil. 
 
 Laf. Hold thee, there's my purse: I give 
 thee not this to suggest thee from thy master 
 thou talkest of; serve him still. 
 
 Clo. I am a woodland fellow, sir, that al- 
 ways loved a great fire ; and the master I speak 
 of ever keeps a good fire. But, .sure, he is the 
 prince of the world ; let his nobility remain in 
 his court. I am for the house with the narrow 
 gate, which I take to be too little for pomp to 
 enter: some that humble themselves may; but 
 the many will be too chill and tender; and 
 they '11 be for the flow'ry way that leads to the 
 broad gate and the great fire. 
 
 Laf. Go thy ways, I begin to be a- weary of 
 thee ; and I tell thee so before, because I would 
 not fall out with thee. Go thy ways ; let my 
 horses be well looked to, without any tricks. 
 
 Clo. If I put any tricks upon 'em, sir, they 
 shall be jades' tricks; which are their own 
 right by the law of nature. [Exit. 
 
 Laf. A shrewd knave, and an unhappy. 
 
 Count. So he is. My lord that 's gone made 
 himself much sport out of him : by his authority 
 
 he remains here, which he thinks is a patent 
 for his sauciness ; and, indeed, he has no pace, 
 but runs where he will. 
 
 Laf. I like him well; 'tis not amiss. And 
 I was about to tell you, since I heard of the 
 good lady's death, and that my lord your son 
 was upon his return home, I moved the king 
 my master to speak in the behalf of my daugh- 
 ter; which, in the minority of them both, his 
 majesty, out of a self-gracious remembrance, 
 did first propose : his highness hath promised 
 me to do it : and, to stop up the displeasure he 
 hath conceived against your son, there is no 
 fitter matter. How does your ladyship like it? 
 
 Count. With very much content, my lord; 
 and I wish it happily effected. 
 
 Laf. His highness comes post from Mar- 
 seilles, of as able body as when he numbered 
 thirty ; he will be here to-morrow, or I am de- 
 ceived by him that in such intelligence hath 
 seldom failed. 
 
 Count. It rejoices me that I hope I shall see 
 him ere I die. I have letters that my son will 
 be here to-night : I shall beseech your lordship 
 to remain with me till they meet together. 
 
 Laf. Madam, I was thinking with what 
 manners I might safely be admitted. 
 
 Count. You need but plead your honourable 
 privilege. 
 
 Laf. Lady, of that I have made a bold char- 
 ter ; but, I thank my God, it holds yet. 
 
 Re-enter Clown. 
 
 Clo. O madam, yonder 's my lord your son 
 with a patch of velvet on 's face ; whether there 
 be a scar under it or no, the velvet knows ; but 
 'tis a goodly patch of velvet : his lelt cheek is a 
 cheek of two pile and a half, but his right cheek 
 is worn bare. 
 
 Laf. A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a 
 good livery of honour; so belike is that. 
 
 Clo. But it is your carbonadoed face. 
 
 Laf. Let us go see your son, I pray you; I 
 long to talk with the young noble soldier. 
 
 Clo. Faith, there's a dozen of 'em, with 
 delicate fine hats, and most courteous feathers, 
 which bow the head and nod at every man. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. MARSEILLES. A Street. 
 
 Enter HELENA, Widow, and DIANA, with 
 
 two Attendants. 
 Hel. But this exceeding posting day and 
 
 night 
 Must wear your spirits low : we cannot help it 
 
3 o8 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 But since you have made the days and nights 
 
 as one, 
 
 To wear your gentle limbs in my affairs, 
 Be bold you do so grow in my requital 
 As nothing can unroot you. In happy time ; 
 
 Enter a Gentleman. 
 
 This man may help me to his majesty's ear, 
 If he would spend his power. God save you, 
 sir. 
 
 Gent. And you. 
 
 Hel. Sir, I have seen you in the court of 
 France. 
 
 Gent. I have been sometimes there. 
 
 Hel. I do presume, sir, that you are not 
 
 fallen 
 
 From the report that goes upon your goodness ; 
 And therefore, goaded with most sharp occasions, 
 Which lay nice manners by, I put you to 
 The use of your own virtues, for the which 
 I shall continue thankful. 
 
 Gent. What 's your will? 
 
 Hel. That it will please you 
 To give this poor petition to the king ; 
 And aid me with that store of power you have 
 To come into his presence. 
 
 Gent. The king 's not here. 
 
 Hel. Not here, sir? 
 
 Gent. Not indeed : 
 
 He hence remov'd last night, and with more 
 
 haste 
 Than is his use. 
 
 Wid. Lord, how we lose our pains ! 
 
 HeL All 's well that ends well yet, 
 Though time seem so adverse and means unfit. 
 I do beseech you, whither is he gone? 
 
 Gent. Marry, as I take it, to Rousillon; 
 Whither I am going. 
 
 Hel. I do beseech you, sir, 
 
 Since you are like to see the king before me, 
 Commend the paper to his gracious hand ; 
 Which I presume shall render you no blame, 
 But rather make you thank your pains for it : 
 I will come after you, with what good speed 
 Our means will make us means. 
 
 Gent. This I '11 do for you. 
 
 Hel. And you shall find yourself to be well 
 
 thank'd, 
 
 Whate' erf alls more. We must to horse again; 
 Go, go, provide. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. ROUSILLON. The inner Court of 
 the COUNTESS'S Palace. 
 
 Enter Clown and PAROLLES. 
 
 Par. Good Monsieur Lavatch, give my Lord 
 Lafeu this letter : I have ere now, sir, been 
 
 better known to you, when I have held famili- 
 arity with fresher clothes ; but I am now, sir, 
 muddied in fortune's mood, and smell some- 
 what strong of her strong displeasure. 
 
 Clo. Truly, fortune's displeasure is but slut- 
 tish if it smell so strongly as thou speakest of: 
 I will henceforth eat no fish of fortune's butter- 
 ing. Pr'ythee, allow the wind. 
 
 Par. Nay, you need not to stop your nose, 
 sir ; I spake but by a metaphor. 
 
 Clo. Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I 
 will stop my nose ; or against any man's meta- 
 phor. Pr'ythee, get thee further. 
 
 Par. Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper. 
 
 Clo. Foh, pr'ythee, stand away: a paper 
 from fortune's close-stool to give to a noble- 
 man ! Look, here he comes himself. 
 .1/33 -: .wivfse aid oh 
 
 Enter LAFEU. 
 
 Here is a pur of fortune's, sir, or of for- 
 tune's cat (but not a musk-cat), that has fallen 
 into the unclean fishpond of her displeasure, 
 and, as he says, is muddied withal : pray you, 
 sir, use the carp as you may ; for he looks like 
 a poor, decayed, ingenious, foolish, rascally 
 knave. I do pity his distress in my smiles of 
 comfort, and leave him to your lordship. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Par. My lord, I am a man whom fortune 
 hath cruelly scratched. 
 
 Laf. And what would you have me to do? 
 'tis too late to pare her nails now. Wherein 
 have you played the knave with fortune, that 
 she should scratch you, who of herself is a good 
 lady, and would not have knaves thrive long 
 under her? There's a quart a* ecu for you: 
 let the justices make you and fortune friends; 
 I am for other business. 
 
 Par. I beseech your honour to hear me one 
 single word. 
 
 Laf. You beg a single penny more : come, 
 you shall ha't : save your word. 
 
 Par. My name, my good lord, is Parolles. 
 
 Laf. You beg more than one word then. 
 Cox' my passion ! give me your hand : how 
 does your drum? 
 
 Par. O my good lord, you were the first 
 that found me. 
 
 Laf. Was I, in sooth? and I was the first 
 that lost thee. 
 
 Par. It lies in you, my lord, to bring me m 
 some grace, for you did bring me out. 
 
 Laf. Out upon thee, knave ! dost thou put 
 upon me at once both the office of God and 
 the devil? one brings thee in grace, and the 
 other brings thee out. [Trumpets sound.'] 
 The king's coming; I know by his trumpets. 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 309 
 
 Sirrah, inquire further after me; I had talk 
 of you last night : though you are a fool and a 
 knave, you shall eat : go to ; follow. 
 
 Par. I praise God for you. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. The same. A Room in the 
 COUNTESS'S Palace. 
 
 Flourish. Enter KING, COUNTESS, LAFEU, 
 Lords, Gentlemen, Guards, &C. 
 
 King. We lost a jewel of her ; and our esteem 
 Was made much poorer by it : but your son, 
 As mad in folly , lack'd the sense to know 
 Her estimation home. 
 
 Count. 'Tis past, my liege : 
 
 And I beseech your majesty to make it 
 Natural rebellion, done i' the blaze of youth, 
 When oil and fire, too strong for reason's force, 
 O'erbears it, and burns on. 
 
 King. My honour'd lady, 
 
 I have forgiven and forgotten all ; 
 Though my revenges were high bent upon him, 
 And watch'd the time to shoot. 
 
 Laf. This I must say, 
 
 But first, I beg my pardon, the young lord 
 Did to his majesty, his mother, and his lady, 
 Offence of mighty note ; but to himself 
 The greatest wrong of all : he lost a wife 
 Whose beauty did astonish the survey 
 Of richest eyes; whose words all ears took 
 
 captive ; 
 Whose dear perfection hearts that scorn'd to 
 
 serve 
 Humbly call'd mistress. 
 
 King. Praising what is lost 
 
 Makes the remembrance dear. Well, call him 
 
 hitner ; 
 
 We are reconcil'd, and the first view shall kill 
 All repetition : let him not ask our pardon ; 
 The nature of his great offence is dead, 
 And deeper than oblivion do we bury 
 The incensing relics of it ; let him approach, 
 A stranger, no offender ; and inform him, 
 So 'tis our will he should. 
 
 Gent. I shall, my liege. 
 
 [Exit Gentleman. 
 
 King. What says he to your daughter? have 
 you spoke? 
 
 Laf. All that he is hath reference to your 
 highness. 
 
 King. Then shall we have a match. I have 
 
 letters sent me 
 That set him high in fame. 
 
 Enter BERTRAM. 
 
 Laf. He looks well on 't. 
 
 King. I am not a day of season, 
 
 For thou mayst see a sunshine and a hail 
 In me at once : but to the brightest beams 
 Distracted clouds give way ; so stand thou forth, 
 The time is fair again. 
 
 Ber. My high-repented blames, 
 
 Dear sovereign, pardon to me. 
 
 King. All is whole ; 
 
 Not one word more of the consumed time. 
 Let 's take the instant by the forward top ; 
 For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees 
 The inaudible and noiseless foot of time 
 Steals ere we can effect them. You remetnbel 
 The daughter of this lord? 
 
 Ber. Admiringly, my liege : at first 
 I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart 
 Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue : 
 Where the impression of mine eye infixing, 
 Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me, 
 Which warp'd the line of every other favour; 
 Scorned a fair colour, or express'd it stolen ; 
 Extended or contracted all proportions 
 To a most hideous object : thence it came 
 That she whom all men prais'd, and whom 
 
 myself, 
 
 Since I have lost, have lov'd, was in mine eye 
 The dust that did offend it. 
 
 King. Well excused : 
 
 That thou didst love her, strikes some serves 
 
 away 
 From the great compt : but love that comes too 
 
 late, 
 
 Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried, 
 To the great sender turns a sour offence, 
 Crying, That's good that's gone. Our rash 
 
 feults 
 
 Make trivial price of serious things we have, 
 Not knowing them until we know their grave ". 
 Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust, 
 Destroy our friends, and after weep their dust : 
 Our own love waking cries to see what 's done t . 
 While shameful hate sleeps out the afternoon. 
 Be this sweet Helen's knell, and now forget her. 
 Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin : 
 The main consents are had ; and here we '11 stay 
 To see our widower's second marriage-day. 
 
 Count. Which better than the first, O dear 
 
 heaven, bless ! 
 Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cesse ! 
 
 Laf. Come on, my son, in whom my house's 
 
 name 
 
 Must be digested, give a favour from you, 
 To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter, 
 That she may quickly come. 
 
 [BERTRAM gives a ring to LAFEU. 
 By my old beard 7 
 
 And every hair that's on't, Helen, that's dead, 
 Was a sweet creature : such a ring as this, 
 
3 io 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 The last that e'er I took her leave at court, 
 I saw upon her finger. 
 Ber. Her's it was not. 
 
 King. Now, pray you, let me see it; for 
 
 mine eye, 
 
 While I was speaking, oft was fasten'd to it. 
 This ring was mine, and when I gave it Helen 
 I bade her, if her fortunes ever stood 
 Necessitated to help, that by this token 
 I would relieve her. Had you that craft to 
 
 'reave her 
 Of what should stead her most? 
 
 Ber. My gracious sovereign, 
 
 Howe'er it pleases you to take it so, 
 The ring was never hers. 
 
 Count. Son, on my life, 
 
 I have seen her wear it ; and she reckon'd it 
 At her life's rate. 
 
 Laf. I'm sure I saw her wear it. 
 
 Ber. You are deceiv'd, my lord ; she never 
 
 saw it: 
 
 In Florence was it from a casement thrown me, 
 Wrapp'd in a paper, which contain'd the name 
 Of her that threw it: noble she was, and 
 
 thought 
 
 I stood engag'd : but when I had subscrib'd 
 To mine own fortune, and inform'd her fully 
 I could not answer in that course of honour 
 As she had made the overture, she ceas'd, 
 In heavy satisfaction, and would never 
 Receive the ring again. 
 
 King. Plutus himself, 
 
 That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine, 
 Hath not in nature's mystery more science 
 Than I have in this ring: 'twas mine, 'twas 
 
 Helen's, 
 
 Whoever gave it you. Then, if you know 
 That you are well acquainted with yourself, 
 Confess 'twas hers, and by what rough en- 
 forcement 
 You got it from her: she call'd the saints to 
 
 surety 
 
 That she would never put it from her finger 
 Unless she gave it to yourself in bed, 
 Where you have never come, or sent it us 
 Upon her great disaster. 
 
 Ber. She never saw it. 
 
 King. Thou speak'st it falsely, as I love 
 
 mine honour; 
 
 And mak'st conjectural fears to come into me 
 Which I would fain shut out. If it should prove 
 That thou art so inhuman, 'twill not prove 
 
 so: 
 And yet I know not: thou didst hate her 
 
 deadly. 
 
 And she is dead ; which nothing, but to close 
 Her eyes myself, could win me to believe 
 
 More than to see this ring. Take him away. 
 [Guards seize BERTRAM. 
 My fore-past proofs, howe'er the matter fall, 
 Shall tax my fears of little vanity, 
 Having vainly fear'd too little. Away with 
 
 him; 
 We '11 sift this matter further. 
 
 Ber. If you shall prove 
 
 This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy 
 Prove that I husbanded her bed in Florence, 
 Where yet she never was. {Exit, guarded. 
 
 King. I am wrapp'd in dismal thinkings. 
 
 Enter a Gentleman. 
 
 Gent. Gracious sovereign, 
 
 Whether I have been to blame or no, I know 
 
 not: 
 
 Here 's a petition trom a Florentine^ 
 Who hath, for four or five removes, come short 
 To tender it herself. I undertook it, 
 Vanquish'd thereto by the fair grace and speech 
 Of the poor suppliant, who by this, I know, 
 Is here attending : her business looks in her 
 With an importing visage ; and she told me, 
 In a sweet verbal brief, it did concern 
 Your highness with herself. 
 
 King. [Reads. ] Upon his many protestations 
 to marry me, when his wife was dead, I blush 
 to say it, he won me. Now is the Cottnt Rou~ 
 sillon a widower ; his vows are forfeited to me, 
 and my honour's paid to him. He stole from 
 Florence, taking no leave, and I follow him to 
 his country for justice: grant it me, O king ; 
 in you it best lies ; otherwise a seducer flourishes, 
 and a poor maid is undone. 
 
 DIANA CAPULET. 
 
 Laf. I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, 
 and toll this : I '11 none of him. 
 
 King. The heaven's have thought well on thee, 
 
 Lafeu, 
 To bring forth this discovery. Seek these 
 
 suitors: 
 Go speedily, and bring again the count. 
 
 [Exeunt Gentleman, and some Attendants. 
 I am afeard the life of Helen, lady, 
 Was foully snatch'd. 
 
 Count. Now, justice on the doers ! 
 
 Enter BERTRAM, gtiarded. 
 
 King. I wonder, sir, since wives are mon- 
 sters to you, 
 
 And that you fly them as you swear them 
 lordship, 
 
 Yet you desire to marry. What woman 's that? 
 
 Re-enter Gentleman, with Widow and DIANA. 
 Dia. I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine, 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 Derived from the ancient Capulet ; 
 My suit, as I do understand, you know, 
 And therefore know how far I may be pitied. 
 Wid. I am her mother, sir, whose age and 
 
 honour 
 
 Both suffer under this complaint we bring, 
 And both shall cease, without your remedy. 
 King. Come hither, count ; do you know 
 
 these women ? 
 
 Ber. My lord, I neither can nor will deny 
 But that I know them : do they charge me 
 
 further ? 
 Dia. Why do you look so strange upon your 
 
 wife. 
 
 Ber. She 's none of mine, my lord. 
 Dia. If you shall marry, 
 
 You give away this hand, and that is mine ; 
 You give away heaven's vows, and those are 
 
 mine ; 
 
 You give away myself, which is known mine ; 
 For I by vow am so embodied yours 
 That she which marries you must marry me, 
 Either both or none. 
 
 Laf. [To BERTRAM.] Your reputation comes 
 too short for-my daughter ; you are no husband 
 for her. 
 
 Ber. My lord, this is a fond and desperate 
 
 creature 
 Whom sometimes I have laugh'd with : let your 
 
 highness 
 
 Lay a more noble thought upon mine honour 
 Than for to think that I would sink it here. 
 King. Sir, for my thoughts, you have them 
 
 ill to friend 
 Till your deeds gain them : fairer prove your 
 
 honour 
 Than in my thought it lies ! 
 
 Dia. Good, my lord, 
 
 Ask him upon his oath, if he does think 
 He had not my virginity. 
 
 King. What say'st thou to her? 
 Ber. She 's impudent, my lord ; 
 
 And was a common gamester to the camp. 
 Dia. He does me wrong, my lord ; if I were 
 
 so 
 
 He might have bought me at a common price : 
 Do not believe him. O, behold this ring, 
 Whose high respect and rich validity 
 Did lack a parallel ; yet, for all that, 
 He gave it to a commoner o' the camp, 
 If I be one. 
 
 Count. He blushes, and 'tis it: 
 Of six preceding ancestors, that gem, 
 Conferred by testament to the sequent issue, 
 Hath it been ow'd and worn. This is his 
 
 wife; 
 That ring 's a thousand proofs. 
 
 King. Methought you said 
 
 You saw one here in court could witness it. 
 
 Dia. I did, my lord, but loath am to produce 
 So bad an instrument ; his name 's Parolles. 
 
 Laf. I saw the man to-day, if man he be. 
 
 King. Find him, and bring him hither. 
 
 [Exit an Attendant. 
 
 Ber. What of him? 
 
 He 's quoted for a most perfidious slave, 
 With all the spots o' the world tax'd and de- 
 
 bosh'd : 
 
 Whose nature sickens but to speak a truth : 
 Am I or that or this for what he '11 utter, 
 That will speak anything? 
 
 King. She hath that ring of yours. 
 
 Ber. I think she has: certain it is I lik'd 
 
 her, 
 
 And boarded her i' the wanton way of youth : 
 She knew her distance, and did angle for me, 
 Madding my eagerness with her restraint, 
 As all impediments in fancy's course 
 Are motives of more fancy ; and, in fine, 
 Her infinite coming with her modern grace, 
 Subdued me to her rate : she got the ring ; 
 And I had that which any inferior might 
 At market-price have bought. 
 
 Dia. I must be patient ; 
 
 You that have turn'd off a first so noble wife 
 May justly diet me. I pray you yet, 
 Since you lack virtue, I will lose a husband, 
 Send for your ring, I will return it home, 
 And give me mine again. 
 
 Ber. I have it not 
 
 King. What ring was yours, I pray you? 
 
 Dia. Sir, much like 
 
 The same upon your finger, 
 
 King. Know you this ring? this ring was 
 his of 1 .te. 
 
 Dia. And this was it I gave him, being a-bed. 
 
 King. The story, then, goes false you threw 
 
 it him 
 Out of a casement. 
 
 Dia. I have spoke the truth. 
 
 Ber. My lord, I do confess the ring was hers. 
 
 King. You boggle shrewdly; every feather 
 starts you. 
 
 Re-enter Attendant, with PAROLLES. 
 
 Is this the man you speak of? 
 
 Dia. Ay, my lord. 
 
 King. Tell me, sirrah, but tell me true, I 
 
 charge you, 
 
 Not fearing the displeasure of your master, 
 Which, on your just proceeding, I '"11 keep off, 
 By him and by this woman here what know 
 
 you? 1 , . 
 Par. So please y6ur majesty, my master hath 
 
312 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 [ACT V. 
 
 been an honourable gentleman ; tricks he hath 
 had in him, which gentlemen have. 
 
 King. Come, come, to the purpose : did he 
 love this woman ? 
 
 Par. Faith, sir, he did love her ; but how ? 
 
 King. How, I pray you ? 
 
 Par. He did love her, sir, as a gentleman 
 loves a woman. 
 
 King. How is that ? 
 
 Par. He loved her, sir, and loved her not. 
 
 King. As thou art a knave and no knave. 
 What an equivocal companion is this ! 
 
 Par. I am a poor man, and at your majesty's 
 command. 
 
 Laf. He's a good drum, my lord, but a 
 naughty orator. 
 
 Dia. Do you know he promised me marriage? 
 
 Par. Faith, I know more than I '11 speak. 
 
 King. But wilt thou not speak all thou 
 know'st ? 
 
 Par. Yes, so please your majesty; I did go 
 between them, as I said ; but more than that, 
 he loved her, for, indeed, he was mad for 
 her, and talked of Satan, and of limbo, and of 
 furies, and I know not what : yet I was in that 
 credit with them at that time that I knew of 
 their going to bed ; and of other motions, as 
 promising her marriage, and things which would 
 derive me ill-will to speak of; therefore I will 
 not speak what I know. 
 
 King. Thou hast spoken all already, unless 
 thou canst say they are married : but thou art 
 too fine in thy evidence ; therefore stand aside. 
 Thif ring, you say, was yours ? 
 
 Dia. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 King. Where did you buy it? or who gave 
 it you ? [it. 
 
 Dia. It was not given me, nor I did not buy 
 
 King. Who lent it you ? 
 
 Dia. It was not lent me neither. 
 
 King. Where did you find it then ? 
 
 Dia. I found it not. 
 
 King. If it were yours by none of all these 
 
 ways, 
 How could you give it him ? 
 
 Dia. I never gave it him. 
 
 Laf. This woman 's an easy glove, my lord ; 
 she goes off and on at pleasure. 
 
 King. This ring was mine, I gave it his first 
 wife. 
 
 Dia. It might be yours or hers, for aught I 
 know. 
 
 King. Take her away, I do not like her now ; 
 To prison with her : and away with him. 
 Unless thou tell'st me where thou hadst this 
 
 " n g> 
 Thou diest within this houft 
 
 Dia. I '11 never tell you. 
 
 King. Take her away. 
 
 Dia. I '11 put in bail, my liege. 
 
 King. I think thee now some common cus- 
 
 tomer. 
 
 Dia. By Jove, if ever I knew man, 'twas you. 
 King. Wherefore hast thou accus'd him all 
 
 this while ? 
 
 Dia. Because he 's guilty, and he is not guilty: 
 He knows I am no maid, and he '11 swear to 't : 
 I '11 swear I am a maid, and he knows not. 
 Great king, I am no strumpet, by my life ; 
 I am either maid, or else this old man's wife. 
 
 [Pointing to LAFEU. 
 
 King. She does abuse our ears ; to prison 
 
 with her. [sir ; 
 
 Dia. Good mother, fetch my bail. Stay, royal 
 
 {Exit Widow. 
 
 The jeweller that owes the ring is sent for, 
 And he shall surety me. But for this lord, 
 Who hath abus'd me, as he knows himself, 
 Though yet he never harm'd me, here I quit 
 
 him : 
 
 He knows himself my bed he hath defil'd ; 
 And at that time he got his wife with child. 
 Dead though she be, she feels her young onf 
 
 kick; 
 
 So there 's my riddle One that 's dead is quick ; 
 And now behold the meaning. 
 
 Re-enter Widow with HELENA. 
 
 King. 
 
 Is there no exorcist 
 
 Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes ? 
 Is 't real that I see ? 
 
 Hel. No, my good lord ; 
 
 'Tis but the shadow of a wife you see 
 The name, and not the thing. 
 
 Ber. Both, both ; O, pardon ! 
 
 Hel. O, my good lord, when I was like this 
 
 maid ; 
 
 I found you wondrous kind. There is your ring, 
 And, look you, here's your letter. This it 
 
 says, 
 
 When from my finger you can get this. ring, 
 And are by me with child, &"c. This is done; 
 Will you be mine, now you are doubly won ? 
 
 Ber. If she, my liege, can make me know 
 
 this clearly, 
 I '11 love her dearly, ever, ever dearly. 
 
 Hel. If it appear not plain, and prove untrue, 
 Deadly divorce step between me and you ! 
 O, my dear mother, do I see you living ? 
 
 Laf. Mine eyes smell onions ; I shall weep 
 anon : Good Tom Drum {to PAROLLES], lend 
 me a handkercher : so, I thank thee ; wait on 
 me home, I '11 make sport with thee : let thy 
 courtesies alone, they are scurvy ones. 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT END'S WELL. 
 
 313 
 
 Kin%. Let us from point to point this story 
 
 know, 
 
 To make the even truth in pleasure flow: 
 If thou be'st yet a fresh uncropped flower, 
 
 [ To DIANA. 
 Choose thou thy husband, and I'll pay thy 
 
 dower ; 
 
 For I can guess that, by thy honest aid, 
 Thou kept'st a wife herself, thyself a maid. 
 Of that and all the progress, more and less, 
 Resolvedly more leisure shall express : 
 
 All yet seems well ; and if it end so meet, 
 The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet 
 
 {Flourish. 
 
 The king's a beggar, now the play is done : 
 All is well-ended if this suit be won, 
 That you express content ; which we will pay, 
 With strife to please you, day exceeding day : 
 Ours be your patience then, and yours our 
 
 parts; 
 
 Your gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts. 
 
 {Exeunt. 
 
 br-A 
 
 
 
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 AT- > 
 
 A Lord. ^ 
 
 CHRISTOPHER SLY, a drunken Persons 
 
 Tinker. \- in the 
 
 Hostess, Page, Players, Huntsmen, I Induction. 
 
 and Servants. 
 
 BAPTISTA, a rich Gentleman of Padua. 
 VINCENT 10, an old Gentleman of Pisa. 
 LUCENTIO, Son to VINCENTIO, in love with 
 
 BIANCA. 
 PETRUCHIO, a Gentleman of Verona, a Suitor 
 
 to KATHARINA. 
 
 HORTEN'SIO, }**" B 
 
 *""*> LUCENTIO. 
 
 L A NDELLO, . 
 
 CURTIS? }sva*ts te PETRUCHIO. 
 Pedant, an old fellow set up to personate VlN- 
 CENTIO. 
 
 KATHARINA, the Shrew, \Daughters to BAP- 
 BIANCA, j TISTA. 
 
 Widow. 
 
 Tailor, Haberdasher, and Servants attending 
 on BAPTISTA and PETRUCHIO. 
 
 SCENE, Sometimes in PADUA, and sometimes in PETRUCHIO'S House in the Country. 
 
 INDUCTION. 
 
 SCENE I. Before an Alehouse on a Heath. 
 Enter Hostess and SLY. 
 
 Sly. I '11 pheeze you, in faith. 
 
 Host. A pair of stocks, you rogue ! 
 
 Sly. Y'are a baggage: the Slys are no 
 rogues; look in the chronicles; we came in 
 with Richard Conqueror. Therefore, paucas 
 pallabris ; let the world slide: sessa! 
 
 Host. You will not pay for the glasses you 
 have burst? 
 
 Sly. No, not a denier. Go by, Saint Jer- 
 onimy, go to thy cold bed and warm thee. 
 
 Host. I know my remedy; I must go fetch 
 the thirdborough. {Exit. 
 
 Sly. Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I '11 
 answer him by law: I'll not budge an inch, 
 boy : let him come, and kindly. 
 
 [Lies down on the ground and falls asleep. 
 
 Horns winded. Enter a Lord from hunting, 
 with Huntsmen and Servants. 
 
 Lord. Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well 
 
 my hounds: 
 
 Brach Merriman, the poor cur is emboss'd, 
 And couple Clowder with the deep-mouth'd 
 
 brach. 
 
 Saw'st thou not, boy, how Silver made it good 
 At the hedge-corner, in the coldest fault? 
 I would not lose the do&fix twenty pound. 
 
 I Hun. Why, Belman is as good as he, my 
 
 lord; 
 
 He cried upon it at the merest loss, 
 And twice to-day pick'd out the dullest scent: 
 Trust me, I take him for the better dog. 
 
 Lord. Thou art a fool : if Echo were as fleet, 
 I would esteem him worth a dozen such. 
 But sup them well, and look unto them all : 
 To-morrow I intend to hunt again. 
 
 1 Hun. 1 will, my lord. 
 
 Lord. What's here? one dead, or drunk? 
 See, doth he breathe? 
 
 2 Hun. He breathes, my lord. Were he not 
 
 warm'd with ale, 
 
 This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly. 
 Lord. O monstrous beast ! how like a swine 
 
 he lies ! [image ! 
 
 Grim death, how foul and loathsome is thine 
 Sirs, I will practise on this drunken man. 
 What think you, if he were convey'd to bed, 
 Wrapp'd in sweet clothes, rings put upon his 
 
 fingers, 
 
 A most delicious banquet by his beet, 
 And brave attendants near him when he wakes, 
 Would not the beggar then forget himself ? 
 
 1 Hun. Believe me, lord, I think he cannot 
 
 choose. 
 
 2 Hun. It would seem strange unto him when 
 
 he wak'd. [less fancy. 
 
 Lord. Even as a flattering dream or worth- 
 Then take him up, and manage well the jest : 
 Carry him gently to my fairest chamber, 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 315 
 
 And hang it round with all my wanton pictures : 
 Balm his foul head in warm distilled waters. 
 And burn sweet wood to make the lodging 
 
 sweet : 
 
 Procure me music ready when he wakes, 
 To make a dulcet and a heavenly sound ; 
 And if he chance to speak, be ready straight, 
 And, with a low, submissive reverence, 
 Say, What is it your honour will command? 
 Let one attend him with a silver basin 
 Full of rose-water and bestrew'd with flowers ; 
 Another bear the ewer, the third a diaper, 
 And say, Will 't please your lordship cool your 
 
 hands? 
 
 Some one be ready with a costly suit, 
 And ask him what apparel he will wear ; 
 Another tell him of his hounds and horse, 
 And that his lady mourns at his disease : 
 Persuade him that he hath been lunatic ; 
 And, when he says he is, say that he dreams, 
 For he is nothing but a mighty lord. 
 This do, and do it kindly, gentle sirs : 
 It will be pastime passing excellent, 
 If it be husbanded with modesty. 
 
 I Hun. My lord, I warrant you, we '11 play 
 
 our part, 
 
 As he shall think, by our true diligence, 
 He is no less than what we say he is. [him ; 
 Lord. Take him up gently, and to bed with 
 And each one to his office when he wakes. 
 
 [Some bear ottt SLY. A trumpet sotmds. 
 
 Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis that sounds : 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 
 Belike, some noble gentleman, that means, 
 Travelling some journey, to repose him here. 
 
 Re-enter a Servant. 
 How now ! who is it? 
 
 Serv. An it please your honour, 
 
 Players that offer service to your lordship. 
 Lord. Bid them come near. 
 Enter Players. 
 Now, fellows, you are welcome. 
 
 1 Play. We thank your honour. 
 
 Lord. Do you in tend to stay with me to-night ? 
 
 2 Play. So please your lordship to accept our 
 
 duty. [member, 
 
 Lord. With all my heart. This fellow I re- 
 Since once he play'd a farmer's eldest son : 
 'Twas where you woo'd the gentlewoman so 
 
 well: 
 
 I have forgot your name ; but, sure, that part 
 Was aptly fitted and naturally perform'd. 
 I Play. I think 'twas Soto that your honour 
 
 means. 
 
 Lord. 'Tis very true : thou didst it excellent. 
 Well, you are come to me in happy time ; 
 
 The rather for I have some sport in hand, 
 Wherein your cunning can assist me much. 
 There is a lord will hear you play to-night: 
 But I am doubtful of your modesties ; 
 Lest, over-eying of his odd behaviour, 
 For yet his honour never heard a play, 
 You break into some merry passion, 
 And so offend him ; for I tell you, sirs, 
 If you should smile, he grows impatient. 
 
 I Play. Fear not, my lord ; we can contain 
 
 ourselves, 
 Were he the veriest antic in the world. 
 
 Lord. Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery, 
 And give them friendly welcome every one : 
 Let them want nothing that my house affords. 
 [Exeunt Servant and Players. 
 Sirrah, go you to Barthol'mew my page, 
 
 [To a Servant. 
 
 And see him dress'd in all suits like a lady : 
 That done, conduct him to the drunkard's 
 
 chamber ; 
 
 And call him madam, do him obeisance. 
 Tell him from me, as he will win my love, 
 He bear himself with honourable action, 
 Such as he hath observ'd in noble ladies 
 Unto their lords, by them accomplished: 
 Such duty to the drunkard let him do, 
 With soft low tongue and lowly courtesy; 
 And say, What is't your honour will com- 
 mand, 
 
 Wherein your lady and your humble wife 
 May show her duty and make known her love? 
 And then, with kind embracements, tempting 
 
 kisses, 
 
 And with declining head into his bosom, 
 Bid him shed tears, as being overjoy'd 
 To see her noble lord restor'd to health, 
 Who for this seven years hath esteemed him 
 No better than a poor and loathsome beggar : 
 And if the boy have not a woman's gift, 
 To rain a shower of commanded tezrs, 
 An onion will do well for such a shift ; 
 Which in a napkin being close conveyed, 
 Shall in despite enforce a watery eye. [canst : 
 See this despatch'd with all the haste thou 
 Anon I '11 give thee more instructions. 
 
 [Exit Servant 
 
 I know the boy will well usurp the grace, 
 Voice, gait, and action of a gentlewoman : 
 I long to hear him call the drunkard husband ; 
 And how my men will stay themselves from 
 
 laughter 
 
 When they do homage to this simple peasant. 
 I '11 in to counsel them : haply my presence 
 May well abate the over-merry spleen, 
 Which otherwise would grow into extremes. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 [INDUCTION. 
 
 SCENE II. A Bedchamber in the Lord's 
 House. 
 
 SLY is discovered in a rich nightgown, with 
 Attendants ; some with apparel, others with 
 basin , ewer, and other appurtenances. Enter 
 Lord, dressed like a Servant. 
 
 Sly. For God's sake, a pot of small ale. 
 
 1 Serv. Will 't please your lordship drink a 
 
 cup of sack? [these conserves? 
 
 2 Serv. Will 't please your honour taste of 
 
 3 Serv. What raiment will your honour wear 
 
 to-day? 
 
 Sly. I am Christophero Sly j call not me 
 honour nor lordship : I ne'er drank sack in my 
 life ; and if you give me any conserves, give me 
 conserves of beef: ne'er ask me what raiment 
 I'll wear; for I have no more doublets than 
 backs, no more stockings than legs, nor no more 
 shoes than feet, nay, sometime more feet than 
 shoes, or such shoes as my toes look through 
 the overleather. [honour ! 
 
 Lord. Heaven cease this idb humour in your 
 O, that a mighty man, of such descent, 
 Of such possessions, and so high esteem, 
 Should be infused with so foul a spirit ! 
 
 Sly. What, would you make me mad? Am 
 not I Christopher Sly, old Sly's son of Burton- 
 heath ; by birth a pedler, by education a card- 
 maker, by transmutation a bear -herd, and now 
 by present profession a tinker? Ask Marian 
 Hacketj the fat ale-wife of Wincot, if she know 
 me not : if she say I am not fourteen-pence on 
 the score for sheer ale, score me up for the 
 lyingest knave in Christendom. What ! I am 
 not bestraught : here's [mourn! 
 
 1 Serv. O, this it is that makes your lady 
 
 2 Ssrv. O, this it is that makes your servants 
 
 droop ! [your house, 
 
 Lord. Hence comes it that your kindred shuns 
 As beaten hence by your strange lunacy. 
 O noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth ! 
 Call home thy ancient thoughts from banish- 
 ment, 
 
 And banish hence these abject lowly dreams. 
 Look how thy servants do attend on thee, 
 Each in his office ready at thy beck. 
 Wilt thou have music? hark ! Apollo plays, 
 
 {Music. 
 
 And twenty caged nightingales do sing : 
 Or wilt thou sleep? we'll have thee to a couch 
 Softer and sweeter than the lustful bed 
 On purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis. 
 Say thou wilt walk ; we will bestrew the ground : 
 Or wilt thou ride? thy horses shall be trapp'd, 
 Their harness studded all with gold and pearl. 
 
 Dost thou love hawking? thou hast hawks wil) 
 
 soar 
 
 Above the morning lark : or wilt thou hunt? 
 Thy hounds shall make the welkin answe* 
 
 them, 
 And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth. 
 
 1 Serv. Say thou wilt course ; thy greyhounds 
 
 are as swift 
 As breathed stags ; ay, fleeter than the roe. 
 
 2 Serv. Dost thou love pictures : we will 
 
 fetch thee straight 
 Adonis painted by a running brook, 
 And Cytherea all in sedges hid, [breath, 
 
 Which seem to move and wanton with her 
 Even as the waving sedges play with wind. 
 
 Lord. We '11 show thee lo as she was a maid, 
 And how she was beguiled and surpris'd, 
 As lively painted as the deed was done. 
 
 3 Serv. Or Daphne roaming through a 
 
 thorny wood, [bleeds ; 
 
 Scratching her legs, that one shall swear she 
 And at that sight shall sad Apollo weep, 
 So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn. 
 Lord. Thou art a lord, and nothing but a 
 
 lord : 
 
 Thou hast a lady far more beautiful 
 Than any woman in this waning age. [for thee, 
 
 1 Se-v. And, till the tears that she hath shed 
 Like envious floods, o'er-run her lovely face, 
 She was the fairest creature in the world ; 
 And yet she is inferior to none. 
 
 Sly. Am I a lord? and have I such a lady? 
 Or do I dream? or have I dream'd till now? 
 I do not sleep : I see, I hear, I speak ; 
 I smell sweet savours, and I feel soft things: 
 Upon my life, I am a lord indeed ; 
 And not a tinker, nor Christophero Sly.-~ 
 Well, bring our lady hither to our sight ; 
 And once again, a pot o' the smallest ale. 
 
 2 Serv. Will't please your mightiness to 
 
 wash your hands? 
 
 [Servants present a ewer, fiasin, and napkin. 
 O, how we joy to see your wit restor'd ! 
 O, that once more you knew but what you are! 
 These fifteen years you have been in a dream ; 
 Or, when you wak'd, so wak'd as if you slept. 
 
 Sly. These fifteen years ! by my fay, a 
 
 goodly nap. 
 But did I never speak of all that time? 
 
 I Serv. O yes, my lord ; but very idle words : 
 For though you lay here in this goodly chamber, 
 Yet would you say, ye were beaten out of door ; 
 And rail upon the hostess of the house ; 
 And say, you would present her at the leet, 
 Because she brought stone jugs and no seal'd 
 
 quarts : 
 Sometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 317 
 
 Slv. Ay, the woman's maid of the house. 
 
 3 Serv. Why, sir, you know no house, nor 
 
 no such maid ; 
 
 Nor no such men as you have reckon'd up, 
 As Stephen Sly, and old John Naps of Greece, 
 And Peter Turf, and Henry Pimpernell; 
 And twenty more such na, ics and msn as these, 
 Which never were, nor no man ever saw. 
 
 Sly. Now, Lord be thanked for my good 
 amends. 
 
 All. Amen. 
 
 Sly. I thank thee : thou shalt not lose by it. 
 
 Enter the Page as a lady> with Attendants. 
 
 Page. How fares my noble lord? [enough. 
 
 Sly. Marry, I fare well; for here is cheer 
 Where is my wife ? 
 
 Page. Here, noble lord: what is thy will 
 with her? 
 
 Sly. Are you my wife, and will not call me 
 
 husband? [man. 
 
 My men should call me lord : I am your good- 
 
 Page. My husband and my lord, my lord 
 
 and husband ; 
 I am your wife in all obedience. 
 
 Sly. I know it well. What must I call her? 
 
 Lord. Madam. 
 
 Sly. Al'ce madam, or Joan madam? 
 
 Lord. Madam, and nothing else: so lords 
 call ladies. [dream'd, 
 
 Sly. Madam wife, they say that I have 
 And slept aoove some fifteen year or more. 
 
 Page. Ay, and the time seems thirty unto me, 
 Being all this time abandoned from your bed. 
 
 Sly. 'Tis much. Servants, leave me and 
 
 her alone. 
 Madam, undress you, and come now to bed. 
 
 Page. Thrice noble lord, let me entreat of you 
 To pardon me yet for a night or two ; 
 Or, if not so, until the sun be set : 
 For your physicians have expressly charg'd. 
 In peril to incur your former malady, 
 That I should yet absent me from your bed : 
 I hope this reason stands for my excuse. 
 
 Sly. Ay, it stands so, that I may hardly 
 tarry so long. But I would be loath to fall 
 into my dreams again: I will therefore tarry, 
 in despite of the flesh and the blood. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. Your honour's players, hearing your 
 
 amendment, 
 
 Are come to play a pleasant comedy ; 
 For so your doctors hold it very meet, 
 Seeing too much sadness hath congeal'd your 
 
 blood, 
 And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy: 
 
 Therefore they thought it good you hear a play, 
 And frame your mind to mirth and merriment, 
 Which bars a thousand harms and lengthens life. 
 
 Sly. Marry, I will ; let them play it. Is not 
 a commonty a Christmas gambol or a tumbling- 
 trick? [stuff. 
 
 Page. No, my good lord ; it is more pleasing 
 
 Sly. What, household stuff? 
 
 Page. It is a kind of history. 
 
 Sly. Well, we'll see 't. Come, madam 
 wife, sit by my side, and let the world slip : w 
 shall nc er be younger. \They sit down. 
 
 ACT 1. 
 
 SCENE I. PADUA. A public Place. 
 Enter LUCENTIO and TRANIO. 
 
 Luc. Tranio, since, for the great desire I had 
 To see fair Padua, nursery of arts, 
 I am arriv'd for fruitful Lombardy, 
 The pleasant garden of great Italy ; 
 And, by my father's love and leave, am arm'd 
 With his good-will and thy good company, 
 My trusty servant, well approv'd in all ; 
 Here let us breathe, and haply institute 
 A course of learning and ingenious studies. 
 Pisa, renowned for grave citizens, 
 Gave me my being, and my father first, 
 A merchant of great traffic through the world, 
 Vincentio, come of the Bentivolii. 
 Vincentio's son, brought up in Florence, 
 It shall become, to serve all hopes conceiv'd, 
 To deck his fortune with his virtuous deeds: 
 And therefore, Tranio, for the time I study, 
 Virtue, and that part of philosophy 
 Will I apply that treats of happiness 
 By virtue specially to be achieved. 
 Tell me thy mind ; for I have Pisa left, 
 And am to Padua come, as he that leaves 
 A shallow plash to plunge him in the deep, 
 And with satiety seeks to quench his thirst. 
 
 Tra. Mi perdonate^ gentle master mine, 
 I am in all affected as yourself; 
 Glad that you thus continue your resolve 
 To suck the sweets of sweet philosophy. 
 Only, good master, while we do admire 
 This virtue and this moral discipline, 
 Let 's be no stoics nor no stocks, I pray; 
 Or so devote to Aristotle's ethics 
 As Ovid be an outcast quite abjur'd : 
 Balk logic with acquaintance that you have, 
 And practise rhetoric in your common talk; 
 Music and poesy use to quicken you ; 
 The mathematics and the metaphysics, 
 Fall to them as you find your stomach serves 
 you; 
 
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 [ACT S. 
 
 No profit grows where is no pleasure ta'en : 
 In brief, sir, study what you most affect. 
 
 Lite. Gramercies, Tranio, well dost thou 
 
 advise. 
 
 If Biondello now were come ashore 
 We could at once put us in readiness, 
 And take a lodging fit to entertain 
 Such friends as time in Padua shall beget. 
 But stay awhile: what company is this? 
 
 Tra. Master, some show, to welcome us to 
 
 town. 
 
 Enter BAPTISTA, KATHARINA, BIANCA, 
 GREMIO, and HORTENSIO. LUCENTIO 
 and TRANIO stand aside. 
 
 Bap. Gentlemen, importune me no further, 
 For how I firmly am resolv'd you know ; 
 That is, not to bestow my youngest daughter 
 Before I have a husband for the elder : 
 If either of you both love Katharina, 
 Because I know you well, and love you well, 
 Leave shall you have to court her at your 
 pleasure. [for me. 
 
 Gre. To cart her rather : she 's too rough 
 There, there, Hortensio, will you any wife ? 
 
 Kath. [To BAP.] I pray you, sir, is it your 
 
 will 
 To make a stale of me amongst these mates ? 
 
 Hor. Mates, maid ! how mean you that ? no 
 
 mates for you, 
 Unless you were of gentler, milder mould. 
 
 Kath. V faith, sir, you shall never need to 
 
 fear; 
 
 I wis it is not half-way to her heart ; 
 But if it were, doubt not her care should be 
 To comb ycur noddle with a three-legg'd stool, 
 And paint your face, and use you like a fool. 
 
 Hor. From all such devils, good Lord de- 
 liver us ! 
 
 Gre. And me too, good Lord ! 
 
 Tra. Hush, master ! here is some good pas- 
 time toward ; 
 That wench is stark mad, or wonderful fro ward. 
 
 Luc. But in the other's silence do I see 
 Maid's mild behaviour and sobriety. 
 Peace, Tranio ! [your fill. 
 
 Tra. Well said, master ; mum ! and gaze 
 
 Bap. Gentlemen, that I may soon make good 
 What I have said, Bianca, get you in: 
 And let it not displease thee, good Bianca ; 
 For I will love thee ne'er the less, my girl. 
 
 Kath. A pretty peat ! it is best 
 Put finger in the eye, an she knew why. 
 
 Bian. Sister, content you in my discontent. 
 Sir, to your pleasure humbly I subscribe : 
 My books and instruments shall be my company, 
 On them to look, and practise by myself. 
 
 Luc. 
 
 Hark, Tranio ! thou mayst hear 
 Minerva speak. [Aside. 
 
 If or. Signior Baptista, will you be so strange ? 
 Sorry am I that our good- will effects 
 Bianca's grief. 
 
 Gre. Why will you mew her up, 
 
 Signior Baptista, for :his fiend of hell, 
 And make her bear tiie penance of her tongue? 
 
 Baf. Gentlemen, content ye ; I am resolv'd : 
 Go in, Bianca : [Exit BIANCA. 
 
 And for I know she taketh most delight 
 In music, instruments, and poetry, 
 Schoolmasters will I keep within my house, 
 Fit to instruct her youth. If you, Hortensio, 
 Or, Signior Gremio, you, know any such, 
 Prefer them hither ; for to cunning men 
 I will be very kind, and liberal 
 To mine own children in good bringing-up : 
 And so, farewell. Katharina, you may stay; 
 For I have more to commune with Bianca. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Kath. Why, and I trust I may go too, may 
 
 I not? . [belike, 
 
 What ! shall I be appointed hours ; as though, 
 
 I knew not what to take and what to leave? 
 
 Ha ! [Exit. 
 
 Gre. You may go to the devil's dam ; your 
 gifts are so good here is none will hold you. 
 Their love is not so great, Hortensio, but we 
 may blow our nails together, and fast it fairly 
 out ; our cake 's dough on both sides. Fare- 
 well; yet, for the love I bear my sweet 
 Bianca, if I can by any means light on a fit 
 man to teach her that wherein she delights, I 
 will wish him to her father. 
 
 Hor. So will I, Signior Gremio ; but a 
 word, I pray. Though the nature of our 
 quarrel yet never brooked parle, know now, 
 upon advice, it toucheth us both that we may 
 yet again have access to our fair mistress, and 
 be happy rivals in Bianca's love to labour and 
 effect one thing specially. 
 
 Gre. What 's that, I pray? [sister. 
 
 Hor. Marry, sir, to get a husband for her 
 
 Gre. A husband ! a devil. 
 
 Hor. I say, a husband. 
 
 Gre. I say, a devil. Thinkest thou, Hor- 
 tensio, though her father be very rich, any man 
 is so very a fool to be married to hell? 
 
 Hor. Tush, Gremio, though it pass your 
 patience and mine to endure her loud alarums, 
 why, man, there be good fellows in the world, 
 an a man could light on them, would take her 
 with all faults and money enough. i jol 
 
 Gre. I cannot tell ; but I had as lief take her 
 dowry with this condition, to be whipped at 
 the high-cross every morning. 
 
I.J 
 
 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 319 
 
 Hor. Faith, as you say, there 's small choice 
 in rotten apples. But, come ; since this bar in 
 law makes us friends, it shall be so far forth 
 friendly maintained, till, by helping Baptista's 
 eldest daughter to a husband, we set his 
 youngest free for a husband, and then have to't 
 afresh. Sweet Bianca! Happy man be his 
 dole ! He that runs fastest gets the ring. 
 How say you, Signior Gremio? 
 
 Gre. I am agreed : and would I had given 
 him the best horse in Padua to begin his woo- 
 ing, that would thoroughly woo her, wed her, 
 and bed her, and rid the house of her. Come 
 on. [Exeunt GRE. and HOR. 
 
 Tra. [Advancing.~\ I pray, sir, tell me, is 
 
 it possible 
 That love should of a sudden take such hold ? 
 
 Luc. O Tranio, till I found it to be true, 
 I never thought it possible or likely; 
 But see ! while idly I stood looking on 
 I found the effect of love in idleness : 
 And now in plainness do confess to thee, 
 That art to me as secret and as dear 
 As Anna to the Queen of Carthage was, 
 Tranio, I burn, I pine, I perish, Tranio, 
 If I achieve not this young modest girl : 
 Counsel me, Tranio, for I know thou canst ; 
 Assist me, Tranio, for I know thou wilt. 
 
 Tra. Master, it is no time to chide you now ; 
 Affection is not rated from the heart ; [so, 
 If love have touch'd you, nought remains but 
 Redime te captum quam queas minimo. 
 
 Luc. Gramercies, lad ; go forward ; this con- 
 tents : 
 
 The rest will comfort, for thy counsel 's sound. 
 Tra. Master, you look'd so longly on the 
 
 maid, 
 
 Perhaps you mark'd not what 's the pith of all. 
 
 Luc. O yes, I saw sweet beauty ir her face, 
 
 Such as the daughter of Agenor had, [hand, 
 
 That made great Jove to humble him to her 
 
 When with his knees he kiss'd the Cretan strand. 
 
 Tra. Saw you no more? mark'd you not how 
 
 her sister 
 
 Began to scold, and raise up such a storm, 
 That mortal ears might hardly endure the din? 
 
 Luc. Tranio, I saw her coral lips to move, 
 And with her breath she did perfume the air ; 
 Sacred and sweet was all I saw in her. 
 
 Tra. Nay, then, 'tis time to stir him from 
 
 his trance. 
 
 I pray, awake, sir. If you love the maid, 
 Bend thoughts and wits to achieve her. Thus 
 
 it stands : 
 
 Her eldest sister is so curst and shrewd 
 That, till the father rid his hands of her, 
 Master, your love must live a maid at home; 
 
 And therefore has he elosely mew'd her up, 
 Because she will not be annoy'd with suitors. 
 
 Luc. Ah, Tranio, what a cruel lather 's he ! 
 But art thou not advis'd he took some care 
 To get her cunning schoolmasters to instruct 
 her? [plotted. 
 
 Tra. Ay, marry, am I, sir; and now 'tis 
 
 Luc. I have it, Tranio. 
 
 Tra. Master, for my hand, 
 
 Both our inventions meet and jump in one. 
 
 Lut. Tell me thine first. 
 
 Tra, You will be schoolmaster. 
 
 And undertake the teaching of the maid : 
 That 's your device. 
 
 Luc. It is: may it be done? 
 
 Tra. Not possible ; for who shall bear your 
 
 part, 
 
 And be in Padua here Vincentio's son ; 
 Keep house, and ply his book; welcome his 
 
 friends ; 
 Visit his countrymen and banquet them? 
 
 Luc. Basta ; content thee ; for I have it full. 
 We have not yet been seen in any house; 
 Nor can we be distinguished by our faces 
 For man or master : then it follows thus: 
 Thou shalt be master, Tranio, in my stead, 
 Keep house, and port, and servants, as I should r 
 I will some other be ; some I .orentine, 
 Some Neapolitan, or meaner man of Pisa. 
 'Tis hatch'd, and shall be Sw : - Tranio, at once 
 Uncase thee ; take my colour'd hat and cloak : 
 When Biondello comes he waits on thee ; 
 But I will charm him first to Keep his tongue. 
 
 Tra. So yu had need. 
 
 [ They exchange habits. 
 In brief, then, sir, sith it your pleasure is, 
 And I am tied to be obedient, 
 For so your father charg'd me at our parting; 
 Be serviceable to my son, quoth he, 
 Although, I think, 'twas in another sense, 
 I am content to be Lucentio, 
 Because so well I love Lucentio. 
 
 Luc. Tranio, be so, because Lucentio loves: 
 And let me be a slave, to achieve that maid 
 Whose sudden sight hath thrall'd my wounded 
 
 eye. 
 Here comes the rogue. 
 
 Enter BIONDELLO. 
 
 Sirrah, where hare you been? 
 
 Bion. Where have I been? Nay, how now ! 
 
 where are you? 
 
 Master, has my fellow Tranio stolen your clothes? 
 Or you stolen his? or both? pray, what's the 
 
 news? 
 
 Luc. Sirrah, come hither ; 'tis no time to iest, 
 And therefore frame your manners to the time. 
 
320 
 
 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 [ACT t. 
 
 Your fellow Tranio here, to save my life, 
 Puts my apparel and my countenance on, 
 And I for my escape have put on his ; 
 For in a quarrel, since I came ashore, 
 I kill'd a man, and fear I was descried. 
 Wait you on him, I charge you, as becomes, 
 While I make way from hence to save my life : 
 You understand me? 
 
 Bion. I, sir j ne'er a whit. 
 
 Luc. And not a jot of Tranio in your mouth ; 
 Tranio is chang'd into Lucentio. [too ! 
 
 Bion. The better for him ; would I were so 
 
 Tra. So could I, faith, boy, to have the next 
 wish after, [daughter. 
 
 That Lucentio indeed had Baptista's youngest 
 But, sirrah, not for my sake, but your master's, 
 I advise [companies: 
 
 You use your manners discreetly in all kind of 
 When I am alone, why, then I am Tranio; 
 But in all places else, your master Lucentio. 
 
 Luc. Tranio, let 's go : 
 One thing more rests, that thyself execute, 
 To make one among these wooers. If thou ask 
 
 me why, 
 
 Sufficeth, my reasons are both good and 
 weighty. [Exeunt. 
 
 [i Serv. My lord, you nod ; you do not mind 
 the play. 
 
 Sly. Yes, by Saint Anne do I. A good 
 matter, surely; comes there any more of it? 
 
 Page. My lord, 'tis but begun. 
 
 Sly. 'Tis a very excellent piece of work, 
 madam lady ; would 'twere done !] 
 
 SCENE II. The same. Before HORTENSIO'S 
 House. 
 
 Enter PETRUCHIO and GRUMIO. 
 
 Pet. Verona, for awhile I take my leave, 
 To see my friends in Paduf J but, of all, 
 My best beloved and approved friend, 
 Hortensio ; and, I trow, this is his house : 
 Here, sirrah Grumio ; knock, I say. 
 
 Gru. Knock, sir! whom should I knock ? is 
 there any man has rebused your worship? 
 
 Pet. Villain, I say, knock me here soundly. 
 
 Gru. Knock you here- sir? why, sir, what 
 am I, sir, that I should knock you here, sir? 
 
 Pet. Villain, I say, knock me at this gate, 
 And rap me well, or I '11 knock your knave's 
 pate. 
 
 Gru. My master is grown quarrelsome: I 
 
 should knock you first, 
 And then I know after who comes by the worst. 
 
 Pet. Will it not be? 
 
 Faith, sirrah, an you '11 not knock I '11 wring it: 
 I '11 try how you can so!, fa, and sing it. 
 
 [He wrings GRUMIO by the ears. 
 Gru. Help, masters, help ! my master is mad. 
 Pet. Now, knock when I bid you; sirran 
 villain ! 
 
 Enter HORTENSIO. 
 
 Hor. How now! what's the matter? My 
 old friend Grumio! and my good friend 
 Petruchio ! How do you all at Verona? 
 
 Pet. Signior Hortensio, come you to part the 
 fray? Con tutto il core bene trovato, may I say. 
 
 Hor. Alia nostra casa bene venuto, moltc 
 honorato Signor mio Petruchio. 
 Rise, Grumio, rise; we will compound this 
 quarrel. 
 
 Gru. Nay, 'tis no matter, sir, what he 'leges 
 in Latin. If this be not a lawful cause for me 
 to leave his service, look you, sir, he bid me 
 knock him, and rap him soundly, sir: well, was 
 it fit for a servant to use his master so ; being, 
 perhaps, for ought I see, two and thirty, a 
 pip out? 
 
 Whom would to God I had well knock'd at first, 
 Then had not Grumio come by the worst. 
 
 Pet. A senseless villain ! Good Hortensio, 
 I bade the rascal knock upon your gate, 
 And could not get him for my heart to do it. 
 
 Gru. Knock at the gate ! O heavens ! 
 Spake you not these words plain, Strrah, 
 
 knock me here, 
 Rap me here, knock me well, and knock me 
 
 soundly? 
 And come you now with knocking at the gate ? 
 
 Pet. Sirrah, be gone, or talk not, I advise 
 you. [pledge : 
 
 Hor Petruchio, patience; I am Grumio's 
 Why, .his' a heavy chance 'twixt him and you, 
 Your ancient, trusty, pleasant servant Grumio. 
 And tell me now, sweet friend, what happy gale 
 Blows you to Padua here from old. Verona? 
 
 Pet, Such wind as scatters young men 
 
 through the world, 
 
 To seek their fortunes further than at home, 
 Where small experience grows. But, in a few, 
 Signior Hortensio, thus it stands with me : 
 Antonio, my father, is deceas'd; 
 And I have thrust myself into this maze, 
 Haply to wive and thrive as best I may : 
 Crowns in my purse I have, and goods at home, 
 And so am come abroad to see the world. 
 
 Hor. Petruchio, shall I then come roundly 
 
 to thee, 
 
 And wish thee to a shrewd ill-favour'd wife? 
 Thou 'dst thank me but a little for my counsel 
 And yet I '11 promise thee she shall be rich, 
 
SCENE II. J 
 
 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 321 
 
 And very rich: but thou'rt too much my 
 
 friend, 
 And I '11 not wish thee to her. [we 
 
 Pet. Signior Hortensio, 'twixt such friends as 
 Few words suffice ; and, therefore, if thou know 
 One rich enough to be Petruchio's wife, 
 As wealth is burden of my wooing dance, 
 Be she as foul as was Florentius' love, 
 As old as Sibyl, and as curst and shrewd 
 As Socrates' Xantippe, or a worse, 
 She moves me not, or not removes, at least, 
 Affection's edge in me were she as rough 
 As are the swelling Adriatic seas: 
 I come to wive it wealthily in Padua; 
 If wealthily, then happily in Padua. 
 
 Gru. Nay, look you, sir, he tells you flatly 
 what his mind is : why, give him gold enough 
 and marry him to a puppet or an aglet-baby ; 
 or an old trot with ne'er a tooth in her head, 
 though she have as many diseases as two and 
 fifty horses: why, nothing comes amiss, so 
 money comes withal. [far in, 
 
 Hor. Petruchio, since we have stepp'd thus 
 I will continue that I broach'd in jest. 
 I can, Petruchio, help thee to a wife 
 With wealth enough, and young and beauteous ; 
 Brought up as best becomes a gentlewoman ; 
 Her only fault, and that is faults enough, 
 Is that she is intolerably curst, 
 And shrewd, and forward; so beyond all 
 
 measure, 
 
 That, were my state far worser than it is, 
 I would not wed her for a mine of gold. 
 
 Pet. Hortensio, peace ! thou know'st not 
 
 gold's effect : 
 
 Tell me her father's name, and 'tis enough ; 
 For I will board her though she chide as loud 
 As thunder, when the clouds in autumn crack. 
 
 Hor. Her father is Baptista Minola, 
 An affable and courteous gentleman : 
 Her name is Katharina Minola, 
 Renown'd in Padua for her scolding tongue. 
 
 Pet. I know her father, though I know not 
 
 her; 
 
 And he knew my deceased father well : 
 I will not sleep, Hortensio, till I see her ; 
 And therefore let me be thus bold with you, 
 To give you over at this first encounter, 
 Unless you will accompany me thither. 
 
 Gru. I pray you, sir, let him go while the 
 humour lasts. O' my word, an she knew him 
 as well as I do, she would think scolding would 
 do little good upon him. She may, perhaps, 
 call him half a score knaves, or so: why, that 's 
 nothing ; an he begin once, he '11 rail in his rope- 
 tricks. I '11 tell you what, sir, an she stand 
 him but a little, he will throw a figure in her 
 
 face, and so disfigure her with it that she shall 
 have no more eyes to see withal than a cat. 
 You know him not, sir. 
 
 Hor. Tarry, Petruchio, I must go with thee; 
 For in Baptista's keep my treasure is: 
 He hath the jewel of my life in hold, 
 His youngest daughter, beautiful Bianca ; 
 And her withholds from me, and other more, 
 Suitors to her and rivals in my love : 
 Supposing it a thing impossible, 
 For those defects I have before rehears'd, 
 That ever Katharina will be woo'd, 
 Therefore this order hath Baptista ta'en ; 
 That none shall have access unto Bianca 
 Till Katharine the curst have got a husband. 
 
 Gru. Katharine the curst ! 
 A title for a maid, of all titles the worst. 
 
 Hor. Now shall my friend Petruchio do me 
 
 grace; 
 
 And offer me disguis'd in sober robes 
 To old Baptista as a schoolmaster (3W t 
 Well seen in music, to instruct Bianca ; 
 That so I may, by this device, at least 
 Have leave and leisure to make love to her, 
 And, unsuspected, court her by herself. 
 
 Gru. [Aside.] Here's no knavery! See, to 
 beguile the old folks, how the young folks lay 
 their heads together ! 
 
 Enter GREMIO ; with him LUCENTIO dis- 
 guised, with books under his arm. 
 
 Master, master, look about you: who goes 
 there, ha? 
 
 Hor. Peace, Grumio ! 'tis the rival of my love. 
 Petruchio, stand by awhile. 
 
 Gru. A proper stripling, and an amorous ! 
 [They retire. 
 
 Gre. O, very well : I have perused the note. 
 Hark you, sir; I'll have them very fairly 
 
 bound: 
 
 All books of love, see that at any hand ; 
 And see you read no other lectures to her : 
 You understand me > over and beside 
 Signior Baptista's liberality, [too, 
 
 I '11 mend it with a largess : take your papers 
 And let me have them very well perfum'd ; 
 For she is sweeter than perfume itself, [her? 
 To whom they go to. What will you read to 
 
 Lite. Whate'er I read to her I '11 plead for 
 
 you 
 
 As for my patron, stand you so assur'dj- 
 As firmly as yourself were still in place : 
 Yea, and perhaps with more successful 
 Than you, unless you were a scholar, SHV , 
 
 Gre. O this learning ! what a thing h is ! 
 
 Gru. O this woodcock I what an ass it is I 
 
 Pa. Peace, sirrah 1 
 
 
322 
 
 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 Hor. Grumio, mum! [Coming forward.] 
 God save you, Signior Gremio ! 
 
 Gre. And you 're well met, Signior Hortensio. 
 Trow you whither I am going? To Baptista 
 
 Minola. 
 
 I promis'd to inquire carefully 
 About a schoolmaster for the fair Bianca : 
 And, by good fortune, I have lighted well 
 On this young man, for learning and behaviour 
 Fit for her turn ; well read in poetry 
 And other books, good ones, I warrant you. 
 
 Hor. 'Tis well ; and I have met a gentleman 
 Hath promis'd me to help me to another, 
 A fine musician to instruct our mistress ; 
 So shall I no whit be behind in duty 
 To fair Bianca, so belov'd of me. [prove. 
 
 Gre. Belov'd of me, and that my deeds shall 
 
 Gru. And that his bags shall prove. [Aside. 
 
 Hor. Gremio, 'tis now no time to vent our 
 
 love: 
 
 Listen to me, and if you speak me fair 
 I '11 tell you news indifferent good for either. 
 Here is a gentleman, whom by chance I met, 
 Upon agreement from us to his liking, 
 Will undertake to woo curst Katharine ; 
 Yea, and to marry her, if her dowry please. 
 
 Gre. So said, so done, is well : 
 Hortensio, have you told him all her faults? 
 
 Pet. I know she is an irksome brawling 
 
 scold ; 
 If that be all, masters, I hear no harm. 
 
 Gre. No, say'st me so, friend? What 
 countryman? 
 
 Pet. Born in Verona, old Antonio's son : 
 My father dead, my fortune lives for me; 
 And I do hope good days and long to see. 
 
 Gre. O, sir, such a life, with such a wife, 
 
 were strange : 
 
 But if you have a stomach, to 't o' God's name; 
 You shall have me assisting you in all. 
 But will you woo this wild-cat? 
 
 Pet. Will I live? 
 
 Gru. Will he woo her? ay, or I '11 hang her. 
 
 Pet. Why came T hither but to that intent? 
 Think you a little din can daunt mine ears? 
 Have I not in my time heard Hons roar? 
 Have I not heard the sea, puft u up with winds, 
 Rage like an angry boar chafed with sweat? 
 Have I not heard great ordnance in the field, 
 And heaven's artillery thunder in the skies? 
 Have I not in a pitched battle heard [clang? 
 Loud 'larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets 
 And do you tell me of a woman's tongue ; 
 That gives not half so great a blow to hear, 
 As will a chestnut in a farmer's fire? 
 Tush ! tush ! fear boys with bugs. 
 
 Gru. For he fears none. 
 
 Gre. Hortensio, hark: 
 This gentleman is happily arriv'd, 
 My mind presumes, for his own good and ours. 
 
 Hor. I promis'd we would be contributors, 
 And bear his charge of wooing, whatsoe'er. 
 
 Gre. And so we will provided that he win 
 her. 
 
 Gru. I would I were as sure of a good dinner. 
 
 Enter TRANIO, bravely apparelled, and 
 BlONDELLO. 
 
 Tra. Gentlemen, God save you ! If I may 
 be bold, [way 
 
 Tell me, I beseech you, which is the readiest 
 To the house of Signior Baptista Minola? 
 
 Bion. He that has the two fair daughters : 
 is 't {aside to TRANIO] he you mean? 
 
 Tra. Even he, Biondello ! 
 
 Gre. Hark you, sir ; you mean not her to, 
 
 Tra. Perhaps, him and her? sir; what have 
 you to do? [pray. 
 
 Pet. Not her that chides, sir, at any hand, I 
 
 Tra. I love no chiders, sir ; Biondello, let 's 
 away. 
 
 Luc. Well begun, Tranio. [Aside. 
 
 Hor. Sir, a word ere you go; [or no? 
 Are you a suitor to the maid you talk of, yea 
 
 Tra. An if I be, sir, is it any offence? 
 
 Gre. No ; if without more words you will get 
 you hence. [free 
 
 Tra. Why, sir, I pray, are not the streets as 
 For me as for you? 
 
 Gre. But so is not she. 
 
 Tra. For what reason, I beseech you? 
 
 Gre. For this reason, if you '11 know, 
 That she 's the choice love of Signior Gremio. 
 
 Hor. That she's the chosen of Signior 
 Hortensio. [men 
 
 Tra. Softly, my masters ! if you be gentle- 
 Do me this right, hear me with patience. 
 Baptista is a noble gentleman, 
 To whom my father is not all unknown, 
 And, were his daughter fairer than she is, 
 She may more suitors have, and me for one. 
 Fair Leda's daughter had a thousand wooers; 
 Then well one more may fair Bianca have : 
 And so she shall ; Lucentio shall make one, 
 Though Paris came in hope to speed alone. 
 
 Gre. What ! this gentleman will out-talk us 
 all. [jade. 
 
 Luc. Sir, give him head ; I know he '11 prove a 
 
 Pet. Hortensio, to what end are all these 
 words? 
 
 Hor. Sir, let me be so bold as ask you, 
 Did you yet ever see Baptista's daughter? 
 
 Tra. No, sir; but hear I do that he hath 
 two; 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 323 
 
 The one as famous fcr a scoldirg tongue 
 As is the other for beauteous modesty. 
 
 Pet. Sir, sir, the first 's for me ; let her go by. 
 
 Gre. Yea, leave that labour to great Hercules; 
 And let it be more than Alcides' twelve. 
 
 Pet. Sir, understand you this of me, in sooth : 
 The youngest daughter, whom you hearken for, 
 Her father keeps from all access of suitors, 
 And will not promise her to any man 
 Until the elder sister first be wed? 
 The younger then is free, and not before. 
 
 Tra. If it be so, sir, that you are the man 
 Must stead us all, and me amongst the rest; 
 And if you break the ice, and do this feat, 
 Achieve the elder, set the younger free [her 
 For our access, whose hap shall be to have 
 Will not so graceless be to be ingrate. 
 
 Hor. Sir, you say well, and well you do 
 
 conceive ; 
 
 And since you do profess to be a suitor, 
 Yo- must, as we do, gratify this gentleman, 
 To whom we all rest generally beholding, [of, 
 
 Tra. Sir, I shall not be slack : in sign where- 
 Please ye we may contrive this afternoon, 
 And quaff carouses to our mistress' health ; 
 And do as adversaries do in law, 
 Strive mightily, but eat and drink as friends. 
 
 Gru. Bion. O excellent motion! Fellows, 
 let 's Le gone. [so ; 
 
 Hor. The motion 's good indeed, and be it 
 Petruchio, I shall be your ben venuto. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 Mi ni tts ?r Jsrft fol ^sVolSSfl 1 ,?J jjerlT 
 
 ACT II 
 
 SCENE I. The same. A Room in BAP- 
 TISTA'S House. 
 
 Enter KATHARINA and BIANCA. 
 
 Bian. Good sister, wrong me not, nor 
 
 wrong yourself, 
 
 To make a bondmaid and a slave of me ; 
 That I disdain : but for these other gawds, 
 Unbind my hands, I '11 pull them off myself, 
 Yea, all my raiment, tc my petticoat ; 
 Or what you will command me will I do, 
 So well I know my duty to my elders. 
 
 Kath. Of all thy suitors, here I charge thee, 
 
 tell 
 Whom thou lov'st best : see thou dissemble not. 
 
 Bian. Believe me, sister, of all the men alive, 
 I never yet beheld that special face 
 Which I could fancy more than any other. 
 
 Kath. Minion, thou liest ; is 't not Hortensio? 
 
 Bian. If you affect him, sister, here I swear 
 I '11 plead for you myself, but you shall have 
 him. 
 
 Kath. O then, belike, you fancy riches more ; 
 You will have Gremio to keep you fair. 
 
 Bian. Is it for hii.i you do envy me so? 
 Nay, then you jest ; and now I well perceive 
 You have but jested with me all this while : 
 I pr'ythee, sister Kate, untie my hands. 
 
 Kath. If that be jest, then all the rest was so. 
 [Strikes her. 
 
 Bap. Why, how now, dame ! whence grows 
 
 this insolence? 
 
 Bianca, stand aside; poor girl ! she weeps: 
 Go ply thy needle; meddle not with her. 
 For shame, thou hilding of a devilish spirit, 
 Why dost thou wrong her that did ne'er wrong 
 
 thee? 
 
 When did she cross thee with a bitter word? 
 
 Kath. Her silence flouts me, and I '11 be re- 
 
 veng'd. [Flies after BIANCA. 
 
 Bap. What, in my sight? Bianca, get thee 
 
 in. [Exit BIANCA. 
 
 Kath. What, will you not suffer me? Nay, 
 
 now I see 
 
 She is your treasure, she must have a husband; 
 I must dance bare-foot on her wedding-day, 
 And for your love to her lead apes in hell. 
 Talk not to me ; I will go sit and weep, 
 Till I can find occasion of revenge. 
 
 [Exit KATHARINA. 
 
 Bap. Was ever gentleman thus grieved as I? 
 But who comes here? 
 
 Enter GREMIO, with LUCENTIO in the habit 
 of a mean man; PETRUCHIO, with HOR- 
 TENSIO as a musician; and TRANIO, with 
 BlONDELLO bearing a lute and books. 
 
 Gre. Good-morrow, neighbour Baptista. 
 
 Bap. Good-morrow, neighbour Gremio : God 
 save you, gentlemen ! [a daughter 
 
 Pet. And you, good sir ! Pray, have you not 
 Call'd Katharina, fair and virtuous? 
 
 Bap. I have a daughter, sir, call'd Katharina. 
 
 Gre. You are too blunt: go to it orderly. 
 
 Pet. You wrong me, Signior Gremio: give 
 
 me leave. 
 
 I am a gentleman of Verona, sir, 
 That, hearing of her beauty and her wit, 
 Her affability and bashful modesty, 
 Her wondrous qualities and mild behaviour, 
 Am bold to show myself a forward guest 
 Within your house, to make mine eye the 
 
 witness 
 
 Of that report which I so oft have heard. 
 And, for an entrance to my entertainment, 
 I do present you with a man of mine, 
 
 [Presenting HORTENSIO. 
 
324 
 
 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 [ACT II. 
 
 Cunning in music and the mathematics. 
 To instruct hei fmly in those sciences, 
 Whereof I know she is net ignorant: 
 Accept of him, or else you do me wrong : 
 His name is Licio, born in Mantua. 
 
 Bap. You're welcome, sir; and he for your 
 
 good sake ; 
 
 But for my daughter Katharine, this I know, 
 She is not for your turn, the more my grief. 
 
 Pet. I see you do not mean to part with her ; 
 Or else you like not of my company. 
 
 Bap. Mistake me not, I speak but as I find. 
 Whence are you, sir? what may I call your 
 name? 
 
 Pet. Petruchio is my name ; Antonio's son, 
 A man well known throughout all Italy. 
 
 Bap. I know him well : you are welcome for 
 his sake. 
 
 Gre. Saving your tale, Petruchio, I pray, 
 Let us, that are poor petitioners, speak too : 
 Baccare ! you are marvellous forward. 
 
 Pet. O, pardon me, Signior Gremio; I 
 would fain be doing. 
 
 Gre. I doubt it not, sir ; but you will curse 
 
 your wooing. 
 
 Neighbour, this is a gift very grateful, I am sure 
 of it. To express the like kindness myself, that 
 have been more kindly beholding to you than 
 any, I freely give unto you this young scholar 
 {presenting LUCENTIO], that hath been long 
 studying at Rlisims; as cunning in Greek, 
 Latin, and other languages, as the other in 
 music and mathematics : his name is Cambio ; 
 pray, accept his service. 
 
 Bap. A thousand thanks, Signior Gremio: 
 welcome, good Cambio. But, gentle sir {to 
 TRANIO], methinks you walk like a stranger. 
 May I be so bold to know the cause of your 
 coming? [own ; 
 
 Tra. Pardon me, sir, the boldness is mine 
 That, being a stranger in this city here, 
 Do make myself a suitor to your daughter, 
 Unto Bianca, fair and virtuous. 
 Nor is your firm resolve unknown to me, 
 In the preferment of the eldest sister. 
 This liberty is all that I request, 
 That, upon knowledge of my parentage, 
 I may have welcome 'mongst the rest that woo, 
 And free access and favour as the rest. 
 And, toward the education of your daughters, 
 I here bestow a simple instrument, 
 And this small packet of Greek and Latin books; 
 If you accept them, then their worth is great. 
 
 Bap. Lucentio is your name? of whence, I 
 pray? 
 
 Tra. Of Pisa, sir ; son to Vincentio. 
 
 Bap. A mighty man of Pisa : by report 
 
 I know him v/ell : you ai"; very welcome, sir. 
 Take you {to HOR.] ^he lute, and you [to Luc.] 
 
 the set of books ; 
 
 You shall go see your pupils presently. 
 Holla, within ! 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Sirrah, lead these gentlemen 
 To my daughters ; and tell them both, 
 These are their tutors ; bid them use them well. 
 {Exit Sorv., with HOR., Luc., atuiBioi*. 
 We will go walk a little in the orchard, 
 And then to dinner. You are passing welcome, 
 And so I pray you all to think yourselves. 
 Pet. Signior Baptista, my business asketh 
 
 haste, 
 
 And every day I cannot come to woo. 
 You knew my father well ; and in him, me, 
 Left solely heir to all his lands and goods, 
 Which I have better'd rather than decreas'd : 
 Then tell me, if I get your daughter's love. 
 What dowry shall I have with her to wife? 
 Bap. After my death, the one half of my 
 
 lands 
 And, in possession, twenty thousand crowns. 
 
 Pet. And for that dowry, I '11 assure her of 
 Her widowhood, be it that she survive me, 
 In all my lands and leases whatsoever : 
 Let specialties be therefore drawn between us, 
 That covenants may be kept on either hand. 
 Bap. Ay, when the special thing is well ob- 
 
 tain'd, 
 
 That is, her love ; for that is all in all. 
 Pet. W T hy, that is nothing; for I tell you, 
 
 father, 
 
 I am as peremptory as she proud-minded ; 
 And where two raging fires meet together, 
 They do consume the thing that feeds their fury : 
 Though little fire grows great with little wind, 
 Yet extreme gusts will blow out fire and all : 
 So I to her, and so she yields to me ; 
 For I am rough, and woo not like a babe. 
 Bap. Well mayst thou woo, and happy be 
 
 thy speed ! 
 
 But be thou arm'd for some unhappy words. 
 Pet. Ay. to the proof; as mountains are for 
 
 winds, 
 That shake not though they blow perpetually. 
 
 Re-enter HORTENSIO, with his head broken. 
 
 Bap. How now, my friend ! why dost thou 
 
 look so pale? 
 
 Hor. For fear, I promise you, if I look pale. 
 Bap. What, will my daughter prove a good 
 
 musician? 
 
 ffor. I think she '11 sooner prove a soldier.- 
 Iron may hold with her, but never lutes. 
 
I.] 
 
 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 3*5 
 
 Bap. Why, then thou canst not break her to 
 the lute? [tome. 
 
 Hor. Why, no ; for she ? .ath broke the lute 
 I did but tell her she rruV.ook her frets, 
 And bow'd her hand to teach her fingering, 
 When, with a most impatient devilish spirit, 
 Frets , call you these? quoth she ; I 1 II fume with 
 
 them : 
 
 And, with that word, she struck me on the head, 
 And through the instrument my pate made way ; 
 And there I stood amazed for awhile, 
 As on a pillory, looking through the lute, 
 While she did call me rascal fiddler 
 And twangling Jack, with twenty such vile terms, 
 As she had studied to misuse me so. 
 
 Pet. Now, by the world, it is a lusty wench ; 
 I love her ten times more than e'er I did : 
 O, how I long to have some chat with her ! 
 Bap. Well, go with me, and be not so dis- 
 comfited : 
 
 Proceed in practice with my younger daughter : 
 She's apt to learn, and thankful for good 
 
 turns. 
 
 Signior Petruchio, will you go with us, 
 Or shall I send my daughter Kate to you? 
 Pet. I pray you do : I will attend her here, 
 [Exeunt BAP., GRE., TRA., and HOR. 
 And woo her with some spirit when she comes. 
 Say that she rail ; why, then I '11 tell her plain 
 She sings as sweetly as a nightingale : 
 Say that she frown ; I '11 say she looks as clear 
 As morning roses newly washed with dew : 
 Say she be mute, and will not speak a word ; 
 Then I '11 commend her volubility, 
 And say she uttereth piercing eloquence : 
 If she do bid me pack, I '11 give her thanks, 
 As though she bid me stay by her a week : 
 If she deny to wed, I '11 crave the day 
 When I shall ask the banns, and when be 
 
 married. 
 But here she comes; and now, Petruchio, speak. 
 
 Enter KATHARINA. 
 
 Good-morrow, Kate; for that's your name, I 
 
 hear. 
 Kath. Well have you heard, but something 
 
 hard of hearing : 
 
 They call me Katharine that do talk of me. 
 Pet. You lie, in faith ; for you are call'd plain 
 
 Kate, 
 
 And bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst ; 
 But, Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom, 
 Kate of Kate-Hall, my super-dainty Kate, 
 For dainties are all cates ; and therefore, Kate, 
 Take this of me, Kate of my consolation ; 
 Hearing thy mildness prais'd in every town, 
 Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded, 
 
 Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs, 
 Myself am mov'd to woo thee for my wife. 
 Kath. Mov'd ! in good time : let him that 
 
 mov'd you hither 
 
 Remove you hence : I knew you at the first 
 You were a movable. 
 
 Pet. Why, what 's a movable ? 
 
 Kath. A joint-stool. 
 
 Pet. Thou hast hit it : come, sit on me. 
 Kath. Asses are made to bear, and so are 
 
 you. [you. 
 
 Pet. Women are made to bear, and so are 
 Kath. No such jade as bear you, if me you 
 
 mean. 
 
 Pet. Alas, good Kate, I will not burden thee ! 
 
 For, knowing thee to be but young and light, 
 
 Kath. Too light for such a swain as you to 
 
 catch; 
 
 And yet as heavy as my weight should be. 
 Pet. Should be ! should buzz. 
 Kath. Well ta'en, and like a buzzard. 
 
 Pet. O, slow-wing'd turtle I shall a buzzard 
 
 take thee ? 
 
 Kath. Ay, for a turtle, as he takes a buzzard. 
 Pet. Come, come, you wasp; i' faith, you 
 
 are too angry. 
 
 Kath. If I be waspish, best beware my sting. 
 Pet. My remedy is then, to pluck it out. 
 Kath. Ay, if the fool could fu.d it where it 
 
 lies. [wear his sting? 
 
 Pet. Who knows not where a wasp doth 
 In his tail. 
 
 Kath. In his tongue. 
 
 Pet. Whose tongue? 
 
 Kath. Yours, if you talk of tails; and so 
 
 farewell. [come again, 
 
 Pet. What, with my tongue in your tail ? nay, 
 Good Kate ; I am a gentleman. 
 
 Kath. That I '11 try. 
 
 [Striking him. 
 
 Pet. I swear I '11 cuff you, if you strike again. 
 Kath. So may you lose your arms: 
 If you strike me, you are no gentleman ; 
 And if no gentleman, why then no arms. 
 Pet. A herald, Kate? O, put me in thy 
 
 books! 
 
 Kath. What is your crest? a coxcomb? 
 Pet. A combless cock, so Kate will be :uy hen. 
 Kath. No cock of mine; you crow too like 
 
 a craven. [look so sour. 
 
 Pet. Nay, come, Kate, come ; you must not 
 Kath. It is my fashion, when I see a crab. 
 Pet. Why, here's no crab; and therefore 
 
 look not sour. 
 Kath. There is, there is. 
 Pet. Then show it me. 
 Kath. Had I a glass I would. 
 
3*6 
 
 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 [ACT II. 
 
 Pet. What, you mean my face? 
 
 Kath. Well aim'd of such a young one. 
 
 Pet. Now, by Saint George, I am too young 
 
 for you. 
 
 Kath. Yet you are wither'd. 
 Pet. 'Tis with cares. 
 
 Kath. I care not. 
 
 Pet. Nay, hear you, Kate: in sooth, you 
 
 'scape not so. 
 
 Kath. I chafe you, if I tarry ; let me go. 
 Pet. No, not a whit: I find you passing 
 
 gentle. 
 'Twas told me you were rough, and coy, and 
 
 sullen, 
 
 And now I find report a very liar; [teous; 
 For thou art pleasant, gamesome, passing cour- 
 But slow in speech, yet sweet as spring-time 
 
 flowers : 
 
 Thou canst not frown, thou canst not look as- 
 kance, 
 
 Nor bite the lip, as angry wenches will ; 
 Nor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk ; 
 But thou with mildness entertain'st thy wooers, 
 With gentle conference, soft and affable. 
 Why does the world report that Kate doth limp ? 
 
 slanderous world ! Kate, like the hazel-twig, 
 Is straight and slender ; and as brown in hue 
 As hazel-nuts, and sweeter than the kernels. 
 O, let me see thee walk : thou c\ost not halt. 
 
 Kath. Go, fool, and whom thou keep'st com- 
 mand. 
 
 Pet. Did ever Dian so become a grove 
 As Kate this chamber with her princely gait? 
 O, be thou Dian, and let her be Kate ; 
 And then let Kate be chaste, and Dian sportful ! 
 
 Kath. Where did you study all this goodly 
 speech ? 
 
 Pet. It is extempore, from my mother-wit. 
 
 Kath. A witty mother ! witless else her son. 
 
 Pet. Am I not wise ? 
 
 Kath. Yes ; keep you warm. 
 
 Pet. Marry, so I mean, sweet Katharine, in 
 
 thy bed: 
 
 And therefore, setting all this chat aside, 
 Thus in plain terms: Your father hath con- 
 sented [on ; 
 That you shall be my wife ; your dowry 'greed 
 And, will you, nill you, I will marry you. 
 Now, Kate, I am a husband for your turn ; 
 For, by this light, whereby I see thy beauty, 
 Thy beauty that doth make me like thee well 
 Thou must be married to no man but me ; 
 For I am he am born to tame you, Kate ; 
 And bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate 
 Conformable, as other household Kates. 
 Here comes your father ; never make denial ; 
 
 1 must and will have Katharine to my wife. 
 
 Re-enter BAPTISTA, GREMIO, and TRANIO. 
 
 Bap. Now, ig..Jor Petruchio, how speed 
 you with my daughter? 
 
 Pet. How but well, sir? how but well? 
 It were impossible I should speed amiss. 
 
 Bap. Why, how now, daughter Katharine ! 
 in your dumps? [yu 
 
 Kath. Call you me daughter ? now, I promise 
 You have show'd a tender fatherly regard 
 To wish me wed to one half lunatic ; 
 A mad-cap ruffian and a swearing Jack, 
 That thinks with oaths to face the matter out. 
 
 Pet. Father, 'tis thus: yourself and all the 
 
 world, 
 
 That talked of her, hath talk'd amiss of her ; 
 If she D^ curst, it is for policy ; 
 For she 's not froward, but modest as the dove ; 
 She is not hot, but temperate as the morn; 
 For patience she will prove a second Grissel, 
 And Roman Lucrece for her chastity : 
 And to conclude, we have 'greed so well to- 
 gether, 
 That upon Sunday is the wedding-day. 
 
 Kath. I '11 see thee hang'd on Sunday first. 
 
 Gre. Hark, Petruchio; she says she'll see 
 thee hang'd first. 
 
 Tra. Is this your speeding? nay, then, good- 
 night our part ! [for myself; 
 
 Pet. Be patient, gentlemen; I choose her 
 If she and I be pleas'd, what 's that to you? 
 'Tis bargain'd 'twixt us twain, being alone, 
 That she shall still be curst in company. 
 I tell you, 'tis incredible to believe 
 How much she loves me : O, the kindest Kate ! 
 She hung about my neck, and kiss on kiss 
 She vied so fast, protesting oath on oath, 
 That in a twink she won me to her love. 
 O, you are novices ! 'tis a world to see, 
 How tame, when men and women are alone, 
 A meacock wretch can make the curstest 
 
 shrew. 
 
 Give me thy hand, Kate : I will unto Venice, 
 To buy apparel 'gainst the wedding-day. 
 Provide the feast, father, and bid the guests ; 
 I will be sure my Katharine shall be fine. 
 
 Bap. I know not what to say : but give me 
 
 your hands; 
 God send you joy, Petruchio ! 'tis a match. 
 
 Gre. Tra. Amen, say we; we will be wit- 
 
 Pet. Father, and wife, and gentlemen, adieu; 
 I will to Venice; Sunday comes apace: 
 We will have rings, and things, and fine array ; 
 And, kiss me, Kate, we will be married o' 
 
 Sunday. 
 
 [Exeunt PET. am/ KATH., severally. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 3*7 
 
 Ore. Was ever match clapp'd up so suddenly? 
 
 Bap. Faith, gentlemen, now I play a mer- 
 chant's part, 
 And venture madly on a desperate mart. 
 
 Tra. 'Twas a commodity lay fretting by you ; 
 'Twill bring you gain, or perish on the seas. 
 
 Bap. The gain I seek is quiet in the match. 
 
 Gre. No doubt but he hath got a quiet catch. 
 But now, Baptista, to your younger daughter; 
 Now is the day we long have looked for; 
 I am your neighbour, and was suitor first. 
 
 Tra. And I am one that love Bianca more 
 Than words can witness or your thoughts can 
 guess. [as I. 
 
 Gre. Youngling ! thou canst not love so dear 
 
 Tra. Graybeard 1 thy love doth freeze. 
 
 Gre. But thire doth fry. 
 
 Skipper, stand back ; 'tis age that nourisheth. 
 
 Tra. But youth in ladies' eyes that flour - 
 isheth. [this strife : 
 
 Bap. Content you, gentlemen; I '11 compound 
 'Tis deeds must win the piize ; and he, of both, 
 That can assure my daughter greatest dower 
 Shall have Bianca's love. 
 Say, Signior Gremio, what can you assure her? 
 
 Gre. First, as you know, my house wiihin 
 
 the city 
 
 Is richly furnished with plate and gold ; 
 Basins and ewers, to lave her dainty hands; 
 My hangings all of Tyrian tapestry : 
 In ivory coffers I have stuff'd my crowns; 
 In cypress chests my arras counterpoints, 
 Costly apparel, tents, and canopies, 
 Fine linen, Turkey cushions boss'd with pearl, 
 Valance of Venice gold in needle-work, 
 Pewter and brass, and all things that belong 
 To house or housekeeping: then, at my farm, 
 I have a hundred milch-kine to the pail, 
 Six score fat oxen standing in my stalls, 
 And all things answerable to this portion. 
 Myself am struck in years, I must confess ; 
 And, if I die to-morrow this is hers : 
 If, whilst I live, she will be only mine, [me : 
 
 Tra. That only came well in. Sir, list to 
 I am my father's heir and only son : 
 If I may have your daughter to my wife, 
 I '11 leave her houses three or four as good, 
 Within rich Pisa's walls, as any one 
 Old Signior Gremio has in Padua ; 
 Besides two thousand ducats by the year 
 Of fruitful land, all which shall be her join- 
 ture. 
 
 What, have I pinch'd you, Signior Gremio? 
 Gre. Two thousand ducats by the year of 
 
 land! 
 
 My land amounts not to so much in alls' ' Tloi 
 That she shall have \ besides an argosy, 
 
 That now is lying in Marseilles' road I- 
 What, have I chok'd you with an argosy? 
 Tra. Gremio, 'tis known my father hath no 
 
 less 
 
 Than three great argosies ; besides twogalliasses, 
 And twelve tight galleys: these I will assure 
 
 her, 
 
 And twice as much, what e'er thou offer'st next. 
 Gre. Nay, I have offer'd all, I have no 
 
 more; 
 
 And she can have no more than all I have : - 
 If you like me, she shall have me and mine. 
 Tra. Why, then the maid is mine from all 
 
 the world. 
 By your firm promise : Gremio is out -vied. 
 
 Bap. I must confess your offer is the best ; 
 And, let your father make her the assurance, 
 She is your own ; else, you must pardon me : 
 If you should die before him, where 's her dower? 
 Tra. That 's but a cavil ; he is old, I young. 
 Gre. And may not young men die as well 
 
 as old? 
 
 Bap. Well, gentlemen, 
 
 I am thus resolv'd : On Sunday next you know 
 My daughter Katharine is to be married : 
 Now, on the Sunday following shall Bianca 
 Be bride to you, if you make this assurance ; 
 If not, to Signior Gremio : 
 And so I take my leave, and thank you both. 
 Gre. Adieu, good neighbour. 
 
 [Exit BAPTISTA. 
 Now I fear thee not : 
 
 Sirrah young gamester, your father were a fool 
 To give thee all, and in his waning age 
 Set foot under thy table. Tut ! a toy ! 
 An old Italian fox is not so kind, my boy. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Tra. A vengeance on your crafty wither'd 
 
 hide! 
 
 Yet I have faced it with a card of ten. 
 'Tis in my head to do my master good y^-t.; 
 I see no reason but suppos'd Lucentio 
 Must get a father, call'd suppos'd Vincentio ; 
 And that 's a wonder : fathers commdnly 
 Do get their children; but in this case of 
 
 wooing, 
 
 A child shall get a sire, if I foil not of my 
 cunning. [Exit. 
 
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 APT Tit* 
 
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 SCENE I. PADUA. A Room in BAPTISTA'S 
 House. 
 
 Enter LUCENTIO, HORTENSIO, and BIANCA. 
 
 Luc. Fiddler, forbear; you grow too for- 
 ward, sir : 
 
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 LACT in. 
 
 Have you so soon forgot the entertainment 
 Her sister Katharine welcom'd you withal? 
 
 Hor. But, wrangling pedant, this is 
 The patroness of heavenly harmony: 
 Then give me leave to have prerogative; ntrfT 
 And when in music we have spent an hour, 
 Your lecture shall have leisure for as much. 
 
 Luc. Preposterous assl that never read so 
 
 far 
 
 To know the cause why music was ordain'd ! 
 Was it not to refresh the mind of man 
 After his studies or his usual pain? 
 Then give me leave to read philosophy, 
 And while I pause serve in your harmony. 
 
 Hor. Sirrah, I will not bear these braves of 
 thine. 
 
 Bian. Why, gentlemen, you do me double 
 
 wrong, 
 
 To strive for that which resteth in my choice : 
 I am no breeching scholar in the schools : 
 I '11 not be tied to hours nor 'pointed times, 
 But learn my lessons as I please myself. 
 And, to cut off all strife, here sit we down : 
 Take you your instrument, play you the whiles ; 
 His lecture will be done ere you have tun'd. 
 
 Hor. You '11 leave his lecture when I am in 
 tune? 
 
 [ To BIANCA. HORTENSIO retires. 
 
 Luc. That will be never : tune your instru- 
 ment. 
 
 Bian. Where left we last? 
 
 Luc. Here, madam : 
 Hoc ibat Sinioi* ; hie est Sigeia tell us ; 
 Hie steterat Priami regia celsa senis. 
 
 Bian. Construe them. 
 
 Luc. Hoc ibat, as I told you before, Simois, 
 I am Lucentio, hie est, son unto Vincentio of 
 Pisa, Sigeia tellus, disguised thus to get your 
 love; Hie steterat, and that Lucentio that 
 comes a-wooing, Priami, is my man Tranio, 
 regia, bearing my port, celsa senis, that we 
 might beguile the old pantaloon. 
 
 Hor. [Coming forward.] Madam, my instru- 
 ment 's in tune. 
 
 Bian. Let 'shear. [HORTENSIO plays. 
 O fie ! the treble jars. 
 
 Luc. Spit in the hole, man, and tune again. 
 
 Bian. Now let me see if I can construe it : 
 Hac ibat Simois, I know you not, hie est 
 Sigeia tellus, I trust you not; Hie steterat 
 Priami, take heed he hear us not, regia, pre- 
 sume not, celsa senis, despair not. 
 
 Hor. Madam, 'tis now in tune. 
 
 Luc. All but the base. 
 
 Hor. The base is right ; 'tis the base knave 
 
 that jars. 
 How fiery and forward our pedant is I 
 
 Now, for my life, the knave doth court my love: 
 Pedascule, I '11 watch you better yet. [Aside. 
 Bian. In time I may believe, yet I mistrust. 
 Luc. Mistrust it not ; for, sure, ^Eacides 
 Was Ajax, call'd so from his grandfather. 
 Bian. I must believe my master; else, I 
 
 promise you, 
 
 I should be arguing still upon that doubt : 
 But let it rest. Now, Licio, to you: 
 Good masters, take it not unkindly, pray, 
 That I have been thus pleasant with you 
 
 both. 
 Hor. You may go walk [to LUCENTIO], and 
 
 give me leave awhile ; 
 My lessons make no music in three parts. 
 Luc. Are you so formal, sir? well, I must 
 
 wait, 
 
 And watch withal ; for, but I be deceiv'd, 
 Our fine musician groweth amorous. [Aside. 
 Hor. Madam, before you touch the instru- 
 ment, 
 
 To learn the order of my fingering, 
 I must begin with rudiments of art ; 
 To teach you gamut in a briefer sort, 
 More pleasant, pithy, and effectual, 
 Than hath been taught by any of my trade : 
 And there it is in writing, fairly drawn. 
 Bian. Why, I am past my gamut long ago. 
 Hor. Yet read the gamut of Hortensio. 
 Bian. [Reads.'} Gamut / am, the ground of 
 
 all accord, 
 
 A re, to plead Hortensio 1 s passion ; 
 B mi, Bianca, take him for thy lord, 
 
 C fa ut, that loves with all affection : 
 D sol re, one cliff, two notes have /; 
 
 E la mi, show pity, or I die. 
 Call you this gamut? tut, I like it not: 
 Old fashions please me best ; I am not so nice, 
 To change true rules for odd inventions. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. Mistress, your father prays you leave 
 
 your books, 
 
 And help to dress your sister's chamber up: 
 You know to-morrow is the wedding-day. 
 Bian. Farewell, sweet masters, both; I must 
 be gone ! 
 
 [Exeunt BIANCA and Servant. 
 Luc. Faith, mistress, then I have no cause 
 to stay. [Exit. 
 
 Hor. But I have cause to pry into this pedant; 
 Methinks he looks as though he were in love : 
 Yet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be so humble, 
 To cast thy wand'rin^ eyes on every stale, 
 Seize thee that list : if once I find thee ranging, 
 Hortensio will be quit with thee by changing. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 329 
 
 SCENE II. The same, .titfore BAPTISTA'S 
 House . 
 
 Enter BAPTISTA, GREMIO, TRANIO, KATHAR- 
 INA, BIANCA, LUCENTIO, and Attendants. 
 Bap. Signior Lucentio \to TRANIO], this is 
 
 the 'pointed day [married, 
 
 That Katharine and Petruchio should be 
 And yet we hear not of our son-in-law : 
 What will be said? what mockery will it be, 
 To want the bridegroom when the priest attends 
 To speak the ceremonial rites of marriage? 
 What says Lucentio to this shame of ours? 
 Kath. No shame but mine: I must, forsooth, 
 
 be forc'd 
 
 To give my hand, oppos'd against my heart, 
 Unto a mad-brain rudesby, full of spleen ; 
 Who woo'd in haste, and means to wed at 
 
 leisure. 
 
 I told you, I, he was a frantic fool, 
 Hiding his bitter jests in blunt behaviour : 
 And, to be noted for a merry man, 
 He'll woo a thousand, 'point the day of 
 
 marriage, 
 Make friends, invite them, and proclaim the 
 
 banns; 
 
 Yet never means to wed where he hath woo'd. 
 Now must the world point at poor Katharine, 
 And say, Lo, there is mad Petruckio's wife, 
 If it would please him come and marry her! 
 Tra. Patience, good Katharine, and Baptista 
 
 too. 
 
 Upon my life, Petruchio means but well ! 
 Whatever fortune stays him from his word : 
 Though he be blunt, I know him passing wise ; 
 Though he be merry, yet withal he 's honest. 
 Katk. Would Katharine had never seen him 
 
 though ! 
 
 [Exit, weeping .followed by BIANCA and others. 
 Bap. Go, girl; I cannot blame thee now to 
 
 weep; 
 
 For such an injury would vex a very saint, 
 Much more a shrew of thy impatient humour. 
 
 Enter BIONDELLO. 
 
 Bion. Master, master! old news, and such 
 news as you never heard of! [be? 
 
 Bap. Is it new and old too? how may that 
 
 Bion. Why, is it not news to hear of Petru- 
 chio's coming? 
 
 Bap. Is he come? 
 
 Bion. Why, no, sir. 
 
 Bap. What then? 
 
 Bion. He is coming. 
 
 Bap. When will he be here? 
 
 Bion. When he stands where I am, and 
 sees you there. 
 
 Tra. But, say, what to thine old news? 
 
 Bion. Why, Petruchio is coming, in a new 
 hat and an old jerkin ; a pair of old breeches 
 thrice turn'd ; a pair of boots that have been 
 candle-cases, one buckled, another laced; an 
 old rusty sword ta'en out of the town armoury, 
 with a broken hilt, and chapeless; with two 
 broken points : his horse hipped with an old 
 mothy saddle, and stirrups of no kindred; 
 besides, possessed with the glanders, and like 
 to mose in the chine ; troubled with the lampass, 
 infected with the fashions, full of wind-galls, 
 sped with spavins, rayed with the yellows, past 
 cure of the fires, stark spoiled with the staggers, 
 begnawn with the bots, swayed in the back, and 
 shoulder-shotten ; ne'er legged before, and with 
 a half-checked bit, and a head-stall of sheep's 
 leather, which, being restrained to keep him 
 from stumbling, hath been often burst, and now 
 repaired with knots ; one girth six times pieced, 
 and a woman's crupper of velure, which hath 
 two letters for her name, fairly set down in 
 studs, and here and there pieced with pack- 
 thread. 
 
 Bap. Who comes with him? 
 
 Bion. O, sir, his lackey, for all the world 
 caparisoned like the horse ; with a linen stock 
 on one leg and a kersey boot-hose on the other, 
 gartered with a red and blue list ; an old hat, 
 and The humour of forty fancies pricked in 't 
 for a feather : a monster, a very monster in ap- 
 parel ; and not like a Christian footboy or a 
 gentleman's lackey. 
 
 Tra. 'Tis some odd humour pricks him to 
 
 this fashion ; 
 Yet oftentimes he goes but mean apparell'd. 
 
 Bap. I am glad he is come, howsoe'er he 
 comes. 
 
 Bion. Why, sir, he comes not. 
 
 Bap. Didst thou not say he comes? 
 
 Bion. Who? that Petruchio came? 
 
 Bap. Ay, that Petruchio came. 
 
 Bion. No, sir ; I say his horse comes with 
 him on his back. 
 
 Bap. Why, that 's all one. 
 
 Bion. Nay, by saint Jamy, 
 I hold you a penny, 
 A horse and a man 
 Is more than one, 
 And yet not many. 
 
 Enter PETRUCHIO and GRUMIO. 
 
 Pet. Come, where be these gallants ? who 's 
 
 at home? 
 
 Bap. You are welcome, sir. 
 Pet. And yet I come not well. 
 
 Bap. And yet you halt not. 
 
33P 
 
 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Tra. Not so well apparell'd 
 
 As I wish you were. 
 
 Pet. Were it better, I should rush in thus. 
 But where is Kate? where is my lovely bride? 
 How does my father? Gentles, methinks you 
 
 frown : 
 
 And wherefore gaze this goodly company, 
 As if they saw some wondrous monument, 
 Some comet or unusual prodigy? 
 
 Bap. Why, sir, you know this is your wed- 
 ding-day : 
 
 First were we sad, fearing you would not come ; 
 Now sadder, that you come so unprovided. 
 Fie, doff this habit, shame to your estate, 
 An eye-sore to our solemn festival ! 
 
 Tra. And tell us, what occasion of import 
 Hath all so long detain'd you from your wife, 
 And sent you hither so unlike yourself? 
 
 Pet. Tedious it were to tell, and harsh to 
 
 hear : 
 
 Sufficeth, I am come to keep my word, 
 Though in some part enforced to digress ; 
 Which, at more leisure, I will so excuse 
 As you shall well be satisfied withal. 
 But where is Kate? I stay too long from her: 
 The morning wears, 'tis time we were at church. 
 
 Tra. See not your bride in these unreverent 
 
 robes: 
 Go to my chamber, put on clothes of mine. 
 
 Pet. Not I, believe me : thus I '11 visit her. 
 
 Bap. But thus, I trust, you will not marry her. 
 
 Pet. Good sooth, even thus; therefore ha' 
 
 done with words; 
 
 To me she 's married, not unto my clothes 
 Could I repair what she will wear in me, 
 As I can change these poor accoutrements, 
 'Twere well for Kate, and better for myself. 
 But what a fool am I to chat with you, 
 When I should bid good-morrow to my bride, 
 And seal the title with a lovely kiss ! 
 
 [Exeunt PETRUCHIO and GRUMIO. 
 
 Tra. He hath some meaning in his mad attire. 
 We will persuade him, be it possible, 
 To put on better ere he go to church. 
 
 Bap. I '11 after him, and see the event ot this. 
 [Exeunt BAP., GREM., andBlox. 
 
 Tra. But, sir, to her love concerneth us to 
 
 add 
 
 Her father's liking : which to bring to pass, 
 As I before imparted to your worship, 
 I am to get a man, whate'er he be, 
 It skills not much ; we '11 fit him to our turn, 
 And he shall be Vincentio of Pisa ; 
 And make assurance, here in Padua, 
 Of greater sums than I have promised. 
 So shall you quietly enjoy your hope, A?fl 
 And marry swet Bianca with consent 
 
 Luc. Were it not that my fellow-schoolmaster 
 Doth watch Bianca's steps so narrowly, 
 'Twere good, methinks, to steal our marriage ; 
 Which once perform'd, let all the world say no, 
 I '11 keep mine own, despite of all the world. 
 
 Tra. That by degrees we mean to look into, 
 And watch our vantage in this business : 
 We '11 over-reach the graybeard,Gremio, 
 The narrow-prying father, Minola; 
 The quaint musician, amorous Licio ; 
 All for my master's sake, Lucentio. 
 
 Re-enter GT&M.V*. 
 
 k rV. ' yfi? j.firfW 
 
 Signior Gremio, came you from the church? 
 Gre. As willingly as e er I came from school. 
 Tra. And is the bride and bridegroom com- 
 ing home? 
 
 Gre. A bridegroom, say you ? 'tis a groom in- 
 deed, 
 
 A grumbling groom, and that the girl shall find. 
 Tra. Curster than she? why, 'tis impossible. 
 Gre. Why, he 's a devil, a devil, a very fiend. 
 Tra. Why, she 's a devil, a devil, the devil's 
 
 dam. 
 
 Gre. Tut, she 's a lamb, a dove, a fool to him! 
 I '11 tell you, Sir Lucentio : when the priest 
 Should ask, if Katharine should be his wife, 
 Ay, by gogs-wouns, quoth he ; and swore so loud 
 That, all amaz'd, the priest let fall the book; 
 And, as he stoop'd again to take it up, 
 The mad-brain'd bridegroom took him such a 
 
 cuff 
 That down fell priest and book, and book and 
 
 priest : 
 
 Now take them up, quoth he, if any list. 
 Tra. What said the wench, when he arose 
 
 again? 
 Gre. Trembled and shook; for why, he 
 
 stamp'd and swore, 
 
 As if the vicar meant to cozen him. * {0 i / 
 But after many ceremonies done, 
 He calls for wine : A health ' quoth he ; as if 
 He had been aboard, carousing to his mates 
 After a storm : quaff'd off the muscadel, 
 And threw the sops all in the sexton's face ; 
 Having no other reason 
 But that his beard grew thin and hungerly, 
 And seem'd to ask him sops as he was drinking. 
 This done, he took the bride about the neck, 
 And kiss'd her lips with such a clamorous 
 
 smack 
 
 That, at the parting, all the church did echo. 
 I, seeing this, came thence for very shame ; 
 And after me, I know, the rout is coming. 
 Such a mad marriage never was before : 
 Hark, hark ! I hear the minstrels play. 
 
 [Music. 
 
SCENE il.j 
 
 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 331 
 
 Enter PETRUCHIO, KATHARINA, BIANCA, 
 BAPTISTA, HORTENSIO, GRUMIO, and Train. 
 
 Pet. Gentlemen and friends, I thank you for 
 
 your pains : 
 
 I know you think to dine with me to-day, 
 And have prepar'd great store of wedding cheer; 
 But so it is, my haste doth call me hence, 
 And therefore here I mean to take my leave. 
 
 Bap. Is 't possible you will away to-night? 
 
 Pet. I must away to- day, before night come : 
 Make it no wonder ; if you knew my business, 
 V^ou would entreat me rather go than stay. 
 \nd, honest company, I thank you all, 
 That have beheld me give away myself 
 To this most patient, sweet, and virtuous wife : 
 Dine with my father, drink a health to me ; 
 For I must hence ; and farewell to you all. 
 
 Tra. Let us entreat you stay till after dinner. 
 
 Pet. It may not be. 
 
 Gre. Let me entreat you. 
 
 Pet. It cannot be. 
 
 Kath. Let me entreat you. 
 
 Pet. I am content. 
 
 Kath. Are you content to stay? 
 
 Pet. I am content you shall entreat me stay ; 
 But yet not stay, entreat me how you can. 
 
 Kath. Now, if you love me, stay. 
 
 Pet. Grumio, my horse. 
 
 Grtt. Ay, sir, they be ready: the oats have 
 eaten the horses. 
 
 Kath. Nay, then, 
 
 Do what thou canst, I will not go to-day; 
 No, nor to-morrow, nor till I please myself. 
 The door is open, sir; there lies your way; 
 You may be jogging whiles your boots are green; 
 For me, I '11 not ue gone till I please myself: 
 'Tis like you '11 prove a jolly surly groom, 
 That take it on you at the first so roundly. 
 
 Pet. O Kate, content thee; pr'ythee, be not 
 angry. 
 
 Kath. I will be angry; what hast thou to do? 
 Father, be quiet : he shall stay my leisure. 
 
 Gre. Ay, marry, sir, now it begins to work. 
 
 Kath. Gentlemen, forward to the bridal 
 
 dinner : 
 
 I see a woman may be made a fool 
 If she had not a spirit to resist. 
 
 Pet. They shall go forward, Kate, at thy 
 
 command. 
 
 Obey the bride, you that attend on her ; 
 Go to the feast, revel and domineer, 
 Carouse full measure to her maidenhead; 
 Be mad and merry, or go hang yourselves : 
 But for my bonny Kate, she must with me. 
 Nay, look not big, nor stamp, nor stare, nor 
 fret- 
 
 I will be master of what is mine own : 
 She is my goods, my chattels ; she is my house, 
 My household stuff, my field, my barn, 
 My horse, my ox, my ass, my anything; 
 And here she stands, touch her whoever dare ; 
 I '11 bring mine action on the proudest he 
 That stops my way in Padua. Grumio, 
 Draw forth thy weapon, we are beset with 
 
 thieves ; 
 
 Rescue thy mistress, if thou be a man. 
 Fear not, sweet wench, they shall not touch thee, 
 
 Kate; 
 I '11 buckler thee against a million. 
 
 [Exeunt PET., KATH., and GRU. 
 Bap. Nay, let them go, a couple of quiet ones. 
 Gre. Went they not quickly, I should die 
 
 with laughing. 
 
 Tra. Of all mad matches, never was the like ! 
 Luc. Mistress, what 's your opinion of your 
 sister? [mated. 
 
 Bian. That, being mad herself, she 's madly 
 Gre. I warrant him, Petruchio is Kated. 
 Bap. Neighbours and friends, though bride 
 
 and bridegroom wants, 
 For to supply the places at the table, 
 You know there wants no junkets at the feast. 
 Lucentio, you shall supply the bridegroom's 
 
 place ; 
 
 And let Bianca take her sister's room. [it? 
 Tra. Shall sweet Bianca practise how to bride 
 Bap. She shall, Lucentio. Come, gentle- 
 men, let 's go. [Exeunt. 
 ;vj;.'V; fvjv: f'n>; ?j*m;-<'. : v;K' v TtDrij .ruBc!'.'.' 1 
 
 A/^r J\T 
 
 ? ;:ii;I frjltfpfio } ^ .M xliir arfj Differ 
 SCENE I. A Hall in PETRUCHIO'S Country 
 
 house. 
 
 Enter GRUMIO. 
 
 Gru. Fie, fie on all tired jades, on all mad 
 masters, and all foul ways ! Was ever man so 
 beaten? was ever man so rayed? was ever man 
 so weary? I am sent before to make a fire, and 
 they are coming after to warm them. Now. 
 were not I a little pot, and soon hot, my very 
 lips might freeze to my teeth, my tongue to the 
 roof of my mouth, my heart in my belly, ere I 
 should come by a fire to thaw me : but I, with 
 blowing the fire, shall warm myself; for, con- 
 sidering the weather, a taller man than I will 
 take cold. Holla, ho! Curtis! 
 
 Enter CURTIS. 
 
 Curt. Who is that calls so coldly? 
 
 Gru. A piece of ice : if thou doubt it, thou 
 mayst slide from my shoulder to my heel with 
 no greater a run but my head ana my neck. 
 A fire, good Curtis. 
 
332 
 
 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 TACT iv. 
 
 Curt. Is my master and his wife coming, 
 Grumio? 
 
 Gru. O, ay, Curtis, ay: and therefore fire, 
 fire ; cast on no water. 
 
 Curt. Is she so hot a shrew as she 's reported? 
 
 Gru. She was, good Curtis, before this frost; 
 but, thou knowest, winter tames man, woman, 
 and beast ; for it hath tamed my old master, 
 and my new mistress, and myself, fellow Curtis. 
 
 Curt. Away, you three-inch fool ! I am no 
 beast. 
 
 Gru. Arii I but three inches? why, thy horn 
 is a foot ; and so long am I, at the least. But 
 wilt thou make a fire, or shall I complain on 
 thee to our mistress, whose hand, she being 
 now at hand, thou shalt soon feel, to thy cold 
 comfort, for being slow in thy hot office? 
 
 Curt. I pr'ythee, good Grumio, tell me, how 
 goes the world? 
 
 Gru. A cold world, Curtis, in every office 
 but thine; and, therefore, fire: do thy duty, 
 and have thy duty; for my master and mistress 
 are almost frozen to death. 
 
 Curt. There's fire ready; and, therefore, 
 good Grumio, the news? 
 
 Gru. Why, Jack boy! ho, boy! and as much 
 news as thou wilt. [ing ! 
 
 Curt. Come : you are so full of coney-catch- 
 
 Gru. Why, therefore, fire ; for I have caught 
 extreme cold. Where's the cook? is supper 
 ready, the house trimmed, rushes strewed, cob- 
 webs swept; the serving-men in their new 
 fustian, their white stockings, and every officer 
 his wedding-garment on? Be the jacks fair 
 within, the jills fair without, the carpets laid, 
 and everything in order? [news? 
 
 Curt. All ready ; and, therefore, I pray thee, 
 
 Gru. First, know, my horse is tired; my 
 master and mistress fallen out. 
 
 Curt. How? 
 
 Gru. Out of their saddles into the dirt ; and 
 thereby hangs a tale. 
 
 Curt. Let 's ha 't, good Grumio. 
 
 Gru. Lend thine ear. 
 
 Curt. Here. 
 
 Gru. There. [Striking him. 
 
 Curt. This is to feel a tale, not to hear a tale. 
 
 Gru. And therefore 'tis called a sensible 
 tale : and this cuff was but to knock at your 
 ear, and beseech listening. Now I begin : Im- 
 primis, we came down a foul hill, my master 
 riding behind my mistress : 
 
 Curt. Both of one horse? 
 
 Gru. What's that to thee? 
 
 Curt. Why, a horse. 
 
 Gru. Tell thou the tale : but hadst thou not 
 crossed me, thou shouldst have heard how her 
 
 horse fell, and she under her horse ; thou 
 shouldst have heard, in how miry a place ; how 
 she was bemoiled ; how he left her with the 
 horse upon her ; how he beat me because her 
 horse stumbled; how she waded through the 
 dirt to pluck him off me ; how he swore ; how 
 she prayed that never pray'd before ; how I 
 cried ; how the horses ran away ; how her bridle 
 was burst; how I lost my crupper; with many 
 things of worthy memory ; which now shall die 
 in oblivion, and thou return unexperienced to 
 thy grave. 
 
 Curt. By this reckoning, he is more shrew 
 than she. 
 
 Gru. Ay ; and that thou and the proudest of 
 you all shall find when he comes home. But 
 what talk I of this? Call forth Nathaniel, 
 Joseph, Nicholas, Philip, Walter, Sugarsop, 
 and the rest : let their heads be sleekly combed, 
 their blue coats brushed, and their garters of an 
 indifferent knit : let them curtsy with their left 
 legs; and not presume to touch a hair of my 
 master's horse-tail till they kiss their hands. 
 Are they all ready? 
 
 Curt. They are. 
 
 Gru. Call them forth. 
 
 Curt. Do you hear, ho? you must meet my 
 master, to countenance my mistress. 
 
 Gru. Why, she hath a face of her own. 
 
 Curt. Who knows not that? 
 
 Gru. Thou, it seems, that callest for com- 
 pany to countenance her. 
 
 Curt. I call them forth to credit her. 
 
 Gru. Why, she comes to borrow nothing of 
 them. 
 
 Enter several Servants. 
 
 
 Nath. Welcome home, Grumio ! 
 
 Phil. How now, Grumio ! 
 
 [os. What, Grumio! 
 
 Nick. Fellow Grumio! 
 
 Nath. How now, old lad? 
 
 Gru. Welcome, you ; how now, you ; 
 what, you ; fellow, you ; and thus much fdi 
 greeting. Now, my spruce companions, is all 
 ready, and all things neat? 
 
 Nath. All things is ready. How near is our 
 master? 
 
 Gru. E'en at hand, alighted by this; and 
 therefore be not, Cock's passion, silence! 
 I hear my master. 
 
 Enter PETRUCHIO and KATHARINA. 
 
 Pet. Where be these knaves ? What, no man 
 
 at door 
 
 To held my stirrup nor to take my horse ! 
 Where is Nathaniel, Gregory, Philip? 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 333 
 
 All Serv. Here, here, sir ; here, sir. 
 
 Pet. Here, sir! here, sir! here, sir! here, sir ! 
 You logger-headed and unpolish'd grooms ! 
 What, no attendance? no regard? no duty? 
 Where is the foolish knave I sent before? 
 
 Gni. Here, sir ; as foolish as I was before. 
 
 Pet. You peasant swain ! you whoreson malt- 
 horse drudge ! 
 
 Did I not bid thee meet me in the park, 
 And bring along these rascal knaves with thee? 
 
 Gru. Nathaniel's coat, sir, was not fully 
 made, [the heel ; 
 
 And Gabriel's pumps were all unpink'd i' 
 There was no link to colour Peter's hat, 
 And Walter's dagger was not come from 
 sheathing: [Gregory; 
 
 There were none fine but Adam, Ralph, and 
 The rest were ragged, old, and beggarly; 
 Yet, as they are, here are they come to meet you. 
 
 Pet. Go, rascals, go, and fetch my supper in. ' 
 [Exeunt some of the Servants. 
 
 Where is the, afe that late I led [Sings. 
 
 Where are those Sit down, Kate, and wel- 
 come. 
 
 Soud, soud, soud, soud ! 
 
 Re-enter Servants with supper. 
 
 Why, when, I say? Nay, good sweet Kate, 
 
 be merry. [when? 
 
 Off with my boots, you rogues! you villains, 
 
 It was the friar of orders gray ; 
 As he forth walked on his way : 
 
 Out, you rogue ! you pluck my foot awry : 
 
 Take that, and mend the plucking oft" the 
 
 other. [Strikes him. 
 
 Be merry, Kate. Some water, here; what, 
 
 ho ! [hence, 
 
 Where's my spaniel Troilus? Sirrah, get you 
 
 And bid my cousin Ferdinand come hither : 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 
 One, Kate, that you must kiss, and be ac- 
 quainted with. [water? 
 Where are my slippers? Shall I have some 
 [A bason is presented to him. 
 Come, Kate, and wash, and welcome heartily. 
 cjjf*-? [Servant lets the ewer fall. 
 You whoreson villain! will you let it fall? 
 
 [Strikes him. 
 
 Kath. Patience, I pray you; 'twas a fault 
 
 unwilling. [knave ! 
 
 Pet. A whoreson, beetle-headed, flap-ear'd 
 
 Come, Kate, sit down; I know you have a 
 
 stomach. [shall I? 
 
 Will you give thanks, sweet Kate; cr else 
 
 What's this? mutton? . 
 
 I Serv. 
 Pet. 
 
 Ay, 
 
 Who brought it ? 
 
 Pet. 'Tis burnt ; and so is all the meat. 
 What dogs are these? Where is the rascal 
 cook ? [dresser, 
 
 How durst you, villains, bring it from the 
 And serve it thus to me that love it not? 
 There, take it to you, trenchers, cups, and all : 
 [Throws the meat, <SrY., about the stage. 
 You heedless joltheads and unmanner'd slaves! 
 What, do you grumble? I'll be with you 
 straight. 
 
 Kath. I pray you , husband, be not so disquiet ; 
 The meat was well, if you were so contented. 
 
 Pet. I tell thee, Kate, 'twas burnt and dried 
 
 away; 
 
 And I expressly am foiLid to touch it, 
 For it engenders choler, planteth anger ; 
 And better 'twere that both of us did fast, 
 Since, of ourselves, ourselves are choleric, 
 Than feed it with such over-roasted flesh. 
 Be patient ; to-morrow 't shall be mended, 
 And, for this night, we '11 fast for company : 
 Come, I will bring thee to thy bridal chamber 
 [Exeunt PET.,. KATH., aWCuRT. 
 
 Nath. Peter, didst ever see the like? 
 
 Peter. He kills her in her own humour. 
 
 Re-enter CURTIS. 
 
 Gru. Where is he? 
 
 Curt. In her chamber, 
 
 Making a sermon of continency to her, [soul, 
 And rails, and swears, and rates, that she, poor 
 Knows not which way to stand, to look, to speak, 
 And sits as one new-risen from a dream. 
 Away, away ! for he is coming hither. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Re-enter PETRUCHIO. 
 
 Ptt. Thus have I politicly begun my reign, 
 And 'tis my hope to end successfully. 
 My falcon now is sharp, and passing empty ; 
 And, till she stoop, she must not be full-gorg'd, 
 For then she never looks upon her lure. 
 Another way I have to man my haggard, 
 To make her come, and kncv her keepers call, 
 That is, to watch her, as we watch these kites 
 That bate, and beat, and will not be obedient. 
 She eat no meat to-day, nor none shall eat ; 
 Last night she slept not, nor to-night she shall 
 
 not; 
 
 As with the meat, some undeserved fault 
 I '11 find about the making of the bed ; 
 And here I s il fling the pillow, there the bolster, 
 This way the coverlet, another way the sheets : 
 Ay, and amid this hurly, I intend 
 
334 
 
 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 That all is done in reverend care of her j 
 And, in conclusion, she shall watch all night : 
 And, if she chance to nod, I "li rail and brawl, 
 And with the clamour keep her still awake. 
 This is a way to kill a wife with kindness : 
 And thus I'll curb her mad and headstrong 
 
 humour. 
 
 He that knows better how to tame a shrew, 
 Now let him speak ; 'tis charity to show. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. PADUA. Before BAPTISTA'S 
 House. 
 
 \ ;-. : :< rio/.v i 
 
 i y i{l .nter TRANIO and HORTENSIO. n: r L 
 
 Tra. Is 't possible, friend Licio, that Bianca 
 Doth fancy any other but Lucentio? 
 I tell you, sir, she bears me fair in hand. 
 
 Hor. Sir, to satisfy you in what I have said, 
 
 Stand by, and mark the manner of his teaching. 
 
 [ They stand aside. 
 
 Enter BIANCA and LUCENTIO. 
 
 Lttf. Now, mistress, profit you in what you 
 
 read? 
 Bian. What, master, read you ? first resolve 
 
 me that. 
 
 Luc. I read that I profess, the Art to Love. 
 Bian. And may you prove, sir, master of 
 
 your art ! 
 
 Luc. While you, sweet dear, prove mistress 
 
 of my heart. [ They retire. 
 
 Hor. Quick proceeders, marry! Now, tell 
 
 me, I pray, 
 
 You that durst swear that your Mistress Bianca 
 Lov'd none in the world so well as Lucentio. 
 Tra. O despiteful love ! unconstant woman- 
 kind ! 
 I tell thee, Licio, this is wonderful. 
 
 Hor. Mistake no more : I am not Licio, 
 Nor a musician, as I seem to be ; 
 But one that scorn to live in this disguise, 
 For such a one as leaves a gentleman, 
 And makes a god of such a cullion : 
 Know, sir, that I am call'd Hortensio. 
 
 Tra. Signior Hortensio, I have often heard 
 Of your entire afiLction to Bianca; 
 And since mine eyes are witness of her lightness, 
 I will with you, if you be so contented, 
 Forswear Bianca and her love for ever. 
 
 Hor. See, how they kiss and court! Sig- 
 nior Lucentio, 
 
 Here is my hand, and here I firmly vow 
 Never to woo her more ; but do forswear her, 
 As one unworthy all the former favours 
 That I have fondly flatter'd her withal. 
 
 Tra. And here I take the like unfeigned oath, 
 
 Never to marry with her though she would en- 
 treat : [him ! 
 Fie on her! see, how beastly she doth court 
 Hor. Would all the world but he had quite 
 
 forsworn ! 
 
 For me, that I may surely keep mine oath, 
 I will be married to a wealthy widow 
 Ere three days pass, which hath as long lov'd me 
 As I have lov'd this proud disdainful haggard : 
 And so farewell, Signior Lucentio. 
 Kindness in women, not their beauteous looks, 
 Shall win my love : and so I take my leave, 
 In resolution as I swore before. 
 
 [Exit HOR. Luc. tf</BlAN. advance. 
 Tra. Mistress Bianca, bless you with such 
 
 grace 
 
 As 'longeth to a lover's blessed case I 
 Nay, I have ta'en you napping, gentle love ; 
 And have forsworn you with Hortensio. 
 
 Bian. Tranio, you jest ; but have you both 
 
 forsvorn me ? 
 Tra. Mistress, we have. 
 Luc. Th^n we are rid of Licio. 
 
 Tra. I' faith, he '11 have a lusty widow now, 
 That shall be woo'd and wedded in a day. 
 Bian. God give him joy ! 
 Tra. Ay, and he '11 tame her. 
 Bian. He says so, Tranio. 
 
 Tra. Faith, he is gone unto the taming-school. 
 Bian. The taming-school ! what, is there such 
 
 a place ? 
 Tra. Ay, mistress, and Petruchio is the 
 
 master ; 
 
 That teacheth tricks eleven and twenty long, 
 To tame a shrew and charm her chattering 
 
 tongue. 
 
 ..'uiV _ .^arfjo 
 
 Enter BIONDELLO. 
 
 Bion. O master, master, I have watch'd so 
 
 long 
 
 That I *m dog-weary ; but at last I spied : bnA 
 An ancient angel coming down the hill, 
 Will serve the turn. 
 
 Tra. What is he, Biondello? 
 
 Bion. Master, a mercatante, or a pedant, 
 I know not what; but formal in apparel, 
 In gait and countenance surely like a father. 
 
 Luc. And what of him, Tranio? 
 
 Tra. If he be credulous, and trust my tale, 
 I '11 make him glad to seem Vincentio, 
 And give assurance to Baptista Minola, 
 As if he were the right Vincentio. 
 Take in your love, and then let me alone. 
 
 [Exeunt LUCENTIO and BIANCA. 
 
 Enter a Pedant. 
 Fed. God save you, sir ! 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 335 
 
 Tra. And you, sir ! you are welcome. 
 
 Travel you far on, or are you at the furthest ? 
 
 Ped. Sir, at the furthest for a week or two : 
 But then up further, and as far as Rome ; 
 And so to Tripoli, if God lend me life. 
 
 Tra. What countryman, I pray ? 
 
 Ped. Of Mantua. 
 
 Tra. Of Mantua, sir ? marry, God forbid ! 
 And come to Padua, careless of your life? [hard. 
 
 Ped. My life, sir! how, I pray? for that goes 
 
 Tra. 'Tis death for any one in Mantua 
 To come to Padua. Know you not the cause ? 
 Your ships are stay'd at Venice ; and the duke, 
 For private quarrel 'twixt your duke and him, 
 Hath publish'd and proclaim'd it openly : 
 'Tis marvel, but that you are but newly come, 
 You might have heard it else proclaim'd about. 
 
 Ped. Alas, sir, it is worse for me tnan so ! 
 For I have bills for money by exchange 
 From Florence, and must here deliver them. 
 
 Tra. Well, sir, to do you courtesy, 
 This will t do, and this I will advise you : 
 First, tell me, have you ever been at Pisa? 
 
 Ped. Ay, sir, in Pisa have I often been : 
 Pisa, renowned for grave citizens. 
 
 Tra. Among them know you one Vincentio ? 
 
 Ped. I know him not, but I have heard of him ; 
 A merchant of incomparable wealth. 
 
 Tra. He is my father, sir ; and, sooth to say, 
 In countenance somewhat doth reseiuble you. 
 
 Bion. As much as an apple doth an oyster, 
 and all one. [Aside. 
 
 Tra. To save your life in this extremity, 
 This favour will I do you for his sake ; 
 And think it not the worst of all your fortunes 
 That you are like to Sir Vincentio. 
 His name and credit shall you undertake, 
 And in my house you shall be friendly lodg'd : 
 Look that you take upon you as you should ; 
 You understand me, sir : so shall you stay 
 Till you have done your business in the city : 
 If this be courtesy, sir, accept of it. 
 
 Ped. O, sir, I do ; and will repute you ever 
 The patron of my life and liberty. [good. 
 
 Tra. Then go with me, to make the matter 
 This, by the way, I let you understand ; 
 My father is here look'd for every day, 
 To pass assurance of a dower in marriage 
 'Twixt me and one Baptista's daughter here : 
 In all these circumstances I '11 instruct you : 
 Go with me, sir, to clothe you as becomes you. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. A Room in PETRUCHIO'S House. 
 
 Enter KATHARINA and GRUMIO. 
 Gru. No, no, forsooth ; I dare not, for my life. 
 
 Kath. The more my wrong, the more his 
 
 am t- spite appears : 
 What, did he marry me to famish me ? 
 Beggars, that come unto my father's door r > 
 Upon entreaty have a present alms ; 
 If not, elsewhere they meet with charity : 
 But I, who never knew how to entreat, 
 Nor never needed that I should entreat, 
 Am starved for meat, giddy for lack of sleep ; 
 With oaths kept waking, and with brawling fed : 
 And that which spites me more than ail these 
 
 wants, 
 
 He does it under name of perfect love ; 
 As who would say, if I should sleep or eat, 
 'Twere deadly sickness or else present death. 
 I pr'ythee go, and get me some repast ; 
 I care ^ot what, so it be wholesome food. 
 
 Gru. What ?ay you to a neat's foot ? [it. 
 
 Kath. Tis passing good; I pr'ythee let me have 
 
 Gru. I fear it is too choleric a meat : 
 How say you to a fat tripe, finely broil'd ? 
 
 Kath. I like it well : good Grumio, fetch it me. 
 
 Gru. I cannot tell ; I fear 'tis choleric. 
 What say you to a piece of beef and mustard ? 
 
 Kath. A dish that I do love to feed upon. 
 
 Gru. Ay, but the mustard is too hot a little. 
 
 Kath. Why, then the beef, and let the mus- 
 tard rest. [the mustaid, 
 
 Gru. Nay, tiien I will not ; you shall have 
 Or else you get no beef of Grumio. 
 
 Kath. Then both, or one, or anything thou 
 wilt. 
 
 Gru. Why, then the mustard without the beef. 
 
 Kath. Go, get thee gone, thou false deluding 
 slave, {Beats him. 
 
 That feed'st me with the very name of meat : 
 Sorrow on thee, and all the pack of you, 
 That triumph thus upon my misery I 
 Go, get thee gone, I say. 
 
 Enter PETRUCHIO with a disk of meat ; and 
 
 HORTENSIO. 
 
 Pet. How fares my Kate ? What, sweeting, 
 
 all amort ? 
 
 Hor. Mistress, what cheer? 
 Kath. Faith, as cold as can be. 
 
 Pet. Pluck up thy spirits, look cheerfully 
 
 upon me. 
 
 Here, love ; thou see'st how diligent I am 
 To dress thy meat myself, and bring it thee : 
 
 \Sets the dish on a table. 
 
 I am sure, sweet Kate, this kindness merits 
 thanks. [not ; 
 
 What ! not a word ? Nay, then thou lov'st k 
 And all my pains is sorted to no proo-^\ 
 Here, take away this dish. 
 Kath. I pray you, let it stand. 
 
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Pet. The poorest service is repaid with thanks ; 
 And so shall mine, before you touch the meat. 
 
 Kath. I thank you, sir. 
 
 Hor. Signior Petruchio, fie ! you are to blame ! 
 Come, Mistress Kate, I '11 bear you company. 
 
 Pet. Eat it up all, Hortensio, if thou lov'st 
 me. [Aside. 
 
 Much good do it unto thy gentle heart ! 
 Kate, eat apace : and now, my honey-love, 
 Will we return unto thy father's house, 
 And revel it as bravely as f .he best, 
 With silken coats, and caps, and golden rings, 
 With ruffs, and cuffs, and farthingales, and things; 
 With scarfs, and fans, and double change of 
 
 bravery, 
 
 Withamber bracelets, beads, and all this knavery. 
 What, hast thou din'd? The tailor stays thy 
 
 leisure, 
 To deck thy body with his ruffling treasure. 
 
 Enter Tailor. 
 
 Come, tailor, let us see these ornaments ; 
 Lay forth the gown. 
 
 Enter Haberdasher. 
 
 What news with you, sir? 
 
 Hob. Here is the cap your worship did be- 
 speak. 
 
 Pet. Why, this was moulded on a porringer ; 
 A velvet dish ; fie, fie ! 'tis lewd and filthy ; 
 Why, 'tis a cockle or a walnut-shell, 
 A knack, a toy, a trick, a baby's cap: 
 Away with it ! come, let me have a bigger. 
 
 Kath. I '11 have no bigger ; this doth fit the 
 
 time, 
 And gentlewomen wear such caps as these. 
 
 Pet. When you are gentle, you shall have 
 
 one too, 
 And not till then. 
 
 Hor. That will not be in haste. [Aside. 
 
 Katk. Why, sir, I trust I may have leave to 
 
 speak; 
 
 And speak I will. I am no child, no babe : 
 Your betters have endur'd me say my mind ; 
 And if you cannot, best you stop your ears. 
 My tongue will tell the anger of my heart ; 
 Or else uiy heart, concealing it, will break : 
 And rather than it shall, I will be free 
 Even to the uttermost, as I please, in words. 
 
 Pet. Why, thou say ? st true ; it is a paltry cap, 
 A custard-coffin, a bauble, a silken pie : 
 I love thee well, in that thou lik'st it not. 
 
 Kath. Love me or love me not, I like the cap; 
 And it I will have, or I will have none. 
 
 Pet. Thy gown? why, ay; Come, tailor, 
 
 let us see 't. 
 O mercy, God ! what masquing stuff is here? 
 
 What's this? a sleeve? 'tis like a demi-cannon: 
 What, up and down, carv'd like an apple-tart? 
 Here 's snip, and nip, and cut, and slish, and 
 
 slash, 
 
 Like to a censer in a barber's shop : [this? 
 Why, what, o' devil's name, tailor, call'st thou 
 
 Hor, I see she 's like to have neither cap 
 nor gown. {Aside. 
 
 Tat. You bid me make it orderly and well, 
 According to the fashion and the time, [ber'd, 
 
 Pet. Marry, and did ; but if you be remem- 
 I did not bid you mar it to the time. 
 Go, hop me over every kennel home, 
 For you snail hop without my custom, sir: 
 I '11 none of it : hence ! make your best of it. 
 
 Kath. I never saw a better-fashion'd gown, 
 More quaint, more pleasing, nor more com- 
 mendable : 
 Belike you mean to make a puppet of me. 
 
 Pet. Why, true ; he means to make a puppet 
 of thee. [a puppet of her. 
 
 Tat. She says your worship means to make 
 
 Pet. O monstrous arrogance! Thou liest, 
 
 thou thread, 
 
 Thou thimble, [nail, 
 
 j Thou yard, three-quarters, half-yard, quarter, 
 Thou flea, thou nit, thou-winter-cricket thou! 
 Brav'd in mine own house with a skien of thread? 
 Away, thou rag, thou quantity, thou remnant ; 
 Or I shall so be-mete thee with thy yard, 
 As thou shall think on prating whilst thou 
 
 liv'st ! 
 I tell thee, I, that thou hast marr'd her gown. 
 
 Tat. Your worship is deceiv'd ; the gown is 
 
 made 
 
 Just as my master had direction : 
 Grumio gave order how it should be done. 
 
 Gru. I gave him no order; I gave him the 
 stuff. [made ? 
 
 Tat. But how did you desire it should be 
 
 Gru. Marry, sir, with needle and thread. 
 
 Tat. But did you not request to have it cut ? 
 
 Gru. Thou hast faced many things. 
 
 Tat. I have. 
 
 Gru. Face not me : thou hast braved many 
 men ; brave not me ; I will neither be faced nor 
 braved. I say unto thee, I bid thy master cut 
 out the gown ; but I did not bid him cut it to 
 pieces: ergo, thou liest. [testify. 
 
 Tat. Why, here is the note of the fashion to 
 
 Pet. Read it [said so. 
 
 Gru. The note lies in his throat, if he say I 
 
 Tat. Imprimis* a loose-bodied goivn : 
 
 Gru. Master, if ever I said loose-bodied 
 gown, sew me in the skirts of it, and beat me 
 to death with a bottom of brown thread : I said 
 a gown. 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 THE TAMING OF THE SilKEW. 
 
 337 
 
 Pet. Proceed. 
 
 Tat. With a small compassed cape: 
 
 Gru. I confess the cape. 
 
 Tai. With a trunk sleeve: 
 
 Gru. I confess two sleeves. 
 
 Tai. The sleeves ctiriously cut. 
 
 Pet. Ay, there 's the villany. 
 
 Gru. Error i' the bill, sir; error i' the bill. 
 I commanded the sleeves should be cut out, 
 and sewed up again ; and that I '11 prove upon 
 thee, though thy little finger be armed in a 
 thimble. 
 
 Tai. This is true that I say : an I had thee 
 in place where, thou shouldst know it. 
 
 Gru. I am for thee straight : take thou the 
 bill, give me thy mete-yard, and spare not me. 
 
 Hor. God-a-mercy, Grumio ! then he shall 
 have no odds. 
 
 Pet. Well, sir, in brief, the gown is not for me. 
 
 Gru. You are i' the right, sir; 'tis for my 
 mistress. 
 
 Pet. Go, take it up unto thy master's use. 
 
 Gru. Villain, not for thy life ! Take up my 
 mistress' gown for thy master's use ! 
 
 Pet. Why, sir, what 's your conceit in that? 
 
 Gru. O, sir, the conceit is deeper than you 
 
 think for : 
 
 Take up my mistress' gown to his master's use ! 
 O fie, fie, fie ! 
 
 Pet. Hortensio, say thou wilt see the tailor 
 paid. [Aside. 
 
 Go take it hence ; be gone, and say no more. 
 
 Hor. Tailor, I '11 pay thee for thy gown to- 
 morrow. 
 
 Take no unkindness of his hasty words : 
 Away, I say ! commend me to thy master. 
 
 [Exeunt Tailor and Haberdasher. 
 
 Pet. Well, come, my Kate ; we will unto your 
 
 father's 
 
 Even in these honest mean habiliments : 
 Our purses shall be proud, our garments poor ; 
 For 'tis the mind that makes the body rich ; 
 And as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds, 
 So honour peereth in the meanest habit. 
 What, is the jay more precious than the lark, 
 Because his feathers are more beautiful? 
 Or is the adder better than the eel, 
 Because his painted skin contents the eye? 
 O no, good Kate ; neither art thou the worse 
 For this poor furniture and mean array. 
 If thou account'st it shame, lay it on me ; 
 And therefore frolic : we will Iience forthwith, 
 To feast and sport us at thy father's house. 
 Go, call my men, and let us straight to him ; 
 And bring our horses unto Long-lane end ; 
 There will we mount, and thither walk on 
 foot 
 
 Let 's see ; I think 'tis now some seven o'clock, 
 And well we may come there by dinner-time, 
 
 Kath. I dare assure you, sir, 'tis almost two; 
 And 'twill be supper-time ere yon come there. 
 
 Pet. It shall be seven ere I go to horse : 
 Look, what I speak, or do, or think to do, 
 You are still crossing it. Sirs, let't alone: 
 I will not go to-day ; and ere I do, 
 It shall be what o'clock I say it is. 
 
 Hor. Why, so, this gallant will command the 
 sun. {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. PADUA. Before BAPTISTA'S 
 House. 
 
 Enter TRANIO, and the Pedant dressed like 
 VINCENTIO. 
 
 Tra. Sir, this is the house : please it you that 
 I call? 
 
 Ped. Ay, what else? and, but I be deceived, 
 Signior Baptista may remember me, 
 Near twenty years ago, in Genoa, where 
 We were lodgers at the Pegasus. [case, 
 
 Tra. 'Tis well; and hold your own, in any 
 With such austerity as 'longeth to a father. 
 
 Ped. I warrant you. But, sir, here comes 
 
 your boy ; 
 'Twere good he were school'd. 
 
 Enter BIONDELLO. 
 
 Tra. Fear you not him. Sirrah Biondello, 
 Now do your duty throughly, I advise you : 
 Imagine 'twere the right Vincentio. 
 
 Bion. Tut ! fear not me. [tista? 
 
 Tra. But hast thou done thy errand to Bap- 
 
 Bion. I tolrf him that your father was at 
 
 Venice ; 
 And that you look'd for him this day in Padua. 
 
 Tra. Thou 'rt a tall fellow : hold thee that 
 
 to drink. [sir. 
 
 Here comes Baptista: set your countenance, 
 
 Enter BAPTISTA and LucENTio. 
 
 :3: % n3 .* T ,fc>A 
 
 Signior Baptista, you are happily met. 
 
 Sir [to the Pedant], this is the gentleman I told 
 
 you of: 
 
 I pray you, stand good father to me now, 
 Give me Bianca for my patrimony. 
 
 Ped. Soft, son ! 
 
 Sir, by your leave, having come to Padua 
 To gather in some debts, my son Lucentio 
 Made me acquainted with a weighty cause 
 Of love between your daughter and himself: 
 And, for the good report I hear of you; 
 And for the love he beareth to your daughter, 
 And she to him, to stay him not too long, 
 I am content, in a good father's care, 
 
 
338 
 
 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 To have him raatch'd ; and, if you please to 
 
 like 
 
 No worse than I, upon some agreement, 
 Me shall you find ready and willing 
 With one consent to have her so bestow'd ; 
 For curious I cannot be with you, 
 Signior Baptista, of whom I hear so well. 
 
 Bap. Sir, pardon me in what I have to say : 
 Your plainness and your shortness please me 
 
 well. 
 
 Right true it is, your son Lucentio here 
 Doth love my daughter, and she loveth him, 
 Or both dissemble deeply their affections : 
 And therefore, if you say no more than this, 
 That like a father you will deal with him, 
 And pass my daughter a sufficient dower, 
 The match is made, and all is done : 
 Your son shall have my daughter with consent. 
 
 Tra. I thank you, sir. Where, then, do you 
 
 know best 
 
 We be affied, and such assurance ta'en 
 As shall with either part's agreement stand? 
 
 Bap. Not in my house, Lucentio ; for, you 
 
 know, 
 
 Pitchers have ears, and I have many servants : 
 Besides, old Gremio is heark'ning still ; 
 And, haply, we might be interrupted. 
 
 Tra. Then at my lodging, an it like you : 
 There doth my father lie; and there, this night, 
 We '11 pass the business privately and well : 
 Send for your daughter by your servant here ; 
 My :boy shall fetch the scrivener presently. 
 The worst is this, that, at so slender warning, 
 You are like to have a thin and slender pittance. 
 
 Bap. It likes me well. Cambio, hie you 
 
 home, 
 
 And bid Bianca make her ready straight ; 
 And, if you will, tell what hath happened, 
 Lucentio's father is arriv'd in Padua, 
 And how she 's like to be Lucentio's wife. 
 
 Luc. I pray the gods she may, with all my 
 heart. [gone. 
 
 Tra. Dally not with the gods, but get thee 
 Signior Baptista, shall I lead the way? 
 Welcome ! one mess is like to be your cheer : 
 Come, sir ; we '11 better it in Pisa. 
 
 Bap. I follow you. 
 
 [Exeunt TRA., Fed., and BAP. 
 
 Bion. Cambio. 
 
 Luc. What sayest thou, Biondello? 
 
 Bion. You saw my master wink and laugh 
 upon you? 
 
 Luc. Biondello, what of that? 
 
 Bion. Faith, nothing ; but has left me here 
 behind, to expound the meaning or moral of 
 his signs and tokens. 
 
 Luc, I pray thee, moralize them. 
 
 Bion. Then thus. Baptista is safe, talking 
 with the deceiving father of a deceitful son. 
 
 Luc. And what of him? 
 
 Bion. His daughter is to be brought by you 
 to the supper. 
 
 Luc. And then? 
 
 Bion. The old priest at Saint Luke's church 
 is at your command at all hours. 
 
 Luc. And what of all this? 
 
 Bion. I cannot tell ; expect they are busied 
 about a counterfeit assurance. Take you assur- 
 ance of her, cum privilegio ad imprimendttm 
 solum: to the church; take the priest, clerk, 
 and some sufficient honest witnesses : 
 If this be not that you look for, I have no more 
 
 to say, 
 But bid Bianca farewell for ever and a day. 
 
 [Going. 
 
 Luc. Hear'st thou, Biondello? 
 
 Bion. I cannot tarry: I knew a wench 
 married in an afternoon as she went to the 
 garden for parsley to stuff a rabbit ; and so may 
 you, sir ; and so adieu, sir. My master hath 
 appointed me to go to Saint Luke's, to bid the 
 priest be ready to come against you come with 
 your appendix. [Exit. 
 
 Luc. I may, and will, if she be so contented : 
 She will be pleas'd ; then wherefore should I 
 
 doubt? 
 
 Hap what hap may, I '11 roundly go about her ; 
 It shall go hard if Cambio go without her. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE V. A public Road. 
 
 Enter PETRUCHIO, KATHARINA, and 
 HORTENSIO. 
 
 Pet. Come on, o' God's name; once more 
 
 toward our father's. 
 
 Good Lord, how bright and goodly shines the 
 moon ! [tight now. 
 
 Kath. The moon ! the sun : it is not moon- 
 Pet. I say it is the moon that shines so bright. 
 Kath. I know it is the sun that shines so bright. 
 Pet. Now, by my mother's son, and that 's 
 
 myself, 
 
 It shall be moon, or star, or what I list, 
 Or ere I journey to your father's house. 
 Go one, and fetch our horses back again. 
 Evermore cross'd and cross'd; nothing but 
 
 cross'c. 1 
 
 Hor. Say as he says, or we shall never go. 
 Katk. Forward, I pray, since we have come 
 
 so far, 
 
 And be it moon, or sun, or what you please : 
 And if you please to call it a rush-candle, 
 Henceforth I vow it shall be so for me. 
 
SCENE V.] 
 
 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 339 
 
 Pet. I say it is the moon. 
 
 Kath. I know it is the moon. 
 
 Pet. Nay, then you lie : it is the blessed sun. 
 
 Kath. Then, God be blessed, it is the 
 
 blessed sun : 
 
 But sun it is not, when you say it is not ; 
 And the moon changes even as your mind. 
 What you will have it nam'd, even that it is; 
 And so, it shall be so for Katherine. 
 
 Hor. Petruchio, go thy ways ; the field is won. 
 
 Pet. Well, forward, forward ! thus the bowl 
 
 should run, 
 
 And not unluckily against the bias. 
 But, soft 1 company is coming hert. 
 
 Enter VINCENTIO, in a travelling dress. 
 
 Good-morrow, gentle mistress: where away? 
 [ To VINCENTIO. 
 
 Tell me, sweet Kate, and tell me truly too, 
 Hast thou beheld a fresher gentlewoman ? 
 Such war of white and red within her cheeks ! 
 What stars do spangle heaven with such beauty, 
 As those two eyes become that heavenly face? 
 Fair lovely maid, once more good-day to thee : 
 Sweet Kate, embrace her for her beauty's sake. 
 
 Hor. 'A will make the man mad, to make a 
 woman of him. 
 
 Kath. Young budding virgin, fair and fresh 
 
 and sweet, 
 
 Whither away ; or where is thy abode? 
 Happy the parents of so fair a child; 
 Happier the man whom favourable stars 
 Allot thee for his lovely bed-fellow ! 
 
 Pet. Why, how now, Kate ! I hope thou art 
 
 not mad : 
 
 This is a man, old, wrinkled, faded, wither'd ; 
 And not a maiden, as thou sayst he is. 
 
 Kath. Pardon, old father, my mistaking eyes, 
 That have been so bedazzled with the sun, 
 That everything I look on seemeth green : 
 Now I perceive thou art a reverend father ; 
 Pardon, I pray thee, for my mad mistaking. 
 
 Pet. Do, good old grandsire; and withal 
 
 make known 
 
 Which way thou travel i'st : if along with us, 
 We shall be joyful of thy company. 
 
 Vin. Fair sir, and you my merry mistress, 
 That with your strange encounter much amaz'd 
 
 me, 
 
 My name is call'd Vincentio ; my dwelling Pisa ; 
 A.nd bound I am to Padua ; there to visit 
 A son of mine, which long I have not seen. 
 
 Pet. What is his name? 
 
 Vin. Lucentio, gentle sir. 
 
 Pet. Happily met ; the happier for thy son. 
 And now by law, as well as reverend age, 
 I may entitle thee my loving father : 
 
 The sister to my wife, this gentlewoman, 
 Thy son by this hath married. Wonder not, 
 Nor be not griev'd : she is of good esteem, 
 Her dowry wealthy, and of worthy birth j 
 Beside, so qualified as may beseem 
 The spouse of any noble gentleman. 
 Let me embrace with old Vincentio: 
 And wander we to see thy honest son, 
 Who will of thy arrival be full joyous. [sure, 
 
 Vin. But is this true? or is it else your plea- 
 Like pleasant travellers, to break a jest 
 Upon the company you overtake? 
 
 Hor. I do assure thee, father, so it is. 
 
 Pet. Come, go along, and see the truth hereof; 
 
 For our first merriment hahi made thee jealous. 
 
 [Exeunt PET., KATH., and VIN. 
 
 Hor. Well, Petruchio, this hath put me in 
 
 heart. 
 
 Have to my widow ; and if she be forward, 
 Then hast thou taught Hortensio to be un- 
 toward. [Exit. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. PADUA. Before LUCBNTIO'S 
 House, 
 
 Enter on one side BIONDELLO, LUCENTIO, and 
 BIANCA ; GREMIO walking- on the other side. 
 
 Bion. Softly and swiftly, sir ; for the priest 
 is ready. 
 
 Luc. I fly, Biondello : but they may chance 
 to need thee at home, therefore leave us. 
 
 Bion. Nay, faith, I '11 see the church o' your 
 back; and then come back to my master as 
 soon as I can. 
 
 [Exeunt Luc., BIAN., and BION. 
 
 Gre. I marvel Cambio comes not all this 
 while. 
 
 Enter PETRUCHIO, KATHARINA, VINCBNTIO, 
 GRUMIO, and Attendants. 
 
 Pet. Sir, here 's the door ; this is Lucentio's 
 house : [place ; 
 
 My father's bears more toward the market- 
 Thither must I, and here I leave you, sir. 
 Vin. You shall not choose but drink before 
 
 you go: 
 
 I think I shall command your welcome here, 
 And, by all likelihood, some cheer is toward. 
 
 [Knocks. 
 
 Gre. They're busy within; you were best 
 knock louder. 
 
 Enter Pedant above, at a window. 
 
 Ped. What's he that knocks as he would 
 beat down the gate? 
 
 Vin. Is Signior Lucentio within, sir? 
 
 
340 
 
 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Fed. He 's within, sir, but not to be spoken 
 withal. 
 
 Vin. What if a man bring him a hundred 
 pound or two, to make merry withal? 
 
 Ped. Keep your hundred pounds to yourself: 
 he shall need none so long as I live. 
 
 Pet. Nay, I told you your son was well be- 
 loved in Padua. Do you hear, sir? to leave 
 frivolous circumstances, I pray you, tell Sig- 
 nior Lucentio that his father is come from Pisa, 
 and is here at the door to speak with him. 
 
 Ped. Thou liest : his father is come from 
 Pisa, and here looking out at the window. 
 
 Vin. Art thou his father? 
 
 Ped. Ay, sir; so his mother says, if I may 
 believe her. 
 
 Pet. Why, hownovv, gentleman! OViNCEN.] 
 why, this is flat knavery, to take upon you | 
 another man's name. 
 
 Ped. Lay hands on the villain : I believe 'a 
 means to cozen somebody in this city under my 
 countenance. 
 
 Re-enter BlONDELLO. 
 
 Bion. I have seen them in the church to- 
 gether: God send 'em good shipping ! But who 
 is here? mine old master, Vincentio! now we 
 are undone, and brought to nothing. 
 
 Vin. Come hither, crack-hemp. 
 
 [Seeing BlONDELLO. 
 
 Bion. I hope I may choose, sir. 
 
 Vin. Come hither, you rogue. What ! have 
 you forgot me? 
 
 Bion. Forgot you ! no, sir : I could not for- 
 get you, for I never saw you before in all my 
 life. 
 
 Vin. What, you notorious villain, didst thou 
 never see thy master's father, Vincentio? 
 
 Bion. What, my old worshipful old master? 
 yes, marry, sir: see where he looks out of the 
 window. 
 
 Vin. Is 't so, indeed? [Seals BIONDELLO. 
 
 Bion. Help, help, help ! here 's a madman 
 will murder me. [Exit. 
 
 Ped. Help, son! help, Signior Baptista! 
 
 [Exit from the window. 
 
 Pet. Pr'ythee, Kate, let 's stand aside, and see 
 the end of this controversy. [ They retire. 
 
 Re-enter Pedant below; and BAPTISTA, 
 TRANIO, and Servants. 
 
 Tra. Sir, what are you, that offer to beat my 
 servant? 
 
 Vin. What am I, sir! nay, what are you, 
 sir? O immortal gods! O fine villain! A silken 
 doublet ! a velvet hose ! a scarlet cloak ! and a 
 copatain hat 1 -O, I am undone 1 I am undone! 
 
 while I play the good husband at home, my son 
 and my servant spend all at the university. 
 
 Tra. How now! what 's the matter? 
 
 Bap. What, is the man lunatic? 
 
 Tra. Sir, you seem a sober ancient gentleman 
 by your habit, but your words show you a mad- 
 man. Why, sir, what concerns it you if I wear 
 pearl and gold? I thank my good father, I am 
 able to maintain it. 
 
 Vin. Thy father ! O villain ! he is a sail- 
 maker in Bergamo. 
 
 Bap. You mistake, sir ; you mistake, sir. 
 Pray, what do you think is his name? 
 
 Vin. His name ! as if I knew not his name ! 
 I have brought him up ever since he was three 
 years old, and his name is Tranio. 
 
 Ped. Away, away, madass! his name is Lucen- 
 tio; and he is mine only son, and heir to the 
 lands of me, Signior Vincentio. 
 
 Vin. Lucentio ! O, he hath murdered his 
 master ! Lay hold on him, I charge you, in the 
 duke's name. O, my son, my son! tell me, 
 thou villain, where is my son, Lucentio? 
 
 Tra. Call forth an officer. 
 
 Enter one with an Officer. 
 
 Carry this mad knave to the gaoi. Father 
 Baptista, I charge you see that he be forthcoming. 
 
 Vin. Carry me to the gaol ! 
 
 Gre. Stay, officer ; he shall not go to prison. 
 
 Bap. Talk not, Signior Gremio ; I say he 
 shall go to prison. 
 
 Gre. Take heed, Signior Baptista, lest you 
 be coney-catched in this business : I dare swear 
 this is the right Vincentio. 
 
 Ped. Swear, if thou darest. 
 
 Gre. Nay, I dare not swear it. [Lucentio. 
 
 Tra. Then thou wert best say that I am not 
 
 Gre. Yes, I know thee to be Signior Lucentio. 
 
 Bap. Away with the dotard ! to the gaol with 
 him ! 
 
 Vin. Thus strangers may be haled and 
 abus'd. O monstrous villain ! 
 
 Re-enter BIONDELLO, with LUCENTIO and 
 BIANCA. 
 
 Bion. O, we are spoiled ! and yonder he is : 
 deny him, forswear him, or else we are all un- 
 done. 
 
 Luc. Pardon, sweet father. [Kneeling. 
 
 Vin. Lives my sweet son ? 
 
 [BiON., TRA., and PED. run out. 
 
 Bian. Pardon, dear father. [Kneeling. 
 
 Bap. How hast thou offended? 
 
 Where is Lucentio? .-._.. 
 
 Luc. Here 's Lucentio, 
 
 Right son to the right Vincentio ; 
 
SCENE II.j 
 
 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 341 
 
 That hath by marriage made thy daughter mine, 
 While counterfeit supposes blear'd thine eyne. 
 
 Gre. Here 's packing, with a witness, to de- 
 ceive us all ! 
 
 Vin. Where is that damned villain, Tranio, 
 That fac'd and brav'd me in this matter so? 
 
 Bap. Why, tell me, is not this my Cambio? 
 
 Bian. Cambio is chang'd into Lucentio. 
 
 Luc. Love wrought these miracles. Bianca's 
 
 love 
 
 Made me exchange my state with Tranio, 
 While he did bear my countenance in the town ; 
 And happily I have arrived at the last 
 Unto the wished-for haven of my bliss. 
 What Tranio did, myself enforced him to ; 
 Then pardon him, sweet father, for my sake. 
 
 Vin. I '11 slit the villain's nose, that would 
 have sent me to the gaol. 
 
 Bap. But do you hear, sir? [to LUCENTIO] 
 Have you married my daughter without asking 
 my good-will? [go to: 
 
 Vin. Fear not, Baptista ; we will content you, 
 But I will in, to be revenged for this villany ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Bap. And I, to sound the depth of this knavery. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Luc. Look not pale, Bianca : thy father will 
 not frown. [Exeunt Luc. and BIAN. 
 
 Gre. My cake is dough : but I '11 in among 
 
 the rest ; 
 Out of hope of all but my share of the feast. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 9"HtjU/->'~; !" " ; ' ' ''"! TSflJMaViO'^ ij y^f {' i ,rv^\ 
 
 PETKUCHIO and KATHARINA advance. 
 
 Kath. Husband, let 's follow, to see the end 
 
 of this ado. 
 
 Pet. First kiss me, Kate, and we will. 
 Kath. What, in the midst of the street? 
 Pet. W T hat, art thou ashamed of me? [kiss. 
 Kath. No, sir ; God forbid ; but ashamed to 
 Pet. Why, then, let's home again. Come, 
 
 sirrah, let 's away. 
 Kath. Nay, I will give thee a kiss : now, pray 
 
 thee, love, stay. 
 
 Pet. Is not this well ? Come, my sweet Kate; 
 Better once than never, for never too late. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. A Room in LUCENTIO'S House. 
 
 .7 Banquet set out. Enter BAPTISTA, VlN- 
 CENTIO, GREMIO, the Pedant, LUCENTIO, 
 BIANCA, PETRUCHIO, KATHARINA, HOR- 
 TENSIO, and Widow. TRANIO, BION- 
 DELLO, GRUMIO, and others > attending. 
 
 Luc. At last, though long, our jarring notes 
 agree: 
 
 And time it is, when raging war is done, 
 To smile at 'scapes and perils overblown. 
 My fair Bianca, bid my father welcome, 
 While I with self-same kindness welcome thine. 
 Brother Petruchio, sister Katharina, 
 And thou, Hortensio, with thy loving widow, 
 Feast with the best, and welcome to my house : 
 My banquet is to close our stomachs up, 
 After our great good cheer. Pray you, sit down ; 
 For now we sit to chat, as well as eat. 
 
 [They sit at table. 
 
 Pet. Nothing but sit and sit, and eat and eat ! 
 Bap. Padua affords this kindness, son Pet- 
 ruchio. 
 
 Pet. Padua affords nothing but what is kind. 
 Hor. For both our sakcs I would that word 
 
 wervi true. 
 Pet. Now, for my life, Hortensio fears his 
 
 widow. 
 
 IVid. Then never trust me if I be afeard. 
 Pet. You are very sensible, and yet you miss 
 
 my sense : 
 
 I mean Hortensio is afeard of you. [round. 
 IVid. He that is giddy thinks the world turns 
 Pet. Roundly replied. 
 
 Kath. Mistress, how mean you that? 
 
 IVid. Thus I conceive by him. [that? 
 
 Pet. Conceives by me ! How likes Hortensio 
 Hor. My widow says thus she conceives her 
 
 tale. 
 Pet. Very well mended. Kiss him for that, 
 
 good widow. 
 Kath. He that is giddy thinks the world 
 
 turns round : 
 
 I pray you, tell me what you meant by that. 
 Wid. Your husband, being troubled with a 
 
 shrew, 
 
 Measures my husband's sorrow by his woe : 
 And now you know my meaning. 
 Kath. A very mean meaning. 
 Wid. Right, I mean you. 
 
 Kath. And I am mean, indeed, respecting you. 
 Pet. To her, Kate ! 
 
 Hor. To her, widow ! [down. 
 
 Pet. A hundred marks, my Kale does put her 
 Hor. That 's my office. 
 
 Pet. Spoke like an officer : ha' to thee, lad. 
 
 [Drinks to HORTENSIO. 
 
 Bap. How likes Gremio these quick-witted 
 
 folks? 
 
 Gre. Believe me, sir, they butt together well. 
 
 Bian. Head and butt ! an hasty-witted body 
 
 Would say your head and butt were head ami 
 
 horn. [you ? 
 
 Vin. Ay, mistress bride, !>ath that awaken'd 
 
 Bian. Ay, but not frighted me; therefore 
 
 I '11 sleep again. 
 
342 
 
 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 [ACT V. 
 
 Pet, Nay, that you shall not : since you have 
 
 begun, 
 Have at you for a bitter jest or two. [bush, 
 
 Bian. Am I your bird? I mean to shift my 
 And then pursue me as you draw your bow. 
 . You are welcome all. 
 
 [Exeunt BIAN., KATH., and WID. 
 
 Pet. She hath prevented me. Here, Signior 
 
 Tranio, 
 
 This bird you aim'd at, though you hit her not ; 
 Therefore a health to all that shot and miss'd. 
 
 Tra. O, sir, Lucentio slipp'd me like his 
 
 greyhound, 
 Which runs himself, and catches for his master. 
 
 Pet. A good swift simile, but something 
 currish. [self; 
 
 Tra. 'Tis well, sir, that you hunted for your- 
 'Tis thought your deer does hold you at a bay. 
 
 Bap. O ho, Petruchio, Tranio hits you now. 
 
 IMC. I thank thee for that gird, good Tranio. 
 
 Hor. Confess, confess, hath he not hit you 
 here? 
 
 Pet. 'A has a little gall'd me, I confess; 
 And, as the jest did glance away from me, 
 ; Tis ten to one it maim'd you two outright. 
 
 Bap. Now, in good sadness, son Petruchio, 
 I think thou hast the veriest shrew of all. 
 
 Pet. Well, I say no : and therefore, for assur- 
 ance, 
 
 Let 's each one send unto his wife ; 
 And he whose wife is most obedient 
 To come at first when he doth send for her, 
 Shall win the wager which we will propose. 
 
 Hor. Content. What is the wager? 
 
 Luc. ,<f jnse Twenty crowns. 
 
 Pet. Twenty crowns ! 
 
 I '11 venture so much on my hawk or hound, 
 But twenty times so much upon my wife. 
 
 Luc. A hundred then. 
 
 Hor. Content. 
 
 Pet. A match ! 'tis done. 
 
 Hor. Who shall begin? 
 
 Luc. That will I. 
 Go, Biondello, bid your mistress come to me. 
 
 Bion. I go. [Exit. 
 
 Bap. Son, I will be your half, Bianca comes. 
 
 Luc. I '11 have no halves ; I '11 bear it all my- 
 self. 
 
 Re-enter BIONDELLO. 
 
 How now ! what news? 
 
 Bion. Sir, my mistress sends you word 
 
 That she is busy, and she cannot come. 
 
 Pet. How ! she is busy, and she cannot come ! 
 Is that an answer? 
 
 Gre. Ay, and a kind one too : 
 
 Pray God, sir, your wife send you not a worse. 
 
 Pet. I hope better. 
 
 Hor. Sirrah Biondello, go and entreat my 
 
 wife 
 To come to me forthwith. [Exit BIONDELLO. 
 
 Pet. Oh, ho ! entreat her ! 
 
 Nay, then she must needs come. 
 
 Hor. I am afraid, sir, 
 
 Do what you can, yours will not be entreated. 
 
 Re-enter BIONDELLO. 
 
 Now, where '2 my wife? 
 
 Bion. She says you have some goodly jest in 
 
 hand : 
 
 She will not come; she bids you come to her. 
 Pet. Worse and worse ; she will not come ! 
 
 O vile, 
 
 Intolerable, not to be endur'd ! 
 Sirrah Grumio, go to your mistress ; 
 Say I command her come to me. 
 
 [Exit GRUMIO. 
 Hor. I know her answer. 
 Pet. What?- 
 
 Hor. She will not come. 
 
 Pet, The fouler fortune mine, and there an 
 
 end. 
 
 Bap. Now, by my holidame, here comes 
 Katharina ! 
 
 Enter KATHARINA. 
 
 Kath. What is your will, sir, that you send for 
 me? [wife? 
 
 Pet. Where is your sister, and Hortensio's 
 Kath. They sit conferring by the parlour fire. 
 Pet. Go, fetch them hither: if they deny to 
 
 come, 
 
 Swinge me them soundly forth unto their hus- 
 bands : 
 Away, I say, and bring them hither straight. 
 
 [Exit KATHARINA. 
 Lttc. Here is a wonder, if you talk of a 
 
 wonder. 
 
 Hor. And so it is : I wonder what it bodes. 
 Pet. Marry 3 peace it bodes, and love, and 
 
 quiet life, 
 
 An awful rule, and right supremacy ; [happy. 
 And, to be short, what not, that's sweet and 
 
 Bap. Now fair befall thee, good Petruchio ! 
 The wager thou hast won; and I will add 
 Unto their losses twenty thousand crowns; 
 Another dowry to another daughter, 
 For she is chang'd, as she had never been. 
 
 Pet. Nay, i will win my wager better yet j 
 And show more sign of her obedience, 
 Her new-built virtue and obedience. 
 See where she comes, and brings your froward 
 
 wives 
 As prisoners to her womanly persuasion. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 THE TAMING OF THE SHREW, 
 
 343 
 
 Re-enter KATHARINA, with BIANCA and 
 Widow. 
 
 Katharine, that cap of yours becomes you not : 
 Off with that bauble, throw it underfoot. 
 [KATH. pulls off her cap and throws it down. 
 
 Wid. Lord, let me never have a cause to sigh, 
 Till I be brought to such a silly pass ! 
 
 Bian. Fit ! what a foolish duty call you this? 
 
 Luc. I would your duty were as foolish too : 
 The wisdom of your duty, fair Bianca, [time. 
 Hath cost me an hundred crowns since supper- 
 
 Bian. The more fool you, for laying on my 
 duty. 
 
 Pet. Katharine, I charge thee, tell these 
 
 headstrong women 
 What duty they do owt their lords and husbands. 
 
 Wid. Come, come, you 're mocking : we will 
 have no telling. [her. 
 
 Pet. Come on, I say ; and first begin with 
 
 Wid. She shall not. [her. 
 
 Pet. I say she shall; and first begin with 
 
 Kath. Fie, fie ! unknit that threat'ning un- 
 
 kind brow ; 
 
 And dart not scornful glances from those eyes, 
 To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor : 
 It blots thy beauty, as frosts do bite the meads ; 
 Confounds thy fame, as whirlwinds shake fair 
 
 buds; 
 
 And in no sense is meet or amiable. 
 A woman mov'd is like a fountain troubled 
 Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty; 
 And while it is so, none so dry cr thirsty 
 Will deign to sip or touch one drop of it. 
 Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper, 
 Thy head, thy sovereign ; one that cares for thee 
 And for thy maintenance ; commits his body 
 To painful labour both by sea and land, 
 To watch the night in storms, the day in cold, 
 Whilst thou liest warm at home, secure and safe ; 
 And craves no other tribute at thy hands 
 But love, fair looks, and true obedience, 
 Too little payment for so great a debt I 
 
 Such duty as the subject owes the prince, 
 Even such a womai cweth to her husband ; 
 And when she is froward, peevish, sullen, sour, 
 And not obedient to his honest will, 
 What is she but a foul contending rebel, 
 And graceless traitor to her Icving lord? 
 I am asham'd that women are so simple 
 To offer war where they should kneel for peace, 
 Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway, 
 When they are bound to serve, love, and obey. 
 Why are our bodies soft and weak, and smooth, 
 Unapt to toil and trouble in the world, 
 But that our soft conditions and our hearts 
 Should well agree with our external parts? 
 Come, come, you froward and unable worms ! 
 My mind hath been as big as one of yours, 
 My heart as great ; my reason, haply, more, 
 To bandy word for word and frown for frown : 
 But now I see our lances are but straws ; 
 Our strength as weak, our weakness past com- 
 
 pare, [are. 
 
 That seeming to be most, which we indeed least 
 Then vail your stomachs, for it is no boot, 
 And place your hands below your husband's 
 
 foot: 
 
 In token of which duty, if he please, 
 My hand is ready, may it do him ease. 
 Pet. Why, there 's a wench ! Come on, and 
 
 kiss me, Kate. [shall ha 't 
 
 Luc. Well, go thy ways, old lad ; for thou 
 Vin. 'Tis a good hearing when children are 
 
 toward. [froward. 
 
 Luc* Bui a harsh hearing when women are 
 Pet. Come, Kate, we'll to bed. 
 We three are married, but you two are sped. 
 'Twas I won the wager, though you hit the 
 
 white ; [ To LUCENTIO. 
 
 And, being a winner, God give you good-night! 
 
 \Exeunt PET. and KATH. 
 
 Hor. Now go thy ways ; thou hast tam'd a 
 
 curst shrew. 
 
 Luc. 'Tis a wonder, by your leave, she will 
 
 be tam'd so. 
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 ar 31 
 

 
 THE WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 LEONTES, KingofSicilia. 
 M \MILLI us, his Soft. 
 CAMILLO, \ 
 
 DION, 
 
 Other Sicilian Lords. 
 
 Sicilian Gentlemen. 
 
 Officers of a Court of Jud^cat^tre. 
 
 POLIXENES, King of Bohemia. 
 
 FLORIZEL, his Son. 
 
 ARCHIDAMUS, a Bohemian Lord. 
 
 A Mariner. 
 
 Gaoler. 
 
 An Old Shepherd, reputed father of TERDITA. 
 
 Clown, his Son. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Servant to the Old Sliepherd. 
 Time, as 
 
 \&L .*& 
 I .^*^. 
 mobeiw sriT 
 : om *8frjl4ii0f 
 
 HERMIONE, Queen to LEONTES 
 PERDITA, Daughter to LEONTES and HER- 
 MIONE. 
 
 PAULINA, Wife to ANTIGONUS. 
 EMILIA, a Lady, \ aUenditlg the QuEEN . 
 Other Ladies, / 
 
 MOPSA, \shetherdesses. 
 DORCAS, / 
 
 Lords, Ladies, and Attendants; Satyrs /<?/ a 
 Dance; Shepherds, Shepherdesses, Guards, 
 &c. 
 
 SCENE, Sometimes in SICILIA; sometimes in BOHEMIA. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. SICILIA. An Antechamber in 
 LEONTES' Palace. 
 
 Enter CAMILLO and ARCHIDAMUS. 
 
 Arch. If you shall chance, Camillo, to visit 
 Bohemia, on the like occasion whereon my 
 services are now on foot, you shall see, as I 
 have said, great difference betwixt our Bohemia 
 and your Sicilia. 
 
 Cam. I think this coming summer the King 
 of Sicilia means to pay Bohemia the visitation 
 which he justly owes him. 
 
 Arch. Wherein our entertainment shall shame 
 us we will be justified in our loves; for, in- 
 deed, 
 
 Cam. Beseech you, 
 
 Arch. Verily, I speak it in the freedom of 
 my knowledge : we cannot with such magnifi- 
 cence in so rare I know not what to say. 
 We will give you sleepy drinks, that your 
 senses, unintelligent of our insufficience, may, 
 though they cannot praise us, as little accuse us. 
 
 Cam. You pay a great deal too dear for 
 what 's given freely. 
 
 Arch. Believe me, I speak as my under- 
 standing instructs me, and as mine honesty 
 puts it to utterance. 
 
 aiold jl 
 
 ;;/ 
 
 Cam. Sicilia cannot show himself overkind 
 to Bohemia. They were trained together in 
 their childhoods ; and there rooted betwixt them 
 then such an affection which cannot choose but 
 branch now. Since their more mature dignities 
 and royal necessities made separation of their 
 society, their encounters, though not personal, 
 have been royally attorney ed, with interchange 
 of gifts, letters, loving embassies; that they 
 have seemed to be together, though absent; 
 shook hands, as over a vast ; and embraced, as 
 it were, from the ends of opposed winds. The 
 heavens continue their loves ! 
 
 Arch. I think there is not in the world either 
 malice or matter to alter it. You have an 
 unspeakable comfort of your young Prince 
 Mamillius: it is a gentleman of the greatest 
 promise that ever came into my note. 
 
 Cam. I very well agree with you in the hopes 
 of him. It is a gallant child ; one that, indeed, 
 physics the subject, makes old hearts fresh: 
 they that went on crutches ere he was born 
 desire yet their life to see him a man. 
 
 Arch. Would they else be content to die? 
 
 Cam. Yes; if there were no other excuse 
 why they should desire to live. 
 
 Arch. If the king had no son they would 
 desire to live on crutches till he had one. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
SCENE II. 
 
 THE WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 345 
 
 SCENE II. 7^he same, A Room of State in 
 the Palace. 
 
 Enter LEONTES, POLIXENES, HERMIONE, 
 MAMILLIUS, CAMILLO, and Attendants. 
 
 Pol. Nine changes of the watery star have 
 been [throne 
 
 The shepherd's note since we have left our 
 Without a burden : time as long again 
 Would be fill'd up, my brother, with our thanks ; 
 And yet we should, for perpetuity, 
 Go hence in debt : and therefore, like a cipher, 
 Yet standing in rich place, I multiply 
 With one we-thank-you many thousands more 
 That go before it. 
 
 Leon. Stay your thanks awhile, 
 
 And pay them when you part. 
 
 Pol. Sir, that 's to-morrow. 
 
 I am question'd by my fears, of what may chance 
 Or breed upon our absence ; that may blow 
 No sneaping winds at nome, to make us say, 
 This is put forth too trtily. Besides, I have 
 
 stayed 
 To tire your royalty. 
 
 Leon. We are tougher, brother, 
 
 Than you can put us to 3 t. 
 
 Pol. No longer stay. 
 
 Leon. One seven-night longer. 
 
 Pol. Very sooth, to-morrow. 
 
 Leon. We '11 part the time between 's then : 
 
 and in that 
 I '11 no gainsaying. 
 
 Pol. Press me not, beseech you, so. 
 
 There is no tongue that moves, none, none i' 
 the world [now, 
 
 So soon as yours, could win me : so it should 
 Were there necessity in your request, although 
 'Twere needful I denied it. My affairs 
 Do even drag me homeward : which to hinder, 
 Were, in your love, a whip to me ; my stay, 
 To you a charge and trouble : to save both, 
 Farewell, our brother. 
 
 Leon. Tongue-tied, our queen? Speak you. 
 
 Her. I had thought, sir, to have held my 
 
 peace until 
 You had drawn oaths from him not to stay. 
 
 You, sir, 
 
 Charge him too coldly. Tell him, you are sure 
 All in Bohemia 's well : this satisfaction 
 The by -gone day proclaimed : say this to him, 
 He 's beat from his best ward. 
 
 Leon. Well said, Hermione. 
 
 Her. To tell he longs to see his son, were 
 
 strong: 
 
 But let him say so then, and let him go; 
 But let him swear so, and he shall not stay, 
 
 We '11 thwack him hence with distaffs. 
 
 Yet of your royal presence \to POLIXENES] I '11 
 
 adventure 
 
 The borrow of a week. When at Bohemia 
 You take my lord, I '11 give him my commission 
 To let him there a month behind the gest 
 Prefix'd for his parting: yet,good deed, Leontes, 
 I love thee not a jar of the clock behind 
 What lady she her lord. You'll stay? 
 
 Pol. No, madam. 
 
 Her. Nay, but you will? 
 
 Pol. I may not, verily. 
 
 Her. Verily! 
 
 You put me off with limber vows; but I, 
 Though you would seek to unsphere the stars 
 
 with oaths, 
 
 Should yet say, Sir, no going. Verily, 
 You shall not go ; a lady's verily is 
 As potent as a lord's. Will you go yet? 
 Force me to keep you as a prisoner, 
 Not like a guest : so you shall pay your fees 
 When you depart, and save your thanks. How 
 
 say you? 
 
 My prisoner or my guest ? by your dread verily, 
 One of them you shall be. 
 
 Pol. Your guest, then, madam: 
 
 To be your prisoner should import offending ; 
 Which is for me less easy to commit 
 Than you to punish. 
 
 Her. Not your gaoler, then, 
 
 But your kind hostess. Come, I '11 questicn 
 you [boys: 
 
 Of my lord's tricks and yours when you were 
 You were pretty lordlings then. 
 
 Pol. We were, fair queen, 
 
 Two lads that thought there were no more behind 
 But such a day to-morrow as to-day, 
 And to be boy eternal. [two? 
 
 Her. Was not my lord the verier wag o' the 
 
 Pol. We were as twinn'd lambs that did 
 
 frisk i' the sun 
 And bleat the one at the other. What we 
 
 chang'd 
 
 Was innocence for innocence ; we knew not 
 The doctrine of ill-doing, nor dream'd 
 That any did. Had we pursu'd that life, 
 And our weak spirits ne'er been higher rear'd 
 With stronger blood, we should have answer'd 
 
 heaven 
 
 Boldly, Not guilty ; the imposition clear'd 
 Hereditary ours. 
 
 Her. By this we gather 
 
 You have tripp'd since. 
 
 Pol. O my most sacred lady, 
 
 Temptations have since then been born to 'sJ 
 
 for 
 In those unfledg'd days was my wife a girl ; 
 
346 
 
 THE WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 Your precious self had then not cross'd the eye s 
 Of my young play-fellow. 
 
 Her. Grace to boot ! 
 
 Of this make no conclusion, lest you say 
 Your queen and I are devils : yet, go on ; 
 The offences we have made you do we '11 answer ; 
 If you first sinn'd with us, and that with us 
 You did continue fault, and that you slipp'd not 
 With any but with us. 
 
 Leon. Is he won yet ? 
 
 Her. He '11 stay, my lord. 
 
 Leon. At my request he would not. 
 
 Hermione, my dearest, thou never spok'st 
 To better purpose. 
 
 Her. Never? 
 
 Leon. Never but once. 
 
 Her. What ! have I twice said well ? when 
 
 was 't before? [make's 
 
 I pr'ythee, tell me : cram 's with praise, and 
 
 As fat as tame things : one good deed dying 
 
 tongueless 
 
 Slaughters a thousand waiting upon that. 
 Our praises are our wages : you may ride 's 
 With one soft kiss a thousand furlongs ere 
 With spur we heat an acre. But to the goal : 
 My last good deed was to entreat his stay ; 
 What was my first ? it has an elder sister, 
 Or I mistake you : O, would her name were 
 
 Grace ! 
 
 But once before I spoke to the purpose : when? 
 Nay, let me have 't ; I long. 
 
 Leon. Why, that was when 
 
 Three crabbed months had sour'd themselves 
 
 to death, 
 
 Ere I could make thee open thy white hand, 
 And clap thyself my love ; then didst thou utter 
 / am yours for ever. 
 
 Her. It is Grace indeed. 
 
 Why, lo you now, I have spoke to the purpose 
 
 twice ; 
 
 The one for ever earn'd a royal husband ; 
 The other for some while a friend. 
 
 [Giving her hand to PoLIkisNES. 
 
 Leon. Too hot, too hot ! [Aside. 
 
 To mingle friendship far is mingling bloods. 
 I have tremor cordis on me, my heart dances ; 
 But not for joy, not joy. This entertainment 
 May a free face put on ; derive a liberty 
 From heartiness, from bounty, fertile bosom, 
 And well become the agent : 't may, I grant : 
 But to be paddling palms and pinching fingers, 
 As now they are ; and making practis'd smiles, 
 As in a looking-glass ; and then to sigh, as 'twere 
 The mort o* the deer ; O, that is entertainment 
 My bosom likes not, nor my brows,- Mamillius, 
 
 Art thou my boy? 
 n/r 
 
 Mam. 
 
 Ay, my good lord 
 
 Leon. I' fecks ! 
 
 Why, that 's my bawcock. What ! hast smutch'd 
 
 thy nose ? 
 They say it's a copy out of mine. Come, 
 
 captain, 
 We must be neat; not neat, but cleanly, 
 
 captain : 
 
 And yet the steer, the heifer, and the calf, 
 Are all call'd neat. Still virginalling 
 
 [Observing POL. and HER. 
 Upon his palm ? How now, you wanton calf ! 
 Art thou my calf? 
 
 Mam. Yes, if you will, my lord. 
 
 Leon. Thou want'st a rough pash, and the 
 
 shoots that I have, 
 
 To be full like me : yet they say we are 
 Almost as like as eggs ; women say so, 
 That will say anything : but were they false 
 As o'erdyed blacks, as wind, as waters, false 
 As dice are to be wish'd by one that fixes 
 No bourn 'twixt his and mine ; yet were it true 
 To say this boy were like me. Come, sir page, 
 Look on me with your welkin-eye : sweet villain J 
 Most dear'st ! my collop ! Can thy dam ? 
 
 may 't be ? 
 
 Affection ! thy intention stabs the centre : 
 Thou dost make possible things not so held, 
 Communicat'st with dreams ; how can this 
 
 be? 
 
 With what 's unreal thou co-active art, 
 And fellow'st nothing : then 'tis very credent 
 Thou mayst co-join with something ; and thou 
 
 dost, 
 
 And that beyond commission ; and I find it, 
 And that to the infection of my brains 
 And hardening of my brows. 
 
 Pol. What means Sicilia ? 
 
 Her. He something seems unsettled. 
 Pol. How ! my lord ! 
 
 What cheer ! how is 't with you, best brother ? 
 Her. You look 
 
 As if you held a brow of much distraction : 
 Are you mov'd, my lord ? 
 
 Leon. No, in good earnest. 
 
 How sometimes nature will betray its folly, 
 Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime 
 To harder bosoms ! Looking on the lines 
 Of my boy's face, methoughts I did recoil 
 Twenty-three years ; and saw myself unbreech'd, 
 In my green velvet coat ; my dagger muzzled, 
 Lest it should bite its master, and so prove, 
 As ornaments oft do, too dangerous. 
 How like, methought, I then was to this kernel, 
 This quash, this gentleman. Mine honest 
 
 friend, 
 
 Will you take eggs for money ? 
 Mam. No, my lord, I '11 fight. 
 
SCENE II, J 
 
 THE WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 347 
 
 Leon. You will? why, happy man be 's dole! 
 
 My brother, 
 
 Are you so fond of your young prince as we 
 Do seem to be of ours ? 
 
 Pol. If at home, sir, 
 
 He 's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter : 
 Now my sworn friend, and then mine enemy ; 
 My parasite, my soldier, statesman, all : 
 He makes a July's day short as December ; 
 And with his varying childness cures in me 
 Thoughts that would thick my blood. 
 
 Leon. So stands this squire 
 
 Offic'd with me. We two will walk, my lord, 
 And leave you to your graver steps. Hermione, 
 How thou lov'st as show in our brother's wel- 
 come ; 
 
 Let what is dear in Sicily be cheap: 
 Next to thyself and my young rover, he 's 
 Apparent to my heart. 
 
 Her. If you would seek us, 
 
 We are your's i' the garden : shall 's attend you 
 
 there? [be found, 
 
 Leon. To your own bents dispose you : you '11 
 
 Be you beneath the sky. [Aside.] I am 
 
 angling now. 
 
 Though you perceive me not how I give line. 
 Go to, go to ! [Observing POL. and HER. 
 
 How she holds uo the neb, the bill to him ! 
 And arms her wi n the boldness of a wife 
 To her allowing husband ! Gone already ! 
 
 [Exeunt POL., HER., and Attendants. 
 Inch-thick, knee-deep, o'er head and ears a 
 
 fork'd one ! 
 
 Go, play, boy, play : thy mother plays, and I 
 Play too ; but so disgrac'd a part, whose issue 
 Will hiss me to my grave: contempt and 
 clamour [have been, 
 
 Will be my knell. Go, play, boy, play. There 
 Or I am much deceiv'd, cuckolds ere now ; 
 And many a man there is, even at this present, 
 Now while I speak this, holds his wi r e by the 
 arm, [absence, 
 
 That little thinks she has been sluic'd in his 
 And his pond fish'd by his next neighbour, by 
 Sir Smile, his neighbour : nay, there 's comfort 
 in 't, [open'd, 
 
 Whiles other men have gates, and those gates 
 As mine, against their will : should all despair 
 That have revolted wives, the tenth of mankind 
 Would hang themselves. Physic for 't there is 
 
 none ; 
 
 It is a bawdy planet, that will strike [it, 
 
 Where 'tis predominant; and 'tis powerful, think 
 from east, west, north, and south : be it con- 
 cluded, 
 
 No barricado for a belly ; know't 2 ;' ' J 
 It will let in and out the enemy 
 
 With bag and baggage : many a thousand of us 
 Have the disease, and feel 't not. How now, 
 boy! 
 
 Mam. I am like you, they say. 
 
 Leon. Why, that's some comfort. 
 
 What ! Camillo there ? 
 
 Cam. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 Leon. Go play, Mamillius ; thou'rt an honest 
 man. [Exit MAMILLIUS. 
 
 Camillo, this great sir will yet stay longer. 
 
 Cam. You had much ado to make his anchor 
 
 hold: 
 When you cast out, it still came home. 
 
 Leon. Didst note it ? 
 
 Cam. He would not stay at your petitions ; 
 
 made 
 His business more material. 
 
 Leon. Didst perceive it? 
 
 They 3 re here with me already ; whispering, 
 
 rounding, 
 
 Sicilia is a so-forth : 'tis far gone 
 When I shall gust it last. How came 't, Camillo, 
 That he did stay ? 
 
 Cam. At the good queen's entreaty. 
 
 Leon. At the queen's be 't : good should be 
 
 pertinent ; 
 
 But so it is, it is not. Was this taken 
 By any understanding pate but thine ? 
 For thy conceit is soaking, will draw in 
 More than the common blocks : not noted, is't, 
 But of the finer natures? by some severals 
 Of head -piece extraordinary? lower messes, 
 Perchance are to this business purblind? say. 
 
 Cam. Business, my lord ! I think most under- 
 stand 
 Bohemia stays here longer. 
 
 Leon. Ha ! 
 
 Cam. Stays here longer. 
 
 Leon. Ay, but why? [treaties 
 
 Cam. To satisfy your highness, and the en- 
 Of our most gracious mistress. 
 
 Leon. Satisfy 
 
 The entreaties of your mistress ! satisfy ! 
 Let that suffice. I have trusted thee, Camillo, 
 With all the nearest things to my heart, as well 
 My chamber-councils, wherein, priest-like, thou 
 Hast cleans'd my bosom ; I from thee departed 
 Thy penitent reform'd : but we have been 
 Deceiv'd in thy integrity, deceiv'd 
 In that which seems so. 
 
 Cam. Be it forbid, my lord ! 
 
 Leon. To bide upon 't, thou art not honest ; 
 
 or, 
 
 If thou inclin'st that way, thou art a coward, 
 Which hoxes honesty behind, restraining 
 From course requird ; or else thou must be 
 counted 
 
348 
 
 THE WINTER'S TALE, 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 A servant grafted in my serious trust, 
 And therein negligent; or else a fool, 
 That seest a game play'd home, the rich stake 
 
 drawn, 
 And tak'st it all for jest. 
 
 Cam. My gracious lord, 
 
 I may be negligent, foolish, and fearful ; 
 In every one of these no man is free, 
 But that his negligence, his folly, fear, 
 Amongst the infinite doings of the world, 
 Sometime puts forth : in your affairs, my lord, 
 If ever I were wilful -negligent, 
 It was my folly ; if industriously 
 I play'd the fool, it was my negligence, 
 Not weighing well the end ; if ever fearful 
 To do a thing, where I the issue doubted, 
 Wher ;iof the execution did cry out 
 Against the non-performance, 'twas a fear 
 Which oft affects the wisest : these, my lord, 
 Are such allow'd infirmities that honesty 
 Is never free of. But, beseech your grace, 
 Be plainer with me ; let me know my trespass 
 By its own visage : if I then deny it, 
 'Tis none of mine. 
 
 Leon. Have you not seen, Camillo, 
 
 But that 's past doubt : you have, or your eye- 
 glass 
 
 Is thicker than a cuckold's horn, or heard, 
 For, to a vision so apparent, rumour 
 Cannot be mute, or thought, for cogitation 
 Resides not in that man that does not think 
 
 it, 
 
 My wife is slippery? If thou wilt confess, 
 Or else be impudently negative, 
 To have nor eyes nor ears nor thought, then say 
 My wife 's a hobbyhorse ; deserves a name 
 As rank as any flax-wench that puts to 
 Before her troth-plight : say 't and justify 't. 
 
 Cam. I would not be a stander-by to hear 
 My sovereign mistress clouded so, without 
 My present vengeance taken : 'shrew my heart, 
 You never spoke what did become you less 
 Than this ; which to reiterate were sin 
 As deep as that, though true. 
 
 Leon. Is whispering nothing? 
 
 Is leaning cheek to cheek? is meeting noses? 
 Kissing with inside lip ? stopping the career 
 Of laughter with a sigh ? a note infallible 
 Of breaking honesty ; horsing foot on foot ? 
 Skulking in corners? wishing clocks more swift? 
 Hours, minutes? noon, midnight? and all eyes 
 Blind with the pin and web, but theirs, theirs 
 
 only, 
 
 That would unseen be wicked? is this nothing? 
 Why, tnen the world and all that 's in 't is no- 
 thing ; 
 The covering sky is nothing ; Bohemia nothing; 
 
 My wife is nothing ; nor nothing have these no- 
 things, 
 If this be nothing. 
 
 Cam. Good my lord, 6e cur'd 
 
 Of this diseas'd opinion, and betimes ; 
 For 'tis most dangerous. 
 
 Leon. Say it be, 'tis true. 
 
 Cam. No, no, my lord ! 
 
 Leon. It is ; you lie, you lie i 
 
 I say thou liest, Camillo, and I hate thee ; 
 Pronounce thee a gross lou , a mindless slave; 
 Or else a hovering temporizer, that 
 Canst with thine eyes at once see good and evil, 
 Inclining to them both. Were my wife's liver 
 Infected as her life, she wouid not live 
 The running of one glass. 
 
 Cam. Who does infect her ? 
 
 Leon. Why, he that wears her like her medal, 
 
 hanging 
 
 About his neck, Bohemia: who if I 
 Had servants true about me, that bare eyes 
 To see alike mine honour as their profits, 
 Their own particular thrifts, they would do 
 
 that 
 
 Which should undo more doing : ay, and thou, 
 His cupbearer, whom I from meaner form 
 Have bench'd and rear'd to worship; who 
 mayst see [heaven, 
 
 Plainly, as heaven sees eartl , and earth sees 
 How I am galled, mightst bespice a cup, 
 To ^ive mine enemy a lasting wink ; 
 Which draught to me were cordial. 
 
 Cam. Sir, my lord, 
 
 I could do this ; and that with no rash potion, 
 But with a ling' ring dram, that should not work 
 Maliciously like poison : but I cannot 
 Believe this crack to be in my dread mistress, 
 So sovereignly being honourable. ; ..f mv/ 
 
 I have lov'd thee, 
 
 Leon. Make that thy question, and go rot ! 
 Dost think I am so muddy, so unsettled, 
 To appoint myself in this vexation ; sully 
 The purity and whiteness of my sheets, 
 Which to preserve is sleep; which being spotted 
 Is goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wasps ; 
 Give scandal to the blood o' the prince my son, 
 Who I do think is mine, and love as mine, 
 Without ripe moving to't? Would I do this? 
 Could man so blench ? 
 
 Cam. I must believe you, sir: 
 
 I do ; and will fetch off Bohemia for t ; [ness 
 Provided that, when he 's remov'd, your high- 
 Will take again your queen as yours at first, 
 Even for your son's sake ; and thereby for seal- 
 ing 
 
 The injury of tongues in courts and kingdoms 
 Known and allied to yours. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 THE WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 349 
 
 Leon. Thou dost advise me 
 
 Even so as I mine own course have set down : 
 1 '11 give no blemish to her honour, none. 
 
 Cam. My lord, 
 
 Go then ; and with a countenance as clear 
 As friendship wears at feasts, keep with Bohemia 
 And with your queen : I am his cupbearer. 
 If from me he have wholesome beverage 
 Account me not your servant. 
 
 Leon. This is all : 
 
 Do 't and thou hast the one-half of my heart ; 
 Do 't not, thou splitt'st thine own. 
 
 Cam. I '11 do : t, my lord. 
 
 Leon. I will seem friendly, as thou hast 
 advis'd me. [Exit. 
 
 Cam. O miserable lady ! But, for me, 
 What case stand I in? I must be the poisoner 
 Of good Polixenes: and my ground to do't 
 Is the obedience to a master ; one 
 Who, in rebellion with himself, will have 
 All that are his so too. To do this deed, 
 Promotion follows : if I could find example 
 Of thousands that had struck anointed kings, 
 And flourish'd after, I 'd not do 't ; but since 
 Nor brass, nor stone, nor parchment, bears not 
 
 one, 
 
 Let villany itself forswear 't. I must 
 Forsake the court : to do 't, or no, is certain 
 To me a break-neck. Happy star, reign now! 
 Here comes Bohemia. 
 
 Enter POLIXENES. 
 
 Pol. This is strange ! methinks 
 
 My favour here begins to warp. Not speak? 
 Good-day, Camillo. 
 
 Cam. Hail, most royal sir ! 
 
 Pol. What is the news i' the court? 
 
 Cam. None rare, my lord. 
 
 Pol, The king hath on him such a counten- 
 ance 
 
 As he had lost some province, and a region 
 Lov'd as he loves himself: even now I met 
 
 him 
 
 With customary compliment ; when he, 
 Wafting his eyes to the contrary, and falling 
 A lip of much contempt, speeds from me ; and 
 So leaves me, to consider what is breeding 
 That changes thus his manners. 
 
 Cam. I dare not know, my lord. 
 
 Pol. Hew ! dare not ! do not. Do you know, 
 
 and dare not 
 
 Be intelligent to me? 'Tis thereabouts ; 
 For, to yourself, what you do know, you must, 
 And cannot say, you dare not. Good Camillo, 
 Your changM complexions are to me a mirror, 
 Which shows me mine chang'd too ; for I must 
 be 
 
 A party in this alteration, finding 
 Myself thus alter'd with it. 
 
 Cam. There is a sicknaes 
 
 Which puts some of us in distemper; but 
 I cannot name the disease ; and it is caught 
 Of you that yet are well. 
 
 Pol. How ! caught of me ! 
 
 Make me not sighted like the basilisk : 
 I have look'd on thousands, who have sped the 
 
 better 
 
 By my regard, but kill'd none so. Camillo, 
 As you are certainly a gentleman ; thereto 
 Clerk-like, experienc'd, which no less adorns 
 Our gentry than our parents' noble names, 
 In whose success we are gentle, I beseech you, 
 If you know aught which does behove my 
 
 knowledge 
 
 Thereof to be inform'd, imprison 't not 
 In ignorant concealment. 
 
 Cam. I may not answer. 
 
 Pol. A sickness caught of me, and yet I well! 
 I must beanswer'd. Dost thou hear, Camillo, 
 I conjure thee, by all the parts of man, 
 Which honour does acknowledge, whereof the 
 
 least 
 
 Is not this suit of mine, that thou declare 
 What incidency thou dost guess of harm 
 Is creeping toward me; how far off, how near; 
 Which way to be prevented, if to be ; 
 If not, how best to bear it. 
 
 Cam. Sir, I will tell you ; 
 
 Since I am charg'd in honour, and by him 
 That I think honourable : therefore mark my 
 
 counsel, 
 
 Which must be even as swiftly follow'd as 
 I mean to utter it, or both yourself and me 
 Cry lost, and so good-night ! 
 
 Pol. On, good Camillo. 
 
 Cam. I am appointed him to murder you. 
 
 Pol. By whom, Camillo? 
 
 Cam. By the king. 
 
 Pol. For what? 
 
 Cam. He thinks, nay, with all confidence he 
 
 swears, 
 
 As he had seen 't or been an instrument 
 To vice you to J t, that you have touch'd his queen 
 Forbiddingly. 
 
 Pol. O, then my best blood turn 
 
 To an infected jelly, and my name 
 Be yok'd with his that did betray the best ! 
 Turn then my freshest reputation to 
 A savour that may strike the dullest nostril 
 Where I arrive, and my approach be shunn'd, 
 Nay, hated too, worse than the great'st infection 
 That e'er was heard or read ! 
 
 Cam. Swear his thought over 
 
 By each particular star in heaven and 
 
350 
 
 THE WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 [ACT II. 
 
 By all their influences, you may as well m; 
 Forbid the sea for to obey the moon, 
 As, or by oath remove, or counsel shake 
 The fabric of his folly, whose foundation 
 Is pil'd upon his faith, and will continue 
 The standing of his body. 
 
 Pol. How should this grow? 
 
 Cam. I know not : but I am sure 'tis safer to 
 Avoid what's grown than question how 'tis born. 
 If, therefore, you dare trust my honesty, 
 That lies enclosed in this trunk, which you 
 Shall bear along impawn'd, away to-night. 
 Your fo"owers I will whisper to the business; 
 And will, by twos and threes, at several posterns, 
 Clear them o' the city: for myself, I'll put 
 My fortunes to your service, which are here 
 By this discovery lost. Be not uncertain ; 
 For, by the honour of my parents, I 
 Have utter'd truth : which if you seek to prove, 
 I dare not stand by ; nor shall you be safer 
 Than one condemn'd by the king's own mouth, 
 
 thereon 
 His execution sworn. 
 
 Pol. I do believe thee; 
 
 I saw his heart in his face. Give me thy hand; 
 Be pilot to me, and thy places shall 
 Still neighbour mine. My ships are ready, and 
 My people did expect my hence departure 
 Two days ago. This jealousy 
 Is for a precious creature : as she 's rare, 
 Must it be great ; and, as his person's mighty, 
 Must it be violent ; and as he does conceive 
 He is dishonour'd by a man which ever 
 Profess'd to him, why, his revenges must 
 In that be made more bitter. Fear o'ershades 
 
 me: 
 
 Good expedition be my friend, and comfort 
 The gracious queen, part of his theme, but no- 
 thing 
 
 Of his ill-ta'en suspicion! Come, Camillo; 
 I will respect thee as a father, if 
 Thou bear'st my life off hence : let us avoid. 
 Cam. It is in mine authority to command 
 The keys of all the posterns : please your high- 
 ness 
 To take the urgent hour : come, sir, away. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. SICILIA. A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter HERMIONE, MAMILLIUS, and Ladies. 
 
 Her. Take the boy to you : he so troubles me, 
 'Tis past enduring. 
 
 I Lady. Come, my gracious lord, 
 
 Shall I be your playfellow? 
 
 Mam. No, I *H none of you. 
 
 1 Lady. Why, my sweet lord ? 
 
 Mam. You '11 kiss me hard, and speak to me 
 
 as if 
 I were a baby still. I love you better. 
 
 2 Lady. And why so, my lord? 
 
 Mam. Not for because 
 
 Your brows are blacker ; yet black brows, they 
 
 say, 
 
 Become some women best ; so that there be not 
 Too much hair there, but in a semicircle, 
 Or a half-moon made with a pen. 
 
 2 Lady. Who taught you this ? 
 
 Mam. I learn'd it out of women's faces. 
 
 Pray now, 
 What colour are your eyebrows? 
 
 i Lady. Blue, my lord. 
 
 Mam. Nay, that 's a mock : I have seen a 
 
 lady's nose 
 That has been blue, but not her eyebrows. 
 
 1 Lady. Hark ye ; 
 The queen your mother rounds apace : we shall 
 Present our services to a fine new prince 
 
 One of these days ; and then you 'd wanton 
 
 with us, 
 If we would have you. 
 
 2 Lady. She is spread of late 
 Into a goodly bulk: good time encounter her! 
 
 Her. What wisdom stirs amongst you ? 
 
 Come, sir, now 
 
 I am for you again : pray you, sit by us, tftaH 
 And tell 's a tale. 
 
 Mam. Merry or sad shall 't be? 
 
 Her. As merry as you will. 
 
 Mam. A sad tale 's best for winter : 
 
 I have one of sprites and goblins. 
 
 Her. Let 's have that, good sir. 
 
 Come on, sit down : come on, and do your best 
 To fright me with your sprites : you 're power- 
 ful at it. 
 
 Mam. There was a man, 
 
 Her. Nay, come, sit down : then on. 
 
 Mam. Dwelt by a churchyard : I will tell 
 
 it softly ; 
 Yond crickets shall not hear it. 
 
 Her. Come on, then, 
 
 And give 't me in mine ear. 
 
 Enter LEONTES, ANTIGONUS, Lords and 
 Guards. 
 
 Leon. Was he met there? his train? Camillo 
 with him? [never 
 
 I Lord. Behind the tuft of pines I met them; 
 Saw I men scour so on their way : I ey'd them 
 Even to their ships. 
 
 Leon. How bless'd am I 
 
 In my just censure, in my true opinion I 
 Alack, for lesser knowledge ! how accurs'd, 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THE WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 In being so blest ! There may be in the cup 
 A spider steep'd, and one may drink, depart, 
 And yet partake no venom ; for his knowledge 
 Is not infected : but if one present 
 The abhorr'd ingredient to his eye, make known 
 How he hath drunk, he cracks his gorge, his 
 sides [the spider. 
 
 With violent hefts: I have drunk, and seen 
 Camillo was his help in this, his pander : 
 There is a plot against my life, my crown ; 
 All 's true that is mistrusted : that false villain, 
 Whom I employ'd, was pre-employ'd by him: 
 He has discover'd my design, and I 
 Remain a pinch'd thing ; yea, a very trick 
 For them to play at will. How came the 
 
 posterns 
 So easily open? 
 
 I Lord. By his great authority ; 
 Which often hath no less prevail'd than so, 
 On your command. 
 
 Leon. I know 't too well. 
 
 Give me the boy: I am glad you did not 
 
 nurse him : 
 
 Though he does bear some signs of me, yet you 
 Have too much blood in him. 
 
 Her. What is this? sport? 
 
 Leon. Bear the boy hence; he shall not 
 
 come about her ; 
 Away with him ! and let her sport herself 
 
 [Exit MAMILLIUS, with some of the Guards. 
 With that she 's big with ; for 'tis Polixenes 
 Hath made thee swell thus. 
 
 Her. But I 'd say he had not, 
 
 And I '11 be sworn you would believe my saying, 
 Howe'er you learn the nay ward. 
 
 Leon. You, my lords, 
 
 Look on her, mark her well ; be but about 
 To say, she is a goodly lady, and 
 The justice of your hearts will thereto add, 
 *Tis pity she's not honest, honourable: 
 Praise her but for this her without -door form, 
 Which, on my faith, deserves high speech, 
 
 and straight 
 
 The shrug, the hum, or ha, these petty brands, 
 That calumny doth use : O, I am out, 
 That mercy does ; for calumny will sear 
 Virtue itself: these shrugs, these hums, and 
 
 ha's, 
 
 When you have said she 's goodly, come between, 
 Ere you can say she*s honest: but be it known, 
 From him that has most cause to grieve it 
 
 should be, 
 She 's an adultress ! 
 
 Her. Should a villain say so, 
 
 The most replenish'd villain in the world, 
 He were as much more villain : you, my lord, 
 Do but mistake. 
 
 Leon. You have mistook, my lady, 
 
 Polixenes for Leontes : O thou thing, 
 Which 1 3 11 not call a creature of thy place, 
 Lest barbarism, making me the precedent, 
 Should a like language use to all degrees, 
 And mannerly distinguishment leave out 
 Betwixt the prince and beggar ! I have said, 
 She 's an adultress ; I have said with whom : 
 More, she 's a traitor ; and Camillo is 
 A federary with ner ; and one that knows 
 What she should shame to know herself 
 But with her most vile principal, that she 's 
 A bed-swerver, even as bad as those 
 That vulgars give boldest titles ; ay, and privy 
 To this their late escape. 
 
 Her. No, by my life, 
 
 Privy to none of this. How wil 1 this grieve you, 
 When you shall come to clearer knowledge, that 
 You thus have publish : d me ! Gentle, my lord, 
 You scarce can right me throughly then, to say 
 You did mistake. 
 
 Leon. No ; if I mistake 
 
 In those foundations which I build upon, 
 The centre is not big enough to bear 
 A school -boy's top. Away with her to prison ! 
 He who shall speak for her is afar off guilty 
 But that he speaks. 
 
 Her. There 's some ill planet reigns: 
 
 I must be patient till the heavens look 
 With an aspect more favourable. Good my 
 
 lords, 
 
 I am not prone to weeping, as our sex 
 Commonly are; the want of which vain dew 
 Perchance shall dry your pities; but I have 
 That honourable grief lodged here, which burns 
 Worse than tears drown: beseech you all, my 
 
 lords, 
 
 With thoughts so qualified as your charities 
 Shall best instruct you, measure me ; and so 
 The king's will be perform 'd ! 
 
 Leon. Shall I be heard? 
 
 [To the Guards. 
 
 Her. Who is 't that goes with me? Beseech 
 
 your highness, 
 
 My women may be with me ; for, you see, 
 My plight requires it. Do not weep, good fools; 
 There is no cause : when you shall know your 
 
 mistress 
 
 Has deserv'd prison, then abound in tears 
 As I come out : this action I now go on 
 Is for my better grace. Adieu, my lord: 
 I never wish'd to see you sorry ; now [leave. 
 I trust I shall. My women, come ; you have 
 
 Leon. Go, do our bidding ; hence 1 
 [Exeunt QUEEN and Ladies, with Guards. 
 
 I Lord. Beseech your highness, call the 
 queen again. 
 
352 
 
 THE WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 Ant. Be certain what you do. sir, lest your 
 
 justice 
 Prove violence : in the which three great ones 
 
 suffer, 
 Yourself, your queen, your son. 
 
 I Lord. For her, my lord, 
 
 I dare my life lay down, and will do't, sir, 
 Please you to accept it, that the queen is spotless 
 F the eyes of heaven and to you ; I mean 
 In this which you accuse her. 
 
 Ant. If it prove 
 
 She 's otherwise, I '11 keep my stables where 
 I lodge my wife ; I '11 go in couples with her ; 
 Than when I feel and see her no further trust 
 
 her; 
 
 For every inch of woman in the world, 
 Ay, every dram of woman's flesh, is false, 
 If she be. 
 
 Leon. Hold your peaces. 
 
 I Lord. Good my lord, 
 
 Ant. It is for you we speak, not for ourselves: 
 You are abus'd, and by some putter-on, 
 That will be damn'd for 't : would I knew the 
 villain, [flaw'd, 
 
 I would land -damn him. Be she honour- 
 I have three daughters ; the eldest is eleven ; 
 The second and the third, nine and some five ; 
 If this prove true, they '11 pay for 't : by mine 
 
 honour, 
 
 I '11 geld 'em all : fourteen they shall not see, 
 To bring false generations : they are co-heirs ; 
 And I had rather glib myself than they 
 Should not produce fair issue. 
 
 Leon. Cease ; no more. 
 
 You smell this business with a sense as cold 
 As is a dead man's nose : but I do see 't and 
 
 feel't, 
 
 As you feel doing thus ; and see withal 
 The instruments that feel. 
 
 Ant. If it be so, 
 
 We need no grave to bury honesty ; 
 There 's not a grain of it the face to sweeten 
 Of the whole dungy earth. 
 
 Leon. What ! lack I credit? 
 
 I Lord. I had rather you did lack than I, 
 my lord, [me 
 
 Upon this ground : and more it would content 
 To have her honour true than your suspicion ; 
 Be blam'd for 't how you might. 
 
 Leon. Why, what need we 
 
 Commune with you of this, but rather follow 
 Our forceful instigation? Our prerogative 
 Callsnot your counsels ; butournatural goodness 
 Imparts this: which, if you, or stupified 
 Or seeming so in skill, cannot or will not 
 Relish a truth, like us, inform yourselves 
 We need no more of your advice : the matter, 
 
 The loss, the gain, the ordering on 't, is all 
 Properly ours. 
 
 Ant. And I wish, my liege, 
 
 You had only in your silent judgment tried it, 
 Without more overture. 
 
 Leon. How could that be? 
 
 Either thou art most ignorant by age, 
 Or thou wert born a fool. Camillo's flight, 
 Added to their familiarity, 
 Which was as gross as ever touch'd conjecture, 
 That lack'd sight only, naught for approbation, 
 But only seeing, all other circumstances [ing. 
 Made up tothedeed, doth push on this proceed- 
 Yet, for a greater confirmation, 
 For, in an act of this importance, 'twere j -jol 
 Most piteous to be wild, I have despatch'd 
 
 in post 
 
 To sacred Delphos, to Apollo's temple, 
 Cleomenes and Dion, whom you know 
 Of stuff d sufficiency : now, from the oracle 
 They will bring all ; whose spiritual counsel had, 
 Shall stop or spur me. Have I done well? 
 
 I Lord. Well done, my lord. 
 
 Leon. Though I am satisfied , and need no more 
 Than what I know, yet shall the oracle 
 Give rest to the minds of others such as he 
 Whose ignorant credulity will not [good 
 
 Come up to the truth : so have we thought it 
 From our free person she should be confin'd ; 
 Lest that the treachery of the two fled hence 
 Be left her to perform. Come, follow us ; 
 We are to speak in public ; for this business 
 Will raise us all. 
 
 Ant. [Aside.} To laughter, as I take it, 
 If the good truth were known. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. The same. The outer Room of a 
 Prison. 
 
 Enter PAULINA and Attendants. 
 
 Paul. The keeper of the prison, call to him; 
 Let him have knowledge who I am. 
 
 [Exit an Attendant. 
 Good lady ! 
 
 No court in Europe is too good for thee ; 
 What dost thou, then, in prison? 
 
 Re-enter Attendant, with the Keeper. 
 
 Now, good sir. 
 
 You know me, do you not? 
 
 Keep. For a worthy lady, 
 
 And one who much I honour. 
 
 Paul. Pray you, then, 
 
 Conduct me to the queen. 
 
 Keep. I may not, madam : to the contrary 
 I have express commandment. 
 
 Paul. Here 's ado, 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 THE WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 353 
 
 To lock up honesty and honour from 
 The access of gentle visitors 1 Is 't lawful, 
 Pray you, to see her women ? any of them ? 
 Emilia? 
 
 Keep. So please you, madam, to put 
 Apart these your attendants, I shall bring 
 Emilia forth. 
 
 Paul. I pray now, call her. 
 Withdraw yourselves. [Exeunt Attend. 
 
 Keep. And, madam, 
 
 I must be present at your conference. 
 
 Paul. Well , be 't so, pr*ythee. [Exit Keeper. 
 Here 's such ado to make no stain a stain, 
 As passes colouring. 
 
 Re-enter Keeper, with EMILIA. 
 
 Dear gentlewoman, how fares our gracious lady ? 
 
 Emit. As well as one so great and so forlorn 
 May hold together : on her frights and griefs, 
 Which never tender lady hath borne greater, 
 She is, something before her time, deliver'd. 
 
 Paul. A boy? 
 
 Emil. A daughter ; and a goodly babe, 
 
 Lusty, and like to live : the queen receives 
 Much comfort in't; says, My poor prisoner, 
 I am innocent as you. 
 
 Paul. I dare be sworn ; 
 
 These dangerous unsafe lunes i* the king, be- 
 
 shrew them ! 
 
 He must be told on 't, and he shall : the office 
 Becomes a woman best : I Ml take 't upon me : 
 If I prove honey-mouth'd, let my tongue blister; 
 And never to my red-look'd anger be 
 The trumpet any more. Pray you, Emilia, 
 Commend my best obedience to the queen ; 
 If she dares trust me with her little babe, 
 I'll show't the king, and undertake to be 
 Her advocate to the loud'st. We do not know 
 How he may soften at the sight o' the child : 
 The silence often of pure innocence 
 Persuades, when speaking fails. 
 
 Emt'L Most worthy madam, 
 
 Your honour and your goodness is so evident, 
 That your free undertaking cannot miss 
 A thriving issue: there is no lady living 
 So meet for this great errand. Please your 
 
 ladyship 
 
 To visit the next room, I'll presently 
 Acquaint the queen of your most noble offer-* 
 Who but to-day hammer'd of this design, 
 But durst not tempt a minister of honour, 
 Lest she should be denied. 
 
 Paul. Tell her, Emilia, 
 
 I '11 use that tongue I have : if wit flow from it, 
 As boldness from my bosom, let it not be 
 
 I 
 
 
 Emil. Now be you bless'd for it I 
 
 I '11 to the queen : please you come something 
 nearer. 
 
 Keep. Madam, if 't please the queen to send 
 
 the babe, 
 
 I know not what I shall incur to pass it, 
 Having no warrant* 
 
 Paul. You need not fear it, sir: 
 The child was prisoner to the womb, and is, 
 By law and process of great nature, thence 
 Freed and enfranchis'd ; not a party to 
 The anger of the king, nor guilty of, 
 If any be, the trespass of the queen. 
 
 Keep. I do believe it. 
 
 Paul. Do not you fear : upon mine honour, I 
 Will stand 'twixt you and danger. [Exeunt. 
 
 .< '''.[ -ft'^fr-ni.} 'rflT 
 
 SCENE III. The same. A Room in the 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter LEONTES, ANTIGONUS, Lords, and 
 ether Attendants. 
 
 Leon. Nor night nor day no rest : it is but 
 
 weakness 
 
 To bear the matter thus, mere weakness. If 
 The cause were not in being, part o' the cause, 
 She the adultress ; for the harlot king 
 Is quite beyond mine arm, out of the blank 
 And level of my brain, plot-proof ; but she 
 I can hook to me : say that she were gone, 
 Given to the fire, a moiety of my rest 
 Might come to me again. Who's there? 
 
 I At ten. [Advancing.] My lord? 
 
 Leon. How does the boy? 
 
 I Atten. He took good rest to-night ; 
 
 Tis hop'd his sickness is discharg'd. 
 
 Leon. To see his nobleness ! 
 Conceiving the dishonour of his mother, 
 He straight declin'd, droop'd, took it deeply, 
 Fasten'd and fix'd the shame on 't in himself, 
 Threw off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep, 
 And downright languish'd. Leave me solely: 
 
 go, 
 See how he fares. [Exit I Attend.] Fie, fie I 
 
 no thought of him ; 
 
 The very thought of my revenges that way 
 Recoil upon me : in himself too mighty, 
 And in his parties, his alliance, let him be, 
 Until a time may serve : for present vengeance, 
 Take it on her. Camillo and Polixenes 
 Laugh at me ; make their pastime at my sorrow : 
 They should not laugh if I could reach them; 
 
 nor 
 Shall she, within my power. 
 
 Enter PAULINA, *itk a child. 
 
 , t*>A.) r 
 
 I Lord. You must not emer. 
 
 M 
 
354 
 
 THE WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 [ACT II. 
 
 Paul. Nay, rather, good my lords, be second 
 
 to me : 
 
 Fear you his tyrannous passion more, alas, 
 Than the queen's life? a gracious innocent soul, 
 More free than he is jealous. 
 
 Ant. That 's enough. 
 
 2 Attend. Madam, he hath not slept to- 
 night; commanded 
 None should come at him. 
 
 Paul. Not so hot, good sir ; 
 
 I come to bring him sleep. 'Tis such as you, 
 That creep like shadows by him, and do sigh 
 At each his needless heavings, such as you 
 Nourish the cause of his awaking: I 
 Do come, with words as med'cinal as true, 
 Honest as either, to purge him of that humour 
 That presses him from sleep. 
 
 Leon. What noise there, ho? 
 
 Paul. No noise, my lord? but needful eon- 
 
 ference 
 About some gossips for your highness, 
 
 Leon. How ! 
 
 Away with that audacious lady \ Antigonus, 
 I charg'd thee that she should not come about 
 
 me: 
 I knew she would. 
 
 Ant. I told her so, my lord, 
 
 On your displeasure's peril, and on mine. 
 She should not visit you. 
 
 Lton. What, canst not rule her? 
 
 Paul. From all dishonesty, he can: in this, 
 Unless he take the course that you have done, 
 Commit me for committing honour, trust it, 
 lie shall not rule me. 
 
 Ant. La you now, you hear \ 
 
 When she will take the rein, I let her mn ; 
 But she'll not stumble. 
 
 Paul. Good my liege, I come, 
 
 And, I beseech you, hear me, who professes 
 Myself your loyal servant, your physician. 
 Your most obedient counsellor ; yet that dares 
 Less appear so, in comforting your evils, 
 Than such as most seem yours : I say, I come 
 From your good queen. 
 
 Leon. Good queen? 
 
 Pate/. Good queen, my lord, good queen : i 
 
 say, good queen ; 
 
 And would by combat make her good, so were I 
 A man, the worst about you. 
 
 Leon. Force her hence i 
 
 Paul. Let him that makes buttriflesof his eyes 
 First hand me : on mine own accord I '11 off ; 
 But first I '11 do my erranu. The good queen, 
 For she is good, hath brought you forth a 
 
 daughter ; 
 Here 'tis j commends it to your blessing. 
 
 {Laying drum tie child. 
 
 Leon. Outl 
 
 A mankind -witch ! Hence with her, out o' door. 
 A most intelligencing bawd 1 
 
 PauL Not so : 
 
 I am as ignorant in that as you 
 In so entitling me ; and no less honest [rant, 
 Than you are mad ; which is enough, I '11 war- 
 As this world goes, to pass for honest. 
 
 Leon. Traitors ! 
 
 Will you not push her out? Give her the 
 
 bastard : 
 Thou dotard [to ANTIGONUS], thou art woman- 
 
 tir'd, unroosted 
 
 By thy dame Partlet here : take up the bastard; 
 Take 't up, I say ; give 't to thy crone. 
 
 Paul. For ever 
 
 Unvenerable be thy hands, if thou 
 Tak'st up the princess, by that forced baseness 
 Which he has put upon 't ! 
 
 Leon. He dreads his wife. 
 
 Paul. So I would you did ; then 'twere past 
 
 all doubt, 
 You 'd call your children yours. 
 
 Leon. A nest of traitors ! 
 
 Ant v I am none, by this good light. 
 
 Paul. Nor I ; nor any, 
 
 But one, that J s here ; and that's himself: for he 
 The sacred honour of himself, his queen's, 
 His hopeful son's, his babe's, betrays to slander, 
 Whose sting is sharper than the sword's; and 
 
 will not, 
 
 For, as the case now stands, it is a curse 
 He cannot be compell'd to 't, once remove 
 The ro.Tt of his opinion, which is rotten 
 As ever oak or stone was sound. 
 
 Leon. A cailat 
 
 Of boundless tongue, who late hath beat her 
 
 husband, 
 
 And now baits me !- This brat is none of mine *, 
 It is the issue of Polixenes : 
 Hence with it ! and, together with the dam, 
 Commit them to the fire. 
 
 Paul. It is yours ! [charge, 
 
 And, might we lay the old proverb to your 
 So like you, 'tis the worse. Behold, my lords, 
 Although the print be little, the whole matter 
 And copy of the father, eye, nose, lip. 
 The trick of his frown, his forehead ; nay, the 
 valley, [smiles; 
 
 The pretty dimples of his chin and cheek; his 
 The very mould and frame of hand, nail, 
 finger: [made it 
 
 And thou, good goddess Nature, which hast 
 So like to him that got it, if thou hast 
 The ordering of the mind too, 'mongst all colours 
 No yellow in 't, lest she suspect, as he does, 
 Her children not her husband's I 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 THE WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 355 
 
 Leon, A gross hag ! 
 
 And, losel, thou art not worthy to be hang'd, 
 That wilt not stay her tongue. 
 
 Ant. Hang all the husbands 
 
 That cannot do that feat, you'll leave yourself 
 Hardly one subject. 
 
 Leon. Once more, take her hence. 
 
 Paul. A most unworthy and unnatural lord 
 Can do no more. 
 
 Leon. I '11 have thee burn'd. 
 
 PatiL I care not. 
 
 It is an heretic that makes the fire, [tyrant ; 
 Not she which burns in 't. I '11 not call you 
 But this most cruel usage of your queen, 
 Not able to produce more accusation [savours 
 Than your own weak-hing ? d fancy, something 
 Of tyranny, and will ignoble make you, 
 Yea, scandalous to the world. 
 
 Leon. On your allegiance, 
 
 Out of the chamber with her ! Were I a tyrant. 
 Where were her life? she durst not call me so, 
 If she did know me one. Away with her ! 
 
 Paul. I pray you, do not push me ; I '11 be 
 
 gone. [send her 
 
 Look to your babe, my lord ; 'tis yours : Jove 
 
 A better guiding spirit! What needs these 
 
 hands? 
 
 You, that are thus so tender o'er his follies, 
 Will never do him good, not one of you. 
 So, so : farewell ; we are gone. [Exit. 
 
 Leon. Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to 
 
 this.-*flt* 
 
 My child? away with't! even thou, that hast 
 A heart so tender o'er it, take it hence, 
 And see it instantly consum'd with fire ; 
 Even thou, and none but thou. Take it up 
 
 straight : 
 
 Within this hour bring me word 'tis done, 
 And by good testimony, or I '11 seize thy life, 
 With what thou else call'st thine. If thou 
 
 refuse, 
 
 And wilt encounter with my wrath, say so ; 
 The bastard-brains with these my proper hands 
 Shall I dash out. Go, take it to the fire ; 
 For thou sett'st on thy wife. 
 
 Ant. I did not, sir : 
 
 These lords, my noble fellows, if they please, 
 Can clear me in 't. 
 
 i Lord. We can : my royal liege, 
 
 He is not guilty of her coming hither. 
 
 Leon. You are liars all. [credit : 
 
 I Lord. Beseech your highness, give us better 
 We have always truly servM you ; and beseech 
 So to esteem of us : aid on our knees we beg, 
 As recompense of our dear services, 
 Past and to come, that you do change this 
 purpose. 
 
 Which, being so horrible, so bloody, must 
 Lead on to some foul issue : we all kneel. 
 Leon. I am a feather for each wind that 
 
 blows : 
 
 Shall I live on, to see this bastard kneel 
 And call me father ? better burn it now, 
 Than curse it then. But, be it ; let it live : 
 It shall not neither. You, sir, come you hither: 
 [ To ANTIGONUS. 
 
 You that have been so tenderly officious 
 With Lady Margery, your midwife, there, 
 To save this bastard's life, for 'tis a bastard, 
 So sure as thy beard 's gray, what will you 
 
 adventure 
 To save this brat's life? 
 
 Ant. Anything, my lord, 
 
 That my ability may undergo, 
 And nobleness impose : at least, thus much ; 
 I '11 pawn the little blood which I have left, 
 To save the innocent : anything possible. 
 Leon. It shall be possible. Swear by this 
 
 sword 
 Thou wilt perform my bidding. 
 
 Ant. I will, my lord. 
 
 Leon. Mark, and perform it, seest thou? for 
 
 the fail 
 
 Of any point in 't shall not only be 
 Death to thyself, but to thy lewd-tongu'cl wife, 
 Whom for this time we pardon. We enjoin thee, 
 As thou art liegeman to us, that thou cany 
 This female bastard hence ; and that thou bear it 
 To some remote and desert place, quite out 
 Of oui dominions; and that there thou leave it, 
 Without more mercy, to its own protection 
 And favour of the climate. As by strange for- 
 tune 
 
 It came to us, I do in justice charge thee, 
 On thy soul's peril and thy body's torture, 
 That thou commend it strangely to some place, 
 Where chance may nurse or end it. Take it up. 
 Ant. I swear to do this, though a present death 
 Had been more merciful. Come on, poor babe : 
 Some powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens 
 To be thy nurses ! Wolves and bears, they say, 
 Casting their savagehess aside, have dene 
 Like offices of pity. Sir, be prosperous [ing, 
 In more than this deed does require ! and bless- 
 Against this cruelty, fight on thy side, 
 Poor thing, condemned to loss ! 
 
 {Exit with the chihl. 
 
 Leon. No, I '11 not rear 
 
 Another's issue. 
 
 2 Attend. Please your highness, posts, 
 From those you sent to the oracle, are come 
 An hour since : Cleomenes and Dion, 
 Being well arriv'd from Delphos, are both landed, 
 Hasting to the court. 
 
 
356 
 
 THE WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 [ACT III. 
 
 I Lord. So please you, sir, their speed 
 
 Hath been beyond account. 
 
 Leon. Twenty-three days 
 
 They have been absent: 'tis good speed; foretells 
 The great Apollo suddenly will have 
 The truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords ; 
 Summon a session, that we may arraign 
 Our most disloyal lady ; for, as she hath 
 Been publicly accus'd, so shall she have 
 A just and open trial. While she lives, 
 My heart will be a burden to me. Leave me ; 
 And think upon my bidding. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. SICILIA. A Street in some Town, 
 hnter CLEOMENES and DION. 
 
 Cleo. The climate's delicate; the air most 
 
 sweet ; 
 
 Fertile the isle ; the temple much surpassing 
 The common praise it bears. bin 
 
 Dion. I shall report, 
 
 For most it caught me, the celestial habits, 
 Methinks I so should term them, and the 
 
 reverence 
 
 Of the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice ! /, ; . v. 
 How ceremonious, solemn, and unearthly 
 It was i* the offering ! 
 
 Cleo. yorf J J But > of all the burst 
 
 And the ear-deafening voice o' the oracle, 
 Kin to Jove's thunder, so surprised my sense 
 That I was nothing. 
 
 Dion. If the event o' the journey 
 
 Prove as successful to the queen, O, be \ so! 
 As it hath been to us rare, pleasant, speedy, 
 The time is worth the use on't. :J O j smso Jl 
 
 Cleo. Great Apollo 
 
 Turn all to the best ! These proclamations, 
 So forcing faults upon Hermione, 
 I little like. 
 
 Dion. The violent carriage of it 
 Will clear or end the business: when the oracle, 
 Thus by Apollo's great divine seal'd up, 
 Shall the contents discover, something rare 
 Even then will rush to knowledge. Go, fresh 
 
 horses ; 
 And gracious be the issue ! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. The same. A Court of Justice. 
 
 LEONTES, Lords, and Officers appear^ properly 
 seated. 
 
 Leon. This sessions, to our great grief, we 
 
 pronounce, 
 
 Even pushes 'gainst our heart ;*r-the party tried, 
 The daughter of a king, our wife ; and one 
 
 Of us too much belov'd. Let us be clear'd 
 Of being tyrannous, since we so openly 
 Proceed in justice ; which shall have due course, 
 Even to the guilt or the purgation. 
 Produce the prisoner. 
 
 Offi. It is his highness' pleasure that the queen 
 Appear in person here in court. 
 
 Crier. Silence ! 
 
 HERMIONE is brought in guarded; PAULINA 
 and Ladies attending 
 
 Leon. Read the indictment. 
 
 Offi. [Reads.] Hermione, queen to the worthy 
 Leontes, /foVz^^Sicilia, thou art here accused and 
 arraigned of high treason^ in committing adultery 
 with Polixenes, king of Bohemia ; and conspir- 
 ing with Camillo to take away the life of our 
 sovereigJt lord the king y thy royal husband : the 
 pretence whereof being by circtimstances partly 
 laid open , tkou y Hermione, contrary to the faith 
 and allegiance of a true subject \ didst counsel and 
 aid them , for their better safety ', to, fly away by 
 night. 
 
 Her. Since what I am to say must be but that 
 Which contradicts my accusation, and 
 The testimony on my part no other [me 
 
 But what comes from myself, it shall scarce boot 
 To say, Not guilty: mine integrity 
 Being counted falsehood, shall, as I express it, 
 Be so receiv'd. But thus, if powers divine 
 Behold our human actions, as they do, 
 I doubt not, then, but innocence shall make 
 False accusation blush, and tyranny [know, 
 Tremble at patience. You, my lord, best 
 Who least will seem to do so, my past life 
 Hath been as continent, as chaste, as true, 
 As I am now unhappy: which is more 
 Than history can pattern, though devis'd 
 And play'd to take spectators; for, behold me, 
 A fellow of the royal bed, which owe 
 A moiety of the throne, a great king's daughter, 
 The mother to a hopeful prince, here standing 
 To prate and talk for life and honour 'fore [it 
 Who please to come and hear. For life, I prize 
 As I weigh grief, which I would spare : for 
 
 honour, 
 
 'Tis a derivative from me to mine, 
 And only that I stand for. I appeal 
 To your own conscience, sir, before Polixenes 
 Came to your court, how I was in your grace, 
 How merited to be so since he came, 
 With what encounter so uncurrent I 
 Have strain'd, to appear thus : if one jot beyond 
 The bound of honour, or in act or will 
 That way inclining, harden'd be the hearts 
 Of all that hear me, and my near'st of kin 
 Cry, Fie upon my grave ' 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 THE WINTER'S TAl-E. 
 
 357 
 
 Leon. I ne'er heard yet 
 
 That any of these bolder vices wanted 
 Less impudence to gainsay what they did 
 Than to perform it first. 
 
 Her. That 's true enough ; 
 
 Though 'tis a saying, sir, not due to me. 
 
 Leon. You will not own it. 
 
 Her. More than mistress of 
 
 Which conies to me in name of fault, I must not 
 At all acknowledge. For Polixenes, 
 With whom I am accus'd, I do confess 
 I lov'd him, as in honour he rcquir'd ; 
 With such a kind of love as might become 
 A lady like me; with a love even such, 
 So and no other, as yourself commanded: 
 Which not to have done, I think had been in me 
 Both disobedience and ingratitude [spoke, 
 To you and toward your friend ; whose love had 
 Even since it could speak, from an infant, freely, 
 That it was yours. Now, for conspiracy, 
 I know not how it tastes ; though it be dish'd 
 For me to try how: all I know of it; . \ 3<m o( 
 Is, that Camillo was an honest man ; 
 And why he left your court, the gods themselves, 
 Wotting no more than I, are ignorant. 
 
 Leon. You knew of his departure, as you know 
 What you have underta'en to do in 's absence. 
 
 Her. Sir, 
 
 You speak a language that I understand not : 
 My life stands in the level of your dreams, 
 Which I '11 lay down. 
 
 Leon. Your actions are my dreams ; 
 
 You had a bastard by Polixenes, [shame, 
 And I but dream'd it : as you were past all 
 Those of your fact are so, so past all truth : 
 Which to deny concerns more than avails ; for as 
 Thy brat hath been cast out, like to itself, 
 No father owning it, which is, indeed, 
 More criminal in thee than it, so thou 
 Shalt feel our justice ; in whose easiest passage 
 Look for no less than death. 
 
 Her. Sir, spare your threats : 
 
 The bug which you would fright me with, I seek. 
 To me can life be no commodity : 
 The crown and comfort of my life, your favour, 
 I do give lost ; for I do feel it gone, 
 But know not how it went : my second joy, 
 And first-fruits of my body, from his presence 
 I am barr'd, like one infectious : my third com- 
 fort, 
 
 Starr'd most unluckily, is from my breast, 
 The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth, 
 Hal'd out to murder : myself on every post 
 Proclaim'd a strumpet ; with immodest hatred, 
 The child-bed privilege denied, which 'longs 
 To women of all fashion ; lastly, hurried 
 Here to this place, i* the open air, before 
 
 I have got strength of limit. Now, my liege> 
 Tell me what blessings I have here alive, 
 That I should fear to die? Therefore, proceed. 
 But yet hear this; mistake me not; no life, 
 I price it not a straw, but for mine honour 
 (Which I would free), if I shall be condemn'd 
 Upon surmises all proofs sleeping else, 
 But what your jealousies awake I tell you 
 'Tis rigour, and not law. Your honours all, 
 I do refer me to the oracle : 
 Apollo be my judge ! 
 
 i Lord. This your request 
 
 Is altogether just : therefore, bring forth, 
 And in Apollo's name, his oracle : 
 
 {Exeunt certain Officers. 
 
 Her. The Emperor of Russia was my father ; 
 O that he were aliv, and here beholding 
 His daughter's trial ! that he did but see 
 The flatness of my misery ; yet with eyes 
 Of pity, not revenge ! 
 
 Re-enter Officers, with CLEOMENES and DION. 
 
 Offi. You here shall swear upon this sword 
 
 ofjustice, 
 
 That you, Cleomenes and Dion, have 
 Been both at Delphos, and from thence have 
 
 brought 
 
 This seal'd-up oracle, by the hand deliver'd 
 Of great Apollo's priest ; and that, since then, 
 You have not dar'd to break the holy seal, 
 Nor read the secrets in 't. 
 
 Cleo. Dion. All this we swear. 
 
 Leon. Break up the seals and read. 
 
 Offi. [tfeads.'] Hermione is chaste ; Polixenes 
 blameless ; Camillo a true subject ; Leontes a 
 jealous tyrant ; his innocent babe truly begotten; 
 and the king shall live, without an heir, if that 
 which is lost be not found. 
 
 Lords. Now blessed be the great Apollo ! 
 
 Her. Praised! 
 
 Leon. Hast thou read truth? 
 
 Oft. Ay, my lord; even so 
 
 As it is here set down. 
 
 Leon. There is no truth at all i' the oracle : 
 The sessions shall proceed : thisis mere falsehood ! 
 
 Enter a Servant hastily. 
 
 Serv. My lord the king, the king ! 
 
 Leon. What is the business? 
 
 Serv. O sir, I shall be hated to report it : 
 The prince your son, with mere conceit and fear 
 Of the queen's speed, is gone. 
 
 Leon. Howl gone? 
 
 Serv. ? ;yni Is dead. 
 
 Leon. Apollo 's angry ; and the heavens them, 
 selves 
 
358 
 
 THE WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Do strike at my injustice. [HERMlONE/am/j. ] 
 
 How now there 1 
 Pa^t!. This news is mortal to the queen : 
 
 Look down 
 And see what death is doing. 
 
 Leon. Take her hence : 
 
 Her heart is but o'ercharg'd ; she will recover. 
 I have too much believ'd mine own suspicion : 
 Beseech you, tenderly apply to her 
 Some remedies for life. Apollo, pardon 
 
 [Exeunt PAUL, and Ladies, with HER. 
 My great profaneness 'gainst thine oracle ! 
 I '11 reconcile me to Polixenes ; 
 New woo my queen ; recall the good Camillo, 
 Whom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy; 
 For, being transported by my jealousies 
 To bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose 
 Camillo for the minister, to poison 
 My friend Polixenes : which had been done, 
 But that the good mind of Camillo tardied 
 My swift command, though I with death and 
 
 with 
 
 Reward did threaten and encourage him, 
 Not doing it and being done : he, most humane, 
 And fill'd with honour, to my kingly guest 
 Unclasp'd my practice ; quit his fortunes here, 
 Which you knew great; and to the certain 
 
 hazard 
 
 Of all incertainties himself commended, 
 No richer than his honour : How he glisters 
 Thorough my rust ! and how his piety 
 Does my deeds make the blacker ! 
 
 Re-enter PAULINA. 
 
 A*t Wo e the while! 
 
 O, cut my lace, lest my heart, cracking it, 
 Break too ! 
 
 i Lord. What fit is this, good lady? 
 
 Paul. What studied torments, tyrant, nast 
 for me? [boiling 
 
 What wheels? racks? fires? what flaying? 
 In leads or oils? what old or newer torture 
 Must I receive, whose every word deserves 
 To taste of thy most worst? Thy tyranny 
 Together working with thy jealousies, 
 Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle 
 For girls of nine, O, think what theyhavedone, 
 And then run mad indeed, stark mad ! for all 
 Thy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it. 
 That thou betray'dst Polixenes, 'twas nothing ; 
 That did but show thee, of a fool, inconstant, 
 And damnable ingrateful ; nor was 't much 
 Thou wouldst have poison'd good Camillo'.s 
 
 honour, 
 
 To have him kill a king ; poor trespasses, 
 More monstrous standing by : whereof I reckon 
 The casting forth to crows thy baby daughter, 
 
 To be or none, or little ; though a devil 
 Would have shed water out of fire ere done *t : 
 Nor is 't directly kid to thee, the death 
 Of the young prince, whose honourable 
 
 thoughts, [heart 
 
 Thoughts high for one so tender, cleft the 
 That could conceive a gross and foolish sire 
 Blemish'd his gracious dam : this is not no, 
 Laid to thy answer : but the last, O lords, 
 When I have said, cry, Woe ! the queen, the 
 
 queen, 
 The sweetest, dearest creature's dead; and 
 
 vengeance for 't 
 Nor dropp'd down yet. 
 
 I Lord. The higher powers forbid ! 
 
 Paul. I say she's dead: I'll swear 't. If 
 
 word nor oath 
 
 Prevail not, go and see: if you can bring 
 Tincture, or lustre, in her lip, her eye, 
 Heat outwardly or breath within, I '11 serve you 
 As I would do the gods. But, O thou tyrant! 
 Do not repent these things ; for they are heavier 
 Than all thy woes can stir ; therefore betake thee 
 To nothing but despair. A thousand knees 
 Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting, 
 Upon a barren mountain, and still winter 
 In storm perpetual, could not move the gods 
 To look that way thou wert. 
 
 Leon. Go on, go on : 
 
 Thou canst not speak too much ; I have deserv'd 
 All tongues to talk their bitterest ! 
 
 I Lord. Say no more ; 
 
 Howe'er the business goes, you have made fault 
 I' the boldness of your speech. 
 
 Paul. I am sorry for 't : 
 
 All faults I make, when I shall come to know 
 
 them, 
 
 I do repent. Alas, I have show'd too much 
 The rashness of a woman : he is touch'd 
 To the noble heart. What's gone, and what 's 
 
 past help, 
 
 Should be past grief: do not receive affliction 
 At my petition ; I beseech you, rather 
 Let me be punish'd, that have minded you 
 Of what you should forget. Now, good my liege, 
 Sir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman : 
 The love I bore your queen, lo, fool again ! 
 I '11 speak of her no more, nor of your children j 
 I '11 not remember you of my own lord, 
 Who is lost too : take your patience to you, 
 And I '11 say nothing. 
 
 Leon. Thou didst speak but well, 
 
 When most the truth; which I receive much 
 
 better 
 
 Than to be pitied of thee. Pr'ythee, bring me 
 To the dead bodies of my queen and son : 
 One grave shall be for both ; upon them shall 
 
bCENE III.] 
 
 THE WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 359 
 
 The causes of their death appear, unto 
 Our shame perpetual. Once a day I '11 visit 
 The chapel where they lie ; and tears shed there 
 Shall be ray recreation : so long as nature 
 Will bear up with this exercise, so long 
 I daily vow to use it. Come, and lead me 
 To these sorrows. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. BOHEMIA. A desert Country 
 near the Sea. 
 
 Enter ANTIGONUS with the Child, and a 
 Mariner. 
 
 Ant. Thou art perfect, then, our ship hath 
 
 touch'd upon 
 The deserts of Bohemia? 
 
 Mar. Ay, my lord ; and fear 
 
 We have landed in ill time: the skies look 
 
 grimly, [science, 
 
 And threaten present blusters. In my con- 
 
 The heavens with that we have in hand are 
 
 angry, 
 And frown upon 's. 
 
 Ant. Their sacred wills be done ! Go, get 
 
 aboard ; 
 
 Look to thy bark : I '11 not be long before 
 I call upon thee. 
 
 Mar. Make your best haste ; and go not 
 Too far i' the land : 'tis like to be loud weather ; 
 Besides, this place is famous for the creatures 
 Of prey that keep upon 't. 
 
 Ant. Gothouaway: 
 
 I '11 follow instantly. 
 
 Mar. I am glad at heart 
 To be so rid o' the business. [Exit. 
 
 Ant. Come, poor babe: 
 
 I have heard (but not believ'd), the spirits of 
 
 the dead 
 
 May walk again : if such thing be, thy mother 
 Appear'd to me last night ; for ne'er was dream 
 So like a waking. To me comes a creature, 
 Sometimes her head on one side, some another : 
 I never saw a vessel of like sorrow, 
 So fill'd and so becoming : in pure white robes, 
 Like very sanctity, she did approach 
 My cabin where I lay : thrice bo\v ? d before me ; 
 And, gasping to begin some speech, her eyes 
 Became two spouts : the fury spent, anon 
 Did this break from her : Good Antigonus, 
 Since fate, against thy better disposition, 
 Hath made thy person for the thrower-cut 
 Of my poor babe, according to thine oath, 
 Places remote enough are in Bohemia, [babe 
 There weep, and leave it crying; and, for the 
 /r counted lost for ever, Perdita, 
 f pr'ythee, call V. For this ungentle busintsa, 
 Fui on thee l>y my lord t thou ne'er shalt :cc 
 
 Thy wife Paulina mo-re? and so, with shrieks, 
 She melted into air. Affrighted much, 
 I did in time collect myself; and thought 
 This was so, and no slumber. Dreams are toys ; 
 Yet, for this once, yea, superstitiously, 
 I will be squar'd by this. I do believe 
 Hermione hath suffer' d death ; and that 
 Apollo would, this being indeed the issue 
 Of King Polixenes, it should here be laid, 
 Either for life or death, upon the earth 
 Of its right father. Blossom, speed thee well ! 
 [Laying down the child. 
 There lie ; and there thy character : there these ; 
 [Laying down a bundle. 
 Which may if fortune please, both breed thee, 
 
 pretty, 
 And still rest thine. The storm begins :. poor 
 
 wretch, 
 
 That, for thy mother's fault, art thus expos'd 
 To loss and what may follow ! Weep I cannot, 
 But my heart bleeds : and most accurs'd am I 
 To be by oath enjoin'd to this. Farewell ! 
 The day frowns more and more : thou 'rt like 
 
 to have 
 
 A lullaby too rough : I never saw 
 The heavens so dim by day. A savage clamour ! 
 Well may I get aboard ! This is the chace : 
 I am gone for ever ! [Exit> pursued by a bear. 
 
 Enter an old Shepherd. 
 
 i.'.txi :,;.._ 
 
 Shep. I would there were no age between 
 ten and three-and-twenty, or that youth would 
 sleep out the rest ; for there is nothing in the 
 between but getting wenches with child, wrong- 
 ing the ancientry, stealing, righting. Hark 
 you now ! Would any but these boiled brains 
 of nineteen and two-and-twenty hunt this 
 weather? They have scared away two of my 
 best sh^ep, which I fear the wolf will sooner 
 find than the master: if any where I have 
 them, 'tis by the sea-side, browsing of ivy. 
 Good luck, an't be thy will! what have we 
 here? [Taking up the child."] Mercy on's, a 
 bairn ; a very pretty bairn ! A boy or a child, 
 I wonder? A pretty one; a very pretty one: 
 sure, some scape: though I am not bookish, 
 yet I can read waiting-gentlewoman in the 
 scape. This has been some stair-work, some 
 trunk -work, some bchind-door-work : they 
 were wanner that got this than the poor thing 
 is here. I '11 take it up for pity : yet I '11 
 tarry till my son comes ; he hollaed but even 
 now. Whoa, ho hoa! 
 
 Ch. [Within.} Hilloa, loa! 
 
 Shep. What, art so near? If thou 'It see a 
 thing to talk on when thou art dead and rotten, 
 conic hi'.h*!. 
 
360 
 
 THE WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Enter Clown. 
 
 What ailest thou, man? 
 
 Clo. I have seen two such sights, by sea and 
 by land ! but I am not to say it is a sea, for it 
 is now the sky : betwixt the firmament and it, 
 you cannot thrust a bodkin's point. 
 
 Shep. Why, boy, how is it? 
 
 Clo. I would you did but see now it chafes, 
 how it rages, how it takes up the shore ! but 
 that's not to the point. O, the most piteous 
 cry of the poor souls ! sometimes to see 'em, 
 and not to see 'em ; now the ship boring the 
 moon with her mainmast, and anon swallowed 
 with yest and froth, as you 'd thrust a cork in 
 a hogshead. And then for the land service, 
 to see how the bear tore out his shoulder-bone ; 
 how he cried to me for help, and said his 
 name was Antigonus, a nobleman. But to 
 make an end of the ship, to see how the sea 
 flap-dragoned it : but, first, how the poor souls 
 roared, and the sea mocked them ; and how 
 the poor gentleman roared, and the bear 
 mocked him, both roaring louder than the 
 sea or weather. 
 
 Shep. Name of mercy! when was this, 
 * boy? 
 
 Clo. Now, now ; I have not winked since I 
 saw these sights: the men are not yet cold 
 under water, nor the bear half dined on the 
 gentleman ; he 's at it now. 
 
 Shep. Would I had been by to have helped 
 the old man ! 
 
 Clo. I would you had been by the ship-side, 
 to have helped her : there your charity would 
 have lacked footing. [Aside. 
 
 Shep. Heavy matters! heavy matters! but 
 look thee here, boy. Now bless thyself: thou 
 mettest with things dying, I with things new- 
 born. Here 's a sight for thee ; look thee, a 
 bearing-cloth for a squire's child! look thee 
 here! take up, take up, boy; open't. So, 
 let 's see : it was told me I should be rich by 
 the fairies: this is some changeling: open't. 
 What 's within, boy? 
 
 Clo. You 're a made old man ; if the sins of 
 your youth are forgiven you, you 're well to 
 live. Gold! all gold! 
 
 Shep. This is fairy-gold, boy, and 'twill 
 prove so : up with it, keep it close : home, 
 home, the next way ! We are lucky, boy; and 
 to be so still requires nothing but secrecy 
 Let my sheep go : come, good boy, the next 
 way home. 
 
 Clo. Go you the next way with your findings. 
 I '11 go see if the bear be gone from the gentle- 
 man, and how much he hath eaten : they arc 
 
 never curst but when they are hungry : if there 
 be any of him left, I '11 bury it. 
 
 Shep. That 's a good deed. If thou mayest 
 discern by that which is left of him what he is, 
 fetch me to the sight of him. 
 
 Clo. Marry, will I; and you shall help to 
 put him i' the ground. 
 
 Shep. 'Tis a lucky day, boy; and we'll do 
 good deeds on 't. {Exeunt. 
 
 sV.< ACT IV. , >j_,j' rWj k ^ta"^ 
 
 Enter TIME, as Chorus. 
 
 Time. I, that please some, try all; both 
 
 joy and terror 
 
 Of good and bad ; that make and unfold error, 
 Now take upon me, in the name of Time, 
 To use my wings. Impute it not a crime 
 To me or my swift passage, that I slide 
 O'er sixteen years, and leave the growth untried 
 Of that wide gap, since it is in my power 
 To o'erthrow law, and in one self-born hour 
 To plant and o'erwhelm custom. Let me pass 
 The same I am, ere ancient'st order was, 
 Or what is now received I witness to 
 The times that brought them in ; so shall I do 
 To the freshest things now reigning, and make 
 
 nr stale 
 
 The glistering of this present, as my tale 
 Now seems to it. Your patience this allowing, 
 I turn my glass, and give my scene such growing 
 As you had slept between. Leontes leaving 
 The effects of his fond jealousies, so grieving 
 That he shuts up himself; imagine me, 
 Gentle spectators, that I now may be 
 In fair Bohemia ; and remember well, 
 I mendon'd a son o' the king's, which Florize. 
 I now name to you ; and with speed so pace 
 To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace 
 Equal with wondering : what of her ensues, 
 I list not prophesy ; but let Time's news 
 Be known when 'tis brought forth: a shep- 
 herd's daughter, 
 
 And what to her adheres, which follows after, 
 Is the argument of Time. Of this allow, 
 If ever you have spent time worse ere now ; 
 If never, yet that Time himself doth say 
 He wishes earnestly you never may. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE I. BOHEMIA. A Room in the Palace 
 
 of POLIXENES. 
 
 J 
 
 Enter POLIXENES and CAMILLO. 
 
 Pol. I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more 
 importunate : 'tis a sickness denying thee any- 
 thing ; a death to grant this. 
 
 Cam. It is fifteen years since I saw my 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THE WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 361 
 
 country; though I have for the most part been 
 aired abroad, I desire to lay my bones there. 
 Besides, the penitent king, my master, hath 
 sent for me ; to whose feeling sorrows I might 
 be some allay, or I o'erween to think so, which 
 is another spur to my departure. 
 
 Pol. As thou lovest me, Camillo, wipe not 
 out the rest of thy services by leaving me now : 
 the need I have of thee, thine own goodness 
 hath made ; better not to have had thee than 
 thus to want thee ; thou, having made me busi- 
 nesses which none without thee can sufficiently 
 manage, must either stay to execute them thy- 
 self, or take away with thee the very services 
 thou hast done ; which if I have not enough 
 considered, as too much I cannot, to be more 
 thankful to thee shall be my study ; and my 
 profit therein the heaping friendships. Of that 
 fatal country Sicilia, pr'ythee, speak no more ; 
 whose very naming punishes me with the re- 
 membrance of that penitent, as thou call'st him, 
 and reconciled king, my brother ; whose loss of 
 his most precious queen and children are even 
 now to be afresh lamented. Say to me, when 
 sawest thou the Prince Florizel, my son? Kings 
 aie no less unhappy, their issue not being 
 gracious, than they are in losing them, when 
 they have approved their virtues. 
 
 Cam. Sir, it is three days since I saw the 
 prince. What his happier affairs may be, are 
 to me unknown ; but I have missingly noted he 
 is of late much retired from court, and is less 
 frequent to his princely exercises than formerly 
 he hath appeared. 
 
 Pol. I have considered so much, Camillo, 
 and with some care ; so far, that I have eyes 
 under my service which look upon his removed- 
 ness ; from whom I have this intelligence, that 
 he is seldom from the house of a most homely 
 shepherd; a man, they say, that from very 
 nothing, and beyond the imagination of his 
 neighbours, is grown into an unspeakable 
 estate. 
 
 Cam. I have heard, sir, of such a man, who 
 hath a daughter of most rare note : the report 
 of her is extended more than can be thought to 
 begin from such a cottage. 
 
 Pol. That 's likewise part of my intelligence: 
 but I fear the angle that plucks our son thither. 
 Thou shalt accompany us to the place; where 
 we will, not appearing what we are, have some 
 question with the shepherd ; from whose sim- 
 plicity I think it not uneasy to get the cause 
 of my son's resort thither. Pr'ythee, be my 
 present partner in this business, and lay aside 
 the thoughts of Sicilia. 
 
 Cam, I willingly obey your command* 
 
 PoL My best CarailloJ We must disguise 
 ourselves. \_Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. The same. A Road near the 
 Shepherd's Cottage. 
 
 Enter AuTOLYCUS, singing. 
 
 When daffodils begin to peer, 
 With, hey ! the doxy over the dale, 
 
 Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year ; 
 For the red biood reigns in the winter's pale. 
 
 The white sheet bleaching on the hedge, 
 With, hey ! the sweet birds, O, how they sing 5 
 
 Doth set my pugging tooth on edge ; 
 For a quart of ale is a dish for a king. 
 
 The lark, that tirra-Hrra chants, 
 
 With, hey ! with, hey ! the thrush and the jay, 
 Are summer songs for me and my aunts, 
 
 While we lie tumbling in the hay. 
 
 I have served Prince Florizel, and, in my time, 
 wore three-pile ; but now I am out of service : 
 
 But shall I go mourn for that, my dear? 
 
 The pale moon shines by night : 
 And when I wander here and there, 
 
 I then do most go right. 
 
 ti : -9ni ruiw Jfol <$<! tMJ feJa^iai^ 
 If tinkers may have leave to live, 
 
 And bear the sow-skin budget, 
 Then my account I well may give 
 
 And in the stocks avouch it. 
 
 My traffic is sheets ; when the kite builds> look 
 to lesser linen. My father named me Autolycus; 
 who being, as I am, littered under Mercury, 
 was likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered 
 trifles. With die and drab I purchased this 
 caparison; and my revenue is the silly -cheat: 
 gallows and knock are too powerful on the 
 highway; beating and hanging are terrors to 
 me ; for the life co come, I sleep out the thought 
 of it. A prize ! a prize 1 
 
 Enter Clown. 
 
 ,. 
 Clo. Let me s?e : every 'leven wether tods ; 
 
 every tod yields i>ound and odd shilling ; fifteen 
 hundred shorn, what comes the wool to? 
 
 Aut. If the springe hold, the cock 's mine. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Clo. I cannot do 't without counters. Let 
 me see ; what am I to buy for our sheep-shear- 
 ing feast? Three pound of sugar ; Jive pound 
 of currants; rice what will this sister of mine 
 do with rice? But my father hath made her 
 mistress of the feast, and she lays it on. She 
 hath made me four-and-twenty nosegays for the 
 shearers, three-man song-men all, and very 
 good ones ; but they are most of them means 
 and bases ; but one puritan amongst them, and 
 he sings psalms to hornpipes. I must have 
 
THE WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 saffron, to colour the warden pies; mace dates > 
 none ; that } s out of my note ; nutmegs, seven; 
 a race or two of ginger, but that I may beg ; 
 four pound of prunes > and as many of raisins 
 0' the sun. 
 
 Aut. O that ever I was born ! 
 
 [ Grovelling on the ground. 
 
 Clo. F the name of me, 
 
 Aut. O, help me, help me! pluck but off 
 these rags ; and then, death, death ! 
 
 Clo. Alack, poor soul ! thou hast need of 
 more rags to lay on thee, rather than have these 
 off. 
 
 Aut. O, sir, the loathsomeness ot them 
 offends me more than the stripes I have re- 
 ceived, which are mighty ones and millions. 
 
 Clo. Alas, poor man ! a million of beating 
 may come to a great matter. 
 
 Aut. I am robbed, sir, and beaten; my 
 money and apparel ta'en from me, and these 
 detestable things put upon me. 
 
 Clo. What, by a horseman or a footman? 
 
 Aut. A footman, sweet sir, a footman. 
 
 Clo. Indeed, he should be a footman, by the 
 garments he has left with thee: if this be a 
 horseman's coat, it hath seen very hot service. 
 Lend me thy hand, I '11 help thee : come, lend 
 me thy hand. [Helping him up. 
 
 Aut. O, good sir, tenderly, O ! 
 
 Clo. Alas, poor soul ! 
 
 Aut. Oh, good sir, softly, good sir : I fear, 
 sir, my shoulder blade is out. 
 
 Clo. How now! canst stand? 
 
 Aut. Softly, dear sir ! [picks his pocket} good 
 sir, softly ; you ha* done me a charitable office. 
 
 Clo. Dost lack any money? I have a little 
 money for thee. 
 
 Aut. No, good sweet sir; no, I beseech you, 
 sir: I have a kinsman not past three quarters 
 of a mile hence, unto whom I was going ; I 
 shall there have money or anything I want: 
 offer me no money, I pray you ; that kills my 
 heart. . [robbed you? 
 
 Clo. What manner of fellow was he that 
 
 Aut. A fellow, sir, that I have known to go 
 about with troll-my-dames : I knew him once 
 a servant of the prince : I cannot tell, good sir, 
 for which of his virtues it was, but he was 
 certainly whipped out of the court. 
 
 Clo. His vices, you would say; there's no 
 virtue whipped out of the court : they cherish 
 it, to make it stay there ; and yet it will no 
 more but abide. 
 
 Aut. Vices, I would say, sir. I know this 
 man well : he hath been since an ape-bearer ; 
 then a process-server, a bailiff ; then he com- 
 passed a motion gf the Prodigal Son, and 
 
 married a tinker's wife within a mile where my 
 land and living lies; and, having flown over 
 many knavish professions, he settled only in 
 rogue : some call him Autolycus. 
 
 Clo. Out upon him! prig, for my life, prig: 
 he haunts wakes, fairs, and bear-baitings. 
 
 Aut. Very true, sir ; he, sir, he ; that 's the 
 rogue that put me into this apparel. 
 
 Clo. Not a more cowardly rogue in all 
 Bohemia ; if you had but looked big and spit 
 at him, he 'd have run. 
 
 Aut. I must confess to you, sir, I am no 
 fighter : I am false of heart that way ; and that 
 he knew, I warrant him. 
 
 Clo. How do you now? 
 
 Auf. Sweet sir, much better than I was; I 
 can stand and walk : I will even take my leave 
 of you, and pace softly towards my kinsman's. 
 
 Clo. Shall I bring thee on the way? 
 
 Aut. No, good-faced sir ; no, sweet sir. 
 
 Clo. Then fare thee well: I must go buy 
 spices for our sheep-shearing. 
 
 Aut. Prosper you, sweet sir ! \Exit Clown.] 
 Your purse is not hot enough to purchase your 
 spice. I '11 be with you at your sheep-shearing 
 too. If I make not this cheat bring out another, 
 and the shearers prove sheep, let me be en- 
 rolled, and my name put in the book of virtue ! 
 
 {Sings. 
 
 Jog on, jog on, the footpath way, 
 
 And merrily bent the stile-a : 
 A merry heart goes all the day, 
 
 Your sad tires in a raile-a. 
 
 SCENE III. The same. A Shepherd's 
 Cottage. 
 
 Enter FLORIZEL and PERDITA. 
 
 Flo. These your unusual weeds to each part 
 
 of you 
 
 Do give a life : no shepherdess, but Flora [ing 
 Peering in April's front. This your sheep-shear- 
 Is as a meeting of the petty gods, 
 And you the queen on 't 
 
 Per. Sir, my gracious lord, 
 
 To chide at your extremes it not becomes me, 
 O, pardon that I name them ! your high self, 
 The gracious mark o' the land, you have obscur'd 
 With a swain's wearing; andme, poor lowly maid, 
 Most goddess-like prank'd up. But that our feasts 
 In every mess have folly, and the feeders 
 Digest it with a custom, I should blush 
 To see you so attir'd; swoon, I think, 
 To show myself a glass. 
 
 Flo. I bless the time 
 
 When my good falcon made her flight across 
 Thy fathers ground. 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 THE WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 363 
 
 Per. Now Jove afford you cause ! 
 
 To me the difference forges dread: your greatness 
 Hath not been us'd to fear. Even now I tremble 
 To think your father, by some accident, 
 Should pass this way, as you did. O, the fates ! 
 How would he look to see his work, so noble, 
 Vilely bound up? What would he say? Or how 
 Should I, in these my borrow'd flaunts, behold 
 The sternness of his presence? 
 
 Flo. Apprehend 
 
 Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves, 
 Humbling their deities to love, have taken 
 The shapes of beasts upon them : Jupiter 
 Became a bull, and bellow'd ; the green Neptune 
 A ram, and bleated ; and the fire-rob'd god, 
 Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain, 
 As I seem now : their transformations 
 Were never for a piece of beauty rarer, 
 Nor in a way so chaste, since my desires 
 Run not before mine honour, nor my lusts 
 Burn hotter than my faith. 
 
 Per. O, but, sir, 
 
 Your resolution cannot hold, when 'tis 
 Oppos'd, as it must be, by the power of the king : 
 One of these two must be necessities, 
 Which then will speak, that you must change 
 
 this purpose, 
 Or I my life. 
 
 Flo. Thou dearest Perdita, [not 
 
 With these forc'd thoughts, I pr'ythee, darken 
 The mirth o' the feast : or I '11 be thine, my fair, 
 Or not my father's ; for I cannot be 
 Mine own, nor anything to any, if 
 I be not thine : to this I am most constant, 
 Though destiny say no. Be merry, gentle : 
 Strangle such thoughts as these with anything 
 That you behold the while. Your guests are 
 
 coming : 
 
 Lift up your countenance, as it were the day 
 Of celebration of that nuptial which 
 We two have sworn shall come. 
 
 Per. O lady Fortune, 
 
 Stand you auspicious ! 
 
 Flo. See, your guests approach : 
 
 Address yourself to entertain them sprightly, 
 And let 's be red with mirth. 
 
 Enter Shepherd, with POLIXENES and CAM- 
 ILLO disguised; Clown, MOPSA, DORCAS, 
 with others. 
 
 '-.< - > Tjytic. . 
 Shep. Fie, daughter! when my old wife 
 
 liv'd, upon 
 
 This day she was both pantler, butler, cook ; 
 Both dame and servant ; welcom'd all ; serv'd 
 all; [here 
 
 Would sing her song and dance her turn ; now 
 At upper end o' the table, now i' the middle ; 
 
 
 On his shoulder, and his ; her face o' fire 
 With labour ; and the thing she took to quench 
 
 it, 
 
 She would to each one sip. You are retired, 
 As if you were a feasted one, and not 
 The hostess of the meeting: pray you, bid 
 These unknown friends to us welcome ; for it is 
 A way to make us better friends, more known. 
 Come, quench your blushes, and present your- 
 self 
 That which you are, mistress of the feast : come 
 
 on, 
 
 And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing, 
 As your good flock shall prosper. 
 
 Per. Sir, welcome! [To POL. 
 
 It is my father's will I should take on me 
 The hostess-ship o' the day : You 're welcome, 
 sir! [70CAMILLO. 
 
 Give me those flowers there, Dorcas. Rev- 
 erend sirs, 
 
 For you there 's rosemary and rue ; these keep 
 Seeming and savour all the winter long : 
 Grace and remembrance be to you both, 
 And welcome to our shearing ! 
 
 Pol. Shepherdess-*-- 
 
 A fair one are you ! well you fit our ages 
 With flowers of winter. 
 
 Per* Sir, the year growing ancient, 
 
 Not yet on summer's death, nor on the birth 
 Of trembling winter, the fairest flowers o' the 
 
 season 
 
 Are our carnations, and streak'd gillyvors, 
 Which some call nature's bastards : of that kind 
 Our rustic garden 's barren ; and I care not 
 To get slips of them. 
 
 Pol. Wherefore, gentle maiden, 
 
 Do you neglect them? 
 
 Per. For I have heard it said 
 
 There is an art which, in their piedness, shares 
 With great creating nature. 
 
 Pol. Say there be* 
 
 Yet nature is made better by no mean, 
 But nature makes that mean ; so, o'er that art 
 Which you say adds to nature, is an art 
 That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we 
 
 marry 
 
 A gentler scion to the wildest stock, "/arf f 
 And make conceive a bark of baser kind 
 By bud of nobler race. This is an art 
 Which does mend nature, change it rather; but 
 The art itself is nature. 
 
 Per. So it is. 
 
 Pol. Then make your garden rich in gillyvors, 
 And do not call them bastards. 
 
 Per. I '11 not put 
 
 The dibble in earth to set one slip of them ; 
 
 j No more than, were I painted, I would wish 
 
364 
 
 THE WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 This youth would say, 'twere well, and only 
 
 therefore; nlrfj 
 
 Desire to breed by me. Here 's flowers for you; 
 Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram ; 
 The marigold, that goes to bed with the sun, 
 And with him rises weeping ; these are flowers 
 Of middle summer, and I think they are given 
 To men of middle age. You 're very welcome ! 
 Cam. I should leave grazing, were I of your 
 
 flock, 
 And only live by gazing. 
 
 Per. Out, alas ! 
 
 You 'd be so lean that blasts of January 
 Would blow you through and through. Now, 
 
 my fairest friend, [might 
 
 I would I had some flowers o' the spring that 
 Becomeyour time of day; and yours, and yours, 
 That wear upon your virgin branches yet 
 Your maidenheads growing. O Proserpina, 
 For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou lett'st 
 
 falUm 
 
 From Dis's waggon ! daffodils, 
 That come before the swallow dares, and take 
 The winds of March with beauty; viokts dim, 
 But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes 
 Or Cytherea's breath ; pale primroses, 
 That die unmarried ere they can behold 
 Bright Phoebus in his strength, a malady 
 Most incident to maids ; bold oxlips, and 
 The crown-imperial ; lilies of all kinds, 
 The flower-de-luce being one ! O, these I lack, 
 \> make you garlands of; and, my sweet friend, 
 To strew him o'er and o'er ! 
 Flo. What, like a corse? 
 
 Per. No ; like a bank for love to lie and play 
 
 on; 
 
 Not like a corse ; or if, not to be buried, 
 But quick, and in mine arms. Come, take your 
 
 flowers ; 
 
 Methinks I play as I have seen them do 
 In Whitsun pastorals : sure, this robe of mine 
 Does change my disposition. 
 
 Flo. What you do 
 
 Still betters what is done. When you speak, 
 
 sweet, 
 
 I 'd have you do it ever ; when you sing, 
 I 'd have you buy and sell so ; so give alms ; 
 Pray so ; and, for the ordering your affairs, 
 To sing them too : when you dance, I wish you 
 A wave o' the sea, that might ever do 
 Nothing but that ; move still, still so, and own 
 No other function : each your doing, 
 So singular in each particular, 
 Crowns what you are doing in the present deeds, 
 That all your acts are queens. 
 
 Per. ' O Doricles, 
 
 Your praises are too large : but that your youth, 
 
 And the true blood which peeps fairly through it, 
 Do plainly give you out an unstained shepherd, 
 With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles, 
 You woo'd me the false way. 
 
 Flo. I think you have 
 
 As little skill to fear as I have purpose 
 To put you to 't. But, come ; our dance, I pray: 
 Your hand, my Perdita; so turtles pair 
 That never mean to part. 
 
 Per. I '11 swear for 'em. 
 
 Pol. This is the prettiest low-born lass that 
 ever [seems 
 
 Ran on the green sward : nothing she does or 
 But smacks of something greater than herself, 
 Too noble for this place. 
 
 Cam. He tells her something [is 
 
 That makes her blood look out : good sooth, she 
 The queen of curds and cream. 
 
 Clo. Come on, strike up. 
 
 Dor. Mopsa must be your mistress: marry, 
 
 garlic, 
 To mend her kissing with. 
 
 Mop. Now, in good time'. 
 
 Clo. Not a word, a word ; we stand upon our 
 
 manners. 
 Come, strike up. [Music. 
 
 Here a dance of Shepherds and Shepherdesses, 
 
 Pol* Pray, good shepherd, what 
 Fair swain is this which dances with your 
 daughter? [himself 
 
 Shep. They call him Doricles; and boast? 
 To have a worthy feeding : but I have it 
 Upon his own report, and I believe it ; 
 He looks like sooth. He says he loves my 
 
 daughter : 
 
 I think so too ; for never gaz'd the moon 
 Upon the water as he'll stand, and read, 
 As 'twere, my daughter's eyes: and, to be plain, 
 I think there is not half a kiss to choose 
 Who loves another best. 
 
 Pol. She dances featly. [it, 
 
 Shep. So she does anything ; though I report 
 That should be silent : if young Doricles 
 Do light upon her, she shall bring him that 
 Which he not dreams of. 
 
 x*V& 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. O master, if you did but hear the pedlar 
 at the door, you would never dance again after 
 a tabor and pipe; no, the bagpipe could not move 
 you : he sings several tunes faster than you '11 tell 
 money : he utters them as he had eaten ballads, 
 and all men's ears grew to his tunes. 
 
 Clo. He could never come better: he shall 
 come in: I love a ballad but even too well; if 
 
SCENE III.J 
 
 THE WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 365 
 
 it be doleful matter merrily set down, or a very 
 pleasant thing indeed and sung lamentably. 
 
 Serv. He hath songs for man or woman of 
 all sizes ; no milliner can so fit his customers 
 with gloves : he has the prettiest love-songs for 
 maids ; so without bawdry, which is strange ; 
 with such delicate burdens oidildos a.u& fadings, 
 jump her and thump her; and where some 
 stretch-mouth' d rascal would, as it were, mean 
 mischief, and break a foul gap into the matter, 
 he makes the maid to answer, Whoop, do me 
 no harm, good man ; puts him off, slights him, 
 with Whoop, do me no harm, good man. 
 
 Pol. This is a brave fellow. 
 
 Clo. Believe me, thou talkest of an admir- 
 able conceited fellow. Has he any unbraided 
 wares? 
 
 Serv. He hath ribands of all the colours i' 
 the rainbow ; points more than all the lawyers 
 in Bohemia can learnedly handle, though they 
 come to him by the gross; inkles, caddisses, 
 cambrics, lawns : why he sings 'em over as 
 they were gods or goddesses ; you would think 
 a smock were a she-angel, he so chants to the 
 sleeve-hand, and the work about the square 
 on't. 
 
 Clo. Pr'ythee, bring him in ; and let him 
 approach singing. 
 
 Per. Forewarn him that he use no scurrilous 
 words in his tunes. [Exit Servant. 
 
 Clo. You have of these pedlars that have 
 more in 'em than you 'd think, sister. 
 
 Per. Ay, good brother, or go about to think. 
 
 Enter AuxoLYCUS, singing. 
 
 Lawn as white as driven snow ; 
 
 Cyprus black as e'er was crow ; 
 
 Gl-.ves as sweet as damask-roses ; 
 
 Masks for faces and for no>es; 
 
 Bugle-bracelet, necklace a'l.ber, 
 
 Perfume for a lady's chamber; 
 
 Golden quoifs and stomachers, 
 
 For my lads to give their dears; 
 
 Pins and poking-sticks of steel, 
 
 Wh.t maids lack from head to heeli -.{ oisrfT 
 
 Come, buy of me, come ; come buy, come buy ; 
 
 Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry : 
 
 Come, buy. 
 
 fj,0-( \< :-?! I 5-jyw ; , iiioW.Jiiuai-'kttJHiT 
 
 Clo. If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou 
 shouldst take no money of me ; but being en- 
 thralled as I am, it will also be the bondage of 
 certain ribands and gloves. 
 
 Mop. I was promised them against the feast ; 
 but they come not too late now. 
 
 Dor. He hath promised you more than that, 
 or there be liars. 
 
 Mop. He hath paid you all he promised you : 
 may be he has paid you more, which will 
 shame you to give him again. 
 
 Clo. Is there no manners left among maids? 
 will they wear their plackets where they should 
 bear their faces? Is there not milking-time, 
 when you are going to bed. or kiln-hole, to 
 whistle off these secrets, but you must be 
 tittle-tattling before all our guests? 'tis well 
 they are whispering. Clamour your tongues, 
 and not a word more. 
 
 Mop. I have done. Come, you promised 
 me a tawdry lace, and a pair of sweet gloves. 
 
 Clo. Have I not told thee how I was cozened 
 by the way, and lost all my money? 
 
 Aut. And, indeed, sir, there are cozeners 
 abroad ; therefore it behoves men to be wary. 
 
 Clo. Fear not thou, man, thou shalt lose 
 nothing here. 
 
 Aut. I hope so, sir; for I have about me 
 many parcels of charge. 
 
 Clo. What hast here? ballads? 
 
 Mop. Pray now, buy some : I love a ballad in 
 print a-life ; for then we are sure they are true. 
 
 Aut. Here's one to a very doleful tune. 
 How a usurer's wife was brought to bed of 
 twenty money-bags at a burden, and how she 
 longed to eat adders' heads and toads carbona- 
 doed. 
 
 Mop. Is it true, think you? 
 
 Aut. Very true ; and but a month old. 
 
 Dor. Bless me from marrying a usurer ! 
 
 Aut. Here 's the midwife's name to 't, one 
 Mistress Taleporter, and five or six honest 
 wives that were present. Why should I carry 
 lies abroad ? 
 
 Mop. Pray you now, buy it. 
 
 Clo. Come on, lay it by ; and let 's first see 
 more ballads; we'll buy the other things anon. 
 
 Aut. Here 's another ballad, of a f.sh that 
 appeared upon the coast on Wednesday the 
 fourscore of April, forty thousand fathom above 
 water, and sung this ballad against the hard 
 hearts of maids: it was thought she was a 
 woman, and was turned into a cold fish for she 
 would not exchange flesh with one that loved 
 her. The ballad is very pitiful, and as true. 
 
 Dor. Is it true too, think you ? 
 
 Aut. Five justices' hands at it; and wit- 
 nesses more than my pack will hold. 
 
 Clo. Lay it by too : another. 
 
 Aut. This is a merry ballad; but a very 
 pretty one. 
 
 Mop. Let 's have some merry ones. 
 
 Aut. Why, this is a passing merry one, and 
 goes to the tune of Two maids wooing a man: 
 there 's scarce a maid westward but she sings 
 it : 'tis in request, I can tell you. 
 
 Mop. We can both sing it : if thou 'It bear a 
 pan thou shalt hear ; 'tis in three parts. 
 
366 
 
 THE WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Dor. We had the tune on 't a month ago. 
 Aut. I can bear my part ; you must know 
 'tis my occupation : have at it with you. 
 Ef '.-ix-T ;.rt gnio'gr 1 :,: 
 
 SONG. 
 
 A. Get you hence, for I must go ; 
 
 Where, it fits not you to know. 
 
 D. Whither? M. O, whither ? D. Whither? 
 M. It becomes thy oath full well, 
 
 Thou to me thy secrets tell : 
 i85>v D, Me too, let me go thither. 
 
 M. Or thou go'st to the grange or mill : 
 D. If to either, thou dost ill. 
 
 A. Neither. D, What, neither? A. Neither. 
 D. Thou hast sworn my love to be ; 
 M. Thou hast sworn it more to me ; 
 
 Then, whither go'st ? say, whither ? 
 
 Clo. We '11 have this song out anon by our- 
 selves ; my father and the gentlemen are in sad j 
 talk, and we'll not trouble them. Come, bring I 
 away thy pack after me. Wenches, I'll buy 
 for you both: Pedlar, let's have the first 
 choice. Follow me, girls. 
 
 Aut. And you shall pay well for 'em. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Will you buy any tape, 
 Or lace for your cape, 
 My dainty duck, my dear-a? 
 Any silk, any thread, 
 Any toys for your head, 
 Of the new'st and fin'st, fin'st wear a? 
 Come to the pedlar ; 
 Money 's a meddler, 
 That doth utter all men's ware-a. 
 
 [Exeunt Clown, AUT., Dor., a</Moi>. 
 
 Re-enter Servant. 
 
 Serv. Master, there is three carters, three 
 shepherds, three neat-herds, three swine-herds, 
 that have made themselves all men of hair; 
 they call themselves saltiers : and they have a 
 dance which the wenches say is a gallimaufry 
 of gambols, because they are not in 't; but they 
 themselves are o' the mind (if it. be not too 
 rough for some, that know little but bowling) 
 it will please plentifully. 
 
 Shep. Away ! we '11 none on 't : here has 
 been too much homely foolery already. I 
 know, sir, we weary you. 
 
 Pol. You weary those that refresh us : pray, 
 let 's see these four threes of herdsmen. 
 
 Serv. One three of them, by their own re- 
 port, sir, hath danced before the king ; and 
 not the worst of the three but jumps twelve 
 foot and a half by the squire. 
 
 Shep. Leave your prating : since these good 
 men are pleased, let them come in ; but quickly 
 now. 
 
 Serv. Why, they stay at door, sir. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Twelve Rustics, habited like Satyrs. 
 They dance, and then exeunt. 
 
 Pol. O father, you '11 know more of that 
 
 hereafter. 
 
 Is it not too far gone? 'Tis time to part them. 
 He's simple and tells much. [Aside.'] How 
 
 now, fair shepherd ! 
 
 Your heart is full of something that does take 
 Your mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was 
 
 young, 
 
 And handed love as you do, I was wont 
 To load my she with knacks: I would have 
 
 ransack'd 
 
 The pedlar's silken treasury, and have pour'd it 
 To her acceptance ; you have let him go, 
 And nothing marted with him. If your lass 
 Interpretation should abuse, and call this 
 Your lack of love or bounty, you were straited 
 For a reply, at least if you make a care 
 Of happy holding her. 
 
 Flo. Old sir, I know 
 
 She prizes not such trifles as these are : 
 The gifts she looks from me are pack'd and 
 
 lock'd 
 
 Up in my heart ; which I have given already, 
 But not deliver'd. O, hear me breathe my life 
 Before this ancient sir, who, it should seem, 
 Hath sometime lov'd, I take thy hand ! this 
 
 hand, 
 
 As soft as dove's down, and as white as it, 
 Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd snow that's 
 
 bolted 
 By the northern blasts twice o'er. 
 
 Pol. What follows this? 
 How prettily the young swain seems to wash 
 The hand was fair before ! I have put you out: 
 But to your protestation ; let me hear 
 What you profess. 
 
 Flo. Do, and be witness to 't. 
 
 Pol. And this my neighbour, too? 
 Flo. And he, and more 
 
 Than he, and men, the earth, the heavens, 
 
 and all : [monarch, 
 
 That, were I crown'd the most imperial 
 Thereof most worthy ; were I the fairest youth 
 That ever made eye swerve; had force and 
 
 knowledge [them 
 
 More than was ever man's, I would not prize 
 Without her love : for her employ them all ; 
 Commend them, and condemn them, to her 
 
 service, 
 Or to their own perdition. 
 
 Pol. Fairly offer'd. 
 
 Cam. This show's a sound affection. 
 Shep. But, my daughter, 
 
 Say you the like to him ? 
 
SCENE III. 
 
 THE WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 367 
 
 Per. I cannot speak 
 
 So well, nothing so well ; no, nor mean better : 
 By the pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out 
 The purity of his. 
 
 Shep. Take hands, a bargain ! 
 
 And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness 
 
 to't: 
 
 I give my daughter to him, and will make 
 Her portion equal his. 
 
 Flo. O, that must be 
 
 I' the virtue of your daughter: one being dead, 
 I shall have more than you can dream of yet ; 
 Enough then for your wonder: but come on, 
 Contract us 'fore these witnesses. 
 
 Shep. Come, your hand ; 
 
 And, daughter, yours. 
 
 Pol. Soft, swain, awhile, beseech you ; 
 
 Have you a father? 
 
 Flo. I have ; but what of him? 
 
 Pol. Knows he of this? 
 
 Flo. He neither does nor shall. 
 
 Pol. Metbinks a father 
 
 Is, at the nuptial of his son, a guest [more ; 
 That best becomes the table. Pray you, once 
 Is not your father grown incapable 
 Of reasonable affairs? is he not stupid 
 With age and altering rheums? can he speak? 
 
 hear? 
 
 Know man from man? dispute his own estate? 
 Lies he not bed-rid? and again does nothing 
 But what he did being childish? 
 
 Flo. No, good sir ; 
 
 He has his health, and ampler strength indeed 
 Than most have of his age. 
 
 Pol. By my white beard, 
 
 You offer him, if this be so, a wrong 
 Something unfilial : reason my son 
 Should choose himself a wife ; but as good reason 
 The father, all whose joy is nothing else 
 But fair posterity, should hold some counsel 
 In such a business. 
 
 Flo. I yield all this; 
 
 But, for some other reasons, my grave sir, 
 Which 'tis not fit you know, I not acquaint 
 My father of this business. 
 
 Pol. Let him know 't 
 
 Flo. He shall not. 
 
 Pol. Pr'ythee, let him. 
 
 Flo. No, he must not 
 
 Skep. Let him, my son : he shall not need to 
 
 grieve 
 At knowing of thy choice. 
 
 Flo. Come, come, he must not. 
 
 Mark our contract. 
 
 Pol. Mark your divorce, young sir, 
 
 [Discovering himself. 
 Whom son I dare not call ; thou art too base 
 
 To be acknowledged : thou a sceptre'a heir, 
 That thus affect'st a sheep-hook ! Thou old 
 
 traitor, 
 
 I am sorry that, by hanging thee, I can but 
 Shorten thy life one week. And thou, fresh 
 
 piece [know 
 
 Of excellent witchcraft, who, of force, must 
 The royal fool then cop'st with, 
 
 Shep. O, my heart ! 
 
 Pol. I'll have thy beauty scratched with 
 
 briers, and made [boy> 
 
 More homely than thy state. For thee, fond 
 If I may ever know thou dost but sigh 
 That thou no more shalt see this knack, as 
 
 never [cession ; 
 
 I mean thou shalt, we ; 11 bar thee from sue- 
 Not hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin, 
 Far than Deucalion off, mark thou my words: 
 Follow us to the court. Thou churl, for this 
 
 time, 
 
 Though full of our displeasure, yet we free thee 
 From the dead blow of it. And you, enchant- 
 ment, 
 
 Worthy enough a herdsman ; yea, him too 
 That makes himself, but for our honour therein, 
 Unworthy thee, if ever henceforth thou 
 These rural latches to his entrance open, 
 Or hoop his body more with thy embraces, 
 I will devise a death as cruel for thee 
 As thou art tender to 't. [Exit 
 
 Per. Even here undone ! 
 
 I was not much afeard : for once or twice 
 I was about to speak, and tell him plainly 
 The self-same sun that shines upon his court 
 Hides not his visage from our cottage, but 
 Looks on alike. Will 't please you, sir, be 
 
 gone? [To FLORIZEI.. 
 
 I told you what would come of this ! Beseech 
 
 you, 
 
 Of your own state take care : this dream of mine, 
 Being now awake, I '11 queen it no inch further, 
 But milk my ewes, and weep. 
 
 Cam. Why, how now, father! 
 
 Speak ere thou diest 
 
 Shep. I cannot speak, nor think, 
 
 Nor dare to know that which I know. O, sir, 
 
 [70FLORIZEL. 
 
 You have undone a man of fourscore- three, 
 That thought to fill his grave in quiet ; yea, 
 To die upon the bed my father died, 
 To lie close by his honest bones ! but now 
 Some hangman must put on my shroud, and 
 
 lay me 
 Where no priest shovels in dust O cursed 
 
 wretch, [To PERDITA. 
 
 That knew'st this was the prince, and wouldst 
 
 adventure 
 
368 
 
 THE WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 [ACT IV. 
 
 To mingle faith with him ! Undone ! undone ! 
 If I might die within this hour, I have liv'd 
 To die when I desire. [Exit. 
 
 Flo. Why look you so upon me? 
 
 I am but sorry, not afeard ; delay'd, 
 But nothing alter'd : what I was, I am : 
 More straining on for plucking back; not 
 
 following 
 My leash unwillingly. 
 
 Cam. Gracious, my lord, 
 
 You know your father's temper : at this time 
 He will allow no speech, which I do guess 
 You do not purpose to him ; and as hardly 
 Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear : 
 Then, till the fury of his highness settle, 
 Come not before him. 
 
 Flo. I not purpose it. 
 
 I think Camillo? 
 
 Cam. Even he, my lord. 
 
 Per. How often have I told you 'twould be 
 
 thus! 
 
 How often said my dignity would last 
 But till 'twere known ! 
 
 Flo. . iu \ii t It cannot fail but by 
 
 The violation of my faith; and then 
 Let nature crush the sides o' the earth together. 
 And mar the seeds within ! Lift up thy looks. 
 From my succession wipe me, father ; I 
 Am heir to my affection. 
 
 Cant. Be advis'd. 
 
 Flo. I am, and by my fancy: if my reason 
 Will thereto be obedient, I have reason ; 
 If not, my senses, better pleas'd with madness, 
 Do bid it welcome. 
 
 Cam. .9xj6jj ( This is desperate, sir. 
 
 Flo. So call it : but it does fulfil my vow ; 
 I needs must think it honesty. Camillo, 
 Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may 
 Be thereat glean'd ; for all the sun sees or 
 The close earth wombs, or the profound seas 
 
 hide 
 
 In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath 
 To this my fair belov'd: therefore, I pray you, 
 As you have ever been my father's honour'd 
 friend [not 
 
 When he shall miss me, as, in faith, I mean 
 To see him any more, cast your good counsels 
 Upon his passion : let myself and fortune 
 Tug for the time to come. This you may know, 
 And so deliver, I am put to sea 
 With her, whom here I cannot hold on shore ; 
 And, most opportune to our need, I have 
 A vess A rides fast by, but not prepared 
 For this design. What course I mean to hold 
 Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor 
 Concern me the reporting. 
 
 Cam. O, my lord. 
 
 I would your spirit were easier for advice, 
 Or stronger for your need. 
 
 Flo. Hark, Perdita. - [ Takes her aside. 
 
 I '11 hear you by and by. [To CAMILLO. 
 
 Cam. He's irremovable, 
 
 Resolv'd for flight. Now were I happy if 
 His going I could frame to serve my turn ; 
 Save him from danger, do him love and honour ; 
 Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia, 
 And that unhappy king, my master whom 
 I so much thirst to see. 
 
 Flo. Now, good Camillo, 
 
 I am so fraught with curious business that 
 I leave out ceremony. [Going: 
 
 Cam. Sir, I think 
 
 You have heard of my poor services, i' the love 
 That I have borne your father? 
 
 Flo. Very nobly 
 
 Have you deserv'd : it is rny father's music 
 To speak your deeds ; not little of his care 
 To have them recompens'd as thought on. 
 
 Cam. Well, my lord, 
 
 If you may please to think I love the king. 
 And, through him, what is nearest to him, which is 
 Your gracious self, embrace but my direction, 
 If your more ponderous and settled project 
 May suffer alteration, on mine honour [ing 
 I '11 point you where you shall have such receiv- 
 As shall become your highness ; where you may 
 Enjoy your mistress, from the whom, I see, 
 There 's no disjunction to be made, but by, 
 As heavens forfend ! your ruin, marry her ; 
 And, with my best endeavours in your ab- 
 sence, 
 
 Your discontenting father strive to qualify, 
 And bring him up to liking. 
 
 Flo How, Camillo, 
 
 May this, almost a miracle, be done? 
 That I may call thee something more than man, 
 And, after that, trust to thee. 
 
 Cam. Have you thought on 
 
 A place whereto you '11 go? 
 
 Flo. Not any yet : 
 
 But as the unthought-on accident is guilty 
 To what we wildly do ; so we profess 
 Ourselves to be the slaves of chance, and flies 
 Of every wind that blows, on HJ 
 
 Cam. Then list to me : 
 
 This follows, if you will not change your pur- 
 pose, 
 
 But undergo this flight, make for Sicilia; 
 And there present yourself and your fair prin- 
 
 cess, 
 
 For so, I see, she must be, 'fore Leontes: 
 She shall be habited as it becomes 
 The partner of your bed. Methinks I see 
 Leontes opening his free arms, and weeninp 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 THE WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 369 
 
 His welcomes forth; asks tbee, the son, forgive- 
 ness, 
 
 As 'twere i' the father's person ; kisses the hands 
 Of your fresh princess ; o'er and o'er divides him 
 'Twixt his unkindness and his kindness, the 
 
 one 
 
 He chides to hell, and bids the other grow 
 Faster than thought or time. 
 
 Flo. Worthy Camillo, 
 
 What colour for my visitation shall I 
 Hold up before him? 
 
 Cant. Sent by the king your father 
 
 To greet him and to give him comforts. Sir, 
 The manner of your bearing towards him, with 
 What you, as from your father, shall deliver, 
 Things known betwixt us three, I '11 write you 
 
 down; 
 
 The which shall point you forth at every sitting, 
 What you must say ; that he shall not perceive 
 But that you have your father's bosom there, 
 And speak his very heart. 
 
 Flo. I am bound to you : 
 
 There is some sap in this. 
 
 Cam. A course more promising 
 
 Than a wild dedication of yourselves [certain 
 To unpath'd waters, undream'd shores, most 
 To miseries enough: no hope to help you; 
 But, as you shake off one, to take another : 
 Nothing so certain as your anchors ; who 
 Do their best office if they can but stay you 
 Where you '11 be loath to be : besides, you know 
 Prosperity 's the very bond of love, [gether 
 Whose fresh complexion and whose heart to- 
 Affliction alters. 
 
 Per. One of these is true : 
 
 I think affliction may subdue the cheek, 
 But not take in the mind. 
 
 Cam. Yea, say you so? 
 
 There shall not, at your father's house, these 
 
 seven years 
 Be bom another such. 
 
 Flo. My good Camillo, 
 
 She is as forward of her breeding as 
 She is i' the rear our birth. 
 
 Cam. I cannot say 'tis pity 
 
 She lacks instruction; for she seems a mistress 
 To most that teach. 
 
 Per. Your pardon, sir, for this: 
 
 I '11 blush you thanks. 
 
 Flo. My prettiest Perdita! 
 But, O, the thorns we stand upon ! Camillo, 
 Preserver of my father, now of me ; 
 The medicine of our house ! how shall we do? 
 We are not furnish'd like Bohemia's son ; 
 Nor shall appear in Sicilia. 
 
 Cam. My lord, [tunes 
 
 Fear none of this: I think you know my for- 
 
 Do all lie there : it shall be so my care : : 
 To have you royally appointed as if [sir, 
 
 The scene you play were mine. For instance, 
 That you may know you shall not want, one 
 word. \Thcy talk aside. 
 
 Re-enter AUTOLYCUS. 
 duaas '--- "^ 
 
 Aut. Ha, ha ! what a fool Honesty is ! and 
 Trust, his sworn brother, a very simple gentle- 
 man! I have sold all my trumpery; not a 
 counterfeit stone, not a riband, glass, pomander, 
 brooch, table-book, ballad, knife, tape, glove, 
 shoe-tie, bracelet, horn -ring, to keep my pack 
 from fasting; they throng who should buy 
 first, as if my trinkets had been hallowed, and 
 brought a benediction to the buyer: by which 
 means I saw whose purse was best in picture ; 
 and what I saw, to my good use I remembered. 
 My clown (who wants but something to be a 
 reasonable man) grew so in love with the 
 wenches' song that he would not stir his petti- 
 toes till he had both tune and words ; which so 
 drew the rest of the herd to me, that all their 
 other senses stuck in ears: you might have 
 pinched a placket, it was senseless; 'twas 
 nothing to geld a codpiece of a purse ; I would 
 have filed keys off that hung in chains : no hear- 
 ing, no feeling, but my sir's song, and admir- 
 ing the nothing of it. So that, in this time of 
 lethargy, I picked and cut most of their 
 festival purses ; and had not the old man come 
 in with a whoobub against his daughter and the 
 king's son, and scared my choughs from the 
 chaff, I had not left a purse alive in the whole 
 army. [CAM., FLO., andPzu. come forward. 
 
 Cam. Nay, but my letters, by this means 
 
 being there 
 So soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt. 
 
 Flo. And those that you'll procure from 
 king Leontes, 
 
 Cam. Shall satisfy your father. 
 
 Per. Happy be you ! 
 
 All that you speak shows fair. 
 
 Cam. Who have we here? 
 
 [Seeing AUTOLYCUS. 
 We '11 make an instrument of this ; omit 
 Nothing may give us aid. 
 
 Aut. If they have overheard me now, why, 
 hanging. : [Aside. 
 
 Cam. How now, good fellow I why shakest 
 thou so? Fear not, man; here's no harm in- 
 tended to thee. 
 
 Aut. I am a poor fellow, sir. 
 
 Cam. Why, be so still; here's nobody will 
 steal that from thee : yet, for the outside of thy 
 poverty, we must make an exchange ; therefore, 
 disease thee instantly, thou must think there '* 
 
370 
 
 THE WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 a necessity in't, and change garments with 
 this gentleman : though the pennyworth on his 
 side be the worst, yet hold thee, there 's some 
 boot. [Giving 1 money. 
 
 Aut. I am a poor fellow, sir: I know ye 
 well enough. [Aside. 
 
 Cam. Nay, pr'ythee, despatch: the gentle- 
 man is half- flayed already. 
 
 Aut. Are you in earnest, sir? I smell the 
 trick on 't. [Aside. 
 
 Flo. Despatch, I pr'ythee. 
 
 Aut. Indeed, I have had earnest ; but I can- 
 not with conscience take it. 
 
 Cam. Unbuckle, unbuckle. 
 
 [FLO. and AUTOL. exchange garments. 
 Fortunate mistress, let my prophecy 
 Come home to you ! you must retire yourself 
 Into some covert ; take your sweetheart's hat, 
 And pluck it o'er your brows ; muffle your face ; 
 Dismantle you ; and, as you can, dislikeu 
 The truth of your own seeming ; that you may, 
 For I do fear eyes over, to shipboard 
 Get undescried. 
 
 Per. I see the play so lies 
 
 That I must bear a part. 
 
 Cam. No remedy. 
 
 Have you done there? 
 
 Flo. Should I now meet my father, 
 
 He would not call me son. 
 
 Cam. Nay, you shall have no hat 
 
 [Giving it to PERDITA. 
 Come, lady, come. Farewell, my friend. 
 
 Aut. Adieu, sir. 
 
 Flo. O Perdita, what have we twain forgot? 
 Pray you, a word. [ They converse apart. 
 
 Cam. What I do next, shall be to tell the 
 king [Aside. 
 
 Of this escape, and whither they are bound ; 
 Wherein, my hope is, I shall so prevail 
 To force him after : in whose company 
 I shall review Sicilia ; for whose sight 
 I have a woman's longing. 
 
 Flo. Fortune speed us ! 
 
 Thus we set on, Camillo, to the sea-side. 
 
 Cam. The swifter speed the better. 
 
 [Exeunt FLOR. , PER. , and CAM. 
 
 Aut. I understand the business, I hear it: 
 to have an open ear, a quick eye, and a nimble 
 hand, is necessary for a cut-purse ; a good nose 
 is requisite also, to smell out work for the other 
 senses. I see this is the time that the unjust 
 man doth thrive. What an exchange had this 
 been without boot? what a boot is here with this 
 exchange? Sure, the gods do this year connive 
 at us, and we may do anything extempore. The 
 prince himself is about a piece of iniquity, 
 stealing away from his father with his clog at his 
 
 heels : if I thought it were a piece of honesty to 
 acquaint the king withal, I would not do't: I 
 hold it the more knavery to conceal it; and 
 therein am I constant to my profession. 
 
 Re-enter Clown and Shepherd. 
 
 Aside, aside ; here is more matter for a hot 
 brain: every lane's end, every shop, church, 
 session, hanging, yields a careful man work. 
 
 Clo. See, see ; what a man you are now ! 
 There is no other way but to tell the king she 's 
 a changeling, and none of your flesh and blood. 
 
 Shep. Nay, but hear me. 
 
 Clo. Nay, but hear me. 
 
 Shep. Go to, then. 
 
 Clo. She being none of your flesh and blood, 
 your flesh and blood has not offended the king ; 
 and so your flesh and blood is not to be punished 
 by him. Show those things you found about 
 her ; those secret things, all but what she has 
 with her : this being done, let the law go whistle; 
 I warrant you. 
 
 Shep. I will tell the king all, every word, 
 yea, and his son's pranks too ; who, I may say, 
 is no honest man neither to his father nor to me, 
 to go about to make me the king's brother-in- 
 law. 
 
 Clo. Indeed, brother-in-law was the furthest 
 off you could have been to him ; and then your 
 blood had been the dearer by I know how much 
 an ounce. 
 
 Aut. Very wisely, puppies ! [Aside. 
 
 Shep. Well, let us to the king: there is that 
 in this fardel will make him scratch his beard ! 
 
 Aut. I know not what impediment this com- 
 plaint may be to the flight of my master. [Aside. 
 
 Clo. Pray heartily he be at palace. 
 
 Aut. Though I am not naturally honest, I am 
 so sometimes by chance. Let me pocket up 
 my pedlar's excrement. [A side ^ and takes ojf 
 his false beard.} How now, rustics! whither 
 are you bound? 
 
 Shep. To the palace, an it like your worship. 
 
 Aut. Your affairs there, what, with whom, 
 the condition of that fardel, the place of your 
 dwelling, your names, your ages, of what hav- 
 ing, breeding, and anything that is fitting to be 
 known? discover. 
 
 Clo. We are but plain fellows, sir. 
 
 Aut. A lie ; you are rough and hairy. Let 
 me have no lying ; it becomes none but trades- 
 men, and they often give us soldiers the lie : but 
 we pay them for it with stamped coin, not stab- 
 bing steel ; therefore they do not give us the lie. 
 
 Clo. Your worship had like to have given us 
 one, if you had not taken yourself with the 
 manner. 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 THE WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 37' 
 
 Shep. Are you a courtier, an 't like you, sir? 
 
 Aut. Whether it like me or no, I am a 
 courtier. Seest thou not the air of the court in 
 these enfoldings ? hath not my gait in it the 
 measure of the court ? receives not thy nose 
 court-odour from me? reflect I not on thy base- 
 ness court-contempt? Thinkest thou, for that 
 I insinuate, or toze from thee thy business, I 
 am therefore no courtier? I am courtier cap- 
 a-pe ; and one that will either push on or pluck 
 back thy business there : whereupon I command 
 thee to open thy affair. 
 
 Shep. My business, sir, is to the king. 
 
 Aut. What advocate hast thou to him ? 
 
 Shep. I know not, an 3 t like you. 
 
 do. Advocate 's the court-word for a phea- 
 sant, say you have none. 
 
 Shep. None, sir ; I have no pheasant, cock 
 nor hen. [men ! 
 
 Aut. How bless'd are we that are not simple 
 Yet nature might have made me as these are, 
 Therefore I will not disdain. 
 
 Clo. This cannot be but a great courtier. 
 
 Shep. His garments are rich, but he wears 
 them not handsomely. 
 
 Clo. He seems to be the more noble in being 
 fantastical : a great man, I '11 warrant ; I know 
 by the picking on 's teeth. 
 
 Aut. The fardel there? what's i' the fardel? 
 Wherefore that box? 
 
 Shep. Sir, there lies such secrets in this fardel 
 and box, which none must know but the king ; 
 and which he shall know within this hour, if I 
 may come to the speech of him. 
 
 Aut. Age, thou hast lost thy labour. 
 
 Shep. Why, sir ? 
 
 Aut. The king is not at the palace ; he is 
 gone aboard a new ship to purge melancholy 
 and air himself : for, if thou beest capable of 
 things serious, thou must know the king is full 
 of grief. 
 
 Shep. So 'tis said, sir, about his son, that 
 should have married a shepherd's daughter. 
 
 Aut. If that shepherd be not in hand-fast, 
 let him fly : the curses he shall have, the tor- 
 tures he shall feel, will break the back of man, 
 the heart of monster. 
 
 Clo. Think you so, sir? 
 
 Aut. Not he alone shall suffer what wit can 
 make heavy and vengeance bitter ; but those 
 that are germane to him, though removed fifty 
 times, shall all come under the hangman : 
 which, though it be great pity, yet it is neces- 
 sary. An old sheep-whistling rogue, a ram- 
 tender, to offer to have his daughter come into 
 grace ! Some say he shall be stoned ; but that 
 death is too soft for him, say I. Draw our 
 
 "* 
 
 throne into a sheep-cote 1 all deaths are too 
 few, the sharpest too easy. 
 
 Clo. Has the old man e'er a son, sir, do you 
 hear, an 't like you, sir? u f>a t fc 
 
 Aut. He has a son, who shall be flayed 
 alive; then 'nointed over with honey, set on 
 the head of a wasp's nest ; then stand till he be 
 three quarters and a dram dead ; then recovered 
 again with aquavitae, or some other hot infusion ; 
 then, raw as he is, and in the hottest day 
 prognostication proclaims, shall he be set 
 against a brick-wall, the sun looking with a 
 southward eye upon him, where he is to be- 
 hold him with flies blown to death. But what 
 talk we of these traitorly rascals, whose miseries 
 are to be smiled at, their offences being so 
 capital? Tell me, for you seem to be honest 
 plain men, what have you to the king : being 
 something gently considered, I'll bring you 
 where he is aboard, tender your persons to his 
 presence, whisper him in your behalfs ; and if 
 it be in man besides the king to effect your 
 suits, here is man shall do it. 
 
 Clo. He seems to be of great authority : close 
 with him, give him gold ; and though authority 
 be a stubborn bear, yet he is oft led by the nose 
 with cold : show the inside of your purse to the 
 outside of his hand, and no more ado. Re- 
 member, stoned and flayed alivec/1 arfJ as o 
 
 Shep. An 't please you, sir, to undertake the 
 business for us, here is that gold I have: I'll 
 make it as much more, and leave this young 
 man in pawn till I bring it you. 
 
 Aut. After I have done what I promised? 
 
 Shep. Ay, sir. u sbjcwi 
 
 Aut. Well, give me the moiety. Are you a 
 party in this business? 
 
 Clo. In some sort, sir : but though my case 
 be a pitiful one, I hope I shall not be flayed 
 out of it. ;<ioe jloc 
 
 Aut. O, that's the case of the shepherd's 
 son. Hang him, he '11 be made an example ! 
 
 Clo. Comfort, good comfort! We must to 
 the king, and show our strange sights : he must 
 know 'tis none of your daughter nor my sister ; 
 we are gone else. Sir, I will give you as much 
 as this old man does, when the business is per- 
 formed ; and remain, as he says, your pawn till 
 it be brought you. 
 
 Aut. I will trust you. Walk before toward 
 the sea-side ; go on the right-hand : I will but 
 look upon the hedge, and follow you. 
 
 Clo. We are blessed in this man, as I may 
 say, even blessed, .qti^ 
 
 Shep. Let's before, as he bids us: he was 
 provided to do us good. 
 
 [Exeunt Shepherd and Clown. 
 
372 
 
 THE WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Aut. If I had a mind to be honest, I see 
 Fortune would not suffer me : she drops booties 
 in my mouth. I am courted now with a double 
 occasion, gold, and a means to do the prince 
 my master good ; which who knows how that 
 may turn back to my advancement? I will 
 bring these two moles, these blind ones, aboard 
 him : if he think it fit to shore them again, and 
 that the complaint they have to the king con- 
 cerns him nothing, let him call me rogue for 
 being so far officious ; for I am proof against 
 that title, and what shame else belongs to't. 
 To him will I present them: there may be 
 matter in it. [Exit. 
 
 kshsejinr 38u: 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. SICILIA. A Room in the Palace 
 of LEONTES. 
 
 Enter LEONTES, CLEOMENES, DION, 
 PAUIJNA, and others. 
 
 Cleo. Sir, you have done enough, and have 
 
 perform'd 
 
 A saint-like sorrow : no fault could you make, 
 Which you have not redeem'd ; indeed, paid 
 
 down 
 
 More penitence than done trespass : at the last, 
 Do as the heavens have done, forget your evil; 
 With them, forgive yourself. 
 
 Leon. Whilst I remember 
 
 Her and her virtues, I cannot forget 
 My blemishes in them ; and so still think of 
 The wrong I did myself: which was so much 
 That heirless it hath made my kingdom, and 
 Destroy'd the sweet' st companion that e'er man 
 Bred his hopes out of. 
 
 Paul. True, too true, my lord ; 
 
 If, one by one, you wedded all the world, 
 Or from the all that are took something good, 
 To make a perfect woman, she you kill'd 
 Would be unparallel'd. 
 
 Leon. I think so. Kill'd ! 
 
 She I kill'd ! I did so : but thou strik'st me 
 Sorely, to say I did : it is as bitter [now, 
 
 Upon thy tongue as in my thought : now, good 
 Say so but seldom. 
 
 Cleo. Not at all, good lady ; 
 
 You might have spoken a thousand things that 
 
 would 
 
 Have done the time more benefit, and grac'd 
 Your kindness better. 
 
 Paul. You are one of those 
 
 Would have him wed again. 
 
 Dion. If you would not so, 
 
 You pity not the state, nor the remembrance 
 Of his most sovereign name ; consider little 
 
 What dangers, by his highness 5 fail of issue, 
 May drop upon his kingdom, and devour 
 Incertain lookers-on. What were more holy 
 Than to rejoice the former queen is well? 
 What holier than, for royalty's repair, 
 For present comfort, and lor future good, 
 To bless the bed of majesty again 
 With a sweet fellow to't? 
 
 Paul. There is none worthy, 
 
 Respecting her that 's gone. Besides, the gods 
 Will have fulfill'd their secret purposes : 
 For has not the divine Apollo said, 
 Is 't not the tenor of his oracle, 
 That king Leontes shall not have an heir 
 Till his lost child be found? which that it shall, 
 Is all as monstrous to our human reason 
 As my Antigonus to break his grave, 
 And come again to me ; who, on my life, 
 Did perish with the infant. Tis your counsel 
 My lord should to the heavens be contrary, 
 Oppose against their wills. Care not for issue ; 
 
 \T& LEONTES. 
 
 The crown will find an heir : great Alexander 
 Left his to the worthiest ; so his successor 
 Was like to be the best. 
 
 Leon. Good Paulina, 
 
 Who hast the memory of Hermione, 
 I know, in honour, O, that ever I [now, 
 Had squar'd me to thy counsel ! then, even 
 I might have look'd upon my queen's full eyes; 
 Have taken treasure from her lips, 
 
 Paul. And left them 
 
 More rich for what they yielded. 
 
 Leon. Thou speak'st truth. 
 
 No more such wives ; therefore, no wife : one 
 
 worse, 
 
 And better us'd, would make her sainted spirit 
 Again possess her corpse ; and, on this stage, 
 Where we offend her now, appear, soul-vexed, 
 And begin, Why to me ? 
 
 Paul. Had she such power, 
 
 She had just cause. 
 
 Leon. She had ; and would incense me 
 
 To murder her I married. 
 
 Paul. I should so. 
 
 Were I the ghost that walk'd, I 'd bid you mark 
 Her eye, and tell me for what dull part in 't 
 You chose her : then I 'd shriek, that even your 
 ears [folio w'd 
 
 Should rift to hear me; and the words that 
 Should be, Remember mine! 
 
 Leon. Stars, stars, 
 
 And all eyes else dead coals! fear thou no 
 
 wife; 
 I '11 have no wife, Paulina. 
 
 Paul. Will you swear 
 
 Never to marry but by my free leave? i rfte 
 
SCENB I.] 
 
 THE WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 373 
 
 Leon. Never, Paulina; so be bless'd my 
 spirit ! [his oath. 
 
 Paul. Then, good my lords, bear witness to 
 
 Cleo. You tempt him over-much. 
 
 Paitl, Unless another, 
 
 As like Hermione as is her picture, 
 Affront his eye. 
 
 Cleo. Good madam, 
 
 Paul. I have done. 
 
 Yet, if my lord will marry, if you will, sir, 
 No remedy, but you will, give me the office 
 To choose you a queen : she shall not be so 
 
 young 
 
 As was your former ; but she shall be such 
 As, walk'd your first queen's ghost, it should 
 
 take joy 
 To see her in your arms. 
 
 Leon. My true Paulina, 
 
 We shall not marry till thou bidd'st us. 
 
 Paul. That 
 
 Shall be when your first queen 's again in breath: 
 Never till then. 
 
 .?UV/ Vili :TJf{7/ 
 
 4h9rf!& N >< E nter a Gentleman. 
 
 Gent. One that gives out himself Prince 
 
 Florizel, 
 
 Son of Polixenes, with his princess, she 
 The fairest I have yet beheld, desires access 
 To your high presence. 
 
 Leon. What with him? he comes not 
 
 Like to his father's greatness : his approach, 
 So out of circumstance and sudden, tells us 
 'Tis not a visitation fram'd, but forc'd 
 By need and accident. What train? 
 
 Gent. But few, 
 
 And those but mean. 
 
 Leon. His princess, say you, with him? 
 
 Gent. Ay ; the most peerless piece of earth, 
 
 I think, 
 That e'er the sun shone bright on. 
 
 Paul. O Hermione, 
 
 As every present time doth boast itself 
 Above a better gone, so must thy grave 
 Give way to what 's seen now. Sir, you your- 
 self 
 
 Have said and writ so, but your writing now 
 Is colder than that theme, She had not been, 
 Nor was not to be equalPd; thus your verse 
 Flow'd with her beauty once; 'tis shrewdly ebb'd, 
 To say you have seen a better. 
 
 Gent. Pardon, madam ! 
 
 The one I have almost forgot ; your pardon ; 
 The other, when she has obtain'd your eye, 
 Will have your tongue too. This is a creature, 
 Would she begin a sect, might quench the zeal 
 Of all professors else ; make proselytes 
 Of who she but bid follow. 
 
 Paul. Howl not women? 
 
 Gent. Women will love her, that she is a 
 
 woman 
 
 More worth than any man ; men, that she is 
 The rarest of all women. 
 
 Leon. Go, Cleomenes; 
 
 Yourself, assisted with your honour'd friends, 
 Bring them to our embracement. Still, 'tis 
 strange, 
 
 [Exeunt CLEO. , Lords, and Gent. 
 He thus should steal upon us. 
 
 Paul. Had our prince, 
 
 Jewel of children, seen this hour, he had 
 
 pair'd 
 
 Well with this lord : there was not full a month 
 Between their births. [know^st 
 
 Leon. Pr'ythee, no more ; cease ; thoii 
 He dies to me again when talk'd of: sure, 
 When I shall see this gentleman, thy speeches 
 Will bring me to consider that which may 
 Unfurnish me of reason. They are come. 
 
 Re-enter CLEOMENES, with FLORIZEL, 
 PERDITA, and Attendants. 
 
 Your mother was most true to wedlock, prince; 
 For she did print your royal father oif, 
 Conceiving you : were I but twenty-one, 
 Your father's image is so hit in you, 
 His very air, that I should call you brother, 
 As I did him, and speak of something wildly 
 By us perform'd before. Most dearly welcome ! 
 And your fair princess, goddess ! O, alas ! 
 I lost a couple that 'twixt heaven and earth 
 Might thus have stood, begetting wonder, as 
 You, gracious couple, do ! and then I lost, 
 All mine own folly, the society, 
 Amity too, of your brave father, whom, 
 Though bearing misery, I desire my life 
 Once more to look on him. 
 
 Flo. By his command 
 
 Have I here touch'd Sicilia, and from him 
 Give you all greetings that a king, at friend, 
 Can 3end his brother : and, but infirmity, 
 Which waits upon worn times, hath some- 
 thing seiz'd 
 
 His wish'd ability, he had himself 
 The lands and waters 'twixt your throne and his 
 Measur'd, to look upon you ; whom he loves, - 
 He bade me say so, more than all the sceptres, 
 And those that bear them, living. 
 
 Leon. O my brother, 
 
 Good gentleman! the wrongs I have done 
 
 thee stir 
 
 Afresh within me ; and these thy offices, 
 So rarely kind, are as interpreters 
 Of my behind- hand slackness ! Welcome 
 hither, 
 
374 
 
 TMi: WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 As is the spring to the earth. And Ivath he too 
 Expos'd this paragon to the fearful usage, 
 At least ungentle, of the dreadful Neptune, 
 To greet a man not worth her pains, much less 
 The adventure of her person? 
 
 Flo. Good, my lord, 
 
 She came from Libya. 
 
 Leon. Where the warlike Sinalus, 
 
 That noble honour'd lord, is fear'd and lov'd? 
 
 Flo. Most royal sir, from thence; from him, 
 
 whose daughter 
 His tears proclaim'd his, parting with her: 
 
 thence 
 A prosperous south wind friendly, we have 
 
 cross'd, 
 
 To execute the charge my father gave me, 
 For visiting your highness : my best train 
 I have from your Sicilian shores dismiss'd ; 
 Who for Bohemia bend, to signify I nsri 
 Not only my success in Libya, sir, ,d iiiW 
 But my arrival, and my wife's, in safety 
 Here, where we are. 
 
 Leon. The blessed gods 
 
 Purge all infection from our air whilst you 
 Do climate here ! You have a holy father, 
 A graceful gentleman ; against whose person, 
 So sacred as it is, I have done sin : 
 For which the heavens, taking angry note, 
 Have left me issueless; and your father's 
 
 bless'd, 
 
 As he from heaven merits it, with you, 
 Worthy his goodness. What might I have been , 
 Might I a son and daughter now have look'd on, 
 Such goodly things as you ! 
 
 Enter a Lord. 
 
 . jVI-jHOOJ: 
 
 Lord. , :\- ff igrfjjfi Most noble sir, 
 That which I shall report will bear no credit, 
 Were not the proof so nigh. Please you , great sir, 
 Bohemia greets you from himself by me ; 
 Desires you to attach his son, who has, 
 His dignity and duty both cast off, 
 Fled from his father, from his hopes, and with 
 A shepherd's daughter. 
 
 Leon. Where's Bohemia? speak. 
 
 Lord. Here in your city ; I now came from 
 
 -id bfis hi m : 
 
 I speak amazedly ; and it becomes 
 My marvel and my message. To your court 
 Whiles he was hast'ning, in the chase, it seems, 
 Of this fair couple, meets he on the way 
 The father of this seeming lady, and 
 Her brother, having both their country quitted 
 With this young prince. 
 
 Flo. Camillo has betray*d me ; 
 
 Whose honour, and whose honesty, till now, 
 Endued all weathers. 
 
 Lord. Lay 't so to his charge ; 
 
 He 's with the king your father. 
 
 Leon. mKx Who? Camillo? 
 
 Lord. Camiilo, sir ; I spake with him ; who 
 
 now 
 
 Has these poor men in question. Never saw I 
 Wretches so quake : they kneel, they kiss the 
 
 earth ; 
 
 Forswear themselves as cf^en as they speak : 
 Bohemia stops his ears, and threatens them 
 With divers deaths in death. 
 
 Per. O my poor father ! 
 
 The heaven sets spies upon us, will not have 
 Our contract celebrated. 
 
 Leon. You are married? 
 
 Flo. We are not, sir, nor are we like to 
 
 be; 
 
 The stars, I see, will kiss the valleys first: 
 The odds for high and low 's alike* ^n llml 
 
 Leon. My lord, 
 
 Is this the daughter of a king? 
 
 Flo. She is, Sib- 13* 
 
 When once she is my wife. 
 
 Leon. That once, I see, by your good father's 
 
 speed, 
 
 Will come on very slowly. I am sorry, 
 Most sorry, you have broken from his liking, 
 Where you were tied in duty ; and as sorry 
 Your choice is not so rich in worth as beauty, 
 That you might well enjoy her. 
 
 Flo. Dear, look up : 
 
 Though Fortune, visible an enemy, 
 Should chase us, with my father, power no jot 
 Hath she to change our loves. Beseech you, 
 
 sir, 
 
 Remember since you ow'd no more to time 
 Than I do now : with thought of such affections, 
 Step forth mine advocate ; at your request 
 My father will grant precious things as trifles. 
 
 Leon. Would he do so, I 'd beg your precious 
 
 mistress, 
 Which he counts but a trifle.] jnsa 
 
 Paul. Sir, my liege, 
 
 Your eye hath too much youth in 't : not a month 
 'Fore your queen died, she was more worth 
 
 such gazes 
 Than what you look on now. 
 
 Leon. I thought of her 
 
 Even in these looks I made. But your petition 
 [7<? FLORIZEL. 
 
 Is yet unanswer'd. I will to your father : 
 Your honour not o'erthrown by your desires, 
 I am friend to them and you: upon which 
 
 errand 
 
 I now go toward him ; therefore, follow me, 
 And mark what way I make. Come, good 
 my lord. 
 
SCENE U.] 
 
 THE WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 375 
 
 SCENE II. The same~ Before ilie Palace* 
 
 Enter AUTOLYCUS and a Gentleman. 
 
 ; I. 1 . .Tqj*. 'jvroe Dflfi 
 
 Aut. Beseech you, sir, were you present at 
 this relation? 
 
 I Gent. I was by at the opening of the far- 
 del, heard the old shepherd deliver the manner 
 how he found it : whereupon, after a little 
 amazedness, we were all commanded out of the 
 chamber; only this, methought I heard the 
 shepherd say he found the child. [it. 
 
 Aut. I would most gladly know the issue of 
 
 1 Gent. I make a broken delivery of the busi- 
 ness ; but the changes I perceived in the king 
 and Camillo were very notes of admiration : 
 they seemed almost, with staring on one another, 
 to tear the cases of their eyes ; there was speech 
 in their dumbness, language in their very ges- 
 ture ; they looked as they had heard of a world 
 ransomed, or one destroyed: a notable passion 
 of wonder appeared in them ; but the wisest be- 
 holder, that knew no more but seeing, could 
 not say if the importance were joy or sorrow ; 
 but in the extremity of the one, it must needs 
 be. Here comes a gentleman that happily 
 knows more. 
 
 gfefmari vfi'n> 4ti>l-b) titLon JIB aortf wonJ I Juti 
 Enter a Gentleman. 
 
 The news, Rogero? 
 
 2 Gent. Nothing but bonfires: the oracle is 
 fulfilled ; the king s daughter is found : such a 
 deal of wonder is broken out within this hour 
 that ballad-makers cannot be able to express it. 
 Here comes the Lady Paulina's steward: he 
 can deliver you more. 
 
 v^iwoia ^'^-^ .7 * r* iii^' 1 ' 
 
 Enter a third Gentleman. 
 
 How goes it now, sir? this news, which is 
 called true, is so like an old tale that the verity 
 of it is in strong suspicion. Has the king found 
 his heir? 
 
 3 Gent. Most true, if ever truth were preg- 
 nant by circumstance: that which you hear 
 you Ml swear you see, there b such unity in the 
 proofs. The mantle of Queen Hermione ; her 
 jewel about the neck of it ; the letters of Anti- 
 gonus, found with it, which they know to be 
 his character ; the majesty of the creature in 
 resemblance of the mother; the affection of 
 nobleness, which nature shows above her breed- 
 ing ; and many other evidences, proclaim her 
 with all certainty to be the king's daughter. 
 Did you see the meeting of the two kings? 
 
 2 Gent. No. 
 
 3 Gent. Then have you lost a sight which 
 Was to be seen, cannot be spoken of. There 
 
 might you have beheld one joy crown another, 
 so and in such manner that it seemed sorrow 
 wept to take leave of them ; for their joy waded 
 in tears. There was casting up of eyes, hold- 
 ing up of hands, with countenance of such dis- 
 traction that they were to be known by garment, 
 not by favour. Our king, being ready to leap 
 out of himself for joy of his found daughter, as 
 if that joy were now become a loss, cries, O, 
 thy mother, thy mother! then asks Bohemia 
 forgiveness; then embraces his son-in-law; 
 then again worries he his daughter with clipping 
 her; now he thanks the old shepherd, which 
 stands by like a weather-bitten conduit of many 
 kings' reigns. I never heard of such another 
 encounter, which lames report to follow it, and 
 undoes description to do it. 
 
 2 Gent. What, pray you, became of Anti- 
 gonus, that carried hence the child? 
 
 3 Gent. Like an old tale still, which will 
 have matter to rehearse, though credit be 
 asleep, and not an ear open. He was torn to 
 pieces with a bear : this avouches the shepherd's 
 son ; who has not only his innocence, which 
 seems much, to justify him, but a handker- 
 chief and rings of his, that Paulina knows. 
 
 I Gent. What became of his bark and his 
 followers? 
 
 3 Gent. Wrecked the same instant of their 
 master's death, and in the view of the shepherd : 
 so that all the instruments which aided to ex- 
 pose the child were even then lost when it was 
 found. But, O, the noble combat that, 'twixt 
 joy and sorrow, was fought in Paulina ! She 
 had one eye declined for the loss of her husband, 
 another elevated that the oracle was fulfilled : 
 she lifted the princess from the earth, and so 
 locks her in embracing, as if she would pin her 
 to her heart, that she might no more be in 
 danger of losing. 
 
 i Gent. The dignity of this act was worth 
 the audience of kings and princes ; for by such 
 was it acted. 
 
 3 Gent. One of the prettiest touches of all, 
 and that which angled for mine eyes, caught 
 the water, though not the fish, was when, at 
 the relation of the queen's death, with the 
 manner how she came to it, bravely confessed 
 and lamented by the king, how attentiveness 
 wounded his daughter; till, from one sign of 
 dolour to another, she did, with an alas! I 
 would fain say, bleed tears ; for I am sure my 
 heart wept blood. Who was most marble 
 there changed colour; some swooned, all 
 sorrowed : if all the world could have seen it, 
 the woe had been universal. 
 
 i Gent. Are they returned to the court? 
 
376 
 
 THE WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 3 Gent. No 2 the princess hearing of her 
 mother's statue, which is in the keeeping of 
 Paulina, a piece many years in doing, and 
 now newly performed by that rare Italian 
 master, Julio Romano, who, had he himself 
 eternity, and could put breath into his work, 
 would beguile nature of her custom, so perfectly 
 he is her ape: he so near to Hermione hath 
 done Hermione, that they say one would speak 
 to her, and stand in hope of answer : thither 
 with all greediness of affection are they gone ; 
 and there they intend to sup. 
 
 2 Gent. I thought sne had some great matter 
 there in hand ; for she hath privately twice or 
 thrice a day, ever since the death of Hermione, 
 visited that removed house. Shall we thither, 
 and with our company piece the rejoicing? 
 
 I Gent. Who would be thence that has the 
 benefit of access? every wink of an eye some 
 new grace will be born : our absence makes us 
 unthrifty to our knowledge. Let 's along. 
 
 [Exeunt Gentlemen. 
 
 Aut. Now, had I not the dash of my former 
 life in me, would preferment drop on my head. 
 I brought the old man and his son aboard 
 the prince ; told him I heard them talk of a 
 fardel, and I know not what ; but he at that 
 time over-fond of the shepherd's daughter, so 
 he then took her to be, who began to be much 
 sea-sick and himself little better, extremity of 
 weather continuing, this mystery remained un- 
 discovered. But 'tis all one to me; for had I 
 been the finder-out of this secret, it would not 
 have relished among my other discredits. 
 Here come those I have done good to against 
 my will, and already appearing in the blossoms 
 of their fortune. 
 
 Enter Shepherd and Clown. 
 
 CU 9G 
 
 Shep. Come, boy ; I am past more children, 
 but thy sons and daughters will be all gentle- 
 men born. 
 
 Clo. You are well met, sir : you denied to 
 fight with me this other day, because I was no 
 gentleman born. See you these clothes? say 
 you see them not, and think me still no gentle- 
 man born : you were best say these robes are 
 not gentlemen born. Give me the lie, do; 
 and try whether I am not now a gentleman 
 born. [born. 
 
 Aut. I know you are now, sir, a gentleman 
 
 Clo, Ay, and have been so any time these 
 four hours. 
 
 Shep. And so have I, boy ! 
 
 Clo. So you have : but I was a gentleman 
 born before my father ; for the Icing's son took 
 me by the hand and called me brother; and 
 
 then the two kings called my father brother ; 
 and then the prince, my brother, and the 
 princess, my sister, called my father father; 
 and so we wept : and there was the first gentle- 
 man-like tears that ever we shed. ' Awk 
 
 Shep. We may live, son, to shed many more. 
 
 Clo. Ay ; or else 'twere hard luck, being in 
 so preposterous estate as we are. 
 
 Aut. \ humbly beseech you, sir, to pardon 
 me all the faults I have committed to your 
 worship, and to give me your good report to 
 the prince my master. 
 
 Shep. Pr'ythee, son, do; for we must be 
 gentle, now we are gentlemen. 
 
 Clo. Thou wilt amend thy life? 
 
 Aut. Ay, an it like your good worship. 
 
 Clo. Give me thy hand : I will swear to the 
 prince thou art as honest a true fellow as any 
 is in Bohemia. 
 
 Shep. You may say it, but not swear it. 
 
 Clo. Not swear it, now I am a gentleman? 
 Let boors and franklins say it, I '11 swear it. 
 
 Shep. How if it be false, son? 
 
 Clo. If it be ne'er so false, a true gentleman 
 may swear it in the behalf of his friend. And 
 I '11 swear to the prince, thou art a tall fellow 
 of thy hands, and that thou wilt not be drunk; 
 but I know thou art no tall fellow of thy hands, 
 and that thou wilt be drunk : but J '11 swear it; 
 and I would thou wouldst be a tall fellow of 
 thy hands. 
 
 Aut. I will prove so, sir, to my power. 
 
 Clo. Ay, by any means, prove a tall fellow: 
 if I do not wonder how thou darest venture to 
 be drunk, not being a tall fellow, trust me 
 not. Hark! the kings and the princes, our 
 kindred, are going to see the queen's picture, 
 Come, follow us : we '11 be thy good masters. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. The same. A Room in 
 PAULINA'S House. 
 
 Enter LEONTES, POLIXENES, FLORIZEL, PER- 
 DITA, CAMILLO, PAULINA, Lords, and At- 
 tendants. 
 
 Leon. O grave and good Paulina, the great 
 
 comfort 
 That I have had of thee ! 
 
 Paul. What, sovereign sir, 
 
 I did not well, I meant well. All my services 
 You have paid home : but that you have vouch- 
 saf'd, [traded 
 
 With your crown'd brother, and these your con- 
 Heirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit, 
 It is a surplus of your grace which never 
 My life may last to answer. .> r aa 
 
SCENE III.J 
 
 THE WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Leon, O Paulina, 
 
 We honour you with trouble : but we came 
 To see the statue of our queen : your gallery 
 Have we pass'd through, not without much con. 
 
 tent 
 
 In many singularities ; but we saw not 
 That which my daughter came to look upon, 
 The statue of her mother. 
 
 Paul. As she liv'd peerless, 
 
 So her dead likeness, I do well believe, 
 Excels whatever yet you look'd upon, 
 Or hand of man hath done ; therefore I keep it 
 Lonely, apart. But here it is : prepare 
 To see the life as lively mock'd as ever [well. 
 Still sleep mock'd death : behold ; and say 'tis 
 
 [PAULINA undraws a curtain, and discovers 
 
 HERMIONE standing as a statue. 
 I like your silence, it the more shows off 
 Your wonder: but yet speak; first, you, my 
 
 liege. 
 Comes it not something near? 
 
 Leon. Her natural posture ! 
 
 Chide me, dear stone, that I may say indeed, 
 Thou art Hermione ; or rather, thou art she, 
 In thy not chiding ; for she was as tender 
 As infancy and grace. But yet, Paulina, '- 
 Hermione was not so much wrinkled ; nothing 
 So aged, as this seems. 
 
 Pol. O, not by much. 
 
 Paul. So much the more our carver's excel- 
 lence ; [her 
 Which lets go by some sixteen years, and makes 
 As she liv'd now. 
 
 Leon. As now she might have done, 
 
 So much to my good comfort, as it is 
 Now piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood, 
 Even with such life of majesty, warm life, 
 As now it coldly stands, when first I woo'd her! 
 I am asham'd : does not the stone rebuke me 
 For being more stone than it? O royal piece, 
 There 's magic in thy majesty ; which has 
 My evils conjur'd to remembrance ; and 
 From thy admiring daughter took the spirits, 
 Standing like stone with thee ! 
 
 Per. And give me leave ; 
 
 And do not say 'tis superstition, that 
 I kneel, and then implore her blessing. Lady, 
 Dear queen, that ended when I but began, 
 Give me that hand of yours to kiss. 
 
 Paul. O, patience ! 
 
 The statue is but newly fix'd, the colour 's 
 Not dry. [on, 
 
 Cam. My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid 
 Which sixteen winters cannot blow away, 
 So many summers dry: scarce any joy 
 Did ever so long live ; no sorrow 
 But kill'd itself much sooner. 
 
 Pol. Dear my brother, 
 
 Let him that was the cause of this have power 
 To take off so much grief from you as he 
 Will piece up in himself. 
 
 Paul. Indeed, my lord, 
 
 If I had thought the sight of my poor image 
 Would thus have wrought you, for the stone 
 
 is mine, 
 I 'd not have showM it. 
 
 Leon. Do not draw the curtain. 
 
 Paul. No longer shall you gaze on't; lest 
 
 your fancy 
 May think anon it moves. 
 
 Leon. Let be, let be. 
 
 Would I weredead, but that, methinks, already 
 What was he that did make it? See, my lord, 
 Would you not deem it breath'd? and that 
 
 those veins 
 Did verily bear blood? 
 
 Pol. Masterly done : 
 
 The very life seems warm upon her lip. 
 
 Leon. The fixture of her eye has motion in 't, 
 As we are mock'd with art. 
 
 Paul. I '11 drew the curtain : 
 
 My lord 's almost so far transported that 
 He '11 think anon it lives. 
 
 Leon. O sweet Paulina, 
 
 Make me to think so twenty years together ! 
 No settled senses of the world can match 
 The pleasure of that madness. Let 't alone. 
 
 Paul. I am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr'd 
 
 you : but 
 I could afflict you further. 
 
 Leon. Do, Paulina; 
 
 For this affliction has a taste as sweet 
 As any cordial comfort. Still, methinks, 
 There is an air comes from her: what fine 
 chisel [me, 
 
 Could ever yet cut breath? Let no man mock 
 For I will kiss her ! 
 
 Parti. Good my lord, forbear : 
 
 The ruddiness upon her lip is wet ; 
 You '11 mar it if you kiss it ; stain your own 
 With oily painting. Shall I draw the curtain? 
 
 Leon. No, not these twenty years. 
 
 Per. So long could I 
 
 Stand by, a looker on. 
 
 Paul. Either forbear, 
 
 Quit presently the chapel, or resolve you 
 For more amazement. If you can behold 
 I '11 make the statue move indeed, descend 
 And take you by the hand : but then you '11 
 
 think, 
 
 Which I protest against, I am assisted 
 By wicked powers. 
 
 Leon. What you can make her do 
 
 I am content to look on : what to speak. 
 
378 
 
 THE WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 I am content to hear ; for 'tis as easy 
 To make her speak as move. 
 
 Paul. It is requir'd 
 
 You do awake your faith. Then all stand still ; 
 Or those that think it is unlawful business 
 I am about, let them depart. 
 
 Leon. Proceed : 
 
 No foot shall stir. 
 
 Paul. Music, awake her : strike ! [Music. 
 'Tis time ; descend ; be stone no more ; approach; 
 Strike all that look upon with marvel. Come ; 
 I'll fill your grave up: stir; nay, come away; 
 Bequeath to death your numbness, for from him 
 Dear life redeems you. You perceive she stirs: 
 [HERMIONE comes down from the pedestal. 
 Start not ; her actions shall be holy as 
 You hear my spell is lawful : do not shun her 
 Until you see her die again ; for then 
 You kill her double. Nay, present your hand: 
 When she was young you woo'd her ; now in age 
 Is she become the suitor. ;/i^a<> 
 
 Leon. O, she 's warm ! [Embracing her. 
 If this be magic, let it be an art 
 Lawful as eating. , [{' \ 
 
 Pol. She embraces him. 
 
 Cam. She hangs about his neck : 
 If she pertain to life, let her speak too. 
 
 Pol. Ay, and make't manifest where she 
 
 has livM, 
 Or how stol'n from the dead.?; }> ^. 
 
 Paul. That she is living, 
 
 Were it but told you, should be hooted at 
 Like an old tale ; but it appears she lives, 
 Though yet she speak not. Mark a little while. 
 Please you to interpose, fair madam : kneel, 
 And pray your mother's blessing. Turn, good 
 
 lady; 
 Our Perdita is found. 
 
 [Presenting PER., who kneels to HER. 
 
 ffer. You gods, look down, 
 
 And from your sacred vials pour your graces 
 
 
 
 .Jrre 
 
 Upon my daughter's head ! Tell me, mine own, 
 Where hast thou been preservM? where livM? 
 
 how found? \no lo f 
 Thy father's court? for thou shalt hear that 
 
 I, 
 
 Knowing by Paulina that the oracle 
 Gave hope thou wast in being, have preserv'd 
 Myself to see the issue. 
 
 Paul. There 's time enough for that ; 
 
 Lest they desire, upon this push, to trouble 
 Your joys with like relation. Go together, 
 You precious winners all ; your exultation 
 Partake to every one. I, an old turtle, 
 Will wing me to some wither'd bough, and there 
 My mate, that's never to be found again, III:', 
 Lament till I am lost. 
 
 Leon. O peace, Paulina ! 
 
 Thou shouldst a husband take by my consent, 
 As I by thine a wife : this is a match, 
 And made between 's by vows. Thou hast 
 
 found mine ; 
 
 But how, is to be question'd : for I saw her, 
 As I thought, dead ; and have, in vain, said many 
 A prayer upon her grave. I '11 not seek far, 
 For him, I partly know his mind, to find thee 
 Ar honourable husband. Come, Camillo, 
 And take her by the hand, whose worth and 
 
 honesty 
 
 Is richly noted, and here justified 
 By us, a pair of kings. Let 's from this place. 
 What! look upon my brother: both your 
 
 pardons, 
 
 That e'er I put between your holy looks 
 My ill suspicion. This your son-in-law, 
 And son unto the king, whom heavens directing, 
 Is troth-plight to your daughter. Good Paulina, 
 Lead us from hence ; where we may leisurely 
 Each one demand, and answer to his parton?/, 
 Perform'd in this wide gap of time, since first 
 We were disseverM : hastily lead away ! -ij -\<J\ 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
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 jib j ; . : mot"! 
 
 6 
 
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 tog 
 
 <n oviO 
 
 b JoVl 
 biSffW 
 
 : iftl 08 
 :~> btCT 
 

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 idfiJ lol -, sacxri T 
 
 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 ^ 
 
 \jrti v/onsl ,bitA i t.slBU{>33Tgn I j}fiii'> 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 a <-, ut> 1 1 n&biq # moii ; ; ^ ro f A 
 
 SOLINUS, Z?/^<? of Ephesus. PINCH, a Schoolmaster ana a Conjurer. 
 
 S T , a Merchant of Syracuse. 
 ANTIPHOLUS OF ) ^...... ni--, ^ JWJ , 
 
 BALTHAZAR, a Merchant. 
 ANGELO, a Goldsmith. 
 
 A Merchant, Friend to ANTIPHOLUS OF 
 SYRACUSE. 
 
 - 
 
 EMILIA, W#& to /EGEON, '$&$* * 
 
 ADRIANA, Wife to ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. 
 LUCIANA, her Sister. 
 LUCE, for Servant. 
 
 A Courtezan. 
 
 Gaoler, Officers, and other Attendants* ri 
 
 ft liK'di tcl 8V 
 
 idinfKfi Sifl3tK; ?rio-/ /j-j>g?ff^b J/. , 
 
 SCENE, EPHESUS. 
 
 ?iit tot ,)crbn^?m ?.it( jsrfT ; i luo '{tf \(J9lBa io"i Jffgooa z^niica i.dT 
 
 ;;ri5ii{d ,r. ^^- Yet this my comfort, when youi 
 
 SCENE L yi Hall in the DUKE'S 
 
 DUKE, /EGEON, Gaoler, Officers, and 
 other Attendants. 
 
 Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall, 
 And, by the doom of death, end woes and all. 
 Duke. Merchant of Syracusa, plead no more ; 
 I am not partial to infringe our laws: 
 The enmity and discord which of late 
 Sprung from the rancorous outrage of your duke 
 To merchants, our well-dealing countrymen, 
 Who, wanting gilders to redeem their lives, 
 Have sealed his rigorous statutes with their 
 
 bloods, 
 
 Excludes all pity from our threat'ning looks. 
 For, since the mortal and intestine jars 
 'Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us, 
 It hath in solemn synods been decreed, 
 Both by the Syracusans and ourselves, 
 To admit no traffic to our adverse towns: 
 Nay, more, 
 
 If any born at Ephesus be seen 
 At any Syracusan marts and fairs, 
 Again, if any Syracusan born 
 Come to the bay of Ephesus, he dies, 
 His goods confiscate to the duke's dispose ; 
 Unless a thousand marks be levied, 
 To quit the penalty and to ransom him. 
 Thy substance, valued at the highest rate, 
 Cannot amount unto a hundred marks : 
 Therefore, by law thou art condemn'd to die. 
 
 Yet this my comfort, when your 
 words are done, 
 My woes end likewise with the evening sun. 
 Duke. Well, Syracusan, say, in brief, the 
 
 cause 
 
 Why thou departedst from thy native home, 
 Ana for what cause thou cam'st to Ephesus. 
 
 have been 
 
 A heavier task could not 
 
 impos'd 
 
 Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable ! 
 Yet, that the world may witness that my end 
 Was wrought by nature, not by vile offence, 
 I '11 utter what my sorrow gives me leave* 
 In Syracusa was I born ; and wed 
 Unto a woman, happy but for me, 
 And by me too, had not our hap been bad. 
 With her I liv'd in joy ; our wealth increas'd 
 By prosperous voyages I often made 
 To Epidamnum, till my factor's death, 
 And he, great care of goods at random left, 
 Drew me from kind embracements of my 
 
 spouse: [old, 
 
 From whom my absence was not six months 
 Before herself, almost at fainting under 
 The pleasing punishment that women bear, 
 Had made provision for her following me, 
 And soon and safe arrived where I was. 
 There she had not been long but she became 
 A joyful mother of two goodly sons } [ tner 
 And, which was strange, the one so like the 
 As could not be distinguish'd but by names. 
 That very hour, and in the self-same inn^sf^' 
 A poor mean woman was delivered 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERROR*. 
 
 [ACT I. 
 
 Of such a burden, male twins, both alike : 
 Those, for their parents were exceeding poor, 
 I bought, and brought up to attend my sons. 
 My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys, 
 Made daily motions for our home return : 
 Unwilling I agreed ; alas, too soon ! 
 We came aboard : 
 
 A league from Epidamnum had we sail'd 
 Before the always-wind-obeying deep 
 Gave any tragic instance of our harm ; 
 But longer did we not retain much hope : 
 For what obscured light the heavens did grant 
 Did but convey unto our fearful minds 
 A doubtful warrant of immediate death ; 
 Which, though myself would gladly have em- 
 
 brac'd, 
 
 Yet the incessant weepings of my wife, 
 Weeping before for what she saw must come, 
 And piteous plainings of the pretty babes, 
 That mourn'd for fashion, ignorai 
 
 fear, 
 
 ignorant what to 
 
 Forc'd me to seek delays for them and me. 
 And this it was, for other means was none. 
 The sailors sought for safety by our boat, 
 And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to us : 
 My wife, more careful for the latter-born, 
 Had fasten'd him unto a small spare mast, 
 Such as sea-faring men provide for storms : 
 To him one of the other twins was bound, 
 Whilst I had been like heedful of the other. 
 The children thus dispos'd, my wife and I, 
 Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix'd, 
 Fasten'd ourselves at either end the mast ; 
 And floating straight, obedient to the stream, 
 Were carried towards Corinth, as we thought. 
 At length the sun, gazing upon the earth, 
 Dispers'd those vapours that offended us ; 
 And, by the benefit jof his wish'd light, 
 The seas wax'd calm, and we discover'd 
 Two ships from far making amain to us, 
 Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this: 
 But ere they came, O, let me say no more ! 
 Gather the sequel by that went before. 
 
 Duke. Nay, forward, old man, do not break 
 vm 'i- off so ; 
 For we may pity, though not pardon thee. 
 
 jEge. O, had the gods done so, I had not now 
 Worthily terrn'd them merciless to us ! 
 For, ere the ships could meet by twice five 
 
 ,an leagues, 
 
 We were encounter'd by a mighty rock, 
 Which being violently borne upon, 
 Our helpful ship was splitted in the midst ; 
 So that, in this unjust divorce of us, 
 Fortune had left to both of us alike 
 What to delight in, what to sorrow for. 
 Her part, poor soul ! seeming as burdened 
 
 With lesser weight, but not with lesser woe, 
 Was carried with more speed before the wind ; 
 And in our sight they three were taken up 
 By fishermen of Corinth, as we thought. 
 At length another ship had seiz'd on us ; 
 And, knowing whom it was their hap to save, 
 Gave helpful welcome to their shipwreck'd 
 
 guests ; 
 
 And would have reft the fishers of their prey, 
 Had not their bark been very slow of sail, 
 And therefore homeward did they bend their 
 
 course. 
 
 Thus have you heard me sever' d from my bliss ; 
 That by misfortunes was my life prolong'd, 
 To tell sad stories of my own mishaps. 
 
 Duke. And, for the sake of them thou sor- 
 
 rowest for, 
 
 Do me the favour to dilate at full 
 What hath befall'n of them and thee till now. 
 sge. My youngest boy, and yet my eldest 
 
 care, 
 
 At eighteen years became inquisitive 
 After his brother, and impdrtun'd me 
 That his attendant, for his case was like, 
 Reft of his brother, but retain'd his name, 
 Might bear him company in the quest of him : 
 Whom whilst I labour'd of a love to see, 
 I hazarded the loss of whom I lov'd. 
 Five summers have I spent in furthest Greece, 
 Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia, 
 And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus; 
 Hopeless to find, yet loath to leave unsought 
 Or that or any place that harbours men. 
 But here must end the story of my life ; 
 And happy were I in my timely death, 
 Could all my travels warrant me they live. 
 Duke. Hapless ^Egeon, whom the fates have 
 
 mark'd 
 
 To bear the extremity of dire mishap ! 
 Now, trust me, were it not against our laws, 
 Against my crown, my oath, my dignity, 
 Which princes, would they, may not disannul. 
 My soul should sue as advocate for thee. 
 But though thou art adjudged to the death, 
 And passed sentence may not be recall'd 
 But to our honour's great disparagement, ; 
 Yet will I favour thee in what I can : 
 Therefore, merchant, I '11 limit thee this day 
 To seek thy help by beneficial help : 
 Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus : 
 Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum, 
 And live ; if not, then thou art doom'd to die.- 
 Gaoler, take him to thy custody. 
 Gaol. I will, my lord. 
 jEge. Hopeless and helpless doth ^Egeon 
 
 wend. 
 But to procrastinate his lifeless end. [Exeunt. 
 
SCENE H.] 
 
 TUB COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 381 
 
 SCENE II.-- A public Place. 
 
 Enter ANTIPHOLUS and DROMIO OF 
 SYRACUSE, and a Merchant. 
 
 Mer. Therefore, give out you are of Epi- 
 
 damnum, 
 
 Lest that your goods too soon be confiscate. 
 This very day a Syracusan merchant 
 Is apprehended for arrival here ; 
 And, not being able to buy out his life, 
 According to the statute of the town, 
 Dies ere the weary sun set in the west. 
 There is your money that I had to keep. 
 
 Ant. S\ Go bear it to the Centaur, where 
 
 we host, 
 
 And stay there, Dromio, till I come to thee. 
 Within this hour it will be dinner-time : 
 Till that, I '11 view the manners of the town, 
 Peruse the traders, gaze upon the buildings, 
 And then return and sleep within mine inn ; 
 For with long travel I am stiff and weary. 
 Get thee away. [word, 
 
 Dro. S. Many a man would take you at your 
 And go indeed, having so good a mean. 
 
 [Exit DROMIO S. 
 
 Ant. S. A trusty villain, sir, that very oft, 
 When I am dull with care and melancholy, 
 Lightens my humour with his merry jests. 
 What, will you walk with me about the town, 
 And then go to my inn and dine with me? 
 
 Mer. I am invited, sir, to certain merchants, 
 Of whom I hope to make much benefit : 
 I crave your pardon. Soon, at five o'clock, 
 Please you, I '11 meet with you upon the mart, 
 And afterwards consort you until bed-time : 
 My present business calls me from you now. 
 
 Ant S. Farewell till then : I will go lose 
 
 myself, .IK^B 
 And wander up and down to view the city. 
 
 Mer. Sir, I commend you to your own content. 
 [Exit Merchant. 
 
 Ant. S. He that commends me to mine own 
 
 content, 
 
 Commends me to the thing I cannot get. 
 I to the world am like a drop of water 
 That in the ocean seeks another drop ; 
 Who, failing there to find his fellow forth, 
 Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself: 
 So I, to find a mother and a brother, 
 In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself. 
 
 Enter DROMIO OF EPHESUS. 
 Here comes the almanac of my true date. 
 What now? How chance thou art return'd so 
 soon? [too late: 
 
 Dro. E. Return'd so soon! rather approach 'd 
 
 The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit ; 
 The clock hath strucken twelve upon the bell 
 My mistress made it one upon my cheek : 
 She is so hot because the meat is cold ; 
 The meat is cold because you come not home ; 
 You come not home because you have no 
 
 stomach ; 
 
 You have no stomach, having broke your fast ; 
 But we, that know what 'tis to fast and pray, 
 Are penitent for your default to-day. [I pray ; 
 
 Ant. S. Stop in your wind, sir; tell me this, 
 Where have you left the money that I gave you? 
 
 Dro. E. O, sixpence that I had o ? Wedres- 
 
 day last 
 
 To pay the saddler for my mistress' crupper ; 
 The saddler had it, sir, I kept it not. 
 
 Ant. S. I am not in a sportive humour now : 
 Tell me, and dally not, where is the money? 
 We being strangers here, how dar'st thou trust 
 So great a charge from thine own custody? 
 
 Dro. E. I pray you, jest, sir, as you sit at 
 
 dinner: fc^ 
 
 I from my mistress come to you in post : 
 If I return, I shall be post indeed ; 
 For she will score your fault upon my pate. 
 Methinks your maw, like mine, should be your 
 
 clock, 
 And strike you home without a messenger. 
 
 Ant. S. Come, Dromio, come, these jests are 
 
 out of season ; 
 
 Reserve them till a merrier hour than this. 
 Where is the gold I gave in charge to thee? 
 
 Dro. E. To me, sir? why, you gave no gold 
 to me ! [foolishness, 
 
 Ant. S. Come on, sir knave ; have done your 
 And tell me how thou hastdispos'd thy charge. 
 
 Dro. E. My charge was but to fetch you from 
 
 the mart 
 
 Home to your house, the Phoanix, sir, to dinner: 
 My mistress and her sister stay for you. 
 
 Ant. S. Now, as I am a Christian, answer me, 
 In what safe place you have bestow'd my money: 
 Or I shall break that merry sconce of yours, 
 That stands on tricks when I am undispos'd; 
 Where is the thousand marks thou hadst of me? 
 
 Dro. E. I have some marks of yours upon my 
 
 pate, 
 
 Some of my mistress' marks upon my shoulders, 
 But not a thousand marks between you both. 
 If I should pay your worship those again, 
 Perchance you will not bear them patiently. 
 
 Ant. S. Thy mistress' marks ! what mistress, 
 slave, hast thou? 
 
 Dro. E. Your worship's wife, my mistress at 
 
 the Phoenix ; 
 
 Sh that doth fast till you come home to dinner, 
 And prays that you will hie you home to dinner. 
 
38* 
 
 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 Ant, S, What, wilt thou flout me thus unto 
 
 my face, 
 Being forbid? There, take you that, sir knave. 
 
 Dro. . What mean you, sir? for God's sake, 
 
 hold your hands : 
 
 Nay, an you will not, sir, I '11 take my heels. 
 [Exit DROMIO E. 
 
 Ant. S. Upon my life, by some device or other, 
 The villain is o'er-raught of all my money. 
 They say this town is full of cozenage ; 
 As, nimble jugglers that deceive the eye, 
 Dark-working sorcerers that change the mind, 
 Soul-killing witches that deform the body, 
 Disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks, 
 And many such-like liberties of sin : 
 If it prove so, I will be gone the sooner. 
 I '11 to the Centaur, to go seek this slave : 
 I greatly fear my money is not safe. [Exit. 
 
 Jia uo.zfi ii 
 
 .... 
 
 -Mf -{jnq I ,3L .^Ci 
 SCENE I. A public Place. 
 _ _ _ 
 
 Enter ADRIANA and LUCIANA. 
 
 Adr. Neither my husband nor the slave re- 
 
 turn'd, 
 
 That in sucn haste I sent to seek his master ! 
 Sure, Luciana, it is two o'clock. [him, 
 
 Luc. Perhaps some merchant hath invited 
 And from the mart be 's somewhere gone to 
 
 dinner. 
 
 Good sister, let us dine, and never fret { :3"*^ 
 A man is master of his liberty; 
 Time is their master ; and, when they see time, 
 They '11 go or come. If so, be patient, sister. 
 
 Adr. Why should their liberty than ours be 
 more? [door. 
 
 Luc. Because their business still lies out o' 
 
 Adr. Look, when I serve him so, he takes it 
 ill. 
 
 Luc. O, know he is the bridle of your will. 
 
 Adr. There 's none but asses will be bridled 
 so. [woe. 
 
 Luf. Why, headstrong liberty is lash'd with 
 There 's nothing situate under heaven's eye 
 But hath his bound in earth, in sea, in sky : 
 The beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls, 
 Are their males' subject, and at their controls : 
 Men, more divine, the masters of all these, 
 Lords of the wide world and wild wat'ry seas, 
 Indued with intellectual sense and souls 
 Of more pre-eminence than fish and fowls, 
 Are masters to their females, and their lords . 
 Then let your will attend on their accords. 
 
 Adr. This servitude makes you to keep un- 
 wed. [bed. 
 
 Luc. Not this, but troubles of trie marriage- 
 
 Adr. But, were you wedded, you would beat 
 
 some sway. 
 
 Luc. Ere I learn love, I '11 practise to obey. 
 Adr. How if your husband start some other 
 
 where? 
 
 Luc. Till he come home again I would for- 
 bear. 
 Adr. Patience unmov'd, no marvel though 
 
 she pause : 
 
 They can be meek that have no other cause. 
 A wretched soul, bruis'd with adversity, 
 We bid be quiet when we hear it cry ; 
 But were we burden'd with like weight of pain, 
 As much, or more, we should ourselves com- 
 plain : [thee, 
 So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve 
 With urging helpless patience wouldst relieve 
 
 me: 
 
 But if thou live to see like right bereft, 
 This fool-begg'd patience in thee will be left. 
 
 Luc. Well, I will marry one day, but to try: 
 Here comes your man, now is your husband nigh. 
 
 Enter DROMIO OF EPHESUS. ^. c r 
 
 Adr. Say, is your tardy master now at hand? 
 
 Dro. E. Nay, he is at two hands with me, and 
 that my two ears can witness. 
 
 Adr. Say, didst thou speak with him? know's't 
 thou his mind? 
 
 Dro. E. Ay, ay, he told his mind upon mine 
 ear. Beshrew his hand, I scarce could under- 
 stand it. 
 
 Lite. Spake he so doubtfully thou couldst not 
 feel his meaning? 
 
 Dro. E. Nay, he struck so plainly I could too 
 well feel his blows ; and withal so doubtfully 
 that I could scarce understand them. 
 
 Adr. But say, I pr'ythee, is he coming home ? 
 It seems he hath great care to please his wife. 
 
 Dro. E. Why, mistress, sure my master is 
 horn-mad. 
 
 Adr. Horn-mad, thou villain ? 
 
 Dro. E. I mean not cuckold-mad ; but, sure, 
 
 he 's stark-mad. 
 
 When I desir'd him to come home to dinner, 
 He ask'd me for a thousand marks in gold : 
 5 Tis dinner-time, quoth I; My gold, quoth he: 
 Your meat doth burn, quoth I ; My gold, quoth he : 
 Will you come home? quoth I; My gold, quoth he: 
 Where is the thousandmarks I gave thee, villain? 
 The pig, quoth I, is burned; My gold, quoth he : 
 My mistress, sir, quoth I; Hangup thy mistress; 
 I know not thy mistress; out on thy mistress! 
 
 Luc. Quoth who ? 
 
 Dro. E. Quoth my master : 
 fknow, quoth he, no house, no wife^ no mistress: 
 So that my errand, due unto my tongue, 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 I thank him, I bare home upon my shoulders ; 
 For, in conclusion, he did beat me there. 
 
 Adr. Go back again, thou slave, and fetch 
 him home. [home? 
 
 Dro. E. Go back again ! and be new beaten 
 For God's sake, send some other messenger. 
 
 Adr. Back, slave, or I will break thy pate 
 across. [other beating : 
 
 Dro. E. And he will bless that cross with 
 Between you I shall have a holy head. 
 
 Adr. Hence, prating peasant; fetch thy 
 master home. [me, 
 
 Dro. E. Am I so round with you, as you with 
 That like a football you do spurn me thus? 
 You spurn me hence, and he will spurn me 
 
 hither : 
 
 If I last in this service you must case me in 
 leather. {Exit. 
 
 Lttc. Fie, how impatience low'reth in your 
 face! 
 
 Adr. His company must do his minions grace, 
 Whilst I at home starve for a merry look. 
 Hath homely age the alluring beauty took 
 From my poor cheek ? then he hath wasted it : 
 Are my discourses dull? barren my witfti jj;ri 
 If voluble and sharp discourse be marr'd, 
 Unkindness blunts it more than marble hard: 
 Do their gay vestments his affections bait? 
 That 's not my fault, he 's master of my state: 
 What ruins are in me that can be found 
 By him not ruin'd? then is he the ground 
 Of my defeatures : my decayed fair 
 A sunny look of his would soon repair ; 
 But, too unruly deer, he breaks the pale 
 And feeds from home ; poor I am but his stale. 
 
 Ltic. Self-harming jealousy ! fie, beat it 
 hence. [dispense. 
 
 Adr. Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs 
 I know his eye doth homage otherwhere ; 
 Or else what lets it but he would be here? 
 Sister, you know he promis'd me a chain ; 
 Would that alone, alone he would detain, 
 So he would keep fair quarter with his bed ! 
 I see the jewel best enamelled 
 Will lose his beauty ; and though gold 'bides still 
 That others touch, yet often touching will 
 Wear gold ; and so no man that hath a name 
 But falsehood and corruption doth it shame. 
 Since that my beauty cannot please his eye, 
 I '11 weep what 's left away, and, weeping, die. 
 
 Luc. How many fond fools serve mad 
 jealousy ! [Exeunt. 
 
 v >rton o : { vofljf' 5O ;t 
 SCENE II. The saute. 
 
 Enter ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. 
 .-/#. 51 The gold I gave to Dromio is laid np 
 
 Safe at the Centaur ; and the heedful slave 
 Is wander* d forth in care to seek me out 
 By computation and mine host's report 
 I could not speak with Dromio since at first 
 I sent him from the mart. See, here he comes. 
 
 Enter DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. 
 
 How now, sir ! is your merry humour alter'd? 
 As you love strokes, so jest with me again. 
 You know no Centaur? you receiv'd no gold? 
 Your mistress sent to have me home to dinner? 
 My house was at the Phcenix? Wast thou mad, 
 That thus so madly thou didst answer me? 
 
 Dro. S. What answer, sir? when spake I such 
 a word? 
 
 Ant. S. Even now, even here, not half-an- 
 hour since. 
 
 Dro. S. I did not see you since you sent me 
 
 hence, 
 Home to the Centaur with the gold you gave me. 
 
 Ant. S. Villain, thou didst deny the gold's 
 
 receipt ; 
 
 And told'st me of a mistress and a dinno? &.--:;>* 
 For which, I hope, thou felt'st I was displeas'd. 
 
 Dro. S. I am glad to see you in this merry 
 
 vein: [ bl^ci nie- 
 
 What means this jest? I pray you, master, tell 
 
 Ant. S. Yea, dost thou jeer and flout me in 
 
 the teeth? 
 
 Think'st thou I jest? Hold, take thou that, 
 and that. [Beating him. 
 
 Dro. S. Hold, sir, for God's sake: now 
 
 your jest is earnest : 
 Upon what bargain do you give it me? 
 
 Ant S. Because that I familiarly sometimes 
 Do use you for my fool, and chat with you, 
 Your sauciness will jest upon my love, 
 And make a common of my serious hours. 
 When the sun shines let foolish gnats make sport, 
 But creep in crannies when he hides his beams. 
 If you will jest with me, know my aspect, 
 And fashion your demeanour to my looks, 
 Or I will beat this method in your sconce. 
 
 Dro. S. Sconce, call you it? so you would 
 leave battering, I had rather have it a head : an 
 you use these blows long, I must get a sconce 
 for my head, and ensconce it too; or else I 
 shall seek my wit in my shoulders. But, I 
 pray sir, why am I beaten? 
 
 Ant. S. Dost thou not know? 
 
 Dro. S. Nothing, sir ; but that I am beaten. 
 
 Ant. S. Shall I tell you why? 
 
 Dro. S. Ay, sir, and wherefore; for, tlwysay, 
 every why hath a wherefore, 
 
 Ant. S. Why, first, for flouting me ; tuul 
 
 then, wherefore, ;K: . m 
 For urging it the second time to me. 
 
3*4 
 
 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 [ACT 1L 
 
 Dro. S. Was there ever any man thus beaten 
 
 out of season, 
 When in the why and the wherefore is neither 
 
 rhyme nor reason?- 
 Well, sir, I thank you. 
 
 Ant. S. Thank me, sir! for what? 
 
 Dro. S. Marry, sir, for this something that 
 you gave me for nothing. 
 
 Ant. S. I '11 make you amends next, to give 
 you nothing for something. But say, sir, is it 
 dinner-time? [that I have. 
 
 Dro. S. No, sir; I think the -meat wants 
 
 Ant. S. In good time, sir, what's that? 
 
 Dro. S. Basting. 
 
 Ant. S. Well, sir, then 'twill be dry. 
 
 Dro. S. If it be, sir, I pray you eat none of it. 
 
 Ant. S. Your reason? 
 
 Dro. S. Lest it make you choleric, and pur- 
 chase me another dry basting. 
 
 Ant. S. Well, sir, learn to jest in good time : 
 There 's a time for all things. 
 
 Dro. S. I durst have denied that before you 
 were so choleric. 
 
 Ant. S. By what rule, sir? 
 
 Dro. S. Marry, sir, by a rule as plain as the 
 plain bald pate of Father Time himself. 
 
 Ant. S. Let 's hear it. 
 
 Dro. S. There 's no time for a man to re- 
 jover his hair, that grows bald by nature. 
 
 Ant. S. May he not do it by fine and recovery? 
 
 Dro. S. Yes, to pay a fine for a peruke, and 
 recover the lost hair of another man. 
 
 Ant. S. Why is Time such a niggard of hair, 
 being, as it is, so plentiful an excrement? 
 
 Dro. S. Because it is a blessing that he be- 
 stows on beasts : and what he hath scanted 
 men in hair he hath given them in wit. 
 
 Ant. S. Why, but there 's many a man hath 
 more hair than wit. 
 
 Dro. S. Not a man of those but he hath the 
 wit to lose his hair. 
 
 Ant. S. Why, thou didst conclude hairy men 
 plain dealers without wit. 
 
 Dro. S. The plainer dealer the sooner lost : 
 yet he loseth it in a kind of jollity. 
 
 Ant. S. For what reason? 
 
 Dro. S. For two ; and sound ones too. 
 
 Ant. S. Nay, not sound, I pray you. 
 
 Dro. S. Sure ones, then. 
 
 Ant. S. Nay, not sure, in a thing falsing. 
 
 Dro. S. Certain ones, then. 
 
 Ant. S. Name them. 
 
 Dro. S. The one, to save the money that he 
 spends in tiring ; the other, that at dinner they 
 should not drop in his porridge. 
 
 Ant. S. You would all this time have proved 
 there is no rime for all things. 
 
 Dro. S. Marry, and did, sir; namely, no 
 time to recover hair lost by nature. 
 
 Ant. S. But your reason was not substantial 
 why there is no time to recover. 
 
 Dro. S. Thus I mend it : Time himself is 
 bald, and, therefore, to the world's end will 
 have bald followers. 
 
 Ant. S. I knew 'twould be a bald conclusion : 
 But, soft ! who wafts us yonder? 
 
 Enter ADRIANA and LuciANA. 
 
 Adr. Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange and 
 
 frown ; 
 
 Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects : 
 I am not Adriana, nor thy wife. [vow 
 
 The time was, once, when thou unurg'd wouldst 
 That never words were music to thine ear, 
 That never object pleasing in thine eye, 
 That never touch well welcome to thy hand, 
 That never meat sweet-savour'd in thy taste, 
 Unless I spake, look'd, touch'd, or carv'd to 
 
 thee. 
 How comes it now, my husband, oh, how 
 
 comes it, 
 
 That thou art then estranged from thyself? 
 Thyself I call it, being strange to me, 'ylov^I 
 That undividable, incorporate, 
 Am better than thy dear self's better part. 
 Ah, do not tear away thyself from me ; 
 For know, my iove, as easy mayst thou fall 
 A drop of water in the breaking gulf, mirf 
 And take unmingled thence that drop again, 
 Without addition or diminishing, 
 As take from me thyself, and not me too. 
 How dearly would it touch thee to the quick 
 Shouldst thou but hear I were licentious, 
 And that this body, consecrate to thee, 
 By ruffian lust should be contaminate ! 
 Wo- Idst thou not spit at me, and spurn at me. 
 And hurl the name of husband in my face, 
 And tear the stain'd skin off my harlot brow, 
 And from my false hand cut the wedding-ring, 
 And break it with a deep-divorcing vow? 
 I know thou canst ; and, therefore, see thou do it. 
 I am possess'd with an adulterate blot ; 
 My blood is mingled with the crime of lust : 
 For if we two be one, and thou play false, 
 I do digest the poison of thy flesh, 
 Being strumpeted by thy contagion. [bed ; 
 
 Keep then fair league and truce with thy true 
 I live dis-stain'd, thou undishonoured. 
 Ant. S. Plead you to me, fair dame? I 
 
 know you not : 
 
 In Ephesus I am but two hours old, 
 As strange unto your town as to your talk ; 
 Who, every word by all my wit being scann ? d, 
 Want wit in all one word to understand, 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 385 
 
 Luc. Fie, brother ! how the world is chang'd 
 
 with you: 
 
 When were you wont to use my sister thus? 
 She sent for you by Dromio home to dinner. 
 
 Ant. S. By Dromio? 
 
 Dro. S. By me? 
 
 Adr. By thee; and this thou didst return 
 
 from him, 
 
 That he did buffet thee, and in his blows 
 Denied my house for his, me for his wife. 
 
 Ant. S. Did you converse, sir, with this 
 
 gentlewoman ? 
 What is the course and drift of your compact? 
 
 Dro. S. I, sir? I never saw her till this time. 
 
 Ant. S. Villain, thou liest; for even her 
 
 very words 
 Didst thou deliver to me on the mart. 
 
 Dro. S. I never spake with her in all my life. 
 
 Ant. S. How can she thus, then, call us by 
 
 our names, 
 Unless it be by inspiration? 
 
 Adr. How ill agrees it with your gravity 
 To counterfeit thus grossly with your slave, 
 Abetting him to thwart me in my mood ! 
 Be it my wrong, you are from me exempt, 
 But wrong not that wrong with a more contempt. 
 Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine : 
 Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine, 
 Whose weakness, married to thy stronger state, 
 Makes me with thy strength to communicate : 
 If aught possess thee from me, it is dross, 
 Usurping ivy, brier, or idle moss ; 
 Who, all for want of pruning, with intrusion 
 Infect thy sap, and live on thy confusion. 
 
 Ant. S. To me she speaks ; she moves me 
 
 for her theme : 
 
 What, was I married to her in my dream ? 
 Or sleep I now, and think I hear all this ? 
 What error drives our eyes and ears amiss ? 
 Until I know this sure uncertainty 
 I '11 entertain the offer'd fallacy. 
 
 Luc. Dromio, go bid the servants spread for 
 dinner. [sinner. 
 
 Dro. S. O for my beads ! I cross me for a 
 This is the fairy land ; O spite of spites ! 
 We talk with goblins, owls, and elvish sprites ; 
 If we obey them not, this will ensue, [blue. 
 They '11 suck our breath, or pinch us black and 
 
 Luc. Why prat'st thou to thyself, and an- 
 swer' st not? [sot! 
 Dromio, thou drone, thou snail, thou slug, thou 
 
 Dro. S. I am transformed, master, am not I ? 
 
 Ant. S. I think thou art, in mind, and so am I. 
 
 Dro. S. Nay, master, both in mind and in 
 my shape. 
 
 Ant. S. Thou hast thine own form. 
 
 Dro. S. No, I am an ape. 
 
 Luc. If thou art chang'd to aught, 'tis to an 
 ass. [for grass. 
 
 Dro. S. 'Tis true ; she rides me, and I long 
 'Tis so, I am an ass ; else it could never be 
 But I should know her as well as she knows me. 
 
 Adr. Come, come, no longer will I be a fool, 
 To put the finger in the eye and weep, 
 Whilst man and master laugh my woes to 
 scorn. [gate: 
 
 Come, sir, to dinner; Dromio, keep the 
 Husband, I '11 dine above with you to-day, 
 And shrive you of a thousand idle pranks : 
 Sirrah, if any ask you for your master, 
 Say he dines forth, and let no creature enter. 
 Come, sister : Dromio, play the porter well. 
 
 Ant. S. Am I in earth, in heaven, or in hell ? 
 Sleeping or waking? mad, or well advis'd? 
 Known unto these, and to myself disguis'd ? 
 I '11 say as they say, and perseVer so, 
 And in this mist at all adventures go. 
 
 Dro. S. Master, shall I be porter at the gate? 
 
 Adr. Ay; and let none enter, lest I break 
 your pate. 
 
 Luc. Come, come, Antipholus, we dine too 
 late. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. The same. 
 
 Enter ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS, DROMIO OP 
 EPHESUS, ANGELO, and BALTHAZAR. 
 
 Ant. E. Good Signior Angelo, you must 
 
 excuse us all. 
 
 My wife is shrewish when I keep not hours : 
 Say that I linger'd with you at your shop 
 To see the making of her carcanet, 
 And that to-morrow you will bring it home. 
 But here 's a villain that would face me down . 
 He met me on the mart ; and that I beat him, 
 And charg'd him with a thousand marks in gold ; 
 And that I did deny my wife and house : 
 Thou drunkard, thou, what didst thou mean 
 
 by this ? 
 Dro. E. Say what you will, sir, but I know 
 
 what I know : 
 That you beat me at the mart I have your 
 
 hand to show : 
 If the skin were parchment, and the blows you 
 
 gave were ink, [think. 
 
 Your own handwriting would tell you what I 
 Ant. E. I think thou art an ass. 
 Dro. E. Marry, so it doth appear 
 
 By the wrongs I suffer and the blows I bear. 
 I should kick, being kick'd ; and, being at that 
 
 pass, [an ass. 
 
 You would keep from my heels, and beware of 
 
 N 
 
386 
 
 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 [ACT lit. 
 
 Ant. E. You are sad, Signior Balthazar; 
 
 pray God, our cheer [come here. 
 
 May answer my good- will and your good wel- 
 
 Bal. I hold your dainties cheap, sir, and 
 
 your welcome dear. 
 Ant. E. O, Signior Balthazar, either at 
 
 flesh or fish, 
 A table full of welcome makes scarce one 
 
 dainty dish. 
 BaL Good meat, sir, is common ; that every 
 
 churl affords. 
 Ant. E. And welcome more common; for 
 
 that 's nothing but words. 
 
 Bal. Small cheer and great welcome makes 
 
 a merry feast. [sparing guest. 
 
 Ant. E. Ay, to a niggardly host and more 
 
 But though my cates be mean, take them in 
 
 good part ; [heart. 
 
 Better cheer may you have, but not with better 
 
 But, soft ; my door is lock'd : go bid them let 
 
 us in. [Gillian, Jen ! 
 
 Dro. E. Maud, Bridget, Marian, Cicely, 
 
 Dro. S. {Within.] Mome, malt-horse, capon, 
 
 coxcomb, idiot, patch! 
 Either get thee from the door or sit down at 
 
 the hatch : 
 
 Dost thou conjure for wenches, that thou call'st 
 
 for such store, [the door. 
 
 When one is one too many? Go, get thee from 
 
 Dro. E. What patch is made our porter? 
 
 My master stays in the street. 
 Dro. S. Let him walk from whence he came, 
 
 lest he catch cold on 's feet. 
 Ant. E. Who talks within there? ho, open 
 
 the door. 
 Dro. S. Right, sir, I'll tell you when an 
 
 you '11 tell me wherefore. 
 Ant. E. Wherefore ! for my dinner : I have 
 
 not dined to-day. 
 Dro. S. Nor to-day here you must not; 
 
 come again when you may. 
 Ant. E. What art thou that keep'st me out 
 
 from the house I owe? 
 Dro. S. The porter for this time, sir, and 
 
 my name is Dromio. 
 
 Dro. E. O villain, thou hast stolen both 
 
 mine office and my name ; [blame. 
 
 The one ne'er got me credit, the other mickle 
 
 If thou hadst been Dromio to-day in my place, 
 
 Thou wouldst have chang'd thy face for a name, 
 
 or thy name for an ass. 
 Luce. {Within.} What a coil is there! 
 
 Dromio, who are those at the gate ? 
 Dro. E. Let my master in, Luce. 
 Luce. Faith, no ; he comes too late ; 
 
 And so tell your master. 
 
 E. O Lord, I must laugh ; 
 
 Have at you with a proverb. Shall I set in 
 
 my staff? 
 Luce. Have at you with another: that's, 
 
 When? can you tell? 
 Dro. S. If thy name be called Luce,-r-Luce, 
 
 thou hast answer'd him well. 
 Ant. E. Do you hear, you minion? you '11 
 
 let us in, I hope? 
 
 Luce. I thought to have ask'd you. 
 Dro. S. And you said no. 
 
 Dro. E. So, come, help: well struck; there 
 
 was blow for blow. 
 Ant. E. Thou baggage, let me in. 
 Luce. Can you tell for whose sake ? 
 
 Dro. E. Master, knock the door hard. 
 Luce. Let him knock till it ache. 
 
 Ant. E. You '11 cry for this, minion, if I beat 
 
 the door down. 
 Luce. What needs all that, and a pair of 
 
 stocks in the town? 
 Adr. [ Within.} Who is that at the door, that 
 
 keeps all this noise? 
 Dro. S. By my troth, your town is troubled 
 
 with unruly boys. 
 Ant. E. Are you there, wife? you might 
 
 have come before. [the door. 
 
 Adr. Your wife, sir knave ! go, get you from 
 Dro. E. If you went in pain, master, this 
 
 knave would go sore. 
 Ang. Here is neither cheer, sir, nor welcome: 
 
 we would fain have either. 
 Bal. In debating which was best, we shall 
 
 part with neither. 
 Dro. E. They stand at the door, master ; bid 
 
 them welcome hither. 
 Ant. E. There is something in the wind, that 
 
 we cannot get in. 
 Dro. E. You would say so, master, if your 
 
 garments were thin. 
 Your cake here is warm within ; you stand here 
 
 in the cold : 
 It would make a man mad as a buck, to be so 
 
 bought and sold. 
 Ant. E. Go, fetch me something, I '11 break 
 
 ope the gate. 
 Dro. S. Break any breaking here, and I '11 
 
 break your knave's pate. 
 Dro. E. A man may break a word with yon, 
 
 sir ; and words are but wind ; 
 Ay, and break it in your face, so he break it 
 
 not behind. 
 Dro. S. It seems thou wantest breaking ; out 
 
 upon thee, hind ! 
 Dro. E. Here 's too much out upon thee : I 
 
 pray thee, let me in. 
 Dro. S. Ay, when fowls have no feathers 
 
 and fish have no fin. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 387 
 
 Ant. E. Well, I '11 break in ; go borrow me 
 a crow. 
 
 Dro. E. A crow without a feather; master, 
 
 mean you so? [a feather: 
 
 For a fish without a fin there 's a fowl without 
 
 If a crow help us in, sirrah, we : 11 pluck a crow 
 
 together. [crow. 
 
 Ant. E. Go, get thee gone ; fetch me an iron 
 
 Bal. Have patience, sir : O, let it not be so : 
 Herein you war against your reputation, 
 And draw within the compass of suspect 
 The unviolated honour of your wife. 
 Once this, your long experience of her wisdom, 
 Her sober virtue, years, and modesty, 
 Plead on her part some cause to you unknown ; 
 And doubt not, sir, but she will well excuse 
 Why at this time the doors are made against you. 
 Be rul'd by me ; depart in patience, 
 And let us to the Tiger all to dinner : 
 And, about evening, come yourself alone, 
 To know the reason of this strange restraint. . 
 If by strong hand you offer to break in, 
 Now in the stirring passage of the day, 
 A vulgar comment will be made of it ; 
 And that supposed by the common rout 
 Against your yet ungalled estimation, 
 That may with foul intrusion enter in, 
 And dwell upon your grave when you are dead : 
 For slander lives upon succession, 
 For ever hous'd where it once gets possession. 
 
 Ant. E. You have prevail'd. I will depart 
 
 in quiet, 
 
 And, in despite of mirth, mean to be merry. 
 I know a wench of excellent discourse, 
 Pretty and witty ; wild, and yet, too, gentle ; 
 There will we dine: this woman that I mean, 
 My wife, but, I protest, without desert, 
 Hath oftentimes upbraided me withal ; 
 To her will we to dinner. Get you home 
 And fetch the chain : by this, I know, 'tis made : 
 Bring it, I pray you, to the Porcupine ; 
 For there's the house; thatchainwill I bestow, 
 Be it for nothing but to spite my wife, 
 Upon mine hostess there : good sir, make haste : 
 Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me, 
 I '11 knock elsewhere, to see if they '11 disdain me. 
 
 Ang. I '11 meet you at that place some hour 
 hence. 
 
 Ant. E. Do so ; this jest shall cost me some 
 expense. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. The same. 
 
 Enter LUCIANA and ANTIPHOLUS OF 
 SYRACUSE. 
 
 Luc. And may it be that you have quite forgot 
 A husband's office ? Shall, Antipholus, hate, 
 
 Even in the spring of love, thy love-springs rot ? 
 
 Shall love, in building, grow so ruinate? 
 If you did wed my sister for her wealth, 
 
 Then, for her wealth's sake, use her with 
 
 more kindness : 
 Or, if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth ; 
 
 Muffle your false love with some show of 
 
 blindness : 
 Let not my sister read it in your eye ; 
 
 Be not thy tongue thy own shame's orator; 
 Look sweet, speak fair, become disloyalty; 
 
 Apparel vice like virtue's harbinger: 
 Bear a fair presence though your heart be tainted; 
 
 Teach sin the carriage of a holy saint ; 
 Be secret-false : what need she be acquainted ? 
 
 What simple thief brags of his own attaint? 
 'Tis double wrong, to truant with your bed 
 
 And let her read it in thy looks at board : 
 Shame hath a bastard-fame, well managed ; 
 
 111 deeds are doubled with an evil word. 
 Alas, poor women ! make us but believe, 
 
 Being compact of credit, that you love us : 
 Though others have the arm, show us the sleeve ; 
 
 We in your motion turn, and you may move us. 
 Then, gentle brother, get you in again ; 
 
 Comfort my sister, cheer her, call her wife : 
 'Tis holy sport to be a little vain [strife. 
 
 When the sweet breath of flattery conquers 
 
 Ant. S. Sweet mistress, what your name is 
 else, I know not, 
 
 Nor by what wonder do you hit on mine, 
 
 Less, in your knowledge and your grace, you 
 
 show not [divine. 
 
 Than our earth's wonder ; more than earth 
 Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak ; 
 
 Lay open to my earthy gross conceit, 
 Smother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak, 
 
 The folded meaning of your words' deceit. 
 Against my soul's pure truth why labour you 
 
 To make it wander in an unknown field? 
 Are you a god? would you create me new? 
 
 Transform me, then, and to your power I'll 
 
 yield. 
 But if that I am I, then well I know 
 
 Your weeping sister is no wife of mine, 
 Nor to her bed no homage do I owe: 
 
 Far more, far more, to you do I decline. 
 O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note, 
 
 To drown me in thy sister's flood of tears: 
 Sing, siren, for thyself, and I will dote : 
 
 Spread o'er the silver waves thy golden hairs, 
 And as a bed I '11 take thee, and there lie ; 
 
 And, in that glorious supposition, think 
 He gains by death that hath such means to die: 
 
 Let love, being light, be drowned if she sink 1 
 
 Luc. What, are you mad, that you do reason 
 so? 
 
388 
 
 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Ant. S. Not mad, but mated ; how, I do not 
 know. 
 
 Luc. It is a fault that springeth from your eye. 
 
 Ant. S. For gazing on your beams, fair sun, 
 being by. 
 
 Luc. Gaze where you should, and that will 
 clear your sight. [on night. 
 
 Ant. S. As good to wink, sweet love, as look 
 
 Luc. Why call you me love ? call my sister so. 
 
 Ant. S. Thy sister's sister. 
 
 Luc. That 's my sister. 
 
 Ant. S. No ; 
 
 It is thyself, mine own self's better part ; 
 Mine eye's clear eye, my dear heart's dearer heart; 
 Tvly food, my fortune, and my sweet hope's aim, 
 My sole earth's heaven, and my heaven's claim. 
 
 Luc. All this my sister is, or else should be. 
 
 Ant. S. Call thyself sister, sweet, for I aim 
 
 thee i'v'f ,' : 
 
 Thee will I love, an d with thee lead my life : 
 Thou hast no hu band yet, nor I no wife ; 
 Give me thy hand. 
 
 Luc. O soft, sir, hold you still ; 
 
 I '11 fetch my sister, to get her good -will. 
 
 [Exit LUCIANA. 
 
 Enter from the House ^ANTIPHOLUS OF 
 EPHESUS, DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. 
 
 Ant. S. Why, how now, Dromio? where 
 runn'st thou so fast ? 
 
 Dro. S. Do you know me, sir? am I Dromio? 
 am I your man ? am I myself? 
 
 Ant. S. Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, 
 thou art thyself. 
 
 Dro. S. I am an ass, I am a woman's man, 
 and beside myself. 
 
 Ant. S. What woman's man? and how beside 
 thyself? 
 
 Dro. S. Marry, sir, beside myself, I am due 
 to a woman; one that claims me, one that 
 haunts me, one that will have me. 
 
 Ant. S. What claim lays she to thee? 
 
 Dro. S. Marry sir, such claim as you would 
 lay to your horse : and she would have me as a 
 beast ; not that, I being a beast, she would have 
 me ; but that she, being a very beastly creature, 
 lays claim to me. 
 
 Ant. S. What is she? 
 
 Dro. S. A very reverent body; ay, such a 
 one as a man may not speak of without he say 
 sir-reverence: I have but lean luck in the 
 match, and yet she is a wondrous fat marriage. 
 
 Ant. S. How dost thou mean? a fat 
 marriage? 
 
 Dro. S. Marry, sir, she 's the kitchen- wench, 
 and all grease ; and I know not what use to put 
 her to, but to make a lamp of her, and run 
 
 from her by her own light. I warrant, her 
 rags, and the tallow in them, will burn a 
 Poland winter : if she lives till doomsday, she '11 
 burn a week longer than the whole world. 
 
 Ant. S. What complexion is she of? 
 
 Dro. S. Swart, like my shoe; but her face 
 nothing like so clean kept : for why? she sweats, 
 a man may go over shoes in the grime of it. 
 
 Ant. S. That 's a fault that water will mend. 
 
 Dro. S. No, sir, 'tis in grain; Noah's flood 
 could not do it. 
 
 Ant. S. What's her name? 
 
 Dro. S. Nell, sir ; but her name and three- 
 quarters, that is an ell and three-quarters, will 
 not measure her from hip to hip. 
 
 Ant. S. Then she bears some breadth? 
 
 Dro. S. No longer from head to foot than 
 from hip to hip : she is spherical, like a globe : 
 I could find out countries in her. [land? 
 
 Ant. S. In what part of her body stands Ire- 
 
 Dro. S. Marry, sir, in hei buttocks : I found 
 it out by the bogs. 
 
 Ant. S. Where Scotland? 
 
 Dro. S. I found it by the barrenness; hard 
 in the palm of the hand. 
 
 Ant. S. Where France? 
 
 Dro. S. In her forehead; armed and re- 
 verted, making war against her hair. 
 
 Ant. S. Where England? 
 
 Dro. S. I looked for the chalky cliffs, but I 
 could find no whiteness in them : but I guess it 
 stood in her chin, by the salt rheum that ran 
 between France and it. 
 
 Ant. S. Where Spain? 
 
 Dro. S. Faith, I saw it not ; but I felt it hot 
 in her breath. 
 
 Ant. S. Where America. the Indies? 
 
 Dro. S. O, sir, upon her nose, all o'er em- 
 bellished with rubies, carbuncles, sapphires, 
 declining their rich aspect to the hot breath of 
 Spain ; who sent whole armadas of carracks to 
 be ballast at her nose. 
 
 Ant. S. Where stood Belgia, the Nether- 
 lands? 
 
 Dro. S. O, sir, I did not look so low. To 
 conclude, this drudge or diviner laid claim to 
 me ; called me Dromio ; swore I was assured 
 to her ; told me what privy marks I had about 
 me, as the mark of my shoulder, the mole in 
 my neck, the great wart on my left arm, that 
 I, amazed, ran from her as a witch : and, I 
 think, if my breast had not been made of faith 
 and my heart of steel, she had transformed me 
 to a curtail-dog, and made me turn i' the 
 wheel. [road ; 
 
 Ant. S. Go, hie thee presently post to the 
 And if the wind blow any way from shore, 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 389 
 
 I will not harbour in this town to-night. 
 If any bark put forth, come to the mart, 
 Where I will walk till thou return to me. 
 If every one knows us, and we know none, 
 J Tis time, I think, to trudge, pack, and be gone. 
 
 Dro. S. As from a bear a man would run for 
 
 life, 
 So fly I from her that would be my wife. 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 Ant. S. There 's none but witches do inhabit 
 
 here; 
 
 And therefore 'tis high time that I were hence. 
 She that doth call me husband, even my soul 
 Doth for a wife abhor; but her fair sister, 
 Possess'd with such a gentle sovereign grace, 
 Of such enchanting presence and discourse, 
 Hath almost made me traitor to myself: 
 But, lest myself be guilty to self- wrong, 
 I '11 stop mine ears against the mermaid's song. 
 
 Enter ANGELO. 
 
 Ang. Master Antipholus? 
 
 Ant. S. Ay, that 's my name. [chain ; 
 
 Ang. I know it well, sir. Lo, here is the 
 I thought to have ta'en you at the Porcupine : 
 The chain unfinish'd made me stay thus long. 
 
 Ant. S. What is your will that I shall do with 
 this? 
 
 Ang. What please yourself, sir ; I have made 
 it for you. 
 
 Ant. S. Made it for me, sir ! I bespoke it not. 
 
 Ang. Not once nor twice, but twenty times 
 
 you have : 
 
 Go home with it, and please your wife withal ; 
 And soon at supper-time I '11 visit you, 
 And then receive my money for the chain. 
 
 Ant. S. I pray you, sir, receive the money now, 
 For fear you ne'er see chain nor money more. 
 
 Ang. You are a merry man, sir ; fare you well. 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 Ant. S. What I should think of this I cannot 
 
 tell: 
 
 But this I think, there 's no man is so vain 
 That would refuse so fair an offer'd chain. 
 I see a man here needs not live by shifts, 
 When in the street he meets such golden gifts. 
 I '11 to the mart, and there for Dromio stay ; 
 If any ship put out, then straight away. {Exit. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. The same. 
 Enter a Merchant, ANGELO, and an Officer. 
 
 Mer. You know, since Pentecost the sum is 
 
 due, 
 And since I have not much importun'd you ; 
 
 Nor now I had not, but that I am bound 
 To Persia, and want gilders for my voyage ; 
 Therefore make present satisfaction, 
 Or I '11 attach you by this officer. 
 
 Ang. Even just the sum that I do owe to you 
 Is growing to me by Antipholus ; 
 And in the instant that I met with you 
 He had of me a chain ; at five o'clock 
 I shall receive the money for the same : 
 Pleaseth you walk with me down to his house, 
 I will discharge my bond, and thank you too. 
 
 Enter ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS, and 
 DROMIO OF EPHESUS. 
 
 Off. That labour may you save : see where 
 he comes. [go thou 
 
 Ant. E. While I go to the goldsmith's house, 
 And buy a rupe's end ; that will I bestow 
 Among my wife and her confederates, 
 For locking me out of doors by day. 
 But, soft ; I see the goldsmith : get thee gone ; 
 Buy thou a rope, and bring it home to me. 
 Dro. E. I buy a thousand pound a year ! I 
 buy a rope ! {Exit DROMIO. 
 
 Ant. E. A man is well holp up that trusts 
 
 to you: 
 
 I promised your presence, and the chain ; 
 But neither chain nor goldsmith came to me: 
 Belike you thought our love would last too long, 
 If it were chained together ; and therefore came 
 not. [note, 
 
 Ang. Saving your merry humour, here 's the 
 How much your chain weighs to the utmost 
 
 carat; 
 
 The fineness of the gold, and chargeful fashion ; 
 Which does amount to three odd ducats more 
 Than I stand debted to this gentleman : 
 I pray you, see him presently discharg'd, 
 For he is bound to sea, and stays but for it. 
 Ant. E. I am not furnished with the present 
 
 money ; 
 
 Besides I have some business in the town : 
 Good Signior, take the stranger to my house, 
 And with you take the chain, and bid my wife 
 Disburse the sum on the receipt thereo'; 
 Perchance I will be there as soon as you. 
 Ang. Then you will bring the chain to her 
 
 yourself? 
 
 Ant. E. No; bear it with you, lest I come 
 
 not time enough. [about you? 
 
 Ang. Well sir, I will : have you the chain 
 
 Ant. E. An if I have not, sir, I hope you have, 
 
 Or else you may return without your money. 
 
 Ang. Nay, come, I pray you, sir, give me the 
 
 chain ; 
 
 Both wind and tide stays for this gentleman, 
 And I, to blame, have held him here too long. 
 
390 
 
 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Ant. E. Good lord, you use this dalliance to 
 
 excuse 
 
 Your breach of promise to the Porcupine : 
 I should have chid you for not bringing it, 
 But, like a shrew, you first begin to brawl. 
 
 Mer. The hour steals on; I pray you, sir, 
 despatch. 
 
 Ang. You hear how he importunes me : the 
 chain, 
 
 Ant. E. Why, give it to my wife, and fetch 
 your money. [now : 
 
 Ang. Come, come, you know I gave it you even 
 Either send the chain or send me by some token. 
 
 Ant. E. Fie ! now you run this humour out 
 
 of breath : [it. 
 
 Come, where 's the chain? I pray you, let me see 
 
 Mer. My business cannot brook this dalliance : 
 Good sir, say whe'r you '11 answer me or no ; 
 If not, I '11 leave him to the officer. [you? 
 
 Ant. E. I answer you ! What should I answer 
 
 Ang. The money that you owe me for the 
 chain. [chain. 
 
 Ant. E. I owe you none till I receive the 
 
 Ang. You know I gave it you half-an-hour 
 since. 
 
 Ant. E. You gave me none: you wrong me 
 much to say so. 
 
 Ang. You wrong me more, sir, in denying it: 
 Consider how it stands upon my credit. 
 
 Mer. Well, officer, arrest him at my suit. 
 
 Off. I do, and charge you in the duke's name 
 to obey me. 
 
 Ang. This touches me in reputation : 
 Either consent to pay this sum for me, 
 Or I attach you by this officer. 
 
 Ant. E. Consent to pay thee that I never had! 
 Arrest me, foolish fellow, if thou dar'st. 
 
 Ang. Here is thy fee ; arrest him, officer : 
 I would not spare my brother in this case, 
 If he should scorn me so apparently. 
 
 Off. I do arrest you, sir : you hear the suit. 
 
 Ant. E. I do obey thee till I give thee bail: 
 But, sirrah, you shall buy this sport as dear 
 As all the metal in your shop will answer. 
 
 Ang. Sir, sir, I shall have law in Ephesus, 
 To your notorious shame, I doubt it not. 
 
 Enter DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. 
 
 Dro. S. Master, there is a bark of Epidam- 
 
 num 
 
 That stays but till her owner comes aboard, 
 And then, sir, bears away : our fraughtage, sir, 
 I have convey'd aboard ; and I have bought 
 The oil, the balsamum, and aqua-vitae. 
 The ship is in her trim ; the merry wind 
 Blows fair from land : they stay for naught at all 
 But for their owner, master, and yourself. 
 
 Ant. E. How now! a madman? Why, thou 
 
 peevish sheep, 
 What ship of Epidamnum stays for me? 
 
 Dro. S. A ship you sent me to, to hire waftage. 
 Ant. E. Thou drunken slave, I sent thee for 
 
 a rope ; 
 
 And told thee to what purpose and what end. 
 Dro. S. You sent me, sir, for a rope's end as 
 
 soon: 
 You sent me to the bay, sir, for a bark. 
 
 Ant. E. I will debate this matter at more 
 
 leisure, 
 
 And teach your ears to listen with more heed. 
 To Adriana, villain, hie thee straight: 
 Give her this key, and tell her, in the desk 
 That 's cover'd o'er with Turkish tapestry 
 There is a purse of ducats ; let her send it : 
 Tell her I am arrested in the street, 
 And that shall bail me : hie thee, slave ; be gone. 
 On, officer, to prison till it come. 
 
 [Exeunt MER., ANG., Off., and ANT. E. 
 Dro. S. To Adriana ! that is where we din'd, 
 Where Dowsabel did claim me for her husband: 
 She is too big, I hope, for me to compass. 
 Thither I must, although against my will, 
 For servants must their masters' minds fulfil. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. The same. 
 Enter ADRIANA and LUCIANA. 
 
 Adr. Ah, Luciana, did he tempt thee so? 
 
 Might'st thou perceive austerely in his eye 
 That he did plead in earnest, yea or no? 
 
 Look'd he or red or pale, or sad or merrily? 
 What observation mad'st thou in this case 
 Of his heart's meteors tilting in his face? 
 
 Luc. First, he denied you had him in no 
 right. [my spite. 
 
 Adr. He meant he did me none ; the more 
 
 Luc. Then swore he that he was a stranger 
 here. [he were. 
 
 Adr. And true he swore, though yet forsworn 
 
 Luc. Then pleaded I for you. 
 
 Adr. And what said he? 
 
 Luc. That love I begg'd for you he begg'd 
 of me. [love? 
 
 Adr. With what persuasion did he tempt thy 
 
 Luc. With words that in an honest suit 
 
 might move. 
 First, he did praise my beauty, then my speech. 
 
 Adr. Didst speak him fair? 
 
 Luc. Have patience, I beseech. 
 
 Adr. I cannot, nor I will not hold me still : 
 My tongue, though not my heart, shall have* 
 
 his will. 
 He is deformed, crooked, old, and sere, 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 Ill-fac'd, worse bodied, shapeless everywhere ; 
 Vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind; 
 Stigmatical in making, worse in mind. [one? 
 
 Luc. Who would be jealous then of such a 
 Np evil lost is wail'd when it is gone. 
 
 Adr. Ah ! but I think him better than I say, 
 
 And yet would herein others' eyes were 
 
 worse: 
 Far from her nest the lapwing cries, away : 
 
 My heart prays for him, though my tongue 
 do curse. 
 
 Enter DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. 
 
 Dro, S. Here, go: the desk, the purse: 
 
 sweet now, make haste. 
 Luc. How hast thou lost thy breath? 
 Dro. S. By running fast. 
 
 Adr. Where is thy master, Dromio? is he 
 well? [hell. 
 
 Dro. S. No, he 's in Tartar limbo, worse than 
 A devil in an everlasting garment hath him ; 
 One whose hard heart is button'd up with steel; 
 A fiend, a fairy, pitiless and rough ; 
 A wolf nay worse, a fellow all in buff; 
 A back -friend, a shoulder-clapper, one that 
 countermands [lands ; 
 
 The passages of alleys, creeks, and narrow 
 A hound that runs counter, and yet draws dry 
 foot well ; [to hell. 
 
 One that, before the judgment, carries poor souls 
 Adr. Why, man, what is the matter? 
 Dro. S. I do not know the matter: he is 
 'rested on the case. [suit. 
 
 Adr. What, is he arrested? tell me at whose 
 Dro. S. I know not at whose suit he is 
 
 arrested, well; 
 But he 's in a suit of buff which 'rested him, 
 
 that can I tell : 
 Will you send him, mistress, redemption, the 
 
 money in the desk ? 
 
 Adr. Go fetch it, sister. This I wonder at, 
 [Exit LUCIANA. 
 
 That he, unknown to me, should be in debt. 
 Tell me, was he arrested on a band? 
 
 Dro. S. Not on a band, but on a stronger 
 
 thing ; 
 
 A chain, a chain : do you not hear it ring? 
 Adr. What, the chain? [gone. 
 
 Dro. S. No, no, the bell : 'tis time that I were 
 It was two ere I left him, and now the clock 
 
 strikes one. 
 Adr. The hours come back ! that did I never 
 
 hear. 
 D*-o. S. Oyes. If any hour meet a sergeant, 
 
 'a turns back for very fear. 
 Adr. As if time were in debt ! how fondly 
 dost thou reason ! 
 
 Dro. S. Time is a very bankrupt, and owes 
 more than he 's worth to season. 
 
 Nay, he 's a thief too : have you not heard men 
 say 
 
 That Time comes stealing on by night and day? 
 
 If he be in debt and theft, and a sergeant in the 
 way, [day? 
 
 Hath he not reason to turn back an hour in a 
 
 Enter LUCIANA. 
 
 Adr. Go, Dromio ; there 's the money, bear 
 
 it straight ; 
 
 And bring thy master home immediately. 
 Come, sister : I am press'd down with conceit ; 
 Conceit my comfort and my injury. 
 
 {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. The same. 
 Enter ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. 
 Ant. S. There 's not a man I meet but doth 
 
 salute me 
 
 As if I were their well-acquainted friend ; 
 And every one doth call me by my name. 
 Some tender money to me, some invite me ; 
 Some other give me thanks for kindnesses ; 
 Some offer me commodities to buy: 
 Even now a tailor call'd me in his shop, 
 And show'd me silks that he had bought for me, 
 And therewithal took measure of my body. 
 Sure, these are but imaginary wiles, 
 And Lapland sorcerers inhabit here. 
 
 Enter DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. 
 
 Dro. S. Master, here 's the gold you sent me 
 
 for. 
 
 What, have you got the picture of Old Adam 
 new apparelled? 
 
 Ant. S. What gold is this? What Adam 
 dost thou mean? 
 
 Dro. S. Not that Adam that kept the para- 
 dise, but that Adam that keeps the prison : he 
 that goes in the calf 's-skin that was killed for 
 the Prodigal ; he that came behind you, sir, like 
 an evil angel, and bid you forsake your liberty. 
 
 Ant. S. I understand thee not. 
 
 Dro. S. No? why, 'tis a plain case: he that 
 went like a base -viol in a case of leather; the 
 man, sir, that, when gentlemen are tired, gives 
 them a fob, and 'rests them ; he, sir, that takes 
 pity on decayed men, and gives them suits of 
 durance; he that sets up his rest to do more 
 exploits with his mace than a morris- pike. 
 
 Ant. S. What! thou mean'st an officer? 
 
 Dro. S. Ay, sir, the sergeant of the band : 
 he that brings any man to answer it that breaks 
 his band ; one that thinks a man always going 
 to bed, and says, God give you good rest! 
 
393 
 
 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Ant. S. Well, sir, there rest in your foolery. 
 Is there any ship puts forth to-night ? may we 
 be gone? 
 
 Dro. S. Why, sir, I brought you word an hour 
 since, that the bark Expedition put forth to- 
 night ; and then were you hindered by the 
 sergeant, to tarry for the hoy, Delay : here are 
 the angels that you sent for to deliver you. 
 
 Ant. S. The fellow is distract, and so am I ; 
 And here we wander in illusions : 
 Some blessed power deliver us from hence ! 
 
 Enter a Courtezan. 
 
 Cour. Well met, well met, Master Antipholus. 
 I see, sir, you have found the goldsmith now : 
 Is that the chain you promis'd me to-day ? 
 
 Ant. S. Satan, avoid ! I charge thee, tempt 
 me not ! 
 
 Dro. S. Master, is this Mistress Satan? 
 
 Ant. S. It is the devil. 
 
 Dro. S. Nay, she is worse she is the devil's 
 dam ; and here she comes in the habit of a light 
 wench ; and thereof comes that the wenches 
 say, God damn me that 's as much as to say, 
 God make me a light wench. It is written, they 
 appear to men like angels of light : light is an 
 effect of fire, and fire will burn ; ergo, light 
 wenches will burn : come not near her. 
 
 Cour. Your man and you are marvellous 
 
 merry, sir. [here. 
 
 Will you go with me ? We '11 mend our dinner 
 
 Dro. S. Master, if you do; expect spoon-meat, 
 or bespeak a long spoon. 
 
 Ant. S. Why, Dromio? 
 
 Dro. S. Marry, he must have a long spoon 
 that must eat with the devil. 
 
 Ant. S. Avoid then, fiend ! what tell'st thou 
 
 me of supping ? 
 
 Thou art, as you are all, a sorceress: 
 I conjure thee to leave me and be gone. 
 
 Cour. Give me the ring of mine you had at 
 
 dinner, 
 
 Or, for my diamond, the chain you promis'd, 
 And I '11 be gone, sir, and not trouble you. 
 
 Dro. S. Some devils ask but the paring of 
 
 one's nail, 
 
 A rush, a hair, a drop of blood, a pin, 
 A nut, a cherry-stone ; but she, more covetous, 
 Would have a chain. 
 Master, be wise ; an if you give it her, 
 The devil will shake her chain, and fright us 
 with it. 
 
 Cour. I pray you, sir, my ring, or else the 
 
 chain : 
 I hope you do not mean to cheat me so. 
 
 Ant. S. Avaunt, thou witch ! Come, Dromio, 
 let us go. 
 
 Dro. S. Fly pride, says the peacock : Mistress, 
 that you know. 
 
 \_Exeunt ANT. S. and DRO. S. 
 
 Cour. Now, out of doubt, Antipholus is mad, 
 Else would he never so demean himself: 
 A ring he hath of mine worth forty ducats, 
 And for the same he promis'd me a chain; 
 Both one and other he denies me now : 
 The reason that I gather he is mad, 
 Besides this present instance of his rage, 
 Is a mad tale he told to-day at dinner, 
 Of his own doors being shut against his entrance. 
 Belike his wife, acquainted with his fits, 
 On purpose shut the doors against his way. 
 My way is now to hie home to his house, 
 And tell his wife that, being lunatic, 
 He rush'd into my house, and took perforce 
 My ring away : this course I fittest choose, 
 For forty ducats is too much to lose. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV. The same. 
 
 Enter ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS and an 
 Officer. 
 
 Ant. E. Fear me not, man ; I will not break 
 
 away: 
 
 I '11 give thee, ere I leave thee, so much money 
 To warrant thee, as I am 'rested for. 
 My wife is in a wayward mood to-day; 
 And will not lightly trust the messenger 
 That I should be attach'd in Ephesus : 
 I tell you, 'twill sound harshly in her e 
 
 Enter DROMIO OF EPHESUS, -with a ropJs end. 
 
 Here comes my man: I think he brings the 
 
 money. 
 
 How now, sir ! have you that I sent you for? 
 Dro. E. Here 's that, I warrant you, will 
 
 pay them all. 
 
 Ant. E. But where 's the money? [rope. 
 Dro. E. Why, sir, I gave the money for the 
 Ant. E. Five hundred ducats, villain, for a 
 
 rope ? [the rate. 
 
 Dro. E. I '11 serve you, sir, five hundred at 
 Ant. E. To what end did I bid thee hie thee 
 
 home? 
 Dro. E. To a rope's end, sir ; and to that 
 
 end am I return'd. 
 Ant. E. And to that end, sir, I will welcome 
 
 you. [Beating him. 
 
 Off. Good sir, be patient. 
 Dro. E. Nay, 'tis for me to be patient ; I am 
 in adversity. 
 
 Off. Good now, hold thy tongue. 
 Dro. E. Nay, rather persuade him to hold 
 his hands. 
 
 Ant. E. Thou whoreson senseless villain 1 
 
 ears. 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 393 
 
 Dro. E. I would I were senseless, sir, that 
 I might not feel your blows. 
 
 Ant. E. Thou art sensible in nothing but 
 blows, and so is an ass. 
 
 Dro. E. I am an ass indeed : you may prove 
 it by my long ears. I have served him from the 
 hour of my nativity to this instant, and have 
 nothing at his hands for my service but blows : 
 when I am cold he heats me with beating ; when 
 I am warm he cools me with beating. I am 
 waked with it when I sleep ; raised with it when 
 I sit; driven out of doors with it when I go 
 from home ; welcomed home with it when I re- 
 turn : nay, I bear it on my shoulders as a beggar 
 wont her brat ; and I think, when he hath lamed 
 me, I shall beg with it from door to door. 
 
 Ant. E. Come, go along ; my wife is coming 
 yonder. 
 
 Enter ADRIAN A, LUCIANA, and the Courtezan, 
 with PINCH and others. 
 
 Dro. E. Mistress, respicefinem, respect your 
 end; or rather the prophecy, like the parrot, 
 Beware the ropfs end. 
 
 Ant. E. Wilt thou still talk? [Seats htm. 
 
 Cour. How say you now? is not your husband 
 mad? 
 
 Adr. His incivility confirms no less. 
 Good Doctor Pinch, you are a conjurer ; 
 Establish him in his true sense again, 
 And I will please you what you will demand. 
 
 Luc. Alas, how fiery and how sharp he looks ! 
 
 Cour. Mark how he trembles in his ecstacy ! 
 
 Pinch. Give me your hand, and let me feel 
 your pulse. [your ear. 
 
 Ant. E. There is my hand, and let it feel 
 
 Pinch. I charge thee, Satan, hous'd within 
 
 this man, 
 
 To yield possession to my holy prayers, 
 And to thy state of darkness hie thee straight : 
 I conjure thee by all the saints in heaven. 
 
 Ant. E. Peace, doting wizard, peace ; I am 
 not mad. 
 
 Adr. O that thou wert not, poor distressed 
 soul! [customers? 
 
 Ant. E. You minion, you, are these your 
 Did this companion with the saffron face 
 Revel and feast it at my house to-day, 
 Whilst upon me the guilty doors were shut, 
 And I denied to enter in my house? [home, 
 
 Adr. O husband, God doth know you din'd at 
 Where would you had remained until this time, 
 Free from these slanders and this open shame ! 
 
 Ant. E. I din'd at home! Thou villain, 
 what say'st thou? 
 
 Dro. E. Sir, sooth to say, you did not dine at 
 home. 
 
 Ant. E. Were not my doors lock'd up and I 
 
 shut out? 
 Dro. E. Perdy, your doors were lock'd and 
 
 you shut out. 
 
 Ant. E. And did not she herself revile me 
 
 there? [there. 
 
 Dro. E. Sans fable, she herself revil'd you 
 
 Ant. E. Did not her kitchen-maid rail, 
 
 taunt, and scorn me? 
 Dro. E. Certes, she did : the kitchen-vestal 
 
 scorn'd you. 
 
 Ant. E. And did not I in rage depart from 
 thence? [witness, 
 
 Dro. E. In verity, you did ; my bones bear 
 That since have felt the vigour of his rage. 
 Adr. Is 't good to soothe him in these con- 
 traries? [vein, 
 Pinch. It is no shame : the fellow finds his 
 And, yielding to him, humours well his frenzy. 
 Ant. E. Thou hast suborn'd the goldsmith 
 
 to arrest me. 
 
 Adr. Alas ! I sent you money to redeem you, 
 By Dromio here, who came in haste for it. 
 Dro. E. Money by me ! heart and good-will 
 
 you might, 
 
 But surely, master, not a rag of money. 
 Ant. E. Went'st not thou to her for a purse 
 
 of ducats? 
 
 Adr. He came to me, and I deliver'd it. 
 Lttc. And I am witness with her that she did. 
 Dro. E. God and the rope-maker, bear me 
 
 witness 
 That I was sent for nothing but a rope^. 
 
 Pinch. Mistress, both man and master is 
 
 possess'd ; 
 
 I know it by their pale and deadly looks : 
 They must be bound, and laid in some dark room. 
 Ant. E. Say, wherefore didst thou lock me 
 
 forth to-day? 
 
 And why dost thou deny the bag of gold? 
 Adr. I did not, gentle husband, lock thee 
 
 forth. 
 Dro. E. And, gentle master, I receiv'd no 
 
 gold; 
 
 But I confess, sir, that we were lock'd out. 
 Adr, Dissembling villain, thou speak'st false 
 in both. [all ; 
 
 Ant. E. Dissembling harlot, thou art false in 
 And art confederate with a damned pack, 
 To make a loathsome abject scorn of me: 
 But with these nails I '11 pluck out these false 
 
 eyes, 
 
 That would behold me in this shameful sport. 
 [PlNCH and Assistants bind ANT. E. and 
 
 DRO. E. 
 
 Adr. O, bind him, bind him; let him not 
 come near me. 
 
394 
 
 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Pinch. More company ; the fiend is strong 
 
 within him. [looks ! 
 
 Luc. Ah me, poor man ! how pale and wan he 
 
 Ant. E. What, will you murder me? Thou 
 
 gaoler, thou, 
 
 I am thy prisoner : wilt thou suffer them 
 To make a rescue? 
 
 Off. Masters, let him go : 
 
 He is my prisoner, and you shall not have him. 
 Pinch. Go, bind this man, for he is frantic too. 
 Adr. What wilt thou do, thou peevish officer? 
 Hast thou delight to see a wretched man 
 Do outrage and displeasure to himself? 
 
 Off. He is my prisoner : if I let him go, 
 The debt he owes will be requir'd of me. 
 
 Adr. I will discharge thee ere I go from thee : 
 Bear me forthwith unto his creditor, [it. 
 
 And, knowing how the debt grows, I will pay 
 Good master doctor, see him safe convey'd 
 Home to my house. O most unhappy day ! 
 Ant. E. O most unhappy strumpet ! 
 Dro. E. Master, I am here enter'd in bond 
 
 for you. 
 
 Ant. E. Out on thee, villain! wherefore 
 
 dost thou mad me? [mad, 
 
 Dro. E. Will you be bound for nothing? be 
 
 Good master; cry, the devil. [talk! 
 
 Luc. God help, poor souls, how idly do they 
 
 Adr. Go bear him hence. Sister, go you 
 
 with me. 
 
 [Exeunt PINCH and Assistants, with 
 
 ANT. E. and DRO. E. 
 Say now, whose suit is he arrested at? 
 
 Off. One Angelo, a goldsmith; do you 
 know him? [owes? 
 
 Adr. I know the man : what is the sum he 
 Off. Two hundred ducats. 
 Adr. Say, how grows it due? 
 
 Off. Due for a chain your husband had of him. 
 Adr. He did bespeak ; chain for me, but had 
 
 it not. 
 Cour. When as your husband, all in rage, 
 
 to-day 
 
 Came to my house, and took away my ring, 
 The ring I saw upon his finger now, 
 Straight after did I meet him with a chain. 
 
 Adr. It may be so, but I did never see it : 
 Come, gaoler, bring me where the goldsmith is 
 I long to know the truth hereof at large. 
 
 Enter ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE, with his 
 rapier drawn, and DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. 
 
 Luc. God, for thy mercy! they are loose 
 
 Adr. And come with naked swords: let's 
 
 call more help, 
 To have them bound again. 
 
 Off. Away, they '11 kill us. 
 
 [Exeunt Off., ADR., and'Lvc. 
 
 Ant. S. I see these witches are afraid of swords. 
 
 Dro. S. She that would be your wife now 
 
 ran from you. 
 Ant. S. Come to the Centaur; fetch our 
 
 stuff from thence : 
 I long that we were safe and sound aboard. 
 
 Dro. S. Faith, stay here this night; they 
 will surely do us no harm : you saw they speak 
 us fair, give us gold : methinks, they are such 
 a gentle nation, that but for the mountain of 
 mad flesh that claims marriage of me, I could 
 find in my heart to stay here still and turn witch. 
 Ant. S. I will not stay to-night for all the 
 
 town: 
 Therefore away to get our stuff aboard. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 -KiA *fc\3k 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. The same. 
 Enter Merchant and ANGELO. 
 
 Ang. I am sorry, sir, that I have hinder d 
 
 you; 
 
 But I protest he had the chain of me, 
 Though most dishonestly he doth deny it. 
 Mer. How is the man esteem'd here in the 
 
 city? 
 
 Ang. Of very reverend reputation, sir; 
 Of credit infinite, highly belov'd, 
 Second to none that lives here in the city: 
 His word might bear my wealth at any time. 
 Mer. Speak softly: yonder, as I think, he 
 walks. 
 
 Enter ANTIPHOLUS and DROMIO OF 
 SYRACUSE. 
 
 Ang. 'Tis so ; and that self chain about his 
 
 neck 
 
 Which he forswore most monstrously to have. 
 Good sir, draw near to me, I '11 speak to him. 
 Signior Antipholus, I wonder much [trouble ; 
 That you would put me to this shame and 
 And not without some scandal to yourself, 
 With circumstance and oaths so to deny 
 This chain, which now you wear so openly : 
 Besides the charge, the shame, imprisonment, 
 You have done wrong to this my honest friend ; 
 Who, but for staying on our controversy, 
 Had hoisted sail and put to sea to-day : 
 This chain you had of me; can you deny it? 
 
 Ant. S. I think I had : I never did deny it. 
 
 Mer. Yes, that you did, sir ; and forswore it 
 too. [swear it? 
 
 Ant. S. Who heard me to deny it or for* 
 
SCENE I.j 
 
 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 395 
 
 Mer. These ears of mine, thou knowest, did 
 
 hear thee. 
 
 Fie on thee, wretch ! 'tis pity that thou liv'st 
 To walk where any honest men resort, [thus : 
 Ant. S. Thou art a villain to impeach me 
 I '11 prove mine honour and mine honesty 
 Against thee presently, if thou dar'st stand. 
 Mer. I dare and do defy thee for a villain. 
 [They draw. 
 
 Enter ADRIANA, LUCIANA, Courtezan, and 
 others. 
 
 Adr. Hold, hurt him not, for God's sake; 
 
 he is mad : 
 
 Some get within him, take his sword away : 
 Bind Dromio too, and bear them to my house. 
 Dro. S. Run, master, run ; for God's sake, 
 
 take a house. 
 
 This is some priory ; in, or we are spoil'd. 
 [Exeunt ANT. S. and DRO. S. to the Priory. 
 
 Enter the Abbess. 
 
 Abb. Be quiet, people. Wherefore throng 
 you hither ? [hence : 
 
 Adr. To fetch my poor distracted husband 
 Let us come in, that we may bind him fast, 
 And bear him home for his recovery. 
 
 Ang. I knew he was not in his perfect wits. 
 
 Mer. I am sorry now that I did draw on him. 
 
 Abb. How long hath this possession held the 
 man ? [sad, 
 
 Adr. This week he hath been heavy, sour, 
 And much, much different from the man he was: 
 But till this afternoon his passion 
 Ne'er brake into extremity of rage. [at sea? 
 
 Abb. Hath he not lost much wealth by wreck 
 Buried some dear friend ? Hath not else his eye 
 Stray'd his affection in unlawful love ? 
 A sin prevailing much in youthful men 
 Who give their eyes the liberty of gazing. 
 Which of these sorrows is he subject to? 
 
 Adr. To none of these, except it be the last; 
 Namely, some love that drew him oft from home. 
 
 Abb. You should for that have reprehended 
 him. 
 
 Adr. Why, so I did. 
 
 Abb. Ay, but not rough enough. 
 
 Adr. As roughly as my modesty would let me. 
 
 Abb. Haply in private. 
 
 Adr. And in assemblies too. 
 
 Abb. Ay, but not enough. 
 
 Adr. It was the copy of our conference : 
 In bed, he slept not for my urging it ; 
 At board, he fed not for my urging it ; 
 Alone, it was the subject of my theme ; 
 In company, I often glanced it ; 
 Still did I tell him it was vile and bad. 
 
 Abb. And thereof came it that the man was 
 
 mad : 
 
 The venom clamours of a jealous woman 
 Poison more deadly than a mad dog's tooth. 
 It seems his sleeps were hindered by thy railing : 
 And therefore comes it that his head is light. 
 Thou say'st his meat was sauc'd with thy 
 
 upbraidings : 
 
 Unquiet meals make ill digestions, 
 Thereof the raging fire of fever bred ; 
 And what 's a fever but a fit of madness? 
 Thou say'st his sports were hinder'd by thy 
 
 brawls : 
 
 Sweet recreation barr'd, what doth ensue 
 But moody and dull melancholy, 
 Kinsman to grim and comfortless despair, 
 And, at her heels, a huge infectious troop 
 Of pale distemperatures and foes to life ? 
 In food, in sport, and life-preserving rest 
 To be disturb' d would mad or man or beast : 
 The consequence is, then, thy jealous fits 
 Have scar'd thy husband from the use of 's wits. 
 
 Luc. She never reprehended him but mildly, 
 When he demean'd himself rough, rude, and 
 
 wildly. 
 Why bear you these rebukes, and answer not ? 
 
 Adr. She did betray me to my own reproof. 
 Good people, enter, and lay hold on him. 
 
 Abb. No, not a creature enters in my house. 
 
 Adr. Then let your servants bring my 
 husband forth. 
 
 Abb. Neither : he took this place for sanctu- 
 ary, 
 
 And it shall privilege him from your hands 
 Till I have brought him to his wits again, 
 Or lose my labour in assaying it. 
 
 Adr. I will attend my husband, be his nurse, 
 Diet his sickness, for it is my office, 
 And will have no attorney but myself ; 
 And therefore let me have him home with me. 
 
 Abb. Be patient ; for I will not let him stir 
 Till I have used the approved means I have, 
 With wholesome syrups, drugs, and holy 
 
 prayers, 
 
 To make of him a formal man again : 
 It is a branch and parcel of mine oath, 
 A charitable duty of my order ; 
 Therefore depart, and leave him here with me 
 
 Adr. I will not hence and leave my husband 
 
 here ; 
 
 And ill it doth beseem your holiness 
 To separate the husband and the wife. 
 
 Abb. Be quiet, and depart : thou shalt not 
 have him. \Exil Abbess. 
 
 Luc. Complain unto theduke of this indignity. 
 
 Adr. Come, go ; I will fall prostrate at his feet, 
 And never rise until my tears and prayers 
 
396 
 
 THE COMEDY OF ERROR?. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Have won his grace to come in person hither, 
 And take perforce my husband from the abbess. 
 
 Mer. By this, I think, the dial points at five : 
 Anon, I am sure, the duke himself in person 
 Comes this way to the melancholy vale ; 
 The place of death and sorry execution, 
 Behind the ditches of the abbey here. 
 
 Ang. Upon what cause 1 
 
 Mer. To see a reverend Syracusan merchant, 
 Who put unluckily into this bay, 
 Against the laws and statutes of this town, 
 Beheaded publicly for his offence, [his death. 
 
 Ang. See where they come : we will behold 
 
 Luc. Kneel to the duke before he pass the 
 abbey. $ 
 
 Enter DUKE, attended ; RECKON, bare-headed; 
 with the Headsman and other Officers. 
 
 Duke. Yet once again proclaim it publicly, 
 If any friend will pay the sum for him, 
 He shall not die ; so much we tender him. 
 Adr. Justice, most sacred duke, against the 
 
 abbess ! 
 
 Duke. She is a virtuous and a reverend lady; 
 It cannot be that she hath done thee wrong. 
 Adr. May it please your grace, Antipholus, 
 
 my husband, 
 
 Whom I made lord of me and all I had, 
 At your important letters, this ill day 
 A most outrageous fit of madness took him ; 
 That desperately he hurried through the street, 
 With him his bondman, all as mad as he, 
 Doing displeasure to the citizens 
 By rushing in their houses, bearing thence 
 Rings, jewels, anything his rage did like. 
 Once did I get him bound, and sent him home, 
 Whilst to take order for the wrongs I went, 
 That here and there his fury had committed. 
 Anon, I wot not by what strong escape, 
 He broke from those that had the guard of him ; 
 And, with his mad attendant and himself, 
 Each one with ireful passion, with drawn swords, 
 Met us again, and, madly bent on us, 
 Chased us away ; till, raising of more aid, 
 We came again to bind them : then they fled 
 Into this abbey, whither we pursued them : 
 And here the abbess shuts the gates on us, 
 And will not suffer us to fetch him out, 
 Nor send him forth, that we may bear him hence. 
 Therefore, most gracious duke, with thy com- 
 mand, [help. 
 Let him be brought forth, and borne hence for 
 Duke. Long since thy husband serv'd me in 
 
 my wars ; 
 
 And I to thee engag'd a prince's word, 
 When thou didst make him master of thy bed, 
 To do him all the grace and good I could. 
 
 Go, some of you, knock at the abbey-gate, 
 And bid the lady abbess come to me : 
 I will determine this before I stir. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. O mistress, mistress, shift and save 
 
 yourself. 
 
 My master and his man are both broke loose, 
 Beaten the maids a- row, and bound the doctor, 
 Whose beard they have singed off with brands 
 
 of fire ; 
 
 And ever as it blazed they threw on him 
 Great pails of puddled mire to quench the hair : 
 My master preaches patience to him, while 
 His man with scissors nicks him like a fool : 
 And, sure, unless you send some present help, 
 Between them they will kill the conjurer. 
 Adr. Peace, fool, thy master and his man 
 
 are here ; 
 And that is false thou dost report to us. 
 
 Serv. Mistress, upon my life, I tell you true : 
 I have not breath'd almost since I did see it. 
 He cries for you, and vows, if he can take you, 
 To scorch your face, and to disfigure you : 
 
 [Cry -within. 
 
 Hark, hark, I hear him ; mistress, fly ; be gone. 
 Duke. Come, stand by me ; fear nothing. 
 
 Guard with halberds. 
 
 Adr. Ah me, it is my husband ! Witness you 
 That he is borne about invisible. 
 Even now we hous'd him in the abbey here ; 
 And now he 's there, past thought of human 
 reason. 
 
 Enter ANTIPHOLUS and DROMIO OF 
 EPHESUS. 
 
 Ant. E. Justice, most gracious duke ; oh, 
 
 grant me justice ! 
 
 Even for the service that long since I did thee, 
 When I bestrid thee in the wars, and took 
 Deep scars to save thy life : even for the blood 
 That then I lost for thee, now grant me justice. 
 sEge. Unless the fear of death doth make 
 
 me dote, 
 I see my son Antipholus and Dromio. 
 
 Ant. E. Justice, sweet prince, against that 
 
 woman there. 
 
 She whom thou gav'st to me to be my wife ; 
 That hath abused and dishonour'd me, 
 Even in the strength and height of injury ! 
 Beyond imagination is the wrong 
 That she this day hath shameless thrown on me. 
 Dtike. Discover how, and thou shalt find me 
 
 just. 
 Ant. E. This day, great duke, she shut the 
 
 doors upon me, 
 While she with harlots feasted in my house. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 397 
 
 Duke. A grievous fault. Say, woman, didst 
 
 thou so ? [my sister, 
 
 Adr. No, my good lord ; myself, he, and 
 To-day did dine together. So befall my soul 
 As this is false he burdens me withal ! 
 
 Luc. Ne'er may I look on day nor sleep on 
 
 night, 
 
 But she tells to your highness simple truth ! 
 Ang. O perjur'd woman ! they are both 
 
 forsworn. 
 In this the madman justly chargeth them. 
 
 Ant. E. My liege, I am advised what I say ; 
 Neither disturb'd with the effect of wine, 
 Nor, heady-rash, provok'd with raging ire, 
 Albeit my wrongs might make one wiser mad. 
 This woman lock'd me out this day from dinner : 
 That goldsmith there, were he not pack'd with 
 
 her, 
 
 Could witness it, for he was with me then ; 
 Who parted with me to go fetch a chain. 
 Promising to bring it to the Porcupine, 
 Where Balthazar and I did dine together. 
 Our dinner done, and he not coming thither, 
 I went to seek him. In the street I met him, 
 And in his company that gentleman. [down, 
 There did this perjur'd goldsmith swear me 
 That I this day of him receiv'd the chain, 
 Which, God he knows, I saw not : for the which 
 He did arrest me with an officer. 
 I did obey, and sent my peasant home 
 For certain ducats : he with none return'd. 
 Then fairly I bespoke the officer 
 To go in person with me to my house. 
 By the way we met 
 My wife, her sister, and a rabble more 
 Of vile confederates : along with them 
 They brought one Pinch ; a hungry lean-faced 
 
 villain, 
 
 A mere anatomy, a mountebank, 
 A thread-bare juggler, and a fortune-teller ; 
 A needy, hollow-ey'd, sharp-looking wretch ; 
 A living dead man : this pernicious slave, 
 Forsooth, took on him as a conjurer ; 
 And gazing in mine eyes, feeling my pulse, 
 And with no face, as 'twere outfacing me, 
 Cries out, I was possess'd : then altogether 
 They fell upon me, bound me, bore me thence ; 
 And in a dark and dankish vault at home 
 There left me and my man both bound together ; 
 Till, gnawing with my teeth my bonds in sunder, 
 I gain'd my freedom, and immediately 
 Ran hither to your grace ; whom I beseeech 
 To give me ample satisfaction 
 For these deep shames and great indignities. 
 Ang. My lord, in truth, thus far I witness 
 
 with him, 
 That he dined not at home, but was lock'd out. 
 
 Ditke. But had he such a chain of thee, or no ? 
 Ang. He had, my lord : and when he ran in 
 
 here 
 
 These people saw the chain about his neck. 
 Mer. Besides, I will be sworn these ears of 
 
 mine 
 
 Heard you confess you had the chain of him, 
 After you first forswore it on the mart, 
 And thereupon I drew my sword on you ; 
 And then you fled into this abbey here, 
 From whence, I think, you are come by miracle. 
 Ant. E. I never came within these abbey 
 
 walls, 
 
 Nor ever didst thou draw thy sword on me : 
 I never saw the chain, so help me heaven ! 
 And this is false you burden me withal. 
 
 Duke. What an intricate impeach is this ! 
 I think you all have drank of Circe's cup. 
 If here you hous'd him, here he would have been: 
 If he were mad he would not plead so coldly : 
 You say he dined at home ; the goldsmith here 
 Denies that saying : Sirrah, what say you ? 
 Dro. E. Sir, he dined with her there at the 
 Porcupine. [that ring. 
 
 Cour. Pie did ; and from my finger snatcrrd 
 Ant. E. 'Tis true, my liege, this ring I had 
 of her. [here ? 
 
 Dztke. Saw'st thou him enter at the abbey 
 Cour. As sure, my liege, as I do see your grace. 
 Duke. Why, this is strange : Go call the 
 
 abbess hither : 
 I think you are all mated, or stark mad. 
 
 [Exit an Attendant. 
 ALge. Most mighty duke, vouchsafe me speak 
 
 a word ; 
 
 Haply, I see a friend will save my life, 
 And pay the sum that may deliver me. [wilt. 
 Duke. Speak freely, Syracusan, what thou 
 sge. Is not your name, sir, call'd Antipholus? 
 And is not that your bondman Dromio ? 
 
 Dro. E. Within this hour I was his bond- 
 man, sir, 
 
 But he, I thank him, gnaw'd in two my cords : 
 Now am I Dromio and his man, unbound. 
 sEge. I am sure you both of you remember me. 
 Dro. E. Ourselves we do remember, sir, by 
 
 you; 
 
 For lately we were bound as you are now. 
 You are not Pinch's patient, are you, sir ? 
 sEge. Why look you strange on me? you 
 
 know me well. 
 
 Ant. E. I never saw you in my life, till now. 
 sEge. Oh ! grief hath chang'd me since you 
 
 saw me last ; 
 
 And careful hours, with Time's deformed hand, 
 Have written strange defeatures in my face : 
 But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice ? 
 
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Ant. E. Neither. 
 
 sEge. Dromio, nor thou? 
 
 Dro. E. No, trust me, sir, nor I. 
 
 j&gc. I am sure thou dost. 
 
 Dro. E. Ay, sir ; but I am sure I do not ; and 
 whatsoever a man denies, you are now bound 
 to believe him. [tremity ! 
 
 ^ge. Not know my voice ! O, time's ex- 
 Hast thou so crack'd and splitted my poor tongue, 
 In seven short years, that here my only son 
 Knows not my feeble key of untun'd cares ? 
 Though now this grained face of mine be hid 
 In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow, 
 And all the conduits of my blood froze up, 
 Yet hath my night of life some memory, 
 My wasting lamps some fading glimmer left, 
 My dull deaf ears a little use to hear : 
 All these old witnesses, I cannot err, 
 Tell me, thou art my son Antipholus. 
 
 Ant. E. I never saw my father in my life. 
 
 &ge. But seven years since, in Syracusa, boy, 
 Thou know'st we parted; but perhaps, my son, 
 Thou sham'st to acknowledge me in misery. 
 
 Ant. E. The duke, and all that know me in 
 
 the city, 
 
 Can witness with me that it is not so : 
 I ne'er saw Syracusa in my life. 
 
 Duke. I tell thee, Syracusan, twenty years 
 Have I been patron to Antipholus, 
 During which time he ne'er saw Syracusa : 
 I see, thy age and dangers make thee dote. 
 
 Enter the Abbess, with ANTIPHOLUS SYRA- 
 CUSAN and DROMIO SYRACUSAN. 
 
 Abb. Most mighty duke, behold a man much 
 
 wrong'd. \_All gather to see him. 
 
 Adr. I see two husbands, or mine eyes deceive 
 
 me. 
 
 Duke. One of these men is genius to the other ; 
 And so of these. Which is the natural man, 
 And which the spirit ? Who deciphers them ? 
 Dro. S. I, sir, am Dromio ; command him 
 
 away. 
 
 Dro. E. I, sir, am Dromio ; pray let me stay. 
 Ant. S. ^Egeon, art thou not? or else his 
 
 ghost ? 
 Dro. S. O, my old master, who hath bound 
 
 him here ? 
 Abb. Whoever bound him, I will loose his 
 
 bonds. 
 
 And gain a husband by his liberty. 
 Speak, old ^Egeon, if thou be'st the man 
 That hadst a wife once called ^Emilia, 
 That bore thee at a burden two fair sons : 
 O, if thou be'st the same yEgeon, speak, 
 And speak unto the same ./Emilia ! 
 
 </ge. If I dream not, thou art ^Emilia : 
 
 If thou art she, tell me where is that son 
 That floated with thee on the fatal raft ? 
 
 Abb. By men of Epidamnum, he and I, 
 And the twin Dromio, all were taken up : 
 But, by and by, rude fishermen of Corinth 
 By force took Dromio and my son from them, 
 And me they left with those of Epidamnum : 
 What then became of them I cannot tell ; 
 I to this fortune that you see me in. [right : 
 
 Duke. Why, here begins his morning story 
 These two Antipholus's, these two so like, 
 And these two Dromios, one in semblance, 
 Besides her urging of her wreck at sea, 
 These are the parents to these children, 
 Which accidentally are met together. 
 Antipholus, thou cam'st from Corinth first ? 
 
 Ant. S. No, sir, not I ; I came from Syracuse. 
 
 Duke. Stay, stand apart ; I know not which 
 is which. [ous lord. 
 
 Ant. E. I came from Corinth, my most graci- 
 
 Dro. E. And I with him. 
 
 Ant. E. Brought to this town by that most 
 
 famous warrior, 
 Duke Menaphon, your most renowned uncle. 
 
 Adr. Which of you two did dine with me 
 to-day ? 
 
 Ant. S. I, gentle mistress. 
 
 Adr. And are not you my husband ? 
 
 Ant. E. No j I say nay to that. 
 
 Ant. S. And so do I, yet she did call me so ; 
 And this fair gentlewoman, her sister here, 
 Did call me brother. What I told you then, 
 I hope I shall have leisure to make good ; 
 If this be not a dream I see and hear. [me. 
 
 Ang. That is the chain, sir, which you had of 
 
 Ant. S. I think it be, sir : I deny it not. 
 
 Ant. E. And you, sir, for this chain arrested 
 me. 
 
 Ang. I think I did, sir : I deny it not. 
 
 Adr. I sent you money, sir, to be your bail, 
 By Dromio ; but I think he brought it not. 
 
 Dro. E. No, none by me. [you, 
 
 Ant. S. This purse of ducats I receiv'd from 
 And Dromio my man did bring them me : 
 I see we still did meet each other's man, 
 And I was ta'en for him, and he for me, 
 And thereupon these errors are arose. [here. 
 
 Ant. E. These ducats pawn I for my father 
 
 Duke. It shall not need ; thy father hath his 
 life. [you. 
 
 Cour. Sir, I must have that diamond from 
 
 Ant. E. There, take it ; and much thanks 
 for my good cheer. [pains 
 
 Abb. Renowned duke, vouchsafe to take the 
 To go with us into the abbey here, 
 And hear at large discoursed all our fortunes : 
 And all that are assembled in this place, 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 399 
 
 That by this sympathized one day's error 
 Have suffer'd wrong, go, keep us company, 
 And we shall make full satisfaction, 
 Twenty-five years have I but gone in travail 
 Of you, my sons ; nor till this present hour 
 My heavy burdens are delivered : 
 The duke, my husband, and my children both, 
 And you the calendars of their nativity, 
 Go to a gossip's feast, and go with me ; 
 After so long grief, such nativity ! [feast. 
 
 Duke. With all my heart, I '11 gossip at this 
 \Exeunt DUKE, Abb., J$LGE., Cour., 
 
 Mer. , ANG. , and Attendants. 
 
 Dro. S, Master, shall I fetch your stuff from 
 
 shipboard ? [embark'd ? 
 
 Ant. E. Dromio, what stuff of mine hast thou 
 
 Dro. S. Your goods, that lay at host, sir, in 
 
 the Centaur. 
 
 Ant. S. He speaks to me ; I am your master, 
 Dromio : 
 
 Come, go with us : we '11 look to that anon : 
 Embrace thy brother there ; rejoice with him. 
 [Exeunt ANT. S. andE., ADR., and Luc. 
 Dro. S. There is a fat friend at your master's 
 
 house, 
 
 That kitchen'd me for you' to-day at dinner : 
 She now shall be my sister, not my wife. 
 Dro. E. Methinks you are my glass, and not 
 
 my brother : 
 
 I see by you I am a sweet-faced youth. 
 Will you walk in to see their gossiping ? 
 Dro. S. Not I, sir ; you are my elder. 
 Dro. E. That 's a question : how shall we 
 
 try it? 
 
 Dro. S. We will draw cuts for the senior : 
 till then, lead thou first. 
 
 Dro. E. Nay, then thus : 
 We came into the world like brother and brother : 
 And now let 's go hand in hand, not one before 
 another. [Exeunt. 
 
 

 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 
 -VM 
 srtT 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 PRINCE HENRY, his Son; afterwards KING 
 
 HENRY III. 
 ARTHUR, Duke of Bretagne, Son to GEFFREY, 
 
 late Duke of Bretagne, the Elder Brother 
 
 to KING JOHN. 
 
 WILLIAM MARESHALL, Earl of Pembroke. 
 GEFFREY FITZ- PETER, Earl of Essex, Chief 
 
 Justiciary of England. 
 WILLIAM LONGSWORD, Earl of Salisbury. 
 ROBERT BIGOT, Earl of Norfolk. 
 HUBERT DE BURGH, Chamberlain to the KING. 
 ROBERT FALCONBRIDGE, Son to SIR ROBERT 
 
 FALCONBRIDGE. 
 PHILIP FALCONBRIDGE, his Half-brother, 
 
 Bastard Son to KING RICHARD I. 
 JAMES GURNEY, Servant to LADY FALCON- 
 BRIDGE. 
 PETER of ' Pomfret, a Prophet. 
 
 PHILIP, King of France. 
 Louis, the Dauphin. 
 ARCHDUKE OF AUSTRIA. 
 CARDINAL PANDULPH, the Pope's Legate. 
 MELUN, a French Lord. 
 CHATILLON, Ambassador from France to KING 
 JOHN. 
 
 ELINOR, Widow of KING HENRY II., and 
 Mother to KING JOHN. 
 
 CONSTANCE, Mother to ARTHUR. 
 
 BLANCH, Daughter to ALPHONSO, King of Cas- 
 tile, and Niece to KING JOHN. 
 
 LADY FALCONBRIDGE, Mother to the BASTARD 
 and ROBERT FALCONBRIDGE. 
 
 Lords, Citizens of Angiers, Sheriff, Heralds, 
 Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and other 
 Attendants. 
 
 SCENE, Sometimes in ENGLAND, and sometimes in FRANCE. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. NORTHAMPTON. A Room of State 
 in the Palace. 
 
 Enter KING JOHN, QUEEN ELINOR, PEM- 
 BROKE, ESSEX, SALISBURY, and others, with 
 CHATILLON. 
 
 K.John. Now, say, Chatillon, what would 
 France with us? [of France, 
 
 Chat. Thus, after greeting, speaks the King 
 In my behaviour, to the majesty, 
 The borrow'd majesty of England here. 
 
 Eli. Astrange beginning; borrow'd majesty ! 
 
 K. John. Silence, good mother ; hear the 
 embassy. [behalf 
 
 Chat. Philip of France, in right and true 
 Of thy deceased brother Geffrey's son, 
 Arthur Plantagenet, lays most lawful claim 
 To this fair island, and the territories, 
 To Ireland, Poictiers, Anjou, Touraine, Maine; 
 Desiring thee to lay aside the sword 
 Which sways usurpingly tXese several titles, 
 And put the same into young Arthur's hand, 
 Thy nephew and right royal sovereign. 
 
 K.John. What follows, if we disallow of 
 this? ' 
 
 Chat. The proud control of fierce and bloody 
 
 war, 
 
 To enforce these rights so forcibly withheld. 
 K.John. Here have we war for war, and 
 
 blood for blood, 
 
 Controlment for controlment: so answer France. 
 Chat. Then take my king's defiance from my 
 
 mouth, 
 The furthest limit of my embassy. 
 
 K. John. Bear mine to him, and so depart in 
 
 peace : 
 
 Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France ; 
 For ere thou canst report I will be there, 
 The thunder of my cannon shall be heard : 
 So, hence ! Be thou the trumpet of our wrath, 
 And sullen presage of your own decay. 
 An honourable conduct let him have : 
 Pembroke, look to 't. Farewell, Chatillon. 
 
 {Exeunt CHATILLON and PEMBROKE. 
 Eli. What now, my son ! have I not ever said 
 How that ambitious Constance would not cease 
 Till she had kindled France and all the world 
 Upon the right and party of her son? 
 That might have been prevented and made whole 
 With very easy arguments of love ; 
 Which now the manage of two kingdoms must 
 With fearful bloody issue arbitrate. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 401 
 
 K. John. Our strong possession and our right 
 for us. [your right, 
 
 Eli. Your strong possession much more than 
 Or else it must go wrong with you and me : 
 So much my conscience whispers in your ear, 
 Which none but heaven and you and I shall 
 hear. 
 
 Enter the Sheriff of Northamptonshire, who 
 whispers ESSEX. 
 
 Essex. My liege, here is the strangest con- 
 troversy, 
 
 Come from the country to be judg'd by you, 
 That e'er I heard: shall I produce the men? 
 K. John. Let them approach. 
 
 [Exit Sheriff. 
 
 Our abbeys and our priories shall pay 
 This expedition's charge. 
 
 Re-enter Sheriff, with ROBERT FALCONBRIDGE, 
 and PHILIP, his bastard Brother. 
 
 What men are you? 
 
 Bast. Your faithful subject I, a gentleman 
 Born in Northamptonshire, and eldest son, 
 As I suppose, to Robert Falconbridge, 
 A soldier, by the honour-giving hand 
 Of Coeur-de-lion knighted in the field. 
 
 K. John. What art thou ? 
 - Rob. The son and heir to that same Falcon- 
 bridge, [the heir? 
 
 K. John. Is that the elder, and art thou 
 You came not of one mother, then, it seems. 
 
 Bast. Most certain of one mother, mighty 
 king, [father : 
 
 That is well known; and, as I think, one 
 But for the certain knowledge of that truth 
 I put you o'er to heaven and to my mother: 
 Of that I doubt, as all men's children may. 
 
 Eli. Out on thee, rude man ! thou dost 
 
 shame thy mother, 
 And wound her honour with this diffidence. 
 
 Bast. I, madam? no, I have no reason for 
 
 it, 
 
 That is my brother's plea, and none of mine ; 
 The which if he can prove, 'a pops me out 
 At least from fair five hundred pound a-year : 
 Heaven guard my mother's honour and my land ! 
 
 K. John. A good blunt fellow. Why, being 
 
 younger born, 
 Doth he lay claim to thine inheritance? 
 
 Bast. I know not why, except to get the land. 
 But once he slander'd me with bastardy : 
 But whe'r I be as true begot or no, 
 That still I lay upon my mother's head ; 
 But, that I am as well begot, my liege, 
 Fair fall the bones that took the pains for me ! 
 Compare our faces, and be judge yourself. 
 
 If old Sir Robert did beget us both, 
 
 And were our father, and this son like him, 
 
 old Sir Robert, father, on my knee 
 
 1 give heaven thanks I was not like to thee ! 
 K. John. Why, what a madcap hath heaven 
 
 lent us here ! 
 
 Eli. He hath a trick of Cceur-de-lion's face ; 
 The accent of his tongue affecteth him : 
 Do you not read some tokens of my son 
 In the large composition of this man? ^ [parts, 
 
 K. John. Mine eye hath well examined his 
 
 And finds them perfect Richard. Sirrah, speak, 
 
 What doth move you to claim your brother's 
 
 land? [father ; 
 
 Bast. Because he hath a half-face, like my 
 With that half-face would he have all my land : 
 A half-fac'd groat five hundred pound a-year ! 
 
 Rob. My gracious liege, when that my father 
 
 liv'd, 
 Your brother did employ my father much, 
 
 Bast. Well, sir, by this you cannot get my 
 
 land: 
 Your tale must be, how he employed my mother. 
 
 Rob. And once despatch'd him in an embassy 
 To Germany, there with the emperor 
 To treat of high affairs touching that time. 
 The advantage of his absence took the king, 
 And in the meantime sojourn'd at my father's ; 
 Where how he did prevail I shame to speak, 
 But truth is truth : large lengths of seas and shores 
 Between my father and my mother lay, 
 As I have heard my father speak himself, 
 When this same lusty gentleman was got. 
 Upon his death-bed he by will bequeath'd 
 His lands to me ; and took it, on his death, 
 That this, my mother's son, was none of his; 
 And if he were, he came into the world 
 Full fourteen weeks before the course of time. 
 Then, good my liege, let me have what is mine, 
 My father's land, as was my father's will. 
 
 K. John. Sirrah, your brother is legitimate ; 
 Your father's wife did after wedlock bear him ; 
 And if she did play false, the fault was hers ; 
 Which fault lies on the hazards of all husbands 
 That marry wives. Tell me, how if my brother, 
 Who, as you say, took pains to get this son, 
 Had of youj father claim'd this son for his? 
 In sooth, good friend, your father might have 
 
 kept 
 
 This calf, bred from his cow, from all the world ; 
 In sooth, he might: then, if he were my 
 brother's, [father, 
 
 My brother might not claim him; nor your 
 Being none of his, refuse him. This con- 
 cludes, 
 
 My mother's son did get your father's heir ; 
 Your father's heir must have your father's land. 
 
402 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 [ACT 1. 
 
 Rob. Shall, then, my father's will be of no 
 
 force 
 To dispossess that child which is not his? 
 
 Bast. Of no more force to dispossess me, sir, 
 Than was his will to get me, as I think. 
 
 Eli. Whether hadst thou rather be a Falcon - 
 
 bridge, 
 
 And like thy brother, to enjoy thy land, 
 Or the reputed son of Coeur-de-lion, 
 Lord of thy presence, and no land beside? 
 
 Bast. Madam, an if my brother had my shape 
 And I had his, Sir Robert his, like him ; 
 And if my legs were two such riding-rods, 
 My arms such eel-skins stuffd, my face so thin 
 That in mine ear I durst not stick a rose 
 Lest men should say, Look, where three-far- 
 things goes! 
 
 And, to his shape, were heir to all this land, 
 Would I might never stir from off this place, 
 I 'd give it every foot to have this face ; 
 I would not be Sir Nob in any case. 
 
 Eli. I like thee well : wilt thou forsake thy 
 
 fortune, 
 
 Bequeath thy land to him, and follow me? 
 I am a soldier, and now bound to France. 
 
 Bast. Brother, take you my land, I '11 take 
 
 my chance : 
 
 Your face hath got five hundred, pound a-year ; 
 Yet sell your face for fivepence, and 'tis dear. 
 Madam, I '11 follow you unto the death. 
 
 Eli. Nay, I would have you go before me 
 thither. [way. 
 
 Bast. Our country manners give our betters 
 
 K. John. What is thy name? 
 
 Bast. Philip, my liege ; so is my name begun ; 
 Philip, good old Sir Robert's wife's eldest son. 
 
 K. John. From henceforth bear his name 
 
 whose form thou bear'st : 
 Kneel thou down Philip, but arise more great, 
 Arise Sir Richard and Plantagenet. 
 
 Bast. Brother by the mother's side, give me 
 
 your hand : 
 
 My father gave me honour, yours gave land. 
 Now blessed be the hour, by night or day, 
 When I was got, Sir Robert was away ! 
 
 Eli. The very spirit of Plantagen-t ! 
 I am thy grandam, Richard ; call nu so. 
 
 Bast. Madam, by chance, but not by truth : 
 
 what though? 
 Something about, a little from the right, 
 
 In at the window, or else o'er the hatch ; 
 Who dares not stir by day must walk by night ; 
 
 And have is have, however men do catch : 
 Near or far off, well won is still well shot ; 
 And I am I, howe'er I was begot. 
 
 K.John. Go, Falconbridge ; now has.! thou 
 thy desire; 
 
 A landless knight makes thee a landed squire. 
 Come, madam, and come, Richard ; we must 
 
 speed 
 
 For France, for France ; for it is more than need. 
 Basi. Brother, adieu : good fortune come to 
 
 thee ! 
 For thou wast got i' the way of honesty. 
 
 \Exeunt all except the BASTARD. 
 A foot of honour better than I was ; 
 But many a many foot of land the worse. 
 Well, now can I make any Joan a lady: 
 Good den , Sir Richard: God-a-mercy, fellow : 
 And if his name be George, I '11 call him Peter : 
 For new-made honour doth forget men's names : 
 'Tis too respective and too sociable 
 For your conversion. Now your traveller, 
 He and his toothpick at my worship's mess ; 
 And when my knightly stomach is suffic'd, 
 Why then I suck my teeth, and catechize 
 
 My picked man of countries : My dear sir, 
 
 Thus, leaning on mine elbow, I begin, 
 I shall beseech you that is question now ; 
 And then comes answer like an ABC-book : 
 O sir, says answer, at your best command; 
 At your employment; at your service , sir: 
 No sir, says question, /, sweet sir, at yours: 
 And so, ere answer knows what question 
 
 would, 
 
 Saving in dialogue of compliment, 
 And talking of the Alps and Apennines, 
 The Pyrenean and the river Po, 
 It draws towards supper in conclusion so. 
 But this is worshipful society, 
 And fits the mounting spirit like myself: 
 For he is but a bastard to the time, 
 That doth not smack of observation, 
 And so am I, whether I smack or no ; 
 And not alone in habit and device, 
 Exterior form, outward accoutrement, 
 But from the inward motion to deliver 
 Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age's tooth: 
 Which, though I will not practise to deceive, 
 Yet, to avoid deceit, I mean to learn ; 
 For it shall strew the footsteps of my rising. 
 But who comes in such haste in riding- robes? 
 What woman-post is this? hath she no husband, 
 That will take pains to blow a horn before her? 
 
 Enter LADY FALCONBRIDGE, and JAMES 
 
 GURNEY. 
 
 O me ! it is my mother. How now, good lady \ 
 What brings you here to court so hastily? 
 Lady F. Where is that slave, thy brother? 
 
 where is he 
 
 That holds in chase mine honour up and down? 
 Bast. My brother Robert? old Sir Robert's 
 son? 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 403 
 
 Colbrand the giant, that same mighty man? 
 Is it Sir Robert's son that you seek so? 
 
 Lady F. Sir Robert's son ! Ay, thou un- 
 
 reverend boy, [Robert? 
 
 Sir Robert's son : why scorn'st thou at Sir 
 
 He is Sir Robert's son ; and so art thou. 
 
 Bast, James Gurney, wilt thou give us leave 
 
 awhile? 
 
 Gur. Good leave, good Philip. 
 Bast. Philip? sparrow ! James, 
 
 There 's toys abroad : anon I '11 tell thee more. 
 [Exit GURNEY. 
 
 Madam, I was not old Sir Robert's son ; 
 Sir Robert might have eat his part in me 
 Upon Good-Friday, and ne'er broke his fast: 
 Sir Robert could do well : marry, to confess, 
 Could not get me ; Sir Robert could not do it, 
 We know his handiwork: therefore, good 
 
 mother, 
 
 To whom am I beholding for these limbs? 
 Sir Robert never holp to make this leg. 
 
 Lady F. Hast thou conspired with thy 
 brother too, [honour? 
 
 That for thine own gain shouldst defend mine 
 What means this scorn, thou most untoward 
 knave? [isco-like : 
 
 Bast. Knight, knight, good mother, Basil- 
 What ! I am dubb'd ; I have it on my shoulder. 
 But, mother, I am not Sir Robert's son ; 
 I have disclaim'd Sir Robert and my land ; 
 Legitimation, name, and all is gone : 
 Then, good my mother, let me knowmy father, 
 Some proper man, I hope : who was it, mother? 
 Lady F. Hast thou denied thyself a Falcon - 
 
 bridge ? 
 
 Bast. As faithfully as I deny the devil. 
 Lady F. King Richard Cceur-de-lion was 
 
 thy father : 
 
 By long and vehement suit I was seduc'd 
 To make room for him in my husband's bed : 
 Heaven lay not my transgression to my charge! 
 Thou art the issue of my dear offence, 
 Which was so strongly urg'd, past my defence. 
 Bast. Now, by this light, were I to get again, 
 Madam, 1 would not wish a better father. 
 Some sins do bear their privilege on earth, 
 And so doth yours ; your fault was not your 
 
 folly : 
 
 Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose, 
 Subjected tribute to commanding love, 
 Against whose fury and unmatched force 
 The aweless lion could not wage the fight, 
 Nor keep his princely heart from Richard's hand: 
 He that perforce robs lions of their hearts 
 May easily win a woman's. Ay, my mother, 
 With all my heart I thank thee for my father ! 
 Who lives and dares but say, thou didst not well 
 
 When I was got, I '11 send his soul to hell. 
 Come, lady, I will show thee to my kin ; 
 
 And they shall say, when Richard me begot, 
 If thou hadst said him nay, it had been sin : 
 
 Who says it was, he lies ; I say 'twas not. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. FRANCE. Before the Watts of 
 Angiers. 
 
 Enter, on one side, the ARCHDUKE OF 
 AUSTRIA and Forces ; on the other, 
 PHILIP, King of France, Louis, CON- 
 STANCE, ARTHUR, and Forces. 
 
 Lou. Before Angiers well met, brave Austria. 
 Arthur, that great forerunner of thy blood, 
 Richard, that robb'd the lion of his heart, 
 And fought the holy wars in Palestine, 
 By this brave duke came early to his grave : 
 And, for amends to his posterity, 
 At our importance hither is he come 
 To spread his colours, boy, in thy behalf; 
 And to rebuke the usurpation 
 Of thy unnatural uncle, English John : 
 Embrace him, love him, give him welcome 
 hither. [death 
 
 Arth. God shall forgive you Coeur-de-lion's 
 The rather that you give his offspring life, 
 Shadowing their right under your wings of war : 
 I give you welcome with a powerless hand, 
 But with a heart full of unstained love, 
 Welcome before the gates of Angiers, duke. 
 
 Lou. A noble boy! Who would not do 
 thee right? [kiss, 
 
 Aust. Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous 
 As seal to this indenture of my love, 
 That to my home I will no more return, 
 Till Angiers, and the right thou hast in France, 
 Together with that pale, that white-fac'd shore, 
 Whose foot spurns back the ocean's roaring tides, 
 And coops from other lands her islanders, 
 Even till that England, hedg'd in with the main, 
 That water-walled bulwark still secure 
 And confident from foreign purposes, 
 Even till that utmost corner of the west 
 Salute thee for her king: till then, fair boy, 
 Will I not think of home, but follow arms. 
 
 Const. O, take his mother's thanks, a 
 
 widow's thanks, 
 Till your strong hand shall help to give him 
 
 strength 
 To make a more requital to your love ! 
 
 Aust. The peace of heaven is theirs that lift 
 
 their swords 
 In such a just and charitable war. 
 
40 4 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 K. Phi. Well, then, to work: our cannon 
 
 shall be bent 
 
 Against the brows of this resisting town. 
 Call for our chiefest men of discipline, 
 To cull the plots of best advantages : 
 We '11 lay before this town our royal bones, 
 Wade to the market-place in Frenchman's blood, 
 But we will make it subject to this boy. 
 
 Const. Stay for an answer to your embassy, 
 Lest unadvis'd you stain your swords with 
 
 blood: 
 
 My Lord Chatillon may from England bring 
 That right in peace, which here we urge in 
 
 war; 
 
 And then we shall repent each drop of blood 
 That hot rash haste so indirectly shed. 
 
 K. Phi. A wonder, lady! lo, upon thy 
 
 wish, 
 Our messenger Chatillon is arriv'd ! 
 
 Enter CHATILLON. 
 
 What England says, say briefly, gentle lord ; 
 We coldly pause for thee ; Chatillon, speak. 
 
 Chat. Then turn your forces from this paltry 
 
 siege, 
 
 And stir them up against a mightier task. 
 England, impatient of your just demands, 
 Hath put himself in arms : the adverse winds, 
 Whose leisure I have stay'd, have given him 
 
 time 
 
 To land his legions all as soon as I ; 
 His marches are expedient to this town, 
 His forces strong, his soldiers confident. 
 With him along is come the mother-queen, 
 An Ate, stirring him to blood and strife ; 
 With her her niece, the Lady Blanch of Spain; 
 With them a bastard of the king deceas'd : 
 And all the unsettled humours of the land, 
 Rash, inconsiderate, fiery voluntaries, 
 With ladies' faces, and fierce dragons' spleens, 
 Have sold their fortunes at their native homes, 
 Bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs, 
 To make a hazard of new fortunes here. 
 In brief, a braver choice of dauntless spirits, 
 Than now the English bottoms have waft o'er, 
 Did never float upon the swelling tide, 
 To do offence and scath in Christendom. 
 
 [Drums beat within. 
 The interruption of their churlish drums 
 Cuts off more circumstance : they are at hand, 
 To parley or to fight : therefore prepare. 
 
 K. Phi. How much unlook'd-for is this ex- 
 pedition ! 
 
 Aust. By how much unexpected, by so much 
 We must awake endeavour for defence ; 
 For courage mounteth with occasion : 
 Let them be welcome, then ; we are prepar'd. 
 
 Enter KING JOHN, ELINOR, BLANCH, the 
 BASTARD, Lords, and Forces. 
 
 K. John. Peace be to France, if France in 
 
 peace permit 
 
 Our just and lineal entrance to our own ! 
 If not, bleed France, and peace ascend to 
 
 heaven ! 
 
 Whiles we, God's wrathful agent, do correct 
 Their proud contempt that beat his peace to 
 heaven. [return 
 
 K. Phi. Peace be to England, if that war 
 From France to England, there to live in peace ! 
 England we love ; and for that England's sake 
 With burden of our armour here we sweat. 
 This toil of ours should be a work of thine ; 
 But thou from loving England art so far, 
 That thou hast under-wrought his lawful king, 
 Cut off the sequence of posterity, 
 Outfaced infant state, and done a rape 
 Upon the maiden virtue of the crown. 
 Look here upon thy brother Geffrey's face ; 
 These eyes, these brows, were moulded out of 
 
 his: 
 
 This little abstract doth contain that large 
 Which died in Geffrey ; and the hand of time 
 Shall draw this brief into as huge a volume. 
 That Geffrey was thy elder brother born, 
 And this his son ; England was Geffrey's right, 
 And this is Geffrey's : in the name of God, 
 How comes it then, that thou art call'd a king, 
 When living blood doth in these temples beat, 
 Which owe the crown that thou o'ermasterest ? 
 
 K. John. From whom hast thou this great 
 
 commission, France, 
 To draw my answer from thy articles? 
 
 K. Phi. From that supernal judge that stirs 
 
 good thoughts 
 
 In any breast of strong authority, 
 To look into the blots and stains of right. 
 That judge hath made me guardian to this boy : 
 Under whose warrant I impeach thy wrong ; 
 And by whose help I mean to chastise it. 
 
 K. John. Alack, thou dost usurp authority. 
 
 K. Phi. Excuse, it is to beat usurping down. 
 
 Eli. Who is it thou dost call usurper, France? 
 
 Const. Let me make answer ; thy usurping 
 son. 
 
 Eli. Out, insolent ! thy bastard shall be king, 
 That thou mayst be a queen, and check the 
 world ! 
 
 Const. My bed was ever to thy son as true 
 As thine was to thy husband ; and this boy 
 Liker in feature to his father Geffrey [like 
 
 Than thou and John in manners, being as 
 As rain to water, or devil to his dam. 
 My boy a bastard ! By my soul, I think 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 405 
 
 His father never was so true begot : 
 
 It cannot be, an if thou wert his mother. 
 
 Eli. There 's a good mother, boy, that blots 
 thy father. 
 
 Const. There's a good grandam, boy, that 
 would blot thee. 
 
 Aust. Peace ! 
 
 Bast. Hear the crier. 
 
 Aiist. What the devil art thou? 
 
 Bast. One that will play the devil, sir, with 
 
 you, 
 
 An 'a man catch your hide and you alone. 
 You are the hare of whom the proverb goes, 
 Whose valour plucks dead lions by the beard : 
 I '11 smoke your skin-coat an I catch you right ; 
 Sirrah, look to 't ; i' faith, I will, i' faith. 
 
 Blanch. O, well did he become that lion's 
 
 robe 
 That did disrobe the lion of that robe ! 
 
 Bast. It lies as sightly on the back of him 
 As great Alcides' shoes upon an ass : 
 But, ass, I '11 take that burden from your back, 
 Or lay on that shall make your shoulders crack. 
 
 Aust. What cracker is this same that deafs 
 
 our ears 
 With this abundance of superfluous breath ? 
 
 K. Phi. Louis, determine what we shall do 
 straight. [ference. 
 
 Lou. Women and fools, break off your con- 
 King John, this is the very sum of all, 
 England and Ireland, Anjou, Touraine, Maine, 
 In right of Arthur, do I claim of thee : 
 Wilt thou resign them, and lay down thy arms? 
 
 K. John. My life as soon : I do defy thee, 
 
 France. 
 
 Arthur of Bretagne, yield thee to my hand ; 
 And out of my dear love, I '11 give thee more 
 Than e'er the coward hand of France can win : 
 Submit thee, boy. 
 
 Eli. Come to thy grandam, child. 
 
 Const. Do, child, go to it' grandam, child; 
 Give grandam kingdom, and it' grandam will 
 Give it a plum, a cherry, and a fig: 
 There 's a good grandam. 
 
 Arth. Good my mother, pence ! 
 
 I would that I were low laid in my grave: 
 I am not worth this coil that 's made for me. 
 
 Eli. His mother shames him so, poor boy, 
 he weeps. [ does or no ! 
 
 Const. Now, shame upon you, whe'r she 
 His grandam's wrongs, and not his mother's 
 shames, [poor eyes, 
 
 Draw those heaven-moving pearls from his 
 Which heaven shall take in nature of a fee: 
 Ay, with these crystal beads heaven shall be 
 
 brib'd 
 To do him justice, and revenge on you. 
 
 Eli. Thou monstrous slanderer of heaven 
 and earth ! [and earth ! 
 
 Const. Thou monstrous injurer of heaven 
 Call not me slanderer ; thou and thine usurp 
 The dominations, royalties, and rights [son, 
 Of this oppressed boy : this is thy eldest son's 
 Infortunate in nothing but in thee : 
 Thy sins are visited in this poor child ; 
 The canon of the law is laid on him, 
 Being but the second generation 
 Removed from thy sin-conceiving womb. 
 
 K. John. Bedlam, have done. 
 
 Const. I have but this to say, 
 
 That he is not only plagued for her sin, 
 But God hath made her sin and her the plague 
 On this removed issue, plagu'd for her, 
 And with her plague, her sin ; his injury 
 Her injury, the beadle to her sin ; 
 All punish'd in the person of this child, 
 And all for her : a plague upon her ! 
 
 Eli. Thou unadvised scold, I can produce 
 A will that bars the title of thy son. [will ; 
 
 Const. Ay, who doubts that? a will ! a wicked 
 A woman's will ; a canker'd grandam's will ! 
 
 K. Phi. Peace, lady! pause, or be more 
 
 temperate : 
 
 It ill beseems this presence to cry aim 
 To these ill-tuned repetitions. 
 Some trumpet summon hither to the walls 
 These men of Angiers : let us hear them speak 
 Whose title they admit, Arthur's or John's. 
 
 Trumpet sounds. Enter Citizens upon the 
 walls. 
 
 I Cit. Who is it that hath warn'd us to the 
 walls? 
 
 K. Phi. 'Tis France, for England. 
 
 K. John. England, for itself: 
 
 You men of Angiers, and my loving subjects, 
 
 K. Phi. You loving men of Angiers, Arthur's 
 
 subjects, 
 Our trumpet call'd you to this gentle parle. 
 
 K. John. For our advantage ; therefore hear 
 
 us first. 
 
 These flags of France, that are advanced here 
 Before the eye and prospect of your town, 
 Have hither march'd to your endamagement : 
 The cannons have their bowels full of wrath, 
 And ready mounted are they to spit forth 
 Their iron indignation 'gainst your walls : 
 All preparation for a bloody siege 
 And merciless proceeding by these French 
 Confronts your city's eyes, your winking gates; 
 And, but for our approach, those sleeping stones, 
 That as a waist do girdle you about, 
 By the compulsion of their ordinance 
 By this time from their fixed beds of lime 
 
406 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 Had been dishabited, and wide havoc made 
 For bloody power to rush upon your peace. 
 But, on the sight of us, your lawful king, 
 Who painfully, with much expedient march, 
 Have brought a countercheck before your gates, 
 To save unscratch'd your city's threaten'd 
 
 cheeks, - 
 
 Behold, the French, amaz'd, vouchsafe a parle ; 
 And now, instead of bullets wrapp'd in fire, 
 To make a shaking fever in your walls, 
 They shoot but calm words, folded up in smoke, 
 To make a faithless error in your ears : 
 Which trust accordingly, kind citizens, 
 And let us in, your king; whose labour'd spirits, 
 Forwearied in this action of swift speed, 
 Crave harbourage within your city-walls. 
 
 K. Phi. When I have said, make answer to 
 
 us both. 
 
 Lo, in this right hand, whose protection 
 Is most divinely vow'd upon the right 
 Of him it holds, stands young Plantagenet, 
 Son to the elder brother of this man, 
 And king o'er him and all that he enjoys : 
 For this down-trodden equity we tread 
 In war-like march these greens before your town ; 
 Being no further enemy to you 
 Than the constraint of hospitable zeal 
 In the relief of this oppressed child 
 Religiously provokes. Be pleased, then, 
 To pay that duty which you truly owe 
 To him that owes it, namely, this young prince : 
 And then our arms, like to a muzzled bear, 
 Save in aspect, have all offence seal'd up ; 
 Our cannons' malice vainly shall be spent 
 Against the invulnerable clouds of heaven ; 
 And with a blessed and unvex'd retire, 
 With unhack'd swords and helmets all nnbruis'd, 
 We will bear home that lusty blood again 
 Which here we came to spout against your town, 
 And leave your children, wives, and you in 
 
 peace. 
 
 But if you fondly pass our proffer'd offer, 
 'Tis not the rondure of your old-fac'd walls 
 Can hide you from our messengers of war, 
 Though all these English, and their discipline, 
 Were harbour'd in their rude circumference. 
 Then, tell us, shall your city call us lord 
 Jn that behalf which we have challeng'd it ? 
 Or shall we give the signal to our rage, 
 And stalk in blood to our possession ? 
 
 I Cit. In brief, we are the King of England's 
 
 subjects : 
 For him, and in his right, we hold this town. 
 
 X.John. Acknowledge then the king, and 
 let me in. 
 
 i Cit. That can we not ; but he that proves 
 the king, 
 
 To him will we prove loyal : till that time 
 Have we ramm'd up our gates against the world. 
 K.John. Doth not the crown of England 
 
 prove the king ? 
 
 And, if not that, I bring you witnesses, 
 Twice fifteen thousand hearts of England's 
 
 breed, 
 
 Bast. Bastards, and else. 
 K. John. To verify our title with their lives. 
 K. Phi. As many and as well-born bloods 
 
 as those, 
 
 Bast. Some bastards too. 
 K. Phi. Stand in his face, to contradict his 
 
 claim, 
 i Cit. Till you compound whose right is 
 
 worthiest, 
 
 We for the worthiest hold the right from both. 
 K.John. Then God forgive the sin of all 
 
 those souls 
 
 That to their everlasting residence, 
 Before the dew of evening fall, shall fleet, 
 In dreadful trial of our kingdom's king ! 
 
 K. Phi. Amen, Amen ! Mount, chevaliers ! 
 
 to arms ! 
 Bast. St. George, that swinged the dragon, 
 
 and e'er since 
 
 Sits on his horse' back at mine hostess' door, 
 Teach us some fence ! Sirrah \to AUSTRIA], 
 
 were I at home, 
 
 At your den, sirrah, with your lioness, 
 I would set an ox-head to your lion's hide, 
 And make a monster of you. 
 
 Attst. Peace ! no more. 
 
 Bast. O, tremble, for you hear the lion roar. 
 K. John. Up higher to the plain ; where 
 
 we '11 set forth 
 In best appointment all our regiments. 
 
 Bast. Speed, then, to take advantage of the 
 
 field. 
 K. Phi. It shall be so ; [to Louis] and at 
 
 the other hill 
 
 Command the rest to stand. God and our 
 right ! [Exeunt sevemlly. 
 
 After Excursions y enter a French Herald, with 
 trumpets y to the gates. 
 
 F. Her. You men of Angiers, open wide 
 
 your gates, 
 
 And let young Arthur, Duke of Bretagne, in, 
 Who, by the hand of France, this day hath made 
 Much work for tears in many an English mother, 
 Whose sons lie scatter'd on the bleeding ground : 
 Many a widow's husband grovelling lies, 
 Coldly embracing the discolour'd earth ; 
 And victory, with little loss, doth play 
 Upon the dancing banners of the French, 
 Who are at hand, triumphantly displayM. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 407 
 
 To enter conquerors, and to proclaim 
 Arthur of Bretagne England's king and yours. 
 
 Enter an English Herald, with trumpets. 
 
 E. Her. Rejoice, you men of Angiers, ring 
 your bells; [proach, 
 
 King John, your king and England's, doth ap- 
 Commander of this hot malicious day : 
 Their armours, that march'd hence so silver- 
 bright, 
 
 Hither return all gilt with Frenchmen's blood ; 
 There stuck no plume in any English crest 
 That is removed by a staff of France . 
 Our colours do return in those same hands 
 That did display them when we first march'd 
 
 forth ; 
 
 And, like a jolly troop of huntsmen, come 
 Our lusty English, all with purpled hands, 
 Dy'd in the dying slaughter of their foes : 
 Open your gates, and give the victors way. 
 I Cit. Heralds, from off our towers, we 
 
 might behold, 
 
 From first to last, the onset and retire 
 Of both your armies ; whose equality 
 By our best eyes cannot be censured : 
 Blood hath bought blood, and blows have an- 
 
 swer'd blows; 
 
 Strength match'd with strength, and power con- 
 fronted power : 
 
 Both are alike ; and both alike we like. 
 One must prove greatest : while they weigh so 
 
 even 
 We hold our town for neither ; yet for both. 
 
 Re-enter, on one side, KING JOHN, ELINOR, 
 BLANCH, the BASTARD, and Forces ; at the 
 other, KING PHILIP, Louis, AUSTRIA, and 
 Forces. 
 
 K.John. France, hast thou yet more blood 
 
 to cast away? 
 
 Say, shall the current of our right run on ? 
 Whose passage, vex'd with thy impediment, 
 Shall leave his native channel, and o'erswell 
 With course disturb'd even thy confining shores, 
 Unless thou let his silver water keep 
 A peaceful progress to the ocean. 
 
 K. Phi. England, thou hast not sav'd one 
 
 drop of blood, 
 
 In this hot trial, more than we of France; 
 Rather, lost more : and by this hand I swear, 
 That sways the earth this climate overlooks, 
 Before we will lay down our just-borne arms, 
 We '11 put thee down, 'gainst whom these arms 
 
 we bear, 
 
 Or add a royal number to the dead, 
 Gracing the scroll that tells of this war's loss 
 With slaughter coupled to the name of kings. 
 
 Bast. Ha, majesty! how high thy glory 
 
 towers 
 
 When the rich blood of kings is set on fire ! 
 O, now doth Death line his dead chaps with 
 
 steel ; 
 
 The swords of soldiers are his teeth, his fangs ; 
 And now he feasts, mousing the flesh of men, 
 In undetermin'd differences of kings. 
 Why stand these royal fronts amazed thus ? 
 Cry, havoc, kings ! back to the stained field, 
 You equal potentates, fiery-kindled spirits ! 
 Then let confusion of one part confirm 
 The other's peace; till then, blows, blood, and 
 death ! [admit ? 
 
 K. John. Whose party do the townsmen yet 
 
 K. Phi. Speak, citizens, for England ; who 's 
 your king ? [the king. 
 
 I Cit. The King of England, when we know 
 
 K. Phi. Know him in us, that here hold up 
 his right. 
 
 K. John. In us, that are our own great deputy, 
 And bear possession of our person here ; 
 Lord of our presence, Angiers, and of you. 
 
 I Cit. A greater power than we denies all 
 
 this; 
 
 And till it be undoubted, we do lock 
 Our former scruple in our strong-barr'd gates ; 
 King'd of our fear, until our fears, resolv'd, 
 Be by some certain king purg'd and depos'd. 
 
 Bast. By heaven, these scroyles of Angiers 
 
 flout you, kings, 
 
 And stand securely on their battlements 
 As in a theatre, whence they gapa and point 
 At your industrious scenes and acts of death. 
 Your royal presences be rul'd by me : 
 Do like the mutines of Jerusalem, 
 Be friends awhile, and both conjointly bend 
 Your sharpest deeds of malice on this town : 
 By east and west let France and England mount 
 Their battering cannon, charged to the mouths, 
 Till their soul-fearing clamours have brawl'd 
 
 down 
 
 The flinty ribs o/ this contemptuous city : 
 I 'd play incessantly upon these jades, 
 Even till unfenced desolation 
 Leave them as naked as the vulgar air. 
 That done, dissever your united strengths, 
 And part your mingled colours once again : 
 Turn face to face, and bloody point to point ; 
 Then, in a moment, fortune shall cull forth 
 Out of one side her happy minion, 
 To whom in favour she shall give the day, 
 And kiss him with a glorious victory. 
 How like you this wild counsel, mighty states? 
 Smacks it not something of the policy? 
 
 K. John. Now, by the sky that hangs above 
 our heads, 
 
4 o8 
 
 KING* JOHN. 
 
 CACT n. 
 
 I like it well. France, shall we knit our 
 
 powers, 
 
 And lay this Angiers even with the ground ; 
 Then, after, fight who shall be king of it? 
 
 Bast. An if thou hast the mettle of a king, 
 Being wrong'd, as we are, by this peevish 
 
 town, 
 
 Turn thou the mouth of thy artillery, 
 As we will ours, against these saucy walls ; 
 And when that we have dash'd them to the ground, 
 Why, then defy each other, and, pell-mell, 
 Make work upon ourselves, for heaven or hell ! 
 K. Phi. Let it be so. Say, where will you 
 
 assault ? [struction 
 
 K.John. We from the west will send de- 
 Into this city's bosom. 
 Aust. I from the north. 
 K. Phi. Our thunder from the south 
 
 Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town. 
 Bast. O prudent discipline ! From north to 
 
 south, 
 
 Austria and France shoot in each other's mouth: 
 I '11 stir them to it. [Aside. ] Come, away, 
 
 away! 
 i Cit. Hear us, great kings: vouchsafe awhile 
 
 to stay, 
 
 And I shall show you peace and fair-fac'd league; 
 Win you this city without stroke or wound ; 
 Rescue those breathing lives to die in beds, 
 That here come sacrifices for the field : 
 Persever not, but hear me, mighty kings. 
 K. John. Speak on, with favour; we are bent 
 
 to hear. [Blanch, 
 
 I Cit. That daughter there of Spain, the Lady 
 Is niece to England: look upon the years 
 Of Louis the Dauphin, and that lovely maid : 
 If lusty love should go in quest of beauty, 
 Where should he find it fairer than in Blanch? 
 If zealous love should go in search of virtue, 
 Where should he find it purer than in Blanch? 
 If love ambitious sought a match of birth, 
 Whose veins bound richer blood than Lady 
 
 Blanch? 
 
 Such as she is, in beauty, virtue, birth, 
 Is the young Dauphin every way complete, 
 If not complete of, say he is not she ; 
 And she again wants nothing, to name want, 
 If want it be not, that she is not he : 
 He is the half part of a blessed man, 
 Left to be finished by such a she ; 
 And she a fair divided excellence, 
 Whose fulness of perfection lies in him. 
 O, two such silver currents, when they join 
 Do glorify the banks that bound them in ; 
 And two such shores to two such streams made 
 
 one, 
 To su ch controlling bounds shall you be, kings, 
 
 To these two princes, if you marry them. 
 This union shall do more than battery can 
 To our fast-closed gates ; for, at this match, 
 With swifter spleen than powder can enforce, 
 The mouth of passage shall we fling wide ope, 
 And give you entrance ; but without this match, 
 The sea enraged is not half so deaf, 
 Lions more confident, mountains and rocks 
 More free from motion ; no, not Death himself 
 In mortal fury half so peremptoiy, 
 As we to keep this city. 
 
 Bast. Here 's a stay, 
 
 That shakes the rotten carcase of old Death 
 Out of his rags ! Here 's a large mouth, indeed, 
 That spits forth death and mountains, rocks 
 
 and seas ; 
 
 Talks as familiarly of roaring lions 
 As maids of thirteen do of puppy-dogs ! 
 What cannoneer begot this lusty blood? 
 He speaks plain cannon, fire and smoke and 
 
 bounce ; 
 
 He gives the bastinado with his tongue ; 
 Our ears are cudgell'd ; not a word of his 
 But buffets better than a fist of France : 
 Zounds ! I was never so bethump'd with words 
 Since I first called my brother's father dad. 
 Eli. Son, list to this conjunction, make this 
 
 match ; 
 
 Give with our niece a dowry large enough 
 For by this knot thou shalt so surely tie 
 Thy now unsur'd assurance to the crown, 
 That yon green boy shall have no sun to ripe 
 The bloom that promiseth a mighty fruit. 
 I see a yielding in the looks of France ; 
 Mark how they whisper : urge them while their 
 
 K1 Ulj V.V K& 
 
 Are capable of this ambition, 
 Lest zeal, now melted by the windy breath 
 Of soft petitions, pity, and remorse, 
 Cool and congeal again to what it was. 
 
 I Cit. Why answer not the double majesties 
 This friendly treaty of our threaten'd town? 
 
 K. Phi. Speak England first, that hath been 
 
 forward first 
 To speak unto this city : what say you ? 
 
 K.John. If that the Dauphin there, thy 
 
 princely son, 
 
 Can in this book of beauty read, " I love," 
 Her dowry shall weigh equal with a queen : 
 For Anjou, and fair Touraine, Maine, Poictiers, 
 And all that we upon this side the sea, 
 Except this city now by us besieg'd, 
 Find liable to our crown and dignity, 
 Shall gild her bridal bed ; and make her rich 
 In titles, honours, and promotions, 
 As she in beauty, education, blood, 
 Holds hand with any princess of the world. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 409 
 
 K. Phi. What say'st thou, boy? look in the 
 lady's face. 
 
 Lou. I do, my lord, and in her eye I find 
 A wonder, or a wondrous miracle, 
 The shadow of myself form'd in her eye ; 
 Which, being but the shadow of your son, 
 Becomes a sun, and makes your son a shadow : 
 I do protest I never lov'd myself 
 Till now infixed I beheld myself 
 Drawn in the nattering table of her eye. 
 
 [ Whispers with BLANCH. 
 
 Bast. [Aside.] Drawn in the flattering table 
 of her eye ! 
 
 Hang'd in the frowning wrinkle of her brow! 
 And quarter'd in her heart ! he doth espy 
 
 Himself love's traitor ! This is pity now, 
 That, hang'd, and drawn, and quarter'd, there 
 
 should be 
 In such a love so vile a lout as he. 
 
 Blanch. My uncle's will in this respect is mine. 
 If he see aught in you that makes him like, 
 That anything he sees, which moves his liking, 
 I can with ease translate it to my will ; 
 Or if you will, to speak more properly, 
 I will enforce it easily to my love. 
 Further, I will not flatter you, my lord, 
 That all I see in you is worthy love, 
 Than this, that nothing do I see in you, 
 Though churlish thoughts themselves should be 
 
 your judge, 
 That I can find should merit any hate. 
 
 K. John. What say these young ones? What 
 say you, my niece? [do 
 
 Blanch. That she is bound in honour still to 
 What you in wisdom still vouchsafe to say. 
 
 K.John. Speak then, Prince Dauphin; can 
 you love this lady? 
 
 Lou. Nay, ask me if I can refrain from love ; 
 For I do love her most unfeignedty. 
 
 K. John. Then do I give Volquessen, Tou- 
 
 raine, Maine, 
 
 Poictiers, and Anjou, these five provinces, 
 With her to thee ; and this addition more, 
 Full thirty thousand marks of English coin. 
 Philip of France, if thou be pleas'd withal, 
 Command thy son and daughter to join hands. 
 
 K. Phi. It likes us well. Young princes, 
 close your hands. 
 
 Aust. And your lips too ; for I am well assur'd 
 That I did so when I was first assur'd. 
 
 K. Phi. Now, citizens of Angiers, ope your 
 
 gates, 
 
 Let in that amity which you have made ; 
 For at Saint Mary's chapel presently 
 The rites of marriage shall be solemniz'd. 
 Is not the Lady Constance in this troop? 
 I know she is not; for this match made up 
 
 Her presence would have interrupted much: 
 Where is she and her son ? tell me, who knows. 
 
 Lou. She is sad and passionate at your high- 
 ness' tent. 
 
 K. Phi. And, by my faith, this league that 
 
 we have made 
 
 Will give her sadness very little cure. 
 Brother of England, how may we content 
 This widow lady? In her right we came ; 
 Which we, God knows, have turn'd another way, 
 To our own vantage. 
 
 K. John. We will heal up all ; 
 
 For we '11 create young Arthur Duke of Bretagne 
 And Earl of Richmond ; and this rich fair town 
 We make him lord of. Call the Lady Con- 
 stance : 
 
 Some speedy messenger bid her repair 
 To our solemnity : I trust we shall, 
 If not fill up the measure of her will, 
 Yet in some measure satisfy her so 
 That we shall stop her exclamation. 
 Go we, as well as haste will suffer us, 
 To this unlook'd-for, unprepared pomp. 
 
 [Exeunt all but the BASTARD. The Citizens 
 retire from the Walls. 
 
 Bast. Mad world ! mad kings ! mad composi- 
 tion ! 
 
 John, to stop Arthur's title in the whole, 
 Hath willingly departed with a part ; [on, 
 
 And France, whose armour conscience buckled 
 Whom zeal and charity brought to the field 
 As God's own soldier, rounded in the ear 
 With that same purpose-changer, that sly devil ; 
 That broker, that still breaks the pate of faith ; 
 That daily break-vow ; he that wins of all, 
 Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men, 
 
 maids, 
 
 Who having no external thing to lose 
 But the word maid, cheats the poor maid of that ; 
 That smooth-fac'd gentleman, tickling com- 
 modity, 
 
 Commodity, the bias of the world ; 
 The world, who of itself is peised well, 
 Made to run even upon even ground, 
 Till this advantage, this vile-drawing bias, 
 This sway of motion, this commodity, 
 Makes it take head from all indifferency, 
 From all direction, purpose, course, intent : 
 And this same bias, this commodity, 
 This bawd, this broker, this all-changing word, 
 Clapp'd on the outward eye of fickle France, 
 Hath drawn him from his own determin'd aid, 
 From a resolv'd and honourable war, 
 To a most base and vile-concluded peace. 
 And why rail I on this commodity? 
 But for because he hath not woo'd me yet : 
 Not that I have the power to clutch my hand 
 
4 io 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 When his fair angels would salute my palm ; 
 But for my hand, as unattempted yet, 
 Like a poor beggar, raileth on the rich. 
 Well, whiles I am a beggar, I will rail, 
 And say, There is no sin but to be rich ; 
 And, being rich, my virtue then shall be, 
 To say, There is no vice but beggary : 
 Since kings break faith upon commodity, 
 Gain, be my lord ! for I will worship thee. 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. FRANCE. The French King's Tent. 
 Enter CONSTANCE, ARTHUR, and SALISBURY. 
 
 Const. Gone to be married ! gone to swear a 
 
 peace ! 
 False blood to false blood join'd! gone to 
 
 be friends ! 
 Shall Louis have Blanch? and Blanch those 
 
 provinces? 
 
 It is not so; thou hast misspoke, misheard; 
 Be well advis'd, tell o'er thy tale again : 
 It cannot be ; thou dost but say 'tis so : 
 I trust I may not trust thee; for thy word 
 Is but the vain breath of a common man: 
 Believe me, I do not believe thee, man ; 
 I have a king's oath to the contrary. 
 Thou shalt be punish'd for thus frighting me, 
 For I am sick, and capable of fears ; 
 Oppress'd with wrongs , and therefore full of fears; 
 A widow, husbandless, subject to fears; 
 A woman, naturally born to fears ; 
 And though thou now confess thou didst but jest, 
 With my vex'd spirits I cannot take a truce, 
 But they will quake and tremble all this day. 
 What dost thou mean by shaking of thy head ? 
 Why dost thou look so sadly on my son? 
 What means that hand upon that breast of thine? 
 Why holds thine eye that lamentable rheum, 
 Like a proud river peering o'er its bounds? 
 Be these sad signs confirmers of thy words? 
 Then speak again, not all thy former tale, 
 But this one word, whether thy tale be true. 
 
 Sal. As true as I believe you think them false 
 That give you cause to prove my saying true. 
 Const. O, if thou teach me to believe this 
 
 sorrow, 
 
 Teach thou this sorrow how to make me die ; 
 And let belief and life encounter so 
 As doth the fury of two desperate men, 
 Which in the very meeting fall and die ! 
 Louis marry Blanch ! O boy, then where art 
 
 thou? [me? 
 
 France friend with England ! what becomes of 
 Fellow, be gone : I cannot brook thy sight ; 
 This news hath made thee a most ugly man. 
 
 Sal. What other harm have I, good lady, done, 
 But spoke the harm that is by others done? 
 
 Const. Which harm within itself so heinous is, 
 As it makes harmful all that speak of it. 
 
 Arth. I do beseech you, madam, be content. 
 
 Const. If thou, that bid'st me be content, wert 
 
 grim, 
 
 Ugly, and slanderous to thy mother's womb, 
 Full of unpleasing blots and sightless stains, 
 Lame, foolish, crooked, swart, prodigious, 
 Patch'd with foul molesand eye-offending marks, 
 I would not care, I then would be content ; 
 For then I should not love thee ; no, nor thou 
 Become thy great birth, nor deserve a crown. 
 But thou art fair; and at thy birth, dear boy, 
 Nature and fortune join'd to make thee great : 
 Of nature's gifts thou mayst with lilies boast, 
 And with the half-blown rose : but Fortune, O ! 
 She is corrupted, chang'd, and won from thee ; 
 She adulterates hourly with thine uncle John ; 
 And with her golden hand hath pluck'd on 
 
 France 
 
 To tread down fair respect of sovereignty, 
 And made his majesty the bawd to theirs. 
 France is a bawd to Fortune, and king John 
 That strumpet Fortune, that usurping John ! 
 Tell me, thou fellow, is not France forsworn? 
 Envenom him with words ; or get thee gone, 
 And leave those woes alone, which I alone 
 Am bound to under-bear. 
 
 Sal. Pardon me, madam, 
 
 I may not go without you to the kings. 
 
 Const. Thou mayst, thou shalt ; I will not go 
 
 with thee: 
 
 I will instruct my sorrows to be proud ; 
 For grief is proud, and makes his honour stout. 
 To me, and to the state of my great grief, 
 Let kings assemble ; for my grief 's so great 
 That no supporter but the huge firm earth 
 Can hold it up: here I and sorrows sit; 
 Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it. 
 {Scats herself on the ground. 
 
 Enter KING JOHN, KING PHILIP, Louis, 
 BLANCH, ELINOR, BASTARD, AUSTRIA, and 
 Attendants. 
 
 K. Phi. 'Tis true, fair daughter; and this 
 
 blessed day 
 
 Ever in France shall be kept festival : 
 To solemnize this day the glorious sun 
 Stays in his course, and plays the alchemist, 
 Turning, with splendour of his precious eye, 
 The meagre cloddy earth to glittering gold : 
 The yearly course that brings this day about 
 Shall never see it but a holiday. 
 
 Const. A wicked day, and not a holy day ! 
 
 [Rising, 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 411 
 
 What hath this day deserv'd ? what hath it done, 
 That it in golden letters should be set 
 Among the high tides in the calendar? 
 Nay, rather turn this day out of the week, 
 This day of shame, oppression, perjury: 
 Or, if it must stand still, let wives with child 
 Pray that their burdens may not fall this day, 
 Lest that their hopes prodigiously be cross'd: 
 But on this day let seamen fear no wreck ; 
 No bargains break that are not this day made: 
 This day, all things begun come to ill end, 
 Yea, faith itself to hollow falsehood change ! 
 K. Phi. By heaven, lady, you shall have no 
 
 cause 
 
 To curse the fair proceedings of this day. 
 Have I not pawn'd to you my majesty ? 
 
 Const. You have beguil'd me with a counterfeit 
 Resembling majesty ; which, being touch'd and 
 
 tried, 
 
 Proves valueless : you are forsworn, forsworn : 
 You came in arms to spill mine enemies' blood, 
 But now in arms you strengthen it with yours : 
 The grappling vigour and rough frown of war 
 Is cold in amity and painted peace, 
 And our oppression hath made up this league. 
 Arm, arm, you heavens, against these perjur'd 
 
 kings ! 
 
 A widow cries ; be husband to me, heavens ! 
 Let not the hours of this ungodly day 
 Wear out the day in peace ; but, ere sunset, 
 Set armed discord 'twixt these perjur'd kings ! 
 Hear me, O, hear me ! 
 Aust. Lady Constance, peace. 
 
 Const. War ! war ! no peace ! peace is to me 
 
 a war. 
 
 O Lymoges ! O Austria ( thou dost shame 
 That bloody spoil : thou slave, thou wretch, thou 
 
 coward ! 
 
 Thou little valiant, great in villany ! 
 Thou ever strong upon the stronger side ! 
 Thou Fortune's champion that dost never fight 
 But when her humorous ladyship is by 
 To teach thee safety ! thou art perjur'd too, 
 And sooth'st up greatness. What afool art thou, 
 A ramping fool, to brag, and stamp, and swear 
 Upon thy party ! Thou cold-blooded slave, 
 Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side? 
 Been sworn my soldier? bidding me depend 
 Upon thy stars, thy fortune, and thy strength? 
 And dost thou now fall over to my foes? 
 Thou wear a lion's hide ! doff it for shame, 
 And hang a calf s-skin on those recreant limbs ! 
 Aust. O, that a man should speak those words 
 
 to me ! [limbs. 
 
 Bast. And hang a calf s-skin on those recreant 
 Aust. Thou dar'st not say so, villain, for thy 
 
 life. 
 
 Bast. And hang a calf 's-skin on those recreant 
 
 limbs. 
 K. John. We like not this ; thou dost forget 
 
 thyself. [pope. 
 
 K. Phi. Here comes the holy legate of the 
 
 Enter PANDULPH. 
 
 Pand. Hail, you anointed deputies of 
 
 heaven ! 
 
 To thee, King John, my holy errand is. 
 I Pandulph, of fair Milan cardinal, 
 And from Pope Innocent the legate here, 
 Do in his name religiously demand, 
 Why thou against the church, our holy mother, 
 So wilfully dost spurn ; and, force perforce,. 
 Keep Stephen Langton, chosen archbishop 
 Of Canterbury, from that holy see? 
 This, in our foresaid holy father's name, 
 Pope Innocent, I do demand of thee. 
 
 K.John. What earthly name to interroga- 
 tories 
 
 Can task the free breath of a sacred king? 
 Thou canst not, cardinal, devise a name 
 So slight, unworthy, and ridiculous, 
 To charge me to an answer, as the pope. 
 Tell him this tale; and from the mouth of 
 
 England 
 
 Add thus much more, That no Italian priest 
 Shall tithe or toll in our dominions : 
 But as we under heaven are supreme head, 
 So, under him, that great supremacy, 
 Where we do reign, we will alone uphold, 
 Without the assistance of a mortal hand : 
 So tell the pope ; all reverence set apart 
 To him and his usurp'd authority. 
 
 K. Phi. Brother of England, you blaspheme 
 in this. [Christendom, 
 
 K. John. Though you, and all the kings of 
 Are led so grossly by this meddling priest, 
 Dreading the curse that money may buy out ; 
 And by the merit of vile gold, dross, dust, 
 Purchase corrupted pardon of a man, 
 Who in that sale sells pardon from himself ; 
 Though you and all the rest, so grossly led, 
 This juggling witchcraft with revenue cherish ; 
 Yet I, alone, alone do me oppose 
 Against the pope, and count his friends my foes. 
 
 Pand. Then, by the lawful power that I have, 
 Thou shalt stand curs'd and excommunicate : 
 And blessed shall he be that doth revolt 
 From his allegiance to an heretic ; 
 And meritorious shall that hand be call'd, 
 Canonized, and worshipp'd as a saint, 
 That takes away by any secret course 
 Thy hateful life. 
 
 Const. O, lawful let it be 
 
 That I have room with Rome to curse awhile I 
 
412 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Good father cardinal, cry thou amen 
 To my keen curses : for without my wrong 
 There is no tongue hath power to curse him 
 right. [curse. 
 
 Pand. There 's law and warrant, lady, for my 
 
 Const. And for mine too : when law can do 
 
 no right, 
 
 Let it be lawful that law bar no wrong: 
 Law cannot give my child his kingdom here ; 
 For he that holds his kingdom holds the law : 
 Therefore, since law itself is perfect wrong, 
 How can the law forbid my tongue to curse? 
 
 Pand. Philip of France, on peril of a curse, 
 Let go the hand of that arch-heretic ; 
 And raise the power of France upon his head, 
 Unless he do submit himself to Rome. 
 
 Eli. Look'st thou pale, France ; do not let 
 go thy hand. [repent 
 
 Consf. Look to that, devil ; lest that France 
 And, by disjoining hands, hell lose a soul. 
 
 Aust. King Philip, listen to the cardinal. 
 
 Bast. And hang a calf's-skin on his recreant 
 limbs. [wrongs, 
 
 Aust. Well, ruffian, I must pocket up tbe?e 
 Because 
 
 Bast. Your breeches best may carry them. 
 
 K. John. Philip, what say'st thou to the 
 cardinal ? [cardinal ? 
 
 Const. What should he say, but as the 
 
 Lou. Bethink you, father; for the difference 
 Is, purchase of a heavy curse from Rome, 
 Or the light loss of England for a friend : 
 Forego the easier. 
 
 Blanch. That 's the curse of Rome. 
 
 Const. O Louis, stand fast ! the devil tempts 
 
 thee here 
 In likeness of a new uptrimmed bride. 
 
 Blanch. The Lady Constance speaks not 
 
 from her faith, 
 But from her need. 
 
 Const. O, if thou grant my need, 
 
 Which only lives but by the death of faith, 
 That need must needs infer this principle, 
 That faith would live again by death of need ! 
 O, then, tread down my need, and faith mounts 
 
 up; 
 Keep my need up, and faith is trodden down ! 
 
 K.John. The king is mov'd, and answers 
 not to this. [well ! 
 
 Const. O, be remov'd from him, and answer 
 
 Aust. Do so, King Philip ; hang no more in 
 doubt. [sweet lout. 
 
 Bast. Hang nothing but a calf's-skin, most 
 
 K. Phi. I am perplex'd, and know not what 
 to say. [thee more, 
 
 Pand. What canst thou say, but will perplex 
 It thou stand excommunicate and curs'd? 
 
 K. Phi. Good reverend father, make my 
 
 person yours, 
 
 And tell me how you would bestow yourself. 
 This royal hand and mine are newly knit, 
 And the conjunction of our inward souls' 
 Married in league, coupled and link'd together 
 With all religious strength of sacred vows ; 
 The latest breath that gave the sound of words 
 Was deep-sworn faith, peace, amity, true love, 
 Between our kingdoms and our royal selves ; 
 And even before this truce, but new before, 
 No longer than we well could wash our hands, 
 To clap this royal bargain up of peace, 
 Heaven knows, they were besmear'd and over- 
 
 stain'd 
 
 With slaughter's pencil, where revenge did paint 
 The fearful difference of incensed kings : 
 And shall these hands, so lately purg'd of blood, 
 So newly joined in love, so strong in both, 
 Unyoke this seizure and this kind regreet? 
 Play fast and loose with faith? so jest with 
 
 heaven. 
 
 Make such unconstant children of ourselves, 
 As now again to snatch our palm from palm; 
 Unswear faith sworn ; and on the marriage-bed 
 Of smiling peace to march a bloody host, 
 And make a riot on the gentle brow 
 Of true sincerity? O, holy sir. 
 My reverend father, let it not be so 1 
 Out of your grace, devise, ordain, impose 
 Some gentle order ; and then we shall be bless'd 
 To do your pleasure, and continue friends. 
 
 Pand. All form is formless, order orderless, 
 Save what is opposite to England's love. 
 Therefore, to arms! be champion of our church! 
 Or let the church, our mother, breathe her 
 
 curse, 
 
 A mother's curse, on her revolting son. 
 France, thou mayst hold a serpent by the tongue, 
 A chafed lion by the mortal paw, 
 A fasting tiger safer by the tooth, [hold. 
 
 Than keep in peace that hand which thou dost 
 
 K. Phi. I may disjoin my hand, but not my 
 faith. [faith ; 
 
 Pand. So mak'st thou faith an enemy to 
 And, like a civil war, sett'st oath to oath, 
 Thy tongue against thy tongue. O, let thy vow 
 First made to heaven, first be to heaven per- 
 
 form'd, 
 
 That is, to be the champion of our church ! 
 What since thou swor'st is sworn against thyself, 
 And may not be performed by thyself: 
 For that which thou hast sworn to do amiss 
 Is not amiss when it is truly done ; 
 And being not done, where doing tends to ill, 
 The truth is then most done not doing it : 
 The better act of purposes mistook 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 413 
 
 Is to mistake again ; though indirect, 
 Yet indirection thereby grows direct, 
 And falsehood falsehood cures; as fire cools 
 
 fire 
 
 Within the scorched veins of one new burn'd. 
 It is religion that doth make vows kept ; 
 But thou hast sworn against religion, 
 By what thou swear'st against the thing thou 
 
 swear'st ; 
 
 And mak'st an oath the surety for thy truth 
 Against an oath : the truth thou art unsure 
 To swear, swears only not to be forsworn ; 
 Else what a mockery should it be to swear ! 
 But thou dost swear only to be forsworn ; 
 And most forsworn, to keep what thou dost 
 
 swear. 
 
 Therefore thy latter vows against thy first 
 Is in thyself rebellion to thyself ; 
 And better conquest never canst thou make 
 Than arm thy constant and thy nobler parts 
 Against these giddy loose suggestions : 
 Upon which better part our prayers come in, 
 If thou vouchsafe them ; but if not, then know 
 The peril of our curses light on thee, 
 So heavy as thou shalt not shake them oft, 
 But in despair die under their black weight. 
 Ausl. Rebellion, flat rebellion ! 
 Bast. Will 't not be ? 
 
 Will not a calf s-skin stop 'ihat mouth of thine ? 
 Lou. Father, to arms ! 
 
 Blanch. Upon thy wedding-day ? 
 
 Against the blood that thou hast married ? 
 What, shall our feast be kept with slaughter'd 
 
 men? 
 Shall braying trumpets and loud churlish 
 
 drums, 
 
 Clamours of hell, be m^acures to our pomp? 
 O husband, hear me ! ay, alack, how new 
 Is husband in my mouth ! even for that name, 
 Which till this time my tongue did ne'er pro- 
 nounce, 
 
 Upon my knee I beg, go not to arms 
 Against mine uncle. 
 
 Const. O, upon my knee, 
 
 Made hard with kneeling, I do pray to thee, 
 Thou virtuous Dauphin, alter not the doom 
 Forethought by heaven. 
 
 Blanch. Now shall I see thy love : what 
 
 motive may 
 
 Be stronger with thee than the name of wife ? 
 Const. That which upholdeth him that thee 
 
 upholds, 
 His honour : O, thine honour, Louis, thine 
 
 honour ! 
 
 Lou. I muse your majesty doth seem so cold, 
 When such profound respects do pull you on. 
 Pand. I will denounce a curse upon his head. 
 
 K. Phi. Thou shalt not need. England, I 
 
 will fall from thee. 
 
 Const. O fair return of banish'd majesty ! 
 Eli. O foul revolt of French inconstancy ! 
 K. John. France, thou shalt rue this hour 
 
 within this hour. 
 Bast. Old Time the clock -setter, that bald 
 
 sexton Time, 
 
 Is it as he will? well, then, France shall rue. 
 Blanch. The sun 's o'ercast with blood : fair 
 
 day, adieu ! 
 
 Which is the side that I must go withal? 
 I am with both : each army hath a hand ; 
 And in their rage, I having hold of both, 
 They whirl asunder and dismember me. 
 Husband, I cannot pray that thou mayst win ; 
 Uncle, I needs must pray that thou mayst lose; 
 Father, I may not wish the fortune thine ; 
 Grandam, I will not wish thy wishes thrive : 
 Whoever wins, on that side shall I lose ; 
 Assured loss before the match be play'd. 
 Lou. Lady, with me ; with me thy fortune lies. 
 Blanch. There where my fortune lives, there 
 
 my life dies. 
 
 K. John. Cou?in, go draw our puissance to- 
 gether. [Exit BASTARD. 
 France, I am burn'd up with inflaming wrath ; 
 A rage whose heat hath this condition, 
 That nothing can allay, nothing but blood, 
 The blood, and dearest-valu'd blood of France. 
 K. Phi. Thy rage shall burn thee up, and 
 
 thou shalt turn 
 
 To ashes, ere our blood shall quench that fire : 
 Look to thyself, thou art in jeopardy. 
 
 K. John. No more than he that threats. To 
 arms let 's hie ! [Exeunt severally. 
 
 SCENE II. The same. Plains near Angiers. 
 
 Alarums. Excursions. Enter the BASTARD, 
 with AUSTRIA'S head. 
 
 Bast. Now, by my life, this day grows won- 
 drous hot ; 
 
 Some airy devil hovers in the sky, [there, 
 
 And pours down mischief. Austria's head lie 
 While Philip breathes. 
 
 Enter KING JOHN, ARTHUR, and HUBERT. 
 
 K.John. Hubert, keep p this boy. Philip, 
 
 make up : 
 
 My mother is assailed in our tent, 
 And ta'en, I fear. 
 
 Bast. My lord, I rescu'd her ; 
 
 Her highness is in safety, fear you not : 
 But on, my liege ; for very little pains 
 Will bring this labour to an happy end. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
414 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 SCENE III. The same. 
 
 Alarums t Excursions, Retreat. Enter KING 
 JOHN, ELINOR, ARTHUR, the BASTARD, 
 HUBERT, and Lords. 
 
 K. John. So shall it be ; your grace shall stay 
 behind, [To ELINOR. 
 
 So strongly guarded. Cousin, look not sad : 
 
 [To ARTHUR. 
 
 Thy grandam loves thee ; and thy uncle will 
 As dear be to thee as thy father was. [grief! 
 
 Arth. O, this will make my mother die with 
 
 K. John. Cousin [to the BASTARD], away for 
 
 England ; haste before : 
 
 And, ere our coming, see thou shake the bags 
 Of hoarding abbots ; imprison'd angels 
 Set at liberty : the fat ribs of peace 
 Must by the hungry now be fed upon : 
 Use our commission in his utmost force. 
 
 Bast. Bell, book, and candle shall not drive 
 
 me back, 
 
 When gold and silver becks me to come on. 
 I leave your highness. Grandam, I will pray, 
 If ever I remember to be holy ; 
 For your fair safety ; so, I kiss your hand. 
 
 Eli. Farewell, gentle cousin. 
 
 K. John. Coz, farewell. [Exit BASTARD. 
 
 Eli. Gome hither, little kinsman; hark a 
 word. [She takes ARTHUR aside. 
 
 K. John. Come hither, Hubert. O my 
 
 gentle Hubert, 
 
 We owe thee much ! within this wall of flesh 
 There is a soul counts thee her creditor, 
 And with advantage means to pay thy love : 
 And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath 
 Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished. 
 Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say, 
 But I will fit it with some better time. 
 By heaven, Hubert, I am almost asham'd 
 To say what good respect I have of thee. 
 
 Hub. I am much bounden to your majesty. 
 
 K. John. Good friend, thou hast no cause to 
 say so yet : [slow, 
 
 But thou shalt have; and creep time ne'er so 
 Yet it shall come for me to do thee good. 
 I had a thing to say, but let it go : 
 The sun is in the heaven, and the proud day, 
 Attended with the pleasures of the world, 
 Is all too wanton and too full of gawds 
 To give me audience : if the midnight bell 
 Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth, 
 Sound one unto the drowsy ear of night ; 
 If this same were a churchyard where we stand, 
 And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs ; 
 Or if that surly spirit, melancholy, [thick, 
 Had bak'd, thy blood, and made it heavy, 
 
 Which else runs tickling up and down the veins, 
 Making that idiot, laughter, keep men's eyes, 
 And strain their cheeks to idle merriment 
 A passion hateful to my purposes ; 
 Or if that thou couldst see me without eyes, 
 Hear me without thine ears, and make reply 
 Without a tongue, using conceit alone, 
 Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of 
 
 words, 
 
 Then, in despite of brooded watchful day, 
 I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts : 
 But, ah, I will not ! yet I love thee well ; 
 And, by my troth, I think thou lov'st me well. 
 
 Hub. So well that what you bid me undertake, 
 Though that my death were adjunct to my act, 
 By heaven, I would do it. 
 
 K. John. Do not I know thou wouldst? 
 Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine 
 eye [friend, 
 
 On yon young boy: I'll tell thee what, my 
 He is a very serpent in my way ; 
 And wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread, 
 He lies before me: dost thou understand me? 
 Thou art his keeper. 
 
 Hub. And I '11 keep him so 
 
 That he shall not offend your majesty. 
 
 K.John. Death. 
 
 Hub. My lord? 
 
 K. John. A grave. 
 
 Hub. He shall not live. 
 
 K.John. Enough. 
 
 I could be merry now. Hubert, I love thee : 
 Well, I '11 not say what I intend for thee : 
 Remember. Madam, fare you well: 
 I '11 send those powers o'er to your majesty. 
 
 Eli. My blessing go with thee ! 
 
 K. John. For England, cousin, go : 
 
 Hubert shall be your man, attend on you 
 With all true duty. On toward Calais, ho ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. The same. The French King's 
 Tent. 
 
 Enter KING PHILIP, Louis, PANDULPH, and 
 Attendants. 
 
 K. Phi. So, by a roaring tempest on the 
 
 flood, 
 
 A whole armado of convicted sail 
 Is scatter'd and disjoin'd from fellowship. 
 
 Pand. Courage and comfort ! all shall yet 
 go well. [run so ill? 
 
 K. Phi. What can go well, when we have 
 Are we not beaten? Is not Angiers lost? 
 Arthur ta'en prisoner? divers dear friends slain? 
 And bloody England into England gone, 
 O'erbearing interruption, spite of France? 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 415 
 
 Lou. What he hath won, that hath he forti- 
 fied: 
 
 So hot a speed with such advice dispos'd, 
 Such temperate order in so fierce a cause, 
 Doth want example : who hath read or heard 
 Of any kindred action like to this? 
 
 K. Phi. Well could I bear that England 
 
 had this praise, 
 
 So we could find some pattern of our shame. 
 Look, who comes here ! a grave unto a soul ; 
 Holding the eternal spirit, against her will, 
 In the vile prison of afflicted breath. 
 
 Enter CONSTANCE. 
 
 I pr'ythee, lady, go away with me. [peace ! 
 
 Const. Lo, now ! now see the issue of your 
 
 K. Phi. Patience, good lady! comfort, 
 gentle Constance ! 
 
 Const. No, I defy all counsel, all redress, 
 But that which ends all counsel, true redress, 
 Death, death : O amiable lovely death ! 
 Thou odoriferous stench ! sound rottenness ! 
 Arise forth from the couch of lasting night, 
 Thou hate and terror to prosperity, 
 And I will kiss thy detestable bones ; 
 And put my eyeballs in thy vaulty brows ; 
 And ring these fingers with thy household worms ; 
 And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust, 
 And be a carrion monster like thyself: 
 Come, grin on me; and I will think thou 
 
 smil'st, 
 
 And buss thee as thy wife ! Misery's love, 
 O, come to me ! 
 
 K. Phi. O fair affliction, peace ! 
 
 Const. No, no, I will not, having breath to 
 
 cry: 
 
 O, that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth ! 
 Then with a passion would I shake the world ; 
 And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy 
 Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice, 
 Which scorns a modern invocation. 
 
 Pand. Lady, you utter madness, and not 
 sorrow. 
 
 Const. Thou art not holy to belie me so ; 
 I am not mad : this hair I tear is mine ; 
 My name is Constance ; I was Geffrey's wife ; 
 Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost : 
 I am not mad ; I would to heaven I were ! 
 For then, 'tis like I should forget myself: 
 O, if I could, what grief should I forget ! 
 Preach some philosophy to make me mad, 
 And thou shalt be canoniz'd, cardinal ; 
 For, being not mad, but sensible ofgrief, 
 My reasonable part produces reason r^v: 1 
 How I may be deliver'd of these woes, 
 And teaches me to kill or hang myself: 
 If I were mad I should forget my son, 
 
 Or madly think a babe of clouts were he : 
 I am not mad ; too well, too well I feel 
 The different plague of each calamity. 
 
 K. Phi. Bind up those tresses. O, what 
 
 love I note 
 
 In the fair multitude of those her hairs ! 
 Where but by chance a silver drop hath fallen, 
 Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friends 
 Do glue themselves in sociable grief; 
 Like true, inseparable, faithful loves, 
 Sticking together in calamity. 
 
 Const. To England, if you will. 
 
 K. Phi. Bind up your hairs. 
 
 Const. Yes, that I will ; and wherefore will 
 
 I do it? 
 I tore them from their bonds, and cried aloud, 
 
 that these hands could so redeem my son, 
 As they have given these hairs their liberty! 
 But now I envy at their liberty, 
 
 And will again commit them to their bonds, 
 Because my poor child is a prisoner. 
 And, father cardinal, I have heard you say 
 That we shall see and know our friends in 
 
 heaven : 
 
 If that be true, I shall see my boy again ; 
 For since the birth of Cain, the first male child, 
 To him that did but yesterday suspire, 
 There was not such a gracious creature born. 
 But now will canker sorrow eat my bud, 
 And chase the native beauty from his cheek, 
 And he will look as hollow as a ghost, 
 As dim and meagre as an ague's fit ; 
 And so he'll die; and, rising so again, 
 When I shall meet him in the court of heaven 
 
 1 shall not know him : therefore never, never 
 Must I behold my pretty Arthur more ! 
 
 Pand. You hold too heinous a respect of grief. 
 
 Const. He talks to me that never had a son. 
 
 K. Phi. You are as fond of grief as of your 
 child. [child, 
 
 Const. Grief fills the room up of my absent 
 Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, 
 Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, 
 Remembers me of all his gracious parts, 
 Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form ; 
 Then have I reason to be fond of grief. 
 Fare you well : had you such a loss as I, 
 I could give better comfort than you do. 
 I will not keep this form upon my head, 
 
 [ Tearing off her head-dress. 
 When there is such disorder in my wit. 
 O Lord ! my boy, my Arthur, my fair son ! 
 My life, my joy, my food, my all the world ! 
 My widow-comfort, and my sorrow's cure ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 K. Phi. I fear some outrage, and I '11 follow 
 her. [Exit. 
 
4 i6 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 [ACT IV. 
 
 Lou. There's nothing in this world can 
 
 make me joy : 
 
 Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale 
 Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man ; [taste, 
 And bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweet world's 
 That it yields naught but shame and bitterness. 
 
 Pand. Before the curing of a strong disease, 
 Even in the instant of repair and health, 
 The fit is strongest ; evils that take leave, 
 On their departure most of all show evil : 
 What have you lost by losing of this day ? 
 
 Lou. All days of glory, joy, and happiness. 
 
 Pand. If you had won it, certainly you had. 
 No, no; when Fortune means to men most good, 
 She looks upon them with a threatening eye. 
 'Tis strange to think how much King John 
 
 hath lost 
 
 In this which he accounts so clearly won : 
 Are not you griev'd that Arthur is his prisoner? 
 
 Lou. As heartily as he is glad he hath him. 
 
 Pand. Your mind is all as youthful as your 
 
 blood. 
 
 Now hear me speak with a prophetic spirit ; 
 For even the breath of what I mean to speak 
 Shall blow each dust, each straw, each little rub, 
 Out of the path which shall directly lead 
 Thy foot to England's throne ; and therefore 
 
 mark. 
 
 John hath seiz'd Arthur ; and it cannot be 
 That, whiles warm life plays in that infant's 
 
 veins, 
 
 The misplac'd John should entertain an hour, 
 One minute, nay, one quiet breath of rest: 
 A sceptre snatch' d with an unruly hand 
 Must be as boisterously maintain'd as gain'd ; 
 And he that stands upon a slippery place 
 Makes nice of no vile hole to stay him up: 
 That John may stand, then Arthur needs must 
 
 fall ; 
 So be it, for it cannot be but so. [fall ? 
 
 Lou. But what shall I gain by young Arthur's 
 
 Pand. You, in the right of Lady Blanch 
 
 your wife, 
 May then make all the ckim that Arthur did. 
 
 Lou. And lose it, life and all, as Arthur did. 
 
 Pand. How green you are, and fresh in this 
 old world ! [you ; 
 
 John lays you plots ; the times conspire with 
 For he that steeps his safety in true blood 
 Shall find but bloody safety and untrue. 
 This act, so evilly borne, shall cool the hearts 
 Of all his people, and freeze up their zeal, 
 That none so small advantage shall step forth 
 To check his reign, but they will cherish it ; 
 No natural exhalation in the sky, 
 No scape of nature, no distemper'd day, 
 No common wind, no customed event, 
 
 But they will pluck away his natural cause 
 And call them meteors, prodigies, and signs, 
 Abortives, presages, and tongues of heaven, 
 Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John. 
 
 Lou. May be he will not touch young Ar- 
 thur's life, 
 But hold himself safe in his prisonment. 
 
 Pand. O, sir, when he shall hear of your ap- 
 proach, 
 
 If that young Arthur be not gone already, 
 Even at that news he dies ; and then the hearts 
 Of all his people shall revolt from him, 
 And kiss the lips of unacquainted change ;. 
 And pick strong matter of revolt and wrath 
 Out of the bloody fingers' ends of John. 
 Methinks I see this hurly all on foot : 
 And, O, what better matter breeds for you 
 Than I have nam'd ! The bastard Falconbridge 
 Is now in England, ransacking the church, 
 Offending charity : if but a dozen French 
 Were there in arms, they would be as a call 
 To train ten thousand English to their side ; 
 Or as a little snow, tumbled about 
 Anon becomes a mountain. O noble Dauphin, 
 Go with me to the king : 'tis wonderful 
 What may be wrought out of their discontent, 
 Now that their souls are topful of offence : 
 For England go : I will whet on the king. 
 
 Lou. Strong reasons make strong actions : let 
 
 us go : 
 If you say ay, the king will not say no. 
 
 {Exeunt. 
 ') V ' 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. NORTHAMPTON. A Room in the 
 Castk. 
 
 Enter HUBERT and two Attendants. 
 
 Htib. Heat me these irons hot ; and look 
 
 thou stand 
 
 Within the arras : when I strike my foot 
 Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth, 
 And bind the boy which you shall find with me 
 Fast to the chair : be heedful : hence, and watch. 
 I Attend. I hope your warrant will bear out 
 
 the deed. 
 
 Hub. Uncleanly scruples ! Fear not you : 
 
 look to 't. {Exeunt Attendants. 
 
 Young lad, come forth ; I have to say with you. 
 
 Enter ARTHUR. 
 
 Arth. Good-morrow, Hubert. 
 Hub. Good-morrow- little prince. 
 
 Arth. As little prince, having so great a title 
 To be more prince, as may be. You are sad. 
 Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 417 
 
 Arth. Mercy on me ! 
 
 Methinks no body should be sad but I : 
 Yet, I remember, when I was in France, 
 Young gentlemen would be as sad as night, 
 Only for wantonness. By my Christendom, 
 So I were out of prison, and kept sheep, 
 I should be as merry as the day is long ; 
 And so I would be here, but that I doubt 
 My uncle practices more harm to me : 
 He is afraid of me, and I of him : 
 Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son? 
 No, indeed, is 't not ; and I would to heaven 
 I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert. 
 
 Hub. [Aside.] If I talk to him, with his in- 
 nocent prate 
 
 He will awake my mercy, which lies dead : 
 Therefore I will be sudden and despatch. 
 
 Arth. Are you sick, Hubert ? you look pale 
 
 to-day : 
 
 In sooth, I would you were a little sick, 
 That I might sit all night and watch with you : 
 1 warrant I love you more than you do me. 
 
 Hub. [Aside.] His words do take possession 
 
 of my bosom. 
 
 Read here, young Arthur. [Showing a paper. 
 [Aside.] How now, foolish rheum ! 
 Turning dispiteous torture out of door ! 
 I must be briei, lest resolution drop 
 Out at mine eyes in tender womanish tears. 
 Can you rot read it? is it not fair writ? 
 
 Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect. 
 Must you with hot irono burn out both mine 
 eyes ? 
 
 Hub. Young boy, I must. 
 
 Arth. And will you? 
 
 I Hub. And I will. 
 
 Arth. H v you the heart? When your head 
 did but ache 
 
 I knit my handkerchief about your brows, 
 The best I had, a princess wrought it me, 
 And I did never ask it y-u again ; 
 And with my hand at midnight held your head ; 
 And, like the watchful minutes to the hour, 
 Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time, 
 Saying, What lack you? and, Where lies your 
 
 grief? 
 
 Or, What good love may .1 perform for you ? 
 Many a poor man's son would have lien still, 
 And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you ; 
 But you at your sick service had a ince. 
 Nay, you may think my love was crafty love, 
 And call it cunning : do, an if you wil : 
 If heaven be pleas'd that you must use me ill, 
 Why, then you must. Will you put out mine 
 
 eyes? 
 
 These eyes that never did nor never shall 
 So much as frown on you? 
 
 I 
 
 Hub. I have sworn to do it ! 
 
 And with hot irons must I burn them out. 
 Arth. Ah, none but in this iron age would 
 
 doit! 
 
 The iron of itself, though heat red hot, 
 Approaching near these eyes, would drink my 
 
 tears, 
 
 And quench his fiery indignation, 
 Even in the matter of mine innocence ; 
 Nay, after that, consume away in rust, 
 But for containing fire to harm mine eye. 
 Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer'd 
 
 iron? 
 
 An if an angel should have come to me 
 And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes, 
 I would not have believ'd him, no tongue but 
 
 Hubert's. 
 Hub. Come forth. [Stamps. 
 
 Re-enter Attendants, with cords, irons, &c. 
 
 Do as I bid you. 
 Arth. O, save me, Hubert, save me ! my eyes 
 
 are out 
 
 Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men. 
 Hub. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him 
 here. [rough? 
 
 Arth. Alas, what need you be so boist'rous- 
 I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still. 
 For heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound! 
 Nay, hear me, Hubert ! drive these men away, 
 And I will sit as quiet as a lamb ; 
 I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word, 
 Nor look upon the iron angerly : 
 Thrust but these men away, and I '11 forgive you, 
 Whatever torment you do put me to. [him. 
 Hub< Go, stand within ; let me alone with 
 I Attend. I am best pleas'd to be from such 
 a deed. [Exeunt Attendants. 
 
 Arth. Alas, I then have chid away my friend! 
 He hath a stern look but a gentle heart : 
 Let him come back, that his compassion may 
 Give life to yours. 
 
 Hub. Come, boy, prepare yourself. 
 
 Arth. Is there no remedy ? 
 Hub. None, but to lose your eyes. 
 
 Arth. O heaven ! that there were but a 
 
 mote in yours, 
 
 A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair, 
 Any annoyance in that precious sense ! 
 Then, feeling what small things are boisterous 
 
 there, 
 
 Your vile intent must needs seem horrible. 
 Hub. Is this your promise? go to, hold your 
 
 tongue. 
 Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of 
 
 tongues 
 
 Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes: 
 
 O 
 
KING JOHN. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Let me not hold my tongue, let me not, 
 
 Hubert ! 
 
 Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue, 
 So I may keep mine eyes : O, spare mine eyes, 
 Though to no use but still to look on you ! 
 Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold, 
 And would not harm me. 
 
 Hub. I can heat it, boy. 
 
 Arlh. No, in good sooth ; the fire is dead with 
 
 grief, 
 
 Being create for comfort, to be us'd 
 In undeserv'd extremes : see else yourself ; 
 There is no malice in this burning coal ; 
 The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out, 
 And strew'd repentant ashes on his head. 
 
 Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy. 
 
 Arth. And if you do, you will but make it 
 blush, [Hubert : 
 
 And glow with shame of your proceedings, 
 Nay, it, perchance, will sparkle in your eyes ; 
 And, like a dog that is compell'd to fight, 
 Snatch at his master that doth tarre him on. 
 All things that you should use to do me wrong, 
 Deny their office : only you do lack 
 That mercy which fierce fire and iron extends, 
 Creatures of note for mercy-lacking uses. 
 
 Hub. Well, see to live ; I will not touch thine 
 
 eyes 
 
 For all the treasure that thine uncle owes : 
 Yet am I sworn, and I did purpose, boy, 
 With this same very iron to burn them out. 
 
 Arth. O, now you look like Hubert ! all this 
 
 while 
 You were disguised. 
 
 Hub. Peace ; no more. Adieu ! 
 
 Your uncle must not know but you are dead ; 
 I '11 fill these dogged spies with false reports : 
 And, pretty child, sleep doubtless and secure, 
 That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world, 
 Will not offend thee. 
 
 Arth. O heaven ! I thank you, Hubert. 
 
 Hub. Silence ; no more : go closely in with me : 
 Much danger do I undergo for thee. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. The same. A Room of State in 
 the Palace. 
 
 Enter KING JOHN, crowned; PEMBROKE, 
 SALISBURY, and other Lords. The KING 
 takes his State. 
 
 K* John. Here once again we sit, once again 
 
 crown'd, 
 
 And look'd upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes. 
 Pern. This once again, but that your highness 
 
 pleas'd, 
 
 Was once superfluous : you were crown'd before, 
 And that high royalty was ne'er pluck'd off; 
 
 The faiths of men ne'er stained with revolt ; 
 Fresh expectation troubled not the land 
 With any long'd-for change or better state. 
 
 Sal. Therefore, to be possess'd with double 
 
 pomp, 
 
 To guard a title that was rich before, 
 To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, 
 To throw a perfume on the violet, 
 To smooth the ice, or add another hue 
 Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light 
 To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, 
 Is wasteful and ridiculous excess. [done, 
 
 Pern. But that your royal pleasure must be 
 This act is as an ancient tale new told ; 
 And in the last repeating troublesome, 
 Being urged at a time unseasonable. 
 
 Sal. In this, the antique and well-noted face 
 Of plain old form is much disfigured j 
 And, like a shifted wind unto a sail, 
 It makes the course of thoughts to fetch about ; 
 Startles and frights consideration ; 
 Makes sound opinion sick, and truth suspected, 
 For putting on so new a fashion'd robe. 
 
 Pem. When workmen strive to do better 
 
 than well, 
 
 They do confound their skill in covetousness ; 
 And oftentimes excusing of a fault 
 Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse, 
 As patches set upon a little breach 
 Discredit more in hiding of the fault 
 Than did the fault before it was so patch'd. 
 
 Sal. To this effect, before you were new- 
 crown'd, [highness 
 
 We breath'd our counsel : but it pleas'd your 
 To overbear it ; and we are all well pleas'd, 
 Since all and every part of what we would 
 Doth make a stand at what your highness will. 
 
 K. John. Some reasons of this double corona- 
 tion [strong ; 
 I have possess'd you with, and think them 
 And more, more strong, when lesser is my fear, 
 I shall indue you with : meantime but ask 
 What you would have reform'd that is not well, 
 And well shall you perceive how willingly 
 I will both hear and grant you your requests. 
 
 Pem. Then I, as one that am the tongue 
 
 of these, 
 
 To sound the purposes of all their hearts, 
 Both for myself and them, but, chief of all, 
 Your safety, for the which myself and them 
 Bend their best studies, heartily request 
 The enfranchisement of Arthur ; whose restraint 
 Doth move the murmuring lips of discontent 
 To break into this dangerous argument, 
 If what in rest you have in right you hold, 
 Why, then, your fears, which, as they say, 
 attend 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 419 
 
 The steps of wrong, should move you to mew 
 
 up 
 
 Vour tender kinsman, and to choke his days 
 With barbarous ignorance, and deny his youth 
 The rich aa vantage of good exercise? 
 That the time's enemies may not have this 
 To grace occasions, let it be our suit 
 That you have bid us ask his liberty ; 
 Which for our goods we do no further ask 
 Than whereupon our weal, on you depending, 
 Counts it your weal he have his liberty. 
 
 K. John. Let ?t be so : I do commit his youth 
 To your direction. 
 
 Enter HUBERT. 
 
 Hubert, what news with you ? [deed ; 
 
 Pern. This is the man should do the bloody 
 He show'd his warrant to a friend of mine : 
 The image of a wicked heinous fault 
 Lives in his eye ; that close aspect of his 
 Doth show the mood of a much-troubled breast ; 
 And I do fearfully believe 'tis done 
 What we so fear'd he had >. charge to do. [go 
 
 Sal. The colour of the king doth come and 
 Between his purpose and his conscience, 
 Like heralds 'twixt two dreadful battles set: 
 His passion is so ripe it needs must break. 
 
 Pern. And when it breaks, I fear will issue 
 
 thence 
 The foul corruption of a sweet child's death. 
 
 1C. John. We cannot hold mortality's strong 
 
 hand : 
 
 Good lords, although my will to give is living, 
 The suit which you demand is gone and dead : 
 He tells us Arthur is deceas'd to-night. 
 
 Sal. Indeed, we fear'd his sickness was past 
 cure. [he was, 
 
 Pern. Indeed, we heard how near his death 
 Before the child himself felt he was sick : 
 This must be answer'd either here or hence. 
 
 K. John. Why do you bend such solemn 
 
 brows on me? 
 
 Think you I bear the shears of destiny? 
 Have I commandment on the pulse of life? 
 
 Sal. It is apparent foul-play ; and 'tis shame 
 That greatness should so grossly offer it : 
 So thrive it in your game ! and so, farewell. 
 
 Pent. Stay yet, Lord Salisbury ; I '11 go with 
 
 thee. 
 
 And find the inheritance of this poor child, 
 His little kingdom of a forced grave. [isle, 
 That blood which ow'd the breadth of all this 
 Three foot of it doth hold: bad world the 
 while ! [out 
 
 This must not be thus borne : this will break 
 To all our sorrows, and ere long, I doubt 
 
 \Exeunt Lords. 
 
 K. John. They bum in indignation. I re- 
 pent: 
 
 There is no sure foundation set on blood; 
 No certain life achiev'd by other's death. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 A fearful eye thou hast : where is that blood 
 That I have seen inhabit in those cheeks? 
 So foul a sky clears not without a storm : 
 Pour down thy weather: how goes all in 
 France? [a power 
 
 Mess. From France to England. Never such 
 For any foreign preparation 
 Was levied in the body of a land. 
 The copy of your speed is learn'd by them ; 
 For when you should be told they do prepare, 
 The tidings come that they are all arriv'd. 
 
 K.John. O, where hath our intelligence 
 
 been drunk? [care, 
 
 Where hath it slept ? Where is my mother's 
 
 That such an army could be drawn in France, 
 
 And she not hear of it? 
 
 Mess. My liege, her ear 
 
 Is stopp'd with dust ; the first of April died 
 Your noble mother: and, as I hear, my lord, 
 The Lady Constance in a frenzy died [tongue 
 Three days before; but this from rumour's 
 I idly heard, if true or false I know not 
 
 K. John. Withhold thy speed, dreadful 
 
 occasion ! 
 
 O, make a league with me, till I have pleas'd 
 My discontented peers ! What ! mother dead ! 
 How wildly, then, walks my estate in France ! 
 Under whose conduct came those powers of 
 
 France 
 That thou for truth giv'st out are landed here? 
 
 Mess. Under the Dauphin. 
 
 K. John. Thou hast made me giddy 
 
 With these ill tidings. 
 
 Enter the BASTARD and PETER of Pomfret. 
 
 Now, what says the world 
 To your proceedings? do not seek to stuff 
 My head with more ill news, for it is fulL 
 
 Bast. But if you be afeared to hear the worst, 
 Then let the worst, unheard, fall on your head. 
 
 K.John. Bear with me, cousin; for I was 
 
 amaz'd 
 
 Under the tide : but now I breathe again 
 Aloft the flood ; and can give audience 
 To any tongue, speak it of what it will. 
 
 Bast. How I have sped among the clergymen, 
 The sums I have collected shall express. 
 But as I travell'd hither through the land, 
 I find the people strangely fantasied ; 
 Possess'd with rumours, full of idle dreams, 
 Not knowing what they fear, but full of fears I 
 
420 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 [ACT IV. 
 
 And here 's a prophet that I brought with me 
 From forth the streets of Pomfret, whom I found 
 With many hundreds treading on his heels ; 
 To whom he sung, in rude harsh -sounding 
 
 rhymes, 
 
 That, ere the next Ascension-day at noon, 
 Your highness should deliver up your crown. 
 K. John. Thou idle dreamer, wherefore 
 didst thou so? [out so. 
 
 Peter. Foreknowing that the truth will fall 
 K. John. Hubert, away with him ; imprison 
 
 him; 
 
 And on that day at noon, whereon he says 
 I shall yield up my crown, let him be hang'd. 
 Deliver him to safety; and return, 
 For I must use thee. 
 
 [Exit HUBERT with PETER. 
 
 O my gentle cousin, 
 
 Hear'st thou the news abroad, who are arriv'd? 
 Bast. The French, my lord ; men's mouths 
 
 are full of it : 
 
 Besides, I met Lord Bigot and Lord Salisbury, 
 With eyes as red as new-enkindled fire, 
 And others more, going to seek the grave 
 Of Arthur, whom they say is kill'd to-night 
 On your suggestion. 
 
 K. John. Gentle kinsman, go 
 
 And thrust thyself into their companies : 
 I have a way to win their loves again: 
 Bring them before me. 
 Bast. I will seek them out. 
 
 K.John. Nay, but make haste; the better 
 
 foot before. 
 
 O, let me have no subject enemies 
 When adverse foreigners affright my towns 
 With dreadful pomp of stout invasion ! 
 Be Mercury, set feathers to thy heels, 
 And fly like thought from them to me again. 
 Bast. The spirit of the time shall teach me 
 
 speed. 
 
 4 K. John. Spoke like a spriteful noble gentle- 
 man. [Exit BASTARD. 
 Go after him ; for he perhaps shall need 
 Some messenger betwixt me and the peers ; 
 And be thou he. 
 
 Mess. With all my heart, my liege. [Exit. 
 K. John. My mother dead ! 
 
 Re-enter HUBERT. 
 
 Hub. My lord, they say five moons were 
 
 seen to-night ; 
 
 Four fixed ; and the fifth did whirl about 
 The other four in wondrous motion. 
 
 K. John. Five moons ! 
 
 Hub. Old men and beldams in the streets 
 Do prophesy upon it dangerously : [mouths : 
 Young Arthur's death is common in their 
 
 And when they talk of him, they shake their 
 
 heads, 
 
 And whisper one another in the ear ; 
 And he that speaks doth gripe the hearer's wrist ; 
 Whilst he that hears makes fearful action, 
 With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling 
 
 eyes. 
 
 I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus, 
 The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool, 
 With open mouth swallowing a tailor's news ; 
 Who, with his shears and measure in his hand, 
 Standing on slippers, which his nimble haste 
 Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet, 
 Told of a many thousand warlike French 
 That were embattailed and rank'd in Kent'. 
 Another lean unwash'd artificer 
 Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur's death? 
 K.John. Why seek'st thou to possess me 
 
 with these fears? 
 
 Why urgest thou so oft young Arthur's death? 
 Thy hand hath murder'd him : I had a mighty 
 
 cause [kill him. 
 
 To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to 
 
 Hub. No hand, my lord ! why, did you not 
 
 provoke me? [tended 
 
 K. John. It is the curse of kings to be at- 
 By slaves that take their humours for a warrant 
 To break within the bloody house of life ; 
 And, on the winking of authority, 
 To understand a law ; to know the meaning 
 Of dangerous majesty, when perchance it frowns 
 More upon humour than advis'd respect. 
 
 Hub. Here is your hand and seal for what I 
 
 did. 
 . K. John. O, when the last account 'twixt 
 
 heaven and earth 
 
 Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal 
 Witness against us to damnation ! 
 How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds 
 Make ill deeds done ! Hadst not thou been by, 
 A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd, 
 Quoted, and sign'd, to do a deed of shame, 
 This murder had not come into my mind : 
 But, taking note of thy abhorr'd aspect, 
 Finding thee fit for bloody villany, 
 Apt, liable to be employ'd in danger, 
 I faintly broke with thee of Arthur's death; 
 And thou, to be endeared to a king, 
 Made it no conscience to destroy a prince. 
 Hub. My lord, 
 K. John. Hadst thou but shook thy head, 
 
 or made a pause, 
 
 When I spake darkly what I purpos'd, 
 Or turn'd an eye of doubt upon my face, 
 As bid me tell my tale in express words, 
 Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me 
 
 break off, 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 421 
 
 And those thy fears might have wrought fears 
 
 in me: 
 
 But thou didst understand me by my signs, 
 And didst in signs again parley with sin ; 
 Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent, 
 And consequently thy rude hand to act 
 The deed, which both our tongues held vile to 
 
 name. 
 
 Out of my sight, and never see me more ! 
 My nobles leave me ; and my state is bravM, 
 Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign powers : 
 Nay, in the body of this fleshly land, 
 This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath, 
 Hostility and civil tumult reigns 
 Between my conscience and my cousin's death. 
 Hub. Arm you against your other enemies, 
 I '11 make a peace between your soul and you. 
 Young Arthur is alive : this hand of mine 
 Is yet a maiden and an innocent hand, 
 Not painted with the crimson spots of blood. 
 Within this bosom never enter'd yet 
 The dreadful motion of a murderous thought ; 
 And you have slander'd nature in my form, 
 Which, howsoever rude exteriorly, 
 Is yet the cover of a fairer mind 
 Than to be butcher of an innocent child. 
 K.John. Doth Arthur live? O, haste thee 
 
 to the peers, 
 
 Throw this report on their incensed rage, 
 And make them tame to their obedience ! 
 Forgive the comment that my passion made 
 Upon thy feature ; for my rage was blind, 
 And foul imaginary eyes of blood 
 Presented thee more hideous than thou art. 
 O, answer not ; but to my closet bring 
 The angry lords with all expedient haste : 
 I conjure thee but slowly ; run more fast. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. The same. Before the Castle. 
 Enter ARTHUR, on the Walls. 
 
 Arth. The wall is high, and yet will I leap 
 
 down : 
 
 Good ground, be pitiful, and hurt me not ! 
 There 's few or none do know me : if they did, 
 This ship-boy's semblance hath disguis'd me 
 
 quite. 
 
 I am afraid ; and yet I '11 venture it 
 If I get down, and do not break my limbs, 
 I '11 find a thousand shifts to get away: 
 As good to die and go, as die and stay. 
 
 [Leaps down. 
 
 O me ! my uncle's spirit is in these stones : 
 Heaven take my soul, and England keep my 
 
 bones I [Dies. 
 
 Enter PEMBROKE, SALISBURY, and BIGOT. 
 
 Sal. Lords, I will meet him at Saint 
 
 Edmund's-Bury : 
 
 It is our safety, and we must embrace 
 This gentle offer of the perilous time. 
 
 Pern. Who brought that letter from the 
 
 cardinal? 
 
 Sal. The Count Melun, a noble lord of France; 
 Whose private with me of the Dauphin's love 
 Is much more general than these lines import. 
 Big. To-morrow morning let us meet him, 
 
 then. 
 
 Sal. Or rather then set forward ; for 'twill be 
 Two long days' journey, lords, or e'er we meet. 
 
 Enter the BASTARD. 
 
 Bast. Once more to-day well met, distem- 
 
 per'd lords ! 
 The king by me requests your presence straight. 
 
 Sal. The king hath disposse^'d himself of us: 
 We will not line his thin bestained cloak 
 With our pure honours, nor attend the foot 
 That leaves the print of blood where'er it walks. 
 Return and tell him so : we know the worst. 
 
 Bast. Whate'er you think, good worcb, I 
 think, were best. [now. 
 
 Sal. Our griefs, and not our manners, reason 
 
 Bast. But there is little reason in your grief; 
 Therefore 'twere reason you had manners now. 
 
 Pern. Sir, sir, impatience hath his privilege. 
 
 Bast^ 'Tis true, to hurt his master, no man 
 else. 
 
 SaL This is the prison : what is he lies here? 
 [Seeing ARTHUR. 
 
 Pern. O death, made proud with pure and 
 
 princely beauty ! 
 The earth had not a hole to hide this deed. 
 
 Sal. Murder, as hating what himself hath 
 
 done, 
 Doth lay it open to urge on revenge. [grave, 
 
 Big. Or, when he doom'd this beauty to a 
 Found it too precious-princely for a grave. 
 
 SaL Sir Richard, what think you? Have 
 
 you beheld, 
 
 Or have you read or heard? or could you think? 
 Or do you almost think, although you see, 
 That you do see? could thought, without this 
 
 object, 
 
 Form such another? This is the very top, 
 The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest 
 Of murder's aims: this is the bloodiest shame. 
 The wildest savagery, the vilest stroke, 
 That ever wall-ey'd wrath or staring rage 
 Presented to the tears of soft remorse. [this : 
 
 Pern. All murders past do stand excus'd in 
 And this, so sole and so unmatchable, 
 
 
422 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Shall give a holiness, a purity, 
 To the yet un begotten sin of times; 
 And prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest, 
 Exampled by this heinous spectacle. 
 
 Bast. It is a damned and a bloody work ; 
 The graceless action of a heavy hand, 
 If that it be the work of any hand. 
 
 Sal. If that it be the work of any hand? 
 We had a kind of light what would ensue : 
 It is the shameful work of Hubert's hand ; 
 The practice and the purpose of the king: 
 From whose obedience I forbid my soul, 
 Kneeling before this ruin of sweet life, 
 And breathing to his breathless excellence 
 The incense of a vow, a holy vow, 
 Never to taste the pleasures of the world, 
 Never to be infected with delight, 
 Nor conversant with ease and idleness, 
 Till I have set a glory to this hand, 
 By giving it the worship of revenge. [words. 
 
 Pern. Big. Our souls religiously confirm thy 
 
 Enter HUBERT. 
 
 Hub. Lords, I am hot with haste in seeking 
 
 you : 
 Arthur doth live ; the king hath sent for you. 
 
 Sal. O, he is bold, and blushes not at death : 
 Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone ! 
 
 Hub. I am no villain. 
 
 Sal. Must I rob the law? 
 
 [Drawing his sword. 
 
 Bast. Your sword is bright, sir; put it up 
 again. 
 
 Sal. Not till I sheathe it in a murderer's skin. 
 
 Httb. Stand back, Lord Salisbury, stand 
 back, I say; [yours: 
 
 By heaven, I think my sword's as sharp as 
 I would not have you, lord, forget yourself, 
 Nor tempt the danger of my true defence ; 
 Lest I, by marking of your rage, forget 
 Your worth, your greatness, and nobility. 
 
 Big. Out, dunghill ! dar'st thou brave a 
 nobleman ? 
 
 Hub. Not for my life : but yet I dare defend 
 My innocent life against an emperor. 
 
 Sal. Thou art a murderer. 
 
 Hub. Do not prove me so ; 
 
 Yet I am none : whose tongue soe'er speaks false, 
 Not truly speaks ; who speaks not truly, lies. 
 
 Pern. Cut him to pieces. 
 
 Bast. Keep the peace, I say. 
 
 Sal. Stand by, or I shall gall you, Falcon- 
 bridge, [bury : 
 
 Bast. Thou wert better gall the devil, Salis- 
 If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot, 
 Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame, 
 I '11 strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime : 
 
 Or I '11 so maul you and your toasting-iron 
 That you shall think the devil is come from hell. 
 
 Big. What wilt thou do, renowned Falcon- 
 bridge? 
 Second a villain and a murderer? 
 
 Hub. Lord Bigot, I am none. 
 
 Big. Who kill'd tfiis prince? 
 
 Hub. 'Tis not an hour since I left him well : 
 I honour'd him, I lov'd him ; and will weep 
 My date of life out for his sweet life's loss. 
 
 SaL Trust not those cunning waters of his 
 
 eyes, 
 
 For villany is not without such rheum ; 
 And he, long traded in it, makes it seem 
 Like rivers of remorse and innocency. 
 Away with me, all you whose souls abhor 
 The uncleanly savours of a slaughter-house ; 
 For I am stifled with this smell of sin. 
 
 Big. Away toward Bury, to the Dauphin 
 there ! [out. 
 
 Pern. There, tell the king, he may inquire us 
 [Exeunt Lords. 
 
 Bast. Here 's a good world ! Knew you of 
 
 this fair work? 
 
 Beyond the infinite and boundless reach 
 Of mercy, if thou didst this deed of death, 
 Art thou damn'd, Hubert. 
 
 Hub. Do but hear me, sir. 
 
 Bast. Ha ! I '11 tell thee what ; [black ; 
 
 Thou'rt damn'd as black nay, nothing is so 
 Thou art more deep damn'd than Prince 
 
 Lucifer : 
 
 There is not yet so ugly a fiend of hell 
 As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this child. 
 
 Htib. Upon my soul, 
 
 Bast. If thou didst but consent 
 
 To this most cruel act, do but despair ; 
 And if thou want'st a cord, the smallest thread 
 That ever spider twisted from her womb 
 Will serve to strangle thee ; a rush will be 
 A beam to hang thee on; or wouldst thou 
 
 drown thyself, 
 
 Put but a little water in a spoon, 
 And it shall be as all the ocean, 
 Enough to stifle such a villain up. 
 I do suspect thee very grievously. 
 
 Hub. If I in act, consent, or sin of thought, 
 Be guilty of the stealing that sweet breath 
 Which was embounded in this beauteous clay, 
 Let hell want pains enough to torture me ! 
 I left him well. 
 
 Bast. Go, bear him in thine arms. 
 
 I am amaz'd, methinks, and lose my way 
 Among the thorns and dangers of this world. 
 How easy dost thou take all England up ! 
 From forth this morsel of dead royalty, 
 The life, the right, and truth of all this realm 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 423 
 
 Is fled to heaven ; and England now is left 
 To tug and scamble, and to part by the teeth 
 The unow'd interest of proud-swelling state. 
 Now for the bare-picVd bone of majesty 
 Doth dogged war bristle his angry crest, 
 And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace : 
 Now powers from home and discontents at home 
 Meet in one line ; and vast confusion waits, 
 As doth a raven on a sick-fallen beast, 
 The imminent decay of wrested pomp. 
 Now happy he whose cloak and cincture can 
 Hold out this tempest. Bear away that child, 
 And follow me with speed : I '11 to the king : 
 A thousand businesses are brief in hand, 
 And heaven itself doth frown upon the land. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. NORTHAMPTON. A Room in the 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter KING JOHN, PANDULPH -with the crown, 
 and Attendants. 
 
 K. John. Thus have I yielded up into your 
 
 hand 
 The circle of my glory. 
 
 Pand. Take again 
 
 [Giving KING JOHN the crown. 
 From this my hand, as holding of the pope, 
 Your sovereign greatness and authority. 
 
 K.John. Now keep your holy word: go 
 
 meet the French ; 
 
 And from his holiness use all your power 
 To stop their marches 'fore we are inflam'd. 
 Our discontented counties do revolt ; 
 Our people quarrel with obedience ; 
 Swearing, allegiance and the love of soul 
 To stranger blood, to foreign royalty. 
 This inundation of mistemper'd humour 
 Rests by you only to be qualified. 
 Then pause not ; for the present time 's so sick 
 That present medicine must be minister'd, 
 Or overthrow incurable ensues. 
 
 Pand. It was my breath that blew this 
 
 tempest up, 
 
 Upon your stubborn usage of the pope : 
 But since you are a gentle convertite, 
 My tongue shall hush again this storm of war, 
 And make fair weather in your blustering land. 
 On this Ascension-day, remember well. 
 Upon your oath of service to the pope, 
 Go I to make the French lay down their arms. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 K. John. Is this Ascension-day? Did not 
 
 the prophet 
 Say that before Ascension-day at noon 
 
 My crown I should give off? Even so I have: 
 I did suppose it should be on constraint ; 
 But, heaven be thank'd, it is but voluntary. 
 
 Enter the BASTARD. 
 
 Bast. All Kent hath yielded; nothing there 
 
 holds out 
 
 But Dover Castle : London hath receiv'd, 
 Like a kind host, the Dauphin and his powers : 
 Your nobles will not hear you, but are gone 
 To offer service to your enemy ; 
 And wild amazement hurries up and down 
 The little number of your doubtful friends. 
 K. John. Would not my lords return to me 
 
 again, 
 
 After they heard young Arthur was alive? 
 Bast. They found him dead, and cast into the 
 
 streets ; 
 
 An empty casket, where the jewel of life 
 By some damn'd hand was robb'd and ta'en 
 
 away. [live. 
 
 K. John. That villain Hubert told me he did 
 Bast. So, on my soul, he did, for aught he 
 
 knew. 
 
 But wherefore do you droop? why look you sad? 
 Be great in act, as you have been in thought ; 
 Let not the world see fear and sad distrust 
 Govern the motion of a kingly eye: 
 Be stirring as the time ; be fire with fire ; 
 Threaten the threatener, and outface the brow 
 Of bragging horror : so shall inferior eyes, 
 That borrow their behaviours from the great, 
 Grow great by your example, and put on 
 The dauntless spirit of resolution. 
 Away, and glister like the god of war 
 When he intendeth to become the field : 
 Show boldness and aspiring confidence. 
 What, shall they seek the lion in his den, 
 And fright him there? and make him tremble 
 
 there? 
 
 O, let it not be said ! Forage, and run 
 To meet displeasure further from the doors, 
 And grapple with him ere he come so nigh. 
 K. John. The legate of the pope hath been 
 
 with me, 
 
 And I have made a happy peace with him ; 
 And he hath promis'd to dismiss the powers 
 Led by the Dauphin. 
 
 Bast. O inglorious league ! 
 
 Shall we, upon the footing of our land, 
 Send fair-play orders, and make compromise, 
 Insinuation, parley, and base truce, 
 To arms invasive? shall a beardless boy, 
 A cocker'd silken wanton, brave our fields, 
 And flesh his spirit in a warlike soil, 
 Mocking the air with colours idly spread, 
 And find no check ? Let us, my liege, to arms: 
 
 
424 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Perchance the cardinal cannot make your peace; 
 Or, if he do, let it at least be said, 
 They saw we had a purpose of defence. 
 
 K.John. Have thou the ordering of this 
 present time. [I know, 
 
 Bast. Away, then, with good courage ! yet, 
 Our party may well meet a prouder foe. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. Near ST. EDMUND'S-BURY. 
 The French Camp. 
 
 Enter, in arms, Louis, SALISBURY, MELUN, 
 PEMBROKE, BIGOT, and Soldiers. 
 
 Lou. My Lord Melun, let this be copied out, 
 And keep it safe for our remembrance : 
 Return the precedent to these lords again ; 
 That, having our fair order written down, 
 Both they and we, perusing o'er these notes, 
 May know wherefore we took the sacrament, 
 And keep our faiths firm and inviolable. 
 
 Sal. Upon our sides it never shall be broken. 
 And, noble Dauphin, albeit we swear 
 A voluntary zeal and unurg'd faith 
 To your proceedings ; yet, believe me, prince, 
 I am not glad that such a sore of time 
 Should seek a plaster by contemn'd revolt, 
 And heal the inveterate canker of one wound 
 By making many. O, it grieves my soul 
 That I must draw this metal from my side 
 To be a widow-maker ! O, aad there 
 Where honourable rescue and defence 
 Cries out upon the name of Salisbury i 
 But such is the infection of the time, 
 That, for the health and physic of our right, 
 We cannot deal but with the very hand 
 Of stern injustice and confused wrong. 
 And is 't not pity, O my grieved friends ! 
 That we, the sons and children of this isle, 
 Were born to see so sad an hour as this ; 
 Wherein we step after a stranger- march 
 Upon her gentle bosom, and fill up 
 Her enemies' ranks I must withdraw and weep 
 Upon the spot of this enforc'd cause 
 To grace the gentry of a land remote, 
 And follow unacquainted colours here? 
 What, here? O nation, that thou couldst re- 
 move! 
 
 That Neptune's arms, who clippeth thee about, 
 Would bear thee from the knowledge of thyself, 
 And grapple thee unto a pagan shore, [bine 
 Where these two Christian armies might com- 
 The blood of malice in a vein of league, 
 And not to spend it so unneighbourly ! 
 
 Lou. A noble temper dost thou show in this; 
 And great affections wrestling in thy bosom 
 Do make an earthquake of nobility. 
 
 0, what a noble combat hast thou fought 
 Between compulsion and a brave respect ! 
 Let me wipe off this honourable dew 
 That silverly doth progress on thy cheeks : 
 My heart hath melted at a lady's tears, 
 Being an ordinary inundation ; 
 
 But this effusion of such manly drops, 
 This shower, blown up by tempest of the soul, 
 Startles mine eyes, and makes me more amaz'd 
 Than had I seen the vanity top of heaven 
 Figur'd quite o'er with burning meteors. 
 Lift up thy brow, renowned Salisbury, 
 And with a great heart heave away this storm : 
 Commend these waters to those baby eyes 
 That never saw the giant world enrag'd, 
 Nor met with fortune other than at feasts, 
 Full warm of blood, of mirth, of gossiping. 
 Come, come ; for thou shalt thrust thy hand as 
 
 deep 
 
 Into the purse of rich prosperity 
 As Louis himself: so, nobles, shall you all, 
 That knit your sinews to the strength of mine. 
 And even there, methinks, an angel spake : 
 Look, where the holy legate comes apace, 
 To give us warrant from the hand of heaven, 
 And on our actions set the name of right 
 With holy breath. 
 
 . Enter PANDULPH, attended. 
 
 Pand. Hail, noble prince of France ! 
 
 The next is this, King John hath reconcil'd 
 Himself to Rome; his spirit is come in, 
 That so stood out against the holy church, 
 The great metropolis and see of Rome : 
 Therefore thy threatening colours now wind up, 
 And tame the savage spirit of wild war, 
 That, like a lion foster'd up at hand, 
 It may lie gently at the foot of peace f 
 And be no further harmful than in show. 
 
 Lou. Your grace shall pardon me, I will not 
 
 back: 
 
 I am too high-born to be propertied, 
 To be a secondary at control, 
 Or useful serving-man and instrument 
 To any sovereign state throughout the world. 
 Your breath first kindled the dead coal of wars 
 Between this chastis'd kingdom and myself, 
 And brought in matter that should feed this fire ; 
 And now 'tis far too huge to be blown out 
 With that same weak wind which enkindled it. 
 You taught me how to know the face of right, 
 Acquainted me with interest to this land, 
 Yea, thrust this enterprise into my heart ; 
 And come ye now to tell me John hath made 
 His peace with Rome? What is that peace to 
 me? 
 
 1, by the honour of my marriage-bed, 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 425 
 
 After 
 And 
 
 r young Arthur, claim this land for mine ; 
 , now it is half-conquer'd, must I back 
 Because that John hath made his peace with 
 Rome? [borne, 
 
 Am I Rome's slave? What penny hath Rome 
 What men provided, what munition sent, 
 To underprop this action? Is't not I 
 That undergo this charge? who else but I, 
 And such as to my claim are liable, 
 Sweat in this business and maintain this war. 
 Have I not heard these islanders shout out, 
 Vive le roi! as I have bank'd their towns? 
 Have I not here the best cards for the game, 
 To win this easy match play'd for a crown ? 
 And shall I now give o'er the yielded set? 
 No, no, on my soul, it never shall be said. 
 
 Pand. You look but on the outside of this 
 work. 
 
 Lou. Outside or inside, I will not return 
 Till my attempt so much be glorified 
 As to my ample hope was promised 
 Before I drew this gallant head of war, 
 And cull'd these fiery spirits from the world, 
 To outlook conquest, and to win renown 
 Even in the jaws of danger and of death. 
 
 [ Trumpet sounds. 
 What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us? 
 
 Enter the BASTARD, attended. 
 
 Bast. According to the fair play of the world, 
 Let me have audience ; I am sent to speak : 
 My holy lord of Milan, from the king 
 I come, to learn how you have dealt for him ; 
 And, as you answer, I do know the scope 
 And warrant limited unto my tongue. 
 
 Pand. The Dauphin is too wilful-opposite, 
 And will not temporize with my entreaties; 
 He flatly says he '11 not lay down his arms. 
 
 Bast. By all the blood that ever fury breath'd, 
 The youth says well. Now hear our English 
 
 king; 
 
 For thus his royalty doth speak in me. 
 He is prepar'd ; and reason too he should : 
 This apish and unmannerly approach, 
 This harness'd masque and unadvised revel, 
 This unhair'd sauciness and boyish troops, 
 The king doth smile at ; and is well prepar'd 
 To whip this dwarfish war, these pigmy arms, 
 From out the circle of his territories. [door, 
 That hand which had the strength, even at your 
 To cudgel you, and make you take the hatch ; 
 To dive, like buckets, in concealed wells; 
 To crouch in litter of your stable planks ; 
 To lie, like pawns, lock'd up in chests and 
 
 trunks ; 
 
 To hug with swine ; to seek sweet safety out 
 In vaults and prisons; and to thrill and shake 
 
 Even at the crying of your nation's crow, 
 Thinking his voice an armed Englishman ; 
 Shall that victorious hand be feebled here, 
 That in your chambers gave you chastisement ? 
 No : know the gallant monarch is in arms ; 
 And li' e an eagle o'er his aery towers, 
 To souse annoyance that comes near his nest. 
 And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts, 
 You bloody Neroes, ripping up the womb 
 Of your dear mother England, blush for shame ; 
 For your own ladies and pale-visag'd maids, 
 Like Amazons, come tripping after drums, 
 Their thimbles into armed gauntlets chang'd, 
 Their needles to lances, and their gentle hearts 
 To fierce and bloody inclination. [in peace ; 
 
 Loti. There end thy brave, and turn thy face 
 We grant thou canst outscold us : fare thee well ; 
 We hold our time too precious to be spent 
 With such a brabbler. 
 
 Pand. Give me leave to speak. 
 
 Bast. No, I will speak. 
 
 Lou. We will attend to neither. 
 
 Strike up the drums ; and let the tongue of war 
 Plead for our interest and our being here. 
 
 Bast. Indeed, your drums, being beaten, will 
 
 cry out ; 
 
 And so shall you, being beaten : do but start 
 An echo with the clamour of thy drum, 
 And even at hand a drum is ready brac'd 
 That shall reverberate all as loud as thine ; 
 Sound but another, and another shall, 
 As loud as thine, rattle the welkin's ear, 
 And mock the deep-mouth'd thunder: for at 
 
 hand, 
 
 Not trusting to this halting legate here, 
 W T hom he hath us'd rather for sport than need, 
 Is warlike John ; and in his forehead sits 
 A bare-ribb'd death, whose office is this day 
 To feast upon whole thousands of the French. 
 
 Lou. Strike up our drums, to find this danger 
 out. 
 
 Bast. And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do not 
 doubt. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. The same. A Field of Battle. 
 Alarums. Enter KING JOHN and HUBERT. 
 
 K.John. How goes the day with us? O, 
 
 tell me, Hubert. 
 
 Hub. Badly, I fear. How fares your majesty? 
 K. John. This fever, that hath troubled me 
 
 so long, 
 Lies heavy on me ; O, my heart is sick ' 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My lord, your valiant kinsman, Falcon- 
 bridge, 
 
426 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Desires your majesty to leave the field, 
 
 And send him word by me which way you go. 
 
 K. John. Tell him, toward Swinstead, to the 
 abbey there. [supply 
 
 Mess. Be of good comfort; for the great 
 That was expected by the Dauphin here 
 Are wreck'd three nights ago on Good win Sands. 
 This news was brought to Richard but even now : 
 The French fight coldly, and retire themselves. 
 
 K. John. Ay me ! this tyrant fever burns me 
 
 up, 
 
 And will not let me welcome this good news. 
 Set on toward Swinstead : to my litter straight ; 
 Weakness possesseth me, and I am faint. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. The same. Another part of the 
 same. 
 
 Enter SALISBURY, PEMBROKE, and others. 
 
 Sal. I did not think the king so stor'd with 
 
 friends. 
 
 Psm. Up once again ; put spirit in the French : 
 If they miscarry we miscarry too. 
 
 Sal. That misbegotten devil, Falconbridge, 
 In spite of spite, alone upholds the day. 
 Pern. They say King John, sore sick, hath 
 left the field. 
 
 Enter MELUN wounded, and led by Soldiers. 
 
 Mel. Lead me to the revolts of England here. 
 
 Sal. When we were happy we had other 
 names. 
 
 Pern. It is the Count Melun. 
 
 Sal. Wounded to death. 
 
 Mel. Fly, noble English, you are bought and 
 
 sold; 
 
 Unthread the rude eye of rebellion, 
 And welcome home again discarded faith. 
 Seek out King John, and fall before his feet ; 
 For if the French be lords of this loud day, 
 He means to recompense the pains you take 
 By cutting off your heads : thus hath he sworn, 
 And I with him, and many more with me, 
 Upon the altar at Saint Edmund's-Bury ; 
 Even on that altar where we swore to you 
 Dear amity and everlasting love. 
 
 Sal. May this be possible? may this be true? 
 
 Mel. Have I not hideous death within my 
 
 view, 
 
 Retaining but a quantity of life, 
 Which bleeds away even as a form ot wax 
 Resolveth from his figure 'gainst the fire? 
 What in the world should make me now deceive, 
 Since I must lose the use of all deceit? 
 Why should I then be false, since it is true 
 That I must die here, and live hence by truth ? 
 
 I say again, if Louis do win the day, 
 
 He is forsworn if e'er those eyes of yours 
 
 Behold another day break in the east : 
 
 But even this night, whose black contagious 
 
 breath 
 
 Already smokes about the burning crest 
 Of the old, feeble, and day- wearied sun, 
 Even this ill night, your breathing shall expire; 
 Paying the fine of rated treachery 
 Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives, 
 If Louis by your assistance win the day. 
 Commend me to one Hubert, with your king ; 
 The love of him, and this respect besides, 
 For that my grandsire was an Englishman, 
 Awakes my conscience to confess all this. 
 In lieu whereof, I pray you, bear me hence 
 From forth the noise and rumour of the field, 
 Where I may think the remnant of my thoughts 
 In peace, and part this body and my soul 
 With contemplation and devout desires, [soul 
 Sal. We do believe thee: and beshrew my 
 But I do love the favour and the form 
 Of this most fair occasion, by the which 
 We will entread the steps of damned flight ; 
 And, like a bated and retired flood, 
 Leaving our rankness and irregular course, 
 Stoop low within those bounds we have o'er- 
 
 look'd, 
 
 And calmly run on in obedience, 
 Even to our ocean, to our great King John. 
 My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence ; 
 For I do see the cruel pangs of death 
 Right in thine eye. Away, my friends! New 
 
 flight, 
 And happy newness, that intends old right. 
 
 \Exeunt> leading off " MELUN. 
 
 SCENE V.The same. The French Camp. 
 Enter Louis and his train. 
 
 Lou. The sun of heaven methought was loth 
 
 to set, 
 
 But stay'd, and made the western welkin blush, 
 When the English measur'd backward their own 
 
 ground 
 
 In faint retire. O, bravely came we off, 
 When with a volley of our needless shot, 
 After such bloody toil, we bid good-night; 
 And wound our tattering colours clearly up, 
 Last in the field, and almost lords of it ! 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Where is my prince, the Dauphin? 
 Lou. Here: what news? 
 
 Mess. The Count Melun is slain ; the English 
 
 lords, 
 By his persuasion are again fallen off j 
 
SCENE VI.] 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 427 
 
 And your supply, which you havewish'd so long, 
 Are cast away and sunk on Goodwin Sands. 
 Lou. Ah, foul shrewd news! beshrew thy 
 
 very heart ! 
 
 I did not think to be so sad to-night 
 As this hath made me. Who was he that said 
 King John did fly an hour or two before 
 The stumbling night did part our weary powers? 
 Mess. Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord. 
 Lou. Well ; keep good quarter and good care 
 
 to-night ; 
 
 The day shall not be up so soon as I, 
 To try the fair adventure of to-morrow. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI. An open Place in the neighbour- 
 hood of Sivinstead Abbey. 
 
 Enter the BASTARD and HUBERT, meeting. 
 
 Hub. Who 's there? speak, ho! speak quickly, 
 or I shoot. 
 
 Bast. A friend. What art thou? 
 
 Hub. Of the part of England. 
 
 Bast. Whither dost thou go? 
 
 Hub. What 's that to thee? Why may I not 
 
 demand 
 Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine? 
 
 Bast. Hubert, I think. 
 
 Hub. Thou hast a perfect thought : 
 
 I will, upon all hazards, well believe [well. 
 Thou art my friend, that know'st my tongue so 
 Who art thou? 
 
 Bast. Who thou wilt : an if thou please, 
 Thou mayst befriend me so much as to think 
 I come one way of the Plantagenets. 
 
 Hub. Unkind remembrance ! thou and eye- 
 less night [me, 
 Have done me shame : brave soldier, pardon 
 That any accent breaking from thy tongue 
 Should 'scrpe the true acquaintance of mine ear. 
 
 Bast. Come, come; sans compliment, what 
 news abroad? [night, 
 
 Hub. Why, here walk I, in the black brow of 
 To find you out. 
 
 Bast. Brief, then; and what's the news? 
 
 Hub. O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night, 
 Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible. 
 
 Bast. Show me the very wound of this ill news; 
 I am no woman, I '11 not swoon at it. 
 
 Httb. The king, I fear, is poison'd by a monk : 
 I left him almost speechless and broke out 
 To acquaint you with this evil, that you might 
 The better arm you to the sudden time, 
 Than if you had at leisure known of this. 
 
 Bast. How did he take it ; who did taste to 
 him? 
 
 Hub. A monk, I tell you ; a resolved villain, 
 
 Whose bowels suddenly burst out : the king 
 Yet speaks, and peradventure may recover. 
 
 Bast. Who didst thou leave to tend his 
 majesty? [come back, 
 
 Hub. Why, know you not? the lords are all 
 And brought Prince Henry in their company ; 
 At whose request the king hath pardon'd them, 
 And they are all about his majesty. [heaven, 
 
 Bast. Withhold thine indignation, mighty 
 And tempt us not to bear above our power ! 
 I '11 tell thee, Hubert, half my power this night, 
 Passing these flats, are taken by the tide, 
 These Lincoln washes have devoured them : 
 Myself, well-mounted, hardly have escap'd. 
 Away, before ! conduct me to the king ; 
 I doubt he will be dead or ere I come. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VII. The Orchardof Sivinstead Abbey. 
 
 Enter PRINCE HENRY, SALISBURY, and 
 BIGOT. 
 
 P. Hen. It is too late : the life of all his blood 
 Is touch'd corruptibly; and his pure brain, 
 Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling- 
 house, 
 
 Doth, by the idle comments that it makes, 
 Foretell the ending of mortality. 
 
 Enter PEMBROKE. 
 
 Pern. His highness yet doth speak; and 
 
 holds belief 
 
 That, being brought into the open air, 
 It would allay the burning quality 
 Of that fell poison which assaileth him. 
 
 P. Hen. Let him be brought into the orchard 
 
 here. 
 Doth he still rage? [Exit BIGOT. 
 
 Pern. He is more patient 
 
 Than when you left him ; even now he sung. 
 
 P. Hen. O vanity of sickness ! fierce extremes 
 In their continuance will not feel themselves. 
 Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts, 
 Leaves them invisible ; and his siege is now 
 Against the mind, the which he pricks and 
 
 wounds 
 
 With many legions of strange fantasies, 
 Which, in their throng and press to that last 
 hold, [should sing. 
 
 Confound themselves. 'Tis strange that death 
 I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan, 
 Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death ; 
 And from the organ-pipe of frailty sings 
 His soul and body to their lasting rest, [born 
 
 Sal. Be of good comfort, prince ; for you are 
 To set a form upon that indigest 
 Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude. 
 
 
428 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Re-enter BIGOT and Attendants, who bring in 
 KING JOHN in a chair. 
 
 K. John. Ay, marry, now my soul hath 
 
 elbow-room ; 
 
 It would not out at windows nor at doors. 
 There is so hot a summer in my bosom 
 That all my bowels crumble up to dust ; 
 I am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen 
 Upon a parchment ; and against this fire 
 Do I shrink up. 
 
 P. Hen. How fares your majesty? 
 K.John. Poison'd, ill fare ; dead, forsook, 
 
 cast off: 
 
 And none of you will bid the winter come, 
 To thrust his icy fingers in my maw ; 
 Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course 
 Through my burn'd bosom ; nor entreat the north 
 To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips, 
 And comfort me with cold : I do not ask you 
 
 much; 
 
 I beg cold comfort ; and you are so strait, 
 And so ingrateful, you deny me that. 
 
 P. Hen. O, that there were some virtue in my 
 
 tears, 
 That might relieve you ! 
 
 K.John. The salt in them is hot. 
 
 Within me is a hell ; and there the poison 
 Is, as a fiend, confin'd to tyrannize 
 On unreprievable condemned blood. 
 
 Enter the BASTARD. 
 
 Bast. O, I am scalded with my violent motion, 
 And spleen of speed to see your majesty ! 
 K. John. O cousin, thou art come to set mine 
 
 eye: 
 
 The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burn'd ; 
 And all the shrouds, wherewith my life should 
 
 sail, 
 
 Are turned to one thread, one little hair : 
 My heart hath one poor string to stay it by, 
 Which holds but till thy news be uttered ; 
 And then all this thou seest is but a clod, 
 And model of confounded royalty. 
 
 Bast. The Dauphin is preparing hitherward, 
 Where heaven he knows how we shall answer 
 
 him; 
 
 For in a night the best part of my power, 
 As I upon advantage did remove, 
 Were in the washes all unwarily 
 Devoured by the unexpected flood. 
 
 \The KING dies. 
 
 Sal. You breathe these dead news in as dead 
 
 an ear. [thus. 
 
 My liege ! my lord ! But now a king, now 
 
 P. Hen. Even so must I run on, and even so 
 
 stop, 
 
 What surety of the world, what hope, what stay, 
 When this was now a king, and now is clay ! 
 
 Bast. Art thou gone so? I do but stay behind 
 To do the office for thee of revenge, 
 And then my soul shall wait on thee to heaven, 
 As it on earth hath been thy servant still. 
 Now, now, you stars that move in your right 
 spheres, [faiths ; 
 
 Where be your powers ? Show now your mended 
 And instantly return with me again, 
 To push destruction and perpetual shame 
 Out of the weak door of our fainting land. 
 Straight let us seek, or straight we shall besought; 
 The Dauphin rages at our very heels. 
 
 Sal. It seems you know not, then, so much 
 
 as we: 
 
 The Cardinal Pandulph is within at rest, 
 Who half an hour since came from the Dauphin, 
 And brings from him such offers of our peace 
 As we with honour and respect may take, 
 With purpose presently to leave this war. 
 
 Bast. He will the rather do it when he sees 
 Ourselves well sinewed to our defence. 
 
 Sal. Nay, it is in a manner done already ; 
 For many carriages he hath despatch 'd 
 To the sea-side, and put his cause and quarrel 
 To the disposing of the cardinal : 
 With whom yourself, myself, and other lords, 
 If you think meet, this afternoon will post 
 To consummate this business happily. 
 
 Bast. Let it be so: And you, my noble prince, 
 With other princes that may best be spar'd, 
 Shall wait upon your father's funeral. 
 
 P. Hen, At Worcester must his body be in- 
 
 tsrr'd ; 
 For so he will'd it. 
 
 Bast. Thither shall it, then : 
 
 And happily may your sweet self put on 
 The lineal state and glory of the land ! 
 To whom, with all submission, on my knee, 
 I do bequeath my faithful services 
 And true subjection everlastingly. 
 
 Sal. And the like tender of our love we make, 
 To rest without a spot for evermore. 
 
 P. Hen. I have a kind soul that would give 
 
 you thanks, 
 And knows not how to do it but with tears. 
 
 Bast. O, let us pay the time but needful woe, 
 Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs. 
 This England never did, nor never shall, 
 Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror, 
 But when it first did help to wound itself. 
 Now these her princes are come home again, 
 Come the three corners of the world in arms, 
 And we shall shock them : nought shall make 
 
 us rue, 
 If England to itself do rest but true. [Exeunt. 
 
THE LIFE AND DEATH OF 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 KING RICHARD THE SECOND. 
 
 EDMUND OF LANGLEY, Duke of\ 
 
 York. [Uncles to 
 
 JOHN OF GAUNT, Duke of Lan- 1 the King, 
 caster^ } 
 
 HENRY, surnamed BOLINGBROKE, Duke of 
 Hereford, Son to JOHN OF GAUNT, after- 
 wards KING HENRY IV. 
 
 DUKE OF AUMERLE, Son to the Duke of York. 
 
 THOMAS MOWBRAY, Duke of Norfolk. 
 
 DUKE OF SURREY. 
 
 EARL OF SALISBURY. 
 
 EARL BERKLEY. 
 
 BUSHY, ) 
 
 BAGOT, > Creatures to KING RICHARD. 
 
 GREEN, ) 
 
 EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 
 
 HENRY PERCY, his Son. 
 
 LORD Ross. 
 
 LORD WILLOUGHBY. 
 
 LORD FITZWATER. 
 
 BISHOP OF CARLISLE. 
 
 ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER. 
 
 Lord Marshal. 
 
 SIR PIERCE OF EXTON. 
 
 SIR STEPHEN SCROOP. 
 
 Captain of a Band of Welshmen. 
 
 QUEEN to KING RICHARD. 
 DUCHESS OF GLOSTER. 
 DUCHESS OF YORK. 
 Lady attending on the QUEEN. 
 
 Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, Two Gar* 
 deners, Keeper, Messenger, Groom, and 
 other Attendants. 
 
 SCENE, Dispersediy in ENGLAND and WALES. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. LONDON. A Room in the 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter KING RICHARD, attended; JOHN OF 
 GAUNT, and other Nobles. 
 
 K. Rich. Old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd 
 
 Lancaster, 
 
 Hast thou, according to thy oath and band, 
 Brought hither Henry Hereford, thy bold son, 
 Here to make good the boisterous late appeal, 
 Which then our leisure would not let us hear, 
 Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mow- 
 bray? 
 
 Gaunt. I have, my liege. [sounded him, 
 K. Rich. Tell me, moreover, hast thou 
 If he appeal the duke on ancient malice ; 
 Or worthily, as a good subject should, 
 On some known ground of treachery in him? 
 Gaunt. As near as I could sift him on that 
 
 argument, 
 
 On some apparent danger seen in him, 
 Aim'd at your highness, no inveterate malice. 
 K. Rich. Then call them to our presence: 
 face to face. 
 
 And frowning brow to brow, ourselves wiT 
 
 hear 
 The accuser and the accused freely speak : 
 
 [ Exeunt some Attendants. 
 High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire, 
 In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire. 
 
 Re-enter Attendants, with BOLINGBROKE and 
 NORFOLK. 
 
 Baling. Many years of happy days befall 
 My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege! 
 
 Nor. Each day still better other's happiness; 
 Until the heavent, envying earth's good hap, 
 Add an immortal title to your crown 1 
 
 K. Rich. We thank you both : yet one but 
 
 flatters us, 
 
 As well appeareth by the cause you come ; 
 Namely, to appeal each other of high treason. 
 Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object 
 Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mow- 
 bray? [speech ! - 
 
 Baling. First, heaven be the record to my 
 In the devotion of a subject's love, 
 Tendering the precious safety of my prince, 
 And free from other misbegotten hate, 
 Come I appellant to this princely presence. 
 
430 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 [ACT I. 
 
 Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee ; 
 And mark my greeting well ; for what I speak, 
 My body shall make good upon this earth. 
 Or my divine soul answer it in heaven. 
 Thou art a traitor and a miscreant ; 
 Too good to be so, and too bad to live ; 
 Since the more fair and crystal is the sky, 
 The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly. 
 Once more, the more to aggravate the note, 
 With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat ; 
 And wish, so please my sovereign, ere I 
 move, [may prove. 
 
 What my tongue speaks, my right-drawn sword 
 
 Nor. Let not my cold words here accuse my 
 
 zeal: 
 
 'Tis not the trial of a woman's war, 
 The bitter clamour of two eager tongues, 
 Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain : 
 The blood is hot that must be cool'd for this : 
 Yet can I not of such tame patience boast 
 As to be hush'd, and naught at all to say: [me 
 First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs 
 From giving reins and spurs to my free speech ; 
 Which else would post until it had return'd 
 These terms of treason doubled down his throat. 
 Setting aside his high blood's royalty, 
 And let him be no kinsman to my liege 
 I do defy him, and I spit at him ; 
 Call him a slanderous coward and a villain : 
 Which to maintain, I would allow him odds ; 
 And meet him, were I tied to run a-foot 
 Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps, 
 Or any other ground inhabitable, 
 Wherever Englishman durst set his foot. 
 Meantime let this defend my loyalty, 
 By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie. 
 
 Baling. Pale trembling coward, there I throw 
 
 my gage, 
 
 Disclaiming here the kindred of the king ; 
 And lay aside my high blood's royalty, [cept. 
 Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to ex- 
 If guilty dread hath left thee so much strength 
 As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop: 
 By that and all the rites of knighthood else, 
 Will I make good against thee, arm to arm, 
 What I have spoke, or thou canst worst devise. 
 
 Nor. I take it up; and by that sword I 
 swear, [shoulder, 
 
 Which gently laid my knighthood on my 
 I '11 answer thee in any fair degree, 
 Or chivalrous design of knightly trial : 
 And when I mount, alive m y I not light, 
 If I be traitor or unjustly fight ! 
 
 K. Rich. What doth our cousin lay to 
 
 Mowbray's charge? 
 It must be great, that can inherit us 
 So much as of a thought of ill in him. 
 
 Boling. Look, what I speak my life shall 
 prove it true ; [nobles, 
 
 That Mowbray hath receiv'd eight thousand 
 In name of lendings for your highness' soldiers, 
 The which he hath detain'd for lewd employ- 
 ments, 
 
 Like a false traitor and injurious villain. 
 Besides, I say, and will in battle prove, 
 Or here, or elsewhere to the farthest verge 
 That ever was survey'd by English eye, 
 That all the treasons for these eighteen years 
 Complotted and contrived in this land 
 Fetch'd from false Mowbray their first head 
 
 and spring. 
 
 Further, I say, and further will maintain 
 Upon his bad life to make all this good, 
 That he did plot the Duke of Gloster's death ; 
 Suggest his soon-believing adversaries, 
 And consequently, like a traitor coward, 
 Sluic'd out his innocent soul through streams 
 
 of blood : 
 
 Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries, 
 Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth, 
 To me for justice and rough chastisement ; 
 And, by the glorious worth of my descent, 
 This arm shall do it, or this life be spent ! 
 K. Rich. How high a pitch his resolution 
 
 soars ! 
 Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this? 
 
 Nor. O, let my sovereign turn away his face, 
 And bid his ears a little while be deaf, 
 Till I have told this slander of his blood, 
 How God and good men hate so foul a liar. 
 K. Rich. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes 
 
 and ears : 
 
 Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir, 
 As he is but my father's brother's son, 
 Now, by my sceptre's awe, I make a vow, 
 Such neighbour-nearness to our sacred blood 
 Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize 
 The unstooping firmness of my upright soul : 
 He is our subject, Mowbray, so art thou ; 
 Free speech and fearless I to thee allow. 
 
 Nor. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy 
 heart, [liest ! 
 
 Through the false passage of thy throat, thou 
 Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais 
 Disburs'd I duly to his highness' soldiers ; 
 The other part reserv'd I by consent, 
 For that my sovereign liege was in my debt 
 Upon remainder of a dear account, 
 Since last I went to France to fetch his queen : 
 Now swallow down that lie! For Gloster's 
 
 death, 
 
 I slew him not ; but, to mine own disgrace, 
 Neglected my sworn duty in that case. 
 For you, my noble Lord of Lancaster, 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 431 
 
 The honourable father to my foe, 
 
 Once did I lay an ambush for your life, 
 
 A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul : 
 
 But, ere I last receiv'd the sacrament, 
 
 I did confess it ; and exactly begg'd 
 
 Your grace's pardon, and I hope I had it. 
 
 This is my fault : as for the rest appeal'd, 
 
 It issues from the rancour of a villain, 
 
 A recreant and most degenerate traitor : 
 
 Which in myself I boldly will defend ; 
 
 And interchangeably hurl down my gage 
 
 Upon this overweening traitor's foot, 
 
 To prove myself a loyal gentleman 
 
 Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom. 
 
 In haste whereof, most heartily I pray 
 
 Your highness to assign our trial day. 
 
 K. Rich. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be ml'd 
 
 by me; 
 
 Let 's purge this choler without letting blood : 
 This we prescribe, though no physician; 
 Deep malice makes too deep incision : 
 Forget, forgive ; conclude, and be agreed ; 
 Our doctors say this is no time to bleed. 
 Good uncle, let this end where it begun ; 
 We '11 calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your son. 
 
 Gaunt. To be a make-peace shall become 
 
 my age : [gage. 
 
 Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolk's 
 
 K. Rich. And, Norfolk, throw down his. 
 
 Gaunt. When, Harry? when? 
 
 Obedience bids I should not bid again. 
 
 K. Rich. Norfolk, throw down; we bid; 
 there is no boot. 
 
 Nor. Myself I throw, dread sovereign at thy 
 
 foot: 
 
 My life thou shalt command, but not my shame : 
 The one -tiy duty owes ; but my fair name, 
 Despite of death, that lives upon my grave, 
 To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have. 
 I am disgrac'd, impeach'd, and baffled here; 
 Pierc'd to the soul with slander's venom'd spear, 
 The which no balm can cure but his heart-blood 
 Which breath'd this poison. 
 
 K. Rich. Rage must be withstood : 
 
 Give me his gage : lions make leopards tame. 
 
 Nor. Yea, but not change his spots: take 
 
 but my shame, 
 
 And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord, 
 The purest treasure mortal times afford 
 Is spotless reputation ; that away, 
 Men are but gilded loam or painted clay. 
 A jewel in a ten-times-barr'd-up chest 
 Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast. 
 Mine honour is my life ; both grow in one ; 
 Take honour from me, and my life is done : 
 Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try ; 
 In that I live, and for that will I die. 
 
 K. Rich. Cousin, throw down your gage ; do 
 you begin. [foul sin ! 
 
 Doling. O, God defend my soul from such 
 Shall I seem crest-fallen in my father's sight? 
 Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height 
 Before this outdar'd dastard? Ere my tongue 
 Shall wound mine honour with such feeble wrong, 
 Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear 
 The slavish motive of recanting fear ; 
 And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace, 
 Where shame doth harbour, even in Mow- 
 bray's face ! [Exit GAUNT. 
 
 K. Rich. We were not born to sue, but to 
 
 command ; 
 
 Which since we cannot do to make you friends, 
 Be ready, as your lives shall answer it, 
 At Coventry, upon Saint Lambert's day: 
 There shall your swords and lances arbitrate 
 The swelling difference of your settled hate: 
 Since we can not atone you, we shall see 
 Justice design the victor's chivalry. 
 Lord marshal, command our officers-at-arms 
 Be ready to direct these home-alarms. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. The same. A Room in the DUKE 
 OF LANCASTER'S Palace. 
 
 Enter GAUNT and DUCHESS OF GLOSTER. 
 
 Gaunt. Alas, the part I had in Gloster's blood 
 Doth more solicit me than your exclaims, 
 To stir against the butchers of his life. 
 But since correction lieth in those hands 
 Which made the fault that we cannot correct, 
 Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven ; 
 Who, when they see the hours ripe on earth, 
 Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads. 
 Duch. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper 
 
 spur? 
 
 Hath love in thy old blood no living fire? 
 Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one, 
 Were as seven vials of his sacred blood, 
 Or seven fair branches springing from one root: 
 Some of those seven are dried by nature's course, 
 Some of those branches by the Destinies cut ; 
 But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Glos- 
 
 ter, 
 
 One vial full of Edward's sacred blood, 
 One flourishing branch of his most royal root, 
 Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt ; 
 Is hack'd down, and his summer-leaves all faded, 
 By envy's hand and murder's bloody axe. 
 Ah, Gaunt, his blood was thine ! that bed, that 
 
 womb, 
 
 That mettle, that self-mould, thatfashion'd thee, 
 Made him a man ; and though thou liv'st and 
 
 breath'st, 
 
432 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 Yet art thou slain in him : thou dost consent 
 In some large measure to thy father's death, 
 In that thou seest thy wretched brother die, 
 Who was the model of thy father's life. 
 Call it not patience, Gaunt, it is despair : 
 In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd, 
 Thou show'st the naked pathway to thy life, 
 Teaching stem murder how to butcher thee : 
 That which in mean men we entitle patience, 
 Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts. 
 What shall I say? to safeguard thine own life, 
 The best way is to venge my Gloster's death. 
 Gaunt. God's is the quarrel ; for God's sub- 
 stitute. 
 
 His deputy anointed in his sight, 
 Hath caus'd his death: the which, if wrongfully, 
 Let heaven revenge ; for I may never lift 
 An angry arm against his minister. 
 
 Duck. Where, then, alas, may I complain my- 
 self? 
 
 Gaunt. To God, the widow's champion and 
 defence. [Gaunt. 
 
 Duch. Why, then, I will. Farewell, old 
 Thou go'st to Coventry, there to behold 
 Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight : 
 O, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's 
 
 spear, 
 
 That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast ! 
 Or, if misfortune miss the first career, 
 Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom 
 That they may break his foaming courser's back, 
 And throw the rider headlong in the lists, 
 A caitiff recreant to my cousin. Hereford! 
 Farewell, old Gaunt ; thy sometimes brother's 
 
 wife, 
 With her companion grief must end her life. 
 
 Gaunt. Sister, farewell : I must to Coventry : 
 As much good stay with thee as go with me ! 
 Duch. Yet one word more: grief boundeth 
 
 where it falls, 
 
 Not with the empty hollowness, but weight : 
 I take my leave before I have begun ; 
 For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done. 
 Commend me to my brother, Edmund York. 
 Lo, this is all : nay, yet depart not so ; 
 Though this be all, do not so quickly go; 
 I shall remember more. Bid him O, what? 
 With all good speed at Flashy visit me. 
 Alack, and what shall good old York there see, 
 But empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls, 
 Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones? 
 And what hear there for welcome but my groans? 
 Therefore commend me ; let him not come there 
 To seek out sorrow that dwells everywhere. 
 Desolate, desolate, will I hence and die : 
 The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. Gosjord Green, near Coventry. 
 
 Lists set out, and a throne. Heralds, 6-Y., 
 attending. Enter the Lord Marshal, and 
 AUMERLE. 
 
 Mar. My Lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford 
 
 arm'd? [in. 
 
 Aum. Yea, at all points ; and longs to enter 
 
 Mar. The Duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and 
 
 bold, [pet. 
 
 Stays but the summons of the appellant's trum- 
 
 Aum. Why, then, the champions are pre- 
 
 par'd, and stay 
 For nothing but his majesty's approach. 
 
 Flourish of trumpets. Enter KING RICHARD, 
 who takes his seat on his throne ; GAUNT and 
 several Noblemen, who take their places. A 
 trumpet is sounded, and answered by another 
 trumpet within. Then enter NORFOLK in 
 armour, preceded by a Herald. 
 
 K. Rich. Marshal, demand of yonder cham- 
 pion 
 
 The cause of his arrival here in arms : 
 Ask him his name ; and orderly proceed 
 To swear him in the justice of his cause. 
 
 Mar. In God's name and the king's, say who 
 
 thou art, 
 
 And why thou com'st thus knightly clad in arms; 
 Against what man thou com'st, and what thy 
 
 quarrel : 
 
 Speak truly, on thy knighthood and thine oath ; 
 And so defend thee heaven and thy valour ! 
 Nor. My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of 
 
 Norfolk; 
 
 Who hither come engaged by my oath, 
 Which God defend a knight should violate ! 
 Both to defend my loyalty and truth 
 To God, my king, and his succeeding issue, 
 Against the Duke of Hereford that appeals me j 
 And, by the grace of God and this mine arm, 
 To prove him in defending of myself, 
 A traitor to my God, my king, and me : 
 And as I truly fight, defend me heaven ! 
 
 Trumpet sounds. Enter BOLINGBROKE in 
 armour, preceded by a Herald. 
 
 K. Rich. Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms, 
 Both who he is, and why he cometh hither 
 Thus plated in habiliments of war ; 
 And formally, according to our law, 
 Depose him in the justice of his cause. 
 
 Mar. What is thy name? and wherefore 
 
 com'st thou hither, 
 Before King Richard in his royal lists? 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 KING RICHARD II 
 
 433 
 
 Against whom comest thou? and what's thy 
 
 quarrel? 
 
 Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven ! 
 Baling. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and 
 
 Derby, 
 
 Am I ; who ready here do stand in arms, 
 To prove, by God's grace and my body's valour, 
 In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, 
 That he 's a traitor, foul and dangerous, 
 To God of Heaven, King Richard, and to me : 
 And as I truly fight, defend me heaven ! 
 
 Mar. On pain of death, no person be so bold 
 Or daring-hardy as to touch the lists, 
 Except the marshal and such officers 
 Appointed to direct these fair designs. 
 
 Boling. Lord marshal, let me kiss my sove- 
 reign's hand, 
 
 And bow my knee before his majesty : 
 For Mowbray and myself are like two men 
 That vow a long and weaiy pilgrimage ; 
 Then let us take a ceremonious leave 
 And loving farewell of our several friends. 
 Mar. The appellant in all duty greets your 
 
 highness, 
 
 And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave. 
 K. Rich. We will descend and fold him in 
 
 our arms. 
 
 Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right, 
 So be thy fortune in this royal fight ! 
 Farewell, my blood ; which if to-day thou shed, 
 Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead. 
 Boling. O, let no noble eye profane a tear 
 For me, if I be gor'd with Mowbray's spear : 
 As confident as is the falcon's flight 
 Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight. 
 My loving lord, I take my leave of you ; 
 Of you, my noble cousin, Lord Aumerle ; 
 Not sick, although I have to do with death, 
 But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath. 
 Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet 
 The daintiest last, to make the end more sweet: 
 O thou, the earthly author of my blood, 
 
 [To GAUNT. 
 
 Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate, 
 Doth with a twofold vigour lift me up 
 To reach at victory above my head, 
 Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers ; 
 And with thy blessings steel my lance's point, 
 That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat, 
 And furbish new the name of John o' Gaunt, 
 Even in the lusty 'haviour of his son. [perous ! 
 Gaunt. God in thy good cause make thee pros- 
 Be swift like lightning in the execution ; 
 And let thy blows, doubly redoubled, 
 Fall like amazing thunder on the casque 
 Of thy adverse pernicious enemy : 
 Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant and live. 
 
 Boling. Mine innocency and Saint George to 
 thrive ! 
 
 Nor. However God or fortune cast my lot, 
 There lives or dies, true to King Richard's throne, 
 A loyal, just, and upright gentleman: 
 Never did captive with a freer heart 
 Cast off his chains of bondage, and embrace 
 His golden uncontroll'd enfranchisement, 
 More than my dancing soul doth celebrate 
 This feast of battle with mine adversary. 
 Most mighty liege, and my companion peers, 
 Take from my mouth the wish of happy years : 
 As gentle and as jocund as to jest 
 Go I to fight : truth hath a quiet breast. 
 
 K. Rich. Farewell, my lord : securely I espy 
 Virtue with valour couched in thine eye. 
 Order the trial, marshal, and begin. [Derby, 
 
 Mar. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and 
 Receive thy lance ; and God defend the right ! 
 
 Boling. Strong as a tower in hope, I cry amen. 
 
 Mar. Go bear this lance \to an Officer] to 
 Thomas, Duke of Norfolk. [Derby, 
 
 1 Her. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and 
 Stands here for God, his sovereign, and himself, 
 On pain to be found false and recreant, 
 
 To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mow- 
 
 bray, 
 
 A traitor to his God, his king, and him ; 
 And dares him to set forward to the fight. 
 
 2 Her. Here standeth Thomas Mowbrav, 
 
 Duke of Norfolk, 
 
 On paiu to be found false and recreant, 
 Both to defend himself, and to approve 
 Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, 
 To God, his sovereign, and to him disloyal ; 
 Courageously, and with a free desire, 
 Attending but the signal to begin. 
 
 Mar. Sound, trumpets; and set forward, 
 
 combatants. [A charge sounded. 
 
 Stay, the king hath thrown his warder down. 
 K. Rich. Let them lay by their helmets and 
 
 their spears, 
 
 And both return back to their chairs again : 
 Withdraw with us : and let the trumpets sound 
 While we return these dukes what we decree. 
 [A long flourish. 
 
 Draw near, [ To the combatants. 
 
 And list what with our council we have done. 
 For that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'd 
 With that dear blood which it hath fostered ; 
 And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect 
 Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbours 
 
 swords ; 
 
 And for we think the eagle-winged pride 
 Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts, 
 With rival-hating envy, set on you 
 To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle 
 
434 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 [ACT I. 
 
 Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep; 
 Which so rous'd up with boisterous untun'd 
 
 drums, 
 
 With harsh-resounding trumpets' dreadful bray, 
 And grating shock of wrathful iron arms, 
 Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace, 
 And make us wade even in our kindred's blood; 
 Therefore, we banish you our territories : 
 You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life, 
 Till twice five summers have enrich 1 d our fields 
 Shall not regreet our fair dominions, 
 But tread the stranger paths of banishment. 
 Beting. Your will be done: this must my 
 
 comfort be, [me ; 
 
 That sun that warms you here shall shine on 
 And those his golden beams to you here lent 
 Shall point on me and gild my banishment. 
 K. Rich. Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier 
 
 doom, 
 
 Which I with some unwillingness pronounce : 
 The sly-slow hours shall not determinate 
 The dateless limit of thy dear exile ; 
 The hopeless word of never to return 
 Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life. 
 Nor. A heavy sentence, my most gracious 
 
 liege, [mouth : 
 
 And all unlook'd-for from your highness' 
 A dearer merit, not so deep a maim 
 As to be cast forth in the common air, 
 Have I deserved at your highness' hands. 
 The language I have learn'd these forty years, 
 My native English, now I must forego : 
 And now my tongue's use is to me no more 
 Than an unstring'd viol or a harp ; 
 Or like a cunning instrument cas'd up, 
 Or, being open, put into his hands 
 That knows no touch to tune the harmony : 
 Within my mouth you have engaol'd my tongue, 
 Doubly portcullis'd with my teeth and lips ; 
 And dull, unfeeling, barren ignorance 
 Is made my gaoler to attend on me. 
 I am too old to fawn upon a nurse, 
 Too far in years to be a pupil now : 
 What is thy sentence, then, but speechless death, 
 Which robs my tongue from breathing native 
 
 breath ? [sionate : 
 
 K. Rich. It boots thee not to be compas- 
 After our sentence plaining comes too late. 
 Nor. Then thus I turn me from my country's 
 
 light, 
 To dwell in solemn shades of endless night. 
 
 [Retiring. 
 K. Rich. Return again, and take an oath 
 
 with thee. 
 
 Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands ; 
 Swear by the duty that you owe to God, 
 Our part therein we banish with yourselves, 
 
 To keep the oath that we administer : 
 
 You never shall so help you truth and God ! 
 
 Embrace each other's love in banishment; 
 
 Nor never look upon each other's face ; 
 
 Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile 
 
 This lowering tempest of your home-bred hate; 
 
 Nor never by advised purpose meet 
 
 To plot, contrive, or complot any ill 
 
 'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land. 
 
 Baling. I swear. 
 
 Nor. And I, to keep all this. 
 
 Baling. Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy ; 
 By this time, had the king permitted us, 
 One of our souls had wander'd in the air, 
 Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh, 
 As now our flesh is banish'd from this land: 
 Confess thy treasons, ere thou fly the realm ; 
 Since thou hast far to go, bear not along 
 The clogging burden of a guilty soul. 
 
 Nor. No, Bolingbroke : if ever I were traitor, 
 My name be blotted from the book of life, 
 And I from heaven banish'd, as from hence ! 
 But what thou art, God, thou, and I do know ; 
 And all too soon, I fear, the king shall rue. 
 Farewell, my liege. Now no way can I stray: 
 Save back to England, all the world 's my way. 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 K. Rich. Uncle, even in the glasses of thine 
 
 eyes 
 
 I see thy grieved heart : thy sad aspect 
 Hath from the number of his banish'd years 
 Pluck'd four away. [To BoLiNG.] Six frozen 
 
 winters spent, 
 Return with welcome home from banishment. 
 
 Baling. How long a time lies in one little 
 
 word! 
 
 Four lagging winters and four wanton springs 
 End in a word : such is the breath of kings. 
 
 Gaunt. I thank my liege that in regard of me 
 He shortens four years of my son's exile: 
 But little vantage shall I reap thereby; 
 For, ere the six years that he hath to spend 
 Can change their moons and bring their times 
 
 about, 
 
 My oil -dried lamp and time be was ted light 
 Shall be extinct with age and endless night ; 
 My inch of taper will be burnt and done, 
 And blindfold death not let me see my son. 
 
 K. Rich. Why, uncle, thou hast many years 
 to live. 
 
 Gaunt. But not a minute, king, that thou 
 
 canst give : 
 
 Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow, 
 And pluck nights from me, but not lend a 
 
 morrow ; 
 
 Thou canst help time to furrow me with age, 
 But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage ; 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 435 
 
 Thy word is current with him for my death, 
 But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath. 
 K. Rich. Thy son is banish'd upon good 
 
 advice, 
 
 Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave : 
 Why at our justice seem'st thou, then, to lower? 
 Gaunt. Things sweet to taste prove in diges- 
 tion sour. 
 
 You urg'd me as a judge ; but I had rather 
 You would have bid me argue like a father. 
 O, had it been a stranger, not my child, 
 To smooth his fault I should have been more 
 
 mild: 
 
 A partial slander sought I to avoid, 
 And in the sentence my own life destroy'd. 
 Alas, I look'd when some of you should say, 
 I was too strict to make mine own away ; 
 But you gave leave to mine unwilling tongue 
 Against my will to do myself this wrong. 
 K. Rich. Cousin, farewell ; and, uncle, bid 
 
 him so : 
 Six years we banish him, and he shall go. 
 
 [Flourish. Exeunt K. RICH, and Train. 
 Aum. Cousin, farewell : what presence must 
 
 not know, 
 From where you do remain let paper show. 
 
 Mar. My lord, no leave take I ; for I will ride 
 As far as land will let me by your side. 
 
 Gaunt. O, to what purpose dost thou hoard 
 
 thy words, 
 
 That thou return'st no greeting to thy friends ? 
 Baling. I have too few to take my leave of 
 
 you, 
 
 When the tongue's office should be prodigal 
 
 To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart. 
 
 Gaunt. Thy grief is but thy absence for a time. 
 
 Baling. Joy absent, grief is present for that 
 
 time. [gone. 
 
 Gaunt. What is six winters? they are quickly 
 
 Baling. To men in joy; but grief makes one 
 
 hour ten. [pleasure. 
 
 Gatmt. Call it a travel that thou tak'st for 
 
 Baling. My heart will sigh when I miscall 
 
 it so, 
 Which finds it an enforced pilgrimage. 
 
 Gaunt. The sullen passage of thy weary steps 
 Esteem a foil, wherein thou art to set 
 The precious jewel of thy home-return. 
 
 Baling. Nay, rather, every tedious stride I 
 
 make 
 
 Will but remember me what a deal of world 
 I wander from the jewels that I love. 
 Must I not serve a long apprenticehood 
 To foreign passages ; and in the end, 
 Having my freedom, boast of nothing else 
 But that I was a journeyman to grief? [visits 
 Gaunt. All places that the eye of heaven 
 
 Are to a wise man ports and happy havens. 
 Teach thy necessity to reason thus ; 
 There is no virtue like necessity. 
 Think not the king did banish thee, 
 But thou the king : woe doth the heavier sit 
 Where it perceives it is but faintly borne. 
 Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honour 
 And not the king exil'd thee ; or suppose 
 Devouring pestilence hangs in our air, 
 And thou art flying to a fresher clime : 
 Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it 
 To lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou 
 
 com'st : 
 
 Suppose the singing-birds musicians, [strew'd, 
 The grass whereon thou tread'st the presence 
 The flowers fair ladies, and thy steps no more 
 Than a delightful measure or a dance ; 
 For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite 
 The man that mocks at it and sets it light. 
 
 Baling. O, who can hold a fire in his hand 
 By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? 
 Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite 
 By bare imagination of a feast ? 
 Or wallow naked in December snow 
 By thinking on fantastic summer's heat? 
 O, no ! the apprehension of the good 
 Gives but the greater feeling to the worse : 
 Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more 
 Than when it bites, but lanceth not the sore. 
 
 Gaunt. Come, come, my son, I '11 bring thee 
 
 on thy way: 
 Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay. 
 
 Baling. Then, England's ground, farewell; 
 
 sweet soil, adieu; 
 
 My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet ! 
 Where'er I wander, boast of this I can, 
 Though banish'd, yet a true-born Englishman. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. The Court. 
 
 Enter KING RICHARD, BAGOT, and GREEN ; 
 
 AUMERLE following. 
 
 R. Rich. We did observe. Cousin Aumerle, 
 
 How far brought you high Hereford on his 
 
 way? [him so, 
 
 Aum. I brought high Hereford, if you call 
 
 But to the next highway, and there I left him. 
 
 K. Rich. And say, what store of parting 
 
 tears were shed? [east wind, 
 
 Aum. Faith, none for me ; except the north- 
 
 Which then blew bitterly against our faces, 
 
 Awak'd the sleeping rheum, and so by chance 
 
 Did grace our hollow parting with a tear. 
 
 K. Rich. What said our cousin when you 
 
 parted with him? 
 Aum. "Farewell:" 
 
436 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 And, for my heart disdained that my tongue 
 Should so profane the word, that taught me craft 
 To counterfeit oppression of such grief, 
 That words seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave. 
 Marry, would the word "farewell" have 
 
 lengthen'd hours, 
 
 And added years to his short banishment, 
 He should have had a volume of farewells ; 
 But since it would not, he had none of me. 
 K. Rich. He is our cousin, cousin ; but 'tis 
 
 doubt, 
 
 "When time shall call him home from banishment, 
 Whether our kinsman come to see his friends. 
 Ourself, and Bushy, Bagot here, and Green, 
 Observ'd his courtship to the common people ; 
 How he did seem to dive into their hearts 
 With humble and familiar courtesy ; 
 What reverence he did throw away on slaves ; 
 Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles, 
 And patient underbearing of his fortune, 
 As 'twere to banish their affects with him. 
 Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench ; 
 A brace of draymen bid God speed him well, 
 And had the tribute of his supple knee, 
 With Thanks, my coimtrymen, my loving 
 
 friends ; 
 
 As were our England in reversion his, 
 And he our subjects' next degree in hope. 
 Green. Well, he . is gone ; and with him go 
 
 these thoughts. 
 
 Now for the rebels which stand out in Ireland, 
 Expedient manage must be made, my liege, 
 Ere further leisure yield them further means 
 For their advantage and your highness' loss. 
 K. Rich. We will ourself in person to this 
 
 war: 
 
 And, for our coffers, with too great a court 
 And liberal largess, are grown somewhat light, 
 We are enforc'd to farm our royal realm; 
 The revenue whereof shall furnish us 
 For our affairs in hand. If that come short, 
 Our substitutes at home shall have blank 
 
 charters ; [rich, 
 
 Whereto, when they shall know what men are 
 They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold, 
 And send them after to supply our wants ; 
 For we will make for Ireland presently. 
 
 Enter BUSHY. 
 Bushy, what news? 
 
 Bushy. Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, 
 
 my lord, 
 
 Suddenly taken ; and hath sent post-haste 
 To entreat your majesty to visit him. 
 K. Rich. Where lies he? 
 Bushy. At Ely House. [mind 
 
 K. Rich. New put it, God, in his physician's 
 
 To help him to his grave immediately ! 
 The lining of his coffers shall make coats 
 To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars. 
 Come, gentlemen, let 's all go visit him : 
 Pray God we may make haste, and come too 
 late ! [Exettnt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. LONDON. A Room in ELY 
 HOUSE. 
 
 GAUNT on a couch; the DUKE OF YORK and 
 others standing by him. 
 
 Gaunt. Will the king come, that I may 
 
 breathe my last 
 
 In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth? 
 York. Vex not yourself, nor strive not with 
 
 your breath ; 
 
 For all in vain comes counsel to his ear. [men 
 Gaunt. O, but they say the tongues of dying 
 Enforce attention like deep harmony : 
 Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent 
 
 in vain ; [in pain. 
 
 For they breathe truth that breathe their words 
 He that no more must say is listen'd more 
 Than they whom youth and ease have taught 
 
 to glose ; [fore : 
 
 More are men's ends mark'd than their lives be- 
 
 The setting sun, and music at the close, 
 As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last, 
 Writ in remembrance more than things long 
 
 past : [hear, 
 
 Though Richard my life's counsel would not 
 My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear. ^ 
 York. No ; it is stopp'd with other flattering 
 
 sounds, 
 
 As, praises of his state : then there are found 
 Lascivious metres, to whose venom-sound 
 The open ear of youth doth always listen ; 
 Report of fashions in proud Italy, 
 Whose manners still our tardy apish nation 
 Limps after, in base imitation. 
 Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity, 
 So it be new, there 's no respect how vile, 
 That is not quickly buzz'd into his ears? 
 Then all too late comes counsel to be heard, 
 Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard. 
 Direct not him, whose way himself will choose: 
 Tis breath thou lack'st, and that breath wilt 
 
 thou lose. [inspir'd, 
 
 Gaunt. Methinks I am a prophet new 
 And thus, expiring, do foretell of him : 
 His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last, 
 For violent fires soon burn out themselves; 
 Small showers last long, but sudden storms are 
 
 short? 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 437 
 
 He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes ; 
 With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder : 
 Light vanity, insatiate cormorant, 
 Consuming means, soon preys upon itself. 
 This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle 
 This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, 
 This other Eden, demi-paradise ; 
 This fortress built by Nature for herself 
 Against infection and the hand of war ; 
 This happy breed of men, this little world ; 
 This precious stone set in the silver sea, 
 Which serves it in the office of a wall, 
 Or as a moat defensive to a house, 
 Against the envy of less happier lands ; 
 This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this 
 
 England, 
 
 This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, 
 Fear'd by their breed, and famous by their birth, 
 Renowned for their deeds as far from home, 
 For Christian service and true chivalry,- 
 As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry 
 Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son; 
 This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land, 
 Dear for her reputation through the world, 
 Is now leas'd out, I die pronouncing it, 
 Like to a tenement or pelting farm : 
 England, bound in with the triumphant sea, 
 Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege 
 Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame, 
 With inky blots, and rotten parchment bonds : 
 That England, that was wont to conquer others, 
 Hath made a shameful conquest of itself. 
 Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life, 
 How happy then were my ensuing death ! 
 
 Enter KING RICHARD and QUEEN, AUMERLE, 
 BUSHY, GREEN, BAGOT, Ross, and WIL- 
 LOUGHBY. 
 
 York. The king is come : deal mildly with 
 
 his youth ; [more. 
 
 For young hot colts, being rag'd, do rage the 
 
 Queen. How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster? 
 
 K. Rich. What comfort, man? How is 't 
 with aged Gaunt? [position ! 
 
 Gaunt. O, how that name befits my corn- 
 Old Gaunt, indeed ; and gaunt in being old : 
 Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast ; 
 And who abstains from meat that is not gaunt? 
 For sleeping England long time have I watch'd ; 
 Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt : 
 The pleasure that some fathers feeds upon 
 Is my strict fast, I mean my children's looks; 
 And therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt : 
 Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave, 
 Whose hollow womb inherits naught but bones. 
 
 K. Rich. Can sick men play so nicely with 
 their names? 
 
 Gaunt. No, misery makes sport to mock 
 
 itself: 
 
 Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me, 
 I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee. 
 
 K. Rich. Should Hyin^ men flatter with 
 those that live? [die. 
 
 Gaunt. No, no ; men living flatter those that 
 
 K. Rich. Thou, now a-dyin^j, say'st thou 
 flatter'st me. 
 
 Gaunt. O, no ! thou diest, though I the 
 sicker be. [thee ill. 
 
 K. Rich. I am in health, I breathe, and see 
 
 Gaunt. Now, He that made me knows I 
 
 see thee ill ; 
 
 111 in mj'self to see, and in thee seeing ill. 
 Thy death-bed is no lesser than ihe land 
 Wherein thou liest in reputation sick ; 
 And thou, too careless patient as thou art, 
 Committ'st thy anointed body to the cure 
 Of those physicians that first wounded thee: 
 A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown, 
 Whose compass is no bigger than thy head ; 
 And yet, encaged in so small a verge, 
 The waste is no whit lesser than thy land. 
 O, had thy grandsire, with a prophet's eye, 
 Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons, 
 From forth thy reach he would have laid thy 
 
 shame, 
 
 Deposing thee before thou wert possess'd, 
 Which art possess'd now to depose thyself. 
 Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world, 
 It were a shame to let this land by lease ; 
 But for thy world enjoying but this land, 
 Is it not more than shame to shame it so? 
 Landlord of England art thou now, not king : 
 Thy state of law is bondslave to the law ; 
 And 
 
 K. Rich. And thou a lunatic lean-witted fool, 
 Presuming on an ague's privilege, 
 Dar'st with thy frozen admonition 
 Make pale our cheek, chasing the royal blood 
 With fury from his native residence. 
 Now by my seat's right royal majesty, 
 Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son, 
 This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head 
 Should run thy head from thy unreverend 
 shoulders. [son, 
 
 Gaunt. O, spare me not, my brother Edward's 
 For that I was his father Edward's son ; 
 That blood already, like the pelican, 
 Hast thou tapp'd out, and drunkenly carous'd : 
 My brother Gloster, plain well-meaning soul 
 Whom fair befall in heaven 'mongst happy 
 
 souls ! 
 
 May be a precedent and witness good [blood : 
 That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's 
 Join with the present sickness that I have ; 
 
438 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 [ACT it. 
 
 And thy unkindness be like crooked age, 
 To crop at once a too-long wither'd flower. 
 Live in thy shame, but die not shame with 
 
 thee ! 
 
 These words hereafter thy tormentors be ! 
 Convey me to my bed, then to my grave. 
 Love they to live that love and honour have. 
 
 \_Exit, borne out by^ his Attendants. 
 K. Rich. And let them die that age and 
 
 sullens have; 
 
 For both hast thou, and both become the grave. 
 York. I do beseech your majesty, impute 
 
 his words 
 
 To wayward sickliness and age in him : 
 He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear 
 As Harry Duke of Hereford, were he here. 
 K. Rich. Right, you say true : as Hereford's 
 
 love, so his ; 
 As theirs, so mine ; and all be as it is. 
 
 Enter NORTHUMBERLAND 
 
 North. My liege, old Gaunt commends him 
 
 to your majesty. 
 K. Rich. What says he? 
 North. Nay, nothing ; all is said : 
 
 His tongue is now a stringless instrument ; 
 Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent. 
 York. Be York the next that must be bank- 
 rupt so ! 
 
 Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe. 
 K. Rich. The ripest fruit first falls, and so 
 
 doth he ; 
 
 His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be : 
 So much for that. Now for our Irish wars: 
 We must supplant those rough rug -headed kerns, 
 Which live like venom, where no venom else, 
 But only they, hath privilege to live. 
 And for these great affairs do ask some charge : 
 Towards our assistance we do seize to us 
 The plate, coin, revenues, and movables, 
 Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd. 
 York. How long shall I be patient? ah, how 
 
 long 
 
 Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong? 
 Not Gloster's death, nor Hereford's banishment, 
 Not Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private 
 
 wrongs, 
 
 Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke 
 About his marriage, nor my own disgrace, 
 Have ever made me sour my patient cheek, 
 Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face. 
 I am the last of noble Edward's sons, 
 Of whom thy father, Prince of Wales, was first : 
 In war was never lion rag'd more fierce, 
 In peace was never gentle lamb more mild, 
 Than was that young and princely gentleman. 
 His face thou hast, for even so look'd he, 
 
 Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours ; 
 But when he frown'd, it was against the French, 
 And not against his friends : his noble hand 
 Did win what he did spend, and spent not that 
 Which his triumphant' father's hand had won : 
 His hands were guilty of no kindred's blood, 
 But bloody with the enemies of his kin. 
 O Richard ! York is too far gone with grief, 
 Or else he never would compare between. 
 
 K. Rich. Why, uncle, what 's the matter? 
 
 York. O my liege, 
 
 Pardon me, if you please ; if not, I, pleas'd 
 Not to be pardon'd, am content withal. 
 Seek you to seize, and gripe into your hands, 
 The royalties and rights of banish' d Hereford? 
 Is not Gaunt dead? and doth not Hereford live? 
 Was not Gaunt just? and is not Harry true? 
 Did not the one deserve to have an heir? 
 Is not his heir a well-deserving son? [Time 
 Take Hereford's rights away, and take from 
 His charters and his customary rights ; 
 Let not to-morrow, then, ensue to-day; 
 Be not thyself, for how art thou a king 
 But by fair sequence and succession? 
 Now, afore God God forbid I say true ! 
 If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights, 
 Call in the letters-patents that he hath 
 By his attorneys-general to sue 
 His livery, and deny his offer'd homage, 
 You pluck a thousand dangers on your head, 
 You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts, 
 And prick my tender patience to those thoughts 
 Which honour and allegiance cannot think. 
 
 K. Rich. Think what you will, we seize into 
 
 our hands 
 His plate, his goods, his money, and his lands. 
 
 York. I'll not be by the while: my liege, 
 
 farewell : 
 
 What will ensue hereof, there 's none can tell 
 But by bad courses may be understood 
 That their events can never fall out good. 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 K. Rich. Go, Bushy, to the Earl of Wilt- 
 shire straight : 
 
 Bid him repair to us to Ely House 
 To see this business. To-morrow next 
 We will for Ireland ; and 'tis time, I trow : 
 And we create, in absence of ourself, 
 Our uncle York lord governor of England ; 
 For he is just, and always lov'd us well. 
 Come on, our queen : to-morrow must we part ; 
 Be merry, for our time of stay is short. 
 
 {Flourish. Exettnt KING, QUEEN, BUSHY, 
 AUMERLE, GREEN, and BAGOT. 
 
 North. Well, lords, the Duke of Lancaster 
 is dead. [duke. 
 
 Ross. And living tooj for now his son is 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 439 
 
 Wilio. Barely in title, not in revenue. 
 North. Richly in both, if justice had her right. 
 Ross. My heart is great ; but it must break 
 
 with silence, 
 
 Ere 't be disburden'd with a liberal tongue. 
 North. Nay, speak thy mind; and let him 
 
 ne'er speak more 
 
 That speaks thy words again to do thee harm ! 
 Willo. Tends that thou wouldst speak to the 
 
 Duke of Hereford? 
 If it be so, out with it boldly, man ; 
 Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him. 
 Ross. No good at all, that I can do for him ; 
 Unless you call it good to pity him, 
 Bereft and gelded of his patrimony. 
 North. Now, afore God, 'tis shame such 
 
 wrongs are borne 
 
 In him, a royal prince, and many more 
 Of noble blood in this declining land. 
 The king is not himself, but basely led 
 By flatterers ; and what they will inform, 
 Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us all, 
 That will the king severely prosecute 
 'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs. 
 Ross. The commons hath he pill'd with 
 
 grievous taxes, 
 And quite lost their hearts : the nobles hath he 
 
 fin'd 
 
 For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts. 
 
 Willo. And daily new exactions are devis'd, 
 
 As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what : 
 
 But what, o' God's name, doth become of this? 
 
 North. Wars hare not wasted it, for warr'd 
 
 he hath not, 
 
 But basely yielded upon compromise 
 That which his ancestors achiev'd with blows : 
 More hath he spent in peace than they in wars. 
 Ross. The Earl of Wiltshire hath the realm 
 
 in farm. 
 
 Willo. The king's grown bankrupt, like a 
 broken man. [him. 
 
 North. Reproach and dissolution hangethover 
 Ross. He hath not money for these Irish wars, 
 His burdenous taxations notwithstanding, 
 But by the robbing of the banish'd duke. 
 North. His noble kinsman : most degener- 
 ate king ! 
 
 But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing, 
 Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm ; 
 We see the wind set sore upon our sails, 
 And yet we strike not, but securely perish. 
 Ross. We see the very wreck that we must 
 
 suffer ; 
 
 And unavoided is the danger now, 
 For suffering so the causes of our wreck. 
 
 North. Not so; even through the hollow 
 eyes of death 
 
 I spy life peering ; but I dare not say 
 How near the tidings of our comfort is. 
 
 Willo. Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as 
 
 thou dost ours. 
 
 Ross. Be confident to speak, Northumberland: 
 We three are but thyself; and, speaking so, 
 Thy words are but as thoughts ; therefore, be 
 
 bold. 
 North. Then thus: I have from Port le 
 
 Blanc, a bay 
 
 In Brittany, receiv'd intelligence [Cobham, 
 That Harry Duke of Hereford, Renald Lord 
 That late broke from the Duke of Exeter, 
 His brother, Archbishop late of Canterbury, 
 Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Ramston, 
 Sir John Norbery, Sir Robert Waterton, and 
 
 Francis Quoint, [tagne, 
 
 All these, well furnish'd by the Duke of Bre- 
 With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war, 
 Are making hither with all due expedience, 
 And shortly mean to touch our northern shore : 
 Perhaps they had ere this, but that they stay 
 The first departing of the king for Ireland. 
 If, then, we shall shake off our slavish yoke, 
 Imp out our drooping country's broken wing, 
 Redeem from broking pawn the blemish'd crown. 
 Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre's gilt, 
 And make high majesty look like itself, 
 Away with me in post to Ravenspurg ; 
 But if you faint, as fearing to do so, 
 Stay and be secret, and myself will go. 
 
 RJSS. To horse, to horse ! urge doubts to 
 
 them that fear. 
 Willo. Hold out my horse, and I will first 
 
 be there. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. The same. A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter QUEEN, BUSHY, and BAGOT. 
 
 Bushy. Madam, your majesty is too much sad: 
 You promis'd, when you parted with the king, 
 To lay aside life-harming heaviness, 
 And entertain a cheerful disposition, [myself, 
 
 Queen. To please the king, I did ; to please 
 I cannot do it ; yet I know no cause 
 Why I should welcome such a guest as grief, 
 Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest 
 As my sweet Richard : yet, again, methinks 
 Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb, 
 Is coming towards me ; and my inward soul 
 With nothing trembles : at some thing it grieves, 
 More than with parting from my lord the king. 
 
 Bushy. Each substance of a grief hath twenty 
 
 shadows, 
 
 Which sho v like grief itself, but are not so ; 
 For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears, 
 Divides one thing entire to many objects; 
 
440 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 Like perspectives, which, rightly gaz'd upon, 
 Show nothing but confusion, ey'd awry, 
 Distinguish form : so your sweet majesty, 
 Looking awry upon your lord's departure, 
 Finds shapes of grief, more than himself, to wail; 
 Which, look'd on as it is, is naught but shadows 
 Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious queen, 
 More than your lord's departure weep not, 
 
 more's not seen; 
 
 Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye, 
 Which for things true weeps things imaginary. 
 
 Queen. It may be so ; but yet my inward soul 
 Persuades me it is otherwise : howe'er it be, 
 I cannot but be sad ; so heavy sad, [think, 
 As, though, on thinking, on no thought I 
 Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink. 
 
 Bushy. 'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious 
 lady. [deriv'd 
 
 Queen. 'Tis nothing less : conceit is still 
 From some forefather grief; mine is not so, 
 For nothing hath begot my something grief; 
 Or something hath the nothing that I grieve : 
 'Tis in reversion that I do possess ; 
 But what it is, that is not yet known; what 
 I cannot name ; 'tis nameless woe, I wot. 
 
 Enter GREEN. 
 
 Green. God save your majesty! and well 
 
 met, gentlemen: 
 I hope the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland. 
 
 Queen. Why hop'st thou so? 'tis better hope 
 
 he is; 
 
 For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope: 
 Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipp'd? 
 
 Green. That he, our hope, might have retir'd 
 
 his power, 
 
 And driven into despair an enemy's hope, 
 Who strongly hath set footing in this land : 
 The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself, 
 And with uplifted arms is safe arriv'd 
 At Ravenspurg. 
 
 Queen. Now God in heaven forbid ! 
 
 Green. O madam, 'tis too true : and that is 
 
 worse, [Percy, 
 
 The Lord Northumberland, his son young Henry 
 
 The Lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby, 
 
 With all their powerful friends, are fled to him. 
 
 Bushy. Why have you not proclaimed 
 
 Northumberland , 
 
 And all the rest of the revolted faction, 
 Traitors ? [Worcester 
 
 Green. We have: whereupon the Earl of 
 Hath broke his staff, resign'd his stewardship, 
 And all the household servants fled with him 
 To Bolingbroke. [woe, 
 
 Queen. So, Green, thou art the midwife to my 
 And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir : 
 
 Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy ; 
 And I, a gasping new-deliver'd mother, 
 Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join'd. 
 
 Bushy. Despair not, madam. 
 
 Queen. Who shall hinder me? 
 
 I will despair, and be at enmity 
 With cozening hope, he is a flatterer, 
 A parasite, a keeper-back of death, 
 Who gently would dissolve the bands of life, 
 Which false hope lingers in extremity. 
 
 Green. Here comes the Duke of York. 
 
 Queen. With signs of war about his aged neck: 
 O, full of careful business are his looks ! 
 
 Enter YORK. 
 
 Uncle, for God's sake, speak comfortable words. 
 York. Should I do so, I should belie my 
 
 thoughts : 
 
 Comfort 's in heaven; and we are on the earth, 
 Where nothing lives but crosses, care, and grief. 
 Your husband, he is gone to save far off, 
 Whilst others come to make him lose at home: 
 Here am I left to underprop his land, 
 Who, weak with age, cannot support myself: 
 Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made ; 
 Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd him. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. My lord, your son was gone before I 
 
 came. 
 York. He was? Why, so! go all which way 
 
 it will ! 
 The nobles they are fled, the commons they are 
 
 cold, 
 
 And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side. 
 Sirrah, get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloster; 
 Bid her send me presently a thousand pound : 
 Hold, take my ring. [ship, 
 
 Serv. My lord, I had forgot to tell your lord- 
 To-day, as I came by, I called there ; 
 But I shall grieve you to report the rest. 
 York. What is 't, knave ? 
 Serv. An hour before I came, the duchess died. 
 York. God for his mercy! what a tide of woes 
 Comes rushing on this woeful land at once ! 
 I know not what to do : I would to God, 
 So my untruth had not provok'd him to it, 
 The king had cut off my head with my brother's. 
 What, are there no posts despatch'd for 
 
 Ireland? 
 
 How shall we do for money for these wars? 
 Come, sister, cousin, I would say, pray, 
 
 pardon me. 
 Go, fellow \to the Servant], get thee home 
 
 provide some carts, 
 And bring away the armour that is there.* 
 
 [Exit Servant 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 441 
 
 Gentlemen, will you go muster men? If I 
 
 know 
 
 How or which way to order these affairs, 
 Thus thrust disorderly into my hands, 
 Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen : 
 The one 's my sovereign, whom both my oath 
 And duty bids defend ; the other, again, 
 Is my kinsman, whom the king hath wrong'd, 
 Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right. 
 Well, somewhat we must do. Come, cousin, 
 I '11 [men, 
 
 Dispose of you. Gentlemen , go, muster up your 
 And meet me presently at Berkley Castle. 
 I should to Flashy too; 
 But time will not permit : all is uneven, 
 And everything is left at six and seven. 
 
 [Exeunt YORK and QUEEN. 
 
 Bushy. The wind sits fair for news to go to 
 
 Ireland, 
 
 But none returns. For us to levy power 
 Proportionable to the enemy 
 Is all impossible. [love 
 
 Green. Besides, our nearness to the king in 
 Is near the hate of those love not the king. 
 
 Bagot. And that's the wavering commons: 
 
 for their love 
 
 Lies in their purses; and whoso empties them, 
 By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate. 
 
 Bushy. Wherein the king stands generally 
 condenm'd. 
 
 Bagot. If judgment lie in them, then so do we, 
 Because we ever have been near the king. 
 
 Green. Well, I will for refuge straight to 
 
 Bristol Castle: 
 The Earl of Wiltshire is already there, [office 
 
 Bushy. Thither will I with you: for little 
 The hateful commons will perform for us, 
 Except like curs to tear us all to pieces. 
 Will you go along with us? 
 
 Bagot. No ; I will to Ireland to his majesty. 
 Farewell : if heart's presages be not vain, 
 We three here part that ne'er shall meet again. 
 
 Bushy. That 's as York thrives to beat back 
 Bolingbroke. [takes 
 
 Green. Alas, poor duke ! the task he under- 
 Is numbering sands, and drinking oceans dry : 
 Where one on his side rights, thousands will fly. 
 Farewell at once, for once, for all, and ever. 
 
 Bushy. Well, we may meet again. 
 
 Bagot. I fear me, never. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. The Wilds in Glostershire. 
 
 Enter BOLINGBROKE and NORTHUMBER- 
 LAND, with Forces. 
 
 Baling. How far is it, my lord, to Berkley 
 now? 
 
 North. Believe me, noble lord, 
 I am a stranger here in Glostershire : 
 These high wild hills and rough uneven ways 
 Draw out our miles, and make them wearisome; 
 And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar, 
 Making the hard way sweet and delectable. 
 But I bethink me what a weary way 
 From Ravenspurg to Cotswold will be found 
 In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company, 
 Which, I protest, hath very much beguil'd 
 The tediousness and process of my travel : 
 But theirs is sweeten'd with the hope to have 
 The present benefit which I possess; 
 And hope to joy is little less in joy 
 Than hope enjoy'd : by this the weary lords 
 Shall make their way seem short ; as mine hath 
 
 done 
 By sight of what I have, your noble company. 
 
 Baling. Of much less value is my company 
 Than your good words. But who comes here? 
 
 North. It is my son, young Harry Percy, 
 Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever. 
 
 Enter HARRY PERCY. 
 
 Harry, how fares your uncle ? 
 
 Percy. I had thought, my lord, to have 
 learned his health of you. 
 
 North. Why, is he not with the queen? 
 
 Percy. No, my good lord ; he hath forsook 
 
 the court, 
 
 Broken his staff of office, and dispers'd 
 The household of the king. 
 
 North. What was his reason? 
 
 He was not so resolv'd when last we spake to- 
 gether. 
 
 Percy. Because your lordship was proclaimed 
 
 traitor. 
 
 But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurg. 
 To offer service to the Duke of Hereford ; 
 And sent me o'er by Berkley, to discover 
 What power the Duke of York had levied there 
 Then with direction to repair to Ravenspurg. 
 
 North. Have you forgot the Duke of Here- 
 ford, boy? [forgot 
 
 Percy. No, my good lord ; for that is not 
 Which ne'er I did remember : to my knowledge, 
 I never in my life did look on him. 
 
 North. Then learn to know him now ; this 
 is the duke. [service, 
 
 Percy. My gracious lord, I tender you my 
 Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young ; 
 Which elder days shall ripen, and confirm 
 To more approved service and desert. [sure 
 
 Baling. I thank thee, gentle Percy ; and be 
 I count myself in nothing else so happy 
 As in a soul remembering my good friends ; 
 And, as my fortune ripens with thy love* 
 
442 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 [ACT n. 
 
 It shall be still thy true love's recompence : 
 My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus 
 
 seals it. 
 
 North. How far is it to Berkley? and what stir 
 
 Keeps good old York there with his men of war? 
 
 Percy. There stands the castle, by yon tuft 
 
 of trees, [heard : 
 
 Mann'd with three hundred men, as I have 
 
 And in it are the Lords of York, Berkley, and 
 
 Seymour, 
 
 None else of name and noble estimate. 
 North. Here come the Lords of Ross and 
 
 Willoughby, 
 Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste. 
 
 Enter Ross and WILLOUGHBY. 
 
 Baling. Welcome, my lords. I wot your 
 
 love pursues 
 
 A banish'd traitor : all my treasury 
 Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enrich'd, 
 Shall be your love and labour's recompence. 
 .Ross. Your presence makes us rich, most 
 noble lord. [attain it. 
 
 Willo. And far surmounts our labour to 
 Baling. Evermore thanks, the exchequer of 
 
 the poor; 
 
 Which, till my infant fortune comes to years, 
 Stands for my bounty. But, who comes here? 
 North. It is my Lord of Berkley, as I guess. 
 
 Enter BERKLEY. 
 
 Berk. My Lord of Hereford, my message is 
 to you. 
 
 Baling. My lord, my answer is to Lancaster; 
 And I am come to seek that name in England ; 
 And I must find that title in your tongue, 
 Before I make reply to aught you say. 
 
 Berk. Mistake me not, my lord ; 'tis not my 
 
 meaning 
 
 To raze one title of your honour out : 
 To you, my lord, I come, what lord you will, 
 From the most gracious regent of this land, 
 The Duke of York, to know what pricks you on 
 To take advantage of the absent time, 
 And fright our native peace with self-born arms. 
 
 Baling. I shall not need transport my words 
 
 by you ; 
 Here comes his grace in person. 
 
 Enter YORK, attended. 
 
 My noble uncle ! [Kneels. 
 York. Show me tky humble heart, and not 
 
 thy knee, 
 
 Whose duty is deceivable and false, 
 Baling. My gracious uncle ! 
 York. Tut, tut ! 
 
 Grace me no grace, nor uncle me nc uncle: 
 
 I am no traitor's uncle ; and that word grace, 
 In an ungracious mouth is but profane. 
 Why have those banish'd and forbidden legs 
 Dar'd once to touch a dust of England's ground? 
 But, then, more why, why have they dar'd to 
 
 march 
 
 So many miles upon her peaceful bosom, 
 Frighting her pale-fac'd villages with war 
 And ostentation of despised arms? 
 Com'st thou because the anointed king is hence? 
 Why, foolish boy, the king is left behind, 
 And in my loyal bosom lies his power. 
 Were I but now the lord of such hot youth 
 As when brave Gaunt thy father, and myself, 
 Rescued the Black Prince, that young Mars of 
 
 men, 
 
 From forth the ranks of many thousand French, 
 O, then, how quickly should this arm of mine, 
 Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise thee, 
 And minister correction to thy fault ! [fault ; 
 
 Baling. My gracious uncle, let me know my 
 On what condition stands it and wherein? 
 
 York. Even in condition of the worst degree, 
 In gross rebellion and detested treason : 
 Thou art a banish'd man ; and here art come 
 Before the expiration of thy time, 
 In braving arms against thy sovereign. 
 
 Baling. As I was banish'd, I was banish'd 
 
 Hereford ; 
 
 But as I come, I come for Lancaster. 
 And, noble uncle, I beseech your grace 
 Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye : 
 You are my father, for methinks in you 
 I see old Gaunt alive ; O, then, my father, 
 Will you permit that I shall stand condemn'd 
 A wandering vagabond ; my rights and royalties 
 Pluck'd from my irms perforce, and given away 
 To upstart unthrifts? Wherefore was I born? 
 If that my cousin king be king of England, 
 It must be granted I am Duke of Lancaster. 
 You have a son, Aumerle, my noble kinsman ; 
 Had you first died, and he been thus trod down, 
 He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father, 
 To rouse his wrongs, and chase them to the bay. 
 I am denied to sue my livery here, 
 And yet my letters-patents give me leave : 
 My fether's goods are all distrain'd and sold ; 
 And these and all are all amiss employ'd. 
 What would you have me do? I am a subject, 
 And challenge law : attorneys are denied me ; 
 And therefore personally I lay my claim 
 To my inheritance of free descent. [abus'd. 
 
 North. The noble duke hath been too much 
 
 Ross. It stands your grace upon to do him 
 right. 
 
 Willo. Base men by his endowments are 
 made great. 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 443 
 
 York. My lords of England, let me tell you 
 
 this : 
 
 I have had feeling of my cousin's wrongs, 
 And labour'd all I could to do him right: 
 But in this kind .to come, in braving arms, 
 Be his own carver, and cut out his way, 
 To find out right with wrong, it may not be ; 
 And you that do abet him in this kind 
 Cherish rebellion, and are rebels all. 
 North. The noble duke hath sworn his 
 
 coming is 
 
 But for his own ; and for the right of that 
 We all have strongly sworn to give him aid ; 
 And let him ne'er see joy that breaks that oath ! 
 York. Well, well, I see the issue of these 
 
 arms; 
 
 I cannot mend it, I must needs confess, 
 Because my power is weak and all ill left : 
 But if I could, by him that gave me life, 
 I would attach you all, and make you stoop 
 Unto the sovereign mercy of the king ; 
 But since I cannot, be it known to you 
 I do remain as neuter. So, fare you well ; 
 Unless you please to enter in the castle, 
 And there repose you for this night. 
 
 Btling. An offer, uncle, that we will accept : 
 But we must win your grace to go with us 
 To Bristol Castle, which they say is held 
 By Bushy, Bagot, and their complices, 
 The caterpillars of the commonwealth, 
 Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away. 
 York. It may be I will go with you: but 
 
 yet I '11 pause ; 
 
 For I am loth to break our country's laws. 
 Nor friends nor foes, to me welcome you are : 
 Things past redress are now with me past care. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. A Camp in Wales. 
 Enter SALISBURY and a Captain. 
 
 Cap. My Lord of Salisbury, we have stay'd 
 
 ten days, 
 
 And hardly kept our countrymen together, 
 And yet we hear no tidings from the king ; 
 Therefore we will disperse ourselves: farewell. 
 
 Sal. Stay yet another day, thou trusty 
 
 Welshman : 
 
 The king reposeth all his confidence 
 In thee. [not stay. 
 
 Cap. 'Tis thought the king is dead ; we will 
 The bay trees in our country all are wither'd, 
 And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven ; 
 The pale-fac'd moon looks bloody on the earth, 
 And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful 
 change ; [leap, 
 
 Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and 
 
 The one in fear to lose what they enjoy, 
 The other to enjoy by rage and war: 
 These signs forerun the death or fall of kings. 
 Farewell : our countrymen are gone and fled, 
 As well assur'd Richard their king is dead. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Sal. Ah, Richard, with the eyes of heavy 
 
 mind, 
 
 I see thy glory, like a shooting star, 
 Fall to the base earth from the firmament ! 
 The sun sets weeping in the lowly west, 
 Witnessing storms to come, woe, and unrest ; 
 Thy friends are fled, to wait upon thy foes; 
 And crossly to thy good all fortune goes. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 ACT III. 
 SCENE I. BOLINGBROKE'S Camp at Bristol. 
 
 Enter BOLINGBROKE, YORK, NORTHUMBER- 
 LAND, PERCY, WILLOUGHBY, Ross: Officers 
 behind, with BUSHY and GREEN, prisoners. 
 
 Boling. Bring forth these men. 
 Bushy and Green, I will not vex your souls, . 
 Since presently your souls must part your 
 
 bodies, 
 
 With too much urging your pernicious lives, 
 For 'twere no charity; yet, to wash your blood 
 From off my hands, here, in the view of men, 
 I will unfold some causes of your deaths. 
 You have misled a prince, a royal king, 
 A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments, 
 By you unhappied and disfigur'd clean : 
 You have in manner with your sinful hours 
 Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him ; 
 Broke the possession of a royal bed, 
 And stain'd the beauty of a fair queen's cheeks 
 With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul 
 
 wrongs. 
 
 Myself, a prince by fortune of my birth, 
 Near to the king in blood, and near in love 
 Till you did make him misinterpret me, 
 Have stoop'd my neck under your injuries, 
 And sigh'd my English breath in foreign clouds, 
 Eating the bitter bread of banishment ; 
 Whilst you have fed upon my signories, 
 Dispark'd my parks, and fell'd my forest-woods, 
 From my own windows torn my household 
 
 coat, 
 
 Raz'd out my impress, leaving me no sign, 
 Save men's opinions and my living blood, 
 To show the world I am a gentleman. 
 This and much more, much more than twice 
 
 all this, 
 Condemns you to the death. See them de- 
 
 liver'd over 
 To execution and the hand of death. 
 
 
444 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 [ACT III. 
 
 Bushy. More welcome is the stroke of death 
 
 to me [well. 
 
 Than Bolingbroke to England. Lords, fare- 
 
 Green. My comfort is, that heaven will take 
 
 our souls, 
 
 And plague injustice with the pains of hell. 
 Baling. My Lord Northumberland, see them 
 
 despatch'd. 
 
 [Exeunt NORTH, and others, with Prisoners. 
 Uncle, you say the queen is at your house ; 
 For God's sake, fairly let her be entreated: 
 Tell her I send to her my kind commends; 
 Take special care my greetings be deliver'd. 
 
 York. A gentleman of mine I have despatch'd 
 With letters of your love to her at large. 
 
 Baling. Thanks, gentle uncle. Come, lords. 
 
 away, 
 
 To fight with Glendower and his complices : 
 Awhile to work, and after holiday. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. The Coast of WALES. A Castle 
 in view. 
 
 Flourish ; drums and trumpets. Enter KING 
 RICHARD, the BISHOP OF CARLISLE, 
 Au MERLE, and Soldiers. 
 
 K. Rich. Barkloughly Castle call they this 
 at hand? 
 
 Aum. Yea, my lord. How brooks your 
 
 grace the air, 
 After your late tossing on the breaking seas? 
 
 K. Rich. Needs must I like it well : I weep 
 
 for joy 
 
 To stand upon my kingdom once again. 
 Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand, 
 Though rebels wound thee with their horses' 
 
 hoofs: 
 
 As a long- parted mother with her child 
 Plays fondly with her tears and smiles in 
 
 meeting, 
 
 So, weeping-smiling, greet I thee, my earth, 
 And do thee favour with my royal hands. 
 Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth, 
 Nor with thy sweets comfort his rav'nous sense ; 
 But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom, 
 And heavy -gaited toads, lie in their way, 
 Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet 
 Which with usurping steps do trample thee : 
 Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies ; 
 And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower, 
 Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder, 
 Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch 
 Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies. 
 Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords: 
 This earth shall have a feeling, and these stones 
 Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king 
 Shall falter under foul rebellion's arms ! 
 
 Car. Fear not, my lord; that Power that 
 
 made you king 
 
 Hath power to keep you king in spite of all. 
 The means that heaven yields must be embrac'd 
 And not neglected ; else, if heaven would, 
 And we will not, heaven's offer we refuse, 
 The proffer'd means of succour and redress. 
 Aum. He means, my lord, that we are too 
 
 remiss ; 
 
 Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security, 
 Grows strong and great in substance and in 
 
 friends. [thou not 
 
 K. Rich. Discomfortable cousin ! know'st 
 That when the searching eye of heaven is hid 
 Behind the globe that lights the lower world, 
 Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen, 
 In murders and in outrage, boldly here ; 
 But when, from under this terrestrial ball, 
 He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines, 
 And darts his light through every guilty hole, 
 Then murders, treasons, and detested sins, 
 The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their 
 
 backs, 
 
 Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves? 
 So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke, 
 Who all this while hath revell'd in the night s 
 Whilst we were wandering with the antipodes, 
 Shall see us rising in our throne, the east, 
 His treasons will sit blushing in his face, 
 Not able to endure the sight of day, 
 But self-affrighted tremble at his sin. 
 Not all the water in the rough rude sea 
 Can wash the balm from an anointed king ; 
 The breath of worldly men cannot depose 
 The deputy elected by the Lord ; 
 For every man that Bolingbroke hath press'd 
 To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown, 
 God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay 
 A glorious angel : then, if angels fight, [right 
 Weak man must fall ; for heaven still guards the 
 
 Enter SALISBURY. 
 
 Welcome, my lord : how far off lies your power? 
 Sal. Nor near nor further off, my gracious 
 
 lord, [tongue, 
 
 Than this weak arm : discomfort guides my 
 And bids me sp ak of nothing but despair. 
 One day too late, I fear, my noble lord, 
 Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth : 
 O, call back yesterday, bid time return, 
 And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting 
 
 men! 
 
 To-day, to-day, unhappy day, too late, 
 O'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy 
 
 state ; 
 
 For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead, 
 Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispers'd, and fled, 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 445 
 
 Aum. Comfort, ir**- liege: why looks your 
 grace so pal6? [sand men 
 
 K. Rich. But now the blood of twenty thou- 
 Dicl triumph in my face, and they are fled ; 
 
 And, till so much blood thither come again, 
 Have I not reason to look pale and dead? 
 
 All souls that will be safe fly from my side ; 
 
 For time hath set a blot upon my pride, [are. 
 Aum. Comfort, my liege ; remember who you 
 K. Rich. I had forgot myself: am I not king? 
 
 Awake, thou sluggard majesty! thou sleep'st. 
 
 Is not the king's name forty thousand names? 
 
 Arm, arm, my name ! a puny subject strikes 
 
 At thy great glory. Look not to the ground, 
 
 Ye favourites of a king: are we not high? 
 
 High be our thoughts : I know my uncle York 
 
 Hath power enough to serve our turn. But 
 who comes here? 
 
 Enter SCROOP. 
 
 Scroop. More health and happiness betide 
 
 my liege 
 
 Than can my care-tun'd tongue deliver him. 
 K. Rich. Mine ear is open and my heart 
 
 prepar'd : 
 
 The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold. 
 Say, is my kingdom lost? why, 'twas my care; 
 And what loss is it to be rid of care? 
 Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we? 
 Greater he shall not be ; if he serve God, 
 We'll serve him too, and be his fellow so: 
 Revolt our subjects? that we cannot mend ; 
 They break their faith to God, as well as us : 
 Cry woe, destruction, ruin, loss, decay ; 
 The worst is death, and death will have his day! 
 Scroop. Glad am I that your highness is so 
 
 arm'd 
 
 To bear the tidings of calamity. 
 Like an unseasonable stormy day, 
 Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores, 
 As if the world were all dissolv'd to tears; 
 So high above his limits swells the rage 
 Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land 
 With hard bright steel, and hearts harder than 
 
 steel. 
 
 White-beards have arm'd their thin and hair- 
 less scalps [voices, 
 Against thy majesty; and boys, with women's 
 Strive to speak big, and clap their female joints 
 In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown : 
 Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows 
 Of double-fatal yew against thy state ; 
 Yea, distaff-women manage rusty bills 
 Against thy seat : both old and young rebel, 
 And all goes worse than I have power to tell. 
 JC. Rick. Too well, too well thou tell'st a 
 tale so ill. 
 
 Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? where is 
 
 Bagot? 
 
 What is become of Bushy, where is Green ? 
 That they have let the dangerous enemy 
 Measure our confines with such peaceful steps? 
 If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it : 
 I warrant they have made peace with Boling- 
 broke. 
 Scroop. Peace have they made with him, 
 
 indeed, my lord. [redemption! 
 
 K. Rich. O villains, vipers, damn'd without 
 Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man ! 
 Snakes, in my heart-blood warm'd, that sting 
 
 my heart ! [Judas ! 
 
 Three Judases, each one thrice worse than 
 
 Would they make peace? terrible hell make war 
 
 Upon their spotted souls for this offence ! 
 
 Scroop. Sweet love r I see, changing his 
 
 property, 
 
 Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate : 
 Again uncurse their souls ; their peace is made 
 With heads, and not with hands : those whom 
 
 you curse 
 
 Have felt the worst of death's destroying wound, 
 
 And lie full low, grav'd in the hollow ground. 
 
 Awn. Is Bushy, Green, and the Earl of 
 
 Wiltshire dead? [heads. 
 
 Scroop. Yea, all of them at Bristol lost theff 
 Aum. Where is the duke my father with his 
 
 power? 
 K. Rich. No matter where ; of comfort, no 
 
 man speak : 
 
 Let 's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs; 
 Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes 
 Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth. 
 Let's choose executors, and talk of wills: 
 And yet not so, for what can we bequeath, 
 Save our deposed bodies to the ground ? 
 Our lands, our lives, and all are Bolingbroke's 9 
 And nothing can we call our own but death, 
 And that small model of the barren earth 
 Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. 
 For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground, 
 And cell sad stories of the death of kings : 
 How some have been depos'd ; some slain in 
 
 war; 
 
 Some haunted by the ghosts they have depos'd; 
 Some poison'd by their wives; some sleeping 
 
 kill'd ; 
 
 All murder'd : for within the hollow crown 
 That rounds the mortal temples of a king 
 Keeps Death his court ; and there the antic sits 
 Scoffing his state, and grinning at his pomp ; 
 Allowing him a breath, a little scene, 
 To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks ; 
 Infusing him with self and vain conceit, 
 As if this flesh, which walls about our life, 
 
44 6 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 [ACT III. 
 
 Were brass impregnable ; and humour'd thus, 
 Comes at the last, and with a little pin 
 Bores through his castle-wall, and farewell, 
 king ! [blood 
 
 Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and 
 With solemn reverence ; throw away respect, 
 Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty ; 
 For you have but mistook me all this while : 
 I live with bread like you, feel want, taste grief, 
 Need friends : subjected thus, 
 How can you say to me, I am a king? 
 
 Car. My lord, wise men ne'er sit and wail 
 
 their woes, 
 
 But presently prevent the ways to wail. 
 To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength, 
 Gives, in your weakness, strength unto your foe, 
 And so your follies fight against yourself. 
 Fear, and be slain ; no worse can come to fight : 
 And fight and die is death destroying death ; 
 Where fearing dying pays death servile breath. 
 
 Aum. My father hath a power; inquire of 
 
 him; 
 And learn to make a body of a limb. 
 
 K. Rich. Thou chid'st me well: proud 
 
 Bolingbroke, I come [doom. 
 
 To change blows with thee for our day of 
 
 This ague-fit of fear is over-blown ; 
 
 An easy task it is to win our own. [power? 
 
 Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his 
 
 Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be 
 
 sour. [sky 
 
 Scroop. Men judge by the complexion of the 
 
 The state and inclination of the day : 
 So may you by my dull and heavy eye, 
 
 My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say. 
 I play the torturer, by small and small 
 To lengthen out the worst that must be 
 
 spoken: 
 
 Your uncle York is join'd with Bolingbroke ; 
 And all your northern castles yielded up, 
 And all your southern gentlemen in arms 
 Upon his party. 
 
 K. Rich. Thou hast said enough. 
 Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst lead me forth 
 \To AUMERLE. 
 
 Of that sweet way I was in to despair ! 
 What say you now? what comfort have we now? 
 By heaven, I '11 hate him everlastingly 
 That bids me be of comfort any more. 
 Go to Flint Castle : there I '11 pine away ; 
 A king, woe's slave, shall kingly woe obey. 
 That power I have, discharge ; and let them go 
 To ear the land that hath some hope to grow, 
 For I have none : let no man speak again 
 To alter this, for counsel is but vain. 
 
 Aum. My liege, one word. 
 
 K. Rich. He does me double wrong 
 
 That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue. 
 Discharge my followers : let them hence away, 
 From Richard's night to Bolingbroke's fair day. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. WALES. Before Flint Castle. 
 
 Enter, with drum and colours, BOLINGBROKE 
 and Forces; YORK, NORTHUMBERLAND, 
 and others. 
 
 Baling. So that by this intelligence we learn 
 The Welshmen are dispers'd ; and Salisbury 
 Is gone to meet the king, who lately landed 
 With some few private friends upon this coast. 
 North. The news is very fair and good, my 
 
 lord: 
 
 Richard not far from hence hath hid his head. 
 York. It would beseem the Lord Northumber- 
 land 
 
 To say, King Richard : alack the heavy day 
 When such a sacred king should hide his head. 
 North. Your grace mistakes ; only to be brief, 
 Left I his title out. 
 
 York. The time hath been, 
 
 Would you have been so brief with him, he 
 
 would 
 
 Have been so brief with you, to shorten you, 
 
 For taking so the head, your whole head's 
 
 length. [should. 
 
 Baling. Mistake not, uncle, further than you 
 
 York. Take not, good cousin, further than 
 
 you should, [heads. 
 
 Lest you mistake: the heavens are o'er our 
 
 Baling. I know it, uncle; and oppose not 
 
 myself 
 Against their will. But who comes here? 
 
 Enter PERCY. 
 
 Well, Harry: what, will not this castle yield? 
 
 Percy. The castle royally is mann'd, my lord, 
 Against thy entrance. 
 
 Baling. Royally! 
 Why, it contains no king? 
 
 Percy. Yes, my good lord, 
 
 It doth contain a king ; King Richard lies 
 Within the limits of yond lime and stone : 
 And with him are the Lord Aumerle, Lord 
 
 Salisbury, 
 
 Sir Stephen Scroop ; besides a clergyman 
 Of holy reverence, who I cannot learn. 
 
 North. O, belike it is the Bishop of Carlisle. 
 
 Baling. Noble lord, 
 
 [To NORTHUMBERLAND. 
 Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle ; 
 Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parle 
 Into his ruin'd ears, and thus deliver:- 
 Harry Bolingbroke 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 447 
 
 On both his knees doth kiss King Richard's 
 
 hand, 
 
 And sends allegiance and true faith of heart 
 To his most royal person ; hither come 
 Even at his feet to lay my arms and power, 
 Provided that, my banishment repeal'd, 
 And lands restor'd again, be freely granted : 
 If not, I '11 use the advantage of my power, 
 And lay the summer's dust with showers of blood 
 Rain'd from the wounds of slaughter'd English- 
 men: 
 The which, how far off from the mind cf 
 
 Bolingbroke 
 
 It is, such crimson tempest should bedrench 
 The fresh green lap of fair King Richard's land, 
 My stooping duty tenderly shall show. 
 Go, signify as much, while here we march 
 Upon the grassy carpet of this plain. 
 
 [NORTH, advances to the Castle, with a 
 
 trumpet. 
 Let's march without the noise of threat'ning 
 
 drum, 
 
 That from the castle's tatter'd battlements 
 Our fair appointments may be well perus'd. 
 Methinks King Richard and myself should meet 
 With no less terror than the elements 
 Of fire and water, when their thund'ring shock 
 At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven. 
 Be he the fire, I '11 be the yielding water : 
 The rage be his, while on the earth I rain 
 My waters, on the earth, and not on him. 
 March on, and mark King Richard how he looks. 
 
 A parle sounded, and answered by another 
 trumpet within. Flourish. Enter on the 
 walls KING RICHARD, the BISHOP OF CAR- 
 LISLE, AUMERLE, SCROOP, and SALISBURY. 
 
 See, see, King Richard doth himself appear, 
 
 As doth the blushing discontented sun 
 
 From out the fiery portal of the east, 
 
 When he perceives the envious clouds are bent 
 
 To dim his glory, and to stain the track 
 
 Of his bright passage to the Occident. [eye, 
 
 York. Yet looks he like a king : behold, his 
 As bright as is the eagle's, lightens forth 
 Controlling majesty: alack, alack, for woe, 
 That any harm should stain so fair a show ! 
 
 K. Rich. We are amaz'd ; and thus long have 
 
 we stood 
 To watch the fearful bending of thy knee, 
 
 [To NORTHUMBERLAND. 
 Because we thought ourself thy lawful king : 
 And if we be, how dare thy joints forget 
 To pay their awful duty to our presence? 
 If we be not, show us the hand of God 
 That hath dismissed us from our stewardship ; 
 For well we know, no hand of blood and bone 
 
 Can gripe the sacred handle of our sceptre, 
 Unless he do profane, steal, or usurp. 
 And though you think that all, as you have done, 
 Have torn their souls by turning them from us, 
 And we are barren and bereft of friends ; 
 Yet know, my master, God omnipotent, 
 Is mustering in his clouds, on our behalf, 
 Armies of pestilence ; and they shall strike 
 Your children yet unborn and unbegot, 
 That lift your vassal hands against my head, 
 And threat the glory of my precious crown. 
 Tell Bolingbroke,- for yond methinks he is, 
 That every stride he makes upon my land 
 Is dangerous treason : he is come to ope 
 The purple testament of bleeding war ; 
 But ere the crown he looks for live in peace, 
 Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers' sons 
 Shall ill become the flower of England's face, 
 Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace 
 To scarlet indignation, and bedew 
 Her pastures' grass with faithful English blood. 
 
 North. The king of heaven forbid our lord the 
 
 king 
 
 Should so with civil and uncivil arms 
 Be rush'd upon ! Thy thrice-noble cousin, 
 Harry Bolingbroke, doth humbly kiss thy hand ; 
 And by the honourable tomb he swears, 
 That stands upon your royal grandsire's bones, 
 And by the royalties of both your bloods, 
 Currents that spring from one most gracious 
 
 head, 
 
 And by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt, 
 And by the worth and honour of himself, 
 Comprising all that may be sworn or said, 
 His coming hither hath no further scope 
 Than for his lineal royalties, and to beg 
 Enfranchisement immediate on his knees: 
 Which on thy royal party granted once, 
 His glittering arms he will commend to rust, 
 His barbed steeds to stables, and his heart 
 To faithful service of your majesty. 
 This swears he, as he is a prince, is just ; 
 And, as I am a gentleman, I credit him. 
 
 K. Rich. Northumberland, say thus the king 
 
 returns : 
 
 His noble cousin is right welcome hither; 
 And all the number of his fair demands 
 Shall be accomplish'd without contradiction: 
 With all the gracious utterance thou hast 
 Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends. 
 We do debase ourself, cousin, do we not, 
 
 [To AUMERLE. 
 
 To look so poorly, and to speak so fair? 
 Shall we call back Northumberland, and send 
 Defiance to the traitor, and so die? 
 
 Aum. No, good my lord; let's fight with 
 gentl* words 
 
44* 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 [ACT HI. 
 
 Fill time lend friends, and friends their helpful 
 
 swords. 
 K. Rich. O God, O God ! that e'er this tongue 
 
 of mine, 
 
 That laid the sentence of dread banishment 
 On yond proud man, should take it off again 
 With words of sooth ! O that I were as great 
 As is my grief, or lesser than my name ! 
 Or that I could forget what I have been ! 
 Or not remember what I must be now ! 
 SwelFst thou, proud heart? I '11 give thee scope 
 
 to beat, 
 
 Since foes have scope to beat both thee and me. 
 Aum. Northumberland comes back from 
 
 Bolingbroke. 
 K. Rich. What must the king do now? must 
 
 he submit? 
 
 The king shall do it: must he be depos'd? 
 The king shall be contented : must he lose 
 The name of king? o' God's name, let it go: 
 I '11 give my jewels for a set of beads, 
 My gorgeous palace for a hermitage, 
 My gay apparel for an alms-man's gown, 
 My figur'd goblets for a dish of wood, 
 My sceptre for a palmer's walking staff, 
 My subjects for a pair of carved. saints, 
 And my large kingdom for a little grave, 
 A little little grave, an obscure grave; 
 Or I '11 be buried in the king's highway, 
 Some way of common trade, where subjects' feet 
 May hourly trample on their sovereign's head ; 
 For on my heart they tread now whilst I live ; 
 And buried once, why not upon my head? 
 Aumerle, thou weep'st, my tender-hearted 
 
 cousin ! 
 
 We '11 make foul weather with despised tears ; 
 Our sighs and they shall lodge the summer corn, 
 And make a dearth in this revolting land. 
 Or shall we play the wantons with ou- woes, 
 And make some pretty match with shedding 
 
 tears? 
 
 As thus; to drop them still upon one place, 
 Till they have fretted us a pair of graves 
 Within the earth; and, therein laid, there lies 
 Two kinsmen digg'd their graves with weeping 
 
 eyes. 
 
 Would not this ill do well? Well, well, I see 
 I talk but idly, and you mock at me. 
 Most mighty prince, my Lord Northumberland, 
 What says King Bolingbroke? will his majesty 
 Give Richard leave to live till Richard die ? 
 You make a leg, and Bolingbroke says ay. 
 North. My lord, in the base court he doth 
 
 attend [down? 
 
 To speak with you ; may it please you to come 
 K. Rich. Down, down I come ; like glister- 
 ing Phaeton, 
 
 Wanting the manage of unruly jades. 
 
 [NORTH, retires to BOLING. 
 In the base court? Base court, where kings 
 
 grow base, 
 
 To come at traitors' calls, and do them grace. 
 In the base court ? Come down ? Down, court ! 
 
 down, king! 
 
 For night-owls shriek where mounting larks 
 should sing. [Exeunt from above. 
 Baling. What says his majesty? 
 North, Sorrow and grief of heart 
 
 Makes him speak fondly, like a frantic man : 
 Yet he is come. 
 
 Enter KING RICHARD, and his Attendants, 
 below. 
 
 Baling. Stand all apart, 
 And show fair duty to his majesty. 
 My gracious lord, [Kneeling. 
 
 K. Rich. Fair cousin, you debase your princely 
 
 knee 
 
 To make the base earth proud with kissing jt : 
 Me rather had my heart might feel your love 
 Than my unpleas'd eye see your courtesy. 
 Up, cousin, up; your heart is up, I know, 
 Thus high at least \touching his own head], al- 
 though your knee be low. [own. 
 
 Baling. My gracious lord, I come but for mine 
 
 K. Rich. Your own is yours, and I am yours, 
 and all. [lord, 
 
 Baling. So far be mine, my most redoubted 
 As my true service shall deserve your love. 
 
 K. Rich. Well you deserve: they well de- 
 
 serve to have 
 
 That know the strong'st and surest way to get. 
 Uncle, give me your hand : nay, dry your eyes ; 
 Tears show their love, but want their remedies. 
 Cousin, I am too young to be your father, 
 Though you are old enough to be my heir. 
 What you will have, I '11 give, and willing too ; 
 For do we must what force will have us do. 
 Set on towards London : cousin, is it so? 
 
 Boling. Yea, my good lord. 
 ich. 
 
 K. Rich. 
 
 Then I must not say no. 
 [Ffairish. Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. LANGLEY. The DUKE OF YORK'S 
 Garden. 
 
 Enter the QUEEN and two Ladies. 
 
 Queen. What sport shall we devise here in 
 
 this garden, 
 To drive away the heavy thought of care? 
 
 I Lady. Madam, we'll play at bowls. 
 
 Queen. 'Twill make me think 
 
 The world is full of rubs, and that my fortune 
 Runs against the bias 
 
SCENE 1V.J 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 449 
 
 I Lady. Madam, we '11 dance. 
 
 Queen. My legs can keep no measure in de- 
 light, 
 
 When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief: 
 Therefore, no dancing, girl ; some other sport. 
 
 I Lady. Madam, we '11 tell tales. 
 
 Queen. Of sorrow or of joy? 
 
 I Lady. Of either, madam. 
 
 Queen. Of neither, girl : 
 
 For if of joy, being altogether wanting, 
 It doth remember me the more of sorrow ; 
 Or if of grief, being altogether had, 
 It adds more sorrow to my want of joy : 
 For what I have, I need not to repeat ; 
 And what I want, it boots not to complain. 
 
 i Lady. Madam, I '11 sing. 
 
 Queen. 'Tis well that thou hast cause ; 
 
 But thou shouldst please me better wouldst thou 
 
 weep. [you good. 
 
 I Lady. I could weep, madam, would it do 
 
 Queen. And I could weep, would weeping do 
 
 me good, 
 
 And never borrow any tear of thee. 
 But stay., here come the gardeners.: 
 Let 's step into the shadow of these trees. 
 My wretchedness unto a row of pins, 
 They '11 talk of state ; for every one doth so 
 Against a change : woe is forerun with woe. 
 
 [QUEEN and Ladies retire. 
 
 Enter a Gardener and two Servants. 
 
 Card. Go, bind thou up yond dangling apri- 
 
 cocks, 
 
 Which, like unruly children, make their sire 
 Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight : 
 Give some supportance to the bending twigs. 
 Go thou, and like an executioner 
 Cut off the heads of too-fast-growing sprays, 
 That look too lofty in our commonwealth : 
 All must be even in our government. 
 You thus employ'd, I will go root away 
 The noisome weeds, that without profit suck 
 The soil's fertility from wholesome flowers. 
 
 I Serv. Why should we, in the compass of a 
 
 pale, 
 
 Keep law and form and due proportion, 
 Showing, as in a model, our firm estate, 
 When our sea- walled garden, the whole land, 
 Is full of weeds ; her fairest flowers chok'd up, 
 Her fruit-trees all unprun'd, her hedges ruin'd, 
 Her knots disorder'd, and her wholesome herbs 
 Swarming with caterpillars? 
 
 Card. Hold thy peace : 
 
 He that hath suffer'd this disorder'd spring 
 Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf: 
 The weeds that his broad -spreading leaves did 
 shelter, 
 
 That seem'd in eating him to hold him up, 
 Are pluck'd up root and all by Bolingbroke,^- 
 I mean the Earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green, 
 i Serv. What, are they dead? 
 Card. They are ; and Bolingbroke 
 
 Hath seiz'd the wasteful king. Oh! what pity 
 
 is it 
 
 That he had not so trimm'd and dress'd his land 
 As we this garden ! We at time of year 
 Do wound the bark, the skin of our fruit-trees, 
 Lest, being over-proud in sap and blood, 
 With too much richness it confound itself: 
 Had he done so to great and growing men, 
 They might have liv'd to bear, and he to taste 
 Their fruits of duty. Superfluous branches 
 We lop away, that bearing boughs may live : 
 Had he done so, himself had borne the crown, 
 Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown 
 
 down. 
 I Serv. What, think you, then, the king shall 
 
 bedepos'd? 
 
 Card. Depress'd he is already ; and depos'd 
 'Tis doubt he will be : letters came last night 
 To a dear friend of the good Duke of York's, 
 That tell black tidings. 
 
 Queen. O, I am press'd to death through want 
 
 of speaking ! 
 Thou, old Adam's likeness [coming forward with 
 
 Ladies], set to dress this garden, 
 How dares thy harsh-rude tongue sound these 
 
 unpleasing news? 
 
 What Eve, what serpent, hath suggested thee 
 To make a second fall of cursed man? 
 Why dost thou say King Richard is depos'd? 
 Dar'st thou, thou little better thing than earth, 
 Divine his downfall? Say, where, when, and 
 
 how [wretch. 
 
 Cam'st thou by this ill tidings? speak, thou 
 Gard. Pardon me, madam : little joy have I 
 To breathe these news ; yet what I say is true. 
 King Richard, he is in the mighty hold 
 Of Bolingbroke: their fortunes both are 
 
 weigh 'd : 
 
 In your lord's scale is nothing but himself, 
 And some few vanities that make him light ; 
 But in the balance of great Bolingbroke, 
 Besides himself, are all the English peers, 
 And with that odds he weighs King Richard 
 
 down. 
 
 Post you to London, and you'll find it so; 
 I speak no more than every one doth know. 
 Queen. Nimble mischance, that art so light 
 
 of foot, 
 
 Doth not thy embassage belong to me, 
 And am I last that knows it? O, thou think'st 
 To serve me last, that I may longest keep 
 Thy sorrow in my breast. Come, ladies, go 
 
45 
 
 KING RICHARD IL 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 To meet at London London's king in woe. 
 What, was I born to this, that my sad lock 
 Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke? 
 Gardener, for telling me this news of woe, 
 I would the plants thou graft'st may never grow. 
 {Exeunt QUEEN and Ladies. 
 Card. Poor queen ! so that thy state might 
 
 be no worse, 
 
 I would my skill were subject to thy curse. 
 Here did she fail a tear ; here, in this place, 
 I '11 set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace : 
 Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen, 
 In the remembrance of a weeping queen. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 fiv/mo ?rl: <k.b -.ii brll 
 
 SCENE I. LONDON. Westminster Hall. The 
 
 Lords spiritual on the right side of the throne ; 
 
 the Lords temporal on the left ; the Comments 
 
 below. 
 
 Cf \mVt) 
 Enter BOLINGBROKE, AUMERLE, SURREY, 
 
 NORTHUMBERLAND, PERCY, FITZWATER, 
 
 mother Lord, the BISHOP OF CARLISLE, the 
 
 ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER, and Attendants. 
 
 Officers behind, with BAGOT. 
 
 Baling. Call forth Bagot.-- 
 Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind ; 
 What thou dost know of noble Gloster's death ; 
 Who wrought it with the king, and who per- 
 
 form'd 
 The bloody office of his timeless end. 
 
 Bagot. Then set before my face the Lord 
 Aumerle. [that man. 
 
 Baling. Cousin, stand forth, and look upon 
 
 Bagot. My Lord Aumerle, I know your 
 
 daring tongue 
 
 Scorns to unsay what once if hath deliver'd. 
 In that dead time when Gloster's death was 
 
 plotted 
 
 I heard you say, Is not my arm of length, 
 That reacheth from the restful English Court 
 As far as Calais, to my uncle's head ? 
 Amongst much other talk, that very time, 
 I heard you say that you had rather refuse 
 The offer of an hundred thousand crowns 
 Than Bolingbroke's return to England ; 
 Adding withal, how blest this land would be 
 In this your cousin's death. 
 
 Aum. Princes, and noble lords, 
 
 What answer shall I make to this base man ? 
 Shall I so much dishonour my fair stars, 
 On equal terms to give him chastisement? 
 Eithei I must, or have mine honour soil'd 
 With the attainder of his slanderous lips. 
 There is my gage, the manual seal of death, 
 
 That marks thee out for hell : I say, thou liest, 
 And will maintain what thou hast said is false 
 In thy heart-blood, though being all too base 
 To stain the temper of my knightly sword. 
 
 Baling. Bagot, forbear ; thou shalt not take 
 it up. [best 
 
 Aum. Excepting one, I would he were the 
 In all this presence that hath moved me so. 
 
 Fitz. If that thy valour stand on sympathy, 
 There is my gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine : 
 By that fair sun that shows me where thou 
 stand'st, [it, 
 
 I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spak'st 
 That thou wert cause of noble Gloster's death. 
 If thou deny'st it twenty times, thou liest ; 
 And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart, 
 Where it was forged, with my rapier's point. 
 
 Aum. Thou dar'st not, coward, live to see 
 that day. [hour. 
 
 Fitz. Now, by my soul, I would it were this 
 
 Aum. Fitzwater, thou art damn'd to hell for 
 this. [true 
 
 Percy. Aumerle, thou liest ; his honour is as 
 In this appeal as thou art all unjust ; 
 And that thou art so, there I throw my gage, 
 To prove it on thee to the extremest point 
 Of mortal breathing : seize it, if thou dar'st. 
 
 Aum. And if I do not, may my hands rot off, 
 And never brandish more revengeful steel 
 Over the glittering helmet of my foe ! 
 
 Lord. I task the earth to the like, forsworn 
 
 Aumerle ; 
 
 And spur thee on with full as many lies 
 As may be holla'd in thy treacherous ear 
 From sun to sun : there is my honour's pawn ; 
 Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st. 
 
 Aum. Who sets me else? by heaven, I'll 
 
 throw at all : 
 
 I have a thousand spirits in one breast, 
 To answer twenty thousand such as you. [well 
 
 Surrey. My Lord Fitzwater, I do remember 
 The very time Aumerle and you did talk. 
 
 Fitz. 'Tis very true: you were in presence 
 
 then; 
 And you can witness with me this is true. 
 
 Surrey. As false, by heaven, as heaven itself 
 is true. 
 
 Fitz. Surrey, thou liest. 
 
 Surrey. Dishonourable boy ! 
 
 That lie shall lie so heavy on my sword 
 That it shall render vengeance and revenge 
 Till thou the lie-giver and that lie do lie 
 In earth as quiet as thy father's skull : 
 In proof whereof, there is mine honour's pawn ; 
 Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st. [horse ! 
 Fitz. How fondly dost thou spur a forward 
 If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 45* 
 
 I dare meet Surrey in a wilderness, 
 And spit upon him, whilst I say he lies, 
 And lies, and lies : there is my bond of faith, 
 To tie thee to my strong correction. 
 As I intend to thrive in this new world, 
 Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal : 
 Besides, I heard the banish'd Norfolk say 
 That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men 
 To execute the noble duke at Calais, [a gage, 
 
 Aum. Some honest Christian trust me with 
 That Norfolk lies : here do I throw down this, 
 If he may be repeal'd, to try his honour, [gage 
 
 Baling. These differences shall all rest under 
 Till Norfolk be repeal'd: repeal'd he shall be, 
 And, though mine enemy, restor'd again 
 To all his lands and signories : when he 's re- 
 
 turn'd, 
 Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial. 
 
 Car. That honourable day shall ne'er be 
 
 seen. 
 
 Many a time hath banish'd Norfolk fought 
 For Jesu Christ in glorious Christian field, 
 Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross 
 Against black pagans, Turks, and Saracens : 
 And toil'd with works of war, retir'd himself 
 To Italy ; and there, at Venice, gave 
 His body to that pleasant country's earth, 
 And his pure soul unto his captain Christ, 
 Under whose colours he had fought so long. 
 
 Boling. Why, bishop, is Norfolk dead? 
 
 Car. As surely as I live, my lord. 
 
 Boling. Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul 
 
 to the bosom 
 
 Of good old Abraham ! Lords appellants, 
 Your differences shall all rest under gage 
 Till we assign you to your days of trial. 
 
 Enter YORK, attended. 
 
 York. Great Duke of Lancaster, I come to 
 thee [soul 
 
 From plume-pluck'd Richard ; who with willing 
 Adopts thee heir, and his high sceptre yields 
 To the possession of thy royal hand : 
 Ascend his throne, descending now from him, 
 And long live Henry, of that name the fourth ! 
 Baling. In God's name, I '11 ascend the regal 
 
 throne. 
 
 Car. Marry, God forbid !- 
 Worst in this royal presence may I speak, 
 Yet best beseeming me to speak the truth. 
 Would God that any in this noble presence 
 Were enough noble to be upright judge 
 Of noble Richard ! then true nobless would 
 Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong. 
 What subject can give sentence on his king? 
 And who sits here that is not Richard's subject? 
 Thieves are not judg'd but they are by to hear, 
 
 Although apparent guilt be seen ir them ; 
 And shall the figure of God's majesty, 
 His captain, steward, deputy elect, 
 Anointed, crowned, planted many years, 
 Be judg'd by subject and inferior breath, 
 And he himself not present ? O, forfend it, God, 
 That, in a Christian climate, souls refin d 
 Should show so heinous, black, obscene a deed ! 
 I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks, 
 Stirr'd up by God, thus boldly for his king. 
 My Lord of Hereford here, whom you call king, 
 Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford's king; 
 And if you crown him, let me prophesy, 
 The blood of English shall manure the ground, 
 And future ages groan for this foul act ; 
 Peace shall go sleep with Turks and infidels, 
 And in this seat of peace tumultuous wars 
 Shall kin with kin and kind with kind confound ; 
 Disorder, horror, fear, and mutiny, 
 Shall here inhabit, and this land be call'd 
 The field of Golgotha and dead men's skulls. 
 Or, if you raise this house against this house, 
 It will the woefullest division prove 
 That ever fell upon this cursed earth, 
 Prevent, resist it, let it not be so, 
 Lest child, child's children, cry against you woe ! 
 
 North. Well have you argu'd, sirj and, for 
 
 your pains, 
 
 Of capital treason we arrest you here. 
 My Loid of Westminster, be it your charge 
 To keep him safely till his day of trial. 
 May 't please you, lords, to grant the commons' 
 suit? 
 
 Boling. Fetch hither Richard, that in common 
 
 view 
 
 He may surrender ; so we shall proceed 
 Without suspicion. 
 
 York. I will be his conduct. [Exit. 
 
 Boling. Lords, you that are here under our 
 
 arrest, 
 
 Procure your sureties for your days of answer. 
 Little are we beholden to your love, 
 
 [To CARLISLE. 
 And little look'd for at your helping hands. 
 
 Re-enter YORK, with KING RICHARD, and 
 Officers bearing the crown, <5rV. 
 
 K. Rich. Alack, why am I sent for to a king, 
 Before I have shook off the regal thoughts 
 Wherewith I reign'd? I hardly yet have 
 
 learn'd 
 
 To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my limbs : 
 Give sorrow leave awhile to tutor me 
 To this submission. Yet I well remember 
 The favours of these men : were they not mine? 
 Did they not sometime cry, All hail I to me? 
 So Judas did to Christ : but he, in twelve, 
 
 
452 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 [ACT IV. 
 
 Found truth in all but one; I, in twelve thou- 
 sand, none. 
 
 God save the king ! Will no man say amen? 
 Am I both priest and clerk? well then, amen. 
 God save the king ! although I be not he ; 
 And yet, amen, if heaven do think him me. 
 To do what service am I sent for hither? 
 York. To do that office of thine own good- 
 will 
 
 Which tired majesty did make thee offer, 
 The resignation of thy state and crown 
 To Henry Bolingbroke. 
 
 K. Rich. Give me the crown. Here, cousin, 
 
 seize the crown ; 
 
 On this side my hand, and on that side yours. 
 Now is this golden crown like a deep well 
 That owes two buckets, filling one another ; 
 The emptier ever dancing in the air, 
 The other down, unseen, and full of water : 
 That bucket down and full of tears am I, 
 Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on 
 high. [resign. 
 
 Baling. I thought you had been willing to 
 K. Rich. My crown I am ; but still my griefs 
 
 are mine : 
 
 You may my glories and my state depose, 
 But not my griefs; still am I king of those. 
 Boling. Part of your cares you give me with 
 
 your crown. 
 K. Rich. Your cares set up do not pluck 
 
 my cares down. 
 
 My care is, loss of care, by old care done ; 
 Your care is, gain of care, by new care won : 
 The cares I give, I have, though given away ; 
 They tend the crown, yet still with me they 
 stay. [crown? 
 
 Boling. Are you contented to resign the 
 K. Rich. Ay, no; no, ay; for I must 
 
 nothing be ; 
 
 Therefore no no, for I resign to thee. 
 Now mark me, how I will undo myself: 
 I give this heavy weight from off my head, 
 And this unwieldy sceptre from my hand, 
 The pride of kingly sway from out my heart ; 
 With mine own tears I wash away my balm, 
 With mine own hands I give away my crown, 
 With mine own tongue deny my sacred state, 
 With mine own breath release all duty's rites : 
 All pomp and majesty I do forswear; 
 My manors, rents, revenues I forego ; 
 My acts, decrees, and statutes I deny : 
 God pardon all oaths that are broke to me ! 
 God keep all vows unbroke that swear to thee ! 
 Make me, that nothing have, with nothing 
 
 griev'd, 
 
 And thou with all pleas'd, that hast all achiev'd ! 
 Long mayst thou live in Richard's seat to sit, 
 
 And soon lie Richard in an earthy pit ! 
 God save King Henry, unking'd Richard says, 
 And send him many years of sunshine days ! 
 What more remains? 
 
 North. No more, but that you read 
 
 [Offering a paper. 
 
 These accusations, and these grievous crimes 
 Committed by your person and your followers 
 Against the state and profit of this land ; 
 That, by confessing them, the souls of men 
 May deem that you are worthily depos'd. 
 
 K. Rich. Must I do so? and must I ravel out 
 My weav'd-up follies? Gentle Northumberland, 
 If thy offences were upon record, 
 Would it not shame thee in so fair a troop 
 To read a lecture of them? If thou wouldst, 
 There shouldst thou find one heinous article, 
 Containing the deposing of a king, 
 And cracking the strong warrant of an oath, 
 Mark'd with a blot, damn'd in the book of 
 
 heaven : 
 
 Nay, all of you that stand and look upon, 
 Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself, 
 Though some of you, with Pilate, wash your 
 
 hands, 
 
 Showing an outward pity; yet you Pilates 
 Have here deliver'd me to my sour cross, 
 And water cannot wash away your sin. 
 
 North. My lord, despatch; read o'er these 
 articles. [see : 
 
 K. Rich. Mine eyes are full of tears, I cannot 
 And yet salt water blinds them not so much 
 But they can see a sort of traitors here. 
 Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself, 
 I find myself a traitor with the rest ; 
 For I have given here my soul's consent 
 To undeck the pompous body of a king ; 
 Make glory base, and sovereignty a slave, 
 Proud majesty a subject, state a peasant. 
 
 North. My lord, [suiting man, 
 
 K. Rich. No lord of thine, thou haught in- 
 Nor no man's lord ; I have no name, no title, 
 No, not that name was given me at the font, 
 But 'tis usurp'd : alack the heavy day, 
 That I have worn so many winters out, 
 And know not now what name to call myself! 
 O that I were a mockery-king of snow, 
 Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke, 
 To melt myself away in water-drops ! 
 Good king, great king, and yet not greatly 
 
 good, 
 
 And if my word be sterling yet in England, 
 Let it command a mirror hither straight, 
 That it may show me what a face I have, 
 Since it is bankrupt of his majesty. 
 
 Boling. Go some of you and fetch a looking- 
 glass. [Exit an Attendant. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 453 
 
 North. Read o'er this paper while the glass 
 doth come. [to hell ! 
 
 K. Rich. Fiend, thoutorment'stme ere I come 
 Baling. Urge it no more, my Lord Northum- 
 berland, [fied. 
 North. The commons will not, then, be satis- 
 K. Rich. They shall be satisfied I '11 read 
 
 enough, 
 
 When I do see the very book indeed 
 Where all my sins are writ, and that 's myself. 
 
 Re-enter Attendant with a glass. 
 
 Give me the glass, and therein will I read. 
 No deeper wrinkles yet? hath sorrow struck 
 So many blows upon this face of mine, 
 And made no deeper wounds? O flattering 
 
 glass, 
 
 Like to my followers in prosperity, 
 Thou dost beguile me ! Was this face the face 
 That every day under his household roof 
 Did keep ten thousand men? Was this the face 
 That, like the sun, did make beholders wink? 
 Was this the face that fac'd so many follies, 
 And was at last out-fac'd by Bolingbroke? 
 A brittle glory shineth in this face : 
 As brittle as the glory is the face ; 
 
 [Dashes the glass against the ground. 
 For there it is, crack' d in a hundred shivers. 
 Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport, 
 How soon my sorrow hath destroy'd my face. 
 
 Bo ling. The shadow of your sorrow hath 
 
 destroy'd 
 The shadow of your face. 
 
 K. Rich. Say that again. 
 
 The shadow of my sorrow? Ha ! let 's see : 
 'Tis very true, my grief lies all within ; 
 And these external manners of laments 
 Are merely shadows to the unseen grief 
 That swells with silence in the tortur'd soul ; 
 There lies the substance: and I thank thee, king, 
 For thy great bounty, that not only giv'st 
 Me cause to wail, but teachest me the way 
 How to lament the cause, I '11 beg one boon, 
 And then be gone and trouble you no more. 
 Shall I obtain it? 
 
 Baling. Name it, fair cousin. 
 
 K. Rich. Fair cousin ! Why, I am greater 
 
 than a king : 
 
 For when I was a king, my flatterers 
 Were then but subjects ; being now a subject, 
 I have a king here to my flatterer. 
 Being so great, I have no need to beg. 
 
 Baling. Yet ask. 
 
 K. Rich. And shall I have? 
 
 Baling. You shall. 
 
 K. Rich. Then give me leave to go. 
 
 Baling. Whither? 
 
 K. Rich. Whither you will, so I were from 
 
 your sights. [Tower. 
 
 Baling. Go, some of you convey him to the 
 
 K. Rich. O, good! Convey? conveyers are 
 
 you all, 
 
 That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall. 
 [Exeunt K. RICH. , some Lords, and a Guard. 
 Baling. On Wednesday next we solemnly set 
 
 down 
 
 Our coronation : lords, prepare yourselves. 
 [Exeunt all but the ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER, 
 
 BISHOP OF CARLISLE, and AUMERLE. 
 Abbot. A woeful pageant have we here beheld. 
 Car. The woe 's to come ; the children yet un- 
 born. 
 Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn. 
 
 Aunt. You holy clergymen, is there no plot 
 To rid the realm of this pernicious blot? 
 
 Abbot. Before I freely speak my mind herein, 
 You shall not only take the sacrament 
 To bury mine intents, but also to effect 
 Whatever I shall happen to devise. 
 I see your brows are full of discontent, 
 Your hearts of sorrow, and your eyes of tears: 
 Come home with me to supper ; I will lay 
 A plot shall show us all a merry day. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. LONDON. A Street leading to the 
 Tower. 
 
 Enter QUEEN and Ladies. 
 
 Queen. This way the king will come ; this is 
 
 the way 
 
 To Julius Caesar's ill-erected tower, 
 To whose flint bosom my condemned lord 
 Is doom'd a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke : 
 Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth 
 Have any resting for her true king's queen. 
 But soft, but see, or rather do not see, 
 My fair rose wither : yet look up, behold, 
 That you in pity may dissolve to dew, 
 And wash him fresh again with true-love tears. 
 
 Enter KING RICHARD and Guards. 
 
 Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did stand ; 
 Thou map of honour; thou King Richard's tomb, 
 And not King Richard; thou most beauteous 
 
 inn, 
 
 Why should hard-favour'd grief be lodg'd in thee, 
 When triumph is become an alehouse guest? 
 K. Rich. Join not with grief, fair woman, do 
 
 not so, 
 
 To make my end too sudden : learn, good soul, 
 To think our former state a happy dream ; 
 From which awak'd, the truth of what we are 
 
454 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Shows us but this: I am sworn brother, sweet, 
 To grim Necessity ; and he and I [France, 
 Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to 
 And cloister thee in some religious house : 
 Our holy lives must win a new world's crown, 
 Which our profane hours here have stricken 
 
 down. [and mind 
 
 Queen. What, is my Richard both in shape 
 
 Transform'd and weaken'd ? Hath Bolingbroke 
 
 Depos'd thine intellect? Hath he been in thy 
 
 heart? 
 
 The lion, dying, thrusteth forth his paw, 
 And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage 
 To be o'erpower'd; and wilt thou, pupil-like, 
 Take thy correction mildly, kiss the rod, 
 And fawn on rage with base humility, 
 Which art a lion and a king of beasts? 
 K. Rich. A king of beasts, indeed ; if aught 
 
 but beasts, 
 
 I had been still a happy king of men. 
 Good sometime queen, prepare thee hence for 
 
 France : 
 
 Think I am dead; and that even here thou tak'st, 
 As from my death -bed, my last living leave. 
 In winter's tedious nights sit by the fire 
 With good old folks, and let them tell thee tales 
 Of woeful ages long ago betid ; 
 And ere thou bid good-night, to quit their grief 
 Tell thou the lamentable tale of me, 
 And send the hearers weeping to their beds: 
 For why, the senseless brands will sympathize 
 The heavy accent of thy moving tongue, 
 And in compassion weep the fire out ; 
 And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black, 
 For the deposing of a rightful king. 
 
 Enter NORTHUMBERLAND attended. 
 
 North. My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is 
 
 changed ; 
 
 You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower. 
 And, madam, there is order ta'en for you ; 
 With all swift speed you must away to France, 
 
 K. Rich. Northumberland, thou ladder 
 
 wherewithal 
 
 The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne, 
 The time shall not be many hours of age 
 More than it is, ere foul sin, gathering head, 
 Shall break into corruption : thou shalt think, 
 Though he divide the realm, and give thee half, 
 It is too little, helping him to all ; [the way 
 And he shall think that thou, which know'st 
 To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again, 
 Being ne'er so little urg'd, another way 
 To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne. 
 The love of wicked friends converts to fear ; 
 That fear to hate ; and hate turns one or both 
 To worthy danger and deserved death. 
 
 North. My guilt be on my head, and there 
 
 an end, [with. 
 
 Take leave, and part ; for you must part forth- 
 
 K. Rich. Doubly divorc'd! Bad men, ye 
 
 violate 
 
 A twofold marriage, 'twixt my crown and me, 
 And then betwixt me and my married wife. 
 Let me unkiss the oath 'twixt thee and me ; 
 And yet not so, for with a kiss 'twas made. 
 Part us, Northumberland ; I towards the north, 
 Where shivering cold and sickness pines the 
 clime ; [pomp, 
 
 My wife to France, from whence, set forth in 
 She came adorned hither like sweet May, 
 Sent back like Hallowmas or short'st of day. 
 Queen. And must we be divided? must we 
 
 part? 
 
 K. Rich. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and 
 heart from heart. [me. 
 
 Queen. Banish us both, and send the king with 
 North. That were some love, but little policy. 
 Queen. Then whither he goes thither let me 
 
 r[woe. 
 So two, together weeping, make one 
 Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here ; 
 Better far off than near, be ne'er the near. 
 Go, count thy way with sighs; I, mine with 
 groans. [moans. 
 
 Queen. So longest way shall have the longest 
 K. Rich. Twice for one step I '11 groan, the 
 
 way being short, 
 
 And piece the way out with a heavy heart. 
 Come, come, in wooing sorrow let 's be brief, 
 Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief. 
 One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly 
 
 part; 
 Thus give I mine, and thus take I thy heart. 
 
 [They kiss. 
 Queen. Give me mine own again ; 'twere no 
 
 good part 
 To take on me to keep and kill thy heart. 
 
 [ They kiss again. 
 
 So, now I have mine own again, be gone, 
 That I may strive to kill it with a groan. 
 K. Rich. We make woe wanton with this 
 
 fond delay : 
 Once more, adieu ; the rest let sorrow say. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. The same. A Room in the DUKE 
 OF YORK'S Palace. 
 
 Enter YORK and his DUCHESS. 
 
 Duch. My lord, you told me you would tell 
 
 the rest, 
 
 When weeping made you break the story oft 
 Of our two cousins coming into London^ 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 455 
 
 York. Where did I leave? 
 Duch. At that sad stop, my lord, 
 
 Where rude misgovern'd hands from windows' 
 
 tops [head. 
 
 Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard's 
 
 York. Then, as I said, the duke, great 
 
 Bolingbroke, 
 
 Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed, 
 Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know, 
 With slow but stately pace kept on his course, 
 While all tongues cried, God save thee> Boling- 
 broke I 
 You would have thought the very windows 
 
 spake, 
 
 So many greedy looks of young and old 
 Through casements darted their desiring eyes 
 Upon his visage; and that all the walls 
 With painted imagery had said at once, 
 fesu preserve thee! welcome , Bolingbroke! 
 "Whilst he, from one side to the other turning, 
 Bareheaded, lower than his proud steed's neck, 
 Bespake them thus, I thank you, countrymen: 
 And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along. 
 Duch. Alas, poor Richard! where rode he 
 
 the whilst? 
 
 York. As in a theatre the eyes of men, 
 After a well-grac'd actor leaves the stage, 
 Are idly bent on him that enters next, 
 Thinking his prattle to be tedious ; [eyes 
 
 Even so, or with much more contempt, men's 
 Did scowl on Richard ; no man cried, God save 
 
 him! 
 
 No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home : 
 But dust was thrown upon his sacred head ; 
 Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off, 
 His face still combating with tears and smiles, 
 The badges of his grief and patience, 
 That had not God, for some strong purpose, 
 
 steel'd [melted, 
 
 The hearts of men, they must perforce have 
 And barbarism itself have pitied him. 
 But heaven hath a hand in these events, 
 To whose high will we bound our calm contents. 
 To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now, 
 Whose state and honour I for aye allow. 
 Duch. Here comes my son Aumerle. 
 York. Aumerle that was; 
 
 But that is lost for being Richard's friend, 
 And, madam, you must call him Rutland now : 
 I am in Parliament pledge for his truth 
 And lasting fealty to the new-made king. 
 
 Enter Au MERLE. 
 
 Duch. Welcome, my son : who are the violets 
 
 now 
 
 That strew the green lap of the new-come 
 spring? 
 
 Aum. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly 
 
 care not : 
 God knows I had as lief be none as one. 
 
 York. Well, bear you well in this new spring 
 
 of time, 
 
 Lest you be cropp'd before you come to prime. 
 What news from Oxford? hold those justs and 
 
 triumphs? 
 
 Aum. For aught I know, my lord, they do. 
 York. You will be there, I know. 
 Aum. If God prevent it not, I purpose so. 
 York. What seal is that that hangs without 
 
 thy bosom ? 
 
 Yea, look'st thou pale? let me see the writing. 
 Aum. My lord, 'tis nothing. 
 York. No mutter, then, who sees it. 
 
 I will be satisfied ; let me see the writing. 
 
 Aum. I do beseech your grace to pardon me : 
 It is a matter of small consequence, 
 Which for some reasons I would not have seen. 
 York. Which for some reasons, sir, I mean 
 
 to see. 
 I fear, I fear, 
 
 Duch. What should you fear? 
 
 'Tis nothing but some bond that he is enter'd 
 
 into 
 
 For gay apparel against the triumph-day. 
 York. Bound to himself! what doth he with 
 
 a bond 
 
 That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool. 
 Boy, let me see the writing. 
 Aum. I do beseech you, pardon me ; I may 
 
 not show it. 
 
 York. I will be satisfied ; let me see it, I say. 
 [Snatches t't, and reads. 
 
 Treason ! foul treason ! villain ! traitor ! slave ! 
 Duch. What's the matter, my lord? 
 York. Ho! who's within there? 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 JJUO^TcS J<is} ishil v>j JjjC! Jo;. JxJUOP J 
 
 Saddle my horse. 
 
 God for his mercy, what treachery is here ! 
 Duch. Why, what is't, my lord? 
 York. Give me my boots, I say; saddle my 
 
 horse. 
 
 Now, by mine honour, by my life, my troth, 
 I will appeach the villain. [Exit Servant. 
 
 Duch. What's the matter? 
 
 York. Peace, foolish woman. 
 Duch. I will not peace. What is the matter, 
 
 son? 
 
 Aum. Good mother, be content ; it is no more 
 Than my poor life must answer. 
 
 Duch. Thy life answer ! 
 
 York. Bring me my boots : I will unto the 
 king. 
 
 
456 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Re-enter Servant with boots. 
 
 Duck. Strike him, Aumerle. Poor boy, 
 
 thou art amaz'd. 
 
 Hence, villain ! never more come in my sight. 
 [To the Servant. 
 
 York. Give me my boots, I say. 
 
 Duck. Why, York, what wilt thou do? 
 Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own ? 
 Have we more sons? or are we KKC to have? 
 Is not my teeming date drunk up with time ? 
 And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age, 
 And rob me of a happy mother's name? 
 Is he not like thee? is he not thine own? 
 
 York. Thou fond mad woman, 
 Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy? 
 A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament, 
 And interchangeably set down their hands 
 To kill the king at Oxford. 
 
 Duck. He shall be none ; 
 
 We '11 keep him here : then what is that to him? 
 
 York. Away, fond woman ! were he twenty 
 
 times my son 
 I would appeach him. 
 
 Duch. Hadst thou groan'd for him 
 
 As I have done, thou wouldst be more pitiful. 
 But now I know thy mind ; thou dost suspect 
 That I have been disloyal to thy bed, 
 And that he is a bastard, not thy son : 
 Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind: 
 He is as like thee as a man may be, 
 Not like to me, nor any of my kin, 
 And yet I love him. 
 
 York. Make way, unruly woman ! 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 Duch. After, Aumerle! mount thee upon 
 
 his horse ; 
 
 Spur post, and get before him to the king, 
 And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee. 
 I '11 not be long behind ; though I be old, 
 I doubt not but to ride as fast as York ; 
 And never will I rise up from the ground 
 Till Bolingbroke have pardon'd thee. Away, 
 be gone ! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. WINDSOR. A Room in the 
 Castle. 
 
 Enter BOLINGBROKE as King, PERCY, and 
 other Lords. 
 
 Baling. Can no man tell of my unthrifty son ? 
 'Tis full three months since I did see him last : 
 If any plague hang over us, 'tis he. 
 I would to God, my lords, he might be found : 
 Inquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there, 
 For there, they say, he daily doth frequent, 
 With unrestrained loose companions, i 
 
 Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes. 
 And beat our watch, and rob our passengers ; 
 While he, young, wanton, and effeminate boy, 
 Takes on the point of honour to support 
 So dissolute a crew. [prince, 
 
 Percy. My lord, some two days since I saw the 
 And told him of these triumphs held at Oxford. 
 
 Baling. And what said the gallant? 
 
 Percy. His answer was, he would unto the 
 
 stews, 
 
 And from the common'st creature pluck a glove, 
 And wear it as a favour ; and with that 
 He would unhorse the lustiest challenger. 
 
 Baling. As dissolute as desperate: yet 
 
 through both 
 
 I see some sparkles of a better hope, 
 Which elder days may happily bring forth. 
 But who comes here? 
 
 Enter AUMERLE hastily. 
 
 Aum. Where is the king? 
 
 Baling. What means 
 
 Our cousin, that he stares and looks so wildly ? 
 Aum. God save your grace ! I do beseech 
 
 your majesty, 
 
 To have some conference with your grace alone. 
 Baling. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us 
 here alone. 
 
 {Exeunt PERCY and Lords. 
 What is the matter with our cousin now? 
 Aum. For ever may my knees grow to the 
 earth, [Kneels. 
 
 My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth, 
 Unless a pardon ere I rise or speak. 
 
 Baling. Intended or committed was this fault? 
 If but the first, how heinous e'er it be, 
 To win thy after-love I pardon thee. 
 
 Atttn. Then give me leave that I may turn 
 
 the key, 
 
 That no man enter till my tale be done. 
 Baling. Have thy desire. 
 
 [AUMERLE locks the door. 
 York. [Within.} My liege, beware; look to 
 
 thyself; 
 
 Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there. 
 Baling. Villain, I '11 make thee safe. 
 
 [Drawing. 
 
 Aum. Stay thy revengeful hand ; 
 Thou hast no cause to fear. 
 
 York. [Within.~\ Open the door, secure, 
 
 foolhardy king : 
 
 Shall I, for love, speak treason to thy face? 
 Open the door, or I will break it open. 
 
 [BOLING. opens the door and locks it again. 
 
 Enter YORK. 
 boling. What is the matter, uncle? speak; 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 457 
 
 Recover breath ; tell us how near is danger, 
 That we may arm us to encounter it. 
 
 York. Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt 
 
 know 
 
 The treason that my haste forbids me show. 
 Aum. Remember, as thou read'st, thy pro- 
 mise pass'd : 
 
 I do repent me ; read not my name there ; 
 My heart is not confederate with my hand. 
 York. It was, villain, ere thy hand did set it 
 
 down. 
 
 I tore it from the traitor's bosom, king ; 
 Fear, and not love, begets his penitence : 
 Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove 
 A serpent that will sting thee to the heart. 
 Boiing. O heinous, strong, and bold con- 
 spiracy ! 
 
 loyal father of a treacherous son ! 
 
 Thou sheer, immaculate, and silver fountain, 
 From whence this stream through muddy pas- 
 sages 
 
 Hath held his current and defil'd himself! 
 Thy overflow of good converts to bad ; 
 And thy abundant goodness shall excuse 
 This deadly blot in thy digressing son. 
 
 York. So shall my virtue be his vice's bawd ; 
 And he shall spend mine honour with his shame, 
 As thriftless sons their scraping fathers' gold. 
 Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies, 
 Or my sham'd life in his dishonour lies : 
 Thou kill'st me in his life ; giving him breath, 
 The traitor lives, the true man 's put to death. 
 
 Duck. [Within.] What ho, my liege! for 
 God's sake, let me in. 
 
 Boiing. What shrill-voic'd suppliant makes 
 this eager cry? ['tis I. 
 
 Duck. A woman, and thine aunt, great king ; 
 Speak with me, pity me, open the door : 
 A beggar begs that never begg'd before. 
 
 Boiing. Our scene is alter'd from a serious 
 thing, [King. 
 
 And now chang'd to The Beggar and the 
 My dangerous cousin, let your mother in : 
 
 1 know she 's come to pray ibr your foul sin. 
 
 [AUMERLE unlocks the door. 
 York. If thou do pardon, whosoever pray, 
 More sins, for this forgiveness, prosper may. 
 This fester'd joint cut off, the rest rests sound : 
 This let alone will all the rest confound. 
 
 Enter DUCHESS. 
 
 Duck. O king, believe not this hard-hearted 
 
 man! 
 Love, loving not itself, none other can. 
 
 York. Thou frantic woman, what dost thou 
 
 make here? 
 Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear? 
 
 Duch. Sweet York, be patient. Hear me, 
 gentle liege. [Kneels. 
 
 Baling. Rise up, good aunt. 
 
 Duch. Not yet, I thee beseech : 
 
 For ever will I walk upon my knees, 
 And never see day that the happy sees 
 Till thou give joy ; until thou bid me joy, 
 By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy. 
 
 Aum. Unto my mother's prayers I bend my 
 knee. [Kneels. 
 
 York. Against them both, my true joints 
 bended be. [Kneels. 
 
 Ill mayst thou thrive, if thou grant any grace ! 
 
 Duch. Pleads he in earnest? look upon his 
 
 face ; [jest ; 
 
 His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in 
 
 His words come from his mouth, ours from our 
 
 breast : 
 
 He prays but faintly, and would be denied ; 
 We pray with heart and soul, and all beside : 
 His weary joints would gladly rise, I know ; 
 Our knees shall kneel till to the ground they 
 
 grow: 
 
 His prayers are full of false hypocrisy ; 
 Ours of true zeal and deep integrity. 
 Our prayers do out-pray his ; then let them have 
 That mercy which true prayers ought to have. 
 
 Boiing. Good aunt, stand up. 
 
 Duch. Nay, do not say stand up; 
 
 But pardon first, and afterwards stand up. 
 An if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach, 
 Pardon should be the first word of thy speech. 
 I never long'd to hear a word till now ; 
 Say pardon, king; let pity teach thee how: 
 The word is short, but not so short as sweet ; 
 No word likepardon, for kings' mouths so meet. 
 York. Speak it in French, king; say/ar- 
 
 donnez-moi. 
 Duch. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to 
 
 destroy? 
 
 Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord, 
 That sett'st the word itself against the word ! 
 Speak pardon as 'tis current in our land; 
 The chopping French we do not understand. 
 Thine eye begins to speak, set thy tongue there: 
 Or in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear; 
 That hearing how our plaints and prayers do 
 
 pierce, 
 Pity may move thee pardon to rehearse. 
 
 Boiing. Good aunt, stand up. 
 
 Duch. I do not sue to stand ; 
 
 Pardon is all the suit I have in hand. [me. 
 
 Boiing. I pardon him, as God shall pardon 
 
 Duch. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee ! 
 Yet am I sick for fear : speak it again ; 
 Twice saying pardon doth not pardon twain, 
 But makes one pardon strong. 
 
458 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Boling. With all my heart 
 
 I pardon him. 
 
 Duck. A god on earth thon art. 
 
 Boling. But for our trusty brother-in-law, and 
 
 the abbot, 
 
 With all the rest of that consorted crew, 
 Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels. 
 Good uncle, help to order several powers 
 To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are : 
 They shall not live within this world, I swear, 
 But I will have them, if I once know where. 
 Uncle, farewell : and, cousin mine, adieu : 
 Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you 
 true. 
 
 Duck. Come, my old son : I pray God make 
 thee new. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. Another Room in the Castle. 
 Enter SIR PIERCE OF EXTON and a Servant. 
 
 Exton. Didst thou not mark the king, what 
 
 words he spake? 
 
 Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear? 
 Was it not so? 
 
 Serv. Those were his very words. 
 
 Exton. Have I no friend? quoth he : he spake 
 
 it twice, 
 And urgM it twice together, did he not? 
 
 Serv. He did. [me, 
 
 Exton. And, speaking it, he wistly look'd on 
 As who should say, I would thou wert the man 
 That would divorce this terror from my heart, 
 Meaning the king at Pomfret. Come, let 's go : 
 3 am the king's friend, and will rid his foe. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. POMFRET. The Dungeon of the 
 
 Castle. 
 
 Enter KING RICHARD. 
 
 K. Rich. I have been studying how I may 
 
 compare 
 
 This prison where I live unto the world : 
 And, for because the world is populous, 
 And here is not a creature but myself, 
 I cannot do it ; yet I '11 hammer 't out. 
 My brain I '11 prove the female to my soul, 
 My soul the father : and these two beget 
 A generation of still-breeding thoughts, 
 And these same thoughts people this little world, 
 In humours like the people of this world, 
 For no thought is contented. The better sort , 
 As thoughts of things divine, are intermix'd 
 With scruples, and do set the word itself 
 Against the word ; 
 
 As thus, Come, little ones; and then again, 
 ft is as hard to come as for a c&ntfl 
 
 To thread the postern of a needle's eye. 
 Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot 
 Unlikely wonders : how these vain weak nails 
 May tear a passage through the flinty ribs 
 Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls ; 
 And, for they Cannot, die in their own pride. 
 Thoughts tending to content flatter themselves 
 That they are not the first of fortune's slaves, 
 Nor shall not be the last ; like silly beggars, 
 Who, sitting in the stocks, refuge their shame, 
 That many have, and others must sit there ; 
 And in this thought they find a kind of ease, 
 Bearing their own misfortune on the back 
 Of such as have before endur'd the like. 
 Thus play I, in one person, many people, 
 And none contented : sometimes am I king ; 
 Then treason makes me wish myself a beggar, 
 And so I am : then crushing penury 
 Persuades me I was better when a king ; 
 Then am I king'd again : and by and by 
 Think that I am unking' d by Bolingbroke, 
 And straight am nothing : but whate'er I am, 
 Nor I, nor any man that but man is, 
 With nothing shall be pleas'd till he be eas'd 
 With being nothing. Music do I hear? 
 
 [Music. 
 
 Ha, ha ! keep time : how sour sweet music is 
 When time is broke and no proportion kept ! 
 So is it in the music of men's lives. 
 And here have I the daintiness of ear 
 To check time broke in a disorder'd string ; 
 But, for the concord of my state and time, 
 Had not an ear to hear my true time broke. 
 I wasted time, and now doth time waste me ; 
 For now hath time made me his numbering 
 
 clock: [jar 
 
 My thoughts are minutes ; and, with sighs, they 
 Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward 
 
 watch, 
 
 Whereto my finger, like a dial's point, 
 Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears. 
 Now, sir, the sound that tells what hour it is, 
 Are clamorous groans that strike upon my heart, 
 Which is the bell : so sighs, and tears, and groans, 
 Show minutes, times, and hours : but my time 
 Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud jqy, 
 While I stand fooling here, his Jack o' the clock. 
 This music mads me ; let it sound no more ; 
 For though it have holp madmen to their wits, 
 In me it seems it will make wise men mad. 
 Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me ! 
 For 'tis a sign of love ; and love to Richard 
 Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world. 
 
 Enter 
 
 
 Groom. Hail, royal prince! 
 
 K. Rick. Thanks, nobte peer ; 
 
SCENE V.] 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 459 
 
 The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear. 
 What art thou? and how com'st thou hither, 
 Where no man ever comes, but that sad dog 
 That brings me food to make misfortune live? 
 Groom. I was a poor groom of thy stable, king, 
 When thou wert king ; who, travelling towards 
 
 York, 
 
 With much ado at length have gotten leave 
 To look upon my sometimes royal master's face. 
 O, how it yearn'd my heart, when I beheld, 
 In London streets, that coronation-day, 
 When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary, 
 That horse that thou so often hast bestrid, 
 That horse that I so carefully have dress'd ! 
 K. Rich. Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, 
 
 gentle friend, 
 
 How went he under him? [ground. 
 
 Groom. So proudly as if he disdain d the 
 K. Rich. So proud that Bolingbroke was on 
 
 his back ! 
 
 That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand ; 
 This hand hath made him proud with clapping 
 
 him. 
 
 Wouldhe notstumble? would he not fall down, 
 Since pride must have a fall, and break the 
 
 neck 
 
 Of that proud man that did usurp his back? 
 Forgiveness, horse ! why do I rail on thee, 
 Since thou, created to be aw'd by man, 
 Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse; 
 And yet I bear a burden like an ass, 
 Spur-gall'd and tir'd by jauncing Bolingbroke. 
 
 Enter Keeper with a dish. 
 
 Keep. Fellow, give place ; here is no longer 
 
 stay. [ To the Groom. 
 
 K. Rich. If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert 
 
 away. 
 Groom. What my tongue dares not, that my 
 
 heart shall say. [Exit. 
 
 Keep. My lord, wilt please you to fall to? 
 K. Rich. Taste of it first as thou art wont to 
 
 do. [ton, 
 
 Keep. My lord, I dare not. Sir Pierce of Ex- 
 
 Who lately came from the king, commands the 
 
 contrary. 
 K. Rich. The devil take Henry of Lancaster 
 
 and thee ! 
 Patience is stale, and I am weary of it. 
 
 [Beats the Keeper. 
 Keep. Help, help, help ! 
 
 Enter EXTON and Servants, armed. 
 
 K. Rich. How now! what means death in 
 this rude assault? [strument. 
 
 Villain, thine own hand yields thy death's in- 
 [Snatching a weapon^ and killing one. 
 
 
 Go thou, and fill another room in hell. 
 
 [He kills another ; then EXTON strikes 
 
 him down. 
 
 That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire 
 That staggers thus my person. Exton, thy 
 
 fierce hand 
 Hath with the king's blood stain'd the king's 
 
 own land. 
 
 Mount, mount, my soul ! thy seat is up on high ; 
 Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to 
 
 die. [Dies. 
 
 Exton. As full of valour as of royal blood : 
 Both have I spilt ; O, would the deed were 
 
 For now the devil, that told me I did well, 
 Says that this deed is chronicled in hell. 
 This dead king to the living king I '11 bear : 
 Take hence the'rest, and give them burial here. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI. WINDSOR. A Room in the 
 Castle. 
 
 Flourish. Enter BOLINGBROKE as King, 
 YORK, LORDS, and Attendants. 
 
 Baling. Kind uncle York, the latest news we 
 
 hear 
 
 Is that the rebels have consum'd with fire 
 Our town of Cicester in Glostershire ; 
 But whether they be ta'en or slain we hear not. 
 
 Enter NORTHUMBERLAND. 
 Welcome, my lord : what is the news? 
 
 North. First, to thy sacred state wish I all 
 
 happiness. 
 
 The next news is, I have to London sent 
 The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and 
 
 Kent: 
 
 The manner of their taking may appear 
 At large discoursed in this paper here. 
 
 [Presenting a paper. 
 Baling. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy 
 
 pains; 
 And to thy worth will add right worthy gains. 
 
 Enter FITZWATER. 
 Fitz. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to 
 
 London 
 
 The heads of Brocas and Sir Bennet Seely ; 
 Two of the dangerous consorted traitors 
 That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow. 
 Baling. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be 
 
 forgot ; 
 Right noble is thy merit, well I wot. 
 
 Enter PERCY, with the BISHOP OF CARLISLE. 
 Percy. The grand conspirator, Abbot of 
 Westminster, 
 
KING RICHARD II. 
 
 [ACT V. 
 
 With clog of conscience and sour melancholy, 
 Hath yielded up his body to the grave ; 
 But here is Carlisle living, to abide 
 Thy kingly doom and sentence of his pride. 
 
 Boling. Carlisle, this is your doom : 
 Choose out some secret place, some reverend 
 
 room, 
 
 More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life ; 
 So, as thou liv'st in peace, die free from strife : 
 For though mine enemy thou hast ever been, 
 High sparks of honour in thee have I seen. 
 
 Enter EXTON, with Attendants, bearing a 
 coffin. 
 
 Exton. Great king, within this coffin I pre 
 
 sent 
 
 Thy buried fear : herein all breathless lies 
 The mightiest of thy greatest enemieSi 
 Richard of Bordeaux, by me hither brought. 
 Boling. Exton, I thank thee not; for thou 
 hast wrought 
 
 A deed of slander, with thy fatal hand, 
 Upon my head and all this famous land. 
 Exton. From your own mouth, my lord, did 
 
 I this deed. 
 Boling. They love not poison that do poison 
 
 need, 
 
 Nor do I thee : though I did wish him dead, 
 I hate the murderer, love him murdered. 
 The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour, 
 But neither my good word nor princely favour : 
 With Cain go wander through the shade of night, 
 And never show thy head by day nor light. 
 Lords, I protest, my soul is full of woe, 
 That blood should sprinkle me to make me 
 
 grow: 
 
 Come, moum with me for that I do lament. 
 And put on sullen black incontinent : 
 I '11 make a voyage to the Holy Land, 
 To wash this blood off from my guilty hand : 
 March sadly after ; grace my mournings here, 
 In weeping after this untimely bier. [Exatnh 
 
 
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 ii'Xjcjs 'f-fAft jjjti^jft) tisdJ lo trifi'Mui! anJS 
 
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OV1LS HO 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 the 
 
 KING HENRY THE FOURTH. 
 
 HENRY, Prince of Wales, 
 
 PRINCE JOHN of Lancaster, 
 
 EARL OF WESTMORELAND, \Friends to 
 
 SIR WALTER BLUNT, } KING. 
 
 THOMAS PERCY, Earl of Worcester. 
 
 HENRY PERCY, Earl of Northumberland. 
 
 HENRY PERCY, surnamed HOTSPUR, his Son. 
 
 EDMUND MORTIMER, Earl of March. 
 
 SCROOP, Archbishop of York. 
 
 SIR MICHAEL, a Friend to the Archbishop. 
 
 ARCHIBALD, Earl of Douglas. 
 
 OWEN GLENDOWER. 
 
 SIR RICHARD VERNON. 
 
 SIR JOHN FALSTAFF. 
 
 POINS. 
 GADSHILL. 
 PETO. 
 BARDOLPH. 
 
 
 LADY PERCY, Wife to HOTSPUR, and Sister to 
 MORTIMER. 
 
 LADY MORTIMER, Daughter to GLENDOWER, 
 and Wife to MORTIMER. 
 
 MRS. QUICKLY, Hostess of a Tavern in East- 
 cheap. 
 
 Lords, Officers, Sheriff, Vintner, Chamberlain, 
 Drawers, Two Carriers, Travellers, and 
 Attendants. 
 
 SCENE, ENGLAND. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. LONDON. A Room, in the Palace. 
 
 Enter KING HENRY, WESTMORELAND, SIR 
 WALTER BLUNT, and others. 
 
 K. Hen. So shaken as we are, so wan with 
 
 care, 
 
 Find we a time for frighted peace to pant, 
 And breathe short-winded accents of new broils 
 To be commenc'd in strands afar remote. 
 No more the thirsty entrance of this soil 
 Shall daub her lips with her own children's 
 
 blood; 
 
 No more shall trenching war channel her fields, 
 Nor bruise her flowerets with the armed hoofs 
 Of hostile paces : those opposed eyes 
 Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven, 
 All ot one nature, of one substance bred, 
 Did lately meet in the intestine shock 
 And furious close of civil butchery, 
 Shall now, in mutual well-beseeming ranks, 
 March all one way, and be no more oppos'd 
 Against acquaintance, kindred, and allies : 
 The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife, 
 No more shall cut his master. Therefore, 
 
 friends, 
 As far as to the sepulchre of Christ, 
 
 Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross 
 We are impressed and engag'd to fight, 
 Forthwith a power of English shall we levy ; 
 Whose arms were moulded in their mothers' 
 
 womb 
 
 To chase these pagans in those holy fields 
 Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet 
 Which fourteen hundred years ago were nail'd 
 For our advantage on the bitter cross. 
 But this our purpose is a twelvemonth old, 
 And bootless 'tis to tell you we will go : 
 Therefore we meet not now. Then let me hear 
 Of you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland, 
 What yesternight our council did decree 
 In forwarding this dear expedience. 
 
 West. My liege, this haste was hot in ques- 
 tion, 
 
 And many limits of the charge set down 
 But yesternight : when, all athwart, there came 
 A post from Wales loaden with heavy news ; 
 Whose worst was, that the noble Mortimer 
 Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight 
 Against the irregular and wild Glendower, 
 Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken, 
 A thousand of his people butchered ; 
 Upon whose dead corpse there was such mis- 
 use, 
 Such beastly, shameless transformation, 
 
462 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 FACT i. 
 
 By those Welshwomen done, as may not be 
 Without much shame re-told or spoken of. 
 K. Hen. It seems, then, that the tidings of 
 
 this broil 
 
 Brake off our business for the Holy Land. 
 West. This, match'd with other, did, my 
 
 gracious Lord ; 
 
 For more uneven and unwelcome news 
 Came from the north, and thus it did import : 
 On Holy-rood day, the gallant Hotspur there, 
 Young Harry Percy, and brave Archibald, 
 That ever valiant and approved Scot, 
 At Holmedon met, 
 
 Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour ; 
 As by discharge of their artillery, 
 And shape of likelihood, the news was told ; 
 For he that brought them, in the very heat 
 And pride of their contention did take horse, 
 Uncertain of the issue any way. 
 K. Hen. Here is a dear and true-industrious 
 
 friend, 
 
 Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse, 
 Stain'd with the variation of each soil 
 Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours; 
 And he hath brought us smooth and welcome 
 
 news. 
 
 The Earl of Douglas is discomfited : 
 Ten thousand bold Scots, two-and-twenty 
 
 knights, 
 
 Balk'd in their own blood, did Sir Walter see 
 On Holmedon's plains : of prisoners. Hotspur 
 
 took 
 
 Mordake, Earl of Fife and eldest son 
 To beaten Douglas ; and the Earls of Athol, 
 Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith. 
 And is not this an honourable spoil? 
 A gallant prize? ha, cousin, is it not? 
 
 West. In faith, 
 
 It is a conquest for a prince to boast of. 
 JC. Hen. Yea, there thou mak'st me sad, and 
 
 mak'st me sin, 
 
 In envy that my Lord Northumberland 
 Should be the father to so blest a son, 
 A son who is the theme of honour's tongue; 
 Amongst a grove, the very straightest plant ; 
 Who is sweet fortune's minion and her pride : 
 Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him, 
 See riot and dishonour stain the brow 
 Of my young Harry. O that it could be prov'd 
 That some night-tripping fairy had exchang'd 
 In cradle- clothes our children where they lay, 
 And calPd mine Percy, his Plantagenet ! 
 Then would I have his Harry, and he mine : 
 But let him from my thoughts. What think 
 
 you, coz, 
 
 Of this young Percy's pride? The prisoners, 
 Which he in this adventure hath surpris'd, 
 
 To his own use he keeps ; and sends me word, 
 I shall have none but Mordake Earl of Fife. 
 
 West. Th's is his uncle's teaching, this is 
 
 Worcester, 
 
 Malevolent to you in all aspects; 
 Which makes him prune himself, and bristle up 
 The crest of youth against your dignity. 
 
 K. Hen. But I have sent for him to answer 
 
 this; 
 
 And for this cause awhile we must neglect 
 Our holy purpose to Jerusalem. 
 Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we 
 Will hold at Windsor, so inform the lords: 
 But come yourself with speed to us again ; 
 For more is to be said and to be done 
 Than out of anger can be uttered. 
 
 West. I will, my liege. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. The same. Another Room in the 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter PRINCE HENRY and FALSTAFF. 
 
 FaL Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad? 
 
 P. Hen. Thou art so fat-witted, with drink- 
 ing of old sack, and unbuttoning thee after 
 supper, and sleeping upon benches after neon, 
 that thou hast forgotten to demand that truly 
 which thou wouldst truly know. What a devil 
 hast thou to do with the time of the day? unless 
 hours were cups of sack, and minutes capons, 
 and clocks the tongues of bawds, and dials the 
 signs of leaping houses, and the blessed sun 
 himself a fair hot wench in flame-coloured taf- 
 feta, I see no reason why thou shouldst be so 
 superfluous to demand the time of the day. 
 
 Fal. Indeed, you come near me now, Hal ; 
 for we that take purses go by the moon and 
 the seven stars, and not by Phoebus, he, that 
 wandering knight so fair. And, I pr'ythee, 
 sweet wag, when thou art king, as, God save 
 thy grace, (majesty, I should say ; for grace 
 thou wilt have none,) 
 
 P. IJen. What, none? 
 
 Fal. No, by my troth ; not so much as will 
 serve to be prologue to an egg and butter. 
 
 P. Hen. Well, how then? come, roundly, 
 roundly. 
 
 Fal. Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art 
 king, let not us that are squires of the night's 
 body be called thieves of the day's beauty : let 
 us be Diana's foresters, gentlemen of the shade, 
 minions of the moon ; and let men say we be 
 men of good government, being governed, as 
 the sea is, by our noble and chaste mistress the 
 moon, under whose countenance we steal. 
 
 P. Hen. Thou sayest well, and it holds well 
 too ; for the fortune of us that are the moon's 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 463 
 
 men doth ebb and flow like the sea, being 
 governed, as the sea is, by the moon. As, for 
 proof, now: a purse of gold most resolutely 
 snatched on Monday night, and most dissolutely 
 spent on Tuesday morning ; got with swearing 
 lay by, and spent with crying bring in; now 
 in as low an ebb as the foot of the ladder, and 
 by and by in as high a flow as the ridge of the 
 gallows. 
 
 Fal. By the Lord, thou sayest true, lad. 
 And is not my hostess of the tavern a most 
 sweet wench? 
 
 P. Hen. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad 
 of the castle. And is not a buff jerkin a most 
 sweet robe of durance? 
 
 Fal. How now, how now, mad wag ! what, 
 in thy quips and thy quiddities? what a plague 
 have I to do with a buff jerkin? 
 
 P. Hen. Why, what a pox have I to do with 
 my hostess of the tavern? 
 
 Fal. Well, thou hast called her to a reckon- 
 ing many a time and oft. 
 
 P. Hen. Did I ever call for thee to pay thy 
 part? 
 
 Fal. No; Til give thee thy due, thou hast 
 paid all there. 
 
 P. Hen. Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my 
 coin would stretch; and where it would not, I 
 have used my credit. 
 
 Fal. Yea, and so used it that, were it not 
 here apparent that thou art heir-apparent, but, 
 I p'rythee, sweet wag, shall there be gallows 
 standing in England when thou art king? and 
 resolution thus fobbed as it is with the rusty 
 curb of old father antic the law? Do not thou, 
 when thou art king, hang a thief. 
 
 P. Hen. No; thou shall. 
 
 Fal. Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, I'll 
 be a brave judge. 
 
 P. Hen. Thou judgest false already : I mean, 
 thou shalt have the hanging of the thieves, and 
 so become a rare hangman. 
 
 Fal. Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it 
 jumps with my humour as well as waiting in the 
 court, I can tell you % 
 
 P. Hen. For obtaining of suits? 
 
 Fal. Yea, for obtaining of suits, whereof the 
 hangman hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood, I 
 am as melancholy as a gib-cat or a lugged bear. 
 
 P. Hen. Or an old lion, or a love?s lute. 
 
 Fal. Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bag- 
 pipe. 
 
 P. Hen. What sayest thou to a hare, or the 
 melancholy of Moor-ditch? 
 
 Fal. Thou hast the most unsavoury similes, 
 and art, indeed, the most comparative, ras- 
 callest, sweet young prince, but, Hal, I 
 
 pr'ythee, trouble me no more with vanity. I 
 would to God thou and I knew where a com- 
 modity of good names were to be bought. An 
 old lord of the council rated me the other day 
 in the street about you, sir, but I marked him 
 not ; and yet he talked very wisely, but I re- 
 garded him not ; and yet he talked wisely, and 
 in the street too. 
 
 P. Hen. Thou didst well ; for wisdom cries 
 out in the streets, and no man regards it. 
 
 Fal. O, thou hast damnable iteration, and 
 art, indeed, able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast 
 done much harm upon me, Hal, God forgive 
 thee for it ! Before I knew thee, Hal, I knew 
 nothing ; and now am I, if a man should speak 
 truly, little better than one of the wicked. I 
 must give over this life, and I will give it over; 
 by the Lord, an I do not, I am a villain : I 'M 
 be damned for never a king's son in Christendom. 
 
 P. Hen. Where shall we take a purse to- 
 morrow, Jack? 
 
 Fal. Where thou wilt, lad ; I '11 make one ; 
 an I do not, call me villain, and baffle me. 
 
 P. Hen. I see a good amendment of life in 
 thee, from praying to purse-taking. 
 
 Enter POINS at a distance. 
 
 Fal Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal; 'tis 
 no sin for a man to labour in his vocation. 
 Poins ! Now shall we know if Gadshill have 
 set a match. O, if men were to be saved by 
 merit, what hole in hell were hot enough for 
 him? Tins is the most omnipotent villain that 
 ever cried stand to a true man. 
 
 P. Hen. Good-morrow, Ned. 
 
 Poins. Good-morrow, sweet Hal. What says 
 Monsieur Remorse ? What says Sir John Sack- 
 and-sugar ? Jack , how agrees the devil and thee 
 about thy soul, that thou soldest him on Good- 
 Friday last for a cup of Madeira and a cold 
 capon's le^? 
 
 P. Hen. Sir John stands to his word, the 
 devil shall have his bargain ; for he was never 
 yet a breaker of proverbs, he will give the 
 devil his due. 
 
 Poins. Then art thou damned for keeping 
 thy word with the devil. 
 
 P. Hen. Else he had been damned for cozen- 
 ing the devil. 
 
 Potns. But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow 
 morning, by four o'clock, early at Gadshill ! 
 there are pilgrims going to Canterbury with rich 
 offerings, and traders riding to London with fat 
 purses : I have visards for you all ; you have 
 horses for yourselves : Gadshill lies to-night in 
 Rochester: I have bespoke supper to-mcrrow 
 night in Eastcheap : we may do it as secure as 
 
FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 sleep. If you will go, I will stuff your purses 
 full of crowns ; if you will not, tarry at home 
 and be hanged. 
 
 FaL Hear ye, Yedward ; if I tarry at home 
 and go not, I '11 hang you for going. 
 
 Poins. You will, chops? 
 
 FaL Hal, wilt thou make one? 
 
 P. Hen. Who, I rob? I a thief? not I, by 
 my faith. 
 
 FaL There 's neither honesty, manhood, nor 
 good fellowship in thee, nor thou earnest not of 
 the blood royal, if thou darest not stand for ten 
 shillings. 
 
 P. Hen. Well, then, cnce in my days I '11 be 
 a madcap. 
 
 FaL Why, that 's well said. 
 
 P. Hen, Well, come what will, I '11 tarry at 
 home. 
 
 FaL By the Lord, I'll be a traitor, then, 
 when thou art king. 
 
 P. Hen. I care not. 
 
 Poins. Sir John, I pr'ythee, leave the prince 
 and me alone : I will lay him down such reasons 
 for this adventure that he shall go. 
 
 FaL Well, God give thee the spirit of persua- 
 sion, and him the ears of profiting, that what 
 thou speakest may move, and what he hears 
 may be believed, that the true prince may, for 
 recreation sake, prove a false thief; for the poor 
 abuses of the time want countenance. Farewell: 
 you shall find me in Eastcheap. 
 
 P. Hen. Farewell, thou latter spring ! Fare- 
 well, All-hallown summer ! {Exit I<ALSTAFF. 
 
 Poins. Now, my good sweet honey-lord, ride 
 with us to-morrow : I have a jest to execute that 
 I cannot manage alone. Falstaff, Bardolph, 
 Peto, and Gadshill, shall rob those men that we 
 have already waylaid ; yourself and I will not 
 be there ; and when they have the booty, if you 
 and I do not rob them, cut this head from my 
 shoulders. 
 
 P. Hen. But how shall we part with them in 
 setting forth? 
 
 Poins. Why, we will set forth before or after 
 them, and appoint them a place of meeting, 
 wherein it is at our pleasure to fail ; and then 
 will they adventure upon the exploit themselves; 
 which they shall have no sooner achieved, but 
 we '11 set upon them. 
 
 P. Hen. Ay, but 'tis like that they will know 
 us by our horses, by our habits, and by every 
 other appointment, to be ourselves. 
 
 Poins. Tut, our horses they shall not see, 
 I '11 tie them in the wood ; our visards we will 
 change after we leave them ; and, sirrah, I have 
 cases of buckram for the nonce, to immask our 
 noted outward garments. ;i.-; 
 
 P. Hen. But I doubt they will be too hard 
 for us. 
 
 Poins. Well, for two of them, I know them 
 to be as true-bred cowards as ever turned back ; 
 and for the third, if he fight longer than he sees 
 reason, I '11 forswear arms. The virtue of this 
 jest will be the incomprehensible lies that this 
 same fat rogue will tell us when we meet at 
 supper: how thirty, at least, he fought with; 
 what wards, what blows, what extremities he 
 endured ; and in the reproof of this lies the jest. 
 
 P. Hen. Well, I '11 go with thee : provide us 
 all things necessary, and meet me to-morrow 
 night in Eastcheap ; there I '11 sup. Farewell. 
 
 Poins. Farewell, my lord. {Exit POINS. 
 
 P. Hen. I know you all, and will awhile 
 
 uphold 
 
 The unyok d humour of your idleness : 
 Yet herein will I imitate the sun, 
 Who doth permit the base contagious clouds 
 To smother up his beauty from the world, 
 That, when he please again to be himself, 
 Being wanted, he may be more wonder'd at, 
 By breaking through the foul and ugly mists 
 Of vapours that did seem to strangle him. 
 If all the year were playing holidays, 
 To sport would be as tedious as to work ; 
 But when they seldom come, they wish'd-for 
 
 come, 
 
 And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents. 
 So, when this loose behaviour I throw off, 
 And pay the debt I never promised, 
 By how much better than my word I am, 
 By so much shall I falsify men's hopes ; 
 And, like bright metal on a sullen ground, 
 My reformation, glittering o'er my fault, 
 Shall show more goodly and attract more eyes 
 Than that which hath no foil to set it off. 
 I '11 so offend, to make offence a skill ; 
 Redeeming time when men think least I will. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III. The same. Another Room in 
 the Palace. 
 
 Enter KING HENRY, NORTHUMBERLAND, 
 WORCESTER, HOTSPUR, SIR WALTER 
 BLUNT, and others. 
 
 K. Hen. My blood hath been too cold and 
 
 temperate, 
 
 Unapt to stir at these indignities, 
 And you have found me ; for accordingly 
 You tread upon my patience : but be sure 
 I will from henceforth rather be myself, 
 Mighty and to be fear'd, than my condition ; 
 Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young 
 
 down, 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 465 
 
 And therefore lost that title of respect 
 
 Which the proud soul ne'er pays but to the 
 
 proud. 
 Wor. Our house, my sovereign liege, little 
 
 deserves 
 
 The scourge of greatness to be used on it ; 
 And that same greatness, too which our own 
 
 hands 
 
 Have holp to make so portly. 
 North. My lord, 
 K. Hen. Worcester, get thee gone ; for I see 
 
 danger 
 
 And disobedience in thine eye : O, sir, 
 Your presence is too bold and peremptory 
 And majesty might never yet endure 
 The moody frontier of a servant brow. 
 You have good leave to leave us : when we need 
 Your use and counsel we shall send for you. 
 
 [Exit WORCESTER. 
 You were about to speak. 
 
 [To NORTHUMBERLAND. 
 North. Yea, my good lord. 
 
 Those prisoners in your highness' name de- 
 manded, 
 
 Which Harry Percy here at Holmedon took, 
 Were, as he says, not with such strength denied 
 As is delivered to your majesty : 
 Either envy, therefore, or misprision 
 Is guilty of this fault, and not my son. 
 
 Hot. My liege, I did deny no prisoners. 
 But I remember when the fight was done, 
 When I was dry with rage and extreme toil, 
 Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, 
 Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dress'd, 
 Fresh as a bridegroom ; and his chin new reap'd 
 Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest-home ; 
 He was perfum'd like a milliner; 
 And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held 
 A pouncet-box, which ever and anon 
 He gave his nose, and took 't away again ; 
 Who therewith angry, when it next came there, 
 Took it in snuff: and still he smil'd and talk'd; 
 And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by, 
 He call'd them untaught knaves, unmannerly, 
 To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse 
 Betwixt the wind and his nobility. 
 With many holiday and lady terms 
 He question'd me ; among the rest, demanded 
 My prisoners in your majesty's behalf. 
 I, then all smarting with my wounds being cold, 
 To be so pester'd with a popinjay, 
 Out of my grief and my impatience, 
 Answer'd neglectingly, I know not what, 
 He should, or he should not ; for he made me 
 
 mad 
 
 To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet, 
 And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman 
 
 Of guns, and drums, and wounds, God save 
 
 the mark ! 
 
 And telling me the sovereign's! thing on earth 
 Was parmaceti for an inward bniise ; 
 And that it was great pity, so it was, 
 This villanous saltpetre should be digg'd 
 Out of the bowels of the harmless earth, 
 Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd 
 So cowardly ; and but for these vile guns 
 He would himself have been a soldier. 
 This bald unjoin ted chat of his, my lord, 
 I answer'd indirectly, as I said ; 
 And I beseech you, let not his report 
 Come current for an accusation 
 Betwixt my love and your high majesty. 
 
 Blunt. The circumstance consider'd, good my 
 
 lord, 
 
 Whatever Harry Percy then had said 
 To such a person, and in such a place, 
 At such a time, with all the rest re-told, 
 May reasonably die, and never rise 
 To do him wrong, or any way impeach 
 What then he said, so he unsay it now. 
 
 K. Hen. Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners, 
 But with proviso and exception, 
 That we at our own charge shall ransom straight 
 His brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer; 
 Who, on my soul, hath wilfully betray'd 
 The lives of those that he did lead to fight 
 Against the great magician, damn'd Glendower, 
 Whose daughter, as we hear, that Earl of March 
 Hath lately married. Shall our coffers, then, 
 Be emptied to redeem a traitor home? 
 Shall we buy treason? and indent with fears, 
 When they have lost and forfeited themselves? 
 No, on the barren mountains let him starve; 
 For I shall never hold that man my friend 
 Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost 
 To ransom home revolted Mortimer. 
 
 Hot. Revolted Mortimer ! 
 He never did fall off, my sovereign liege, 
 But by the chance of war : to prove that true, 
 Needs no more but one tongue for all those 
 
 wounds, [took, 
 
 Those mouthed wounds, which valiantly he 
 When on the gentle Severn's sedgy bank, 
 In single opposition, hand to hand, 
 He did confound tne best part of an hour 
 In changing hardiment with great Glendower : 
 Three times they breath'd, and three times did 
 
 they drink, 
 
 Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood ; 
 Who then, affrighted with their bloody looks, 
 Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds, 
 And hid his crisp head in the hollow bank 
 Blood-stained with these valiant combatants. 
 Never did base and rotten policy 
 
 
4 66 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 Colour her working with such deadly wounds ; 
 Nor could the noble Mortimer 
 Receive so many, and all willingly : 
 Then let him not be slander'd with revolt. 
 K. Hen. Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou 
 
 dost belie him ; 
 
 He never did encounter with Glendower : 
 I tell thee, 
 
 He durst as well have met the devil alone 
 As Owen Glendower for an en:my. 
 Art thou not asham'd? But, drrah, henceforth 
 Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer : 
 Send me your prisoners with the speediest 
 
 means, 
 
 Or you shall hear in such a kind from me 
 As will displease you. My Lord Northumber- 
 land, 
 
 We license your departure with your son. 
 Send us your prisoners, or you '11 hear of it 
 
 \_Exeunt K. HENRY, BLUNT, and Train. 
 Hot. And if the devil come and roar for 
 
 them, 
 
 I will not send them : I will after straight, 
 And tell him so ; for I will ease my heart, 
 Albeit I make a hazard of my head. 
 North. What, drunk with choler? stay, and 
 
 pause awhile : 
 Here comes your uncle. 
 
 Re-enter WORCESTER. 
 
 Hot. Speak of Mortimer ! 
 
 Zounds, I will speak of him ; and let my soul 
 Want mercy, if I do not join with him : 
 Yea, on his part I '11 empty all these veins, 
 And shed my dear blood drop by drop i' the 
 
 dust, 
 
 But I will lift the down-trod Mortimer 
 As high i' the air as this unthankful king, 
 As this ingrate and canker'd Bolingbroke. 
 
 North. Brother, the king hath made your 
 nephew mad. [ To WORCESTER. 
 
 Wor. Who struck this heat up after I was 
 gone? 
 
 Hot. He will, forsooth, have all my prisoners ; 
 And when I urg'd the ransom once again 
 Of my wife's brother, then his cheek look'd pale, 
 And on my face he turn'd an eye of death, 
 Trembling even at the name of Mortimer. 
 
 Wor. I cannot blame him : was he not pro- 
 
 claim'd 
 By Richard that dead is the next of blood? 
 
 North. He was: I heard the proclamation: 
 And then it was when the unhappy king 
 Whose wrongs in us God pardon !-did set forth 
 Upon his Irish expedition ; 
 From whence he intercepted did return 
 To be depos'd, and shortly murdered. 
 
 Wor. And for whose death we in the world's 
 
 wide mouth 
 Live scandaliz'd and foully spoken of. [then 
 
 Hot. But, soft, I pray you ; did King Richard 
 Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer 
 Heir to the crown? 
 
 North. He did ; myself did hear it. 
 
 Hot. Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin 
 
 king, 
 
 That wish'd him on the barren mountains starve. 
 But shall it be that you tnat set the crown 
 Upon the head of this forgetful man, 
 And for his sake wear the detested blot 
 Of murderous subornation, shall it be 
 That you a world of curses undergo, 
 Being the agents, or base second means, 
 The cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather? 
 O, pardon me, that I descend so low 
 To show the line and the predicament 
 Wherein you range under this subtle king; 
 Shall it, for shame, be spoken in these days, 
 Or fill up chronicles in time to come, 
 That men of your nobility and power 
 Did 'gage them both in an unjust behalf, 
 As both of you, God pardon it ! have done, 
 To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose, 
 Ana plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke? 
 And shall it, in more shame, be further spoken 
 That you are fool'd, discarded, and shook off 
 By him for whom these shames ye underwent? 
 No ; yet time serves, wherein you may redeem 
 Your banish'd honours, and restore yourselves 
 Into the good thoughts of the world again, 
 Revenge the jeering and disdain'd contempt 
 Of this proud king, who studies day and night 
 To answer all the debt he owes to you 
 Even with the bloody payment of your deaths: 
 Therefore, I say, 
 
 Wor. Peace, cousin ; say no more : 
 
 And now I will unclasp a secret book, 
 And to your quick-conceiving discontents 
 I '11 read you matter deep and dangerous ; 
 As full of peril and adventurous spirit 
 As to o'er-walk a current roaring loud 
 On the unsteadfast footing of a spear. 
 
 Hot. If he fall in, good-night ! or sink or 
 
 swim : 
 
 Send danger from the east unto the west, 
 So honour cross it from the north to south, 
 And let them grapple. O, the blood more stirs 
 To rouse a lion than to start a hare ! 
 
 North. Imagination of some great exploit 
 Drives him beyond the bounds of patience. 
 
 Hot. By heaven, methinks it were an easy leap 
 To pluck bright honour from the pale-fac'd 
 
 moon; 
 Or dive into the bottom of the deep. 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 467 
 
 Where fathom- line could never touch the ground, 
 And pluck up drowned honour by the locks ; 
 So he that doth redeem her thence might wear 
 Without corrival all her dignities : 
 But out upon this half-fac'd fellowship ! 
 
 Wor. He apprehends a world of figures here, 
 But not the form of what he should attend. 
 Good cousin, give me audience for awhile. 
 
 Hot. I cry you mercy. 
 
 Wor. Those same noble Scots 
 
 That are your prisoners, 
 
 Hot. I '11 keep them all ; 
 
 By heaven, he shall not have a Scot of them ; 
 No, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not : 
 I '11 keep them, by this hand. 
 
 Wor. You start away, 
 
 And lend no ear unto my purposes. 
 Those prisoners you shall keep. 
 
 Hot. Nay, I will ; that 's flat : 
 
 He said he would not ransom Mortimer ; 
 Forbad my tongue to speak of Mortimer ; 
 But I will find him when he lies asleep, 
 And in his ear I '11 holla Mortimer! 
 Nay, 
 
 I '11 have a starling shall be taught to speak 
 Nothing but Mortimer, and give it him, 
 To keep his anger still in motion. 
 
 WOT. Hear you, cousin ; a word. 
 
 Hot. All studies here I solemnly deiy, 
 Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke : 
 And that same sword-and -buckler Prince of 
 
 Wales, 
 
 But that I think his father loves him not, 
 And would be glad he met with some mischance, 
 I 'd have him poison'd with a pot of ale. 
 
 Wor. Farewell, kinsman : I will talk to you 
 When you are better temper'd to attend. 
 
 North. Why, what a wasp-tongue and im- 
 patient fool 
 
 Art thou to break into this woman's mood, 
 Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own ! 
 
 Hot. Why, look you, I am whipp'd and 
 
 scourg'd with rods, 
 
 Nettled, and stung with pismires, when I hear 
 Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke. 
 In Richard's time, what do ye call the place? 
 A plague upon \ it is in Glostershire ; 
 'Twas where the madcap duke his uncle kept, 
 His uncle York : where I first bow'd my knee 
 Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke, 
 When you and he came back from Ravenspurg. 
 
 North. At Berkley Castle. 
 
 Hot. You say true : 
 Why, what a candy deal of courtesy 
 This fawning greyhound then did proffer me ! 
 Look, ivhen his infant fortune came to age, 
 And, gentle Harry Percy > and, kind cousin^ 
 
 O, the devil take such cozeners ! God forgive 
 
 me! 
 Good uncle, tell your tale ; for I have done. 
 
 Wor. Nay, if you have not, to 't again ; 
 We '11 stay your leisure. 
 
 Hot. I have done, i' faith. 
 
 Wor. Then once more to your Scottish 
 
 prisoners. 
 
 Deliver them up without their ransom straight, 
 And make the Douglas' son your only mean 
 For powers in Scotland ; which, for divers 
 
 reasons 
 
 Which I shall send you written, be assur'd, 
 Will easily be granted. You, my lord, 
 
 {To NORTHUMBERLAND. 
 Your son in Scotland being thus employ'd, 
 Shall secretly into the bosom creep 
 Of that same noble prelate, well belov'd, 
 The archbishop. 
 
 Hot. Of York, is 't not? 
 
 Wor. True ; who bears hard 
 His brother's death at Bristol, the Lord Scroop. 
 I speak not this in estimation, 
 As what I think might be, but what I know 
 Is ruminated, plotted, and set down, 
 And only stays but to behold the face 
 Of that occasion that shall bring it on. 
 
 Hot. I smell it : upon my life, it will do well. 
 
 North. Before the game's a-foot, thou still 
 lett'st slip. [plot : 
 
 Hot. Why, it cannot choose but be a noble 
 And then the power of Scotland and of York. 
 To join with Mortimer, ha? 
 
 Wor. And so they shall. 
 
 Hot. In faith, it is exceedingly well aim'd. 
 
 Wor. And 'tis no little reason bids us speed, 
 To save our heads by raising of a head ; 
 For, bear ourselves as even as we can, 
 The king will always thinl- him in our debt, 
 And think we think ourselves unsatisfied, 
 Till he hath found a time to pay us home : 
 And see already how he doth begin 
 To make us strangers to his looks of love. 
 
 Hot. He does, he does : we '11 be revengM on 
 him. 
 
 Wor. Cousin, farewell : no further go in this 
 Than I by letters shall direct your course. 
 When time is ripe, which will be suddenly, 
 I '11 steal to Glendower and Lord Mortimer; 
 Where you and Douglas, and our powers at 
 
 once, 
 
 As I will fashion it, shall happily meet, 
 To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms, 
 Which now we hold at much uncertainty. 
 
 North. Farewell, good brother: we shall 
 thrive, I trust. 
 
 Hot. Uncle, adieu : O, let the hours be short, 
 
4 68 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 Till fields and blows and groans applaud our 
 sport. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. ROCHESTER. An Inn Yard. 
 Enter a Carrier with a lantern in his hand. 
 
 I Car. Heigh-ho ! an 't be not four by the 
 day, I '11 be hanged : Charles' wain is over the 
 new chimney, and yet our horse not packed. 
 What, ostler ! 
 
 Ost. [Within.'} Anon, anon. 
 
 1 Car. I pr'ythee, Tom, beat Cut's saddle, 
 put a few flocks in the point ; the poor jade is 
 wrong in the withers out of all cess. 
 
 Enter another Carrier. 
 
 2 Car. Peas and beans are as dank here as a 
 dog, and that is the next way to give poor jades 
 the bots : this house is turned upside down since 
 Robin ostler died. 
 
 1 Car. Poor fellow ! never joyed since the 
 price of oats rose ; it was the death of him. 
 
 2 Car. I think this be the most villanous 
 house in all London road for fleas : I am stung 
 like a tench. 
 
 1 Car. Like a tench ! by the mass, there is 
 ne'er a king in Christendom could be better bit 
 than I have been since the first cock. 
 
 2 Car. Why, they will allow us ne'er a jor- 
 den, and then we leak in your chimney; and 
 your chamber-lie breeds fleas like a loach. 
 
 1 Car. What, ostler! come away, and be 
 hanged ; come away. 
 
 2 Car. I have a gammon of bacon and two 
 races of ginger, to be delivered as far as Char- 
 ing-cross. 
 
 i Car. 'Odsbody ! the turkeys in my pannier 
 are quite starved. What, ostler ! A plague on 
 thee ! hast thou never an eye in thy head? 
 canst not hear? An 'twere not as good a deed 
 as drink, to break the pate of thee, I am a very 
 villain. Come, and be hanged : hast no faith 
 in thee? 
 
 Enter GADSHILL. 
 Good -morrow, carriers. 
 
 What 's 
 
 Gads. 
 o'clock? 
 
 i Car. I think it be two o'clock. 
 
 Gads. I pr'ythee, lend me thy lantern, to see 
 my gelding in the stable. 
 
 1 Car. Nay, soft, I pray ye ; I know a trick 
 worth two of that, i' faith. 
 
 Gads. I pr'ythee, lend me thine. 
 
 2 Car. Ay, when? canst tell? Lend me thy 
 lantern, quoth a? marry, I'll see thee hanged 
 first. 
 
 Gads. Sirrah carrier, what time do you mean 
 to come to London? ; u jforj 
 
 2 Car. Time enough to go to bed with a 
 
 candle, I warrant thee. Come, neighbour 
 
 Mugs, we '11 call up the gentlemen : they will 
 
 along with company, for they have great charge. 
 
 [Exeunt Carriers. 
 
 Gads. What, ho ! chamberlain ! 
 
 Cham. [Within.'} At hand, quoth pick-purse. 
 
 Gads. That 's even as fair as at hand, quoth 
 the chamberlain ; for thou variest no more from 
 picking of purses than giving direction doth 
 from labouring ; thou layest the plot how. 
 
 Enter Chamberlain. 
 
 Cham. Good-morrow, Master Gadshill. It 
 holds current that I told you yesternight: 
 there's a franklin in the wild of Kent hath 
 brought three hundred marks with him in gold : 
 I heard him tell it to one of his company last 
 night at supper ; a kind of auditor ; one that 
 hath abundance of charge too, God knows what. 
 They are up already, and call for eggs and 
 butter : they will away presently. 
 
 Gads. Sirrah, if they meet not with Saint 
 Nicholas' clerks, I '11 give thee this neck. 
 
 Cham. No, I '11 none of it : I pr'ythee, keep 
 that for the hangman ; for I know thou wor- 
 shippest Saint Nicholas as truly as a man of 
 falsehood may. 
 
 Gads. What talkest thou to me of the hang, 
 man ? If I hang, I '11 make a fat pair of gallows ; 
 for if I hang, old Sir John hangs with me ; and 
 thou knowest he's no starveling. Tut! there 
 are other Trojans that thou dreamest not of, 
 the which, for sport-sake, are content to do the 
 profession some grace ; that would, if matters 
 should be looked into, for their own credit-sake, 
 make all whole. I am joined with no foot land- 
 rakers, no long-staff sixpenny strikers, none of 
 these mad mustachio purple-hued malt-worms ; 
 but with nobility and tranquillity ; burgomasters 
 and great oneyers, such as can hold in, such as 
 will strike sooner than speak, and speak sooner 
 than drink, and drink sooner than pray: and 
 yet I lie ; for they pray continually to their 
 saint, the commonwealth ; or, rather, not pray 
 to her, but prey on her ; for they ride up and 
 clown on her, and make her their boots. 
 
 Cham. What, the commonwealth their boots? 
 will she hold out water in foul way? 
 
 Gads. She will, she will ; justice hath liquored 
 her. We steal as in a castle, cock-sure; we 
 have the receipt of fern-seed, we walk invisible. 
 
 Cham. Nay, by my faith, I think you are 
 more beholding to the night than to fern-seed 
 for your walking invisible. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 469 
 
 Gads. Give me thy hand : thou shalt have a 
 share in our purchase, as I am a true man. 
 
 Cham. Nay, rather let me have it, as you are 
 a false thief. 
 
 Gads. Go to ; homo is a common name to all 
 men. Bid the ostler bring my gelding out of 
 the stable. Farewell, you muddy knave. 
 
 {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. The Road by Gadshill. 
 
 Enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS ; BARDOLPH 
 and PETO at some, distance. 
 
 Poins. Come, shelter, shelter: I have re- 
 moved Falstaff s horse, and he frets like a 
 gummed velvet. 
 
 P. Hen. Stand close. {They retire. 
 
 Enter FALSTAFF. 
 
 Fal. Poins ! Poins, and be hanged ! Poins ! 
 
 P. Hen. [Coming forward.] Peace, ye fat- 
 kidneyed rascal ! what a brawling dost thou 
 keep ! 
 
 Fal. Where's Poins, Hal? 
 
 P. Hen. He is walked up to the top of the 
 hill : I '11 go seek him. 
 
 [Pretends to seek POINS. 
 
 Fal. I am accursed to rob in that thief s 
 company : the rascal hath removed my horse, 
 and tied him I know not where. If I travel 
 but four foot by the squire further a-foot, I 
 shall break my wind. Well, I doubt not but 
 to die a fair death for all this, if I 'scape hanging 
 for killing that rogue. I have forsworn his 
 company hourly any time this two-and-twenty 
 year, and yet I am bewitched with the rogue's 
 company. If the rascal have not given me 
 medicines to make me love him, I '11 be hanged; 
 it could not be else ; I have drunk medicines. 
 Poins ! Hal ! a plague upon you both ! 
 Bardolph ! Peto ! I '11 starve, ere I '11 rob a 
 foot further. An 'twere not as good a deed as 
 drink, to turn true man, and leave these rogues, 
 I am the veriest varlet that ever chewed with a 
 tooth. Eight yards of uneven ground is three- 
 score and ten miles a-foot with me; and the 
 stony-hearted villains know it well enough : a 
 plague upon 't, when thieves cannot be true to 
 one another! [They whistle.'] Whew! a 
 plague upon you all ! Give me my horse, you 
 rogues ; give me my horse, and be hanged. 
 
 P. Hen. [Coming forward.] Peace, ye fat- 
 guts! lie down; lay thine ear close to the 
 ground, and list if thou canst hear the tread of 
 travellers. 
 
 Fa!. Have you any levers to lift me up again, 
 being down? 'Sblood, I '11 not bear mine own 
 
 flesh so far a-foot again for all the coin in thy 
 father's exchequer. What a plague mean ye 
 to colt me thus? 
 
 P. Hen. Thou liest; thou art not colted, 
 thou art uncolted. 
 
 Fal. I pr'ythee, good Prince Hal, help me 
 to my horse, good king's son. [ostler? 
 
 P. Hen. Out, you rogue! shall I be your 
 
 Fal. Go, hang thyself in thine own heir- 
 apparent garters ! If I be ta'en, I '11 peach for 
 this. An I have not ballads made on you all, 
 and sung to filthy tunes, let a cup of sack be 
 my poison : when a jest is so forward, and a- 
 foot too ! I hate it. 
 
 Enter GADSHILL. 
 
 Gads. Stand. 
 
 Fal. So I do, against my will. 
 
 Poins. O, 'tis our setter : I know his voice. 
 [Coming jorward with BARD, and PETO. 
 
 Bard. W.iat news? 
 
 Gads. Case ye, case ye; on with your vis- 
 ards : there 's money of the king's coming down 
 the hill; 'tis going to the king's exchequer. 
 
 Fal. You lie, you rogue; 'tis going to the 
 king's lavern. 
 
 Gads. There 's enough to make us all. 
 
 Fal. To be hanged. 
 
 P. Hen. Sirs, you four shall front them in 
 the narrow lane ; Ned Poins and I will walk 
 lower : if they 'scape from your encounter, then 
 they light on us. 
 
 Peto. How many be there of them t 
 
 Gads. Some eight or ten. 
 
 Fal. Zounds, will they not rob us? 
 
 P. Hen. What, a coward, Sir John Paunch? 
 
 Fal. Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your 
 grandfather; but yet no coward, Hal. 
 
 P. Hen. Well, we leave that to the proof. 
 
 Poins. Sirrah Jack, thy horse stands behind 
 the hedge : when thou needest him, there thou 
 shalt find him. Farewell, and stand fast. 
 
 Fal. Now cannot I strike him, if I should 
 be hanged. 
 
 P. Hen. [Aside to POINS.} Ned, where are 
 our disguises? 
 
 Poins. Here, hard by : stand close. 
 
 [Exeunt. P. HENRY and POINS. 
 
 Fal. Now, my masters, happy man be his 
 dole, say I : every man to his business. 
 
 Enter Travellers. 
 
 I Trav. Come, neighbour: the boy shall 
 lead our horses down the hill ; we '11 walk a-foot 
 awhile, and ease our legs. 
 
 Fal. t Gads., &f. Stand! 
 
 Trav. Jesu bless us 1 
 
470 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 Fal. Strike; down with them; cut the 
 villains' throats: ah, whoreson caterpillars! 
 bacon-fed knaves ! they hate us youth : down 
 with them ; fleece them. [for ever ! 
 
 Trav. O, "we are undone, both we and ours 
 Fal. Hang ye, gorbellied knaves, are ye un- 
 done? No, ye fat chuffs; I would your store 
 were here ! On, bacons on ! What, ye knaves ! 
 young men must live. You are grand-jurors, 
 are ye? we'll jure ye, i' faith. 
 
 [Exeunt FAL., &<r. , driving the 
 Travellers out. 
 
 Re-enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS. 
 
 P. Hen. The thieves have bound the true 
 men. Now could thou and I rob the thieves, 
 and go merrily to London, it would be argument 
 for a week, laughter for a month, and a good 
 jest for ever. 
 
 Poins. Stand close ; I hear them coming. 
 
 Re-enter FALSTAFF, GADSHILL, BARDOLPH. 
 and PETO. 
 
 Fal. Come, my masters, let us share, and 
 then to horse before day. An the Prince and 
 Poins be not two arrant cowards, there 's no 
 equity stirring : there 's no more valour in that 
 Poins than in a wild duck. 
 
 P. Hen. Your money ! 
 
 [Rushing out upon them. 
 
 Poins. Villains! 
 
 [GADS., BARD., and PETO run away; and 
 FAL. also, after a blow or two, leaving the 
 booty. 
 
 P. Hen. Got with much ease. Now merrily 
 to horse : [fear 
 
 The thieves are scatter'd, and possess'd with 
 So strongly that they dare not meet each other; 
 Each takes his fellow for an officer. 
 Away, good Ned. Falstaff sweats to death, 
 And lards the lean earth as he walks along : 
 Were 't not for laughing, I should pity him. 
 
 Poins. How the rogue roar'd ! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. WARKWORTH. A Room in the 
 Castle. 
 
 Enter HOTSPUR, reading a letter. 
 
 Hot. But) for mine own party my lord, I 
 could be well contented to be there, in respect 
 of the love I bear your house. He could be 
 contented, why is he not, then? In respect 
 of the love he bears our house: he shows 
 in this, he loves his own barn better than he 
 loves our house. Let me see some more. 
 The purpose yoti undertake is dangerous. 
 Why, that's certain: 'tis dangerous to take 
 
 a cold, to sleep, to drink ; but I tell you, my 
 lord fool, out of this nettle, danger, we pluck 
 this flower, safety. The purpose you undertake 
 is dangerous; the friends you have named un- 
 certain; the time itself unsorted; and your whole 
 plot too light for the counterpoise of so great an 
 opposition. Say you so, say you so? I say 
 unto you again, you are a shallow, cowardly 
 hind, and you lie. What a lack-brain is this! 
 By the Lord, our plot is a good plot as ever was 
 laid ; our friends true and constant : a good plot, 
 good friends, and full of expectation ; an excel- 
 lent plot, very good friends. What a frosty- 
 spirited rogue is this ! Why, my Lord of York 
 commends the plot and the general course of the 
 action. Zounds, an I were now by this rascal, 
 I could brain him with his lady's fan. Is there 
 not my father, my uncle, and myself? Lord 
 Edmund Mortimer, my Lord of York, and 
 Owen Glendower? Is there not, besides, the 
 Douglas? Have I not all their letters to meet 
 me in arms by the ninth of the next month ? and 
 are they not some of them set forward already 1 ,. 
 What a pagan rascal is this ! an infidel ! Ha ! 
 you shall see now, in very sincerity of fear and 
 cold heart, will he to the king, and lay open all 
 our proceedings. O, I could divide myself, and 
 go to buffets, for moving such a dish of skimmed 
 milk with so honourable an action ! Hang him ! 
 Let him tell the king : we are prepared. I will 
 set forward to-night. 
 
 Enter LADY PERCY. 
 
 How now, Kate! I must leave you within 
 these two hours. [alone? 
 
 Lady. O, my good lord, why are you thus 
 For what offence have I this fortnight been 
 A banish'd woman from my Harry's bed ? 
 Tell me, sweet lord, what is 't that takes from 
 
 thee 
 
 Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep? 
 Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth, 
 And start so often when thou sitt'st alone? 
 Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks, 
 And given my treasures and my rights of thee 
 To thick-ey'd musing and curs'd melancholy? 
 In thy faint slumbers I by thee have watch'd, 
 And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars ; 
 Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed ; 
 Cry, Courage! to the field I And thou hast 
 
 talk'd 
 
 Of sallies and retires, of trenches, tents, 
 Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets, 
 Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin, 
 Of prisoners' ransom, and of soldiers slain, 
 And all the currents of a heady fight. 
 Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war, 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 471 
 
 And thus hath so bestirr'd thee in thy sleep 
 That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow, 
 Like bubbles in a late disturbed stream ; 
 And in thy face strange motions have appear'd, 
 Such as we see when men restrain their breath 
 On some great sudden hest. O, what portents 
 
 are these ? 
 
 Some heavy business hath my lord in hand, 
 And I must know it, else he loves me not. 
 Hot. What, ho ! 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Is Gilliams with the packet gone? 
 
 Serv. He is, my lord, an hour ago. 
 
 Hot. Hath Butler brought those horses from 
 the sheriff? [now. 
 
 Serv. One horse, my lord, he brought even 
 
 Hot. What horse? a roan, a crop-ear, is it 
 not? 
 
 Serv. It is, my lord. 
 
 Hot. That roan shall be my throne. 
 
 Well, I will back him straight : O esperancel 
 Bid Butler lead him forth into the park. 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 
 Lady. But hear you, my lord. 
 
 Hot. What say'st thou, my lady? 
 
 Lady. What is it carries you away? 
 
 Hot. Why, my horse, my love, my horse. 
 
 Lady. Out, you mad-headed ape ! 
 
 A weasel hath not such a deal of spleen 
 As you are toss'd with. In faith, 
 I 'U know your business, Harry, that I will. 
 I fear my brother Mortimer doth stir 
 About his title, and hath sent for you 
 To line his enterprise : but if you go, 
 
 Hot. So far a-foot, I shall be weary, love. 
 
 Lady. Come, come, you paraquito, answer me 
 Directly to this question that I ask : 
 In faith, I '!! break thy little finger, Harry, 
 An if thou wilt not tell me all things true. 
 
 Hot. Away, 
 
 Away, you trifler! Love? I love thee not, 
 I care not for thee, Kate: this is no world 
 To play with mammets and to tilt with lips : 
 We must have bloody noses and crack' d crowns, 
 And pass them current too. Gods me, my 
 horse! [with me? 
 
 What say'st thou, Kate? what wouldst thou have 
 
 Lady. Do you not love me? do you not, in- 
 deed? 
 
 Well, do not, then ; for since you love me not, 
 I will not love myself. Do you not love me? 
 Nay, tell me if you speak in jest or no. 
 
 Hot. Come, wilt thou see me ride? 
 And when I am o' horseback, I will swear 
 I love thee infinitely. But hark you, Kate ; 
 I must not have you henceforth question me 
 
 Whither I go, nor reason whereabout: 
 Whither I must, I must ; and, to conclude, 
 This evening must I leave you, gentle Kate. 
 I know you wise ; but yet no further wise 
 Than Harry Percy's wife : constant you are ; 
 But yet a woman : and for secrecy, 
 No lady closer ; for I well believe 
 Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know, 
 And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate. 
 Lady. How! so far? [Kate: 
 
 Hot. Not an inch further. But hark you, 
 Whither I go, thither shall you go too ; 
 To-day will I set forth, to-morrow you. 
 Will this content you, Kate? 
 
 Lady. It must, of force. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. EASTCHEAP. A Room in the 
 Boards Head Tavern. 
 
 Enter PRINCE HENRY. 
 
 P. Hen. Ned, pr'ythee, come out of that fat 
 room, and lend me thy hand to laugh a little. 
 
 Enter POINS. 
 
 Poms. Where hast been, Hal? 
 
 P. Hen. With three or four loggerheads 
 amongst three or fourscore hogsheads. I have 
 sounded the very base string of humility. 
 Sirrah, I am sworn brother to a leash of 
 drawers ; and can call them all by their Chris- 
 tian names, as Tom, Dick, and Francis. 
 They take it already upon their salvation, that 
 though I be but Prince of Wales, yet I am the 
 king of courtesy ; and tell me flatly I am no 
 proud Jack, like Falstaff, but a Corinthian, a lad 
 of mettle, a good boy, by the Lord, so they call 
 me, and when I am king of England I shall 
 command all the good lads in Eastcheap. They 
 call drinking deep, dying scarlet ; and when you 
 breathe in your watering, they cry hem I and 
 bid you play it off. To conclude, I am so good 
 a proficient in one quarter of an hour, that I 
 can drink with any tinker in his own language 
 during my life. I tell thee, Ned, thou hast 
 lost much honour, that thou wert not with me 
 in this action. But, sweet Ned, to sweeten 
 which name of Ned, I give thee this penny- 
 worth of sugar, clapped even now into my hand 
 by an under-skinker ; one that never spake other 
 English in his life than, Eight shillings and six- 
 pence, and You are welcome; with this shrill 
 addition, Anon, anon, sir! Score a pint of bas- 
 tard in the Half-moon, or so. But, Ned, to 
 drive away the time till Falstaff come, I pr'y- 
 thee, do thou stand in some by-room, while I 
 question my puny drawer to what end he gave 
 me the sugar ; and do thou never leave calling 
 
472 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 [ACT 33, 
 
 Francis, that his tale to me may be nothing but 
 anon. Step aside, and I'll show thee a pre- 
 cedent. [Exit POINS. 
 
 Poms. [Within.] Francis! 
 
 R Hen. Thou art perfect. 
 
 Poins. [Within.] Francis! 
 
 Enter FRANCIS. 
 
 Fran. Anon, anon, sir. Look down into the 
 Pomegranate, Ralph. 
 
 P. Hen. Come hither, Francis. 
 
 Fran. My lord? 
 
 P. Hen. How long hast thou to serve, Francis? 
 
 Fran. Forsooth, five years, and as much as 
 to, 
 
 Poins. [Within.] Francis! 
 
 Fran. Anon, anon, sir. 
 
 P. Hen. Five years ! by 'r lady, a long lease 
 for the clinking of pewter. But, Francis, darest 
 thou be so valiant as to play the coward with 
 thy indenture, and show it a fair pair of heels 
 and run from it? 
 
 Fran. O Lord, sir, I '11 be sworn upon all the 
 books in England, I could find in my heart, 
 
 Poins. [Within.'} Francis! 
 
 Fran. Anon, anon, sir. 
 
 P. Hen. How old art thou, Francis? 
 
 Fran. Let me see, about Michaelmas next 
 I shall be,- 
 
 Poins. {Within.} Francis! 
 
 Fran. Anon, sir. Pray you, stay a little, my 
 lord. 
 
 P. Hen. Nay, but hark you, Francis : for the 
 sugar thou gavest me, 'twas a pennyworth, 
 was't not? 
 
 Fran. O Lord, sir, I would it had been two ! 
 
 P. Hen. I will give thee for it a thousand 
 pound : ask me when thou wilt, and thou shall 
 have it. 
 
 Poins. [Within.] Francis! 
 
 Fran. Anon, anon. 
 
 P. Hen. Anon, Francis? No, Francis; but 
 to-morrow, Francis ; or, Francis, on Thursday ; 
 or, indeed, Francis, when thou wilt. But, 
 Francis, 
 
 Fran. My lord? 
 
 P. Hen. Wilt thou rob this leathern -jerkin, 
 crystal-button, nott-pated, agate-ring, puke- 
 stocking, caddis-garter, smooth-tongue, Span- 
 ish-pouch, 
 
 Fran. O Lord, sir, who do you mean? 
 
 P. Hen. Why, then, your brown bastard is 
 your only drink ; for, look you, Francis, your 
 white canvas doublet will sully: in Barbary, sir, 
 it cannot come to so much. 
 
 Fran. What, sir? 
 
 Poins. [Within.] Francis! 
 
 P. Hen. Away, you rogue ! dost thou not 
 hear them call? 
 
 [Here they both call him ; FRANCIS stands 
 amazed, not knowing which way to go. 
 
 Enter Vintner. 
 
 Vint. What, standest thou still, and hearest 
 such a calling? Look to the guests within. 
 [Exit FRAN.] My lord, old Sir John, with 
 half-a-dozen more, are at the door: shall I let 
 them in? 
 
 P. Hen. Let them alone awhile, and then 
 open the door. [Exit Vintner.] Poins! 
 
 -+'j> 
 Re-enter POINS. 
 
 Poins. Anon, anon, sir. 
 
 P. Hen. Sirrah, Falstaff and the rest of the 
 thieves are at the door: shall we be merry? 
 
 Poms. As merry as crickets, my lad. But 
 hark ye; what cunning match have you made 
 with this jest of the drawer? come, what's the 
 issue? 
 
 P. Hen. I am now of all humours that have 
 showed themselves humours since the old days 
 of goodman Adam to the pupil-age of this pre- 
 sent twelve o'clock at midnight. What's 
 o'clock, Francis? 
 
 Fran. [Within.] Anon, anon, sir. 
 
 P. Hen. That ever this fellow should have 
 fewer words than a parrot, and yet the son of a 
 woman ! His industry is upstairs and down- 
 stairs ; his eloquence the parcel of a reckoning. 
 I am not yet of Percy's mind, the Hotspur of 
 the north ; he that kills me some six or seven 
 dozen Scots at a breakfast, washes his hands, 
 and says to his wife, Fie upon this quiet life ! 
 I want work. O my sweet Harry, says she, 
 how many hast thou killed to-day? Give my 
 roan horse a drench, says he ; and answers, Some 
 fourteen, an hour after, a trifle, a trifle. I 
 pr'ythee, call in Falstaff: I '11 play Percy, and 
 that damned brawn shall play Dame Mortimer 
 his wife. Rivo says the drunkard. Call in ribs, 
 call in tallow. 
 
 Enter FALSTAFF, GADSHILL, BARDOLPH, and 
 PETO ; followed by FRANCIS with wine. 
 
 Poins. Welcome, Jack: where hast thou been? 
 
 Fal. A plague of all cowards, I say, and a 
 vengeance too ! marry, and amen ! Give me a 
 cup of sack, boy. Ere I lead this life long, I '11 
 sew nether-stocks, and mend them and foot them 
 too. A plague of all cowards ! Give me a cup 
 of sack, rogue. Is there no virtue extant? 
 
 [He drinks. 
 
 P. Hen. Didst thou never see Titan kiss a 
 dish of butter? pitiful-hearted Titan, that melted 
 
SCENE l\T. j 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 473 
 
 at the sweet tale of the sun ! if thou didst, then 
 behold that compound. 
 
 Fal. You rogue, here 's lime in this sack too : 
 there is nothing but roguery to be found hi vil- 
 lanous man : yet a coward is worse than a cup 
 of sack with lime in it, a villanous coward. 
 Go thy ways, old Jack ; die when thou wilt, if 
 manhood, good manhood, be not forgot upon 
 the face of the earth, then am I a shotten herring. 
 There live not three good men unhanged in 
 England ; and one of them is fat, and grows old: 
 God help the while ! a bad world, I say. I 
 would I were a weaver ; I could sing psalms or 
 anything. A plague of all cowards, I say still. 
 
 P. Hen. How now, woolsack ! what mutter 
 you? 
 
 Fal. A king's son ! If I do not beat thee out 
 of thy kingdom with a dagger of lath, and drive 
 all thy subjects afore thee like a flock of wild 
 geese, I '11 never wear hair on my face more. 
 You Prince of Wales ! 
 
 P. Hen. Why, you whoreson round man, 
 what 's the matter ? 
 
 Fal. Are you not a coward? answer me to 
 that: and Poins there? 
 
 Poms. Zounds, ye fat paunch, an ye call me 
 coward, I '11 stab thee. 
 
 Fal. I call thee coward ! I '11 see thee damned 
 ere I call thee coward: but I would give a 
 thousand pound I could run as fast as thou 
 canst. You are straight enough in the shoulders, 
 you care not who sees your back : call you 
 that backing of your friends? A plague upon 
 such backing ! give me them that will face me. 
 Give me a cup of sack : I am a rogue if I 
 drunk to-day. 
 
 P. Hen. O villain ! thy lips are scarce wiped 
 since thou drunkest last. 
 
 Fal. All's one for that. A plague of all 
 cowards, still say I. [ffe drinks. 
 
 P. Hen. What 's the matter? 
 
 Fal. What's the matter! there be four of 
 us here have ta'en a thousand pound this day 
 morning. 
 
 P. Hen. Where is it, Jack? where is it? 
 
 Fal. Where is it ! taken from us it is : a hun- 
 dred upon poor four of us. 
 
 P. Hon. What, a hundred, man? 
 
 Fal. I am a rogue, if I were not at half- 
 sword with a dozen of them two hours to- 
 gether. I have 'scaped by miracle. I am eight 
 times thrust through the doublet, four through 
 the hose ; my buckler cut through and through ; 
 my sword hacked like a hand-saw, tcce sig- 
 num! I never dealt better since I was a man : 
 all would not do. A plague of all cowards ! 
 Let them speak : if they speak more or less than 
 
 truth, they are villains, and the sons of dark' 
 ness. 
 
 P. Hen. Speak, sirs; how was it? 
 
 Gads. We four set upon some dozen, 
 
 Fal. Sixteen at least, my lord. 
 
 Gads. And bound them. 
 
 Peto. No, no, they were not bound. 
 
 Fal. You rogue, they were bound, every man 
 of them ; or I am a Jew else, an Ebrew Jew. 
 
 Gads. As we were sharing, some six or seven 
 fresh men set upon us, 
 
 Fal. And unbound the rest, and then come 
 in the other. 
 
 P. Hen. What, fought ye with them all? 
 
 Fal. All ! I know not what ye call all ; but 
 if I fought not with fifty of them, I am a bunch 
 of radish: if there were not two or three 
 and fifty upon poor old Jack, then am I no 
 two-legged creature. 
 
 P. Hen. Pray God, you have not murdered 
 some of them. 
 
 Fat. Nay, that's past praying for: I have 
 peppered two of them ; two I am sure I have 
 paid, two rogues in buckram suits. I tell 
 thee what, Hal, if I tell thee a lie, spit in my 
 face, call me horse. Thou knowest my old ward ; 
 here I lay, and thus I bore my point. Four 
 rogues in buckram let drive at me, 
 
 P. Hen. What, four? thou saidst but two 
 even now. 
 
 Fal. Four, Hal ; I told thee four. 
 
 Poins. Ay, ay, he said four. 
 
 Fal. These four came all a-front, and mainly 
 thrust at me. I made me no more ado but took 
 all their seven points in my target, thus. 
 
 P. Hen. Seven? why, there were but four 
 even now in buckram. 
 
 Poins. Ay, four in buckram suits. [else. 
 
 Fal. Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain 
 
 P. Hen. Pr'ythee, let him alone; we shall 
 have more anon. 
 
 Fal. Dost thou hear me, Hal? 
 
 P. Hen. Ay, and mark thee too, Jack. 
 
 Fal. Do so, for it is worth the listening to. 
 These nine in buckram that I told thee of, 
 
 P. Hen. So, two more already. 
 
 Fal. Their points being broken, 
 
 Poins. Down fell their hose. 
 
 Fal. Began to give me ground : but I followed 
 me close, came in foot and hand ; and with a 
 thought seven of the eleven I paid. 
 
 P. Hen. O monstrous ! eleven buckram men 
 grown out of two ! 
 
 Fal. But, as the devil would have it, three 
 misbegotten knaves in Kendal green came at my 
 back and let drive at me ; for it was so dark, 
 Hal, that thou couldst not see thy hand. 
 
474 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 P. Hen. These lies are like the father that 
 begets them, gross as a mountain, open, palp- 
 able. Why, thou clay-brained guts, thou nott- 
 pated fool, thou whoreson, obscene, greasy 
 tallow-keech, 
 
 Fal. What, art thou mad? art thou mad? is 
 not the truth the truth? 
 
 P. Hen. Why, how couldst thou know these 
 men in Kendal green, when it was so dark thou 
 couldst not see thy hand? come, tell us your 
 reason: what sayest thou to this? 
 
 Poms. Come, your reason, Jack, your 
 reason. 
 
 Fal. What, upon compulsion? No; were I 
 at the strappado, or all the racks in the world, 
 I would not tell you on compulsion. Give you 
 a reason on compulsion! if reasons were as 
 plenty as blackberries I would give no man a 
 reason upon compulsion, I. 
 
 P. Hen. I '11 be no longer guilty of this sin ; 
 this sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horse 
 back-breaker, this huge hill of flesh, 
 
 FaL Away, you starveling, you elf-skin, you 
 dried neat's tongue, bull's pizzle, you stock-fish, 
 O for breath to utter what is like thee ! you 
 tailor's yard, you sheath, you bow-case, you vile 
 standing-tuck , 
 
 P. Hen. Well, breathe awhile, and then to it 
 again : and when thou hast tired thyself in base 
 comparisons, hear me speak but this. 
 
 Poms. Mark, Jack. 
 
 P. Hen. We two saw you four set on four ; 
 you bound them, and were masters of their 
 wealth. Mark now, how a plain tale shall put 
 you down. Then did we two set on you four; 
 and, with a word, out-faced you from your prize, 
 and have it ; yea, and can show it you here in 
 the house : and, Falstaff, you carried your guts 
 away as nimbly, with as quick dexterity, and 
 roared for mercy, and still ran and roared, as 
 ever I heard bull-calf. What a slave art thou, 
 to hack thy sword as thou hast done, and then 
 say it was in fight ! What trick, what device, 
 what starting-hole, canst thou now find out to 
 hide thee from this open and apparent shame? 
 
 Poins. Come, let's hear, Jack; what trick 
 hast thou now? 
 
 FaL By the Lord, I knew ye as well as he 
 that made ye. Why, hear ye, my masters : was 
 it for me to kill the heir-apparent? Should I 
 turn upon the true prince? Why, thou knowest 
 I am as valiant as Hercules : but beware instinct; 
 the lion will not touch the true prince. Instinct 
 is a great matter ; I was a coward on instinct. I 
 shall think the better of myself and thee during 
 my life ; I for a valiant lion, and thou for a true 
 prince. But, by the Lord, lads, I am glad you 
 
 have the money. Hostess, clap to the doors 
 \to Hostess within] : watch to-night, pray to- 
 morrow. Gallants, lads, boys, hearts of gold, 
 all the titles of good fellowship come to you ! 
 What, shall we be merry? Shall we have a 
 play extempore? 
 
 P. Hen. Content; and the argument shall 
 be thy running away. 
 
 Fal. Ah, no more of that, Hal, an thou 
 lovest me ! 
 
 Enter Hostess. 
 
 Host. O Jesu, my lord the prince, 
 
 />. Hen. How now, my lady the hostess! 
 What sayest thou to me? 
 
 Host. Marry, my lord, there is a nobleman 
 of the court at door would speak with you : he 
 says he comes from your father. 
 
 P. Hen. Give him as much as will make him 
 a royal man, and send him back again to my 
 mother. 
 
 Fal. What manner of man is he? 
 
 Host. An old man. 
 
 Fal. What doth gravity out of his bed at 
 midnight? Shall I give him his answer? 
 
 P. Hen. Pr'ythee, do, Jack. 
 
 Fal. Faith, and I '11 send him packing. 
 
 [Exit, 
 
 P. Hen. Now, sirs: by'r lady, you fought 
 fair ; so did you, Peto ; so did you, Bardolph : 
 you are lions too, you ran away upon instinct, 
 you will not touch the true prince ; no, fie ! 
 
 Bard. Faith, I ran when I saw others run. 
 
 P. Hen. Tell me now in earnest, how came 
 Falstaff's sword so hacked? 
 
 Peto. Why, he hacked it with his dagger; 
 and said he would swear truth out of England, 
 but he would make you believe it was done in 
 fight ; and persuaded us to do the like. 
 
 Bard. Yea, and to tickle our noses with spear- 
 grass to make them bleed; and then to be- 
 slubber our garments with it, and swear it was 
 the blood of true men. I did that I did not 
 this seven year before, I blushed to hear his 
 monstrous devices. 
 
 P. Hen. O villain, thou stolest a cup of sack 
 eighteen years ago, and wert taken with the 
 manner, and ever since thou hast blushed ex- 
 tempore. Thou hadst fire and sword on thy 
 side, and yet thou rannest away : what instinct 
 hadst thou for it? 
 
 Bard. My lord, do you see these meteors? 
 do you behold these exhalations? 
 
 P. Hen. I do. 
 
 Bard. What think you they portend? 
 
 P. Hen. Hot livers and cold purses. 
 
 Bard. Choler, my lord, if rightly taken. 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 475 
 
 P. Hen. No, if rightly taken, halter. Here 
 comes lean Jack, here comes bare-bone. 
 
 Re-enter FALSTAFF. 
 
 How now, my sweet creature of bombast ! How 
 long is 't ago, Jack, since thou sawest thine own 
 knee? 
 
 Fal. My own knee ! when I was about thy 
 years, Hal, I was not an eagle's talon in the 
 waist ; I could have crept into any alderman's 
 thumb-ring: a plague of sighing and grief! it 
 blows a man up like a bladder. There's 
 villanous news abroad: here was Sir John 
 Bracy from your father ; you must to the court 
 in the morning. That same mad fellow of the 
 north, Percy; and he of Wales, that gave 
 Amaimon the bastinado, and made Lucifer 
 cuckold, and swore the devil his true liegeman 
 upon the cress of a Welsh hook, what, a 
 plague, call you him? 
 
 Poins. O, Glendower. 
 
 Fal. Owen, Owen, the same ; and his son- 
 in-law, Mortimer ; and old Northumberland ; 
 and that sprightly Scot of Scots, Douglas, that 
 mns o' horseback up a hill perpendicular, 
 
 P. Hen. He that rides at high speed, and 
 with his pistol kills a sparrow flying ? 
 
 Fed. You have hit it. 
 
 P. Hen. So did he never the sparrow. 
 
 Fal. Well, that rascal hath good mettle in 
 him ; he will not run ; 
 
 P. Hen. Why, what a rascal art thou, then, 
 to praise him so for running. 
 
 Fal. O' horseback, ye cuckoo; but a-foot he 
 will not budge a foot. 
 
 P. Hen. Yes, Jack, upon instinct. 
 
 Fal. I grant ye, upon instinct. Well, he is 
 there too, and one Mordake, and a thousand 
 blue-caps more: Worcester is stolen away to- 
 night; thy father's beard is turned white with 
 the news : you may buy land now as cheap as 
 stinking mackerel. 
 
 P. Hen. Why, then, it is like, if there come 
 a hot June, and this civil buffeting hold, we shall 
 buy maidenheads as they buy hob-nails, by the 
 hundreds. 
 
 Fed. By the mass, lad, thou sayest true ; it is 
 like we shall have good trading that way. But 
 tell me, Hal, art thou not horribly afeard? thou 
 being heir-apparent, could the world pick thee 
 out three such enemies again as that fiend 
 Douglas, that spirit Percy, and that devil Glen- 
 dower? Art thou not horribly afraid? doth not 
 thy blood thrill at it? 
 
 P. Hen. Not a whit, i' faith; I lack some of 
 thy instinct. 
 
 Fed. Well, thou wilt be horribly chid to- 
 
 morrow when thou comest to thy father : if thou 
 love me, practise an answer. 
 
 P. Hen. Do thou stand for my father! and 
 examine me upon the particulars of my life. 
 
 Fal. Shall I? content : this chair shall be 
 my state, this dagger my sceptre, and this 
 cushion my crown. 
 
 P. Hen. Thy state is taken for a joint-stool, 
 thy golden sceptre for a leaden dagger, and thy 
 precious rich crown for a pitiful bald crown ! 
 
 Fal. Well, an the fire of grace be not quite 
 out of thee, now shalt thou be moved. Give 
 me a cup of sack to make mine eyes look red, 
 that it may be thought I have wept ; for I must 
 speak in passion, and I will do it in King 
 Cambyses' vein. 
 
 P. Hen. Well, here is my leg. 
 
 Fal. And here is my speech. Stand aside, 
 nobility. 
 
 Host. O Jesu, this is excellent sport, i' faith ! 
 
 Fal. Weep not, sweet queen; for trickling 
 tears are vain. 
 
 Host. O, the father, how he holds his counte- 
 nance ! [ful queen ; 
 
 Fal. For God's sake, lords, convey my trist- 
 For tears do stop the floodgates of her eyes. 
 
 Host. O Jesu, he doth it as like one of these 
 harlotry players as ever I see ! 
 
 Fal. Peace, good pint-pot; peace, good 
 tickle-brain. Harry, I do not only marvel 
 where thou spendest thy time, but also how thou 
 art accompanied : for though the camomile, the 
 more it is trodden on, the faster it grows, yet 
 youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears. 
 That thou art my son, I have partly thy mother's 
 word, partly my own opinion ; but chiefly a 
 villanous trick of thine eye, and a foolish hang- 
 ing of thy nether lip, that doth warrant me. 
 If, then, thou be son to me, here lies the 
 point; why, being son to me, art thou so 
 pointed at? Shall the blessed sun of heaven 
 prove a micher, and eat blackberries? a question 
 not to be asked. Shall the son of England 
 prove a thief, and take purses? a question to be 
 asked. There is a thing, Harry, which thou 
 hast often heard of, and it is known to many in 
 our land by the name of pitch: this pitch, as 
 ancient writers do report, doth defile ; so doth 
 the company thou keepest : for, Harry, now I 
 do not speak to thee in drink, but in tears ; not 
 in pleasure, but in passion ; not in words only, 
 but in woes also: and yet there tea virtuous 
 man whom I have often noted in thy company, 
 but I know not his name. 
 
 P. Hen. What manner of man, an it like your 
 majesty? 
 
 Fal* A goodly portly man, i' faith, and a 
 
 
476 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 corpulent ; of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, 
 and a most noble carriage ; and, as I think, his 
 age some fifty, or, by 'r lady, inclining to three- 
 score; and now I remember me, his name is 
 Falstaff: if that man should be lewdly given, 
 he deceiveth me ; for, Harry, I see virtue in his 
 looks. If, then, the tree may be known by the 
 fruit, as the fruit by the tree, then, peremptorily 
 I speak it, there is virtue in that Falstaff: him 
 keep with, the rest banish. And tell me now, 
 thou naughty varlet, tell me, where hast thou 
 been this month? 
 
 P. Hen. Dost thou speak like a king? Do 
 thou stand for me, and I '11 play my father. 
 
 Fal. Depose me? if thou dost it half so 
 gravely, so majestically, both in word and 
 matter, hang me up by the heels for a rabbit- 
 sucker or a poulter's hare. 
 
 P. Hen. Well, here I am set. 
 
 Fal. And here I stand : judge, my masters. 
 
 P. Hen. Now, Harry, whence come you? 
 
 Fal. My noble lord, from Eastcheap. 
 
 P. Hen. The complaints I hear of thee are 
 grievous. 
 
 Fal. 'Sblood, my lord, they are false : nay, 
 I '11 tickle ye for a young prince, i' faith. 
 
 P. Hen. Swearest thou, ungracious boy? 
 henceforth ne'er look on me. Thou art violently 
 carried away from grace : there is a devil haunts 
 thee, in the likeness of a fat old man, a tun cf 
 man is thy companion. Why dost thou con- 
 verse with that trunk of humours, that bolting- 
 hutch of beastliness, that swollen parcel of 
 dropsies, that huge bombard of sack, that stiffed 
 cloak-bag of guts, that roasted Manningtree ox, 
 with the pudding in his belly, that reverend 
 vice, that gray iniquity, that father ruffian, that 
 vanity in years? Wherein is he good, but to 
 taste sack and drink it? wherein neat and 
 cleanly, but to carve a capon and eat it? 
 wherein cunning, but in craft? wherein crafty, 
 but in villany? wherein villanous, but in all 
 things? wherein w rthy, but in nothing? 
 
 Fal. I would your grace would take me with 
 you: whom means your grace? 
 
 P. Hen. That villanous abominable mis- 
 leader of youth, Falstaff, that old white-bearded 
 Satan. 
 
 Fal. My lord, the man I know. 
 
 P. Hen. I know thou dost. 
 
 Fal. But to say I know more harm in him 
 than in myself, were to say more than I know. 
 That he is old, the more the pity, his white 
 hairs do witness it ; but that he is, saving your 
 reverence, a whoremaster, that I utterly deny. 
 If sack and sugar be a fault, God help the 
 wicked ! If to be old and merry be a sin, 
 
 then many an old host that I know is damned: 
 if to be fat be to be hated, then Pharaoh's lean 
 kine are to be loved. No, my good lord; 
 banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins : 
 but, for sweet Jack Falstaff, k'ind Jack Falstaff, 
 true Jack Falstaff, valiant Jack Falstaff, and 
 therefore more valiant, being, as he is, old Jack 
 Falstaff. banish not him thy Harry's company, 
 banish not him thy Harry's company : banish 
 plump Jack, and banish all the world. 
 
 P. Hen. I do, I will. [A knocking heard. 
 {Exeunt Host., FRAN., awr/BARD. 
 
 Re-enter BARDOLPH, running. 
 
 Bard. O, my lord, my lord ! the sheriff with 
 a most monstrous watch is at the door. 
 
 Fal. Out, you rogue ! play out the play : I 
 have much to say in the behalf of that Falstaff. 
 
 Re-enter Hostess, hastily. 
 
 Host. O Jesu, my lord, my lord, 
 
 P. Hen. Heigh, heigh ! the devil rides upon 
 a fiddle-stick : what 's the matter? 
 
 Host. The sheriff and all the watch are at 
 the door : they are come to search the house. 
 Shall I let them in? 
 
 Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal? never call a true 
 piece of gold a counterfeit: thou art essentially 
 mad, without seeming so. 
 
 P. Hen. And thou a natural coward, without 
 instinct. 
 
 Fal. I deny your major: if you will deny 
 the sheriff, so; if not, let him enter: if I be- 
 come not a cart as well as another man, a plague 
 on my bringing up ! I hope I shall as soon be 
 strangled with a halter as another. 
 
 P. Hen. Go, hide thee behind the arras: 
 the rest walk up above. Now, my masters, for 
 a true face and good conscience. 
 
 Fal. Both which I have had ; but their date 
 is out, and therefore I '11 hide me. 
 
 [Exeunt all but the PRINCE and POINS. 
 
 P. Hen. Call in the sheriff. 
 
 Enter Sheriff and Carrier. 
 
 Now, master sheriff, what is your will with me? 
 
 Sher. First, pardon me, my lord. A hue and 
 
 cry 
 Hath followed certain men unto this house. 
 
 P. Hen. What men? [lord, 
 
 Sher. One of them is well known, my gracious 
 A gross fat man. 
 
 Car. As fat as butter. 
 
 P. Hen. The man, I do assure you, is not here; 
 For I myself at this time have employ'd him. 
 And, sheriff, I will engage my word to thee, 
 That I will, by to-morrow dinner-time, 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 477 
 
 Send him to answer thee, or any man, 
 For anything he shall be charg'd withal : 
 And so, let me entreat you leave the house. 
 
 Sher. I will, my lord. There are two gentle- 
 men 
 Have in this robbery lost three hundred marks. 
 
 P. Hen. It may be so: if he have robb'd 
 
 these men 
 He shall be answerable ; and so, farewell. 
 
 Sher. Good-night, my noble lord. 
 
 P. Hen. I think it is good-morrow, is it not? 
 
 Sher. Indeed, my lord, I think it be two 
 o'clock. [Exeunt Sheriff and Carrier. 
 
 P. Hen. This oily rascal is known as well as 
 Paul's. Go, call him forth. 
 
 Poins. Falstaff ! fast asleep behind the arras, 
 and snorting like a horse. 
 
 P. Hen. Hark, how hard he fetches breath. 
 Search his pockets. [PoiNS searches.] What 
 hast thou found? 
 
 Poins. Nothing but papers, my lord. 
 
 P. Hen. Let 's see what they be : read them. 
 
 Poins. [Reads.] Item, A capon, 2s. 2d. 
 Item, Sauce, . kjii.fi. * orr^aoJ . os. 4d. 
 Item, Sack, two gallons, . . 55. 8d. 
 Item, Anchovies and sack after supper, 2s. 6d. 
 Item, Bread, . an n?si'.. . . os. od. 
 
 P. Hen. O monstrous! but one halfpenny- 
 worth of bread to this intolerable deal of sack ! 
 What there is else, keep close ; we '11 read it at 
 more advantage: there let him sleep till day. 
 I' 11 to the court in the morning. We must all 
 to the wars, and thy place shall be honourable. 
 I '11 procure this fat rogue a charge of foot ; and 
 I know his death will be a march of twelve- 
 score. The money shall be paid back again 
 with advantage. Be with me betimes in the 
 morning; and so, good-morrow, Poins. 
 
 Poins. Good-morrow, good my lord. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. BANGOR. A Room in the ARCH- 
 DEACON'S House. 
 
 Enter HOTSPUR, WORCESTER, MORTIMER, 
 and GLEN DOWER. 
 
 Mort. These promises are fair, the parties 
 
 sure, 
 And our induction full of prosperous hope. 
 
 Hot. Lord Mortimer, and cousin Glen- 
 dower, 
 
 Will you sit down? 
 And uncle Worcester : a plague upon it ! 
 I have forgot the map. 
 
 Glend. No, here it is. 
 
 Sit, cousin Percy ; sit, good cousin Hotspur, 
 
 For by that name as oft as Lancaster 
 
 Doth speak of you, his cheek looks pale, and with 
 
 A rising sigh he wishes you in heaven. 
 
 Hot. And you in hell, as often as he hears 
 Owen Glendower spoke of. 
 
 Glend. I cannot blame him : at my nativity 
 The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes, 
 Of burning cressets ; and at my birth 
 The frame and huge foundation of the earth 
 Shak'd like a coward. 
 
 Hot. Why, so it would have done, 
 
 At the same season, if your mother's cat 
 Had but kitten'd, though yourself had ne'er 
 been born. [born. 
 
 Glend. I say the earth did shake when I was 
 
 Hot. And I say the earth was not of my mind, 
 If you suppose as fearing you it shook. 
 
 Glend. The heavens were all on fire, the earth 
 did tremble. 
 
 Hot. O, then the earth shook to see the 
 
 heavens on fire, 
 
 And not in fear of your nativity. 
 Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth 
 In strange eruptions ; oft the teeming earth 
 Is with a kind of colic pinch'd and vex'd 
 By the imprisoning of unruly wind [striving, 
 Within her womb; which, for enlargement 
 Shakes the old beldame earth, and topples down 
 Steeples and moss-grown towers. Atyour birth, 
 Our grandam earth, having this distemperature, 
 In passion shook. 
 
 Glend. Cousin, of many men 
 
 I do not bear these crossings. Give me leave 
 To tell you once again that at my birth 
 The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes ; 
 The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds 
 Were strangely clamorous to the frighted fields. 
 These signs have mark'd me extraordinary ; 
 And all the courses of my life do show 
 I am not in the roll of common men. 
 Where is he living, clipp'd in with the sea 
 That chides the banks of England, Scotland, 
 
 Wales, 
 
 Which calls me pupil, or hath read to me? 
 And bring him out that is but woman's son 
 Can trace me in the tedious ways of art, 
 And held me pace in deep experiments. 
 
 Hot. I think there is no man speaks better 
 
 Welsh. 
 I '11 to dinner. [mad. 
 
 Mort. Peace, cousin Percy; you will make him 
 
 Glend. I can call spirits from the vasty deep. 
 
 Hot. Why, so can I, or so can any man ; 
 But will they come when you do call for them? 
 
 Glend. Why, I can teach thee, cousin, to 
 command 
 
 The devil. 
 
 
 
 
478 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 (.ACT III. 
 
 Hot. And I can teach thee, coz, to shame 
 
 the devil 
 
 By telling truth : tell truth, and shame the devil! 
 If thou have power to raise him, bring him hither, 
 And I '11 be sworn I have power to shame him 
 hence. [devil ! 
 
 O, while you live, tell truth, and shame the 
 
 Mort. Come, come, 
 No more of this unprofitable chat. 
 
 Glend. Three times hath Henry Bolingbroke 
 
 made head [Wye 
 
 Against my power; thrice from the banks of 
 
 And sandy-bottom' d Seven, have I sent him 
 
 Bootless home and weather-beaten back, [too ! 
 
 Hot. Home without boots, and in foul weather 
 How 'scapes he agues, in the devil's name? 
 
 Glend. Come, here's the map: shall we 
 
 divide our right 
 According to our threefold order ta'en? 
 
 Mort. The archdeacon hath divided it 
 Into three limits very equally : 
 England, from Trent and Severn hitherto, 
 By south and east is to my part assign'd : 
 All westward, Wales beyond the Severn shore, 
 And all the fertile land within that bound, 
 To Owen Glendower: and, dear coz, to you 
 The remnant northward, lying off from Trent. 
 And our indentures tripartite are drawn ; 
 Which being sealed interchangeably, 
 A business that this night may execute, 
 To-morrow, cousin Percy, you, and I, 
 And my good Lord of Worcester, will set forth 
 To meet your father and the Scottish power, 
 As is appointed us, at Shrewsbury. 
 My father Glendower is not ready yet, 
 Nor shall we need his help these fourteen days: 
 Within that space \to GLEND.] you may have 
 drawn together [men. 
 
 Your tenants, friends, and neighbouring gentle- 
 
 Glend. A shorter time shall send me to you, 
 
 lords : 
 
 And in my conduct shall your ladies come ; 
 From whom you now must steal, and take no 
 
 leave; 
 
 For there will be a world of water shed 
 Upon the parting of your wives and you. 
 
 Hot. Methinks my moiety, north from Burton 
 
 here, 
 
 In quantity equals not one of yours : 
 See how this river comes me cranking in, 
 And cuts me from the best of all my land 
 A huge half-moon, a monstrous cantle out. 
 I '11 have the current in this place damm'd up ; 
 And here the smug and silver Trent shall run 
 In a new channel, fair and evenly : 
 It shall not wind with such a deep indent, 
 To rob me of so rich a bottom here. 
 
 JSlend. Not wind ! it shall, it must ; you see 
 it doth. 
 
 Mort. Yea. [up 
 
 But mark how he bears his course and runs me 
 With like advantage on the other side ; 
 Gelding the opposed continent as much 
 As on the other side it takes from you. 
 
 Wor. Yea, but a little charge will trench 
 
 him here, 
 
 And on this north side win this cape of larki. 
 And then he runs straight and even. 
 
 Hot. I '11 have it so : a little charge will do it. 
 
 Glend. I will not have it alter'd. 
 
 Hot. Will not you? 
 
 Glend. No, nor you shall not. 
 
 Hot. Who shall say me nay? 
 
 Glend. Why, that will I. 
 
 Hot. Let me not understand you, then ; 
 
 Speak it in Welsh. [you ; 
 
 Glend. I can speak English, lord, as well as 
 For I was train'd up in the English court ; 
 Where, being but young, I framed to the harp 
 Many an English ditty, lovely well, 
 And gave the tongue a helpful ornament, 
 A virtue that was never seen in you. [heart : 
 
 Hot. Marry, and I am glad of it with all my 
 I had rather be a kitten and cry mew, 
 Than one of these s<*me metre ballad-mongers ; 
 I had rather hear a brazen candlestick turn'd, 
 Or a dry wheel grate on the axle-tree ; 
 And that would set my teeth nothing on edge, 
 Nothing so much as mincing poetry : 
 'Tis like the forc'd gait of a shuffling nag. 
 
 Glend. Come, you shall have Trent turn'd. 
 
 Hot. I do not care ; I '11 give thrice so much 
 
 land 
 
 To any well-deserving friend ; 
 But in the way of bargain, mark ye me, 
 I '11 cavil on the ninth part of a hair. 
 Are the indentures drawn ? shall we be gone? 
 
 Glend. The moon shines fair; you may away 
 
 by night : 
 
 I '11 haste the writer, and withal 
 Break with your wives of your departure hence : 
 I am afraid my daughter will run mad, 
 So much she doteth on her Mortimer. [Exit. 
 
 Mort. Fie, cousin Percy ! how you cross my 
 lather ! [me 
 
 Hot. I cannot choose : sometimes he angers 
 With telling me of the moldwarp and the ant, 
 Of the dreamer Merlin and his prophecies, 
 And of a dragon and a finless fish, 
 A clip-wing'd griffin and a moulten raven, 
 A couching lion and a ramping cat, 
 And such a deal of skimble-skamble stuff 
 As puts me from my faith. I tell you what, 
 He held me last night at least nine hours 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 479 
 
 In reckoning up the several devils' names 
 That were his lackeys : I cried hum, and well, 
 
 goto, 
 
 But mark'd him not a word. O, he : s as tedious 
 As is a tired horse, a railing wife ; 
 Worse than a smoky house : I had rather live 
 With cheese and garlic in a windmill, far, 
 Than feed on cates and have him talk to me 
 In any summer-house in Christendom. 
 
 Mart. In faith, he is a worthy gentleman ; 
 Exceedingly well read, and profited 
 In strange concealments ; valiant as a lion, 
 And wondrous affable ; and as bountiful 
 As mines of India. Shall I tell you, cousin? 
 He holds your temper in a high respect, 
 And curbs himself even of his natural scope 
 When you do cross his humour ; faith, he does : 
 I warrant you, that man is not alive 
 Might so have tempted him as you have done, 
 Without the taste of danger and reproof : 
 But do not use it oft, let me entreat you. 
 
 Wor. In faith, my lord, you are too wilful- 
 blame ; 
 
 And since your coming hither have done enough 
 To put him quite beside his patience. 
 You must needs learn, lord, to amend this 
 
 fault: 
 Though sometimes it show greatness, courage, 
 
 blood, 
 
 And that 's the dearest grace it renders you, 
 Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh rage, 
 Defect of manners, want of government, 
 Pride, haughtiness, opinion, and disdain : 
 The least of which, haunting a nobleman, 
 Loseth men's hearts, and leaves behind a stain 
 Upon the beauty of all parts besides, 
 Beguiling them of commendation. 
 Hot. Well, I am school'd: good manners 
 
 be your speed ! 
 Here come our wives, and let us take our leave. 
 
 Re-enter GLENDOWER, with LADY MORTIMER 
 and LADY PERCY. 
 
 Mort. This is the deadly spite that angers 
 
 me, 
 
 My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh. 
 Glend. My daughter weeps : she will not part 
 
 with you ; 
 
 She '11 be a soldier too, she '11 to the wars. 
 Mort. Good father, tell her that she and my 
 
 aunt Percy 
 Shall follow in your conduct speedily. 
 
 [GLEND. speaks to LADY MORT. in Welsh, 
 
 and she answers him in the same. 
 Glend. She 's desperate here ; a peevish, self- 
 
 will'd harlotry, 
 One that no persuasion can do good upon. 
 
 [LADY MORT. speaks to MORT. in Welsh. 
 
 Mort. I understand thy looks: that pretty 
 Welsh [heavens, 
 
 Which thou pour'st down from these welling 
 I am too perfect in ; and, but for shame, 
 In such a parley should I answer thee. 
 
 [LADY MORT. speaks again. 
 I understand thy kisses, and thou mine, 
 And that J s a feeling disputation : 
 But I will never be a truant, love, 
 Till I have learned thy language ; for thy tongue 
 Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn'd, 
 Sung by a fair queen in a summer's bower, 
 With ravishing division, to her lute. [mad. 
 Glend. Nay, if you melt, then will she run 
 [LADY MORT. speaks again. 
 
 Mort. O, I am ignorance itself in this 1 
 Glend. She bids you on the wanton rushes 
 
 lay you down, 
 
 And rest your gentle head upon her lap, 
 And she will sing the song that pleaseth you, 
 And on your eyelids crown the god of sleep, 
 Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness ; 
 Making such difference betwixt wake and sleep 
 As is the difference betwixt day and night, 
 The hour before the heavenly harness'd team 
 Begins his golden progress in the east, [sing: 
 
 Mort. With all my heart I '11 sit and hear her 
 By that time will our book, I think, be drawn. 
 
 Glend. Do so ; 
 
 And those musicians that shall play to you 
 Hang in the air a thousand leagues from hence ; 
 And straight they shall be here : sit, and attend. 
 
 Hot. Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying 
 down : come, quick, quick, that I may lay my 
 head in thy lap. 
 
 Lady P. Go, ye giddy goose. 
 
 [The music plays. 
 
 Hot. Now I perceive the devil understands 
 
 Welsh; 
 
 And 'tis no marvel he 's so humorous. 
 By 'r lady, he 's a good musician. 
 
 Lady P. Then should you be nothing but 
 musical ; for you are altogether governed by 
 humours. Lie still, ye thief, and hear the lady 
 sing in Welsh. 
 
 Hot. I had rather hear Lady, my brach, 
 howl in Irish. 
 
 Lady P. Wouldst thou have thy head broken? 
 
 Hot. No. 
 
 Lady P. Then be still. 
 
 Hot. Neither ; 'tis a woman's fault. 
 
 Lady P. Now God help thee ! 
 
 Hot. To the Welsh lady's bed. 
 
 Lady P. What's that? 
 
 Hot. Peace ! she sings. 
 
 [A Welsh Song sung by LADY MORT, 
 
 
4 8o 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Hot. Come, Kate, I '11 have your song too. 
 
 Lady P. Not mine, in good sooth. 
 
 Hot. Not yours, in good sooth ! 'Heart, you 
 swear like a comfit-maker's wife 1 Not you , in 
 good sooth; and, As true as I live ; and, As God 
 shall mend me; and, As sure as day: 
 And giv'st such sarcenet surety for thy oaths, 
 As if thou never walk'dst further than Finsbury. 
 Swear me, Kate, like a lady as thou art, 
 A good mouth-filling oath ; and leave in sooth, 
 And such protest of pepper-gingerbread, 
 To velvet guards and Sunday-citizens. 
 Come, sing. 
 
 Lady P. I will not sing. 
 
 Hot. 'Tis the next way to turn tailor, or be 
 redbreast teacher. An the indentures be drawn, 
 I '11 away within these two hours ; and so, come 
 in when ye will. [Exit. 
 
 Glend. Come, come, Lord Mortimer; you 
 
 are as slow 
 
 As hot Lord Percy is on fire to go. 
 By this our book is drawn ; we will but seal, 
 And then to horse immediately. 
 
 With all my heart. 
 
 Mort. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. LONDON. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 > Enter KING HENRY, PRINCE HBNRY, and 
 Lords. 
 
 K. Hen. Lords, give us leave ; the Prince of 
 Wales and I [hand, 
 
 Must have some conference; but be near at 
 For we shall presently have need of you. 
 
 Exeunt Lords. 
 
 I know not whether God will have it so, 
 For some displeasing service I have done, 
 That, in his secret doom, out of my blood 
 He '11 breed revengement and a scourge for me; 
 But thou dost, in thy passages of life, 
 Make me believe that thou art only mark'd 
 For the hot vengeance and the rod of heaven 
 To punish my mistreadings. Tell me else, 
 Could such inordinate and low desires, 
 Such poor, such bare, such lewd, such mean 
 
 attempts, 
 
 Such barren pleasures, rude society, 
 &s thou art match'd withal and grafted to, 
 Accompany the greatness of thy blood, 
 And hold their level with thy princely heart ? 
 P. Hen. So please your majesty, I would I 
 
 could 
 
 Quit all offences with as clear excuse, 
 As well as I am doubtless I can purge 
 Myself of many I am charg'd withal : 
 Yet such extenuation let me beg, 
 &&, in reproof of many tales devis'd, 
 
 Which oft the ear of greatness needs must hear, 
 By smiling pick-thanks and base newsmongers, 
 I may, for some things true, wherein my youth 
 Hath faulty wander'd and irregular, 
 Find pardon on my true submission. 
 K. Hen. God pardon thee! yet let me 
 
 wonder, Harry, 
 
 At thy affections, which do hold a wing 
 Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors. 
 Thy place in council thou hast rudely lost, 
 Which by thy younger brother is supplied ; 
 And art almost an alien to the hearts 
 Of all the court and princes of my blood : 
 The hope and expectation of thy time 
 Is ruin'd ; and the soul of every man 
 Prophetically does forethink thy fall. 
 Had I so lavish of my presence been, 
 So common-hackney 'd in the eyes of men, 
 So stale and cheap to vulgar company, 
 Opinion, that did help me to the crown, 
 Had still kept loyal to possession, 
 And left me in reputeless banishment, 
 A fellow of no mark nor likelihood. 
 By being seldom seen, I could not stir 
 But, like a comet, I was wonder'd at ; 
 That men would tell their children, This is he t 
 Others would say, Where^ which is Baling- 
 
 broke ? 
 
 And then I stole all courtesy from heaven, 
 And dress'd myself in such humility 
 That I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts, 
 Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths, 
 Even in the presence of the crowned king. 
 Thus did I keep my person fresh and new ; 
 My presence, like a robe pontifical, 
 Ne'er seen but wonder'd at : and so my state, 
 Seldom but sumptuous, showed like a feast, 
 And won by rareness such solemnity. 
 The skipping king, he ambled up and down 
 With shallow jesters and rash bavin wits, 
 Soon kindled and soon burn'd : carded his state; 
 Mingled his royalty with carping fools ; 
 Had his great name profaned with their scorns ; 
 And gave his countenance, against his name, 
 To laugh at gibing boys, and stand the push 
 Of every beardless vain comparative; 
 Grew a companion to the common streets, 
 EnfeofFd himself to popularity ; 
 That, being daily swallow'd by men's eyes, 
 They surfeited with honey, and began 
 To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little 
 More than a little is by much too much. 
 So, when he had occasion to be seen, 
 He was but as the cuckoo is in June, 
 Heard, not regarded, seen, but with such eyes, 
 As, sick and blunted with community, 
 Afford no extraordinary gaze, 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 4*1 
 
 Such as is bent on sun-like majesty 
 When it shines seldom in admiring eyes : 
 But rather drowz'd, and hung their eyelidsdown, 
 Slept in his face, and render'd such aspect 
 As cloudy men use to their adversaries, 
 Being with his presence glutted, gorg'd, and full. 
 And in that very line, Harry, stand' st thou ; 
 For thou hast lost thy princely privilege 
 With vile participation : not an eye 
 But is a- weary of thy common sight, 
 Save mine, which hath desir'd to see thee more ; 
 Which now doth that I would not have it do,- - 
 Make blind itself with foolish tenderness. 
 
 P. Hen. I shall hereafter, my thrice-gracious 
 
 lord, 
 Be more myself. 
 
 K. Hen. For all the world, 
 As thou art to this hour, was Richard then 
 When I from France set foot at Ravenspurg; 
 And even as I was then is Percy now. 
 Now, by my sceptre, and my soul to boot, 
 He hath more worthy interest to the state 
 Than thou, the shadow of succession : 
 For, of no right, nor colour like to right, 
 He doth fill fields with harness in the realm ; 
 Turns head against the lion's armed jaws ; 
 And, being no more in debt to years than thou 
 JLeads ancient lords and reverend bishops on 
 To bloody battles and to bruising arms. 
 What never-dying honour hath he got 
 Against renowned Douglas ! whose high deeds, 
 Whose hot incursions, and great na*ne in arms, 
 Holds from all soldiers chief majority 
 And military title capital [Christ : 
 
 Through all the kingdoms that acknowledge 
 Thrice hath this Hotspur Mars in swathing- 
 
 clothes. 
 
 This infant warrior, in his enterprises 
 Discomfited great Douglas ; ta'en him once, 
 Enlarged him, and made a friend of him, 
 To fill the mouth of deep defiance up, 
 And shake the peace and safety of our throne. 
 And what say you to this? Percy, Northumber- 
 land, 
 The Archbishop's grace of York, Douglas, 
 
 Mortimer, 
 
 Capitulate against us, and are up. 
 But wherefore do I tell these news to thee? 
 Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes, 
 Which art my near'st and dearest enemy? 
 Thou that art like enough, through vassal fear, 
 Base inclination, and the start of spleen, 
 To fight against me under Percy's pay, 
 To dog his heels, and court'sy at his frowns, 
 To show how much thou art degenerate. 
 
 P. Hen. Do not think so, you shall n 
 it so: 
 
 
 so, you shall not find 
 
 And God forgive them that have so muck 
 
 sway'd 
 
 Your majesty's good thoughts away from met 
 I will redeem all this on Percy's head, 
 And, in the closing of some glorious day, 
 Be bold to tell you that I am your son ; 
 When I will wear a garment all of blood, 
 And stain my favours in a bloody mask, [it: 
 Which, wash'd away, shall scour my shame with 
 And that shall be the day, whene'er it lights, 
 That this same child of honour and renown, 
 This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight, 
 And your unthought-of Harry chance to meet. 
 For every honou/ sitting on his helm, 
 Would they were multitudes, and on my head 
 My shames redoubled ! for the time will come 
 That I shall make this northern youth exchange 
 His glorious deeds for my indignities, 
 Percy is but my factor, good my lord, 
 To engross up glorious deeds on my behalf; 
 And I will call him to so strict account, 
 That he shall render every glory up, 
 Yea, even the slightest worship of his time, 
 Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart. 
 This, in the name of God, I promise here: 
 The which if he be pleas'd I shall perform, 
 I do beseech your majesty, may salve 
 The long-grown wounds of my intemperances 
 If not, the end of life cancels all bands ; 
 And I will die a hundred thousand deaths 
 Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow. 
 K. Hen. A hundred thousand rebels die in 
 this : [herein. 
 
 Thou shalt have charge and sovereign trust 
 
 Enter SIR WALTER BLUNT. 
 
 How now, good Blunt ! thy looks are full of 
 
 speed. [speak of. 
 
 Blunt. So hath the business that I come to 
 Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word 
 That Douglas and the English rebels met 
 The eleventh of this month at Shrewsbury: 
 A mighty and a fearful head they are, 
 If promises be kept on every hand, 
 As ever orTer*d foul play in a state. 
 
 K. Hen, The Earl of Westmoreland set forth 
 
 to-day; 
 
 With him my son, Lord John of Lancaster ; 
 For this advertisement is five days old : 
 On Wednesday next, Harry, you shall set for* 
 
 ward; 
 
 On Thursday we ourselves will march : 
 Our meeting is Bridgenorth : and, Harry, you 
 Shall march through Glostershire ; by which 
 
 account, 
 
 Our business valued, some twelve days hence 
 Our general forces at Bridjzenorth shall meet. 
 
482 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Our hands are full of business : let 's away ; 
 Advantage feeds him fat while men delay. 
 
 SCENE III. EASTCHEAP. A Room in the 
 Boar's Head Tavern. 
 
 Enter FALSTAFF and BARDOLPH. 
 
 Fal. Bardolph, am I not fallen away vilely 
 since this last action? do I not bate? do I not 
 dwindle? Why, my skin hangs about me like 
 an old lady's loose gown ; I am withered like an 
 old apple-John. Well, I '11 repent, and that sud- 
 denly, while I am in some liking ; I shall be out 
 of heart shortly, and then I shall have no strength 
 to repent. An I have not forgotten what the 
 inside of a church is made of, I am a pepper- 
 corn, a brewer's horse : the inside of a church ! 
 Company, villanous company, hath been the 
 spoil of me. 
 
 Bard. Sir John, you are so fretful, you can- 
 not live long. 
 
 Fal. Why, there is it : come, sing me a bawdy 
 song ; make me merry. I was as virtuously given 
 as a gentleman need to be ; virtuous enough ; 
 swore little; diced not above seven times a 
 week ; went to a bawdy-house not above once 
 in a quarter of an hour ; paid money that I 
 borrowed three or four times : lived well, and 
 in good compass: and now I live out of all 
 order, out of all compass. 
 
 Bard. Why, you are so fat, Sir John, that you 
 must needs be out of all compass, out of all 
 reasonable compass, Sir John. 
 
 Fal. Do thou amend thy face, and I '11 amend 
 my life : thou art our admiral, thou bearest the 
 lantern in the p op, but 'tis in the nose of thee; 
 thou art the Knight of the Burning Lamp. 
 
 Bard. Why, Sir John, my face does you no 
 harm. 
 
 Fal. No, I Ml be sworn ; I make as good use 
 of it as many a man doth of a Death's head or a 
 memento mori: I never see thy face but I think 
 upon hell-fire, and Dives that lived in purple ; 
 for there he is in his robes, burning, burning. 
 If thou wert any way given to virtue, I would 
 swear by thy face ; my oath should be, By this 
 fire, that's God's angel; but thou art altogether 
 given over ; and wert indeed, but for the light 
 in thy face, the son of utter darkness. When 
 thou rannest up Gadshill in the night to catch 
 my horse, if I did not think thou hadst been an 
 ignis fatuus or a ball of wildfire, there 's no 
 purchase in money. O, thou art a perpetual 
 triumph, an everlasting bonfire light! Thou 
 hast saved me a thousand marks in links and 
 torches, walking with thee in the night betwixt 
 tavern and tavern : but the sack that thou hast 
 
 drunk me would have bought me lights as good 
 cheap at the dearest chandler's in Europe. I 
 have maintained that salamander of yours with 
 fire any time this two-and-thirty years; God re- 
 ward me for it ! [belly ! 
 
 Bard. 'Sblood, I would my face were in your 
 
 Fal. God-a-mercy ! so should I be sure to be 
 heart-burn'd. 
 
 Enter Hostess. 
 
 How now, Dame Partlet the hen ! have you in- 
 quired yet who picked my pocket? 
 
 Host. Why, Sir John, what do you think, 
 Sir John? do you think I keep thieves in my 
 house? I have searched, I have inquired, so 
 has my husband, man by man, boy by boy, 
 servant by servant : the tithe of a hair was never 
 lost in my house before. 
 
 Fal. You lie, hostess: Bardolph was shaved, 
 and lost many a hair ; and I' 11 be sworn my 
 pocket was picked. Go to, you are a woman, 
 go. 
 
 Host. Who, I? no; I defy thee: God's light, 
 I was never called so in mine own house before. 
 
 Fal. Go to, I know you well enough. 
 
 Host. No, Sir John; you do not know me, 
 Sir John. I know you, 'Sir John : you owe me 
 money, Sir John ; and now you pick a quarrel 
 to beguile me of it : I bought you a dozen of 
 shirts to your back. 
 
 Fal. Dowlas, filthy dowlas: I have given 
 them away to bakers' wives, and they have made 
 bolters of tflem. 
 
 Host. Now, as I am a true woman, holland 
 of eight shillings an ell. You owe money here 
 besides, Sir John, for your diet and by-drinkings, 
 and money lent you, four-and-twenty pound. 
 
 Fal. He had his part of it ; let him pay. 
 
 Host. He? alas, he is poor ; he hath nothing. 
 
 Fal. How! poor? look upon his face ; what 
 call you rich? let them coin his nose, let them 
 coin his cheeks : I '11 not pay a denier. What, 
 will you make a younker of me? shall I not take 
 mine ease in mine inn, but I shall have my 
 pocket picked? I have lost a seal-ring of my 
 grandfather's worth forty mark. 
 
 Host. O Jesu, I have heard the prince tell 
 him, I know not how oft, that that ring was 
 copper ! 
 
 Fal. How ! the prince is a Jack, a sneak-cup: 
 'sblood, an he were here I would cudgel him 
 like a dog if he would say so. 
 Enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS, marching. 
 
 FALSTAFF meets the PR T NCE, playing on his 
 
 truncheon like a fife. 
 
 Fal. How now, lad ! is the wind in that door,, 
 i' faith? must we all march? 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 483 
 
 Bard. Yea, two and two, Newgate-fashion. 
 
 Host. My lord, I pray you, hear me. 
 
 P. Hen. What sayest thou, Mistress Quickly? 
 How does thy husband? I love him well; he 
 is an honest man. 
 
 Host. Good my lord, hear me. 
 
 Fal. Pr'ythee, let her alone, and list to me. 
 
 P. Hen. What sayest thou, Jack? 
 
 Fal. The other night I fell asleep here be- 
 hind the arras, and had my pocket picked: this 
 house is turned bawdy-house; they pick pockets. 
 
 P. Hen. What didst thou lose, Jack ? 
 
 Fal. Wilt thou believe me, Hal? three or 
 four bonds of forty pound a-piece, and a seal- 
 ring of my grandfather's. 
 
 P. Hen. A trifle, some eight-penny matter. 
 
 Host. So I told him, my lord ; and I said I 
 heard your grace say so: and, my lord, he 
 speaks most vilely of you, like a foul-mouthed 
 man as he is, and said he would cudgel you. 
 
 P. Hen. What ! he did not? 
 
 Host. There 's neither faith, truth, nor woman- 
 hood in me else. 
 
 Fal. There 's no more faith in thee than in a 
 stewed prune ; nor no more truth in thee than 
 in a drawn fox; and for womanhood, Maid 
 Marian may be the deputy's wife of the ward to 
 thee. Go, you thing, go. 
 
 Host. Say, what thing? what thing? 
 
 Fal. What thing ! why, a thing to thank God 
 on. 
 
 Host. I am no thing to thank God on, I 
 would thou shouldst know it ; I am an honest 
 man's wife ; and, setting thy knighthood aside, 
 thou art a knave to call me so. 
 
 Fal. Setting thy womanhood aside, thou art 
 a beast to say otherwise. 
 
 Host. Say, what beast, thou knave, thou? 
 
 Fal. What beast ! why, an otter. 
 
 P. Hen. An otter, Sir John ! why an otter? 
 
 Fal. Why, she 's neither fish nor flesh ; a man 
 knows not where to have her. 
 
 Host. Thou art an unjust man in saying so : 
 thou or any man knows where to have me, thou 
 knave, thou ! 
 
 P. Hen. Thou sayest true, hostess; and he 
 slanders thee most grossly. 
 
 Host. So he doth you, my lord ; and said this 
 other day you ought him a thousand pound. 
 
 P. Hen. Sirraji, do I owe you a thousand 
 pound? 
 
 Fal. A thousand pound, Hal! a million: thy 
 love is worth a million ; thou owest me thy love. 
 
 Host. Nay, my lord, he call'd you Jack, and 
 said he would cudgel you. 
 
 Fal. Did I, Bardolph? 
 
 Bard. Indeed, Sir John, you said so. 
 
 Fal. Yea, if he said my ring was copper. 
 
 P. Hen. I say 'tis copper : darest thou be as 
 good as thy word now ? 
 
 Fal. Why, Hal, thou knowest, as thou art 
 but man, I dare : but as thou art prince, I fear 
 thee, as I fear the roaring of the lion's whelp. 
 
 P. Hen. And why not as the lion? 
 
 Fal. The king himself is to be feared as the 
 lion : dost thou think I '11 fear thee as I fear thy 
 father? nay, an I do, I pray God my girdle break. 
 
 P. Hen. O, if it should, how would thy guts 
 fall about thy knees ! But, sirrah, there 's no 
 room for faith, truth, nor honesty, in this bosom 
 of thine, it is all filled up with guts and mid- 
 riff. Charge an honest woman with picking 
 thy pocket ! Why, thou whoreson, impudent, 
 embossed rascal, if there were anything in thy 
 pocket but tavern-reckonings, memorandums of 
 bawdy-houses, and one poor penny-worth of 
 sugar-candy to make thee long-winded, if thy 
 pocket were enriched with any other injuries 
 but these, I am a villain : and yet you will stand 
 to it; you will not pocket-up wrong: art thou 
 not ashamed? 
 
 Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal? thou knowest in 
 the state of innocency Adam fell; and what 
 should poor Jack Falstaff do in the days of 
 villany? Thou seest I have more flesh than an- 
 other man, and therefore more frailty. You 
 confess, then, you picked my pocket? 
 
 P. Hen. It appears so by the story. 
 
 Fal. Hostess, I forgive thee : go, make ready 
 breakfast; love thy husband, lock to thy 
 servants, cherish thy guests : thou shall find me 
 tractable to any honest reason : thou seest I am 
 pacified. Still? Nay, pr'ythee, be gone. 
 {Exit Hostess.] Now, Hal, to the news at 
 court : for the robbery, lad, how is that an- 
 swe-ed? 
 
 P. Hen. O, my sweet beef, I must still be 
 g^od angel to thee: the money is paid back 
 again. 
 
 Fal. O, I do not like that paying back ; 'tis 
 a double labour. 
 
 P. Hen. I am good fr ends with my father, 
 and may do anything. 
 
 Fal. Rob me the exchequer the first thing 
 thou doest, and do it with unwashed hands too. 
 
 Bard. Do, my lord. [of foot. 
 
 P. Hen. I have procured thee, Jack, a charge 
 
 Fal. L would it had been of horse. Where 
 shall I find one that can steal well? O for a 
 fine thief, of the age of two-and -twenty or 
 thereabouts! I am heinously unprovided. 
 Well, God be thanked for these rebels, they 
 offend none but the virtuous : I laud them, I 
 praise them. 
 
484 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 P. Hen. Bardolph, 
 
 Bard. My lord. [Lancaster, 
 
 P. Hen. Go bear this letter to Lord John of 
 To my brother John ; this to my Lord of West- 
 moreland. [Exit BARDOLPH. 
 Go, Poins, to horse, to horse; for thou and I 
 Have thirty miles to ride yet ere dinner-time. 
 
 [Exit POINS. 
 
 Jack, meet me to-morrow in the Temple-hall 
 At two o'clock in the afternoon : [receive 
 
 There shalt thou know thy charge, and there 
 Money and order for their furniture. 
 The land is burning ; Percy stands on high ; 
 And either they or we must lower lie. [Exit. 
 Fal. Rare words! brave world! Hostess, 
 
 my breakfast ; come : 
 O, I could wish this tavern were my drum ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. The Rebel Camp near Shrewsbury. 
 Enter HOTSPUR, WORCESTER, and DOUGLAS. 
 
 Hot. Well said, my noble Scot : if speaking 
 
 truth 
 
 In this fine age were not thought flattery, 
 Such attribution should the Douglas have, 
 As not a soldier of this season's stamp 
 Should go so general current through the world. 
 By heaven, I cannot flatter ; I defy 
 The tongues of soothers ; but a braver place 
 In my heart's love hath no man than yourself: 
 Nay, task me to my word ; approve me, lord. 
 
 Doug. Thou art the king of honour : 
 No man so potent breathes upon the ground 
 But I will beard him. 
 
 Hot. Do so, and 'tis well. 
 
 Enter a Messenger with letters. 
 
 What letters hast thou there? I can but thank 
 
 you. 
 
 Mess. These letters come from your father, 
 Hot. Letters from him ! why comes he not 
 himself? [ous sick. 
 
 Mess. He cannot come, my lord ; he 's griev- 
 Hot. Zounds ! how has he the leisure to be 
 
 sick 
 
 In such a justling time? Who leads his power? 
 
 Under whose government come they along? 
 
 Mess. His letters bear his mind, not I, my 
 
 lord. [bed? 
 
 Wor. I pr'ythee, tell me, doth he keep his 
 
 Mess. He did, my lord, four days ere I set 
 
 forth; 
 
 And at the time of my departure thence 
 He was much fear'd by his physicians. 
 
 Wor. I would the state of time had first been 
 
 whole 
 
 Ere he by sickness had been visited : 
 His health was never better worth than n<W. 
 
 Hot, Sick now! droop now! this sickness 
 
 doth infect 
 
 The very life-blood of cur enterprise; 
 'Tis catching hither, even to our camp. 
 He writes me here that inward sickness, 
 And that his friends by deputation could not 
 So soca be drawn ; nor did he think it meet 
 To lay so dangerous and dear a trust 
 On any soul removed, but on his own. 
 Yet doth he give us bold advertisement, 
 That with our small conjunction we should on ; 
 To see how fortune is dispos'd to us ; 
 For, as he writes, there is no quailing now, 
 Because the king is certainly possess'd 
 Of all our purposes. What say you to it? 
 
 Wor. Your father's sickness is a maim to us. 
 
 Hot. A perilous gash, a very limb lopp'd 
 
 And yet, in faith, 'tis not ; his present want 
 Seems more than we shall find it : were it good 
 To set the exact wealth of all our states 
 All at one cast? to set so rich a main 
 On the nice hazard of one doubtful hour? 
 It were not good ; for therein should we read 
 The very bottom and the soul of hope, 
 The very list, the very utmost bound 
 Of all our fortunes. 
 
 Drug. Faith, and so we should ; 
 
 Where now remains a sweet reversion : 
 We may boldly spend upon the hope of what 
 Is to come in: 
 A comfort of retirement lives in this. 
 
 Hot. A rendezvous, a home to fly unto, 
 If that the devil and mischance look big 
 Upon the maidenhead of our affairs. [here. 
 
 Wor. But yet I would your father had been 
 The quality and hair of our attempt 
 Brooks no division : it will be thought 
 By some, that know not why he is away, 
 That wisdom, loyalty, and mere dislike 
 Of our proceedings, kept the earl from hence : 
 And think how such an apprehension 
 May turn the tide of fearful faction, 
 And breed a kind of question in our cause ; 
 For well you know we of the offering side 
 Must keep aloof from strict arbitrement, 
 And stop all sight-holes, every loop from whence 
 The eye of reason may pry in upon us : 
 This absence of your father's draws a curtain 
 That shows the ignorant a kind of fear 
 Before not dreamt of. 
 
 Hot. You strain too far. 
 
 I, rather, of his absence make this use: 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 485 
 
 It lends a lustre and more great opinion, 
 A larger dare to our great enterprise, 
 Than if the earl were here : for men must think, 
 If we, without his help, can make a head 
 To push against the kingdom, with his help 
 We sh 11 o'erturn it topsy-turvy down. 
 Yet all goes well, yet all our joints are whole. 
 Doug. As heart can think : there is not such 
 
 a word 
 Spoke of in Scotland as this term of fear. 
 
 Enter SIR RICHARD VERNON. 
 
 Hot. My cousin Vemon! welcome, by my 
 
 soul. [lord. 
 
 Ver. Pray God my news be worth a welcome, 
 
 The Earl of Westmoreland, seven thousand 
 
 strong, 
 
 Is marching hitherwards; with him Prince John. 
 Hot. No harm: what more? 
 Ver. And further, I have learn'd 
 
 The king himself in person is set forth, 
 Or hitherwards intended speedily, 
 With strong and mighty preparation. [son, 
 Hot. He shall be welcome too. Where is his 
 The nimble-footed madcap Prince of Wales 
 And his comrades, that daff d the world aside, 
 And bid it pass ? 
 
 Ver. All furnish'd, all in arms ; 
 
 All plum'd like estridges, that wing the wind ; 
 Bated like eagles having lately bath'd ; 
 Glittering in golden coats, like images ; 
 As full of spirit as the month of May, 
 And gorgeous as the sun at midsummer ; 
 Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls. 
 I saw young Harry, with his beaver on, 
 His cuisses on his thighs, gallantly arm'd, 
 Rise from the ground like featherd Mercury, 
 And vaulted with such ease into his seat, 
 As if an angel dropp'd down from the clouds, 
 To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus, 
 And witch the world with noble horsemanship. 
 Hot. No more, no more ; worse than the sun 
 
 in March, 
 
 This praise doth nourish agues. Let them come. 
 They come like sacrifices in their trim, 
 And to the fire-ey'd maid of smoky war, 
 All hot and bleeding, will we offer them : 
 The mailed Mars shall on his altar sit, 
 Up to the ears in blood. I am on fire 
 To hear this rich reprisal is so nigh. 
 And yet not ours. Come, let me taste my horse, 
 Who is to bear me, like a th. nderbolt, 
 Against the bosom of the Prince of Wales : 
 Harry to Harry shall, hot horse to horse, 
 Meet, and ne'er part till one drop down a 
 
 corse. 
 O that Glendower were come ! 
 
 Ver. There is more news: 
 
 I learn'd in Worcester, as I rode along, 
 He cannot draw his power this fourteen days. 
 
 Doug. That 's the worst tidings that I hear 
 of yet. [sound. 
 
 War. Ay, by my faith, that bears a frosty 
 
 Hot. What may the king's whole battle reach 
 unto? 
 
 Ver. To thirty thousand. 
 
 Hot. Forty let it be : 
 
 My father and Glendower being both away, 
 The powers of us may serve so great a day. 
 Come, let us take a muster speedily : 
 Doomsday is near ; die all, die merrily. 
 
 Doug. Talk not of dying ; I am out of fear 
 Of death or death's hand for this one half-year. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IL A public Road near Coventry. 
 Enter FALSTAFF and BARDOLPH. 
 
 Fal. Bardolph, get thee before to Coventry ; 
 fill me a bottle of sack : our soldiers shall march 
 through ; we '11 to Sutton-Cop-hill to-night. 
 
 Bard. Will you give me money, captain? 
 
 Fal. Lay out, lay out. 
 
 Bard. This bottle makes an angel. 
 
 Fal. An if it do, take it for thy labour ; and 
 if it make twenty, take them all ; I '11 answer 
 the coinage. Bid my lieutenant Peto meet me 
 at the town's end. 
 
 Bard. I will, captain: farewell. [Exit. 
 
 Fal. If I be not ashamed of my soldiers, I 
 am a soused gurnet. I have misused the king's 
 press damnably. I have got, in exchange of a 
 hundred and fifty soldiers, three hundred and 
 odd pounds. I press me none but good house- 
 holders, yeomen's sons; inquire me out con- 
 tracted bachelors, such as had been asked twice 
 on the bans ; such a commodity of warm slaves 
 as had as lief hear the devil as a drum ; such as 
 fear the report of a caliver worse than a struck 
 fowl or a hurt wild-duck. I pressed me none 
 but such toasts-and-butter, with hearts in their 
 bellies no bigger than pins' heads, and they 
 have bought out their services ; and now my 
 whole charge consists of ancients, corporals, 
 lieutenants, gentlemen of companies, slaves as 
 ragged as Lazarus in the painted cloth, where 
 the glutton's dogs licked his sores ; and such 
 as, indeed, were never soldiers, but discarded 
 unjust serving-men, younger sons to younger 
 brothers, revolted tapsters, and ostlers trade- 
 fallen ; the cankers of a calm world and a long 
 peace; ten times more dishonourable ragged 
 than an old-faced ancient : and such have I, to 
 fill up the rooms of them that have bought out 
 
4 86 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 {ACT IV. 
 
 their services, that you would think that I had 
 a hundred and fifty tattered prodigals lately 
 come from swine-keeping, from eating draff and 
 husks. A mad fellow met me on the way, and 
 told me I had unloaded all the gibbets, and 
 pressed the dead bodies. No eye hath seen 
 such scarecrows. I'll not march through 
 Coventry with them, that 's flat : nay, and the 
 villains march wide betwixt tl legs, as if they 
 had gyves on; for, indeed, I had the most of 
 them out of prison. There 's but a shirt and a 
 half in all my company ; and the half-shirt is 
 two napkins tacked together and thrown over 
 the shoulders like a herald's coat without 
 sleeves; and the shirt, to say the truth, stolen 
 from my host at Saint Alban's, or the red-nose 
 innkeeper of Daventry. But that 's all one ; 
 they '11 find linen enough on every hedge. 
 
 Enter FRINGE HENRY and WESTMORELAND. 
 
 P. Hen. How now, blown Jack ! how now, 
 quilt ! 
 
 FaL What, Hal ! how now, mad wag ! what 
 a devil dost thou in Warwickshire? My good 
 Lord of Westmoreland, I cry you mercy: I 
 thought your honour had already been at 
 Shrewsbury. 
 
 West. Faith, Sir John, 'tis more than time 
 that I were there, and you too ; but my powers 
 are there already. The king, I can tell you, 
 looks for us all : we must away all night. 
 
 FaL Tut, never fear me : I am as vigilant as 
 a cat to steal cream. 
 
 P. Hen. I think, to steal cream, indeed ; for 
 thy theft hath already made thee butter. But 
 tell me, Jack, whose fellows are these that come 
 after? 
 
 FaL Mine, Hal, mine. 
 
 P. Hen. I did never see such pitiful rascals. 
 
 FaL Tut, tut ; good enough to toss ; food for 
 powder, food for powder ; they '11 fill a pit as 
 well as better : tush, man, mortal men, mortal 
 men. 
 
 West. Ay, but, Sir John, methinks they are 
 exceeding poor and bare, too beggarly. 
 
 FaL Faith, for their poverty, I know not 
 ivhere they had that ; and for their bareness, I 
 am sure they never learned that of me. 
 
 P. Hen. No I '11 be sworn ; unless you call 
 three fingers on the ribs bare. But, sirrah, 
 make haste : Percy is already in the field. 
 
 FaL What, is the king encamped? 
 
 West. He is. Sir John : I fear we shall stay 
 too long. 
 
 FaL Well, [a feast 
 
 To the latter end of a fray and the beginning of 
 Fits a dull fighter and a keen guest. \Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. The Rebel Camp near Shrews- 
 bury. 
 
 Enter HOTSPUR, WORCESTER, DOUGLAS, 
 and VERNON. 
 
 Hot. We '11 fight with him to-night. 
 
 Wor. It may not be. 
 
 Doug. You give him, then, advantage. 
 
 Ver. Not a whit. 
 
 Hot. Why say you so ? looks he not for supply? 
 
 Ver. So do we. 
 
 Hot. His is certain, ours is doubtful. 
 
 Wor. Good cousin, beadvis'd; stir not to-night. 
 
 Ver. Do not, my lord. 
 
 Doug. You do not counsel well : 
 
 You speak it out of fear and cold heart. 
 
 Ver. Do me no slander, Douglas: by my 
 
 life, 
 
 And I dare well maintain it with my life-, 
 If well-respected honour bid me on, 
 I hold as little counsel with weak fear 
 As you, my lord, or any Scot that lives: 
 Let it be seen to-morrow in the battle 
 Which of us fears. 
 
 Doug. Yea, or to-night. 
 
 Ver. Content 
 
 Hot. To-nightj say I. [much, 
 
 Ver. Come, come, it may not be. I wonde* 
 Being men of such great leading as you are, 
 That you foresee not what impediments 
 Drag back our expedition : certain horse 
 Of my cousin Vernon's are not yet come up: 
 Your uncle Worcester's horse came but to-day ; 
 And now their pride and mettle is asleep, 
 Their courage with hard labour tame and dull, 
 That not a horse is half the half of himself. 
 
 Hot. So are the horses of the enemy 
 In general, journey-bated and brought low : 
 The better part of ours is full of rest. 
 
 Wor. The number of the king exceedeth ours. 
 For God's sake, cousin, stay till all come in. 
 
 \The trumpet sounds a parley. 
 
 Enter SIR WALTER BLUNT. 
 
 Blunt. I come with gracious offers from the 
 
 king, 
 If you vouchsafe me hearing and respect. 
 
 Hot. Welcome, Sir Walter Blunt ; and would 
 
 to God 
 
 You were of our determination ! 
 Some of us love you well ; and even those somr 
 Envy your great deservings and good name, 
 Because you are not of our quality, 
 But stand against us like an enemy, [stand so, 
 
 Blunt. And God defend but still I should 
 So long as out of limit and true rule 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 You stand against anointed majesty ! 
 
 But, to my charge. The king hath sent to 
 
 know 
 
 The nature of your griefs ; and whereupon 
 You conjure from the breast of civil peace 
 Such bold hostility; teaching his duteous land 
 Audacious cruelty. If that the king 
 Have any way your good deserts forgot, 
 Which he confesseth to be manifold, 
 He bids you name your griefs ; and with all speed 
 You shall have your desires with interest, 
 And pardon absolute for yourself, and these 
 Herein misled by your suggestion. [king 
 
 Hot. The king is kind ; and well we know the 
 Knows at what time to promise, when to pay. 
 My father and my uncle and myself 
 Did give him that same royalty he wears; 
 And when he was not six-and- twenty strong, 
 Sick in the world's regard, wretched and low, 
 A poor unminded outlaw sneaking home, 
 My father gave him welcome to the shore ; 
 And when he heard him swear, and vow- to God, 
 He came but to be Duke of Lancaster, 
 To sue his livery and beg his peace, 
 With tears of innocency and terms of zeal, 
 My father, in kind heart and pity mov'd, 
 Swore him assistance, and perform'd it too. 
 Now, when the lords and barons of the realm 
 Perceiv'd Northumberland did lean to him, 
 The more and less came in with cap and knee : 
 Met him in boroughs, cities, villages; 
 A ttended him on bridges, stood in lanes, 
 Laid gifts before him, proffer'd him their oaths, 
 Gave him their heirs as pages, follow'd him 
 Even at the heels in golden multitudes. 
 He presently, as greatness knows itself, -i 
 Steps me a little higher than his vow 
 Made to my father, while his blood was poor, 
 Upon the naked shore at Ravenspurg ; 
 And now, forsooth, takes on him to reform 
 Some certain edicts, and some strait decrees, 
 That lie too heavy on the commonwealth ; 
 Cries out upon abuses, seems to weep 
 Over his country's wrongs ; and, by this face, 
 This seeming brow of justice, did he win 
 The hearts of all that he did angle for: 
 Proceeded further ; cut me off the heads 
 Of all the favourites that the absent king 
 In deputation left behind him here, 
 When he was personal in the Irish war. 
 
 Blunt. Tut, I came not to hear this. 
 
 Hot. Then to the point. 
 
 In short time after, he depos'd the king; 
 Soon after that, depriv'd him of his life ; 
 And, in the neck of that, task'd the whole state : 
 To make that worse, suffer'd his kinsman 
 March,- 
 
 Who is, if every owner were well plac'd, 
 Indeed his knig, to be incag'd in Wales 
 There without ransom to lie forfeited ; 
 Disgrac'd me in my h?ppy victories; 
 Sought to entrap me by intelligence; 
 Rated my uncle from the council-board ; 
 In rage dismiss'd my father from the court ; 
 Brock oath on oath, committed wrong on wrong; 
 And, in conclusion, drove us to seek out 
 This head of safety; and withal to pry 
 Into his title, the which we find 
 Too indirect for long continuance. 
 
 Blunt. Shall I return this answer to the king? 
 
 Hot. Not so, Sir Walter: we'll withdraw 
 
 awhile. 
 
 Go to the king ; and let there be impawn'd 
 Some surety for a safr return again, 
 And in the morning early shall my uncle 
 Bring him our purposes : and so, farewell. 
 
 Blunt. I would you would accept of grace 
 and love. 
 
 Hot. And may be so we shall. 
 
 Blunt. Pray God you do ! 
 
 \_Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. YORK. A Room in the ARCH- 
 BISHOP'S House. 
 
 Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF YORK, and SIR 
 MICHAEL. 
 
 Arch. Hie, good Sir Michael ; bear this sealed 
 
 brief 
 
 With winged haste to the lord marshal ; 
 This to my cousin Scroop ; and all the rest 
 To whom they are directed. If you knew 
 How much they do import, you would make 
 haste. 
 
 Sir M. My good lord, 
 I guess their tenor. 
 
 Arch. Like enough you do. 
 
 To-morrow, good Sir Michael, is a day 
 Wherein the fortune of ten thousand men 
 Must bide the touch ; for, sir, at Shrewsbury, 
 As I am truly given to understand, 
 The king, with mighty and quick-raised power, 
 Meets with Lord Harry: and I fear, Sir 
 
 Michael, 
 
 What with the sickness of Northumberland, 
 Whose power was in the first proportion, 
 And what with Owen Glendower's absence 
 
 thence, 
 
 Who with them was a rated sinew too, 
 And comes not in, o'erruled by prophecies, 
 I fear the power of Percy is too weak 
 To wage an instant trial with the king. 
 
 Sir M. Why, my good lord, you need not fear ; 
 
 there is Douglas, 
 And Lord Mortimer. 
 
4 88 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Arch. No, Mortimer is not there. 
 
 Sir M. But there is Mordake, Vernon, Lord 
 
 Harry Percy, 
 
 And there is my Lord of Worcester ; and a head 
 Of gallant warriors, noble gentlemen. 
 
 Arch. And so there is ; but yet the king hath 
 
 drawn 
 
 The special head of all the land together : 
 The Prince of Wales, Lord John of Lancaster, 
 The noble Westmoreland, and warlike Blunt ; 
 And many more corrivals and dear men 
 Of estimation and command in arms, [oppos'd. 
 
 Sir M. Doubt not, my lord, they shall be well 
 
 Arch. I hope no less, yet needful 'tis to fear ; 
 And, to prevent the worst, Sir Michael, speed : 
 For if Lord Percy thrive not, ere the king 
 Dismiss his power, he means to visit us, 
 For he hath heard of our confederacy, 
 And 'tis but wisdom to make strong against him: 
 Therefore make haste. I must go write again 
 To other friends ; and so, farewell, Sir Michael. 
 [Exeunt severally. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. The KING'S Camp near Shrews - 
 biiry. 
 
 Enter KING HENRY, PRINCE HENRY, PRINCE 
 JOHN OF LANCASTER, SIR WALTER BLUNT, 
 and SIR JOHN FALSTAFF. 
 
 K. Hen. How bloodily the sun begins to peer 
 Above yon bosky hill 1 the day looks pale 
 At his distemperature. 
 
 P. Hen. The southern wind 
 
 Doth play the trumpet to his purposes ; 
 And by his hollow whistling in me leaves 
 Foretells a tempest and a blustering day. 
 
 1C. Hen, Then with the losers let it sympa- 
 
 thize, 
 
 For nothing can seem foul to those that win. 
 [Trumpet sounds. 
 
 Enter WORCESTER and VERNON. 
 
 How now, my Lord of Worcester ! 'tis not well 
 That you and I should meet upon such terms 
 As now we meet. You have deceiv'd our trust ; 
 And made us doff our easy robes of peace, 
 To crush our old limbs in ungentle steel ; 
 This is not well, my lord, this is not well. 
 What say you to it? will you again unknit 
 This churlish knot of all-abhorred war? 
 And move in that obedient orb again 
 Where you did give a fair and natural light ; 
 And be no more an exhal'd meteor, 
 A prodigy of fear, and a portent 
 Of broached mischief to the unborn times! 
 
 Wor. Hear me, my liege : 
 For mine own part, I could be well content 
 To entertain the lag-end of my life 
 With quiet hours ; for, I do protest, 
 I have not sought the day of this dislike. 
 K. Hen. You have not sought it ! how comes 
 it, then? [it. 
 
 Fal. Rebellion lay in his way, and he found 
 P. Hen. Peace, chewet, peace ! [looks 
 
 Wor. It pleas'd your majesty to turn your 
 Of favour from myself and all our house ; 
 And yet I must remember you, my lord, 
 We were the first and dearest of your friends. 
 For you my staff of office did I break 
 In Richard's time ; and posted day and night 
 To meet you on the way, and kiss your hand, 
 When yet you were in place and in account 
 Nothing so strong and fortunate as I. 
 It was myself, my brother, and his son, 
 That brought you home, and boldly did outdare 
 The dangers of the time : you swore to us, 
 And you did swear that oath at Doncaster, 
 That you did nothing purpose 'gainst the state ; 
 Nor claim no further than your new-fall'n right, 
 The seat of Gaunt, dukedom of Lancaster : 
 To this we swore our aid. But in short space 
 It rain'd down fortune showering on your head ; 
 And such a flood of greatness fell on you, c 
 What with our help, what with the absent king/ 
 What with the injuries of a wanton time, 
 The seeming sufferances that you had borne, 
 And the contrarious winds that held the king 
 So long in his unlucky Irish wars 
 That all in England did repute him dead, 
 And, from this swarm of fair advantages, 
 You took occasion to be quickly woo'd 
 To gripe the general sway into your hand ; 
 Forgot your oath to us at Doncaster ; 
 And, being fed by us, you us'd us so 
 As that ungentle gull, the cuckoo's bird, 
 Useth the sparrow, did oppress our nest, 
 Grew by our feeding to so great a bulk [sight 
 That even our love durst not come near your 
 For fear of swallowing ; but with nimble wing 
 We were enforc'd, for safety-sake, to fly 
 Out of your sight, and raise this present head: 
 Whereby we stand opposed by such means 
 As you yourself have forg'd against yourself; 
 By unkind usage, dangerous countenance, 
 And violation of all faith and troth 
 Sworn to us in your younger enterprise. 
 K. Hen. These things, indeed, you have ar- 
 ticulated, 
 
 Proclaim'd at market-crosses, read in churches ; 
 To face the garment of rebellion 
 With some fine colour that may please the eye 
 Of fickle changelings and poor discontents, 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 489 
 
 Which gape and rub the elbow at the news 
 
 Of hurlyburly innovation : 
 
 And never yet did insurrection want 
 
 Such water-colours to impaint his cause ; 
 
 Nor moody beggars, starving for a time 
 
 Of pellmell havoc and confusion. [a soul 
 
 P. Hen. In both our armies there is many 
 Shall pay full dearly for this encounter, 
 If once they join in trial. Tell your nephew, 
 The Prince of Wales doth join with all the 
 
 world 
 
 In praise of Henry Percy : by my hopes, 
 This present enterprise set off his head, 
 I do not think a braver gentleman, 
 More active- valiant or more valiant -young, 
 More daring or more bold, is now alive 
 To grace this latter age with noble deeds. 
 For my part, I may speak it to my shame, 
 I have a truant been to chivalry; 
 And so I hear he doth account me too : 
 Yet this before my father's majesty, 
 I am content that he shall take the odds 
 Of his great name and estimation, 
 And will, to save the blood on either side, 
 Try fortune with him in a single fight. 
 
 K. Hen. And, Prince of Wales, so dare we 
 
 venture thee, 
 
 Albeit considerations infinite 
 Do make against it. No, good Worcester, no, 
 We love our people well ; even those we love 
 That are misled upon your cousin's part ; 
 And, will they take the offer of our grace, 
 Both he, and they, and you, yea, every man 
 Shall be my friend again, and I '11 be his: 
 So tell your cousin, and bring me word 
 What he will do : but if he will not yield, 
 Rebuke and dread correction wait on us, 
 And they shall do their office. So, be gone ; 
 We will not now be troubled with reply : 
 We offer fair ; take it advisedly. 
 
 [Exeunt WOR. and VER. 
 
 P. Hen. It will not be accepted, on my life : 
 The Douglas and the Hotspur both together 
 Are confident against the world in arms. 
 
 K. Hen. Hence, therefore, every leader to 
 
 his charge ; 
 
 For, on their answer, will we set on them : 
 And God befriend us, as our cause is just ! 
 
 [Exeunt KING, BLUNT, and P. JOHN. 
 
 Fal. Hal, if thou see me down in the battle, 
 and bestride me, so ; 'tis a point of friendship. 
 
 P. Hen. Nothing but a colossus can do thee 
 that friendship. Say thy prayers, and farewell. 
 
 Fal. I would it were bed-time, Hal, and all 
 well. 
 
 P. Hen. Why, thou owest God a death. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Fal. Tis not due yet ; I would be loth to 
 pay him before his day. What need I be so 
 forward with him that calls not on me ? Well, 
 tis no matter; honour pricks me on. Yea, but 
 how if honour prick me off when I come on ? 
 how then ? Can honour set-to a leg? no : or an 
 arm ? no : or take away the grief of a wound ? 
 no. Honour hath no skill in surgery, then? 
 no. What is honour ? a word. What is in that 
 word, honour? What is that honour? air. A 
 trim reckoning ! Who hath it ? he that died o' 
 Wednesday. Doth he feel it? no. Doth he 
 hear it ? no. Is it insensible, then ? yea, to the 
 dead. But will it not live with the living ? no. 
 Why? detraction will not suffer it : therefore 
 I 11 none of it : honour is a mere scutcheon 
 and so ends my catechism. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. The Rebel Camp. 
 Enter WORCESTER and VERNON. 
 
 Wor. O, no, my nephew must not know, Sir 
 
 Richard, 
 The liberal kind offer of the king. 
 
 Ver. 'Twere best he did. 
 
 Wor. Then are we all undone. 
 
 It is not possible, it cannot be, 
 The king should keep his word in loving us ; 
 He will suspect us still, and find a time 
 To punish this offence in other faults: 
 Suspicion shall be all stuck full of eyes : 
 For treason is but trusted like the fox, 
 Who, ne'er so tame, so cherish'd, and lock'd up, 
 Will have a wild trick of his ancestors. 
 Look how we can, or sad or merrily, 
 Interpretation will misquote our looks; 
 And we shall feed like oxen at a stall, 
 The better cherish'd still the nearer death. 
 My nephew's trespass may be well forgot, 
 It hath the excuse of youth and heat of blood, 
 And an adopted name of privilege, 
 A hare-brain'd Hotspur, govern'd by a spleen . 
 All his offences live upon my head 
 And on his father's: we did train him on; 
 And, his corruption being ta'en from us, 
 We, as the spring of all, shall pay for all. 
 Therefore, good cousin, let not Harry know, 
 In any case the offer of the king. 
 
 Ver. Deliver what you will, I '11 say 'tis so. 
 Here comes your cousin. 
 
 Enter HOTSPUR and DOUGLAS; Officers and 
 Soldiers behind. 
 
 Hot. My uncle is return'd : deliver up 
 My Lord of Westmoreland. Uncle, what news? 
 Wor. The king will bid you battle presently. 
 
490 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Doug. Defy him by the Lord of Westmore- 
 land. 
 
 Hot. Lord Douglas, go you and tell him so. 
 
 Doug. Marry, and shall, and very willingly. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Wor. There is no seeming mercy in the king. 
 
 Hot. Did you beg any ? God forbid ! 
 
 Wor. I told him gently of our grievances, 
 Of his oath-breaking ; which he mended thus, 
 By now forswearing that he is forsworn : 
 He calls us rebels, traitors ; and will scourge 
 With haughty arms this hateful name in us. 
 
 Re-enter DOUGLAS. 
 Doug. Arm, gentlemen ; to arms ! for I have 
 
 thrown 
 
 A brave defiance in King Henry's teeth, 
 And Westmoreland, that was engag'd, did bear 
 
 it; 
 
 Which cannot choose but bring him quickly on. 
 Wor. The Prince of Wales stepp'd forth be- 
 fore the king, 
 And, nephew, challeng'd you to single fight. 
 
 Hot. O, would the quarrel lay upon our heads ; 
 And that no man might draw short breath to- 
 day 
 
 But I and Harry Monmouth ! Tell me, tell me, 
 How show'd his tasking? seem'd it in contempt ? 
 
 Ver. No, by my soul : I never in my life 
 Did hear a challenge urg'd more modestly, 
 Unless a brother should a brother dare 
 To gentle exercise and proof of arms. 
 He "gave you all the duties of a man ; 
 Trimm'd up your praises with a princely tongue; 
 Spoke your deservings like a chronicle ; 
 Making you ever better than his praise, 
 By still dispraising praise valu'd with you : 
 And, which became him like a prince indeed, 
 He made a blushing cital of himself; 
 And chid his truant youth with such a grace, 
 As if he master'd there a double spirit, 
 Of teaching and of learning instantly. 
 There did he pause : but let me tell the world, 
 If he outlive the envy of this day, 
 England did never owe so sweet a hope, 
 So much misconstru'd in his wantonness. 
 
 Hot. Cousin, I think thou art enamoured 
 Upon his follies : never did I hear 
 Of any prince so wild o' liberty. 
 But be he as he will, yet once ere night 
 I will embrace him with a soldier's arm, 
 That he shall shrink under my courtesy. 
 Arm, arm with speed : and, fellows, soldiers, 
 
 friends, 
 
 Better consider what you have to do 
 Than I, that have not well the gift of tongue, 
 Can lift your blood u^ with persuasion. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My lord, here are letters for you. 
 Hot. I cannot read them now. 
 
 gentlemen, the time of life is very short ! 
 To spend that shortness basely were too long, 
 If life did ride upon a dial's point, 
 
 Still ending at the arrival of an hour. 
 An if we live, we live to tread on kings ; 
 If die, brave death, when princes die with us ! 
 Now, for our consciences, the arms are fair, 
 When the intent of bearing them is just. 
 
 Enter another Messenger. 
 Mess. My lord, prepare ; the king comes on 
 apace. [tale, 
 
 Hot. I thank him that he cuts me from my 
 For I profess not talking ; only this, 
 Let each man do his best : and here draw I 
 A sword, whose temper I intend to stain 
 With the best blood that I can meet withal 
 In the adventure of this perilous day. 
 Now, Esperance! Percy! and set on. 
 Sound all the lofty instruments of war, 
 And by that music let us all embrace : 
 For, heaven to earth, some of us never shall 
 A second time do such a courtesy. 
 
 [ The trumpets sound. They embrace , and 
 exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. Plain near Shrewsbury. 
 Excursions ) and parties fighting. Alarum to 
 the battle. Then enter DOUGLAS and BLUNT, 
 meeting. 
 
 Blunt. What is thy name, that in the battle 
 
 thus 
 
 Thou Grossest me ? What honour dost thou seek 
 Upon my head? 
 
 Doug. Know, then, my name is Douglas ; 
 And I do haunt thee in the battle thus 
 Because some tell me that thou art a king. 
 Blunt. They tell thee true. 
 Doug. The Lord of Stafford dear to-day hath 
 
 bought 
 
 Thy likeness ; for, instead of thee, King Harry, 
 The sword hath ended him : so shall it thee, 
 Unless thou yield thee as my prisoner. 
 
 Blunt. I was not born a yielder, thou proud 
 
 Scot; 
 
 And thou shalt find a king that will revenge 
 Lord Stafford's death. 
 
 {They fight, and BLUNT is slain. 
 
 Enter HOTSPUR. 
 
 Hot. O Douglas, hadst thou fought at 
 Holmedon thus, 
 
 1 never had triumph'd upon a Scot. 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 491 
 
 Doug. All 's done, all 's won ; here breath- 
 less lies the king. 
 Hot. Where? 
 Doug. Here. 
 Hot. This, Douglas ? no ; I know this face 
 
 full well : 
 
 A gallant knight he was, his name was Blunt ; 
 Semblably furnish'd like the king himself. 
 
 Dottg. A fool go with thy soul, whither it goes ! 
 A borrow'd title hast thou bought too dear : 
 Why didst thou tell me that thou wert a king ? 
 Hot. The king hath many masking in his 
 
 coats. 
 Doug. Now, by my sword, I will kill all his 
 
 coats ; 
 
 I '11 murder all his wardrobe, piece by piece, 
 Until I meet the king. 
 
 Hot. Up, and away ! 
 
 Our soldiers stand full fairly for the day. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Other alarums. Enter FALSTAFF. 
 
 Fal. Though I could 'scape shot-free at Lon- 
 don, I fear the shot here : here 's no scoring but 
 upon the pate. Soft! who art thou? Sir 
 Walter Blunt : there 's honour for you : here 's 
 no vanity ! I am as hot as molten lead, and as 
 heavy too : God keep lead out of me ! I need 
 no more weight than mine own bowels. I have 
 led my raggamuffins where they are peppered : 
 there 's not three of my hundred and fifty left 
 alive ; and they are for the town's end, to beg 
 during life. But who comes here ? 
 
 Enter PRINCE HENRY. 
 
 P. Hen. What, stand'st thou idle here ? lend 
 
 me thy sword : 
 
 Many a nobleman lies stark and stiff 
 Under the hoofs of vaunting enemies, 
 Whose deaths are unreveng'd : pr'ythee, lend 
 me thy sword. 
 
 Fal. O Hal, I pr'ythee, give me leave to 
 breathe awhile. Turk Gregory never did such 
 deeds in arms as I have done this day. I have 
 paid Percy, I have made him sure. 
 
 P. Hen. He is, indeed ; and living to kill 
 thee. Lend me thy sword, I pr'ythee. 
 
 Fal. Nay, before God, Hal, if Percy be 
 alive thou gettest not my sword ; but take my 
 pistol, if thou wilt. 
 
 P. Hen. Give it me : what, is it in the 
 case? 
 
 Fal. Ay, Hal ; 'tis hot, 'tis hot ; there 's 
 that will sack a city. 
 
 [The PRINCE draws out a bottle of sack. 
 
 P. Hen. What, is 't a time to jest and dally 
 now ? \Thrnos it at him t and exit. 
 
 Fal. Well, if Percy be alive, I '11 pierce him. 
 If he do come in my way, so ; if he do not, if 
 I come in his willingly, let him make a car- 
 bonado of me. I like not such grinning honour 
 as Sir Walter hath : give me life : which if I 
 can save, so ; if not, honour comes unlooked 
 for, and there 's an end. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV. Anotlier part of the Field. 
 
 Alarums. Excursions. Enter KING HENRY, 
 PRINCE HENRY, PRINCE JOHN, and WEST- 
 MORELAND. 
 
 K. Hen. I pr'ythee, 
 Harry, withdraw thyself; thou bleed'st too 
 
 much. 
 
 Lord John of Lancaster, go you with him. 
 P. John. Not I, my lord, unless I did bleed 
 
 too. 
 
 P. Hen. I do beseech your majesty, make up, 
 Lest your retirement do amaze your friends. 
 
 K. Hen. I will do so. 
 My Lord of Westmoreland, lead him to his 
 
 tent. 
 West. Come, my lord, I will lead you to 
 
 your tent. 
 P. Hen. Lead me, my lord ? I do not need 
 
 your help : 
 
 And God forbid a shallow scratch should drive 
 The Prince of Wales from such a field as this, 
 Where stain'd nobility lies trodden on, 
 And rebels' arms triumph in massacres ! 
 
 P. John. We breathe too long : come, 
 
 cousin Westmoreland, 
 
 Our duty this way lies ; for God's sake, come. 
 
 [Exeunt P. JOHN and WEST. 
 
 P. Hen. By heaven, thou hast deceiv'd me, 
 
 Lancaster ; 
 
 I did not think thee lord of such a spirit : 
 Before, I lov'd thee as a brother, John ; 
 But now I do respect thee as my soul. 
 
 K. Hen. I saw him hold Lord Percy at the 
 
 point 
 
 With lustier maintenance than I did look for 
 Of such an ungrown warrior. 
 
 P. Hen. O, this boy 
 
 Lends mettle to us all. [Exit. 
 
 Alarums. Enter DOUGLAS. 
 
 Doug. Another king ! they grow like Hydra's 
 
 heads : 
 
 I am the Douglas, fatal to all those 
 That wear those colours on them : What art 
 
 thou, 
 
 That counterfeit'st the person of a king ? 
 K. Hen. The king himself, who, Douglas, 
 grieves at heart, 
 
 
492 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 So many of his shadows thou hast met, 
 And not the very king. I have two boys 
 Seek Percy and thyself about the field : 
 But, seeing thou fall'st on me so luckily, 
 I will assay thee; so, defend thyself! 
 
 Doug. I fear, thou art another counterfeit ; 
 And yet, in faith, thou bear'st thee like a king: 
 But mine I am sure thou art, whoe'er thou be, 
 And thus I win thee. 
 
 [They fight; the KING being in danger, 
 re-enter P. HENRY. 
 
 P. Hen. Hold up thy head, vile Scot., or 
 
 thou art like 
 
 Never to hold it up again ! the spirits 
 Of Shirley, Stafford, Blunt, are in my arms : 
 It is the Prince of Wales that threatens thee ; 
 Who never promiseth but he means to pay. 
 
 [They fight; DOUGLAS^.?. 
 Cheerly, my lord: how fares your grace? 
 Sir Nicholas Gawsey hath for succour sent, 
 And so hath Clifton : I '11 to Clifton straight. 
 
 K. Hen. Stay, and breathe awhile : 
 Thou hast redeem'd thy lost opinion ; 
 And show'd thou mak'st some tender of my life 
 In this fair rescue thou hast brought to me. 
 
 P. Hen. O God, they did me too much in- 
 jury 
 
 That ever said I hearken'd for your death ! 
 If it were so, I might have let alone 
 The insulting hand of Douglas over you, 
 Which would have been as speedy in your end 
 As all the poisonous potions in the world, 
 And sav'd the treacherous labour of your son. 
 
 K. Hen. Make up to Clifton, I'll to Sir 
 Nicholas Gawsey. [Exit. 
 
 Enter HOTSPUR. 
 
 Hot. If I mistake not, thou art Harry Mon- 
 mouth. 
 
 P. Hen. Thou speak'st as if I would deny my 
 name. 
 
 Hot. My name is Harry Percy. 
 
 P. Hen. Why, then I see 
 
 A very valiant rebel of the name. 
 I am the Prince of Wales; and think not, 
 
 Percy, 
 
 To share with me in glory any more : 
 Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere ; 
 Nor can one England brook a double reign, 
 Of Harry Percy and the Prince of Wales. 
 
 Hot. Nor shall it, Harry, for the hour is come 
 To end the one of us ; and would to God 
 Thy name in arms were now as great as mine ! 
 
 P. Hen. I '11 make it greater ere I part from 
 
 thee; 
 
 And all the budding honours on thy crest 
 I '11 crop, to make a aarland for my head. 
 
 Hot. I can no longer brook thy vanities. 
 
 [They fight. 
 
 Enter FALSTAFF. 
 
 Fal. Well said, Hal ! to it, Hal ! Nay, you 
 shall find no boy's play here, I can tell you. 
 
 Re-enter DOUGLAS ; he fights with FALSTAFF, 
 who falls down as if he were dead, and exit 
 DOUGLAS. HOTSPUR is wounded, and falls. 
 
 Hot. O, Harry, thou hast robb'd me of my 
 
 youth ! 
 
 I better brook the loss of brittle life 
 Than those proud titles thou hast won of me ; 
 They wound my thoughts worse than thy sword 
 
 my flesh : 
 But thought 's the slave of life, and life time's 
 
 fool; 
 
 And time, that takes survey of all the world, 
 Must have a stop. O, I could prophesy, 
 But that the earthy and cold hand of death 
 Lies on my tongue : No, Percy, thou art dust, 
 And food for [Dies. 
 
 P. Hen. For worms, brave Percy : fare thee 
 
 well, great heart ! 
 
 Ill-weav'd ambition, how much art thou shrunk ! 
 When that this body did contain a spirit, 
 A kingdom for it was too small a bound ; 
 But now two paces of the vilest earth 
 Is room enough: this earth that bears thee dead 
 Bears not alive so stout a gentleman. 
 If thou wert sensible of courtesy, 
 I should not make so dear a show of zeal : 
 But let my favours hide thy mangled face ; 
 And, even in thy behalf, I '11 thank myself 
 For doing these fair rites of tenderness. 
 Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to heaven 1 
 Thy ignominy sleep with thee in the grave, 
 But not remember'd in thy epitaph ! 
 
 [He sees FAL. on the ground. 
 What, old acquaintance ! could not all this 
 
 flesh 
 
 Keep in a little life? Poor Jack, farewell ! 
 I could have better spar'd a better man. 
 O, I should have a heavy miss of thee, 
 If I were much in love with vanity. 
 Death hath not struck so fat a deer to-day, 
 Though many dearer, in this bloody fray. 
 EmbowelPd will I see thee by and by: 
 Till then in blood by noble Percy lie. [Exit. 
 Fal. [Rising slowly.} Embowelled! if thou 
 embowel me to-day, I '11 give you leave to 
 powder me and eat me too to-morrow. 'Sblood , 
 'twas time to counterfeit, or that hot termagant 
 Scot had paid me scot and lot too. Counter- 
 feit? I lie, I am no counterfeit : to die is to be 
 a counterfeit ; for he i* but the counterfeit of a 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 493 
 
 man who hath not the life of a man ; but to 
 counterfeit dying, when a man thereby liveth, 
 is to be no counterfeit, but the true and perfect 
 image of life indeed. The better part of valour 
 is discretion ; in the which better part I have 
 saved my life. Zounds, I am afraid of this 
 gunpowder Percy, though he be dead ; how if 
 he should counterfeit too, and rise? I am 
 afraid he would prove the better counterfeit. 
 Therefore I '11 make him sure : yea, and I '11 
 swear I killed him. Why may not he rise as 
 well as I ? Nothing confutes me but eyes, and 
 nobody sees me. Therefore, sirrah [stabbing 
 him\ with a new wound in your thigh, come 
 you along with me. 
 
 {Takes HOTSPUR on his back. 
 
 Re-enter PRINCE HENRY and PRINCE JOHN. 
 
 P. Hen. Come, brother John, full bravely 
 
 hast thou flesh'd 
 Thy maiden sword. 
 
 P. John. But, soft ! whom have we here? 
 Did you not tell me this fat man was dead ? 
 
 P. Hen. I did ; I saw him dead, breathless 
 
 and bleeding 
 On the ground. 
 Art thou alive? or is it fantasy 
 That plays, upon our eyesight? I pr'ythee, 
 
 speak; 
 
 We will not trust our eyes without our ears : 
 Thou art not what thou seem'st. 
 
 Fal. No, that 's certain ; I am not a double 
 man : but if I be not Jack Falstaff, then am I 
 a Jack". There is Percy {throwing the body 
 down] : if your father will do me any honour, 
 so ; if not, let him kill the next Percy himself. 
 I look to be either earl or duke, I can assure 
 you. 
 
 P. Hen. Why, Percy I killed myself, and 
 saw thee dead. 
 
 Fal. Didst thou? Lord, Lord, how this 
 world is given to lying! I grant you I was 
 down and out of breath, and so was he ; but we 
 rose both at an instant, and fought a long hour 
 by Shrewsbury clock. If I may be believed, 
 so ; if not, let them that should reward valour 
 bear the sin upon their own heads. I '11 take 
 it upon my death, I gave him this wound in 
 the thigh: if the man were alive, and would 
 deny it, zounds, I would make him eat a piece 
 of my sword. 
 
 P. John. This is the strangest tale that e'er 
 I heard. 
 
 P. Hen. This fc the strangest fellow, brother 
 
 John. 
 
 Come, bring your luggage nobly on your back : 
 For my part, if a lie may do thee grace, 
 
 I '11 gild it with the happiest terms I have. 
 
 {A retreat is sounded. 
 
 The trumpet sounds retreat ; the day is ours. 
 Come, brother, let 's to the highest of the field, 
 To see what friends are living, who are dead. 
 
 {Exeunt P. HENRY and P. JOHN. 
 Fal. I '11 follow, as they say, for reward. He 
 that rewards me, God reward him ! If I do 
 grow great, I '11 grow ICLS ; for I '11 purge, and 
 leave sack, and live cleanly, as a nobleman, 
 should do. {Exit, bearing off the body. 
 
 SCENE \ '.Another part of the Field. 
 
 The Trumpets sound. Enter KING HENRY, 
 PRINCE HENRY, PRINCE JOHN, WESTMORE- 
 LAND, and others, with WORCESTER and 
 VERNON prisoners. 
 
 K. Hen. Thus ever did rebellion find rebuke. 
 Ill-spirited Worcester ! did we not send grace, 
 Pardon, and terms of love to all of you ? 
 And wouldst thou turn our offers contrary? 
 Misuse the tenor of thy kinsman's trust? 
 Three knights upon our party slain to-day, 
 A noble earl, and many a creature else, 
 Had been alive this hour, 
 If, like a Christian, thou hadst truly borne 
 Betwixt our armies true intelligence. 
 
 Wor. What I have done my safety urg'd me to, 
 And I embrace this fortune patiently, 
 Since not to be avoided it falls on me. 
 
 K. Hen. Bear Worcester to the death, and 
 
 Vernon too : 
 Other offenders we will pause upon. 
 
 {E: ntnt WOR. and VER. , guarded. 
 How goes the field? 
 
 P. Hen. The noble Scot, Lord Douglas, 
 
 when he saw 
 
 The fortune of the day quite turn'd from him, 
 The noble Percy slain, and all his men 
 Upon the foot of fear, fled with the rest ; 
 And falling from a hill, he was so bruis'd 
 That the pursuers took him. At my tent 
 The Douglas is ; and I beseech your grace 
 I may dispose of him. 
 
 K. Hen. With all my heart. 
 
 P. Hen. Then, brother John of Lancaster, to 
 
 you 
 
 This honourable bounty shall belong : 
 Go to the Douglas, and deliver him 
 Up to his pleasure, ransom less and free : 
 His valour, shown upon our crests to-day, 
 Hath taught us how to cherish such high deeds 
 Even in the bosom of our adversaries. 
 
 P. John. I thank your grace for this high 
 
 courtesy, 
 Which 1 shall give away immediately. 
 
494 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 K. Hen. Then this remains, that we divide 
 
 our power. 
 
 You, son John, and my cousin Westmoreland, 
 Towards York shall bend you with your dearest 
 
 speed, 
 To meet Northumberland and the prelate 
 
 Scroop, 
 Who, as we hear, are busily in arms: 
 
 Myself, and you, son Harry, will towards 
 
 Wales, 
 
 To fight with Glendower and the Earl of March. 
 Rebellion in this land shall lose his sway, 
 Meeting the check of such another day : 
 And since this business so fair is done, 
 Let us not leave till all our own be wen. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 
495 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 KING HENRY IV, 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 
 KING HENRY THE FOURTH. 
 HENRY, Prince of Wales, afterwards* 
 
 KING HENRY V., 
 THOMAS, Duke of Clarence, 
 PRINCE JOHN OF LANCASTER, after- 
 
 wards (Henry V.) Duke of Bedford, 
 PRINCE HUMPHREY OF GLOSTER, 
 
 afterwards (Henry V.) Duke of 
 
 his 
 Sons. 
 
 of the 
 KING'S party. 
 
 EARL OF WARWICK, 
 
 EARL OF WESTMORELAND, 
 
 EARL OF SURREY, 
 
 GOWER, 
 
 HARCOURT, 
 
 Lord Chief-Justice of the King's Bench. 
 
 A Gentleman attending on the Chief-Justice. 
 
 EARL OF NORTHUMBER-- 
 
 LAND, 
 SCROOP, Archbishop of 
 
 York, 
 
 LORD MOWBRAY, 
 LORD HASTINGS, 
 LORD BARDOLPH, 
 SIR JOHN COLEVILE, 
 
 Enemies to tfa 
 KING. 
 
 TRAVERS and MORTON, Retainers of NOR- 
 THUMBERLAND. 
 
 FALSTAFF, BARDOLPH, PISTOL, and Page. 
 
 POINS and PETO, Attendants on PRINCE 
 HENRY. 
 
 SHALLOW and SILENCE, Country Justices. 
 
 DAVY, Servant to SHALLOW. 
 
 MOULDY, SHADOW, WART, FEEBLE, and 
 BULLCALF, Recruits. 
 
 FANG and SNARE, Sheriff's Officers. 
 
 Rumour. 
 
 A Porter. 
 
 A Dancer, Speaker of the Epilogue. 
 
 LADY NORTHUMBERLAND. 
 
 LADY PERCY. 
 
 MISTRESS QUICKLY, Hostess of a Tavern in 
 
 Eastcheap. 
 DOLL TEARSHEET. 
 
 Lords and other Attendants; Officers, Soldiers, 
 Messengers, Drawers, Beadles, Grooms, 
 &c. 
 
 SCENE, ENGLAN D. 
 
 INDUCTION. 
 
 WARKWORTH. Before NORTHUMBERLAND'S 
 Castle. 
 
 Enter Rumour, painted full of tongues. 
 
 Riim. Open your ears ; for which of you will 
 
 stop 
 
 The vent of hearing when loud Rumour speaks? 
 I, from the orient to the drooping west, 
 Making the v/ind my post-horse, still unfold 
 The acts commenced on this ball of earth : 
 Upon my tongues continual slanders ride, 
 The which in every language I pronounce, 
 Stuffing the ears of men with false reports. 
 I speak of peace, while covert enmity, 
 Under the smile of safety, wounds the world : 
 Anil who but Rumour, who but only I, 
 Make fearful musters and prepared defence; 
 
 Whilst the big year, swoln with some other grief; 
 
 Is thought with child by the stern tyrant war, 
 
 And no such matter? Rumour is a pipe 
 
 Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures ; 
 
 And of so easy and so plain a stop 
 
 That the blunt monster with uncounted heads, 
 
 The still-discordant wavering multitude, 
 
 Can play upon it. But what need I thus 
 
 My well-known body to anatomize 
 
 Among my household? Why is Rumour here? 
 
 I run before King Harry's victory ; 
 
 Who, in a bloody field by Shrewsbury, 
 
 Hath beaten down young Hotspur and his 
 
 troops, 
 
 Quenching the flame of bold rebellion 
 Even with the rebel's blood. But what mean I 
 To speak so true at first? my office is 
 To noise abroad that Harry Monmouth fell 
 Under the wrath of noble Hotspur's swords 
 
496 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 CACTI. 
 
 And that the king before the Douglas' rage 
 Stoop'd his anointed head as low as death. 
 This have I rumour'd through the peasant towns 
 Between that royal field of Shrewsbury 
 And this worm-eaten hold of ragged stone, 
 Where Hotspur's father, old Northumberland, 
 Lies crafty-sick : the posts come tiring on, 
 And not a man of them brings other news 
 Than they have learn'd of me : from Rumour's 
 
 tongues 
 They bring smooth comforts false, worse than 
 
 true wrongs. [Exit. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 aoi&iafl . ; m , 
 
 SCENE I. The same. 
 
 The Porter before the Gate; enter LORD 
 
 BARDOLPH. 
 L. Bard. Who keeps the gate here, ho? 
 
 Where is the earl? 
 Port. What shall I say you are? 
 L. Bard. Tell thou the earl 
 
 That the Lord Bardolph doth attend him here. 
 Port. His lordship is walk'd forth into the 
 
 orchard : 
 
 Please it your honour, knock but at the gate, 
 And he himself will answer. 
 
 X. Bard. Here comes the earl. 
 
 [Exit Porter. 
 
 Enter NORTHUMBERLAND. 
 
 North. What news, Lord Bardolph? every 
 
 minute now 
 
 Should be the father of some stratagem : 
 The times are wild ; contention, like a horse, 
 Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose 
 And bears down all before him. 
 
 L. Bard. Noble earl, 
 
 I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury. 
 
 North. Good, an God will ! 
 
 L. Bard. As good as heart can wish : 
 
 The king is almost wounded to the death ; 
 And, in the fortune of my lord your son, 
 Prince Harry slain outright; and both the 
 Blunts (John, 
 
 Kill'd by the hand of Douglas : young Prince 
 And Westmoreland, and Stafford, fled the field; 
 And Harry Monmouth's brawn, the hulk Sir 
 
 John, 
 
 Is prisoner to your son : O, such a day, 
 So fought, so follow'd, and so fairly won, 
 Came not till now to dignify the times, 
 Since Caesar's fortunes ! 
 
 North. How is this deriv'd ? 
 
 Saw you the field? came you from Shrewsbury? 
 
 L. Bard. I spake with one, my lord, that 
 me from thence ; 
 
 A gentleman well bred and of good name, 
 That freely render'd me these news for true. 
 
 North. Here comes my servant Travers, whom 
 
 I sent 
 On Tuesday last to listen after news. 
 
 Z,, Bard. My lord, I over-rode h^n on the way; 
 And he is furnish'd with no certainties 
 More than he haply may retail from me. 
 
 Enter TRAVERS. 
 
 North. Now, Travers, what good tidings come 
 with you? [back 
 
 Tra. My lord, Sir John Umfrevile turn'd me 
 With joyful tidings ; and, being better hors'd, 
 Out-rode me. After him came spurring hard 
 A gentleman, almost forspent with speed, 
 That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horse. 
 He ask'd the way to Chester ; and of him 
 I did demand what news from Shrewsbury. 
 He told me that rebellion had bad luck, 
 And that young Harry Percy's spur was cold. 
 With that, he gave his able horse the head, 
 And, bending forward, struck his armed heels 
 .Against the panting sides of his poor jade 
 Up to the rowel-head ; and starting so, 
 He seem'd in running to devour the way, 
 Staying no longer question. 
 
 North. Ha ! Again : 
 
 Said he young Harry Percy's spur was cold? 
 Of Hotspur, coldspur? that rebellion 
 Had met ill-luck? 
 
 L. Bard. My lord, I '11 tell you what ; 
 
 If my young lord your son have not the day, 
 Upon mine honour, for a silken point 
 I '11 give my barony : never talk of it. 
 
 North. Why should the gentleman that rode 
 
 by Travers 
 Give, then, such instances of loss? 
 
 L. Bard. Who, he? 
 
 He was some hilding fellow, that had stolen 
 The horse he rode on ; and, upon my life, 
 Spoke at a venture. Look, here comes more 
 news. 
 
 Enter MORTON, 
 
 North. Yea, this man's brow, like to a title- 
 leaf, 
 
 Foretells the nature of a tragic volume : 
 So looks the strand, whereon the imperious flood 
 Hath left a witness'd usurpation, 
 Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury? 
 
 Mor. I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord; 
 Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask 
 To fright our party. 
 
 North. How doth my son and brother ? 
 
 Thou tremblest ; and the whiteness in thy cheek 
 Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand. 
 
SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 497 
 
 Even such a. man, so faint, so spiritless, 
 So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone, 
 Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night, 
 And would have told him half his Troy was 
 
 burn'd; 
 
 But Priam found the fire ere he his tongue. 
 And I my Percy's death ere thou report's! it. 
 This thou wouldst say, Your son did thus and 
 
 thus; 
 
 Your brother thus ; so fought the noble Douglas ; 
 Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds : 
 But' in the end to stop mine ear indeed, 
 Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise, 
 Ending with brother, son, and all are dead. 
 
 Mor. Douglas is living, and your brother, yet ; 
 But, for my lord your son, 
 
 North. Why, he is dead. 
 
 See what a ready tongue suspicion hath I 
 He that but fears the thing he would not know 
 Hath by instinct knowledge from others' eyes 
 That what he fear'd is chanced. Yet speak, 
 
 Morton ; 
 
 Tell thou thy earl his divination lies, 
 And I will take it as a sweet disgrace, 
 And make thee rich for doing me such wrong. 
 
 Mor. You are too grer.t to be by me gainsaid : 
 Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain. 
 
 North. Yet, for all this, say not that Percy 's 
 
 dead. 
 
 I see a strange confession in thine eye : 
 Thou shak'st thy head, and hold'st it fear or sin 
 To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so; 
 The tongue offends not that reports his death : 
 And he doth sin that doth belie the dead ; 
 Not he which says the dead is not alive. 
 Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news 
 Hath but a losing office ; and his tongue 
 Sounds ever after as a sullen bell, 
 Remember'd knolling a departing friend. 
 
 L. Bard. I cannot think, my lord, your son 
 is dead. 
 
 Mor. I am sorry I should force you to believe 
 That which I would to God I had not seen; 
 But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state, 
 Rend'ring faint quittance, wearied and out- 
 breath'd, [down 
 
 To Harry Monmouth ; whose swift wrath beat 
 The never-daunted Percy to the earth, 
 From whence with life he never more sprang up. 
 In few, his death, whose spirit leirt a fire 
 Even to the dullest peasant in his camp, 
 Being bruited once, took fire and heat away 
 From the best-temper'd courage in his troops ; 
 For from his metal was his party steel'd ; 
 Which once in him abated, all the rest 
 Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy lead i 
 And as the thing that 's heavy in itself, 
 
 Upon enforcement, flies with greatest speed, 
 So did our men, heavy in Hotspur's loss, 
 Lend to this weight such lightness with their 
 
 fear, 
 
 That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim 
 Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety, 
 Fly from the field. Then was that noble 
 
 Worcester 
 
 Too soon ta'en prisoner ; and that furious Scot, 
 The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring 
 
 sword [king, 
 
 Had three times slain the appearance of the 
 'Gan vail his stomach, and did grace the shame 
 Of those that turn'd their backs; and in his flight, 
 Stumbling in fear, was took. The sum of all 
 Is, that the king hath won ; and hath sent out 
 A speedy power to encounter you, my lord, 
 Under the conduct cf young Lancaster 
 And Westmoreland. This is the news at full. 
 North. For this I shall have time enough to 
 
 mourn. 
 
 In poison there is physic ; and these news, 
 Having been well, that would have made me 
 
 sick, 
 
 Being sick, have in some measure made me well : 
 And as the wretch, whose fever- weaken'd joints, 
 Like strengthless hinges, buckle under life, 
 Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire 
 Out of his keeper's arms ; even so my limbs, 
 Weaken'd with grief, being now earag'd with 
 
 grief, 
 Are thrice themselves. Hence, therefore, thou 
 
 nice crutch t 
 
 A scaly gauntlet now, with joints of steel, 
 Must glove this hand : and hence, thou sickly 
 
 quoif! 
 
 Thou art a guard too wanton for the head 
 Which princes, flesh'd with conquest, aim to hit. 
 Now bind my brows with iron, and approach 
 The rugged'st hour that time and spite dare bring 
 To frown upon the enrag'd Northumberland ! 
 Let heav'n kiss earth ! Now let not Nature's 
 
 hand 
 
 Keep the wild flood confined ! let order die ! 
 And let this world no longer be a stage 
 To feed contention in* a lingering act; 
 But let one spirit of the first-born Cam 
 Reign in all bosoms, that, each heart being set 
 On bloody courses, the rude scene may end, 
 And darkness be the burier of the dead ! 
 Tra. This strained passion doth you wrong, 
 
 my lord. 
 L. Bard. Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom 
 
 from your honour. 
 
 Mor. The lives of all your loving complices 
 Lean on your health ; the which, if you give o'er 
 To stormy passion, must perforce decay. 
 
49* 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 CACT i. 
 
 You cast the event of war, my noble lord, 
 And suram'd the account of chance, before you 
 
 said, 
 
 Let us make head. It was your presurmise 
 That in the dole o' olows your son might 
 
 drop: 
 
 You knew he walk'd o'er perils on an edge, 
 More likely to fall in than to get o'er ; 
 You were advis'd his flesh was capable 
 Of wounds and scars ; and that his forward spirit 
 Would lift him where most trade of danger 
 
 rang'd : 
 
 Yet did you say, Go forth ; and none of this 
 Though strongly apprehended, could restrain 
 The stiff-borne action. What hath, then, be- 
 fallen, 
 
 Or what hath this bold enterprise brought forth, 
 More than that being which was like to be? 
 
 L. Bard. We all that are engaged to this loss 
 Knew that we ventur'd on such dangerous seas, 
 That if we wrought out life, 'twas ten to one : 
 And yet we ventur'd, for the gain propos'd 
 Chok'd the respect of likely peril fear'd ; 
 And since we are o'erset, venture again. 
 Come, we will all put forth, body and goods. 
 Mor. 'Tis more than time: and, my most 
 
 noble lord, 
 
 I hear for certain, and do speak the truth, 
 The gentle Archbishop of York is up 
 With well-appointed powers : he is a man 
 Who with a double surety binds his followers. 
 My lord your son had only but the corpse, 
 But shadows and the shows of men, to fight : 
 For that same word, rebellion, did divide 
 The action of their bodies from their souls ; 
 And they did fight with queasiness, constraint. 
 As men drink potions; that their weapons only 
 Seera'd on our side, but, for their spirits and 
 
 souls, 
 
 This word, rebellion, it had froze them up, 
 As fish are in a pond. But now the arch- 
 bishop 
 
 Turns insurrection to religion : 
 Suppos'd sincere and holy in his thoughts, 
 He 's follow'd both with body and with mind ; 
 And doth enlarge his rising with the blood 
 Of fair King Richard, scrap'd from Pomfret 
 
 stones ; 
 
 Derives from heaven his quarrel and his cause ; 
 Tells them he doth bestride a bleeding land, 
 Gasping for life under great Bolingbroke ; 
 And more and less do flock - follow him. 
 Worth. I knew of this before ; but, to speak 
 
 truth, 
 
 This present grief had wip'd it from my mind 
 Go in with me ; and counsel every man 
 The aptest way for safety and revenge 
 
 Get posts and letters, and make mends with 
 
 speed, 
 Never so few, and never yet more need. 
 
 \Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. LONDON. A Street. 
 
 Enter SIR JOHN FALSTAFF, with his Page 
 bearing his sword and btickler. 
 
 Fal. Sirrah, you giant, what says the doctor 
 to my water? 
 
 Page. He said, sir, the water itself was a good 
 healthy water ; but, for the party that owed it, 
 he might have more diseases than he knew of. 
 
 Fal. Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at 
 me : the brain of this foolish-compounded clay, 
 man, is not able to invent anything that tends 
 to laughter, more than I invent or is invented 
 on me : I am not only witty in myself, but the 
 cause that wit is in other men. I do here walk 
 before thee like a sow that hath overwhelmed 
 all her litter but one. If the prince put thee 
 into my service for any other reason than to set 
 me off, why then I have no judgment. Thou 
 whoreson mandrake, thou art fitter to be worn 
 in my cap than to wait at my heels. I was 
 never manned with an agate till now : but I will 
 set you neither in gold nor silver, but in vile 
 apparel, and send you back again to your master, 
 for a jewel, the Juvenal, the prince your master, 
 whose chin is not yet fledged. I will sooner 
 have a beard grow in the palm of my hand than 
 he shall get one on his cheek ; and yet he will 
 not stick to say his face is a face-royal : God may 
 finish it when he will, it is not a hair amiss yet: 
 he may keep it still as a face-royal, for a barber 
 shall never earn sixpence out of it ; and yet he 
 will be crowing as if he had writ man ever since 
 his father was a bachelor. He may keep his 
 own grace, but he is almost out of mine, I can 
 assure him. What said Master Dumbleton about 
 the satin for my short cloak and my slops? 
 
 Page. He said, sir, you should procure him 
 better assurance than Bardolph : he would not 
 take his bond and yours; he liked not the 
 security. 
 
 Fal. Let him be damned, like the glutton ! 
 may his tongue be hotter ! A whoreson Achi 
 tophel ! a rascally yea-forsooth knave ! to bear 
 a gentleman in hand, and then stand upon 
 security ! The whoreson smooth -pates do now 
 wear nothing but high shoes, and bunches of 
 keys at their girdles ; and if a man is thorough 
 with them in honest taking up, then they must 
 stand upon security. I hau as lief they would 
 put ratsbane in my mouth as offer to stop it with 
 security. I looked he should have sent me two* 
 
.SCENE II.] 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 499 
 
 and-twenty yards of satin, as 1 am a true knight, 
 and he sends me security. Well, he may sleep 
 in security ; for he hath the horn of abundance, 
 and the lightness of his wife shines through it : 
 and yet cannot he see, though he have his own 
 lantern to light him. Where's Bardolph? 
 
 Page. He 's gone into Smithfield to buy your 
 worship a horse. 
 
 FaL I bought him in Paul's, and he '11 buy 
 me a horse in Smithfield: an I could get me 
 but a wife, in the stews, I were manned, horsed, 
 and wived. 
 
 Page. Sir, here comes the nobleman that 
 committed the prince for striking him about 
 Bardolph. 
 
 Fal. Wait close ; I will not see him. 
 
 Enter the Lord Chief-Justice and an Attendant 
 
 Ch. Just. What's he that goes there? 
 
 Atten. Falstaff, an 't please your lordship. 
 
 Ch. Just. Pie that was in question for the 
 robbery? 
 
 Atten. He, my lord : but he hath since done 
 good service at Shrewsbury ; and, as I hear, is 
 now going with some charge to the Lord John 
 of Lancaster. 
 
 Ch.Just. What, to York? Call him back 
 again. 
 
 Atten. Sir John Falstaff! 
 
 Fal. Boy, tell him, I am deaf. [deaf. 
 
 Page. Yon must speak louder; my master is 
 
 Ch. Just. I am sure he is, to the hearing of 
 anything good. Go, pluck him by the elbow; 
 I must speak with him. 
 
 Atten. Sir John, 
 
 Fal. What ! a young knave, and begging ! 
 Is there not wars? is there not employment ? 
 Doth not the king lack subjects ? Do not the 
 rebels need soldiers ? Though it be a shame to 
 be on any side but one, it is worse shame to beg 
 than to be on the worst side, were it worse than 
 the name of rebellion can tell how to make it. 
 
 Atten. You mistake me, sir. 
 
 Fal. Why, sir, did I say you were an honest 
 man ? setting my knighthood and my soldiership 
 aside, I had lied in my throat if I had said so. 
 
 Atten. I pray you, sir, then set your knight- 
 hood and your soldiership aside ; and give me 
 leave to tell you, you lie in your throat, if you 
 say I am any other than an honest man. 
 
 Fal. I give thee leave to tell me so! I lay 
 aside that which grows to me ! If thou gettest 
 any leave of me, hang me } if thou takest leave, 
 thou wert better be hanged. You hunt-counter, 
 hence! avaunt! 
 
 Atten. Sir, my lord would speak with you. 
 
 Ch. Jzisi, Sir John Falstaff, a word with you. 
 
 Fal. My good lord ! God give your lordship 
 good time 01 day. I am glad to see your lord- 
 ship abroad: I heard say your lordship was 
 sick: I hope your lordship goes abroad by 
 advice. Your lordship, though not clean past 
 your youth, hath yet some smack of age in you, 
 some relish of the saltness of time ; and I most 
 humbly beseech your lordship to have a reverend 
 care of your health. 
 
 Ch. Just. Sir John, I sent for you before your 
 expedition to Shrewsbury. 
 
 Fal. An't please your lordship, I hear his 
 majesty is returned with some discomfort from 
 Wales. 
 
 Ch. Just. I talk not of his majesty : you 
 would not come when I sent for you. 
 
 Fal.^ And I hear, moreover, his highness is 
 fallen into this same whoreson apoplexy. 
 
 Ch. Just. Well, God mend him ! I pray you 
 let me speak with you. 
 
 Fal. This apoplexy is, as I take it, a kind of 
 lethargy, an't please your lordship; a kind of 
 sleeping in the blood, a whoreson tingling. 
 
 Ch. Just. What tell you me of it? be it as it 
 is. 
 
 Fal. It hath its original from much grief, 
 from study, and perturbation of the brain: I 
 have read the cause of his effects in Galen j it 
 is a kind of deafness. 
 
 Ch. Just. I think you are fallen into the 
 disease ; for you hear not what I say to you. 
 
 Fal. Very well, my lord, very well: rather, 
 an 't please you, it is the disease of not listening, 
 the malady of not marking, that I am troubled 
 vvithaL 
 
 Ch.Jusf. To punish you by the heels would 
 amend the attention of your ears ; and I care 
 not if I do become your physician. 
 
 Fal. I am as poor as Job, my lord, but not 
 so patient: your lordship may minister the 
 potion of imprisonment to me in respect of 
 poverty ; but how I should be your patient to 
 follow your prescriptions, the wise may make 
 some dram of a scruple, or, indeed, a scruple 
 itself. 
 
 Ch.Just. I sent for you when there were 
 matters against you for your life, to come speak 
 with me. 
 
 Fal. As I was then advised by my learned 
 counsel in the laws of this land-service, I did 
 not come. 
 
 Ch. Just. Well, the truth is, Sir John, you 
 live in great infamy. 
 
 Fal. He that buckles him in my belt cannot 
 live in less. 
 
 Ch. Just. Your means are very slender, and 
 your waste is great. 
 
500 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV, 
 
 CACTI. 
 
 Fal. I would it were otherwise; I would my 
 means were greater and my waist slenderer. 
 
 Ch. Just. You have misled the youthful 
 prince. 
 
 Fal. The young prince hath misled me : I 
 am the fellow with the great belly, and he my 
 
 Ik. fust. Well, I am loth to gall a new-healed 
 wound : your day's service at Shrewsbury hath 
 a little gilded over your night's exploit on Gads- 
 hill : you may thank the unquiet time for your 
 quiet o'erposting that action. 
 
 Fal. My lord, 
 
 Ch. Just. But since all is well, keep it so : 
 wake not a sleeping wolf. 
 
 Fal. To wake a wolf is as bad as to smell a 
 fox. 
 
 Ch.Just. What! you are as a candle, the 
 better part burnt out. 
 
 Fal. A wassail candle, my lord ; all tallow : 
 if I did say of wax, my growth would approve 
 the truth. 
 
 Ch. Just. There is not a white hair on your 
 face but should have his effect of gravity. 
 
 Fal. His effect of gravy, gravy, gravy. 
 
 Ch. fust. You follow the young prince up 
 and down, like his ill angel. 
 
 Fal. Not so, my lord ; your ill angel is light ; 
 but I hope he that looks upon me will take me 
 without weighing: and yet, in some respects, I 
 grant, I cannot go: I cannot tell. Virtue is 
 of so little regard in these costermonger times 
 that true valour is turned bear-herd : pregnancy 
 is made a tapster, and hath his quick wit wasted 
 in giving reckonings: all the other gifts ap- 
 pertinent to man, as the malice of this age shapes 
 them, are not worth a gooseberry. You that 
 are old consider not the capacities of us that are 
 young; you measure the heat of our livers with 
 the bitterness of your galls: and we that are in 
 the vaward of our youth, I must confess, are 
 wags too. 
 
 Ch. fust. Do you set down your name in the 
 scroll of youth, that are written down old with 
 all tue characters of age ? Have you not a moist 
 eye? a dry hand? a yellow cheek? a white beard? 
 a decreasing leg? an increasing belly? Is not 
 your voice broken? your wind short? your chin 
 double? your wit single? and every part about 
 you blasted with antiquity? and will you yet call 
 yourself young? Fie, fie, fie, Sir John ! 
 
 Fal. My lord, I was born about three of the 
 clock in the afternoon, with a white head, and 
 something a round belly. For my voice, I 
 have lost it with hollaing and singing of anthems. 
 To approve my youth further, I will not ; the 
 truth is, I am only old in judgment and under- 
 
 standing ; and he that will caper with me for a 
 thousand marks, let him lend me the money, 
 and have at him. For the box o' the ear that 
 the prince gave you, he gave it like a rude 
 prince, and you took it like a sensible lord. I 
 have checked him for it; and the young lion 
 repents ; marry, not in ashes and sackcloth, but 
 in new silk and old sack. 
 
 Ch. fust. Well, God send the prince a better 
 companion ! 
 
 Fal. God send the companion a better prince ! 
 I cannot rid my hands of him. 
 
 Ch.fust. Well, the king hath severed you 
 and Prince Harry: I hear you are going with 
 Lord j ohn of Lancaster against the archbishop 
 and the Earl of Northumberland. 
 
 Fal. Yea ; I thank your pretty sweet wit for 
 it. But look you, pray, ail you that kiss my 
 Lady Peace at home, that our armies join not in 
 a hot day ; for, by the Lord, I take but two shirts 
 out with me, and I mean not to sweat extraordin- 
 arily : if it be a hot day, and I brandish anything 
 but my bottle, I would I might never spit 
 white again. There is not a dangerous action 
 can peep out his head but I am thrust upon it-. 
 well, I cannot last ever : but it was alway yet 
 the trick of our English nation, if they have a 
 good thing, to make it too common. If you 
 will needs say I am an old man, you should 
 give me rest. I would to God my name were 
 not so terrible to the enemy as it is : I were 
 better to be eaten to death with rust than to be 
 scoured to nothing with perpetual motion. 
 
 Ch,fust. Well, be honest, be honest; and 
 God bless your expedition ! 
 
 Fal. Will your lordship lend me a thousand 
 pound to furnish me forth? 
 
 Ch. fust. Not a penny, not a penny; you 
 
 are too impatient to bear crosses. Fare you 
 
 well : commend me to my cousin Westmoreland. 
 
 {Exeunt Chief-Justice and Attendant. 
 
 Fal. If I do, fillip me with a three-man 
 beetle. A man can no more separate age and 
 covetousness than he can part young limbs and 
 lechery : but the gout galls the one, and the 
 pox pinches the other ; and so both the diseases 
 prevent my curses. Boy! 
 
 Page. Sir? 
 
 Fal. What money is in my purse? 
 
 Page. Seven groats and two pence. 
 
 Fal. I can get no remedy against this con- 
 sumption of the purse : borrowing only lingers 
 and lingers it out, but the disease is incurable. 
 Go bear this letter to my Lord of Lancaster \ 
 this to the prince ; this to the Earl of West- 
 moreland; and this to old Mistress Ursula, 
 whom I have weekly sworn to marry since I 
 
SCENE III.) 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 50* 
 
 perceived the first white hair on my chin. 
 About it ; you know where to find me. \Erit 
 Page.] A pox of this gout ! or, a gout of this 
 pox ! for the one or the other plays the rogue 
 with my great toe. It is no matter if I do 
 halt ; I have the wars for my colour, and my 
 pension shall seem the more reasonable. A 
 good wit will make use of anything. I will 
 turn diseases to commodity. {Exit. 
 
 SCENE III. YORK. A Room in the ARCH- 
 BISHOP'S Palace. 
 
 Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF YORK, the LORDS 
 HASTINGS, MOWBRAY, and BARDOLPH. 
 
 Arch. Thus have you heard our cause and 
 
 know our means; 
 
 And, my most noble friends, I pray you all 
 Speak plainly your opinions of our hopes : 
 And first, lord marshal, what say you to it? 
 
 Mowb. I well allow the occasion of our arms ; 
 But gladly would be better satisfied 
 How, in our means, we should advance ourselves 
 To look with forehead bold and big enough 
 Upon the power and puissance of the king. 
 
 Hast. Our present musters grow upon the file 
 To five-and-twenty thousand men of choice ; 
 And our supplies live largely in the hope 
 Of great Northumberland, whose bosom bums 
 With an incensed fire of injuries. 
 
 L. Bard. The question, then, Lord Hast- 
 ings, standeth thus; 
 
 Whether our present five-and-twenty thousand 
 May hold up head without Northumberland? 
 
 Hast. With him, we may. 
 
 L. Bard. Ay, marry, there J s the point : 
 But if without him we be thought too feeble, 
 My judgment is, we should not step too far 
 Till we had his assistance by the hand ; 
 For, in a theme so bloody-fac'd as this, 
 Conjecture, expectation, and surmise 
 Of aids uncertain, should not be admitted. 
 
 Arch. 'Tis very true, Lord Bardolph; for, 
 
 indeed, 
 It was young Hotspur's case at Shrewsbury. 
 
 L. Bard. It was, my lord; who lin'd him- 
 self with hope, 
 
 Eating the air on promise of supply, 
 Flattering himself with project of a power 
 Much smaller than the smallest of his thoughts : 
 And so, with great imagination, 
 Proper to madmen, led his powers to death, 
 And, winking, leap'd into destruction. [hurt 
 
 Hast. But, by your leav^, it never yet did 
 To lay down likelihoods and forms of hope. 
 
 L. Bard. Yes, in this present quality of war; 
 Indeed, the instant action, a cause on foot, 
 
 Lives so in hope, as in an early spnng 
 
 We see the appearing buds; which, to prove 
 
 fruit, 
 
 Hope gives not so much warrant, as despair 
 That frosts will bite them. When we mean to 
 
 build, 
 
 We first survey the plot, then draw the model ; 
 And when we see the figure of the hou c c. 
 Then must we rate the cost of the erection ; 
 Which, if we find outweighs ability, 
 What do we then but draw anew the model 
 In fewer offices, or at least desist [work, 
 To build at all? Much more, in this great 
 Which is almost to pluck a kingdom down 
 And set another up, should we survey 
 The plot of situation and the model, 
 Consent upon a sure foundation, 
 Question surveyors, know our own estate, 
 How able such a work to undergo, 
 To weigh against his opposite ; or else, 
 We fortify in paper and in figures, 
 Using the names of men instead of men : 
 Like one that draws the model of a house 
 Beyond his power to build it ; who, half through. 
 Gives o'er, and leaves his part-created cost 
 A naked subject to the weeping clouds, 
 And waste for churlish winter's tyranny. 
 Hast. Grant that our hopes, yet likely of 
 
 fair birth, 
 
 Should be still-born, and that we now possess'd 
 The utmost man of expectation ; 
 I think we are a body strong enough, 
 Even as we are, to equal with the king. 
 L. Bard. What, is the king but five-and- 
 twenty thousand? 
 Hast. To us no more ; nay, not so much, Lord 
 
 Bardolph; 
 
 For his divisions, as the times do brawl, 
 Are in three heads: one power against the 
 
 French, 
 
 And one against Glendower ; perforce a third 
 Must take up us : so is the unfirm king 
 In three divided ; and his coffers sound 
 With hollow poverty and emptiness. 
 Arch. That he should draw his several 
 
 strengths together, 
 
 And come against us in rail puissance, 
 Need not be dreaded. 
 
 Hast. If he should do so, 
 
 He leaves his back unarm'd, the French and 
 
 Welsh 
 
 Baying him at the heels: never fear that 
 L. Bard. Who is it like should lead his forces 
 
 hither? Pand ; 
 
 Hast. The Duke of Lancaster and Westmore- 
 
 Against the Welsh, himself and Harry Mon* 
 
 mouth : 
 
502 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 [ACT H. 
 
 But who is substituted 'gainst the French, 
 I have no certain notice. 
 
 Arch. Let us on, 
 
 And publish the occasion of our arms. 
 The commonwealth is sick of their own choice ; 
 Their over-greedy love hath surfeited : 
 An habitation giddy and unsure 
 Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart. 
 O thou fond many ! with what loud applause 
 Didst thou beat heaven with blessing Boling- 
 
 broke, 
 
 Before he was what thou wouldst have him be ! 
 And being now trimm'd in thine own desires, 
 Thou, beastly feeder, art so full of him 
 That thou provok'st thyself to cast him up. 
 So, so, thou common dog, didst thou disgorge 
 Thy glutton bosom of the royal Richard ; 
 And now thou wouldst eat thy dead vomit up, 
 And howl'st to find it. What trust is in these 
 times? [die, 
 
 They that, when Richard liv'd, would have him 
 Are now become enamour'd on his grave: 
 Thou, that threw'st dust upon his goodly head, 
 When through proud London he came sighing 
 
 on 
 
 After the admired heels of Bolingbroke, 
 Cry'st now, O earth yield us that king again> 
 And take thou this ! O thoughts of men accurst ! 
 Past, and to come, seems best ; things present, 
 worst. [set on? 
 
 Mowb. Shall we go draw our numbers, and 
 Hast. We are time's subjects, and time bids 
 be gone. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. LONDON. A Street. 
 
 Enter Hostess, FANG and his Boy with her, 
 and SNARE following. 
 
 Host. Master Fang, have you entered the 
 action ? 
 
 Fang. It is entered. 
 
 Host. Where is your yeoman? Is it a lusty 
 yeoman? will he stand to it? 
 
 Fang. Sirrah, where 's Snare? 
 
 Host. O Lord, ay ! good Master Snare. 
 
 Snare. Here, here. 
 
 Fang. Snare, we must arrest Sir John Falstaff. 
 
 Host. Yea, good Master Snare ; I have en- 
 tered him and all. 
 
 Snare. It may chance cost some of us our 
 lives, for he will stab. 
 
 Host. Alas the day ! take heed of him ; he 
 stabbed me in mine own house, and that most 
 beastly : in good faith, he cares not what mis- 
 chief he doth, if his weapon be out : he will foin 
 
 like any devil; he will spare neither mar., 
 woman, nor child. 
 
 Fang. If I can close with him, I care not fo: 
 his thrust. 
 
 Host. No, nor I neither : I '11 be at your elbow. 
 
 Fang. An I but fist him once ; an he come 
 but within my vice, 
 
 Host. I am undone by his going; I warrant 
 you, he is an infinitive thing upon my score : 
 good Master Fang, hold him sure; good Master 
 Snare, let him not 'scape. He comes continu- 
 antly to Pie-corner, saving your manhoods, 
 to buy a saddle ; and he is indited to dinner to the 
 Lubber's Head in Lumbert Street, to Master 
 Smooth's the silkman: I pray ye, since my 
 exion is entered, and my case so openly known 
 to the world, let him be brought in to his 
 answer. A hundred mark is a long one for a 
 poor lone woman to bear : and I have borne, 
 and borne, and borne; and have been fubbed 
 off, and fubbed off, and fubbed off, from this daj 
 to that day, that it is a shame to be thought on. 
 There is no honesty in such dealing ; unless a 
 woman should be made an ass and a beast, to 
 bear every knave's wrong. Yonder he comes ; 
 and that arrant malmsey-nose knave, Bardolph, 
 with him. Do your offices, do your offices, 
 Master Fang and Master Snare ; do me, do me, 
 do me your offices. 
 
 Enter SIR JOHN FALSTAFF, Page, and BAR- 
 DOLPH. 
 
 Fal. How now! whose mare's dead? what's 
 the matter? 
 
 Fang. Sir John, I arrest you at the suit of 
 Mistress Quickly. 
 
 Fal. Away, varlets ! Draw, Bardolph: cut 
 me off the villain's head; throw the quean in 
 the channel. 
 
 Host. Throw me in the channel ! I '11 throw 
 thee in the channel. Wilt thou ? wilt thou ? thou 
 bastardly rogue ! Murder, murder ! O thou 
 honeysuckle villain! wilt thou kill God's officers 
 and the king's? O thou honey- seed rogue ! thou 
 art a honey-seed ; a inan-queller and a woman- 
 queller. 
 
 Fal. Keep them off, Bardolph. 
 
 Fang- A rescue ! a rescue ! 
 
 Host. Good people, bring a rescue or two. 
 Thou. wo 't, wo't thou? thou wo't, wo't thou? 
 do, do, thou rogue ! do, thou hemp-seed ! 
 
 Fal. Away, you scullion! you rampallian! you 
 fustilarian ! I '11 tickle your catastrophe. 
 
 Enter the Lord Chief-Justice, attended. 
 
 Ch. Jtist. What is the matter? keep the peace 
 here, hoi 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 503 
 
 Host. Good my lord, be good to me ! I be- 
 seech you, stand to me ! 
 
 Ch. fast. How now, Sir John ! what, are you 
 
 brawling here? [business? 
 
 Doth this become your place, your time, and 
 
 You should have been well on your way to 
 
 York. [on him? 
 
 Stand from him, fellow: wherefore hang'st thou 
 
 Host. O my most worshipful lord, an 't please 
 your grace, I am a poor widow of Eastcheap, 
 and he is arrested at my suit. 
 
 Ch. Just. For what sum ? 
 
 Host. It is more than for some, my lord; it 
 is for all, all I have. He hath eaten me out 
 of house and home ; he hath put all my sub- 
 stance into that fat belly of his: but I will have 
 some of it out again, or I will ride thee o' nights 
 like the mare. 
 
 Fal. I think I am as like to ride the mare, if 
 I have any vantage of ground to get up. 
 
 Ch. Just. How comes this, Sir John? Fie ! 
 What man of good temper would endure this 
 tempest of exclamation? Are you not ashamed 
 to enforce a poor widow to so rough a course 
 to come by her own ? 
 
 Fal. What is the gross sum that I owe thee? 
 
 Host. Marry, if thou wert an honest man, 
 thyself and the money too. Thou didst swear 
 to me upon a parcel-gilt goblet, sitting in my 
 Dolphin-chamber, at the round table, by a sea- 
 coal fire, upon Wednesday in Whitsun-week, 
 when the prince broke thy head for liking his 
 father to a singing-man of Windsor, thou didst 
 swear to me then, as I was washing thy wound, 
 to marry me, and make me my lady thy wife. 
 Canst thou deny it? Did not good wife Keech, 
 the butcher's wife, come in then, and call me 
 gossip Quickly? coming in to borrow a mess of 
 vinegar; telling us she had a good dish of 
 prawns ; whereby thou didst desire to eat some ; 
 whereby I told thee they were ill for a green 
 wound? And didst thou not, when she was 
 gone down stairs, desire me to be no more so 
 familiarity with such poor people ; saying that 
 ere long they should call me madam? And 
 didst thou not kiss me, and bid me fetch thee 
 thirty shillings? I put thee now to thy book- 
 oath : deny it, if thou canst ! 
 
 Fal. My lord, this is a poor mad soul; and 
 she says, up and down the town, that her eldest 
 son is like you : she hath been in good case, 
 and, the truth is, poverty hath distracted her. 
 But for these foolish officers, I beseech you I 
 may have redress against them. 
 
 Ch. Just. Sir John, Sir John, I am well ac- 
 quainted with your manner of wrenching the 
 true cause the false way. It is not a confident 
 
 brow, ncr the throng of words that come with 
 such more than impudent sauciness from you, 
 can thrust me from a level consideration : you 
 have, as it appears to me, practised upon the 
 easy yielding spirit of this woman, and made her 
 serve your uses both in purse and in person. 
 
 Host. Yea, in troth, my lord. 
 
 Ch. Just. Pr'ythee, peace. Pay her the debt 
 you owe her, and unpay the villany you have 
 done with her: the one you may do with ster- 
 ling money, and the other with current repent- 
 ance. 
 
 Fal. My lord, I will not undergo this sneap 
 without reply. You call honourable boldness 
 impudent sauciness : if a man will make court'sy, 
 and say nothing, he is virtuous: no, my lord, 
 my humble duty remembered, I will not be your 
 suitor. I say to you, I do desire deliverance 
 from these officers, being upon hasty employ- 
 ment in the king's affairs. 
 
 Ch. Just. You speak as having power to do 
 wrong : but answer in the effect of your reputa- 
 tion, and satisfy the poor woman. 
 
 Fal. Come hither, hostess. \Takes her aside. 
 
 Enter GOWER. 
 
 Ch. Just. Now, Master Gower, what news? 
 
 Gow. The king, my lord, and Harry Prince 
 
 of Wales 
 Are near at hand : the rest this paper tells. 
 
 [Gives a Utter. 
 
 Fal. As I am a gentleman, 
 
 Host. Nay, you said so before. 
 
 Fal. As I am a gentleman : come, no more 
 words of it. 
 
 Host. By this heavenly ground I tread on, I 
 must be fain to pawn both my plate and the 
 tapestry of my dining- chambers. 
 
 Fal. Glasses, glasses, is the only drinking: 
 and for thy walls, a pretty slight drollery, or 
 the story of the Prodigal, or the German hunt- 
 ing in water-work, is worth a thousand of these 
 bed-hangings and these fly-bitten tapestries. 
 Let it be ten pound, if thou canst. Come, an 
 it were not for thy humours, there is not a better 
 wench in England. Go, wash thy face, and 
 draw thy action. Come, thou must not be in 
 this humour with me ; dost not know me? come, 
 come, I know thou wast set on to this. 
 
 Host. Pray thee, Sir John, let it be but twenty 
 nobles: i' faith, I am loth to pawn my plate, so 
 God save me, la. 
 
 Fal. Let it alone; I'll make other shift: 
 you '11 be a fool still. 
 
 Host. Well, you shall have it, though I pawn 
 my gown. I hope you'll come to supper. 
 You"ll pay me all together? 
 
504 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 [ACT n. 
 
 Fal. Will I live? Go, with her, with her 
 \to BARDOLPH] ; hook on, hook on. 
 
 Host. Will you have Doll Tearsheet meet you 
 at supper? 
 
 Fal. No more words ; let 's have her. 
 
 [##/ HOST., BARD., Officers, 
 
 Ch. Just. I have heard better news. 
 
 Fal. What 's the news, my good lord? 
 
 Ch.Just. Where lay the king last night? 
 
 GOTO. At Basingstoke, my lord. 
 
 Fal. I hope, my lord, all 's well : what 's the 
 news, my lord? 
 
 Ch. Just. Come all his forces back? 
 
 Gow. No ; fifteen hundred foot, five hundred 
 
 horse, 
 
 Are march'd up to my Lord of Lancaster, 
 Against Northumberland and the archbishop. 
 
 Fal. Comes the king back from Wales, my 
 noble lord? [sently: 
 
 Ch. Just. You shall have letters of me pre- 
 Come, go along with me, good master Gower. 
 
 Fal. My lord ! 
 
 Ch. Just. What 's the matter? 
 
 Fal. Master Gower, shall 1 entreat you with 
 me to dinner? 
 
 Gow. I must wait upon my good lord here, 
 I thank you, good Sir John. 
 
 Ch. Just. Sir John, you loiter here too long, 
 being you are to take soldiers up in counties as 
 you go. 
 
 Fal. Will you sup with me, Master Gower? 
 
 Ch. Just. What foolish master taught you 
 these manners, Sir John? 
 
 FaL Master Gower, if they become me not, 
 he was a fool that taught them me. This is the 
 right fencing grace, my lord ; tap for tap, and 
 so part fair. 
 
 Ch. Just. Now, the Lord lighten thee ! thou 
 art a great fool. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. The same. Another Street. 
 Enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS. 
 
 P. Hen. Before God, I am exceeding weary. 
 
 Poins. Is it come to that? I had thought 
 weariness durst not have attached one of so high 
 blood. 
 
 P. Hen. Faith, it does me; though it dis- 
 colours the complexion of my greatness to ac- 
 knowledge it. Doth it not show vilely in me 
 to desire small beer? 
 
 Poins. Why, a prince should not be so loosely 
 studiec 1 as to remember so weak a composition. 
 
 P. Hen. Belike, then, my appetite was not 
 pre iseivgot; for, by my troth, I do now re- 
 uaembe'r the poor creature, small beer. But, 
 'indeed, these humble considerations make me 
 
 out of love with my greatness. What a disgrace 
 is it to me to remember thy name? or to know 
 thy face to-morrow? or to take note how many 
 pair of silk stockings thou hast ; viz. , these, and 
 those that were thy peach-coloured ones? or to 
 bear the inventory of thy shirts, as, one for 
 superfluity, and one other for use? but that the 
 tennis court-keeper knows better than I ; for it 
 is a low ebb of linen with thee when thou 
 keepest not racket there ; as thou hast not done 
 a great while, because the rest of thy low- 
 countries have made a shift to eat up thy holland: 
 and God knows, whether those that bawl out 
 the ruins of thy linen shall inherit his kingdom : 
 but the midwives say the children are not in the 
 fault; whereupon the world increases, and 
 kindreds are mightily strengthened. 
 
 Poins. How ill it follows, after you have 
 laboured so hard, you should talk so idly ! Tell 
 me, how many good young princes would do so, 
 their fathers being so sick as yours at this time 
 is? 
 
 P. Hen. Shall I tell thee one thing, Poins ? 
 
 Poins. Yes, faith ; and let it be an excellent 
 good thing. 
 
 P. Hen. It shall serve among wits of no 
 higher breeding than thine. 
 
 Poins. Go to ; I stand the push of your one 
 thing that you will tell. 
 
 P. Hen. Marry, I tell thee, it is not meet 
 that I should be sad, now my father is sick : 
 albeit I could tell to thee, as to one it pleases 
 me, for fault of a better, to call my friend, I 
 could be sad and sad indeed too. 
 
 Poins. Very hardly upon such a subject. 
 
 P. Hen. By this hand, thou think'st me as 
 far in the devil's book as thou and Palstaff for 
 obduracy and persistency : let the end try the 
 man. But I tell thee, my heart bleeds inwardly 
 that my father is so sick : and keeping such vile 
 company as thou art hath in reason taken from 
 me all ostentation of sorrow. 
 
 Poins. The reason ? 
 
 P. Hen. What wouldst thou think of me if 
 I should weep? 
 
 Poins. I would think thee a most princely 
 hypocrite. 
 
 P. Hen. It would be every man's thought ; 
 arid thou art a blessed fellow to think as every 
 man thinks : never a man's thought in the world 
 keeps the road- way better taan thine : every man 
 would think me an hypocrite indeed. And what 
 accites your most worshipful thought to think 
 so? 
 
 Poins. Why, because you have been so lewd, 
 and so much engrafted to Falstaff. 
 
 P. Hen. And to thee. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 505 
 
 Poms. By this light, I am well spoke on ; I 
 can hear it with mine own ears : the worst that 
 they can say of me is that I am a second brother, 
 and that I am a proper fellow of my hands ; and 
 those two things, I confess, I cannot help. By 
 the mass, here comes Bardolph. 
 
 P. Hen. And the boy that I gave Falstaff: 
 he had him from me Christian ; and look, if 
 the fat villain have not transformed him ape. 
 
 Enter BARDOLPH and Page. 
 
 Bard. God save your grace ! 
 P. Hen. And yours, most noble Bardolph ! 
 Bard. Come, you virtuous ass [to the Page], 
 you bashful fool, must you be blushing? where- 
 fore blush you now? What a maidenly man-at- 
 arms are you become? Is it such a matter to 
 get a pottle-pot's maidenhead? 
 
 Page. He called me even now, my lord, 
 through a red lattice, and I could discern no part 
 of his face from the window : at last I spied his 
 eyes ; and methought he had made two holes in 
 the alewife's new red petticoat, and so peeped 
 through. 
 
 P. Hen. Hath not the boy profited? 
 Bard. Away, you whoreson upright rabbit, 
 away ! 
 
 Page. Away, you rascally Althaea's dream, 
 away! 
 
 P. Hen. Instruct us, boy; what dream, boy? 
 Page. Marry, my lord, Althaea dreamed she 
 was delivered of a fire-brand ; and therefore I 
 call him her dream. 
 
 P. Hen. A crown's worth of good interpre- 
 tation: there it is, boy. [Gives him money. 
 Poins. O that this good blossom could be 
 kept from cankers ! Well, there is sixpence to 
 preserve thee. 
 
 Bard. An you do not make him be hanged 
 among you, the gallows shall have wrong. 
 P. Hen. And how doth thy master, Bardolph? 
 Bard. Well, my lord. He heard of your 
 grace's coming to town; there's a letter for 
 you. 
 
 Poms. Delivered with good respect. And 
 how doth the martlemas, your master? 
 Bard. In bodily health, sir. 
 Poins. Marry, the immortal part needs a 
 physician; but that moves not him: though 
 that be sick, it dies not. 
 
 P. Hen. I do allow this wen to be as familiar 
 with me as my dog : and he holds his place ; for 
 look you how he writes. 
 
 Poins. [Reads.] John Falstaff, knight, 
 every man must know that, as oft as he has 
 occasion to name himself: even like those that 
 are kin to the king; for they neve* prick their 
 
 finger but they say, There is some of the kings 
 blood spilt. How comes that? says he, that 
 takes upon him not to conceive. The answer 
 i<5 as ready as a borrower's cap, / am the king's 
 poor cousin, sir. 
 
 P. Hen. Nay, they will be kin to us, or they 
 will fetch it from Japhet. But to the letter : 
 
 Poins. [Reads,] Sir John Falstaff, knight, to 
 the son the king, nearest his father, Harry 
 Prince of Wales, greeting. Why, this is a 
 certificate. 
 
 P. Hen. Peace! 
 
 Poins. [Reads.] I will imitate the honourable 
 Romans in brevity: sure he means brevity in 
 breath, short-winded. / commend me to thee, 
 I commend thee, and I leave thee. Be not too 
 familiar with Poins ; for he misuses thy favours 
 so much that he swears thou art to marry his 
 sister Nell. Repent at idle times as thou mayest, 
 and so, farewell. 
 
 Thine, by yea and no, (which is as 
 much as to say, as thou usest him t ) 
 JACK FALSTAFF, with my familiars; 
 JOHN, with my brothers and sisters; 
 and SIR JOHN with all Europe. 
 My lord, I will steep this letter in sack, and 
 make him eat it. 
 
 P. Hen. That 's to make him eat twenty of 
 his words. But do you use me thus, Ned? 
 must I marry your sister? 
 
 Poins. God send the wench have no worse 
 fortune ! but I never said so. 
 
 P. Hen. Well, thus we play the fools with 
 the time ; and the spirits of the wise sit in the 
 clouds and mock us. Is your master here in 
 London? 
 
 Bard. Yes, my lord. 
 
 P. Hen. Where sups he? doth the old boar 
 feed in the old frank? 
 
 Bard. At the old place, my lord, in East- 
 cheap. 
 
 P. Hen. What company? 
 
 Page. Ephesians, my lord, of the old church. 
 
 P. Hen. Sup any women with him ? 
 
 Page. None, my lord, but old Mistress 
 Quickly and Mistress Doll Tearsheet. 
 
 P. Hen. What pagan may that be? 
 
 Page. A proper gentlewoman, sir, and a 
 kinswoman of my master's. 
 
 P. Hen. Even such kin as the parish heifers 
 are to the town bull. Shall we steal upon them, 
 Ned, at supper? 
 
 Poins. I am your shadow, my lord; I'll 
 follow you. 
 
 P. Hen. Sirrah, you boy, and Bardolph, 
 no word to your master that I am yet come to 
 town: there 's for your silence. 
 
SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 Bard. I have no tongue, sir. 
 
 Page. And for mine, sir, I will govern it. 
 
 P. Hen. Fare ye well ; go. [Exeunt BAR- 
 DOLPH tfw</Page.] This Doll Tearsheet should 
 be some road. 
 
 Poms. I warrant you, as common as the 
 way between Saint Alban's and London. 
 
 P. Hen. How might we see Falstaff bestow 
 himself to-night in his true colours, and not 
 ourselves be seen? 
 
 Poins. Put on two leathern jerkins and 
 aprons, and wait upon him at his table as 
 drawers. 
 
 P. Hen. From a god to a bull? a heavy de- 
 scension! it was Jove's case. From a prince 
 to a prentice? a low transformation ! that shall 
 be mine; for in everything the purpose must 
 weigh with the folly. Follow me, Ned. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. WARKWORTH. Before the Castle. 
 
 Enter NORTHUMBERLAND, LADY NORTHUM- 
 BERLAND, and LADY PERCY. 
 
 North. I pray thee, loving wife, and gentle 
 
 daughter, 
 
 Give even way unto my rough affairs : 
 Put not you on the visage of the times, 
 And be, like them, to Percy troublesome. 
 Lady N. I have given over, I will speak no 
 
 more: 
 
 Do what you will ; your wisdom be your guide. 
 North. Alas, sweet wife, my honour is at 
 
 pawn; 
 
 And, but my going, nothing can redeem it. 
 Lady P. O, yet, for God's sake, go not to 
 
 these wars ! 
 
 The time was, father, that you broke your word, 
 When you were more endear'd to it than now ; 
 When your own Percy, when my heart-dear 
 
 Harry, 
 
 Threw many a northward look to see his father 
 Bring up his powers ; but he did long in vain. 
 Who then persuaded you to stay at home? 
 There were two honours lost, yours and your 
 
 son's. 
 
 For yours, may heavenly glory brighten it ! 
 For his, it stuck upon him, as the sun 
 In the grey vault of heaven : and by his light 
 Did all the chivalry of England move 
 To do brave acts : he was, indeed, the glass 
 Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves : 
 He had no legs that practis'd not his gait ; 
 And speaking thick, which nature made his 
 
 blemish, 
 
 liecaine the accents of the valiant ; 
 For those that could speak low and tardily 
 
 Would turn their own perfection to abuse 
 To seem like him : so that in speech, in gait, 
 In diet, in affections of delight, 
 In military rules, humours of blood, 
 He was the mark and glass, copy and book, 
 That fashion'd others. And him, O wondrous 
 him! 
 
 miracle of men ! him did you leave, 
 Second to none, unseconded by you, 
 To look upon the hideous god of war 
 
 In disadvantage ; to abide a field 
 Where nothing but the sound of Hotspur's name 
 Did seem defensible : so you left him. 
 Never, O never, do his ghost the wrong 
 To hold your honour more precise and nice 
 With others than with him ! let them alone : 
 The marshal and the archbishop are strong : 
 Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers, 
 To-day might I, hanging on Hotspur's neck, 
 Have talk'd of Monmouth's grave. 
 
 North. Beshrew your heart, 
 
 Fair daughter, you do draw my spirits from me 
 With new lamenting ancient oversights. 
 But I must go, and meet with danger there ; 
 Or it will seek me in another place, 
 And find me worse provided. 
 
 Lady N. O, fly to Scotland, 
 
 Till that the nobles and the armed commons 
 Have of their puissance made a little taste. 
 
 Lady P. If they get ground and vantage of 
 
 the king, 
 
 Then join you with them, like a rib of steel, 
 To make strength stronger; but, for all our loves, 
 First let them try themselves. So did your son ; 
 He was so suffer'd : so came I a widow ; 
 And never shall have length of life enough 
 To rain upon remembrance with mine eyes, 
 That it may grow and sprout as high as heaven, 
 For recordation to my noble husband. 
 
 North. Come, come, go in with me. 'Tis 
 
 with my mind 
 
 As with the tide swell'd up unto its height, 
 That makes a still-stand, running neither way. 
 Fain would I go to meet the archbishop, 
 But many thousand reasons hold me back. 
 
 1 will resolve for Scotland : there am I, 
 Till time and vantage crave my company. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. LONDON. A Room in the Boar's 
 Head Tavern in East-cheap. 
 
 Enter two Drawers. 
 
 1 Draw. What the devil hast thou brought 
 there? apple-Johns? thou know'st Sir John 
 cannot endure an apple-John. 
 
 2 Draw. Mass, thou sayest true. The prince 
 
SCENE IV.) 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 507 
 
 once set a dish of apple-Johns before him, and 
 told him there were five more Sir Johns ; and, 
 putting off his hat, said, / "will now take my 
 leave of these six dry, round, old, withered 
 knights. It angered him to the heart : but he 
 hath forgot that. 
 
 1 Draw. Why, then, cover, and set them 
 down: and see if thou canst find out Sneak's 
 noise : Mistress Tearsheet would fain hear some 
 music. Despatch : the room where they sup- 
 ped is too hot; they'll come in straight. 
 
 2 Draw. Sirrah, here will be the prince and 
 Master Poins anon; and they will put on two 
 of our jerkins and aprons ; and Sir John must 
 not know of it : Bardolph hath brought word. 
 
 1 Draw. By the mass, here will be old utis : 
 it will be an excellent stratagem. 
 
 2 Draw. I '11 see if I can find out Sneak. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Enter Hostess and DOLL TEARSHEET. 
 
 Host. I' faith, sweetheart, methinks now you 
 Ure in an excellent good temperality : your pul- 
 sidge beats as extraordinarily as heart would 
 desire; and your colour, I warrant you, is as 
 red as any rose : but, i' faith, you have drunk 
 too much canaries; and that's a marvellous 
 searching wine, and it perfumes the blood ere 
 one can say, What's this? How do you now? 
 
 Doll. Better than I was : hem. 
 
 Host. Why, that 's well said ; a good heart 's 
 Worth gold. Look, here comes Sir John. 
 
 Enter FALSTAFF singing. 
 
 o o 
 
 Fal. When Arthur first in court Empty 
 the jorden. {Exit I Drawer.] And was a 
 worthy king. How now, Mistress Doll! 
 
 Host. Sick of a calm ; yea, good sooth. 
 
 Fal. So is all her sect ; an they be once in 
 a calm, they are sick. 
 
 Doll. You muddy rascal, is that all the com- 
 fort you give me? 
 
 Fal. You make fat rascals, Mistress Doll. 
 
 Doll. I make them ! gluttony and diseases 
 make them ; I make them not. 
 
 Fal. If the cook help to make the gluttony, 
 you help to make the diseases, Doll : we catch 
 of you, Doll, we catch of you ; grant that, my 
 poor virtue, grant that. 
 
 Doll. Yea, joy, our chains and our jewels. 
 
 Fal. Your brooches, pearls, and ouches: for 
 to serve bravely is to come halting off, you 
 know : to come off the breach with his pike 
 bent bravely, and to surgery bravely ; to ven- 
 ture upon the charged chambers bravely, 
 
 Doll. Hang yourself, you muddy conger, 
 yourself! 
 
 Host. By my troth, this is the old fashion ; 
 you two never meet but you fall to some discord: 
 you are both, in good troth, as rheumatic as two 
 dry toasts ; yoi 1 cannot one bear with another's 
 confirmities. What the good-year! one must 
 bear, and that must be you \to DOLL] : you are 
 the weaker vessel, as they say, the emptier 
 vessel. 
 
 Doll. Can a weak empty vessel bear such a 
 huge full hogshead? there 's a whole merchant's 
 venture of Bourdeaux stuff in him ; you have 
 not seen a hulk better stuffed in the hold. 
 Come, I '11 be friends with thee, Jack : thou 
 art going to the wars ; and whether I shall ever 
 see thee again or no, there is nobody cares. 
 
 Re-enter First Drawer. 
 
 I Draw. Sir, Ancient Pistol is below, and 
 would speak with you. 
 
 Doll. Hang him, swaggering rascal ! let him 
 not come hither : it is the foul-mouth'dst rogue 
 in England. 
 
 Host. If he swagger, let him not come here : 
 no, by my faith; I must live amongst my 
 neighbours ; I '11 no swaggerers : I am in good 
 name and fame with the very best: shut the 
 door ; there comes no swaggerers here : I have 
 not lived all this while to have swaggering now: 
 shut the door, I pray you. 
 
 Fal. Dost thou hear, hostess? 
 
 Host. Pray you, pacify yourself, Sir John: 
 there comes no swaggerers here. 
 
 Fal. Dost thou hear? it is mine ancient. 
 
 Host. Tilly-fally, Sir John, never tell me: 
 your ancient swaggerer comes not in my doors. 
 I was before Master Tisick, the deputy, the other 
 day ; and, as he said to me, it wis no longer 
 ago than Wednesday last, Neighoour Quickly, 
 says he ; Master Dumb, our minister, was by 
 then ; Neighbour Quickly, says he, receive those 
 that are civil; for, saith he, you are in an ill- 
 name; now he said so, I can tell whereupon ; 
 for, says \vz,you are an honest woman, and well 
 thought on; therefore take heed what guests you 
 receive: re ei e, says he, no swaggering com- 
 panions. There comes none here; you would 
 bless you to hear what he said : no, I '11 no 
 swaggerers. 
 
 Fal. He's no swaggerer, hostess; a tame 
 cheater, i' faith ; you may stroke him as gently 
 as a puppy greyhound : he will not swagger with 
 a Barbary hen, if her feathers turn back in any 
 show of resistance. Call him up, drawer. 
 
 [Exit I Drawer. 
 
 Host. Cheater, call you him? I will bar no 
 honest man my house, nor no cheater : but I do 
 not love swaggering; by mv troth, I am the 
 
SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 [ACT n. 
 
 worse when one says swagger: feel, masters, 
 how I shake ; look you, I warrant you. 
 
 Doll. So you do, hostess. 
 
 Host. Do I ? yea, in very truth, do I, an 'twere 
 an aspen leaf : I cannot abide swaggerers. 
 
 Enter PISTOL, BARDOLPH, and PAGE. 
 
 Pist. God save you, Sir John ! 
 
 Fal. Welcome, Ancient Pistol. Here, Pistol, 
 I charge you with a cup of sack : do you dis- 
 charge upon mine hostess. 
 
 Pist. I will discharge upon her, Sir John, with 
 two bullets. 
 
 'Fal. She is pistol-proof, sir ; you shall hardly 
 offend her. 
 
 Host. Come, I '11 drink no proofs nor no bullets : 
 I '11 drink no more than will do me good, for 
 no man's pleasure, I. 
 
 Pkt. Then to you, Mrs. Dorothy; I will 
 charge you. 
 
 Doll. Charge me ! I scorn you, scurvy com- 
 panion. What I you poor, base, rascally, cheat- 
 ing, lack-linen mate ! Away, you mouldy rogue, 
 away ! I am meat for your master. 
 
 Pist. I know you, Mistress Dorothy. 
 
 Doll. Away, you cut-purse rascal ! you filthy 
 bung, away ! by this wine, I '11 thrust my knife 
 in your mouldy chaps, an you play the saucy 
 cuttle with me. Away, you bottle-ale rascal ! 
 you basket-hilt stale juggler, you ! Since when, 
 I pray you, sir? God s light, with two points 
 on your shoulder? much ! 
 
 Pist. I will murder your ruff for this. 
 
 Fal. No more, Pistol ; I would not have you 
 go off here : discharge yourself of our company, 
 Pistol. 
 
 Host. No. good Captain Pistol; not here, 
 sweet captain. 
 
 Doll. Captain! thou abominable damned 
 cheater, art thou not ashamed to be called cap- 
 tain? If captains were of my mind, they would 
 truncheon you out, for taking their names upon 
 you before you have earned them. You a cap- 
 tain! you slave, for what? for tearing a poor 
 whore's ruff in a bawdy-house? He a captain ! 
 hang him, rogue ! He lives upon mouldy stewed 
 prunes and dried cakes. A captain! God's light, 
 these villains will make the word as odious as 
 the word occupy ; which was an excellent good 
 word before it was ill -sorted : therefore captains 
 had need look to it. 
 
 Bard. Pray thee, go down, good ancient. 
 
 Fal. Hark thee hither, Mistress Doll. 
 
 Pist. Not I : I tell thee what, Corporal Bar- 
 dolph, I could tear her : I '11 be revenged on 
 her. 
 
 Page. Pray thee, go down. 
 
 Pist. I '11 see her damned first ; to Pluto's 
 damned lake, by this hand, to the infernal deep, 
 with Erebus and tortures vile also. Hold hook 
 and line, say I. Down, down, dogs! down, 
 faitors ! Have we not Hiren here? 
 
 Host. Good Captain Peesel, be quiet ; it is 
 very late, i' faith : I beseek you now, aggravate 
 your choler. 
 
 Pist. These be good humours, indeed ! Shall 
 
 packhorses, 
 
 And hollow pamper'd jades of Asia, 
 Which cannot go but thirty miles a-day, 
 Compare with Caesars, and with Cannibals, 
 And Trojan Greeks? nay, rather damn them 
 
 with 
 
 King Cerberus ; and let the welkin roar. 
 Shall we fall foul for toys? 
 
 Host. By my troth, captain, these are very 
 bitter words. 
 
 Bard. Be gone, good ancient : this will grow 
 to a brawl anon. 
 
 Pist. Die men like dogs ! give crowns like 
 pins ! Have we not Hiren here? 
 
 Host. O' my word, captain; there's none 
 such here. What the good-year ! do you think 
 I would deny her? for Godsake, be quiet. 
 
 Pist. Then feed and be fat, my fair Calipolis. 
 Come, give me some sack. 
 
 Se fortuna mi tormenta, lo sperare mi con> 
 
 tenta. 
 
 Fear we broadsides? no, let the fiend give fire: 
 
 Give me some sack : and, sweetheart, lie thou 
 
 there. [Laying down his sword. 
 
 Come we to full points here ; and are et-ceteras 
 
 nothing? 
 
 Fal. Pistol, I would, be quiet. 
 
 Pist. Sweet knight, I kiss thy neif: what! 
 we have seen the seven stars. 
 
 Doll. Thrust him downstairs; I cannot endure 
 such a fustian rascal. 
 
 Pist. Thrust him down stairs ! know we not 
 Galloway nags? 
 
 Fal. Quoit him down, Bardolph, like a shove- 
 groat shilling : nay, an he do nothing but speak 
 nothing, he shall be nothing here. 
 
 Bard. Come, get you down stairs. 
 
 Pist. What! shall we have incision? shall we 
 
 imbrue ? \Snatching up his sword. 
 
 Then death rock me asleep, abridge my doleful 
 
 days ! 
 
 Why, then, let grievous, ghastly, gaping wounds 
 Untwine the Sisters Three ! Come, Atropos, I 
 say ! 
 
 Host. Here 's goodly stuff toward ! 
 
 Fal. Give me my rapier, boy. 
 
 Doll. I pray thee, Jack, I pray thee, do not 
 draw. 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 509 
 
 Fal. Get you down stairs. 
 
 [Drawing^ and driving PlST. out. 
 
 Host. Here 's a goodly tumult ! I '11 forswear 
 keeping house afore I '11 be in these tirrits and 
 frights. So; murder, I warrant now. Alas, 
 alas ! put up your naked weapons, put up your 
 naked weapons. [Exeunt PIST. and BARD. 
 
 Doll. I pray thee, Jack, be quiet ; the rascal 
 is gone. Ah, you whoreson little valiant villain, 
 you ! 
 
 Host. Are you not hurt i' the groin? me- 
 thought he made a shrewd thrust at your belly. 
 
 Re-enter BARDOLPH. 
 
 Fal. Have you turned him out of doors? 
 
 Bard. Yes, sir. The rascal 's drunk : you 
 have hurt him, sir, in the shoulder. 
 
 Fal. A rascal ! to brave me ! 
 
 Doll. Ah, you sweet little rogue, you ! Alas, 
 poor ape, how thou sweatest ! come, let me wipe 
 thy face ; come on, you whoreson chops : ah, 
 rogue ! i' faith, I love thee. Thou art as valor- 
 ous as Hector of Troy, worth five of Agamem- 
 non, and ten times better than the nine worthies : 
 ah, villain ! 
 
 Fal. A rascally slave ! I will toss the rogue 
 in a blanket. 
 
 Doll. Do, if thou darest for thy heart: if 
 thou dost, I '11 canvass thee between a pair of 
 sheets. 
 
 Enter Musicians. 
 
 Page. The music is come, sir. 
 
 Fal. Let them play; play, sirs. Sit on my 
 knee, Doll. A rascal-bragging slave ! the rogue 
 fled from me like quicksilver. 
 
 Doll. I' faith, and thou followedst him like a 
 church. Thou whoreson little tidy Bartholomew 
 boar-pig, when wilt thou leave fighting o' days 
 and foining o' nights, and begin to patch up 
 thine old body for heaven? 
 
 Enter, behind, PRINCE HENRY and POINS 
 disguised as Drawers. 
 
 Fal. Peace, good Doll ! do not speak like a 
 Death's-head; do not bid me remember mine 
 end. 
 
 Doll. Sirrah, what humour is the prince of? 
 
 Fal. A good shallow young fellow : he would 
 have made a good pantler; he would have 
 chipped bread well. 
 
 Doll. They say Poins has a good wit. 
 
 Fal. He a good wit? hang him, baboon! his 
 wit is as thick as Tewksbury mustard ; there is 
 no more conceit in him than is in a mallet. 
 
 Doll. Why does the prince love him so, then? 
 
 Fal. Because their legs are both of a bigness ; 
 and he plays at quoits well ; and eats conger and 
 fennel; and drinks off candles' ends for flap- 
 dragons ; and rides the wild mare with the boys; 
 and jumps upon joint-stools ; and swears with a 
 good grace; and wears his boot very smooth, 
 like unto the sign of the leg ; and breeds no bate 
 with telling of discreet stories; and such other 
 gambol faculties he has, that show a weak mind 
 and an able body, for the which the prince ad- 
 mits him : for the prince himself is such another ; 
 the weight of a hair will turn the scales between 
 their avoirdupois. 
 
 P. Hen. Would not this nave of a wheel have 
 his ears cut off? 
 
 Poins. Let us beat him before his whore. 
 
 P. Hen. Look, whether the withered elder 
 hath not his poll clawed like a parrot. 
 
 Poins. Is it not strange that desire should so 
 many years outlive performance? 
 
 Fal. Kiss me, Doll. 
 
 P. Hen. Saturn and Venus this year in con- 
 junction! what says the almanac to that? 
 
 Poins. And, look, whether the fiery Trigon, 
 his man, be not lisping to his master's old tables, 
 his note-book, his counsel-keeper. 
 
 Fal. Thou dost give me flattering busses. 
 
 Doll. By ruy troth, I kiss thee with a most 
 constant heart. 
 
 Fal. I am old, I am old. 
 
 Doll. I love thee better than I love e'er a 
 scurvy young boy of them all. 
 
 Fal. What stuff wilt thou have a kirtle of? I 
 shall receive money on Thursday; thou shall 
 have a cap to-morrow. A merry song, come : 
 it grows late ; we will to bed. Thou wilt forget 
 me when I am gone. 
 
 Doll. By my troth, thou wilt set me a weep- 
 ing, an thou sayest so : prove that ever I dress 
 myself handsome till thy return : well, hearken 
 the end. 
 
 Fal. Some sack, Francis. 
 
 P. Hen., Poins. Anon, anon, sir. 
 
 [Advancing. 
 
 Fal. Ha ! a bastard son of the king's? And 
 art not thou Poins, his brother? 
 
 P. Hen. Why, thou globe of sinful continents, 
 what a life dost thou lead ! 
 
 Fal. A better than thou : I am a gentleman ; 
 thou art a drawer. 
 
 P. Hen. Very true, sir, and I come to draw 
 you out by the ears. 
 
 Host. O, the Lord preserve thy good grace ! 
 by my troth, welcome to London. Now, the 
 Lord bless that sweet face of thine ! O Jesu, 
 are you come from Wales? 
 
 Fal. Thou whoreson mad compound of 
 
SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 [ACT n. 
 
 majesty, by this light flesh and corrupt blood, 
 thou art welcome. 
 
 [Leaning his hand upon DOLL. 
 
 Doll. How, you fat fool ! I scorn you. 
 
 Poins. My lord, he will drive you out of your 
 revenge, and turn all to a merriment, if you take 
 not the heat. 
 
 P. Hen. You whoreson candle-mine, you, how 
 vilely did you speak of me even now before this 
 honest, virtuous, civil, gentlewoman! 
 
 Host. God's blessing on your good heart ! and 
 so she is, by my troth. 
 
 Fal. Didst thou hear me? 
 
 P. Hen. Yes ; and you knew me, as you did 
 when you ran away by Gadshill : you knew I 
 was at your back, and spoke it on purpose to 
 try my patience. 
 
 Fal. No, no, no; not so; I did not think 
 thou wast within hearing. 
 
 P. Hen. I shall drive you, then, to confess 
 the wilful abuse, and then I know how to handle 
 you. 
 
 Fal. No abuse, Hal, on mine honour; no 
 abuse. 
 
 P. Hen. Not ! to dispraise me, and call me 
 pantler, and bread-chipper, and I know not 
 what! 
 
 Fal. No abuse, Hal. 
 
 Poins. No abuse ! 
 
 Fal. No abuse, Ned, in the world; honest 
 Ned, none. I dispraised him before the wicked, 
 that the wicked might notfall in love with him; 
 in which doing, I have done the part of a care- 
 ful friend and a true subject, and thy father is 
 to give me thanks for it. No abuse, Hal ; 
 none, Ned, none; no, faith, boys, none. 
 
 P. Hen. See now, whether pure fear and en- 
 tire cowardice doth not make thee wrong this 
 virtuous gentlewoman to close with us? is she 
 of the wicked? is thine hostess here of the wicked? 
 or is thy boy of the wicked ? or honest Bardolph, 
 whose zeal burns in his nose, of the wicked ? 
 
 Poins. Answer, thou dead elm, answer. 
 
 Fal. The fiend hath pricked down Bardolph 
 irrecoverable; and his face is Lucifer's privy- 
 kitchen, where he doth nothing but roast malt- 
 worms. For the boy, there is a good angel 
 about him ; but the devil outbids him too. 
 
 P. Hen. For the women? 
 
 Fal. For one of them, she is in hell already, 
 and burns, poor soul ! For the other, I owe 
 her money; and whether she be damned for 
 that, I know not. 
 
 Host. No, I warrant you. 
 
 Fal. No, I think thou art not ; I think thou 
 art quit for that. Marry, there is another in- 
 dictment upon thee for suffering flesh to be 
 
 eaten in thy house, contrary to the law ; for the 
 which I think thou wilt howl. 
 
 Host. All victuallers do so : what 's a joint of 
 mutton or two in a whole Lent? 
 
 P. Hen. You, gentlewoman, 
 
 Doll. What says your grace? 
 
 Fal. His grace says that which his flesh re- 
 bels against. [Knocking within. 
 
 Host. Who knocks so loud at door? Look 
 to the door there, Fr?ncis. 
 
 Enter PETO. 
 
 P. Hen. Peto, how now ! what news? 
 
 Pet. The king your father is at Westminster; 
 And there are twenty weak and wearied posts 
 Come from the north : and as I came along 
 I met and overtook a dozen captains, 
 Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the taverns, 
 And asking every one for Sir John Falstaff. 
 
 P. Hen. By heaven, Poins, I feel me much 
 
 to blame, 
 
 So idly to profane the precious time ; 
 When tempest of commotion, like the south, 
 Borne with black vapour, doth begin to melt, 
 And drop upon our bare unarmed heads. 
 Give me my sword and cloak. Falstaff, good- 
 night. 
 
 [Exeunt P. HEN., POINS, PETO, and BARD. 
 
 Fal. Now comes in the sweetest morsel of 
 the night, and we must hence, and leave it un- 
 picked. [Knocking within.'] More knocking 
 at the door ! 
 
 Re-enter BARDOLPH. 
 
 How now ! what 's the matter? 
 
 Bard. You must away to court, sir, presently; 
 a dozen captains stay at door for you, 
 
 Fal. Pay the musicians, sirrah [to the Page]. 
 Farewell, hostess; farewell, Doll. You see, 
 my good wenches, how men of merit are sought 
 after : the undeserver may sleep, when the man 
 of action is called on. Farewell, good wenches : 
 if I be not sent away post, I will see you again 
 ere I go. 
 
 Doll. I cannot speak ; if my heart be not 
 ready to burst, well, sweet Jack, have a care 
 of thyself. 
 
 Fal. Farewell, farewell. 
 
 [Exeunt FALSTAFF and BARDOLPH. 
 
 Host. Well, fare thee well: I have known 
 thee these twenty-nine years, come peascod- 
 time ; but an honester and truer-hearted man, 
 well, fare thee well. 
 
 Bard. [Within.'} Mistress Tearsheet, 
 
 Host. What 's the matter? 
 
 Bard. [Within.'} Bid Mistress Tearsheet 
 come to my master. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 Host. O, run, Doll, run; run, good DolL 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IIL 
 
 SCENE I WESTMINSTER. A Room IK the 
 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter KING HENRY in his nightgown, with a 
 Page. 
 
 K. Hen. Go call the Earls of Surrey and of 
 
 Warwick ; [letters, 
 
 But, ere they come, bid them o'er- read these 
 
 And well consider of them : make good speed. 
 
 [Exit Page. 
 
 How many thousand of my poorest subjects 
 Are at this hour asleep! O sleep, O gentle 
 
 sleep, 
 
 Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, 
 That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down, 
 And steep my senses in forgetfulness? 
 Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, 
 Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee, [slumber, 
 And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy 
 Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great, 
 Under high canopies of costly state, 
 And lull'd with sounds of sweetest melody? 
 O thou dull god, why li^st thou with the vile 
 In loathsome beds, and leav'st the kingly couch 
 A watch-case or a common 'larum bell? 
 Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast 
 Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains 
 In cradle of the rude imperious surge, 
 And in the visitation of the winds, 
 Who take the ruffian billows by the top, 
 Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging 
 
 them 
 
 With de?.fening clamour in the slippery shrouds, 
 That, with the hurly, death itself awakes? 
 Canst thou, O partial sleep, give thy repose 
 To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude ; 
 And in the calmest and most stillest night, 
 With all appliances and means to boot, 
 Deny it to a king? Then, happy low, lie down ! 
 Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. 
 
 Enter WARWICK and SURREY. 
 
 War. Many good-morrows to your majesty ! 
 
 K. Hen. Is it good-morrow, lords? 
 
 War. 'Tis one o'clock, and past. 
 
 K. Hen. Why, then, good-morrow to you 
 
 all, my lords. 
 Have you read o'er the letters that I sent you? 
 
 War. We have, my liege. [kingdom 
 
 K. Hen. Then you perceive the body of our 
 How foul it is ; what rank diseases grow, 
 And with what danger, near the heart of it. 
 
 War. It is but us a body yet distemper'd ; 
 
 Which to his former strength may be restored 
 With good advice and little medicine : 
 My lord Northumberland will soon be cool'd. 
 
 K. Hen. O God ! that one might read the 
 
 book of fate, 
 
 And see the revolution of the times 
 Make mountains level, and the continent, 
 Weary of solid firmness, melt itself 
 Into the sea ! and, other times, to see 
 The beachy girdle of the ocean [mock, 
 
 Too wide for Neptune's hips; how chances 
 And changes fill the cup of alteration 
 With divers liquors ! Oh, if this were seen, 
 The happiest youth, viewing his progress 
 
 through, 
 
 What perils past, what crosses to ensue, 
 Would shut the book, and sit him down and die. 
 'Tis not ten years gone [friends, 
 
 Since Richard and Northumberland, great 
 Did feast together, and in two years after 
 Were they at wars. It is but eight years since 
 This Percy was the man nearest my soul ; 
 Who like a brother toil'd in my affairs, 
 And laid his love and life under my foot ; 
 Yea, for my sake, even to the eyes of Richard 
 Gave him defiance. But which of you was by, 
 You, cousin Nevil, as I may remember, 
 
 \To WARWICK. 
 
 When Richard, with his eye brimful of tears. 
 Then check'd and rated by Northumberland, 
 Did speak these words, now prov'd a prophecy? 
 Northumberland^ thou ladder by the which 
 My cousin Bolingbroke ascends my throne^ 
 Though then, God knows, I had no such intent, 
 But that necessity so bow'd the state 
 That I and greatness were compell'd to kiss: 
 The ~time shall come, thus did he follow it, 
 The time will come, that foul sin, gathering head, 
 Shall break into corruption so went on, 
 Foretelling this same time's condition, 
 And the division of our amity. 
 
 War. There is a history in all men's lives, 
 Figuring the nature of the times deceas'd ; 
 The which observ'd, a man may prophesy, 
 With a near aim, of the main chance of tilings 
 As yet not come to life, which in their seeds 
 And weak beginnings lie intreasured. [time; 
 Such things become the hatch and brood of 
 And, by the necessary form of this, 
 King Richard might create a perfect guess 
 That great Northumberland, then false to him, 
 Would of that seed grow to a greater falseness; 
 Which should not find a ground to root upon, 
 Unless on you. 
 
 K. Hen. Are these things, then, necessities ? 
 Then let us meet them like necessities ; 
 And that same word even now cries out on us 1 
 
 
512 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 They say the bishop and Northumberland 
 Are fifty thousand strong. 
 
 War. It cannot be, my lord ; 
 
 Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo, 
 The numbers of the fear'd. Please it your grace 
 To go to bed. Upon my life, my lord, 
 The powers that you already have sent forth 
 Shall bring this prize in very easily. 
 To comfort you the more, I have receiv'd 
 A certain instance that Glendower is dead. 
 Your majesty hath been this fortnight ill; 
 And these unseason'd hours perforce must add 
 Unto your sickness. 
 
 K. Hen. I will take your counsel : 
 
 And, were these inward wars once out of hand, 
 We would, dear lords, unto the Holy Land. 
 
 {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. Court before JUSTICE SHALLOW'S 
 House in Gloucestershire. 
 
 Enter SHALLOW and SILENCE, meeting; 
 MOULDY, SHADOW, WART, FEEBLE, BULL- 
 CALF, and Servants, behind. 
 
 Shal. Come on, come on, come on, sir ; give 
 me your hand, sir, give me your hand, sir : an 
 early stirrer, by the rood. And how doth my 
 good cousin Silence? 
 
 SiL Good-morrow, good cousin Shallow. 
 
 Shal. And how doth my cousin, your bed- 
 fellow ? and your fairest daughter and mine, my 
 god-daughter Ellen? 
 
 Sil. Alas, a black ousel, cousin Shallow! 
 
 Shal. By yea and nay, sir, I dare say my 
 cousin William is become a good scholar : he 
 is at Oxford still, is he not? 
 
 Sil. Indeed, sir, to my cost. 
 
 Shal. He must, then, to the inns of court 
 shortly : I was once of Clement's-inn ; where I 
 think they will talk of mad Shallow yet. 
 
 Sil. You were called lusty Shallow then, cousin. 
 
 Shal. By the mass, I was called anything; 
 and I would have done anything indeed, too, 
 and roundly too. There was I, and little John 
 Doit of Staffordshire, and black George Bare, 
 and Francis Pickbone, and Will Squele a Cots- 
 wold man, you had not four such swinge- 
 bucklers in all the inns of court again : and, I 
 may say to you, we knew where the bona-robas 
 were, and had the best of them all at command- 
 ment. Then was Jack Falstaff, now Sir John, 
 a boy, and page to Thomas Mowbray, Duke of 
 Norfolk 
 
 Sil. This Sir John, cousin, that comes hither 
 anon about soldiers? 
 
 Shal. The same Sir John, the very same. I 
 saw him break Skogan s head at the court gate, 
 
 when he was a crack not thus high : and the 
 very same day did I fight with one Sampson 
 Stockfish, a fruiterer, behind Gray's-inn. Jesu, 
 Jesu, the mad days that I have spent ! and to 
 see how many of mine old acquaintance are 
 dead! 
 
 SiL We shall all follow, cousin. 
 
 Shal. Certain, 'tis certain ; very sure, very 
 sure : death, as the Psalmist saith, is certain to 
 all ; all shall die. How a good yoke of bullocks 
 at Stamford fair? 
 
 Sil. Truly, cousin, I was not there. 
 
 Shal. Death is certain, Is old Double of 
 your town living yet? 
 
 Sil. Dead, sir. 
 
 Shal. Jesu, Jesu, dead! he drew a good 
 bow ; and dead ! he shot a fine shoot : John 
 of Gaunt loved him well, and betted much 
 money on his head. Dead ! he would have 
 clapp'd in the clout at twelve score, and carried 
 you a forehand shaft a fourteen and fourteen 
 and a half, that it would have done a man's 
 heart good to see. How a score of ewes now? 
 
 Sil. Thereafter as they be : a score of good 
 ewes may be worth ten pounds. 
 
 Shal. And is old Double dead? 
 
 Sil. Here come twc of Sir John Falstaff C 
 men, as I think. 
 
 Enter BARDOLPH and one with him. 
 
 Bard. Good-morrow, honest gentlemen: I 
 beseech you, which is Justice Shallow? 
 
 Shal. I am Robert Shallow, sir, a poor es- 
 quire of this county, and one of the king's 
 justices of the peace : what is your good plea- 
 sure with me? 
 
 Bard. My captain, sir, commends him to you; 
 my captain, Sir John Falstaff, a tall gentleman, 
 by heaven, and a most gallant leader. 
 
 Shal. He greets me well, sir; I knew him a 
 good backsword man: how doth the good 
 knight? may I ask how my lady his wife doth? 
 
 Bard. Sir, pardon ; a soldier is better ac- 
 commodated than with a wife. 
 
 Shal. It is well said, in faith, sir ; and it is 
 well said indeed too. Better accommodated ! 
 it is good ; yea, indeed, is it : good phrases are 
 surely, and ever were, very commendable. Ac- 
 commodated ! it comes from accommodo: very 
 good ; a good phrase. 
 
 Bard. Pardon me, sir; I have heard the word. 
 Phrase call you it? By this good day, I know 
 not the phrase ; but I will maintain the word 
 with my sword to be a soldier-like word, and a 
 word of exceeding good command. Accommo- 
 dated ; that is, when a man is, as they say, ac- 
 commodated j or, when a man is, being, whereby 
 
SCEWE II.] 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 513 
 
 he may be thought to be accommodated ; which 
 is an excellent thing. 
 
 ShaL It is very just. Look, here comes good 
 Sir John. 
 
 Enter FALSTAFF. 
 
 Give me your good hand, give me your worship's 
 good hand : by my troth, you look well and bear 
 your years very well : welcome, good Sir John. 
 
 Fal. I am glad to see you well, good Master 
 Robert Shallow : Master Surecard, as I think ? 
 
 Shal. No, Sir John, it is my cousin Siience, 
 in commission with me. 
 
 Fal. Good Master Silence, it well befits you 
 should be of the peace. 
 
 Sil. Your good worship is welcome. 
 
 Fal. Fie! this is hot weather. Gentlemen, 
 have you provided me here half a dozen suffi- 
 cient men? 
 
 Shal. Marry, have we, sir. Will you sit? 
 
 Fal. Let me see them, I beseech you. 
 
 Shal. Where's the roll? where 's the roll? 
 where 's the roll ? let me see, let me see. So, 
 Bo, so, so: yea, marry, sir: Ralph Mouldy! 
 let them appear as I call ; let them do so, let 
 them do so. Let me see; where is Mouldy? 
 
 Moul. Here, an 't please you. 
 ^ Shal. What think you, Sir John? a good 
 limbed fellow; young, strong, and of good 
 friends. 
 
 Fal. Is thy name Mouldy? 
 
 Moul. Yea, an 't please you. 
 
 Fal. 'Tis the more time thou wert used. 
 
 Shal. Ha, ha, ha! most excellent, i' faith ! 
 filings that are mouldy lack use : very singular 
 good ! in faith, well said, Sir John ; very well 
 said. 
 
 Fal. Prick him. \To SHALLOW. 
 
 Moul. I was pricked well enough before, an 
 vou could have let me alone : my old dame will 
 be undone now for one to do her husbandry and 
 her drudgery: you need not to have pricked 
 me ; there are other men fitter to go out than I. 
 
 Fal. Go to ; peace, Mouldy ; you shall go. 
 Mouldy, it is time you were spent. 
 
 Moul. Spent! 
 
 Shal. Peace, fellow, peace; stand aside: 
 know you where you are? For the other, Sir 
 John : let me see ; Simon Shadow ! 
 
 Fal. Yea, marry, let me have him to sit 
 nnder: he's like to be a cold soldier. 
 
 Shal. Where's Shadow? 
 
 Shad. Here, sir. 
 
 Fal-. Shadow, whose son art thou? 
 
 Shad. My mother's son, sir. 
 
 Fal, Thy mother's son ! like enough ; and thy 
 father's shadow : so the son of the female is the 
 
 shadow of the male : it is often so, indeed ; but 
 not much of the father's substance. 
 
 Shal. Do you like him, Sir John? 
 
 Fal. Shadow will serve for summer, prick 
 him ; for we have a number of shadows to fill 
 up the muster-book. 
 
 Shal. Thomas Wart ! 
 
 Fal. Where 'she? 
 
 Wart. Here, sir. 
 
 Fal. Is thy name Wart? 
 
 Wart. Yea, sir. 
 
 Fal. Thou art a very ragged wart. 
 
 Shal. Shall I prick him, Sir John? 
 
 Fal. It were superfluous ; for his apparel is 
 built upon his back, and the whole frame stands 
 upon pins : prick him no more. 
 
 Shal. Ha, ha, ha! you can do it, sir; you 
 can do it: I commend you well. Francis 
 Feeble 1 
 
 Fee. Here, sir. 
 
 Fal. What trade art thou, Feeble? 
 
 Fee. A woman's tailor, sir. 
 
 Shal. Shall I prick him, sir? 
 
 Fal. You may : but if he had been a man's 
 tailor, he would have pricked you. Wilt thou 
 make as many holes in an enemy's battle as thou 
 hast done in a woman's petticoat ? 
 
 Fee. I will do my good will, sir ; you can have 
 no more. 
 
 Fal* Well said, good woman's tailor ! well 
 said, courageous Feeble! Thou wilt be as 
 valiant as the wrathful dove or most magnani- 
 mous mouse. Prick the woman's tailor well, 
 Master Shallow ; deep, Master Shallow. 
 
 Fee. I would Wart might have gone, sir. 
 
 Fal. ^ I would thou wert a man's tailor, that 
 thou mightst mend him, and make him fit to go. 
 I cannot put him to a private soldier, that is the 
 leader of so many thousands: let that suffice, 
 most forcible Feeble. 
 
 Fee. It shall suffice, sir. 
 
 Fal. I am bound to thee, Reverend Feeble. 
 Who is next? 
 
 Shal. Peter Bullcalf of the green ! 
 
 Fal. Yea, marry, let us see Bullcalf. 
 
 Bull. Here, sir. 
 
 Fal. 'Fore God, a likely fellow! Come, prick 
 me, Bullcalf, till he roar again. 
 
 Bull. O lord ! good my lord captain, 
 
 Fal. What, dost thou roar before thou art 
 pricked? 
 
 Bull. O lord, sir ! I am a diseased man. 
 
 Fal. What disease hast thou? 
 
 Bull. A whoreson cold, sir, a cough, sir, 
 which I caught with ringing in the king's affairs 
 upon his coronation day, sir. 
 
 Fal. Come, thou shalt go co the wars in a 
 
$14 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 gown ; we will have away thy cold ; and I will 
 take such order that thy friends shall ring for 
 tb.ee. Is here all? 
 
 Shal. Here is two more called than your 
 number; you must have but four here, sir: 
 and so, I pray you, go in with me to dinner. 
 
 Fal. Come, I will go drink with you, but I 
 cannot tarry dinner. I am glad to see you, by 
 my troth, Master Shallow. 
 
 Shal. O, Sir John, do you remember since 
 we lay all night in the windmill in Saint George's 
 Fields? 
 
 Fal. No more of that, good Master Shallow, 
 no more of that. 
 
 Shal. Ha, it was a merry night. And is Jane 
 Nightwork alive? 
 
 Fal. She lives, Master Shallow. 
 
 Shal. She never could away with me. 
 
 Fal. Never, never; she would always say she 
 could not abide Master Shallow. 
 
 Shal. By the mass, I could anger her to the 
 heart. She was then a bona-roba. Doth she 
 hold her own well? 
 
 Fal. Old, old, Master Shallow. 
 
 Shal. Nay, she must be old; she cannot 
 choose but be old ; certain she 's old ; and had 
 Robin Nightwork, by old Nightwork, before I 
 came to Clement's-inn. 
 
 Sil. That 's fifty -five year ago. 
 
 Shal. Ha, cousin Silence, that thou hadst 
 seeii that that this knight and I have seen J Ha, 
 Sir John, said I well? 
 
 Fal. We have heard the chimes at midnight, 
 Master Shallow. 
 
 Shal. That we have, that we have, that we 
 nave ; in faith, Sir John, we have : our watch- 
 word was, Hem, boys ! Come, let 's to dinner ; 
 come, let's to dinner : O, the days that we have 
 seen! come, come. 
 
 [Exeuni FAL., SHAL., aw^SiL. 
 
 Bull. Good Master Corporate Bardolph, 
 stand my friend; and here is four Harry ten 
 shillings in French crowns for you. In very 
 truth, sir, I had as lief be hanged, sir, as go: 
 and yet, for mine own part, sir, I do not care ; 
 but rather, because I am unwilling, and, for 
 mine own part, have a desire to stay with my 
 friends ; else, sir, I did not care for mine own 
 part, so much. 
 
 Bard. Go to ; stand aside. 
 
 Moul. And, good master corporal captain, for 
 my old dame's sake, stand my friend: she has 
 nobody to do anything about her when I am 
 gone; and she is old, and cannot help herself: 
 you shall have forty, si/. 
 
 Bard. Go to ; stand aside. 
 
 Fee. By my troth, I care not ; a man can die 
 
 but once ; we owe God a death : I '11 ne'er bear 
 a base mind : an 't be my destiny, so ; an 't be 
 not, so : no man 's too good to serve his prince ; 
 and, let it go which way it will, he that dies this 
 year is quit for the next. 
 
 Bard. Well said ; thou 'rt a good fellow. 
 
 Fee. Faith, I '11 bear no base mind. 
 
 Re-enter FALSTAFF and Justices. 
 
 Fal. Come, sir, which men shall I have? 
 
 Shal. Four of which you please. 
 
 Bard. Sir, a word with you : I have three 
 pound to free Mouldy and Bullcalf. 
 
 Fal. Goto; well. 
 
 Shal. Come, Sir John, which four will you 
 have? 
 
 Fal. Do you choose for me. 
 
 Shal. Marry, then, Mouldy, Bullcalf, 
 Feeble, and Shadow. 
 
 Fal. Mouldy and Bullcalf : for you, Mouldy, 
 stay at home till you are past service : and for 
 your part, Bullcalf, grow till you come unto 
 it : I will none of you. 
 
 Shal. Sir John, Sir John, do not yourself 
 wrong : they are your likeliest men, and I would 
 have you served with the best. 
 
 Fal. Will you tell me, Master Shallow, how 
 to choose a man? Care I for the limb, the 
 thews, the stature, bulk, and big assemblance 
 of a man ! Give me the spirit, Master Shallow. 
 Here 's Wart ; you see what a ragged appear- 
 ance it is: he shall charge you and discharge 
 you, with the motion of a pewterer's hammer; 
 come off, and on, swifter than he that gibbets- 
 on the brewer's bucket. And this same half- 
 faced fellow, Shadow, give me this man : he 
 presents no mark to the enemy; the foeman 
 may with as great aim level at the edge of a 
 penknife. And, for a retreat, how swiftly will 
 this Feeble, the woman's tailor, run off! O, 
 give me the spare men, and spare me the great 
 ones. Put me a caliver into Wart's hand, 
 Bardolph. 
 
 Bard. Hold, Wart, traverse; thus, thus, 
 thus. 
 
 Fal. Come, manage me your caliver. So : 
 very well: go to: very good: exceeding 
 g>od. O, give me always a little, lean, old, 
 chapped, bald shot. Well said, i' faith, Wart; 
 thou 'rt a good scab : hold, there 's a tester for 
 thee. 
 
 Shal. He is not his crafts-master, he doth not 
 do it right. I remember at Mile-end Green, 
 when I lay at Clement's-inn, I was then Sir 
 Dagonet in Arthur 3 * show, there was a little 
 quiver fellow, and he would manage you his 
 piece thus; and he would about and about, and 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 SIS 
 
 come you in and come you in: rah, tah, tah, 
 would he say ; bounce would he say ; and away 
 again would he go, and again would he come : 
 I shall never see such a fellow. 
 
 Fal. These fellows will do well, Master 
 Shallow. God keep you, Master Silence: I 
 will not use many words with you. Fare you 
 well, gentlemen both : I thank you : I must a 
 dozen mile to-night. Bardolph, give the 
 soldiers coats. 
 
 Shal. Sir John, heaven bless you, and prosper 
 your affairs, and send us peace ! as you return, 
 visit my house; let our old acquaintance be 
 renewed : peradventure I will with you to the 
 court. 
 
 Fal. 'Fore God, I would you would, Master 
 Shallow. 
 
 Shal. Go to ; I have spoke at a word. Fare 
 you well. [Exeunt SHAL. a*/SiL. 
 
 Fal. Fare you well, gentle gentlemen. On, 
 Bardolph ; lead the men away. [Exetint BAR- 
 DOLPH, Recruits, &c.] As I return, I will 
 fetch off these justices: I do see the bottom of 
 Justice Shallow. Lord, Lord, how subject we 
 old men are to this vice of lying ! This same 
 starved justice hath done nothing but prate to 
 me of the wildness of his youth, and the feats 
 he hath done about Turnbull Street ; and every 
 third word a lie, duer paid to the hearer than 
 the Turk's tribute. I do remember him at 
 Clement's-inn, like a man made after supper of 
 a cheeze- paring : when he was naked, he was, 
 for all the world, like a forked radish, with a 
 head fantastically carved upon it with a knife : 
 he was so forlorn that his dimensions to any 
 thick sight were invincible: he was the very 
 genius of famine ; yet lecherous as a monkey, 
 and the whores called him mandrake : he came 
 ever in the rearward of the fashion ; and sung 
 those tunes to the overscutched huswifes that 
 he heard the carmen whistle, and sware they 
 were his fancies or his good -nights. And now 
 is this Vice's dagger become a squire, and talks 
 as familiarly of John of Gaunt as if he had been 
 sworn brother to him ; and I Ml be sworn he 
 never saw him but once in the Tilt-yard ; and 
 then he burst his head for crowding among the 
 marshal's men. I saw it, and told John of 
 Gaunt he beat his own name; for you might 
 have thrust him and all his apparel into an eel- 
 skin; the case of a treble hautboy was a 
 mansion for him, a court : and now has he 
 land and beeves. Well, I will be acquainted 
 with him if I return ; and it shall go hard but 
 I will make him a philosopher's two stones to 
 me : if the young dace be a bait for the old pike, 
 I see no reason, in the law of nature, but I may 
 
 snap at him. - Let time shape, and there an 
 end. [Exit. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 SCENE \.A Forest in Yorkshire. 
 
 Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF YORK, MOWBRAY, 
 HASTINGS, and others. 
 
 Arch. What is this forest call'd ? 
 
 Hast. Tis Gualtree Forest, an 't shall please 
 your grace. 
 
 Arch. Here stand, my lords ; and send dis- 
 coverers forth 
 To know the numbers of our enemies. 
 
 Hast. We have sent forth already. 
 
 Arch. 'Tis well done. 
 
 My friends and brethren in these great affairs, 
 I must acquaint you that I have receiv'd 
 New-dated letters from Northumberland; 
 Their cold intent, tenour, and substance, thus: 
 Here doth he wish his person, with such powers 
 As might hold sortance with his quality, 
 The which he could not levy; whereupon 
 He is retir'd, to ripe his growing fortunes, 
 To Scotland ; and concludes in hearty prayers 
 That your attempts may over-live the hazard 
 And fearful meeting of their opposite. 
 
 Mowb. Thus do the hopes we have in him 
 
 touch ground, 
 And dash themselves to pieces. 
 
 iJ^^'Jt&TJ^ o^ii iUfi>/.K work' v^n !; >" t03 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Hast. Now, what news? 
 
 Mess. West of this forest, scarcely off a mile, 
 In goodly form comes on the enemy ; 
 And, by the ground they hide, I judge their 
 
 number 
 
 Upon or near the rate of thirty thousand. 
 Mowb. The just proportion that we gave them 
 
 out. 
 
 Let us sway on, and face them in the field. 
 Arch. What well-appointed leader fronts us 
 
 here? 
 Mowb. I think it is my Lord of Westmoreland. 
 
 Enter WESTMORELAND. 
 
 West. Health and fair greeting from our 
 
 general 
 The prince, Lord John and Duke of Lancaster. 
 
 Arch. Say on, my Lord of Westmoreland, in 
 
 peace, 
 What doth concern your coming. 
 
 West. Then, my lord, 
 
 Unto your grace do I in chief address 
 The substance of my speech. If that rebellion 
 Came like itself, in base and abject routs, 
 Led on by bloody youth, guarded with rags, 
 
 
5 i6 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 [ACT IV. 
 
 And countenanc'd by boys and beggary, 
 I say, if damn'd commotion so appear'd, 
 In his true, native, and most proper shape, 
 You, reverend father, and these noble lords, 
 Had not been here, to dress the ugly form 
 Of base and bloody insurrection 
 With your fair honours. You, lord archbishop, 
 Whose see is by a civil peace maintain'd ; 
 Whose beard the silver hand of peace hath 
 
 touch'd ; [tutor'd ; 
 
 Whose learning and good letters peace hath 
 Whose white investments figure innocence, 
 The dove and very blessed spirit of peace, 
 Wherefore do you so ill translate yourself 
 Out of the speech of peace, that bears such grace, 
 Into the harsh and boisterous tongue of war ; 
 Turning your books to greaves, your ink to blood, 
 Your pens to lances, and your tongue divine 
 To a loud trumpet and a point of war? 
 
 Arch. Wherefore do I this? so the question 
 
 stands. 
 
 Briefly to this end : we are all diseas'd; 
 And with our surfeiting and wanton hours 
 Have brought ourselves into a burning fever, 
 And we must bleed for it : of which disease 
 Our late king, Richard, being infected, died. 
 But, my most noble Lord of Westmoreland, 
 I take not on me here as a physician ; 
 Nor do I, as an enemy to peace, 
 Troop in the throngs of military men ; 
 But, rather, show awhile like fearful war, 
 To diet rank minds sick of happiness, 
 And purge the obstructions which begin to stop 
 Our very veins of life. Hear me more plainly. 
 I have in equal balance justly weigh'd 
 What wrongs our arms may do, what wrongs 
 
 we suffer, 
 
 And find our griefs heavier than our offences. 
 We see which way the stream of time doth run, 
 And are enforc'd from our most quiet sphere 
 By the rough torrent of occasion ; 
 And have the summary of all our griefs, 
 When time shall serve, to show in articles ; 
 Which long ere this we offer'd to the king, 
 And might by no suit gain our audience : 
 When we are wrong'd, and would unfold our 
 
 griefs, 
 
 We are denied access unto his person [wrong. 
 Even by those men that most have done us 
 The dangers of the days but newly gone, 
 Whose memory is written on the earth 
 With yet appearing blood, and the examples 
 Of every minute's instance, present now, 
 Have put us in these ill-beseeming arms; 
 Not to break peace, or any branch of it, 
 But to establish here a peace indeed, 
 Concurring both in name and quality. 
 
 West. When ever yet was your appeal 
 
 denied ; 
 
 Wherein have you been galled by the king ; 
 What peer hath been suborn' d to grate on 
 
 you; 
 
 That you should seal this lawless bloody book 
 Of forg'd rebellion with a seal divine, 
 And consecrate commotion's bitter edge? 
 
 Arch, ^ybrothergeneral, the commonwealth, 
 To brother born an household cruelty, 
 I make my quarrel in particular. 
 
 West. There is no need of any such redress ; 
 Or if there were, it not. belongs to you. [all 
 Mowb. Why not to him in part, and to us 
 That feel the bruises of the days before, 
 And suffer the condition of these times 
 To lay a heavy and unequal hand 
 Upon our honours? 
 
 West. O, my good Lord Mowbray, 
 
 Construe the times to their necessities, 
 And you shall say indeed, it is the time, 
 And not the king, that doth you injuries. 
 Yet, for your part, it not appears to me, 
 Either from the king or in the present time, 
 That you should have an inch of any ground 
 To build a grief on : were you not restored 
 To all the Duke of Norfolk's signiories, 
 Your noble and right-well-remember'd father's? 
 Mowb. What thing, in honour, had my father 
 
 lost, 
 
 That need to be reviv'd and breath'd in me? 
 The king, that lov'd him, as the state stood then, 
 Was, force perforce, compell'd to banish him, 
 And then that Henry Bolingbroke and he, 
 Being mounted and both roused in their seats, 
 Their neighing coursers daring of the spur, 
 Their armed staves in charge, their beavers down, 
 Their eyes of fire sparkling through sights of 
 
 steel, 
 
 And the loud trumpet blowing them together, 
 Then, then, when there was nothing could have 
 
 stay'd 
 
 My father from the breast of Bolingbroke, 
 O, when the king did throw his warder down, 
 His own life hung upon the staff he threw ; 
 Then threw he down himself, and all their lives 
 That by indictment and by dint of sword 
 Have since miscarried under Bolingbroke. 
 West. You speak, Lord Mowbray, now you 
 
 know not what. 
 
 The Earl of Hereford was reputed then 
 In England the most valiant gentleman : 
 Who knows on whom fortune would then have 
 
 smil'd? 
 
 But if your father had been victor there, 
 He ne'er had borne it out of Coventry : 
 For all the country, in a general voice, 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 517 
 
 Cried hate upon him ; and all their prayers and 
 
 love 
 
 Were set on Hereford, whom they doted on, 
 And bless'd and grac'd indeed, more than the 
 
 king. 
 
 But this is mere digression from my purpose. 
 Here come I from our princely general 
 To know your griefs ; to tell you from his grace 
 That he will give you audience ; and wherein 
 It shall appear that your demands are just, 
 You shall enjoy them, everything set off 
 That might so much as think you enemies. 
 Mowb. But he hath forc'd us to compel this 
 
 offer; 
 And it proceeds from policy, not love. 
 
 West. Mowbray, you overween to take it so ; 
 This offer comes from mercy, not from fear : 
 For, lo ! within a ken, our army lies : 
 Upon mine honour, all too confident 
 To give admittance to a thought of fear. 
 Our battle is more full of names than yours, 
 Our men more perfect in the use of arms, 
 Our armour all as strong, our cause the best ; 
 Then reason will our hearts should be as good : 
 Say you not, then, our offer is compell'd. 
 Mowb. Well, by my will we shall admit no 
 
 parley. 
 West. That argues but the shame of your 
 
 offence : 
 A rotten case abides no handling. 
 
 Hast. Hath the Prince John a full commis- 
 sion, 
 
 In very ample virtue of his father, 
 To hear and absolutely to determine 
 Of what conditions we shall stand upon? 
 
 West. That is intended in the general's name: 
 I muse you make so slight a question. 
 
 Arch. Then take, my Lord of Westmoreland, 
 
 this schedule, 
 
 For this contains our general grievances : 
 Each several article herein redress'd, 
 All members of our cause, both here and hence, 
 That are insinew'd to this action, 
 Acquitted by a true substantial form, 
 And present execution of our wills 
 To us and to our purposes consign'd, 
 We come within our awful banks again, 
 And knit our powers to the arm of peace. 
 West. This will I show the general. Please 
 
 you, lords, 
 
 In sight of both our battles we may meet ; 
 And either end in peace, which God so 
 
 frame ! 
 
 Or to the place of difference call the swords 
 Which must decide it. 
 Arch. My lord, we will do so. 
 
 [Exit WESTMORELAND. 
 
 Mowb. There is a thing within my bosom 
 
 tells me 
 That no conditions of our peace can stand. 
 
 Hast. Fear you not that : if we can make our 
 
 peace 
 
 Upon such large terms and so absolute 
 As our conditions shall consist upon, 
 Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky mountains. 
 
 Mowb. Ay, but our valuation shall be such, 
 That every slight and false-derived cause, 
 Yea, every idle, nice, and wanton reason, 
 Shall to the king taste of this action ; 
 That, were our royal faitr s martyrs in love, 
 We shall be winnow'd wkh so rough a wind 
 That even our corn shall seem as light as chaff, 
 And good from bad find no partition. 
 
 Arch. No, no, my lord. Note this, the 
 
 king is weary 
 
 Of dainty and such picking grievances : 
 For he hath found, to end one doubt by death 
 Revives two greater in the heirs of life ; 
 And therefore will he wipe his tables clean, 
 And keep no teil-tale to his memory, 
 That may repeat and history his loss 
 To new remembrance : for full well he knows 
 He cannot so precisely weed this land 
 As his misdoubts present occasion : 
 His foes are so enrooted with his friends 
 That, plucking to unfix an enemy, 
 He doth unfasten so and shake a friend. 
 So that this land, like an offensive wife 
 That hath enrag'd him on to offer strokes, 
 As he is striking, holds his infant up, 
 And hangs resolv'd correction in the arm 
 That was uprearM to execution. [rods 
 
 Hast. Besides, the king hath wasted all his 
 On late offenders, that he now doth lack 
 The very instruments of chastisement : 
 So that his power, like to a fangless lion, 
 May offer, but not hold. 
 
 Arch. 'Tis very true : 
 
 And therefore be assur'd, my good lord marshal, 
 If we do now make our atonement well, 
 Our peace will, like a broken limb united, 
 Grow stronger for the breaking. 
 
 Mowb. Be it so, 
 
 Here is return'd my Lord of Westmoreland. 
 
 . Re-enter WESTMORELAND. 
 
 West. The prince is here at hand : pleaseth 
 
 your lordship 
 To meet his grace just distance 'tween our 
 
 armies? 
 Mowb. Your grace of York, in God's name, 
 
 then, set forward. 
 Arch. Before, and greet his grace : my lord, 
 
 welcome. \Exeunt. 
 
5 i8 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 [ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE II. Another part of the Forest. 
 
 Enter, from one side, MOWBRAY, the ARCH- 
 BISHOP, HASTINGS, and others: from the 
 other side, PRINCE JOHN OF LANCASTER, 
 WESTMORELAND, Officers and Attendants. 
 
 P. John. You are well encounter'd here, my 
 
 cousin Mowbray: 
 
 Good-day to you, gentle lord archbishop ; 
 And so to you, Lord Hastings, and to all. 
 My Lord of York, it better show'd with you 
 When that your flock, assembled by the bell, 
 Encircled you to hear with reverence 
 Your exposition on the holy text, 
 Than now to see you here an iron man. 
 Cheering a rout of rebels with your drum, 
 Turning the word to sword, and life to death. 
 That man that sits within a monarch's heart, 
 And ripens in the sunshine of his favour, 
 Would he abuse the countenance of the king, 
 Alack, what mischiefs might he set abroach 
 In shadow of such greatness ! With you, lord 
 
 bishop, 
 
 It is even so. Who hath not heard it spoken 
 How deep you were within the books of God? 
 To us the speaker in his parliament; 
 To us the imagin'd voice of God himself; 
 The very opener and intelligencer 
 Between the grace, the sanctities of heaven, 
 And our dull workings. O, who shall believe 
 But you misuse the reverence of your place, 
 Employ the countenance and grace of heaven, 
 As a false favourite doth his prince's name, 
 In deeds dishonourable? You have taken up, 
 Under the counterfeited seal of God, 
 The subjects of his substitute, my father, 
 And both against the peace of heaven and him 
 Have here up-swarm'd them. 
 
 Arch. Good my Lord of Lancaster, 
 
 I am not here against your father's peace ; 
 But as I told my lord of Westmoreland, 
 The time misorder'd doth, in common sense, 
 Crowd us and crush us to this monstrous form, 
 To hold our safety up. I sent your grace 
 The parcels and particulars of our grief, 
 The which hath been with scorn shov'd from 
 
 the court, 
 
 Whereon this Hydra son of war is born ; 
 Whose dangerous eyes may well be charm'd 
 
 asleep 
 
 With grant of our most just and right desires, 
 And true obedience, of this madness cur'd, 
 Stoop tamely to the foot of majesty. 
 
 Mowb. If not, we ready are to try our fortunes 
 To the last man. 
 
 Hast. And though we here fall down, 
 
 We have supplies to second our attempt : 
 If they miscarry, theirs shall second them ; 
 And so success of mischief shall be born, 
 And heir from heir shall hold this quarrel up 
 Whiles England shall have generation. 
 
 P. John. You are too shallow, Hastings, 
 
 much too shallow, 
 To sound the bottom of the after-times. 
 
 West. Pleaseth your grace to answer them 
 
 directly, 
 How far -forth you do like their articles. 
 
 P. John. I like them all, and do allow them 
 
 well; 
 
 And swear here, by the honour of my blood, 
 My father's purposes have been mistook ; 
 And some about him have too lavishly 
 Wrested his meaning and authority. 
 My lord; these griefs shall be with speed re- 
 dress'd ; [you, 
 
 Upon my soul, they shall. If this may please 
 Discharge your powers unto their several coun- 
 ties, 
 
 As we will ours : and here, between the armies, 
 Let 's drink together friendly, and embrace, 
 That all their eyes may bear those tokens home 
 Of our restored love and amity. 
 
 Arch. I take your princely word for these re 
 dresses. [word: 
 
 P. John. I give it you, and will maintain my 
 And thereupon I drink unto your grace. 
 
 Hast. Go, captain [to an Officer], and deliver 
 to the army [part: 
 
 This news of peace; let them have pay, and 
 I know it will well please them. Hie thee, 
 captain. [Exit Officer. 
 
 Arch. To you, my noble Lord of Westmore- 
 land, [what pains 
 West. I pledge your grace ; and, if you knew 
 I have bestow'd to breed this present peace, 
 You would drink freely: but my love to you 
 Shall show itself more openly hereafter. 
 Arch. I do not doubt you. 
 West. I am glad of it. 
 Health to my lord and gentle cousin, Mowbray. 
 Mowb. You wish me health in very happy 
 
 season ; 
 For I am, on the sudden, something ill. 
 
 Arch. Against ill chances men are ever merry; 
 But heaviness foreruns the good event. 
 
 West. Therefore be merry, coz ; since sudden 
 
 sorrow [morrow. 
 
 Serves to say thus, Some good thing comes to- 
 
 Arch. Believe me, I am passing light in spirit. 
 
 Mowb. So much the worse, if your own rule 
 
 be true. [Shouts within. 
 
 P.John. The word of peace is render'd- 
 
 hark, how they shout ! 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 519 
 
 Mowb. This had been cheerful after victory. 
 
 Arch. A peace is of the nature of a conquest ; 
 For then both parties nobly are subdued, 
 And neither party loser. 
 
 P. John. Go, my lord, 
 
 And let our army be discharged too. 
 
 [Exit WESTMORELAND. 
 
 And, good my lord, so please you let your trains 
 March by us, that we may peruse the men 
 We should have cop'd withal. 
 
 Arch. Go, good Lord Hastings, 
 
 And, ere they be dismissed, let them march by. 
 
 [Exit HASTINGS. 
 
 P. John, I trust, my lords, we shall lie to- 
 night together. 
 
 Re-enter WESTMORELAND. 
 Now, cousin, wherefore stands our army still? 
 West. The leaders, having charge from you 
 
 to stand, 
 
 Will not go off until they hear you speak. 
 P. John. They know their duties. 
 
 Re-enter HASTINGS. 
 
 Hast. My lord, our army is dispers'd already: 
 Like youthful steers unyok'd, they take their 
 courses [up, 
 
 East, west, north, south ; or, like a school broke 
 Each hurries toward his home and sporting- 
 place, [the which 
 West. Good tidings, my Lord Hastings ; for 
 I do arrest thee, traitor, of high treason : 
 And you, lord archbishop, and you, Lord 
 
 Mowbray. 
 
 Of capital treason I attach you both. 
 Mowb. Is this proceeding just and honourable? 
 West. Is your assembly so? 
 Arch. Will you thus break your faith? 
 P. John. I pawn'd thee none : 
 
 I promis'd you redress of these same grievances 
 Whereof you did complain; which, by mine 
 
 honour, 
 
 I will perform with a most Christian care. 
 But for you, rebels, look to taste the due 
 Meet for rebellion and such acts as yours. 
 Most shallowly did you these arms commence, 
 Fondly brought here, and foolishly sent hence. 
 Strike up our drums, pursue the scatter'd stray : 
 God, and not we, hath safely fought to-day. 
 Some guard these traitors to the block of death, 
 Treason's true bed and yielder-up of breath. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. Anotlier part of the Forest. 
 Alarums: excursions. Enter FALSTAFF and 
 
 COLEVILE, meeting. 
 
 Fal. What 's your name, sir? of what condi- 
 tion are you, and of what place, I pray? 
 
 ' 
 
 Cole. I am a knight, sir; and my name is 
 Colevile of the dale. 
 
 Fal. Well, then, Colevile is your name, a 
 knight is your degree, and your place the dale : 
 Colevile shall be still your name, a traitor your 
 degree, and the dungeon your dale, a dale deep 
 enough; so shall you be still Colevile of the 
 dale. 
 
 Cole. Are not you Sir John Falstaff? 
 
 Fal. As good a man as he, sir, whoe'er I am. 
 Do ye yield, sir? or shall I sweat for you? If 
 I do sweat, they are the drops of thy lovers, and 
 they weep for thy death ; therefore rouse up fear 
 and trembling, and do observance to my mercy. 
 
 Cole. I think you are Sir John Falstaff; and 
 in that thought yield me. 
 
 Fal. I have a whole school of tongues in this 
 belly of mine; and not a tongue of them all 
 speaks any other word but my name. An I had 
 but a belly of any indifferency, I were simply 
 the most active fellow in Europe : my womb, 
 my womb, my womb undoes me. Here comes 
 our general. 
 
 Enter PRINCE JOHN OF LANCASTER, WEST- 
 MORELAND, and others. 
 
 P. John. The heat is past, follow no farther 
 
 now: 
 
 Call in the powers, good cousin Westmoreland. 
 
 [Exit WESTMORELAND. 
 
 Now, Falstaff, where have you been all this 
 
 while? 
 
 When everything is ended, then you come : 
 These tardy tricks of yours will, on my life, 
 One time or other break some gallows' back. 
 
 Fal. I would be sorry, my lord, but it should 
 be thus : I never knew yet but rebuke and check 
 was the reward of valour. Do you think me a 
 swallow, an arrow, or a bullet? have I, in my 
 poor and old motion, the expedition of thought? 
 I have speeded hither with the very extremest 
 inch of possibility ; I have foundered nine-score 
 and odd posts : and here, travel tainted as I am, 
 have, in my pure and immaculate valour, taken 
 Sir John Colevile of the dale, a most furious 
 knight and valorous enemy. But what of that? 
 he saw me, and yielded ; that I may justly say 
 with the hook-nosed fellow of Rome, I came, 
 saw, and overcame. 
 
 P. John. It was more of his courtesy than 
 your deserving. 
 
 Fal. I know not: here he is, and here I 
 yield him : and I beseech your grace, let it be 
 booked with the rest of this day's deeds ; or, 
 by the Lord, I will have it in a particular ballad 
 else, with mine own picture on the top of it, 
 Colevile kissing my foot : to the which course 
 
520 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 if I be enforced, if you do not all show like gilt 
 two-pences to me, and I, in the clear sky of 
 fame, o'ershine you as much as the full moon 
 doth the cinders of the element, which show 
 like pins' heads to her, believe not the word of 
 the noble : therefore let me have right, and let 
 desert mount. 
 
 P. John. Thine 's too heavy to mount. 
 
 Fal. Let it shine, then. 
 
 P. John. Thine 's too thick to shine. 
 
 Fal. Let it do something, my good lord, that 
 may do me good, and call it what you will. 
 
 P. John. Is thy name Colevile ? 
 
 Cole. It is, my lord. 
 
 P. John. A famous rebel art thou, Colevile. 
 
 Fal. And a famous true subject took him. 
 
 Cole. I am, my lord, but as my betters are 
 That led me hither : had they been rul'd by me, 
 You should have won them dearer than you have. 
 
 Fal. I know not how they sold themselves : 
 but thou, like a kind fellow, gavest thyself away 
 gratis ; and I thank thee for thee. 
 
 Re-enter WESTMORELAND. 
 
 P. John. Now, have you left pursuit? 
 
 West. Retreat is made, and execution stay'd. 
 
 P. John. Send Colevile, with his confeder- 
 ates, 
 
 To York, to present execution : [sure. 
 
 Blunt, lead him hence ; and see you guard him 
 
 [Exeunt some with COLEVILE. 
 
 And now despatch we toward the court, my 
 
 lords. 
 
 I hear the king, my father, is sore sick : 
 Our news shall go before us to his majesty, 
 Which, cousin, you shall bear, to comfort him; 
 And we with sober speed will follow you. 
 
 Fal. My lord, I beseech you, give me leave 
 
 to go [court, 
 
 Through Glostershire : and, when you come to 
 
 Stand, my good lord, pray, in your good report. 
 
 P. John. Fare you well, Falstaff : I, in my 
 
 condition, 
 Shall better speak of you than you deserve. 
 
 [Exeunt all but FAL. 
 
 Fal. I would you had but the wit: 'twere 
 better than your dukedom. Good faith, this 
 same young sober-blooded boy doth not love 
 me ; nor a man cannot make him laugh ; but 
 that 's no marvel ; he drinks no wine. There 's 
 never any of these demure boys come to any 
 proof; for thin drink doth so over-cool their 
 blood, and making many fish-meals, that they 
 fall into a kind of male green-sickness; and 
 then, when they marry, they get wenches : they 
 are generally fools and cowards ; which some 
 of us should be too, but for inflammation. A 
 
 good sherris-sack hath a twofold operation in 
 it. It accends me into the brain; dries me 
 there all the foolish and dull and crudy vapours 
 which environ it ; makes it apprehensive, quick, 
 forgetive, full of nimble, fiery, and delectable 
 shapes ; which delivered o'er to the voice, the 
 tongue, which is the birth, becomes excellent 
 wit. The second property of your excellent 
 sherris is, the warming of the blood ; which, 
 before cold and settled, left the liver white and 
 pale, which is the badge of pusillanimity and 
 cowardice : but the sherris warms it, and makes 
 it course from the inwards to the parts extreme : 
 it illumineth the face; which, as a beacon, 
 gives warning to all the rest of this little king- 
 dom, man, to arm; and then the vital com- 
 moners and inland petty spirits muster me all 
 to their captain, the heart, who, great and 
 puffed up with this retinue, doth any deed of 
 courage : and this valour comes of sherris. So 
 that skill in the weapon is nothing without 
 sack, for that sets it a-work; and learning, a 
 mere hoard of gold kept by a devil till sack 
 commences it and sets it in act and use. 
 Hereof comes it that Prince Harry is valiant; 
 for the cold blood he did naturally inherit of 
 his father, he hath, like lean, sterile, and bare 
 land, manured, husbanded, and tilled, with 
 excellent endeavour of drinking good and good 
 store of fertile sherris, that he is become very 
 hot and valiant. If I had a thousand sons, the 
 first human principle I would teach them should 
 be, to forswear thin potations, and to addict 
 themselves to sack. 
 
 Enter BARDOLPH. 
 
 How now, Bardolph ! 
 
 Bard. The army is discharged all, and gone. 
 
 Fal. Let them go. I'll through Gloster- 
 shire: and there will I visit Master Robert 
 Shallow, Esquire : I have him already temper- 
 ing between my finger and my thumb, and 
 shortly will I seal with him. Come away. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 A Room in the 
 
 SCENE IV. WESTMINSTER. 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter KING HENRY, CLARENCE, PRINCE 
 HUMPHREY, WARWICK, and others. 
 
 K. Hen. Now, lords, if God doth give sue 
 
 cessful end 
 
 To this debate that bleedeth at our doors, 
 We will our youth lead on to higher fields, 
 And draw no swords but what are sanctified. 
 Our navy is address'd, our power collected, 
 Our substitutes in absence well invested, 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 521 
 
 And everything lies level to our wish : 
 Only, we want a little personal strength ; 
 And pause us till these rebels, now afoot, 
 Come underneath the yoke of government. 
 
 War- Both which we doubt not but your 
 
 majesty 
 Shall soon enjoy. 
 
 K. Hen. Humphrey, my son of Gloster, 
 Where is the prince your brother? 
 
 P. Humph. I think he 's gone to hunt, my 
 lord, at Windsor. 
 
 K. Hen. And how accompanied? 
 
 P. Humph. I do not know, my lord. 
 
 K. Hen. Is not his brother, Thomas of 
 Clarence, with him? 
 
 P. Humph. No, my good lord, he is in 
 presence here. 
 
 Cla. What would my lord and father? 
 
 K. Hen. Nothing but well to thee, Thomas 
 
 of Clarence. 
 
 How chance thou art not with the prince thy 
 brother? [Thomas ; 
 
 He loves thee, and thou dost neglect him, 
 Thou hast a better place in his affection 
 Than all thy brothers : cherish it, my boy ; 
 And noble offices thou mayst effect 
 Of mediation, after I am dead, 
 Between his greatness and thy other brethren : 
 Therefore omit him not ; blunt not his love, 
 Nor lose the good advantage of his grace 
 By seeming cold or careless of his will ; 
 For he is gracious if he be observ'd : 
 He hath a tear for pity, and a hand 
 Open as day for melting charity: 
 Yet notwithstanding, being incens'd, he 's flint ; 
 As humorous as winter, and as sudden 
 As flaws congealed in the spring of day. 
 His temper, therefore, must be well observ'd : 
 Chide him for faults, and do it reverently, 
 When you perceive his blood inclin'd to mirth ; 
 But, being moody, give him line and scope, 
 Till that his passions, like a whale on ground, 
 Confound themselves with working. Learn this, 
 
 Thomas, 
 
 And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends, 
 A hoop of gold to bind thy brothers in, 
 That the united vessel of their blood, 
 Mingled with venom of suggestion, 
 As, force perforce, the age will pour it in, 
 Shall never leak, though it do work as strong 
 As aconitum or rash gunpowder. 
 
 Cla. I shall observe him with all care and love. 
 
 K. Hen. Why art thou not at Windsor with 
 him, Thomas? [London. 
 
 Cla. He is not there to-day ; he dines in 
 
 K. Hen. And how accompanied ? canst thou 
 tell that? 
 
 Cla. With Poins, and other his continual fol- 
 lowers. 
 K. Hen. Most subject is the fattest soil to 
 
 weeds; 
 
 And he, the noble image of my youth, 
 Is overspread with them : therefore my grief 
 Stretches itself beyond the hour of death : 
 The blood weeps from my heart when I do 
 
 shape, 
 
 In forms imaginary, the unguided days 
 And rotten times that you shall look upon 
 When I am sleeping with my ancestors. 
 For when his headstrong riot hath no curb, 
 When rage and hot blood are his counsellors, 
 When means and lavish manners meet together, 
 O, with what wings shall his affections fly 
 Towards fronting peril and oppos'd decay ! 
 War. My gracious lord, you look beyond him 
 
 quite : 
 
 The prince but studies his companions 
 Like a strange tongue; wherein, to gain the 
 
 language, 
 
 'Tis needful that the most immodest word 
 Be look'd upon and learn'd ; which once attain'd, 
 Your highness knows, comes to no further use 
 But to be known and hated. So, like gross 
 
 terms, 
 
 The prince will, in the perfectness of time, 
 Cast off his followers ; and their memory 
 Shall as a pattern or a measure live, 
 By which his grace must mete the lives of others, 
 Turning past evils to advantages. 
 
 K. Hen. 'Tis seldom when the bee doth 
 
 leave her comb 
 In the dead carrion, 
 
 Enter WESTMORELAND. 
 
 Who 's here? Westmoreland ? 
 West. Health to my sovereign, and new 
 
 happiness 
 
 Added to that that I am to deliver ! [hand : 
 Prince John, your son, doth kiss your grace's 
 Mowbray, the Bishop Scroop, Hastings, and all, 
 Are brought to the correction of your law ; 
 There is not now a rebel's sword unsheathed, 
 But peace puts forth her olive everywhere : 
 The manner how this action hath been borne, 
 Here at more leisure may your highness read, 
 With every course in his particular. 
 
 K. Hen. O, Westmoreland, thou art a 
 
 summer bird, 
 
 Which ever in the haunch of winter sings 
 The lifting-up of day. Look, here 's more news. 
 
 Enter HARCOURT. 
 
 Har. From enemies heaven keep your 
 majesty; 
 
522 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 [ACT IV. 
 
 And, when they stand against you, may they 
 
 fall 
 
 As those that I am come to tell you of ! 
 The Earl Northumberland and the Lord Bar- 
 
 dolph, 
 
 With a great power of English and of Scots, 
 Are by the sheriff of Yorkshire overthrown : 
 The manner and true order of the fight 
 This packet, please it you, contains at large. 
 K. Hen. And wherefore should these good 
 
 news make me sick? 
 
 Will fortune never come with both hands full, 
 But write her fair words still in foulest letters? 
 She either gives a stomach, and no food, 
 Such are the poor, in health ; or else a feast, 
 And takes away the stomach, such are therich, 
 That have abundance, and enjoy it not 
 I should rejoice now at this happy news; 
 And now my sight fails, and my brain is giddy: 
 O me ! come near me, now I am much ill. 
 
 \Swoons. 
 
 P. Humph. Comfort, your majesty ! 
 Cla. O my royal father ! 
 
 West. My sovereign lord, cheer up yourself, 
 
 look up. 
 War. Be patient, princes ; you do know, 
 
 these fits 
 
 Are with his highness very ordinary. [well. 
 
 Stand from him, give him air ; he '11 straight be 
 
 Cla. No, no : he cannot long hold out these 
 
 pangs: 
 
 The incessant care and labour of his mind 
 
 Hath wrought the mure, that should confine it 
 
 in, [out. 
 
 So thin, that life looks through, and will break 
 
 P. Humph. The people fear me ; for they do 
 
 observe 
 
 Unfather'd heirs and loathly births of nature : 
 The seasons change their manners, as the year 
 Had found some months asleep, and leap'd 
 them over. [tween ; 
 
 Cla. The river hath thrice flow'd, no ebb be- 
 And the old folk, time's doting chronicles, 
 Say it did so a little time before [died. 
 
 That our great grandsire, Edward, sick'd and 
 War. Speak lower, princes, for the king re- 
 covers, [end. 
 P. Humph. This apoplexy will certain be his 
 K. Hen. I pray you, take me up, and bear 
 
 me hence 
 Into some other chamber: softly, pray. 
 
 {They convey the KING into an inner part of 
 
 the room.) and place him on a bed. 
 Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends; 
 Unless some dull and favourable hand 
 Will whisper music to my weary spirit. 
 
 War. Call for the music in the other room. 
 
 K. Hen. Set me the crown upon my pillow 
 
 here. 
 
 Cla. His eye is hollow, and he changes much. 
 War. Less noise, less noise ! 
 
 Enter PRINCE HENRY. 
 
 P. Hen. Who saw the Duke of Clarence? 
 
 Cla. I am here, brother, full of heaviness. 
 
 P. Hen. How now ! rain within doors, and 
 
 none abroad ! 
 How doth the king ? 
 
 P. Humph. Exceeding ill. 
 
 P. Hen. Heard he the good news yet? 
 
 Tell it him. 
 
 P. Humph. He alter'd much upon the hear- 
 ing it. 
 
 P. Hen. If he be sick 
 With joy, he will recover without physic. 
 
 War. Not so much noise, my lords; sweet 
 
 prince, speak low ; 
 The king your father is dispos'd to sleep. 
 
 Cla. Let us withdraw into the other room. 
 
 War. Will 't please your grace to go along 
 with us? 
 
 P. Hen. No ; I will sit and watch here by 
 the king. [Exeunt all but P. H EN R Y. 
 Why doth the crown lie there upon his pillow, 
 Being so troublesome a bedfellow? 
 O polish'd perturbation ! golden care ! 
 That keep'st the ports of slumber open wide 
 To many a watchful night ! sleep with it now ! 
 Yet not so sound and hah so deeply sweet 
 As he whose brow with homely biggin bound 
 Snores out the watch of night. O majesty ! 
 When thou dost pinch thy bearer, thou dost sit 
 Like a rich armour worn in heat of day, 
 That scalds with safety. By his gates of breath 
 There lies a downy feather which stirs not : 
 Did he suspire, that light and weightless down 
 Perforce must move. My gracious lord! my 
 
 father ! 
 
 This sleep is sound indeed ; this is a sleep 
 That from this golden rigol hath divorc'd 
 So many English kings. Thy due from me 
 Is tears and heavy sorrows of the blood, 
 Which nature, love, and filial tenderness 
 Shall, O dear father, pay thee plenteously: 
 My due from thee is this imperial crown, 
 Which, as immediate from thy place and blood, 
 Derives itself to me. Lo, here it sits, 
 
 [Putting it on his head. 
 Which God shall guard : and put the world's 
 
 whole strength 
 
 Into one giant arm, it shall not force 
 This lineal honour from me : this from thee 
 Will I to mine leave, as 'tis left to me. [Exit. 
 
 K. Hen. Warwick ! Gloster ! Clarence ! 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 5*3 
 
 Re-enter WARWICK and the rest. 
 
 Cla. Doth the king call ? 
 
 War. What would your majesty ? how fares 
 your grace ? [my lords ? 
 
 K. Hen. Why did you leave me here alone, 
 Cla. We left the prince my brother here, my 
 
 liege, 
 
 Who undertook to sit and watch by you. 
 K. Hen. The Prince of Wales ! Where is 
 
 he? let me see him : 
 He is not here. 
 
 War. This door is open ; he is gone this way. 
 P. Humph. He came not through the cham- 
 ber where we stay'd. 
 K. Hen. Where is the crown ? who took it 
 
 from my pillow ? 
 War. When we withdrew, my liege, we left 
 
 it here. 
 K. Hen. The prince hath ta'en it hence : 
 
 go, seek him out. 
 
 Is he so hasty that he doth suppose 
 My sleep my death ? [hither. 
 
 Find him, my Lord of Warwick ; chide him 
 [Exit WARWICK. 
 
 This part of his conjoins with my disease, 
 And helps to end me. See, sons, what things 
 *>m you are ! 
 
 How quickly nature falls into revolt 
 When gold becomes her object ! 
 For this the foolish over-careful fathers 
 Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their 
 
 brains with care, 
 Their bones with industry ; 
 For this they have engrossed and pil'd up 
 The canker'd heaps of strange-achieved gold ; 
 For this they have been thoughtful to invest 
 Their sons with arts and martial exercises : 
 When, like the bee, tolling from every flower 
 The virtuous sweets, [pack'd, 
 
 Our thighs with wax, our mouths with honey 
 We bring it to the hive : and, like the bees, 
 Are murder'd for our pains. This bitter taste 
 Yield his engrossments to the ending father. 
 
 Re-enter WARWICK. 
 
 Now, where is he that will not stay so long 
 Till his friend sickness hath determin'd me ? 
 
 War. My lord, I found the prince in the 
 
 next room, 
 
 Washing with kindly tears his gentle cheeks ; 
 With such a deep demeanour in great sorrow, 
 That tyranny, which never quaff'd but blood, 
 Would, by beholding him, have wash'd his knife 
 With gentle eye-drops. He is coming hither. 
 
 K. Hen. But wherefore did he take away 
 the crown ? 
 
 Re-enter PRINCE HENRY. 
 
 Lo, where he comes. Come hither to me, 
 
 Harry. 
 Depart the chamber, leave us here alone. 
 
 [Exeunt CLAR., P. HUMPH., Lords, &c. 
 P. Hen. I never thought to hear you speak 
 
 again. 
 K. Hen. Thy wish was father, Harry, to that 
 
 thought : 
 
 I stay too long by thee, I weary thee. 
 Dost thou so hunger for my empty chair 
 That thou wilt needs invest thee with mine 
 
 honours 
 
 Before thy hour be ripe ? O foolish youth ! 
 Thou seek'st the greatness that will overwhelm 
 
 thee. 
 
 Stay but a little ; for my cloud of dignity 
 Is held from falling with so weak a wind 
 That it will quickly drop : my day is dim. 
 Thou hast stolen that which, after some few 
 
 hours, 
 
 Were thine without offence ; and at my death 
 Thou hast seal'd up my expectation : 
 Thy life did manifest thou lov'dst me not, 
 And thou wilt have me die assur'd of it. 
 Thou hid'st a thousand daggers in thy thoughts, 
 Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart, 
 To stab at half an hour of my life. 
 What 1 canst thou not forbear me half an hour? 
 Then, get thee gone, and dig my grave thyself; 
 And bid the merry bells ring to thine ear, 
 That thou art crowned, not that I am dead. 
 Let all the tears that should bedew my hearse 
 Be drops of balm to sanctify thy head : 
 Only compound me with forgotten dust ; 
 Give that which gave thee life unto the worms. 
 Pluck down my officers, break my decrees ; 
 For now a time is come to mock at form : 
 Harry the fifth is crown'd : up, vanity ! 
 Down, royal state! all you sage counsellors, 
 
 hence ! 
 
 And to the English court assemble now, 
 From every region, apes of idleness ! [scum : 
 Now, neighbour confines, purge you of your 
 Have you a ruffian that will swear, drink, dance, 
 Revel the night, rob, murder, and commit 
 The oldest sins the newest kind of ways ? 
 Be happy, he will trouble you no more ; 
 England shall double-gild his treble guilt, 
 England shall give him office, honour, might ; 
 For the fifth Harry from curb'd license plucks 
 The muzzle of restraint, and the wild dog 
 Shall flesh his tooth in every innocent. 
 O my poor kingdom, sick with civil blows ! 
 When that my care could not withhold thy riots, 
 What wilt thou do when riot is thy care? 
 
524 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 O, thou wilt be a wilderness again, 
 Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants ! 
 P. Hen. O, pardon me, my liege ! but for 
 my tears, [Kneeling. 
 
 The moist impediments unto my speech, 
 I had forestall'd this dear and deep rebuke 
 Ere you with grief had spoke and I had heard 
 The course of it so far. There is your crown ; 
 And He that wears the crown immortally 
 Long guard it yours ! If I affect it more 
 Than as your honour and as your renown, 
 Let me no more from this obedience rise, 
 Which my most inward and true duteous spirit 
 Teacheth, this prostrate and exterior bending! 
 God witness with me, when I here came in, 
 And found no course of breath within your 
 
 majesty, 
 
 How cold it struck my heart ! If I do feign, 
 O, let me in my present wildness die, 
 And never live to show the incredulous world 
 The noble change that I have purposed ! 
 Coming to look on you, thinking you dead, 
 And dead almost, my liege, to think you were, 
 I spake unto the crown as having sense, [ing 
 And thus upbraided it : The care on theedepend- 
 Hath fed upon the body of my father ; 
 Therefore, thou, best of gold, art worst of gold: 
 Other, less fine in carat, is more precious, 
 Preserving life in medicine potable ; \nowrfd, 
 But thou, most fine, most honoured, most re- 
 Hast eat thy bearer up. Thus, my most royal 
 
 liege, 
 
 Accusing it, I put it on my head, 
 To try with it, as with an enemy 
 That had before my face murder'd my father, 
 The quarrel of a true inheritor. 
 But if it did infect my blood with joy, 
 Or swell my thoughts to any strain of pride ; 
 If any rebel or vain spirit of mine 
 Did with the least affection of a welcome 
 Give entertainment to the might of it, 
 Let God for ever keep it from my head, 
 And make me as the poorest vassal is, 
 That doth with awe and terror kneel to it ! 
 
 K. Hen. O my son, 
 God put it in thy mind to take it hence, 
 That thou mightst win the more thy father's love, 
 Pleading so wisely in excuse of it ! 
 Come hither, Harry, sit thou by my bed ; 
 And hear, I think, the very latest counsel 
 That ever I shall breathe. God knows, my son, 
 By what by-paths and indirect crook'd ways 
 I met this crown ; and I myself know well 
 How troublesome it sat upon my head : 
 To thee it shall descend with better quiet, 
 Better opinion, better confirmation ; 
 For all the soil of the achievement goes 
 
 With me into the earth. It seem'd in me 
 But as an honour snatch'd with boisterous hand; 
 And I had many living to upbraid 
 My gain of it by their assistances ; 
 Which daily grew to quarrel and to bloodshed, 
 Wounding supposed peace : all these bold fears 
 Thou see'st with peril I have answered ; 
 For all my reign hath been but as a scene 
 Acting that argument : and now my death 
 Changes the mode ; for what in me was pur- 
 
 chas'd, 
 
 Falls upon thee in a more fairer sort ; 
 So thou the garland wear'st successively. 
 Yet, though thou stand'st more sure than I 
 
 could do, 
 
 Thou art not firm enough, since griefs are green ; 
 And all my friends, which thou must make thy 
 
 friends, 
 
 Have but their stings and teeth newly ta'en out; 
 By whose fell working I was first advanc'd, 
 And by whose power I well might lodge a fear 
 To be again displac'd : which to avoid, 
 I cut them off; and had a purpose now 
 To lead out many to the Holy Land, 
 Lest rest and lying still might make them look 
 Too near unto my state. Therefore, my Harry, 
 Be it thy course to busy giddy minds [out, 
 With foreign quarrels ; that action, hence borne 
 May waste the memory of the former days. 
 More would I, but my lungs are wasted so, 
 That strength of speech is utterly denied me. 
 How I came by the crown, O God forgive ; 
 And grant it may with thee in true peace live ! 
 
 P. Hen. My gracious liege, 
 You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it me ; 
 Then plain and right must my possession be : 
 Which I with more than with a common pain 
 'Gainst all the world will rightfully maintain. 
 K. Hen. Look, look, here comes my John of 
 
 Lancaster. 
 
 Enter PRINCE JOHN OF LANCASTER, WAR- 
 WICK, Lords, and others. 
 
 P. John. Health, peace and happiness to my 
 
 royal father ! 
 K. Hen. Thou bring'st me happiness and 
 
 peace, son John f 
 
 But health, alack, with youthful wings is flown 
 From this bare wither'd trunk : upon thy sight, 
 My worldly business makes a period. 
 Where is my Lord of Warwick ? 
 
 P. Hen. My Lord of Warwick ! 
 
 K. Hen. Doth any name particular belong 
 Unto the lodging where I first did swoon ? 
 War. 'Tis call'd Jerusalem, my noble lord. 
 K. Hen. Laud be to God ! even there my 
 life must end. 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 It hath been prophesied to me many years, 
 I should not die but in Jerusalem ; 
 Which vainly I suppos'd the Holy Land : 
 But bear me to that chamber ; there I '11 lie ; 
 In that Jerusalem shall Harry die. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE L GLOUCESTERSHIRE. A Hall in 
 SHALLOW'S House, 
 
 Enter SHALLOW, FALSTAFF, BARDOLPH, and 
 Page. 
 
 Shal. By cock and pie, sir, you shall not 
 away to-night. What, Davy, I say! 
 
 Fal. You must excuse me, Master Robert 
 Shallow. 
 
 Shal, I will not excuse you; you shall not 
 be excused; excuses shall not be admitted; 
 there is no excuse shall serve ; you shall not be 
 excused. Why, Davy ! 
 
 Enter DAVY. 
 
 Davy. Here, sir. 
 
 Shal. Davy, Davy, Davy, let me see, 
 Davy; let me see: yea, marry, William cook, 
 bid him come hither. Sir John, you shall not 
 be excused. 
 
 Davy. Marry, sir, thus ; those precepts can- 
 not be served : and, again, sir, shall we sow 
 the headland with wheat? 
 
 Shal. With red wheat, Davy. But for 
 William cook: are there no young pigeons? 
 
 Davy. Yes, sir. Here is now the smith's 
 note for shoeing and plough -irons. 
 
 Shal. Let it be cast, and paid. Sir John, 
 you shall not be excused. 
 
 Davy. Now, sir, a new link to the bucket 
 must needs be had : and, sir, do you mean to 
 stop any of William's wages about the sack he 
 lost the other day at Hinckley fair? 
 
 Shal. He shall answer iL, Some pigeons, 
 Davy, a couple of short-legged hens, a joint of 
 mutton, and any pretty little tiny kickshaws, 
 tell William cook. 
 
 Davy. Doth the man of war stay all night, 
 sir? 
 
 Shal. Yea, Davy, I will use him well: a 
 friend i' the court is better than a penny in 
 purse. Use his men well, Davy ; for they are 
 arrant knaves, and wi'*'I backbite. 
 
 Davy. No worse than they are back-bitten, 
 sir ; for they have marvellous foul linen. 
 
 Shal. Well conceited, Davy: about thy 
 business, Davy. 
 
 Davy. I beseech you, sir, to countenance 
 William Visor of Wincot against Clement Perkes 
 of the hill. 
 
 Shal. There are many complaints, Davy, 
 against that Visor: that Visor is an arrant 
 knave, on my knowledge. 
 
 Davy. I grant your worship that he is a knave, 
 sir; but yet, God forbid, sir, but a knave should 
 have some countenance at his friend's request. 
 An honest man, sir, is able to speak for 'himself, 
 when a knave is not. I have served your, wor- 
 ship truly, sir, this eight years ; and if I cannot 
 once or twice in a quarter bear out a knave 
 against an honest man, I have but a very little 
 credit with your worship. The knave is mine 
 honest friend, sir; therefore, I beseech your 
 worship, let him be countenanced. 
 
 Shal. Go to ; I say, he shall have no wrong. 
 Look about, Davy. [Exit DAVY.] Where are 
 you, Sir John? Come, come, come, off with 
 your boots. Give me your hand, Master Bar- 
 dolph. 
 
 Bard. I am glad to see your worship. 
 
 Shal. I thank thee with all my heart, kind 
 Master Bardolph: and welcome, my tall 
 fellow [to the Page]. Come, Sir John. 
 
 Fal. I 'II follow you, good Master Robert 
 Shallow. [Exit SHALLOW.] Bardolph, look 
 to our horses. [Exeunt BARDOLPH and Page.] 
 If I were sawed into quantities, I should make 
 four dozen of such bearded hermits' staves as 
 Master Shallow. It is a wonderful thing to see 
 the semblable coherence of his men's spirits and 
 his : they, by observing of him, do bear them- 
 selves like foolish justices; he, by conversing 
 with them, is turned into a justice-like serving- 
 man : their spirits are so married in conjunction 
 with the participation of society that they flock 
 together in consent, like so many wild geese. 
 If I had a suit to Master Shallow, I would 
 humour his men with the imputation of being 
 near their master : if to his men, I would curry 
 with Master Shallow that no man could better 
 command his servants. It is certain that either 
 wise bearing or ignorant carriage is caught, as 
 men take diseases, one of ano her: therefore, 
 let men take heed of their company. I will 
 devise matter enough out of this Shallow to 
 keep Prince Harry in continual laughter the 
 wearing out of six fashions, which is four 
 terms, or two actions, and he shall laugh 
 without intervallums. O, it is much that 
 a lie with a slight oath, and a jest with a 
 sad brow, will do with a fellow that never 
 had the ache in his shoulders ! O, you shall 
 see him laugh till his face be like a wet cloak 
 ill laid up ! 
 
 Shal. [Within.} Sir John ! 
 
 Fal. \ come, Master Shallow; I come, 
 Master Shallow. [Exit. 
 
 
526 
 
 SECOND PART. OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 SCENE II. WESTMINSTER. A Room in the 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter, severally, WARWICK and the Lord 
 Chief-Justice. 
 
 War. How now, my lord chief-justice! 
 
 whither away? 
 
 Ch.Just. How doth the Icing? [ended. 
 
 War. Exceeding well ; his cares are now all 
 Ch. Just. I hope, not dead. 
 War. He 's walk'd the way of nature ; 
 
 And to our purposes he lives no more. 
 
 Ch. Just. I would his majesty had call'd me 
 
 with him: 
 
 The service that I truly did his life 
 Hath left me open to all injuries. [you not. 
 War. Indeed I think the young king loves 
 Ch. Just. I know he doth not ; and do arm 
 
 myself 
 
 To welcome the condition of the time ; 
 Which cannot look more hideously upon me 
 Than I have drawn it in my fantasy. 
 
 War. Here come the heavy issue of dead 
 Harry: 
 
 that the living Harry had the temper 
 
 Of him, the worst of these three gentlemen ! 
 How many nobles then should hold their places, 
 That must strike sail to spirits of vile sort ! 
 Ch. Just. O God, I fear all will be overturn'd. 
 
 Enter PRINCE JOHN, PRINCE HUMPHREY, 
 CLARENCE, WESTMORELAND, and others. 
 
 P. John. Good-morrow, cousin Warwick, 
 
 good-morrow. 
 
 P. Humph,, Cla. Good -morrow, cousin. 
 P. John. We meet like men that had forgot 
 
 to speak. 
 
 War. We do remember ; but our argument 
 Is all too heavy to admit much talk. 
 
 P.John. Well, peace be with him that hath 
 
 made us heavy ! 
 
 Ch. Just. Peace be with us, lest we be heavier! 
 P. Htimph. O, good my lord, you have lost 
 
 a friend indeed ; 
 
 And I dare swear you borrow not that face 
 Of seeming sorrow, it is sure your own. 
 P. John. Though no man be assur'd what 
 
 frace to find, 
 in coldest expectation: 
 
 1 am the sorrier ; would 'twere otherwise. 
 
 Cla. Well, you must now speak Sir John 
 
 Falstaff fair ; 
 
 Which swims against your stream of quality. 
 Ch. Just. Sweet princes, what I did, I did 
 
 in honour, 
 Led by the impartial conduct of my soul ; 
 
 And never shall you see that I will beg 
 A e( j an( j forestall'd remission. 
 
 
 If truth and upright innocency fail me, 
 I '11 to the king my master that is dead, 
 And tell him who hath sent me after him. 
 War. Here comes the prince. 
 
 Enter KING HENRY V. 
 
 Ch. Just. Good-morrow; and God save yo^r 
 majesty ! [majesty, 
 
 King. This new and gorgeous garment, 
 Sits not so easy on me as you think. 
 Brothers, you mix your sadness with some fear : 
 This is the English, not the Turkish court ; 
 Not Amurath an Amurath succeeds, 
 But Harry Harry. Yet be sad, good brothers, 
 For, to speak truth, it very well becomes you : 
 Sorrow so royally in you appears 
 That I will deeply put the fashion on, 
 And wear it in my heart: why, then, be sad; 
 But entertain no more of it, good brothers, 
 Than a joint burden laid upon us all. 
 For me, by heaven, I bid you be assur'd, 
 I '11 be your father and your brother too; 
 Let me but bear your love, I '11 bear your cares : 
 Yet weep that Harry 'c dead ; and so will I ; 
 But Harry lives, that shall convert those tears, 
 By number, into hours of happiness. 
 
 P.John, <5rV. We hope no other from your 
 majesty. 
 
 King. You all look strangely on me: and 
 you most ; [ To the Chief-Justice. 
 
 You are, I think, assur'd I love you not. 
 
 Ch.Just. I am assur'd, if I be measur'd 
 
 rightly, 
 Your majesty hath no just cause to hate me. 
 
 King. No! 
 
 How might a prince of my great hopes forget 
 So great indignities you laid upon me? 
 What ! rate, rebuke, and roughly send to prison 
 The immediate heir of England ! Was this easy? 
 May this be wash'd in Lethe, and forgotten? 
 
 Ch. Just. I then did use the person of your 
 
 father; 
 
 The image of his power lay then in me : 
 And, in the administration of his law, 
 Whiles I was busy for the commonwealth, 
 Your highness pleased to forget my place, 
 And majesty and power of law and justice, 
 The image of the king whom I presented, 
 And struck me in my very seat of judgment; 
 Whereon, as an offender to your father, 
 I gave bold way to my authority, 
 And did commit you. If the deed were ill, 
 Be you contented, wearing now the garland, 
 To have a son set your decrees at naught, 
 To pluck down justice from your awful bench f 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 527 
 
 To trip the course of law, and bb'nt the sword 
 That guards the peace and safety of your person ; 
 Nay, more, to spurn at your most royal image, 
 And mock your workings in a second body. 
 Question your royal thoughts, make the case 
 
 yours ; 
 
 Be now the father, and propose a son ; 
 Hear your own dignity so much profan'd, 
 See your most dreadful laws so loosely slighted, 
 Behold yourself so by a son disdain'd ; 
 And then imagine me taking your part, 
 And, in your power, soft silencing your sont 
 After this cold ccnsiderance, sentence me ; 
 And, as you are a king, speak in your state 
 What I have done that misbecame my place, 
 My person, or my liege's sovereignty. 
 
 King. You are right, justice, and you weigh 
 
 this well ; 
 
 Therefore still bear the balance and the sword : 
 And I do wish your honours may increase 
 Till you do live to see a son of mine 
 Offend you, and obey you, as I did. 
 So shall I live to speak my father's words 
 Happy am I, that have a man so bold. 
 That dares do justice on my proper son ; 
 And not less happy, having such a son, 
 That would deliver up his greatness so 
 Into the hands of justice. You did commit me : 
 For which I do commit into your hand 
 The unstain'd sword that you have us'd to bear ; 
 With this remembrance, that you use the same 
 With the like bold, just, and impartial spirit 
 As you have done 'gainst me. There is my hand; 
 You shall be as a father to my youth : 
 My voice shall sound as you do prompt mine ear; 
 And I will stoop and humble my intents 
 To your well-practis'd wise directions. 
 And, princes all, believe me, I beseech you ; 
 My father is gone wild into his grave, 
 For in his tomb lie my affections ; 
 And with his spirit sadly I survive, 
 To mock the expectation of the world, 
 To frustrate prophecies, and to raze out 
 Rotten opinion, who hath writ me down 
 After my seeming. The tide of blood in me 
 Hath proudly flow'd in vanity till now : 
 Now doth it turn, and ebb back to the sea, 
 Where it shall mingle with *he state of floods, 
 And flow henceforth in formal majesty. 
 Now call we our high court of parliament: 
 And let us choose such limbs of noble counsel, 
 That the great body of our state may go 
 In equal rank with the best-govern'd nation ; 
 That war or peace, or both at once, may be 
 As things acquainted and familiar to us ; 
 In which you, father, shall have foremost hand. 
 [ To the Lord Chief- Justice. 
 
 Our coronation done, we will accite, 
 As I before remember'd, all our state : 
 And, God consigning to my good intents, 
 No prince nor peer shall have just cause to say, 
 God shorten Harry's happy life one day. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. GLOUCESTERSHIRE. The Garden 
 of SHALLOW'S House. 
 
 Enter FALSTAFF, SHALLOW, SILENCE, BAR- 
 DOLPH, the Page, and DAVY. 
 
 Shal. Nay, you shall see mine orchard, where, 
 in an arbour, we will eat a last year's pippin of 
 my own graffing, with a dish of carraways, and 
 so forth : come, cousin Silence : and then to 
 bed. 
 
 Fal. 'Fore God, you have here a goodly 
 dwelling and a rich. 
 
 Shal. Barren, barren, barren; beggars all, 
 beggars all, Sir John : marry, good air. 
 Spread, Davy; spread, Davy: well said, Davy. 
 
 Fal. This Davy serves you for good uses ; he 
 is your serving-man and your husband. 
 
 Shal. A good varlet, a good varlet, a very 
 good varlet, Sir John: by the mass, I have 
 drunk too much sack at supper : a good varlet. 
 Now sit down, now sit down : come, cousin. < 
 
 Sil. Ah, sirrah ! quoth-a, we shall 
 
 Do nothing but eat, and make good cheer, 
 
 [Singing. 
 
 And praise heaven for the merry year ; 
 
 When flesh is cheap, and females dear, 
 
 And lusty lads roam here and there, 
 
 So merrily ', 
 And ever among so merrily. 
 
 Fal. There 's a merry heart ! Good Master 
 Silence, I '11 give you a health for that anon. 
 
 Shal. Give Master Bardolphsoine wine, Davy. 
 
 Davy. Sweet sir, sit [seating BARDOLPH and 
 the Page at another table]; I'll be with you 
 anon; most sweet sir, sit. Master Page, good 
 Master Page, sit. Preface! What you want 
 in meat, we '11 have in drink. But you must 
 bear; the heart 's all. [Exit. 
 
 Shal. Be merry, Master Bardolph; and, 
 my little soldier there, be merry. 
 
 Sil. Be merry, be merry, my wife has all; 
 
 [Singing. 
 
 For women are shrews, both short and tall; 
 5 Tis merry in hall when beards wag all, 
 
 And welcome merry shrove-tide. 
 Be merry, be merry, &c. 
 
 Fal. I did not think Master Silence had been 
 a man of this mettle. 
 
 Sil. Who, I? I have been merry twice and 
 once ere now. 
 
S 28 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Re-enter DAVY. 
 
 Davy. There is a dish of leather-coats for 
 you. " {.Setting them before BARD. 
 
 Shal. Davy, 
 
 Davy. Your worship? I'll be with you 
 straight [to BARD.] A cup of wine, sir? 
 
 Sil. A cup of wine that 's brisk and fine, 
 
 [Singing. 
 
 And drink unto the leman mine; 
 And a merry heart lives long-a. 
 
 Fal Well, said, Master Silence. 
 
 Sil. And we shall be merry ; now comes in 
 the sweet of the night. 
 
 Fal. Health and long life to you, Master 
 Silence. 
 
 Sil. Fill the cup, and let it come ; [Singing. 
 I* II pledge you a mile to the bottom. 
 
 Shal. Honest Bardolph, welcome : if thou 
 wan test anything, and wilt not call, beshrew 
 thy heart. Welcome, my little tiny thief [to 
 the Page] ; and welcome indeed too. I '11 drink 
 to Master Bardolph, and to all the cavaleroes 
 about London. 
 
 Davy. I hope to see London once ere I die. 
 
 Bard. An I might see you there, Davy, 
 
 Shal. By the mass, you '11 crack a quart to- 
 gether, ha! will you not, Master Bardolph? 
 
 Bard. Yea, sir, in a pottle-pot. 
 
 Shal. By God's liggens, I thank thee : the 
 knave will stick by thee, I can assure thee that : 
 he will not out ; he is true bred. 
 
 Bard. And I '11 stick by him, sir. 
 
 Shal. Why, there spoke a king. Lack no- 
 thing : be merry. [Knocking heard. ] Look 
 who's at door there, ho! who knocks? 
 
 [Exit DAVY. 
 
 Fal. Why, now you have done me right. 
 
 [To SIL., who has drunk a bumper. 
 
 Sil. Do me right, [Singing. 
 
 And dub me knight: 
 
 Samingo. 
 Is 't not so? 
 
 Fal. 'Tis so. 
 
 Sil. Is't so? Why, then, say an old man 
 can do somewhat. 
 
 Re-enter DAVY. 
 
 Davy. An it please your worship, there's 
 one Pistol come from the court with news. 
 Fal. From the court ! let him come in. 
 
 Enter PISTOL, 
 
 How now, Pistol ! 
 
 Pist. Sir John, God save you ! 
 
 Fal. What wind blew you hither, Pistol? 
 
 Pist. Not the ill wind which blows no man 
 
 to good. Sweet knight, thou art now one of 
 the greatest men in the realm. 
 
 Sil. By 'r lady, I think he be, but goodman 
 Puff of Barson. 
 
 Pist. Puff? 
 
 Puff in thy teeth, most recreant coward base ! 
 Sir John, I am thy Pistol and thy friend, 
 And helter-skelter have I rode to thee ; 
 And tidings do I bring, and lucky joys, 
 And golden times, and happy news of price. 
 
 Fal. I pr'ythee now, deliver them like a man 
 of this world. [base ! 
 
 Pist. A foutra for the world and worldlings 
 I speak of Africa and golden joys. 
 
 Fal. O base Assyrian knight, what is thy news? 
 Let King Cophetua know the truth thereof. 
 
 Sil. And Robin Hood, Scarlet, and John. 
 
 [Singing. 
 
 Pist. Shall dunghill curs confront the Heli- 
 cons? 
 
 And shall good news be baffled? 
 Then, Pistol, lay thy head in Furies' lap. 
 
 Shal. Honest gentleman, I know not your 
 breeding. 
 
 Pist. Why, then, lament, therefore. 
 
 Shal. Give me pardon, sir : if, sir, you come 
 with news from the court, I take it there is but 
 two ways ; either to utter them, or to conceal 
 them. I am, sir, under the king, in some 
 authority. 
 
 Pist. Under which king, bezonian? speak, 
 or die. 
 
 Shal. Under King Harry. 
 
 Pist. Harry the fourth? or fifth? 
 
 Shal. Harry the fourth. 
 
 Pist. A foutra for thine office ! 
 
 Sir John, thy tender lambkin now is king ; 
 Harry the fifth 's the man. I speak the truth : 
 When Pistol lies, do this ; and fig me, like 
 The bragging Spaniard. 
 
 Fal. What! is the old king dead? 
 
 Pist. As nail in door : the things I speak are 
 just. 
 
 Fal. Away, Bardolph ! saddle my horse. 
 Master Robert Shallow, choose what office thou 
 wilt in the land, 'tis thine. Pistol, I will double- 
 charge thee with dignities. 
 
 Bard. O joyful day ! 
 I would not take a knighthood for my fortune. 
 
 Pist. What, I do bring good news? 
 
 Fal. Carry Master Silence to bed. Master 
 Shallow, my Lord Shallow, be what thou wilt ; 
 I am fortune's steward. Get on thy boots: 
 we'll ride aii night: O sweet Pistol ! away, 
 Bardolph! [Exit BARDOLPH.] Come, Pistol, 
 utter more to me; and, withal, devise some- 
 thing to do thyself good. Boot, boot, Master 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 529 
 
 Shallow : I know the young king is sick for me. 
 Let us take any man's horses ; the laws of Eng- 
 land are at my commandment. Happy are 
 they which have been my friends; and woe 
 unto my Lord Chief-Justice ! 
 
 Pist. Let vultures vile seize on his lungs also ! 
 Where is the life that late I led? say they : 
 Why, here it is; welcome this pleasant day! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. LONDON. A Street. 
 
 Enter Beadles, dragging in HOSTESS QUICKLY 
 and DOLL TEARSHEET. 
 
 Host. No, thou arrant knave; I would I 
 might die, that I might have thee hanged : thou 
 hast drawn my shoulder out of joint. 
 
 I Bead. The constables have delivered her 
 over to me ; and she shall have whipping-cheer 
 enough, I warrant her : there hath been a man 
 or two lately killed about her. 
 
 Doll. Nut-hook, nut-hook, you lie. Come 
 on ; I 'II tell thee what, thou damned tripe- 
 visaged rascal, an the child I now go with do 
 miscarry, thou hadst better thou hadst struck thy 
 mother, thou paper-faced villain. 
 
 Host. O the Lord, that Sir John were come ! 
 he would make this a bloody day to somebody. 
 But I pray God the fruit of her womb miscarry ! 
 
 I Bead. If it do, you shall have a dozen of 
 cushions again; you have but eleven now. 
 Come, I charge you both go with me ; for the 
 man is dead that you and Pistol beat among you. 
 
 Doll. I '11 tell thee what, thou thin man in a 
 censer, I will have you as soundly swinged for 
 this, you blue-bottle rogue, you filthy fam- 
 ished correctioner, if you be not swinged, I '11 
 forswear half-kirtles. 
 
 I Bead. Come, come, you she knight-errant, 
 come. [might ! 
 
 Host. O God, that right should thus overcome 
 Well, of sufferance comes ease. [a justice. 
 
 Doll. Come, you rogue, come ; bring me to 
 
 Host. Ay, come, you starved bloodhound. 
 
 Doll. Goodman death, goodman bones ! 
 
 Host. Thou atomy, thou ! 
 
 Doll. Come, you thin thing ; come, you rascal. 
 
 I Bead. Very well. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. A public Place near Westminster 
 Abbey. 
 
 Enter two Grooms, strewing rushes. 
 
 1 Groom. More rushes, more rushes. 
 
 2 Groom. The trumpets have sounded twice. 
 I Groom. It will be two o'clock ere they come 
 
 from the coronation : despatch, despatch. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter FALSTAFF, SHALLOW, PISTOL, BAR- 
 DOLPH, and the Page.* 
 
 Fal. Stand here by me, Master Robert Shal- 
 low ; I will make the king do you grace : I will 
 leer upon him, as he comes by; and do but 
 mark the countenance that he will give me. 
 
 Pist. God bless thy lungs, good knight. 
 
 Fal. Come here, Pistol; stand behind me. 
 O, if I had had time to have made new liveries, 
 I would have bestowed the thousand pound I 
 borrowed of you \to SHALLOW]. But 'tis no 
 matter ; this poor show doth better : this doth 
 infer the zeal I had to see him, . 
 
 Shal. It doth so. 
 
 Fal. It shows my earnestness of affection, 
 
 Shal. It doth so. 
 
 Fal. My devotion, 
 
 Shal. It doth, it doth, it doth. 
 
 Fal. As it were, to ride day and night ; and 
 not to deliberate, not to remember, not to have 
 patience to shift me, 
 
 Shal. It is most certain. 
 
 Fal. But to stand stained with travel, and 
 sweating with desire to see him; thinking of 
 nothing else, putting all affairs else in oblivion, 
 as if there were nothing else to be done but to 
 see him. 
 
 Pist. 'Tis semper idem, for absque hoc nthil 
 est: 'tis all in every part. 
 
 Shal. 'Tis so, indeed. 
 
 Pist. My knight, I will inflame thy noble liver, 
 And make thee rage. 
 
 Thy Doll, and Helen of thy noble thoughts, 
 Is in base durance and contagious prison; 
 Haul'd thither 
 
 By most mechanical and dirty hand : [snake, 
 Rouse up revenge from ebon den withfell Alecto's 
 For Doll is in. Pistol speaks naught but truth. 
 
 Fal. I will deliver her. 
 
 {Shouts within, and the trumpets sound. 
 
 Pist. There roar'd the sea, and trumpet- 
 clangor sounds. 
 
 Enter the KING and his Train, the Chief-Justice 
 among them. 
 
 Fal. God save thy grace, King Hal; my 
 royal Hal ! 
 
 Pist. The heavens thee guard and keep, most 
 royal imp of fame ! 
 
 Fal. God save thee, my sweet boy ! [man. 
 
 King. My lord chief-justice, speak to that vain 
 
 Ch. Just. Have you your wits? know you 
 what 'tis you speak? [heart ! 
 
 Fal. My king ! my Jove ! I speak to thee, my 
 
 King. I know thee not, old man : fall to thy 
 prayers; 
 
530 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 How ill white hairs become a fool and jester ! 
 I have long dream'd of such a kind of man, 
 So su l feit-swell'd, so old, and so profane ; 
 But, being awake, I do despise my dream. 
 Make less thy body hence, and more thy grace ; 
 Leave gormandizing ; know the grave doth gape 
 For thee thrice wider than for other men. 
 Reply not to me with a fool-born jest : 
 Presume not that I am the thing I was ; 
 For God doth know, so shall the world perceive, 
 That I have turn'd away my former self; 
 So will I those that kept me company. 
 When thou dost hear I am as I have been, 
 Approach me, and thou shalt be as thou wast, 
 The tutor and the feeder of my riots : 
 Till then I banish thee, on pain ot death, 
 As I have done the rest of my misieaders, 
 Not to come near our person by ten mile. 
 For competence of life I will allow you, 
 That lack of means enforce you not to evil : 
 And, as we hear you do reform yourselves, 
 We will, according to your strength and qualities, 
 Give you advancement. Be it your charge, my 
 
 lord, 
 
 To see perform'd the tenor of our word. 
 Set on. [Exeunt KING and his Train. 
 
 Fal. Master Shallow, I owe you a thousand 
 pound. 
 
 Shal. Yea, marry, Sir John ; which I be- 
 seech you to let me have home with me. 
 
 Fal. That can hardly be, Master Shallow. 
 Do not you grieve at this ; I shall be sent for 
 in private to him : look you, he must seem thus 
 to the world : fear not your advancement ; I 
 will be the man yet that shall make you great. 
 
 Shal. I cannot perceive how, unless you 
 give me your doublet, and stuff me out with 
 straw. I beseech you, good Sir John, let me 
 have five hundred of my thousand. 
 
 Fal. Sir, I will be as good as my word : this 
 that you heard was but a colour. [Sir John. 
 
 Shal. A colour, I fear, that you will die in, 
 
 Fal. Fear no colours : go with me to 
 dinner. Come, Lieutenant Pistol ; come, 
 Bardolph : I shall be sent for soon at night. 
 
 Re-enter PRINCE JOHN, the Chief-Justice, 
 Officers, &c. 
 
 Ch. Just. Go, carry Sir John Falstaff to the 
 
 Fleet ; 
 Take all his company along with him. 
 
 Fal. My lord, my lord, [you soon. 
 
 Ch. Jitst. I cannot now speak : I will hear 
 
 Take them away. \contenta. 
 
 Pist. Se fortuna mi tormenta, lo sperare mi 
 
 [Exeunt FAL., SHAL., PIST., BARD., 
 
 Page, and Officers. 
 
 P. John. I like this fair proceeding of the 
 
 king's : 
 
 He hath intent his wonted followers 
 Shall all be very well provided for ; 
 But all are banish'd till their conversations 
 Appear more wise and modest to the world. 
 
 Ch.Just. And so they are. 
 
 P.John. The king hath call'd his parliament, 
 my lord. 
 
 Ch. Jus!. He hath. 
 
 P. John. I will lay odds that, ere this year 
 
 expire, 
 
 We bear our civil swords and native fire 
 As far as France : I heard a bird so sing, 
 Whose music, to my thinking, pleas'd the king. 
 Come, will you hence ? [Exeunt. 
 
 EPILOGUE. Spoken by a Dancer. 
 
 First my fear; then my court'sy ; last my 
 speech. My fear is, your displeasure ; my 
 court'sy, my duty ; and my speech, to beg your 
 pardons. If you look for a good speech now, 
 you undo me : for what I have-to say is of mine 
 own making ; and what, indeed, I should say 
 will, I doubt, prove mine own marring. But 
 to the purpose, and so to the venture. Be it 
 known to you, as it is very well, I was lately 
 here in the end of a displeasing play, to pray 
 your patience for it, and to promise you a 
 better. I did mean, indeed, to pay you with 
 this ; which, if, like an ill venture, it come un- 
 luckily home, I break, and you, my gentle 
 creditors, lose. Here I promised you I would 
 be, and here I commit my body to your mercies: 
 bate me some, and I will pay you some, and, 
 as most debtors do, promise you infinitely. 
 
 If my tongue cannot entreat you to acquit me, 
 will you command me to use my legs ? and yet 
 that were but light payment, to dance out of 
 your debt. But a good conscience will make 
 any possible satisfaction, and so will I. All 
 the gentlewomen here have forgiven me : if 
 the gentlemen will not, then the gentlemen do 
 not agree with the gentlewomen, which was 
 never seen before in such an assembly. 
 
 One word more, I beseech you. If you be 
 not too much cloyed with fat meat, our humble 
 author will continue the story, with Sir John 
 in it, and make you merry with fair Katharine 
 of France : where, for anything I know, Fal- 
 staff shall die of a sweat, unless already he be 
 killed with your hard opinions ; for Oldcastle 
 died a martyr, and this is not the man. My 
 tongue is weary; when my legs are too, I will 
 bid you good-night : and so kneel down before 
 you ; but, indeed, to pray for the queen. 
 
A T.-V. ] 
 
 - /. ; A 
 
 
 *fc. 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 KING HENRY THE FIFTH. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 Chorus. 
 
 DUKE OF EXETER, Uncle to the KING. 
 
 DUKE OF YORK, Cousin to the KING. 
 
 EARLS OF SALISBURY, WESTMORELAND, and 
 
 WARWICK. 
 
 ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY. 
 BISHOP OF ELY. 
 
 SIR THOMAS GREY, ) the KlNG * 
 
 SIR THOMAS ERPINGHAM,GOWER,FLUELLEN, 
 
 MACMORRIS, JAMY, Officers in KING 
 
 HENRY'S Army. 
 BATES, COURT, WILLIAMS, Soldiers in the 
 
 same. 
 NYM, BARDOLPH, PISTOL, formerly Servants 
 
 to FALSTAFF, now Soldiers in the same. 
 Boy, Servant to them. 
 A Herald. 
 
 
 CHARLES THE SIXTH, King qf France. 
 Louis, the Dauphin. 
 
 DUKES OF BURGUNDY, ORLEANS, and BOUR- 
 BON. 
 
 The Constable of France. 
 RAMBURES and GRANDPREE, French Lords. 
 Governor of Harfleur. 
 MONTJOY, a French Herald. 
 Ambassadors to the King of England. 
 
 ISABEL, Queen of France. 
 
 KATHARINE, Daughter to CHARLES and 
 
 ISABEL. 
 ALICE, a Lady attending en the PRINCESS 
 
 KATHARINE. 
 QUICKLY, PISTOL'S Wife, an Hostess. 
 
 Lords, Ladies, Officers, French and English 
 Soldiers, Messengers, and Attendants. 
 
 SCENE, At the beginning of the Play> lies in ENGLAND ; but afterwards wholly in FRANCE. 
 
 Enter Chorus. 
 
 Chor. O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend 
 The brightest heaven of invention ! 
 A kingdom for a stage, princes to act, 
 And monarchs to behold the swelling scene ! 
 Then should the warlike Harry, like himself, 
 Assume the port of Mars ; and at his heels, 
 Leash'd in like hounds, should famine, sword, 
 and fire, [all, 
 
 Crouch for employment. But pardon, gentles 
 The flat unraised spirit that hath dar'd 
 On this unworthy scaffold to bring forth 
 So great an object : can this cockpit hold 
 The vasty fields of France ? or may we cram 
 Within this wooden O the very casques 
 That did affright the air at Agincourt ? 
 O, pardon ! since a crooked figure may 
 Attest in little place a million ; 
 And let us, ciphers to this great acompt, 
 On your imaginary forces work. 
 Suppose within the girdle of these walls 
 Are now confin'd two mighty monarchies, 
 Whose high upreared and abutting fronts 
 The perilous narrow ocean parts asunder : 
 
 Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts : 
 Into a thousand parts divide one man, 
 And make imaginary puissance ; [them 
 
 Think, when we talk of horses, that you see 
 Printing their proud hoofs i' the receiving earth ; 
 For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our 
 
 kings, 
 
 Carry them here and there ; jumping o'er times, 
 Turning the accomplishment of many years 
 Into an hour-glass : for the which supply, 
 Admit me Chorus to this history ; 
 Who, prologue- like, your humble patience pray, 
 Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. LONDON. An Ante-chamber in 
 the KING'S Palace. 
 
 Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY and 
 the BISHOP OF ELY. 
 
 Cant. My lord, I '11 tell you, that self bill 
 is urg'd, [reign 
 
 Which in the eleventh year of the last king's 
 Was like, and had indeed against us pass'd, 
 
532 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 But that the scambling and unquiet time 
 Did push it out of further question. [now? 
 
 Ely. But how, my lord, shall we resist it 
 Cant. It must be thought on. If it pass 
 
 against us, 
 
 We lose the better half of our possession : 
 For all the temporal lands, which men devout 
 By testament have given to the church, 
 Would they strip from us; being valu'd thus, 
 As much as would maintain, to the king's 
 
 honour, 
 
 Full fifteen earls and fifteen hundred knights, 
 Six thousand and two hundred good esquires ; 
 And, to relief of lazars and weak age, 
 Of indigent faint souls past corporal toil, 
 A hundred alms-houses right well supplied ; 
 And to the coffers of the king, beside, [bill. 
 A thousand pounds by the year : thus runs the 
 Ely. This would drink deep. 
 Cant. 'T would drink the cup and all. 
 
 . Ely. But what prevention ? [gard. 
 
 Cant. The king is full of grace and fair re- 
 Ely. And a true lover of the holy church. 
 Cant. The courses of his youth promis'dit not. 
 The breath no sooner left his father's body 
 But that his wildness, mortified in him, 
 Seem'd to die too : yea, at that very moment, 
 Consideration, like an angel, came, ; -I 2&' 
 And whipp'd the offending Adam out of him, 
 Leaving his body as a paradise, 
 To envelop and contain celestial spirits. 
 Never was such a sudden scholar made ; 
 Never came reformation in a flood, 
 With such a heady current, scouring faults ; 
 Nor never Hydra-headed wilfulness 
 So soon did lose his seat, and all at once, 
 As in this king. 
 
 Ely. We are blessed in the change. 
 
 Cant. Hear him but reason in divinity, 
 And, all-admiring, with an inward wish 
 You would desire the king were made a prelate : 
 Hear him debate of commonwealth affairs, 
 You would say, it hath been all-in-all his study : 
 List his discourse of war, and you shall hear 
 A fearful battle render' d you in music : 
 Turn him to any cause of policy, 
 The Gordian knot of it he will unloose, 
 Familiar as his garter : that, when he speaks, 
 The air, a charter'd libertine, is still, 
 And the mute wonder lurketh in men's ears. 
 To steal his sweet and honeyed sentences ; 
 So that the art and practice part of life 
 Must be the mistress to this theoric : [it, 
 
 Which is a wonder how his grace should glean 
 Since his addiction was to courses vain ; 
 His companies unletter'd, rude, and shallow ; 
 His hours fill'd up with riots, banquets, sports ; 
 
 And never noted in him any study, 
 
 Any retirement, any sequestration 
 
 From open haunts and popularity. [nettle, 
 
 Ely. The strawberry grows underneath the 
 And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best 
 Neighbour'd by fruit of baser quality : 
 And so the prince obscur'd his contemplation 
 Under the veil of wildness ; which, no doubt, 
 Grew like the summer grass, fastest by night, 
 Unseen, yet crescive in his faculty. 
 
 Cant. It must be so ; for miracles are ceas'd ; 
 And therefore we must needs admit the means 
 How things are perfected. 
 
 Ely. But, my good lord, 
 
 How now for mitigation of this bill 
 Urg'd by the commons? Doth his majesty 
 Incline to it, or no ? 
 
 Cant. He seems indifferent ; 
 
 Or, rather, swaying more upon our part 
 Than cherishing the exhibitors against us : 
 For I have made an offer to his majesty, 
 Upon our spiritual convocation, 
 And in regard of causes now in hand, 
 Which I have open'd to his grace at large, 
 As touching France, to give a greater sum 
 Than ever at one time the clergy yet 
 Did to his predecessors part withal. [lord? 
 
 Ely. How did this offer seem receiv'd, my 
 
 Cant. With good acceptance of his majesty; 
 Save that there was not time enough to hear, 
 As, I perceiv'd, his grace would fain have 
 
 done, 
 
 The severals and unhidden passages 
 Of his true titles to some certain dukedoms, 
 And, generally, to the crown and seat of France, 
 Deriv'd from Edward, his great-grandfather. 
 
 Ely. What was the impediment that broke 
 this off? [stant 
 
 Cant. The French ambassador upon that in- 
 Crav'd audience : and the hour, I think, is come 
 To give him hearing: is it four o'clock? 
 
 Ely. It is. 
 
 Cant. Then go we in, to know his embassy ; 
 Which I could, with a ready guess, declare, 
 Before the Frenchman speak a word of it. 
 
 Ely. I '11 wait upon you ; and I long to hear 
 it. \Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. The same. A Room of State in 
 the same. 
 
 Enter KING HENRY, GLOSTER, BEDFORD, 
 EXETER, WARWICK, WESTMORELAND, and 
 Attendants. 
 
 K. Hen. Where is my gracious Lord of 
 
 Canterbury? 
 Exe. Not here in presence. 
 
SCENE H.] 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 533 
 
 K. Hen. Send for him, good uncle. 
 West. Shall we call in the ambassador, my 
 liege? [resolv'd, 
 
 K. Hen. Not yet, my cousin ; we would be 
 Before we hear him, of some things of weight, 
 That task our thoughts, concerning us and 
 France. 
 
 Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY and 
 BISHOP OF ELY. 
 
 Cant. God and his angels guard your sacred 
 
 throne, 
 And make you long become it ! 
 
 K. Hen. Sure, we thank you. 
 
 My learned lord, we pray you to proceed, 
 And justly and religiously unfold 
 Why the law Salique, that they have in France, 
 Or should, or should not, bar us in our claim : 
 And God forbid, my dear and faithful lord, 
 That you should fashion, wrest, or bow your 
 
 reading, 
 
 Or nicely charge your understanding soul 
 With opening titles miscreate, whose right 
 Suits not in native colours with the truth ; 
 For God doth know how many, now in health, 
 Shall drop their blood in approbation 
 Of what your reverence shall incite us to : 
 Therefore take heed how you impawn our 
 
 person, 
 
 How you awake the sleeping sword of war : 
 We charge you, in the name of God, take heed ; 
 For never two such kingdoms did contend 
 Without much fall of blood; whose guiltless 
 
 drops 
 
 Are every one a woe, a sore complaint 
 'Gainst him whose wrongs give edge unto the 
 
 swords 
 
 That make such waste in brief mortality. 
 Under this conjuration, speak, my lord ; 
 For we will hear, note, and believe in heart 
 That what you speak is in your conscience 
 
 wash'd 
 As pure as sin with baptism. 
 
 Cant. Then hear me, gracious sovereign, 
 
 and you peers, 
 
 That owe yourselves, your lives, and services 
 To this imperial throne. There is no bar 
 To make against your highness' claim to France 
 But this, which theyproducefromPharamond, 
 In terrain Salicam mulieres ne succedanf, 
 No woman shall succeed in Saligue land: 
 Which Salique land the French unjustly gloze 
 To be the realm of France, and Pharamond 
 The founder of this law and female bar. 
 Yet their own authors faithfully affirm 
 That the land Salique is in Germany, 
 Between the floods of Sala and of Elbe ; 
 
 Where Charles the Great, having subdu'd the 
 
 Saxons, 
 
 There left behind and settled certain French ; 
 Who, holding in disdain the German women 
 For some dishonest manners of their life, 
 Establish'd then this law, to wit, no female 
 Should be inheritrix in Salique land : 
 Which Salique, as I said, 'twixt Elbe and Sala, 
 Is at this day in Germany called Meisen. 
 Then doth it well appear, the Salique law 
 Was not devised for the realm of France : 
 Nor did the French possess the Salique land 
 Until four hundred one-and-twenty years 
 After defunction of King Pharamond, 
 Idly suppos'd the founder of this law ; 
 Who died within the year of our redemption 
 Four hundred twenty-six; and Charles the Great 
 Subdu'd the Saxons, and did seat the French 
 Beyond the river Sala, in the year 
 Eight hundred five. Besides, their writers say, 
 King Pepin, which deposed Childerick, 
 Did, as heir general, being descended 
 Of Blithild, which was daughter to King 
 
 Clothair, 
 
 Make claim and title to the crown of France. 
 Hugh Capet also, who usurp'd the crown 
 Of Charles the Duke of Lorraine, sole heir male 
 Of the true line and stock of Charles the Great, 
 To fine his title with some show of truth, 
 Though, in pure truth, it was corrupt and 
 
 naught, 
 
 Conveyed himself as heir to the Lady Lingare, 
 Daughter to Charlemain, who was the son 
 To Louis the emperor, and Louis the son 
 Of Charles the Great. Also King Louis the Tenth, 
 Who was sole heir to the usurper Capet, 
 Could not keep quiet in his conscience, 
 Wearing the crown of France, till satisfied 
 That fair Queen Isabel, his grandmother, 
 Was lineal of the Lady Ermengare, 
 Daughter to Charles the foresaid Duke of Lor- 
 raine : [Great 
 By the which marriage the line of Charles the 
 Was re-united to the Crown of France. 
 So that, as clear as is the summer's sun, 
 King Pepin's title, and Hugh Capet's claim, 
 King Louis his satisfaction, all appear 
 To hold in right and title of the female : 
 So do the kings of France unto this day ; 
 Howbeit they would hold up this Salique law 
 To bar your highness claiming from the female ; 
 And rather choose to hide them in a net 
 Than amply to imbar their crooked titles 
 Usurp'd from you and your progenitors. 
 
 K. Hen. May I with right and conscience 
 
 make this claim ? 
 Cant. The sin upon my head, dread sovereign ! 
 
534 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 LACT i. 
 
 For in the book of Numbers is it writ,- 
 When the man dies, let the inheritance 
 Descend unto the daughter. Gracious lord, 
 Stand for your own ; unwind your bloody flag ; 
 Look back unto your mighty ancestors : 
 Go, my dread lord, to your great -grandsire's 
 
 tomb, 
 
 From whom you claim ; invoke his warlike spirit, 
 And your great-uncle's, Edward the Black 
 
 Prince, 
 
 Who on the French ground play'd a tragedy, 
 Making defeat on the full power of France, 
 Whiles his most mighty father on a hill 
 Stood smiling to behold his lion's whelp 
 Forage in blood of French nobility. 
 O noble English, that could entertain 
 With half their forces the full pride of France, 
 And let another half stand laughing by, 
 All out of work and cold for action ! [dead, 
 
 Ely. Awake remembrance of these valiant 
 And with your puissant arm renew their feats : 
 You are their heir ; you sit upon their throne ; 
 The blood and courage that renowned them 
 Runs in your veins ; and my thrice -puissant liege 
 Is in the very May- morn of his youth, 
 Ripe for exploits and mighty enterprises. 
 
 Exe. Your brother kings and monarchs of the 
 
 earth 
 
 Do all expect that you should rouse yourself, 
 As did the former lions of your blood. 
 
 West. They know your grace hath cause and 
 
 means and might: 
 
 So hath your highness ; never king of England 
 Had nobles richer and more loyal subjects, 
 Whose hearts have left their bodies here in 
 
 England, 
 And lie pavilion'd in the fields of France. 
 
 Cant. O, let their bodies follow, my dear liege, 
 With blood and sword and fire to win your right : 
 In aid whereof we of the spiritualty 
 Will raise your highness such a mighty sum 
 As never did the clergy at one time 
 Bring in to any of your ancestors. [French, 
 
 K. Hen. We must not only arm to invade the 
 But lay down our proportions to defend 
 Against the Scot, who will make road upon us 
 With all advantages. [reign, 
 
 Cant. They of those marches, gracious sove- 
 Shall be a wall sufficient to defend 
 Our inland from the pilfering borderers. 
 
 K. Hen. We do not mean the coursing 
 
 snatchers only, 
 
 But fear the main intendment of the Scot, 
 Who hath been still a giddy neighbour to us ; 
 For you shall read that my great-grandfather 
 Never went with his forces into France 
 But that the Scot on his unfurnish'd kingdom 
 
 Came pouring, like the tide into a breach, 
 With ample and brim fulness of his force ; 
 Galling the gleaned land with hot essays, 
 Girding with grievous siege castles and towns ; 
 That England, being empty of defence, 
 Hath shook and trembled at the ill neighbour- 
 hood. 
 Cant. She hath been then more fear'd than 
 
 harm'd, my liege; 
 
 For hear her but exampled by herself: 
 When all her chivalry hath been in France, 
 And she a mourning widow of her nobles, 
 She hath herself not only well defended, 
 But taken, and impounded as a stray, 
 The king of Scots ; whom she did send to France, 
 To fill King Edward's fame with prisoner kings, 
 And make her chronicle as rich with praise 
 As is the ooze and bottom of the sea 
 With sunken wreck and sumless treasuries. 
 West. But there 's a saying, very old and true, 
 If that you -will France win, 
 Then with Scotland first begin : 
 For once the eagle England being in prey, 
 To her unguarded nest the weasel Scot 
 Comes sneaking, and so sucks her princely eggs; 
 Playing the mouse in absence of the cat, 
 To tear and havoc more than she can eat. 
 Exe. It follows, then, the cat must stay at 
 
 home: 
 
 Yet that is but a curs'd necessity, 
 Since we have locks to safeguard necessaries, 
 And pretty traps to catch the petty thieves. 
 While that the armed hand doth fight abroad, 
 The advised head defends itself at home ; 
 For government, though high, and low, and 
 
 lower, 
 
 Put into parts, doth keep in one concent ; 
 Congruing in a full and natural close, 
 Like music. 
 
 Cant. Therefore doth heaven divide 
 The state of man in divers functions, 
 Setting endeavour in continual motion ; 
 To which is fixed, as an aim or butt, 
 Obedience : for so work the honey bees ; 
 Creatures that, by a rule in nature, teach 
 The act of order to a peopled kingdom. 
 They have a king, and officers of sorts : 
 Where some, like magistrates, correct at home ; 
 Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad ; 
 Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings, 
 Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds ; 
 Which pillage they with merry march bring 
 
 home 
 
 To the tent-royal of thek emperor : 
 Who, busied in his majesty, surveys 
 The singing masons building roofs of gold ; 
 The civil citizens kneading up the honey ; 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 535 
 
 The poor mechanic porters crowding in 
 Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate ; 
 The sad-ey'd justice, with his surly hum, 
 Delivering o'er to executors pale 
 The lazy yawning drone. I this infer, 
 That many things, having full reference 
 To one concent, may work contrariously : 
 As many arrows, loosed several ways, 
 Fly to one mark ; 
 
 As many several ways meet in one town ; 
 As many fresh streams meet in one salt sea ; 
 As many lines close in the dial's centre : 
 So may a thousand actions, once afoot, 
 End in one purpose, and be all well borne 
 Without defeat. Therefore to France, my liege. 
 Divide your happy England into four ; 
 Whereof take you one quarter into France, 
 And you withal shall make all Gallia shake. 
 If we, with thrice such powers left at home, 
 Cannot defend our own doors from the dog, 
 Let us be worried, and our nation lose 
 The name of hardiness and policy. 
 
 K. Hen. Call in the messengers sent from 
 the Dauphin. [Exit an Attendant. 
 Now are we well resolv'd t and, by God's help 
 And yours, the noble sinews of our power, 
 France being ours, we '11 bend it to our awe, 
 Or break it all to pieces : or there we '11 sit, 
 Ruling in large and ample empery 
 O'er France and all her almost kingly dukedoms, 
 Or lay these bones in an unworthy urn, 
 Tombless, with no remembrance over them : 
 Either our history shall with full mouth 
 Speak freely of our acts, or else our grave, 
 Like Turkish mute, shall have a tongueless 
 
 mouth, 
 Not worshipp'd with a waxen epitaph. 
 
 Enter Ambassadors of France. 
 
 Now are we well prepar'd to know the pleasure 
 Of our fair cousin Dauphin ; for we hear 
 Your greeting is from him, not from the king. 
 i Amb. May it please your majesty to give 
 
 us leave 
 
 Freely to render what we have in charge ; 
 Or shall we sparingly show you far off 
 The Dauphin's meaning and our embassy? 
 K. Hen. We are no tyrant, but a Christian 
 
 king; 
 
 Unto whose grace our passion is as subject 
 As are our wretches fetter'd in our prisons : 
 Therefore with frank and with uncurbed plain- 
 ness 
 Tell us the Dauphin's mind. 
 
 i Amb. Thus, then, in few. 
 
 Your highness, lately sending into France, 
 Did claim some certain dukedoms, in the right 
 
 Of your great predecessor, King Edward the 
 
 Third. 
 
 In answer of which claim, the prince our master 
 Says, that you savour too much of your youth ; 
 And bids you be advis'd there 's naught in France 
 That can be with a nimble galliard won ; 
 You cannot revel into dukedoms there. 
 He therefore sends you, meeter for your spirit, 
 This tun of treasure ; and, in lieu of this, 
 Desires you let the dukedoms that you claim 
 Hear no more of you. This the Dauphin speaks. 
 
 K. Hen. What treasure, uncle? 
 
 Exe. Tennis-balls, my liege. 
 
 K. Hen. We are glad the Dauphin is so 
 
 pleasant with us; 
 
 His present and your pains we thank you for : 
 When we have match'd our rackets to these balls, 
 We will, in France, by God's grace, play a set 
 Shall strike his father's crown into the hazard. 
 Tell him he hath made a match with such a 
 
 wrangler 
 
 That all the courts of France will be disturb'd 
 With chases. And we understand him well, 
 How he comes o'er us with our wilder days, 
 Not measuring what use we made of them. 
 We never valu'd this poor seat of England ; 
 And therefore, living hence, did give ourself 
 To barbarous license ; as 'tis ever common 
 That men are merriest when they are from home. 
 But tell the Dauphin, I will keep my state ; 
 Be like a king, and show my sail of greatness, 
 When I do rouse me in my throne of France : 
 For that I have laid by my majesty, 
 And plodded like a man for working-days ; 
 But I will rise there with so full a glory 
 That I will dazzle all the eyes of France, 
 Yea, strike the Dauphin blind to look on us. 
 And tell the pleasant prince this mock of his 
 Hath turn'd his balls to gun-stones ; and his soul 
 Shall stand sore charged for the wasteful ven- 
 geance [widows 
 That shall fly with them ; for many a thousand 
 Shall this his mock mock out of their dear 
 husbands ; [down ; 
 Mock mothers from their sons, mock castles 
 And some are yet ungotten and unborn [scorn. 
 That shall have cause to curse the Dauphin's 
 But this lies all within the will of God, 
 To whom I do appeal ; and in whose name, 
 Tell you the Dauphin, I am coming on, 
 To venge me as I may, and to put forth 
 My rightful hand in a well-hallow'd cause. 
 So, get you hence in peace ; and tell the Dauphin 
 His jest will savour but of shallow wit, [it. 
 When thousands weep, more than did laugh at 
 Convey them with safe conduct. Fare you well. 
 [Exeunt Ambassadors. 
 
536 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 [ACT ir. 
 
 Exe. This was a merry message. 
 
 K. Hen. We hope to make the sender blush 
 
 at it. 
 
 Therefore, my lords, omit no happy hour 
 That may give furtherance to our expedition ; 
 For we have now no thought in us but France, 
 Save those to God, that run before our business. 
 Therefore let our proportions for these wars 
 Be soon collected, and all things thought upon 
 That may with reasonable swiftness add 
 More feathers to our wings ; for, God before, 
 We '11 chide this Dauphin at his father's door. 
 Therefore let every man now task his thought, 
 That this fair action may on foot be brought. 
 
 {Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Chorus. 
 
 Chor. Now all the youth of England are on 
 
 fire, 
 
 And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies : 
 Now thrive the armourers, and honour's thought 
 Reigns solely in the breast of every man : 
 They sell the pasture now to buy the horse ; 
 Following the mirror of all Christian kings, 
 With winged heels, as English Mercuries, 
 For now sits Expectation in the air ; 
 And hides a sword from hilts unto the point 
 With crowns imperial, crowns, and coronets, 
 Promis'd to Harry and his followers. 
 The French, advis'd by good intelligence 
 Of this most dreadful preparation, 
 Shake in their fear ; and with pale policy 
 Seek to divert the English purposes. 
 O England ! model to thy inward greatness, 
 Like little body with a mighty heart, 
 What mightst thou do, that honour would 
 
 thee do, 
 
 Were all thy children kind and natural ! [out 
 But see thy fault ! France hath in thee found 
 A nest of hollow bosoms, which he fills 
 With treacherous crowns ; and three corrupted 
 men, [second, 
 
 One, Richard Earl of Cambridge ; and the 
 Henry Lord Scroop of Masham ; and the third, 
 Sir Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland, 
 Have, for the guilt of France, Oguiltindeed! 
 Confirm'd conspiracy with fearful France ; 
 And by their hands this grace of kings must 
 
 die, 
 
 If hell and treason hold their promises, 
 Ere he take ship for France, and in South- 
 ampton. 
 
 Linger your patience on ; and well digest 
 The abuse of distance, while we force a play. 
 The sum is paid ; the traitors are agreed ; 
 The king is set from London ; and the scene 
 Is now transported, gentles, to Southampton, 
 
 There is the play-house now, there must you 
 
 sit : 
 
 And thence to France shall we convey you safe, 
 And bring you back, charming the narrow seas 
 To give you gentle pass ; for, if we may, 
 We '11 not offend one stomach with our play. 
 But, till the king come forth, and not till then, 
 Unto Southampton do we shift our scene. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. LONDON. Before the Boar's HcaoL 
 Tavern, Eastcheap. 
 
 Enter, severally, NYM and BARDOLPH. 
 
 Bard. Well met, Corporal Nym. 
 
 Nym. Good-morrow, Lieutenant Bardolph. 
 
 Bard. What, are Ancient Pistol and you 
 friends yet ? 
 
 Nym. For my part, I ca/e not : I say little ; 
 but when time shall serve, there shall be smiles ; 
 but that shall be as it may. I dare not fight ; 
 but I will wink, and hold out mine iron : it is 
 a simple one ; but what though ? it will toast 
 cheese : and it will endure cold as another 
 man's sword will, and there 's the humour of it. 
 
 Bard. I will bestow a breakfast to make you 
 friends ; and we '11 be all three sworn brothers 
 to France : let it be so, good Corporal Nym. 
 
 Nym. Faith, I will live so long as I may, 
 that 's the certain of it ; and when I cannot live 
 any longer, I will do as I may : that is my rest, 
 that is the rendezvous of it. 
 
 Bard. It is certain, corporal, that he is 
 married to Nell Quickly : and, certainly, she 
 did you wrong; for you were troth-plight to 
 her. 
 
 Nym. I cannot tell : things must be as they 
 may : men may sleep, and they may have their 
 throats about them at that time ; and, some 
 say, knives have edges. It must be as it may : 
 though patience be a tired mare, yet she will 
 plod. Th-re must be conclusions. Well, I 
 cannot tell. 
 
 Bard. Here comes Ancient Pistol and his 
 wife : good corporal, be patient here. 
 
 Enter PISTOL and Hostess. 
 
 How now, mine host Pistol ! 
 
 Fist. Base tike, call'st thou me host ? 
 Now, by this hand, I swear, I scorn the term ', 
 Nor shall my Nell keep lodgers. 
 
 Host. No, by my troth, not long ; for we 
 cannot lodge and board a dozen or fourteen 
 gentlewomen that live honestly by the prick of 
 their needles, but it will be thought we keep a 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 537 
 
 bawdy-house straight. [N YM draws his sword. ] 
 
 well-a-day, Lady, if he be not drawn ! now 
 we shall see wilful adultery and murder com- 
 mitted. 
 
 Bard. Good lieutenant, good corporal, 
 offer nothing here. 
 
 Nym. Pish! 
 
 Pist. Pish for thee, Iceland dog ! thou 
 prick-ear'd cur of Iceland ! 
 
 Host. Good Corporal Nym, show thy valour, 
 and put up your sword. 
 
 Nym. Will you shog off ? I would have you 
 solus. [Sheathing his sword. 
 
 Pist. Solus, egregious dog ? O viper vile ! 
 The solus in thy most marvellous face ; 
 The solus in thy teeth, and in thy throat, 
 And in thy hateful lungs, yea, in thy maw, perdy ; 
 And, which is worse, within thy nasty mouth ! 
 
 1 do retort the solus in thy bowels ; 
 For I can take, and Pistol's cock is up, 
 And flashing fire will follow. 
 
 Nym, I am not Barbason ; you cannot con- 
 jure me. I have an humour to knock you in- 
 differently well. If you grow foul with me, 
 Pistol, I will scour you with my rapier, as I 
 may, in fair terms : if you would walk off I 
 would prick your guts a little, in good terms, 
 as I may : and that 's the humour of it. 
 
 Pist. O braggart vile and damned furious 
 
 wight ! 
 
 The grave doth gape and doting death is near ; 
 Therefore exhale. [PiSTOL and NYM draw. 
 
 Bard. Hear me, hear me what I say : he 
 that strikes the first stroke I '11 run him up to 
 the hilts, as I am a soldier. [Draws. 
 
 Pist. An oath of mickle might ; and fury 
 
 shall abate. 
 
 Give me thy fist, thy fore-foot to me give : 
 Thy spirits are most tall. 
 
 Nym. I will cut thy throat one time or other, 
 in fair terms : that is the humour of it. 
 
 Pist. Coupe la gorge! That's the word. I 
 thee defy again. 
 
 hound of Crete, think'st thou my spouse 
 
 to get ? 
 
 No ; to the spital go, 
 And from the powdering tub of infamy 
 Fetch forth the lazar kite of Cressid's kind, 
 Doll Tearsheet she by name, and her espouse : 
 
 1 have, and I will hold, the quondam Quickly 
 For the only she ; and Pauca, there's enough. 
 Go to. 
 
 Enter the Boy. 
 
 Boy. Mine host Pistol, you must come to 
 my master, and you, hostess : he is very sick, 
 and would to bed. Good Bardolph, put thy 
 
 nose between his sheets, and do the office of a 
 warming-pan. Faith, he 's very ill. 
 
 Bard. Away, you rogue. 
 
 Host. By my troth, he'll yield the crow a 
 pudding one of these days: the king has 
 killed his heart. Good husband, come home 
 presently. [Exeunt Hostess and Boy. 
 
 Bard. Come, shall I make you two friends? 
 We must to France together : why the devil 
 should we keep knives to cut one another's 
 throats ? 
 
 Pist. Let floods o'erswell and fiends for 
 food howl on ! 
 
 Nym. You '11 pay me the eight shillings I 
 won of you at betting ? 
 
 Pist. Base is the slave that pays. 
 
 Nym. That now I will have: that's the 
 humour of it. 
 
 Pist. As manhood shall compound: push 
 home. [PISTOL and NYM draw. 
 
 Bard. By this sword, he that makes the 
 first thrust I'll kill him; by this sword, I 
 will. 
 
 Pist. Sword is an oath, and oaths must have 
 their course. 
 
 Bard. Corporal Nym, an thou wilt be 
 friends, be friends: an thou wilt not, why, then, 
 be enemies with me too. Pr'ythee, put up. 
 
 Nym. I shall have my eight shillings I won 
 of you at betting ? 
 
 Pist. A noble shall thou have, and present 
 
 pay; 
 
 And liquor likewise will I give to thee, 
 And friendship shall com bine, and brotherhood: 
 I '11 live by Nym and Nym shall live by me ; 
 Is not this just ? for I shall sutler be 
 Unto the camp, and profits will accrue. 
 Give me thy hand. 
 
 Nym. I shall have my noble ? 
 
 Pist. In cash most justly paid. 
 
 Nym. Well, then, that 's the humour of it. 
 
 Re-enter Hostess. 
 
 Host. As ever you came of women, come in 
 ^quickly to Sir John. Ah, poor heart ! he is so 
 shaken of a burning quotidian tertian that it is 
 most lamentable to behold. Sweet men, come 
 to him. 
 
 Nym. The king hath run bad humours on the 
 knight ; that 's the even of it 
 
 Pist. Nym, thou hast spoke the right ; 
 His heart is fracted and corroborate. 
 
 Nym. The king is a good king : but it must 
 be as it may; he passes some humours and 
 careers. 
 
 Pist. Let us condole the knight ; for, lamb- 
 kins, we will live. [Exeunt. 
 
KING HENRY V. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 SCENE II. SOUTHAMPTON. A Council 
 Chamber. 
 
 Enter EXETER, BEDFORD, and WESTMORE- 
 LAND. 
 
 Bed. 'Fore God, his grace is bold, to trust 
 
 these traitors. 
 
 Exe. They shall be apprehended by and by. 
 West. How smooth and even they do bear 
 
 themselves ! 
 
 As if allegiance in their bosom sat, 
 Crowned with faith and constant loyalty. 
 Red. The king hath note of all that they in- 
 tend, 
 By interception which they dream not of. 
 
 Exe. Nay, but the man that was his bedfellow, 
 Whom he hath dull'd and cloy'd with gracious 
 
 favours, 
 
 That he should, for a foreign purse, so sell 
 His sovereign's life to death and treachery ! 
 
 Trumpet sounds. Enter'Ki^G HENRY, SCROOP, 
 CAMBRIDGE, GREY, Lords, and Attendants. 
 
 K. Hen. Now sits the wind fair, and we will 
 
 aboard. 
 
 My Lord of Cambridge, and" my kind Lord of 
 Masham, [thoughts : 
 
 And you, my gentle knight, give me your 
 Think you not that the powers we bear with us 
 Will cut their passage through the force of 
 
 France, 
 
 Doing the execution and the act 
 For which we have in head assembled them? 
 Scroop. No doubt, my liege, if each man do 
 his best. [persuaded 
 
 K. Hen. I doubt not that ; since we are well 
 We carry not a heart with us from hence 
 That grows not in a fair consent with ours, 
 Nor leave not one behind that doth not wish 
 Success and conquest to attend on us. 
 
 Cam. Never was monarch better fear'd and 
 lov'd [subject 
 
 Than is your majesty : there 's not, I think, a 
 That sits in heart-grief and uneasiness 
 Under the sweet shade of your government. 
 Grey. True: those that were your father's 
 enemies [you 
 
 Have steep'd their galls in honey, and do serve 
 With hearts create of duty and of zeal. 
 K. Hen. We therefore have great cause of 
 
 thankfulness ; 
 
 And shall forget the office of our hand 
 Sooner than quittance of desert and merit 
 According to the weight and worthiness. 
 Scroop. So service shall with steel'd sinews 
 toil, 
 
 And labour shall refresh itself with hope, 
 To do your grace incessant services. 
 
 K. Hen. We judge no less. Uncle of Exeter, 
 Enlarge the man committed yesterday, 
 That rail'd against our person : we consider 
 It was excess of wine that set him on ; 
 And on his more advice we pardon him. 
 
 Scroop. That 's mercy, but too much security: 
 Let him be punish'd, sovereign ; lest example 
 Breed, by his sufferance', more of such a kind. 
 
 K. Hen. O, let us yet be merciful. [too. 
 
 Cam. So may your highness, and yet punish 
 
 Grey. Sir, you show great mercy if you give. 
 
 him life, 
 After the taste of much correction. [of me 
 
 K. Hen. Alas, your too much love and care 
 Are heavy orisons 'gainst this poor wretch ! 
 If little faults, proceeding on distemper, 
 Shall not be wink'd at, how shall we stretch 
 our eye [digested, 
 
 When capital crimes, chew'd, swal.low'd, and 
 Appear before us? We '11 yet enlarge that man, 
 Though Cambridge, Scroop, and Grey, in their 
 
 dear care 
 
 And tender preservation of our person, 
 Would have him punish'd. And now to out 
 
 French causes : 
 Who are the late commissioners? 
 
 Cam. I one, my lord : 
 Your highness bade me ask for it to-day. 
 
 Scroop. So did you me, my liege. 
 
 Grey. And me, my royal sovereign. 
 
 K. Hen. Then, Richard Earl of Cambridge, 
 there is yours ; [sir knight, 
 
 There yours, Lord Scroop of Masham ; and, 
 Grey of Northumberland, this same is yours : 
 Read them, and know I know your worthi- 
 ness. [eter, 
 My Lord of Westmoreland, and uncle Ex- 
 We will aboard to-night. Why, how now, 
 
 gentlemen ' 
 
 What see you in those papers, that you lose 
 So much complexion? Look ye, how they 
 change ! [there 
 
 Their cheeks are paper. Why, what read you 
 That hath so cowarded and chas'd your blood 
 Out of appearance? 
 
 Cam. I do confess my fault, 
 
 And do submit me to your highness' mercy. 
 
 Grey, Scroop. To which we all appeal. 
 
 K. Hen. The mercy that was quick in us 
 
 but late 
 
 By your own counsel is suppress'd and kill'd : 
 You must not dare, for shame, to talk of mercy ; 
 For your own reasons turn into your bosoms, 
 As dogs upon their masters, worrying you. 
 See you, my princes and my noble peers, 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 539 
 
 These English monsters! My Lord of Cam- 
 bridge here, 
 
 You know how apt our love was to accord 
 To furnish him with all appertinents 
 Belonging to his honour ; and this man 
 Hath, for a few light crowns, lightly conspir'd, 
 And sworn unto the practices of France, 
 To kill us here in Hampton : to the which 
 This knight, no less for bounty bound to us 
 Than Cambridge is, hath likewise sworn. 
 But, O, [cruel, 
 
 What shall I say to thee, Lord Scroop? thou 
 Ingrateful, savage, and inhuman creature! 
 Thou that didst bear the key of all my counsels, 
 That knew'st the very bottom of my soul, 
 That almost mightst have coin'd me into gold, 
 Wouldst thou have practis'd on me for thy 
 
 use, 
 
 May it be possible that foreign hire 
 Could out of thee extract one spark of evil 
 That might annoy my finger ? tis so strange 
 That, though the truth of it stands off as gross 
 As black from white, my eye will scarcely see it. 
 Treason and murder ever kept together, 
 As two yoke-devils sworn to cither's purpose, 
 Working so grossly in a natural cause 
 That admiration did not whoop at them t 
 But thou, 'gainst all proportion, didst bring in 
 Wonder to wait on treason and on murder: 
 And whatsoever cunning fiend it was 
 That wrought upon thee so preposterously 
 Hath got the voice in hell for excellence : 
 And other devils, that suggest by treasons, 
 Do botch and bungle up damnation [fetch'd 
 With patches, colours, and with forms being 
 From glistering semblances of piety ; 
 But he that temper'd thee bade thee stand up, 
 Gave thee no instance why thou shouldst do 
 
 treason, 
 
 Unless to dub thee with the name of traitor. 
 If that same demon that hath gull'd thee thus 
 Should with his lion gait walk the whole world, 
 He might return to vasty Tartar back, 
 And tell the legions, / can never win 
 A soul so easy as that Englishman's. 
 O, how hast thou with jealousy infected 
 The sweetness of affiance ! Show men dutiful ? 
 Why, so didst thou : seem they grave and learned? 
 Why, so didst thou : come they of noble family? 
 Why, so didst thou : seem they religious? 
 Why, so didst thou : or are they spare in diet ; 
 Free from gross passion, or of mirth or anger ; 
 Constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood ; 
 Garnish'd and deck'd in modest complement ; 
 Not working with the eye without the ear, 
 And but in purged judgment trusting neither? 
 Such and so finely bolted didst thou seem : 
 
 And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot, 
 To mark the full-fraught man and best indu'd 
 With some suspicion. I will weep for thee ; 
 For this revolt of thine, methinks, is like 
 Another fall of man. Their faults are open : 
 Arrest them to the answer of the law ; 
 And God acquit them of their practices ! 
 
 Exe. I arrest thee of high treason, by the 
 name of Richard Earl of Cambridge. 
 
 I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of 
 Henry Lord Scroop of Masham. 
 
 I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of 
 Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland. 
 
 Scroop. Our purposes God justly hath dis- 
 
 cover'd ; 
 
 And I repent my fault more than my death ; 
 Which I beseech your highness to forgive, 
 Although my body pay the price of it. 
 
 Cam. For me, the gold of France did not 
 
 seduce ; 
 
 Although I did admit it as a motive 
 The sooner to effect what I intended : 
 But God be thanked for prevention ; 
 Which I in sufferance heartily will rejoice, 
 Beseeching God and you to pardon me. 
 
 Grey. Never did faithful subject more rejoice 
 At the discovery of most dangerous treason 
 Than I do at this hour joy o'er myself, 
 Prevented from a damned enterprise : 
 My fault, but not my body, pardon, sovereign. 
 
 K. Hen. God quit you in his mercy ! Hear 
 
 your sentence. 
 
 You have conspir'd against our royal person, 
 Join'd with an enemy proclaim'd, and from his 
 
 coffers 
 
 Receiv'd the golden earnest of our death ; 
 Wherein you would have sold your king to 
 
 slaughter, 
 
 His princes and his peers to servitude, 
 His subjects to oppression and contempt, 
 And his whole kingdom into desolation. 
 Touching our person seek we no revenge ; 
 But we our kingdom's safety must so tender, 
 Whose ruin you have sought, that to her laws 
 We do deliver you. Get you, therefore, hence, 
 Poor miserable wretches, to your death : 
 The taste whereof God of his mercy give you 
 Patience to endure, and true repentance 
 Of all your dear offences! Bear them hence. 
 
 [Exeunt Conspirators, guarded. 
 Now, lords, for France ; the enterprise whereof 
 Shall be to you, as us, like glorious. 
 We doubt not of a fair and lucky war : 
 Since God so graciously hath brought to light 
 This dangerous treason, lurking in our way 
 To hinder our beginnings, we doubt not now 
 But every rub is smoothed on our way. 
 
540 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 [ACT n. 
 
 Then, forth, dear countrymen : let us deliver 
 Our puissance into the hand of God, 
 Putting it straight in expedition. 
 Cheerly to sea ; the signs of war advance : 
 No king of England, if not king of France. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 *.;. i 3SOJ53SK} liyttJ V> i.-i^rfi i: 
 
 SCENE III. LONDON. The Hostess's House 
 in Eastcheap. 
 
 Enter PISTOL, Hostess, NYM, BARDOLPH, 
 and Boy. 
 
 Host. Pr'ythee, honey-sweet husband, let me 
 bring thee to Staines. 
 
 Fist. No; for my manly heart doth yearn. 
 
 Bardolph, be blithe ; Nym, rouse thy vaunting 
 
 veins; [is dead, 
 
 Boy, bristle thy courage up; for Falstaff he 
 
 And we must yearn therefore. 
 
 Bard. Would I were with him, wheresome'er 
 he is, eithe r in heaven or in hell ! 
 
 Host. Nay, sure, he's not in hell: he's in 
 Arthur's bosom, if ever man went to Arthur's 
 bosom. 'A made a finer end, and went away, 
 an it had been any christom child ; 'a parted 
 even just between twelve and one, even at the 
 turning o' the tide : for after I saw him fumble 
 with the sheets, and play with flowers, and smile 
 upon his fingers' ends, I knew there was but one 
 way ; for his nose was as sharp as a pen, and 'a 
 babbled of green fields. How now, Sir John! 
 quoth I : what, man ! be o' good cheer. So 'a 
 cried out God, God, God! three or four times. 
 Now I, to comfort him, bid him 'a should not 
 think of God; I hoped there was no need to 
 trouble himself with any such thoughts yet. So 
 'a bade me lay more clothes on his feet : I put 
 my hand into the bed and felt them, and they 
 were as cold as any stone ; then I felt to his 
 knees, and so upward and upward, and all was 
 as cold as any stone. 
 
 Nym. They say he cried out of sack. 
 
 Host. Ay, that 'a did. 
 
 Bard. And of women. 
 
 Host. Nay, that 'a did not. 
 
 Boy. Yes, that 'a did; and said they were 
 devils incarnate. 
 
 Host. 'A could never abide carnation ; 'twas 
 a colour he never liked. 
 
 Boy. 'A said once, the devil would have him 
 about women. 
 
 Host. 'A did in some sort, indeed, handle 
 women ; but then he was rheumatic, and talked 
 of the whore of Babylon. 
 
 Boy. Do you not remember, 'a saw a flea 
 stick upon Bardolph's nose, and 'a said it was 
 a black soul burning in hell? 
 
 Bard. Well, the fuel is gone that maintained 
 that fire: that's all the riches I got in his 
 service. 
 
 Nym. Shall we shog? the king will be gone 
 irom Southampton. [thy lips. 
 
 Pist. Come, let 's away. My love, give me 
 Look to my chattels and my moveables : 
 Let senses rule ; the word is, Pitch and pay ; 
 Trust none ; 
 
 For oaths are straws, men's faiths are wafer-cakes, 
 And holdfast is the only dog, my duck : 
 Therefore caveto be thy counsellor. 
 Go, clear thy crystals. Yoke-fellows in arms, 
 Let us to France ; like horse-leeches, my boys, 
 To suck, to suck, the very blood to suck ! 
 
 Boy. And that is but unwholesome food, they 
 say. 
 
 Pist. Touch her soft mouth and march. 
 
 Bard. Farewell, hostess. [Kissing her. 
 
 Nym. I cannot kiss, that is the humour of 
 it; but, adieu. 
 
 Pist. Let housewifery appear : keep close, I 
 thee command. 
 
 Host. Farewell; adieu. {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. FRANCE. A Room in the 
 FRENCH KING'S Palace. 
 
 fli. 1 '"!- : uoffj "cil 
 
 Flourish. Enter the FRENCH KING, attended; 
 the DAUPHIN, the DUKE OF BURGUNDY, 
 the Constable, and others. 
 
 Fr. King. Thus come the English with full 
 
 power upon us ; 
 
 And more than carefully it us concerns 
 To answer royally in our defences. 
 Therefore the Dukes of Berri and of Bretagne, 
 Of Brabant and of Orleans, shall make forth, 
 And you, Prince Dauphin, with all swift de- 
 spatch, 
 
 To line and new repair our towns of war 
 With men of courage and with means defendant ; 
 For England his approaches makes as fierce 
 As waters to the sucking of a gulf. 
 It fits us, then, to be as provident 
 As fear may teach us, out of late examples 
 Left by the fatal and neglected English 
 Upon our fields. 
 
 Dau. My most redoubted father, 
 
 It is most meet we arm us 'gainst the foe ; 
 For peace itself should not so dull a kingdom, 
 Though war, nor no known quarrel, were in 
 
 question, 
 
 But that defences, musters, preparations, 
 Should be maintain'd, assembled, and collected, 
 As were a war in expectation. 
 Therefore, I say, 'tis meet we all go forth 
 To view the sick and feeble parts of France : 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 And let us do it with no show of fear ; 
 
 No, with no more than if we heard that England 
 
 Were busied with a Whitsun morris-dance : 
 
 For, my good liege, she is so idly king'd, 
 
 Her sceptre so fantastically borne 
 
 By a vain, giddy, shallow, humorous youth, 
 
 That fear attends her not. 
 
 Con. O peace, Prince Dauphin ! 
 
 You are too much mistaken in this king : 
 Question your grace the late ambassadors, 
 With what great state he heard their embassy, 
 How well supplied with noble counsellors, 
 How modest in exception, and withal 
 How terrible in constant resolution, 
 And you shall find his vanities forespent 
 Were but the outside of the Roman Brutus, 
 Covering discretion with a coat of folly ; 
 As gardeners do with ordure hide those roots 
 That shall first spring and be most delicate. 
 
 Dau. Well, 'tis not so, my lord high-constable; 
 But though we think it so, it is no matter : 
 In cases of defence 'tis best to weigh 
 The enemy more mighty than he seems : 
 So the proportions of defence are fill'd ; 
 Which, of a weak and niggardly projection, 
 Doth like a miser spoil his coat with scanting 
 A little cloth. 
 
 Fr. King. Think we King Harry strong ; 
 And, princes, look you strongly arm to meet 
 
 him. 
 
 The kindred of him hath been flesh'd upon us ; 
 And he is bred out of that bloody strain 
 That haunted us in our familiar paths : 
 Witness our too-much memorable shame 
 When Cressy battle fatally was struck, 
 And all our princes captiv'd by the hand 
 Of that black name, Edward Black Prince of 
 Wales; [standing, 
 
 Whiles that his mountain sire, on mountain 
 Up in the air, crown'd with the golden sun, 
 Saw his heroical seed, and smil'd to see him, 
 Mangle the work of nature, and deface 
 The patterns that by God and by French fathers 
 Had twenty years been made. This is a stem 
 Of that victorious stock ; and let us fear 
 The native mightiness and fate of him. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Ambassadors from Harry King of Eng- 
 land 
 Do crave admittance to your majesty. 
 
 Fr. King. We '11 give them present audience. 
 Go, and bring them. 
 
 {Exeunt Mess, and certain Lords. 
 You see this chase is hotly follow'd, friends. 
 
 Turn head and stop pursuit ; for coward 
 dogs 
 
 Most spend their mouths when what they seem 
 
 to threaten 
 
 Runs far before them. Good my sovereign, 
 Take up the English short ; and let them know 
 Of what a monarchy you are the head : 
 Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin 
 As self-neglecting. 
 
 Re-enter Lords, -with EXETER and Train. 
 
 Fr. King. From our brother England? 
 
 Exe. From him ; and thus he greets your 
 
 majesty. 
 
 He wills you, in the name of God Almighty, 
 That you divest yourself, and lay apart 
 The borrow'd glories that by gift of heaven, 
 By law of nature and of nations, 'long 
 To him and to his heirs ; namely, the crown, 
 And all wide-stretched honours that pertain, 
 By custom and the ordinance of times, 
 Unto the crown of France. That you may know 
 'Tis no sinister nor no awkward claim, [days, 
 Pick'd from the worm-holes of long-vanish'd 
 Nor from the dust of old oblivion rak'd, 
 He sends you this most memorable line, 
 
 {Gives a paper. 
 
 In every branch truly demonstrative ; 
 Willing you overlook this pedigree : 
 And when you find him evenly deriv'd 
 From his most fam'd of famous ancestors, 
 Edward the Third, he bids you then resign 
 Your crown and kingdom, indirectly held 
 From him the native and true challenger. 
 
 Fr. King. Or else what follows? [crown 
 
 Exe. Bloody constraint ; for if you hide the 
 Even in your hearts, there will he rake for it : 
 Therefore in fierce tempest is he coming, 
 In thunder and in earthquake, like a Jove, 
 That if requiring fail, he will compel ; 
 And bids you, in the bowels of the Lord, 
 Deliver up the crown ; and to take mercy 
 On the poor souls for whom this hungry war 
 Opens his vasty jaws : and on your head 
 Turns he the widows' tears, the orphans' cries, 
 The dead men's blood, the pining maidens' 
 
 groans, 
 
 For husbands, fathers, and betrothed lovers, 
 That shall be swallow'd in this controversy. 
 This is his claim, his threatening, and my mes- 
 
 Unless the Dauphin be in presence here, 
 To whom expressly I bring greeting too. 
 
 Fr. King. For us, we will consider of this 
 
 further : 
 
 To-morrow shall you bear our full intent 
 Back to our brother England. 
 
 Dau. For the Dauphin, 
 
 I stand here for him : what to him from England? 
 
542 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Exe. Scorn and defiance ; slight regard, con- 
 tempt, 
 
 And anything that may not misbecome 
 The mighty sender, doth he prize you at. 
 Thus says my king : an if your father's highness 
 Do not, in grant of all demands at large, 
 Sweeten the bitter mock you sent his majesty, 
 He '11 call you to so hot an answer for it 
 That caves and womby vaultages of France 
 Shall chide your trespass and return your mock 
 In second accent of his ordinance. 
 
 Dau. Say, if my father render fair return, 
 It is against my will ; for I desire 
 Nothing but odds with England : to that end, 
 As matching to his youth and vanity, 
 I did present him with the Paris balls. 
 
 Exe. He '11 make your Paris Louvre shake 
 
 for it, 
 
 Were it the mistress court of mighty Europe : 
 And, be assur'd, you '11 find a difference, 
 As we, his subjects, have in wonder found, 
 Between the promise of his greener days 
 And these he masters now : now he weighs time 
 Even to the utmost grain : that you shall read 
 In your own lessees if he stay in France. 
 
 Fr. King. To-morrow shall you know our 
 mind at full. [king 
 
 Exe. Despatch us with all speed, lest that our 
 Come here himself to question our delay ; 
 For he is footed in this land already. 
 
 Fr. King. You shall be soon despatch'd with 
 
 fair conditions: 
 
 A night is but small breath and little pause 
 To answer matters of this consequence. 
 
 \Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Chorus. 
 
 Cho. Thus with imagin'd wing our swift scene 
 
 flies, 
 
 In motion of no less celerity [seen 
 
 Than that of thought. Suppose that you have 
 The well-appointed king at Hampton pier 
 Embark his royalty ; and his brave fleet 
 With silken streamers the young Phoebus fan- 
 ning: 
 
 Play with your fancies ; and in them behold 
 Upon the hempen tackle ship-boys climbing , 
 Hear the shrill whistle which doth order give 
 To sounds confus'd ; behold the threaden sails, 
 Borne with the invisible and creeping wind, 
 Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow'd sea, 
 Breasting the lofty surge : O, do but think 
 You stand upon the rivage and behold 
 A city on the inconstant billows dancing ; 
 For so appears this fleet majestical, 
 Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow ! 
 Grapple your minds to sternage of this navy; 
 
 And leave your England, as dead midnight still, 
 Guarded withgrandsires, babies, and old women, 
 Either past or not arrived to pith and puissance ; 
 For who is he, whose chin is but enrich'd 
 With one appearing hair, that will not follow 
 These cull'd and choice-drawn cavaliers to 
 France? [siege; 
 
 Work, work your thoughts, and therein see a 
 Behold the ordnance on their carriages, 
 With fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur. 
 Suppose the ambassador from the French comes 
 
 back; 
 
 Tells Harry that the king doth offer him 
 Katharine his daughter ; and with her, to dowry, 
 Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms. 
 The offer likes not : and the nimble gunner 
 With linstock now the devilish cannon touches, 
 [Alarum, and chambers go off, within. 
 And down goes all before them. Still be kind, 
 And eke out our performance with your mind. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 ACT III. 
 SCENE I. FRANCE. Before Harfteur. 
 
 Alarums. Enter KING HENRY, EXETER, BED- 
 FORD, GLOSTER, and Soldiers, with scaling- 
 ladders. 
 
 K. Hen. Once more unto the breach, dear 
 
 friends, once more; 
 
 Or close the wall up with our English dead ! 
 In peace there 's nothing so becomes a man 
 As modest stillness and humility: 
 But when the blast of war blows in our ears, 
 Then imitate the action of the tiger ; 
 Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, 
 Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage ; 
 Then lend the eye a terrible aspect; 
 Let it pry through the portage of the head 
 Like the brass cannon ; let the brow o'erwhelm 
 
 it 
 
 As fearfully as doth a galled rock 
 O'erhang and jutty his confounded base, 
 Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean. 
 Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide ; 
 Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit 
 To his full height ! On, on, you noble English, 
 Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof! - 
 Fathers that, like so many Alexanders, 
 Have in these parts from morn till even fought, 
 And sheath'd their swords for lack of argu- 
 ment : 
 
 Dishonour not your mothers ; now attest 
 That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you ! 
 Be copy now to men of grosser blood, 
 And teach them how to war ! And you, good 
 yeomen, 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 543 
 
 Whose limbs were made in England, show us 
 
 here 
 
 The mettle of your pasture ; let us swear 
 That you are worth your breeding: which I 
 
 doubt not ; 
 
 For there is none of you so mean and base, 
 That hath not noble lustre in your eyes. 
 I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, 
 Straining upon the start. The game 's afoot : 
 Follow your spirit ; and upon this charge 
 Cry God for Harry ! England ! and Saint 
 
 George ! 
 
 [Exeunt. Alarum, and chambers go off> 
 within. 
 
 Enter NYM, BARDOLPH, PISTOL, and Boy. 
 
 Bard. On, on, on, on, on ! to the breach, to 
 the breach ! 
 
 Nym. Pray thee, corporal, stay: the knocks 
 are too hot ; and, for mine own part, I have not 
 a case of lives : the humour of it is too hot, that 
 is the very plain-song of it. 
 
 Pist. The plain-song is most just; for 
 humours do abound: 
 
 Knocks go and come ; God's vassals drop and die * 
 And sword and shield 
 In bloody field 
 Doth win immortal fr me. 
 
 Boy. Would I were in an alehouse in Lon- 
 don ! I would give all my fame for a pot of 
 ale and safety. 
 
 Pist. And I : 
 
 If wishes would prevail with me, 
 
 My purpose should not fail with 
 
 But thither would I hie. 
 
 Boy. As duly, but not as truly, 
 
 As bird doth sing on bough. 
 
 Enter FLUELLEN. 
 
 Flu. Up to th preach, you dogs! avaunt, 
 you cullions! [Driving them forward. 
 
 Pist. Be merciful , great duke, to men of mould ! 
 Abate thy rage, abate thy manly rage ! 
 Abate thy rage, great duke ! [chuck ! 
 
 Good bawcock, bate thy rage ! use lenity, sweet 
 
 Nym. These be good humours ! your honour 
 wins bad humours. 
 
 [Exeunt NYM, PISTOL, and BARDOLPH, 
 followed by FLUELLEN. 
 
 Boy. As young as I am, I have observed 
 these three swashers. I am boy to them all 
 three: but all they three, though they would 
 serve me, could not be man to me ; for, indeed, 
 three such antics do not amount to a man. For 
 Bardolph, he is white-livered and red-faced ; 
 by the means whereof 'a faces it out, but fights 
 not For Pistol, he hath a killing tongue and 
 
 a quiet sword ; by the means whereof 'a breaks 
 words and keeps whole weapons. For Nym, 
 he hath heard that men of few words are the 
 best men; and therefore he scorns to say his 
 prayers lest 'a should be thought a coward : but 
 his few bad words are matched with as few 
 good deeds ; for 'a never broke any man's head 
 but his own, and that was against a post when 
 he was drunk. They will steal anything, and 
 call it purchase. Bardolph stole a lute-case, 
 bore it twelve leagues, and sold it for three 
 halfpence. Nym and Bardolph are sworn 
 brothers in niching ; and in Calais they stole a 
 fire-shovel : I knew by that piece of service the 
 men would carry coals. They would have me 
 as familiar with men's pockets as their gloves 
 or their handkerchers : which makes much 
 against my manhood, if I should take from 
 another's pocket to put into mine ; for it is plain 
 pocketing up of wrongs. I must leave them, 
 and seek some better service : their villany goes 
 against my weak stomach, and therefore I must 
 cast it up. [Exit. 
 
 Re-enter FLUELLEN, GO\VER following. 
 
 Gow. Captain Fluellen, you must come pre- 
 sently to the mines ; the Duke of Gloster would 
 speak with you. 
 
 Flu. To the mines ! tell you the duke it is 
 not so goot to come to the mines ; for, look 
 you, the mines is not according to the discip- 
 lines of the war : the concavities of it is not 
 sufficient ; for, look you, th' athversary, you 
 may discuss unto the duke, look you, is digt 
 himself four yard under the countermines ; by 
 Cheshu, I think 'a will plow up all, if there is 
 not better directions. 
 
 Gow. The Duke of Gloster, to whom the 
 order of the siege is given, is altogether directed 
 by an Irishman, a very valiant gentleman, i' 
 faith. 
 
 Flu. It is Captain Macmorris, is it not ? 
 
 Gow. I think it be. 
 
 Flu. By Cheshu, he is an ass, as in the 
 'orld : I will verify as much in his peard : he 
 has no more directions in the true disciplines 
 of the wars, look you, of the Roman disciplines, 
 than is a puppy-dog. 
 
 Gow. Here 'a comes; and the Scots captain, 
 Captain Jamy, with him. 
 
 Flu. Captain Jamy is a marvellous falorous 
 gentleman, that is certain, and of great expedi- 
 tion and knowledge in the ancient wars, upon 
 my particular knowledge of his directions : by 
 Cheshu, he will maintain his argument as well 
 as any military man in the 'orld, in the discip- 
 lines of the pristine wars of the Romans. 
 
544 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Enter MACMORRIS and JAMY, at a distance. 
 
 Jamy. I say gud-day, Captain Fluellen. 
 
 Flu. God-den to your worship, goot Cap- 
 tain Jamy. 
 
 Gow. How now, Captain Macmorris ! have 
 you quit the mines? have the pioneers given o'er? 
 
 Mac. By Chrish la, tish ill done : the work 
 ish give over, the trumpet sound the retreat. 
 By my hand, I swear, and by my father's soul, 
 the work ish ill done ; it ish give over : I 
 would have blowed up the town, so Chrish save 
 me, la, in an hour : O, tish ill done, tish ill 
 done ; by my hand, tish ill done ! 
 
 Flu. Captain Macmorris, I peseech you now, 
 will you voutsafe me, look you, a few disputa- 
 tions with you, a" partly touching or concerning 
 the disciplines of the war, the Roman wars, in 
 the way of argument, look you, and friendly 
 communication ; partly to satisfy my opinion, 
 and partly for the satisfaction, look you, of my 
 mind, as touching the direction of the military 
 discipline ; that is the point. 
 
 Jamy. It sail be very gud, gud feith, gud 
 captains bath : and I sail quit you with gud 
 leve, as I may pick occasion ; that sail I, mary. 
 
 Mac. It is no time to discourse, so Chrish 
 N save me : the day is hot, and the weather, and 
 the wars, and the king, and the dukes : it is no 
 time to discourse. The town is beseeched, and 
 the trumpet call us to the breach ; and we talk 
 and, by Chrish, do nothing: 'tis shame for us 
 all : so God sa' me, 'tis shame to stand still ; 
 it is shame, by my hand : and there is throats 
 to be cut, and works to be done ; and there 
 ish nothing done, so Chrish sa' me, la. 
 
 Jamy. By the mess, ere theise eyes of mine 
 take themselves to slumber, aile do gud service, 
 or aile lig i' the grund for it ; ay, or go to death ; 
 and aile pay 't as valorously as I may, that sail 
 I suerly do, that is the breffand the long. Mary, 
 I wad full fain heard some question 'tween you 
 tway. 
 
 Flu. Captain Macmorris, I think, look you, 
 under your correction, there is not many of 
 your nation, 
 
 Mac. Of my nation ! What ish my nation? 
 what ish my nation? Who talks of my nation 
 ish a villain, and a basterd, and a knave, and a 
 rascal. 
 
 Flu. Look you, if you take the matter other- 
 wise than is meant, Captain Macmorris, perad- 
 venture I shall think you do not use me with 
 that affability as in discretion you ought to use 
 me, look you ; being as goot a man as yourself, 
 both in the disciplines of war and in the deriva- 
 tion of my birth, and in other particularities. 
 
 Mac. I do not know you so good a man as 
 myself: so Chrish save me, I will cut off your 
 head. 
 
 Gow. Gentlemen both, you will mistake each 
 other. 
 
 Jamy. Att! that's a foul fault. 
 
 \^A parley sounded. 
 
 Gow. The town sounds a parley. 
 
 Flu. Captain Macmorris, when there is more 
 petter opportunity to be required, look you, I 
 will be so pold as to tell you I know the dis- 
 ciplines of war ; and there is an end. \_Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. The same. Before the Gates of 
 Harfleur. 
 
 The Governor and some Citizens on the walls ; 
 the English Forces below. Enter KING 
 HENRY and his Train. 
 
 K. Hen. I low yet resolves the governor of 
 
 the town? 
 
 This is the latest parley we will admit : 
 Therefore, to our best mercy give yourselves ; 
 Or like to men proud of destruction, 
 Defy us to our worst : for as I am a soldier, 
 A name that, in my thoughts, becomes me 
 
 best, 
 
 If I begin the battery once again, 
 I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur 
 Till in her ashes she lie buried. 
 The gates of mercy shall be all shut up ; 
 And the flesh'd soldier, rough and hard of 
 
 heart, 
 
 In liberty of bloody hand shall range 
 With conscience wide as hell ; mowing like grass 
 Your fresh-fair virgins and your flowering in- 
 fants. 
 
 What is it then to me if impious war, 
 Array 'd in flames, like to the prince of fiends, 
 Do, with his smirch'd complexion, all fell feats 
 Enlink'd to waste and desolation? 
 What is 't to me when you yourselves are cause, 
 If your pure maidens fall into the hand 
 Of hot and forcing violation? 
 What rein can hold licentious wickedness 
 When down the hill he holds his fierce career? 
 We may as bootless spend our vain command 
 Upon the enraged soldiers in their spoil, 
 As send precepts to the Leviathan [fleur, 
 
 To come ashore. Therefore, you men of Har- 
 Take pity of your town and of your people 
 Whiles yet my soldiers are in my command ; 
 Whiles yet the cool and temperate wind of grace 
 O'erblows the filthy and contagious clouds 
 Of heady murder, spoil, and villany. 
 If not, why, in a moment look to see 
 The blind and bloody soldier with foul hand 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 545 
 
 Defile the locks of your shrill - shrieking 
 
 daughters ; 
 
 Your fathers taken by the silver beards, 
 And their most reverend heads dash'd to the 
 
 walls ; 
 
 Your naked infants spitted upon pikes, 
 Whiles the mad mothers with their howls con- 
 
 fus'd 
 
 Do break the clouds, as did the wives of Jewry 
 At Herod's blood*y-hunting slaughtermen. 
 What say you? will you yield, and this avoid? 
 Or, guilty in defence, be thus destroy'd ? 
 
 Gov. Our expectation hath this day an end : 
 The Dauphin, whom of succour we entreated, 
 Returns us that his powers are not yet ready 
 To raise so great a siege. Therefore, great 
 
 king, 
 
 We yield our town and lives to thy soft mercy. 
 Enter our gates ; dispose of us and ours ; 
 For we no longer are defensible. [Exeter, 
 
 K. Hen. Open your gates. Come, uncle 
 Go you and enter Harfleur ; there remain, 
 And fortify it strongly 'gainst the French : 
 Use mercy to them all. For us, dear uncie, 
 The winter coming on, and sickness growing 
 Upon our soldiers, we will retire to Calais. 
 To-night in Harfleur will we be your guest ; 
 ; To-morrow for the march are we addrest. 
 ' [Flourish. The KING, &<r., enter the Town. 
 
 SCENE III. ROUEN. A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter KATHARINE and ALICE. 
 
 Kath. Alice, tu as ett en Angleterre, et tu 
 paries bien le langage. 
 
 Alice. Un peu, madame. 
 
 Kath. Je te prie, nfenseignez; il faut que 
 fapprenne a parler. Comment appelez-vous la 
 main en Anglais? 
 
 Alice. La main? elle est appeUe de hand. 
 
 Kath. De hand. Et les doigts? 
 
 Alice. Les doigts? ma foi, f oublie les doigts ; 
 mats je me souviendrai. Les doigts ? je pense 
 quails sont appelh de fingres ; out, de fingres. 
 
 Kath. La main, de hand; les doigts, de 
 fingres. Je pense que je suis le bon ecolier; fai 
 gagnt deux mots a" Anglais vttement. Comment 
 appelez-vous les angles? 
 
 Alice. Les angles ? les appelons de nails. 
 
 Kath. De nails. Ecoutez; dites-moi, si je 
 parle bien: de hand, de fingres, et de nails. 
 
 Alice. C?est bien dit, madame; il est fort bon 
 Anglais. 
 
 Kath. Dites-moi F Anglais pour le bras. 
 
 Alice. De arm, madame. 
 
 Kath. Et le coude? 
 
 Alice. De elbow. 
 
 Kath. De elbow. Je m' en fat's la repetition 
 de tous les mots que vous nfavcz appris des a 
 present. 
 
 Alice. II est trap difficile, madame, comme je 
 pense. 
 
 Kath. Excusez-mci, Alice; ecoutez: de hand, 
 de fingres, de nails, de arm, de bilbow. 
 
 Alice. De elbow, madame. 
 
 Kath. Seigneur Dieu, je m'en oublie ! de 
 elbow. Comment appelez-vous le col? 
 
 Alice. De neck, madame. 
 
 Kath. De nick. Et le menton ? 
 
 Alice. De chin. 
 
 Kath. De sin. Le col, de nick ; le menton, 
 de sin. 
 
 Alice. Out. Sauf votre honneur, en veritt^ 
 vous prononcez les mots aussi droit que les natifs 
 d 1 Angleterre. 
 
 Kath. Je ne doute point d*apprendre % par la 
 grace de Dieu, et en peu de temps. 
 
 Alice. N^avez-vous pas deja oublie ce que jt 
 vous at enseignt ? 
 
 Kath. Non,je reciterai a vous promptement : 
 de hand, de fingres, de mails, 
 
 Alice. De nails, madame. 
 
 Kath. De nails, de arm, de ilbow. 
 
 Alice. Sauf votre honneur, de elbow. 
 
 Kath. Ainsi dis-je ; de elbow, de nick, et 
 de sin. Comment appelez-vous lepied et la robe ? 
 
 Alice. De foot, madame ; et de coun. 
 
 Kath. De foot et de coun ! O Seigneur 
 Dieu ! ce sont mots de son mauvais, corrupt- 
 ible, gros, gt impudique, et non pour les dames 
 d? honneur duser: je ne voudrais prononcer ces 
 mots devant les seigtieurs de France pour tout le 
 monde. II faut de foot et de coun neanmoins. 
 Je reciterai une autre fois ma lecon ensemble : 
 de hand, de fingres, de nails, de arm, de 
 elbow, de nick, de sin, de foot, de coun. 
 
 Alice. Excellent, madame! 
 
 Kath. Cest assez pour une fois : allons-nous 
 a diner. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IN. The same. Another Room in 
 the same. 
 
 Enter the FRENCH KING, the DAUPHIN, 
 DUKE OF BOURBON, the Constable of 
 France, and others. 
 
 Fr. King. 'Tis certain he hath pass'd the 
 river Somme. 
 
 Con. And if he be not fought withal, my lord, 
 Let us not live in France ; let us quit all, 
 And give our vineyards to a barbarous people. 
 
 Dau. O Dieu vivant! shall a few sprays of us, 
 The emptying of our fathers' luxury, 
 Our scions, put in wild and savage stock, 
 
 3 
 
546 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 [ACT III. 
 
 Spurt up so suddenly into the clouds, 
 And overlook their grafters? 
 
 Bour. Normans, but bastard Normans, 
 
 Norman bastards ! 
 
 Mort de ma vie! if they march along 
 Unfought withal, but I will sell my dukedom 
 To buy a slobbery and a dirty farm 
 In that nook-shotten isle of Albion. 
 
 Con. Dieu de batailles! where have they 
 
 this mettle ? 
 
 Is not their climate foggy, raw, and dull ; 
 On whom, as in despite, the sun looks pale, 
 Killing their fruit with frowns? Can sodden 
 
 water, [broth, 
 
 A drench for sur-rein'd jades, their barley- 
 Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat? 
 And shall our quick blood, spirited v/ith wine, 
 Seem frosty? O, for honour of our land, 
 Let us not hang like roping icicles 
 Upon our houses' thatch, whiles a more frosty 
 
 people [fields, 
 
 Sweat drops of gallant youth in our rich 
 Poor we may call them in their native lords ! 
 
 Dau. By faith and honour, 
 Our madams mock at us, and plainly say 
 Our mettle is bred out, and they will give 
 Their bodies to the lust of English youth 
 To new-store France with bastard warriors. 
 Bour. They bid us to the English dancing- 
 schools, 
 
 And teach lavoltas high and swift corantos; 
 Saying our grace is only in our heels, 
 And that we are most lofty runaways. 
 
 Fr. King. Where is Montjoy, the herald? 
 
 speed him hence: 
 
 Let him greet England with our sharpdefiance. 
 Up, princes ! and, with spirit of honour edg'd 
 More sharper than your swords, hie to the field : 
 Charles De-la-bret, high-constable of France ; 
 You Dukes of Orleans, Bourbon, and of Berri, 
 Ale^on, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy; 
 Jaques Chatillon, Rambures, Vaudemont, 
 Beaumont, Grandpree, Roussi, and Fauconberg, 
 Foix,Lestrale, Bouciqualt, and Charolois; 
 High dukes, great princes, barons, lords, and 
 
 knights, [shames. 
 
 For your great seats, now quit you of great 
 Bar Harry England, that sweeps through our 
 
 land 
 
 With pennons painted in the blood of Harfleur : 
 Rush on his host as doth the melted snow 
 Upon the valleys, whose low vassal seat 
 The Alps doth spit and void his rheum upon : 
 Go down upon him, you have power enough, 
 And in a captive chariot into Rouen 
 Bring him our prisoner, 
 
 Con. This becomes the great. 
 
 Sorry am I his numbers are so few, 
 His soldiers sick, and famish'd in their march ; 
 For I am sure, when he shall see our army, 
 He '11 drop his heart into the sink of fear, 
 And for achievement offer us his ransom. 
 
 Fr. King. Therefore, lord constable, haste 
 
 on Montjoy; 
 
 And let him say to England that we send 
 To know what willing ransom he will give. 
 Prince Dauphin, you shall stay with us in Rouen. 
 
 Dau. Not so, I do beseech your majesty. 
 
 Fr. King. Be patient ; for you shall remain 
 
 with us. 
 
 Now forth, lord constable and princes all, 
 And quickly bring us word of England's fall. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V.The English Camp in Picardy. 
 Enter ; severally ', GOWER and FLUELLEN. 
 
 Gow. How now, Captain Fluellen ! come 
 you from the bridge? 
 
 Flu. I assure you there is very excellent ser- 
 vices committed at the pridge. 
 
 Gow. Is the Duke of Exeter safe? 
 
 Flu. The Duke of Exeter is as magnanimous 
 as Agamemnon; and a man that I love and 
 honour with my soul, and my heart, and my 
 duty, and my life, and my living, and my utter- 
 most power: he is not, God be praised and 
 plessed ! any hurt in the 'orld ; but keeps the 
 pridge most valiantly, with excellent discipline. 
 There is an auncient there at the pridge, I 
 think in my very conscience he is as valiant a 
 man as Mark Antony ; and he is a man oi no 
 estimation in the 'orld ; but I did see him do as 
 gallant service. 
 
 Gow. What do you call him? 
 
 Flu. He is called Auncient Pistol. 
 
 Gow. I know him not. 
 
 Flu. Here is the man. 
 
 Enter PISTOL. 
 
 Pist. Captain, I thee beseech to do me favours : 
 The Duke of Exeter doth love thee well. 
 
 Fht. Ay, I praise Got ; and I have merited 
 some love at his hands. [heart, 
 
 Pist. Bardolph, a soldier, firm and sound of 
 Of buxom valour, hath by cruel fate 
 And giddy Fortune's furious fickle wheel, 
 That goddess blind, 
 That stands upon the rolling restless stone, 
 
 Flu. By your patience, Auncient Pistol. 
 Fortune is painted plind, with a muffler afore 
 her eyes, to signify to you that Fortune is plind : 
 and she is painted also with a wheel, to signify 
 to you, which is the moral of it, that she is 
 
SCENE V.] 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 547 
 
 turning, and inconstant, and mutability, and 
 variation : and her foot, look you, is fixed upon 
 a spherical stone, which rolls, and rolls and rolls. 
 In good truth, the poet makes a most excellent 
 description of it : Fortune is an excellent moral. 
 
 Pist. Fortune is Bardolph's foe, and frowns 
 on him ; [be, 
 
 For he hath stol'n a pax, and hanged must ? a 
 A damned death ! 
 
 Let gallows gape for dog ; let man go free, 
 And let not hemp his windpipe suffocate : 
 But Exeter hath given the doom of death 
 For pax of little price. [voice ; 
 
 Therefore, go speak, the duke will hear thy 
 And let not Bardolph's vital thread be cut 
 With edge of penny cord and vile reproach : 
 Speak, captain, for his life, and I will thee re- 
 quite. 
 
 Flu. Auncient Pistol, I do partly understand 
 your meaning. 
 
 Pist. Why, then, rejoice therefore. 
 
 Flu. Certainly, Auncient, it is not a thing to 
 rejoice at : for if, look you, he were my prother 
 I would desire the duke to use his goot pleasure, 
 and put him to execution ; for discipline ought 
 to be used. [friendship ! 
 
 Pist. Die and be damn'd ! and fico for thy 
 
 Flu. It is well. 
 
 Pist. The fig of Spain ! [Exit. 
 
 Flu. Very goot. 
 
 Gow. Why, thisisan arrant counterfeit rascal ; 
 I remember him now; a bawd, a cutpurse. 
 
 Flu. I '11 assure you, 'a uttered as prave 'ords 
 at the pridge as you shall see in a summer's 
 day. But it is very well ; what he has spoke 
 to me, that is well, I warrant you, when time 
 is serve 
 
 Gow. Why, 'tis a gull, a fool, a rogue, that 
 now and then goes to the wars, to grace himself, 
 at his return into London, under the form of a 
 soldier. And such fellows are perfect in the 
 great commanders' names : and they will learn 
 you by rote where services were done ; at such 
 and such a sconce, at such a breach, at such a 
 convoy ; who came off bravely, who was shot, 
 who disgraced, what terms the enemy stood on ; 
 and this they con perfectly in the phrase of 
 war, which they trick up with new-tuned oaths : 
 and what a beard of the general's cut, and a 
 horrid suit of the camp, will do among foaming 
 bottles and ale-washed wits, is wonderful to be 
 thought on. But you must learn to know such 
 slanders of the age, or else you may be marvel- 
 lously mistook. 
 
 Flu. I tell you what, Captain Gower, I do 
 perceive he is not the man that lie would gladly 
 make show to the 'orld he is : if I find a hole 
 
 in his coat I will tell him my mind. [Drum 
 within.'] Hark you, the king is coming; and 
 I must speak with him from the pridge. 
 
 Enter KING HENRY, GLOSTER, and Soldiers. 
 
 Got bless your majesty ! 
 
 K. Hen. How now, Fluellen ! cam'st thou 
 from the bridge? 
 
 Flu. Ay, so please your majesty. The Duke 
 of Exeter has very gallantly maintained the 
 pridge : the French is gone off, look you ; and 
 there is gallant and most prave passages : marry, 
 th' athversary was have possession of the pridge ; 
 but he is enforced to retire, and the Duke of 
 Exeter is master of the pridge : I can tell your 
 majesty the duke is a prave man. 
 
 K. Hen. What men have you lost, Fluellen? 
 
 Flu. The perdition of th' athversary hath been 
 very great, reasonable great : marry, for my part, 
 I think the duke hath lost never a man, but one 
 that is like to be executed for robbinga church, 
 one Bardolph, if your majesty know the man : 
 his face is all bubukles, and whelks, and knobs, 
 and flames of fire; and his lips plows at his 
 nose, and it is like a coal of fire, sometimes 
 plue and sometimes red; but his nose is exe- 
 cuted and his fire 's out. 
 
 K. Hen. We would have all such offenders 
 so cut off: and we give express charge that in 
 our marches through the country there be no- 
 thing compelled from the villages, nothing taken 
 but paid for, none of the French upbraided or 
 abused in disdainful language; for when len- 
 ity and cruelty play for a kingdom the gentler 
 gamester is the soonest winner. 
 
 Tucket sounds. Enter MONTJO&I 
 
 Mont. You know me by my habit. 
 
 K. Hen. Well, then, I know thee: what 
 shall I know of thee? 
 
 Mont. My master's mind. 
 
 K. Hen. Unfold it. 
 
 Mont. Thus says my king: Say thou to 
 Harry of England : Though we seemed dead 
 we did but sleep ; advantage is a better soldier 
 than rashness. Tell him we could have re- 
 buked him at Harfleur, but that we thought not 
 good to bruise an injury till it were full ripe : 
 now we speak upon our cue, and our voice is 
 imperial: England shall repent his folly, see his 
 weakness, and admire our sufferance. Bid him, 
 therefore, consider of his ransom ; which must 
 proportion the losses we have borne, the sub- 
 jects we have lost, the disgrace we have digested ; 
 which, in weight to re-answer, his pettiness 
 would bow under. For our losses his exchequer 
 is too poor ; for the effusion of our blood the 
 
548 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 muster of his kingdom too faint a number ; and 
 for our disgrace his own person, kneeling at our 
 feet, but a weak and worthless satisfaction. To 
 this add defiance : and tell him, for conclusion, 
 he hath betrayed his followers, whose condem- 
 nation is pronounced. So far my king and 
 master ; so much my office. [quality. 
 
 K. Hen. What is thy name? I know thy 
 Mont. Montjoy. [thee back, 
 
 K. Hen. Thou dost thy office fairly. Turn 
 And tell thy king, I do not seek him now ; 
 But could be willing to march on to Calais 
 Without impeachment : for, to say the sooth, 
 Though 'tis no wisdom to confess so much 
 Unto an enemy of craft and vantage, 
 My people are with sickness much enfeebled ; 
 My numbers lessen'd ; and those few I have 
 Almost no better than so many French ; 
 Who, when they were in health, I tell thee, 
 
 herald, 
 
 I thought upon one pair of English legs [God, 
 Did march three Frenchmen. Yet, forgive me, 
 That I do brag thus ! this your air of France 
 Hath blown that vice in me; I must repent. 
 Go, therefore, tell thy master here I am ; 
 My ransom is this frail and worthless trunk ; 
 My army but a weak and sickly guard : 
 Yet, God before, tell him we will come on, 
 Though France himself, and such another 
 neighbour, [Montjoy. 
 
 Stand in our way. There's for thy labour, 
 Go, bid thy master well advise himself: 
 If we may pass, we will ; if we be hinder'd, 
 We shall your tawny ground with your red blood 
 Discolour : and so, Montjoy, fare you well. 
 The sum of ail our answer is but this : 
 We would not seek a battle as we are ; 
 Nor as we are, we say, we will not shun it : 
 So tell your master. 
 
 Mont. I shall deliver so. Thanks to your 
 highness. [Exit. 
 
 Glo. I hope they will not come upon us now. 
 K. Hen. We are in God's hand, brother, not 
 in theirs. [night : 
 
 March to the bridge; it now draws toward 
 Beyond the river we'll encamp ourselves; 
 And on to-morrow bid them march away. 
 
 \_Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI. The French Camp near Agtn- 
 court. 
 
 Enter the Constable of France, the LORD 
 RAMBURES, the DUKE OF ORLEANS, the 
 DAUPHIN, and others. 
 
 Con. Tut ! I have the best armour of the 
 woild. Would it were day! 
 
 Orl. You have an excellent armour ; but let 
 my horse have his due. 
 
 Con. It is the best horse of Europe. 
 
 Orl. Will it never be morning? 
 
 Dau. My Lord of Orleans and my lord high- 
 constable, you talk of horse and armour, 
 
 Orl. You are as well provided of both as any 
 prince in the world. 
 
 Dau. What a long night is this ! I will not 
 change my horse with any that treads but on 
 four pasterns. Ca, ha! he bounds from the 
 earth as if his entrails were hairs; le cheval 
 volant, the Pegasus, qui a les nannes de feu\ 
 When I bestride him I soar, I am a hawk : he 
 trots the air ; the earth sings when he touches 
 it ; the basest horn of his hoof is more musica\ 
 than the pipe of Hermes. 
 
 Orl. He's of the colour of the nutmeg. 
 
 Dau. And of the heat of the ginger. It is a 
 beast for Perseus : he is pure air and fire ; and 
 the dull elements of earth and water never ap- 
 pear in him, but only in patient stillness while 
 his rider mounts him : he is indeed a horse ; and 
 all other jades you may call beasts. 
 
 Con. Indeed, my lord, it is a most absolute 
 and excellent horse. 
 
 Dau. It is the prince of palfreys ; his neigh 
 is like the bidding of a monarch, and his coun- 
 tenance enforces homage. 
 
 Orl. No more, cousin. 
 
 Dau. Nay, the man hath no wit that cannot, 
 from the rising of the lark to the lodging of the 
 lamb, vary deserved praise on my palfrey : it 
 is a theme as fluent as the sea ; turn the sands 
 into eloquent tongues, and my horse is argu- 
 ment for them all : 'tis a subject for a sovereign 
 to reason on, and for a sovereign's sovereign to 
 ride on ; and for the world, familiar to us and 
 unknown, to lay apart their particular func- 
 tions and wonder at him. I once wrt a sonnet 
 in his praise, and began thus: Wonder of 
 nature, 
 
 Orl. I have heard a sonnet begin so to one's 
 mistress. 
 
 Dau. Then did they imitate that which i 
 composed to my courser: for my horse is my 
 mistress. 
 
 Orl. You:: mistress bears well. 
 
 Dau. Me well ; which is the prescript praise 
 and perfection of a good and particular mistress. 
 
 Con. Nay, for methought yesterday your 
 mistress shrewdly shook your back. 
 
 Dau. So, perhaps, did yours. 
 
 Con. Mine was not bridled. 
 
 Dau. O, then, belike she was old and 
 gentle ; and you rode like a kern of Ireland, 
 your French hose off arid in your strait strossers. 
 
SCENE VI.] 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 549 
 
 Con. You have good judgment in horseman- 
 ship. 
 
 Dau. Be warned by me, then: they that 
 ride so, and ride not warily, fall into foul bogs. 
 I had rather have my horse to my mistress. 
 
 Con. I had as lief have my mistress a jade. 
 
 Dau. I tell thee, constable, my mistress 
 wears his own hair. 
 
 Con. I could make as true a boast as that if 
 I had a sow to my mistress. 
 
 Dau. Le chien est retourne a son propre 
 vomissement, et la truie lavee au boiirbier: thou 
 makest use of anything. 
 
 Con. Yet do I not use my horse for my mis- 
 tress ; or any such proverb so little kin to the 
 purpose. 
 
 Ram. My lord constable, the armour that I 
 saw in your tent to-night, are those stars or 
 suns upon it? 
 
 Con. Stars, my lord. [hope. 
 
 Dau. Some of them will fall to-morrow, I 
 
 Con. And yet my sky shall not wanti>ijfV 
 
 Dau. That may be, for you bear a many 
 superfluously, and 'twere more honour some 
 were away. 
 
 Con. Even as your horse bears your praises ; 
 who would trot as well were some of your 
 brags dismounted. 
 
 Dau. Would I were able to load him with 
 his desert! Will it never be day? I will trot, 
 to-morrow a mile, and my way shall be paved 
 with English faces. 
 
 Con. I will not say so, for fear I should be 
 faced out of my way: but I would it were 
 morning ; for I would fain be about the ears of 
 the English. 
 
 Ram. Who will go to hazard with me for 
 twenty prisoners? 
 
 Con. You must first go yourself to hazard 
 ere you have them. 
 
 Dau. "Tis midnight ; I '11 go arm myself. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Or I. The Dauphin longs for morning. 
 
 Ram. He longs to eat the English. 
 
 Con. I think he will eat all he kills. 
 
 Orl. By the white hand of my lady, he 's a 
 gallant prince. 
 
 Con. Swear by her foot, that she may tread 
 out the oath. 
 
 Orl. He is, simply, the most active gentle- 
 man of France. 
 
 Con. Doing is activity; and he will still be 
 doing. 
 
 Orl. He never did harm that I heard of. 
 
 Con. Nor will do none to-morrow: he will 
 keep that good name still. 
 
 Orl. I know him to be valiant 
 
 Con. I was told that by one that knows him 
 better than you. 
 
 Orl. What 'she? 
 
 Con. Marry, he told me so himself; and he 
 said he cared not who knew it. 
 
 Orl. He needs not ; it is no hidden virtue in 
 him. 
 
 Con. By my faith, sir, but it is ; never any- 
 body saw it but his lackey : 'tis a hooded valour 
 and when it appears it will bate. 
 
 Orl. Ill-will never said well. 
 
 Con. I will cap that proverb with There is 
 flattery in friendship. 
 
 Orl. And I will take up that with Give the 
 devil his due. 
 
 Con. Well placed : there stands your friend 
 for the devil : have at the very eye of that pro- 
 verb with A pox of the devil. 
 
 Orl. You are the better at proverbs by how 
 much A fool's bolt is soon shot. 
 
 Con. You have shot over. 
 
 Orl. 'Tis not the first time you were overshot 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My lord high-constable, the English 
 lie within fifteen hundred paces of your tents. 
 
 Con. Who hath measured the ground? 
 
 Mess. The Lord Grandpree. 
 
 Con. A valiant and most expert gentleman. 
 Would it were day ! Alas, poor Harry of Eng- 
 land ! he longs not for the dawning as we do. 
 
 Orl. What a wretched and peevish fellow is 
 this King of England, to mope with his fat- 
 brained followers so far out of his knowledge ! 
 
 Con. If the English had any apprehension 
 they would run away. 
 
 Orl. That they lack ; for if their heads had 
 any intellectual armour they could never wear 
 such heavy head-pieces. 
 
 Ram. That island of England breeds very 
 valiant creatures ; their mastiffs are of unmatch- 
 able courage. 
 
 Orl. Foolish curs, that run winking into the 
 mouth of a Russian bear, and have their heads 
 crushed like rotten apples ! You may as well 
 say, that 's a valiant flea that dare eat his break- 
 fast on the lip of a lion. 
 
 Con. Just, just ; and the men do sympathize 
 with the mastiffs in robustious and rough com- 
 ing-on, leaving their wits with their wives : and 
 then give them great meals of beef, and iron and 
 steel, they will eat like wolves and fight like 
 devils. [of beef. 
 
 Orl. Ay, but these English are shrewdly out 
 
 Con. Then shall we find to-morrow they have 
 only stomachs to eat, and none to fight. Now 
 is it time to arm : come, shall we about it? 
 
55 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Orl. It is now two o'clock : but, let me see, 
 
 by ten 
 We shall have each a hundred Englishmen. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Chorus. 
 
 Chor. Now entertain conjecture of a time 
 When creeping murmur and the poring dark 
 Fills the wide vessel of the universe. 
 From camp to camp, through the foul womb of 
 
 night 
 
 The hum of either army stilly sounds, 
 That the fix'd sentinels almost receive 
 The secret whispers of each other's watch : 
 Fire answers fire, and through their paly flames 
 Each battle sees the other's umber'd face : 
 Steal threatens steed, in high and boastful 
 
 neighs 
 
 Piercing the night's dull ear ; and from the tents 
 The armourers, accomplishing the knights, 
 With busy hammers closing rivets up, 
 Give dreadful note of preparation : 
 The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll, 
 And the third hour of drowsy morning name. 
 Proud of their numbers and secure in soul. 
 The confident and over- lusty French 
 Do the low-rated English play at dice ; 
 And chide the cripple tardy-gaited night, 
 Who, like a foul and ugly witch, doth limp 
 So tediously away. The poor condemned 
 
 English, 
 
 Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires 
 Sit patiently, and inly ruminate 
 The morning's danger ; and their gesture sad 
 Investing lank-lean cheeks and war-worn coats 
 Presenteth them unto the gazing moon [hold 
 So many horrid ghosts. O, now, who will be- 
 The royal captain of this ruin'd band [tent, 
 Walking from watch to watch, from tent to 
 Let him cry, Praise and glory on his head ! 
 For forth he goes and visits all his host; 
 Bids them good-morrow with a modest smile, 
 And calls them brothers, friends, and country- 
 men. 
 
 Upon his royal face there is no note 
 How dread an army hath enrounded him ; 
 Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour 
 Unto the weary and all-watched night; 
 But freshly looks, and over-bears attaint 
 With cheerful semblance and sweet majesty; 
 That every wretch, pining and pale before, 
 Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks : 
 A largess universal, like the sun, 
 His liberal eye doth give to every one, 
 Thawing cold fear. Then, mean and gentle all , 
 Behold, as may unworthiness define, 
 A little touch of Harry in the night : 
 
 And so our scene must to the battle fly ; 
 Where, O for pity ! we shall much disgrace 
 With four or five most vile and ragged foils, 
 Right ill-dispos'd in brawl ridiculous, 
 The name of Agincourt. Yet sit and see ; 
 Minding true things by what their mockeries 
 be. [Exit. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. FRANCE. The English Camp at 
 Agincourt. 
 
 Enter KING HENRY, BEDFORD, and 
 GLOSTER. 
 
 K. Hen. Gloster, 'tis true that We are in 
 
 great danger; 
 
 The greater therefore should our courage be. 
 Good-morrow, brother Bedford. God Al- 
 mighty ! 
 
 There is some soul of goodness in things evil, 
 Would men observingly distil it out ; 
 For our bad neighbour makes us early stirrers, 
 Which is both healthful and good husbandry : 
 Besides, they are our outward consciences 
 And preachers to us all : admonishing 
 That we should dress us fairly for our end. 
 Thus may we gather honey from the weed, 
 
 And make a moral of the devil himself. 
 
 M" \ ' ' r< L 4* ff* T /r f -4 r ' i4 
 
 Enter ERPINGHAM V 
 
 Good-morrow, old Sir Thomas Erpingham : 
 A good soft pillow for that good white head 
 Were better than a churlish turf of France. 
 
 Erp. Not so, my liege : this lodging likes me 
 
 better, 
 Since I may say, Now lie I like a king. 
 
 K. Hen. 'Tis good for men to love their pre- 
 sent pains 
 
 Upon example ; so the spirit is eas'd : 
 And when the mind is quicken'd, out of doubt 
 The organs, though defunct and dead before, 
 Break up their drowsy grave, and newly move 
 With casted slough and fresh legerity, [both, 
 Lend me thy cloak, Sir Thomas. Brothers 
 Commend me to the princes in our camp ; 
 Do my good -morrow to them ; and anon 
 Desire them all to my pavilion. 
 
 Glo. We shall, my liege. 
 
 [Exeunt GLOSTER and BEDFORD. 
 
 Erp. Shall I attend your grace? 
 
 K. Hen. No, my good knight ; 
 
 Go with my brothers to my lords of England : 
 I and my bosom must debate awhile, 
 And then I would no other company. 
 
 Erp. The Lord in heaven bless thee, noble 
 Harry! [Exit. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 55' 
 
 Hen. God-a-mercy, old heart ! thou 
 speak'st cheerfully. 
 
 .H 3--.of 
 
 Enter PISTOL. 
 
 
 Pist. Quivala? 
 
 K. Hen. A friend. 
 
 Pist. Discuss unto me ; art thou officer ? 
 Or art thou base, common, and popular ? 
 
 K. Hen. I am a gentleman of a company. 
 
 Pist. Trail'st thou the puissant pike ? 
 
 K. Hen. Even so. What are you ? 
 
 Pist. As good a gentleman as the emperor. 
 
 K. Hen. Then you are a better than the king. 
 
 Pist. The king 's a bawcock and a heart of 
 
 gold, 
 
 A lad of life, an imp of fame ; 
 Of parents good, of fist most valiant : 
 I kiss his dirty shoe, and from my heart-strings 
 I love the lovely bully. What is thy name ? 
 
 K. Hen. Harry le Roi. 
 
 Pist. Le Roy ! a Cornish name : art thou of 
 Cornish crew? 
 
 K. Hen. No, I am a Welshman. 
 
 Pist. Know'st thou Fluellen ? 
 
 K. Hen. Yes. [his pate 
 
 Pist. Tell him, I'll knock his leek about 
 Upon Saint Davy's day. 
 
 K. Hen. Do not you wear your dagger in 
 your cap that day, lest he knock that about 
 yours. 
 
 Pist. Art thou his friend? 
 
 K. Hen. And his kinsman too. 
 
 Pist. The/<ro for thee, then ! 
 
 K. Hen. I thank you : God be with you ! 
 
 Pist. My name is Pistol called. [Exit. 
 
 K. Hen. It sorts well with your fierceness. 
 
 
 Enter FLUELLEN and GOWER, severally. 
 
 Gow. Captain Fluellen ! 
 
 Flu. So! in the name of Cheshu Christ, speak 
 fewer. It is the greatest admiration in the uni- 
 versal 'orld when the true and auncient prero- 
 gatifs and laws of the wars is not kept : if you 
 would take the pains but to examine the wars 
 of Pompey the Great, you shall find, I warrant 
 you, that there is no tiddle-taddle nor pibble- 
 pabble in Pompey 's camp ; I warrant you, you 
 shall find the ceremonies of the wars, and the 
 cares of it, and the forms of it, and the sobriety 
 of it, and the modesty of it, to be otherwise. 
 
 Gow. Why, the enemy is loud ; you hear him 
 all night. 
 
 Flu. If the enemy is an ass, and a fool, and 
 a prating coxcomb, is it meet, think you, that 
 we should also, look you, be an ass, and a 
 fool, and a prating coxcomb, in your own 
 conscience, now? 
 
 Gow. I will speak lower. 
 Flu. I pray you and peseech you that you will. 
 [Exeunt GOWER and FLUELLEN. 
 K. Hen. Though it appear a little out of 
 
 fashion, 
 There is much care and valour in this Welshman. 
 
 Enter BATES, COURT, <wfcf WILLIAMS. 
 
 Court. Brother John Bates, is not that the 
 morning which breaks yonder ? 
 
 Bates. I think it be : but we have no great 
 cause to desire the approach of day. 
 
 Will. We see yonder the beginning of the 
 day, but I think we shall never see the end of 
 it. Who goes there? 
 
 K. Hen. A friend. 
 
 Will. Under what captain serve you ? 
 
 K. Hen. Under Sir Thomas Erpingham. 
 
 Will. A good old commander and a most 
 kind gentleman : I pray you, what thinks he 
 of our estate ? 
 
 K. Hen. Even as men wrecked upon a sand, 
 that look to be washed off the next tide. 
 
 Bates. He hath not told his thought to the 
 king? 
 
 K. Hen. No ; nor it is not meet he should. 
 For though I speak it to you, I think the king 
 is but a man as I am : the violet smells to him 
 as it doth to me ; the element shows to him as 
 it doth to me ; all his senses have but human 
 conditions : his ceremonies laid by, in his naked- 
 ness he appears but a man ; and though his 
 affections are higher mounted than ours, yet, 
 when they stoop, they stoop with the like wing. 
 Therefore when he sees reason of fears, as we 
 do, his fears, out of doubt, be of the same relish 
 as ours are : yet, in reason, no man should 
 possess him with any appearance of fear, lest 
 he, by showing it, should dishearten his army. 
 
 Bates. He may show what outward courage 
 he will ; but I believe, as cold a night as 'tis, 
 he could wish himself in the Thames up to the 
 neck ; and so I would he were, and I by him, 
 at all adventures, so we were quit here. 
 
 K. Hen. By my troth, I will speak my con- 
 science of the king : I think he would not wish 
 himself anywhere but where he is. 
 
 Bates. Then I would he were here alone ; so 
 should he be sure to be ransomed, and a many 
 poor men's lives saved. 
 
 K. Hen. I dare say you love him not so ill, 
 to wish him here alone, howsoever you speak 
 this, to feel other men's minds : methinks I 
 could not die anywhere so contented as in the 
 king's company, his cause being just and his 
 quarrel honourable. 
 
 Will. That's more than we know. 
 
552 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 [ACT TV, 
 
 Bates. Ay, or more than we should seek 
 after ; for we know enough if we know we are 
 the king's subjects : if his cause be wrong, our 
 obedience to the king wipes the crime of it out 
 of us. 
 
 Will. But if the cause be not good, the king 
 himself hath a heavy reckoning to make when 
 all those legs and arms and heads, chopped off 
 in a battle, shall join together at the latter day 
 and cry all, We died at such a place; some 
 swearing; some crying for a surgeon ; some upon 
 their wives left poor behind them ; some upon 
 the debts they owe ; some upon their children 
 rawly left. I am afeared there are few die well 
 that die in a battle ; for how can they charitably 
 dispose of anything when blood is their argu- 
 ment ? Now, if these men do not die well, it 
 will be a black matter for the king that led 
 them to it ; who to disobey were against all 
 proportion of subjection. 
 
 K. Hen. So if a son, that is by his father 
 sent about merchandise do sinfully miscarry 
 upon the sea, the imputation of his wickedness, 
 by your rule, should be imposed upon his father 
 that sent him : or if a servant, under his mas- 
 ter's command, transporting a sum of money, be 
 assailed by robbers, and die in many irrecon- 
 ciled iniquities, vou may call the business of the 
 master the author of the servant's damnation : 
 but this is not so : the king is not bound to 
 answer the particular endings of his soldiers, the 
 father of his son, nor the master of his servant ; 
 for they purpose not their death when they 
 purpose their services. Besides, there is no 
 king, be his cause never so spotless, if it come 
 to the arbitrement of swords, can try it out with 
 all unspotted soldiers: some perad venture have 
 on them the guilt of premeditated and contrived 
 murder ; some of beguiling virgins with the 
 broken seals of perjury; some making the wars 
 their bulwark that have before gored the gentle 
 bosom of peace with pillage and robbery. Now, 
 if these men have defeated the law and outrun 
 native punishment, though they can outstrip men 
 they have no wings to fly from God : war is his 
 beadle, war is his vengeance ; so that here men 
 are punished for before-breach of the king's 
 laws in now the king's quarrel : where they 
 feared the death they have borne life away ; and 
 where they would be safe they perish : then if 
 they die unprovided, no more is the king guilty 
 of their damnation than he was before guilty of 
 those impieties for the which they are now 
 visited. Every subject's duty is the king's ; but 
 every subject's soul is his own. Therefore 
 should every soldier in the wars do as every sick 
 man in his bed, wash every mote out of his 
 
 conscience : and dying so, death is to him ad- 
 vantage ; or not dying, the time was blessedly 
 lost wherein such preparation was gained : and 
 in him that escapes it were not sin to think that, 
 making God so free an offer, he let him outlive 
 that day to see his greatness, and to teach 
 others how they should prepare. 
 
 Will. 'Tis certain, every man that dies ill, 
 the ill upon his own head, the king is not to 
 answer for it. 
 
 Bales. I do not desire he should answer for 
 me ; and yet I determine to fight lustily for him. 
 
 K. Hen. I myself heard the king say he 
 would not be ransomed. 
 
 Will. Ay, he said so, to make us fight 
 cheerfully : but when our throats are cut he 
 may be ransomed, and we ne'er the wiser. 
 
 K. Hen. If I live to see it I will never trust 
 his word after. 
 
 Will. You pay him then ! That 's a perilous 
 shot out of an elder-gun, that a poor and a 
 private displeasure can do against a monarch ! 
 you may as well go about to turn the sun to 
 ice with fanning in his face with a peacock's 
 feather. You '11 never trust his word after ! 
 come, 'tis a foolish saying. 
 
 K. Hen. Your reproof is something too 
 round : I should be angry with you if the time 
 were convenient. ' 
 
 Will. Let it be a quarrel between us if you 
 live. 
 
 K. Hen. I embrace it. 
 
 Will. How shall I know thee again ? 
 
 K. Hen. Give me any gage of thine, and I 
 will wear it in my bonnet : then, if ever thou 
 darest acknowledge it I will make it my quarrel. 
 
 Will, Here 's my glove : give me another of 
 thine. 
 
 K. Hen. There. 
 
 Will. This will I also wear in my cap : if 
 ever thou come to me and say, after to-morrow, 
 This is my glove, by this hand I will take thee 
 a box on the ear. [lenge it. 
 
 K. Hen. If ever I live to see it I will chal- 
 
 Will. Thou darest as well be hanged. 
 
 K. Hen. Well, I will do it though I take 
 thee in the king's company. 
 
 Will. Keep thy word : fare thee well. 
 
 Bates. Be friends, you English fools, be 
 friends : we have French quarrels enow, if you 
 could tell how to reckon. 
 
 K. Hen. Indeed, the French may lay twenty 
 French crowns to one they will beat us ; for they 
 bear them on their shoulders: but it is no English 
 treason to cut French crowns ; and to-morrow 
 the king himself will be a clipper. 
 
 \Exeunt Soldiers. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 KING 
 
 V. 
 
 553 
 
 Upon the king ! let us our lives, our souls, 
 Our debts, our careful wives, our children, and 
 Our sins lay on the King ! We must bear all. 
 O hard condition, twin-born with greatness, 
 Subject to the breath of every fool, [ing ! 
 
 Whose sense no more can feel but his own wring- 
 What infinite heart's-ease must kings neglect 
 That private men enjoy ! 
 And what have kings that privates have not too, 
 Save ceremony, save general ceremony ? 
 And what art thou, thou idol ceremony? 
 What kind of god art thou, that suffer' st more 
 Of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers ? 
 What are thy rents ? what are thy comings-in ? 
 
 ceremony, show me but thy worth ! 
 What is thy soul of adoration ? 
 
 Art thou aught else but place, degree, and form, 
 
 Creating awe and fear in other men ? 
 
 Wherein thou art less happy being fear'd 
 
 Than they in fearing. 
 
 What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage 
 sweet, 
 
 But poison'd flattery? O, be sick, great great- 
 ness, 
 
 And bid thy ceremony give thee cure ! 
 
 Think'st thou the fiery fever will go out 
 
 With titles blown from adulation ? 
 
 Will It give place to flexure and low bending ? 
 
 Canst thou, when thou command'st the beggar's 
 knee, 
 
 Command the health of it? No, thou proud 
 dream, 
 
 That play'st so subtly with a king's repose : 
 
 1 am a king that find thee ; and I know 
 Tis not the balm, the sceptre, and the ball, 
 The sword, the mace, the crown imperial, 
 The intertissued robe of gold and pearl, 
 The farced title running 'fore the king, 
 The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp 
 That beats upon the high shore of this world, 
 No, not all these, thrice gorgeous ceremony, 
 Not all these, laid in bed majestical, 
 
 Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave 
 Who, with a body fill'd and vacant mind, 
 Gets him to rest, cramm'd with distressful bread; 
 Never sees horrid night, the child of hell ; 
 But, like a lackey, from the rise to set 
 Sweats in the eye of Phoebus, and all night 
 Sleeps in Elysium ; next day, after dawn, 
 Doth rise and help Hyperion to his horse ; 
 And follows so the ever-running year, 
 With profitable labour, to his grave : 
 And but for ceremony, such a wretch, 
 Winding up days with toil and nights with sleep, 
 Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king. 
 The slave, a member of the country's peace, 
 Enjoys it ; but in gross brain little wots 
 
 What watch the king keeps to maintain the 
 
 peace 
 Whose hours the peasant best advantages. 
 
 Enter ERPINGHAM. 
 
 Erp. My lord, your nobles, jealous of your 
 
 absence, 
 Seek through your camp to find you. 
 
 K. Hen. Good old knight. 
 
 Collect them all together at my tent : 
 I '11 be before thee. 
 
 Erp. I shall do 't, my lord. [Exit. 
 
 K. Hen. O God of battles 1 steel my soldiers' 
 
 hearts; 
 
 Possess them not with fear ; take from them now 
 The sense of reckoning, if the opposed numbers 
 Pluck their hearts from them ! Not to-day, O 
 
 Lord, 
 
 O, not to-day, think not upon the fault 
 My father made in compassing the crown ! 
 I Richard's body have interred new, 
 And on it have bestow'd more contrite tears 
 Than from it issu'd forced drops of blood : 
 Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay, 
 Who twice a day their wither'd hands hold up 
 Toward heaven, to pardon blood ; and I have 
 
 built 
 
 Two chantries, where the sad and solemn priests 
 Sing still for Richard's soul. More will I do; 
 Though all that I can do is nothing worth, 
 Since that my penitence comes after all, 
 Imploring pardon. 
 
 Enter GLOSTER. 
 Glo. My liege! 
 
 K. Hen. My brother Gloster's voice ? Ay ; 
 I know thy errand, I will go with thee : 
 The day, my friends, and all things stay for me. 
 
 \Rxeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. The French Camp. 
 
 Enter DAUPHIN, ORLEANS, RAMBURES, and 
 others* 
 
 Orl. The sun doth gild our armour ; up, my 
 
 lords! 
 Dau. Montez a cheval! My horse ! v arlet^ 
 
 laquais! ha! 
 Orl. O brave spirit ! 
 Dau. Via ! les eaux et la terre^ 
 Orl. Rienpuis ? Fair et lefeu, 
 Dau. Ciel! cousin Orleans. 
 
 Enter Constable. 
 
 Now, my lord constable ! 
 
 Con. Hark, how our steeds for present ser- 
 vice neigh I 
 
554 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 [ACT IV. 
 
 Dau. Mount them, and make incision in 
 
 their hides, 
 
 That their hot blood may spin in English eyes, 
 And dout them with superfluous courage, ha ! 
 Ram. What, will you have them weep our 
 
 horses' blood? 
 Ho\\ shall we, then, behold their natural tears? 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. The English are embattled, you French 
 
 peers. 
 Oon. To horse, you gallant princes ! straight 
 
 to horse ! 
 
 Do but behold yon poor and starved band, 
 And your fair show shall suck away their souls, 
 Leaving them but the shales and husks of men. 
 There is not work enough for all our hands ; 
 Scarce blood enough in all their sicidy veins 
 To give each naked curtle-axe a stain, 
 That our French gallants shall to-day draw out, 
 And sheathe for lack of sport : let, us but blow 
 
 on them, 
 
 The vapour of our valour will o'erturn them, 
 'Tis positive 'gainst all exceptions, lords, 
 That our superfluous lackeys and our peasants, 
 Who in unnecessary action swarm 
 About our squares of battle, were enow 
 To purge this field of such a hilding foe ; 
 Though we upon this mountain's basis by 
 Took stand for idle speculation, 
 But that our honours must not. What 's to say? 
 A very little little let us do, 
 And all is done. Then let the trumpets sound 
 The tucket-sonance and the note to mount : 
 For our approach shall so much dare the field 
 That England shall couch down in fear and yield. 
 
 Enter GRANDPREE. 
 
 Grand. Why do you stay so long, my lords 
 
 of France? 
 
 Yond island carrions, desperate of then- bones, 
 Ill-favouredly become the morning field: 
 Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose, 
 And our air shakes them passing scornfully : 
 Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggar 'd host, 
 And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps : 
 The horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks** 
 With torch-staves in their hand ; and their poor 
 
 jades 
 Lob down their heads, dropping the hides and 
 
 hips, 
 
 Thegjum down-ropingfrom their pale-dead eyes, 
 And in their pale dull mouths the gimmel-bit 
 Lies foul with chew'd grass, still and motionless; 
 And their executors, the knavish crows, 
 Fly o'er them, all impatient for their hour. 
 Description cannot suit itself in words 
 
 To demonstrate the life of such a battle 
 In life so lifeless as it shows itself. 
 
 Con. They have said their prayers and they 
 stay for death. [fresh suits, 
 
 Dau. Shall we go send them dinners and 
 And give their fasting horses provender, 
 And after fight with them? [field ! 
 
 Con. I stay but for my guidon: to the 
 I will the banner from a trumpet take, 
 And use it for my haste. Come, come, away! 
 The sun is high, and we outwear the day. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. The English Camp. 
 
 Enter the English Host; GLOSTER, BEDFORD, 
 EXETER, SALISBURY, and WESTMORE- 
 LAND. 
 
 Glo. Where is the king? 
 
 Bed. The king himself is rode to view their 
 
 battle. 
 
 West. Of fighting men they have full three- 
 score thousand. [fresh. 
 Exe. There 's five to one ; besides, they all are 
 Sal. God's arm strike with us ! 'tis a fearful 
 
 odds. 
 
 God b' wi' you, princes all; I '11 to my charge t 
 If we no more meet till we meet in heaven, 
 Then joyfully, my noble Lord of Bedford, 
 My dear Lord Gloster, and my good Lord 
 
 Exeter, 
 
 And my kind kinsman, warriors all, adieu ! 
 Bed. Farewell, good Salisbury; and good 
 luck go with thee ! [day : 
 
 Exe. Farewell, kind lord; fight valiantly to- 
 And yet I do thee wrong to mind thee of it, 
 For thou art fram'd of the firm truth of valour. 
 [Exit SALISBURY. 
 
 Bed* He is as full of valour as of kindness ; 
 Princely in both. 
 
 West. O that we now had here 
 
 Enter KING HENRY. 
 
 But one ten thousand of those men in England 
 That do no work to-day ! 
 
 K. Hen. What 's he that wishes so? 
 
 My cousin Westmoreland ? No, my fair cousin: 
 If we are mark'd to die, we are enow 
 To do our country loss ; and if to live, 
 The fewer men the greater share of honour. 
 God's will ! I pray thee, wish not one man more. 
 By Jove, I am not covetous for gold ; 
 Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost ; 
 It yearns me not if men my garments wear ; 
 Such outward things dwell not in my desires: 
 But if it be a sin to covet honour, 
 I am the most offending soul alive. 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 555 
 
 No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England: 
 God's peace ! I would not lose so great an 
 
 honour, [me, 
 
 As one man more, methinks, would share from 
 For the best hope I have. O do not wish one 
 
 more ! [host, 
 
 Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my 
 That he which hath no stomach to this fight, 
 Let him depart ; his passport shall be made, 
 And crowns for convoy put into his purse : 
 We would not die in that man's company 
 That fears his fellowship to die with us. 
 This day is call'd the feast of Crispian : 
 He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, 
 Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd, 
 And rouse him at the name of Crispian. 
 He that shall live this day, and see old age, 
 Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours, 
 And say, To-morrow is Saint Crispian : 
 Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars, 
 And say, These wounds I had on Crispin's day. 
 Old men forget ; yet all shall be forgot, 
 But he '11 remember with advantages [names, 
 What feats he did that day: then shall our 
 Familiar in their mouths as household words, 
 Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter, 
 Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster, 
 Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd. 
 This story shall the good man teach his son ; 
 And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, 
 From this day to the ending of the world, 
 But we in it shall be remembered, 
 We few, we happy few, we band of brothers ; 
 For he to-day that sheds his blood with me 
 Shall be my brother ; be he ne'er so vile, 
 This day shall gentle his condition : 
 And gentlemen in England now a-bed [here, 
 Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not 
 And hold their manhoods cheap while any 
 
 speaks 
 That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day. 
 
 Re-enter SALISBURY. 
 
 .-iC'l--- .W0:i- 
 
 Sal. My sovereign lord, bestow yourself 
 
 with speed : 
 
 The French are bravely in their battles set, 
 And will with all expedience charge on us. 
 K. Hen. All things are ready if our minds 
 
 be so. 
 
 West. Perish the man whose mind is back- 
 ward now! 
 K. Hen. Thou dost not wish more help from 
 
 England, coz? 
 West. God's will ! my liege, would you and 
 
 I alone, 
 Without more help, could fight this royal battle ! 
 
 K. Hen. Why, now thou hast unwish'd five 
 
 thousand men ; 
 
 Which likes me better than to wish us one. 
 You know your places : God be with you all ! 
 
 Tucket. Enter MONTJOY. 
 Mont. Once more I come to know of thee, 
 
 King Harry, 
 
 If for thy ransom thou wilt now compound, 
 Before thy most assured overthrow : 
 For certainly thou art so near the gulf 
 Thou needs must be englutted. Besides, in 
 
 mercy, 
 
 The constable desires thee thou wilt mind 
 Thy followers of repentance ; that their souls 
 May make a peaceful and a sweet retire 
 From off these fields, where, wretches, their 
 
 poor bodies 
 Must lie and fester. 
 
 K. Hen. Who hath sent thee now? 
 
 Mont. The constable of France. [back: 
 
 K. Hen. I pray thee, bear my former answer 
 Bid them achieve me, and then sell my bones. 
 Good God ! why should they mock poor 
 
 fellows thus? 
 
 The man that once did sell the lion's skin 
 While the beast liv'd was kill'd with hunting 
 
 him. 
 
 A many of our bodies shall no doubt 
 Find native graves; upon the which, I trust, 
 Shall witness live in brass of this day's work : 
 And those that leave their valiant bones in 
 
 France, [hills, 
 
 Dying like men, though buried in your dung- 
 They shall be fam'd ; for there the sun shall 
 
 greet them, 
 
 And draw their honours reeking up to heaven, 
 Leaving their earthly parts to choke your clime, 
 The smell whereof shall breed a plague in 
 
 France. 
 
 Mark, then, abounding valour in our English, 
 That, being dead, like to the bullet's grazing, 
 Break out into a second course of mischief, 
 Killing in relapse of mortality. 
 Let me speak proudly : tell the constable 
 We are but warriors for the working-day ; 
 Our gayness and our gilt are all besmirch'd 
 With rainy marching in the painful field ; 
 There 's not a piece of feather in our host, 
 Good argument, I hope, we will not fly, 
 And time hath worn us into slovenry : 
 But, by the mass, our hearts are in the trim ; 
 And my poor soldiers tell me yet ere night 
 They '11 be in fresher robes ; or they will pluck 
 The gay new coats o'er the French soldiers' 
 
 heads, [this, 
 
 And turn them out of service. If they do 
 
KING HENRY V. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 As, if God please, they shall, my ransom then 
 Will soon be levied. Herald, save thou thy 
 
 labour ; 
 
 Come thou no more for ransom, gentle herald : 
 They shall have none, I swear, but these my 
 
 joints, 
 
 Which if they have as I will leave 'em them, 
 Shall yield them little, tell the constable. 
 Mont. I shall, King Harry. And so, fare 
 
 thee well : 
 
 Thou never shalt hear herald any more. [Exit. 
 K. Hen. I fear thou wilt once more come 
 again for ransom. 
 
 Enter the DUKE OF YORK. 
 
 York. My Lord, most humbly on my knee 
 
 I beg 
 
 The leading of the vaward. 
 K. Hen. Take it, brave York. Now, 
 
 soldiers, march away : 
 And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. The Field of Battle. 
 
 Alarums. Excursions. Enter French Soldier, 
 PISTOL, and Boy. 
 
 Pist. Yield, cur ! 
 
 Fr. Sol. Je pense que vous foes le gentil- 
 homme de bonne qualite. 
 
 Pist. Quality ! Callino, castore me ! art thou 
 a gentleman ? what is thy name ? discuss. 
 
 Fr. Sol. Seigneur Dieu ! 
 
 Pist. O, Signieur Dew should be a gentle- 
 man: 
 Perpend my words, O Signieur Dew, and 
 
 mark ; 
 
 O Signieur Dew, thou diest on point of fox, 
 Except, O Signieur, thou do give to me 
 Egregious ransom. 
 
 Fr. Sol. prennez misericorde ! ayez pitie 
 de moil 
 
 Pist. Moy shall not serve ; I will have forty 
 
 moys; 
 
 Or I will fetch thy rim out at thy throat 
 In drops of crimson blood. 
 
 Fr. Sol. Est-il impossible d'echapper la force 
 de ton bras ? 
 
 Pist. Brass, cur ! 
 
 Thou damned and luxurious mountain-goat, 
 Ofier'st me brass? 
 
 Fr. Sol. O pardonnez-moil [moys? 
 
 Pist. Say'st thou me so? is that a ton of 
 Come hither, boy : ask me this slave in French 
 What is his name. 
 
 Boy. Ecoutez: comment etes-vous appeU? 
 
 Fr. Sol. Monsieur le Fer. 
 
 Boy. He says his name is Master Fer. 
 
 Pist. Master Fer ! I '11 fer him, andfirk him, 
 and ferret him : discuss the same in French 
 unto him. 
 
 Boy. I do not know the French for fer, and 
 ferret, and firk. 
 
 Pist. Bid him prepare; for I will cut his 
 throat. 
 
 Fr. Sol. Que dit-il, monsieur? 
 
 Boy. II me commande de vous dire que vous 
 faites vous prt; car ce soldat id est dispose tout 
 a cette heure de couper votre gorge. 
 
 Pist. Out, coupe la gorge, par mafoi, pesant, 
 Unless thou give me crowns, brave crowns ; 
 Or mangled shalt thou be by this my sword. 
 
 Fr. Sol. 0, je vous supplie, pour F amour de 
 Dieu, me pardonnerl Je suis gentilhomme de 
 bonne maison: gardez ma vie, et ie vous don- 
 nerai deux cents ecus. 
 
 Pist. What are his words? 
 
 Boy. He prays you to save his life : he is a 
 gentleman of a good house ; and for his ransom 
 he will give you two hundred crowns. 
 
 Pist. Tell him my fury shall abate, and I 
 The crowns will take. 
 
 Fr. Sol. Petit monsieur, que dit-il? 
 
 Boy. Encore qrfil est contre sonjurement da 
 pardonner aucun prisonnier, neanmoins, pour 
 les ecus que vous Favez promts, il est content de 
 vous donner la liberte, le franchisement. 
 
 Fr. Sol. Sur mes genoux je vous donne mille 
 remercimens ; et je nfestime heureux queje suis 
 tomb entre les mains dun chevalier, je pense, le 
 plus brave, vaillant, et tres distingue seigneur 
 a" Angleterre. 
 
 Pist. Expound unto me, boy. 
 
 Boy- He gives you, upon his knees, a thou- 
 sand thanks ; and he esteems himself happy that 
 he hath fallen into the hands of one, as he 
 thinks, the most brave, valorous, and thrice- 
 worthy signieur of England. 
 
 Pist. As I suck blood, I will some mercy 
 show. Follow me ! [Exit. 
 
 Boy. Suivez-vous le grand capitaine. [Exit 
 French Soldier.] I did never know so full a 
 voice issue from so empty a heart : but the saying 
 is true, the empty vessel makes the greatest 
 sound. Bardolph and Nym had ten times more 
 valour than this roaring devil i' the old play, that 
 every one may pare his nails with a wooden 
 dagger ; and they are both hanged ; and so would 
 this be if he durst steal anything adventurously. 
 I must stay with the lackeys, with the luggage 
 of our camp : the French might have a good prey 
 of us if he knew of it ; for there is none to guard 
 it but boys. [Exit, 
 
SCENE V.] 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 557 
 
 SCENE V. Another part of the Field of Battle. 
 
 Alarums. Enter DAUPHIN, ORLEANS, BOUR- 
 BON, Constable, RAMBURES, and others. 
 
 Con. O diable! 
 
 Orl. O seigneur! le jour est perdu, tout est 
 perdu! 
 
 Dau. Mortde ma vie! all is confounded, all ! 
 Reproach and everlasting shame \tune! 
 
 Sits mocking in our plumes. O mechante for- 
 Do not run away. \_A short alarum. 
 
 Con. Why, all our ranks are broke. 
 
 Dau. O perdurable shame ! let 's stab our- 
 selves, [for? 
 Be these the wretches that we play'd at dice 
 
 Orl. Is this the king we sent to for his 
 ransom? [but shame! 
 
 Bour. Shame, and eternal shame, nothing 
 Let us die in honour : once more back again ; 
 And he that will not follow Bourbon now, 
 Let him go hence, and with his cap in hand, 
 Like a base pander, hold the chamber-door 
 Whilst by a slave, no gentler than my dog, 
 His fairest daughter is contaminated. [now ! 
 
 Con. Disorder, that hath spoil'd us, friend us 
 Let us on heaps go offer up our lives 
 Unto these English, or else die with fame. 
 
 Orl. We are enow yet living in the field 
 To smother up the English in our throngs, 
 If any order might be thought upon. 
 
 Bour. The devil take order now ! I '11 to the 
 
 throng : 
 
 Let life be short, else shame will be too long. 
 
 {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI. Another part of the Field. 
 
 Alarums. Enter KING HENRY and Forces, 
 EXETER, and others. 
 
 K. Hen. Well have we done, thrice- valiant 
 
 countrymen : [field. 
 
 But all's not done; yet keep the French the 
 
 Exe. The Duke of York commends him to 
 
 your majesty. 
 K. Hen. Lives he, good uncle? thrice within 
 
 this hour 
 
 I saw him down ; thrice up again, and fighting ; 
 From helmet to the spur all blood he was. 
 
 Exe. In which array, brave soldier, doth he lie 
 Larding the plain ; and by his bloody side, 
 Yoke-fellow to his honour-owing wounds, 
 The noble Earl of Suffolk also lies. 
 Suffolk first died : and York, all haggled over, 
 Comes to him, where in gore he lay insteep'd, 
 And takes him by the beard ; kisses the gashes 
 That bloodily did yawn upon his face ; 
 
 And cries aloud, Tarry, dear cousin Suffolkl 
 
 My soul shall thine keep company to heaven; 
 
 Tarry i sweet sou/, for mine t thenfiy a-breast; 
 
 As in this glorious and ivell-foughten field 
 
 We kept together in our chivalry! 
 
 Upon these words I came and cheer 'd him up : 
 
 He smil'd me in the face, raught me his hand, 
 
 And, with a feeble grip, says, Dear my lord. 
 
 Commend my service to my sovereign. 
 
 So did he turn, and over Suffolk's neck 
 
 He threw his wounded arm, a.id kiss'd his lips; 
 
 And so, espous'd to death, with blood be seal'd 
 
 A testament of noble-ending love. 
 
 The pretty and sweet manner of it forc'd 
 
 Those waters from me which I would have 
 
 stopp'd ; 
 
 But I had not so much of man in me, 
 And all my mother came into mine eyes, 
 And gave me up to tears. 
 
 K. Hen. iou I blame you not; 
 
 For, hearing this, I must perforce compound 
 With mistful eyes, or they will issue t<xxn-'ifis. 
 
 \Alarutn, 
 
 But, hark ! what new alarum is this same? 
 The French have reinforc'd their scattered 
 
 men : 
 
 Then every soldier kill his prisoners ; 
 Give the word through. \ExtunL 
 
 .^nJ6n.Jii 302x3 
 SCENE Nil. Another part of the Field. 
 
 Alarums. Enter FLU ELLEN and COWER. 
 
 Flu. Kill the poys and the luggage ! 'tis ex- 
 pressly against the law of arms : 'tis as arrant a 
 piece of knavery, mark you now, as can be 
 offered; in your conscience, now, is it not? 
 
 Gow. 'Tis certain there 's not a boy left alive ; 
 and the cowardly rascals that ran from the battle 
 have done this slaughter: besides, they have 
 burned and carried away all that was in the 
 king's tent ; wherefore the king, most worthily, 
 hath caused every soldier to cut his prisoners 
 throat. O, 'tis a gallant king ! 
 
 Flu. Ay, he was porn at Monmouth, Captain 
 Gower. What .call you the town's name where 
 Alexander the pig was porn? 
 
 Gow. Alexander the Great. 
 
 Flu. Why, I pray you, is not pig great? the 
 pig, or the great, or the mighty, or the huge, or 
 the magnanimous, are all one reckonings, save 
 the phrase is a little variations. 
 
 Gow. I think Alexander the Great was born 
 in Macedon: his father was called Philip of 
 Macedon, as I take iL 
 
 Flu. I think it is in Macedon where Alex- 
 ander is porn. I tell you, captain, if you look 
 in the maps of the 'orld, I warrant you shall 
 
558 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 find, in the comparisons between Macedon and 
 Monmouth, that the situations, look you, is both 
 alike. There is a river in Macedon ; and there 
 is also moreover a river at Monmouth : it is 
 called Wye at Monmouth ; but it is out of my 
 prains what is the name of the other river ; but 
 'tis all one, 'tis alike as my fingers is to my 
 fingers, and there is salmons in both. If you 
 mark Alexander's life well, Harry of Mon- 
 mouth's life is come after it indifferent well ; for 
 there is figures in all things. Alexander, Got 
 knows, and you know, in his rages, and his 
 furies, and his wraths, and his cholers, and his 
 moods, and his displeasures, and his indigna- 
 tions, and also being a little intoxicates in his 
 prains, did, in his ales and his angers, look you, 
 kill his pest friend, Clytus. 
 
 Gow. Our king is not like him in that : he 
 never killed any of his friends. 
 
 Flu. It is not well done, mark you now, to 
 take the tales out of my mouth ere it is made 
 and finished. I speak but in the figures and 
 comparisons of it : as Alexander is kill his friend 
 Clytus, being in his ales and his cups ; so also 
 Harry Monmouth, being in his right wits and 
 his goot judgments, turned away the fat knight 
 with the great pelly-doublet : he was full of jests, 
 and gipes, and knaveries, and mocks; I have 
 forgot his name. 
 
 Gow. Sir John Falstaff. 
 
 Flu. That is he : I can tell you there is goot 
 men porn at Monmouth. 
 
 Gow. Here comes his majesty. 
 
 Alarum. Enter KING HENRY, with a part of 
 the English Forces; WARWICJC, GLOSTER, 
 EXETER, and others. 
 
 K. Hen. I was not angry since I came to 
 
 France 
 
 Until this instant. Take a trumpet, herald; 
 Ride thou unto the horsemen on yond hill : 
 If they will fight with us, bid them come down, 
 Or void the field ; they do offend our sight : 
 If they '11 do neither, we will come to them, 
 And make them skirr away as sv.ift as stones 
 Enforced from the old Assyrian slings : 
 Besides, we '11 cut the throats of those we have ; 
 And not a man of them that we shall take 
 Shall taste our mercy : go and tell them so. 
 
 Exe. Here comes the herald of the French, 
 my liege. [be. 
 
 Glo. His eyes are humbler than they us'd to 
 
 Enter MoNTjov. 
 
 K. Hen. How now ! what means this, herald ? 
 know'st thou not 
 
 That I have fin'd these bones of mine for ransom? 
 Com'st thou again for ransom? 
 
 Mont. No, great king: 
 
 I come to thee for charitable license, 
 That we may wander o'er this bloody field 
 To book our dead, and then to bury them ; 
 To sort our nobles from our common men ; 
 For many of our princes, woe the while ! 
 Lie drown'd and soak'd in mercenary blood ; 
 So do our vulgar drench their peasant limbs 
 In blood of princes ; and their wounded steeds 
 Fret fetlock deep in gore, and with wild rage 
 Yerk out their armed heels at their dead masters, 
 Killing them twice. O, give us leave, great king, 
 To view the field in safety, and dispose 
 Of their dead bodies ! 
 
 K. Hen. I tell thee truly, herald, 
 
 I know not if the day be ours or no ; 
 For yet a many of your horsemen peer 
 And gallop o'er the field. 
 
 Mont. The day is yours. 
 
 K. Hen. Praised be God, and not our strength, 
 
 for it ! 
 What is this castle call'd that stands hard by? 
 
 Mont. They call it Agincourt. [court, 
 
 K. Hen. Then call we this the field of Agin- 
 Fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus. 
 
 Flu. Your grandfather of famous memory, an't 
 please your majesty, and your great-uncle Ed- 
 ward the Plack Prince of Wales, as I have read 
 in the chronicles, fought a most prave pattle 
 here in France. 
 
 K. Hen. They did, Fluellen. 
 
 Flu. Your majesty says very true: if your 
 majesties is remembered of it, the Welshmen 
 did goot service in a garden where leeks did 
 grow, wearing leeks in their Monmouth caps ; 
 which, your majesty knows, to this hour is an 
 honourable padge of the service ; and I do pe- 
 lieve your majesty takes no scorn to wear the 
 leek upon Saint Tavy's day. 
 
 K. Hen. I wear it for a memorable honour ; 
 For I am Welsh, you know, good countryman. 
 
 Flu. All the water in Wye cannot wash your 
 majesty's Welsh plood out of your pody, I can 
 tell you that : Got pless it and preserve it as long 
 as it pleases his grace and his majesty too ! 
 
 K. Hen. Thanks, good my countryman. 
 
 Flu. By Cheshu, I am your majesty's country- 
 man, I care not who know it; I will confess it 
 to all the 'orld : I need not be ashamed of your 
 majesty, praised be Got, so long as your majesty 
 is an honest man. [with him : 
 
 K. Hen. God keep me so ! Our heralds go 
 Bring me just notice of the numbers dead 
 On both our parts. Call yonder fellow hither. 
 
 [Points to WILL. Exetwst MONT. andotJurs. 
 
SCENE VII.] 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 559 
 
 Exe. Soldier, you must come to the king. 
 
 K. Hen. Soldier, why wearest thou that glove 
 in thy cap? 
 
 Will. An 't please your majesty, 'tis the gage 
 of one that I should fight withal, if he be alive. 
 
 K. Hen. An Englishman? 
 
 Will. An 't please your majesty, a rascal that 
 swaggered with me last night ; who, if alive and 
 ever dare to challenge this glove, I have sworn 
 to take him a box o' the ear : or if I can see my 
 glove in his cap, which he swore, as he was a 
 soldier, he would wear if alive, I will strike it 
 out soundly. 
 
 K. Hen. What think you, Captain Fluellen? 
 is it fit this soldier keep his oath ? 
 
 Flu. He is a craven and a villain else, an 't 
 please your majesty, in my conscience. 
 
 K. Hen. It may be his enemy is a gentleman 
 of great sort, quite from the answer of his de- 
 gree. 
 
 Flu. Though he be as goot a gentleman as the 
 tevil is, as Lucifer and Belzebub himself, it is 
 necessary, look your grace, that he keep his vow 
 and his oath : if he be perjured, see you now, 
 his reputation is as arrant a villain and a Jack 
 sauce as ever his plack shoe trod upon Got's 
 ground and his earth, in my conscience, la. 
 
 K. Hen. Then keep thy vow, sirrah, when 
 thou meetest the fellow. 
 
 Will. So I will, my liege, as I live. 
 
 K. Hen. Who servest thou under? 
 
 Will. Under Captain Gower, my liege. 
 
 Flu. Gower is a goot captain, and is goot 
 knowledge and literatured in the wars. 
 
 K. Hen. Call him hither to me, soldier. 
 
 Will. I will, my liege. [Exit. 
 
 K. Hen. Here, Fluellen ; wear thou this 
 favour for me, and stick it in thy cap: when 
 Alen9on and myself were down together I 
 pluck'd this glove from his helm : if any man 
 challenge this, he is a friend to Alen9on and an 
 enemy to our person ; if thou encounter any such, 
 apprehend him, an thou dost love me. 
 
 Flu. Your grace does me as great honours as 
 can be desired in the hearts of his subjects: I 
 would fain see the man that has but two legs 
 that shall find himself aggriefed at this glove, 
 that is all ; but I would fain see it once, and 
 please Got of his grace that I might see it. 
 
 K. Hen. Knowest thou Gower? 
 
 Flu. He is my dear friend, an please you. 
 
 K. Hen. Pray thee, go seek him, and bring 
 him to my tent. 
 
 Flu. I will fetch him. [Exit. 
 
 K. Hen. My Lord of Warwick and my brother 
 
 Gloster, 
 Follow Fluellen closely at the heels : 
 
 The glove which I have given him for a favour 
 May haply purchase him a box o' the ear; 
 It is the soldier's; I, by bargain, should 
 Wear it myself. Follow, good cousin Warwick: 
 If that the soldier strike him, as I judge 
 By his blunt bearing he will keep his word, 
 Some sudden mischief may arise of it ; 
 For I do know Fluellen valiant, 
 And, touch'd with choler, hot as gunpowder, 
 And quickly will return an injury: [them. 
 Follow, and see there be no harm between 
 Go you with me, uncle of Exeter. [Exeunt* 
 
 a/-. .*\ >; i 
 
 "iOI l&WcftS 
 
 SCENE VIII. Before KING HENRY'S Pavilion. 
 
 Enter GOWER and WILLIAMS. 
 Will. I warrant it is to knight you, captain. 
 
 Enter FLUELLEN. 
 
 Flu. Got's will and his pleasure, captain, I 
 peseech you now, come apace to the king : there 
 is more goot toward you peradventure than is in 
 your knowledge to dream of. 
 
 Will. Sir, know you this glove? [glove. 
 
 Flu. Know the glove ! I know the glove is a 
 
 Will. I know this; and thus I challenge it 
 [Strikes hint. 
 
 Flu. 'Sblood, an arrant traitor as any 's in the 
 universal 'orld, or in France, or in England I 
 
 Gow. How now, sir ! you villain ! 
 
 Will. Do you think I *11 be forsworn? 
 
 Flu. Stand away, Captain Gower ; I will give 
 treason his payment into plows, I warrant you. 
 
 Will. I am no traitor. 
 
 Flu. That 's a lie in thy throat. I charge 
 you in his majesty's name, apprehend him : he 's 
 a friend of the Duke Alenon's. 
 
 Enter WARWICK and GLOSTER. 
 
 War. How now, how now! what's the 
 matter? 
 
 Flu. My Lord of Warwick, here is, praised 
 be Got for it ! a most contagious treason come 
 to light, look you, as you shall desire in a 
 summer's day. Here is his majesty. 
 
 Enter KING HENRY and EXETER. 
 
 K. Hen. I low now ! what's the matter? 
 
 Flu. My liege, here is a villain and a traitor, 
 that, look your grace, has struck the glove which 
 your majesty is takeout of the helmet of Alenc,on. 
 
 Will. My liege, this was my glove ; here is 
 the fellow of it ; and he that I gave it to in 
 change promised to wear it in his cap : I pro- 
 mised to strike him if he did : I met this man 
 
5 6o 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 [ACT IV. 
 
 with my glove in his cap, and I have been as 
 good as my word. 
 
 Flu. Your majesty hear now, saving your 
 majesty's manhood, what an arrant, rascally, 
 beggarly, lousy knave it is : I hope your majesty 
 is pear me testimony and witness, and will 
 avouchment, this is the glove of Ale^on that 
 your majesty is give me, in your conscience, now. 
 
 K. Hen. Give me thy glove, soldier: look, 
 here is the fellow of it. 
 'Twas I, indeed, thou promisedst to strike ; 
 And thou hast given me most bitter terms. 
 
 Flu. An please your majesty, let his neck 
 answer for it if there is any martial law in the 
 'orld. [tion? 
 
 K. Hen. How canst thou make me satisfac- 
 
 Will. All offences, my liege, come from the 
 heart: never came any from mine that might 
 offend your majesty. 
 
 K. Hen. It was ourself thou didst abuse. 
 
 Will. Your majesty came not like yourself: 
 you appeared to me but as a common man ; 
 witness the night, your garments, your lowli- 
 ness; and what your highness suffered under 
 that shape I beseech you take it for your own 
 fault, and not mine : for had you been as I took 
 you for, I made no offence ; therefore, I beseech 
 your highness, pardon me. 
 
 K. Hen. Here, uncle Exeter, fill this glove 
 
 with crowns, 
 
 And give it to this fellow. Keep it, fellow; 
 And wear it for an honour in thy cap 
 Till I do challenge it. Give him the crowns: 
 And, captain, you must needs be friends with 
 him. 
 
 Flu. By this day and this light, the fellow 
 has mettle enough in his pelly : hold, there is 
 twelve pence for you ; and I pray you to serve 
 Got, and keep you out of prawls, and prabbles, 
 and quarrels, and dissensions, and, I warrant 
 you, it is the petter for you. 
 
 Will. I will none of your money. 
 
 Flu. It is with a goot will ; I can tell you it 
 will serve you to msnd your shoes: come, 
 wherefore should you be so pashful ? your shoes 
 is not so goot : 'tis a goot silling, I warrant you, 
 or I will change it. 
 
 Enter an English Herald. 
 
 K. Hen. Now, herald, are the dead num- 
 
 ber'd? 
 Her. Here is the number of the slaughter'd 
 
 French. [Delivers a paper. 
 
 K. Hen. What prisoners of good sort are 
 
 taken, uncle? [king; 
 
 Ext. Charles Duke of Orleans, nephew to the 
 
 John Duke of Bourbon, and Lord Bouciqualt : 
 
 Of other lords and barons, knights and squires. 
 Full fifteen hundred, besides common men. 
 
 K. Hen. This note doth tell me of ten 
 thousand French [number, 
 
 That in the field lie slain : of princes, in this 
 And nobles bearing banners, there lie dead 
 One hundred twenty-six : added to these, 
 Of knights, esquires, and gallant gentlemen, 
 Eight thousand and four hundred ; of the which 
 Five hundred were but yesterday dubb'd knights : 
 So that, in these ten thousand they have lost, 
 There are but sixteen hundred mercenaries ; 
 The rest are princes, barons, lords, knights, 
 
 squires, 
 
 And gentlemen of blood and quality. 
 The names of those their nobles that lie dead, 
 Charles De-la-bret, high-constable of France ; 
 Jaques of Chatillon, admiral of France ; 
 The master of the cross-bows, Lord Rambures; 
 Great-master of France, the brave Sir Guischard 
 Dauphin ; [bant, 
 
 John Duke of Alen9on ; Antony Duke of Bra- 
 The brother to the Duke of Burgundy ; 
 And Edward Duke of Bar : of lusty earls, 
 Grandpree and Roussi, Fauconberg and Foix, 
 Beaumont and Marie, Vaudemont and Lestrale. 
 Here was a royal fellowship of death ! 
 Where is the number of our English dead? 
 
 [Herald presents another papef. 
 Edward the Duke of York, the Earl of Suffolk, 
 Sir Richard Ketly, Davy Gam, esquire : 
 None else of name ; and of all other men 
 But five-and-twenty. O God, thy arm was here; 
 And not to us, but to thy arm alone, 
 Ascribe we all ! When, without stratagem, 
 But in plain shock and even play of battle, 
 Was ever known so great and little loss 
 On one part and on the other ? Take it, God, 
 For it is none but thine 1 
 
 Exe. 'Tis wonderful ! 
 
 K. Hen. Come, go we in procession to the 
 
 village : 
 
 And be it death proclaimed through our host 
 To boast of this, or take that praise from God 
 Which is his only. 
 
 Flu. Is it not lawful, an please your majesty, 
 to tell how many is killed ? 
 
 K. Hen. Yes, captain ; but with this acknow- 
 ledgment, 
 That God fought for us, 
 
 Flu. Yes, my conscience, he did us great goot. 
 
 K. Hen. Do we all holy rites : 
 Let there be sung Non nobis and Te Deum; 
 The dead with charity enclos'd in clay : 
 We '11 then to Calais ; and to England then ; 
 Where ne'er from France arriv'd more happy 
 men. [Exeunt. 
 
SCENE VIII.] 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 561 
 
 Enter Chorus. 
 
 Chor. Vouchsafe to those that have not read 
 
 the story, 
 
 That I may prompt t^em : and of such as have, 
 I humbly pray them to admit the excuse 
 Of time, of numbers, and due course of things, 
 Which cannot in their huge and proper life 
 Be here presented. Now we bear the king 
 Toward Calais: grant him there; there seen, 
 Heave him away upon your winged thoughts 
 Athwart the sea. Behold, the English beach 
 Pales in the flood with men, with wives, and 
 
 boys, 
 Whose shouts and claps out-voice the deep- 
 
 mouth'd sea, 
 
 Which, like a mighty whiffler, 'fore the king 
 Seems to prepare his way : so let him land ; 
 And solemnly see him set on to London. 
 So swift a pace hath thought that even now 
 You may imagine him upon Blackheath ; 
 Where that his lords desire him to have borne 
 His bruised helmet and his bended sword 
 Before him through the city : he forbids it, 
 Being free from vainness and self-glorious 
 
 pride ; 
 
 Giving full trophy, signal, and ostent, 
 Quite from himself to God. But now behold, 
 In the quick forge and working-house of 
 
 thought, 
 
 How London doth pour out her citizens ! 
 The mayor and all his brethren, in best sort, 
 Like to the senators of the antique Rome, 
 With the plebeians swarming at their heels, 
 Go forth, and fetch their conquering Csesar in : 
 As, by a lower but by loving likelihood, 
 Were now the general of our gracious em- 
 press,- 
 
 As in good time he may, from Ireland coming, 
 Bringing rebellion broached on his sword, 
 How many would the peaceful city quit 
 To welcome him ! much more, and much more 
 
 cause, 
 Did they this Harry. Now in London place 
 
 him; 
 
 As yet the lamentation of the French 
 Invites the King of England's stay at home ; 
 The emperor's coming in behalf of France, 
 To order peace between them ; and omit 
 All the occurrences, whatever chanc'd, 
 Till Harry's back-return again to France : 
 There must we bring him; and myself have 
 
 pla/d 
 
 The interim, by remembering you 'tis past. 
 Then brook abridgment; and your eyes advance, 
 After your thoughts, straight back again to 
 
 France. [Exit. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE L FRANCE. An English Court of 
 Guar*. 
 
 Enter FLUELLEN and GOWER. 
 
 Gow. Nay, that 's right ; but why wear 
 you your leek to-day? Saint Davy's day is 
 past. 
 
 Flu. There is occasions and causes why and 
 wherefore in all things : I will tell you, as my 
 friend, Captain Gower: the rascally, scald, 
 peggarly, lousy, praggmg knave, Pistol, which 
 you and yourself, and all the 'orld, know to be 
 no petter than a fellow, look you now, of no 
 merits, he is come to me, and prings me pread 
 and salt yesterday, look you, and pid me eat 
 my leek : it was in a place where I could not 
 preed no contention with him ; but I will be so 
 pold as to wear it in my cap till I see him once 
 again, and then I will tell him a little piece of 
 my desires. 
 
 Gow. Why, here he comes, swelling like a 
 turkey-cock. 
 
 Flu. 'Tis no matter for his swellings nor his 
 turkey-cocks. 
 
 Enter PISTOL. 
 
 Got pless you, Auncient Pistol! you scurvy, 
 lousy knave, Got pless you ! 
 
 Pist. Ha ! art thou bedlam? dost thou thirst, 
 
 base Trojan, 
 
 To have me fold up Parca's fatal web? 
 Hence ! I am qualmish at the smell of leek. 
 
 Flu. I peseech you heartily, scurvy, lousy 
 knave, at my desires, and my requests, and my 
 petitions, to eat, look you, this leek : because, 
 look you, you do not love it, nor your affec- 
 tions, and your appetites, and your digestions, 
 does not agree with it, I would desire you to 
 eat it. 
 
 Pist. Not for Cadwallader and all his goats. 
 
 Flu. There is one goat for you. [Strikes 
 him.] Will you be so goot, scald knave, as 
 eat it? 
 
 Pist. Base Trojan, thou shalt die. 
 
 Flu. You say very true, scald knave, when 
 Got's will is : I will desire you to live in the 
 meantime and eat your victuals : come, there is 
 sauce for it. [Striking him again.] You called 
 me yesterday mountain-squire ; but I will make 
 you to-day a squire of low degree. I pray you, 
 fall to : if you can mock a leek you can eat a 
 leek. 
 
 Gow. Enough, captain : you have astonished 
 him. 
 
5 62 
 
 KING HENRY V, 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Flu. I say, I will make him eat some part of 
 my leek, or I will peat his pate four days. Pite, 
 I pray you ; it is goot for your green wound and 
 your ploody coxcomb. 
 
 Pist. Must I bite? 
 
 Flu. Yes, certainly, and out of doubt, and 
 out of question too, and ambiguities. 
 
 Pist. By this leek, I will most horribly re- 
 venge : I eat, and eke, I swear 
 
 Flu. Eat, I pray you: will you have some 
 more sauce to your leek? there is not enough 
 leek to swear by. 
 
 Pist. Quiet thy cudgel; thou dost see I 
 eat. 
 
 Flu. Much goot do you, scald knave, heartily. 
 Nay, pray you, throw none away; the skin is 
 goot for your proken coxcomb. When you take 
 occasions to see leeks hereafter, I pray you, 
 mock at 'em ; that is all. 
 
 Pist. Good. 
 
 Flu. Ay, leeks is goot : hold you, there is a 
 groat to heal your pate. 
 
 Pist. Me a groat ! 
 
 Flu. Yes, verily and in truth, you shall take 
 it ; or I have another leek in my pocket which 
 you shall eat. 
 
 Pist. I take thy groat in earnest of revenge. 
 
 Flu. If I owe you anything I will pay you in 
 cudgels : you shall be a woodmonger, and buy 
 nothing of me but cudgels. God b* wi' you, 
 and keep you, and heal your pate. [Exit. 
 
 Pist. All hell shall stir for this. 
 
 Gow. Go, go ; you are a counterfeit cowardly 
 knave. Will you mock at an ancient tradition, 
 begun upon an honourable respect, and worn 
 as a memorable trophy of predeceased valour, 
 and dare not avouch in your deeds any of your 
 words ? I have seen you gleeking and galling 
 at this gentleman twice or thrice. You thought, 
 because he could not speak English in the 
 native garb, he could not therefore handle an 
 English cudgel: you find it otherwise; and 
 henceforth let a Welsh correction teach you 
 a good English condition. Fare ye well. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Pist. Doth Fortune play the huswife with 
 
 me now? 
 
 News have I that my Nell is dead i' the spital 
 Of malady of France ; 
 And there my rendezvous is quite cut off. 
 Old I do wax ; and from my weary limbs 
 Honour is cudgell'd. Well, bawd will I turn, 
 And something lean to cutpurse of quick hand. 
 To England will I steal, and there I '11 steal : 
 And patches will I get unto these scars, 
 And swear I got them in the Gallia wars. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. TROVES in Champagne. 
 An Apartment in the FRENCH KING'S Palace. 
 
 Enter at one door, KING HENRY, BEDFORD, 
 GLOSTER, EXETER, WARWICK, WESTMORE- 
 LAND, and other Lords ; at another, the 
 FRENCH KING, QUEEN ISABEL, the PRIN- 
 CESS KATHARINE, Lords, Ladies, &c. t the 
 DUKE OF BURGUNDY, and his Train. 
 
 K. Hen. Peace to this meeting, wherefore 
 
 we are met ! 
 
 Unto our brother France, and to our sister, 
 Health and fair time of day ; joy and good 
 wishes [ine ; 
 
 To our most fair and princely cousin Kathar- 
 And, as a branch and member of this royalty, 
 By whom this great assembly is contriv'd, 
 We do salute you, Duke of Burgundy ; 
 And, princes French, and peers, health to you 
 all ! [your face, 
 
 Fr. King. Right joyous are we to behold 
 Most worthy brother England ; fairly met : 
 So are you, princes English, every one. 
 
 Q. Isa. So happy be the issue, brother 
 
 England, 
 
 Of this good day and of this gracious meeting 
 As we are now glad to behold your eyes ; 
 Your eyes, which hitherto have borne in them 
 Against the French, that met them in their bent, 
 The fatal balls of murdering basilisks : 
 The venom of such looks, we fairly hope, 
 Have lost their quality ; and that this day 
 Shall change all griefs and quarrels into love. 
 
 K. Hen. To cry amen to that, thus we appear. 
 
 Q. Isa. YouEnglishprincesall,Idosaluteyou. 
 
 Biir. My duty to you both, on equal love. 
 Great Kings of France and England ! That I 
 have labour'd [ours, 
 
 With all my wits, my pains, and strong endeav- 
 To bring your most imperial majesties 
 Unto this bar and royal interview, 
 Your mightiness on both parts best can witness. 
 Since then my office hath so far prevail'd 
 That face to face and royal eye to eye 
 You have congreeted, let it not disgrace me 
 If I demand, before this royal view, 
 What rub or what impediment there is 
 Why that the naked, poor, and mangled Peace, 
 Dear nurse of arts, plenties, and joyful births, 
 Should not, in this best garden of the world, 
 Our fertile France, put up her lovely visage? 
 Alas, she hath from France too long been chas'd ! 
 And all her husbandry doth lie on heaps, 
 Corrupting in its own fertility. 
 Her vine, the merry cheerer of the heart, 
 Unpruned dies; her hedges even-pleach'd, 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 563 
 
 Like prisoners wildly overgrown with hair, 
 Put forth disorder'd twigs ; her fallow leas 
 The darnel, hemlock, and rank fumitory 
 Doth root upon, while that the coulter rusts, 
 That should deracinate such savagery ; 
 The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth 
 The freckled coM'slip, burnet, and green clover, 
 Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank, 
 Conceives by idleness, and nothing teems 
 But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs, 
 Losing both beauty and utility. [hedges, 
 
 And as our vineyards, fallows, meads, and 
 Defective in their natures, grow to wildness, 
 Even so our houses and ourselves and children 
 Have lost, or do not learn for want of time, 
 The sciences that should become our country ; 
 But grow, like savages, as soldiers will, 
 That nothing do but meditate on blood, 
 To swearing and stern looks, diffus'd attire, 
 And everything that seems unnatural. 
 Which to reduce into our former favour 
 You are assembl'd : and my speech entreats 
 That I may know the let why gentle Peace 
 Should not expel these inconveniences, 
 And bless us with her former qualities. 
 
 K. Hen. If, Duke of Burgundy, you would 
 
 the peace 
 
 Whose want gives growth to the imperfections 
 Which you have cited, you must buy that peace 
 With full accord to all our just demands ; 
 Whose tenors and particular effects 
 You have, enschedul'd briefly, in your hands. 
 
 Bur. The king hath heard them; to the 
 
 which as yet 
 There is no answer made. 
 
 K. Hen. Well, then, the peace 
 
 Which you before so urg'd lies in his answer. 
 
 Fr. King. I have but with a cursory eye 
 O'erglanc'd the articles : pleaseth your grace 
 To appoint some of your council presently 
 To sit with us once more, with better heed 
 To re-survey them, we will suddenly 
 Pass our accept and peremptory answer. 
 
 K. Hen. Brother, we shall. Go, uncle 
 Exeter, [Gloster, 
 
 And brother Clarence, and you, brother 
 Warwick, and Huntingdon, go with the king; 
 And take with you free power to ratify, 
 Augment, or alter, as your wisdoms best 
 Shall see advantageable for our dignity, 
 Anything in or out of our demands ; 
 And we'll consign thereto. Will you, fair sister, 
 Go with the princes or stay here with us? 
 
 Q. ha. Our gracious brother, I will go with 
 
 them ; 
 
 Haply a woman's voice may do some good 
 When articles too nicely urg'd be stood on. 
 
 K. Hen. Yet leave our cousin Katharine 
 
 here with us : 
 
 She is our capital demand, compris'd 
 Within the fore-rank of our articles. 
 
 Q. Isa. She hath good leave. 
 \_Exeunt all but K. HEN.,' KATH., and ALICE. 
 
 K. Hen. Fair Katharine, and most fair ! 
 Will you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms 
 Such as will enter at a lady's ear, 
 And plead his love-suit to her gentle heart? 
 
 Kath. Your majesty shall mock at me; I 
 cannot speak your England. 
 
 K. Hen. O fair Katharine, if you will love 
 me soundly with your French heart, I will be 
 glad to hear you confess it brokenly with your 
 English tongue. Do you like me, Kate? 
 
 Kath. Pardonnez-moi) I cannot tell vat is 
 like me. 
 
 K. Hen. An angel is like you, Kate, and 
 you are like an angel. 
 
 Kath. Que dit-il? que je suis seniblable & les 
 anges? 
 
 Alice. Ouiy vraiment, sauf votre grace , ainsi 
 dit-il. 
 
 K. Hen. I said so, dear Katharine; and I 
 must not blush to affirm it. 
 
 Kath. O ben Dieu! les langues dcs homnics 
 sont pleines de tromperies. 
 
 K. Hen. What says she, fair one? that the 
 tongues of men are full of deceits? 
 
 Alice. Out, dat de tongues of de mans is be 
 full of deceits, dat is de princess. 
 
 K. Hen. The princess is the better English- 
 woman. I' faith, Kate, my wooing is fit for 
 thy understanding : I am glad thou canst speak 
 no better English; for if thou couldst, thou 
 wouldst find me such a plain king that thou 
 wouldst think I had sold my farm to buy my 
 crown. I know no ways to mince it in love, 
 but directly to say I love you : then, if you urge 
 me further than to say, Do you in faith ? I wear 
 out my suit. Give me your answer ; i' faith, 
 do ; and so clap hands and a bargain : how say 
 you, lady? 
 
 Kath. Saufvotrehonneur, me understand veil. 
 
 K. Hen. Marry, if you would put me to 
 verses or to dance for your sake, Kate, why 
 you undid me : for the one I have neither words 
 nor measure, and for the other I have no 
 strength in measure, yet a reasonable measure 
 in strength. If I could win a lady at leap-frog, 
 or by vaulting into my saddle with my armour 
 on my. back, under the correction of bragging 
 be it spoken, I should quickly leap into a wife. 
 Or if I might buffet for my love, or bound my 
 horse for her favours, I could lay on like a 
 butcher, and sit like a jack -an -apes, never off. 
 
KING HENRY V. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 But, before God, Kate, I cannot look greenly, 
 nor gasp out my eloquence, nor I have no cun- 
 ning in protestation; only downright oaths, 
 which I never use till urged, nor never break 
 for urging. If thou canst love a fellow of this 
 temper, Kate, whose Face is not worth sun-burn- 
 ing, that never looks in his glass for love of any- 
 thing he sees there, let thine eye be thy cook. 
 I speak to thee plain soldier : if thou canst love 
 me for this, take me ; if not, to say to thee that 
 I shall die is true, but for thy love, by the 
 Lord, no ; yet I love thee too. And while thou 
 livest, dear Kate, take a fellow of plain and un- 
 coined constancy ; for he perforce must do thee 
 right, because he hath not the gift to woo in 
 other places : for these fellows of infinite tongue, 
 that can rhyme themselves into ladies' favours, 
 they do always reason themselves out again. 
 What ! a speaker is but a prater ; a rhyme is 
 but a ballad. A good leg will fall ; a straight 
 back will stoop ; a black beard will turn white ; 
 a curled pate will grow bald ; a fair face will 
 wither ; a full eye will wax hollow : but a good 
 heart, Kate, is the sun and the moon; or, 
 rather, the sun, and not the moon, for it 
 shines bright and never changes, but keeps his 
 course truly. If thou would have such a one, 
 take me : and take me, take a soldier ; take a 
 soldier, take a king: and what sayest thou, 
 then, to my love? speak, my fair, and fairly, I 
 pray thee. 
 
 Kath. Is it possible dat I should love de 
 enemy of France ? 
 
 K. Hen. No; it is not possible you should 
 love the enemy of France, Kate : but in loving 
 me you should love the friend of France ; for I 
 love France so well that I will not part with a 
 village of it ; I will have it all mine : and, Kate, 
 when France is mine and I am yours, then 
 yours is France and you are mine. 
 
 Kath. I cannot tell vat is dat. 
 
 K. Hen. No, Kate? I will tell thee in 
 French ; which I am sure will hang upon my 
 tongue like a new-married wife about her hus- 
 band's neck, hardly to be shook off. Quand 
 fai la possession de France, et quand vous avez 
 la possession de moi, let me see, what then? 
 Saint Denis be my speed ! done votre est France 
 et vous ties mienne. It is as easy for me, Kate, 
 to conquer the kingdom as to speak so much 
 more French: I shall never move thee in 
 French, unless it be to laugh at me. 
 
 Katk. Sauf votre honneur, le Fran$ais que 
 vous parlez est meilleur que I Anglais lequel je 
 parle. 
 
 K. Hen. No, faith, is 't not, Kate : but thy 
 speaking of my tongue, and I thine, most truly 
 
 falsely, must needs be granted to be much at 
 one. But, Kate, dost thou understand thus 
 much English, Canst thou love me? 
 
 Kath. I cannot tell. 
 
 K. Hen. Can any of your neighbours tell, 
 Kate ? I '11 ask them. Come, I know thou 
 lovest me : and at night, when you come into 
 your closet, you '11 question this gentlewoman 
 about me ; and I know, Kate, you will to her 
 dispraise those parts in me that you love with 
 your heart: but, good Kate, mock me merci- 
 fully ; the rather, gentle princess, because I love 
 thee cruelly. If ever thou be'st mine, Kate, 
 as I have a saving faith within me tells me thou 
 shalt, I get thee with scambling, and thou must 
 therefore needs prove a good soldier-breeder : 
 shall not thou and I, between Saint Denis and 
 Saint George, compound a boy, half French, 
 half English, that shall go to Constantinople 
 and take the Turk by the beard? shall we not? 
 what sayest thou, my fair flower-de-luce? 
 
 Kath. I do not know dat. 
 
 K. Hen. No ; 'tis hereafter to know, but now 
 to promise: do but now promise, Kate, you 
 will endeavour for your French part of such a 
 boy ; and for my English moiety take the word 
 of a king and a bachelor. How answer you, 
 la plus belle Katharine du monde, mon tres 
 chere et divine deesse? 
 
 Kath. Your majeste'&iQfausse French enough 
 to deceive de most sage damoiselle dat is en 
 France. 
 
 K. Hen. Now, fie upon my false French! 
 By mine honour, in true English, I love thee, 
 Kate : by which honour I dare not swear thou 
 lovest me ; yet my blood begins to flatter me 
 that thou dost, notwithstanding the poor and 
 untempering effect of my visage. Now, beshrew 
 my father's ambition ! he was thinking of civil 
 wars when he got me : therefore was I created 
 with a stubborn outside, with an aspect of iron, 
 that when I come to woo ladies I fright them. 
 But, in faith, Kate, the elder I wax the better 
 I shall appear : my comfort is that old age, that 
 ill layer-up of beauty, can do no more spoil 
 upon my fece : thou hast me, if thou hast me, 
 at the worst ; and thou shalt wear me, if thou 
 wear me, better and better : and therefore tell 
 me, most fair Katharine, will you have me? 
 Put off your maiden blushes; avouch the 
 thoughts of your heart with the looks of an em- 
 press; take me by the hand and say, Harry 
 of England, I am thine : which word thou shaft 
 no sooner bless mine ear withal but I will tell 
 thee aloud, England is thine, Ireland is thine, 
 France is thine, and Henry Plantagenet is 
 thine ; who, though I speak it before his face, 
 
SCENE II.j 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 if he be not fellow with the best king, thou 
 shalt find the best king of good fellows. Come, 
 your answer in broken music, for thy voice is 
 music and thy English broken ; therefore, queen 
 of all, Katharine, break thy mind to me in 
 broken English, wilt thou have me ? 
 
 Kath. Dat is as it sail please de roi monptre. 
 
 K. Hen. Nay, it will please him well, Kate, 
 it shall please him, Kate. 
 
 Kath. Den it sail also content me. 
 
 K, Hen. Upon that I kiss your hand, and I 
 call you my queen. 
 
 Kath. Laissez, mon seigneur ; laissez, laissez: 
 mafoi^je ne veux point que vous abaissez votre 
 grandeur en baisant la main dune votre indigne 
 serviteur ; excusez-moi, je vous supplie, mon 
 tres puissant seigneur. 
 
 K. Hen. Then I will kiss your lips, Kate. 
 
 Kath. Les dames et demoiselles pour ftre 
 baisees devant leur noces^ il n'est pa* le coutume 
 de France. 
 
 K. Hen. Madam, my interpreter, what says 
 she? 
 
 Alice. Dat itis not bede fashion/<?wr les ladies 
 of France, I cannot tell vat is baiser en 
 Anglish. 
 
 K. Hen. To kiss. 
 
 Alice. Your majesty entendre bettre que mot. 
 
 K. Hen. It is not a fashion for the maids in 
 France to kiss before they are married, would 
 she say? 
 
 Alice. Oui, vraiment. 
 
 K. Hen. O Kate, nice customs court'sy to 
 great kings. Dear Kate, you and I cannot be 
 confined within the weak list of a country's 
 fashion : we are the makers of manners, Kate ; 
 and the liberty that follows our places stops the 
 mouth of all find-faults, as I will do yours for 
 upholding the nice fashion of your country in 
 denying me a kiss: therefore, patiently and 
 yielding. [Kissing her.] You have witchcraft 
 in your lips, Kate : there is more eloquence in 
 a sugar touch of them than in the tongues of the 
 French council; and they should sooner per- 
 suade Harry of England than a general peti- 
 tion of monarchs. Here comes your father. 
 
 Enter the FRENCH KING and QUEEN, BUR- 
 GUNDY, BEDFORD, GLOSTER, EXETER, 
 WARWICK, WESTMORELAND, and other 
 French and English Lords. 
 Bur. God save your majesty! my royal 
 cousin, 
 
 Teach you our princess English? 
 
 K. Hen. I would have her learn, my fair 
 
 cousin, how perfectly I love her; and that is 
 
 good English. 
 
 Bur. Is she not apt ? 
 
 K. Hen. Our tongue is rough, coz, and my 
 condition is not smooth ; so that, having neither 
 the voice nor the heart of flattery about me, I 
 cannot so conjure up the spirit of love in her 
 that he will appear in his true likeness. 
 
 Bur. Pardon the frankness of my mirth if I 
 answer you for that. If you would conjure in 
 her you must make a circle ; if conjure up love 
 in her in his true likeness, he must appear naked 
 and blind. Can you blame her, then, being a 
 maid yet rosed-over with the virgin crimson of 
 modesty, if she deny the appearance of a naked 
 blind boy in her naked seeing self? It were, 
 my lord, a hard condition for a maid to consign 
 to. 
 
 K. Hen. Yet they do wink and yield ; as love 
 is blind and enforces. 
 
 Bur. They are then excused, my lord, when 
 they see not what they do. 
 
 K. Hen. Then, good my lord, teach your 
 cousin to consent winking. 
 
 Bur. I will wink on her to consent, my lord, 
 if you will teach her to know my meaning : for 
 maids well summered and warm kept are like 
 flies at Bartholomew-tide, blind, though they 
 have their eyes; and then they will endure 
 handling, which before would not abide look- 
 ing on. 
 
 K. Hen. This moral ties me over to time 
 and a hot summer ; and so I shall catch the fly, 
 your cousin, in the latter end, and she must be 
 blind too. 
 
 Bur. As love is, my lord, before it loves. 
 
 K. Hen. It is so : and you may, some of you, 
 thank love for my blindness, who cannot see 
 many a fair French city for one fair French 
 maid that stands in my way. 
 
 Fr. King. Yes, my lord, you see them per- 
 spectively, the cities turned into a maid; for 
 they are all girdled with maiden walls that war 
 hath never entered. 
 
 K. Hen. Shall Kate be my wife? 
 
 Fr. King. So please you. 
 
 K. Hen. I am content ; so the maiden cities 
 you talk of may wait on her : so the maid that 
 stood in the way of my wish shall show me the 
 way to my will. 
 
 Fr. King. We have consented to all terms 
 of reason. 
 
 K. Hen. Is 't so, my lords of England? 
 
 West. The king hath granted every article : 
 His daughter first ; and, in sequel, all, 
 According to their firm proposed natures. 
 
 Exe. Only, he hath not yet subscribed 
 this: Where your majesty demands that the 
 King of France, having any occasion to write 
 
566 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 for matter of grant, shall name your highness in 
 this form and with this addition, in French, 
 Notre tres cher fils Henry, roi d'Angleterre, 
 heritierde France; and thus in Latin, Prcedaris- 
 simus filius noster Henricus, rex Anglice et 
 hares Francue. 
 
 Fr. King. Nor this I have not, brother, so 
 
 denied 
 
 But your request shall make me let it pass. 
 K. Hen. I pray you, then, in love and dear 
 
 alliance, 
 
 Let that one article rank with the rest ; 
 And thereupon give me your daughter. 
 
 Fr. King. Take her, fair son ; and from her 
 
 blood raise up 
 
 Issue to me ; that the contending kingdoms 
 Of France and England, whose very shores 
 
 look pale 
 
 With envy of each other's happiness, [tion 
 May cease their hatred ; and this dear conjunc- 
 Plant neighbourhood and Christian-like accord 
 In their sweet bosoms, that never war advance 
 His bleeding sword 'twixt England and fair 
 
 France. 
 All. Amen ! 
 K. Hen. Now, welcome, Kate : and bear 
 
 me witness all, 
 That here I kiss her as my sovereign queen. 
 
 [Flourish. 
 
 Q. Isa. God, the best maker of all marriages, 
 Combine your hearts in one, your realms in one ! 
 As man and wife, being two, are one in love, 
 So be there 'twixt your kingdoms such a spousal 
 
 . ?A .\vvtx 
 
 That never may ill office or fell jealousy, 
 Which troubles oft the bed of blessed marriage, 
 Thrust in between thepaction of these kingdoms, 
 To make divorce of their incorporate league ; 
 That English may as French, French English. 
 
 men, 
 
 Receive each other ! God speak this Amen ! 
 All. Amen ! [which day, 
 
 K. Hen. Prepare we for our marriage : on 
 My Lord of Burgundy, we '11 take your oath, 
 And all the peers', for surety of our leagues. 
 Then shall I swear to Kate, and you to me ; 
 And may our oaths well kept and prosperous 
 be ! \_Exetmt. 
 
 Enter Chorus. 
 
 
 Chor. Thus far, with rough and all -unable pen, 
 
 Our bending author hath pursu'd the story ; 
 In little room confining mighty men, [glory. 
 
 Mangling by starts the full course of their 
 Small time, but, in that small, most greatly liv'd 
 
 This star of England : Fortune made his 
 
 sword ; 
 By which the world's best garden he achiev'd, 
 
 And of it left his son imperial lord. 
 Henry the Sixth, in infant bands crown'd king 
 
 Of France and England, did this king succeed; 
 Whose state so many had the managing 
 
 That they lost France and made his England 
 bleed : [sake, 
 
 Which oft our stage hath shown ; and, for theii 
 In your fair minds let this acceptance take. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 rfcfK'i 
 
 
 
FIRST PART OF 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 te'ino ihi'v 377 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 KING HENRY THE SIXTH. 
 
 DUKE OF GLOSTER, Uncle to the KING, and 
 Protector. 
 
 DUKE OF BEDFORD, Uncle to the KING, and 
 Regent of France. 
 
 THOMAS BEAUFORT, Duke of Exeter, Great- 
 Uncle to the KING. 
 
 HENRY BEAUFORT, Great-Uncle to the KING, 
 Bishop of Winchester, and afterwards 
 Cardinal. 
 
 JOHN BEAUFORT, Earl of Somerset, afterwards 
 Duke. 
 
 RICHARD PLANTAGENET, Eldest son ^RICH- 
 ARD, late Earl of Cambridge, afterwards 
 Duke of York. 
 
 EARL OF WARWICK. 
 
 EARL OF SALISBURY. 
 
 EARL OF SUFFOLK. 
 
 LORD TALBOT, afterwards Earl of Shrewsbury. 
 
 JOHN TALBOT, his Son. 
 
 EDMUND MORTIMER, Earl of March. 
 
 MORTIMER'S Keepers. 
 
 A Lawyer. 
 
 SIR JOHN FASTOLFE. 
 
 SIR WILLIAM LUCY. 
 
 SIR WILLIAM GLANSDALE. 
 
 SIR THOMAS GARGRAVE. 
 
 Mayor of London. 
 
 WOODVILLE, Lieutenant of the Tower. 
 VERNON, of the White-rose or York faction. 
 BASSET, of the Red-rose or Lancaster faction. 
 
 CHARLES, Dauphin, and afterwards King of 
 
 France. 
 REIGNIER, Duke of Anjou, and Titular King 
 
 of Naples. 
 
 DUKE OF BURGUNDY. 
 DUKE OF ALENCON. 
 BASTARD OF ORLEANS. 
 Governor of Paris. 
 
 Master-Gunner of Orleans, and his Son. 
 General of the French Forces in Bordeaux. 
 A French Sergeant. 
 A Porter. 
 An Old Shepherd, Father to JOAN LA PUCELLE. 
 
 MARGARET, Daughter to REIGNIER, afterwards 
 
 married to KING HENRY. 
 COUNTESS OF AUVERGNE. 
 JOAN LA PUCELLE, commonly called JOAN OF 
 
 ARC. 
 
 Lords, Warders of the Tower, Heralds, Officers, 
 Soldiers, Messengers, and several Atten- 
 dants both on the English and French. 
 
 Fiends appearing to LA PUCELLE. 
 
 SCENE, Partly in ENGLAND, and partly in FRANCE. 
 
 ACT L 
 
 SCENE I. Westminster Abbey. 
 
 Dead March. Corpse of KING HENRY THE 
 FIFTH, in state, is brought in, attended on 
 by the DUKES OF BEDFORD, GLOSTER, 
 and EXETER, the EARL OF WARWICK, the 
 BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, Heralds, &c. 
 
 Bed. Hung be the heavens with black, yield 
 
 day to night ! 
 
 Comets, importing change of times and states, 
 Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky, 
 And with them scourge the bad revolting stars 
 That have consented unto Henry's death ! 
 
 Henry the Fifth, too famous to live long i 
 England ne'er lost a king of so mch worth. 
 
 Glo. England ne'er had a king until his time. 
 Virtue he had, deserving to command : 
 His brandish'd sword did blind men with his 
 
 beams; 
 
 His arms spread wider than a dragon's wings ; 
 His sparkling eyes, replete with wrathful fire, 
 More dazzled and drove back his enemies 
 Than mid-day sun fierce bent against their faces. 
 What should I say? his deeds exceed all speech : 
 He ne'er lift up his hand but conquered. 
 
 Exe. We mourn in black : why mourn we 
 
 not in blood ? 
 
 Henry is dead, and never shall revive : 
 Upon a wooden coffin we attend ; 
 
5 68 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT I. 
 
 And death's dishonourable victory 
 We with our stately presence glorify, 
 Like captives bound to a triumphant car. 
 What ! shall we curse the planets of mishap, 
 That plotted thus our glory's overthrow ? 
 Or shall we think the subtle- witted French 
 Conjurers and sorcerers, that, afraid of him, 
 By magic verses have contriv'd his end ? 
 
 Win. He was a king bless'd of the King of 
 
 kings, 
 
 Unto the French the dreadful judgment-day 
 So dreadful will not be as was his sight. 
 The battles of the Lord of hosts he fought : 
 The church's prayers made him so prosperous. 
 Glo. The church ! where is it ? Had not 
 
 church-men pray'd, 
 
 His thread of life had not so soon decayed : 
 None do you like but an effeminate prince, 
 Whom, like a school-boy, you may overawe. 
 Win. Gloster, whate'er we like, thou art 
 
 protector, 
 
 And lookest to command the prince and realm. 
 Thy wife is proud ; she hoideth thee in awe 
 More than God or religious churchmen may. 
 Glo. Name not religion, for thou lov'st the 
 
 flesh ; [go'st, 
 
 And ne'er throughout the year to church thou 
 Except it be to pray against thy foes. 
 Bed. Cease, cease these jars and rest your 
 
 minds in peace ! 
 
 Let 's to the altar : heralds, wait on us : 
 Instead of gold, we '11 offer up our arms ; 
 Since arms avail not, now that Henry 's dead. 
 Posterity, await for wretched years, 
 When at their mother's moisten'd eyes babes 
 
 shall suck ; 
 
 Our isle be made a marish of salt tears, 
 And none but women left to wail the dead. 
 Henry the Fifth ! thy ghost I invocate ; 
 Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils ! 
 Combat with adverse planets in the heavens ! 
 A far more glorious star thy soul will make 
 Than Julius Caesar or bright 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My honourable lords, health to you all ! 
 Sad tidings bring I to you out of France, 
 
 Of loss, of ! 
 
 :er, and discomfiture : 
 
 Guienne, Champaigne, Rheims, Orleans, 
 Paris, Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost. 
 Bed. What say'st thou, man, before dead 
 
 Henry's corse? 
 
 Speak softly ; or the loss of those great towns 
 Will make him burst his lead and rise from 
 
 death. 
 
 Glo. Is Paris lost ? is Rouen yielded up ? 
 If Henry were recall'd to life again, 
 
 These news would cause him once more yield 
 
 the ghost. [us'd ? 
 
 Exe. How were they lost ? what treachery was 
 Mess. No treachery but want of men and 
 
 money. 
 
 Among the soldiers this is muttered, 
 That here you maintain several factions ; 
 And whilst a field should be despatch'd and 
 
 fought, 
 
 You are disputing of your generals : 
 One would have ling'ring wars, with little cost ; 
 Another would fly swift, but wanteth wings ; 
 A third man thinks, without expense at all, 
 By guileful fair words peace may be obtain'd. 
 Awake, awake, English nobility ! 
 Let not sloth dim your honours, new-begot : 
 Cropp'd are the flower-de-luces in your arms ; 
 Of England's coat one half is cut away. 
 
 Exe. Were our tears wanting to this funeral, 
 
 These tidings would call forth her flowing tides. 
 
 Bed. Me they concern ; regent I am of 
 
 France. [France. 
 
 Give me my steeled coat ! I '11 fight for 
 Away with these disgraceful wailing robes ! 
 Wounds will I lend the French, instead of eyes, 
 To weep their intermissive miseries. 
 
 Enter a second Messenger. 
 
 2 Mess. Lords, view these letters, full of bad 
 
 mischance. 
 
 France is revolted from the English quite, 
 Except seme petty towns of no import : 
 The Dauphin Charles is crowned king in Rheims; 
 The Bastard of Orleans with him is join'd ; 
 Reignier, Duke of Anjou, doth take his part; 
 The Duke of Alencon flieth to his side. 
 
 Exe. The Dauphin crowned king! all fly to 
 
 him! 
 
 O, whither shall we fly from this reproach? 
 Glo. We will not fly, but to our enemies' 
 
 throats : 
 
 Bedford, if thou be slack I '11 fight it out. 
 Bed. Gloster, why doubt'st thou of my for- 
 wardness? 
 
 An army have I muster'd in my thoughts, 
 Wherewith already France is overrun. 
 
 
 Enter a third Messenger. 
 
 3 Mess. My gracious lords, to add to your 
 laments, [hearse, 
 
 Wherewith you now bedew King Henry's 
 I must inform you of a dismal fight 
 Betwixt the stout Lord Talbot and the French. 
 Win. What! wherein Talbot overcame? is't 
 so? [thrown : 
 
 3 Mess. O, no ; wherein Lord Talbot was o'er- 
 The circumstance I '11 tell you more at large. 
 
SCRNE I.] 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 569 
 
 The tenth of August last this dreadful lord, 
 Retiring from the siege of Orleans, 
 Having full scarce six thousand in his troop, 
 By three-and-twenty thousand of the French 
 Was round encompassed and set upon. 
 No leisure had he to enrank his men ; 
 He wanted pikes to set before his archers ; 
 Instead whereof, sharp stakes, pluck'd out of 
 
 hedges, 
 
 They pitched in the ground confusedly, 
 To keep the horsemen off from breaking in. 
 More than three hours the fight continued ; 
 Where valiant Talbot, above human thought, 
 Enacted wonders with his sword and lance : 
 Hundreds he 'sent to hell, and none durst stand 
 
 him ; 
 
 Here, there, and everywhere, enrag'd he flew : 
 The French exclaim'd the devil was in arms ; 
 All the whole army stood agaz'd on him : 
 His soldiers, spying his undaunted spirit, 
 A Talbot ! a Talbot ! cried out amain, 
 And rush'd into the bowels of the battle. 
 Here had the conquest fully been seal'd up 
 If Sir John Fastolfe had not play'd the coward : 
 He, being in the vaward, plac'd behind, 
 With purpose to relieve and follow them, 
 Cowardly fled, not having struck one stroke. 
 Hence grew the general wreck and massacre ; 
 Enclosed were they with their enemies : 
 A base Walloon, to win the Dauphin's grace, 
 Thrust Talbot with a spear into the back ; 
 Whom all France, with their chief assembled 
 
 strength, 
 Durst not presume to look once in the face. 
 
 Bed. Is Talbot slain? then I will slay myself, 
 For living idly here in pomp and ease, 
 Whilst such a worthy leader, wanting aid, 
 Unto his dastard foemen is betray'd. 
 
 3 Mess. O no, he lives ; but is took prisoner, 
 And Lord Scales with him, and Lord Hunger- 
 ford: 
 Most of the rest slaughter'd or took likewise. 
 
 Bed. His ransom there is none but I shall pay : 
 I'll hale the Dauphin headlong from his throne, 
 His crown shall be the ransom of my friend ; 
 Four of their lords I '11 change for one of ou^s. 
 Farewell, my masters ; to my task will I ; 
 Bonfires in France forthwith I am to make, 
 To keep our great Saint George's feast withal : 
 Ten thousand soldiers with me I will take, 
 Whose bloody deeds shall make all Europe 
 quake. [sieg'd ; 
 
 3 Mess. So you had need ; for Orleans is be- 
 The English army is grown weak and feint : 
 The Earl of Salisbury craveth supply, 
 And hardly keeps his men from mutiny, 
 Since they, so few, watch such a multitude. 
 
 Exe. Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry 
 
 sworn, 
 
 Either to quell the Dauphin utterly, 
 Or bring him in obedience to your yoke. 
 Bed. I do remember it ; and here take my 
 
 leave, 
 
 To go about my preparation. \Exit. 
 
 Glo. I'll to the Tower, with all the haste 
 
 I can, 
 
 To view the artillery and munition ; 
 And then I will proclaim young Henry king. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Exe. To Eltham will I, where the young 
 
 king is, 
 
 Being ordain'd his special governor ; 
 And for his safety there I '11 best devise. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Win. Each hath his place and function to 
 
 attend : 
 
 I am left out ; for me nothing remains. 
 But long I will not be Jack-out-of-orBce : 
 The king from Eltham I intend to steal, 
 And sit at chiefest stern of public weal. 
 
 [Exit. Scene closes. 
 ; u-iorfJ wpfi-'M h.folp 
 SCENE II. FRANCE. Before Orleans. 
 
 Enter CHARLES, with his Forces ; ALENC.ON, 
 REIGNIER, and others. 
 
 ,::, : > 
 
 Char. Mars his true moving, even as in the 
 
 heavens, 
 
 So in the earth, to this day is not known : 
 Late did he shine upon the English side ; 
 Now we are victors, upon rs he smiles. 
 What towns of any moment but we have ? 
 At pleasure here we lie near Orleans ; 
 Otherwhiles the famish'd English, like pale 
 
 ghosts, 
 
 Faintly besiege us one hour in a month. 
 Alen. They want their porridge and their 
 
 fat bull-beeves : 
 
 Either they must be dieted like mules, 
 And have their provender tied to their mouths, 
 Or piteous they will look, like drowned mice. 
 Reig. Let 's raise the siege : why live we 
 
 idly here ? 
 
 Talbot is taken, whom we wont to fear : 
 Remaineth none but mad-brain'd Salisbury ; 
 And he may well in fretting spend his gall, 
 Nor men nor money hath he to make war. 
 Char. Sound, sound alarum ! we will rush 
 
 on them. 
 
 Now for the honour of the forlorn French ! 
 Him I forgive my death that killeth me, 
 When he sees me go back one foot or flee. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT I. 
 
 Alarums; excursions ; afterwards a retreat 
 Re-enter CHARLES, ALEN^ON, REIGNIER, 
 and others. 
 
 Char. Who ever saw the like? what men 
 
 have I ! 
 Dogs ! cowards ! dastards ! I would ne'er have 
 
 fled 
 But that they left me midst my enemies. 
 
 Reig. Salisbury is a desperate homicide ; 
 He fighteth as one weary of his life. 
 The other lords, like lions wanting food, 
 Do rush upon us as their hungry prey. 
 
 Alen. Froissart, a countryman of ours, records, 
 England all Olivers and Rowlands bred 
 During the time Edward the Third did reign. 
 More truly now may this be verified ; 
 For none but Samsons and Goliasses 
 It sendeth forth to skirmish. One to ten ! 
 Lean raw-bon'd rascals ! who would e'er suppose 
 They had such courage and audacity ? 
 
 Char. Let 's leave this town ; for they are 
 
 hair-brain'd slaves, 
 
 And hunger will enforce them to be more eager : 
 Of old I know them ; rather with their teeth 
 The walls they '11 tear down than forsake the 
 siege. 
 
 Reig. I think, by some odd gimmers or device, 
 Their arms are set, like clocks, still to strike on ; 
 Else ne'er could they hold out so as they do. 
 By my consent, we '11 even let them alone. 
 
 Alen. Be it so. 
 
 Enter the BASTARD OF ORLEANS. 
 
 Bast. Where 's the Prince Dauphin ? I have 
 news for him. [us. 
 
 Char. Bastard of Orleans, thrice welcome to 
 
 Bast. Methinks your looks are sad, your 
 
 cheer appall'd : 
 
 Hath the late overthrow wrought this offence ? 
 Be not dismay'd, for succour is at hand : 
 A holy maid hither with me I bring, 
 Which, by a vision sent to her from heaven, 
 Ordained is to raise this tedious siege, 
 And drive the English forth the bounds of France. 
 The spirit of deep prophecy she hath, 
 Exceeding the nine sibyls of old Rome : 
 What 's past and what 's to come she can descry. 
 Speak, shall I call her in ? Believe my words, 
 For they are certain and infallible. 
 
 Char. Go, call her in. [Exit BASTARD.] 
 
 But first, to try her skill, 
 
 Reignier, stand thou as Dauphin in my place : 
 
 Question her proudly ; let thy looks be stern : 
 
 By this means shall we sound what skill she 
 
 hath. [Retires. 
 
 Re-enter the BASTARD OF ORLEANS, with LA 
 PUCELLE. 
 
 Reig. Fair maid, is 't thou wilt do these won- 
 drous feats ? 
 
 Puc. Reignier, is 't thou that thinkest to be- 
 guile me ? [behind ; 
 Where is the Dauphin ? Come, come from 
 I know thee well, though never seen before. 
 Be not amaz'd, there 's nothing hid from me : 
 In private will I talk with thee apart. 
 Stand back, you lords, and give us leave awhile. 
 Reig. She takes upon her bravely at first 
 dash. [daughter, 
 Puc. Dauphin, I am by birth a shepherd's 
 My wit untrain'd in any kind of art. 
 Heaven and our Lady gracious hath it pleas'd 
 To shine on my contemptible estate : 
 Lo, whilst I waited on my tender lambs, 
 And to sun's parching heat display'd my cheeks, 
 God's mother deigned to appear to me, 
 And in a vision full of majesty 
 Will'd me to leave my base vocation, 
 And free my country from calamity : 
 Her aid she promis'd and assur'd success : 
 In complete glory she reveal'd herself ; 
 And whereas I was black and swart before, 
 With those clear rays which she infus'd on me, 
 That beauty am I bless'd with which you see. 
 Ask me what question thou canst possible, 
 And I will answer unpremeditated : 
 My courage try by combat if thou dar'st, 
 And thou shall find that I exceed my sex. 
 Resolve on this, thou shalt be fortunate 
 If thou receive me for thy warlike mate. 
 
 Char. Thou hast astonish'd me with thy 
 
 high terms : 
 
 Only this proof I'll of thy valour make, 
 In single combat thou shalt buckle with me ; 
 And if thou vanquishes!, thy words are true : 
 Otherwise I renounce all confidence. 
 
 Puc. I am prepar'd : here is my keen-edg'd 
 
 sword, 
 
 Deck'd with five flower-de-luces on each side ; 
 The which at Touraine, in Saint Katherine's 
 
 churchyard, 
 
 Out of a great deal of old iron I chose forth. 
 Char. Then come, o' God's name ; I fear 
 
 no woman. 
 
 Puc. And while I live I '11 ne'er fly from a 
 
 man. [They fight. 
 
 Char. Stay, stay thy hands ! thou art an 
 
 Amazon, 
 And fightest with the sword of Deborah. 
 
 Puc. Christ's mother helps me, else I were 
 
 too weak. [help me : 
 
 Char. Whoe'er helps thee, 'tis thou that must 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 Impatiently I burn with thy desire ; 
 My heart and hands thou hast at once subdu'd. 
 Excellent Pucelle, if thy name be so, 
 Let me thy servant and not sovereign be : 
 ; Tis the French Dauphin sueth to thee thus. 
 PMC. I must not yield to any rites of love, 
 For my profession 's sacred from above : 
 When I have chased all thy foes from hence, 
 Then will I think upon a recompense. 
 
 Char. Meantime look gracious on thy pro- 
 strate thrall. 
 
 Reig. My lord, methinks, is very long in talk. 
 Alen. Doubtless he shrives this woman to 
 
 her smock ; 
 Else ne'er could he so long protract his 
 
 speech. 
 Reig. Shall we disturb him, since he keeps 
 
 no mean ? 
 Alen. He may mean more than we poor men 
 
 do know : 
 These women are shrewd tempters with their 
 
 tongues. 
 Reig. My lord, where are you ? what devise 
 
 you on ? 
 Shall we give over Orleans, or no ? 
 
 Puc. Why, no, I say, distrustful recreants! 
 Fight till the last gasp ; I will be your guard. 
 Char. What she says I 'il confirm : we '11 
 
 fight it out. 
 Puc. Assign'd am I to be the English 
 
 scourge. 
 
 This night the siege assuredly I '11 raise : 
 Expect Saint Martin's summer, halcyon days, 
 Since I have entered into these wars. 
 Glory is like a circle in the water, 
 Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself, 
 Till by broad spreading it disperse to naught. 
 With Henry's death the English circle ends ; 
 Dispersed are the glories it included. 
 Now am I like that proud insulting ship 
 Which Caesar and his fortune bare at once. 
 
 Char. Was Mahomet inspired with a dove ? 
 Thou with an eagle art inspired, then. 
 Helen, the mother of great Constantine, 
 Nor yet Saint Philip's daughters, were like 
 
 thee. 
 
 Bright star of Venus, fall'n down on the earth, 
 How may I reverently worship thee enough ? 
 Alen. Leave off delays, and let us raise the 
 
 siege. 
 Reig. Woman, do what thou canst to save our 
 
 honours ; 
 
 Drive them from Orleans, and be immortaliz'd. 
 Char. Presently we '11 try : come, let 's 
 
 away about it ; 
 No prophet will I trust if she prove false. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. LONDON. Before the Gates of 
 the Tower. 
 
 Enter the DUKE OF GLOSTER, with his 
 Serving-men in blue coats. 
 
 Glo. I am come to survey the Tower this 
 day : [ance. 
 
 Since Henry's death, I fear, there is convey- 
 Where be these warders, that they wait not here ? 
 Open the gates : Gloster it is that calls. 
 
 [Servants knock. 
 
 I Ward. [Within.} Who's there that knocks 
 so imperiously ? 
 
 1 Serv. It is the noble Duke of Gloster. 
 
 2 Ward. [Within.] Whoe'er he be, you may 
 
 not be let in. [tector ? 
 
 i Serv. Villains, answer you so the lord pro- 
 i Ward. [Within.] The Lord protect him ! 
 
 so we answer him : 
 We do no otherwise than we are will'd. 
 
 Glo. Who willed you ? or whose will stands 
 
 but mine ? 
 
 There 's none protector of the realm but I. 
 Break up the gates, I '11 be your warrantize : 
 Shall I be flouted thus by dunghill grooms ? 
 
 [GLOSTER'S Servants rush at the 
 
 Tower-gates. 
 Wood. [Within.] What noise is this? what 
 
 traitors have we here ? 
 Glo. Lieutenant, is it you whose voice I hear? 
 Open the gates; here's Gloster that would 
 
 enter. 
 Wood. [Within.] Have patience, noble Duke j 
 
 I may not open ; 
 
 The Cardinal of Winchester forbids : 
 From him I have express commandment 
 That thou nor none of thine shall be let in. 
 Glo. Faint-hearted Woodville, prizest him 
 
 'fore me, 
 
 Arrogant Winchester ? that haughty prelate 
 Whom Henry, our late sovereign, ne'er could 
 
 brook? 
 
 Thou art no friend to God or to the king : 
 Open the gates, or I '11 shut thee out shortly, 
 i Serv. Open the gates unto the lord pro- 
 tector, [quickly. 
 Or we '11 burst them open if that you come not 
 [GLOSTER's Servants rush again at the 
 Tower-gates. 
 
 Enter WINCHESTER, with his Serving-men in 
 tawny coats. 
 
 Win. How now, ambitious Humphry ! what 
 
 means this ? 
 Glo. Peel'd priest, dost thou command me 
 
 to be shut out? 
 
572 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 Win. I do, thou most usurping proditor, 
 And not protector of the king or realm. 
 
 Glo. Stand back, thou manifest conspirator, 
 Thou that contriv'dst to murder our dead lord ; 
 Thou that giv'st whores indulgences to sin : 
 I '11 canvass thee in thy broad cardinal's hat, 
 If thou proceed in this thy insolence. 
 
 Win. Nay, stand thou back ; I will not 
 
 budge a foot : 
 
 This be Damascus, be thou cursed Cain, 
 To slay thy brother Abel, if thou wilt, [back : 
 
 Glo. I will not slay thee, but I '11 drive thee 
 Thy scarlet robes as a child's bearing-cloth 
 I '11 use to carry thee out of this place. 
 
 Win. Do what thou dar'st ; I beard thee to 
 thy face. [face ? 
 
 Glo. What ! am I dar'd, and bearded to my 
 Draw, men, for all this privileged place ; 
 Blue-coats to tawny-coats. Priest, beware your 
 
 beard ; 
 
 I mean to tug it, and to cuff you soundly : 
 Under my feet I '11 stamp thy cardinal's hat ; 
 In spite of pope or dignities of church, 
 Here by the cheeks I '11 drag thee up and down. 
 
 Win. Gloster, thou wilt answer this before 
 the pope. [rope ! 
 
 Glo. Winchester goose! I cry, a rope! a 
 Now beat them hence, why do you let them 
 
 stay? 
 Thee I'll chase hence, thou wolf in sheep's 
 
 array. 
 Out, tawny-coats ! Out, scarlet hypocrite ! 
 
 GLOSTER and his Servants attack the other 
 Party. In the tumult, enter the Mayor of 
 London and Officers. 
 
 May. Fie, lords ! that you, being supreme 
 
 magistrates, 
 Thus contumeliously should break the peace! 
 
 Glo. Peace, mayor! thou know'st little of my 
 
 wrongs : 
 
 Here 's Beaufort, that regards nor God nor king, 
 Hath here distrain'd the Tower to his use. 
 
 Win. Here 's Gloster, too, a foe to citizens ; 
 One that still motions war, and never peace', 
 O'ercharging your free purses with large fines ; 
 That seeks to overthrow religion, 
 Because he is protector of the realm ; 
 And would have armour here out of the Tower, 
 To crown himself king and suppress the prince. 
 
 Glo. I will not answer thee with words, but 
 blows. [Here they skirmish again. 
 
 May. Naught rests for me, in this tumultu- 
 ous strife, 
 
 But to make open proclamation : 
 Come, officer, as loud as e'er thou canst. 
 
 Off. [Reads. ~\ All manner of men assembled 
 here in arms this day against God's peace and 
 the king's, we charge and command you, in his 
 highness^ name, to repair to your several dwell- 
 ing-places ; and not to wear, handle, or use any 
 sword, weapon, or dagger, henceforward, upon 
 pain of death 
 
 Glo. Cardinal, I '11 be no breaker of the law : 
 But we shall meet and break our minds at large. 
 Win. Gloster, we '11 meet, to thy dear cost, 
 
 be sure: 
 
 Thy heart-blood I will have for this day's work. 
 May. I '11 call for clubs if you will not away: 
 This cardinal 's more haughty than the devil. 
 Glo. Mayor, farewell : thou dost but what 
 
 thou mayst. 
 
 Win. Abominable Gloster ! guard thy head ; 
 For I intend to have it ere long. 
 
 [Exeunt severally, GLO. and WIN. , 
 
 with their Servants. 
 May. See the coast clear'd, and then we will 
 
 depart. 
 Good God, these nobles should such stomachs 
 
 bear! 
 I myself fight not once in forty year. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. FRANCE. Before Orleans. 
 
 Enter, on the walls, the Master- Gunner and 
 his Son. 
 
 M. Gun. Sirrah, thou know'st how Orleans 
 
 is besieg'd, 
 And how the English have the suburbs won. 
 
 Son. Father, I know; and oft have shot at 
 
 them, 
 Howe'er, unfortunate, I missed my aim. 
 
 M. Gun. But now thou shalt not. Be thou 
 
 rul'd by me : 
 
 Chief master-gunner am I of this town ; 
 Something I must do to procure me grace. 
 The prince's espials have informed me 
 How the English, in the suburbs close intrench'd, 
 Wont, through a secret grate of iron bars 
 In yonder tower, to overpeer the city, 
 And thence discover how with most advantage 
 They may vex us with shot or with assault. 
 To intercept this inconvenience, 
 A piece of ordnance 'gainst it I have plac'd ; 
 And even these three days have I watch'd if I 
 Could see them. 
 
 Now do thou watch, for I can stay no longer. 
 If thou spy'st any, run and bring me word ; 
 And thou shalt find me at the governor's. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Son. Father, I warrant you ; take you no care ; 
 I '11 never trouble you if I may spy them. 
 
SCENE I V.I 
 
 FIRST PART OF KINO HENRY VI. 
 
 573 
 
 Enter, in an upper Chamber of a Tower, the 
 LORDS SALISBURY and TALBOT, SIR 
 WILLIAM GLANSDALE, SIR THOMAS GAR- 
 GRAVE, and others. 
 
 Sal. Talbot, my life, my joy, again return'd ! 
 How wert thou handled being prisoner? 
 Or by what means gott'st thou to be releas'd? 
 Discourse, I pr'ythee, on this turret's top. 
 
 Tal. The Duke of Bedford had a prisoner 
 Call'd the brave Lord Ponton de Santrailles ; 
 For him I was exchang'd and ransomed. 
 But with a baser man of arms by far 
 Once, in contempt, they would have barter'd me: 
 Which I, disdaining, scorn'd ; and craved death 
 Rather than I would be so vile-esteem'd. 
 In fine, redeem'd I was as I desir'd. [heart ! 
 But, O ! the treacherous Fastolfe wounds my 
 Whom with my bare fists I would execute 
 If I now had him brought into my power. 
 Sal. Yet tell'st thou not how thou wert en- 
 
 tertain'd. [taunts. 
 
 Tal. With scoffs, and scorns, and contumelious 
 In open market-place produc'd they me, 
 To be a public spectacle to all : 
 Here, said they, is the terror of the French, 
 The scarecrow that affrights our children so. 
 Then broke I from the officers that led me, 
 And with my nails digg'd stones out of the 
 
 ground 
 
 To hurl at the beholders of my shame : 
 My grisly countenance made others fly ; 
 None durst come near for fear of sudden death. 
 In iron walls they deem'd me not secure ; 
 So great fear of my name 'mongst them was 
 
 spread 
 
 That they suppps'd I could rend bars of steel, 
 And spurn in pieces posts of adamant : 
 Wherefore a guard of chosen shot I had, 
 That walk'd about me every minute- whil e ; 
 And if I did but stir out of my bed, 
 Ready they were to shoot me to the heart. 
 Sal. I grieve to hear what torments you en- 
 
 dur'd; 
 
 But we will be reveng'd sufficiently. 
 Now it is supper-time in Orleans: 
 Here, through this grate, I can count each one, 
 And view the Frenchmen how they fortify : 
 Let us look in; the sight will much delight 
 
 thee. 
 
 Sir Thomas Gargrave and Sir William Glansdale, 
 Let me have your express opinions 
 Where is best plare to make our battery next. 
 Gar. I think at the north gate; for there 
 
 stand lords. 
 Glan. And I here, at the bulwark of the 
 
 bridge. 
 
 Tal. For aught I see, this city must be 
 
 famish'd, 
 Or with light skirmishes enfeebled. 
 
 \Shotfrom the town. SAL. and SIR 
 
 THOMAS GARGRAVE fall. 
 Sal. O Lord, have mercy on us, wretched 
 
 sinners ! 
 
 Gar. O Lord, have mercy on me, woeful man ! 
 Tal. What chance is this that suddenly hath 
 
 cross'd us? 
 
 Speak, Salisbury ; at least, if thou canst speak : 
 How far'st thou, mirror of all martial men? 
 One of thy eyes and thy cheek's side struck 
 
 off! 
 
 Accursed tower ! accursed fatal hand 
 That hath contriv'd this woeful tragedy ! 
 In thirteen battles Salisbury o'ercame ; 
 Henry the Fifth he first train'd to the wars; 
 Whilst any trump did sound or drum struck up, 
 His sword did ne ?r leave striking in the field. 
 Yet liv'st thou, Salisbury? though thy speech 
 
 doth fail, 
 
 One eye thou hast, to look to heaven for grace : 
 The sun with one eye vieweth all the world. 
 Heaven, be thou gracious to none alive 
 If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands ! 
 Bear hence his body ; I will help to bury it. 
 Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life ? 
 Speak unto Talbot ; nay, look up to him. 
 Salisbury, cheer thy spirit with this comfort ; 
 Thou shalt not die whiles 
 He beckons with his hand, and smiles on me, 
 As who should say, When I am dead and gone, 
 Remember to avenge me on the French. 
 Plantagenet, I will ; and like thee, Nero, 
 Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn : 
 Wretched shall France be only in my name. 
 
 {Thunder heard ; afterwards an alarum. 
 What stir is this? What tumult's in the 
 
 heavens ? 
 Whence cometh this alarum, and the noise ? 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My lord, my lord, the French have 
 
 gather'd head : 
 
 The Dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle join'd, 
 A holy prophetess new risen up, 
 Is come with a great power to raise the siege. 
 
 [SAL. lifts himself and groans. 
 Tal. Hear, hear how dying Salisbury doth 
 
 groan! 
 
 It irks his heart he cannot be revengM. 
 Frenchmen, I '11 be a Salisbury to you : 
 Pucelle or puzzle, dolphin or dogfish, 
 Your hearts I '11 stamp out with my horse's heels, 
 And make a quagmire of your mingled brains. 
 
574 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT I. 
 
 Convey me Salisbury into his tent, 
 And then we '11 try what these dastard French- 
 men dare. 
 
 [Exeunt, bearing out the bodies. 
 
 SCENE V. The same. Before one of the 
 Gates. 
 
 Alarum , skirmishings. Enter TALBOT, ptir- 
 suing the DAUPHIN, drives him z, and 
 exit : then enter JOAN LA PUCELLE, driving 
 Englishmen before her, and exit after them : 
 then re-enter TALBOT. 
 
 Tal. Where is my strength, my valour, and 
 
 my force? 
 
 Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them ; 
 A woman clad in armour chaseth them. 
 Here, here she comes. 
 
 Enter LA PUCELLE. 
 
 I '11 have a bout with thee ; 
 Devil or devil's dam, I '11 conjure thee : 
 Blood will I draw on thee, thou art a witch, 
 And straightway give thy soul to him thouserv'st. 
 Puc. Come, come, 'tis only I that must dis- 
 grace thee. [They fight. 
 Tal. Heavens, can you suffer hell so to pre- 
 vail? 
 My breast I '11 burst with straining of my 
 
 courage, 
 
 And from my shoulders crack my arms asunder, 
 But I will chastise this high-minded strumpet. 
 [ They fight again. 
 Puc. [Retiring.] Talbot, farewell : thy hour 
 
 is not yet come : 
 
 I must go victual Orleans forthwith. 
 O'ertake.me if thou canst ; I scorn thy strength. 
 Go, go, cheer up thy hunger-starved men ; 
 Help Salisbury to make his testament : 
 This day is ours, as many more shall be. 
 
 [LA Puc. enters the town -with Soldiers. 
 Tal. My thoughts are whirled like a potter's 
 
 wheel ; 
 
 I know not where I am nor what I do : 
 A witch by fear, not force, like Hannibal 
 Drives back our troops, and conquers as she 
 
 ?<* o lists : 
 So bees with smoke and doves with noisome 
 
 stench 
 
 Are from their hives and houses driven away. 
 They call'd us, for our fierceness, English dogs ; 
 Now like to whelps we crying run away. 
 
 [A short alarum. 
 
 Hark, countrymen ! either renew the fight 
 Or tear the lions out of England's coat ; 
 
 Renounce your soil, give sheep in lions' stead: 
 Sheep run not half so timorous from the wolf, 
 Or horse or oxen from the leopard, 
 As you fly from your oft-subdued slaves. 
 
 [Alarum. Another skirmish. 
 It will not be : retire into your trenches : 
 You all consented unto Salisbury's death, 
 For none would strike a stroke in his revenge. 
 Pucelle is enter'd into Orleans, 
 In spite of us or aught that we could do. 
 O, would I were to die with Salisbury ! 
 The shame hereof will make me hide my head ! 
 [Alarum. Retreat. Exeunt TALBOT 
 and Forces, &>c. 
 
 Flourish. Enter on the walls, LA PUCELLE, 
 CHARLES, REIGN IER, ALENCON, and 
 Soldiers. 
 
 Fuc. Advance our waving colours on the 
 
 walls ; 
 
 Rescu'd is Orleans from the English : 
 Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word. 
 Char. Divinest creature, Astisea's daughter, 
 How shall I honour thee for this success ? 
 Thy promises are like Adonis' gardens, 
 That one day bloom'd and fruitful were the 
 
 next. 
 
 France, triumph in thy glorious prophetess .' 
 Recover'd is the town of Orleans : 
 More blessed hap did ne'er befall our state. 
 Reig. Why ring not out the bells aloud 
 
 throughout the town ? 
 
 Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfires, 
 And feast and banquet in the open streets, 
 To celebrate the joy that God hath given us. 
 Alen. All France will be replete with mirth 
 
 and joy 
 When they shall hear how we have play'd the 
 
 men. 
 Char. 'Tis Joan, not we, by whom the day is 
 
 won ; 
 
 For which I will divide my crown with her ; 
 And all the priests and friars in my realm 
 Shall in procession sing her endless praise. 
 A statelier pyramis to her i '11 rear 
 Than Rhodope's of Memphis ever was : 
 In memory of her when she is dead, 
 Her ashes, in an urn more precious 
 Than the rich jewell'd coffer of Darius, 
 Transported shall be at high festivals 
 Before the kings and queens of France. 
 No longer on Saint Denis will we cry, 
 But Joan la Pucelle shall be France's saint. 
 Come in, and let us banquet royally, 
 After this golden day of victory. 
 
 [Flourish. Exeunt. 
 
SCENE I. ] 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 575 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. Before Orleans. 
 
 Enter to the Gate a French Sergeant and two 
 Sentinels. 
 
 Serg, Sirs, take your places and be vigilant : 
 If any noise or soldier you perceive 
 Near to the walls, by some apparent sign 
 Let us have knowledge at the court of guard. 
 
 i Sent. Sergeant, you shall. [Exit Sergeant.] 
 
 Thus are poor servitors, 
 When others sleep upon their quiet beds, 
 Constrain'd to watch in darkness, rain, and cold. 
 
 Enter TALBOT, BEDFORD, BURGUNDY, and 
 Forces, with scaling-ladders ; their drums 
 beating a dead march. 
 
 Tal. Lord regent and redoubted Burgundy, 
 By whose approach the regions of Artois, 
 Walloon, and Picardy are friends to us, 
 This happy night the Frenchmen are secure, 
 Having all day carous'd and banqueted : 
 Embrace we, then, this opportunity, 
 As fitting best to quittance their deceit, 
 Contriv'd by art and baleful sorcery,. 
 
 Bed. Coward of France ! how much he 
 
 wrongs his fame, 
 
 Despairing of his own arm's fortitude, 
 To join with witches and the help of hell. 
 
 Bur. Traitors have never other company. 
 But what's that Pucelle whom they term so 
 pure? 
 
 Tal. A maid, they say. 
 
 Bed. A maid ! and be so martial ! 
 
 ur. Pray God she prove not masculine ere 
 
 If underneath the standard of the French 
 She carry armour, as she hath begun. 
 
 Tal. Well, let them practise and converse 
 
 with spirits : 
 God is our fortress, in whose conquering 
 
 name 
 
 Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks. 
 Bed. Ascend, brave Talbot ; we will follow 
 
 thee. 
 
 Tal. Not all together : better far, I guess, 
 That we do make our entrance several ways ; 
 That, if it chance the one of us do fail, 
 The other yet may rise against their force. 
 Bed. Agreed : I '11 to yon corner. 
 Btir. And I to this. 
 
 Tal. And here will Talbot mount or make 
 
 his grave*-*- - 
 Now, Salisbury, for thee, and for the right 
 
 Of English Henry, shall this night appear 
 
 How much in duty I am bound to both. 
 
 [ The English scale the walls, crying St. George ! 
 
 a Talbot ! and all enter the Town. 
 Sent. Arm ! arm ! the enemy doth make 
 assault ! 
 
 The French leap over the walls tn theif shirts. 
 
 Enter, several ways, BASTARD, ALE^ON, 
 
 REIGNIER, half ready and half unready. 
 
 Alen. How now, my lords? what, all un- 
 ready so ? [well. 
 
 Bast. Unready ! ay, and glad we 'scap'd so 
 
 Reig. 'Twas time, I trow, to wake and leave 
 
 our beds, 
 Hearing alarums at our chamber -doors. 
 
 Alen. Of all exploitssince first I follow'd arms, 
 Ne'er heard I of a warlike enterprise 
 More venturous or desperate than this. 
 
 Bast. I think this Talbot be a fiend of hell. 
 
 Reig. If not of hell, the heavens, sure, 
 favour him. [he sped. 
 
 Alen. Here cometh Charles : I marvel how 
 
 Bast. Tut ! holy Joan was his defensive guard. 
 
 Enter CHARLES and LA PUCELLE. 
 
 Char. Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful 
 dame? ;A^ 
 
 Didst thou at first, to flatter us withal, 
 Make us partakers of a little gain, 
 That now our loss might be ten times so much ? 
 Puc. Wherefore is Charles impatient with 
 
 his friend ? 
 
 At all times will you have my power alike ? 
 Sleeping or waking, must I still prevail, 
 Or will you blame and lay the fault on me ? 
 Improvident soldiers ! had your watch been good 
 This sudden mischief never could have fall'n. 
 
 Char. Duke of Alencon, this was your default, 
 That, being captain of the watch to-night, 
 Did look no better to that weighty charge. 
 Alen. Had all your quarters been as safely 
 
 kept 
 
 As that whereof I had the government, 
 We had not been thus shamefully surpris'd. 
 Bast. Mine was secure. 
 Reig. And so was mine, my lord. 
 
 Char. And, for myself, most part of all this 
 
 night, 
 
 Within her quarter and mine own precinct 
 I was employ 'd in passing to and fro, 
 About relieving of the sentinels : 
 Then how or which way should they first break 
 in ? [case, 
 
 Puc, Question, my lords, no further of the 
 How or which way ; 'tis sure they found some 
 place 
 
576 
 
 JL 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT II. 
 
 But weakly guarded, where the breach was 
 
 made. 
 
 And now there rests no other shift but this, 
 To gather our soldiers, scatter'd and dispers'd, 
 And lay new platforms to endamage them. 
 
 Alarum. Enter an English Soldier, crying a 
 Talbot ! a Talbot ! They fly, leaving their 
 clothes behind. 
 
 Sold. I '11 be so bold to take what they have 
 
 left. 
 
 The cry of Talbot serves me for a sword ; 
 For I have loaden me with many spoils, 
 Using no other weapon but his name. [Exit. 
 
 .^r?I! 
 
 SCENE II. ORLEANS. Within the Town. 
 
 Enter TALBOT, BEDFORD, BURGUNDY, a 
 
 Captain, and others. 
 ,siu^ i ion 11 ."^ViJv 
 
 Bed. The day begins to break, and night is 
 
 fled, 
 
 Whose pitchy mantle over-veil'd the earth. 
 Here sound retreat, and cease our hot pursuit. 
 [Retreat sounded. 
 
 T'al. Bring forth the body of old Salisbury, 
 And here advance it in the market-place, 
 The middle centre of this cursed town. 
 Now have I paid my vow unto his soul ; 
 For every drop of blood was drawn from him, 
 There hath at least five Frenchmen died to-night. 
 And that hereafter ages may behold 
 What ruin happen'd in revenge of him, 
 Within their chiefest temple I '11 erect 
 A tomb, wherein his corpse shall be interr'd : 
 Upon the which, that every one may read, 
 Shall be engrav'd the sack of Orleans, 
 The treacherous manner of his mournful death, 
 And what a terror he had been to France. 
 But, lords, in all our bloody massacre, 
 I muse we meet not with the Dauphin's grace, 
 His new-come champion, virtuous Joan of Arc, 
 Nor any of his false confederates. 
 
 Bed. 'Tis thought, Lord Talbot, when the 
 
 fight began, 
 
 Rous'd on the sudden from their drowsy beds, 
 They did, amongst the troops of armed men, 
 Leap o'er the walls for refuge in the field. 
 
 Bttr. Myself, as far as I could well discern 
 For smoke and dusky vapours of the night, 
 Am sure I scar'd the Dauphin and his trull, 
 When arm in arm they both came swiftly running, 
 Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves, 
 That could not live asunder day or night. 
 After that things are set in order here, 
 We '11 follow them with all the power we have. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. All hail, my lords ! Which of this 
 
 princely train 
 
 Call ye the warlike Talbot, for his acts 
 So much applauded through the realm of France? 
 Tal. Here is the Talbot : who would speak 
 with him ? [Auvergne, 
 
 Mess. The virtuous lady, Countess of 
 With modesty admiring thy renown, [safe 
 By me entreats, great Icrd, thou wouldst vouch- 
 To visit her poor castle where she lies, 
 That she may boast she hath beheld the man 
 Whose glory fiJls the world with loud report. 
 Bur. Is it even so ? Nay, then, I see our 
 
 wars 
 
 Will turn unto a peaceful comic sport, 
 When ladies crave to be encounter'd with. 
 You may not, my lord, despise her gentle suit. 
 Tal. Ne'er trust me then ; for when a world 
 
 of men 
 
 Could not prevail with all their oratory, 
 Yet hath a woman's kindness overrul'd : 
 And therefore tell her I return great thanks, 
 And in submission will attend on her. 
 Will not your honours bear me company ? 
 
 Bed. No, truly ; it is more than manners will : 
 And I have heard it said, unbidden guests 
 Are often welcomest when they are gone. 
 Tal. Well then, alone, since there's no 
 
 remedy, 
 
 I mean to prove this lady's courtesy. 
 Come hither, captain. [Whispers.} You per- 
 ceive my mind ? 
 
 Capt. I do, my lord, and mean accordingly. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. AUVERGNE. Court of the Castle. 
 
 Enter the COUNTESS and her Porter. 
 
 Count. Porter, remember what I gave in 
 
 charge ; [me. 
 
 And when you have done so, bring the keys to 
 
 Port. Madam, I will. [Exit. 
 
 Count. The plot is laid : if all things fall out 
 
 right, 
 
 I shall as famous be by this exploit 
 As Scythian Tomyris by Cyrus death. 
 Great is the rumour of this dreadful knight, 
 And his achievements of no less account : 
 Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ear$ 
 To give their censure of these rare reports. 
 
 Enter Messenger and TALBOT. 
 
 Mess. Madam, 
 
 According as your ladyship desir'd, 
 By message crav'd, so is Lord Talbot come. 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 577 
 
 Count. And he is welcome. What ! is this 
 the man ? 
 
 Mess. Madam, it is. 
 
 Count. Is this the scourge of France ? 
 
 Is this the Talbot, so much fear'd abroad 
 That with his name the mothers still their babes? 
 I see report is fabulous and false : 
 I thought I should have seen some Hercules, 
 A second Hector, for his grim aspect, 
 And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs. 
 Alas, this is a child, a silly dwarf ! 
 It cannot be this weak and writhled shrimp 
 Should strike such terror to his enemies. 
 
 Tal. Madam, I have been bold to trouble you ; 
 But since your ladyship is not at leisure, 
 I '11 sort some other time to visit you. [Going. 
 
 Count. What means he now ? Go ask him 
 whither he goes. 
 
 Mess. Stay, my Lord Talbot ; for my kdy 
 
 craves 
 To know the cause of your abrupt departure. 
 
 Tal. Marry, for that she 's in a wrong belief, 
 I go to certify her Talbot 's here. 
 
 Re-enter Porter with keys. 
 
 Count. If thou be he, then art thou prisoner 
 
 Tal. Prisoner ! to whom ? 
 
 Count. To me, blood-thirsty lord ; 
 
 And for that cause I train'd thee to my house. 
 Long time thy shadow hath been thrall to me, 
 For in my gallery thy picture hangs : 
 But now the substance shall endure the like ; 
 And I will chain these legs and arms of thine, 
 That hast by tyranny these many years 
 Wasted our country, slain our citizens, 
 And sent our sons and husbands captivate. 
 
 Tal. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Count. Laughest thou, wretch? thy mirth 
 shall turn to moan. 
 
 Tal. I laugh to see your ladyship so fond 
 To think that you have aught but Talbot's 
 
 shadow 
 Whereon to practise your severity. 
 
 Count. Why, art not thou the man ? 
 
 Tal. I am indeed. 
 
 Count. Then have I substance too. 
 
 Tal. No, no, I am but shadow of myself : 
 You are deceiv'd, my substance is not here ; 
 For what you see is but the smallest part 
 And least proportion of humanity : 
 I tell you, madam, were the whole frame here, 
 It is of such a spacious lofty pitch, 
 Your roof were not sufficient to contain 't. 
 
 Count. This is a riddling merchant for the 
 
 nonce ; 
 
 He will be here, and yet he is not here : 
 How can these contrarieties ap 
 
 Tal. That will I show you presently. 
 \_He winds a Horn. Drums heard ; then 
 a Peal of Ordnance. The Gates being 
 forced, enter Soldiers. 
 
 How say you, madam ? are you now persuaded 
 That Talbot is but shadow of himself? 
 These are his substance, sinews, arms, and 
 
 strength, 
 
 With which he yoketh your rebellious necks, 
 Razeth your cities, and subverts your towns, 
 And in a moment makes them desolate. 
 
 Count. Victorious Talbot ! pardon my abuse : 
 I find thou art no less than fame hath bruited, 
 And more than may be gather'd by thy shape. 
 Let my presumption net provoke thy wrath ; 
 For I am sorry that with reverence 
 I did not entertain thee as thou art. 
 
 Tal. Be not dismay'd, fair lady ; nor mis- 
 construe 
 
 The mind of Talbot as you did mistake 
 The outward composition of his body. 
 What you have done hath not offended me : 
 No other satisfaction do I crave 
 But only with your patience that we may 
 Taste of your wine, and see what cates you have ; 
 For soldiers' stomachs always serve them well. 
 Count. With all my heart, and think me 
 
 honoured 
 To feast so great a warrior in my house. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. LONDON. The Temple Garden. 
 
 Enter the EARLS OF SOMERSET, SUFFOLK, 
 and WARWICK ; RICHARD PLANTAGENET, 
 VERNON. and another Lawyer. 
 
 Plan. Great lords and gentlemen, what 
 
 means this silence ? 
 Dare no man answer in a case of truth ? 
 
 Suf. Within the Temple-hall we were too 
 
 loud; 
 
 The garden here is more convenient. [truth ; 
 Plan. Then say at once if I maintain'd the 
 Or else was wrangling Somerset in the error? 
 
 Suf. Faith, I have been a truant in the law, 
 And never yet could frame my will to it ; 
 And therefore frame the law unto my will. 
 Som. Judge you, my lord of Warwick, then, 
 between us. [higher pitch ; 
 
 War. Between two hawks, which flies the 
 Between two dogs, which hath the deeper 
 mouth ; [temper ; 
 
 Between two blades, which bears the better 
 Between two horses, which doth bear him best ; 
 Between two girls, which hath the merriest 
 eye; 
 
578 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 I have, perhaps, some shallow spirit of judg- 
 ment ; 
 
 But in these nice sharp quillets of the law, 
 Good faith, I am no wiser than a daw. [ance : 
 
 Plan. Tut, tut, here is a mannerly forbear- 
 The truth appears so naked on my side 
 That any purblind eye may find it out. 
 
 Som. And on my side it is so well apparell'd, 
 So clear, so shining, and so evident, 
 That it will glimmer through a blind man's eye. 
 
 Plan. Since you are tongue-tied and so loth 
 
 to speak, 
 
 In dumb significants proclaim your thoughts : 
 Let him that is a true-born gentleman, 
 And stands upon the honour of his birth, 
 If he suppose that I have pleaded truth, 
 From off this brier pluck a white rose with me. 
 
 Som. Let him that is no coward nor no 
 
 flatterer, 
 
 But dare maintain the party of the truth, 
 Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me. 
 
 War. I love no colours; and, without all 
 
 colour 
 
 Of base insinuating flattery, 
 I pluck this white rose with Plantagenet. [set ; 
 
 Suf. I pluck this red rose with young Somer- 
 And say withal, I think he held the right. 
 
 Ver. Stay, lords and gentlemen, and pluck 
 
 no more 
 
 Till you conclude that he upon whose side 
 The fewest roses are cropp'd from the tree 
 Shall yield the other in the right opinion. 
 
 Som. Good Master Vernon, it is well objected: 
 If I have fewest I subscribe in silence. 
 
 Plan. And I. [case, 
 
 Ver. Then, for the truth and plainness of the 
 I pluck this pale and maiden blossom here, 
 Giving my verdict on the white rose side. 
 
 Som. Prick not your finger as you pluck it off, 
 Lest, bleeding, you do paint the white rose red, 
 And fall on my side so, against your will. 
 
 Ver. If I, my lord, for my opinion bleed, 
 Opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt, 
 And keep me on the side where still I am. 
 
 Som. Well, well, come on ; who else ? 
 
 Law. Unless my study and my books be false, 
 The argument you held was wrong in you ; 
 
 \To SOMERSET. 
 In sign whereof I pluck a white rose too. 
 
 Plan. Now, Somerset, where is your argu- 
 ment? 
 
 Som. Here in my scabbard ; meditating that 
 Shall dye your white rose in a bloody red. 
 
 Plan. Meantime your cheeks do counterfeit 
 
 our roses ; 
 
 For pale they look with fear, as witnessing 
 The truth on our side. 
 
 Som. No, Plantagenet, 
 
 'Tis not for fear, but anger that thy cheeks 
 Blush for pure shame to counterfeit our roses, 
 And yet thy tongue will not confess thy error. 
 
 Plan. Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset ? 
 
 Som. Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet? 
 
 Plan. Ay, sharp and piercing, to maintain 
 
 his truth ; 
 Whiles thy consuming canker eats his falsehood. 
 
 Som. Well, I '11 find friends to wear my 
 
 bleeding roses, 
 
 That shall maintain what I have said is true, 
 Where false Plantagenet dare not be seen. 
 
 Plan. Now, by this maiden blossom in my 
 
 hand, 
 I scorn thee and thy faction, peevish boy. 
 
 Suf. Turn not thy scorns this way, Planta- 
 genet. 
 
 Plan. Proud Poole, I will ; and scorn both him 
 and thee. 
 
 Suf. I '11 turn my part thereof into thy throat. 
 
 Som. Away, away, good William De-la-Poole! 
 We grace the yeoman by conversing with him. 
 
 War. Now, by God's will, thou wrong'st 
 
 him, Somerset ; 
 
 His grandfather was Lionel Duke of Clarence, 
 Third son to the third Edward King of England: 
 Spring crestless yeomen from so deep a root ? 
 
 Plan. He bears him on the place's privilege, 
 Or durst not, for his craven heart, say thus. 
 
 Som. By him that made me, I '11 maintain 
 
 my words 
 
 On any plot of ground in Christendom. 
 Was not thy father, Richard Earl of Cambridge, 
 For treason executed in our late king's days? 
 And by his treason stand'st not thou attainted, 
 Corrupted, and exempt from ancient gentry ? 
 His trespass yet lives guilty in thy blood ; 
 And till thou be restor'd thou art a yeoman. 
 
 Plan. My father was attach'd, not attainted ; 
 Condemn'd to die for treason, but no traitor ; 
 And that I '11 prove on better men than Somerset, 
 Were growing time once ripen'd to my will. 
 For your partaker Poole, and you yourself, 
 I '11 note you in my book of memory, 
 To scourge you for this apprehension : 
 Look to it well, and say you are well warn'd. 
 
 Som. Ay, thou shalt find us ready for thee 
 
 still ; 
 
 And know us by these colours for thy foes, 
 For these my friends, in spite of thee, shall wear. 
 
 Plan. And, by my soul, this pale and angry 
 
 rose, 
 
 As cognizance of my blood-drinking hate, 
 Will I for ever, and my faction, wear, 
 Until it wither with me to my grave, 
 Or flourish to the height of my degree. 
 
SCENE V.] 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 579 
 
 Suf. Go forward, and be chok'd with thy 
 
 ambition ! 
 And so, farewell, until I meet thee next. [Exit. 
 
 Sont. Have with thee, Poole. Farewell, am- 
 bitious Richard. [Exit. 
 
 Plan. Flow I am brav'd, and must perforce 
 endure it ! [house, 
 
 War. This blot, that they object against your 
 Shall be wip'd out in the next Parliament, 
 Call'd for the truce of Winchester and Gloster : 
 And if thou be not then created York, 
 I will not live to be accounted Warwick. 
 Meantime, in signal of my love to thee, 
 Against proud Somerset and William Poole, 
 Will I upon thy party wear this rose : 
 And here I prophesy, This brawl to-day, 
 Grown to this faction, in the Temple-garden, 
 Shall send, between the red rose and the white, 
 A thousand souls to death and deadly night. 
 
 Plan. Good Master Vernon, I am bound to 
 
 you, 
 That you on my behalf would pluck a flower. 
 
 Ver. In your behalf still will I wear the same. 
 
 Law. And so will I. 
 
 Plan. Thanks, gentle sir. 
 Come, let us four to dinner : I dare say 
 This quarrel will drink blood another day. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. The same. A Room in the Tower. 
 
 Enter MORTIMER, brought in in a chair by 
 two Keepers. 
 
 Mor. Kind keepers of my weak decaying age, 
 Let dying Mortimer here rest himself. 
 Even like a man new-haled from the rack, 
 So fare my limbs with long imprisonment ; 
 And these gray locks, the pursuivants of death, 
 Nestor- like aged, in an age of care, 
 Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer, [spent, 
 These eyes, like lamps whose wasting oil is 
 Wax dim, as drawing to their exigent : [grief; 
 Weak shoulders, overborne with burdening 
 And pithless arms, like to a wither'd vine 
 That droops his sapless branches to the ground : 
 Yet are these feet, whose strengthless stay is 
 
 numb, 
 
 Unable to support this lump of clay, 
 Swift-winged with desire to get a grave, 
 As witting I no other comfort have. 
 But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come ? 
 I Keep. Richard Plantagenet, my lord, will 
 
 come : 
 
 We sent unto the Temple, to his chamber ; 
 And answer was return'd that he will come. 
 . Mor. Enough : my soul shall then be satis- 
 fied. 
 
 Poor gentleman ! his wrong dotn equal mine. 
 Since Henry Monmouth first began to reign, 
 Before whose glory I was great in arms, 
 This loathsome sequestration have I had j 
 And even since then hath Richard been ob- 
 
 scurM, 
 
 Depriv'd of honour and inheritance. 
 But now the arbitrator of despairs, 
 Just death, kind umpire of men's miseries, 
 With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence . 
 I would his troubles likewise were expir'd 
 That so he might recover what was lost. 
 
 Enter RICHARD PLANTAGENET. 
 
 i Keep. My lord, your loving nephew now 
 is come. [come ? 
 
 Mor. Richard Plantagenet, my friend, is he 
 
 Plan. Ay, noble uncle, thus ignobly us'd, 
 Your nephew, late-despised Richard, comes. 
 
 Mor. Direct mine arms I may embrace his 
 
 neck, 
 
 And in his bosom spend my latter gasp : 
 O, tell me when my lips do touch his cheeks, 
 That I may kindly give one fainting kiss. 
 And now declare, sweet stem from York's 
 
 great stock, 
 Why didst thou say of late thou wert despis'd ? 
 
 Plan. First, lean thine aged back against 
 
 mine arm ; 
 
 And, in that ease, I '11 tell thee my disease. 
 This day, in argument upon a case, 
 Some words there grew 'twixt Somerset and me ; 
 Among which terms he us'd his lavish tongue, 
 And did upbraid me with my father's death : 
 Which obloquy set bars before my tongue, 
 Else with the like I had requited him. 
 Therefore, good uncle, for my father's sake, 
 In honour of a true Plantagenet, 
 And for alliance sake, declare the cause 
 My father, Earl of Cambridge, lost his head. 
 
 Mor. That cause, fair nephew, that im- 
 
 prison'd me, 
 
 And hath detain'd me all my flowering youth 
 Within a loathsome dungeon, there to pine, 
 Was cursed instrument of his decease. [was ; 
 
 Plan. Discover more at large what cause that 
 For I am ignorant, and cannot guess. 
 
 Mor. I will, if that my fading breath permit, 
 And death approach not ere my tale be done. 
 Henry the Fourth, grandfather to this king, 
 Depos'd his nephew Richard, Edward's son, 
 The first-begotten, and the lawful heir 
 Of Edward king, the third of that descent : 
 During whose reign the Percies of the north, 
 Finding his usurpation most unjust, 
 Endeavour'd my advancement to the throne : 
 The reason mov'd these warlike lords to this 
 
5 8o 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT III. 
 
 Was, for that, young King Richard thus re- 
 
 mov'd, 
 
 Leaving no heir begotten of his body, 
 I was the next by birth and parentage ; 
 For by my mother I derived am 
 From Lionel Duke of Clarence, the third son 
 To King Edward the Third ; whereas he 
 From John of Gaunt doth bring his pedigree, 
 Being but fourth of that heroic line. 
 But mark : as in this haughty great attempt 
 They laboured to plant the rightful heir, 
 I lost my liberty, and they their lives. 
 Long after this, when Henry the Fifth, 
 Succeeding his father Bolingbroke, did reign, 
 Thy father, Earl of Cambridge, then deriv'd 
 From famous Edmund Langley, Duke of York, 
 Marrying my sister, that thy mother was, 
 Again, in pity of my hard distress, 
 Levied an army, weening to redeem 
 And have install'd me in the diadem : 
 But, as the rest, so fell that noble earl, 
 And was beheaded. Thus the Mortimers, 
 In whom the title rested, were suppress'd. 
 
 Plan. Of which, my lord, your honour is 
 the last. 
 
 Mor. True ; and thou see'st that I no issue 
 
 have, 
 
 And that my feinting words do warrant death : 
 Thou art my heir ; the rest I wish thee gather : 
 But yet be wary in thy studious care. 
 
 Plan. Thy grave admonishments prevail with 
 
 me : 
 
 But yet methinks my father's execution 
 Was nothing less than bloody tyranny. 
 
 Mor. With silence, nephew, be thou politic ; 
 Strong-fixed is the house of Lancaster, 
 And, like a mountain, not to be remov'd. 
 But now thy uncle is removing hence ; 
 As princes do their courts, when they are cloy'd 
 With long continuance in a settled place. 
 
 Plan. O uncle, would some part of my 
 
 young years 
 Might but redeem the passage of your age ! 
 
 Mor. Thou dost then wrong me, as the 
 
 slaughterer doth 
 
 Which giveth many wounds when one will kill. 
 Mourn not, except thou sorrow for my good ; 
 Only, give order for my funeral : 
 And so, farewell ; and fair be all thy hopes, 
 And prosperous be thy life in peace and war ! 
 
 [Dies. 
 
 Plan. And peace, no war, befall thy parting 
 
 soul ! 
 
 In prison hast thou spent a pilgrimage, 
 And like a hermit overpass'd thy days. 
 Well, I will lock his counsel in my breast ; 
 And what I do imagine, let that rest. 
 
 Keepers, convey him hence ; and I myself 
 Will see his burial better than his life. 
 
 [Exeimt Keepers, bearing out the body 
 
 of MOR. 
 
 Here dies the dusky torch of Mortimer, 
 Chok'd with ambition of the meaner sort : 
 And for those wrongs, those bitter injuries, 
 Which Somerset hath offer'd to my house, 
 I doubt not but with honour to redress ; 
 And therefore haste I to the Parliament, 
 Either to be restored to my blood, 
 Or make my ill the advantage of my good. 
 
 [Exit, 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. LONDON. The Parliament House. 
 
 Flourish. Enter KING HENRY, EXETER, 
 GLOSTER, WARWICK, SOMERSET, and SUF- 
 FOLK ; the BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, RICH- 
 ARD PLANTAGENET, and others. GLOSTER 
 offers to put up a bill ; WINCHESTER 
 snatches it, and tears it. 
 
 Win. Com'st thou with deep premeditated 
 
 lines, 
 
 With written pamphlets studiously devis'd, , 
 Humphrey of Gloster ? if thou canst accuse, 
 Or aught intend'st to lay unto my charge, 
 Do it without invention, suddenly : 
 As I with sudden and extemporal speech 
 Purpose to answer what thou canst object. 
 Glo. Presumptuous priest ! this place com- 
 mands my patience, 
 
 Or thou should^t find thou hast dishonour'd me. 
 Think not, although in writing I preferr'd 
 The manner of thy vile outrageous crimes, 
 That therefore I have forg'd, or am not able 
 Verbatim to rehearse the method of my pen : 
 No, prelate ; such is thy audacious wickedness. 
 Thy lewd, pestiferous, and dissentious pranks, 
 As very infants prattle of thy pride. 
 Thou art a most pernicious usurer ; 
 Froward by nature, enemy to peace ; 
 Lascivious, wanton, more than well beseems 
 A man of thy profession and degree ; 
 And for thy treachery, what 's more manifest, 
 In that thou laid'st a trap to take my life, 
 As well at London bridge as at the Tower ? 
 Beside, I fear me, if thy thoughts were sifted, 
 The king, thy sovereign, is not quite exempt 
 From envious malice of thy swelling heart. 
 Win. Gloster, I do defy thee. Lords, 
 
 vouchsafe 
 
 To give me hearing what I shall reply. 
 If I were covetous, ambitious, or perverse, 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 581 
 
 As he will have me, how am I so poor ? 
 Or how haps it I seek not to advance 
 Or raise myself, but keep my wonted calling ? 
 And for dissension, who preferreth peace 
 More than I do, except I be provok'd ? 
 No, my good lords, it is not that offends ; 
 It is not that that hath incens'd the duke : 
 It is because no one should sway but he ; 
 No one but he should be about the king ; 
 And that engenders thunder in his breast, 
 And makes him roar these accusations forth. 
 But he shall know I am as good 
 
 Glo. As good ! 
 
 Thou bastard of my grandfather ! 
 
 Win. Ay, lordly sir ; for what are you, I pray, 
 But one imperious in another's throne ? 
 
 Glo. Am I not protector, saucy priest ? 
 
 Win. And am not I a prelate of the church ? 
 
 Glo. Yes, as an outlaw in a castle keeps, 
 And useth it to patronage his theft. 
 
 Win. Unreverent Gloster ! 
 
 Glo. Thou art reverent 
 
 Touching thy spiritual function, not thy life. 
 
 Win. Rome shall remedy this. 
 
 War. Roam thither then. 
 
 Som. My lord, it were your duty to forbear. 
 
 War. Ay, see the bishop be not overborne. 
 
 Som. Methinks my lord should be religious, 
 And know the office that belongs to such. 
 
 War. Methinks his lordship should be 
 
 humbler ; 
 It fitteth not a prelate so to plead. 
 
 Som. Yes, when his holy state is touch'd so 
 near. 
 
 War. State holy or unhallow'd, what of that? 
 Is not his grace protector to the king? 
 
 Plan. Plantagenet, I see, must hold his 
 
 tongue, 
 
 Lest it be said, Speak, sirrah, when you should ; 
 Must your bold verdict enter talk with lords ? 
 Else would I have a fling at Winchester. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 K. Hen. Uncles of Gloster and of Winchester, 
 The special watchmen of our English weal, 
 I would prevail, if prayers might prevail, 
 To join your hearts in love and amity. 
 O, what a scandal is it to our crown 
 That two such noble peers as ye should jar ! 
 Believe me, lords, my tender years can tell 
 Civil dissension is a viperous worm 
 That gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth. 
 [A noise within, " Down with the tawny 
 
 coats." 
 What tumult 's this ? 
 
 War. An uproar, I dare warrant, 
 
 Begun through malice of the bishop's men ! 
 
 [A noise again, " Stones ! Stones ! " 
 
 Enter thi Mayor of London, attended. 
 
 May. O, my good lords, and virtuous 
 
 Henry, 
 
 Pity the city of London, pity us ! 
 The bishop and the Duke of Gloster's men, 
 Forbidden late to carry any weapon, 
 Have fill'd their pockets full of pebble stones, 
 And, banding themselves in contrary parts, 
 Do pelt so fast at one another's pate, [out : 
 That many have their giddy brains knock'd 
 Our windows are broke down in every street, 
 And we, for fear, compell'd to shut our shops. 
 
 Enter, skirmishing, the Retainers of GLOSTER 
 and WINCHESTER, with bloody pates. 
 
 K. Hen. We charge you, on allegiance to 
 ourself, [peace. 
 
 To hold your slaught'ring hands, and keep the 
 Pray, uncle Gloster, mitigate this strife. 
 
 1 Serv. Nay, if we be 
 
 Forbidden stones, we '11 fall to it with our teeth. 
 
 2 Serv. Do what ye dare, we are as resolute. 
 
 [Skirmish again. 
 Glo. You of my household, leave this peevish 
 
 broil, 
 And set this unaccustom'd fight aside. [man 
 
 3 Serv. My lord, we know your grace to be a 
 Just and upright ; and for your royal birth 
 Inferior to none but to his majesty : 
 
 And ere that we will suffer such a prince, 
 
 So kind a father of the commonweal, 
 
 To be disgraced by an inkhorn mate, 
 
 We, and our wives and children, all will fight, 
 
 And have our bodies slaughter'd by thy foes. 
 
 I Serv. Ay, and the very parings of our nails 
 Shall pitch a field when we are dead. 
 
 [Skirmish again. 
 
 Glo. Stay, stay, I say ! 
 
 And if you love me, as you say you do, 
 Let me persuade you to forbear awhile. 
 
 K. Hen. O, how this discord doth afflict my 
 
 Soul! 
 
 Can you, my Lord of Winchester, behold 
 My sighs and tears, and will not once relent ? 
 Who should be pitiful if you be not ? 
 Or who should study to prefer a peace, 
 If holy churchmen take delight in broils ? 
 
 War. Yield, my lord protector ; yield, 
 
 Winchester ; 
 
 Except you mean, with obstinate repulse, 
 To slay your sovereign and destroy the realm. 
 You see what mischief, and what murder too, 
 I lath been enacted through your enmity ; 
 Then be at peace, except ye thirst for blood. 
 
 Win. He shall submit, or I will never yield 
 
58* 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Glo. Compassion on the king commands me 
 
 stoop; 
 
 Or I would see his heart out, ere the priest 
 Should ever get that privilege of me. [duke 
 
 War. Behold, my Lord of Winchester, the 
 Hath banish'd moody discontented fury, 
 As by his smoothed brows it doth appear : 
 Why look you still so stern and tragical? 
 
 Glo. Here, Winchester, I offer thee my hand. 
 
 K. Hen. Fie, uncle Beaufort ! I have heard 
 
 you preach 
 
 That malice was a great and grievous sin ; 
 And will not you maintain the thing you teach, 
 But prove a chief offender in the same ? 
 
 War. Sweet king ! the bishop hath a kindly 
 
 gird. 
 
 For shame, my Lord of Winchester, relent ! 
 What, shall a child instruct you what to do ? 
 
 Win. Well, Duke of Gloster, I will yield to 
 
 thee; 
 Love for thy love and hand for hand I give. 
 
 Glo. Ay, but, I fear me, with a hollow heart. 
 See here, my friends and loving countrymen ; 
 This token serveth for a flag of truce 
 Betwixt ourselves and all our followers : 
 So help me God, as I dissemble not ! 
 
 Win. So help me God, as I intend it not ! 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 K. Hen. O loving uncle, kind Duke of 
 
 Gloster, 
 
 How joyful am I made by this contract ! 
 Away, my masters ! trouble us no more ; 
 But join in friendship, as your lords have done. 
 
 1 Serv. Content : I '11 to the surgeon's. 
 
 2 Serv. And so will I. 
 
 3 Serv. And I will see what physic the 
 
 tavern affords. 
 
 [Exeunt Servants, Mayor, <Srv. 
 War. Accept this scroll, most gracious 
 
 sovereign ; 
 
 Which in the right of Richard Plantagenet 
 We do exhibit to your majesty. 
 
 Glo. Well urg'd, my Lord of Warwick ; for, 
 
 sweet prince, 
 
 An if your grace mark every circumstance, 
 You have great reason to do Richard right ; 
 Especially for those occasions 
 At Eltham Place I told your majesty, [force ? 
 K. Hen. And those occasions, uncle, were of 
 Therefore, my loving lords, our pleasure is 
 That Richard be restored to his blood. 
 
 War. Let Richard be restored to his blood ; 
 So shall his father's wrongs be recompens'd. 
 Win. As will the rest, so willeth Winchester. 
 K. Hen. If Richard will be true, not that 
 
 alone, 
 But all the whole inheritance I give 
 
 That doth belong unto the house of York, 
 From whence you spring by lineal descent. 
 
 Plan. Thy humble servant vows obedience 
 And humble service till the point of death. 
 
 K. Hen. Stoop, then, and set your knee 
 
 against my foot ; 
 
 And in reguerdon of that duty done 
 I girt thee with the valiant sword of York : 
 Rise, Richard, like a true Plantagenet, 
 And rise created princely Duke of York, [fall ! 
 
 Plan. And so thrive Richard as thy foes may 
 And as my duty springs, so perish they 
 That grudge one thought against your majesty ! 
 
 All. Welcome, high prince, the mighty Duke 
 of York! 
 
 Som. Perish, base prince, ignoble Duke of 
 /ork ! [Aside. 
 
 Glc. Now will it best avail your majesty 
 To cross the seas, and to be crown'd in France : 
 The presence of a king engenders love 
 Amongst his subjects and his loyal friends, 
 As it disanimates his enemies. 
 
 K. Hen. When Gloster says the word, King 
 
 Henry goes ; 
 For friendly counsel cuts off many foes. 
 
 Glo. Your ships already are in readiness. 
 
 [Flourish. Exeunt all but EXETER. 
 
 Exe. Ay, we may march in England or in 
 
 France, 
 
 Not seeing what is likely to ensue. 
 This late dissension grown betwixt the peers 
 Burns under feigned ashes of forg'd love, 
 And will at last break out into a flame : 
 As fester'd members rot but by degree, 
 Till bones and flesh and sinews fall away, 
 So will this base and envious discord breed. 
 And now I fear that fatal prophecy 
 Which in the time of Henry named the Fifth 
 Was in the mouth of every sucking babe, 
 That Henry born at Monmouth should win all, 
 And Henry born at Windsor should lose all : 
 Which is so plain that Exeter doth wish 
 His days may finish ere that hapless time. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. FRANCE. Before Rouen. 
 
 Enter LA PUCELLE disguised^ and Soldiers 
 dressed like Countrymen, -with sacks upon 
 their backs. 
 
 Puc. These are the city-gates, the gates of 
 
 Rouen, 
 
 Through which our policy must make a breach : 
 Take heed, be wary how you place your words ; 
 Talk like the vulgar sort of market-men 
 That come to gather money for their corn. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 583 
 
 If we have entrance, as I hope we shall, 
 And that we find the slothful watch but weak, 
 I '11 by a sign give notice to our friends, 
 That Charles the Dauphin may encounter them. 
 I Sold. Our sacks shall be a mean to sack 
 
 the city, 
 
 And we be lords and rulers over Rouen ; 
 Therefore we '11 knock. \Khocks. 
 
 Guard. {Within.} Qtiiestla? 
 Puc. Pay sans, pauvres gens de France, 
 Poor market-folks that come to sell their corn. 
 Guard. {Opening the gates.] Enter, go in; the 
 
 market-bell is rung. 
 
 Puc. Now, Rouen, I '11 shake thy bulwarks 
 to the ground. 
 [LA PUCELLE, <5rV., enter the Town. 
 
 Enter CHARLES, BASTARD OF ORLEANS, 
 ALENCON, and Forces. 
 
 Char. Saint Denis bless this happy stratagem ! 
 And once again we '11 sleep secure in Rouen. 
 
 Bast. Here enter'd Pucelle and her practis- 
 
 ants ; 
 
 Now she is there, how will she specify 
 Where is the best and safest passage in ? 
 
 Alen. By thrusting out a torch from yonder 
 
 tower ; [is, 
 
 Which, once discern 'd, shows that her meaning 
 
 No way to that, for weakness, which she enter'd. 
 
 Enter LA PUCELLE, on a battlement, holding 
 out a torch burning. 
 
 Puc. Behold, this is the happy wedding-torch 
 That joineth Rouen unto her countrymen, 
 But burning fatal to the Talbotites. 
 Bast. See, noble Charles, the beacon of our 
 
 friend ; 
 The burning torch in yonder turret stands. 
 
 Char. Now shine it like a comet of revenge, 
 A prophet to the fall of all our foes ! 
 
 Alen. Defer no time, delays have dangerous 
 
 ends ; 
 
 Enter, and cry The Dauphin ! presently, 
 And then do execution on the watch. 
 
 {They enter. Exit LA PUCELLE above. 
 
 Alarum. Enter , from the Town, TALBOT and 
 English Soldiers. 
 
 TaT. France, thou shalt rue this treason with 
 
 thy tears, 
 
 If Talbot but survive thy treachery. 
 Pucelle, that witch, that damned sorceress, 
 Hath wrought this hellish mischief unawares, 
 That hardly we escap'd the pride of France. 
 
 [Exeunt into the Town. 
 
 Alarum : excursions. Enter, from the Town, 
 BEDFORD, brought in sick in a chair, with 
 TALBOT, BURGUNDY, and the English Forces. 
 Then enter on the walls LA PUCELLE. 
 CHARLES, BASTARD, ALENCON, and others. 
 
 Puc. Good-morrow, gallants ! want ye corn 
 
 for bread ? 
 
 I think the Duke of Burgundy will fast 
 Before he '11 buy again at such a rate : 
 'Twas full of darnel ; do you like the taste ? 
 Bur. Scoff on, vile fiend and shameless cour- 
 tezan ! 
 
 I trust ere long to choke thee with thine own, 
 And make thee curse the harvest of that corn. 
 Char. Your grace may starve, perhaps, before 
 that time. [treason ! 
 
 Bed. O let no words, but deeds, revenge this 
 Puc. WTiat will you do, good gray- beard ? 
 
 break a lance, 
 
 And run a tilt at death within a chair ? [spite, 
 Tal. Foul fiend of France, and hag of all de- 
 Encompass'd with thy lustful paramours ! 
 Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age, 
 And twit with cowardice a man half dead ? 
 Damsel, I '11 have a bout with you again, 
 Or else let Talbot perish with this shame. 
 Puc. Are you so hot, sir? Yet, Pucelle^ 
 
 hold thy peace ; 
 If Talbot do but thunder, rain will follow. 
 
 [TALBOT and the rest consult together. 
 
 God speed the parliament ! who shall be the 
 
 speaker? [field? 
 
 Tal. Dare ye come forth and meet us in the 
 
 Puc. Belike your lordship takes us then for 
 
 fools, 
 To try if that our own be ours or no. 
 
 Tal. I speak not to that railing Hecate, 
 But unto thee, Alen9on, and the rest ; 
 Will ye, like soldiers, come and fight it out ? 
 Alen. Signior, no. [France ! 
 
 Tal. Signior, hang ! base muleteers of 
 Like peasant foot-boys do they keep the walls, 
 And dare not take up arms like gentlemen. 
 Puc. Away, captains ! let 's get us from the 
 
 walls ; 
 
 For Talbot means no goodness, by his looks. 
 God b' wi' you, my lord ! we came but to tell you 
 That we are here. 
 
 [Exeunt LA Puc., &c.,from the walls. 
 Tal. And there will we be too, ere it be long, 
 Or else reproach be Talbot's greatest fame ! 
 Vow, Burgundy, by honour of thy house, 
 Prick'd on by public wrongs sustain'd in 
 
 France, 
 
 Either to get the town again or die ; 
 And I, as sure as English Henry lives, 
 
5*4 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT ni. 
 
 And as his father here was conqueror ; 
 As sure as in this late -betrayed town 
 Great Coeur-de-lion's heart was buried, 
 So sure I swear to get the town or die. [vows. 
 Bur. My vows are equal partners with thy 
 Tal. But ere we go, regard this dying prince, 
 The valiant Duke of Bedford. Come, my lord, 
 We will bestow you in some better place, 
 Fitter for sickness and for crazy age. 
 
 Bed, Lord Talbot, do not so dishonour me : 
 
 Here will I sit before the walls of Rouen, 
 
 And will be partner of your weal or woe. [you. 
 
 Btir. Courageous Bedford, letusnowpersuade 
 
 Bed. Not to be gone from hence ; for once I 
 
 read 
 
 That stout Pendragon, in his litter, sick 
 Came to the field, and vanquished his foes : 
 Methinks I should revive the soldiers' hearts, 
 Because I ever found them as myself. 
 
 Tal. Undaunted spirit in a dying breast ! 
 Thenbeitso : heavens keep old Bedford safe ! 
 And now no more ado, brave Burgundy, 
 But gather we our forces out of hand, 
 And set upon our boasting enemy. 
 
 [Exeunt into the Town, BUR., TAL., and 
 Forces, leaving BED. and others. 
 
 Alarum : excursions. Enter SIR JOHN 
 FASTOLFE, and a Captain. 
 
 Cap. Whither away, Sir John Fastolfe, in 
 
 such haste ? [flight : 
 
 Fast. Whither away ! to save myself by 
 
 We are like to have the overthrow again, [bot ? 
 
 Cap. What ! will you fly, and leave Lord Tal- 
 
 Fast. Ay, 
 
 All the Talbots in the world, to save my life. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Cap. Cowardly knight ! ill fortune follow 
 thee ! [Exit into the Town. 
 
 Retreat: excursions. Re-enter, from the town , 
 LA PUCELLE, ALENCON, CHARLES, drv., 
 and exeunt flying. 
 
 Bed. Now, quiet soul, depart when heaven 
 
 please, 
 
 For I have seen our enemies' overthrow. 
 What is the trust or strength of foolish man ? 
 They that of late were daring with their scoffs 
 Are glad and fain by flight to save themselves. 
 [Dies, and is carried off in his chair. 
 
 Alarum. Re-enter TALBOT, BURGUNDY, and 
 others. 
 
 Tal. Lost and recover'd in a day again ! 
 This is a double honour, Burgundy : 
 Yet heavens have glory for this victory! 
 
 Bur. Warlike and martial Talbot, Burgundy 
 Enshrines thee in his heart ; and there erects 
 Thy noble deeds, as valour's monuments. 
 
 Tal. Thanks, gentle duke. But where is 
 
 Pucelle now ? 
 
 I think her old familiar is asleep : 
 Now where 's the Bastard's braves, and Charles 
 his gleeks ? [grief 
 
 What, all a-mort? Rouen hangs her head for 
 That such a valiant company are fled. 
 Now will we take some order in the town, 
 Placing therein some expert officers; 
 And then depart to Paris to the king, 
 For there young Harry with his nobles lie. 
 
 Bur. What wills Lord Talbot pleaseth Bur- 
 gundy. 
 
 Tal. But yet, before we go, let 's not forget 
 The noble Duke of Bedford, late deceas'd, 
 But see his exequies fulfill'd in Rouen : 
 A braver soldier never couched lance, 
 A gentler heart did never sway in court ; 
 But kings and mightiest potentates must die, 
 For that 's the end of human misery. [Exeunt. 
 : ?Jfl 
 
 SCENE III. The Plains near Rouen. 
 
 Enter CHARLES, the BASTARD, ALEN9ON, LA 
 PUCELLE, and Forces. 
 
 Puc. Dismay not, princes, at this accident, 
 Nor grieve that Rouen is so recovered : 
 Care is no cure, but rather corrosive, 
 For things that are not to be remedied. 
 Let frantic Talbot triumph for awhile, 
 And like a peacock sweep along his tail ; 
 We'll pull his plumes and take away his train, 
 If Dauphin and the rest will be but rul'd. 
 
 Char. We have been guided by thee hitherto, 
 And of thy cunning had no diffidence : 
 One sudden foil shall never breed distrust. 
 
 Bast. Search out thy wit for secret policies, 
 And we will make thee famous through the world. 
 
 Alen. We '11 set thy statue in some holy place, 
 And have thee reverenc'd like a blessed saint : 
 Employ thee, then, sweet virgin, for our good. 
 
 Puc. Then thus it must be ; this doth Joan 
 
 devise : 
 
 By fair persuasions, mix'd with sugar'd words, 
 We will entice the Duke of Burgundy 
 To leave the Talbot and to follow us. [that, 
 
 Char. Ay, marry, sweeting, if we could do 
 France were no place for Henry's warriors ; 
 Nor should that nation boast it so with us, 
 But be extirped from our provinces. 
 
 Alen. For ever should they be expuls'd from 
 
 France, 
 And not have title of an earldom here. 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 585 
 
 Puc. Your honours shall perceive how I will 
 
 work 
 To bring this matter to the wished end. 
 
 [Drums heard. 
 
 Hark ! by the sound of drum you may perceive 
 Their powers are marching unto Paris-ward. 
 
 An English March. Enter, and pass over at a 
 distance, TALBOT and his Forces. 
 
 There goes the Talbot, with his colours spread, 
 And all the troops of English after him. 
 
 A French March. Enter the DUKE OF 
 BURGUNDY and his Forces. 
 
 Now in the rearward comes the duke and his : 
 Fortune in favour makes him lag behind. 
 Summon a parley ; we will talk with him. 
 
 [A parley sounded. 
 
 Char. A parley with the Duke of Burgundy ! 
 Bur. Who craves a parley with the Burgundy? 
 Puc. The princely Charles of France, thy 
 
 countryman. 
 Bur. What say'st thou, Charles? for I am 
 
 marching hence. 
 
 Char. Speak, Pucelle, and enchant him with 
 thy words. [France ! 
 
 Puc. Brave Burgundy, undoubted hope of 
 Stay, let thy humble handmaid speak to thee. 
 Bur. Speak on ; but be not over-tedious. 
 Puc. Look on thy country, look on fertile 
 
 France, 
 
 And see the cities and the towns defac'd 
 By wasting ruin of the cruel foe ! 
 As looks the mother on her lovely babe 
 When death doth close his tender dying eyes, 
 See, see the pining malady of France ; 
 Behold the wounds, the most unnatural wounds, 
 Which thou thyself hast given her woeful breast ! 
 O, turn thy edged sword another way ; 
 Strike those that hurt, and hurt not those that 
 help ! [bosom 
 
 One drop of blood drawn from thy country's 
 Should grieve thee more than streams of 
 
 foreign gore : 
 
 Return thee, therefore, with a flood of tears, 
 And wash away thy country's stained spots. 
 Bur. Either she hath bewitch'd me with her 
 
 words, 
 Or nature makes me suddenly relent. 
 
 Puc. Besides, all French and France ex- 
 claims on thee, 
 
 Doubting thy birth and lawful progeny. 
 Who join'st thou with but with a lordly nation 
 That will not trust thee but for profit's sake ? 
 When Talbot hath set footing once in France, 
 And fashion'd thee that instrument of ill, 
 
 Who then but English Henry will be lord, 
 
 And thou be thrust out like a fugitive ? 
 
 Call we to mind, and mark but this for 
 
 proof, 
 
 Was not the Duke of Orleans thy foe ? 
 And was he not in England prisoner ? 
 But when they heard he was thine enemy, 
 They set him free, without his ransom paid, 
 In spite of Burgundy and all his friends. 
 See, then, thou fight'st against thy countrymen, 
 And join'st with them will be thy slaughter-men. 
 Come, come, return ; return, thou wand'ring 
 
 lord ; 
 
 Charles and the rest will take thee in their arms. 
 Bur. I am vanquished ; these haughty words 
 
 of hers 
 
 Have batter'd me like roaring cannon-shot, 
 And made me almost yield upon my knees. 
 Forgive me, country, and sweet countrymen ! 
 And, lords, accept this hearty kind embrace : 
 My forces and my power of men are yours : 
 So, farewell, Talbot ; I '11 no longer trust thee. 
 Puc. Done like a Frenchman, turn, and 
 
 turn again ! 
 
 Char. Welcome, brave duke ! thy friendship 
 
 makes us fresh. [breasts. 
 
 Bast. And doth beget new courage in our 
 
 Alen. Pucelle hath bravely play'd her part 
 
 in this, 
 And doth deserve a coronet of gold. 
 
 Char. Now let us on, my lords, and join our 
 
 powers ; 
 And seek how we may prejudice the foe. 
 
 \_Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. PARIS. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter KING HENRY, GLOSTER, and other 
 Lords, VERNON, BASSET, &c. To them 
 TALBOT and some of his Officers. 
 
 Tal. My gracious prince, and honourable 
 
 peers, 
 
 Hearing of your arrival in this realm, 
 I have awhile given truce unto my wars, 
 To do my duty to my sovereign : 
 In sign whereof, this arm, that hath reclaim'd 
 To your obedience fifty fortresses, 
 Twelve cities, and seven walled towns of strength, 
 Beside five hundred prisoners of esteem, 
 Lets fall his sword before your highness' feet, 
 And with submissive loyalty of heart 
 Ascribes the glory of his conquest got 
 First to my God and next unto your grace. 
 
 K. Hen. Is this the Lord Talbot, uncle 
 
 Gloster, 
 That hath so long been resident in France ? 
 
5 86 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT IV. 
 
 Glo. Yes, if it please your majesty, my liege. 
 K. Hen. Welcome, brave captain and vic- 
 torious lord ! 
 
 When I was young, as yet I am not old, 
 I do remember how my father said 
 A stouter champion never handled sword. 
 Long since we were resolved of your truth, 
 Your faithful service, and your toil in war ; 
 Yet never have you tasted our reward, 
 Or been reguerdon'd with so much as thanks, 
 Because till now we never saw your face : 
 Therefore, stand up ; and for these good deserts 
 We here create you Earl of Shrewsbury ; 
 And in our coronation take your place. 
 {Exeunt K. HEN., GLO., TAL., and Nobles. 
 Ver. Now, sir, to you, that were so hot at 
 
 sea, 
 
 Disgracing of these colours that I wear 
 In honour of my noble Lord of York, 
 Dar'st thou maintain the former words thou 
 
 spak'st ? 
 
 Bas. Yes, sir ; as well as you dare patronage 
 The envious barking of your saucy tongue 
 Against my lord the Duke of Somerset. 
 Ver. Sirrah, thy lord I honour as he is. 
 Bas. Why, what is he? as good a man as 
 
 York. 
 
 Ver. Hark ye ; not so : in witness, take ye 
 
 that. [Strikes him. 
 
 Bas. Villain, thou know'st the law of arms 
 
 is such 
 
 That whoso draws a sword 'tis present death, 
 Or else this blow should broach thy dearest blood. 
 But I '11 unto his majesty, and crave 
 I may have liberty to venge this wrong ; 
 When thou shalt see I '11 meet thee to thy cost. 
 Ver. Well, miscreant, I '11 be there as soon 
 
 as you ; 
 
 And, after, meet you sooner than you would. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 SCENE I. PARIS. A Room of State. 
 
 Enter KING HENRY, GLOSTER, EXETER, 
 YORK, SUFFOLK, SOMERSET, WINCHES- 
 TER, WARWICK, TALBOT, the Governor of 
 Paris, and others. 
 
 Glo. Lord bishop, set the crown upon his 
 
 head. [sixth ! 
 
 Win. God save King Henry, of that name the 
 
 Glo. Now, governor of Paris, take your 
 
 oath, [Governor kneels. 
 
 That you elect no other king but him ; 
 
 Esteem none friends but such as are his friends, 
 
 And none your foes but such as shall pretend 
 Malicious practices against his state : 
 This shall ye do, so help you righteous God ! 
 [Exeunt Gov. and his Train. 
 
 Enter SIR JOHN FASTOLFE. 
 
 Fast. My gracious sovereign, as I rode from 
 
 Calais, 
 
 To haste unto your coronation, 
 A letter was deliver'd to my hands, 
 Writ to your grace from the Duke of Burgundy. 
 
 Tal. Shame to the Duke of Burgundy and 
 thee ! [next, 
 
 I vow'd, base knight, when I did meet thee 
 To tear the garter from thy craven's leg, 
 
 [Plucking it off. 
 
 Which I have done, because unworthily 
 Thou wast installed in that high degree. 
 Pardon me, princely Henry, and the rest : 
 This dastard, at the battle of Patay, 
 When but in all I was six thousand strong, 
 And that the French were almost ten to one, 
 Before we met, or that a stroke was given, 
 Like to a trusty squire, did run away : 
 In which assault we lost twelve hundred men ; 
 Myself, and divers gentlemen beside, 
 Were there surpris'd and taken prisoners. 
 Then judge, great lords, if I have done amiss ; 
 Or whether that such cowards ought to wear 
 This ornament of knighthood, yea or no. 
 
 Glo. To say the truth, this fact was infamous, 
 And ill beseeming any common man, 
 Much more a knight, a captain, and a leader. 
 
 Tal. When first this order was ordain'd, my 
 
 lords, 
 
 Knights of the garter were of noble birth, 
 Valiant and virtuous, full of haughty courage, 
 Such as were grown to credit by the wars ; 
 Not fearing death nor shrinking for distress, 
 But always resolute in most extremes. 
 He, then, that is not furnish'd in this sort 
 Doth but usurp the sacred name of knight, 
 Profaning this most honourable order, 
 And should, if I were worthy to be judge, 
 Be quite degraded, like a hedge-born swain 
 That doth presume to boast of gentle blood. 
 
 K. Hen. Stain to thy countrymen, thou 
 
 hear'st thy doom ! 
 
 Be packing, therefore, thou that wast a knight : 
 Henceforth we banish thee, on pain of death. 
 
 [Exit FASTOLFE. 
 
 And now, my lord protector, view the letter 
 Sent from our uncle Duke of Burgundy. 
 
 Glo. What means his grace, that he hath 
 chang'd his style? 
 
 [ Viewing the superscription-, 
 No more but, plain and bluntly, To the King\ 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VL 
 
 587 
 
 Hath he forgot he is his sovereign ? 
 
 Or doth this churlish superscription 
 
 Pretend some alteration in good-will ? 
 
 What's here? [Reads.'} I have ', upon especial 
 
 cause, 
 
 Mov'd with compassion of my country's wreck , 
 Together with the pitifiil complaints 
 Of such as your oppression feeds upon, 
 Forsaken your pernicious faction, [France. 
 And joined with Charles, the rightful King of 
 
 monstrous treachery ! Can this be so, 
 That in alliance, amity, and oaths, 
 
 There should be found such false dissembling 
 
 guile ? [revolt ? 
 
 K. Hen. What ! doth my uncle Burgundy 
 
 Glo. He doth, my loid ; and is become your 
 
 foe. [contain ? 
 
 K. Hen. Is that the worst this letter doth 
 
 Glo. It is the worst, and all, my lord, he writes. 
 
 K. Hen. Why, then, Lord Talbot there shall 
 
 talk with him, 
 
 And give him chastisement for this abuse : 
 How say you, my lord, are you not content ? 
 Tal. Content, my liege ! yes ; but that I am 
 prevented, [ploy'd. 
 
 1 should have begg'd I might have been em- 
 K. Hen. Then gather strength, and march 
 
 unto him straight : 
 
 Let him perceive how ill we brook his treason, 
 And what offence it is to flout his friends. 
 
 Tal. I go, my lord ; in heart desiring still 
 You may behold confusion of your foes. [Exit. 
 
 Enter VERNON and BASSET. 
 
 Ver. Grant me the combat, gracious sove- 
 reign ! [too ! 
 Bas. And me, my lord, grant me the combat 
 York. This is my servant : hear him, noble 
 prince ! [him ! 
 Som. And this is mine : sweet Henry, favour 
 K. Hen. Be patient, lords ; and give them 
 
 leave to speak. 
 
 Say, gentlemen, what makes you thus exclaim? 
 
 And wherefore crave you combat ? or with 
 
 whom ? [wrong. 
 
 Ver. With him, my lord ; for he hath done me 
 
 Bas. And I with him ; for he hath done me 
 
 wrong. [complain ? 
 
 K. Hen. What is that wrong whereof you both 
 
 First let me know, and then I '11 answer you. 
 
 Bas. Crossing the sea from England into 
 
 France, 
 
 This fellow here, with envious carping tongue, 
 Upbraided me about the rose I wear ; 
 Saying the sanguine colour of the leaves 
 Did represent my master's blushing cheeks 
 When stubbornly he did repugn the truth 
 
 About a certain question in the law 
 Argu'd betwixt the Duke of York and him ; 
 With other vile and ignominious terms : 
 In confutation of which rude reproach, 
 And in defence of my lord's worthiness, 
 I crave the benefit of law of arms. 
 
 Ver. And that is my petition, noble lord : 
 For though he seem with forged quaint conceit 
 To set a gloss upon his bold intent, 
 Yet know, my lord, I was provok'd by him ; 
 And he first took exceptions at this badge, 
 Pronouncing that the paleness of this flower 
 Bewray'd the faintness of my master's heart. 
 
 York. Will not this malice, Somerset, be left? 
 
 Som. Your private grudge, my Lord of York, 
 
 will out, 
 Though ne'er so cunningly you smother it. 
 
 K. Hen. Good Lord, what madness rules in 
 
 brainsick men, 
 
 When for so slight and frivolous a cause 
 Such factious emulations shall arise ! 
 Good cousins both, of York and Somerset, 
 Quiet yourselves, I pray, and be at peace. 
 
 York. Let this dissension first be tried by fight, 
 And then your highness shall command a peace. 
 
 Som. The quarrel toucheth none but us alone ; 
 Betwixt ourselves let us decide it then. [set. 
 
 York. There is my pledge ; accept it, Somer- 
 
 Ver. Nay, let it rest where it began at first. 
 
 Bas. Confirm it so, mine honourable lord. 
 
 Glo. Confirm it so ! Confounded be your strife! 
 And perish ye, with your audacious prate ! 
 Presumptuous vassals, are you not asham'd 
 With this immodest clamorous outrage 
 To trouble and disturb the king and us? 
 And you, my lords, methinks you do not well 
 To bear with their perverse objections ; 
 Much less to take occasion from their mouths 
 To raise a mutiny betwixt yourselves : 
 Let me persuade you take a better course. 
 
 Exe. It grieves his highness : good my lords, 
 be friends. [combatants : 
 
 K. Hen. Come hither, you that would be 
 Henceforth I charge you, as you love our favour, 
 Quite to forget this quarrel and the cause. 
 And you, my lords, remember where we are ; 
 In France, amongst a fickle wavering nation : 
 If they perceive dissension in our looks, 
 And that within ourselves we disagree, 
 How will their grudging stomachs be provok'd 
 To wilful disobedience, and rebel I 
 Beside, what infamy will there arise, 
 When foreign princes shall be certified 
 That for a toy, a thing of no regard, 
 King Henry's peers and chief nobility [France ! 
 Destroy'd themselves and lost the realm of 
 O, think upon the conquest of my father ; 
 
5 88 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 My tender years ; and let us not forego 
 That for a trifle that was bought with blood ! 
 Let me be umpire in this doubtful strife. 
 I see no reason, if I wear this rose, 
 
 [Putting on a red rose. 
 That any one should therefore be suspicious 
 I more incline to Somerset than York : 
 Both are my kinsmen, and I love them both : 
 As well they may upbraid me with my crown, 
 Because, forsooth, the King of Scots is crown'd. 
 But your discretions better can persuade 
 Than I am able to instruct or teach : 
 And therefore, as we hither came in peace, 
 So let us still continue peace and love. 
 Cousin of York, we institute your grace 
 To be our regent in these parts of France : 
 And, good my Lord of Somerset, unite 
 Your troops of horsemen with his bands of 
 
 foot; 
 
 And like true subjects, sons of your progenitors, 
 Go cheerfully together, and digest 
 Your angry choler on your enemies. 
 Ourself, my lord protector, and the rest, 
 After some respite, will return to Calais ; 
 From thence to England ; where I hope ere long 
 To be presented, by your victories, 
 With Charles, Alen9on, and that traitorous rout. 
 
 [Flourish. Exeunt K. HEN., GLO., 
 
 SOM., WIN., SUF., a;zdfBAS. 
 War* My Lord of York, I promise you, the 
 
 king 
 Prettily, methought, did play the orator. 
 
 York. And so he did ; but yet I like it not, 
 In that he wears the badge of Somerset. 
 
 War. Tush, that was but his fancy, blame him 
 
 not; 
 I dare presume, sweet prince, he thought no 
 
 harm. 
 
 York. An if I wist he did, but let it rest ; 
 Other affairs must now be managed. 
 
 [Exeunt YORK, WAR., andVER. 
 Exe. Well didst thou, Richard, to suppress 
 
 thy voice : 
 
 For had the passions of thy heart burst out, 
 I fear we should have seen decipher'd there 
 More rancorous spite, more furious raging broils, 
 Than yet can be imagin'd or suppos'd. 
 But howsoe'er, no simple man that sees 
 This jarring discord of nobility, 
 This shouldering of each other in the court, 
 This factious bandying of their favourites, 
 But that it doth presage some ill event. 
 'Tis much when sceptres are in children's 
 
 hands ; 
 
 But more when envy breeds unkind division ; 
 There comes the ruin, there begins confusion. 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. FRANCE. Before Bourdeaux. 
 Enter TALBOT, with his Forces. 
 
 Tal. Go to the gates of Bourdeaux, trumpeter: 
 Summon their general unto the wall. 
 
 Trumpet sounds a parley. Enter, on the walls ^ 
 the General of the French Forces, and 
 others. 
 
 English John Talbot, captains, calls you forth, 
 Servant in arms to Harry King of England ; 
 And thus he would, Open your city gates; 
 Be humble to us; call my sovereign yours, 
 And do him homage as obedient subjects ; 
 And I '11 withdraw me and my bloody power : 
 But if you frown upon this proffer'd peace 
 You tempt the fury of my three attendants, 
 Lean famine, quartering steel, and climbing fire ; 
 Who, in a moment, even with the earth 
 Shall lay your stately and air-braving towers, 
 If you forsake the offer of their love. 
 
 Gen. Thou ominous and fearful owl of death, 
 Our nation's terror and their bloody scourge ! 
 The period of thy tyranny approacheth. 
 On us thou canst not enter but by death ; 
 For, I protest, we are well fortified, 
 And strong enough to issue out and fight : 
 If thou retire, the Dauphin, well appointed, 
 Stands with the snares of war to tangle thee : 
 On either hand thee there are squadrons pitch'd, 
 To wall thee from the liberty of flight ; 
 And no way canst thou turn thee for redress 
 But death doth front thee with apparent spoil, 
 And pale destruction meets thee in the face. 
 Ten thousand French have ta'en the sacrament, 
 To rive their dangerous artillery 
 Upon no Christian soul but English Talbot. 
 Lo, there thou stand'st, a breathing valiant man, 
 Of an invincible unconquer'd spirit ! 
 This is the latest glory of thy praise 
 That I, thy enemy, due thee withal ; 
 For ere the glass that now begins to run 
 Finish the process of his sandy hour, 
 These eyes, that see thee now well coloured, 
 Shall see thee wither'd, bloody, pale, and dead. 
 [Drum afar off. 
 Hark ! hark ! the Dauphin's drum, a warning 
 
 bell, 
 
 Sings heavy music to thy timorous soul ; 
 And mine shall ring thy dire departure out. 
 
 [Exeunt General, &c. from the Walls 
 Tal. He fables not ; I hear the enemy : 
 Out, some light horsemen, and peruse their 
 
 wings. 
 
 O, negligent and heedless discipline ! 
 How are we park'd and bounded in a pale, 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 589 
 
 A little herd of England's timorous deer, 
 Maz'd with a yelping kennel of French curs ! 
 If we be English deer, be, then, in blood ; 
 Not rascal-like to fall down with a pinch, 
 But rather, moody-mad and desperate stags, 
 Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of steel, 
 And make the cowards stand aloof at bay : 
 Sell every man his life as dear as mine, 
 And they shall find dear deer of us, my 
 friends. [right, 
 
 God and Saint George, Talbot and England's 
 Prosper our colours in this dangerous fight ! 
 
 SCENE III. Plains in Cascony. 
 Enter YORK, with Forces ; to him a Messenger. 
 
 York. Are not the speedy scouts return'd 
 
 again, 
 
 That dogg'd the mighty army of the Dauphin? 
 Mess. They are return'd, my lord ; and give 
 
 it out 
 
 That he is march 'd to Bourdeaux with his power, 
 To fight with Talbot : as he march'd along, 
 By your espials were discovered 
 Two mightier troops than that the Dauphin led, 
 Which join'd with him, and made their march 
 
 for Bourdeaux. 
 
 York. A plague upon that villain Somerset, 
 That thus delays my promised supply 
 Of horsemen, that were levied for this siege ! 
 Renowned Talbot doth expect my aid ; 
 And I am louted by a traitor villain, 
 And cannot help the noble chevalier: 
 God comfort him in this necessity ! 
 If he miscarry, farewell wars in France. 
 
 Enter SIR WILLIAM LUCY. 
 
 Lucy. Thou princely leader of our English 
 
 strength, 
 
 Never so needful on the earth of France, 
 Spur to the rescue of the noble Talbot, 
 Who now is girdled with a waist of iron, 
 And hemm'd about with grim destruction : 
 To Bourdeaux, warlike duke ! to Bourdeaux, 
 York ! [honour. 
 
 Else, farewell Talbot, France, and England's 
 York. O God, that Somerset, who in proud 
 
 heart 
 
 Doth stop my cornets, were in Talbot's place ! 
 So should we save a valiant gentleman 
 By forfeiting a traitor and a coward. 
 Mad ire and wrathful fury makes me weep, 
 That thus we die, while remiss traitors sleep. 
 Lucy. O, send some succour to the distress'd 
 lord! 
 
 York. He dies, we lose ; I break my warlike 
 
 word ; 
 We mourn, France smiles; we lose, they daily 
 
 get; 
 All 'long of this vile traitor Somerset. 
 
 Lucy. Then God take mercy on brave Tal- 
 bot's soul ; [since 
 And on his son, young John, who two hours 
 I met in travel toward his warlike father ! 
 This seven years did not Talbot see his son; 
 And now they meet where both their lives are 
 
 done. 
 
 York. Alas, what joy shall noble Talbot have 
 To bid his young son welcome to his grave? 
 Away ! vexation almost stops my breath, 
 That sunder'd friends greet in the hour of 
 
 death. 
 
 Lucy, farewell : no more my fortune can, 
 But curse the cause I cannot aid the man. 
 Maine, Blois, Poictiers, and Tours are won away, 
 'Long all of Somerset and his delay. 
 
 [Exit, -with Forces. 
 
 Lucy. Thus, while the vulture of sedition 
 Feeds in the bosom of such great commanders, 
 Sleeping neglection doth betray to loss 
 The conquest of our scarce-cold conqueror, 
 That ever-living man of memory, 
 Henry the Fifth : whiles they each other cross, 
 Lives, honours, lands, and all, hurry to loss. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV.Oiher Plains of Gascon? . 
 
 Enter SOMERSET, with his Forces ; an Officer 
 of TALBOT'S -with him. 
 
 Som. It is too late ; I cannot send them now : 
 This expedition was by York and Talbot 
 Too rashly plotted ; all our general force 
 Might with a sally of the very town 
 Be buckled with : the over-daring Talbot 
 Hath sullied all his gloss of former honour 
 By this unheedful, desperate, wild adventure: 
 York set him on to fight and die in shame, 
 That, Talbot dead, great York might bear the 
 name. 
 
 Off. Here is Sir William Lucy, who with me 
 Set from our o'er-matched forces forth for aid. 
 
 Enter SIR WILLIAM LUCY. 
 
 Som. How now, Sir William ! whither were 
 
 you sent? 
 Lucy. Whither, my lord ! from bought and 
 
 sold Lord Talbot ; 
 
 Who, ring'd about with bold adversity, 
 Cries out for noble York and Somerset, 
 To beat assailing death from his weak legions; 
 And whiles the honourable captain there 
 
590 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Drops bloody sweat from his war- wearied limbs, 
 And, in advantage lingering, looks for rescue, 
 You, his false hopes, the trust of England's 
 
 honour, 
 
 Keep off aloof with worthless emulation. 
 Let not your private discord keep away 
 The levied succours that should lend him aid, 
 While he, renowned noble gentleman, 
 Yields up his life unto a world of odds : 
 Orleans the Bastard, Charles, Burgundy, 
 Alen9on, Reignier, compass him about, 
 And Talbot perisheth by your default. 
 
 Som. York set him on, York should have 
 sent him aid. [claims ; 
 
 Lucy. And York as fast upon your grace ex- 
 Swearing that you withhold his levied horse, 
 Collected for this expedition. [the horse : 
 
 Som. York lies ; he might have sent and had 
 I owe him little duty and less love ; 
 And take foul scorn to fawn on him by sending. 
 
 Lucy. The fraud of England, not the force 
 
 of France, 
 
 Hath now entrapp'd the noble-minded Talbot : 
 Never to England shall he bear his life ; 
 But dies betray'd to fortune by your strife. 
 
 Som. Come, go ; I will despatch the horse- 
 men straight : 
 Within six hours they will be at his aid. 
 
 Lucy. Too late comes rescue ; he is ta'en or 
 
 slain : 
 
 For fly he could not, if he would have fled ; 
 And fly would Talbot never, though he might. 
 
 Som. Ifhe be dead, brave Talbot, then, adieu ! 
 
 Lucy. His fame lives in the world, his shame 
 in you. \_Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE V. The English Camp nearBourdeaux. 
 Enter TALBOT and JOHN his Son. 
 
 Tal. O young John Talbot ! I did send for 
 
 thee 
 
 To tutor thee in stratagems of war, 
 That Talbot's name might be in thee reviv'd 
 When sapless age and weak unable limbs 
 Should bring thy father to his drooping chair. 
 But, O malignant and ill-boding stars ! 
 Now thou art come unto a feast of death, 
 A terrible and unavoided danger : [horse ; 
 Therefore, dear boy, mount on my swiftest 
 And I '11 direct thee how thou shalt escape 
 By sudden flight : come, dally not, begone. 
 John. Is my name Talbot ? and am I your 
 
 son? 
 
 And shall I fly ? O, if you love my mother, 
 Dishonour not her honourable name, 
 To make a bastard and a slave of me ! 
 
 The world will say, he is not Talbot's blood 
 That basely fled when noble Talbot stood. 
 Tal. Fly to revenge my death, if I be slain. 
 John. He that flies so will ne'er return again. 
 TaL If we both stay we both are sure to die. 
 John. Then let me stay ; and, father, do you 
 
 fly: 
 
 Your loss is great, so your regard should be ; 
 My worth unknown, no loss is known in me. 
 Upon my death the French can little boast ; 
 In yours they will, in you all hopes are lost. 
 Flight cannot stain the honour you have won ; 
 But mine it will, that no exploit have done ; 
 You fled for vantage, every one will swear ; 
 But if I bow, they'll say it was for fear. 
 There is no hope that ever I will stay, 
 If the first hour I shrink and run away. 
 Here, on my knee, I beg mortality, 
 Rather than life preserv'd with infamy. 
 
 Tal. Shall all thy mother's hopes lie in one 
 tomb ? [womb. 
 
 John. Ay, rather than I '11 shame my mother's 
 Tal. Upon my blessing I command thee go. 
 John. To fight I will, but not to fly the foe. 
 TaL Part of thy father may be sav'd in thee. 
 John. No part of him but will be shame in 
 me. [lose it. 
 
 Tal. Thou never hadst renown, nor canst not 
 John. Yes, your renowned name : shall 
 
 flight abuse it ? 
 Tal. Thy father's charge shall clear thee 
 
 from that stain. 
 
 John. You cannot witness for me, being slain. 
 If death be so apparent, then both fly. 
 
 Tal. And leave my followers here to fight 
 
 and die ? 
 
 My age was never tainted with such shame. 
 John. And shall my youth be guilty of such 
 
 blame ? 
 
 No more can I be sever'd from your side 
 Than can yourself yourself in twain divide : 
 Stay, go, do what you will, the like do I ; 
 For live I will not if my father die. [son, 
 
 Tal. Then here I take my leave of thee, fair 
 Born to eclipse thy life this afternoon. 
 Come, side by side together live and die ; 
 And soul with soul from France to heaven fly. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI. A Field of Battle. 
 
 Alarum : excursions wherein TALBOT'S Son is 
 hemmed about, and TALBOT rescues him. 
 
 Tal. Saint George and victory ! fight, 
 
 soldiers, fight : 
 The regent hath with Talbot broke his word, 
 
SCENE VI.] 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 591 
 
 And left us to the rage of France his sword. 
 Where is John Talbot ? pause, and take thy 
 
 breath ; 
 I gave thee life and rescu'd thee from death. 
 
 John. O, twice my father, twice am I thy son ! 
 The life thou gav'st me first was lost and done, 
 Till with thy warlike sword, despite of fate, 
 To my determin'd time thou gav'st new date. 
 Tal. When from the Dauphin's crest thy 
 
 sword struck fire, 
 
 It warm'd thy father's heart with proud desire 
 Of bold-fac'd victory. Then leaden age, 
 Quicken'd with youthful spleen and warlike rage, 
 Beat down Alenc,on, Orleans, Burgundy, 
 And from the pride of Gallia rescu'd thee. 
 The ireful bastard Orleans, that drew blood 
 From thee, my boy, and had the maidenhood 
 Of thy first fight, I soon encountered, 
 And, interchanging blows, I quickly shed 
 Some of his bastard blood ; and, in disgrace, 
 Bespoke him thus, Contaminated ', base, 
 And misbegotten blood I spill of thine , 
 Mean and right poor , for that pure blood of mine 
 Which thou didst force from Talbot ', my brave 
 
 boy : 
 
 Here, purposing the Bastard to destroy, [care, 
 Came in strong rescue. Speak, thy father's 
 Art thou not weary, John? how dost thou fare? 
 Wilt thou yet leave the battle, boy, and fly, 
 Now thou art seal'd the son of chivalry? 
 Fly, to revenge my death when I am dead : 
 The help of one stands me in little stead. 
 O, too much folly is it, well I wot, 
 To hazard all our lives in one small boat ! 
 If I to-day die not with Frenchmen's rage, 
 To-morrow I shall die with mickle age : 
 By me they nothing gain an if I stay, 
 'Tis but the short'ning of my life one day : 
 In thee thy mother dies, our household's name, 
 My death's revenge, thy youth, and England's 
 
 fame : 
 
 All these, and more, we hazard by thy stay ; 
 All these are sav'd if thou wilt fly away. 
 John. The sword of Orleans hath not made 
 
 me smart ; [heart : 
 
 These words of yours draw life-blood from my 
 On that advantage, bought with such a shame, 
 To save a paltry life, and slay bright fame, 
 Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly, 
 The coward horse that bears me fall and die ! 
 And like me to the peasant boys of France ; 
 To be shame's scorn, and subject of mischance ! 
 Surely, by all the glory you have won, 
 An if I fly, I am not Talbot's son : 
 Then talk no more of flight, it is no boot ; 
 If son to Talbot, die at Talbot's foot. [Crete, 
 Tal. Then follow thou thy desperate sire of 
 
 Thou Icarus ; thy life to me is sweet : 
 If thou wilt fight, fight by thy father's side ; 
 And, commendable prov'd, let 's die in pride. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VII. Another part of the same. 
 
 Alarum : excursions. Enter TALBOT wounded, 
 supported by a Servant. 
 
 Tal. Where is my other life ? mine own is 
 gone ; [John ? 
 
 O, where's young Talbot? where is valiant 
 Triumphant death, smear'd with captivity, 
 Young Talbot's valour makes me smile at thee: 
 When he perceiv'd me shrink and on my knee, 
 His bloody sword he brandish'd over me, 
 And like a hungry lion did commence 
 Rough deeds of rage and stern impatience ; 
 But when my angry guardant stood alone, 
 Tendering my ruin, and assail'd of none, 
 Dizzy-e/d fury and great rage of heart 
 Suddenly made him from my side to start 
 Into the clustering battle of the French ; 
 And in that sea of blood my boy did drench 
 His overmounting spirit ; and there died 
 My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride, [borne! 
 
 Serv. O my dear lord ! lo where your son is 
 
 Enter Soldiers, bearing the body of JOHN 
 
 TALBOT. 
 Tal. Thou antic death, which laugh'st us 
 
 here to scorn, 
 
 Anon, from thy insulting tyranny, 
 Coupled in bonds ot perpetuity, 
 Two Talbots, winged through the lither sky, 
 In thy despite, shall 'scape mortality. 
 O thou whose wounds become hard-favour'd 
 
 death, 
 
 Speak to thy father ere thou yield thy breath ! 
 Brave death by speaking, whether he will or no j 
 Imagine him a Frenchman and thy foe. 
 Poor boy ! he smiles, methinks, as who 
 
 should say, [to-day. 
 
 Had death been French, then death had died 
 Come, come, and lay him in his father's arms : 
 My spirit can no longer bear these harms. 
 Soldiers, adieu ! I have what I would have, 
 Now my old arms are young Talbot's grave. 
 
 \_Dies. 
 
 Alarums. Exeunt Soldiers and Servant, leav* 
 ing the two bodies. Enter CHARLES, ALEN- 
 90N, BURGUNDY, BASTARD, LA PUCELLB, 
 and P orces. 
 
 Char. Had York and Somerset brought 
 rescue in, 
 
 We should have found a bloody day of this. 
 
592 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [AC 
 
 Bast. How the young whelp of Talbot's, 
 
 raging- wood, 
 Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen's blood ! 
 
 Puc. Once I encounter 'd him, and thus I said, 
 Thou maiden youth, be vanquished by a maid: 
 But, with a proud majestical high scorn, 
 He answer'd thus, Young Talbot was not born 
 To be the pillage of a giglot wench: . 
 So, rushing in the bowels of the French, 
 He left me proudly, as unworthy fight. 
 
 Bur. Doubtless he would have made a 
 
 noble knight : 
 
 See where he lies inhersed in the arms 
 Of the most bloody nurser of his harms ! 
 
 Bast. Hew them to pieces, hack their bones 
 
 asunder, 
 Whose life was England's glory, Gallia's wonder. 
 
 Char. O, no ; forbear ! for that which we 
 
 have fled 
 During the life, let us not wrong it dead. 
 
 Enter SIR WILLIAM LUCY, attended; a 
 French Herald preceding. 
 
 Lucy. Herald, 
 
 Conduct me to the Dauphin's tent, to know 
 Who hath obtain'd the glory of the day, 
 
 Char. On what submissive message art thou 
 
 sent? 
 Lucy. Submission, Dauphin! 'tis a mere 
 
 French word; 
 
 We English warriors wot not what it means. 
 I come to know what prisoners thou hast ta'en, 
 And to survey the bodies of the dead. 
 
 Char. For prisoners aslc'st thou? hell our 
 
 prison is. 
 
 But tell me whom thou seek'st. [field, 
 
 Lucy. But where 's the great Alcides of the 
 Valiant Lord Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, 
 Createc, for his rare success in arms, [ence ; 
 Great Earl of Washford, Waterford, and Val- 
 Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Urchinfield, 
 Lord Strange of Blackmere, Lord Verdun of 
 Alton, [Sheffield, 
 
 Lord Cromwell of Wingfield, Lord Furnival of 
 The thrice victorious Lord of Falconbridge ; 
 Knight of the noble order of Saint George, 
 Worthy Saint Michael, and the Golden Fleece; 
 Great Marshal to Henry the Sixth 
 Of all his wars within the realm of France? 
 Puc. Here is a silly-stately style indeed ! 
 The Turk, that two-and-fifty kingdoms hath. 
 Writes not so tedious a style as this. 
 Him that thou magnifies! with all these titles, 
 Stinking and fly-blown, lies here at our feet. 
 Lucy. Is Talbot slain, the Frenchmen's 
 
 only scourge, 
 Your kingdom's terror and black Nemesis? 
 
 O were mine eye-balls into bullets turn'd, 
 That I, in rage, might shoot them at your faces'. 
 O that I could but call these dead to life ! 
 It were enough to fright the realm of France: 
 Were but his picture left among you here, 
 It would amaze the proudest of you all. 
 Give me their bodies, that I may bear themhence, 
 And give them burial as beseems their worth. 
 Puc. I think this upstart is old Talbot's 
 
 ghost, 
 
 He speaks with such a proud commanding 
 spirit. [here, 
 
 For God's sake, let him have 'em ; to keep them 
 They would but stink, and putrefy the air. 
 Char. Go, take their bodies hence. 
 Lucy. I '11 bear them hence : 
 
 But from their ashes shall be rear'd 
 A phoenix that shall make all France afeard. 
 Char. So we be rid of them, do with 'em 
 
 what thou wilt. 
 
 And now to Paris in this conquering vein : 
 All will be ours, now bloody Talbot's slain. 
 
 {Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 SCENE I. LONDON. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter KING HENRY, GLOSTER, and 
 EXETER. 
 
 K. Hen. Have you perus'd the letters from 
 
 the pope, 
 The emperor, and the Earl of Armagnac? 
 
 Glo. I have, my lord: and their intent is 
 
 this, 
 
 They humbly sue unto your excellence 
 To have a godly peace concluded of 
 Between the realms of England and of France. 
 
 K. Hen. How doth your grace affect their 
 motion? [means 
 
 Glo. Well, my good lord ; and as the only 
 To stop effusion of our Christian blood, 
 And stablish quietness on every side, [thought 
 
 K. Hen. Ay, marry, uncle; for I always 
 It was both impious and unnatural 
 That such immanity and bloody strife 
 Should reign among professors of one faith. 
 
 Glo. Beside, my lord, the sooner to effect 
 And surer bind this knot of amity, 
 The Earl of Armagnac, near knit to Charles, 
 A man of great authority in France, 
 Proffers his only daughter to your grace 
 In marriage, with a large and sumptuous dowry. 
 
 K. Hen. Marriage, uncle! alas, my years 
 
 are young ; 
 And fitter is my study and my books 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 593 
 
 Than wanton dalliance with a paramour. 
 Yet, call the ambassadors ; and as you please, 
 So let them have their answers every one : 
 I shall be well content with any choice 
 Tends to God's glory and my country's weal. 
 
 Enter a Legate and two Ambassadors, with 
 WINCHESTER, now CARDINAL BEAUFORT, 
 in a Cardinal^ habit. 
 
 Exe. What ! is my Lord of Winchester in- 
 
 stall'd, 
 
 And call'd unto a cardinal's degree? 
 Then I perceive that will be verified 
 Henry the Fifth did sometime prophesy, 
 If once he come to be a cardinal ', 
 He '// make his cap co-equal with the crown. 
 K. Hen. My lords ambassadors, your several 
 
 suits 
 
 Have been consider'd and debated on. 
 Your purpose is both good and reasonable ; 
 And therefore are we certainly resolv'd 
 To draw conditions of a friendly peace ; 
 Which by my Lord of Winchester we mean 
 Shall be transported presently to France. 
 Glo. And for the proffer of my lord your 
 
 master, 
 
 I have inform'd his highness so at large, 
 / s, liking of the lady's virtuous gifts, 
 Her beauty, and the value of her dower, 
 He doth intend she shall be England's 
 
 queen. 
 K. Hen. In argument and proof of which 
 
 contract. 
 Bear her this jewel [to the Amb.], pledge of my 
 
 affection. 
 
 And so, my lord protector, see them guarded 
 And safely brought to Dover ; where, inshipp'd, 
 Commit them to the fortune of the sea. 
 
 [Exeunt K. HEN., GLO., EXE., and 
 
 Ambassadors. 
 Win. Stay, my lord legate: you shall first 
 
 receive 
 
 The sum of money which I promised 
 Should be delivered to his holiness 
 For clothing me in these grave ornaments. 
 Leg. I will attend upon your lordship's 
 
 leisure. [Exit. 
 
 Win. Now Winchester will not submit, I 
 
 trow, 
 
 Or be inferior to the proudest peer. 
 Humphrey of Gloster, thou shalt well perceive 
 That neither in birth or for authority 
 The bishop will be overborne by thee : 
 I'll either make thee stoop and bend thy 
 
 knee, 
 Or sack this country with a mutiny. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. FRANCE. Plains in Anjou. 
 
 Enter CHARLES, BURGUNDY, ALENON, LA 
 PUCELLE, and Forces, marching. 
 
 Char. These news, my lords, may cheer our 
 
 drooping spirits: 
 
 'Tis said the stout Parisians do revolt, 
 And turn again unto the warlike French. 
 Alen. Then march to Paris, royal Charles of 
 
 France, 
 
 And keep not back your powers in dalliance. 
 Puc. Peace be amongst them if they turn to 
 
 us; 
 Else ruin combat with their palaces ! 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Success unto our valiant general, 
 And happiness to his accomplices ! 
 
 Char. What tidings send our scouts? I pr'y- 
 thee, speak. 
 
 Mess. The English army, that divided was 
 Into two parts, is now conjoin'd in one, 
 And means to give you battle presently. [is ; 
 
 Char. Somewhat too sudden, sirs, the warning 
 But we will presently provide for them. 
 
 Bur. I trust the ghost of Talbot is not there : 
 Now he is gone, my lord, you need not fear. 
 
 Puc. Of all base passions fear is most 
 accurs'd : [thine ; 
 
 Command the conquest, Charles, it shall be 
 Let Henry fret and all the world repine. 
 
 Char. Then on, my lords; and France be 
 fortunate ! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. The same. Before Angiers. 
 Alarums: excursions. Entef LA PUCELLE. 
 
 Puc. The regent conquers and the French- 
 men fly, 
 
 Now help, ye charming spells and periapts ; 
 And ye choice spirits that admonish me, 
 And give me signs of future accidents, 
 You speedy helpers, that are substitutes 
 Under the lordly monarch of the north, 
 Appear, and aid me in this enterprise ! 
 
 [ Thunder. 
 
 Enter Fiends. 
 
 This speedy and quick appearance argues pro ->f 
 Of your accustom'd diligence to me. 
 Now, ye familiar spirits that are cull'd 
 Out of the powerful legions under earth, 
 Help me this once, that France may get the field. 
 [They walk about and speak not, 
 O, hold me not with silence over-long ! 
 
594 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Where I was wont to feed you with my blood 
 
 I '11 lop a member off and give it you, 
 
 In earnest of a further benefit, 
 
 So you do condescend to help me now. 
 
 [They hang their heads. 
 No hope to have redress? My body shall 
 Pay recompense if you will grant my suit. 
 
 [ They shake their heads. 
 Cannot my body nor blood sacrifice 
 Entreat you to your wonted furtherance? 
 Then take my soul, my body, soul, and all, 
 Before that England give the French the foil. 
 
 [They depart. 
 
 See ! they forsake me. Now the time is come 
 That France must vail her lofty-plumed crest, 
 And let her head fall into England's lap. 
 My ancient incantations are too weak, 
 And hell too strong for me to buckle v/ith : 
 Now, France, thy glory droopeth to the dust. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Alarums. Enter French and English, fight- 
 ing. LA PUCELLE and YORK fight hand 
 to hand: LA PUCELLE is taken. The French 
 fly. 
 
 York. Damsel of France, I think I have you 
 
 fast : 
 
 Unchain your spirits now with spelling charms, 
 And try if they can gain your liberty. 
 A goodly prize, fit for the devil's grace ! 
 See how the ugly witch doth bend her brows, 
 As if, with Circe, she would change my shape ! 
 Puc. Chang'd to a worser shape thou canst 
 not be. [man ; 
 
 York. O, Charles the Dauphin is a proper 
 No shape but his can please your dainty eye. 
 Puc. A plaguing mischief light on Charles 
 
 and thee ! 
 
 And may ye both be suddenly surpris'd 
 By bloody hands, in sleeping on your beds ! 
 York. Fell, banning hag ; enchantress, hold 
 thy tongue ! [while. 
 
 Puc. I pr'ythee, give me leave to curse a- 
 York. Curse, miscreant, when thou comest 
 
 to the stake. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Alarums. Enter SUFFOLK, leading in LADY 
 MARGARET. 
 
 Suf. Be what thou wilt, thou art my prisoner. 
 [Gazes on her. 
 
 fairest beauty, do not fear nor fly ! 
 
 For I will touch thee but with reverent hands, 
 And lay them gently on thy tender side. 
 
 1 kiss these fingers for eternal peace. 
 
 [Kissing her hand. 
 Who art thou? say, that I may honour thee. 
 
 Mar. Margaret my name, and daughter to a 
 
 king, 
 The King of Naples whosoe'er thou art. 
 
 Suf. An earl I am, and Suffolk am I call'd. 
 Be not offended, nature's miracle, 
 Thou art allotted to be ta'en by me 
 So doth the swan her downy cygnets save, 
 Keeping them prisoners underneath her wings. 
 Yet, if this servile usage once offend, 
 Go, and be free again as Suffolk's friend. 
 
 [She turns away as going. 
 O, stay ! I have no power to let her pass ; 
 My hand would free her, but my heart says no. 
 As plays the sun upon the glassy streams, 
 Twinkling another counterfeited beam, 
 So seeni3 this gorgeous beauty to mine eyes. 
 Fain would I woo her, yet I dare not speak : 
 I '11 call for pen and ink, and write my mind : 
 Fie, De-la- Poole ! disable not thyself; 
 Hast not a tongue? is she not here thy prisoner? 
 Wilt thou be daunted at a woman's sight? 
 Ay, beauty's princely majesty is such, [rough. 
 Confounds the tongue, and makes the senses 
 Mar. Say, Earl of Suffolk, if thy name be 
 
 so, 
 
 What ransom must I pay before I pass? 
 
 For I perceive I am thy prisoner. [suit 
 
 Suf. How canst thou tell she will deny thy 
 
 Before thou make a trial of her love? [Aside. 
 
 Mar. Why speak'st thou not? what ransom 
 
 must I pay ? [woo'd ; 
 
 Suf. She's beautiful, and therefore to be 
 
 She is a woman, therefore to be won. [Aside. 
 
 Mar. Wilt thou accept of ransom yea or no? 
 
 Suf. Fond man, remember that thou hast a 
 
 wife; 
 Then how can Margaret be thy paramour? 
 
 [Aside. 
 Mar. I were best leave him, for he will not 
 
 hear. 
 
 Suf. There all is marr'd ; there lies a cooling 
 
 card. [Aside. 
 
 Mar. He talks at random ; sure, the man is 
 
 mad. 
 Suf. And yet a dispensation may be had. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Mar. And yet I would that you would an- 
 swer me. 
 Suf. I '11 win this Lady Margaret. For 
 
 whom? 
 
 Why, for my king: tush, that's a wooden 
 thing ! [Aside. 
 
 Mar. He talks of wood : it is some carpenter. 
 Suf. Yet so my fancy may be satisfied, 
 And peace established between these realms. 
 But there remains a scruple in that too; 
 For though her father be the King of Naples, 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 595 
 
 Duke of Anjou and Maine, yet is he poor, 
 And our nobility will scorn the match. [Aside. 
 
 Mar. Hear ye, captain, are ye not at 
 leisure? [much: 
 
 Suf. It shall be so, disdain they ne'er so 
 Henry is youthful, and will quickly yield. 
 
 [Aside. 
 Madam, I have a secret to reveal. [a knight, 
 
 Mar. What though I be enthrall'd? he seems 
 And will not any way dishonour me. [Aside. 
 
 Suf. Lady, vouchsafe to listen what I say. 
 
 Mar. Perhaps I shall be rescued by the 
 
 French ; 
 And then I need not crave his courtesy. [Aside. 
 
 Suf. Sweet madam, give me hearing in a 
 cause 
 
 Mar. Tush ! women have been captivate ere 
 now. [Aside. 
 
 Suf. Lady, wherefore talk you so? 
 
 Mar. I cry you mercy, 'tis but quid for quo. 
 
 Suf. Say, gentle princess, would you not 
 
 suppose 
 Your bondage happy, to be made a queen? 
 
 Mar. To be a queen in bondage is more vile 
 Than is a slave in base servility ; 
 For princes should be free. 
 
 Suf. And so shall you, 
 
 If happy England's royal king be free. [me ? 
 
 Mar. Why, what concerns his freedom unto 
 
 Suf. I '11 undertake to make thee Henry's 
 
 queen ; 
 
 To put a golden sceptre in thy hand, 
 And set a precious crown upon thy head, 
 If thou wilt condescend to be my 
 
 Mar. What? 
 
 Sttf. His love. 
 
 Mar. I am unworthy to be Henry's wife. 
 
 Suf. No, gentle madam ; I unworthy am 
 To woo so fair a dame to be his wife, 
 And have no portion in the choice myself. 
 How say you, madam, are you so content? 
 
 Mar. An if my father please, I am content. 
 
 Suf. Then call our captains and our colours 
 forth ! [Troops come forward. 
 
 And, madam, at your father's castle- walls 
 We '11 crave a parley, to confer with him. 
 
 A Parley sounded. Enter REIGNIER on the 
 Walls, 
 
 Suf. See, Reignier, see, thy daughter prisoner ! 
 
 Reig. To whom? 
 
 Suf. To me. 
 
 Reig. Suffolk, what remedy? 
 
 I am a soldier, and unapt to weep 
 Or to exclaim on fortune's fickleness. 
 
 Suf. Yes, there is remedy enough, my lord : 
 Consent, and for thy honour give consent, 
 
 Thy daughter shall be wedded to my king; 
 Whom I with pain have woo'd and won thereto ; 
 And this her easy-held imprisonment 
 Hath gain'd thy daughter princely liberty. 
 
 Reig. Speaks Suffolk as he thinks? 
 
 Suf. Fair Margaret knows 
 
 That Suffolk doth not flatter, face, or feign. 
 
 Reig. Upon thy princely warrant I descend, 
 To give thee answer of thy just demand. 
 
 [Exit REIGN IER/TWW the Walls. 
 
 Suf. And here I will expect thy coming. 
 
 Trumpets sound. Enter REIGNIER below. 
 
 Reig. Welcome, brave earl, into our terri- 
 tories ; 
 
 Command in Anjou what your honour pleases. 
 Suf. Thanks, Reignier, happy for so sweet a 
 
 child, 
 
 Fit to be made companion with a king: 
 What answer makes your grace unto my suit? 
 Reig. Since thou dost deign to woo her little 
 
 worth 
 
 To be the princely bride of such a lord, 
 Upon condition I may quietly 
 Enjoy mine own, the county Maine and Anjou, 
 Free from oppression or the stroke of war, 
 My daughter shall be Henry's, if he please. 
 Suf. That is her ransom, I deliver her; 
 And those two counties I will undertake 
 Your grace shall well and quietly enjoy. 
 
 Reig. And I again, in Henry s royal name, 
 As deputy unto that gracious king, 
 Give thee her hand, for sign of plighted faith. 
 Suf. Reignier of France, I give thee kingly 
 
 thanks, 
 
 Because this is in traffic of a king : 
 And yet, methinks, I could be well content 
 To be mine own attorney in this case. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 I '11 over, then, to England with this news, 
 And make this marriage to be solemniz'd. 
 So, farewell, Reignier : set this diamond safe 
 In golden palaces, as it becomes. 
 
 Reig. I do embrace thee as I would embrace 
 
 The Christian prince, King Henry, were he here. 
 
 Mar. Farewell, my lord: good wishes, 
 
 praise, and prayers 
 
 Shall Suffolk ever have of Margaret. [Going. 
 Suf. Farewell, sweet madam : but hark you, 
 
 Margaret, 
 
 No princely commendations to my king? 
 Mar. Such commendations as become a 
 
 maid, 
 A virgin, and his servant, say to him. 
 
 Suf. Words sweetly plac'd and modestly 
 directed. 
 
59 6 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 But, madam, I must trouble you again, 
 
 No loving token to his majesty? [heart, 
 
 Mar. Yes, my good lord, a pure unspotted 
 Never yet taint with love, I send the king. 
 
 Suf. And this withal. [Kisses her. 
 
 Alar. Thatfor thyself: I will not so presume 
 To send such peevish tokens to a king. 
 
 [Exeunt REIG. and MAR. 
 
 Suf. O, wert thou for myself ! But, Suffolk, 
 
 stay; 
 
 Thou mayst not wander in that labyrinth : 
 There Minotaurs and ugly treasons lurk. 
 Solicit Henry with her wondrous praise : 
 Bethink thee on her virtues that surmount, 
 And natural graces that extinguish art; 
 Repeat their semblance often on the seas, 
 That when thou com'st to kneel at Henry's feet 
 Thou mayst bereave him of his wits with 
 wonder. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV. Camp of the DUKE OF YORK in 
 Anjou. 
 
 Enter YORK, WARWICK, and others. 
 
 York. Bring forth that sorceress, condemn'd 
 to burn. 
 
 Enter LA PUCELLE, guarded, and a Shepherd. 
 
 Shep. Ah, Joan, this kills thy father's heart 
 
 outright ! 
 
 Have I sought every country far and near, 
 And now it is my chance to find thee out 
 Must I behold thy timeless cruel death? 
 Ah, Joan, sweet daughter Joan, I '11 die with 
 
 thee ! 
 
 Puc. Decrepit miser ! base ignoble wretch ! 
 I am descended of a gentler blood ; 
 Thou art no father nor no friend of mine. 
 Shep. Out, out ! My lords, an please you, 
 
 'tis not so ; 
 
 I did beget her, all the parish knows: 
 Her mother liveth yet, can testify 
 She was the first fruit of my bachelorship. 
 War. Graceless, wilt thou deny thy paren- 
 tage? [been, 
 York. This argues what her kind of life hath 
 Wicked and vile ; and so her death concludes. 
 Shep. Fie, Joan, that thou wilt be so ob- 
 stacle ! 
 
 God knows thou art a collop of my flesh ; 
 And for thy sake have I shed many a tear : 
 Deny me not, I pr'ythee, gentle Joan. 
 
 Puc. Peasant, avaunt! You have suborn'd 
 
 this man, 
 Of purpose to obscure my noble birth. 
 
 Shep. 'Tis true, I gave a noble to the priest 
 
 The morn that I was wedded to her mother. 
 Kneel down and take my blessing, good my girl. 
 Wilt thou not stoop? Now cursed be the time 
 Of thy nativity ! I would the milk [breast 
 Thy mother gave thee when thou suck'dst her 
 Had been a little ratsbane for thy sake ! 
 Or else, when thou didst keep my lambs a-field, 
 I wish some ravenous wolf had eaten thee ! 
 Dost thou deny thy father, cursed drab? 
 O, burn her, burn her ! hanging is too good. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 York. Take her away ; for she hath liv'd too 
 
 long, 
 To fill the world with vicious qualities. 
 
 Puc. First let me tell you whom you have 
 
 condemn'd : 
 
 Not me begotten of a shepherd swain, 
 But issu'd from the progeny of kings ; 
 Virtuous and holy ; chosen from above, 
 By inspiration of celestial grace, 
 To work exceeding miracles on earth. 
 I never had to do with wicked spirits : 
 But you, that are polluted with your lusts, 
 Stain'd with the guiltless blood of innocents, 
 Corrupt and tainted with a thousand vices, 
 Because you want the grace that others have, 
 You judge it straight a thing impossible 
 To compass wonders but by help of devils. 
 No, misconceived ! Joan of Arc hath been 
 A virgin from her tender infancy, 
 Chaste and immaculate in very thought ; 
 Whose maiden blood, thus rigorously effus'd, 
 Will cry for vengeance at the gates of heaven. 
 
 York. Ay, ay : away with her to execution ! 
 
 War. And hark ye, sirs; because she is a 
 
 maid, 
 
 Spare for no fagots, let there be enow : 
 Place barrels of pitch upon the fatal stake, 
 That so her torture may be shortened. 
 
 Puc. Will nothing turn your unrelenting 
 
 hearts? 
 
 Then, Joan, discover thine infirmity, 
 That warranteth by law to be thy privilege. 
 I am with child, ye bloody homicides : 
 Murder not, then, the fruit within my womb 5 
 Although ye hale me to a violent death. 
 
 York. Now heaven forfend! the holy maid 
 with child ! [wrought : 
 
 War. The greatest miracle that e'er ye 
 Is all your strict preciseness come to this ? 
 
 York. She and the Dauphin have been 
 
 juggling: 
 I did imagine what would be her refuge, [live ; 
 
 War. Well, go to ; we will have no bastards 
 Especially since Charles must father it. [his : 
 
 Puc. You are deceiv'd ; my child is none of 
 It was Alengon that enjoy'd my love. 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 597 
 
 York. Alenon ! that notorious Machiavel ! 
 It dies, an if it had a thousand lives. 
 
 Puc, O, give me leave, I have deluded you : 
 'Twas neither Charles nor yet the duke I nam'd, 
 But Reignier, King of Naples, that prevail'd. 
 War. A married man ! that 's most intoler- 
 able. 
 York. Why, here's a girl! I think she 
 
 knows not well 
 
 There were so many whom she may accuse. 
 War. It 's sign she hath been liberal and 
 
 free. 
 
 York. And yet, forsooth, she isa virgin pure. 
 Strumpet, thy words condemn thy brat and thee : 
 Use no entreaty, for it is in vain. 
 
 Puc. Then lead me hence; with whom I 
 
 leave my curse : 
 
 May never glorious sun reflex his beams 
 Upon the country where you make abode ; 
 But darkness and the gloomy shade of death 
 Environ you, till mischief and despair 
 Drive you to break your necks or hang your- 
 selves ! [Exit, guarded. 
 York. Break thou in pieces and consume to 
 
 ashes, 
 Thou foul accursed minister of hell ! 
 
 Enter CARDINAL BEAUFORT, attended. 
 
 Car. Lord regent, I do greet your excellence 
 With letters of commission from the king. 
 For know, my lords, the states of Christendom, 
 Mov'd with remorse of these outrageous broils, 
 Have earnestly implor'd a general peace 
 Betwixt our nation and the aspiring French ; 
 And here at hand the Dauphin and his train 
 Approacheth, to confer about some matter. 
 
 York. Is all our travail turn'd to this effect? 
 After the slaughter of so many peers, 
 So many captains, gentlemen, and soldiers, 
 That in this quarrel have been overthrown, 
 And sold their bodies for their country's benefit, 
 Shall we at last conclude effeminate peace? 
 Have we not lost most part of all the towns, 
 By treason, falsehood, and by treachery, 
 Our great progenitors had conquered? 
 O Warwick, Warwick ! I foresee with grief 
 The utter loss of all the realm of France. 
 
 War. Be patient, York : if we conclude a 
 peace, [nants 
 
 It shall be with such strict and severe cove- 
 As little shall the Frenchmen gain thereby. 
 
 Enter CHARLES, attended; ALENCON, 
 
 BASTARD, REIGNIER, and others. 
 Char. Since, lords of England, it is thus 
 agreed [France, 
 
 That peaceful truce shall be proclaim'd in 
 
 We come to be informed by yourselves 
 What the conditions of that league must be. 
 
 York. Speak, Winchester; for boiling choler 
 
 chokes 
 
 The hollow passage of my prison'd voice, 
 By sight of these our baleful enemies. 
 
 Car. Charles, and the rest, it is enacted thus : 
 That in regard King Henry gives consent, 
 Of mere compassion and of lenity, 
 To ease your country of distressful war, 
 And suffer you to breathe in fruitful peace, 
 You shall become true liegemen to his crown : 
 And, Charles, upon condition thou wilt swear 
 To pay him tribute and submit thyself, 
 Thou shall be plac'd as viceroy under him, 
 And still enjoy thy regal dignity. [self? 
 
 Alen. Must he be, then, as shadow of hirr.- 
 Adorn his temples with a coronet, 
 And yet, in substance and authority, 
 Retain but privilege of a private man ? 
 This proffer is absurd and reasonless. [sess'd 
 
 Char. 'Tis known already that I am pos- 
 With more than half the Gallian territories, 
 And therein reverenc'd for their lawful king : 
 Shall I, for lucre of the rest unvanquish'd, 
 Detract so much from that prerogative 
 As to be call'd but viceroy of the whole? 
 No, lord ambassador; I'll rather keep 
 That which I have than, coveting for more, 
 Be cast from possibility of all. 
 
 York. Insulting Charles ! hast thou by secret 
 
 means 
 
 Us'd intercession to obtain a league, 
 And now the matter grows to compromise 
 Stand'st thou aloof upon comparison? 
 Either accept the title thou usurp'st, 
 Of benefit proceeding from our king, 
 And not of any challenge of desert, 
 Or we will plague thee with incessant wars. 
 
 Reig. My lord, you do not well in obstinacy 
 To cavil in the course of this contract : 
 If once it be neglected, ten to one 
 We shall not find like opportunity. 
 
 Alen. To say the truth, it is your policy 
 To save your subjects from such massacre 
 And ruthless slaughters as are daily seen 
 By our proceeding in hostility ; 
 And therefore take this compact of a truce, 
 Although you break it when your pleasure 
 serves. [Aside to CHARLES. 
 
 War. How say'st thou, Charles? shall our 
 condition stand? 
 
 Char. It shall; 
 
 Only reserv'd, y,<u claim no interest 
 In any of our towns of garrison. 
 
 York. Then swear allegiance to his majesty, 
 As thou art knight, never to disobey 
 
59 8 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Nor be rebellious to the crown of England, 
 Thou, nor thy nobles, to the crown of England. 
 [CHARLES and the rest give tokens of fealty. 
 So, now dismiss your army when ye please ; 
 Hang up your ensigns, let your drums be still, 
 For here we entertain a solemn peace. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. LONDON. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter KING HENRY, in conference with 
 SUFFOLK ; GLOSTER and EXETER follow- 
 ing. 
 
 K* Hen. Your wondrous rare description, 
 
 noble earl, 
 
 Of beauteous Margaret hath astonish'd me : 
 Her virtues, graced with external gifts, 
 Do breed love's settled passions in my heart : 
 And like as rigour of tempestuous gusts 
 Provokes the mightiest hulk against the tide, 
 So am I driven, by breath of her renown, 
 Eitfrer to suffer shipwreck or arrive 
 Where I may have fruition of her love. [tale 
 
 Suf. Tush, my good lord, this superficial 
 Is but a preface of her worthy praise : 
 The chief perfections of that lovely dame, 
 Had I sufficient skill to utter them, 
 Would make a volume of enticing lines, 
 Able to ravish any dull conceit : 
 And, which is more, she is not so divine, 
 So full-replete with choice of all delights, 
 But, with as humble lowliness of mind, 
 She is content to be at your command ; 
 Command, I mean, of virtuous chaste intents, 
 To love and honour Henry as her lord. 
 
 K. Hen. And otherwise will Henry ne'er pre- 
 sume. 
 
 Therefore, my lord protector, give consent 
 That Margaret may be England's royal queen. 
 
 Glo. So should I give consent to flatter sin. 
 You know, my lord, your highness is betroth'd 
 Unto another lady of esteem : [tract, 
 
 How shall we, then, dispense with that con- 
 And not deface your honour with reproach? 
 
 Suf. As doth a ruler with unlawful oaths ; 
 Or one that, at a triumph having vow'd 
 To try his strength, forsaketh yet the lists 
 By reason of his adversary's odds : 
 A poor earl's daughter is unequal odds, 
 And therefore may be broke without offence. 
 
 Glo. Why, what, I pray, is Margaret more 
 
 than that? 
 
 Her father is no better than ar earl, 
 Although in glorious titles he excel. 
 
 Suf. Yes, my lord, her father is a king, 
 The King of Naples and Jerusalem ; 
 
 And of such great authority in France 
 As his alliance will confirm our pe?ce, 
 And keep the Frenchmen in allegiance. 
 
 Glo. And so. the Earl of Armagnac may do, 
 Because he is near kinsman unto Charles. 
 
 Exe. Beside, his wealth doth warrant a liberal 
 
 dower ; 
 While Reignier sooner will receive than give. 
 
 Suf. A dower, my lords ! disgrace not so 
 
 your king, 
 
 That he should be so abject, base, and poor, 
 To choose for wealth, and not for perfect love. 
 Henry is able to enrich his queen, 
 And not to seek a queen to make him rich : 
 So worthless peasants bargain for their wives, 
 As market-men for oxen, sheep, or horse. 
 Marriage is a matter of more worth 
 Than to be dealt in by attorneyship ; 
 Not whom we will, but whom his grace affects, 
 Must be companion of his nuptial bed : 
 And therefore, lords, since he affects her most, 
 It most of all these reasons bindeth us 
 In our opinions she should be preferr'd. 
 For what is wedlock forced but a hell, 
 An age of discord and continual strife? 
 Whereas the contrary bringeth bliss, 
 And is a pattern of celestial peace. 
 Whom should we match with Henry, being a 
 
 king, 
 
 But Margaret, that is daughter to a king? 
 Her peerless feature, joined with her birth, 
 Approves her fit for none but for a king : 
 Her valiant courage and undaunted spirit, 
 More than in women commonly is seen, 
 Will answer our hope in issue of a king ; 
 For Henry, son unto a conqueror, 
 Is likely to beget more conquerors, 
 If with a lady of so high resolve 
 As is fair Margaret he be link'd in love. [me 
 Then yield, my lords ; and here conclude with 
 That Margaret shall be queen, and none but 
 she. 
 
 K. Hen. Whether it be through force of your 
 
 report, 
 
 My noble Lord of Suffolk, or for that 
 My tender youth was never yet attaint 
 With any passion of inflaming love, 
 I cannot tell ; but this I am assur'd, 
 I feel such sharp dissension in my breast, 
 Such fierce alarums both of hope and fear, 
 As I am sick with working of my thoughts. 
 Take therefore shipping; post, my lord, to 
 
 France ; 
 
 Agree to any covenants ; and procure 
 That Lady Margaret do vouchsafe to come 
 To cross the seas to England, and be crown'd 
 King Henry's faithful and anointed queen : 
 
SCENE V.] 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 599 
 
 For your expenses and sufficient charge, 
 Among the people gather up a tenth. 
 Be gone, I say; for, till you do return, 
 I rest perplexed with a thousand cares. 
 And you, good uncle, banish all offence : 
 If you do censure me by what you were, 
 Not what you are, I know it will excuse 
 This sudden execution of my will. 
 And so, conduct me where, from company, 
 I may revolve and ruminate my grief. {Exit. 
 
 Glo. Ay, grief, I fear me, both at first and last. 
 
 [Exeunt GLOSTER and EXETER. 
 
 Suf. Thus Suffolk hath prevail'd ; and thus 
 
 he goes, 
 
 As did the youthful Paris once to Greece, 
 With hope to find the like event in love, 
 But prosper better than the Trojan did. 
 Margaret shall now be queen, and rule the king; 
 But I will rule both her, the king, and realm. 
 
 [Exif. 
 
 ben 1 
 
 
/tiA 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 KING HENRY VL 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 
 KING HENRY THE SIXTH. 
 HUMPHREY, Duke of Gloster, his Uncle. 
 CARDINAL BEAUFORT, Bishop of Winchester 
 
 Great- Uncle to the KING. 
 RICHARD PLANTAGENET, Duke of York. 
 EDWARD and RICHARD, his Sons. 
 DUKE OF SOMERSET, -\ 
 
 DUKE OF SUFFOLK, - , 
 
 DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM, I f ** 
 LORD CLIFFORD, 
 YOUNG CLIFFORD, his Son,] 
 EARL OF SALISBURY, \ , , 
 EARL OF WARWICK, }f the 
 LORD SCALES, Governor of the Tower. 
 LORD SAY. 
 
 SIR HUMPHREY STAFFORD. 
 WILLIAM STAFFORD, his Brother. 
 SIR JOHN STANLEY, 
 A Sea Captain, Master, and Master's Mate 
 
 and WALTER WHITMORE. 
 Two Gentlemen, Prisoners with SUFFOLK. 
 VAUX. 
 A Herald. 
 
 HUME and SOUTHWELL, two Priests* 
 
 BOLINGBROKE, a Conjuror. 
 
 A Spirit raised by him. 
 
 THOMAS HORNER, an Armourer. 
 
 PETER, his Man. 
 
 Clerk of Chatham. 
 
 Mayor of Saint Alban's. 
 
 SIMPCOX, an Impostor. 
 
 Two Murderers. 
 
 JACK CADE, a Rebel. 
 
 GEORGE, JOHN, DICK, SMITH the Weaver^ 
 
 MICHAEL, &c., his followers. 
 ALEXANDER IDEN, a Kentish Gentleman. 
 
 MARGARET, Queen to KING HENRY. 
 ELEANOR, Duchess of Gloster. 
 MARGERY JOURDAIN, a Witch. 
 Wife to SIMPCOX. 
 
 Lords, Ladies, and Attendants; Petitioners, 
 Aldermen, a Beadle, Sheriff, and Officers,* 
 Citizens, Prentices, Falconers, Guards, 
 Soldiers, Messengers, &c. 
 
 SCENE, Dispersedly in variotis parts 0/ ENGLAND. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. LONDON. A Room of State in the 
 Castle. 
 
 Flourish of trumpets : then hautboys. Enter, 
 on one side, KING HENRY, DUKE OF 
 GLOSTER, SALISBURY, WARWICK, and 
 CARDINAL BEAUFORT; on the other, QUEEN 
 MARGARET, led in by SUFFOLK; YORK, 
 SOMERSET, BUCKINGHAM, and others, 
 following. 
 
 Suf. As by your high imperial majesty 
 I had in charge at my depart for France, 
 As procurator to your excellence, 
 To marry Princess Margaret for your grace ; 
 So, in the famous ancient city Tours, 
 In presence of the Kings of France and Sicil, 
 The Dukes of Orleans, Calaber, Bretagne, and 
 Alencon, 
 
 Seven earls, twelve barons, and twenty reverend 
 
 bishops, 
 
 I have perform'd my task, and was espous'd: 
 And humbly now, upon my bended knee, 
 In sight of England and her lordly peers, 
 Deliver up my title in the queen [stance 
 
 To your most gracious hands, that are the sub- 
 Of that great shadow I did represent ; 
 The happiest gift that ever marquis gave, 
 The fairest queen that ever king receiv'd. 
 K. Hen. Suffolk, arise. Welcome, Queen 
 
 Margaret : 
 
 I can express no kinder sign of love [life, 
 
 Than this kind kiss. O Lord, that lends me 
 Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness ! 
 For thou hast given me, in this beauteous face, 
 A world of earthly blessings to my soul, 
 If sympathy of love unite our thoughts. 
 
 Q. Mar. Great King of England, and my 
 
 gracious lord, 
 The mutual conference that my mind hath had, 
 
SCENE I.I 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 601 
 
 By day, by night, waking and in my dreams, 
 In courtly company or at my beads, 
 With you, mine alder-liefest sovereign, 
 Makes me the bolder to salute my king 
 With ruder terms, such as my wit affords 
 And over-joy of heart doth minister, [speech, 
 
 K. Hen. Her sight did ravish ; but her grace in 
 Her words y-clad with wisdom's majesty, 
 Makes me from wondering fall to weeping joys ; 
 Such is the fulness of my heart's content. 
 Lords, with one cheerful voice welcome my 
 love. 
 
 AIL [Kneeling.'} Long live Queen Margaret, 
 England's happiness ! 
 
 Q. Mar. We thank you all. [Flourish. 
 
 Suf. My lord protector, so it please your grace, 
 Here are the articles of contracted peace 
 Between our sovereign and the French King 
 
 Charles, 
 For eighteen months concluded by consent. 
 
 Glo. [Reads.] Imprimis ~, It is agreed between 
 the French King Charles and William De-la- 
 Poole, Marqtiess of Suffolk, ambassador for 
 Henry King of England, thai the said Henry 
 shall espouse the Lady Margaret, daughter unto 
 Reignier King of Naples , Sicilia, and Jerusalem ; 
 and crown her Queen of England ere the thirtieth 
 of May next ensuing. Item, That the duchy of 
 Anjou and the county of Maine shall be released 
 and delivered to the king her father, 
 
 K. Hen. Uncle, how now ! 
 
 Glo. Pardon me, gracious lord ; 
 
 Some sudden qualm hath struck me at the heart, 
 And dimm'd mine eyes, that I can read no 
 further. 
 
 K. Hen. Uncle of Winchester, I pray read on. 
 
 Car. [Reads. ~\ Item, It is further agreed be- 
 tween them that the duchies of Anjou and Maine 
 shall be released and delivered over to the king 
 her father; and she sent over of the King of 
 England's own proper cost and charges, without 
 having any dowry. 
 
 K. Hen. They please us well. Lord mar- 
 quess, kneel down : 
 
 We here create thee the first Duke of Suffolk, 
 A.nd girt thee with the sword. Cousin of York, 
 We here discharge your grace from being regent 
 I' the parts of France, till term of eighteen 
 
 months 
 
 Be full expir'd. Thanks, uncle Winchester, 
 Gloster, York, Buckingham, Somerset, 
 Salisbury, and Warwick ; 
 We thank you all for this great favour done, 
 In entertainment to my princely queen. 
 Come, let us in ; and with all speed provide 
 To see her coronation be perform'd. 
 
 [Exeunt KING, QUEEN, and SUFFOLK. 
 
 Glo. Brave peers of England, pillars of the 
 
 state, 
 
 To you Duke Humphrey must unload hisgrief, 
 Your grief, the common grief of all the land. 
 What ! did my brother Henry spend his youth, 
 His valour, coin, and people in the wars? 
 Did he so often lodge in open field, 
 In winter's cold and summer's parching heat, 
 To conquer France, his true inheritance? 
 And did my brother Bedford toil his wits 
 To keep by policy what Henry got? 
 Have you yourselves, Somerset, Buckingham, 
 Brave York, Salisbury, and victorious Warwick, 
 Receiv'd deep scars in France and Normandy? 
 Or hath mine uncle Beaufort and myself, 
 With all the learned council of the realm, 
 Studied so long, sat in the council-house 
 Early and late, debating to and fro [a\vei 
 
 How France and Frenchmen might be ktpt ir 
 And hath his highness in his infancy 
 Been crown'd in Paris, in despite of foes? 
 And shall these labours and these honours die? 
 Shall Henry's conquest, Bedford's vigilance, 
 Your deeds of war, and all our counsel die? 
 O peers of England, shameful is this league I 
 Fatal this marriage ! cancelling your farce, 
 Blotting your names from books of memory, 
 Razing the characters of your renown. 
 Defacing monuments of conquer'd France, 
 Undoing all, as all had never been ! 
 
 Car. Nephew, what means this passionate 
 
 discourse, 
 
 This peroration with such circumstance? 
 For France, 'tis ours ; and we will keep it still 
 
 Glo. Ay, uncle, we will keep it if we can ; 
 But now it is impossible we should : 
 Suffolk, the new-made duke that rules the roast, 
 Hath given the cuchy of Anjou and Maine 
 Unto the poor King Reignier, whose large style 
 Agrees not with the leanness of his purse. 
 
 Sal. Now, by the death of Him that died for 
 
 all, 
 
 These counties were the keys of Normandy : 
 But wherefore weeps Warwick, my valiant son? 
 
 War. For grief that they are past recovery : 
 For were there hope to conquer them again 
 My sword should shed hot blood, mine eyes 
 
 no tears. 
 
 Anjou and Maine ! myself did win them both ; 
 Those provinces these arms of mine did conquer: 
 And are the cities that I got with wounds 
 Deliver'd up again with peaceful words? 
 Mart Dieu ! [cate 
 
 York. For Suffolk 's duke, may he be sufib- 
 That dims the honour of this warlike isle ! 
 France should have torn and rent my very heart 
 Before I would have yielded to this league. 
 
6O2 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 I never read but England's kings have had 
 Large sums of gold and dowries with their wives ; 
 And our King Henry gives away his own, 
 To match with her that brings no vantages. 
 
 Glo. A proper jest, and never heard before, 
 That Suffolk should demand a whole fifteenth 
 For costs and charges in transporting her ! 
 She should have stay'd in France, and starv'd 
 
 in France, 
 Before [hot : 
 
 Car. My Lord of Gloster, now you grow too 
 It was the pleasure of my lord the king. 
 
 Glo. My Lord of Winchester, I know your 
 
 mind; 
 
 'Tis not my speeches that you do mislike, 
 But 'tis my presence that doth trouble ye. 
 Rancour will out : proud prelate, in thy face 
 I see thy fury : if I longer stay 
 We shall begin our ancient bickerings. 
 Lordings, farewell ; and say, when I am gone, 
 I prophesied France will be lost ere long. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Car. So, there goes our protector in a rage. 
 'Tis known to you he is mine enemy ; 
 Nay, more, an enemy unto you all, 
 And no great friend, I fear me, to the king. 
 Consider, lords, he is the next of blood, 
 And heir-apparent to the English crown : 
 Had Henry got an empire by his marriage, 
 And all the wealthy kingdoms of the west, 
 There 's reason he should be displeas'd at it. 
 Look to it, lords ; let not his smoothing words 
 Bewitch your hearts ; be wise and circumspect. 
 What though the common people favour him, 
 Calling him Humphrey, the good Duke of 
 Gloster; [voice, 
 
 Clapping their hands, and crying with loud 
 fesu maintain your royal excellence! 
 With God preserve the good Duke Humphrey! 
 I fear me, lords, for all this flattering gloss, 
 He will be found a dangerous protector. 
 
 Buck. Why should he then protect our sove- 
 reign, 
 
 He being of age to govern of himself? 
 Cousin of Somerset, join you with me, 
 And altogether, with the Duke of Suffolk, 
 We '11 quickly hoise Duke Humphrey from his 
 seat. [delay ; 
 
 Car. This weighty business will not brook 
 I '11 to the Duke of Suffolk presently. [Exit. 
 
 Som. Cousin of Buckingham, though Hum- 
 phrey's pride 
 
 And greatness of his place be grief to us, 
 Yet let us watch the haughty cardinal : 
 His insolence is more intolerable 
 Than all the princes in the land beside : 
 If Gloster be displac'd, he '11 be protector. 
 
 Buck. Or thou or I, Somerset, will be pro- 
 tector, 
 Despite Duke Humphrey or the cardinal. 
 
 {Exeunt BUCKINGHAM and SOMERSET. 
 Sal. Pride went before, ambition follows him. 
 Whiles these do labour for their own preferment, 
 Behoves it us to labour for the realm. 
 I never saw but Humphrey Duke of Gloster 
 Did bear him like a noble gentleman. 
 Oft have I seen the haughty cardinal, 
 More like a soldier than a man o' the church, 
 As stout and proud as he were lord of all, 
 Swear like a ruffian, and demean himself 
 Unlike the ruler of a commonweal. 
 Warwick, my son, the comfort of my age ! 
 Thy deeds, thy plainness, and thy housekeeping, 
 Hath won the greatest favour of the commons, 
 Excepting none but good Duke Humphrey : 
 And, brother York, thy acts in Ireland, 
 In bringing them to civil discipline ; 
 Thy late exploits done in the heart of France, 
 When thou wert regent for our sovereign, 
 Have made thee fear'd and honour'd of the 
 
 people : 
 
 Join we together for the public good 
 In what we can, to bridle and suppress 
 The pride of Suffolk and the cardinal, 
 With Somerset's and Buckingham's ambition; 
 And, as we may, cherish Duke Humphrey's 
 
 deeds 
 
 While they do tend the profit of the land. 
 War. So God help Warwick, as he loves the 
 
 land 
 
 And common profit of his country ! [cause. 
 York. And so says York, for he hath greatest 
 Sal. Then let 's make haste away and look 
 
 unto the main. [lost, 
 
 War. Unto the main! O father, Maine is 
 
 That Maine which by main force Warwick did 
 
 win, [last ! 
 
 And would have kept so long as breath did 
 Main chance, father, you meant ; but I meant 
 
 Maine, 
 Which I will win from France, or else be slain. 
 
 {Exeunt WARWICK, and SALISBURY. 
 York. Anjou and Maine are given to the 
 
 French ; 
 
 Paris is lost ; the state of Normandy 
 Stands on a tickle point, now they are gone : 
 Suffolk concluded on the articles ; 
 The peers agreed ; and Henry was well pleas'd 
 To change two dukedoms for a duke's fair 
 
 daughter. 
 
 I cannot blame them all: what is't to them? 
 'Tis thine they give away, and not their own. 
 Pirates may make cheap pennyworths of their 
 
 pillage, 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY Vi. 
 
 603 
 
 And purchase friends, and give to courtezans, 
 Still revelling like lords till all be gone ; 
 While as the silly owner of thf goods 
 Weeps over them, and wrings his hapless hands, 
 And shakes his head, and trembling stands aloof, 
 While all is shar'd, and all is borne away, 
 Ready to starve, and dare not touch his own : 
 So York must sit, and fret, and bite his tongue, 
 While his own lands are bargain'd for and sold. 
 Methinks the realms of England, France, and 
 
 Ireland 
 
 Bear that proportion to my flesh and blood 
 As did the fatal brand Althaea burn'd 
 Unto the prince's heart of Calydon. 
 Anjou and Maine both given unto the French ! 
 Cold news for me ; for I had hope of France, 
 Even as I have of fertile England's soil. 
 A day will come when York shall claim his own ; 
 And therefore I will take the Nevils' parts, 
 And make a show of love to proud Duke 
 
 Humphrey, 
 
 And, when I spy advantage, claim the crown, 
 For that 's the golden mark I seek to hit : 
 Nor shall proud Lancaster usurp my right, 
 Nor hold the sceptre in his childish fist, 
 Nor wear the diadem upon his head, 
 Whose church-like humours fit not for a crown. 
 Then, York, be still awhile, till time do serve: 
 Watch thou and wake, when others be asleep, 
 To pry into the secrets of the state ; 
 Till Henry, surfeiting in joys of love 
 With his new bride and England's dear-bought 
 
 queen, 
 
 And Humphrey with the peers be fall'n at jars : 
 Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose, 
 With whose sweet smell the air shall beperfum'd; 
 And in my standard bear the arms of York, 
 To grapple with the house of Lancaster ; 
 And, force perforce, I '11 make him yield the 
 
 crown, 
 Whose bookish rule hath pull'd fair England 
 
 down. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. LONDON. A Room in the DUKE 
 OF GLOSTER'S House. 
 
 Enter GLOSTER and the DUCHESS. 
 
 Duch. Why droops my lord, like over-ripen'd 
 
 corn 
 
 Hanging the head at Ceres' plenteous load? 
 Why doth the great Duke Humphrey knit his 
 
 brows, 
 
 As frowning at the favours of the world? 
 Why are thine eyes fix'd to the sullen earth, 
 Gazing on that which seems to dim thy sight? 
 
 What see'st thou there? Kiiig Henry's diadem, 
 Enchas'd with all the honours of the world ? 
 If so, gaze on, and grovel on thy face 
 Until thy head be circled with the same. 
 Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold : 
 What, is 't too short? I '11 lengthen it with mine ; 
 And, having both together heav'd it up, 
 We '11 both together lift our heads to heaven ; 
 And never more abase our sight so low 
 As to vouchsafe one glance unto the ground. 
 Glo. O Nell, sweet Nell, if thou dost love 
 
 thy lord, 
 
 Banish the canker of ambitious thoughts ! 
 And may that thought, when I imagine ill 
 Against my king and nephew, virtuous Henry, 
 Be my last breathing in this mortal world ! 
 My troublous dream this night doth make me 
 
 sad. 
 Duch. What dream'd my lord? tell me, and 
 
 I '11 requite it 
 
 With sweet rehearsal of my morning's dream. 
 Glo. Methought this staff, mine office-badge 
 
 in court, 
 
 Was broke in twain ; by whom I have forgot, 
 But, as I think, it was by the cardinal ; 
 And on the pieces of the broken wand 
 Were plac'd the heads of Edmund Duke of 
 
 Somerset, 
 
 And William De-la-Poole, first Duke of Suffolk. 
 This was my dream; what it doth bode God 
 
 knows. 
 
 Duch. Tut, this was nothing but an argument 
 That he that breaks a stick of Gloster's grove 
 Shall lose his head for his presumption. 
 But list to me, my Humphrey, my sweet duke : 
 Methought I sat in seat of majesty 
 In the cathedral church of Westminster, 
 And in that chair where kings and queens are 
 
 crown'd ; 
 
 Where Henry and Dame Margaret kneel'dtome, 
 And on my head did set the diadem. [right : 
 Glo. Nay, Eleanor, then must I chide out- 
 Presumptuous dame, ill-nurtur'd Eleanor ! 
 Art thou not second woman in the realm, 
 And the protector's wife, belov'd of him ? 
 Hast thou not worldly pleasure at command, 
 Above the reach or compass of thy thought ? 
 And wilt thou still be hammering treachery, 
 To tumble down thy husband and thyself 
 From top of honour to disgrace's feet ? 
 Away from me, and let me hear no more ! 
 Duch. What, what, my lord ! are you so 
 
 choleric 
 
 With Eleanor for telling but her dream ? 
 Next time I '11 keep my dreams unto myself, 
 And not be check'd. 
 
 Glo. Nay, be not angry, I am pleas'd again. 
 
6o 4 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My lord protector, 'tis his highness' 
 
 pleasure 
 
 You do prepare to ride unto Saint Albans, 
 Whereas the king and queen do mean to hawk. 
 Glo. I go. Come, Nell, thou wilt ride with 
 us ? [sently. 
 
 Diich. Yes, my good lord, I '11 follow pre- 
 [Exeunt GLOSTER and Messenger. 
 Follow I must ; I cannot go before 
 While Gloster bears this base and humble mind. 
 Were I a man, a duke, and next of blood, 
 I would remove these tedious stumbling-blocks, 
 And smooth my way upcn their headless necks : 
 And, being a woman, I will not be slack 
 To play my part in fortune's pageant. 
 Where are you there, Sir John ? nay, fear not, 
 
 man, 
 We are alone ; here 's none but thee and I. 
 
 Enter HUME. 
 
 Hume. Jesus preserve your royal majesty ! 
 Duck. What say'st thou ? majesty ! I am but 
 grace. [advice, 
 
 Hume. But, by the grace of God and Hume's 
 Your grace's title shall be multiplied. 
 
 Duck. What say'st thou, man ? hast thou as 
 
 yet conferr'd 
 
 With Margery Jourdain, the cunning witch, 
 With Roger Bolingbroke, the conjurer? 
 And will they undertake to do me good ? 
 Hume. This they have promised, to show 
 
 your highness 
 
 A spirit rais'd from depth of under-ground, 
 That shall make answer to such questions 
 As by your grace shall be propounded him. 
 Ditch. It is enough ; I '11 think upon the 
 
 questions : 
 
 When from Saint Albans we do make return 
 We '11 see these things effected to the full. 
 Here, Hume, take this reward; make merry, 
 
 man. 
 With thy confederates in this weighty cause. 
 
 {Exit. 
 Hume. Hume must make merry with the 
 
 duchess' gold ; 
 Marry, and shall. But, how now, Sir John 
 
 Hume ! 
 
 Seal up your lips, and give no words but mum : 
 The business asketh silent secrecy. 
 Dame Eleanor gives gold to bring the witch : 
 Gold cannot come amiss were she a devil. 
 Yet have I gold flies from another coast : 
 I dare not say from the rich cardinal, 
 And from the great and new-made Duke of 
 Suffolk ; 
 
 Yet I do find it so : for, to be plain, 
 
 They, knowing Dame Eleanor's aspiring hum- 
 
 our, 
 
 Have hired me to undermine the duchess, 
 And buzz these conjurations in her brain. 
 They say, A crafty knave does need no broker ; 
 Yet am I Suffolk and the cardinal's broker. 
 Hume, if you take not heed, you shall go near 
 To call them both a pair of crafty knaves. 
 Well, so it stands; and thus, I fear, at last 
 Hume's knavery will be the duchess' wreck, 
 And her attainture will be Humphrey's fall : 
 Sort how it will, I shall have gold for all. 
 
 A 
 
 SCENE III. LONDON. A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter PETER and other Petitioners. 
 
 1 Pet. My masters, let 's stand close : my lord 
 protector will co^ie this way by and by, and then 
 we may deliver our supplications in the quill. 
 
 2 Pet. Marry, the Lord protect him, for he 's 
 a good man ! Jesu bless him ! 
 
 1 Pet. Here 'a comes, methinks, and the 
 queen with him. I '11 be the first, sure. 
 
 Enter SUFFOLK and QUEEN MARGARET. 
 
 2 Pet. Come back, fool ; this is the Duke of 
 Suffolk, and not my lord protector. 
 
 Suf. How now, fellow ! wouldst anything 
 with me? 
 
 I Pet. I pray, my lord, pardon me ; I took 
 ye for my lord protector. 
 
 Q. Mar. [ Glancing at the superscriptions. ] To 
 my Lord Protector ! Are your supplications to 
 his lordship? Let me see them : what is thine ? 
 
 1 Pet. Mine is, an 't please your grace, against 
 John Goodman, my lord cardinal's man, for keep- 
 ing my house, and lands, and wife and all, from 
 me. 
 
 Suf. Thy wife too ! that is some wrong in- 
 deed. What 's yours ? What 's here ! [Reads. ] 
 Against the Duke of Siiffolk, for enclosing the 
 commons of Melford. How now, sir knave ! 
 
 2 Pet. Alas, sir, I am but a poor petitioner of 
 our whole township. 
 
 Peter. [Presenting his petition.] Against my 
 master, Thomas Horner, for saying that the Duke 
 of York was rightful heir to the crown. 
 
 Q. Afar. What say'st thou? did the Duke of 
 York say he was rightful heir to the crown? 
 
 Peter. That my master was? no, forsooth: 
 my master said that he was ; and that the king 
 was an usurper. 
 
 Suf. Who is there ? [Enter Servants. ] Take 
 this fellow in, and send for his master with a 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 605 
 
 pursuivant presently : we '11 hear more of your 
 matter before the king. 
 
 [Exeunt Servants with PETER. 
 
 Q. Mar. And as for you, that love to be pro- 
 tected 
 
 Under the wings of our protector's grace, 
 Begin your suits anew, and sue to him. 
 
 [ Tears the petitions. 
 Away, base cullions ! Suffolk, let them go. 
 
 All. Come, let 's be gone. 
 
 [Exeunt Petitioners. 
 
 Q. Mar. My Lord of Suffolk, say, is this the 
 
 guise, 
 
 Is this the fashion in the court of England ? 
 Is this the government of Britain's isle, 
 And this the royalty of Albion's king ? 
 What, shall King Henry be a pupil still, 
 Under the surly Gloster's governance ? 
 Am I a queen in title and in style, 
 And must be made a subject to a duke ? 
 I tell thee, Poole, when in the city Tours 
 Thou rann'st a tilt in honour of my love, 
 And stol'st away the ladies' hearts of France, 
 I thought King Henry had resembled thee 
 In courage, courtship, and proportion : 
 But all his mind is bent to holiness, 
 To number Ave-Maries on his beads : 
 His champions are, the prophets and apostles ; 
 His weapons, holy saws of sacred writ ; 
 His study is his tilt-yard, and his loves 
 Are brazen images of canoniz'd saints. 
 I would the college of the cardinals 
 Would choose him pope, and carry him to Rome, 
 And set the triple crown upon his head : 
 That were a state fit for his holiness. 
 
 Suf. Madam, be patient: as I was cause 
 Your highness came to England, so will I 
 In England work your grace's full content. 
 
 Q. Mar. Beside the haughty protector, have 
 
 we Beaufort [ham, 
 
 The imperious churchman, Somerset, Bucking- 
 
 And grumbling York ; and not the least of these 
 
 But can do more in England than the king. 
 
 Suf. And he of these that can do most of all 
 Cannot do more in England than the Nevils : 
 Salisbury and Warwick are no simple peers. 
 
 Q. Mar. Not all these lords do vex me half 
 
 so much 
 
 As that proud dame, the lord protector's wife. 
 She sweeps it through the court with troops of 
 ladies, [wife : 
 
 More like an empress than Duke Humphrey's 
 Strangers in court do take her for the queen : 
 She bears a duke's revenues on her back, 
 And in her heart she scorns our poverty : 
 Shall I not live to be aveng'd on her ? 
 Contemptuous base-born callet as she is, 
 
 She vaunted 'mongst her minions t' other day 
 The very train of her worst wearing gown 
 Was better worth than all my father's lands, 
 Till Suffolk gave two dukedoms for his daughter. 
 Suf. Madam, myself have lim'dabushforher, 
 And plac'd a quire of such enticing birds 
 That she will light to listen to the lays, 
 And never mount to trouble you again. 
 So, let her rest : and, madam, list to me ; 
 For I am bold to counsel you in this. 
 Although we fancy not the cardinal, 
 Yet must we join with him and with the lords, 
 Till we have brought Duke Humphrey in dis- 
 grace. 
 
 As for the Duke of York, this late complaint 
 Will make but little for his benefit. 
 So, one by one, we '11 weed them all at last, 
 And you yourself shall steer the happy helm. 
 
 Enter KING HENRY, YORK, and SOMERSET ; 
 DUKE and DUCHESS OF GLOSTER, CAR- 
 DINAL BEAUFORT, BUCKINGHAM, SALIS- 
 BURY, and WARWICK. 
 K. Hen. For my part, noble lords, I care 
 
 not which ; 
 Or Somerset or York, all 's one to me. 
 
 York. If York have ill demean'd himself in 
 
 France, 
 Then let him be denay'd the regentship. 
 
 Som. If Somerset be unworthy of the place, 
 Let York be regent ; I will yield to him. [no, 
 War. Whether your grace be worthy, yea or 
 Dispute not that : York is the worthier. 
 
 Car. Ambitious Warwick, let thy betters 
 
 speak. 
 War. The cardinal's not my better in the 
 
 field. 
 Buck. All in this presence are thy betters, 
 
 Warwick. 
 
 War. Warwick may live to be the best of all. 
 Sal. Peace, son ! and show some reason, 
 
 Buckingham, 
 
 Why Somerset should be preferr'd in this. 
 Q. Mar. Because the king, forsooth, will 
 
 have it so. 
 
 Glo. Madam, the king is old enough himself 
 
 To give his censure: these are no women's 
 
 matters. [grace 
 
 Q. Mar. If he be old enough, what needs your 
 
 To be protector of his excellence ? 
 
 Glo. Madam, I am protector of the realm ; 
 And, at his pleasure, will resign my place. 
 
 Sitf. Resign it then, and leave thine insolence. 
 Since thou wert king, as who is king but 
 
 thou? 
 
 The commonwealth hath daily run to wreck ; 
 The Danphin hath prevail'd beyond the seas ; 
 
6o6 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VL 
 
 [ACT I. 
 
 And all the peers and nobles of the realm 
 Have been as bondmen to thy sovereignty. 
 Car. The commons hast thou rack'd; the 
 
 clergy's bags 
 
 Are lank and lean with thy extortions. 
 Sont. Thy sumptuous buildings and thy wife's 
 
 attire 
 Have cost a mass of public treasury. 
 
 Buck. Thy cruelty in execution 
 Upon offenders hath exceeded law, 
 And left thee to the mercy of the law. 
 
 Q. Mar. Thy sale of offices and towns in 
 
 France, 
 
 If they were known, as the suspect is great, 
 Would make thee quickly hop without thy 
 head. 
 [Exit GLOSTER. The QUEEN drops 
 
 her fan. 
 
 Give me my fan: what, minion! can you not? 
 [Gives the DUCHESS a box on the ear. 
 I cry you mercy, madam ; was it you? 
 
 Duck. Was 't I? yea, I it was, proud French- 
 woman : 
 
 Could I come near your beauty with my nails, 
 I 'd set my ten commandments in your face. 
 K. Hen. Sweet aunt, be quiet ; 'twas against 
 her will. [in time ; 
 
 Duch. Against her will ! good king, look to 't 
 She'll hamper thee, and dandle thee like a 
 baby : [breeches, 
 
 Though in this place most master wear no 
 She shall not strike Dame Eleanor unreveng'd. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Suck. Lord cardinal, I will follow Eleanor, 
 And listen after Humphrey, how he proceeds : 
 She 's tickled now ; her fume needs no spurs, 
 She '11 gallop fast enough to her destruction. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Re-enter GLOSTER. 
 
 Glo. Now, lords, my choler being over-blown 
 With walking once about the quadrangle, 
 I come to talk of commonwealth affairs. 
 As for your spiteful false objections, 
 Prove them, and I lie open to the law: 
 But God in mercy so deal with my soul 
 As I in duty love my king and country ! 
 But to the matter that we have in hand : 
 I say, my sovereign, York is meetest man 
 To be your regent in the realm of France. 
 
 Suf. Before we make election, give me leave 
 To show some reason, of no little force, 
 That York is most unmeet of any man. 
 
 York. I '11 tell thee, Suffolk, why I am un- 
 meet: 
 
 First, for I cannot flatter thee in pride ; 
 Next, if I be appointed for the place, 
 
 My Lord of Somerset will keep me here, 
 Without discharge, money, or furniture, 
 Till France be won into the Dauphin's hands: 
 Last time, I danc'd attendance on his will 
 Till Paris was besieg'd, famish'd, and lost. 
 
 War. That can I witness ; and a fouler fact 
 Did never traitor in the land commit. 
 
 Suf. Peace, headstrong Warwick ! [peace ? 
 
 War. Image of pride, why should I hold my 
 
 Enter Servants of SUFFOLK, bringing in 
 HORNER and PETER. 
 
 Suf. Because here is a man accus'd of treason: 
 Pray God the Duke of York excuse himself! 
 
 York. Doth any one accuse York for a traitor ? 
 
 K. Hen. What mean'st thou, Suffolk? tell 
 me, what are these ? 
 
 Suf. Please it your majesty, this is the man 
 That doth accuse his master of high treason : 
 His words were these, that Richard Duke of 
 
 York 
 
 Was rightful heir unto the English crown, 
 And that your majesty was an usurper. 
 
 K. Hen. Say, man, were these thy words? 
 
 Hor. An 't shall please your majesty, I never 
 said nor thought any such matter: God is my 
 witness, I am falsely accused by the villain. 
 
 Pet. By these ten bones, my lords [holding 
 up his hands ,] he did speak them to me in the 
 garret one night, as we were scouring my Lord 
 of York's armour. 
 
 York. Base dunghill villain and mechanical, 
 I '11 have thy head for this thy traitor's speech. 
 I do beseech your royal majesty, 
 Let him have all the rigour of the law. 
 
 Hor. Alas, my lord, hang me if ever I spake 
 the words. My accuser is my prentice; and 
 when I did correct him for his fault the other 
 day, he did vow upon his knees he would be even 
 with me : I have good witness of this ; there- 
 fore I beseech your majesty, do not cast away 
 an honest man for a villain's accusation. 
 
 K. Hen. Uncle, what shall we say to this in 
 law? 
 
 Glo. This doom, my lord, if I may judge : 
 Let Somerset be regent o'er the French, 
 Because in York this breeds suspicion ; 
 And let these have a day appointed them 
 For single combat in convenient place, 
 For he hath witness of his servant's malice: 
 This is the law, and this Duke Humphrey's 
 doom. 
 
 K. Hen. Then be it so. My Lord .of 
 
 Somerset, 
 We make your grace regent over the French. 
 
 Som. I humbly thank your royal majesty. 
 
 Hor. And I accept the combat willingly. 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 607 
 
 Pet. Alas, my lord, I cannot fight ; for God's 
 
 sake, pity my case ! the spite of man prevaileth 
 
 against me. O Lord, have mercy upon me ! 
 
 I shall never be able to fight a blow : O Lord, 
 
 my heart ! [hang'd. 
 
 Glo. Sirrah, or you must fight, or else lie 
 
 K. Hen. Away with them to prison ; and the 
 
 day [month. 
 
 Of combat shall be the last of the next 
 
 Come, Somerset, we '11 see thee sent away. 
 
 [Flourish. Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. The same. The DUKE OF 
 GLOSTER'S Garden. 
 
 Enter MARGERY JOURDAIN, HUME, SOUTH- 
 WELL, and BOLINGBROKE. 
 
 Hume. Come, my masters; the duchess, I 
 tell you, expects performance of your promises. 
 
 Baling. Master Hume, we are therefore pro- 
 vided : will her ladyship behold and hear our 
 exorcisms? 
 
 Hume. Ay, what else? fear you not her 
 courage. 
 
 Baling. I have heard her reported to be a 
 woman of an invincible spirit : but it shall be 
 convenient, Master Hume, that you be by her 
 aloft, while we be busy below ; and so, I pray 
 you, go in God's name, and leave us. [Exit 
 HUME.] Mother Jourdain, be you prostrate, 
 and grovel on the earth ; John Southwell, read 
 yor.; and let us to our work. 
 
 Enter DUCHESS above, and presently HUME. 
 
 Duck. Well said, my masters ; and welcome 
 
 all. 
 To this gear, the sooner the better. 
 
 Baling. Patience, good lady; wizards know 
 
 their times: 
 
 Deep night, dark night, the silent of the night, 
 The time of night when Troy was set on fire ; 
 The time when screech-owls cry, and ban-dogs 
 
 howl, 
 And spirits walk, and ghosts break up their 
 
 graves, 
 
 That time best fits the work we have in hand. 
 Madam, sit you, and fear not : whom we raise 
 We will make fast wiftiin a hallow'd verge. 
 [Here they perform the ceremonies appertain- 
 ing, and make the circle; BOLINGBROKE 
 or SOUTHWELL reads, "Conjuro te," &c. 
 It thunders and lightens terribly ; then 
 the Spirit riseth. 
 Spir. Adsum. 
 M. Jourd. Asmath, 
 By the eternal God, whose name and power 
 
 Thou tremblest at, answer that I shall ask ; 
 
 For, till thou speak, thou shalt not pass from 
 
 hence. [and done ! 
 
 Spir. Ask what thou wilt : that I had said 
 
 Baling. First of the king: what shall of him 
 
 become ? [Reading out of a paper. 
 
 Spir. The duke yet lives that Henry shall 
 
 depose ; 
 But him outlive, and die a violent death. 
 
 [As the Spirit speaks, SOUTHWELL 
 
 writes the answers. 
 
 Baling. What fates await the Duke of Suffolk ? 
 Spir. By water shall he die and take his end. 
 Baling. What shall befall the Duke of Somer- 
 set? 
 
 Spir. Let him shun castles ; 
 Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains 
 Than where castles mounted stand. 
 Have done, for more I hardly can endure. 
 Baling. Descend to darkness and the bum- 
 ing lake ! 
 False fiend, avoid ! 
 
 [Thunder and lightning. Spirit descends. 
 
 Enter YORK and BUCKINGHAM hastily, with 
 their Guards and others. 
 
 York. Lay hands upon these traitors and 
 
 their trash. 
 
 Beldam, I think we watch'd you at an inch. 
 What, madam, are you there? the king and 
 
 commonweal 
 
 Are deeply indebted for this piece of pains : 
 My lord protector will, I doubt it not, 
 See you well guerdon'd for these good deserts. 
 Duch. Not half so bad as thine to England's 
 
 king, 
 
 Injurious duke, that threatest where 's no cause. 
 
 Buck. True, madam, none at all : what call 
 
 you this? [Showing her the papers. 
 
 Away with them ! let them be clapp'd up close, 
 
 And kept asunder. You, madam, shall with 
 
 us. 
 
 Stafford, take her to thee. 
 We '11 s?e your trinkets here all forthcoming. 
 All, away! 
 
 [Exeunt, above, DUCHESS and HUME, 
 guarded; below, SOUTH., BOLING., 
 &c., guarded. 
 York. Lord Buckingham, methinks you 
 
 watch'd her well : 
 
 A pretty plot, well chosen to build upon ! 
 Now, pray, my lord, let 's see the devil's writ. 
 What have we here? [Reads. 
 
 The duke yet lives that Henry shall depose ; 
 But him outlive, and die a violent death. 
 Why, this is just, 
 Aio te, &acida, Romanes vincere posse. 
 
6o8 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 Well, to the rest : 
 
 Tell me what fate awaits the Duke of Suffolk? 
 
 By water shall he die and take his end. 
 
 What shall betide the Duke of Somerset? 
 
 Let him shun castles; 
 
 Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains 
 
 Than where castles moiinted stand. 
 
 Come, come, my lords ; 
 
 These oracles are hardly attain'd, 
 
 And hardly understood. [Albans, 
 
 The king is now in progress toward Saint 
 
 With him the husband of this lovely lady : 
 
 Thither go these news, as fast as horse can carry 
 
 them, 
 A sorry breakfast for my lord protector. 
 
 Buck. Your grace shall give me leave, my 
 
 Lord of York, 
 To be the post, in hope of his reward. 
 
 York. At your pleasure, my good lord. 
 Who 's within there, ho ! 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Invite my Lords of Salisbury and Warwick 
 To sup with me to-morrow night. Away ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACTIL 
 
 SCENE I. Saint Albans. 
 
 Enter KING HENRY, QUEEN MARGARET, 
 GLOSTER, CARDINAL, and SUFFOLK, with 
 Falconers hollaing. 
 
 Q. Mar. Believe me, lords, for flying at the 
 
 brook, 
 
 I saw not better sport these seven years' day : 
 Yet, by your leave, the wind was very high ; 
 And, ten to one, old Joan had not gone out. 
 
 K. Hen. But what a point, my lord, your 
 
 falcon made, 
 
 And what a pitch she flew above the rest ! 
 To see how God in all his creatures works ! 
 Yea, man and birds are fain of climbing high. 
 
 Suf. No marvel, an it like your majesty, 
 My lord protector's hawks do tower so well ; 
 They know their master loves to be aloft, 
 And bears his thoughts above his falcon's pitch. 
 
 Glo. My lord, 'tis but a base ignoble mind 
 That mounts no higher than a bird can soar. 
 
 Car. I thought as much ; he would be above 
 the clouds. [that? 
 
 Glo. Ay, my lord cardinal, how think you by 
 Were it not good your grace could fly to heaven? 
 
 K. Hen. The treasury of everlasting joy ! 
 
 Car. Thy heaven is on earth ; thine eyes and 
 thoughts 
 
 Beat on a crown, the treasure of thy heart ; 
 Pernicious protector, dangerous peer, [weali 
 That smooth'st it so with king and common- 
 Glo. What, cardinal, is your priesthood grown 
 
 peremptory? 
 
 Tantcene animis ccdestibus irce? [malice; 
 
 Churchmen so hot? good uncle, hide such 
 With such holiness can you do it? [comes 
 
 Suf. No malice, sir; no more than well be- 
 So good a quarrel and so bad a peer. 
 Glo. As who, my lord? 
 Suf. W T hy, as you, my lord, 
 
 An 't like your lordly lord-protectorship. 
 Glo. Why, Suffolk, England knows thine 
 
 insolence. 
 
 Q. Mar. And thy ambition, Gloster. 
 K. Hen. I pr'ythee, peace, 
 
 Good queen, and whet not on these furious peers; 
 For blessed are the peacemakers on earth. 
 
 Car. Let me be blessed for the peace I make, 
 Against this proud protector, with my sword ! 
 Glo. Faith, holy uncle, would 'twere come 
 to that ! [Aside to CAR. 
 
 Car. Marry, when thou dar'st. 
 
 [Aside to GLO. 
 Glo. Make up no factious numbers for the 
 
 matter ; 
 In thine own person answer thy abuse. 
 
 [Aside to CAR. 
 Car. Ay, where thou dar'st not peep: an if 
 
 thou dar'st, 
 This evening on the east side of the grove. 
 
 [Aside to GLO. 
 
 K. Hen. How now, my lords ! 
 Car. Believe me, cousin Gloster, 
 
 Had not your man put up the fowl so suddenly, 
 We had had more sport. Come with thy two- 
 hand sword. [Aside to GLO. 
 Glo. True, uncle. 
 
 Car. Are ye advis'd? the east side of the 
 grove? [Aside to GLO. 
 
 Glo. Cardinal, I am with you. 
 
 [Aside to CAR. 
 
 K. Hen. Why, how now, uncle Gloster ! 
 Glo. Talking of hawking ; nothing else, my 
 
 lord. 
 Now, by God's mother, priest, I '11 shave your 
 
 crown for this, 
 Or all my fence shall fail. [Aside to CAR. 
 
 Car. Medice teipsum; 
 Protector, see to 't well, protect yourself. 
 
 [Aside to GLO. 
 K. Hen. The winds grow high ; so do your 
 
 stomachs, lords. 
 
 How irksome is this music to my heart ! 
 When such strings jar, what hope of harmony? 
 I pray, my lords, let me compound this strife. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 609 
 
 Enter a Townsman of Saint Albans, crying 
 "A Miracle!" 
 
 Glo. What me^ns this noise ? 
 Fellow, what miracle dost thou proclaim? 
 
 Towns. A miracle ! a miracle ! 
 
 Suf. Come to the king, and tell him what 
 miracle. [shrine, 
 
 Towns. Forsooth, a blind man at St. Albans' 
 Within this half hour hath receiv'd his sight ; 
 A. man that ne'er saw in his life before. 
 
 K. Hen. Now, God be prais : d that to believ- 
 ing souls 
 Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair ! 
 
 Enter the Mayor of St. Albans and his 
 brethren ; and SiMPCOX, borne between two 
 persons in a chair , his Wife and a multitiide 
 following. 
 
 Car. Here come the townsmen on procession, 
 To present your highness with the man. 
 
 K. Hen. Great is his comfort in this earthly 
 
 vale, 
 
 Although by his sight his sin be multiplied. 
 Glo. Stand by, my masters : bring him near 
 
 the king ; 
 
 His highness' pleasure is to talk with h?m. 
 K. Hen. Good fellow, tell us here the cir- 
 cumstance, 
 
 That we for thee may glorify the Lord. 
 What, hast thou been long blind and now re- 
 
 stor'd ? 
 
 Simp. Born blind, an 't please your grace. 
 Wife. Ay, indeed, was he. 
 Suf. What woman is this ? 
 Wife. His wife, an 't like your worship, 
 Glo. Hadst thou been his mother, thou couldst 
 
 have better told. 
 
 K. Hen. Where wert thou born ? 
 Simp. At Berwick in the north, an 't like your 
 
 grace. 
 K. Hen. Poor soul, God's goodness hath been 
 
 great to thee : 
 
 Let never day nor night unhallow'd pass, 
 But still remember what the Lord hath done. 
 Q. Mar. Tell me, good fellow, cam'st thou 
 
 here by chance, 
 
 Or of devotion, to this holy shrine ? [call'd 
 Simp. God knows, of pure devotion ; being 
 A hundred times and oftener, in my sleep, 
 By good Saint Alban ; who said, Simpcox, 
 
 come, 
 
 Come, offer at my shrine, and I will help thee. 
 Wife. Most true, forsooth ; and many time 
 
 and oft 
 
 Myself have heard a voice to call him so. 
 Car. What, art thou lame ? 
 
 Simp. Ay, God Almighty help me ! 
 
 Suf. How cam'st thou so ? 
 
 Simp. A fall off a tree. 
 
 Wife. A plum-tree, master. 
 
 Glo. How long hast thou been blind ? 
 
 Simp. O, born so, master. 
 
 Glo. What, and wouldst climb a tree ? 
 
 Simp. But that in all my life, when I was a 
 youth. [very dear. 
 
 Wife. Too true ; and bought his climbing 
 
 Glo. Mass, thou lov'dst plums well that 
 wouldst venture so. 
 
 Simp. Alas, good master, my wife desir'd 
 
 some damsons, 
 And made me climb, with danger of my life. 
 
 Glo. A subtle knave ! but yet it shall not 
 serve. [them: 
 
 Let me see thine eyes : wink now ; now open 
 In my opinion yet thou see'st not well. 
 
 Simp. Yes, master, clear as day, I thank God 
 and Saint Alban. 
 
 Glo. Say'st thou me so? What colour is this 
 cloak of? 
 
 Simp. Red, master ; red as blood. 
 
 Glo. Why, that 's well said. What colour is 
 my gown of? 
 
 Simp. Black, forsooth ; coal-black as jet 
 
 K. Hen. Why, then, thou know'st what colour 
 jet is of? 
 
 Suf. And yet, I think, jet did he never see. 
 
 Glo. But cloaks and gowns, before this day, 
 a many. 
 
 Wife. Never, before this day, in all his life. 
 
 Glo. Tell me, sirrah, what 's my name? 
 
 Simp. Alas, master, I know not. 
 
 Glo. What 3 s his name? 
 
 Simp. I know not. 
 
 Glo. Nor his? 
 
 Simp. No, indeed, master. 
 
 Glo. What's thine own name? [master. 
 
 Simp. Saunder Simpcox, an if it please you, 
 
 Glo. Then, Saunder, sit there, the lyingest 
 knave in Christendom. If thou hadst been born 
 blind, thou mightst as well have known all our 
 names as thus to name the several colours we 
 do wear. Sight may distinguish of colours ; but 
 suddenly to nominate them all, it is impossible. 
 My lords, Saint Alban here hath done a miracle ; 
 and would ye not think his cunning to be great 
 that could restore this cripple to his legs again ? 
 
 Simp. O master, that ye could ! 
 
 Glo. My masters of Saint Albans, have you not 
 beadles in your town, and things called whips? 
 
 May. Yes, my lord, if it please your grace. 
 
 Glo. Then send for one presently. 
 
 May. Sirrah, go fetch the beadle hither 
 straight. {Exit an Attendant 
 
 U 
 
SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT n. 
 
 Glo. Now fetch me a stool hither by and by. 
 [A stool brought out.] Now, sirrah, if you mean 
 to save yourself from whipping, leap me over 
 this stool and run away. [alone : 
 
 Simp. Alas, master, I am not able to stand 
 You go about to torture me in vain. 
 
 Re-enter Attendant, with the Beadle. 
 
 Glo. Well, sir, we must have you find your 
 legs. Sirrah beadle, whip him till he leap over 
 that same stool. 
 
 Bead. I will, my lord. Come on, sirrah ; off 
 with your doublet quickly. 
 
 Simp. Alas, master, what shall I do? I am 
 not able to stand. 
 
 [After the Beadle has hit him once t he leaps 
 
 over the stool and runs away; and the 
 
 people follow and cry "A Miracle!" 
 
 A". Hen. O God, seest thou this, and bear'st 
 
 so long? [run. 
 
 Q. Mar. It made me laugh to see the villain 
 
 Glo. Follow the knave ; and take this drab 
 
 away. 
 
 Wife. Alas, sir, we did it for pure need. 
 
 Glo. Let them be whipped through every 
 
 market town, till they come to Berwick, whence 
 
 they came. [Exeunt Mayor, Beadle, Wife, 6rV. 
 
 Car. Duke Humphrey has done a miracle 
 
 to-day. 
 
 Suf. True; made the lame to leap and flyaway. 
 
 Glo. But you have done more miracles than I ; 
 
 You made in a day, my lord, whole towns to fly. 
 
 Enter BUCKINGHAM. 
 
 K. Hen. What tidings with our cousin Buck- 
 ingham? [fold. 
 
 Buck. Such as my heart doth tremble to un- 
 A sort of naughty persons, lewdly bent, 
 Under the countenance and confederacy 
 Of Lady Eleanor, the protector's wife, ' 
 The ringleader and head of all this rout, 
 Have practis'd dangerously against your state, 
 Dealing with witches and with conjurers: 
 Whom we have apprehended in the fact ; 
 Raising up wicked spirits from under ground, 
 Demanding of King Henry's life and death, 
 And other of your highness' privy council, 
 As more at large your grace shall understand. 
 
 Car. And so, my lord protector, by this means 
 Your lady is forthcoming yet at London. 
 This news, I think, hath turn'd your we 
 
 edge; 
 
 'Tis like, my lord, you will not keep your hour. 
 [Aside to GLOSTER. 
 
 Glo. Ambitious churchman, leave to afflict 
 my heart: 
 
 your weapon s 
 
 Sorrow and grief have vanquish'd all my powers; 
 
 And, vanquish'd as I am, I yield to tnee, 
 
 Or to the meanest groom. [wicked ones, 
 
 K. Hen. O God, what mischiefs work the 
 Heaping confusion on their own heads thereby ! 
 
 Q. Mar. Gloster, see here the tainture of thy 
 
 nest; 
 And look thyself be faultless, thou wert best. 
 
 Glo. Madam, for myself to heaven I do appeal, 
 How I have lov'd my king and commonweal : 
 And for my wife I know not how it stands ; 
 Sorry I am to hear what I have heard : 
 Noble she is ; but if she have forgot 
 Honour and virtue, and convers'd with such 
 As, like to pitch, defile nobility, 
 I banish her my bed and company, 
 And give her, as a prey, to law and shame, 
 That hath dishonour'd Gloster's honest name. 
 
 K. Hen. Well, for this night we will repose 
 
 us here : 
 
 To-morrow toward London back again, 
 To look into this business thoroughly, 
 And call these foul offenders to their answers ; 
 And poise the cause in justice' equal scales, 
 Whose beam stands sure, whose rightful cause 
 prevails. [Flourish. Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. LONDON. Tht DUKE OF YORK'S 
 Garden. 
 
 Enter YORK, SALISBURY, and WARWICK. 
 
 York. Now, my good Lords of Salisbury and 
 
 Warwick, 
 
 Our simple supper ended, give me leave, 
 In this close walk, to satisfy myself, 
 In craving your opinion of my title, 
 Which is infallible, to England's crown. 
 
 Sal. My lord, I long to hear it at full. 
 
 War. Sweet York, begin : and if thy claim 
 
 be good, 
 The Nevils are thy subjects to command. 
 
 York. Then thus: 
 
 Edward the Third, my lords, had seven sons ; 
 The first, Edward the Black Prince, Prince of 
 
 Wales; 
 
 The second, William of Hatfield ; and the third, 
 Lionel Duke of Clarence ; next to whom 
 Was John of Gaunt, the Duke of Lancaster; 
 The fifth was Edmund Langley, Duke of York ; 
 The sixth was Thomas of Woodstock, Duke of 
 
 Gloster ; 
 
 William of Windsor was the seventh and last. 
 Edward the Black Prince died before his father , 
 And left behind him Richard, his only son, 
 Who, after Edward the Third's death, reign'd 
 as king, 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 611 
 
 Till Henry Bolingbroke, Duke of Lancaster, 
 The eldest son and heir of John of Gaunt, 
 Crown'd by the name of Henry the Fourth, 
 Seiz'd on the realm, depos'd the rightful king, 
 Sent his poor queen to France, from whence 
 
 she came, 
 
 And him to Pomfret, where, as all you know, 
 Harmless Richard was murder'd traitorously. 
 
 War. Father, the duke hath told the truth ; 
 Thus got the house of Lancaster the crown. 
 York. Which now they hold by force, and not 
 
 by right ; 
 
 For Richard, the first son's heir, being dead, 
 The issue of the next son should have reign'd. 
 Sal. But William of Hatfield died without an 
 
 heir. 
 York. The third son, Duke of Clarence, 
 
 from whose line 
 I claim the crown, had issue Philippe, a 
 
 daughter, [March : 
 
 Who married Edmund Mortimer, Earl of 
 Edmund had issue, Roger Earl of March ; 
 Roger had issue, Edmund, Anne, and Eleanor. 
 Sal. This Edmund, in the reign of Boling- 
 broke, 
 
 As I have read, laid claim unto the crown ; 
 And, but for Owen Glendower, had been king, 
 Who kept him in captivity till he died. 
 But, to the rest. 
 
 York. PI is eldest sister, Anne, 
 
 My mother, being heir unto the crown, 
 Married Richard Earl of Cambridge ; who was 
 
 son [son. 
 
 To Edmund Langley, Edward the Third's fifth 
 By her I claim the kingdom : she was heir 
 To Roger Earl of March ; who was the son 
 Of Edmund Mortimer ; who married Philippe, 
 Sole daughter unto Lionel Duke of Clarence : 
 So, if the issue of the elder son 
 Succeed before the younger, I am king. 
 
 War. What plain proceeding is more plain 
 
 than this ? 
 
 Henry doth claim thecrown from Johnof Gaunt, 
 The fourth son ; York claims it from the third. 
 Till Lionel's issue fails, his should not reign : 
 It fails not yet, but flourishes in thee, 
 And in thy sons, fair slips of such a stock. 
 Then, father Salisbury, kneel we together j 
 And in this private plot be we the first 
 That shall salute our rightful sovereign 
 With honour of his birthright to the crown. 
 Both. Long live our sovereign Richard, 
 
 England's king ! 
 York. We thank you, lords. But I am not 
 
 your king fstain'd 
 
 Till I be crown'd, and that my sword be 
 With heart blood of the house of Lancaster ; 
 
 And that 's not suddenly to be perform'd, 
 But with advice and silent secrecy. 
 Do you as I do in these dangerous days : 
 Wink at the Duke of Suffolk's insolence, 
 At Beaufort's pride, at Somerset's ambition, 
 At Buckingham, and all the crew of them, 
 Till they have snar'd the shepherd of the flock, 
 That virtuous prince, the good Duke Humphrey : 
 'Tis that they seek ; and they, in seeking that, 
 Shall find their deaths, if York can prophesy. 
 
 Sal. My lord, break we off; we know your 
 mind at full. [Warwick 
 
 War. My heart assures me that the Earl of 
 Shall one day make the Duke of York a king. 
 
 York. And, Nevil, this I do assure myself, 
 Richard shall live to make the Earl of Warwick 
 The greatest man in England but the king. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. LONDON. A Hall of Justice. 
 
 Trumpets sounded. Enter KING HENRY, 
 QUEEN MARGARET, GLOSTER, YORK, SUF- 
 FOLK, and SALISBURY; the DUCHESS OF 
 GLOSTER, MARGERY JOURDAIN, SOUTH- 
 WELL, HUME, and BOLINGBROKE, under 
 guard. 
 
 K. Hen. Stand forth, Dame Eleanor Cob- 
 ham, Gloster's wife : 
 
 In sight of God and us, your guilt is great : 
 Receive the sentence of the law, for sins 
 Such as by God's book are adjudg'd to death. 
 You four, from hence to prison back again ; 
 
 [To JOURDAIN, &c. 
 
 From thence unto the place of execution : 
 The witch In Smithfield shall be burn'd to ashes, 
 And you three shall bestrangledon thegallows. 
 You, madam, for you are more nobly born, 
 Despoiled of your honour in your life, 
 Shall, after three days' open penance done, 
 Live in your country here, in banishment, 
 With Sir John Stanley, in the Isle of Man. 
 Duch. Welcome is banisnment; welcome 
 were my death. [thee: 
 
 Glo. Eleanor, the law, thouseest, hath judged 
 I cannot justify whom the law condemns. 
 
 [Exeunt the DUCHESS and the other 
 
 Prisoners, guarded. 
 
 Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief. 
 Ah, Humphrey, this dishonour in thine age 
 Will bring thy head with sorrow to the ground! 
 I beseech your majesty, give me leave to go ; 
 Sorrow would solace, and mine age would ease. 
 K. Hen. Stay, Humphrey Duke of Gloster: 
 
 ere thou go, 
 Give up thy staff: Henry will to himself 
 
612 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT il. 
 
 Protector be ; and God shall be my hope, 
 My stay, my guide, and lantern to my leet : 
 And go in peace, Humphrey, no less uelov'd 
 Than when thou wert protector tc thy king. 
 
 Q. Mar. I see no reason why a king of years 
 Should be tc be protected like a child. 
 God and King Hanry govern England's helm! 
 Give up your staff, sir, and ;he king his realm. 
 Glo. My staff! here, noble Henry, is my staff: 
 As willingly do I the same resign 
 As ere thy father Henry made it mine; 
 And even as willingly at thy feet I leave it 
 As others would ambitiously receive it. 
 Farewell, good king : when I am dead and gone, 
 May honourable peace attend thy throne \ 
 
 {Exit. 
 Q. Mar. W^y, now is Henry king, and 
 
 Margaret queen ; 
 
 And Humphrey Duke of Gloster scarce himself, 
 That bears so shrewd a main; two pulls at 
 
 once, 
 
 His lady banish'd and a limb lopp'd off: 
 This staff of honour raught, there let it stand 
 Where it best fits tc be, in Henry's hand. 
 Suf. Thus droops this lofty pine, and hangs 
 
 his sprays ; 
 
 Thus Eleanor's pride dies in her youngest days. 
 York. Lords, let him go. Please it your 
 
 majesty, 
 
 This is the day appointed for the combat ; 
 And ready are the appellant and defendant, 
 The armourer and his man, to enter the lists, 
 So please your highness to behold the fight. 
 Q. Mar. Ay, good my lord; for purposely 
 
 therefore 
 
 Left I the court, to see this quarrel tried. 
 K. Hen. O' God's name, see the lists and all 
 
 things fit : 
 Here let them end it ; and God defend the right ! 
 
 York. I never saw a fellow worse bested, 
 Or more afraid to fight, than is the appellant, 
 The servant of this armourer, my lords. 
 
 Enter ; on one side, HORNER and fits Neighbours, 
 drinking to him so much that he is drunk ; and 
 he enters bearing, his staff with a sand-bag 
 fastened to it ; a drum before him : at the other 
 side, PETER, with a drum and a similar staff ; 
 accompanied by Prentices drinking to him. 
 
 1 Neigh. Here, neighbour Homer, I drink 
 to you in a cup of sack ; and fear not, neighbour, 
 you shall do well enough. 
 
 2 Neigh. And here, neighbour, here 's a cup 
 of charneco. 
 
 3 Neigh. And here 's a pot of good double 
 beer, neighbour : drink, and fear not your man. 
 
 Hor. Let fc come, i' faith, and I '11 pledge you 
 a'l ; and a fig for Peter ! 
 
 1 Pren. Here, Peter, I drink to thee : and be 
 not afraid. 
 
 2 Pren. Be merry, Peter, and fear not thy 
 master : fight for credit of the prentices. 
 
 Peter. I thank you all : drink, and pray for 
 me, I pra> you ; for I think I have taken my last 
 draught in this world. Here, Robin, an if I die, 
 1 give thee my apron : and, Will, thou shalt 
 have my hammer : and here, Tom, take all the 
 money that I have. O Lord bless me, I pray 
 God ! for I am never able to deal with my master, 
 he hath learnt sc much fence already. 
 
 Sal. Come, leave your drinking, and fall to 
 blows. Sirrah, what's thy name? 
 
 Peter. Peter, forsooth. 
 
 Sal. Peter ! what more? 
 
 Peter. Thump. 
 
 Sal. Thump J then see thou thump thy master 
 well. 
 
 Hor. Masters, I am come hither, as it were, 
 upon my man's instigation, to prove him a knave 
 and myself an honest man: and touching the 
 Duke of York, I will take my death, I never 
 meant him any ill, nor the king, nor the queen: 
 and therefore, Peter, have at thee with a down- 
 right blow 1 
 
 York. Despatch : this knave's tongue begins 
 
 to double. 
 
 Sound, trumpets, alarum to the combatants ! 
 [Alarum. They fight ', and PETER strikes 
 down HORNER. 
 
 Hor. Hold, Peter, hold ! I confess, I confess 
 treason. [Dies. 
 
 York. Take away his weapon. Fellow, thank 
 God, and the good wine in thy master's way. 
 
 Peter. O God, have I overcome mine enemy 
 in this presence? O Peter, thou hast prevailed 
 in right ! [sight ; 
 
 K. Hen. Go, take hence that traitor from our 
 For by his death we do perceive his guilt : 
 And God in justice hath reveai'd to us 
 The truth and innocence of this poor fellow, 
 Which he had thought to have murder 5 d wrong- 
 fully. 
 Come, fellow, follow us for thy reward. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. LONDON. A Street. 
 
 Enter GLOSTER and Servants, in mou'niing 
 cloaks. 
 
 Glo. Thus sometimes hath the brightest day 
 
 a cloud j 
 
 And after summer evermore succeeds 
 Barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold: 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 So cares and joys abound, as seasons fleet. 
 Sirs, what's o'clock? 
 
 Serv. Ten, my lord. 
 
 Glo. Ten is the hour that w^s appointed me 
 To watch the coming of my punish'd duchess: 
 Uneath may she endure the flinty streets, 
 To tread them with her tender-feeling feet. 
 Sweet Nell, ill can thy noble mind abrook 
 The abject people gazing on thy face, 
 With envious looks, laughing at thy shame, 
 That erst did follow thy proud chariot wheels 
 When thou didst ride in triumph through the 
 
 streets. 
 
 But, soft ! I think she comes ; and I '11 prepare 
 My tear-stain'd eyes to see her miseries. 
 
 Enter the DUCHESS OF GLOSTER in a white 
 sheet, with papers pinned upon her back, her 
 feet bare^ and a taper burning in her hand ; 
 SIR JOHN STANLEY, a Sheriff, and Officers. 
 
 Serv. So please your grace, we'll take her 
 from the sheriff. [by. 
 
 Glo. No, stir not for your lives ; let her pass 
 
 Duck. Come you, my lord, to see my open 
 shame? [gaze! 
 
 Now thou dost penance too. Look how they 
 See how the giddy multitude do point, 
 And nod their heads, and throw their eyes on me ! 
 Ah, Gloster, hide thee from their hateful looks, 
 And, in thy closet pent up, rue my shame 
 And ban mine enemies, both mine and thine! 
 
 Glo. Be patient, gentle Nell ; forget this grief. 
 
 Duch. Ah, Gloster, teach me to forget my- 
 self! 
 
 For, whilst I think I am thy married wife 
 And thou a prince, protector of this land, 
 Methinks I should not thus be led along, 
 Mail'd up in shame, with papers on my back, 
 And follow'd with a rabble that rejoice 
 To see my tears and hear my deep-fet groans. 
 The ruthless flint doth cut my tender feet ; 
 And when I start the envious people laugh, 
 And bid me be advised how I tread. 
 Ah, Humphrey, can I bear this shameful yoke ? 
 Trow'st thou that e'er I '11 look upon the world, 
 Or count them happy that enjoy the sun? ' 
 No; dark shall be my light and night my day; 
 To think upon my pomp shall be my hell. 
 Sometime I '11 say, I am Duke Humphrey's wife, 
 And he a prince, and ruler of the land : 
 Yet so he rul'd, and such a prince he was, 
 As he stood by whilst I, his forlorn duchess, 
 Was made a wonder and a pointing- stock 
 To every idle rascal follower. 
 But be thou mild, and blush not at my shame; 
 Nor stir at nothing, till the axe of death 
 Hang over thee, as sure it shortly will ; 
 
 For Suffolk, he that can do all in all 
 With her that hateth thee and hates us all, 
 And York, and impious Beaufort, that falsa 
 
 priest, 
 
 Have all lim'd bushes to betray thy wings, 
 And, fly thou how thou canst, they '11 tangle 
 
 thee: 
 
 But fear not thou, unti 1 thy foot be snar'd, 
 Nor never seek prevention of thy foes, [awry ; 
 Glo. Ah, Nell, forbear ! thou aimest all 
 I must offend before I be attainted : 
 And had I twenty times so many foes, 
 And each of them had twenty times their power, 
 All these could not procure me any scathe, 
 So long as I am loyal, true, and crimeless. 
 Wouldst have me rescue thee from this reproach? 
 Why, yet thy scandal were not wip'd away, 
 But I in danger for the breach of law. 
 Thy greatest help is quiet, gentle Nell : 
 I pray thee, sort thy heart to patience ; 
 These few days' wonder will be quickly worn. 
 
 Enter a Herald. 
 
 Her. I summon your grace to his majesty's 
 
 Parliament, holden at Bury the first of this 
 
 next month. [before ! 
 
 Glo. And my consent ne'er ask'd herein 
 
 This is close dealing. Well, I will be there, 
 
 [Exit Herald. 
 
 My Nell, I take my leave : and, master sheriff, 
 Let not her penance exceed the king's commis- 
 sion, [mission stays; 
 Sher. An 't please your grace, here my com- 
 And Sir John Stanley is appointed now 
 To take her with hi m to the Isle of Man. [here ? 
 Glo. Must you, Sir John, protect my lady 
 Stan. So am I given in charge, may 't please 
 
 your grace. 
 
 Glo. Entreat her not the worse in that I pray 
 You use her well : the world may laugh again ; 
 And I may live to do you kindness, if 
 You do it her: and so, Sir John, farewell. 
 Duch. What, gone, my lord, and bid me not 
 
 farewell ! 
 
 Glo. Witness my tears, I cannot stay to speak. 
 
 [Exeunt GLOSTER and Servants. 
 
 Duch. Art thon gone too? all comfort go 
 
 with thee ! 
 
 For none abides with me : my joy is death, 
 Death, at whose name I oft have been afeard, 
 Because I wish'd this world's eternity. 
 Stanley, I pr'ythee go, and take me hence ; 
 I care not whither, for I beg no favour, 
 Only convey me where thou art commanded. 
 Stan. Why, madam, that is to the Isle of 
 
 Man; 
 There to be us'd according to your state. 
 
014 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT III. 
 
 Duch. That 's bad enough, for I am but re- 
 proach, 
 
 And shall I, then, be us'd reproachfully? 
 Stan. Like to a duchess and Duke Hum- 
 phrey's lady ; 
 
 According to that state you shall be us'd. 
 Duch. Sheriff, farewell, and better than I 
 
 fare, 
 
 Although thou hast been conduct of my sham.t. 
 Sher. It is my office ; and, madam, pardon me. 
 Duch. Ay, ay, farewell; thy office is dis- 
 
 charg'd. 
 
 Come, Stanley, shall we go? [this sheet, 
 
 Stan. Madam, your penance done, throw off 
 And go we to attire you for our journey. 
 
 Duch. My shame will not be shifted with my 
 
 sheet : 
 
 No, it will hang upon my richest robes, 
 And show itself attire me how I can. 
 Go, lead the way ; I long to see my prison. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. The Abbey at Bury. 
 
 Flourish. Enter to the Parliament KING 
 HENRY, QUEEN MARGARET, CARDINAL 
 BEAUFORT, SUFFOLK, YORK, BUCKING- 
 HAM, and others. 
 
 K. Hen. I muse my Lord of Gloster is not 
 
 come : 
 
 'Tis not his wont to be the hindmost man, 
 Whate'er occasion keeps him from us now. 
 
 Q. Mar. Can you not see ? or will you not 
 
 observe 
 
 The strangeness of his alter'd countenance ? 
 With what a majesty he bears himself; 
 How insolent of late he is become, [self? 
 
 How proud, how peremptory, and unlike him- 
 We know the time since he was mild and affable ; 
 And if we did but glance a far-off look 
 Immediately he was upon his knee, 
 That all the court admir'd him for submission : 
 But meet him now, and be it in the morn, 
 When every one will give the time of day, 
 He knits his brow, and shows an angry eye, 
 And passeth by with stiff unbowed knee, 
 Disdaining duty that to us belongs. 
 Small curs are not regarded when they grin ; 
 But great men tremble when the lion roars, 
 And Humphrey is no little man in England. 
 First note that he is near you in descent ; 
 And should you fall he as the next will mount. 
 Me seemeth, then, it is no policy, 
 Respecting what a rancorous irrnd he bears, 
 
 And his advantage following your decease, 
 That he should come about your royal person, 
 Or be admitted to your highness' council. 
 By flattery hath he won the commons' hearts ; 
 And when he please to make commotion, 
 'Tis to be fear'd they all will follow him. 
 Now 'tis the spring, and weeds are shallow- 
 rooted ; [garden, 
 Suffer them now, and they '11 o'ergrow the 
 And choke the herbs for want of husbandry. 
 The reverent care I bear unto my lord 
 Made me collect these dangers in the duke. 
 If it be fond, call it a woman'r. fear ; 
 Which fear, if better reasons can supplant, 
 I will subscribe, and say I wrong'd the duke. 
 My Lord of Suffolk, Buckingham, and 
 
 York, 
 
 Reprove my allegation if you can ; 
 Or else conclude my words effectual. [duke ; 
 Suf. Well hath your highness seen into this 
 And had I first been put to speak my mind, 
 I think I should have told your grace's tale. 
 The duchess, by his subornation, 
 Upon my life, began her devilish practices : 
 Or, if he were not privy to those faults, 
 Yet, by reputing of his high descent, 
 As, next the king, he was successive heir, 
 And such high vaunts of his nobility, 
 Did instigate the bedlam brainsick duchess 
 By wicked means to frame our sovereign's fall. 
 Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep ; 
 And in his simple show he harbours treason. 
 The fox barks not when he would steal the lamb. 
 No, no, my sovereign ; Gloster is a man 
 Unsounded yet, and full of deep deceit. 
 
 Car. Did he not, contrary to form of law, 
 Devise strange deaths for small offences done ? 
 York. And did he not, in his protectorship, 
 Levy great sums of money through the realm 
 For soldiers' pay in France, and never sent it? 
 By means whereof the towns each day revolted. 
 Buck. Tut, these are petty faults to faults 
 unknown, [Humphrey. 
 
 Which time will bring to light in smooth Duke 
 K. Hen. My lords, at once: the care you 
 
 have ot us, 
 
 To mow down thorns that would annoy our foot, 
 Is worthy praise: but shall I speak my con- 
 science? 
 
 Our kinsman Gloster is as innocent 
 From meaning treason to our royal person 
 As is the sucking lamb or harmless dove : 
 The duke is virtuous, mild, and too well given 
 To dream on evil or to work my downfall, 
 Q. Mar. Ah, what's more dangerous than 
 
 this fond affiance? 
 Seems he a dove? his feathers are but borrow'd. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 615 
 
 "For he 's disposed as the hateful raven : 
 Is he a lamb? his skin is surely lent him, 
 For he 's inclin'd as is the ravenous wolf. 
 Who cannot steal a shape that means deceit ? 
 Take heed, my lord ; the welfare of us all 
 Hangs on the cutting short that fraudful man. 
 
 Enter SOMERSET. 
 
 Som. All health unto my gracious sovereign ! 
 
 K. Hen. Welcome, Lord Somerset. What 
 news from France? 
 
 Som. That all your interest in those territories 
 Is utterly bereft you ; all is lost. 
 
 K. Hen. Cold news, Lord Somerset: but 
 God's will be done ! . [France 
 
 York. Cold news for me ; for I had hope of 
 As firmly as I hope for fertile England. 
 Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud, 
 And caterpillars eat my leaves away : 
 But I will remedy this gear ere long, 
 Or sell my title for a glorious grave. \_Aside. 
 
 Enter GLOSTER. 
 
 Glo. All happiness unto my lord the king ! 
 Pardon, my liege, that I have stay'd so long. 
 
 Suf. Nay, Gloster, know that thou art come 
 
 too soon, 
 
 Unless thou wert more loyal than thou art : 
 I do arrest thee of high treason here. [blush 
 
 Glo. Well, Suffolk, thou shalt not see me 
 Nor change my countenance for this arrest : 
 A heart unspotted is not easily daunted. 
 The purest spring is not so free from mud 
 As I am clear from treason to my sovereign : 
 Who can accuse me? wherein am I guilty? 
 
 York. 'Tis thought, my lord, that you took 
 
 bribes of France, 
 
 And, being protector, stay'd the soldiers' pay ; 
 By means whereof his highness hath lost France. 
 
 Glo. Is it but thought so? what are they that 
 
 think it? 
 
 I never robb'd the soldiers of their pay, 
 Nor ever had one penny bribe from France. 
 So help me God, as I have watch'd the night, 
 Ay, night by night, in studying good for Eng- 
 land! 
 
 That doit that e'er I wrested from the king, 
 Or any groat I hoarded to my use, 
 Be brought against me at my trial-day ! 
 No ; many a pound of mine own proper store, 
 Because I would not tax the needy commons, 
 Have I dispursed to the garrisons, 
 And never ask'd for restitution. [much. 
 
 Car. It serves you well, my lord, to say so 
 
 Glo. I say no more than truth, so help me 
 
 God! 
 York. In your protectorship you did devise 
 
 Strange tortures for offenders, never heard of, 
 That England was defam'd by tyranny. 
 
 Glo. Why, 'tis well known that, whiles I was 
 
 protector, 
 
 Pity was all the fault that was in me; 
 For I should melt at an offender's tears, 
 And lowly words were ransom for their fault. 
 Unless it were a bloody murderer, [gers, 
 
 Or foul felonious thief that fleec'd poor passen- 
 I never gave them condign punishment : 
 Murder, indeed, that bloody sin, I tortur'd 
 Above the felon or what trespass else. 
 
 Suf. My lord, these faults are easy, quickly 
 
 answer'd : 
 
 But mightier crimes are laid unto your charge, 
 Whereof you cannot easily purge yourself. 
 I do arrest you in his highness' name ; 
 And here commit you to my lord cardinal 
 To keep, until your further time of trial, [hope 
 
 K. Hen. My Lord of Gloster, 'tis my special 
 That you will clear yourself from all suspect : 
 My conscience tells me you are innocent, [ous ! 
 
 Glo. Ah, gracious lord, these days are danger- 
 Virtue is chok'd with foul ambition, 
 And charity chas'd hence by rancour's hand ; 
 Foul subornation is predominant, 
 And equity exil'd your highness' land. 
 I know their complot is to have my life ; 
 And if my death might make this island happy, 
 And prove the period of their tyranny, 
 I would expend it with all willingness: 
 But mine is made the prologue to their play ; 
 For thousands more, that yet suspect no peril, 
 Will not conclude their plotted tragedy. 
 Beaufort's red sparkling eyes blab his heart's 
 
 malice, 
 
 And Suffolk's cloudy brow his stormy hate ; 
 Sharp Buckingham unburdens with his tongue 
 The envious load that lies upon his heart ; 
 And dogged York, that reaches at the moon, 
 Whose overweening arm I have pluck'd back, 
 By false accuse doth level at my life : 
 And you, my sovereign lady, with the rest, 
 Causeless have laid disgraces on my head, 
 And with your best endeavour have stirr'd up 
 My liefest liege to be mine enemy: 
 Ay, all of you have laid your heads together, 
 Myself had notice of your conventicles, 
 And all to make away my guiltless life. 
 I shall not want false witness to condemn me, 
 Nor store of treasons to augment my guilt: 
 The ancient proverb will be well effected, 
 A staft is quickly found to beat a dog. 
 
 Car. My liege, his railing is intolerable : 
 If those that care to keep your royal person 
 From treason's secret knife and traitors' rage 
 Be thus upbraided, chid, and rated at, 
 
6i6 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 And the offender granted scope of speech, 
 'Twill make them cool in zeal unto your grace. 
 Suf. Hath he not twit our sovereign lady 
 
 here 
 
 With ignominious words, though clerkly couch'd, 
 As if she had suborned some to swear 
 False allegations to o'erti row his state? 
 
 Q. Mar. But I can give the loser leave to 
 
 chide. [deed ; 
 
 Glo. Far truer spoke than meant : I lose, in- 
 
 Beshrew the winners, for they play'd me false ! 
 
 And well such losers may have leave to speak. 
 
 Buck. He '11 wrest the sense, and hold us here 
 
 all day : 
 
 Lord cardinal, he is your prisoner, [him sure. 
 Car. Sirs, take away the duke, and guard 
 Glo. Ah, thus King Henry throws away his 
 
 crutch 
 
 Before his legs be firm to bear his body ! 
 Thus is the shepherd beaten from thy side, 
 And wolves are gnafling who shall gnaw thee 
 
 first. 
 
 Ah, that my fear were false ! ah, that it were ! 
 For, good King Henry, thy decay I fear. 
 
 [Exeunt Attendants with GLOSTER. 
 K. Hen. My lords, what to your wisdoms 
 
 seemeth best 
 Do or undo, as if ourself were here. 
 
 Q. Mar. What, will your highness leave the 
 
 Parliament ? [with grief, 
 
 K. Hen. Ay, Margaret; my heart is drown'd 
 Whose flood begins to flow within mine eyes ; 
 My body round engirt with misery, 
 For what 's more miserable than discontent ? 
 Ah, uncle Humphrey, in thy face I see 
 The map of honour, truth, aiid loyalty ! 
 And yet, good Humphrey, is the hour to come 
 That e'er I prov'd thee false or fear'd thy faith. 
 What lowering star now envies thy estate, 
 That these great lords, and Margaret our queen, 
 Do seek subversion of thy harmless life ? 
 Thou never didst them wrong, nor no man 
 
 wrong : 
 
 And as the butcher takes away the calf, 
 And binds the wretch, and beats it when itstrays, 
 Bearing it to the bloody slaughter-house ; 
 Even so, remorseless, have they borne him hence : 
 And as the dam runs lowing up and down, 
 Looking the way her harmless young one went, 
 And can do nought but wail her darling's loss ; 
 Even so myself bewails good Gloster's case 
 With sad unhelpful tears ; and with dimm'd eyes 
 Look after him, and cannot do him good, 
 So mighty are his vowed enemies. 
 His fortunes I will weep ; and 'twixt each groan, 
 Say, Who's a traitor? Gloster he is none. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Q. Mar. Free lords, cold snow melts with 
 
 the sun's hot beams. 
 Henry my lo'-d is cold in great affairs, 
 Too full of foolish pity : and Gloster's show 
 Beguiles him, as the mournful crocodile 
 With sorrow snares relenting passenger? ; 
 Or as the snake, roll'd in a flowering bavik, 
 With shining checker'd slough, doth sting a 
 
 child, 
 
 That for the beauty thinks it excellent. 
 Believe me, lords, were none more wise than I, - 
 And yet herein I judge my own wit good, 
 This Gloster should be quickly rid the world, 
 To rid us from the fear we have of him. 
 
 Car. That he should die is worthy policy; 
 But yet we want a colour for his death : 
 'Tis meet he be condemn'd by course of law. 
 
 Suf. But, in my mind, that were no policy : 
 The king will labour still to save his life ; 
 The commons haply rise to save his life ; 
 And yet we have but trivial argument, 
 More than mistrust, thatshows him worthy death. 
 York. So that, by this, you would not have 
 
 him die. 
 
 Suf. Ah, York, no man alive so fain as I ! 
 York. ; Tis York that hath more reason for his 
 death. [Suffolk, 
 
 But, my lord cardinal, and you, my Lord of 
 Say as you think, anu speak it from your souls, 
 Wer 't not all one an empty eagle were set 
 To guard the chicken from a hungry kite, 
 As place Duke Humphrey for the king's pro- 
 tector ? [death. 
 Q. Mar. So the poor chick en should be sure of 
 Suf. Madam, 'tis true; and wer't not mad- 
 ness, then, 
 
 To make the fox surveyor of the fold ? 
 Who, being accus'd a crafty murderer, 
 His guilt should be but idly posted over 
 Because his purpose is not executed. 
 No ; let him die, in that he is a fox, 
 By nature prov'd an enemy to the flock, 
 Before his chaps be stain'd with crimson blood, 
 As Humphrey, prov'd by reasons, to my liege. 
 And do not stand on quillets how to slay him : 
 Be it by gins, by snares, by subtlety, 
 Sleeping or waking, 'tis no matter how, 
 So he be dead ; for that is good deceit 
 Which mates him first that first intends deceit. 
 Q. Mar. Thrice-noble Suffolk, 'tis resolutely 
 
 spoke. 
 
 Suf. Not resolute, except so much were done ; 
 For things are often spoke and seldom meant : 
 But, that my heart accordeth with my tongue, 
 Seeing the deed is meritorious, 
 And to preserve my sovereign from his foe, 
 Say but the word, and I will be his priest. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 617 
 
 Car. But I would have him dead, my Lord 
 
 of Suffolk, 
 
 Ere you can take due orders for a priest : 
 Say you consent, and censure well the deed, 
 And I '11 provide his executioner, 
 I tender so the safety of my liege. 
 
 Suf. Here is my hand, the deed is worthy 
 doing. 
 
 Q. Mar. And so say I. [it, 
 
 York. And I : and now we three have spoke 
 It skills not greatly who impugns our doom. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Great lords, from Ireland am I come 
 
 amain, 
 
 To signify that rebels there are up, 
 And put the Englishmen unto the sword : 
 Send succours, lords, and stop the rage betime, 
 Before the wound do grow uncurable ; 
 For, being green, there is great hope of help. 
 Car. A breach that craves a quick expedient 
 
 stop ! 
 
 What counsel give you in this weighty cause? 
 York. That Somerset be sent as regent thither : 
 'Tis meet that lucky ruler be employ'd ; 
 Witness the fortune he hath had in France. 
 Sow. If York, with all his far-fet policy, 
 Had been the regent there instead of me, 
 He never would have stay'd in France so long. 
 York. No, not to lose it all, as thou hast done : 
 I rather would have lost my life betimes 
 Than bring a burden of dishonour home, 
 By staying there so long till all were lost. 
 Show me one scar character'd on thy skin : 
 Men's flesh preserved so whole do seldom win. 
 Q. Mar. Nay, then, this spark will prove a 
 
 raging fire 
 
 If wind and fuel be brought to feed it with : 
 No more, good York; sweet Somerset, be 
 
 still : 
 
 Thy fortune, York, hadst thou been regent there, 
 Might happi'y have prov'd far worse than his. 
 York. What, worse than naught? nay, then, 
 
 a shame take all! 
 Som. And in the number, thee that wishest 
 
 shame ! 
 
 Car. My Lord of York, try what your for- 
 tune is. 
 
 The uncivil kerns of Ireland are in arms, 
 And temper clay with blood of Englishmen : 
 To Ireland will you lead a band of men, 
 Collected choicely, from each county some, 
 And try your hap against the Irishmen? 
 
 York. I will, my lord, so please his majesty. 
 Suf. Why, our authority is his consent ; 
 And what we do establish he confirms : 
 Then, noble York, take thou this task in hand. 
 
 York. I am content: provide me soldiers, 
 
 lords, 
 
 Whiles I take order for mine own affairs. 
 Sttf. A charge, Lord York, that I will see 
 
 perform'd. [phrey. 
 
 But now return we to the false Duke Hum- 
 Car. No more of him ; for I will deal with 
 
 him, 
 
 That henceforth he shall trouble us no more. 
 And so break off; the day is almost spent: 
 Lord Suffolk, you and I must talk of that event. 
 York. My Lord of Suffolk, within fourteen 
 
 days 
 
 At Bristol I expect my soldiers ; 
 For there I '11 ship them all for Ireland. 
 
 Stif. I '11 see it truly done, my Lord of York. 
 [Exeunt all but YORK. 
 York. Now, York, or never, steel thy fear- 
 ful thoughts, 
 
 And change misdoubt to resolution : 
 Be that thou hop'st to be ; or what thou art 
 Resign to death, it is not worth the enjoying: 
 Let pale-fac'd fear keep with the mean-born 
 
 man, 
 
 And find no harbour in a royal heart. 
 Faster than spring-time showers comes thought 
 
 on thought; 
 
 And not a thought but thinks on dignity. 
 My brain, more busy than the labouring spider, 
 Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies. 
 Well, nobles, well, 'tis politicly done, 
 To send me packing with an host of men : 
 I fear me you but warm the starved snake, 
 Who, cherish'd in your breasts, will sting your 
 
 hearts. 
 
 'Twas men I lack'd, and you will give them me : 
 I take it kindly ; yet be well assur'd 
 You put sharp weapons in a madman's hands. 
 Whiles I in Ireland nourish a mighty band, 
 I will stir up in England some black storm 
 Shall blow ten thousand souls to heaven or hell j 
 And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage 
 Until the golden circuit on my head, 
 Like to the glorious sun's transparent beams, 
 Do calm the fury of this mad-bred flaw. 
 And for a minister of my intent 
 I have seduc'd a headstrong Kentishman, 
 John Cade of Ashford, 
 To make commotion, as full well he can, 
 Under the title of John Mortimer. 
 In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade 
 Oppose himself against a troop of kerns, 
 And fought so long till that his thighs with darts 
 Were almost like a sharp-quill'd porpentine ; 
 And in the end being rescu'd, I have seen him 
 Caper upright like a wild Morisco, 
 Shaking the bloody darts as he his bells. 
 
6i8 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT III. 
 
 Full often, like a shag-hair'd crafty kern, 
 Hath he conversed with the enemy, 
 And, undiscovered, come to me again, 
 And given me notice of their villanies. 
 This devil here shall be my substitute ; 
 For that John Mortimer, which now is dead, 
 In face, in gait, in speech, he doth resemble : 
 By this I shall perceive the commons' mind, 
 How they affect the house and claim of Yoik. 
 Say he be taken, rack'd, and tortured, 
 I know no pain they can inflict upon him 
 Will make him say I mov'd him to those arms. 
 Say that he thrive, as 'tis great like he will, 
 Why, then from Ireland come I with my strength, 
 And reap the harvest which that rascal sow'd ; 
 For Humphrey being dead, as he shall be, 
 And Henry put apart, the next for me. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. BURY. A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter certain Murderers, hastily. 
 
 1 Mur. Run to my Lord of Suffolk ; let him 
 
 know 
 We havedespatch'd the duke, as he commanded. 
 
 2 Mur. O that it were to do ! What have 
 
 we done? 
 
 Didst ever hear a man so penitent? 
 I Mur. Here comes my lord. 
 
 Enter SUFFOLK. 
 
 Suf. Now, sirs, have you despatch'd this thing? 
 
 I Mur. Ay, my good lord, he 's dead. 
 
 Suf. Why, that 's well said. Go, get you to 
 
 my house ; 
 
 I will reward you for this venturous deed. 
 The king and all the peers are here at hand : 
 Have you laid fair the bed? are all things well, 
 According as I gave directions? 
 
 I Mur. 'Tis, my good lord. 
 
 Stif. Away ! be gone. [Exeunt Murderers. 
 
 Trumpets sounded. Enter KING HENRY, 
 QUEEN MARGARET, CARDINAL BEAUFORT, 
 SOMERSET, Lords, and others. 
 
 K. Hen. Go, call our uncle to our presence 
 
 straight ; 
 
 Say we intend to try his grace to-day, 
 If he be guilty, as 'tis published. 
 
 Suf. I '11 call him presently, my noble lord. 
 
 [Exit. 
 K. Hen. Lords, take your places; and, I 
 
 pray you all, 
 
 Proceed no straiter 'gainst our uncle Gloster 
 Than from true evidence, of good esteem, 
 He be approv'd in practice culpable. 
 
 Q. Mar. God forbid any malice should prevail 
 That faultless may condemn a nobleman ! 
 Pray God he may acquit him of suspicion ! 
 
 K. Hen. I thank thee, Margaret ; these words 
 content me much. 
 
 Re-enter SUFFOLK. 
 
 How now! why look'st thou pale? why trem- 
 
 blest thou? [Suffolk? 
 
 Where is our uncle? what's the matter, 
 
 Suf. Dead in his bed, my lord ; Gloster is 
 
 dead. 
 
 Q. Mar. Marry, God forfend ! [to-night 
 Car. God's secret judgment: I did dream 
 The duke was dumb, and could not speak a 
 word. [The KING swoons, 
 
 Q. Mar. How fares my lord? Help, lords ! 
 the king is dead. [nose. 
 
 Som. Rear up his body ; wring him by the 
 Q. Mar. Run, go, help, help! O Henry, 
 ope thine eyes ! [patient. 
 
 Suf. He doth revive again: madam, be 
 K. Hen. O heavenly God ! 
 Q. Mar. How fares my gracious lord ? 
 
 Suf. Comfort, my sovereign ! gracious Henry, 
 comfort ! [fort me ? 
 
 K. Hen. What, doth my Lord of Suffolk corn- 
 Came he right now to sing a raven's note, 
 Whose dismal tune bereft my vital powers ; 
 And thinks he that the chirping of a wren, 
 By crying comfort from a hollow breast, 
 Can chase away the first conceived sound ? 
 Hide not thy poison with such sugar'd word? 
 Lay not thy hands on me ; forbear, I say ; 
 Their touch affrights me, as a serpent's sting. 
 Thou baleful messenger, out of my sight ! 
 Upon thy eye -balls murderous tyranny 
 Sits in grim majesty, to fright the world. 
 Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wound- 
 ing: 
 
 Yet do not go away : come, basilisk, 
 And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight ; 
 For in the shade of death I shall find joy, 
 In life but double death, now Gloster 's dead. 
 Q. Mar. Why do you rate my Lord of Suf- 
 folk thus? 
 
 Although the duke was enemy to him, 
 Yet he, most Christian-like laments his death : 
 And for myself, foe as he was to me, 
 Might liquid tears, or heart-offending groans, 
 Or blood-consuming sighs recall his life, 
 I would be blind with weeping, sick with groans, 
 Look pale as primrose with blood-drinking sighs. 
 And all to have the noble duke alive. 
 What know I how the world may deem of me ? 
 For it is known we were but hollow friends : 
 It may be judg'd I made the duke away ; 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 619 
 
 So shall my name with slander's tongue be 
 
 wounded, 
 
 And princes' courts be fill'd with my reproach. 
 This get I by his death : ah me, unhappy ! 
 To be a queen and crown'd with infamy ! 
 K. Hen. Ah, woe is me for Gloster, wretched 
 
 man I [he is. 
 
 Q. Mar. Be woe for me, more wretched than 
 What, dost thou turn away, and hide thy face? 
 I am no loathsome leper, look on me. 
 What, art thou, like the adder, waxen deaf? 
 Be poisonous too, and kill thy forlorn queen. 
 Is all thy comfort shut in Gloster's tomb? 
 Why, then, Dame Margaret was ne'er thy joy : 
 Erect his statua, and worship it, 
 And make my image but an alehouse sign. 
 Was I for this nigh wreck'd upon the sea, 
 And twice by awkward wind from England's 
 
 bank 
 
 Drove back again unto my native clime ? 
 What boded this but well-forewarning wind 
 Did seem tc say, Seek not a scorpion's nest, 
 Nor set no footing on this unkind shore? 
 What did I then but curs'd the gentle gusts, 
 And he that loos'd them forth their brazen 
 
 caves : [shore, 
 
 And bid them blow towards England's blessed 
 Or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock ? 
 Yet ^Eolus would not be a murderer, 
 But left that hateful office unto thee : 
 The pretty-vaulting sea refus'd to drown me ; 
 Knowing that thou wouldst have me drown'd 
 
 on shore, [ness : 
 
 With tears as salt as sea, through thy unkind- 
 The splitting rocks cower'd in the sinking sands, 
 And would not dash me with their ragged sides ; 
 Because thy flinty heart, more hard than they, 
 Might in thy palace perish Margaret. 
 As far as I could ken thy chalky cliffs, 
 When from the shore the tempest beat us back, 
 I stood upon the hatches in the storm; 
 And when the dusky sky began to robe 
 My earnest-gaping sight of thy land's view, 
 I took a costly jewel from my neck, 
 A heart it was, bound in with diamonds, 
 And threw it towards thy land: the sea re- 
 
 ceiv'd it ; 
 
 And so I wish'd thy body might my heart : 
 And even with this I lost fair England's view, 
 And bid mine eyes be packing with my heart, 
 And call'd them blind and dusky spectacles, 
 For losing ken of Albion's wished coast. 
 How often have I tempted Suffolk's tongue, 
 The agent of thy foul inconstancy, 
 To sit and witch me, as Ascanius did 
 When he to madding Dido would unfold 
 His father's acts, commenc'd in burning Troy ! 
 
 Am I not witch'd like her? or thou not false 
 
 like him ? 
 
 Ah me, I can no more ! die, Margaret ! 
 For Henry weeps that thou dost live so long. 
 
 Noise within. Enter WARWICK and SALIS- 
 BURY. The Commons press to the door. 
 
 War. It is reported, mighty sovereign., 
 That good Duke Humphrey traitorously is 
 
 murder'd 
 
 By Suffolk and the Cardinal Beaufort's means. 
 The commons, like an angry hive of bees 
 That want their leader, scatter up and down, 
 And care not who they sting in his revenge. 
 Myself have calm'd their spleenful mutiny 
 Until they hear the order of his death. 
 K. Hen. That he is dead, good Warwick, 'tis 
 
 too true ; 
 
 But how he died God knows, not Henry : 
 Enter his chamber, view his breathless corpse, 
 And comment then upon his sudden death. 
 War. That I shall do, my liege. Stay, Salis- 
 bury, 
 With the rude multitude till I return. 
 
 [WAR. goes into an inner room ; SAL. retires 
 
 to the Commons at the door. 
 K. Hen. O Thou that judgest all things, stay 
 
 my thoughts, 
 
 My thoughts that labour to persuade my soul 
 Some violent hands were laid on Humphrey's 
 
 life! 
 
 If my suspect be false, forgive me, God ; 
 For judgment only doth belong to thee. 
 Fain would I go to chafe his paly lips 
 With twenty thousand kisses, and to drain 
 Upon his face an ocean of salt tears ; 
 To tell my love unto his dumb deaf trunk, 
 And with my fingers feel his hand unfeeling : 
 But all in vain are these mean obsequies ; 
 And to survey his dead and earthly image, 
 What were it but to make my sorrow greater ? 
 \The folding doors of OM inner Chamber are 
 thrown open, and GLOSTER is discovered 
 dead in his bed; WARWICK and others 
 standing by it. 
 War. Come hither, gracious sovereign, view 
 
 this body. 
 K. Hen. That is to see how deep my grave is 
 
 made; 
 
 For with his soul fled all my worldly solace ; 
 For seeing him, I see my life in death. 
 
 War. As surely as my soul intends to live 
 With that dread King that took our state upon 
 
 him 
 
 To free us from his Father's wrathful curse, 
 I do believe that violent hands were laid 
 Upon the life of this thrice-famed duke. 
 
620 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Suf. A dreadful oath, sworn with a solemn 
 
 tongue ! 
 
 What instance gives Lord Warwick for his vow? 
 War. See how the blood is settled in his face ! 
 Oft have I seen a timely-parted ghost, 
 Of ashy semblance, meagre, pale, and bloodless, 
 Being all descended to the labouring heart ; 
 Who, in the conflict that it holds with death, 
 Attracts the same for aidance 'gainst the enemy; 
 Which with the heart thjere cools, and ne'er re- 
 
 turneth 
 
 To blush and beautify the cheek again. 
 But see, his face is black and full of blood ; 
 His eye-balls further out than when he liv'd, 
 Staring full ghastly like a strangled man : 
 His hair uprear'd, his nostrils stretch'd with 
 
 struggling; 
 
 His hands abroad display'd, as one that grasp'd 
 And tugg'd for life, and was by strength subdu'd: 
 Look, on the sheets his hair, you see, is sticking ; 
 His well-proportioned beard made rough and 
 
 rugged, 
 
 Like to the summer's corn by tempest lodg'd. 
 It cannot be but he was murder'd here ; 
 The least of al I these signs were probable. 
 Suf. Why, Warwick, who should do the duke 
 
 to death? 
 
 Myself and Beaufort had him in protection ; 
 And we, I hope, sir, are no murderers. 
 
 War. But both of you were vow'd Duke 
 
 Humphrey's foes; 
 
 And you, forsooth, had the good duke to keep : 
 'Tis like you would not feast him like a friend ; 
 And 'tis well seen he found an enemy. 
 
 Q. Mar. Then you, belike, suspect these 
 
 noblemen 
 
 As guilty of Duke Humphrey's timeless death. 
 War. Who finds the heifer dead and bleeding 
 
 fresh, 
 
 And sees fast by a butcher with an axe, 
 But will suspect 'twas he that made the slaughter? 
 Who finds the partridge in the puttock's nest, 
 But may imagine how the bird was dead, 
 Although the kite soar with unbloodied beak? 
 Even so suspicious is this tragedy. 
 
 Q. Mar. Are you the butcher, Suffolk? 
 
 where 's your knife ? 
 
 Is Beaufort termed a kite? where are his talons? 
 Suf. I wear no knife to slaughter sleeping men; 
 But here 's a vengeful sword, rusted with ease, 
 That shall be scoured in his rancorous heart 
 That slanders me with murder's crimson badge : 
 Say, if thou dar'st, proud Lord of Warwickshire, 
 That I am faulty in Duke Humphrey's death. 
 
 [Exeunt CAR. , SOM. , and others. 
 War. What dares not Warwick, if false Suf- 
 folk dare him? 
 
 Q. Mar. He dares not calm his contumelious 
 
 spirit, 
 
 Nor cease to be an arrogant controller, 
 Though Suffolk dare him twenty thousand times. 
 
 War. Madam, be still, with reverence may 
 
 I say; 
 
 For every word you speak in his behalf 
 Is slander to your royal dignity. 
 
 Suf. Blunt-witted lord, ignoble in demeanour! 
 If ever lady wrong'd her lord so much, 
 Thy mother took into her blameful bed 
 Some stern untutor'd churl, and noble stock 
 Was graft with crab-tree slip ; whose fruit thou 
 
 art. 
 And never of the Nevils' noble race. [thee, 
 
 War. But that the guilt of murder bucklers 
 And I should rob the deathsman of his fee, 
 Quitting thee thereby of ten thousand shames, 
 And that my sovereign's presence makes me mild, 
 I would, false murderous coward, on thy knee 
 Make thee beg pardon for thy passed speech, 
 And say it was thy mother that thou meant'st, 
 That thou thyself was born in bastardy ; 
 And, after all this fearful homage done, 
 Give thee thy hire, and send thy soul to hell, 
 Pernicious blood-sucker of sleeping men ! 
 
 Suf. Thou shalt be waking while I shed thy 
 
 blood, 
 If from this presence thou dar'st go with me. 
 
 War. Away even now, or I will drag thee 
 
 hence : 
 
 Unworthy though thou art, I '11 cope with thee, 
 
 And dosome service to Duke Humphrey's ghost. 
 
 [Exeunt SUFFOLK and WARWICK. 
 
 K. Hen. What stronger breastplate than a 
 
 heart untainted ! 
 
 Thrice is he armed that hath his quarrel just ; 
 And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel, 
 Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted. 
 [A noise -within. 
 
 Q. Mar. What noise is this? 
 
 Re-enter SUFFOLK and WARWICK, with their 
 weapons drawn. 
 
 K. Hen. Why, how now, lords ! your wrath- 
 ful weapons drawn 
 
 Here in our presence ! dare you be so bold? 
 
 Why, what tumultuous clamour have we here? 
 
 Suf. The traitorous Warwick, with the men 
 
 of Bury, 
 Set all upon me, mighty sovereign. 
 
 Sal. [To the Commons at the door.'} Sirs, 
 
 stand apart ; the king shall know your 
 
 mind. \_He comes forward. 
 
 Dread lord, the commons send you word by me, 
 
 Unless false Suffolk straight be done to death, 
 
 Or banished fair England's territories, 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 621 
 
 They will by violence tear him from your palace, 
 And torture him with grievous lingering death. 
 They say, by him the good Duke Humphrey 
 
 died; 
 
 They say, in him they fear your highness' death ; 
 And mere instinct of love and loyalty, 
 Free from a stubborn opposite intent, 
 As being thought to contradict your liking, 
 Makes them thus forward in his banishment. 
 They say, in care of your most royal person, 
 That if your highness should intend to sleep, 
 And charge that no man should disturb your 
 
 rest, 
 
 In pain of your dislike, or pain of death ; 
 Yet, notwithstanding such a strait edict, 
 Were there a serpent seen, with forked tongue, 
 That slily glided towards your majesty, 
 It were but necessary you were wak'd ; 
 Lest, being suffered in that harmful slumber, 
 The mortal worm might make the sleep eternal : 
 And therefore do they cry, though you forbid, 
 That they will guard you, whe'r you will or no, 
 From such fell serpents as false Suffolk is ; 
 With whose envenomed and fatal sting 
 Your loving uncle, twenty times his worth, 
 They say, is shamefully bereft of life. 
 
 Commons. [Within, ~\ An answer from the 
 
 king, my Lord of Salisbury ! 
 Suf. 'Tis like the commons, rude unpolish'd 
 
 hinds, 
 
 Could send such message to their sovereign: 
 But you, my lord, were glad to be employ'd, 
 To show how quaint an orator you are : 
 But all the honour Salisbury hath won 
 Is, that he was the lord ambassador 
 Sent from a sort of tinkers to the king. 
 
 Commons, [Within.'] An answer from the 
 
 king, or we will all break in ! 
 K. Hen. Go, Salisbury, and tell them all 
 
 from me, 
 
 I thank them for their tender loving care ; 
 And had I not been cited so by them, 
 Yet did I purpose as they do entreat ; 
 For, sure, my thoughts do hourly prophesy 
 Mischance unto my state by Suffolk's means : 
 And therefore, by His majesty I swear, 
 Whose far unworthy deputy I am, 
 He shall not breathe infection in this air 
 But three days longer, on the pain of death. 
 
 [Exit SALISBURY. 
 Q. Mar. O Henry, let me plead for gentle 
 
 Suffolk ! [Suffolk ! 
 
 K. Hen. Ungentle queen, to call him gentle 
 No more, I say : if thou dost plead for him, 
 Thou wilt but add increase unto my wrath. 
 Had I but said, I would have kept my word ; 
 But when I swear, it is irrevocable. 
 
 If after three days' space thou here be'st found 
 On any ground that I am ruler of, 
 The world shall not be ransom for thy life. 
 Come, Warwick, come, good Warwick, go with 
 
 me ; 
 I ha\ T e great matters to impart to thee. 
 
 [Exeunt K. HEN., WAR., Lords, <5rv. 
 Q. Mar. Mischance and sorrow go along with 
 
 you ! 
 
 Heart's discontent and sour affliction 
 Be playfellows to keep you company ! 
 There 's two of you ; the devil make a third ! 
 And threefold vengeance tend upon your steps } 
 Suf. Cease, gentle queen, these execrations, 
 And let thy Suffolk take his heavy leave. 
 Q.Mar. Fie, coward woman and soft-hearted 
 
 wretch ! 
 
 Hast thou not spirit to curse thine enemies ? 
 Suf. A plague upon them ! wherefore should 
 
 I curse them ? 
 
 Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake's groan, 
 I would invent as bitter-searching terms, 
 As curst, as harsh, and horrible to hear, 
 Deliver'd strongly through my fixed teeth, 
 With full as many signs of deadly hate 
 As lean-fac'd Envy in her loathsome cave : 
 My tongue should stumble in mine earnest 
 
 words ; 
 
 Mine eyes should sparkle like the beaten flint \ 
 Mine hair be fix'd on end, as one distract ; 
 Ay, every joint should seem to curse and ban : 
 And even now my burden'd heart would break, 
 Should I not arse them. Poison be their drink ! 
 Gall, worse than gall, the daintiest that they 
 
 taste ! 
 
 Their sweetest shade a grove of cypress trees ! 
 Their chiefest prospect murdering basilisks ! 
 Their softest touch as smart as lizard's stings ! 
 Their music frightful as the serpent's hiss ; 
 And boding screech-owls make the concert full 1 
 All the foul terrors in dark -seated hell 
 
 Q. Mar. Enough, sweet Suffolk; thou tcr- 
 
 ment'st thyself; [glass? 
 
 And these dread curses, like the sun 'gainst 
 Or like an overcharged gun, recoil, 
 And turn the force of them upon thyself. 
 
 Suf. You bade me ban, and will you bid me 
 
 leave ? 
 
 Now, by the ground that I am banish'd from, 
 Well could I curse away a winter's night, 
 Though standing naked en a mountain top, 
 Where biting cold would never let grass grow, 
 And think it but a minute spent in sport. 
 Q. Mar. O, let me entreat thee, cease ! Give 
 
 me thy hand, 
 
 That I may dew it with my mournful tears ; 
 Nor let the rain of heaven wet this place, 
 
622 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 To wash away my woeful monuments. 
 O, could this kiss be printed in thy hand, 
 
 [Kisses his hand. 
 
 That thou mightst think upon these by the seal, 
 Through whom a thousand sighs are breath'd 
 
 for thee ! 
 
 So, get thee gone, that I may know my grief; 
 'Tis but surmis'd whilst thou art standing by, 
 As one that surfeits thinking on a want. 
 I will repeal thee, or, be well assur'd, 
 Adventure to be banished myself: 
 And banished I am, if but from thee. 
 Go; speak not to me; even now be gone. 
 O, go not yet! Even thus two friends con- 
 demn'd [leaves, 
 
 Embrace, and kiss, and take ten thousand 
 Leather a hundred times to part than die. 
 Yet now, farewell ; and farewell life with thee ! 
 Suf. Thus is poor Suffolk ten times ban- 
 ished, 
 
 Once by the king and three times thrice by thee. 
 'Tis not the land I care for, wert thou hence ; 
 A wilderness is populous enough, 
 so Suffolk had thy heavenly company : 
 For where thou art, there is the world itself, 
 With every several pleasure in the world ; 
 And where thou art not, desolation. 
 I can no more : live thou to joy thy life ; 
 Myself to joy in naught but that thou liv'st. 
 
 Enter VAUX. 
 
 Q. Mar. Whither goes Vaux so fast? what 
 
 news, I pr'ythee? 
 Vaux. To signify unto his majesty 
 That Cardinal Beaufort is at point of death; 
 For suddenly a grievous sickness took him, 
 That makes him gasp, and stare, and catch the 
 
 air, 
 
 Blaspheming God, and cursing men on earth. 
 Sometime he talks as if Duke Humphrey's ghost 
 Were by his side ; sometime he calls the king, 
 And whispers to his pillow, as to him, 
 The secrets of his overcharged soul : 
 And I am sent to tell his majesty 
 That even now he cries aloud for him. [king. 
 Q. Mar. Go tell this heavy message to the 
 [Exit VAUX. 
 Ah me ! what is this world ! what news are 
 
 these ! 
 
 But wherefore grieve I at an hour's poor loss, 
 Omitting Suffolk's ex ;i e, my soul's treasure? 
 Why only, Suffolk, mourn I not for thee, 
 And with the souihern clouds contend in tears, 
 Theirs for the earth's increase, mine for my 
 
 sorrows? [coming; 
 
 Now get thee hence: the king, thou know'st, is 
 If thou be found by me, thou art but dead. 
 
 Suf. If I depart from thee I cannot live : 
 And in thy sight to die, what were it else 
 But like a pleasant slumber in thy lap? 
 Here could I breathe my soul into the air, 
 As mild and gentle as the cradle-babe 
 Dying with mother's dug between its lips : 
 Where, from thy sight, I should be raging mad, 
 And cry out for thee to close up mine eyes, 
 To have thee with thy lips to stop my mouth ; 
 So shouldst thou either turn my flying soul, 
 Or I should breathe it so into thy body, 
 And then it liv'd in sweet Elysium. 
 To die by thee were but to die in jest ; 
 From thee to die were torture more than death : 
 O, let me stay, befall what may befall ! 
 
 Q. Mar. Away ! though parting be a fretful 
 
 corrosive, 
 
 It is applied to a deathful wound. [thee ; 
 
 To France, sweet Suffolk: let me hear from 
 For wheresoe'er thou art in this world's globe 
 I '11 have an Iris that shall find thee out. 
 
 Suf. I go. 
 
 Q. Mar. And take my heart with thee. 
 
 Suf. A jewel, lock'd into the woefull'st cask 
 That ever did contain a thing of worth. 
 Even as a splitted bark, so sunder we; 
 This way fall I to death. 
 
 Q. Mar. This way for me. [Exeunt severally* 
 
 SCENE III. LONDON. CARDINAL BEAU- 
 FORT'S Bedchamber. 
 
 Enter KING HENRY, SALISBURY, WARWICK, 
 and others. The CARDINAL in bed; Attend- 
 ants with him. 
 
 K. Hen. How fares my lord? speak, Beau- 
 fort, to thy sovereign. 
 
 Car. If thou be'st death Til give thee 
 
 England's treasure, 
 
 Enough to purchase such another island, 
 So thou wilt let me live and feel no pain. 
 
 K. Hen. Ah, what a sign it is of evil life 
 Where death's approach is seen so terrible ! 
 
 War. Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to 
 thee. 
 
 Car. Bring me unto my trial when you will. 
 Died he not in his bed? where should he die? 
 Can I make men live, whe'r they will or no? 
 O, torture me no more ! I will confess. 
 Alive again ? then snow me where he is : 
 I '11 give a thousand pound to look upon him. 
 He hath no eyes, the dusi hath blinded them. 
 Comb down his hair ; look, look ! it stands up- 
 right, 
 Like lime-twigs set to catch my winged soul ! 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 623 
 
 Give me some drink ; and bid the apothecary 
 Bring the strong poison that I bought of him. 
 
 K. Hen. O thou eternal Mover of the heavens, 
 Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch ! 
 O, beat away the busy meddling fiend 
 That lays strong siege unto this wretch's soul, 
 And from his bosom purge this black despair ! 
 
 War. See how the pangs of death do make 
 him grin ! 
 
 Sal. Disturb him not, let him pass peaceably. 
 
 K. Hen. Peace to his soul, if God's good 
 
 pleasure be ! 
 
 Lord Cardinal, if thou think'st on heaven's bliss, 
 Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope. 
 He dies, and makes no sign : O God, forgive 
 him ! 
 
 War. So bad a death argues a monstrous life. 
 
 K. Hen. Forbear to judge, for we are sin- 
 ners all. 
 
 Close up his eyes, and draw the curtain close ; 
 And let us all to meditation. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 SCENE I. KENT. The Sea-shore near Dover. 
 
 Firing heard at sea. Then enter , from a boat, 
 a Captain, a Master, a Master's Mate, 
 WALTER WHITMORE, and others; -with 
 them SUFFOLK, disguised, and other Gentle- 
 men, prisoners. 
 
 Cap. The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful 
 
 day- 
 Is crept into the bosom of the sea ; 
 And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades 
 That drag the tragic melancholy night ; 
 Who with their drowsy, slow, and flagging wings 
 Clip dead men's graves, and from their misty 
 
 jaws 
 
 Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air. 
 
 Therefore bring forth the soldiers of our prize ; 
 
 For, whilst our pinnace anchors in the Downs, 
 
 Here shall they make their ransom on the sand, 
 
 Orwith their bloodstain th is discolour'd shore. 
 
 Master, this prisoner freely give I thee ; 
 
 And thou that art his mate, make boot of this ; 
 
 The other [pointing to SUFFOLK], Walter 
 
 Whitmore is thy share. [know. 
 
 I Gent. What is my ransom, master? let me 
 
 Mast. A thousand crowns, or else lay down 
 
 your head. [yours. 
 
 Mate. And so much shall you give, or off goes 
 
 Cap. What, think you much to pay two 
 
 thousand crowns, 
 And bear the name and port of gentlemen? 
 
 Cut both the villains' throats; for die /ou 
 
 shall: 
 
 The lives of those which we have lost in fight 
 
 Cannot be counterpois'd with such a petty sum. 
 
 I Gent. I '11 give it, sir ; and therefore spare 
 
 my life. [straight. 
 
 2. Gent. And so will I, and write home for it 
 
 Whit. I lost mine eye in laying the prize a- 
 
 board, 
 And therefore, to revenge it, shall thou die; 
 
 [To SUFFOLK. 
 
 And so should these, if I might have my will. 
 Cap. Be not so rash; take ransom, let him 
 
 live 
 
 Suf. Look on my George, I am a gentleman: 
 
 Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shait be paid. 
 
 Whit. And so am I; my name is Walter 
 
 Whitmore. [affright? 
 
 How now ! why start'st thou? what, doth death 
 
 Suf. Thy name affrights me, in whose sound 
 
 is death. 
 
 A cunning man did calculate my birth, 
 And told me that by Water I should die : 
 Yet let not this make thee be bloody-minded ; 
 Thy name is Gaultier^ being rightly sounded. 
 Whit. Gaultier or Walter, which it is I care 
 
 not: 
 
 Never yet did base dishonour blur our name 
 But with our sword we wip'd away the blot ; 
 Therefore, when merchant-like I sell revenge, 
 Broke be my sword, my arms torn and defac'd, 
 And I proclaim'd a coward through the world 1 
 [Lays hold on SUFFOLK. 
 Suf. Stay, Whitmore ; for thy prisoner is a 
 
 prince, 
 
 The Duke of Suffolk, William De-la-Poole. 
 Whit. The Duke of Suffolk muffled up in rags ! 
 Suf. Ay, but these rags are no part of the 
 
 duke: 
 
 Jove sometime went disguis'd, and why not I? 
 Cap. But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt 
 be. [blood, 
 
 Suf. Obscure and lowly swain, King Henry's 
 The honourable blood of Lancaster, 
 Must not be shed by such a jaded groom. 
 Hast thou not kiss'd thy hand and held my 
 
 stirrup ? 
 
 Bareheaded plodded by my foot-cloth mule, 
 And thought thee happy when I shook my head? 
 How often hast thou waited at my cup, 
 Fed from my trencher, kneel'd down at the 
 
 board, 
 
 When I have feasted with Queen Margaret ? 
 Remember it, and let it make thee crest-fall'n ; 
 Ay, and allay this thy abortive pride : 
 How in our voiding-lobby hast thou stood. 
 And duly waited for my coming forth ? 
 
624 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 This hand of mine hath writ in thy behalf, 
 And therefore shall it charm thy riotous tongue. 
 Whit. Speak, captain, shall I stab the for- 
 lorn swain ? [me. 
 Cap. First let my words stab him, as he hath 
 Suf. Base slave, thy words are blunt, and so 
 
 art thou. [boat's side 
 
 Cap. Convey him hence, and on our long- 
 Strike off his head. 
 
 Suf. Thou dar'st not, for thy own. 
 
 Cap. Yes, Poole. 
 Suf. Poole ! 
 
 Cap. Poole ! Sir Poole ! lord ! 
 
 Ay, kennel, puddle, sink ; whose filth and dirt 
 Troubles thesilver spring where England drinks. 
 Now will I dam up this thy yawning mouth 
 For swallowing the treasure of the realm : 
 Thy lips, that kiss'd the queen, shall sweep the 
 
 ground ; [phrey's death, 
 
 And thou, that smil'dst at good Duke Hum- 
 Against the senseless winds shalt grin in vain, 
 Who, in contempt, shall hiss at thee again : 
 And wedded be thou to the hags of hell, 
 For daring to affy a mighty lord 
 Unto the daughter of a worthless king, 
 Having neither subject, wealth, nor diadem. 
 By devilish policy art thou grown great, 
 And, like ambitious Sylla, overgorg'd 
 With goblets of thy mother's bleeding heart. 
 By thee Anjou and Maine were sold to France; 
 The false revolting Normans thorough thee 
 Disdain to call us lord ; and Picardy 
 Hath slain their governors, surpris'd our forts, 
 And sent the ragged soldiers wounded home. 
 The princely Warwick, and the Nevils all, 
 Whose dreadful swords were never drawn in 
 
 vain, 
 
 As hating thee, are rising up in arms : [crown 
 And now the house of York, thrust from the 
 By shameful murder of a guiltless king 
 And lofty proud encroaching tyranny, 
 Burns with revenging fire ; whose hopeful 
 
 colours 
 
 Advance our half-fac'd sun, striving to shine, 
 Under the which is writ Invitis nubibus. 
 The commons here in Kent are up in arms : 
 And, to conclude, reproach and beggary 
 Is crept into the palace of our king, 
 And all by thee. Away! convey him hence. 
 Suf. O that I were a god, to shoot forth 
 
 thunder 
 
 Upon these paltry, servile, abject drudges ! 
 Small things make base men proud ; this villain 
 
 here, 
 
 Being captain of a pinnace, threatens more 
 Than Bargulus the strong Illyrian pirate. 
 Drones suck not eagles' blood, but rob bee-hives: 
 
 It is impossible that I should die 
 
 By such a lowly vassal as thyself. 
 
 Thy words move rage and not remorse in me : 
 
 I go of message from the queen to France ; 
 
 I charge thee, waft me safely cross the Channel. 
 
 Cap. Walter, 
 
 Whit. Come, Suffolk, I must waft thee to 
 thy death. [I fear. 
 
 Suf. Gelidus timor occupat artits: 'tis thee 
 
 Wkit. Thou shalt have cause to fear before 
 
 I leave thee. 
 What, are ye daunted now? now will ye stoop? 
 
 I Gent. My gracious lord, entreat him, speak 
 him fair. [rough, 
 
 Suf. Suffolk's imperial tongue is stern and 
 Us'd to command, untaught to plead for favour. 
 Far be it we should honour such as these 
 With humble suit : no, rather let my head 
 Stoop to the block than these knees bow to any, 
 Save to the God of heaven and to my king ; 
 And sooner dance upon a bloody pole 
 Than stand uncover'd to the vulgar groom. 
 True nobility is exempt from fear : 
 More can I bear than you dare execute. 
 
 Cap. Hale him away, and let him talk no 
 more. [can, 
 
 Suf. Come, soldiers, show what cruelty ye 
 That this my death may never be forgot ! 
 Great men oft die by vile bezonians : 
 A Roman sworder and banditto slave 
 Murder'd sweet Tully ; Brutus' bastard hand 
 Stabb'd Julius Csesar ; savage islanders 
 Pompey the Great ; and Suffolk dies by pirates. 
 [Exit SUF., with WHIT, and others. 
 
 Cap. And as for these, whose ransom we 
 
 have set, 
 
 It is our pleasure one of them depart : 
 Therefore come you with us, and let him go. 
 [Exeunt all but the first Gentleman. 
 
 Re-enter WHITMORE with SUFFOLK'S body. 
 
 Whit. There let his head and lifeless body lie, 
 Until the queen his mistress bury it. [Exit. 
 
 I Gent. O barbarous and bloody spectacle ! 
 His body will I bear unto the king : 
 If he revenge it not, yet will his friends; 
 So will the queen, that, living, held him dear, 
 [Exit with the body* 
 
 SCENE \\.-r-Blackheath. 
 Enter GEORGE BEVIS and JOHN HOLLAND. 
 
 Geo. Come, and get thee a sword, though 
 made of a lath ; they have been up these two days. 
 
 John. They have the more need to sleep nowj 
 then. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 625 
 
 Well 
 
 Geo. I tell thee, Jack Cade the clothier means 
 to dress the commonwealth, and turn it, and 
 set a new nap upon it. 
 
 John. So he had need, for 'tis threadbare. 
 
 Tell, I say it was never merry world in Eng- 
 land since gentlemen came up. 
 
 Geo, O miserable age ! Virtue is not regarded 
 in handicraftsmen. 
 
 John. The nobility think scorn to go in 
 leather aprons. 
 
 Geo. Nay, more, the king's council are no 
 good workmen. 
 
 John. True ; and yet it is said, Labour in thy 
 vocation ; which is as much to say as, Let the 
 magistrates be labouring men ; and therefore 
 should we be magistrates. 
 
 Geo. Thou hast hit it ; for there 's no better 
 sign of a brave mind than a hard hand. 
 
 John. I see them ! I see them ! There 's 
 Best's son, the tanner of Wingham, 
 
 Geo. He shall have the skins of our enemies 
 to make dog's leather of. 
 
 John. And Dick the butcher, 
 
 Geo. There is sin struck down like an ox, 
 and iniquity's throat cut like a calf. 
 
 John. And Smith the weaver, 
 
 Geo. Argo, their thread of life is spun. 
 
 John. Come, come, let 's fall in with them. 
 
 Drum. Enter CADE, DICK the Butcher, 
 SMITH the Weaver > and others in great 
 number. 
 
 Cade. We John Cade, so termed of our sup- 
 posed father, 
 
 Dick. Or, rather, of stealing a cade of her- 
 rings. [Aside. 
 
 Cade. For our enemies shall fall before us, 
 inspired with the spirit of putting down kings 
 and princes. Command silence. 
 
 Dick. Silence! 
 
 Cade. My father was a Mortimer, 
 
 Dick. He was an honest man and a good 
 bricklayer. [Aside. 
 
 Cade. My mother a Plantagenet, 
 
 Dick. I knew her well ; she was a midwife. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Cade. My wife descended of the Lacies, 
 
 Dick. She was, indeed, a pedlar's daughter, 
 and sold many laces. [Aside. 
 
 Smith. But now of late, not able to travel 
 with her furred pack, she washes bucks here at 
 home. [Aside. 
 
 Cade. Therefore am I of an honourable house. 
 
 Dick. Ay, by my faith, the field is honour- 
 able ; and there was he born under a hedge, 
 for his father had never a house but the cage. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Cade. Valiant I am. 
 
 Smith. 'A must needs ; for beggary is valiant 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Cade. I am able to endure much. 
 
 Dick. No question of that ; for I have seen 
 him whipped three market days together. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Cade. I fear neither sword nor fire. 
 
 Smith. He need not fear the sword ; for his 
 coat is of proof. [Aside. 
 
 Dick. But methinks he should stand in fear 
 of fire, being burnt i' the hand for stealing of 
 sheep. [Aside. 
 
 Cade. Be brave, then ; for your captain is 
 brave, and vows reformation. There shall be 
 in England seven halfpenny loaves sold for a 
 penny: the three-hooped pot shall have ten 
 hoops ; and I will make it felony to drink small 
 beer : all the realm shall be in common ; and 
 in Cheapside shall my palfrey go to grass : and 
 when I am king, as king I will be,- 
 
 All. God save your majesty I 
 
 Cade. I thank you, good people : there shall 
 be no money ; all shall eat and drink on my 
 score ; and I will apparel them all in one 
 livery, that they may agree like brothers, and 
 worship me their lord. 
 
 Dick. The first thing we do, let 's kill all the 
 lawyers. 
 
 Cade. Nay, that I mean to do. Is not this a 
 lamentable thing, that of the skin of an innocent 
 lamb should be made parchment? that parch- 
 ment, being scribbled o'er, should undo a man ? 
 Some say the bee stings ; but I say 'tis the bee's 
 wax ; for I did but seal once to a thing, and I 
 was never mine own man since. How now ! 
 who 's there ? 
 
 Enter some, bringing in the Clerk of Chatham. 
 
 Smith. The clerk of Chatham : he can write 
 and read and cast accompt. 
 
 Cade. O monstrous I 
 
 Smith. We took him setting of boys' copies. 
 
 Cade. Here 's a villain ! 
 
 Smith. Has a book in his pocket with red 
 letters in 't. 
 
 Cade. Nay, then, he is a conjurer, 
 
 Dick. Nay, he can make obligations and 
 write court -hand. 
 
 Cade. I am sorry for 't : the man is a proper 
 man, on mine honour : unless I find him guilty, 
 he shall not die. Come hither, sirrah, I must 
 examine thee : what is thy name ? 
 
 Clerk. Emmanuel. 
 
 Dick. They use to write it on the top of 
 letters : 'twill go hard with you. 
 
 Cade. Let me alone. Dost thotz use to write 
 
626 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 thy name ? or hast thou a mark to thyself, like 
 an honest plain-dealing man ? 
 
 Clerk. Sir, I thank God, I have been so well 
 brought up that I can write my name. 
 
 All. He hath confessed : away with him ! he's 
 a villain and a traitor. 
 
 Cade. Away with him, I say ! hang him with 
 his pen and inkhorn about his neck. 
 
 [Exeunt some with the Clerk. 
 
 Enter MICHAEL. 
 
 Mich. Where 's our general ? 
 
 Cade. Here I am, thou particular fellow. 
 
 Mich. Fly, fly, fly ! Sir Humphrey Stafford 
 and his brother are hard by, with the king's 
 forces. 
 
 Cade. Stand, villain, stand, or I '11 fell thee 
 down. He shall be encountered with a man as 
 good as himself : he is but a knight, is 'a ? 
 
 Mich. No. 
 
 Cade. To equal him, I will make myself a 
 knight presently. [Kneels."] Rise up. Sir John 
 Mortimer. [Rises.] Now have at him ! 
 
 Enter SIR HUMPHREY STAFFORD and 
 WILLIAM his Brother, with drum and Forces. 
 
 Staf. Rebellious hinds, the filth and scum of 
 
 Kent, 
 
 Mark'd for the gallows, lay your weapons down ; 
 Home to your cottages, forsake this groom : 
 The king is merciful if you revolt. [blood 
 
 W. Staf. But angry, wrathful, and inclin'd to 
 If you go forward : therefore yield or die. 
 
 Cade. As for these silken-coated slaves,! pass 
 
 not : 
 
 It is to you, good people, that I speak, 
 O'er whom, in time to come, I hope to reign ; 
 For I am rightful heir unto the crown. 
 
 Staf. Villain, thy father was a plasterer ; 
 And thou thyself a shearman, art thou not ? 
 
 Cade. And Adam was a gardener. 
 
 W. Staf. And what of that? 
 
 Cade. Marry, this: Edmund Mortimer, Earl 
 
 of March, [he not ? 
 
 Married the Duke of Clarence' daughter, did 
 
 Staf. Ay, sir. 
 
 Cade. By her he had two children at one birth. 
 
 W. Staf. That 's false. ['tis true : 
 
 Cade. Ay, there 's the question ; but I say 
 The elder of them being put to nurse, 
 Was by a beggar-woman stol'n away ; 
 And, ignorant of his tirth and parentage, 
 Became a bricklayer when he came to age : 
 His son am I ; deny it if you can. 
 
 Dick. Nay, 'tis too true ; therefore he shall 
 be king. 
 
 Smith. Sir, he made a chimney in my father's 
 
 house, an' I the bricks are alive at this day to 
 testify it ; therefore deny it not. [words, 
 
 Staf. And will you credit this base drudge's 
 That speaks he knows not what? [gone. 
 
 All. Ay, marry, will we ; therefore get ye 
 
 W. Staf. Jack Cade, the Duke of York hath 
 taught you this. 
 
 Cade. He lies, for I invented it myself 
 [Aside.] Go to, sirrah, tell the king from me, 
 that, for his father's sake, Henry the Fifth, in 
 whose time boys wentto span-counter for French 
 crowns, I am content he shall reign ; but I '11 
 be protector over him. 
 
 Dick. And furthermore, we '11 have the Lord 
 Say's head, for selling the dukedom of Maine. 
 
 Cade. And good reason ; for thereby is Eng- 
 land mained, and fain to go with a staff, but that 
 my puissance holds it up. Fellow kings, I tell 
 you that that Lord Say hath gelded the common- 
 wealth, and made it an eunuch : and more than 
 that, he can speak P'rench ; and therefore he is 
 a traitor. 
 
 Staf. O gross and miserable ignorance ! 
 
 Cade. Nay, answer if you can : "he French- 
 men are our enemies ; go to, then, I ask but this, 
 can he that speaks with the tongue of an enemy 
 be a good counsellor, or no? [head. 
 
 All. No, no; and therefore we'll have his 
 
 W. Staf. Well, seeing gentle words will not 
 
 prevail, 
 Assail them with the army of the king, [town 
 
 Staf. Herald, away ; and throughout every 
 Proclaim them traitors ihat are up with Cade ; 
 That those which fly before the battle ends 
 May, even in their wives' and children's sight, 
 Be hang'd up for example at their doors : 
 And you that be the king's friends, follow me. 
 [Exeunt the two STAFFORDS and Forces. 
 
 Cade. And you that love the commons follow 
 
 me. 
 
 Now show yourselves men ; 'tis for liberty. 
 We will not leave one lord, one gentleman : 
 Spare none but such as go in clouted shoon ; 
 For they are thrifty honest men, and such 
 As would but that they dare not take our 
 parts. [wards us. 
 
 Dick. They are all in order, and march to- 
 
 Cade. But then are we in order when we are 
 most out of order. Come, march forward. 
 
 \Exezmt-. 
 
 SCENE III. Another part of Blackheath. 
 
 Alarums. The two parties enter and fight, and 
 both the STAFFORDS are slain. 
 
 Cade. Where 's Dick, the butcher of Ashford ? 
 Dick. Here, sir. 
 
SCENE IV.j 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 627 
 
 Cade. They fell before thee like sheepand oxen, 
 and thou behavedst thyself as if thou hadst been 
 in thine own slaughter-house : therefore thus will 
 I reward thee, the Lent shall be as long again 
 as it is ; and thou shalt have a license to kill for 
 a hundred lacking one, a week. 
 
 Dick. I desire no more. 
 
 Cade. And, to speak truth, thou deservest 
 no less. This monument of the victory will I 
 bear {putting on pent of Sm H. STAFFORD'S 
 armour]; and the bodies shall be dragged at 
 my horse's heels till I do come to London, 
 where we will have the mayor's sword borne 
 before us. 
 
 Dick. If we mean to thrive and do good, 
 break open the gaols, and let out the prisoners. 
 
 Cade. Fear not that, I warrant thee. Come, 
 let 's march towards London. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. LONDON. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter KING HENRY, reading a supplication; 
 the DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM and LORD SAY 
 with him: at a distance, QUEEN MARGARET 
 mourning aver SUFFOLK'S head. 
 
 Q. Mar. Oft have I heard that grief softens 
 
 the mind, 
 
 And makes it fearful and degenerate ; 
 Think therefore on revenge, and cease to weep. 
 But who can cease to weep, and look on this? 
 Here may his head lie on my throbbing breast: 
 But where's the body that I should embrace? 
 
 BUCK. What answer makes your grace to the 
 rebels' supplication? 
 
 K. Hen. I '11 send some holy bishop to en- 
 treat ; 
 
 For God forbid so many simple souls 
 Should perish by the sword ! And I myself, 
 Rather than bloody war shall cut them short, 
 Will parley with Jack Cade their general : 
 But stay, I '11 read it over once again. 
 
 Q. Mar. Ah, barbarous villains' hath this 
 
 lovely face 
 
 Rul'd, like a wandering planet, over me, 
 And could it not enforce them to relent 
 That were unworthy to behold the same? 
 
 K. Hen. Lord Say, Jack Cade hath sworn to 
 have thy head. [his. 
 
 Say. Ay, but I hope your highness shall have 
 
 K* Ken. How now, madam ! 
 Still lamentingand mourning for Suffolk's death? 
 I fear, my love, if that I had oeen dead, [me. 
 Thou wouldst not have mourn'd so much for 
 
 Q. Afar. No, my love, I should not mourn, 
 but die for thee. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 K. Hen. How now! what news? whycom'st 
 thou in such haste? [lord ; 
 
 Mess. The rebels are in Southwark ; fly, my 
 Jack Cade proclaims himself Lord Mortimer, 
 Descended from the Duke of Clarence' house ; 
 And calls your grace usurper cpenly, 
 And vows to crown himself in Westminster. 
 His army is a ragged multitude 
 Of hinds and peasants, rude and merciless : 
 Sir Humphrey Stafford and his brother's death 
 Hath given them heart and courage to proceed : 
 All scholars, lawyers, courtiers, gentlemen, 
 They call false caterpillars, and intend their death. 
 
 K. Hen. O graceless menl they know not 
 what they do, [worth 
 
 Buck. My gracious lord, retire to Killing- 
 Until a power be rais'd to put them down. 
 
 Q. Mar. Ah ! were the Duke of Suffolk now 
 
 alive, 
 These Kentish rebels would be soon appeas'd. 
 
 K. Hen. Lord Say, the traitors hate thee ; 
 Therefore away with us to Killingworth. 
 
 Say. So might your grace's person be in 
 
 danger ; 
 
 The sight of me is odious in their eyes : 
 And therefore in this city will I stay, 
 And live alone as secret as I may. 
 
 Enter a second Messenger. 
 
 2 Mess. Jack Cade hath gotten London Bridge: 
 The citizens fly and forsake their houses ; 
 The rascal people, thirsting after prey, 
 Join witn the traitor ; and they jointly swear 
 To spoil the city and your royal court. 
 
 Buck. Then linger not, my lord ; away, take 
 
 horse. 
 
 K. Hen. Come, Margaret; God, our hope, 
 
 will succour us. [deceas'd. 
 
 Q. Mar. My hope is gone, now Suffolk is 
 
 K. Hen. Farewell, my lord [to LORD SAY]: 
 
 trust not the Kentish rebels. 
 Buck. Trust nobody, for fear you be betray'd. 
 Say. The crust I have is in mine innocence, 
 And therefore am I bold and resolute. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. LONDON. The Tower. 
 
 Enter LORD SCALES and others, on the Walls. 
 Then enter certain Citizens, below. 
 
 Scales. How now ! is Jack Cade slain? 
 
 I Cit. No, my lord, nor likely to be slain ; for 
 they have won the bridge, killing all those that 
 withstand them : the lord mayor craves aid of 
 
628 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 your honour from the Tower, to defend the city 
 from the rebels. 
 
 Scales. Such aid as I can spare, you shall com- 
 mand ; 
 
 But I am troubled here with them myself, 
 The rebels have assay'd to win the Tower. 
 But get you to Smithfield, and gather head, 
 And thither I will send you Matthew Gough ; 
 Fight for your king, your country, and your lives; 
 And so, farewell, for I must hence again. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI. LONDON. Cannon Street. 
 
 Enter JACK CADE and his Followers. He 
 strikes his staff on London stone. 
 
 Cade. Now is Mortimer lord of this city. 
 And here, sitting upon London stone, I charge 
 and command that, of the city's cost, the pissing- 
 conduit run nothing but claret wine this first 
 year of our reign. And now henceforward it 
 shall be treason for any that calls me other than 
 Lord Mortimer. 
 
 Enter a Soldier, winning. 
 
 Sold. Jack Cade ! Jack Cade ! 
 
 Cade. Knock him down there. 
 
 '{They kill him. 
 
 Smith. If this fellow be wise, he'll never 
 call you Jack Cade more ; I think he hath a 
 very fair warning. 
 
 Dick. My lord, there 's an army gathered to- 
 gether in Smithfield. 
 
 Cade. Come, then, let 's go fight with them : 
 but first, go and set London Bridge on fire ; and, 
 if you can, burn down the Tower too. Come, 
 let 's away. {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VII. LONDON. Smithfield. 
 
 Alarums. Enter, on one side, CADE and his 
 Company; on the other. Citizens, and the 
 KING'S Forces, headed by MATTHEW GOUGH. 
 They fight ; the Citizens are rcntted, and 
 MATTHEW GOUGH is slain. 
 
 Cade. So, sirs : now go some and pull down 
 the Savoy ; others to the inns of court ; down 
 with them all. 
 
 Dick. I have a suit unto your lordship. 
 
 Cade. Be it a lordship, thou shalt have it for 
 that word. 
 
 Dick. Only, that the laws of England may 
 come out of your mouth. 
 
 John. Mass, 'twill be sore law then ; for he 
 
 was thrust in the mouth with a spear, and 'tis 
 not whole yet. {Aside. 
 
 Smith. Nay, John, it will be stinking law ; 
 for his breath stinks with eating toasted cheese. 
 
 {Aside. 
 
 Cade. I have thought upon it, it shall be so. 
 Away, burn all the records of the realm : my 
 mouth shall be the Parliament of England. 
 
 John. Then we are like to have biting statutes, 
 unless his teeth be pulled out. {Aside. 
 
 Cade. And henceforward all things shall be 
 in common. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My lord, a prize, a prize ! here 's the 
 Lord Say, which sold the towns in France ; he 
 that made us pay one-and-twenty fifteens, and 
 one shilling to the pound, the last subsidy. 
 
 Enter GEORGE BEVIS, with the LORD SAY. 
 
 _ Cade. Well, he shall be beheaded for it ten 
 times. Ah, thou say, thou serge, nay, thou 
 buckram lord ! now art thou within point blank 
 of our jurisdiction regal. What canst thou 
 answer to my majesty for giving up of Normandy 
 unto Monsieur Basimecu, the Dauphin of 
 France? Be it known unto thee by these pre- 
 sence, even the presence of Lord Mortimer, that 
 I am the besom that must sweep the court clean 
 of such filth as thou art. Thou hast most traitor- 
 ously corrupted the youth of the realm in erect- 
 ing a grammar school : and whereas, before, our 
 forefathers had no other books but the score and 
 the tally, thou hast caused printing to be used ; 
 and, contrary to the king, his crown, and dignity, 
 thou hast built a paper-mill. It will be proved 
 to thy face that thou hast men about thee that 
 usually talk of a noun and a verb, and such 
 abominable words as no Christian ear can endure 
 to hear. Thou hast appointed justices of peace, 
 to call poor men before them about matters they 
 were not able to answer. Moreover, thou hast 
 put them in prison ; and because they could not 
 read, thou hast hanged them ; when, indeed, 
 only for that cause they have been most worthy 
 to live. Thou dost ride in a foot-cloth, dost 
 thou not? 
 
 Say. What of that? 
 
 Cade. Marry, thou oughtest not to let thy 
 horse wear a cloak, when honester men than thou 
 go in their hose and doublets. 
 
 Dick. And work in their shirt too ; as my- 
 self, for example, that am a butcher. 
 
 Say. You men of Kent, 
 
 Dick. What say you of Kent? 
 
 Say. Nothing but this, 'tis bona terra> mala 
 gens. 
 
SCENE VII.] 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 Cade. Away with him, away with him ! he 
 speaks Latin. 
 
 Say. Hear me but speak, and bear me where 
 
 you will. 
 
 Kent, in the Commentaries Cresar writ, 
 Is term'd the civill'st place of all this isle : 
 Sweet is the country, because full of riches; 
 The people liberal, valiant, active, wealthy ; 
 Which makes me hope you are not void of pity. 
 I sold not Maine, I lost not Normandy; 
 Yet, to recover them, would lose my life. 
 Justice with favour have I always done; 
 Prayers and tears have mov'd me, gifts could 
 
 never. 
 
 When have I aught exacted at your hands, 
 But to maintain the king, the realm, and you? 
 Large gifts have I bestow'd on learned clerks, 
 Because my book preferr'd me to the king, 
 And seeing ignorance is the curse of God, 
 Knowledge the wing wherewith we fly to heaven. 
 Unless you be possess'd with devilish spirits, 
 You cannot but forbear to murder me : 
 This tongue hath parley'd unto foreign kings 
 For your behoof, [the field? 
 
 Cade. Tut, when struck'st thou one blow in 
 
 Say. Great men have reaching hands: oft 
 
 have I struck 
 Those that I never saw, and struck them dead. 
 
 Geo. O monstrous coward ! what, to come be- 
 hind folks? [your good. 
 
 Say. These cheeks are pale for watching for 
 
 Cade. Give him a box o' the ear, and that 
 will make 'em red again. [causes 
 
 Say. Long sitting to determine poor men's 
 Hath made me full of sickness and diseases. 
 
 Cade. Ye shall have a hempen caudle, then, 
 and the help of hatchet. 
 
 Dick. Why dost thou quiver, man? 
 
 Say. The palsy, and not fear, provokes me. 
 
 Cade. Nay, he nods at us, as who should say, 
 I '11 be even with you : I '11 see if his head will 
 stand steadier on a pole, or no. Take him 
 away, and behead him. 
 
 Say. Tell me wherein have I offended most? 
 Have I affected wealth or honour, speak? 
 Are my chests fill'd up with extorted gold? 
 Is my apparel sumptuous to behold? 
 Whom have I injur'd, that ye seek my death? 
 These hands are free from guiltless blood-shed- 
 ding, [thoughts. 
 This breast from harbouring foul deceitful 
 O let me live ! 
 
 Cade. I feel remorse in myself with his words ; 
 but I '11 bridle it: he shall die, an it be but for 
 pleading so well for his life. [Aside.'] Away 
 with him ! he has a familiar under his tongue ; 
 he speaks not o' God's name. Go, take him 
 
 away, I say, and strike off his head presently ; 
 and then break into his son-in-law's house, Sir 
 James Cromer, and strike off his head, and 
 bring them both upon two poles hither. 
 
 All. It shall be done. [prayers, 
 
 Say. Ah, countrymen ! if when you make your 
 God should be so obdurate as yourselves, 
 How would it fare with your departed souls? 
 And therefore yet relent, and save my life. 
 
 Cade. Away with him, and do as I command 
 ye. {Exeunt some with LORD SAY. 
 
 The proudest peer in the realm shall not wear 
 a head on his shoulders, unless he pay me 
 tribute ; there shall not a maid be married, but 
 she shall pay to me her maidenhead ere they 
 have it: men shall hold of me in capite; and 
 we charge and command that their wives be as 
 free as heart can wish or tongue can tell. 
 
 Dick. My lord, when shall we go to Cheap- 
 side, and take up commodities upon our bills ? 
 
 Cade. Marry, presently. 
 
 All. O brave ! 
 
 Re-enter Rebels, with the heads 0/"LoRD SAY 
 and his Son-in-law. 
 
 Cade. But is not this braver? Let them kiss 
 one another, for they loved well when they were 
 alive. Now, part them again, lest they consult 
 about the giving up of some more towns inFrance. 
 Soldiers, defer the spoil of the city until night : 
 for with these borne before us, instead of maces, 
 will we ride through the streets j and at every 
 corner have them kiss. Away! \Excunt* 
 
 SCENE \\\l. Southward 
 Alarum. Enter CADE and all his Rabblement. 
 
 Cade. Up Fish Street ! down Saint Magnus' 
 corner ! kill and knock down ! throw them into 
 Thames! [A parley sounded, then a retreat.] 
 What noise is this I hear ? Dare any be so bold 
 to sound retreat or parley, when I command them 
 
 km? 
 
 Enter BUCKINGHAM and LORD CLIFFORD, 
 with Forces. 
 
 Biick. Ay, here they be that dare and will 
 disturb thee : [king 
 
 Know, Cade, we come ambassadors from the 
 Unto the commons whom thou hast misled ; 
 And here pronounce free pardon to them all 
 That will forsake thee and go home in peace. 
 
 Cltf. What say ye, countrymen? willyerelent, 
 And yield to mercy whilst 'tis offer'd you ; 
 Or let a rebel lead you to your deaths ? 
 Who loves the king, and will embracehis pardon, 
 
630 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT IV. 
 
 Fling up his cap, and say God save his majesty ! 
 Who hateth him, and honours not his father, 
 Henry the Fifth, that made all France to quake, 
 Shake he his weapon at us and pass by. 
 
 All. God save the king ! God save the king ! 
 
 Cade. What, Buckingham and Clifford, are 
 ye so brave ? And you, base peasants, do ye 
 believe him? will you needs be hanged with your 
 pardons about your necks? Hath my sword 
 therefore broke through London gates, that you 
 should leave me at the White Hart in South- 
 wark? I thought ye would never have given 
 out these arms till you had recovered your 
 ancient freedom : but you are all recreants and 
 dastards, and delight to live in slavery to the 
 nobility. Let them break your backs with 
 burdens, take your houses over your heads, 
 ravish your wives and daughters before your 
 faces : for me, I will make shift for one ; and 
 so, God's curse light upon you all ! 
 . All. We '11 follow Cade, we '11 follow Cade ! 
 
 Clif. Is Cade the son of Henry the Fifth, 
 That thus you do exclaim you '11 go with him ? 
 Will he conduct you through the heart of France, 
 And make the meanest of you earls and dukes? 
 Alas, he hath no home, no place to fly to ; 
 Nor knows he how to live, but by the spoil, 
 Unless by robbing of your friends and us. 
 Were 't not a shame, that whilst you live at jar, 
 The fearful French, whom you late vanquished, 
 Should make a start o'er seas and vanquish you? 
 Methinks already in this civil broil 
 I see them lording it in London streets, 
 Crying Viliaco! unto all they meet. 
 Better ten thousand base-born Cades miscarry 
 Than you should stoop unto a Frenchman's 
 mercy. [lost ; 
 
 To France, to France, and get what you have 
 Spare England, for it is your native coast : 
 Henry hath money, you are strong and manly ; 
 God on our side, doubt not of victory. 
 
 All. A Clifford! a Clifford! we '11 follow the 
 king and Clifford. 
 
 Cade. Was ever feather so lightly blown to 
 and fro as this multitude? The name of Henry 
 the Fifth hales them to an hundred mischiefs, 
 and makes them leave me desolate. I see them 
 lay their heads together to surprise me: my 
 sword make way for me, for here is no staying. 
 [Aside.'] In despite of the devils and hell, have 
 through the very middest of you ! and heavens 
 and honour be witness that no want of resolu- 
 tion in me, but only my followers' base and 
 ignominious treasons, makes me betake me to 
 my heels. [Exit. 
 
 Buck. What ! is he fled? go some and follow 
 him; 
 
 And he that brings his head unto the king 
 Shall have a thousand crowns for his reward. i 
 [Exeunt some of them. 
 Follow me, soldiers : we '11 devise a mean 
 To reconcile you all unto the king. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IX. Killingworth Castle. 
 
 Trumpets sounded. Enter KING HENRY. 
 QUEEN MARGARET, and SOMERSET, on ths 
 terrace of the Castle. 
 
 K. Hen. Was ever king that joy'd an earthly 
 
 throne, 
 
 And could command no more content than I ? 
 No sooner was I crept out of my cradle 
 But I was made a king, at nine months old : 
 Was never subject long'd to be a king 
 As I do long and wish to be a subject. 
 
 Enter BUCKINGHAM and LORD CLIFFORD. 
 
 Buck. Health andglad tidingsto yourmajesty ! 
 K. Hen. Why, Buckingham, is the traitor 
 
 Cade surpris'd? 
 Or is he but retir'd to make him strong? 
 
 Enter y below, a number of CADE'S Followers, 
 with halters about their necks. 
 
 Clif. He is fled, my lord, and all his powers 
 
 do yield ; 
 
 And humbly thus, with halters on their necks, 
 Expect your highness' doom of life or death. 
 K. Hen. Then, heaven, set ope thy everlast- 
 ing gates, 
 
 To entertain my vows of thanks and praise ! 
 Soldiers, this day have you redeem'd your lives, 
 And show'd how well you love your prince and 
 
 country : 
 
 Continue still in this so good a mind, 
 And Henry, though he be infortunate, 
 Assure yourselves, will never be unkind : 
 And so, with thanks and pardon to you all, 
 I do dismiss you to your several countries. 
 All. God save the king 1 God save the king ! 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Please it your grace to be advertised 
 The Duke of York is newly come from Ireland ; 
 And with a puissant and a mighty power 
 Of Gallowglasses and stout kerns 
 Is marching hitherward in proud array : 
 And still proclaimeth, as he comes along, 
 His arms are only to remove from thee 
 The Duke of Somerset, whom he terms a traitor. 
 
 K. Hen. Thus stands my state, 'twixt Cade 
 
 and York distress'd ; 
 Like to a ship that, having 'scap'd a tempest, 
 
SCENE X.] 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 631 
 
 Is straightway calm'd, and boarded with a pirate : 
 But now is Cade driven baclc, hio men dispers'd ; 
 And now is York in arms to second him. 
 I pray thee, Buckingnam, go thou and meet him; 
 And ask him what 's the reason of these arms. 
 Tell him I '11 send Duke Edmund to the Tower; 
 And, Somerset, we will commit thee thither, 
 Until his army be dismiss'd from him. 
 
 Sotn My lord, 
 
 I '11 yield myself to prison willingly, 
 Or unto death, to do my country good. 
 
 K. Hen. In any case be not too rough in 
 
 terms ; [guage. 
 
 For he is fierce, and cannot brook hard lan- 
 
 Buck. I will, my lord ; and doubt not so to 
 
 deal 
 As all things snail redound unto your good. 
 
 K. Hen. Come, wife, let 's in, and learn to 
 
 govern better; 
 
 For yet may England curse my wretched reign. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE X. KENT. IDEN'S Garden. 
 Enter CADE. 
 
 Cade. Fie on ambition ! fie on myself, that 
 have a sword, and yet am ready to famish ! 
 These five days have I hid me in these woods, 
 and durst not peep out, for all the country is 
 laid for me ; but now am I so hungry that if I 
 might have a lease of my life for a thousand 
 years, I could stay no longer. Wherefore, on 
 a brick wall have I climbed into this garden, 
 to see if I can eat grass or pick a sallet another 
 while, which is not amiss to cool a man's 
 stomach this hot weather. And I think this 
 word sallet was born to do me good : for many 
 a time, but for a sallet, my brain-pan had been 
 cleft with a brown bill ; and many a time, when 
 I have been dry, and bravely marching, it hath 
 served me instead of a quart-pot to drink in ; 
 and now the word sallet must serve me to feed 
 on. 
 
 Enter IDEN, with Servants behind. 
 
 Iden. Lord, who would live turmoiled in the 
 
 court, 
 
 And may enjoy such quiet walks as these? 
 This small inheritance my father left me 
 Contenteth me, and 's worth a monarchy. 
 I seek not to wax great by others' waning, 
 Or gather wealth I care not with what envy: 
 Sufficeth that I have maintains my state, 
 And sends the poor well pleased from my gate. 
 
 Cade. Here 's the lord of the soil come to 
 seize me for a stray, for entering his fee-simple 
 without leave. [Aside.} Ah, vilUJn, thou .vilt 
 
 betray me, and get a thousand crowns of the 
 king by carrying my head to him 1 but I '11 make 
 thee eat iron like an ostrich, and swallow my 
 sword like a great pin, ere thou and I part. 
 
 Iden. Why, rude companion, whatso'er thou 
 be, [thee? 
 
 I know thee not; why, then, should I betray 
 Is 't not enough to break into my garden, 
 And like a thief to come to rob my grounds, 
 Climbing my walls in spite of me the owner, 
 But thou wilt brave me with these saucy terms ? 
 
 Cade. Brave thee ! ay, by the best blood that 
 ever was broached, and beard thee too. Look 
 on me well : I have eat no meat these five days ; 
 yet, come thou and thy five men, and if I do not 
 leave you all as dead as a door nail, I pray God 
 I may never eat grass more. 
 
 Iden. Nay, it shall ne'er be said, while England 
 
 stands, 
 
 That Alexander Iden, an esquire of Kent, 
 Took odds to combat a poor famish'd man. 
 Oppose thy steadfast-gazing eyes to mine, 
 See if thou canst outface me with thy looks : 
 Set limb to limb, and thou art far the lesser ; 
 Thy hand is but a finger to my fist ; 
 Thy leg a stick compared with this truncheon ; 
 My foot shall fight with all the strength thou 
 
 hast ; 
 
 And if mine arm be heaved in the air, 
 Thy grave is digg'd already in the earth. 
 As for words, whose greatness answers words, 
 Let this my sword report what speech forbears. 
 
 Cade. By my valour, the most complete 
 champion that ever I heard. Steel, if thou 
 turn the edge, or cut not out the burley-boned 
 clown in chines of beet ere thou sleep in thy 
 sheath, I beseech Jove, on my knees, thou 
 mayest be turned to hobnails. [ They fight, 
 CADE falls. ] O, I am slain ! famine and no 
 other hath slain me : let ten thousand devils 
 come against me, and give me but the ten meals 
 I have lost, and I 'd defy them all. Wither, 
 garden ; and be henceforth a burying-place to 
 all that do dwell in this house, because the un- 
 conquered soul of Cade is fled. 
 
 Iden. Is 't Cade that I have slain, that mon- 
 strous traitor ? 
 
 Sword, I will hallow thee for this thy deed, 
 And hang thee o'er my tomb when I am dead % 
 Ne'er shall this blood be wiped from thy point ; 
 But thou shalt wear it as a herald's coat, 
 To emblaze the honour that thy master got. 
 
 Cade. Iden, farewell ; and be proud of thy 
 victory. Tell Kent from me, she hath lost her 
 best man ; and exhort all the world to be 
 cowards, for I, that never feared any, am 
 vanquished by famine, not by valour, {Dies. 
 
SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Iden. How much thou wrongst me, heaven be 
 my judge. [thee ! 
 
 Die, damned wretch, the curse of her that bare 
 And as I thrust thy body in with my sword, 
 So wish I, I might thrust thy soul to hell. 
 Hence will I drag thee headlong by the heels 
 Unto a dunghill, which shall be thy grave, 
 And there cut off thy most ungracious head ; 
 Which I will bear in triumph to the king, 
 Leaving thy trunk for crows to feed upon. 
 
 [Exeunt i dragging out the body. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. Fields between Dart ford and Black- 
 heath. 
 
 The KING'S Camp on one side. On the other, 
 enter YORK attended, with drum and colours: 
 his Forces at some distance. 
 
 York. From Ireland thus comes York to claim 
 
 his right, 
 
 And pluck the crown from feeble Henry's head : 
 Ring, bells, aloud; burn, bonfires, clear and 
 
 bright; 
 
 To entertain great England's lawful king. 
 Ah, sancta itiajestasl who would not buy thee 
 
 dear? 
 
 Let them obey that know not how to rule ; 
 This hand was made to handle naught but gold. 
 I cannot give due action to my words 
 Except a sword or sceptre balance it : 
 A sceptre shall it have, have I a soul, 
 On which I '11 toss the flower-de-luce of France. 
 
 Enter BUCKINGHAM. 
 
 Whom have we here? Buckingham, to disturb 
 
 me? 
 
 The king hath sent him, sure : I must dissemble. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Buck* York, if thou meanest well, I greet 
 
 thee well. [greeting. 
 
 York. Humphrey of Buckingham, I accept thy 
 
 Art thou a messenger, or come of pleasure? 
 
 Buck. A messenger from Henry, our dread 
 
 liege, 
 
 To know the reason of these arms in peace ; 
 Or why thou, being a subject as I am, 
 Against thy oath and true allegiance sworn, 
 Shouldst raise so great a power without his leave, 
 Or dare to bring thy force so near the court. 
 York. Scarce can I speak, my choler is so 
 
 great: 
 
 O, I could hew up rocks and fight with flint, 
 I am so angry at these abject terms; 
 
 And now, like Ajax Telamonius, 
 
 On sheep or oxen could I spend my fury ! 
 
 I am far better born than is the king; 
 
 More like a king, more kingly in my thoughts : 
 
 But I must make fair weather yet awhile, 
 
 Till Henry be more weak and I more strong. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Buckingham, I pr'ythee, pardon me, 
 That I have given no answer all this while; 
 My mind was troubled with deep melancholy. 
 The cause why I have brought this army hither 
 Is to remove proud Somerset from the king, 
 Seditious to his grace and to the state, [part : 
 
 Buck. That is too much presumption on thy 
 But if thy arms be to no other end, 
 The king hath yielded unto thy demand ; 
 The Duke of Somerset is in the Tower. 
 
 York. Upon thine honour, is he prisoner? 
 
 Buck. Upon mine honour, he is prisoner. 
 
 York. Then, Buckingham, I do dismiss my 
 
 powers. 
 
 Soldiers, I thank you all ; disperse yourselves ; 
 Meet me to-morrow in Saint George's field, 
 You shall have pay and everything you wish. 
 And let my sc /ereign, virtuous Henry, 
 Command my eldest son, nay, all my sons, 
 As pledges of my fealty and love ; 
 I '11 send them all as willing as I live : 
 Lands, goods, horse, armour, anything I have, 
 Is his to use, so Somerset may die. 
 
 Buck. York, I commend this kind submission: 
 We twain will go into his highness' tent. 
 
 Enter KING HENRY, attended. 
 
 K. Hen. Buckingham, doth York intend no 
 
 harm to us, 
 That thus he marcheth with thee arm in arm ? 
 
 York. In all submission and humility 
 York doth present himself unto your highness. 
 
 K. Hen. Then what intend these forces thou 
 dost bring ? [hence, 
 
 York. To heave the traitor Somerset from 
 And fight against that monstrous rebel Cade, 
 Who since I heard to be discomfited. 
 
 Enter IDEN, with CADE'S head. 
 
 Iden. If one so rude and of so mean condition 
 May pass into the presence of a king, 
 Lo, I present your grace a traitor's head, 
 The head of Cade, whom I in combat slew. 
 
 K. Hen. The head of Cade ! Great God, 
 
 how just art thou ! 
 O, let me view his visage, being dead, 
 That living wrought me such exceeding 
 trouble. [him ? 
 
 Tell me, my friend, art thou the man that slew 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 633 
 
 Iden. I was, an't like your majesty. 
 
 K. Hen. How art thou call'd ? and what is 
 
 thy degree ? 
 
 Iden. Alexander Iden, that 's my name ; 
 A poor esquire of Kent, that loves his king. 
 Buck. So please it you, my lord, 'twere not 
 
 amiss 
 
 He were created knight for his good service. 
 K. Hen. Iden, kneel down, [He kneels.} 
 
 Rise up a knight. 
 
 We give thee for reward a thousand marks ; 
 And will that thou henceforth attend on us. 
 
 Iden.. May Iden live to merit such a bounty, 
 And never live but true unto his liege ! 
 
 K. Hen. See, Buckingham ! Somerset conies 
 
 with the queen : 
 Go, bid her hide him quickly from the duke. 
 
 Enter QUEEN MA?GARET and SOMERSET. 
 Q. Mar. For thousand Yorks he shall not 
 
 hide his head, 
 But boldly stand and front him to his face. 
 
 York. How now J is Somerset at liberty ? 
 Then, York, unloose thy long - imprison'd 
 
 thoughts, 
 
 And let thy tongue be equal with thy heart. 
 Shall I endure the sight of Somerset ? [me, 
 False king 1 why hast thou broken faith with 
 Knowing how hardly I can brook abuse ? 
 King did I call thee? no, thou art not king ; 
 Not fit to govern and rule multitudes, 
 Which dar'st not, no, nor canst not rule a 
 
 traitor. 
 
 That head of thine doth not become a crown ; 
 Thy hand is made to grasp a palmer's staff, 
 And not to grace an awful princely sceptre. 
 That gold must round engirt these brows of mine, 
 Whose smile and frown, like to Achilles' spear, 
 Is able with the change to kill and cure. 
 Here is a hand to hold a sceptre up, 
 And with the same to act controlling laws. 
 Give place : by heaven, thou shalt rule no 
 
 more 
 
 O'er him whom heaven created for thy ruler. 
 Som. O monstrous traitor! I arrest thee, 
 
 York, 
 
 Of capital treason 'gainst the king and crown : 
 Obey, audacious traitor ; kneel for grace. 
 York. Wouldst have me kneel? first let me 
 
 ask of these, 
 
 If they can brook I bow a knee to man. 
 Sirrah, call in my sons to be my bail : 
 
 [Exit Atten. 
 
 I know, ere they will have me go to ward, 
 They '11 pawn their swords for my enfranchise- 
 ment, [amain, 
 Q. Mar. Call hither Clifford ; bid him come 
 
 To say if that the bastard boys of York 
 Shall be the surety for their traitor father. 
 
 [Exit an Attendant. 
 
 York. O blood-bespotted Neapolitan, 
 Outcast of Naples, England's bloody scourge ! 
 The sons of York, thy betters in their birth, 
 Shall be their father's bail ; and bane to those 
 That for my surety will refuse the boys ! 
 See where they come : I '11 warrant they '11 make 
 it good. [bail. 
 
 Q. Mar. And here comes Clifford to deny their 
 
 Enter EDWARD and RICHARD PLANT AGEIJET, 
 with Forces, at one side ; at the other, with 
 Forces also, LORD CLIFFORD and his Son. 
 
 Clif. Health and all happiness to my lord the 
 king ! [Kneels. 
 
 York. I thank thee, Clifford : say, what news 
 
 with thee ? 
 
 Nay, do not fright us with an angry look : 
 We are thy sovereign, Clifford, kneel again ; 
 For thy mistaking so, we pardon thee. [take ; 
 
 Clif. This is my king, York, I do not mis- 
 B-*. thou mistak'st me much to think I do : 
 To Bedlam with him ! is the man grown mad? 
 
 K. Hen. Ay, Clifford ; a bedlam and ambi- 
 tious humour 
 Makes him oppose himself against his king. 
 
 Clif. He is a traitor ; let him to the Tower, 
 And chop away that factious pate of his. 
 
 Q. Mar. He is arrested, but will not obey ; 
 His sons, he says, shall give their words forhim. 
 
 York. Will you not, sons? 
 
 Edw. Ay, noble father, if our words will serve. 
 
 Rich. And if words will not, then our weapons 
 shall. [here I 
 
 Clif. Why, what a brood of traitors have we 
 
 York. Look in a glass, and call thy image so : 
 I am thy king, and thou a false-heart traitor. 
 Call hither to the stake my two brave bears, 
 That with the very shaking of their chains 
 They may astonish these fell-lurking curs : 
 Bid Salisbury and Warwick come to me. 
 
 Drums. Enter WARWICK and SALISBURY, 
 with Forces. 
 
 Clif. Are these thy bears ? we '11 bait thy bears 
 
 to death, 
 
 And manacle the bear-ward in their chains, 
 If thou dar'st bring them to the baiting-place. 
 
 Rich. Oft have I seen a hot o'erweening cur 
 Run back and bite, because he was withheld ; 
 Who, being suffer'd with the bear's fell paw, 
 Hath clapp'd his tail between his legs and cried : 
 And such a piece of service will you do, 
 If you oppose yourselves to match Lord Warwick. 
 
634 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT V, 
 
 Clif. Hence, heap of wrath, foul indigested 
 
 lump, 
 As crooked in thy manners as thy shape ! 
 
 York. Nay, we shall heat you thoroughly 
 anon. 
 
 Clif. Take heed, lest by your heat you burn 
 yourselves. [to bow ? 
 
 K. Hen. Why, Warwick, hath thy knee forgot 
 Old Salisbury, shame to thy silver hair, 
 Thou mad misleader of thy brainsick son ! 
 What, wilt thou on thy death-bed play the 
 
 ruffian, 
 
 And seek for sorrow with thy spectacles ? 
 O, where is faith? O, where is loyalty? 
 If it be banish'd from the frosty head, 
 Where shall it find a harbour in the earth ? 
 Wilt thou go dig a grave to find out war, 
 And shame thine honourable age with blood ? 
 Why art thou old, and want'st experience ? 
 Or wherefore dost abuse it, if thou hast it? 
 For shame ! in duty bend thy knee to me, 
 That bows unto the grave with mickle age. 
 
 Sal. My lord, I have consider'd with myself 
 The title of this most renowned duke ; 
 And in my conscience do repute his grace 
 The rightful heir to England's royal seat. 
 
 K. Hen. Hast thou not sworn allegiance unto 
 me? 
 
 Sal. I have. 
 
 K. Hen. Canst thou dispense with heaven 
 for such an oath? 
 
 Sal. It is great sin to swear unto a sin ; 
 But greater sin to keep a sinful oath. 
 Who can be bound by any solemn vow 
 To do a murderous deed, to rob a man, 
 To force a spotless virgin's chastity, 
 To reave the orphan of his patrimony, 
 To wring the widow from her custom'd right; 
 And have no other reason for this wrong 
 But that he was bound by a solemn oath? 
 
 Q. Mar. A subtle traitor needs no sophister. 
 
 K. Hen. Call Buckingham, and bid him arm 
 himself. [thou hast, 
 
 York. Call Buckingham, and all the friends 
 I am resolv'd for death or dignity. [true. 
 
 Clif. The first I warrant thee, if dreams prove 
 
 War. You were best to go to bed and dream 
 
 again, 
 To keep thee from the tempest of the field. 
 
 Clif. I am resolv'd to bear a greater storm 
 Than any thou canst conjure up to-day; 
 And that I '11 write upon thy burgonet, 
 Might I but know thee by thy household badge. 
 
 War. Now, by my father's badge, old Nevil's 
 
 crest, 
 
 The rampant bear chain'd to the ragged staff, 
 This day 1*11 wear aloft my burgonet, 
 
 As on a mountain-top the cedar shows, 
 That keeps his leaves in spite of any storm,- 
 Even to affright thee with the view thereof. 
 Clif. And from thy burgonet I'll rend thy 
 
 bear, 
 
 And tread it under foot with all contempt, 
 Despite the bear-ward that protects the bear. 
 Y. Clif. And so to arms, victorious father, 
 To quell the rebels and their complices. 
 
 Rich. Fie ! charity, for shame ! speak not in 
 
 spite, 
 
 For you shall sup vi\\hjesu Christ to-night. 
 Y. Clif. Foul stigmatic, that 's more than thou 
 
 canst tell. 
 
 Rich. If not in heaven, you '11 surely sup in 
 hell. [Exeunt severally. 
 
 SCENE II. Saint Albans. 
 Alarums: excursions. Enter WARWICK. 
 
 War. Clifford of Cumberland, 'tis Warwick 
 
 calls ! 
 
 And if thou dost not hide thee from the bear, 
 Now, when the angry trumpet sounds alarum, 
 And dead men's cries do fill the empty air, 
 Clifford, I say, come forth and fight with me ! 
 Proud northern lord, Clifford of Cumberland, 
 Warwick is hoarse with calling thee to arms. 
 
 Enter YORK. 
 
 How now, my noble lord ! what, all a-foot? 
 York. The deadly-handed Clifford slew my 
 
 steed ; 
 
 But match to match I have encounter'd him, 
 And made a prey for carrion kites and crows 
 Even of the bonny beast he lov'd so well. 
 
 Enter LORD CLIFFORD. 
 
 War. Of one or both of us the time is come. 
 York. Hold, Warwick, seek thee out some 
 
 other chase, 
 
 For I myself must hunt this deer to death. 
 War. Then, nobly, York ; "'tis for a crown 
 
 thou fight'st. 
 
 As I intend, Clifford, to thrive to-day, 
 It grieves my soul to leave thee unassail'd. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Clif. What see'st thou in me, York? why 
 dost thou pause? [love, 
 
 York. With thy brave bearing should I be in 
 But that thou art so fast mine enemy. 
 
 Clif. Nor should thy prowess want praise 
 
 and esteem, 
 
 But that 'tis shown ignobly and in treason. 
 York. So let it help me now against thy 
 
 sword, 
 As I in justice and true right express it I 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 635 
 
 Clif. My soul and body on the action both ! 
 York. A dreadful lay ! address thee instantly. 
 Clif. La Jin couronne Ics ceuvres. 
 
 [ They fight, and CLIFFORD falls and dies. 
 York. Thus war hath given thee peace, for 
 
 thou art still. 
 Peace with his soul, heaven, if it be thy will ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 Enter YOUNG CLIFFORD. 
 
 Y. Clif. Shame and confusion ! all is on the 
 
 rout ; 
 
 Fear frames disorder, and disorder wounds 
 Where it should guard. O war, thou son of hell, 
 Whom angry heavens do make their minister, 
 Throw in the frozen bosoms of our part 
 Hot coals of vengeance ! Let no soldier fly : 
 He that is truly dedicate to war 
 Hath no self-love ; nor he that loves himself 
 Hath not essentially, but by circumstance, 
 The name of valour. O, let the vile world end. 
 {Seeing his father's body. 
 And the premised flames of the last day 
 Knit earth and heaven together ! 
 Now let the general trumpet blow his blast, 
 Particularities and petty sounds 
 To cease ! Wast thou ordain'd, dear father, 
 To lose thy youth in peace, and to achieve 
 The silver livery of advised age, 
 And in thy reverence and thy chair-days thus 
 To die in ruffian battle? Even at this sight 
 My heart is turn'd to stone : and while 'tis mine 
 It shall be stony. York not our old men spares ; 
 No more will I their babes: tears virginal 
 Shall be to me even as the dew to fire; 
 And beauty, that the tyrant oft reclaims, 
 Shall to my flaming wrath be oil and flax. 
 Henceforth I will not have to do with pity : 
 Meet I an infant of the house of York, 
 Into as many gobbets will I cut it 
 As wild Medea young Absyrtus did : 
 In cruelty will I seek out my fame. 
 Come, thou new ruin of old Clifford's house : 
 
 [ Taking up the body. 
 As did ^Eneas old Anchises bear, 
 So bear I thee upon my manly shoulders ; 
 But then ^Eneas bare a living load, 
 Nothing so heavy as these woes of mine. [Exit. 
 
 Enter RICHARD PLANT AGENET and SOMER- 
 SET, fighting, and SOMERSET is killed. 
 
 Rich. So, lie thou there ; 
 For underneath an alehouse' paltry sign, 
 The Castle in Saint Albans, Somerset 
 Hath made the wizard famous in his death. 
 Sword, hold thy temper ; heart, be wrathful still: 
 Priests pray for enemies, but princes kill. [Exit. 
 
 Alarums: excursions. Enter KING HENRY, 
 QUEEN MARGARET, and others ; retreating. 
 
 Q. Mar. Away, my lord ! you are slow ; for 
 
 shame, away ! 
 K. Hen. Can we outrun the heavens? good 
 
 Margaret, stay. 
 Q. Mar. What are you made of? you '11 nor 
 
 fight nor fly: 
 
 Now is it manhood, wisdom, and defence, 
 To give the enemy way ; and to secure us 
 By what we can, which can no more but fly. 
 
 [Alarum afar off. 
 
 If you be ta'en, we then should see the bottom 
 Of all our fortunes: but if we haply scape, 
 As well we may, if not through your neglect, 
 We shall to London get : where you are lov'd ; 
 A nd where this breach, now in our fortunes made, 
 May readily be stopp'd. 
 
 Re-enter YOUNG CLIFFORD. 
 
 Y. Clif. But that my heart 's on future mis 
 
 chief set, 
 
 I would speak blasphemy ere bid you fly : 
 But fly you must ; uncurable discomfit 
 Reigns in the hearts of all our present parts. 
 Away, for your relief! and we will live 
 To see their day, and them our fortune give : 
 Away, my lord, away ! \Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. Fields near Saint Albans. 
 
 Alarum: retreat. Flourish; then enter YORK, 
 RICHARD PLANTAGENET, WARWICK, and 
 Soldiers, with drum and colours. 
 
 York. Of Salisbury, who can report of him, 
 That winter lion, who in rage forgets 
 Aged contusions and all brush of time, 
 And, like a gallant in the brow of youth, 
 Repairs him with occasion? This happy day 
 Is not itself, nor have we won one foot, 
 If Salisbury be lost. 
 
 Rich. My noble father, 
 
 Three times to-day I holp him to his horse, 
 Three times bestrid him, thrice I led him off, 
 Persuaded him from any further act : [him ; 
 But still, where danger was, still there I met 
 And like rich hangings in a homely house, 
 So was his will in his old feeble body. 
 But, noble as he is, look where he comes. 
 
 Enter SALISBURY. 
 
 Sal. Now, by my sword, well hast thou 
 
 fought to-day; 
 
 By the mass, so did we all. I thank you, 
 Richard : 
 
636 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 God knows how long it is I have to live ; 
 \nd it hath pleas'd him that three times to-day 
 ^ou have defended me from imminent death. 
 Well, lords, we have not got that which we 
 
 have: 
 
 Tis not enough our foes are this time fled, 
 Being opposites of such repairing nature. 
 
 York. I know our safety is to follow them ; 
 For, as I hear, the king is fled to London, 
 To call a present court of Parliament. 
 
 Let us pursue him ere the writs go forth : 
 What says Lord Warwick? shall we after them? 
 War. After them ! nay, before them, if we 
 
 can. 
 
 Now, by my hand, lords, 'twas a glorious day: 
 Saint Albans battle, won by famous York, 
 Shall be eterniz'd in all age to come. [all : 
 Sound drums and trumpets ; and to London 
 And more such days as these to us befall ! 
 
 {Exeunt. 
 

 THIRD PART OF 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 KING HENRY THE SIXTH. 
 
 EDWARD, Prince of Wales, his Son. 
 
 LOUIS XL, King of France. 
 
 DUKE OF SOMERSET, 
 
 DUKE OF EXETER, 
 
 EARL OF OXFORD, I Lordson KING 
 
 EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND, | HENRY'S side. 
 
 EARL OF WESTMORELAND, 
 
 LORD CLIFFORD, 
 
 RICHARD PLANTAGENET, Duke of York. 
 
 EDWARD, Earl of March, afterwards'" 
 
 KING EDWARD IV., 
 EDMUND, Earl of Rutland, 
 GE.ORGE,afterwards)ue of Clarence, 
 
 his Sons. 
 
 DUKE OF NORFOLK, 
 
 MARQUIS OF MONTAGUE, 
 
 EARL OF WARWICK, of the DUKE OF 
 
 EARL OF PEMBROKE, 
 
 LORD HASTINGS, 
 
 LORD STAFFORD, 
 
 SIR JOHN MORTIMER, ) Uncles to the DUKE 
 
 SIR HUGH MORTIMER, / OF YORK. 
 
 HENRY, Earl of Richmond, & youth. 
 
 LORD RIVERS, Brother to LADY GREY 
 
 SIR WILLIAM STANLEY. 
 
 SIR JOHN MONTGOMERY. 
 
 SIR JOHN SOMERVILLE. 
 
 Tutor to RUTLAND. 
 
 Mayor of York. 
 
 Lieutenant of the Tower. 
 
 A Nobleman. 
 
 Two Keepers. 
 
 A Huntsman. 
 
 A Son that has killed his Father. 
 
 A Father that has killed his Son, 
 
 QUEEN MARGARET. 
 
 LADY GREY, afterwards Queen to EDWARD IV. 
 
 BONA, Sister to the French Queen. 
 
 Soldiers, and other Attendants on KING HENRY 
 and KING EDWARD, Messengers, Watch- 
 men, &c. 
 
 SCENE, During part of the Third Act in FRANCE; during the rest of the Play in ENGLAND. 
 
 Edw. Lord Stafford's father, Duke of Buck- 
 ACT I. . ingham, 
 
 Is either slain or wounded dangerous ; 
 
 SCENE I. LONDON. The Parliament House. I cleft his beaver with a downright blow : 
 
 That this is true, father, behold his blood. 
 
 [Showing his bloody sword. 
 Mont. And. brother, here's the Earl of 
 Wiltshire's blood, 
 
 [To YORK, showing his. 
 Whom I encounter'd as the battles join'd. 
 Rich. Speak thou for me, and tell them what 
 I did. 
 
 [Throwing down SOMERSET'S head. 
 York. Richard hath best deserv'd of all my 
 
 sons. 
 
 But, is your grace dead, my Lord of Somerset? 
 Norf. Such hope have all the line of John of 
 
 Gaunt. 
 
 Rich. Thus do I hope to shake King Henry's 
 head. 
 
 Drums. Some Soldiers of YORK'S Party break 
 in. Then enter the DUKE OF YORK, ED- 
 WARD, RICHARD, NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, 
 WARWICK, and others > with white roses in 
 their hats. 
 
 War. I wonder how the king escap'd our 
 hands. [north, 
 
 York. While we pursu'd the horsemen of the 
 He slily stole away, and left his men : 
 Whereat the great Lord of Northumberland, 
 Whose warlike ears could never brook retreat, 
 Cheer'd up the drooping army ; and himself, 
 Lord Clifford, and Lord Stafford, all a-breast, 
 Charg'dour main battle's front, and, breaking in, 
 Were by the swords of common soldiers slain. 
 
638 
 
 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 tACT 
 
 War. And so do I. Victorious Prince of 
 
 York, 
 
 Before I see thee seated in that throne 
 Which now the house of Lancaster usurps, 
 I vow by heaven these eyes shall never close. 
 This is the palace of the fearful king, 
 And this the regal seat : possess it, York ; 
 For this is thine, and not King Henry's heirs'. 
 York. Assist me, then, sweet Warwick, and 
 
 I will ; 
 
 For hither we have broken in by force. [die. 
 Norf. We '11 all assist you ; he that flies shall 
 York. Thanks, gentle Norfolk : stay by me, 
 
 my lords ; 
 
 And, soldiers, stay, and lodge by me this night. 
 War. And when the king comes, offer him 
 
 no violence, 
 Unless he seek to thrust you out per force. 
 
 [The Soldiers retire. 
 
 York. The queen this day here holds her par- 
 liament, 
 
 But little thinks we shall be of her council : 
 By words or blows here let us win our right. 
 Rich. Arm'd as we are, let 's stay within this 
 house. [call'd, 
 
 War. The bloody parliament shall this be 
 Unless Plantagenet, Duke of York, be king, 
 And bashful Henry depos'd, whose cowardice 
 Hath made us by- words to our enemies. 
 
 York. Then leave me not, my lords ; be re- 
 solute ; 
 I mean to take possession of my right. 
 
 War. Neither the king, nor he that loves 
 
 him best, 
 
 The proudest he that holds up Lancaster, 
 Dares stir a wing if Warwick shake his bells. 
 I '11 plant Plan tagenet, root him up who dares: 
 Resolve thee, Richard ; claim the English crown. 
 [WARWICK leads YORK to the throne, 
 who seats himself. 
 
 Flourish. Enter KING HENRY, CLIFFORD, 
 NORTHUMBERLAND, WESTMORELAND, EX- 
 ETER, and others, with red roses in their 
 hats. 
 
 K. Hen. My lords, look where the sturdy 
 
 rebel sits, 
 
 Even in the chair of state ! belike he means, 
 Back'd by the power of Warwick, that false 
 
 peer, 
 
 To aspire unto the crown, and reign asking. 
 Earl of Northumberland, he slew thy father ; 
 And thine, Lord Clifford ; and you both have 
 
 vow'd revenge 
 
 On him, his sons, his favourites, and his friends. 
 North. If I be not, heavens be reveng'd on 
 
 me 1 
 
 Clif. The hope thereof makes Clifford mourn 
 
 in steel. 
 West. What, shall we suffer this ? let's pluck 
 
 him down : 
 
 My heart for anger burns ; I cannot brook it. 
 K. Hen. Be patient, gentle Earl of West- 
 moreland. 
 
 Clif. Patience is for poltroons, and such as he : 
 He durs'c not sit there had your father liv'd. 
 My gracious lord, here in the parliament 
 Let us assail the family of York. [so. 
 
 North. Well hast thou spoken, cousin : be it 
 K. Hen. Ah, know you not the city favours 
 
 them, 
 
 And they have trnops of soldiers at their beck ? 
 Exe. But when the duke is slain they '11 
 
 quickly fly. 
 K. Hen. Far be the thought of this from 
 
 Henry's heart, 
 
 To make a shambles of the parliament house ! 
 Cousin of Exeter, frowns, words, and threats 
 Snail be the war that Henry means to use. 
 
 [They advance to the DUKE. 
 Thou factious Duke of York, descend my throne, 
 And kneel for grace and mercy at my feet ; 
 I am thy sovereign. 
 York. I am thine. 
 
 Exe. For shame, come down : he made thee 
 
 Duke of York. [was. 
 
 York. It was my inheritance, as the earldom 
 
 Exe. Thy father was a traitor to the crown. 
 
 War. Exeter, thou art a traitor to the crown 
 
 In following this usurping Henry. 
 
 Clif. Whom should he follow but his natural 
 
 king? 
 War. True, Clifford; and that's Richard 
 
 Duke of York. 
 K. Hen. And shall I stand, and thou sit in my 
 
 throne? 
 
 York. It must and shall be so : content thyself. 
 War. Be Duke of Lancaster ; let him be king. 
 West. He is both king and Duke of Lancaster; 
 And that the Lord of Westmoreland shall main- 
 tain, [target 
 War. And Warwick shall disprove it. You 
 That we are those which chas'd you from the field, 
 And slew your fathers, and with colours spread 
 March'd through the city to the palace-gates. 
 North. Yes, Warwick, I remember it to my 
 
 grief ; 
 
 And, by his soul, thou and thy house shall rue it. 
 
 West. Plantagenet, of thee, and these thy sons, 
 
 Thy kinsmen, and thy friends, I '11 have more 
 
 lives 
 
 Than drops of blood were in my father's veins. 
 Clif. Urge it no more: lest that, instead of 
 words. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 639 
 
 I send thee, Warwick, such a messenger 
 As shall revenge his death before I stir. 
 
 War. Poor Clifford ! how I scorn his worth- 
 less threats ! [crown? 
 York. Will you we show our title to the 
 If not, our swords shall plead it in the field. 
 K. Hen. What title hast thou, traitor, to the 
 
 crown? 
 
 Thy father was, as thou art, Duke of York ; 
 Thy grandfather, Roger Mortimer, Earl of 
 
 March : 
 
 I am the son of Henry the Fifth, 
 Who made the Dauphin and the French to stoop, 
 And seiz'd upon their towns and provinces. 
 War. Talk not of France, sith thou hast lost 
 
 it all. 
 
 K. Hen. The lord protector lost it, and not I : 
 
 When I was crown'd I was but nine months old. 
 
 Rich. You are old enough now, and yet, me- 
 
 thinks, you lose. 
 
 Father, tear the crown from the usurper's head. 
 Edw. Sweet father, do so ; set it on your head. 
 Mont. Good brother [to YORK], as thou lov'st 
 
 and honour st arms, 
 
 Let 's fight it out, and not stand cavilling thus. 
 Rich. Sound drums and trumpets and the 
 
 king will fly. 
 York. Sons, peace ! 
 
 K. Hen. Peace thou ! and give King Henry 
 leave to speak. [lords ; 
 
 Wc.r. Plantagenet shall speak first : hear him, 
 And be you silent and attentive too, 
 For he that interrupts him shall not live. 
 
 K. Hen. Think'st thou that I will leave my 
 
 kingly throne, 
 
 Wherein my grandsire and my father sat? 
 No : first shall war unpeople this my realm ; 
 Ay, and their colours, often borne in France, 
 And now in England to our heart's great 
 sorrow, [lords? 
 
 Shall be my winding-sheet. Why faint you, 
 My title's good, and better far than his. 
 
 War. But prove it, Henry, and thou shalt be 
 
 king. 
 K. Hen. Henry the Fourth by conquest got 
 
 the crown. 
 
 York. 'Twas by rebellion against his king. 
 K. Hen. I know not what to say ; my title 's 
 weak. [Aside. 
 
 Tell me, may not a king adopt an heir? 
 York. What then? 
 
 K. Hen. An if he may, then am I lawful king ; 
 For Richard, in the view of many lords, 
 Resign'd the crown to Henry the Fourth, 
 Whose heir my father was, and I am his. 
 
 York. He rose against him, being his sovereign, 
 And made him to resign his crown perforce. 
 
 War. Suppose, iny lords, he did it uncon- 
 
 strain'd, 
 Think you 'twere prejudicial to his crown? 
 
 Exe. No ; for he could not so resign his crown 
 But that the next heir should succeed and 
 
 reign. 
 
 K. Hen. Art thou against us, Duke of Exeter? 
 Exe. His is the right, and therefore pardon me. 
 York. Why whisper you, my lords, and 
 
 answer not ? 
 
 Exe. My conscience tells me he is lawful king. 
 
 K. Hen. All will revolt from me, and turn 
 
 to him. [Aside. 
 
 North. Plantagenet, for all the claim thou 
 
 lay'st, 
 
 Think not that Henry shall be so depos'd. 
 War. Depos'd he shall be, in despite of all. 
 North. Thou art deceiv'd: ; tis not thy southern 
 
 power, 
 
 Of Essex, Norfolk, Suffolk, nor of Kent, 
 Which makes thee thus presumptuous and 
 
 proud, 
 Can set the duke up in despite of me. 
 
 Clif. King Henry, be thy title right or wrong, 
 Lord Clifford vows to fight in thy defence : 
 May that ground gape, and swallow me alive, 
 Where I shall kneel to him that slew my father! 
 K. Hen. O Clifford, how thy words revive 
 my heart ! [crown. 
 
 York. Henry of Lancaster, resign thy 
 What mutter you, or what conspire you, lords? 
 War. Do right unto this princely Duke of 
 
 York; 
 
 Or I will fill the house with armed men, 
 And o'er the chair of state, where now he sits, 
 Write up his title with usurping blood. 
 
 [He stamps ', and the Soldiers show themselves. 
 K. Hen. My Lord of Warwick, hear me but 
 
 one word : 
 
 Let me for this my life-time reign as king. 
 York. Confirm the crown to me and to mine 
 
 heirs. 
 
 And thou shalt reign in quiet while thou liv'st. 
 K. Hen. I am content : Richard Plantagenet, 
 Enjoy the kingdom after my decease. ^ [son ! 
 Clif. What wrong is this unto the prince your 
 War. What good is this to England and him- 
 self! 
 
 West. Base, fearful, and despairing Henry! 
 Clif. How hast thou injur'd both thyself and 
 
 us! 
 
 West. I cannot stay to hear these articles. 
 North. Nor I. 
 
 Clif. Come, cousin, let us tell the queen these 
 
 news. [king, 
 
 West. Farewell, faint-hearted and degenerate 
 
 In whose cold blood no spark of honour bides. 
 
640 
 
 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 North. Be thou a prey unto the house of York, 
 And die in bands, for this unmanly deed ! 
 
 Clif. In dreadful war mayst thou be overcome, 
 Or live in peace, abandon'd and despis'd ! 
 
 {Exeunt NORTH., CLIP., and WEST. 
 
 War. Turn this way, Henry, and regard 
 
 them not. [not yield. 
 
 Exe. They seek revenge, and therefore will 
 
 K. Hen. Ah, Exeter ! 
 
 War. Why should you sigh, my lord ! 
 
 K. Hen. Not for myself, Lord Warwick, but 
 
 my son, 
 
 Whom I unnaturally shall disinherit. 
 But be it as it may : I here entail 
 The crown to thee and to thine heirs for ever ; 
 Conditionally, that here thou take an oath 
 To cease this civil war, and, whilst I live, 
 To honour me as thy king and sovereign, 
 And neither by treason nor hostility 
 To seek to put me down and reign thyself. 
 York. This oath I willingly take, and will per- 
 form. {Coming from the throne. 
 War. Long live King Henry 1 Plantagenet, 
 
 embrace him. 
 K. Hen. And long live thou, and these thy 
 
 forward sons ! 
 
 York. Now York and Lancaster are reconcil'd. 
 Exe. Accurs'd be he that seeks to make them 
 foes! 
 
 {Sennet. The Lords come forward. 
 York. Farewell, my gracious lord ; I '11 to 
 
 my castle. 
 
 War. And I '11 keep London with my soldiers. 
 Norf. And I to Norfolk with my followers. 
 Mont. And I unto the sea, from whence I 
 
 came. 
 {Exeunt YORK and his Sons, WAR. , NORF. , 
 
 MONT., Soldiers, and Attendants. 
 K. Hen. And I, with grief and sorrow to the 
 
 court. 
 xe. Here comes the queen, whose looks 
 
 bewray her anger : 
 
 I'll steal away. [Going 1 . 
 
 K. Hen. Exeter, so will I. [Going. 
 
 Enter QUEEN MARGARET and the PRINCE OF 
 WALES. 
 
 Q. Mar. Nay, go not from me ; I will follow 
 thee. [stay. 
 
 K. Hen. Be patient, gentle queen, and I will 
 Q. Mar. Who can be patient in such ex- 
 tremes ? 
 
 Ah, wretched man ! would I had died a maid, 
 And never seen thee, never born thee son, 
 Seeing thou hast prov'd so unnatural a father ! 
 Hath he deserv'd to lose his birthright thus ? 
 Hadst thou but lov'd him half so well as I, 
 
 Or felt that pain which I did for him once, 
 Or nourish'a him as I did with my blood, 
 Thou wouldst have left thy dearest heart-blood 
 
 there, 
 
 Rather than made that savage duke thine heir, 
 And disinherited thine only son. 
 
 Prince. Father, you cannot disinherit me : 
 If you be king, why should not I succeed ? 
 
 K. Hen. Pardon me, Margaret ; pardon me, 
 
 sweet son : 
 The Earl of Warwick and the duke enforc'd me. 
 
 Q. Mar. Enforc'd thee ! art thou king, and 
 wilt be forc'd ? [wretch ! 
 
 I shame to hear thee speak. Ah, timorous 
 Thou hast undone thyself, thy son, and me ; 
 And given unto the house of York such head 
 As thou shalt reign but by their sufferance. 
 To entail him and his heirs unto the crown, 
 What is it, but to make thy sepulchre, 
 And creep into it far before thy time ? 
 Warwick is chancellor and the lord of Calais ; 
 Stern Falconbridge commands the narrow seas ; 
 The duke is made protector of the realm ; 
 And yet shalt thou be safe? such safety finds 
 The trembling lamb environed with wolves. 
 Had I been there, which am a silly woman, 
 The soldiers should have toss'd meon their pikes 
 Before I would have granted to that act. 
 But thou preferr'st thy life before thine honour : 
 And seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself 
 Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed, 
 Until that act of parliament be repealed, 
 Whereby my son is disinherited. [colours 
 
 The northern lords that have forsworn thy 
 Will follow mine, if once they see them spread : 
 And spread they shall be, to thy foul disgrace, 
 And utter ruin of the house of York. 
 Thus do I leave thee. Come, son, let 's away ; 
 Our army is ready ; come, we '11 after them. 
 
 K. Hen. Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me 
 speak. 
 
 Q. Mar. Thou hast spoke too much already : 
 get thee gone. [with me? 
 
 K. Hen. Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay 
 
 Q. Mar. Ay, to be murder'd by his enemies. 
 
 Prince. When I return with victory from the 
 
 field 
 I '11 see your grace : till then I '11 follow her. 
 
 Q. Mar. Come, son, away; we may not linger 
 thus. [Exeunt QUEEN MARGARET 
 and the PRINCE. 
 
 K. Hen. Poor queen ! how love to me and 
 
 to her son 
 
 Hath made her break out into terms of rage ! 
 Reveng'd may she be on that hateful duke, 
 Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire, 
 Will cost my crown, and like an empty eagle 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VL 
 
 641 
 
 Tire on the flesh of me and of my son ! 
 The loss of those three lords torments my heart: 
 I '11 write unto them, and entreat them fair : 
 Come, cousin, you shall be the messenger. 
 Exe. And I, I hope, shall reconcile them all. 
 
 \Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. A Room in Sandal Castle , near 
 Wakefield, in Yorkshire. 
 
 Enter EDWARD, RICHARD, and MONTAGUE. 
 
 Rich. Brother, though I be youngest, give 
 
 me leave. 
 
 Edw. No, I can better play the orator. 
 Mont. But I have reasons strong and forcible. 
 
 Enter YORK. 
 
 York. Why, how now, sons and brother ! at 
 
 a strife? 
 
 What is your quarrel? how began it first? 
 Edw. No quarrel, but a slight contention. 
 York. About what? 
 RuA. About that which concerns your grace 
 
 and us, 
 
 The crown of England, father, which is yours. 
 
 York. Mine, boy? not till King Henry be 
 
 dead. [death. 
 
 Rich. Your right depends not on his life or 
 
 Edw. Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it 
 
 now : [breathe, 
 
 By giving the house of Lancaster leave to 
 
 It will outrun you, father, in the end. [reign. 
 
 York. I took an oath that he should quietly 
 
 Edw. But, for a kingdom, any oath may be 
 
 broken : [year. 
 
 I would break a thousand oaths to reign one 
 
 Rich. No ; God forbid your grace should be 
 
 forsworn. 
 
 York. I shall be, if I claim by open war. 
 Rich. I '11 prove the contrary, if you '11 hear 
 
 me speak. 
 
 York. Thou canst not, son; it is impossible. 
 Rich. An oath is of no moment, being not 
 
 took 
 
 Before a true and lawful magistrate, 
 That hath authority over him that swears: 
 Henry had none, but did usurp the place ; 
 Then, seeing 'twas he that made you to depose, 
 Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous. 
 Therefore, to arms. And, father, do but think 
 How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown; 
 Within whose circuit is Elysium, 
 And all that poets feign of bliss and joy. 
 Why do we linger thus? I cannot rest 
 Until the white rose that I wear be dy'd 
 Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart. 
 
 York. Richard, enough; I will be king, ot 
 
 die 
 
 Brother, thou shalt to London presently, 
 And whet on Warwick to this enterprise. 
 Thou, Richard, shalt to the Duke of Norfolk, 
 And tell him privily of our intent, 
 You, Edward, shall unto my Lord Cobham, 
 With whom the Kentishmen will willingly rise ; 
 In them I trust ; for they are soldiers, 
 Witty, courteous, liberal, full of spirit. 
 While you are thus employ'd, what resteth more, 
 But that I seek occasion how to rise, 
 And yet the king not privy to my drift, 
 Nor any of the house of Lancaster? 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 But, stay: what news? Why com'st thou in 
 such post? [and lords 
 
 Mess. The qUeen with all the northern earls 
 Intend here to besiege you in your castle : 
 She is hard by with twenty thousand men; 
 And therefore fortify your hold, my lord. 
 York. Ay, with my sword. What ! think'st 
 
 thou that we fear them? 
 Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me ; 
 My brother Montague shall post to London: 
 Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest, 
 Whom we have left protectors of the king, 
 With powerful policy strengthen themselves, 
 And trust not simple Henry nor his oaths. 
 Mont. Brother, I go; I'll win them, fear it 
 
 not: 
 And thus most humbly I do take my leave. 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 Enter SIR JOHN and SIR HUGH MORTIMER. 
 
 York. Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer, 
 
 mine uncles ! 
 
 You are come to Sandal in a happy hour ; 
 The army of the queen mean to besiege us. 
 Sir John. She shall not need, we '11 meet her 
 
 in the field. 
 
 York. What, with five thousand men ? 
 Rich. Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need: 
 A woman's general; what should we fear? 
 
 [A march afar off. 
 Edw. I hear their drums: let's set our men 
 
 in order, 
 
 And issue forth, and bid them battle straight. 
 York. Five men to twenty ! though the odds 
 
 be great, 
 
 I doubt not, uncle, of our victory. 
 Many a battle have I won in France, 
 Whenas the enemy hath been ten to one: 
 Why should I not now have the like success.? 
 
 {Exeunt. 
 
642 
 
 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT L 
 
 SCENE III. Plains near Sandal Castle. 
 Alarum. Enter RUTLAND and his Tutor. 
 
 Rut. Ah, whither shall I fly to 'scape their 
 
 hands? 
 Ah, tutor, look where bloody Clifford comes ! 
 
 Enter CLIFFORD and Soldiers. 
 
 Clif. Chaplain, away ! thy priesthood saves 
 
 thy life. 
 
 As for the brat of this accursed duke, 
 Whose father slew my father, he shall die. 
 Tut. And I, my lord, will bear him company. 
 Clif. Soldiers, away with him ! [child, 
 
 Tut. Ah, Clifford, murder not this innocent 
 Lest thou be hated both of God and man. 
 
 [Exit, forced off by Soldiers. 
 Clif. How now ! is he dead already? or is it 
 
 fear 
 
 That makes him close his eyes? I '11 open them. 
 Rut. So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch 
 That trembles under his devouring paws ; 
 And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey, 
 And so he comes, to rend his limbs asunder. 
 Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword, . 
 And not with such a cruel threat'ning look ! 
 Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die ! 
 I am too mean a subject for thy wrath : 
 Be thou reveng'd on men, and let me live. 
 Clif. In vain thou speak' st, poor boy; my 
 father's blood [enter. 
 
 Hath stopp'd the passage where thy wordsshould 
 Rut. Then let my father's blood open it again: 
 He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him. 
 Clif. Had I thy brethren here, their lives and 
 
 thine 
 
 Were not revenge sufficient for me ; 
 No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves, 
 And hung their rotten coffins up in chains, 
 It could not slake mine ire nor ease my heart. 
 The sight of any of the house of York 
 Is as a fury to torment my soul ; 
 And till I root out their accursed line 
 And leave not one alive, I live in hell. 
 Therefore, [Lifting his hand. 
 
 Rut. O let me pray before I take my death ! 
 To thee I pray ; sweet Clifford, pity me ! 
 Clif. Such pity as my rapier's point affords. 
 Rut. I never did thee harm: why wilt thou 
 
 slay me? 
 
 Clif. Thy father hath. 
 
 Rut. But 'twas ere I was born. 
 
 Thou hast one son, for his sake pity me ; 
 Lest in revenge thereof, sith God is just, 
 H 2 be as miserably slain as I. 
 Ah, let me live in prison all my days ; 
 
 And when I give occasion of offence 
 
 Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause. 
 
 Clif. No cause! 
 Thy father slew my father ; therefore, die. 
 
 [CLIFFORD stabs him. 
 
 Rut. Dii faciant^ laudis summa sit ista tu&i 
 
 [Dies. 
 
 Clif. Plantagenet ! I come, Plantagenet ! 
 And this thy son's blood cleaving to my blade 
 Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood, 
 Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV. Another part oftke Plains near 
 Sandal Castle. 
 
 Alarum. Enter YORK. 
 
 York. The army of the queen hath got the 
 
 field: 
 
 My uncles both are slain in rescuing me ; 
 And all my followers to the eager foe 
 Turn back, and fly, like ships before the wind, 
 Or lambs pursu'd by hunger-starved wolves. 
 My sons, God knows what hath bechanced 
 them : [selves 
 
 But this I know, they have demean'd them- 
 Like men born to renown by life or death. 
 Three times did Richard make a lane to me ; 
 And thrice cried, Courage, ] at her! fight it out*< 
 And full as oft came Edward to 
 
 With purple falchion, painted to the hilt 
 In blood of those that had encountered him : 
 And when the hardiest warriors did retire, 
 Richard cried, Charge! and give no foot of 
 
 ground! 
 
 And cried, A croivn> or else a glorious tomb ! 
 A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre! 
 With this we charg'd again : but, out, alas ! 
 We bodg'd again ; as I have seen a swan 
 With bootless labour swim against the tide, 
 And spend her strength with over-matching 
 
 waves. [A short alarum within. 
 
 Ah, hark ! the fatal followers do pursue ; 
 And I am faint, and cannot fly their fury : 
 And were I strong, I would not shun their fury: 
 The sands are number'd that make up my life; 
 Here must I stay, and here my life must end. 
 
 Enter QUEEN MARGARET, CLIFFORD, NOR- 
 THUMBERLAND, and Soldiers. 
 
 Come, bloody Clifford, rough Northumber- 
 
 land, 
 
 I dare your quenchless fur}' to more rage : 
 I am your butt, and I abide your shot. 
 
 North. Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet. 
 
 Clif. Ay, to such mercy as his ruthless arm, 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 643 
 
 With downright payment, show'd unto my father. 
 Now Phaeton hath tumbled from his car, 
 And made an evening at the noontide prick. 
 York. My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring 
 
 forth 
 
 A bird that will revenge upon you all : 
 And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven, 
 Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with. 
 Why come you not ? what ! multitudes, and fear ? 
 Clif. So cowards fight when they can fly no 
 
 further ; 
 
 So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons ; 
 So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives, 
 Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers. 
 
 York. O Clifford, but bethink thee once again, 
 
 And in thy thought o'errun my former time ; 
 
 And, if thou canst, for blushing, view this face, 
 
 And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with 
 
 cowardice [this ! 
 
 Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere 
 
 Clif. I will not bandy with thee word for 
 
 word, 
 
 But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one. 
 
 [Draws. 
 
 Q. Mar. Hold, valiant Clifford ! for a thou- 
 sand causes 
 
 I would prolong awhile the traitor's life. 
 Wrath makes him deaf: speak thou, Nor- 
 thumberland, [much 
 North. Hold, Clifford ! do not honour him so 
 To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart : 
 What valour were it, when a cur doth grin, 
 For one to thrust his hand between his teeth, 
 When he might spurn him with his foot away? 
 It is war's prize to take all 'vantages; 
 And ten to one is no impeach of valour. 
 
 [They lay hands on YORK, who struggles. 
 Clif. Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with 
 
 the gin. 
 
 North. So doth the cony struggle in the net. 
 
 [YORK is taken prisoner. 
 
 York. So triumph thieves upon their con- 
 
 quer'd booty; 
 
 So true men yield, with robbers so o'ermatch'd. 
 
 North. What would your grace have done 
 
 unto him now? [thumberland, 
 
 Q. Mar. Brave warriors, Clifford and Nor- 
 
 Come, make him stand upon this molehi.l here, 
 
 That raught at mountains with outstretched 
 
 arms, 
 
 Yet parted but the shadow with his hand. 
 What, was it you that would be England's king? 
 Was 't you that revell'd in our parliament, 
 And made a preachment of your high descent ? 
 Where are your mess of sons to back you now? 
 Tht wanton Edward and the lusty George t 
 And Where's that valiant crook-back prodigy, 
 
 Dicky your boy, that with his grumbling voice 
 Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies ? 
 Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland? 
 Look, York : I stain'd this napkin with the blood 
 That valiant Clifford, with his rapier's point, 
 Made issue from the bosom of the boy ; 
 And if thine eyes can water for his death, 
 I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal. 
 Alas, poor York ! but that I hate thee deadly, 
 I should lament thy miserable state. 
 I pr'ythee, grieve, to make me merry, York. 
 What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine 
 
 entrails 
 
 That not a tear can fall for Rutland'? death ? 
 Why art thou patient, man ? thou shouldst be 
 
 mad ; 
 
 And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus. 
 Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sinp and 
 
 dance. 
 
 Thou wouldst be fee'd, I see, to make me sport ; 
 York cannot speak unless he wear a crown. 
 A crown for York ! and, lords, bow low to 
 
 him ; 
 Hold you his hands whilst I do set it on. 
 
 [Putting a paper crown on his head. 
 Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king ! 
 Ay, this is he that took King Henry's chair ; 
 And this is he was his adopted heir. 
 But how is it that great Plantagenet 
 Is crown'd so soon, and broke his solemn oath ? 
 As I bethink me, you should not be king 
 Till our King Henry had shook hands with death. 
 And will you pale your head in Henry's glory, 
 And rob his temples of the diadem 
 Now in his life, against your holy oath ? 
 O, 'tis a fault too, too unpardonable ! 
 Off with the crown ; and, with the crown, his 
 
 head ; 
 
 And whilst we breathe take time to do him dead. 
 Clif. That is my office, for my father's sake. 
 Q. Mar. Nay, stay ; let 's hear the orisons he 
 
 makes. 
 York. She-wolf of France, but worse than 
 
 wolves of France, [tooth ! 
 
 Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's 
 How ill-seeming is it in thy sex 
 To triumph, like an Amazonian trull, 
 Upon their woes whom fortune captivates ! 
 But that thy face is, visard-like, unchanging, 
 Made impudent with use of evil deeds, 
 I would assay, proud queen, to make thee "blush: 
 To tell thee whence thou cam'st* of whom 
 
 deriv'd, 
 Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou 
 
 not shameless. 
 
 Thy father bears the type of King of Naples, 
 Of both the Sicils, and Jerusalem ; 
 
644 
 
 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman. 
 Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult ? 
 It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen ; 
 Unless the adage must be verified, 
 That beggars mounted run their horse to death. 
 'Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud ; 
 But, God he knows, thy share thereof is small : 
 'Tis virtue that doth make them most admir'd ; 
 The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at : 
 'Tis government that makes them seem divine ; 
 The want thereof makes thee abominable : 
 Thou art as opposite to every good 
 As the antipodes are unto us, ( 
 
 Or as the south to the septentrion. 
 
 tiger's heart wrapp'd in a woman's hide ! 
 How couldst thou drain the life-blood of the 
 
 child, 
 
 To bid the father wipe his eyes withal, 
 And yet be seen to bear a woman's face? 
 Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible ; 
 Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless. 
 Bidd'st thou me rage? why, now thou hast thy 
 
 wish : [will : 
 
 Wouldst have me weep? why, now thou hast thy 
 For raging wind blows up incessant showers, 
 And when the rage allays, the rain begins. 
 These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies ; 
 And every drop cries vengeance for his death 
 'Gainst thee, fell Clifford, and thee, false French- 
 woman, [me so 
 North. Beshrew me, but his passions move 
 That hardly can I check my eyes from tears. 
 
 York. That face of his the hungry cannibals 
 Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd 
 
 with blood: 
 
 But you are more inhuman, more inexorable, 
 O, ten times more, than tigers of Hyrcania. 
 See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears : 
 This cloth thou dipp'dst in blood of my sweet 
 
 boy, 
 
 And I with tears do wash the blood away. 
 Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this: 
 
 [He gives back the handkerchief. 
 And if thou tell'st the heavy story right, 
 Upon my soul, the hearers will shed t^ars ; 
 Yea, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears, 
 And say, Alas, it was a piteous deed! 
 There, take the crown, and, with the crown, my 
 
 curse ; [ Giving back the paper crown. 
 And in thy need such comfort come to thee 
 As now I reap at thy too cruel hand ! 
 Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world : 
 My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads ! 
 North. Had he been slaughter-man to all my 
 
 kin, 
 
 1 should not for my life but weep with him, 
 To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul. 
 
 Q. Mar. What, weeping-ripe, my Lord 
 
 Northumberland ? 
 
 Think but upon the wrong he did us all, 
 And that will quickly dry thy melting tears. 
 Clif. Here s s for my oath, here 's for my father's 
 death. [Stabbing him. 
 
 Q. Mar. And here's to right our gentle- 
 hearted king. {Stabbing him. 
 York. Open thy gate of mercy, gracious God ! 
 My soul flies through these wounds to seek out 
 thee. [Dies. 
 Q. Mar. Off with his head, and set it on 
 
 York gates ; 
 So York may overlook the town of York. 
 
 [Flourish. Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. A plain near Mortimer's Cross in 
 Herefordsh ire. 
 
 Drums. Enter EDWARD and RICHARD, with 
 their Forces, marching. 
 
 Edw. I wonder how our princely father 
 
 'scap'd, 
 
 Or whether he be 'scap'd away or no 
 From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit : 
 Had he been ta'en we should have heard the 
 
 news ; [news ; 
 
 Had he been slain we should have heard the 
 Or had he 'scap'd, methinks we should have 
 
 heard 
 
 The happy tidings of his good escape. 
 How fares my brother? why is he so sad? 
 
 Rich. I cannot joy, until I be resolv'd 
 Where our right valiant father is become. 
 I saw him in the battle range about ; 
 And watch'd him how he singled Clifford forth. 
 Methought he bore him in the thickest troop 
 As doth a lion in a herd of neat ; 
 Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs, 
 Who having pinch'd a few, and made them cry, 
 The rest stand all aloof and bark at him. 
 So far'd our father with his enemies ; 
 So fled his enemies my warlike father: 
 Methinks 'tis prize enough to be his son. 
 See how the morning ope's her golden gates, 
 And takes her farewell of the glorious sun ! 
 How well resembles it the prime of youth, 
 Trimm'd like a younker prancing to his love ! 
 Edw. Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns? 
 Rich. Three glorious suns, each one a perfect 
 
 Not separated with the racking clouds, 
 But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky. 
 See, see ! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss, 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 645 
 
 As if they vow'd some league inviolable : 
 Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun. 
 In this the heaven figures some event. 
 
 Edw. 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet 
 
 never heard of. 
 
 I think it cites us, brother, to the field, 
 That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet, 
 Each one already blazing by our meeds, 
 Should, notwithstanding, join our lights to- 
 gether, 
 
 And overshine the earth, as this the world. 
 Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear 
 Upon my target three fair shining suns. 
 
 Rich. Nay, bear three daughters : by your 
 
 leave I speak it, 
 You love the breeder better than the male. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretell 
 Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue? 
 
 Mess. Ah, one that was a woeful looker-on 
 Whenas the noble Duke of York was slain, 
 Your princely father and my loving lord ! 
 Edw. O, speak no more ! for I have heard 
 
 too much. 
 
 Rich. Say how he died, for I will hear it all. 
 Mess. Environed he was with many foes ; 
 And stood against them as the hope of Troy 
 Against the Greeks that would have enter'd 
 
 Troy. 
 
 But Hercules himself must yield to odds ; 
 And many strokes, though with a little axe, 
 Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak. 
 By many hands your father was subdu'd ; 
 But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm 
 Of unrelenting Clifford, and the queen, 
 Who crown'd the gracious duke in high despite, 
 Laugh'd in his face ; and when with grief he 
 
 wept, 
 
 The ruthless queen gave him to dry his cheeks 
 A napkin steeped in the harmless blood 
 Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain: 
 And after many scorns, many foul taunts. 
 They took his head, and on the gates of York 
 They set the same ; and there it doth remain, 
 The saddest spectacle that e'er I view'd. 
 
 Edw. Sweet Duke of York, our prop to lean 
 
 upon, 
 
 Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay ! 
 O Clifford, boisterous Clifford, thou hast slain 
 The flower of Europe for his chivalry ; 
 And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him, 
 For hand to hand he would have vanquish'd 
 
 thee ! 
 
 Now my soul's palace is become a prison : 
 Ah, would she break from hence, that this my 
 
 body 
 
 Might in the ground be closed up in rest 1 
 For never henceforth shall I joy again, 
 Never, O never shall I see more joy. 
 
 Rich. I cannot weep; for all my body's 
 
 moisture [heart : 
 
 Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning 
 Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great 
 
 burden ; 
 
 For self-same wind that I should speak withal 
 Is kindling coals, that fire all my breast, 
 And burn me up with flames, that tears would 
 
 quench. 
 
 To weep is to make less the depth of grief : 
 Tears, then, for babes ; blows and revenge for 
 
 me! 
 
 Richard, I bear thy name ; I '11 venge thy death, 
 Or die renowned by attempting it. 
 Edw. His name that valiant duke hath left 
 
 with thee ; 
 
 His dukedom and his chair with me is left. 
 Rich. Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's 
 
 bird, 
 
 Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun : 
 For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom 
 
 say: 
 Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his. 
 
 March. Enter WARWICK and MONTAGUE, 
 "with Forces. 
 
 War. How now, fair lords! What fare? 
 what news abroad ? [recount 
 
 Rich. Great Lord of Warwick, if we should 
 Our baleful news, and at each word's deliverance 
 Stab poniards in our flesh till all were told, 
 The words would add more anguish than the 
 wounds. 
 
 valiant lord, the Duke of York is slain ! 
 Edw. O Warwick, Warwick! that Plan- 
 tagenet 
 
 Which held thee dearly as his soul's redemption 
 Is by the stern Lord Clifford done to death. 
 War. Ten days ago I drown'd these news in 
 
 tears ; 
 And now, to add more measure to your woes, 
 
 1 come to tell you things since then befall'n. 
 After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought, 
 Where your brave father breath'd his latest gasp, 
 Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run, 
 Were brought me of your loss and his depart. 
 I, then in London, keeper of the king, 
 Muster'd my scldiers, gather'd flocks of friends, 
 And very well appointed, as I thought, 
 March'd towards Saint Albans to intercept the 
 
 queen, 
 
 Bearing the king in my behalf along ; 
 For by my scouts I was advertised 
 That she was coming with a full intent 
 
646 
 
 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 To dash our late decree in parliament 
 Touching King Henry's oath and your suc- 
 cession. 
 
 Short tale to make, we at St. Albans met, 
 Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely fought : 
 But whether 'twas the coldness of the king, 
 Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen, 
 That robb'd my soldiers of their heated spleen ; 
 Or whether 'twas report of her success ; 
 Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour, 
 Who thunders to his captives, Blood and death, 
 I cannot judge : but, to conclude with truth, 
 Their weapons like to lightning came and 
 
 went; 
 
 Our soldiers', like the night-owl's lazy flight, 
 Or like a lazy thrasher with a flail, 
 Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends. 
 I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause, 
 With promise of high pay and great rewards : 
 But all in vain ; they had no heart to fight, 
 And we in them no hope to win the day; 
 So that we fled ; the king unto the queen ; 
 Lord George, your brother, Norfolk, and myself, 
 In haste, post-haste, are come to join with you ; 
 For in the marches here we heard you were 
 Making another head to fight again. 
 Edw. Where is the Duke of Norfolk, gentle 
 Warwick? [land? 
 
 And when came George from Burgundy to Eng- 
 War. Some six miles off the duke is with the 
 
 soldiers ; 
 
 And for your brother, he was lately sent 
 From your kind aunt, Duchess of Burgundy, 
 With aid of soldiers to this needful war. 
 
 Rich. 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant War- 
 wick fled : 
 
 Oft Lave I heard his praises in pursuit, 
 But ne'er till now his scandal of retire. 
 
 War. Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost 
 thou hear ; [mine 
 
 For thou shalt know this strong right hand of 
 Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head, 
 And wring the awful sceptre from his fist, 
 Were he as famous and as bold in war 
 As he is fam'd for mildness, peace, and prayer. 
 Rich. I know it well, Lord Warwick ; blame 
 
 me not : 
 
 'Tis love I bear thy glories makes me speak. 
 But in this troublous time what's to be done? 
 Shall we go throw away our coats of steel, 
 And wrap our bodies in black mourning-gowns, 
 Numbering our Ave-Maries with our beads ? 
 Or shall we on the helmets of our foe? 
 Tell our devotion with revengeful arms ? 
 If for the last, say Ay, and to it, lords. 
 
 War. Why, therefore Warwick came to seek 
 you out; 
 
 And therefore comes my brother Montague. 
 Attend me, lords. The proud insulting queen, 
 With Clifford and the haught Northumber- 
 land, 
 
 And of their feather many more proud birds, 
 Have wrought the easy-melting king like wax. 
 He swore consent to your succession, 
 His oath enrolled in the parliament ; 
 And now to London all the crew are gone, 
 To frustrate both his oath and what beside 
 May make against the house of Lancaster. 
 Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong: 
 Now if the help of Norfolk and myself, 
 With all the friends that thou, brave Earl of 
 
 March, 
 
 Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure, 
 Will but amount to five-and-twenty thousand, 
 Why, Via ! to London will we march amain ; 
 And once again bestride our foaming steeds, 
 And once again cry, Charge upon our foes ! 
 But never once again turn back and fly. 
 
 Rich. Ay, now methinks I hear great War- 
 wick speak : 
 
 Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day 
 That cries Retire, if Warwick bid him stay. 
 Edw. Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I 
 
 lean ; 
 And when thou fail'st, as God forbid the 
 
 hour ! 
 
 Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forefend ! 
 War. No longer Earl of March, but Duke of 
 
 York: 
 
 The next degree is England's royal throne ; 
 For King of England shall thou be proclaim'd 
 In every borough as we pass along ; 
 And he that throws not up his cap for joy, 
 Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head. 
 King Edward, valiant Richard, Mon- 
 tague, 
 
 Stay we no longer, dreaming of renown, 
 But sound the trumpets and about our task. 
 Rich. Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard 
 
 as steel, 
 
 As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds, 
 I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine. 
 Edw. Then strike up drums : God and Saint 
 George for us ! 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 War. How now ! what news ? 
 
 Mess. The Duke of Norfolk sends you word 
 
 by me, 
 
 The queen is coming with a puissant host ; 
 And craves your company for speedy counsel. 
 War. Why, then it sorts, brave warriors: 
 let 's away. [Exeunt. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 647 
 
 SCENE l\.~~Before York. 
 
 Flourish. Enter KING HENRY, QUEEN MAR- 
 CARET, the PRINCE OF WALES, CLIFFORD, 
 and NORTHUMBERLAND, with Forces. 
 
 Q. Mar. Welcome, my lord, to this brave 
 
 town of York. 
 
 Yonder 's the head of that arch-enemy 
 That sought to be encompass'd with your crown : 
 Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord? 
 K. Hen. Ay, as the rocks cheer them that 
 
 fear their wreck : 
 
 To see this sight, it irks my very soul. 
 Withhold revenge, dear God ! 'tis not my fault, 
 Nor wittingly have I infring'd my vow. 
 
 Clif. My gracious liege, this too much lenity 
 And harmful pity must be laid aside. 
 To whom do lions cast their gentle looks ? 
 Not to the beast that would usurp their den. 
 Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick ? 
 Not his that spoils her young before her face. 
 Who scapes the lurking serpent's mortal sting? 
 Not he that sets his foot upon her back. 
 The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on, 
 And doves will peck in safeguard of their brood. 
 Ambitious York did level at thy crown, 
 Thou smiling while he knit his angry brows : 
 He, but a duke, would have his son a king, 
 And raise his issue, like a loving sire ; 
 Thou, being a king, bless'd with a goodly son, 
 Didst yield consent to disinherit him, 
 Which argu'd thee a most unloving father. 
 Unreasonable creatures feed their young ; 
 And though man's face be fearful to their eyes, 
 Yet, in protection of their tender ones, 
 Who hath not seen them, even with those wings 
 Which sometime they have us'd with fearful 
 
 flight, [nest, 
 
 Make war with him that climb'd unto their 
 Offering their own lives in their young's defence ? 
 For shame, my liege, make them your precedent ! 
 Were it not pity that this goodly boy 
 Should lose his birthright by his father's fault, 
 And long hereafter say unto his child, 
 What my great-grandfather and grandsire got 
 My careless father fondly gave away ? 
 Ah, what a shame were this ! Look on the boy ; 
 And let his manly face, which promiseth 
 Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart 
 To hold thine cwn, and leave thine own with 
 
 him. [orator, 
 
 K. Hen. Full well hath Clifford play'd the 
 Inferring arguments of mighty force. 
 But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear 
 That things ill got had ever bad success ? 
 And happy always was it for that son 
 
 Whose father for his hoarding went to hell ? 
 
 I '11 leave my son my virtuous deeds behind ; 
 
 And would my father had left me no more I 
 
 For all the rest is held at such a rate 
 
 As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep 
 
 Than in possession any jot of pleasure. 
 
 Ah, cousin York ! would thy best friends did 
 
 know 
 How it doth grieve me that thy head is here ! 
 
 Q. Mar. My lord, cheer up your spirits : our 
 
 foes are nigh, 
 
 And fhis soft courage makes your followers'faint. 
 You promis'd knighthood to our forward son : 
 Unsheathe your sword, anddub him presently. 
 Edward, kneel down. 
 
 K. Hen. Edward Plantagent, arise a knight ; 
 And learn this lesson, draw thy sword in right. 
 
 Prince. My gracious father, by your kingly 
 
 leave, 
 
 I '11 draw it as apparent to the crown, 
 And in that quarrel use it to the death. 
 
 Clif. Why, that is spoken like a towardprinee. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Royal commanders, be in readiness : 
 For with a band of thirty thousand men 
 Comes Warwick, backing of the Duke of York ; 
 And in the towns, as they do march along, 
 Proclaims him king, and many fly to him : 
 Darraign your battle, for they are at hand. 
 Clif. I would your highness would depart the 
 field : [absent. 
 
 The queen hath best success when you are 
 Q. Mar. Ay, good my lord, and leave us to 
 
 our fortune. 
 K. Hen. Why, that 's my fortune too ; 
 
 therefore I '11 stay. 
 
 North. Be it with resolution, then, to fight. 
 Prince. My royal father, cheer these noble 
 
 lords, 
 
 And hearten those that fight in your defence . 
 Unsheathe your sword, good father ; cry, Saint 
 George / 
 
 March. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD, 
 WARWICK, NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, and 
 Soldiers. 
 Edw. Now, perjur'd Henry ! wilt thou kneel 
 
 for grace, 
 
 And set thy diadem upon my head ; 
 Or bide the mortal fortune of the field ? 
 
 Q. Mar. Go, rate thy minions, proud insult- 
 ing boy ! 
 
 Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms 
 Before thy sovereign and thy lawful king? 
 Edw. I am his king, and he should bow his 
 knee; 
 
648 
 
 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 I was adopted heir by his consent : 
 Since when, his oath is broke ; for, as I hear, 
 You, that are king, though he do wear the crown, 
 Have caus'd him, by new act of parliament, 
 To blot out me and put his own son in. 
 
 Clif. And reason too : 
 
 Who should succeed the father but the son? 
 Rich. Are you there, butcher? O, I cannot 
 speak ! [thee, 
 
 Clif. Ay, crook-back, here I stand to answer 
 Or any he the proudest of thy sort. 
 
 Rich. 'Twas you that kill'd young Rutland, 
 
 was it not? 
 
 Clif. Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied. 
 Rich. For God's sake, lords, give signal to 
 the fight. [the crown? 
 
 War. Whatsay'st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield 
 Q. Mar. Why, how now, long-tongu'd War- 
 wick ! dare you speak ? 
 When you and I met at Saint Albans last, 
 Your legs did better service than your hands. 
 War. Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now 
 'tis thine. [fled. 
 
 Clif. You said so much before, and yet you 
 War. 'Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove 
 me thence. [you stay. 
 
 North. No, nor your manhood that durst make 
 Rich. Northumberland, I hold thee rever- 
 ently. 
 
 Break off the parley ; for scarce I can refrain 
 The execution of my big-swoln heart 
 Upon that Clifford, that cruel child -killer. 
 Clif. I slew thy father, call'st thou him a 
 child? ' [coward, 
 
 Rich. Ay, like a dastard and a treacherous 
 As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland ; 
 But ere sunset I '11 make thee curse the deed. 
 K. Hen. Have done with words, my lords, 
 and hear me speak. [thy lips. 
 
 Q. Mar. Defy them, then, or else hold close 
 K. Hen. I pr'ythee give no limits to my 
 
 tongue : 
 I am a king, and privileg'd to speak. 
 
 Clif. My liege, the wound that bred this 
 
 meeting here 
 
 Cannot be cur'd by words; therefore be still. 
 Rich. Then, executioner, unsheathe thy 
 
 sword : 
 
 By him that made us all, I am resolv'd 
 That Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue. 
 Edw. Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or 
 
 no? 
 
 A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day 
 That ne'er shall dine unless thou yield the 
 crown. [head ; 
 
 War. If thou deny, their blood upon thy 
 For York in justice puts his armour on. 
 
 Prince. If that be right which Warwick says 
 
 is right, 
 
 There is no wrong, but everything is right. 
 Rich. Whoever got thee, there thy mother 
 
 stands ; 
 
 For, well I wot, thou hast thy mother's tongue. 
 Q. Mar. But thou art neither like thy sire 
 
 nor dam ; 
 
 But like a foul misshapen stigmatic, 
 Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided, 
 As venom toads or lizards' dreadful stings. 
 
 Rich. Iron of Naples hid with English gilt, 
 Whose father bears the title of a king, 
 As if a channel should be call'd the sea, 
 Sham'st thou not, knowing whence thou art 
 
 extraught, 
 
 To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart? 
 Edw. A wisp of straw were worth a thousand 
 
 crowns, 
 
 To make this shameless callet know herself. 
 Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou, 
 Although thy husband may be Menelaus ; 
 And ne'er was Agamemnon's brother wrong'd 
 By that false woman as this king by thee. 
 His father revell'd in the heart of France, 
 And tam'd the king, and made the dauphin stoop; 
 And had he match'd according to his state, 
 He might have kept that glory to this day; 
 But when he took a beggar to his bed, 
 And grac'd thy poor sire with his bridal-day, 
 Even then that sunshine brew'd a shower for him 
 That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of France, 
 And heap'd sedition on his crown at home. 
 For what hath broach'd this tumult but thy 
 
 pride? 
 
 Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept ; 
 And we, in pity of the gentle king, 
 Had slipp'd our claim until another age. 
 
 Geo. But when we saw our sunshine made 
 
 thy spring, 
 
 And that thy summer bred us no increase, 
 We set the axe to thy usurping root ; [selves, 
 And though the edge hath something hit our- 
 Yet, know thou, since we have begun to strike, 
 We'll never leave till we have hewn thee down, 
 Or bath'd thy growing with our heated bloods. 
 
 Edw. And in this resolution I defy thee ; 
 Not willing any longer conference, 
 Since thou deniest the gentle king to speak. 
 Sound trumpets! let our bloody colours 
 
 wave ! 
 
 And either victory or else a grave. 
 Q. Mar. Stay, Edward. 
 Edw. No, wrangling woman, we '11 no longer 
 
 stay : 
 These words will cost ten thousand lives this 
 
 day. [Exeunt. 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 649 
 
 SCENE III. A Field of Battle between Tow- 
 ton and Saxton, in Yorkshire. 
 
 Alarums: excursions. Enter WARWICK. 
 
 War. Forspent with toil, as runners with a 
 
 race, 
 
 I lay me down a little while to breathe ; 
 For strokes receiv'd and many blows repaid 
 Have robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their 
 
 strength, 
 And, spite of spite, needs must I rest awhile. 
 
 Enter EDWARD, running. 
 
 Edw. Smile, gentle heaven! or strike, un- 
 gentle death! [clouded. 
 For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is 
 War. How now, my lord! what hap? what 
 hope of good? 
 
 Enter GEORGE. 
 
 Geo. Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair; 
 Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us : 
 What counsel give you, whither shall we fly? 
 
 Edw. Bootless is flight, they follow us with 
 
 wings ; 
 And weak we are, and cannot shun pursuit. 
 
 Enter RICHARD. 
 
 Rich. Ah, Warwick, why hast thou with- 
 drawn thyself? 
 
 Thj brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk, 
 Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance; 
 And in the very pangs of death he cried, 
 Like to a dismal clangor heard from far, 
 Warwick, revenge! brother, revenge my death! 
 So, underneath the belly of their steeds, 
 That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoking blood, 
 The noble gentleman gave up the ghost. 
 
 War. Then let the earth be drunken with 
 
 our blood : 
 
 I '11 kill my horse, because I will not fly. 
 Why stand we like soft-hearted women here, 
 Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage ; 
 And look upon, as if the tragedy 
 Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors? 
 Here on my knee I vow to God above 
 I '11 never pause again, never stand still, 
 Till either death hath clos'd these eyes of mine 
 Or fortune given me measure of revenge. 
 Edw. O Warwick, I do bend my knee with 
 
 thine ; 
 
 And in this vow do chain my soul to thine ! 
 And ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face 
 I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee, 
 Thou setter-up and plucker-down of kings, 
 Beseeching thee, if with thy will it stands 
 
 That to my foes this body must be prey, 
 Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope, 
 And give sweet passage to my sinful soul ! 
 Now, lords, take leave until we meet again, 
 Where'er it be, in heaven or in earth. 
 'Rich. Brother, give me thy hand; and, 
 
 gentle Warwick, 
 
 Let me embrace thee in my weary arms : 
 I, that did never weep, now melt with woe 
 That winter should cut off our spring-time so. 
 War. Away, away ! Once more, sweet lords, 
 
 farewell. 
 
 Geo. Yet let us all together to our troops, 
 And give them leave to fly that will not stay ; 
 And call them pillars that will stand to us; 
 And if we thrive, promise them such rewards 
 As victors wear at the Olympian games : 
 This may plant courage in their quailing breasts ; 
 For yet is hope of life and victory. 
 Forslow no longer, make we hence amain. 
 
 \_Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. Another part of the Field. 
 Excursions. Enter RICHARD and CLIFFORD. 
 
 Rich. Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone: 
 Suppose this arm is for the Duke of York, 
 And this for Rutland ; both bound to revenge, 
 Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall. 
 
 Clif. Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone: 
 This is the hand that stabb'd thy father York ; 
 And this the hand that slew thy brother Rutland; 
 And here's the heart that triumphs intheirdeath, 
 And cheers these hands that slew thy sire and 
 
 brother 
 
 To execute the like upon thyself; 
 And so, have at thee ! 
 
 [They fight. WAR. enters; CLIF. flies. 
 Rich. Nay, Warwick, single out some other 
 
 chase; 
 For I myself will hunt this wolf to death. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. Another part of the Field. 
 Alarum. Enter KING HENRY. 
 
 K. Hen. This battle fares like to the morn- 
 ing's war, 
 
 When dying clouds contend with growing light, 
 What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails, 
 Can neither call it perfect day nor night. 
 Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea 
 Forc'd by the tide to combat with the wind; 
 Now sways it that way, like the selfsame sea 
 Forc'd to retire by fury of the wind : 
 Sometime the flood prevails, and then the wind ; 
 
6 5 o 
 
 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT IT. 
 
 Now one the better, then another best ; 
 Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast, 
 Yet neither conqueror nor conquered : 
 So is the equal poise of this fell war. 
 Here on this molehill will I sit me down. 
 To whom God will, there be the victory ! 
 For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too, 
 Have chid me from the battle ; swearing both 
 They prosper best of all when I am thence. 
 Would I were dead ! if God's good will were so ; 
 For what is in this world but grief and woe ? 
 O God ! methinks it were a happy life 
 To be no better than a homely swain ; 
 To sit upon a hill, as I do now, 
 To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, 
 Thereby to see the minutes how they run, 
 How many make the hour full complete ; 
 How many hours bring about the day ; 
 How many days will finish up the year ; 
 How many years a mortal man may live. 
 When this is known, then to divide the times, 
 So many hours must I tend my flock ; 
 So many hours must I take my rest ; 
 So many hours must I contemplate ; 
 So many hours must I sport myself; 
 So many days my ewes have been with young ; 
 So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean ; 
 So many years ere I shall shear the fleece : 
 So minutes, hours, days, months, and years, 
 Pass'd over to the end they were created, 
 Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. 
 Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how 
 
 lovely ! 
 
 Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade 
 To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep, 
 Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy 
 To kings that fear their subjects' treachery? 
 O, yes, it doth ; a thousand-fold it doth. 
 And to conclude, the shepherd's homely curds, 
 His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle, 
 His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade, 
 All which secure and sweetly he enjoys, 
 Is far beyond a prince's delicates, 
 His viands sparkling in a golden cup, 
 His body couched in a curious bed, 
 When care, mistrust, and treason wait on him. 
 
 Alarum. Enter a Son that has killed his 
 Father , bringing in the dead body. 
 
 Son. Ill blows the wind that profits nobody. 
 This man, whom hand to hand I slew in fight, 
 May be possessed with some store of crowns ; 
 And I, that haply take them from him now, 
 May yet ere night yield both my life and them 
 To some man else, as this dead man doth me. 
 Who 's this ? O God ! it is my father's face, 
 Whom in this conflict I unwares have kill'd. 
 
 O heavy times, begetting such events ! 
 From London by the king was I press'd forth : 
 My father, being the Earl of Warwick's man, 
 Came on the part of York, press'd by his 
 
 master ; 
 
 And I, who at his hands receiv'd my .life, 
 Have by my hands of life bereaved him. 
 Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did ! 
 And pardon, father, for I knew not thee ! 
 My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks ; 
 And no more words till they have flow'd their fill. 
 K. Hen. O piteous spectacle ! O bloody times ! 
 Whilst lions war, and battle for their dens, 
 Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity. 
 Weep, wretched man, I '11 aid thee tear for tear ; 
 And let our hearts and eyes, like civil war, 
 Be blind with tears, and break o'ercharg'd with 
 grief. 
 
 Enter a Father that has killed his Son, -with 
 the body in his arms. 
 
 Path. Thou that so stoutly hast resisted me, 
 Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold ; 
 For I have bought it with an hundred blows. 
 But let me see : is this our foeman's face ? 
 Ah, no, no, no, it is mine only son ! 
 Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee, [arise, 
 
 Throw up thine eye ! see, see what showers 
 Blown with the windy tempest of my heart, 
 Upon thy wounds, that kill mine eye and 
 
 heart ! 
 
 O pity, God, this miserable age ! 
 What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly, 
 Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural, 
 This deadly quarrel daily doth beget ! 
 O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon, 
 And hath bereft thee of thy life too late J 
 
 K. Hen. Woe above woe ! grief more than 
 common grief ! [deeds! 
 
 O that my death would stay these ruthful 
 O pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity ! 
 The red rose and the white are on his face, 
 The fatal colours of our striving houses : 
 The one his purple blood right well resembles ; 
 The other his pale cheeks, methinks, pre- 
 
 senteth: 
 
 Wither one rose, and let the other flourish ; 
 If you contend, a thousand lives must wither. 
 
 Son. How will my mother for a father's death 
 Take on with me, and ne'er be satisfied ! [son 
 
 Path. How will my wife for slaughter of my 
 Shed seas of tears, and ne'er be satisfied ! 
 
 K. Hen. How will the country for these woe- 
 ful chances 
 Misthink the king, and not be satisfied ! 
 
 Son. Was ever son so rued a father's death? 
 
 Path. Was ever father so bemoan'd his son? 
 
SCENE VI.] 
 
 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 6 5 i 
 
 K. Hen. Was ever king so griev'd for sub- 
 jects' woe? 
 
 Much is your sorrow ; mine ten times so much. 
 Son. I '11 bear thee hence, where I may weep 
 my fill. [Exit with the body. 
 
 Path. These arms of mine shall be thy wind- 
 ing-sheet ; 
 
 My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre, 
 For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go ; 
 My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell ; 
 And so obsequious will thy father be, 
 E'en for the loss of thee, having no more, 
 As Priam was for all his valiant sons. [will, 
 I'll bear thee hence; and let them fight that 
 For I have murdered where I should not kill. 
 
 {Exit with the body. 
 K. Hen. Sad-hearted men, much overgone 
 
 with care, 
 Here sits a king more woeful than you are. 
 
 Alarums : excursions. Enter QUEEN MAR- 
 GARET, PRINCE OF WALES, and EXETER. 
 
 Prince. Fly, father, fly ! for all your friends 
 
 are fled, 
 
 And Warwick rages like a chafed bull : 
 Away ! for death doth hold us in pursuit. 
 Q. Mar. Mount you, my lord ; towards Ber- 
 wick post amain : 
 
 Edwardand Richard, like a brace of greyhounds 
 Having the fearful flying hare in sight, 
 With fiery eyes sparkling for very wrath, 
 And bloody steel grasp'd in their ireful hands, 
 Are at our backs ; and therefore hence amain. 
 Exe. Away ! for vengeance comes along with 
 
 them: 
 
 Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed ; 
 Or else come after : I '11 away before. 
 K. Hen. Nay, take me with thee, good sweet 
 
 Exeter : 
 
 Not that I fear to stay, but love to go 
 Whither the queen intends. Forward ; away ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI. Another part of the Field. 
 A loud Alarum. Enter CLIFFORD, wounded. 
 
 Clif. Here burns my candle out, ay, here it 
 
 dies, 
 
 Which, whiles it lasted, gave King Henry light. 
 O Lancaster, I fear thy overthrow 
 More than my body's parting with my soul ! 
 My love and fear glu'd many friends to thee ; 
 And, now I fall, thy tough commixtures melt. 
 Impairing Henry, strengthening misproud York, 
 The common people swarm like summer flies ; 
 And whither fly the gnats but to the sun? 
 
 And who shines now but Henry's enemies ? 
 
 Phcebus, hadst thou never given consent 
 That Phaeton should check thy fiery steeds, 
 Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth ! 
 And, Henry, hadst thou sway'das kings should 
 
 do, 
 
 Or as thy father and his father did, 
 Giving no ground unto the house of York, 
 They never then had sprung like summer flies ; 
 
 1 and ten thousand in this luckless realm 
 Had left no mourning widows for our death ; 
 And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace. 
 For what doth cherish weeds bat gentle air? 
 And what makes robbers bold but too much 
 
 lenity ? 
 
 Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds ; 
 No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight : 
 The foe is merciless, and v/ill not pity ; 
 For at their hands I have deserv'd no pity. 
 The air hath got into my deadly wounds, 
 And much effuse of blood doth make me faint. 
 Come, York and Richard, Warwick and the rest ; 
 I stabb'd your fathers' bosoms, split my breast. 
 
 [He faints. 
 
 Alarum and retreat. Enter EDWARD, 
 GEORGE, RICHARD, MONTAGUE, WAR- 
 WICK, and Soldiers. 
 
 Edw. Now breathe we, lords : good fortune 
 bids us pause, [looks. 
 
 And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful 
 Some troops pursue the bloody-minded queen, 
 That led calm Henry, though he were a king, 
 As doth a sail, fill'd with a fretting gust, 
 Command an argosy to stem the waves. 
 But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them? 
 War. No, 'tis impossible he should escape ; 
 For, though before his face I speak the words, 
 Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave : 
 And, whereso'er he is, he 's surely dead. 
 
 [CLIFFORD groans, and dies. 
 
 Edw. Whose soul is that which takes her 
 
 heavy leave ? [parting. 
 
 Rich. A deadly groan, like life and death'sde- 
 
 Edw. See who it is ; and, now the battle 's 
 
 ended, 
 If friend or foe, let him be gently us'd. 
 
 Rich. Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis 
 
 Clifford ; 
 
 Who not contented that he lopp'd the branch 
 In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth, 
 But set his murdering knife unto the root 
 From whence that tender spray did sweetly 
 
 spring, 
 
 I mean our princely father, Duke of York. 
 War. From off the gates of York fetch down 
 the head, 
 
652 
 
 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Your father's head, which Clifford placed there ; 
 Instead whereof let this supply the room : 
 Measure for measure must be answered. 
 
 Edw. Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to 
 
 our house, 
 
 That nothing sung but death to us and ours : 
 Now death shall stop his dismal threatening 
 
 sound. 
 
 And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak. 
 
 [Soldiers bring the body forward. 
 
 War. I think his understanding is bereft. 
 
 Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to 
 
 thee? 
 
 Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of life, 
 And he nor sees nor hears us what we say. 
 Rich. O, would he did ! and so, perhaps, he 
 
 doth: 
 
 'Tis but his policy to counterfeit, 
 Because he would avoid such bitter taunts 
 Which in the time of death he gave our father. 
 Geo. If so thou think'st, vex him with eager 
 
 words. 
 
 Rich. Clifford, ask mercy and obtain no grace. 
 Edw. Clifford, repent in bootless penitence. 
 War. Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults. 
 Geo. While we devise fell tortures for thy 
 faults. [York. 
 
 Rich. Thou didst love York, and I am son to 
 Edw. Thou pitiedst Rutland, I will pity thee. 
 Geo. Where 's Captain Margaret, to fence you 
 
 now? 
 
 War. They mock thee, Clifford: swear as 
 
 thou wast wont. [goes hard 
 
 Rick. What, not an oath? nay, then the world 
 
 When Clifford cannot spare his friends an 
 
 oath. 
 
 I know by that he 's dead ; and, by my soul, 
 If this right hand would buy two hours' life, 
 That I in all despite might rail at him, 
 This hand should chop it off, and with the 
 
 issuing blood 
 
 Stifle the villain whose unstaunched thirst 
 York and young Rutland could not satisfy. 
 War. Ay, but he 's dead : off with the traitor's 
 
 head, 
 
 And rear it in the place your father's stands. 
 And now to London with triumphant march, 
 There to be crowned England's royal king. 
 From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to 
 
 France, 
 
 And ask the Lady Bona for thy queen : 
 So shalt thou sinew both these lands together ; 
 And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not 
 
 dread 
 
 The scatter'd foe that hopes to rise again ; 
 For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt, 
 Yet look to have them buzz to offend thine ears. 
 
 First will I see the coronation ; 
 
 And then to Brittany I '11 cross the sea, 
 
 To effect this marriage, so it please my lord. 
 
 Edw. Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let 
 
 it be; 
 
 For in thy shoulder do I build my seat, 
 And never will I undertake the thing 
 Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting. 
 Richard, I will create thee Duke of Gloster ; 
 And George, of Clarence ; Warwick, as ourself, 
 Shall do and undo as him pleaseth best. 
 
 Rick. Let me be Duke of Clarence, George 
 
 of Gloster ; 
 For Gloster's dukedom is too ominous. 
 
 War. Tut, that 's a foolish observation : 
 Richard, be Duke of Gloster. Now to London, 
 To see these honours in possession. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. A Chase in the North of England. 
 
 Enter two Keepers, with cross-bows in their 
 hands. 
 
 1 Keep. Under this thick -grown brake we '11 
 
 shroud ourselves; 
 
 For through this laund anon the deer will come j 
 And in this covert will we make our stand, 
 Culling the principal of all the deer. [shoot. 
 
 2 Keep. I '11 stay above the hill, so both may 
 
 1 Keep. That cannot be; the noise of thy 
 
 cross-bow 
 
 Will scare the herd, and so my shot is lost. 
 Here stand we both, and aim we at the best : 
 And, for the time shall not seem tedious, 
 I '11 tell thee what befell me on a day 
 In this self-place where now we mean to stand. 
 
 2 Keep. Here comes a man, let 's stay till he 
 
 be past. 
 
 Enter KING HENRY, disguised, with a prayer- 
 book. 
 
 K. Hen. From Scotland am I stol'n, even of 
 
 pure love, 
 
 To greet mine own land with my wishful sight. 
 No, Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine ; 
 Thy place is fill'd, thy sceptre wrung from thee, 
 Thy balm wash'd off wherewith thou wast 
 
 anointed : 
 
 No bending knee will call thee Caesar now, 
 No humble suitors press to speak for right, 
 No, not a man comes for redress of thee ; 
 
 s a 
 
 For how can I help them, and not myself? 
 I Keep. Ay, here 's a deer whose skin '; 
 
 keeper's fee : 
 This is the quondam king ; let 's seize upon him. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 653 
 
 K. Hen. Let me embrace these sour adver- 
 sities : 
 For wise men say it is the wisest course. 
 
 2 Keep. Why linger we? let us lay hands 
 upon him. [more. 
 
 1 Keep. Forbear awhile ; we '11 hear a little 
 K. Hen. My queen and son are gone to 
 
 France for aid ; 
 
 And, as I hear, the great commanding Warwick 
 Is thither gone, to crave the French king's sister 
 To wife for Edward : if this news be true, 
 Poor queen and son, your labour is but lost; 
 For Warwick is a subtle orator, 
 And Louis a prince soon won with moving words. 
 By this account, then, Margaret may win him ; 
 For she 's a woman to be pitied much : 
 Her sighs will make a battery in his breast ; 
 Her tears will pierce into a marble heart ; 
 The tiger will be mild while she doth mourn ; 
 And Nero will be tainted with remorse, 
 To hear and see her plaints, her brinish tears. 
 Ay, but she 's come to beg ; Warwick, to give : 
 She, on his left side, craving aid for Henry ; 
 He, on his right, asking a wife for Edward. 
 She weeps, and says her Henry is depos'd ; 
 He smiles, and says his Edward is install'd ; 
 That she, poor wretch, for grief can speak no 
 
 more ; [wrong, 
 
 Whiles Warwick tells his title, smooths the 
 Inferreth arguments of mighty strength, 
 And in conclusion wins the king from her, 
 Wiih promise of his sister, and what else, 
 To strengthenand support King Ed ward's place. 
 O Margaret, thus 'twill be ; and thou, poor soul, 
 Art then forsaken, as thou went'st forlorn ! 
 
 2 Keep. Say, what art thou, that talk'st of 
 
 kings and queens? 
 K. Hen. More than I seem, and less than I 
 
 was born to : 
 
 A man at least, for less I should not be ; 
 And men may talk of kings, and why not I ? 
 2 Keep. Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert 
 a king. [enough. 
 
 K. Hen. Why, so I am in mind ; and that's 
 2 Keep. But, if thou be a king, where is thy 
 crown ? [head ; 
 
 K. Hen. My crown is in my heart, not on my 
 Not deck'd with diamonds and Indian stones, 
 Nor to be seen : my crown is call'd content, 
 A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy. 
 
 2 Keep. Well, if you be a king crown'd with 
 
 content, 
 
 Your crown content and you must be contented 
 To go along with us ; for, as we think, 
 You are the king King Edward hath depos'd ; 
 And we his subjects, sworn in all allegiance, 
 Will apprehend you as his enemy. 
 
 K. Hen. But did you never swear, and break 
 
 an oath ? [now. 
 
 2 Keep. No, never such an oath ; nor will not 
 
 K. Hen. Where did you dwell when I was 
 
 King of England ? [remain. 
 
 2 Keep. Here in this country, where we now 
 
 A'. Hen. I was anointed king at nine months 
 
 old; 
 
 My father and my grandfather were kings ; 
 And you were sworn true subjects unto me : 
 And tell me, then, have you not broke your 
 
 oaths ? 
 i Keep. No ; 
 
 For we were subjects but while you were king. 
 K. Hen. Why, am I dead? do I not breathe 
 
 a man? 
 
 Ah, simple men, you know not what you swear ! 
 Look, as I blow this feather from my face, 
 And as the air blows it to me again, 
 Obeying with my wind when I do blow, 
 And yielding to another when it blows, 
 Commanded always by the greater gust ; 
 Such is the lightness of you common men. 
 But do not break your oaths ; for of that sin 
 My mild entreaty shall not make you guilty. 
 Go where you will, the king shall be com- 
 manded ; 
 
 And be you kings ; command, and I '11 obey. 
 I Keep. We are true subjects to the king, 
 
 King Edward. 
 
 K. Hen. So would you be .gain tp Henry, 
 If he were seated as King Edward is. 
 
 i Keep. We charge you, in God's name and 
 
 in the king's, 
 To go with us unto the officers. 
 
 K. Hen. In God's name, lead; your king's 
 
 name be obey'd : 
 
 And wliat God will, that let your king perform ; 
 And what he will, I humbly yield unto. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. LONDON. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter KING EDWARD, GLOSTER, CLARENCE, 
 and LADY GREY. 
 
 K. Edw. Brother of Gloster, at Saint Albans' 
 
 field 
 
 This lady's husband, Sir John Grey, was slain, 
 His lands then seiz'd on by the conqueror : 
 Her suit is now to repossess those lands; 
 Wnich we in justice cannot well deny, 
 Because in quarrel of the house of York 
 The worthy gentleman did lose his life, [suit ; 
 
 Glo. Your highness shall do well to grant her 
 It were dishonour to deny it her. [a pause. 
 
 K. Edw. It were no less ; but yet I '11 make 
 
654 
 
 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Glo. Yea, is it so? 
 I see the lady hath a thing to grant, 
 Before the king will grant her humble suit. 
 
 [Aside to CLARENCE. 
 
 Clar. He knows the game : how true he keeps 
 
 the wind ! [Aside to GLOSTER. 
 
 Glo. Silence ! [Aside to CLARENCE. 
 
 K. Edw. Widow, we will consider of your suit; 
 
 And come some other time to know our mind. 
 
 L. Grey. Right gracious lord, I cannot brook 
 
 delay : 
 
 May it please your highness to resolve me now ; 
 And what your pleasure is shall satisfy me. 
 Glo. Ay, widow? then I warrant you all your 
 
 lands, 
 
 An if what pleases him shall pleasure you. 
 Fight closer, or, good faith, you'll catch a blow. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Clar. I fear her not, unless she chance to fall. 
 [Aside to GLOSTER. 
 
 Glo. God forbid that ! for he '11 take vantages. 
 
 [Aside to CLARENCE. 
 
 K. Edw. How many children hast thou, 
 
 widow? tell me. 
 
 Clar. I think he means to beg a child of her. 
 [Aside to GLOSTER. 
 
 Glo. Nay, whip me, then ; he '11 rather give 
 
 her two. [Aside to CLARENCE. 
 
 L. Grey. Three, my most gracious lord. 
 
 Glo. You shall have four if you '11 be ruled 
 
 by him. [Aside. 
 
 K. Edw. 'Twere pity they should lose their 
 
 father's lands. [then. 
 
 L. Grey. Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it, 
 
 K. Edw. Lords, give us leave : I '11 try this 
 
 widow's wit. [have leave, 
 
 Glo. Ay, good leave have you ; for you \vill 
 
 Till youth take leave, and leave you to the 
 
 crutch. 
 
 [Aside, and retires with CLARENCE. 
 K. Edw. Now tell me, madam, do you love 
 
 your children? 
 
 L. Grey. Ay, full as dearly as I love myself. 
 K. Edw. And wou d you not do much to do 
 them good ? [some harm. 
 
 L. Grey. To do them good I would sustain 
 K. Edw. Then get your husband's lands, to 
 
 do them good. 
 
 L. Grey. Therefore I came unto your majesty. 
 
 K. Edw. I '11 tell you how these lands are to 
 
 be got. [ness 5 service. 
 
 L. Grey. So shall you bind me to your high- 
 
 K. Edw. What service wilt thou do me if I 
 
 give them? ft do. 
 
 L. Grey. What you command, that rests in me 
 
 K. Edw. But you will take exceptions to my 
 
 boon. 
 
 L. Grey. No, gracious lord, except I cannot 
 
 do it. 
 K. Edw. Ay, but thou canst do what I mean 
 
 to ask. [commands. 
 
 L. Grey. Why, then, I will do what your grace 
 Glo, He plies her hard ; and much rain wears 
 
 the marble. [Aside to CLARENCE. 
 Clar. As red as fire ! nay, then her wax must 
 
 melt. [Aside to GLOSTER. 
 
 L. Grey. Why stops my lord? shall I not 
 
 hear my task? 
 
 K. Edw. An easy task ; 'tis but to love a king. 
 L. Grey. That's soon perform'd, because I 
 
 am a subject. 
 K. Edw. Why, then, thy husband's lands I 
 
 freely give thee. [thanks. 
 
 L. Grey. I take my leave with many thousand 
 Glo. The match is made ; she seals it with a 
 
 curtsy. [Aside. 
 
 K. Edw. But stay thee, 'tis the fruits of 
 
 love I mean. [liege. 
 
 L. Grey. The fruits of love I mean, my loving 
 
 K. Edw. Ay, but, I fear me, in another sense. 
 
 What love, thinkst thou, I sue so much to get ? 
 
 L. Grey. My love till death, my humble 
 
 thanks, my prayers ; 
 
 That love which virtue begs and virtue grants. 
 K. Edw. No, by my troth, I did not mean 
 
 such love. 
 L. Grey. Why, then, you mean not as I 
 
 thought you did. [my mind. 
 
 K. Edw. But now you partly may perceive 
 L. Grey. My mind will never grant what I 
 
 perceive 
 
 Your highness aims at, if I aim aright, [thee. 
 K. Edw. To tell thee plain, I aim to lie with 
 L. Grey. To tell you plain, I had rather lie 
 
 in prison. 
 K. Edw. Why, then, thou shalt not have thy 
 
 husband's lands. [my dower ; 
 
 L. Grey. Why, then, mine honesty shall be 
 For by that loss I will not purchase them. 
 K. Edw. Therein thou wrong'st thy children 
 
 mightily. 
 L. Grey. Herein your highness wrongs both 
 
 them and me. 
 
 But, mighty lord, this merry inclination 
 Accords not with the sadness of my suit: 
 Please you dismiss me, either with ay or no. 
 
 K. Edw. Ay, if thou wilt say ay to my request; 
 No, if thou dost say no to my demand. 
 
 L. Grey. Then, no, my lord. My suit is at 
 
 an end. 
 Glo. The widow likes him not, she knits her 
 
 brows. [Aside to CLARENCE. 
 
 Clar. He is the bluntest wooer in Christen- 
 dom. [Aside to GLOSTER. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 655 
 
 K. Edw. Her looks do argue her replete with 
 
 modesty ; 
 
 Her words do show her wit incomparable ; 
 All her perfections challenge sovereignty : 
 One way or other, she is for a king ; 
 And she shall be my love, or else my queen. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Say that King Edward take thee for his queen ? 
 L. Grey. ; Tis better said than done, my 
 
 gracious lord : 
 
 I am a subject fit to jest withal, 
 But far unfit to be a sovereign. 
 
 K. Edw. Sweet widow, by my state I swear 
 
 to thee 
 
 I speak no more than what my soul intends ; 
 And that is to enjoy thee for my love. 
 
 L. Grey. And that is more than I will yield 
 
 unto : 
 
 I know I am too mean to be your queen, 
 And yet too good to be your concubine. 
 
 K. Edw. \ ou cavil, widow : I did mean my 
 
 queen. 
 L. Grey. 'Twill grieve your grace my sons 
 
 should call you father. 
 K. Edw. No more than when my daughters 
 
 call thee mother. 
 
 Thou art a widow, and thou hast some children ; 
 And, by God's mother, I, being but a bachelor, 
 Have other some : why, 'tis a happy thing 
 To be the father unto many sons. 
 Answer no more, for thou shalt be my queen. 
 Glo. The ghostly father now hath done his 
 shrift. [Aside to CLARENCE. 
 
 Clar. When he was made a shriver, 'twas for 
 shift. [Aside to GLOSTER. 
 
 K. Edw. Brothers, you muse what chat we 
 two have had. [sad. 
 
 Glo. The widow likes it not, for she looks very 
 K. Edw. You 'd think it strange if I should 
 
 marry her. 
 
 Clar. To whom, my lord? 
 K. Edw. Why, Clarence, to myself. 
 
 Glo. That would be ten days' wonder at the 
 
 least. 
 
 Clar. That 's a day longer than a wonder lasts. 
 Glo. By so much is the wonder in extremes. 
 K. Edw. Well, jest on, brothers : I can tell 
 
 you both 
 Her suit is granted for her husband's lands. 
 
 Enter a Nobleman. 
 Nob. My gracious lord, Henry your foe is 
 
 taken, 
 
 And brought your prisoner to your palace gate. 
 K. Edw. See that he be convey'd unto the 
 
 Tower : 
 And go we, brothers, to the man that took him, 
 
 To question of his apprehension. 
 Widow, go you along : lords, use her honour- 
 able. 
 [Exeunt KING EDWARD, LADY GREY, 
 
 CLARENCE, and Nobleman. 
 Glo. Ay, Edward will use women honour- 
 ably. 
 
 Would he were wasted, marrow, bones, and all, 
 That fromhis loins no nopeful branch may spring, 
 To cross me from the golden time I look for ! 
 And yet, between my soul's desire and me, 
 The lustful Edward's title buried, 
 Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward, 
 And all the unlook'd-for issue of their bodies, 
 To take their rooms, ere I can place myself: 
 A cold premeditation for my purpose ! 
 Why, then, I do but dream on sovereignty ; 
 Like one that rtands upon a promontory, 
 And spies a far-off shore where he would tread, 
 Wishing his foot were equal with his eye ; 
 And chides the sea that sunders him from thence 
 Saying he '11 lade it dry to have his way : 
 So do I wish the crown, being so far off; 
 And so I chide the means that keep me from it j 
 And so I say I '11 cut the causes off, 
 Flattering me with impossibilities. [much, 
 My eye's too quick, my heart o'erweens too 
 Unless my hand and strength could equal them. 
 Well, say there is no kingdom, then, for 
 
 Richard ; 
 
 What other pleasure can the world afford ? 
 I '11 make my heaven in a lady's lap, 
 And deck my body in gay ornaments, 
 And witch sweet ladies with my words and looks, 
 O miserable thought ! and more unlikely 
 Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns ! 
 Why, love forswore me in my mother's womb : 
 And, for I should not deal in her soft laws, 
 She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe, 
 To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub; 
 To make an envious mountain on my back, 
 Where sits deformity to mock my body ; 
 To shape my legs of an unequal size ; 
 To disproportion me in every part, 
 Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp 
 That carries no impression like the dam. 
 And am I, then, a man to be belov'd ? 
 
 monstrous fault, to harbour such a thought ! 
 Then, since this earth affords no joy to me 
 But to command, to check, to o'er bear such 
 As are of better person than myself, 
 
 1 '11 make my heaven to dream upon the crown, 
 And whiles I live to account this world but hell, 
 Until my misshap'd trunk that bears this head 
 Be round empaled with a glorious crown. 
 And yet I know not how to get the crown, 
 For many lives stand between me and home : 
 
656 
 
 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT m. 
 
 And I, like one lost in a thorny wood, 
 That rents the thorns, and is rent with the thorns, 
 Seeking a way, and straying from the way ; 
 Not knowing how to find the open air, 
 But toiling desperately to find it out, 
 Torment myself to catch the English crown: 
 And from that torment I will free myself, 
 Or hew my way out with a bloody axe. 
 Why, I can smile, and murder whiles I smile ; 
 And cry content to that which grieves my heart ; 
 And wet my cheeks with artificial tears, 
 And frame my face to all occasions. 
 I '11 drown more sailors than the mermaid shall ; 
 I '11 slay more gazers than the basilisk ; 
 I '11 play the orator as well as Nestor ; 
 Deceive more slily than Ulysses could ; 
 And, like a Sinon, take another Troy : 
 I can add colours to the cameleon ; 
 Change shapes with Proteus for advantages ; 
 And set the murderous Machiavel to school. 
 Can I do this, and cannot get a crown ? 
 Tut, were it further off, I'll pluck it down! 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 SCENE III. FRANCE. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Flourish. Enter Louis, the French King, 
 and LADY BONA, attended; the KING takes 
 his state. Then enter QUEEN MARGARET, 
 PRINCE EDWARD herSon t and the EARL OF 
 OXFORD. 
 
 K. Lou. Fair Queen of England, worthy 
 Margaret, [Rising. 
 
 Sit down with us: it ill befits thy state 
 And birth, that thou shouldst stand while 
 Louis doth sit. [Margaret 
 
 Q. Mar. No, mighty King of France : now 
 Must strike her sail, and learn awhile to serve 
 Where kings command. I was, I must confess, 
 Great Albion's queen in former golden days : 
 But now mischance hath trod my title down, 
 And with dishonour laid me on the ground ; 
 Where I must take like seat unto my fortune, 
 And to my humble seat conform myself. 
 
 K. Lou. Why, say, fair queen, whence 
 
 springs this deep despair ? 
 
 Q. Mar. From such a cause as fills mine eyes 
 
 with tears, [in cares. 
 
 And stops my tongue, while heart is drown'd 
 
 K. Lou. Whatever it be, be thou still like 
 
 thyself, 
 And sit thee by our side : yield not thy neck 
 
 [Seats her by him. 
 
 To fortune's yoke, but let thy dauntless mind 
 Still ride in triumph over all mischance. 
 Be plain, Queen Margaret, and tell thy grief; 
 It shall be eas'd, if France can yield relief. 
 
 Q. Mar. Those gracious words revive my 
 
 drooping thoughts, 
 
 And give my tongue-tied sorrows leave to speak. 
 Now, therefore, be it known to noble Louis 
 That Henry, sole possessor of my love, 
 Is, of a king, become a banish'd man, 
 And forc'd to live in Scotland a forlorn; 
 While proud ambitious Edward Duke of York 
 Usurps the regal title and the seat 
 Of England's true-anointed lawful king. 
 This is the cause that I, poor Margaret, 
 With this my son, Prince Edward, Henry's 
 
 heir, 
 
 Am come to crave thy just and lawful aid ; 
 And if thou fail us, all our hope is done : 
 Scotland hath will to help, but cannot help ; 
 Our people and our peers are both misled, 
 Our treasure seiz'd, our soldiers put to flight, 
 And, as thou see'st, ourselves in heavy plight. 
 
 K. Lou. Renowned queen, with patience 
 
 calm the storm, 
 While we bethink a means to break it off. 
 
 Q. Mar. The more we stay the stronger 
 grows our foa. [cour thee. 
 
 K. Lou. The more I stay the more I '11 suc- 
 
 Q. Mar. O, but impatience waiteth on true 
 
 sorrow : 
 And see where comes the breeder of my sorrow ! 
 
 Enter WARWICK, attended. 
 
 K. Lou. What's he approacheth boldly to 
 our presence? 
 
 Q. Mar. Our Earl of Warwick, Edward's 
 greatest friend. 
 
 K. Lou. Welcome, brave Warwick ! What 
 brings thee to France? 
 
 [Descending from his state. Q. MAR. rises. 
 
 Q. Mar. Ay, now begins a second storm to 
 
 rise; 
 For this is he that moves both wind and tide. 
 
 War. From worthy Edward, King of Albion, 
 My lord and sovereign, and thy vowed friend, 
 I come, in kindness and unfeigned love, 
 First, to do greetings to thy royal person ; 
 And then to crave a league of amity; 
 And lastly, to confirm that amity 
 With nuptial knot, if thou vouchsafe to grant 
 That virtuous Lady Bona, thy fair sister, 
 To England's king in lawful marriage, [done. 
 
 Q. Mar. If that go forward, Henry's hope is 
 
 War. And, gracious madam [to BONA], in 
 
 our king's behalf, 
 
 I am commanded, with your leave and favour, 
 Humbly to kiss your hand, and with my tongue 
 To tell the passion of my sovereign's heart ; 
 Where fame, late entering at his heedful ears, 
 Hath plac'd thy beauty's image and thy virtue. 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 657 
 
 Q. Mar. King Louis, -and Lady Bona, - 
 
 hear me speak, 
 
 Before you answer Warwick. His demand 
 Springs not from Edward's well-meant honest 
 
 love, 
 
 But from deceit bred by necessity ; 
 For how can tyrants safely govern home 
 Unless abroad they purchase great alliance? 
 To prove him tyrant, this reason may suffice, 
 That Henry liveth still ; but were he dead, 
 Yet here Prince Edward stands, King Henry's 
 
 son. [marriage 
 
 Look therefore, Louis, that by 'this league and 
 Thou draw not on thy danger and dishonour ; 
 For though usurpers sway the rule awhile, 
 Yet heavens are just, and time suppresseth 
 
 wrongs. 
 
 War. Injurious Margaret ! 
 Prince. And why not queen? 
 
 War. Because thy father Henry did usurp ; 
 And thou no more art prince than she is queen. 
 Oxf. Then Warwick disannuls great John of 
 
 Gaunt, 
 
 Which did subdue the greatest part of Spain ; 
 And, after John of Gaunt, Henry the Fourth, 
 Whose wisdom was a mirror to the wisest ; 
 And, after that wise prince, Henry the Fifth, 
 Who by his prowess conquered all France : 
 From these our Henry lineally descends. 
 
 War. Oxford, how haps it, in this smooth 
 
 discourse, 
 
 You told not how Henry the Sixth hath lost 
 All that which Henry the Fifth had gotten? 
 Methinks these peers of France should smile at 
 
 that. 
 
 But for the rest, you tell a pedigree 
 Of threescore and two years ; a silly time 
 To make prescription for a kingdom's worth. 
 Oxf. Why, Warwick, canst thou speak against 
 
 thy liege, 
 
 Whom thou obey'dst thirty and six years, 
 And not bewray thy treason with a blush? 
 War. Can Oxford, that did ever fence the 
 
 right, 
 
 Now buckler falsehood with a pedigree? 
 For shame ! leave Henry, and call Edward king. 
 Oxf. Call him my king by whose injurious 
 
 doom 
 
 My elder brother, the Lord Aubrey Vere, 
 Was done to death? and more than so, my father, 
 Even in the downfall of his mellow'd years, 
 When nature brought him to the door of death? 
 No, Warwick, no; while life upholds this arm, 
 This arm upholds the house of Lancaster. 
 War. And I the house of York. 
 K. Lou. Queen Margaret, Prince Edward, 
 
 and Oxford, 
 
 Vouchsafe, at our request, to stand aside 
 While 1 use further conference with Warwick. 
 
 Q. Mar. Heavens grant that Warwick's words 
 bewitch him not ! 
 [Retiring with the PRINCE and OXF. 
 
 K. Lou. Now, Warwick, tell me, even upon 
 
 thy conscience, 
 
 Is Edward your true king? for I were loth 
 To link with him that were not lawful chosen. 
 
 War. Thereon I pawn my credit and mine 
 honour. [eye ? 
 
 K. Lou. But is he gracious in the people's 
 
 War. The more that Henry was unfortunate. 
 
 K. Lou. Then further, all dissembling set 
 
 aside, 
 
 Tell me for truth the measure of his love 
 Unto our sister Bona. 
 
 War. Such it seems 
 
 As may beseem a monarch like himself. 
 Myself have often heard him say, and swear, 
 That this love was an eternal plant, 
 Whereof the root was fix'd in virtue's ground, 
 The leaves and fruit maintain'd with beauty's 
 
 sun; 
 
 Exempt from envy, but not from disdain, 
 Unless the Lady Bona quit his pain. [solve, 
 
 K. Lou. Now, sister, let us hear your firm re- 
 
 Bona. Your grant or your denial shall be 
 
 mine : 
 
 Yet I confess [to WAR.] that often ere this day, 
 When I have heard your king's desert recounted, 
 Mine ear hath tempted judgment to desire. 
 
 K. Lou. Then, Warwick, thus, Our sister 
 
 shall be Edward's ; 
 
 And now forthwith shall articles be drawn 
 Touching the jointure that your king must make, 
 Which with her dowry shall be counter pois'd. 
 Draw near, Queen Margaret, and be a witness 
 That Bona shall be wife to the English king. 
 
 Prince. To Edward, but not to the English 
 king. 
 
 Q. Mar. Deceitful Warwick ! it was thy device 
 By this alliance to make void my suit : 
 Before thy coming, Louis was Henry's friend. 
 
 K. Lou. And still is friend to him and 
 
 Margaret : 
 
 But if your title to the crown be weak, 
 As may appear by Edward's good success, 
 Then 'tis but reason tliat I be releas'd 
 From giving aid which late I promised. 
 Yet shall you have all kindness at my hand 
 That your estate requires and mine can yield. 
 
 War. Henry now lives in Scotland at his ease, 
 Where having nothing, nothing can he lose. 
 And as for you yourself, our quondam queen, 
 You have a father able to maintain you ; 
 And better 'twere you troubled him than France. 
 
658 
 
 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT III. 
 
 Q. Mar. Peace, impudent and shameless 
 
 Warwick, 
 
 Proud setter-up and puller-down of kings ! 
 I will not hence till, with my talk and tears, 
 Both full of truth, I make King Louis behold 
 Thy sly conveyance and thy lord's false love ; 
 For both of you are birds of self-same feather. 
 
 [A horn sounded within. 
 K. Lou. Warwick, this is some post to us or 
 thee. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 Mess. My lord ambassador, these letters are 
 
 for you, 
 
 Sent from your brother, Marquis Montague : 
 These from our king unto your majesty : 
 And, madam, these for you ; from whom I know 
 
 not. 
 
 [ To MAR. They all read their letters. 
 
 Oxf. I like it well that our fair queen and 
 
 mistress [his. 
 
 Smiles at her news, while Warwick frowns at 
 
 Prince. Nay, mark how Louis stamps, as he 
 
 were nettled: 
 I hope all 's for the best. 
 
 K. Lou. Warwick, what are thy news? and 
 yours, fair queen? [hop'djoys. 
 
 t Q. Mar. Mine, such as fill my heart with un- 
 War. Mine, full of sorrow and heart's dis- 
 content. [Lady Grey? 
 K. Lou. What, has your king married the 
 And now, to soothe your forgery and his, 
 Sends me a paper to persuade me patience? 
 Is this the alliance that he seeks with France? 
 Dare he presume to scorn us in this manner? 
 
 Q. Mar. I told your majesty as much before : 
 This proveth Edward's love and Warwick's 
 honesty. [heaven, 
 
 War. King Louis, I here protest, in sight of 
 And by the hope I have of heavenly bliss, 
 That I am clear from this misdeed of Ed- 
 ward's, 
 
 No more my king, for he dishonours me, 
 But most himself, if he could see his shame. 
 Did I forget that by the house of York 
 My father came untimely to his death? 
 Did I let pass the abuse done to my niece? 
 Did I impale him with the regal crown? 
 Did I put Henry from his native right? 
 And am I guerdon'd at the last with shame? 
 Shame on himself! for my desert is honour: 
 And, to repair my honour lost for him, 
 I here renounce him, and return to Henry. 
 My noble queen, let former grudges pass, 
 And henceforth I am thy true senator : 
 I will revenge his wrong to Lady Bona y 
 And replant Henry in his former state. 
 
 Q. Mar. Warwick, these words have turn'd 
 
 my hate to love ; 
 
 And I forgive and quite forget old faults, 
 And joy that thou becom'st King Henry's friend. 
 
 War. So much his friend, ay, his unfeigned 
 
 friend, 
 
 That if King Louis vouchsafe to furnish us 
 With some few bands of chosen soldiers, 
 I '11 undertake to laud them on our coast, 
 And force the tyrant from his seat by war. 
 'Tis not his new-made bride shall succour him : 
 And as for Clarence, as my letters tell me, 
 He 's very likely now to fall from him, 
 For matching more for wanton lust than honour, 
 Or than for strength and safety of our country. 
 
 Bona. Dear brother, how shall Bona be re- 
 
 veng'd 
 But by thy help to this distressed queen? 
 
 Q. Mar. Renowned prince, how shall poor 
 
 Henry live, 
 Unless thou rescue him from foul despair? 
 
 Bona. My quarrel and this English queen's 
 are one. [yours. 
 
 War. And mine, fair Lady Bona, joins with 
 
 K. Lou. And mine with hers, and thine, and 
 
 Margaret's. 
 
 Therefore, at last, I firmly am resolv'd 
 You shall have aid. 
 
 Q. Mar. Let me give humble thanks for all 
 at once. [in post, 
 
 K. Lou. Then, England's messenger, return 
 And tell false Edward, thy supposed king, 
 That Louis of France is sending over masquers 
 To revel it with him and his new bride : 
 Thpusee'st what 'spast, go fear thy king withal. 
 
 Bona. Tell him, in hope he '11 prove a 
 
 widower shortly, 
 I '11 wear the willow-garland for his sake. 
 
 Q. Mar. Tell him, my mourning-weeds are 
 
 laid aside, 
 And I am ready to put armour on. 
 
 War. Tell him from me, that he hath done 
 
 me wrong ; 
 
 And therefore I '11 uncrown him ere 't be long. 
 There 's thy reward : be gone. [Exit Mess. 
 
 K. Lou. But, Warwick, 
 
 Thou and Oxford, with five thousand men, 
 Shall cross the seas, and bid false Edward 
 
 battle ; 
 
 And, as occasion serves, this noble queen 
 And prince shall follow with a fresh supply. 
 Yet, ere thou go, but answer me one doubt, 
 What pledge have we of thy firm loyalty ? 
 
 War. This shall assure my constant loyalty, 
 That if our queen and this young prince agree, 
 I '11 join mine eldest daughter, and my joy, 
 To him forthwith in holy wedlock-bands. 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 659 
 
 Q. Mar. Yes, I agree, and thank you for your 
 
 motion. 
 
 Son Edward, she is fair and virtuous, 
 Therefore delay not, give thy hand to Warwick ; 
 A.nd, with thy hand, thy faith irrevocable, 
 That only Warwick's daughter shall be thine. 
 Prince. Yes, I accept her, for she well de- 
 serves it ; 
 
 And here to pledge my vow, I give my hand. 
 [Me gives his hand to WARWICK. 
 K. Lou. Why stay we now ? These soldiers 
 
 shall be levied, 
 
 And thou, Lord Bourbon, our high-admiral, 
 Shalt waft them over with our royal fleet. 
 I long till Edward fall by war's mischance, 
 For mocking marriage with a dame of France. 
 [Exeunt all but WARWICK. 
 War. I come from Edward as ambassador, 
 But I return his sworn and mortal foe : 
 Matter of marriage was the charge he gave me, 
 But dreadful war shall answer his demand. 
 Had he none else to make a stale but me ? 
 Then none but I shall turn his jest to sorrow. 
 I was the chief that rais'd him to the crown, 
 And I'll be chief to bring him down again : 
 Not that I pity Henry's misery, 
 But seek revenge on Edward's mockery. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 SCENE I. LONDON. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter GLOSTER, CLARENCE, SOMERSET, 
 MONTAGUE, and others. 
 
 Glo. Now tell me, brother Clarence, what 
 
 think you 
 
 Of this new marriage with the Lady Grey ? 
 Hath not our brother made a worthy choice ? 
 Clar. Alas, you know, 'tis far from hence to 
 
 France ; 
 
 How could he stay till Warwick made return? 
 Som. My lords, forbear this talk ; here comes 
 
 the king. 
 
 Glo. And his well-chosen bride, 
 Clar. I mind to tell him plainly what I think. 
 
 Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD, attended ; 
 LADY GREY, as Queen ; PEMBROKE, STAF- 
 FORD, HASTINGS, and others. 
 
 K. Edw. Now, brother of Clarence, how like 
 
 you our choice, 
 
 That you stand pensive, as half malcontent ? 
 Clar. As well as Louis of France or the Earl 
 
 of Warwick ; 
 
 Which are so weak of courage and in judgment 
 That they '11 take no offence at our abuse. 
 
 K. Edw. Suppose they take offence without 
 
 a cause, 
 
 They are but Louis and Warwick : I am Edward, 
 
 Your king and Warwick's, and must have my 
 
 will. [king : 
 
 Glo. And shall have your will, because our 
 
 Yet hasty marriage seldom proveth well. 
 
 K. Edw. Yea, brother Richard, are you 
 
 offended too ? 
 Glo. Not I : 
 
 No, God forbid that I should wish them sever'd 
 Whom God hath join'd together ; ay, and 
 
 'twere pity 
 
 To sunder them that yoke so well together. 
 A'. Edw. Setting your scorns and your mis- 
 like aside, 
 
 Tell me some reason why the Lady Grey 
 Should not become my wife and England's 
 
 queen : 
 
 And you too, Somerset and Montague, 
 Speak freely what you think. [Louis 
 
 Clar. Then this is mine opinion, that King 
 Becomes your enemy for mocking him 
 About the marriage of the Lady Bona. 
 
 Glo. And Warwick, doing what you gave in 
 
 charge, 
 
 Is now dishonoured by this new marriage. 
 K. Edw. What if both Louis and Warwick 
 
 be appeas'd 
 By such invention as I can devise ? 
 
 Mont. Yet to have join'd with France in such 
 
 alliance [wealth 
 
 Would more have strengthen'd this our common- 
 
 'Gainst foreign storms than any home-bred 
 
 marriage. 
 
 Hast. Why, knows not Montague that of itself 
 England is safe, if true within itself? 
 Mont. But the safer when 'tis back'd with 
 
 France. 
 Hast. 'Tis better using France than trusting 
 
 France : 
 
 Let us be back'd with God, and with the seas 
 Which he hath given for fence impregnable, 
 And with their helps only defend ourselves ; 
 In them and in ourselves our safety lies. 
 
 Clar. For this one speech Lord Hastings 
 
 well deserves 
 
 To have the heir of die Lord Hungerford. 
 K Edw. Ay, what of that? it was my will 
 
 and grant ; 
 
 And for this once my will shall stand for law. 
 670. And yet methinks your grace hath not 
 
 done well, 
 
 To give the heir and daughter of Lord Scales 
 Unto the brother of your loving bride ; 
 She better would have fitted me or Clarence: 
 But in your bride you bury brotherhood. 
 
66o 
 
 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Clar. Or else you would not have bestow'd 
 
 the heir 
 
 Of the Lord Bonville on your new wife's son, 
 
 And leave your brothers to go speed elsewhere. 
 
 K. Edw. Alas, poor Clarence ! is it for a wife 
 
 That thou art malcontent? I will provide thee. 
 
 Clar. In choosing for yourself you show'd 
 
 your judgment, 
 
 Which being shallow, you shall give me leave 
 To play the broker in mine own behalf ; 
 And to that end I shortly mind to leave you. 
 K. Edw. Leave me or tarry, Edward will be 
 
 king, 
 And not be tied unto his brother's will. 
 
 Q. Eliz. My lords, before it pleas'd his 
 
 majesty 
 
 To raise my state to title of a queen, 
 Do me but right, and you must all confess 
 That I was not ignoble of descent ; 
 And meaner than myself have had like fortune. 
 But as this title honours me and mine, 
 So your dislikes, to whom I would be pleasing, 
 Do cloud my joys with danger and with sorrow. 
 K. Edw. My love, forbear to fawn upon their 
 
 frowns : 
 
 What danger or what sorrow can befall thee, 
 So long as Edward is thy constant friend 
 And their true sovereign, whom they must obey? 
 Nay, whom they shall obey, and love thee too, 
 Unless they seek for hatred at my hands ; 
 Which if they do, yet will I keep thee safe, 
 And they shall feel the vengeance of my wrath. 
 Glo. I hear, yet say not much, but think the 
 more. [Aside. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 K. Edw. Now, messenger, what letters or 
 
 what news 
 
 From France? [words 
 
 Mess. My sovereign liege, no letters ; and few 
 But such as I, without your special pardon, 
 Dare not relate. 
 
 K. Edw. Go to, we pardon thee : therefore, 
 in brief, [them. 
 
 Tell me their words as near as thou canst guess 
 What answer makes King Louis unto our letters? 
 Mess. Atmy depart, these were his very words: 
 Go tell false Edward, thy supposed king, 
 That Louis of France is sending over masquers 
 To revel it with him and his new bride. 
 K. Edw. Is Lou is so brave? belike he thinks 
 
 me Henry. 
 
 But what said Lady Bona to my marriage ? 
 Mess. These were her words, utter'd with 
 
 mild disdain : 
 
 Tell him, in hope he 'II prove a widower shortly, 
 1 '// wear the willow-garland for his sake. 
 
 K. Edw. I blame not her, she could say little 
 
 less ; [queen ? 
 
 She had the wrong. But what said Henry's 
 
 For I have heard that she was there in place. 
 
 Mess. Tell him, quoth she, my mourning' 
 
 weeds are done, 
 
 And I am ready to put armour on. [zon. 
 
 K. Edw. Belike she minds to play the Ama- 
 But what said Warwick to these injuries? 
 
 Mess. He, more incens'd against your majesty 
 
 Thanall the rest, discharged me with these words : 
 
 Tell him from me, that he hath done me wrong; 
 
 And therefore I '// uncrown him ere '/ be long. 
 
 K. Edw. Ha ! durst the traitor breathe out 
 
 so proud words? 
 
 Well, I will arm me, being thus forewarn'd : 
 They shall have wars, and pay for their pre- 
 sumption. 
 
 But say, is Warwick friends with Margaret? 
 Mess. Ay, gracious sovereign; they are so 
 
 link'd in friendship 
 That young Prince Edward marries Warwick's 
 
 daughter. 
 Clar. Belike the elder; Clarence will have 
 
 the younger. 
 
 Now, brother king, farewell, and sit you fast, 
 For I will hence to Warwick's other daughter ; 
 That, though I want a kingdom, yet in marriage 
 I may not prove inferior to yourself. 
 You that love me and Warwick, follow me. 
 
 [Exit, and SOMERSET follows. 
 Glo. Not I: 
 
 My thoughts aim at a further matter ; I 
 Stay not for the love of Edward, but the crown. 
 
 [Aside. 
 K. Edw. Clarence and Somerset both gone 
 
 to Warwick \ 
 
 Yet am I arm'd against the worst can happen ; 
 And haste is needful in this desperate case. 
 Pembroke and Stafford, you in our behalf 
 Go levy men, and make prepare for war ; 
 They are already, or quickly will be landed : 
 Myself in person will straight follow you. 
 
 [Exeunt FEM. and STAF. 
 But ere I go, Hastings and Montague, 
 Resolve my doubt. You twain, of all the rest, 
 Are near to Warwick by blood and by alliance : 
 Tell me if you love Warwick more than me? 
 If it be so, then both depart to him ; 
 I rather wish you foes than hollow friends: 
 But if you mind to hold your true obedience, 
 Give me assurance with some friendly vow, 
 That I may never have you in suspect, [true ! 
 Mont. So God help Montague as he proves 
 Hast. And Hastings as he favours Edward's 
 cause! [by us? 
 
 K. Edw. Now, brother Richard, will you stand 
 
SCENE li.j 
 
 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 661 
 
 Glo. Ay, in despite of all that shall withstand 
 
 you. 
 
 K. Ediv. Why, so ! then am I sure of victory. 
 Now therefore let us hence ; and lose no hour 
 Till we meet Warwick with his foreign power. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. A Plain in Warwickshire. 
 
 Enter WARWICK and OXFORD, with French 
 and other Forces. 
 
 War. Trust me, my lord, all hitherto goes 
 
 well; 
 
 The common people by numbers swarm to us. 
 But see where Somerset and Clarence come ! 
 
 Enter CLARENCE and SOMERSET. 
 
 Speak suddenly, my lords, are we all friends? 
 Clar. Fear not that, my lord. [Warwick; 
 War. Then, gentle Clarence, welcome unto 
 And welcome, Somerset. I hold it cowardice 
 To rest mistrustful where a noble heart 
 Hath pawn'd an open hand in sign of love ; 
 Else might I think that Clarence, Edward's 
 
 brother, 
 
 Were but a feigned friend to our proceedings : 
 But welcome, sweet Clarence; my daughter 
 
 shall be thine. 
 
 And now, what rests but, in night's coverture, 
 Thy brother being carelessly encamp'd, 
 His soldiers lurking in the towns about, 
 And but attended by a simple guard, 
 We may surprise and take him at our pleasure? 
 Our scouts have found the adventure very easy : 
 That as Ulysses and stout Diomede 
 With sleight and manhood stole to Rhesus' tents, 
 And brought from thence the Thracian fatal 
 
 steeds, [mantle, 
 
 So we, well cover'd with the night's black 
 At unawares may beat down Edward's guard 
 And seize himself; I say not, slaughter him, 
 For I intend but only to surprise him. 
 You that will follow me to this attempt, 
 Applaud the name of Henry with your leader. 
 [ TV;*? a// ^p/" Henry!" 
 Why, then, let 's on our way in silent sort : 
 For Warwick and his friends, God and Saint 
 
 George ! {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II I. EDWARD'S Camp, near Warwick. 
 
 Enter certain Watchmen, before the KING'S 
 tent. 
 
 1 Watch. Come on, my masters, each man 
 
 take his stand : 
 The king by this has set him down to sleep. 
 
 2 Watck. What, will he not to bed? 
 
 I Watch. Why, no : for he hath made a solemn 
 
 Never to lie and take his natural rest 
 
 Till Warwick or l.imself be quite suppress'd. 
 
 2 Watch. To-morrow then, belike, shall be 
 
 the day, 
 If Warwick be so near as men report. 
 
 3 Watch. But say, I pray, what nobleman is 
 
 that 
 That with the king here resteth in his tent? 
 
 1 Watch. 'Tis the Lord Hastings, the king's 
 
 chiefest friend. [the king 
 
 3 Watch. O, is it so? But why commands 
 
 That his chief followers lodge in towns about 
 
 him, 
 While he himself keeps in the cold field? 
 
 2 Watch. 'Tis the more honour, because more 
 
 dangerous. [ness ; 
 
 3 Watch. Ay, but give me worship and quiet- 
 I like it better than a dangerous honour. 
 
 If Warwick knew in what estate he stands, 
 'Tis to be doubted he would waken him. 
 
 1 Watch. Unless our halberds did shut up 
 
 his passage. [tent, 
 
 2 Watch. Ay, wherefore else guard we his royal 
 But to defend his person from night-foes? 
 
 Enter WARWICK, CLARENCE, OXFORD, 
 
 SOMERSET, and Forces. 
 War. This is his tent ; and see where stand 
 
 his guard. 
 
 Courage, my masters ! honour now or never ! 
 But follow me, and Edward shall be ours. 
 
 1 Watch. Who goes there? 
 
 2 Watch. Stay, or thou diest 
 [WARWICK and the rest cry all* 1 Warwick I 
 
 Warwick !" and set upon the Guard, who 
 fly, crying "Arm ! Arm !" WARWICK and 
 the rest following them. 
 
 The drum beating and trumpets sounding, re- 
 enter WARWICK and the rest, bringing the 
 KING out in his gown, sitting in a chair: 
 GLOSTER and HASTINGS are seen flying. 
 
 Som. What are they that fly there? 
 
 War. Richard and Hastings: let them go; 
 here is the duke. 
 
 K. Edw. The duke ! Why, Warwick, when 
 
 we parted last 
 Thou call'dst me king? 
 
 War. Ay, but the case is alter'd : 
 
 When you disgrac'd me in my embassade, 
 Then I degraded you from being king, 
 And come now to create you Duke of York. 
 Alas, how should you govern any kingdom, 
 That know not how to use ambassadors; 
 Nor how to be contented with one wife ; 
 
662 
 
 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Nor how to use your brothers brotherly ; 
 Nor how to study for the people's, welfare ; 
 Nor how to shroud yourself from enemies ? 
 K. Edw. Yea, brother of Clarence, art thou 
 
 here too? 
 
 Nay, then I see that Edward needs must down. 
 Yet, Warwick, in despite of all mischance, 
 Of thee thyself and all thy complices, 
 Edward will always bear himself as king : 
 Though fortune's malice overthrow my state, 
 My mind exceeds the compass of her wheel. 
 War. Then, for his mind, be Edward Eng- 
 land's king : [ Takes off his crown. 
 But Henry now shall wear the English crown 
 And be true king indeed; thou but the sha- 
 dow. 
 
 My Lord of Somerset, at my request, 
 See that forthwith Duke Edward be convey' d 
 Unto my brother, Archbishop of York. 
 When I have fought with Pembroke and his 
 
 fellows, 
 
 I '11 follow you, and tell what answer 
 Louis and the Lady Bona send to him. 
 Now, for awhile farewell, good Duke of York. 
 K. Edw. What fates impose, that men must 
 
 needs abide ; 
 It boots not to resist both wind and tide. 
 
 [Exit, led out; SOM. with him. 
 Oxf. What now remains, my lords, for us to 
 
 do, 
 But march to London with our soldiers? 
 
 War. Ay, that 's the first thing that we have 
 
 to do; 
 
 To free King Henry from imprisonment, 
 And see him seated in the regal throne. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. LONDON. A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH and RIVERS. 
 
 Riv. Madam, what makes you in this sudden 
 
 change? [learn 
 
 Q. Eliz. Why, brother Rivers, are you yet to 
 
 What late misfortune is befall'n King Edward? 
 
 Riv. What, loss of some pitch'd battle against 
 
 Warwick? [person. 
 
 Q. Eliz. No, but the loss of his own royal 
 
 Riv. Then, is my sovereign slain? 
 
 Q. Eliz. Ay, almost slain, for he is taken 
 
 prisoner ; 
 
 Either betray'd by falsehood of his guard, 
 Or by his foe surpris'd at unawares : 
 And, as I further have to understand, 
 Is new committed to the Bishop of York, 
 Fell Warwick's brother, and by that our foe. 
 Riv. These news, I must confess, are full of 
 grief; 
 
 Yet. gracious madam, bear it as you may : 
 Warwick may lose, that now hath won the day. 
 Q. Eliz. Till then, fair hope must hinder life's 
 
 decay. 
 
 And I the rather wean me from despair, 
 For love of Edward's offspring in my womb : 
 This is it that makes me bridle passion, 
 And bear with mildness my misfortune's cross: 
 Ay, ay, for this I draw in many a tear, 
 And stop the rising of blood-sucking sighs, 
 Lest with my sighs or tears I blast or drown 
 King Edward's fruit, true heir to the English 
 crown. [become? 
 
 Riv. But, madam, where is Warwick, then, 
 Q. Eliz. I am inform'd that he comes to- 
 wards London, 
 
 To set the crown once more on Henry's head : 
 Guess thou the rest; King Edward's friends 
 
 must down. 
 
 But to prevent the tyrant's violence, 
 For trust not him that hath once broken faith, 
 I '11 hence forthwith unto the sanctuary, 
 To save at least the heir of Edward's right : 
 There shall I rest secure from force and fraud. 
 Come, therefore, let us fly while we may fly : 
 If Warwick take us, we are sure to die. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. A Park near Middleham Castle in 
 Yorkshire. 
 
 Enter GLOSTER, HASTINGS, SIR WILLIAM 
 
 STANLEY, and others. 
 Glo. Now, my Lord Hastings and Sir 
 
 William Stanley, 
 
 Leave off to wonder why I drew you hither 
 Into this chiefest thicket of the park, [brother, 
 Thus stands the case : you know our king, my 
 Is prisoner to the bishop here, at whose hands 
 He hath good usage and great liberty ; 
 And often, but attended with weak guard, 
 Comes hunting this way, to disport himself. 
 I have advertis'd him by secret means 
 That if about this hour he make this way, 
 Under the colour of his usual game, [men, 
 He shall here find his friends, with horse and 
 To set him free from his captivity. 
 
 Enter KING EDWARD and a Huntsman. 
 
 Hunt. This way, my lord ; for this way lies 
 
 the game. [huntsmen stand. 
 
 K. Edw. Nay, this way, man : see where the 
 
 Now, brother of Gloster, Lord Hastings, and 
 
 the rest, 
 
 Stand you thus close to steal the bishop's deer? 
 Glo. Brother, the time and case requireth 
 
 haste: 
 Your horse stands ready at the park-corner. 
 
SCENE VI.] 
 
 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 663 
 
 K. Edw. But whither shall we then? 
 
 Hast. To Lynn, my lord; and ship from 
 thence to Flanders. [my meaning. 
 
 Glo. Well guess'd, believe me ; for that was 
 
 K. Edw. Stanley, I will requite thy forward- 
 ness, [talk. 
 
 Glo. But wherefore stay we? 'tis no time to 
 
 K. Edw. Huntsmen, what say'st thou? wilt 
 thou go along? 
 
 Hunt. Better do so than tarry and be hang'd. 
 
 Glo. Come then, away; let 's ha' no more ado. 
 
 K. Edw. Bishop, farewell : shield thee from 
 
 Warwick's frown ; 
 And pray that I may repossess the crown. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI. A Room in the Tower. 
 
 Enter KING HENRY, CLARENCE, WARWICK, 
 SOMERSET, YOUNG RICHMOND, OXFORD, 
 MONTAGUE, Lieutenant of the Tower, and 
 Attendants. 
 
 K. Hen. Master lieutenant, now that God 
 
 and friends 
 
 Have shaken Edward from the regal seat, 
 And turn'd my captive state to liberty, 
 My fear to hope, my sorrows unto joys, 
 At our enlargement what are thy due fees? 
 
 Lieut. Subjects may challenge nothing of their 
 
 sovereigns ; 
 
 But if an humble prayer may prevail, 
 I then crave pardon of your majesty. 
 
 K. Hen. For what, lieutenant? for well- 
 using me? 
 
 Nay, be thou sure I '11 well requite thy kindness, 
 For that it made my imprisonment a pleasure ; 
 Ay, such a pleasure as incaged birds 
 Conceive, when, after many moody thoughts, 
 At last, by notes of household harmony, 
 They quite forget their loss of liberty. 
 But, Warwick, after God, thou sett'st me free, 
 And chiefly therefore I thank God and thee ; 
 He was the author, thou the instrument. 
 Therefore, that I may conquer fortune's spite, 
 By living low, where fortune cannot hurt me, 
 And that the people of this blessed land 
 May not be punish'd with my thwarting stars, 
 Warwick, although my head still wear thecrown, 
 I here resign my government to thee, 
 For thou art fortunate in all thy deeds. 
 
 War. Your grace hath still been fam'd for 
 
 virtuous ; 
 
 And now may seem as wise as virtuous 
 By spying and avoiding fortune's malice, 
 For few men rightly temper with the stars: 
 Yet in this one thing let me blame your grace 
 For choosing me when Clarence is in place. 
 
 Clar. No, Warwick, thou art worthy of the 
 
 sway, 
 
 To whom the heavens, in thy nativity, 
 Adjudg'd an olive-branch and laurel-crown, 
 As likely to be blest in peace and war ; 
 And therefore I yield thee my free consent. 
 War. And I choose Clarence only for pro- 
 tector. 
 K. Hen. Warwick and Clarence, give me 
 
 both your hands: 
 Now join your hands, and with your hands your 
 
 hearts, 
 
 That no dissension hinder government : 
 I make you both protectors of this land; 
 While I myself will lead a private life, 
 And in devotion spend my latter days, 
 To sin's rebuke and my Creator's praise. 
 
 War. What answers Clarence to his sov- 
 ereign's will? [sent ; 
 Clar. That he consents if Warwick yield con- 
 For on thy fortune I repose myself. 
 
 War. Why, then, though loth, yet must I be 
 
 content: 
 
 We '11 yoke together, like a double shadow 
 To Henry's body, and supply his place ; 
 I mean, in bearing weight of government, 
 While he enjoys the honour and his ease. 
 And, Clarence, now then it is more than needful 
 Forthwith that Edward be pronounc'd a traitor, 
 And all his lands and goods be confiscate. 
 Clar. What else? and that succession be 
 determin'd. [part. 
 
 War. Ay, therein Clarence shall not want his 
 K. Hen. But, with the first of all your chief 
 
 affairs, 
 
 Let me entreat, for I command no more, 
 That Margaret your queen, and my son Edward, 
 Be sent for, to return from France with speed ; 
 For till I see them here, by doubtful fear 
 My joy of liberty is half eclips'd. 
 
 Clar. It shall be done, my sovereign, with 
 
 all speed. [is that, 
 
 K. Hen. My Lord of Somerset, what youth 
 
 Of whom you seem to have so tender care ? 
 
 Sotn. My liege, it is young Henry, Earl of 
 
 Richmond. 
 
 K. Hen. Come hither, England's hope. If 
 secret powers 
 
 [Lays his hand on his head. 
 Suggest but truth to my divining thoughts. 
 This pretty lad will prove our country's bliss. 
 His looks are full of peaceful majesty ; 
 His head by nature fram'd to wear a crown, 
 His hand to wield a sceptre ; and himself 
 Likely in time to bless a regal throne. 
 Make much of him, my lords ; for this is he 
 Must help you more than you are hurt by me. 
 
66 4 
 
 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 War. What news, my friend ? [brother, 
 Mess. That Edward is escaped from your 
 And fled, as he hears since, to Burgundy. 
 War. Unsavoury news ! but how made he 
 escape ? [Gloster 
 
 Mess. He was convey'd by Richard Duke of 
 And the Lord Hastings, who attended him 
 In secret ambush on the forest-side, 
 And from the bishop's huntsmen rescu'd him ; 
 For hunting was his daily exercise. 
 
 War. My brother was too careless of his 
 
 charge. 
 
 But let us hence, my sovereign, to provide 
 A salve for any sore that may betide. 
 
 [Exeunt KING HENRY, WAR., CLAR., 
 
 Lieut., and Attendants. 
 Som. My lord, I like not of this flight of 
 
 Edward's : 
 
 For doubtless Burgundy will yield him help, 
 And we shall have more wars before 't be long. 
 As Henry's late presaging prophecy 
 Did glad my heart with hope of this young 
 
 Richmond, 
 
 So doth my heart misgive me, in these conflicts, 
 What may befall him, to his harm and ours : 
 Therefore, Lord Oxford, to prevent the worst, 
 Forthwith we '11 send him hence to Brittany, 
 Till storms be pasc of civil enmity. 
 
 Oxf. Ay, for if Edward repossess the crown, 
 'Tis like that Richmond with the rest shall down. 
 
 Som. It shall be so ; he shall to Brittany. 
 Come, therefore, let 's about it speedily. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE \\l. Before York. 
 Enter KING EDWARD, GLOSTER, HASTINGS, 
 
 and Forces. 
 
 K. Edw. Now, brother Richard, Lord Hast- 
 ings, and the rest, 
 
 Yet thus far fortune maketh us amends, 
 And says that once more I shall interchange 
 My waned state for Henry's regal crown. 
 Well have we pass d, and now repass'd the seas, 
 And brought desired help from Burgundy * 
 What, then, remains, we being thus arriv'd 
 From Ravenspurg haven before the gates of 
 
 York, 
 
 But that we enter, as into our dukedom ? 
 Glo. The gates made fast J Brother, I like 
 
 not this ; 
 
 For many men that stumble at the threshold 
 Are well foretold that danger lurks within. 
 K. Edw. Tush, man, abodements must not 
 now affright us : 
 
 By fair or foul means we must enter in, 
 For hither will our friends repair to us. 
 Hast. My liege, I '11 knock once more to 
 summon them. 
 
 Enter, on the Walls, the Mayor of York ana 
 Aldermen. 
 
 May. My lords, we were forewarned of your 
 
 coming, 
 
 And shut the gates for safety of ourselves ; 
 For now we owe allegiance unto Henry. 
 K. Edw. But, master mayor, if Henry be 
 
 your king, 
 
 Yet Edward at the least is Duke of York. 
 May. True, my good lord ; I know you for 
 
 no less. 
 K. Edw. Why, and I challenge nothing but 
 
 my dukedom, 
 
 As being well content with that alone, [nose, 
 
 Glo. But when the fox hath once got in his 
 
 He'll soon find means to make the body 
 
 follow. [Aside. 
 
 Hast. Why, master mayor, why stand you 
 
 in a doubt? 
 
 Open the gates, we are King Henry's friends. 
 May. Ay, say you so? the gates shall then 
 be open'd. [Exeunt from above. 
 
 Glo. A wise stout captain, and soon per- 
 suaded ! [were well, 
 Hast. The good old man would fain that all 
 So 'twere not 'long of him ; but being enter'd, 
 I doubt not, I, but we shall soon persuade 
 Both him and all his brothers unto reason. 
 
 Re-enter the Mayor and Aldermen, below. 
 
 K. Edw. So, master mayor: these gates must 
 
 not be shut 
 
 But in the night or in the time of war. 
 What 1 fear not, man, but yield me up the keys ; 
 [Takes his keys. 
 
 For Edward will defend the town and thee. 
 And all those friends that deign to follow me. 
 
 Drum. Enter MONTGOMERY and Forces, 
 marching. 
 
 Glo. Brother, this is Sir John Montgomery. 
 Our trusty friend, unless I be deceiv'd. 
 
 K. Edw. Welcome, Sir John ! But why come 
 you in arms? [storm, 
 
 Mont. To help King Edward in his time of 
 As every loyal subject ought to do. 
 
 K. Edw. Thanks, good Montgomery; but 
 
 we now forget 
 
 Our title to the crown, and only claim 
 Our dukedom till God please to send the rest. 
 Mont. Then fare you well, for I will hence 
 again: 
 
SCENE VII.] 
 
 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 665 
 
 1 came to serve a king, and not a duke. 
 Drummer, strike up, and let us march away. 
 
 [A march begun. 
 K. Edw. Nay, stay, Sir John, awhile; and 
 
 we '11 debate 
 
 By what safe means the crown may be recover' d. 
 Mont. What talk you of debating? in few 
 
 words, 
 
 If you '11 not here proclaim yourself our king, 
 I '11 leave you to your fortune, and be gone 
 To keep them back that come to succour you : 
 Why should we fight, if you pretend no title ? 
 Glo. Why, brother, wherefore stand you on 
 
 nice points? 
 K. Edw. When we grow stronger, then we '11 
 
 make our claim : 
 
 Till then, 'tis wisdom to conceal our meaning. 
 Hast. Away with scrupulous wit J now arms 
 
 must rale. 
 Glo. And fearless minds climb soonest unto 
 
 crowns. 
 
 Brother, we will proclaim you out of hand ; 
 The bruit thereof will bring you many friends. 
 K. Edw. Then be it as you will ; for 'tis my 
 
 right, 
 And Henry but usurps the diadem. 
 
 Mont. Ay, new my sovereign speaketh like 
 
 himself; 
 And now will I be Edward's champion. 
 
 Hast. Sound trumpet ; Edward shall be here 
 
 proclaim'd : 
 
 Come, fellow-soldier, make thou proclamation. 
 
 [Gives him a paper. Flourish. 
 
 Sold. [Reads.'] Edward the Fourth^ by the 
 
 grace of God^ King of England and France , and 
 
 Lord of Ireland ', &c. 
 
 Mont. And whoso'er gainsays King Edward's 
 
 right, 
 By this I challenge him to single fight. 
 
 [ Throws down his gauntlet. 
 All. Long live Edward the Fourth ! 
 K. Edw. Thanks, brave Montgomery ; and 
 
 thanks unto you all ; 
 
 If fortune serve me, I '11 requite this kindness. 
 Now, for this night, let 's harbour here in York ; 
 And when the morning sun shall raise his car 
 Above the border of this horizon, 
 We '11 forward towards Warwick and his mates ; 
 For well I wot that Henry is no soldier. 
 Ah, froward Clarence! how evil it beseems 
 
 thee 
 
 To flatter Henry and forsake thy brother ! 
 Yet, as we may, we '11 meet both thee and War- 
 wick. 
 
 Come on, brave soldiers : doubt not of the day ; 
 And, that once gotten, doubt not of large pay. 
 
 SCENE VIII. LONDON. A Room in the 
 Palace. 
 
 Flourish. Enter KING HENRY, WARWICK, 
 MONTAGUE, CLARENCE, EXETER, and OX- 
 FORD. 
 
 War. What counsel, lords? Edward from 
 
 Belgia, 
 
 With hasty Germans and blunt Hollanders, 
 Hath pass'd in safety through the narrow seas, 
 And with his troops doth march amain to 
 
 London ; 
 And many giddy people flock to him. 
 
 Oxf. Let's levy men,and beat him back again. 
 
 Clar. A little fire is quickly trodden out ; 
 Which, being suffer'd, rivers cannot quench. 
 
 War. In Warwickshire I have true-hearted 
 
 friends, 
 
 Not mutinous in peace, yet bold in war ; 
 Those will I musterup: and thou, son Clarence, 
 Shalt stir up, in Suffolk, Norfolk, and in Kent, 
 The knights and gentlemen to come with thee: 
 Thou, brother Montague, in Buckingham, 
 Northampton, and in Leicestershire, shalt find 
 Men well inclin'd to hear what thou com- 
 
 mand'st : 
 
 And thou, brave Oxford, wondrous well belov'd, 
 In Oxfordshire shalt muster up thy friends. 
 My sovereign, with the loving citizens, 
 Like to his island girt in with the ocean, 
 Or modest Dian circled with her nymphs, 
 Shall rest in London till we come to him. 
 Fair lords, take leave, and stand not to reply. 
 Farewell, rny sovereign. 
 
 K. Hen. Farewell, my Hector, and my 
 Troy's true hope. [hand. 
 
 Clar. In sign of truth, I kiss your highness' 
 
 K. Hen. Well-minded Clarence, be thou 
 fortunate ! [leave. 
 
 Mont. Comfort, my lord ; and so I take my 
 
 Oxf. And thus {kissing HEN RY'S hand] I seal 
 my truth, and bid adieu. [tague, 
 
 K. Hen. Sweet Oxford, and my loving Mon- 
 And all at once, once more a happy farewell. 
 
 War. Farewell, sweet lords: let's meet at 
 
 Coventry. 
 {Exeunt WAR., CLAR., OXF., CW^MONT. 
 
 K. Hen. Here at the palace will I rest awhile. 
 Cousin of Exeter, what thinks your lordship ? 
 Methinks the power that Edward hath in field 
 Should not be able to encounter mine. [rest. 
 
 Exe. The doubt is, that he will seduce the 
 
 fC. Hen. That 's not my fear ; rny meed hath 
 
 got me fame : 
 
 I have not stopp'd mine ears to their demands, 
 Nor posted off their suits with slow delays ; 
 
666 
 
 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT V. 
 
 My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds, 
 My mildness hath allay'd their swelling griefs, 
 My mercy dried their water-flowing tears ; 
 I have not been desirous of their wealth, 
 Nor much oppress'd them with great subsidies, 
 Nor forward of revenge, though they much 
 
 err'd : [me ? 
 
 Then why should they love Edward more than 
 No, Exeter, these graces challenge grace : 
 And, when the lion fawns upon the lamb, 
 The lamb will never cease to follow him. 
 [Shout within, "A Lancaster! A Lancaster!" 
 Exe. Hark, hark, my lord ! what shouts are 
 
 these ? 
 
 Enter KING EDWARD, GLOSTER, and Soldiers. 
 
 Edw. Seize on the shame-fac'd Henry, bear 
 
 him hence : 
 
 And once again proclaim us king of England. 
 
 You are the fount that makes small brooks to 
 
 flow : [dry, 
 
 Now stops thy spring ; my sea shall suck them 
 
 And swell so much the higher by their ebb. 
 
 Hence with him to the Tower ; let him not speak. 
 
 \_Exeunt some with KING HENRY. 
 
 And, lords, towards Coventry bend we our 
 
 course, 
 
 Where peremptory Warwick now remains : 
 The sun shines hot ; and, if we use delay, 
 Cold biting winter mars our hop'd-for hay. 
 
 Glo. Away betimes, before his forces join, 
 And take the great-grown traitor unawares : 
 Brave warriors, march amain towards Coventry. 
 
 \Exetint. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. Coventry. 
 
 Enter upon the Walls, WARWICK, the Mayor 
 of Coventry, two Messengers, and others. 
 
 War. Where is the post that came from 
 
 valiant Oxford? 
 How far hence is thy lord, mine honest fellow? 
 
 1 Mess. By this at Dunsmore, marching 
 
 hitherward. 
 
 War. How far off is our brother Montague ? 
 Where is the post that came from Montague? 
 
 2 Mess. By this at Daintry, with a puissant 
 
 troop. 
 
 Enter SIR JOHN SOMERVILLE. 
 
 War. Say, Somerville, what says my loving 
 
 son? 
 And, by thy guess, how nigh is Clarence now ? 
 
 Som. At Southam I did leave him with his 
 
 forces, 
 
 And do expect him here some two hours hence. 
 
 [Drum heard. 
 
 War. Then Clarence is at hand ; I hear his 
 
 drum. [lies ; 
 
 Som. It is not his, my lord ; here Southam 
 
 The drum your honour hears marcheth from 
 
 Warwick. [friends. 
 
 War. Whoshould that be? belike unlook'd-for 
 
 Som. They are at hand, and you shall quickly 
 
 know. 
 
 March. Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD, 
 GLOSTER, and Forces. 
 
 K. Edw. Go, trumpet, to the walls, and 
 
 sound a parle. [wall ! 
 
 Glo. See how the surly Warwick mans the 
 
 War. O unbid spite ! is sportful Edward 
 
 come? [duc'd, 
 
 Where slept our scouts, or how are they se- 
 
 That we could hear no news of his repair? 
 
 K. Edw. Now, Warwick, wilt thou ope the 
 
 city gates, 
 
 Speak gentle words, and humbly bend thy knee, 
 Call Edward king, and at his hands beg mercy? 
 And he shall pardon thee these outrages. 
 
 War. Nay, rather, wilt thou draw thy forces 
 
 hence, 
 
 Confess who set thee up and pluck'd thee down, 
 Call Warwick patron, and be penitent? 
 And thou shall still remain the Duke of York. 
 Glo. I thought, at least, he would have said 
 
 the king ; 
 
 Or did he make the jest against his will? 
 War. Is not a dukedom, sir, a goodly gift? 
 Glo. Ay, by my faith, for a poor earl to give: 
 I '11 do thee service for so good a gift. 
 
 War. 'Twas I that gave the kingdom to thy 
 
 brother. 
 K. Edw. Why, then, 'tis mine, if but by 
 
 Warwick's gift. 
 
 War. Thou art no Atlas for so great a weight : 
 And, weakling, Warwick takes his gift again ; 
 And Henry is my king, Warwick his subject. 
 K. Edw. But Warwick's king is Edward's 
 
 prisoner : 
 
 And, gallant Warwick, do but answer this, 
 What is the body when the head is off? 
 
 Glo. Alas, that Warwick had no more forecast, 
 But, whiles he thought to steal the single ten, 
 The king was slily finger'd from the deck 1 
 You left poor Henry at the bishop's palace, 
 And, ten to one, you '11 meet him in the Tower. 
 K. Edw. 'Tis even so ; yet you are Warwick 
 still 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 667 
 
 Glo. Come, Warwick, take the time; kneel 
 
 down, kneel down : 
 Nay, when ? strike now, or else the iron cools. 
 
 War. I had rather chop this hand off at a blow, 
 And with the other fling it at thy face, 
 Than bear so low a sail, to strike to thee. 
 
 K. Edw. Sail how thou canst, have wind 
 
 and tide thy friend ; 
 
 This hand, fast wound about thy coal-black hair, 
 Shall, whiles thy head is warm and new cut off, 
 Write in the dust this sentence with thy blood, 
 Wind-changing Warwick now can change no 
 
 Enter OXFORD, -with Forces, drum, and colours. 
 
 War. O cheerful colours J see where Oxford 
 
 comes ! 
 Oxf. Oxford, Oxford, for Lancaster ! 
 
 [He and his Forces enter the city. 
 Glo. The gates are open, let us enter too. 
 K. Edw. So other foes may set upon our 
 
 backs. 
 
 Stand we in good array ; for they no doubt 
 Will issue out again and bid us battle : 
 If not, the city being but of small defence, 
 We '11 quickly rouse the traitors in the same. 
 War. O, welcome, Oxford ! for we want thy 
 help. 
 
 Enter MONTAGUE, with Forces, drum, and 
 colours. 
 
 Mont. Montague, Montague, for Lancaster ! 
 
 [He and his Forces enter the city. 
 
 Glo. Thou and thy brother both shall buy this 
 
 treason 
 
 Even with the dearest blood your bodies bear. 
 K. Edw. The harder match'd, the greater 
 
 victory : 
 My mind presageth happy gain and conquest. 
 
 Enter SOMERSET, with Forces, drum, and 
 colours. 
 
 Som. Somerset, Somerset, for Lancaster ! 
 
 [He and his Forces enter the city. 
 Glo. Two of thy name, both Dukes of Somer- 
 set, ^ 
 
 Have sold their lives unto the house of York ; 
 And thou shalt^be the third, if this sword hold. 
 
 Enter CLARENCE, with Forces, drum, and 
 colours. 
 
 War. And lo, where George of Clarence 
 
 sweeps along, 
 
 Of force enough to bid his brother battle ; 
 With whom an upright zeal to right prevails 
 
 More than the nature of a brother's love ! 
 Come, Clarence, come ; thou wilt, if Warwick 
 
 call 
 
 Clar. Father of Warwick, know you what 
 this means ? 
 
 [Taking the red rose out of his hat. 
 Look here, I throw my infamy at thee : 
 I will not ruinate my father's house, 
 Who gave his blood to lime the stones together, 
 And set up Lancaster. Why, trowst thou, 
 
 Warwick, 
 
 That Clarence is so harsh, so blunt, unnatural, 
 To bend the fatal instruments of war 
 Against his brother and his lawful king ? 
 Perhaps thou wilt object my holy oath : 
 To keep that oath were more impiety 
 Than Jephtha's, when he sacrific'd his daughter. 
 I am so sorry for my trespass made, 
 That, to deserve well at my brother's hands, 
 I here proclaim myself thy mortal foe ; 
 With resolution wheresoe'er I meet thee, 
 As I will meet thee, if thou stir abroad, 
 To plague thee for thy foul misleading me. 
 And so, proud-hearted Warwick, I defy thee, 
 And to my brother turn my blushing cheeks. 
 Pardon me, Edward, I will make amends ; 
 And, Richard, do not frown upon my faults, 
 For I will henceforth be no more unconstant. 
 K. Edw. Now welcome more, and ten times 
 
 more belov'd, 
 
 Than if thou never hadst deserv'd our hate. 
 Glo. Welcome, good Clarence ; this is brother- 
 like. 
 
 War. O passing traitor, perjur'd and unjust ! 
 K. Edw. What, Warwick, wilt thou leave the 
 
 town and fight ? 
 Or shall we beat the stones about thine ears ? 
 
 War. Alas, I am not coop'd here for defence ! 
 I will away towards Barnet presently, 
 And bid thee battle, Edward, if thou dar'st. 
 K. Edw. Yes, Warwick, Edward dares, and 
 
 leads the way. 
 
 Lords, to the field : Saint George and victory. 
 [March. Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE 11.^ field of Battle near Bttrnct. 
 
 Alarums and excursions. Enter KING ED- 
 WARD, bringing in WARWICK wounded. 
 
 K. Edw. So, lie thou there: die thou, and 
 
 die our fear ; 
 
 For Warwick was a bug that fear'd us all.- 
 Now, Montague, sit fast ; I seek for thee, 
 That Warwick's bones may keep thine com- 
 pany. [Exit. 
 
668 
 
 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT V. 
 
 War. Ah, who is nigh ? come to me, friend 
 
 or foe, 
 
 And tell me who is victor, York or Warwick ? 
 Why ask I that ? my mangled body shows, 
 My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart 
 
 shows, 
 
 That I must yield my body to the earth, 
 And, by my fall, the conquest to my foe. 
 Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge, 
 Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle, 
 Under whose shade the ramping lion slept, 
 Whose top-branch overpeer'd Jove's spreading 
 
 tree, 
 And kept low shrubs from winter's powerful 
 
 wind. 
 These eyes, that now are dimm'd with death's 
 
 black vail, 
 
 Have been as piercing as the mid-day sun, 
 To search the secret treasons of the world : 
 The wrinkles in my brows, nowfill'd with blood, 
 Were liken'd oft to kingly sepulchres ; 
 For who liv'd king, but I could dig his grave? 
 And who durst smile when Warwick bant his 
 
 brow? 
 
 Lo, now my glory smear'd in dust and blood ! 
 My parks, my walks, my manors that I had, 
 Even now forsake me; and of all my lands 
 Is nothing left me but my body's length ! 
 Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and 
 
 dust ! 
 And, live we how we can, yet die we must. 
 
 Enter OXFORD and SOMERSET. 
 
 Som. Ah, Warwick, Warwick ! wert thou as 
 
 we are, 
 
 We might recover all our loss again: 
 The queen from France hath brought a puissant 
 
 power ; [fly ! 
 
 Even now we heard the news : ah, couldst thou 
 
 War. Why, then, I would not fly. Ah, 
 
 Montague, 
 
 If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand, 
 And with thy lips keep in my soul awhile ! 
 Thou lov'st me not ; for, brother, if thou didst, 
 Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood 
 That glues my lips and will not let me speak. 
 Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead. 
 
 Som. Ah, Warwick ! Montague hath breath'd 
 
 his last ; 
 
 And to the latest gasp cried out for Warwick, 
 And said, Commend me to my valiant brother. 
 And more he would have said; and more he 
 
 spoke, 
 
 Which sounded like a cannon in a vault, 
 That might not be distinguish'd ; but at last, 
 I well might hear, deliver'd with a groan, 
 6>, farewell \ Wanvickl 
 
 War. Sweet rest his soul! fly, lords, and 
 
 save yourselves ; 
 
 For Warwick bids you all farewell, to meet in 
 heav'n. [Dies. 
 
 Oxf. Away, away, to meet the queen's great 
 power ! 
 
 \_Exeunt, bearing off " W AR.'S body. 
 
 SCENE III. Another part of 'the Field. 
 
 Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD in triumph; 
 with CLARENCE, GLOSTER, and the rest. 
 
 K. Edw. Thus far our fortune keeps an up- 
 ward course, 
 
 And we are grac'd with wreaths of victory. 
 But in the midst of this bright-shining day 
 I spy a black, suspicious, threatening cloud, 
 That will encounter with our glorious sun 
 Ere he attain his easeful western bed : 
 I mean, my lords, those powers that the queen 
 Hath rais'd in Gallia have arriv'd our coast, 
 And, as we hear, march on to fight with us. 
 Clar. A little gale will soon disperse that 
 
 cloud 
 
 And blow it to the source from whence it came : 
 Thy very beams will dry those vapours up; 
 For every cloud engenders not a storm, [strong, 
 Glo. The queen is valu'd thirty thousand 
 And Somerset, with Oxford, fled to her : 
 If she have time to breathe, be well assur'd, 
 Her faction will be full as strong as ours. 
 K. Edw. We are advertis'd by our loving 
 friends [bury; 
 
 That they do hold their course toward Tewks- 
 We, having now the best at Barnet field, 
 Will thither straight, for willingness rids way ; 
 And as we march, our strength will be aug- 
 mented 
 
 In every county as we go along. 
 Strike up the drum ; cry, Courage ! and away. 
 
 {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. Plains near Tewksbury. 
 
 March. Enter QUEEN MARGARET, PRINCE 
 EDWARD, SOMERSET, OXFORD, and Soldiers. 
 
 Q. Mar. Great lords, wise men ne'er sit and 
 
 wail their loss, 
 
 But cheerly seek how to redress their harms. 
 What though the mast be now blown overboard, 
 The cable broke, the holding-anchor lost. 
 And half our sailors swallow'd in the flood ; 
 Yet lives our pilot still : is 't meet that he 
 Should leave the helm, and, like a fearful lad, 
 With tearful eyes add water to the sea, [much ; 
 And give more strength to that which hath too 
 Whiles, in his moan, the ship splits 011 the rock. 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 669 
 
 Which industry and courage might have sav'd ? 
 Ah, what a shame ! ah, what a fault were this ! 
 Say Warwick was our anchor; what of that? 
 And Montague our top-mast; what of him? 
 Our slaughter'd friends the tackles; what of 
 
 these? 
 
 Why, is not Oxford here another anchor ? 
 And Somerset another goodly mast ? [lings? 
 The friends of France our shrouds and tack- 
 And, though unskilful, why not Ned and I 
 For once allow'd the skilful pilot's charge? 
 We will not from the helm to sit and weep ; 
 But keep our course, though the rough wind 
 say no, [wreck. 
 
 From shelves and rocks that threaten us with 
 As ^ood to chide the waves as speak them fair. 
 And what is Edward but a ruthless sea ? 
 What Clarence but a quicksand of deceit? 
 And Richard but a ragged fatal rock? 
 All thesj the enemies to our poor bark. 
 Say you can swim ; ulas, 'tis but a while ! 
 Tread on the sand ; why, there you quickly sink: 
 Bestride the rock ; the tide will wash you off, 
 Or else you famish, that 's a threefold death. 
 This speak I, lords, to let you understand, 
 If case some one of you would fly from us, 
 That there's no hop'd-for mercy with the 
 brothers, [rocks. 
 
 More than with ruthless waves, with sands, and 
 Why, courage, then ! what cannot be avoided, 
 'Twere childish weakness to lament or fear. 
 Prince. Methinks a woman of this valiant 
 
 spirit 
 
 Should, if a coward heard her speak these words, 
 Infuse his breast with magnanimity, 
 And make him naked foil a man-at-arms. 
 I speak not this as doubting any here ; 
 For did I but suspect a fearful man, 
 He should have leave to go away betimes ; 
 Lest in our need he might infect another, 
 And make him of like spirit to himself. 
 If any such be here, as God forbid ! 
 Let him depart before we need his help. 
 
 Oxf. Women and children of so high a 
 
 courage, 
 And warriors faint ! why, 'twere perpetual 
 
 shame. 
 
 O brave young prince ! thy famous grandfather 
 Doth live again in thee : long mayst thou live 
 To bear his image and renew his glories! 
 Som. And he that will not fight for such a 
 
 hope, 
 
 Go home to bed, and, like the owl by day, 
 If he arise, be mock'd and wonder'd at. 
 
 Q. Mar. Thanks, gentle Somerset; sweet 
 
 Oxford, thanks. [thing else. 
 
 Prfitre. And take his thanks that yet hath no- 
 
 Entcr a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Prepare you, lords, for Edward is at 
 
 hand, 
 Ready to fight ; therefore be resolute. 
 
 Oxf. I thought no less : it is his policy 
 To haste thus fast, to find us unprovided. 
 Som. But he 's deceiv'd ; we are in readiness. 
 O_. Mar. This cheers my heart, to see your 
 forwardness. [budge. 
 
 Oxf. Here pitch our battle ; hence we will not 
 
 Flourish and march. Enter, at a distance, KING 
 EDWARD, CLARENCE, GLOSTER, and Forces. 
 
 K. Edw. Brave followers, yonder stands the 
 thorny wood, [strength, 
 
 Which, by the heavens' assistance and your 
 Must by the roots be hewn up yet ere night. 
 I need not add more fuel to your fire ; 
 For well I wot ye blaze to burn them out: 
 Give signal to the fight, and to it, lords. 
 
 O_. Mar. Lords, knights, and gentlemen, 
 
 what I should say- 
 
 My tears gainsay ; for every word I speak, 
 Ye see, I drink the water of mine eyes. 
 Therefore, no more but this: Henry, your 
 
 sovereign, 
 
 Is prisoner to the foe; his state usurp'd, 
 His realm a slaughter-house, his subjects slain, 
 His statutes cancell'd, and his treasure spent; 
 And yonder is the wolf that makes this spoil. 
 You fight in justice : then, in God's name, lords, 
 Be valiant, and give signal to the fight. 
 
 [Exeunt both armies. 
 
 SCENE V. Another part of the Plains. 
 
 Alarums; excursions: and afterwards a re- 
 treat. Then enter KING EDWARD, CLAR- 
 ENCE, GLOSTER, and Forces, with QUEEN 
 MARGARET, OXFORD, and SOMERSET, 
 prisoners. 
 
 K. Edw. Now, here a period of tumultuous 
 
 broils. 
 
 Away with Oxford to Hammes' Castle straight ; 
 
 For Somerset, off with his guilty head, [speak. 
 
 Go, bear them hence; I will not hear them 
 
 Oxf. For my part, I '11 not trouble thee with 
 
 words. [fortune. 
 
 Som. Nor I, but stoop with patience to my 
 
 [Exeunt OXF. and SOM. , guarded. 
 
 Q. Mar. So part we sadly in this troublous 
 
 world, 
 To meet with joy in sweet Jerusalem. 
 
 K. Edw. Is proclamation made that who 
 
 finds Edward 
 Shall have a high reward, and he his life? 
 
670 
 
 THIRD PART OF KINO HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT V. 
 
 Glo. It is; and lo, where youthful Edward 
 comes. 
 
 Enter Soldiers, with PRINCE EDWARD. 
 
 K. Edw. Bring forth the gallant, let us hear 
 
 him speak. 
 
 What, can so young a thorn begin to prick? 
 Edward, what satisfaction canst thou make 
 For bearing arms, for stirring up my subjects, 
 And all the trouble thou hast turn'd me to? 
 Prince. Speak like a subject, proud ambitious 
 
 York ! 
 
 Suppose that I am now my father's mouth ; 
 Resign thy chair, and where I stand kneel thou, 
 Whilst I propose the self-same words to thee, 
 Which, traitor, thou wouldst have me answer to. 
 Q. Mar. Ah, that thy father had been so re- 
 
 solv'd ! 
 Glo. That you might still have worn the 
 
 petticoat, 
 
 And ne'er have stol'n the breech from Lancaster. 
 
 Prince. Let ^Esop fable in a winter's night; 
 
 His currish riddles -sort not with this place. 
 
 Glo. By heaven, brat, I '11 plague you for that 
 
 word. [to men. 
 
 Q. Mar. Ay, thou wast born to be a plague 
 
 Glo. For God's sake, take away this captive 
 
 scold. 
 
 Prince. Nay, take away this scolding crook- 
 back rather. 
 K. Edw. Peace, wilful boy, or I will charm 
 
 your tongue. 
 
 Clar. Untutor'd lad, thou art too malapert. 
 Prince. I know my duty; you are all unduti- 
 ful: [George, 
 
 Lascivious Edward, and thou, perjur'd 
 And thou, misshapen Dick, I tell ye all 
 I am your better, traitors as ye are ; 
 And thou usurp'st my father's right and mine. 
 K. Edw. Take that, the likeness of this railer 
 here. [Stabs him. 
 
 Glo. Sprawl'st thou? take that, to end thy 
 agony. [Stabs him. 
 
 Clar. And there 's for twitting me with per- 
 jury. [Stabs him. 
 Q. Mar. O, kill me too ! 
 Glo. Marry, and shall. [Offers to kill her. 
 K. Edw. Hold, Richard, hold ; for we have 
 
 done too much. 
 Glo. Why should she live, to fill the world 
 
 with words? 
 K. Edw. What, doth she swoon? use means 
 
 for her recovery. 
 Glo. Clarence, excuse me to the king my 
 
 brother ; 
 
 I '11 hence to London on a serious matter : 
 Ere ye come there, be sure to hear some news. 
 
 Clar. What? what? 
 
 Glo. The Tower ! the Tower ! \Exit. 
 
 Q. Mar. O Ned, sweet Ned ! speak to thy 
 mother, boy! [ers! 
 
 Canst thou not speak? O traitors! murder- 
 They that stabb'd Caesar shed no blood at all, 
 Did not offend, nor were not worthy blame, 
 If this foul deed were by to equal it : 
 He was a man; this, in respect, a child, 
 And men ne'er spend their fury on a child, [it? 
 What 's worse than murderer, that I may name 
 No, no, my heart will burst, an if I speak : 
 And I will speak, that so my heart may 
 
 burst. 
 
 Butchers and villains ! bloody cannibals ! 
 How sweet a plant have you untimely cropp'd ! 
 You have no children, butchers! if you had, 
 The thought of them would have stiri'd up re- 
 morse:. 
 
 But if you ever chance to have a child, 
 Look in his youth to have him so cut off 
 As, deathsmen, you have rid this sweet young 
 
 prince ! 
 K. Edw. Away with her ; go, bear her hence 
 
 perforce. 
 
 Q. Mar. Nay, never bear me hence, despatch 
 
 me here ; [death : 
 
 Here sheathe thy sword, I '11 pardon thee my 
 
 What, wilt thou not? then, Clarence, do it 
 
 thou. [ease. 
 
 Clar. By heaven, I will not do thee so much 
 
 Q. Mar. Good Clarence, do ; sweet Clarence, 
 
 do thou do it. 
 Clar. Didst thou not hear me swear I would 
 
 not do it? 
 
 Q. Mar. Ay, but thou usest to forswear thy- 
 self: 
 
 'Twas sin before, but now 'tis charity. 
 What! wilt thou not? Where is that devil's 
 butcher, [thou? 
 
 Hard-favour'd Richard? Richard, where ait 
 Thou art not here : murder is thy alms-deed ; 
 Petitioners for blood thou ne'er putt'st back. 
 K. Edw. Away, I say ; I charge ye, bear her 
 
 hence. 
 
 Q. Mar. So come to you and yours as to this 
 prince ! [Exit, led out forcibly. 
 
 K. Edw. Where's Richard gone? 
 Clar. To London, all in post ; and, as I guess, 
 To make a bloody supper in the Tower. 
 
 K. Edw. He 's sudden, if a thing comes in 
 his head. [sort 
 
 Now march we hence : discharge the common 
 With pay and thanks, and let 's away to London, 
 And see our gentle queen how well she fares, *-" 
 By this, I hope, she hath a son for me. 
 
 [Extunt. 
 
SCENE VI.] 
 
 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 671 
 
 SCENE VI. LONDON. A Room in the Tower. 
 
 KING HENRY is discovered sitting with a book in 
 his hand, the Lieutenant attending. Enter 
 GLOSTER. 
 
 Glo. Good-day, my lord. What, at your 
 book so hard? 
 
 K. Hen. Ay, my good lord: my lord, I 
 
 should say rather; 
 
 'Tis sin to flatter, good was little better : 
 Good Gloster and good devil were alike, 
 And both preposterous: therefore, not good 
 lord. 
 
 Glo. Sirrah, leave us to ourselves : we must 
 confer. [Exit Lieutenant. 
 
 K. Hen. So flies the reckless shepherd from 
 
 the wolf; 
 
 So first the harmless sheep doth yield his fleece, 
 And next his throat unto the butcher's knife. 
 What scene of death hath Roscius now to act? 
 
 Glo. Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind; 
 The thief doth fear each bush an officer. 
 
 K. Hen. The bird that hath been limed in a 
 
 bush, 
 
 With trembling wings misdoubteth every bush ; 
 And I, the hapless male to one sweet bird, 
 Have now the fatal object in my eye [kill'd. 
 Where my poor young was lim'd, was caught, and 
 
 Glo. Why, what a peevish fool was that of 
 
 Crete, 
 
 That taught his son the office of a fowl ! 
 And yet, for all his wings, the fool was drown'd. 
 
 K. Hen. I, Daedalus; my poor boy, Icarus ; 
 Thy father, Minos, that denied our course ; 
 The sun, that sear'd the wings of my sweet boy, 
 Thy brother Edward ; and thyself, the sea, 
 Whose envious gulf did swallow up his life. 
 Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not with words ! 
 My breast can better brook thy dagger's point 
 Than can my ears that tragic history. 
 But wherefore dost thou come? is 't for my life? 
 
 Glo. Think'st thou I am an executioner? 
 
 K. Hen. A persecutor, I am sure, thou art : 
 If murdering innocents be executing, 
 Why, then thou art an executioner. 
 
 Glo. Thy son I kill'd for his presumption. 
 
 K. Hen. Hadst thou been kill'd when first 
 
 thou didst presume, 
 
 Thou hadst not liv'd to kill a son of mine. 
 And thus I prophesy, that many a thousand, 
 Which now mistrust no parcel of my fear, 
 And many an old man's sigh, and many a 
 
 widow's, 
 
 And many an orphan's water-standing eye, 
 Men for their sons, wives for their husbands, 
 And orphans for their parents' timeless death, 
 
 Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born. 
 The owl shriek'd at thy birth, an evil sign; 
 The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time ; 
 Dogs howTd, and hideous tempest shook down 
 
 trees ; 
 
 The raven rook'd her on the chimney's top, 
 And chattering pies in dismal discords sung. 
 Thy mother felt more than a mother's pain, 
 And yet brought forth less than a mother's hope, 
 To wit, 
 
 An indigest deformed lump, 
 Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree. 
 Teeth hadst thou in thy head when thou wast 
 
 bom, 
 
 To signify thou cam'st to bite the world : 
 And if the rest be true which I have heard, 
 Thou cam'st 
 
 Glo. I '11 hear no more : die, prophet, in thy 
 
 speech : \Stabs him. 
 
 For this, amongst the rest, was I ordain'd. 
 K. Hen. Ay, and for much more slaughter 
 
 after this. 
 
 God forgive my sins and pardon thee ! 
 
 [Dies. 
 
 Glo. What, will the aspiring blood of Lancaster 
 
 Sink in the ground ? I thought it would have 
 
 mounted. [death ! 
 
 See how my sword weeps for the poor king's 
 
 0, may such purple tears be alway shed 
 From those that wish the downfall of our 
 
 house ! 
 
 If any spark of life be yet remaining, 
 Down, down to hell; and say I sent thee 
 
 thither,. [Stabs him again. 
 
 1, that have neither pity, love, nor fear. 
 Indeed, 'tis true that Henry told me of; 
 For I have often heard my mother say 
 
 1 came into the world with my legs forward : 
 Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste, 
 And seek their ruin that usurp'd our right : 
 The midwife wonder'd ; and the women cried, 
 (9, Jesus bless us, he is born with teeth ! 
 
 And so I was, which plainly signified 
 That I should snarl, and bite, and play the dog. 
 Then, since the heavens have shap'dmy body so, 
 Let hell make crook'd my mind to answer it. 
 I have no brother, I am like no brother ; 
 And this word love, which greybeards call 
 
 divine, 
 
 Be resident in men like one another, 
 And not in me : I am myself alone. 
 Clarence, beware ; thou keep'st me from the light: 
 But I will sort a pitchy day for thee ; 
 For I will buzz abroad such prophecies 
 That Edward shall be fearful of his life : 
 And then, to purge his fear, I '11 be thy death. 
 King Henry and the prince his son are gone : 
 
THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Clarence, thy turn is next, and then the rest ; 
 Counting myself but bad till I be best. 
 I '11 throw thy body in another room, 
 And triumph, Henry, in thy day of doom. 
 
 [Exit with the body. 
 
 SCENE VII. LONDON. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Flourish. KING EDWARD is discovered sitting- 
 on his throne ; QUEEN ELIZABETH with the 
 infant PRINCE, CLARENCE, GLOSTER, HAST- 
 INGS, and others ; near him. 
 
 K. Edw. Once more we sit in England's 
 
 royal throne, 
 
 Repurchas'd with the blood of enemies. 
 What valiant foemen, like to autumn's corn, ^ 
 Have we mow'd down in tops of all their 
 
 pride ! 
 
 Three Dukes of Somerset, threefold renown'd 
 For hardy and undoubted champions ; 
 Two Cliffords, as the father and the son ; 
 And two Northumberlands, two braver men 
 Ne'er spurr'd their coursers at the trumpet's 
 
 sound ; 
 With them the two brave bears, Warwick and 
 
 Montague, 
 
 That in their chains fetter'd the kingly lion, 
 And made the forest tremble when they roar'd. 
 Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat, 
 And made our footstool of security. 
 Come hither, Bess, and let me kiss my boy. 
 Young Ned, for thee, thine uncles and myself 
 Have in our armours watch'd the winter's night ; 
 Went all afoot in summer's scalding heat, 
 That thou mightst repossess the crown in peace : 
 And of our labours thou shall reap the gain. 
 
 Glo. I '11 blast his harvest if your head were 
 
 laid; 
 
 For yet I am not look'd on in the world. 
 This shoulder was ordain'd so thick to heave ; 
 And heave it shall some weight, or break my 
 
 back : 
 Work thou the way, and that shalt execute. 
 
 [Aside. 
 K. Edw. Clarence and Gloster, love my 
 
 lovely queen ; 
 
 And kiss your princely nephew, brothers both. 
 Clar. The duty that I owe unto your majesty 
 I seal upon the lips of this sweet babe. 
 
 K. Edw. Thanks, noble Clarence; worthy 
 
 brother, thanks. 
 Glo. And, that I love the tree from whence 
 
 thou sprang'st, 
 
 Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit. 
 To say the truth, so Judas kiss'd his master, 
 And cried, all hail ! when as he meant all 
 harm. [Aside. 
 
 K. Edw. Now am I seated as my soul 
 
 delights, 
 
 Having my country's peace and brothers' loves. 
 Clar. What will your grace have done with 
 
 Margaret ? 
 
 Reignier, her father, to the King of France 
 Hath pawn'd the Sicils and Jerusalem, 
 And hither have they sent it for her ransom. 
 K. Edw. Away with her, and waft her hence 
 
 to France. 
 
 And now what rests but that we spend the time 
 With stately triumphs, mirthful comic shows, 
 Such as befit the pleasure of the court ? 
 Sounddrumsand trumpets ! farewell, sourannoyi 
 For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 

 oi&h^Jns oT 
 srrft*3it)f> n.r. I 
 
 THE LIFE AND DEATH OF 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 yf It fb 
 z nas I 
 
 KING EDWARD THE FOURTH. 
 
 EDWARD, Prince of Wales, after- \ ~ jL 
 
 wards KING EDWARD V., f Son * to the 
 
 RICHARD, Duke of York, } 
 
 GEORGE, Duke of Clarence, \ R , 
 
 RICHARD, Duke of Gloster, after- } * rot rs to 
 wards Ki>'<; RICHARD III., ) * 
 
 A Young Son of Clarence. 
 
 HENRY, Earl of Richmond, afterwards KING 
 HENRY VII. 
 
 CARDINAL BOUCHIER, Archbishop of Canter- 
 bury. 
 
 THOMAS ROTHERAM, Archbishop of York. 
 
 JOHN MORTON, Bishop of Ely. 
 
 DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 
 
 DUKE of NORFOLK. 
 
 EARL OF SURREY, his Son. 
 
 EARL RIVERS, Brother to KING EDWARD'S 
 Queen. 
 
 MARQUISOF DORSET andl^KDCiKSX, her Sons. 
 
 EARL OF OXFORD. 
 
 LORD HASTINGS. 
 
 LORD STANLEY. 
 
 LORD LOVEL. 
 
 SIR THOMAS VAUGHAN. 
 
 luodA 
 swhH 1C 
 
 SIR RICHARD RATCLIFF 
 
 SIR WILLIAM CATESBY. 
 
 SIR JAMES TYRREL. 
 
 SIR JAMES BLOUNT. 
 
 SIR WALTER HERBERT. 
 
 SIR ROBERT BRAKENBURY, Lieutenant of tht 
 
 Tower. 
 
 CHRISTOPHER URSWICK, a Priest. 
 Another Priest. 
 Lord Mayor of London. 
 Sheriff of Wiltshire. 
 
 ELIZABETH, Queen to KING EDWARD IV. 
 
 MARGARET, Widow to KING HENRY VI. 
 
 DUCHESS OF YORK, Mother to KING EDWARD 
 IV., CLARENCE, and GLOSTER. 
 
 LADY ANNE, Widow to EDWARD, Prince of 
 Wales, Son to KING HENRY VI. ; after- 
 wards married to the DUKE OF GLOSTER. 
 
 A Young Daughter of Clarence. 
 
 Lords, and other Attendants; two Gentlemen, 
 a Pursuivant, Scrivener, Citizens, Mur- 
 derers, Messengers, Ghosts, Soldiers, <5rV. 
 
 SCENE, ENGLAND. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. LONDON. A Street. 
 Enter GLOSTER. 
 
 Glo. Now is the winter of our discontent 
 Made glorious summer by this sun of York ; 
 And all the clouds that lower'd upon our house 
 In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. 
 Now are our brows bound with victorious 
 
 wreaths ; 
 
 Our bruised arms hung up for monuments ; 
 Our stern alarums chang'd to merry meetings, 
 Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. 
 Grim-visag'd war hath smooth'd his wrinkled 
 
 front ; 
 And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds 
 
 To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, - 
 
 He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber 
 
 To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. 
 
 But I, that am not shap'd for sportive tricks, 
 
 Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; 
 
 I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's 
 
 majesty 
 
 To strut before a wanton ambling nymph ; 
 I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion, 
 Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, 
 Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time 
 Into this breathing world scarce half made up, 
 And that so lamely and unfashionable 
 That dogs bark at me as I halt by them ; 
 Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, 
 Have no delight to pass away the time, 
 Unless to spy my shadow in the sun, 
 And descant on mine own deformity : 
 
674 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 [ACT 
 
 And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover, 
 To entertain these fair well-spoken days, 
 I am determined to prove a villain, 
 And hate the idle pleasures of these days. 
 Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous, 
 By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams, 
 To set my brother Clarence and the king 
 In deadly hate the one against the other : 
 And, if King Edward be as true and just 
 As I am subtle, false, and treacherous, 
 This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up, 
 About a prophecy, which says that G 
 Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be. 
 Dive, thoughts, down to my soul : here Clar- 
 ence comes. 
 
 Enter CLARENCE, guarded, and BRAKENBURY. 
 
 Brother, good-day: what means this armed 
 
 guard, 
 That waits upon your grace? 
 
 Clar. His majesty, 
 
 Tendering my person's safety, hath appointed 
 This conduct to convey me to the Tower. 
 Glo. Upon what cause? 
 Clar. Because my name is George. 
 
 Glo. Alack, my lord, that fault is none of 
 
 yours ; 
 
 He should, for that, commit your godfathers : 
 O, belike his majesty hath some intent 
 That you shall be new-christen'd in the Tower. 
 But what 's the matter, Clarence ? may I know? 
 Clar. Yea, Richard, when I know; for I 
 
 protest 
 
 As yet I do not : but, as I can learn, 
 He hearkens aftei prophecies and dreams ; 
 And from the cross-row plucks the letter G, 
 And says a wizard told him that by G 
 His issue disinherited should be ; 
 And, for my name of George begins with G, 
 It follows in his thought that I am he. 
 These, as I learn, a;<d such like toys as these, 
 Have mov'd his highness to commit me now. 
 Glo. Why, this it is, when men are rul'd by 
 
 women : 
 
 'Tis not the king that sends you to the Tower ; 
 My Lady Grey, his wife, Clarence, 'tis she 
 That tempers him to this extremity. 
 Was it not she, and that good man of worship, 
 Antony Woodville, her brother there, 
 That made him send Lord Hastings to the 
 
 Tower, 
 
 From whence this present day he is deliver'd? 
 We are not safe, Clarence ; we are not safe. 
 Clar. By heaven, I think there is no man 
 
 secure [heralds 
 
 But the queen's kindred, and night-walking 
 That trudge betwixt the king and Mistress Shore. 
 
 Heard you not what an humble suppliant 
 Lord Hastings was to her for his delivery ? 
 
 Glo. Humbly complaining to her deity 
 Got my lord chamberlain his liberty. 
 I '11 tell you what, I think it is our way, 
 If we will keep in favour with the king, 
 To be her men, and wear her livery: 
 The jealous o'er-worn widow and herself, 
 Since that our brother dubb'd them gentle- 
 women, 
 Are mighty gossips in this monarchy. [me ; 
 
 Brak. I beseech your graces both to pardon 
 His majesty hath straitly given in charge 
 That no man shall have private conference, 
 Of what degree soever, with his brother. 
 
 Glo. Even so; an please your worship, Braken- 
 
 bury, 
 
 You may partake of anything we say : 
 We speak no treason, man; we say the king 
 Is wise and virtuous ; and his noble queen 
 Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous;- 
 We say that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot, 
 A cherry lip, a bonny eye, a passing pleasing 
 
 tongue ; 
 
 And the queen's kindred are made gentlefolks : 
 How say you, sir? can you deny all this? 
 
 Brak. With this, my lord, myself have 
 naught to do. 
 
 Glo. Naught to do with Mistress Shore ! I tell 
 
 thee, fellow, 
 
 He that doth naught with her, excepting one, 
 Were best to do it secretly, alone. 
 
 Brak. What one, my lord? [tray me? 
 
 Glo. Her husband, knave: would st thou be- 
 
 Brak. I beseech your grace to pardon me ; 
 
 and, withal, 
 Forbear your conference with the noble duke. 
 
 Clar. We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and 
 will obey. [obey. 
 
 Glo. We are the queen's abjects, and must 
 Brother, farewell: I will unto the king; 
 And whatsoe'er you will employ me in, 
 Were it to call King Edward's widow sister, 
 I will perform it to enfranchise you. 
 Meantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood 
 Touches me deeper than you can imagine. 
 
 Clar. I know it pleaseth neither of us well. 
 
 Glo. Well, your imprisonment shall not be 
 
 long; 
 
 I will deliver you, or else He for you: 
 Meantime, have patience. 
 
 Clar. I must perforce: farewell. 
 
 {Exeunt CLAR. , BRAK., and Guard. 
 
 Glo. Go, tread the path that thou shalt ne'er 
 
 return, 
 
 Simple, .plain Clarence ! I do love thee so 
 That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven, 
 
SCENE I.I 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 675 
 
 If heaven will take the present at our hands. 
 But who comes here? the new-deliver'd Hast- 
 ings? 
 
 Enter HASTINGS. 
 
 Hast. Good time of day unto my gracious 
 lord ! [lain ! 
 
 Glo. As much unto my good lord chamber- 
 Well are you welcome to this open air. 
 How hath your lordship brook'd imprisonment ? 
 Hast. With patience, noble lord, as prisoners 
 
 must: 
 
 But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks 
 That were the cause of my imprisonment. 
 Glo. No doubt, no doubt ; and so shall Clar- 
 ence too; 
 
 For they that were your enemies are his, 
 And have prevail'd as much on him as you. 
 Hast. More pity that the eagle should be 
 
 mew'd 
 
 While kites and buzzards prey at liberty. 
 Glo. What news abroad? 
 Hast. No news so bad abroad as this at 
 
 home, 
 
 The king is sickly, weak, and melancholy, 
 And his physicians fear him mightily. 
 
 Glo. Now, by Saint Paul, this news is bad 
 
 indeed. 
 
 O, he hath kept an evil diet long, 
 And overmuch consum'd his royal person : 
 'Tis very grievous to be thought upon. 
 What, is he in his bed? 
 Hast. He is. 
 
 Glo. Go you before, and I will follow you. 
 
 [Exit HASTINGS. 
 
 He cannot live, I hope ; and must not die 
 Till George be pack'd with posthorse up to 
 
 heaven. 
 
 I '11 in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence, 
 With lies well steel'd with weighty arguments ; 
 And, if I fail not in my deep intent, 
 Clarence hath not another day to ?ive : 
 Which done, God take King Edward to his mercy, 
 And leave the world for me to bustle in ! 
 For then I '11 marry Warwick's youngest 
 daughter: [father? 
 
 What though I kill'd her husband and her 
 The readiest way to make the wench amends 
 Is to become her husband and her father: 
 The which will I ; not all so much for love 
 As for another secret close intent, 
 By marrying her, which I must reach unto. 
 But yet I run before my horse to market : 
 Clarence still breathes; Edward still lives and 
 
 reigns : 
 
 When they are gone, then must I count my gains. 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. LONDON. Another Street. 
 
 Enter the Corpse 0/~KiNG HENRY THE SIXTH, 
 borne in an open coffin. Gentlemen bearing 
 halberds to guard it; and LADY ANNE as 
 mourner. 
 Anne. Set down, set down your honourable 
 
 load, 
 
 If honour may be shrouded in a hearse, 
 Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament 
 The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster. 
 Poor key-cold figure of a holy king ! 
 Pixie ashes of the house 01 Lancaster ! 
 Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood ! 
 Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost, 
 To hear the lamentations of poor Anne, 
 Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter'd son, 
 Stabb'd by the self-same hand that made these 
 
 wounds ! 
 
 Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life, 
 I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes: 
 O, cursed be the hand that made these holes ! 
 Cursed the heart that had the heart to do it ! 
 Cursed the blood that let this blood from hence ! 
 More direful hap betide that hated wretch 
 That makes us wretched by the death of thee, 
 Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads, 
 Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives ! 
 If ever he have child, abortive be it, 
 Prodigious, and untimely brought to light, 
 Whose ugly and unnatural aspect 
 May fright the hopeful mother at the view ; 
 And that be heir to his unhappiness ! 
 If ever he have wife, let her be made 
 More miserable by the death of him 
 Than I am made by my young lord and thee ! 
 Come, now towards Chertsejrwith your holy load, 
 Taken from Paul's to be interred there ; 
 And still, as you are weary of the weight, 
 Rest you, whiles I lament King Henry's corse. 
 [ The Bearers take up the Corpse and advance. 
 
 Enter GLOSTER. 
 
 Glo. Stay, you that bear the corse, and set it 
 down. [fiend, 
 
 Anne. What black magician conjures up this 
 To stop devoted charitable deeds? 
 
 Glo. Villains, set down the corse; or, by 
 
 Saint Paul, 
 I '11 make a corse of him that disobeys ! 
 
 i Gent. My lord, stand back, and let the 
 coffin pass. [command: 
 
 Glo. Unmanner'd dog! stand thou, when I 
 Advance thy halberd higher than my breast, 
 Or, by Saint Paul, I '11 strike thee to my foot, 
 And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness. 
 [The Bearers set down the coffin. 
 
676 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 Anne. What, do you tremble? are you all 
 
 afraid? 
 
 Alas, I blame you not ; for you are mortal, 
 And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil. 
 Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell ! 
 Thou hadst but power over his mortal body, 
 His soul thou canst not have ; therefore, be gone. 
 Glo. Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst. 
 Anne. Foul devil, for God's sake, hence, and 
 
 trouble us not ; 
 
 For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell, 
 Fill'd it with cursing cries and deep exclaims. 
 If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds, 
 Behold this pattern of thy butcheries. 
 O, gentlemen, see, see ! dead Henry's wounds 
 Open their congeal'd mouths and bleed afresh ! 
 Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity ; 
 For 'tis thy presence that exhales this blood 
 From cold and empty veins, where no blood 
 
 dwells ; 
 
 Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural, 
 Provokes this deluge most unnatural. 
 O God, which this blood mad'st, revenge his 
 
 death ! 
 
 O earth, which this blood drink'st, revenge his 
 death ! [derer dead ; 
 
 Either, heaven, with lightning strike the mur- 
 Or, earth, gape open wide, and eat him quick, 
 As thou dost swallow up this good king's blood, 
 Which his hell-govern' d arm hath butchered ! 
 
 Glo. Lady, you know no rules of charity, 
 Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses. 
 Anne. Villain, thou know'st no law of God 
 
 nor man : 
 
 No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity. 
 
 Glo. But I know none, and therefore am no 
 
 beast. [truth ! 
 
 Anne. O wonderful, when devils tell the 
 
 Glo. More wonderful when angels are so 
 
 angry. 
 
 Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman, 
 Of these supposed evils to give me leave, 
 By circumstance, but to acquit myself. 
 
 Anne. Vouchsafe, diffus'd infection of a man, 
 For these known evils but to give me leave, 
 By circumstance, to curse thy cursed self. 
 Glo. Fairer than tongue can name thee, let 
 
 me have 
 Some patient leisure to excuse myself. 
 
 Anne. Fouler than heart can think thee, 
 
 thou canst make 
 No excuse current, but to hang thyself. 
 
 Glo. By such despair I should accuse myself. 
 Anne. And by despairing shalt thou stand 
 
 excus'd ; 
 
 For doing worthy vengeance on thyself, 
 That didst unworthy slaughter upon others. 
 
 Glo. Say that I slew them not? 
 
 Anne. Then say they were not slain : 
 
 But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee. 
 
 Glo. I did not kill your husband. 
 
 Anne. Why, then, he is alive. 
 
 Glo. Nay, he is dead ; and slain by Edward's 
 hand. 
 
 Anne. In thy foul throat thou liest : Queen 
 
 Margaret saw 
 
 Thy murderous falchion smoking in his blood ; 
 The which thou once didst bend against her 
 
 breast, 
 But that thy brothers beat aside the point. 
 
 Glo. I was provoked by her slanderous tongue, 
 That laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders. 
 
 Anne. Thou wast provoked by thy bloody 
 
 mind, 
 
 That never dreamt on aught but butcheries: 
 Didst thou not kill this king? 
 
 Glo. I grant ye. 
 
 Anne. Dost grant me, hedgehog? then, God 
 
 grant me too 
 
 Thou mayst be damned for that wicked deed ! 
 O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous. 
 
 Glo. The fitter for the King of Heaven, that 
 hath him. [come. 
 
 Anne. He is in heaven, where thou shalt never 
 
 Glo. Let him thank me, that holp to send him 
 
 thither; 
 For he was fitter for that place than earth. 
 
 Anne. And thou unfit for any place but hell. 
 
 Glo. Yes, one place else, if you will hear me 
 name it. 
 
 Anne. Some dungeon. 
 
 Glo. Your bed-chamber. 
 
 Anne. Ill rest betide the chamber where thou 
 liest! 
 
 Glo. So will it, madam, till I lie with you. 
 
 Anne. I hope so. 
 
 Glo. I know so. But, gentle Lady Anne, 
 To leave this keen encounter of our wits, 
 And fall somewhat into a slower method, 
 Is not the causer of the timeless deaths 
 Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward, 
 As blameful as the executioner? [effect 
 
 Anne. Thou wast the cause and most accurs'd 
 
 Glo. Your beauty was the cause of that effect 5 
 Your beauty, that did haunt me in my sleep 
 To undertake the death of all the world, 
 So I might live one hour in your sweet bosom. 
 
 Anne. If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide, 
 
 These nails should rend that beauty from my 
 
 cheeks. [wreck ; 
 
 Glo. These eyes could not endure that beautyV 
 You should not blemish it if I stood by : 
 As all the world is cheered by the sun, 
 So I by that ; it is my day, my life. 
 
n/3 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 677 
 
 Anne. Black night o'ershade thy day, and 
 death thy life ! [both. 
 
 Glo. Curse not thyself, fair creature ; thou art 
 
 Anne. I would I were, to be reveng'd on thee. 
 
 Glo. It is a quarrel most unnatural, 
 To be reveng'd on him that loveth thee. 
 
 Anne. It is a quarrel just and reasonable, 
 To be reveng'd on him that kill'd my husband. 
 
 670. He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband, 
 Did it to help thee to a better husband. 
 
 Anne. His better doth not breathe upon the 
 earth. [could. 
 
 Glo. He lives that loves thee better than he 
 
 Anne. Name him. 
 
 Glo. Plantagenet. 
 
 Anne. Why, that was he. 
 
 Glo. The self-same name, but one of better 
 nature. 
 
 Anne. Where is he? 
 
 Glo. Here. {She spits at him.'} Why 
 
 dost thou spit at me? [sake ! 
 
 Annt. Would it were mortal poison, for thy 
 
 Glo. Never came poison from so sweet a place. 
 
 Anne. Never hung poison on a fouler toad. 
 Out of my sight ! thou dost infect mine eyes. 
 
 Glo. Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected 
 mine. 
 
 Anne. Would they were basilisks, to strike 
 thee dead ! [once ; 
 
 Glo. I would they were, that I might die at 
 For now they kill me with a living death. 
 Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt 
 tears, [drops : 
 
 Sham'd their aspects with store of childish 
 These eyes, which never shed remorseful tear, 
 No, when my father York and Edward wept, 
 To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made 
 When black-fac'd Clifford shook his sword at him ; 
 Nor when thy warlike father, like a child, 
 Told the sad story of my father's death, 
 And twenty times made pause, to sob and weep, 
 That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks, 
 Like trees bedash'd with rain ; in that sad time 
 My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear ; 
 And what these sorrows could not thence exhale, 
 Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with 
 
 weeping. 
 
 I never su'd to friend nor enemy ; [word ; 
 
 My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing 
 But, now thy beauty is propos'd my fee, 
 My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue 
 to speak. [She looks scornfully at him. 
 Teach not thy lip such scorn ; for it was made 
 For kissing, lady, not for such contempt. 
 If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive, 
 Lo, here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword ; 
 Which if thou please to hide in this true breast, 
 
 And let the soul forth that adoreth thee, 
 I lay it naked to the deadly stroke, 
 And humbly beg the death upon my knee. 
 Nay, do not pause ; for I did kill King Henry, 
 [He lays his breast open ; she offers 
 
 at it with his sword. 
 But 'twas thy beauty that provoked me. 
 Nay, now despatch ; 'twas I that stabb'd young 
 Edward, 
 
 {She again offers at his breast. 
 But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on. 
 
 {She lets fall the sword. 
 Take up the sword again, or take up me. 
 
 Anne. Arise, dissembler : though I wish thy 
 
 death, 
 I will not be thy executioner. 
 
 Glo. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it. 
 
 Anne. I have already. 
 
 Glo. That was in thy rage : 
 
 Speak it again, and, even with the word, 
 This hand, which for thy love did kill thy love, 
 Shall, for thy love, kill a far truer love ; 
 To both their deaths shalt thou be accessary. 
 
 Anne. I would I knew thy heart. 
 
 Glo. 'Tis figured in my tongue. 
 
 Anne. I fear me both are false. 
 
 Glo. Then never man was true. 
 
 Anne. Well, well, put up your sword, 
 
 Glo. Say, then, my peace is made. 
 
 Anne. That shalt thou know hereafter 
 
 Glo. But shall I live in hope ? 
 
 Anne. All men, I hope, live so. 
 
 Glo. Vouchsafe to wear this ring. 
 
 Anne. To take is not to give. 
 
 {She puts on the ring. 
 
 Glo. Look, how this ring encompasseth thy 
 
 finger, 
 
 Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart ; 
 Wear both of them, for both of them are thine. 
 And if thy poor devoted servant may 
 But beg one favour at thy gracious hand, 
 Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever. 
 
 Anne. What is it ? [designs 
 
 Glo. That it may please you leave these sad 
 To him that hath more cause to be a mourner, 
 And presently repair to Crosby Place ; 
 Where, after I have solemnly interr'd, 
 At Chertsey monastery, this noble king, 
 And wet his grave with my repentant tears, 
 I will with all expedient duty see you : 
 For divers unknown reasons, I beseech you, 
 Grant me this boon. [me too 
 
 Anne. With all my heart ; and much it joys 
 To see you are become so penitent. 
 Tressel and Berkley, go along with me. 
 
 Glo. Bid me farewell. 
 
 Anne. 'Tis more than you deserve : 
 
678 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 But since you teach me how to flatter you, 
 Imagine I have said farewell already. 
 
 [Exeunt LADY ANNE, TRESS., 
 Glo. Sirs, take up the corse. 
 Gent. Towards Chertsey, noble lord ? 
 
 Glo. No, to White Friars ; there attend my 
 
 coming. 
 
 [Exeunt the rest, with the Corpse. 
 Was ever woman in this humour woo'd ? 
 Was ever woman in. this humour won ? 
 I Ml have her ; but I will not keep her long. 
 What ! I, that kill'd her husband and his father, 
 To take her in her heart's extremest hate ; 
 With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes, 
 The bleeding witness of her hatred by ; 
 Having God, her conscience, and these bars 
 
 against me, 
 
 And I no friends to back my suit withal, 
 But the plain devil and dissembling looks, 
 And yet to win her, all the world to nothing ! 
 Ha! 
 
 Hath she forgot already that brave prince, 
 Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months 
 
 since, 
 
 Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury? 
 A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman, 
 Fram'd in the prodigality of nature, 
 Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right 
 
 royal, 
 
 The spacious world cannot again afford : 
 And will she yet abase her eyes on me. 
 That cropp'd the golden prime of this sweet 
 
 prince, 
 
 And made her widow to a woeful bed ? 
 On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety? 
 On me, that halt and am misshapen thus ? 
 My dukedom to a beggarly denier, 
 I do mistake my person all this while : 
 Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot, 
 Myself to be a marvellous proper man. 
 I '11 be at charges for a looking-glass ; 
 And entertain a score or two of tailors, 
 To study fashions to adorn my body : 
 Since I am crept in favour with myself, 
 I will maintain it with some little cost. 
 But first I '11 turn yon fellow in his grave ; 
 And then return lamenting to my love. 
 Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass, 
 That I may see my shadow as I pass. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III. LONDON. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH, LORD RIVERS, 
 and LORD GREY. 
 
 Riv. Have patience, madam: there's no doubt 
 
 his majesty 
 Will soon recover his accustom'd health. 
 
 Grey. In that you brook it ill, it makes him 
 
 worse : [fort, 
 
 Therefore, for God's sake, entertain good com- 
 
 And cheer his grace with quick and merry words. 
 
 Q. Eliz. If he were dead, what would betide 
 on me? 
 
 Grey. No other harm but loss of such a lord. 
 
 Q. Eliz. The loss of such a lord includes all 
 harms. [goodly son, 
 
 Grey. The heavens have bless'd you with a 
 To be your comforter when he is gone. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Ah, he is young ; and his minority 
 Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloster, 
 A man that loves not me, nor none of you. 
 
 Riv. Is it concluded he shall be protector? 
 
 Q. Eliz. It is determin'd, not concluded yet : 
 But so it must be, if the king miscarry. 
 
 Enter BUCKINGHAM and STANLEY. 
 
 Grey. Here come the Lords of Buckingham 
 
 and Stanley. [grace ! 
 
 Buck. Good time of day unto your royal 
 
 Stan. God make your majesty joyful as you 
 
 have been ! 
 Q. Eliz. The Countess Richmond, good my 
 
 Lord of Stanley, 
 
 To your good prayer will scarcely say amen. 
 Yet, Stanley, notwithstanding she 's your wife, 
 And loves not me, be you, good lord, assur'd 
 I hate not you for her proud arrogance. 
 
 Stan. I do beseech you, either not believe 
 The envious slanders of her false accusers ; 
 Or, if she be accus'd on true report, 
 Bear with her weakness, which I think proceeds 
 From wayward sickness, and no grounded 
 malice. [of Stanley? 
 
 Q. Eliz. Saw you the king to-day, my Lord 
 Stan. But now the Duke of Buckingham and I 
 Are come from visiting his majesty. [lords? 
 Q. Eliz. What likelihood of his amendment, 
 Buck. Madam, good hope ; his grace speaks 
 
 cheerfully. 
 
 Q. Eliz. God grant him health ! Did you con- 
 fer with him? [ment 
 Buck. Ay, madam : he desires to make atone- 
 Between the Duke of Gloster and your brothers, 
 And between them and my lord chamberlain ; 
 And sent to warn them to his royal presence. 
 Q. Eliz. Would all were well ! but that will 
 
 never be : 
 I fear our happiness is at the height. 
 
 Enter GLOSTER, HASTINGS, and DORSET. 
 
 Glo. They do me wrong, and I will not en- 
 dure it: 
 
 Who are they that complain unto the king 
 That I, forsooth, am stern, and love them not? 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 679 
 
 By holy Paul, they love his grace but lightly 
 That fill his ears with such dissentious rumours. 
 Because I cannot flatter and speak fair, 
 Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive, and cog, 
 Duck with French nods and apish courtesy, 
 I must be held a rancorous enemy. 
 Cannot a plain man live, and think no harm, 
 But thus his simple truth must be abus'd 
 By silken, sly insinuating Jacks? [your grace? 
 Grey. To whom in all this presence speaks 
 Glo. To thee, that hast nor honesty nor grace. 
 When have I injur'd thee? when done thee 
 
 wrong? 
 
 Or thee? or thee? or any of your faction? 
 A plague upon you all ! His royal grace, 
 Whom God preserve better than you would 
 
 wish ! 
 
 Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing while, 
 But you must trouble him with lewd com- 
 plaints, [matter. 
 Q. Eliz. Brother of Gloster, you mistake the 
 The king, on his own royal disposition, 
 And not provok'd by any suitor else 
 Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred, 
 That in your outward action shows itself 
 Against my children, brothers, and myself 
 Makes him to send ; that thereby he may gather 
 The ground of your ill-will, and so remove it. 
 
 Glo. I cannot tell : the world is grown so bad, 
 That wrens may prey where eagles dare not 
 
 perch : 
 
 Since every Jack became a gentleman, 
 There 's many a gentle person made a Jack. 
 Q. Eliz. Come, come, we know your mean- 
 ing, brother Gloster; 
 
 You envy my advancement, and my friends' ; 
 God grant we never may have need of you ! 
 Glo. Meantime, God grants that we have need 
 
 of you : 
 
 Our brother is imprison'd by your means, 
 Myself disgrac'd, and the nobility 
 Held in contempt ; while great promotions 
 Are daily given to ennoble those 
 That scarce, some two days since, were worth 
 a noble. [height 
 
 Q. Eliz. By Him that rais'd me to this careful 
 From that contented hap which I enjoyM, 
 I never did incense his majesty 
 Against the Duke of Clarence, but have been 
 An earnest advocate to plead for him. 
 My lord, you do me shameful injury, 
 Falsely to draw me in these vile suspects. 
 Glo. You may deny that you were not the 
 
 mean 
 
 Of my Lord Hastings' late imprisonment. 
 Riv. She may, my lord; for, [not so? 
 Glo. She may, Lord Rivers? why, who knows 
 
 She may do more, sir, than denying that: 
 She may help you to many fair preferments ; 
 And then deny her aiding hand therein, 
 And lay those honours on your high desert. 
 What may she not? She may, ay, marry, may 
 
 she, 
 
 Riv. What, marry, may she? [king, 
 
 Glo. What, marry, may she ! marry with a 
 A bachelor, a handsome stripling too : 
 I wis your grandam had a worser match. 
 
 Q. Eliz. My Lord of Gloster, I have too 
 
 long borne 
 
 Your blunt upbraidings and your bitter scoffs: 
 By heaven, I will acquaint his majesty 
 Of those gross taunts that oft I have endur'd. 
 I had rather be a country servant-maid 
 Than a great queen, with this condition, 
 To be so baited, scorn'd, and stormed at. 
 
 Enter QUEEN MARGARET, behind. 
 
 Small joy have I in being England's queen. 
 
 Q. Mar. And lessen'd be that small, God, I 
 
 beseech Him ! 
 Thy honour, state, and seat is due to me. 
 
 Glo. What ! threat you me with telling of the 
 
 king? 
 
 Tell him, and spare not : lock, what I have said 
 I will avouch in presence of the king: 
 I dare adventure to be sent to the Tower. 
 'Tis time to speak, my pains are quite forgot. 
 
 Q. Mar. Out, devil! I remember them too 
 
 well: 
 
 Thou kill'dst my husband Henry in the Tower, 
 And Edward, my poor son, at Tewksbury. 
 
 Glo. Ere you were queen, ay, or your hus- 
 band king, 
 
 I was a pack-horse in his great affairs ; 
 A weeder-out of his proud adversaries, 
 A liberal rewarder of his friends : 
 To royalize his blood I spilt mine own. 
 
 Q. Mar. Ay, and much better blood than his 
 or thine. [band Grey 
 
 Glo. In all which time you and your hus- 
 Were factious for the house of Lancaster ; 
 And, Rivers, so were you : was not your husband 
 In Margaret's battle at Saint Albans slain? 
 Let me put in your minds, if you forget, 
 What you have been ere this, and what you are ; 
 Withal, what I have been, and what I am. 
 
 Q. Mar. A murderous villain, and so still 
 thou art. [Warwick ; 
 
 Glo. Poor Clarence did forsake his father, 
 Ay, and forswore himself, which Jesu par- 
 don ! 
 
 Q. Mar. Which God revenge ! [crown ; 
 
 Glo. To fight on Edward's party, for the 
 And for his meed, poor lord, he is mew'd up. 
 
68o 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 I would to God my heart were flint, like Ed- 
 ward's, 
 
 Or Edward's soft and pitiful, like mine: 
 I am too childish -foolish for this world. 
 
 Q. Mar. Hie thee to hell for shame, and leave 
 
 this world, 
 Thou cacodemon ! there thy kingdom is. 
 
 Riv. My Lord of Gloster, in those busy days 
 Which here you urge to prove us enemies, 
 We follow'd then our lord, our sovereign king : 
 So should we you, if you should be our king. 
 Glo. If I should be! I had rather be a 
 
 pedler: 
 Far be it from my heart, the thought thereof! 
 
 Q. Eliz. As little joy, my lord, as you suppose 
 You should enjoy, were you this country's 
 
 king, 
 
 As little joy you may suppose in me, 
 That I enjoy, being the queen thereof. [of; 
 Q. Mar. As little joy enjoys the queen there- 
 For I am she, and altogether joyless. 
 I can no longer hold me patient. [Advancing. 
 Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out 
 In sharing that which you have pi) I'd from me ! 
 Which of you trembles not that looks on me ? 
 If not that, I being queen, you bow like 
 subjects, [rebels ? 
 
 Yet that, by you deposM, you quake like 
 Ah, gentle villain, do not turn away ! 
 
 Glo. Foul wrinkled witch, what mak'st thou 
 in my sight? [marr'd, 
 
 Q. Mar. But repetition of what thou hast 
 That will I make before I let thee go. 
 
 Glo. Wert thou not banished on pain of death? 
 Q. Mar. I was; but I do find more pain in 
 
 banishment 
 
 Than death can yield me here by my abode. 
 A husband and a son thoa ow'st to me, 
 And thou a kingdom, all of you allegiance : 
 This sorrow that I have, by right is yours ; 
 And all the pleasures you usurp are mine. 
 
 Glo. The curse my noble father laid on thee, 
 When thou didst crown his warlike brows with 
 paper, [eyes; 
 
 And with thy scorns drew'st rivers from his 
 And then, to dry them, gav'st the duke a clout 
 Steep'd in the faultless blood of pretty Rut- 
 land ; 
 
 His curses, then from bitterness of soul 
 
 Denounc'd against thee, are all fallen upon thee ; 
 
 And God, not we, hath plagu'd thy bloody deed. 
 
 Q. Eliz. So just is God, to right the innocent. 
 
 Hast. O, 'twas the foulest deed to slay that 
 
 babe, 
 
 And the most merciless that e'er was heard of. 
 Riv. Tyrants themselves wept when it was 
 reported. 
 
 Dor. No man but prophesied revenge for it. 
 
 Buck. Northumberland, then present, wept 
 to see it. [I came, 
 
 Q. Mar. What, were you snarling all before 
 Ready to catch each other by the throat, 
 And turn you all your hatred now on me ? 
 Did York's dread curse prevail so much with 
 
 heaven 
 
 That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death, 
 Their kingdom's loss, my woeful banishment, 
 Could all but answer for that peevish brat ? 
 Can curses pierce the cloudsand enter heaven ? 
 Why, then, give way, dull clouds, to my quick 
 
 curses ! 
 
 Though not by war, by surfeit die your king, 
 As ours by murder, to make him a king ! 
 Edward thy son, that now is Prince of Wales, 
 For Edward my son, that was Prince of Wales, 
 Die in his youth by like untimely violence ! 
 Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen, 
 Outli ve thy glory, like my wretched self ! 
 Long mayst thou live to wail thy children's loss ; 
 And see another, as I see thee now, 
 Deck'd in thy rights, as thou art stall 'd in mine ! 
 Long die thy happy days before thy death ; 
 And, after many lengthen'd hours of grief, 
 Die neither mother, wife, nor England's queen ! 
 Rivers and Dorset, you were standers by, 
 And so wast thou, Lord Hastings, when my 
 son [him, 
 
 Was stabb'd with bloody daggers : God, I pray 
 That none of you may live your natural age, 
 But by some unlook'd accident cut off ! 
 
 Glo, Have done thy charm, thou hateful 
 wither'd hag. 
 
 Q. Mar. And leave out thee ? stay, dog, for 
 
 thou shall hear me. 
 
 If heaven have any grievous plague in store, 
 Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee, 
 O, let them keep it till thy sins be ripe, 
 And then hurl down their indignation 
 On thee, the troubler of the poor world's peace ! 
 The worm of conscience still be-gnaw thy soul ! 
 Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou liv'st, 
 And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends ! 
 No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine, 
 Unless it be while some tormenting dream 
 Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils ! 
 Thou elvish-mark'd, abortive, rooting hog ! 
 Thou that wast seal'd in thy nativity 
 The slave of nature and the son of hell ! 
 Thou slander of thy heavy mother's womb ! 
 Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins ! 
 Thou rag of honour ! thou detested 
 
 Glo. Margaret. 
 
 Q. Mar. Richard ! 
 
 Glo. Ha ! 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 68r 
 
 Q. Mar. I call thee not. 
 
 Glo. I cry thee mercy, then ; for I did think 
 
 That thou hadst call'd me all those bitter names. 
 
 Q. Mar. Why, so I did ; but look'd for no 
 
 O, let me make the period to my curse ! 
 
 Glo. 'Tis done by me, and ends in Margaret. 
 Q. Eliz. Thus have you breath'd your curse 
 
 against yourself. 
 Q. Mar. Poor painted queen, vain flourish of 
 
 my fortune ! 
 
 Why strew'st thou sugar on that bottled spider, 
 Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about ? 
 Fool, fool ! thou whett'st a knife to kill thyself. 
 The day will come that thou shalt wish for me 
 To help thee curse this poisonous bunch-back ; d 
 
 toad. 
 Hast. False-boding woman, end thy frantic 
 
 curse, 
 
 Lest to thy harm thou move our patience. 
 Q. Mar. Foul shame upon you ! you have all 
 
 mov'd mine. 
 
 Riv. Were you well serv'd, you would be 
 
 taught your duty. [me duty, 
 
 Q. Mar. To serve me well, you all should do 
 
 Teach me to be your queen, and you my subjects : 
 
 O, serve me well, and teach yourselves that 
 
 duty ! 
 
 Dor. Dispute not with her, she is lunatic. 
 Q. Mar. Peace, master marquis, you are 
 
 malapert : 
 
 Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current : 
 O, that your young nobility could judge 
 What 'twere to lose it, and be miserable ! 
 They that stand high have many blasts to shake 
 
 them ; 
 
 And if they fall they dash themselves to pieces. 
 Glo. Good counsel, marry : learn it, learn it, 
 
 marquis. 
 
 Dor. It touches you, my lord, as much as me. 
 Glo. Ay, and much more : but I was born so 
 
 high 
 
 Our aery buildeth in the cedar's top, 
 And dallies with the wind, and scorns the sun. 
 Q. Mar. And turns the sun to shade ; alas ! 
 
 alas! 
 
 Witness my son, now in the shade of death ; 
 Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath 
 Hath in eternal darkness folded up. 
 Your aery buildeth in our aery's nest : 
 O God, that see'st it, do not suffer it ; 
 As it was won with blood, lost be it so ! 
 
 Btick. Peace, peace, for shame, if not for 
 
 charity. [me : 
 
 Q. Mar. Urge neither charity nor shame to 
 
 Uncharitably with me have you dealt, 
 
 And shamefully my hopes by you are butcher'd. 
 
 My charity is outrage, life my shame,^ 
 And in my shame still live my sorrow's rage ! 
 
 Buck. Have done, have done. [hand, 
 
 Q. Mar. O princely Buckingham, I '11 kiss thy 
 In sign of league and amity with thee : 
 Now fair befall thee and thy noble house ! 
 Thy garments are not spotted with our blood, 
 Nor thou within the compass of my curse. 
 
 Buck. Nor no one here ; for curses never pass 
 The lips of those that breathe them in the air. 
 
 Q. Mar. I will not think but they ascend the 
 
 sky, 
 And there awake God's gentle sleeping peace. 
 
 Buckingham, take heed of yonder dog ! 
 Look, when he fawns he bites ; and when he 
 
 bites, 
 
 His venom tooth will rankle to the death : 
 Have not to do with him, beware of him ; 
 Sin, death, and hell have set their marks on him, 
 And all their ministers attend on him. 
 
 Glo. WTiat doth she say, my Lord of Buck- 
 ingham ? [lord. 
 Buck. Nothing that I respect, my gracious 
 Q. Mar. What, dost thou scorn me for my 
 
 gentle counsel? 
 
 And soothe the devil that I warn thee from ? 
 O, but remember this another day, 
 When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow, 
 And say, poor Margaret was a prophetess ! 
 Live each of you the subjects to his hate, 
 And he to yours, and all of you to God's ! 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 Hast. My hair doth stand on end to hear her 
 
 curses. [liberty. 
 
 Riv. And so doth mine : I muse why she 's at 
 
 Glo. I cannot blame her: by God's hcly 
 
 mother, 
 
 She hath had too much wrong ; and I repent 
 My part thereof that I have done to her. 
 Q. Eliz. I neverdid her any, to my knowledge. 
 Glo. Yet you have all the vantage of her 
 wrong. 
 
 1 was too hot to do somebody good, 
 That is too cold in thinking of it now. 
 Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repaid ; 
 He is frank'd up to fatting for his pains ; 
 God pardon them that are the ca>'se thereof ! 
 
 Riv. A virtuous and a Christian-like con- 
 clusion, 
 To pray for them that have done scathe to us. 
 
 Glo. So do I ever, being well advis'd ; 
 For had I curs'd now, I had curs'd myself. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Enter CATESBY. 
 
 Gates. Madam, his majesty doth callfor you, 
 And for your grace, and you. my noble lords. 
 
682 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 L ACT I. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Catesby, I come. Lords, will you 
 go with me? 
 
 Riv. We wait upon your grace. 
 
 [Exeunt all bttt GLOSTER. 
 
 Glo. I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl. 
 The secret mischiefs that I set abroach 
 I lay unto the grievous charge of others. 
 Clarence, whom I, indeed, have cast in dark- 
 ness, 
 
 I do beweep to many simple gulls ; 
 Namely, to Stanley, Hastings, Buckingham ; 
 And tell them 'tis the queen and her allies 
 That stir the king against the duke my brother. 
 Now, they believe it ; and withal whet me 
 To be reveng'd on Rivers, Vaughan, Grey : 
 But then I sigh ; and, with a piece of Scripture, 
 Tell them that God bids us do good for evil : 
 And thus I clothe my naked villany 
 With odd old ends stol'n forth of holy writ ; 
 And seem a saint when most I play the devil. 
 But, soft ! here come my executioners. 
 
 Enter two Murderers. 
 
 How now, my hardy, stout-resolved mates ! 
 Are you now going to despatch this thing ? 
 I Murd. We are, my lord, and come to have 
 
 the warrant, 
 That we may be admitted where he is. 
 
 Glo. Well thought upon; I have it here 
 about me : [Gives the warrant. 
 
 When you have done, repair to Crosby Place. 
 But, sirs, be sudden in the execution, 
 Withal obdurate, do not hear him plead ; 
 For Clarence is well-spoken, and perhaps 
 May move your hearts to pity, if you mark him. 
 I Murd. Tut, tut, my lord, we will not stand 
 
 to prate ; 
 
 Talkers are no good doers : be assur'd 
 We go to use our hands, and not our tongues. 
 Glo. Your eyes drop millstones when fools' 
 
 eyes fall tears : 
 
 I like you, lads ; about your business straight ; 
 Go, go, despatch. 
 
 I Murd. We will, my noble lord. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. LONDON. A Room in the Tower. 
 Enter CLARENCE and BRAKENBURY. 
 
 Brak. Why looks your grace so heavily to- 
 day? 
 
 Clar. O, I have pass'd a miserable night, 
 So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights, 
 That, as I am a Christian faithful man, 
 I would not spend another such a night 
 Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days, 
 So full of dismal terror was the time ! 
 
 Brak. What was your dream, my lord ? I pray 
 you, tell me. [Tower, 
 
 Clar. Methought that I had broken from the 
 And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy ; 
 And, in my company, my brother Gloster ; 
 Who from my cabin tempted me to walk 
 Upon the hatches : thence we look'd toward 
 
 England, 
 
 And cited up a thousand heavy times, 
 During the wars of York and Lancaster, 
 That had befall'n us. As we pac'd along 
 Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, 
 Methought that Gloster stumbled ; and, in 
 falling, [board 
 
 Struck me, that thought to stay him, over- 
 Into the tumbling billows of the main. 
 
 Lord ! methought what pain it was to drown ! 
 What dreadful noise of water in mine ears ! 
 What sights of ugly death within mine eyes ! 
 Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks ; 
 A thousand men that fishes gnaw'd upon ; 
 Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, 
 Inestimable stones, unvalu'd jewels, 
 
 All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea : [holes 
 Some lay in dead men's skulls ; and in those 
 Where eyes did once inhabit there were crept, 
 As 'twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems, 
 That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, 
 And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by. 
 
 Brak. Had you such leisure in the time of 
 
 death 
 To gaze upon the secrets of the deep ? [strive 
 
 Clar. Methought I had ; and often did I 
 To yield the ghost : but still the envious flood 
 Stopp'd in my soul, and would not let it forth 
 To find the empty, vast, and wandering air ; 
 But smother'd it within my panting bulk, 
 Which almost burst to belch it in the sea. 
 
 Brak. Awak'd you not with this sore agony ? 
 
 Clar. No, no, my dream was lengthen'd after 
 
 life; 
 O, then began the tempest to my soul ! 
 
 1 pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood 
 With that grim ferryman which poets write of, 
 Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. 
 
 The first that there did greet my stranger soul 
 Was my great father-in-law, renowned War- 
 
 wick ; 
 
 Who cried aloud, What scourge for perjury 
 Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence? 
 And so he vanish'd : then came wandering by 
 A shadow like an Angel, with bright hair 
 Dabbled in blood ; and he shriek'd out aloud, 
 Clarence is come, -false, fleeting, perju^d Clar- 
 ence, 
 
 That stabtfd me in the field by Teivksbury ; 
 Seize on him, Furies, take him to your torments ! 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends 
 Environ'd me, and howled in mine ears 
 Such hideous cries that, with the very noise, 
 I trembling wak'd, and for a season after 
 Could not believe but that I was in hell, 
 Such terrible impression made my dream. 
 Brak. No marvel, lord, though it affrighted 
 
 you ; 
 I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it. 
 
 Clar. O Brakenbury, I have done those things 
 That now give evidence against my soul, 
 For Edward's sake ; and see how he requites 
 
 me ! [thee, 
 
 God 1 If my deep prayers cannot appease 
 But thou wilt be aveng'd on my misdeeds, 
 Yet execute thy wrath in me alone, 
 
 O, spare my guiltless wife and my poor chil- 
 dren ! 
 
 Keeper, I pr'ythee, sit by me awhile ; 
 My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep. 
 Brak. I will, my lord; God give your grace 
 
 good rest ! 
 
 [CLARENCE reposes himself on a chair. 
 Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours, 
 Makes the night morning, and the noontide 
 
 night. 
 
 Princes have but their titles for their glories, 
 An outward honour for an inward toil ; 
 And, for unfelt imaginations, 
 They often feel a world of restless cares : 
 So that, between their titles and low name, 
 There 's nothing differs but the outward fame. 
 
 Enter the two Murderers. 
 
 I Murd. Ho ! who 's here ? 
 Brak. What wouldst thou, fellow ? and how 
 cam'st thou hither ? 
 
 1 Murd. I would speak with Clarence, and I 
 came hither on my legs. 
 
 Brak. What, so brief? 
 
 2 Murd. 'Tis better, sir, than to be tedious. 
 Let him see our commission i talk no more. 
 
 [A fager is delivered 10 BRAK. , who reads it. 
 Brak. I am, in this, commanded to deliver 
 The noble Duke of Clarence to your hands : 
 
 1 will not reason what is meant hereby, 
 Because I will be guiltless of the meaning. 
 There lies the duke asleep, and there the keys ; 
 I '11 to the king, and signify to him 
 
 That thus I have resign'd to you my charge. 
 
 1 Murd. You may, sir ; 'tis a point of 
 wisdom : fare you well. [Exit BRAKENBURY. 
 
 2 Murd. What, shall we stab him as he 
 sleeps ? 
 
 I Murd. No ; he '11 say 'twas done cowardly, 
 when he wakes. 
 
 2 Murd. When he wakes ! why, fool, he shall 
 never wake until the great judgment-day. 
 
 1 Murd. Why, then he '11 say we stabb r d him 
 sleeping. 
 
 2 Murd. The urging of that word judgment 
 hath bred a kind of remorse in me. 
 
 1 Murd. What, art thou afraid ? 
 
 2 Murd. Not to kill him, having a warrant 
 for it ; but to be damned for killing him, from 
 the which no warrant can defend me. 
 
 1 Murd. I thought thou hadst been resolute. 
 
 2 Murd. So I am, to let him live. 
 
 1 Murd. I '11 back to the Duke of Gloster, 
 and tell him so. 
 
 2 Murd. Nay, I pr'ythee, stay a little : I hope 
 my holy humour will change ; it was wont to 
 hold me but while one tells twenty. 
 
 1 Murd. How dost thou feel thyself now ? 
 
 2 Murd. Faith, some certain dregs of con- 
 science are yet within me. 
 
 1 Murd. Remember our reward, when the 
 deed 's done. [reward. 
 
 2 Murd. Zounds, he dies: I had forgot the 
 
 1 Murd. Where 's thy conscience now ? 
 
 2 Murd. In the Duke of Gloster's purse. 
 
 1 Murd. So, when he opens his purse to give 
 us our reward, thy conscience flies out. 
 
 2 Murd. 'Tis no matter ; let it go ; there 's 
 few or none will entertain it. 
 
 1 Murd. What if it come to thee again ? 
 
 2 Murd. I '11 not meddle with it, it makes 
 a man a coward ; a man cannot steal, but it 
 accuseth him ; a man cannot swear, but it checks 
 him ; a man cannot lie with his neighbour's wife, 
 but it detects him : 'tis a blushing shame-faced 
 spirit that mutinies in a man's bosom ; it fills one 
 full of obstacles: it made me once restore a purse 
 of gold that by chance I found ; it beggars any 
 man that keeps it : it is turned out of all towns 
 and cities for a dangerous thing ; and every man 
 that means to live well endeavours to trust to 
 himself and live without it. 
 
 1 Murd. Zounds, it is even now at my elbow, 
 persuading me not to kill the duke. 
 
 2 Murd. Take the devil in thy mind, and 
 believe him not : he would insinuate with thee 
 but to make thee sigh. 
 
 1 Murd. I am strong-framed, he cannot pre- 
 vail with me. 
 
 2 Murd. Spoke like a tall fellow that respects 
 his reputation. Come, shall we fall to work ? 
 
 1 Murd. Take him on the costard with the 
 hilts of thy sword, and then throw him into the 
 malmsey-butt in the next room. 
 
 2 Murd. O excellent device ! and make a 
 sop of him. 
 
 I Murd. Soft 1 he wakes. 
 
684 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 2 Murd. Strike ! 
 
 I Murd. No, we '11 reason with him. 
 
 Clar. Where art thou, keeper ? give me a cup 
 of wine. 
 
 I Murd. You shall have wine enough, my 
 lord, anon. 
 
 Clar. In God's name, what art thou ? 
 
 I Murd. A man, as you are. 
 
 Clar. But not, as I am, royal. 
 
 I Murd. Nor you, as we are, loyal. 
 
 Clar. Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks 
 are humble. 
 
 I Murd. My voice is now the king's, my 
 looks mine own. [speak ! 
 
 Clar. How darkly and how deadly dost thou 
 Your eyes do menace me: why look you pale? 
 Who sent you hither? Wherefore do you come? 
 
 Both Murd. To, to, to 
 
 Clar. To murder me ? 
 
 Both Murd. Ay, ay. [so, 
 
 Clar. You scarcely have the hearts to tell me 
 And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it. 
 Wherein, my friends, have I offended you ? 
 
 1 Murd. Offended us you have not, but the 
 
 king. 
 Clar. I shall be reconcil'd to him again. 
 
 2 Murd. Never, my lord ; therefore prepare 
 
 to die. [men 
 
 Clar. Are you drawn forth among a world of 
 To slay the innocent ? What is my offence? 
 What is the evidence that doth accuse me ? 
 Where lawful quest have given their verdict up 
 Unto the frowning judge? or who pronounc'd 
 The bitter sentence of poor Clarence' death ? 
 Before I be convict by course of law, 
 To threaten me with death is most unlawful. 
 I charge you, as you hope to have redemption 
 By Christ's dear blood shed for our grievous sins, 
 That you depart, and lay no hands on me : 
 The deed you undertake is damnable. 
 
 1 Murd. What we will do, we do upon com- 
 
 mand. 
 
 2 Murd. And he that hath commanded is our 
 
 king. [kings 
 
 Clar. Erroneous vassals ! the great King of 
 Hath in the table of his law commanded 
 That thou shalt do no murder : will you then 
 Spurn at his edict, and fulfil a man's ? 
 Take heed ; for he holds vengeance in his hand, 
 To hurl upon their heads that break his law. 
 2 Murd. And that same vengeance doth he 
 
 hurl on thee 
 
 For false forswearing, and for murder too : 
 Thou didst receive the sacrament to fight 
 In quarrel of the house of Lancaster. 
 
 I Murd. And, like a traitor to the name of 
 God, 
 
 Didst break that vow ; and with thy treacher- 
 ous blade 
 
 Unripp'dst the bowels of thy sovereign's son. 
 2 Murd. Whom thou wast sworn to cherish 
 
 and defend. 
 
 I Murd. How canst thou urge God's dread- 
 ful law to us, 
 
 When thou hast broke it in such dear degree ? 
 Clar. Alas ! for whose sake did I that ill 
 
 deed? 
 
 For Edward, for my brother, for his sake : 
 He sends you not to murder me for this ; 
 For in that sin he is as deep as I. 
 If God will be avenged for the deed, 
 O, know you yet, he doth it publicly : 
 Take not the quarrel from his powerful arm ; 
 He needs no indirect nor lawless course 
 To cut off those that have offended him. 
 
 I Murd. Who made thee, then, a bloody 
 
 minister 
 
 When gallant-springing brave Plantagenet, 
 That princely novice, was struck dead by thee? 
 Clar. My brother's love, the devil, and my 
 rage. [thy faults, 
 
 1 Murd. Thy brother's love, our duty, and 
 Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee. 
 
 Clar* If you do love my brother, hate not ma ; 
 I am his brother, and I love him well. 
 If you are hir'd for meed, go back again, 
 And I will send you to my brother Gloster, 
 Who shall reward you better for my life 
 Than Edward will for tidings of my death. 
 
 2 Murd. You are deceiv'd, your brother 
 
 Gloster hates you. [dear : 
 
 Clar. O, no, he loves me, and he holds me 
 Go you to him from me. 
 
 Both Murd. Ay, so we will. 
 
 Clar. Tell him, when that our princely father 
 
 York 
 
 Bless'd his three sons with his victorious arm, 
 And charg'd us from his soul to love each other, 
 He little thought of this divided friendship : 
 Bid Gloster think on this, and he will weep. 
 I Murd. Ay, millstones; as he lesson'd us to 
 
 weep. 
 
 Clar. O, do not slander him, for he is kind, 
 i Murd. Right as snow in harvest. Come, 
 
 you deceive yourself : 
 'Tis he that sends us to destroy you here. 
 
 Clar. It cannot be ; for he bewept my fortune, 
 And hugg'd me in his arms, and swore, with 
 
 sobs, 
 That he would labour my delivery. 
 
 1 Murd. Why, so he doth, when he delivers you 
 From this earth's thraldom to the joys of heaven. 
 
 2 Murd. Make peace with God, for you must 
 
 die, my lord. 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 KING RICHARD IIL 
 
 685 
 
 Clar. Have you that holy feeling in your souls, 
 To counsel me to make my peace with God, 
 And are you yet to your own souls so blind 
 That you will war with God by murdering me? 
 O, sirs, consider, they that set you on 
 To do this deed will hate you for the deed. 
 
 2 Murd, What shall we do ? 
 
 Clar. Relent, and save your souls. 
 
 1 Murd. Relent I 'tis cowardly and woman- 
 
 ish, [ish. 
 
 Clar. Not to relent is beastly, savage, devil- 
 Which of you, if you were a prince's son, 
 Being pent from liberty, as I am now, 
 If two such murderers as yourselves came to 
 
 you, 
 
 Would not entreat for life ? 
 My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks ; 
 O, if thine eye be not a flatterer, 
 Come thou on my side, and entreat for me, 
 As you would beg, were you in my distress : 
 A begging prince what beggar pities not ? 
 
 2 Murd. Look behind you, my lord. 
 
 1 Murd. Take that, and that: if all this will 
 
 not do, [Stabs him. 
 
 I 'II drown you in the malmsey-butt within. 
 
 [Exit -with the body. 
 
 2 Murd. A bloody deed, and desperately 
 
 despatch'd 1 
 
 How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands 
 Of this most grievous guilty murder done ! 
 
 Re-enter First Murderer. 
 
 1 Murd. How now, what mean'st thou, that 
 
 thou help'st me not? 
 
 By heaven, the duke shall know how slack you 
 have been. [brother ! 
 
 2 Murd. I would he knew that I had sav'd his 
 Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say ; 
 For I repent me that the duke is slain. [Exit. 
 
 I Murd. So do not I : go, coward as thou 
 
 art. 
 
 Well, I'll go hide the body in some hole, 
 Till that the duke give order for his burial : 
 And when I have my meed, I will away; 
 For this will out, and then I must not stay. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 ACT II. 
 SCENE I. LONDON. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter KING EDWARD, led in sick: QUEEN 
 ELIZABETH, DORSET, RIVERS, HASTINGS, 
 BUCKINGHAM, GREY, and others. 
 
 K. Edw. Why, so; now have I done a good 
 
 day's work : 
 You peers, continue this united league : 
 
 I every day expect an embassage 
 From my Redeemer, to redeem me hence ; 
 And now in peace my soul shall part to heaven. 
 Since I have made my friends at peace on 
 
 earth. 
 
 Rivers and Hastings, take each other's hand ; 
 Dissemble not your hatred, swear your love. 
 Riv. By heaven, my soul is purg'd from 
 
 grudging hate ; 
 
 And with my hand I seal my true heart's love. 
 Hast. So thrive I, as I truly swear the like ! 
 K. Edw. Take heed you dally not before your 
 
 king ; 
 
 Lest he that is the supreme King of kings 
 Confound your hidden falsehood, and award 
 Either of you to be :he other's end. 
 
 Hast. So prosper I, as I swear perfect love ! 
 Riv. And I, as I love Hastings with my 
 
 heart 1 
 K. Edw. Madam, yourself are not exempt 
 
 from this, 
 
 Nor you, son Dorset, Buckingham, nor you ; 
 You have been factious one against the other. 
 Wife, love Lord Hastings, let him kiss your 
 
 hand; 
 And what you do, do it unfeignedly. 
 
 Q. Eliz. There, Hastings ; I will never more 
 
 remember 
 
 Our former hatred, so thrive I and mine ! 
 K. Ldw. Dorset, embrace him ; Hastings, 
 
 love lord marquis. 
 
 Dor. This interchange of love I here protest, 
 Upon my part shall be inviolable. 
 
 Hast. And so swear I. [Embraces DORSET. 
 K. Edw. Now, princely Buckingham, seal 
 
 thou this league 
 
 With thy embracements to my wife's allies, 
 And make me happy in your unity. [hate 
 
 Buck. Whenever Buckingham doth turn his 
 Upon your grace [to the QUEEN], but with all 
 
 duteous love 
 
 Doth cherish you and yours, God punish me 
 With hate in those where I expect most 
 
 love! 
 
 When I have most need to employ a friend, 
 And most assured that he is a friend, 
 Deep, hollow, treacherous, and full of guile, 
 Be he unto me ! this do I beg of heaven 
 When I am cold in love to you or yours. 
 
 {Embracing RIVERS, drV. 
 K. Edw. A pleasing cordial, princely Buck- 
 ingham, 
 
 Is this thy vow unto my sickly heart 
 There wanteth now our brother Gloster here, 
 To make the blessed period of this peace. 
 Buck. And, in good time, here comes the 
 noble duke. 
 
686 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 [ACT n. 
 
 Enter GLOSTER. 
 
 Glo. Good-morrow to my sovereign king and 
 
 queen ; 
 And, princely peers, a happy time of day ! 
 
 K. Ediv. Happy, indeed, as we have spent 
 
 the day. 
 
 Gloster, we have done deeds of charity ; 
 Made peace of enmity, fair love of hate, 
 Between these swelling wrong-incensed peers. 
 
 Glo. A blessed labour, my most sovereign 
 
 lord. 
 
 Among this princely heap, if any here, 
 By false intelligence or wrong surmise, 
 Hold me a foe ; 
 
 If I unwittingly, or in my rage, 
 Have aught committed that is hardly borne 
 By any in this presence, I desire 
 To reconcile me to his friendly peace : 
 'Tis death to me to be at enmity ; 
 I hate it, and desire all good men's love. 
 First, madam, I entreat true peace of you, 
 Which I will purchase with my duteous service; 
 Of you, my noble cousin Buckingham, 
 If ever any grudge were lodg'd between us ; 
 Of you, and you, Lord Pavers, and of Dorset, 
 That all without desert have frown'd on me ; 
 Of you, Lord Woodville, and, Lord Scales, of 
 you ; [all. 
 
 Dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen; indeed, of 
 I do not know that Englishman alive 
 With whom my soul is any jot at odds 
 More than the infant that is born to-night: 
 I thank my God for my humility. [after : 
 
 Q. Eliz. A holiday shall this be kept here- 
 I would to God all strifes were well com- 
 pounded. 
 
 My sovereign lord, I do beseech your highness 
 To take our brother Clarence to your grace. 
 
 Glo. Why, madam, have I offer'd love for this, 
 To be so flouted in this royal presence? 
 Who knows not that the gentle duke is dead? 
 [They all start. 
 You do him injury to scorn his corse. 
 
 K. Edw. Who knows not he is dead ! who 
 knows he is ? [this ! 
 
 Q. Eliz. All-seeing heaven, what a world is 
 
 Buck. Look I so pale, Lord Dorset, as the 
 rest? [presence 
 
 Dor. Ay, my good lord ; and no man in the 
 But his red colour hath forsook his cheeks. 
 
 K. Edw. Is Clarence dead? the order was 
 revers'd. [died, 
 
 Glo. But he, poor man, by your first order 
 And that a winged Mercury did bear ; 
 Some tardy cripple bore the countermand 
 That came too lag to see him buried. 
 
 God grant that some, less noble and less loyal, 
 Nearer in bloody thoughts, but not in blood, 
 Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did, 
 And yet go current from suspicion ! 
 
 Enter STANLEY. 
 
 Stan. A boon, my sovereign, for my service 
 done \ [sorrow. 
 
 K. Edw. I pr'ythee, peace: my soul is full of 
 
 Stan. I will not rise unless your highness hear 
 me. [quest'st. 
 
 K. Edw. Then say at once what is it thou re- 
 
 Stan. The forfeit, sovereign, of my servant's 
 
 life; 
 
 Who slew to-day a riotous gentleman 
 Lately attendant on the Duke of Norfolk. 
 
 K. Edw. Have I a tongue to doom my 
 
 brother's death, 
 
 And shall that tongue give pardon to a slave ? 
 My brother kill'd no man, his fault was thought, 
 And yet his punishment was bitter death. 
 Who su'd to me for him ? who, in my wrath, 
 Kneel'd at my feet, and bid me be advis'd ? 
 Who spoke of brotherhood? who spoke of 
 
 love? 
 
 Who told me how the poor soul did forsake 
 The mighty Warwick, and did fight for me? 
 Who told me, in the field at Tewksbury, 
 When Oxford had me down, he rescu'd me, 
 And said, Dear brother, live, and be a king's 
 Who told me, when we both lay in the field 
 Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me 
 Even in his garments, and did give himself, 
 All thin and naked, to the numb-cold night? 
 All this from my remembrance brutish wrath 
 Sinfully pluck'd, and not a man of you 
 Had so much grace to put it in my mind. 
 But when your carters or your waiting- vassals 
 Have done a drunken slaughter, and defac'd 
 The precious image of our dear Redeemer, 
 You straight are on your knees for pardon^ 
 
 pardon ; 
 
 And I, unjustly too, must grant it you : 
 But for my brother not a man would speak, 
 Nor I, ungracious, speak unto myself 
 For him, poor soul. The proudest of you all 
 Have been beholden to him in his life ; 
 Yet none of you would once beg for his life. 
 O God, I fear thy justice will take hold 
 On me, and you, and mine, and yours, for this ! 
 Come, Hastings, help me to my closet. 
 Ah, poor Clarence ! 
 
 [Exeunt KING, QUEEN, HAST., Riv., 
 DOR., <zwd?GREY. 
 
 Glo. This is the fruit of rashness ! Mark'd 
 
 you not 
 How that the guilty kindred of the queen 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 Look'd pale when they did hear of Clarence' 
 
 death? 
 
 O, they did urge it sail unto the king ! 
 God will revenge it. Come, lords, will you go 
 To comfort Edward with our company? 
 
 Buck. We wait upon your grace. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. Another Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter the DUCHESS OF YORK, with a Son and 
 Daughter of CLARENCE. 
 
 Son. Good grandam, tell us, is our father 
 dead? 
 
 Duck. No, boy. [your breast, 
 
 Datigh. Why do you weep so oft, and beat 
 And cry, O Clarence, my unhappy son! 
 
 Son. Why do you look on us, and shake your 
 
 head, 
 
 And call us orphans, wretches, castaways, 
 If that our noble father be alive? [both; 
 
 Duch. My pretty cousins, you mistake me 
 I do lament the sickness of the king, 
 As loth to lose him, not your father's death ; 
 It were lost sorrow to wail one that 's lost. 
 
 Son. Then you conclude, my grandam, he is 
 
 dead. 
 
 The king mine uncle is to blame for this : 
 God will revenge it; whom I will importune 
 With earnest prayers all to that effect. 
 
 Daiigh. And so will I. 
 
 Duch. Peace, children, peace ! the king doth 
 
 love you well : 
 
 Incapable and shallow innocents, [death. 
 
 You cannot guess who caus'd your father's 
 
 Son. Grandam, we can ; for my good uncle 
 
 Gloster 
 
 Told me, the king, provok'd to it by the queen, 
 Devis'd impeachments to imprison him : 
 And when my uncle told me so, he wept, 
 And pitied me, and kindly kiss'd my cheek ; 
 Bade me rely on him as on my father, 
 And he would love me dearly as his child. 
 
 Dttch. Ah, that deceit should steal such 
 
 gentle shape, 
 
 And with a virtuous visard hide deep vice ! 
 He is my son ; ay, and therein my shame ; 
 Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit. 
 
 Son. Think you my uncle did dissemble, 
 grandam? 
 
 Duch. Ay, boy. [this? 
 
 Son. I cannot think it. Hark! what noise is 
 
 Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH, distractedly ; 
 
 RIVERS and DORSET following her. 
 Q. Eliz. Ah, who shall hinder me to wail 
 
 and weep, 
 To chide my fortune, and torment myself? 
 
 I '11 join with black despair against my soul, 
 And to myself become an enemy. [patience? 
 
 Duch. What means this scene of rude im- 
 
 Q. Eliz. To make an act of tragic violence : 
 Edward, my lord, thy son, our king, is dead. 
 Why grow the branches when the root is gone? 
 Why wither not the leaves that want their sap? 
 If you will live, lament; if die, be brief, 
 That our swift- winged souls may catch the 
 
 king's ; 
 
 Or, like obedient subjects, follow him 
 To his new kingdom of perpetual rest. [row 
 
 Duch. Ah, so much interest have I in thy sor- 
 As I had title in thy noble husband ! 
 I have bewept a worthy husband's death, 
 And liv'd by looking on his images : 
 But now two mirrors of his princely semblance 
 Are crack'd in pieces by malignant death, 
 And I for comfort have but one false glass, 
 That grieves me when I see my shame in him. 
 Thou art a widow yet thou art a mother, 
 And hast the comfort of thy children left : 
 But death hath snatch'd my husband from mine 
 arms, [hands, 
 
 And pluck'd two crutches from my feeble 
 Clarence and Edward. O, what cause have I, 
 Thine being but a moiety of my moan, 
 To overgo thy woes and drown thy cries? 
 
 Son. Ah, aunt, you wept not for our father's 
 
 death ! 
 How can we aid you with our kindred tears? 
 
 Daugh. Our fatherless distress was left un- 
 
 moan'd, 
 Your widow-dolour likewise be unwept ! 
 
 Q. Eliz. Give me no help in lamentation ; 
 I am not barren to bring forth complaints: 
 All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes, 
 That I, being govern'd by the watery moon, 
 May send forth plenteous tears to drown the 
 
 world ! 
 Ah for my husband, for my dear Lord Edward ! 
 
 ChiL Ah for our father, for our dear Lord 
 Clarence ! [Clarence ! 
 
 Duch. Alas for both, both mine, Edward and 
 
 Q. Eliz. What stay had I but Edward? and 
 he 's gone. [he 's gone. 
 
 Chil. What stay had we but Clarence? and 
 
 Duch. What stays had I but they? and they 
 are gone. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Was never widow had so dear a loss ! 
 
 Chil. Were never orphans had so dear a loss ! 
 
 Duch. Was never mother had so dear a loss ! 
 Alas, I am the mother of these griefs ! 
 Their woes are parcell'd, mine are general. 
 She for an Edward weeps, and so do I ; 
 I for a Clarence weep, so doth not she: 
 These babes for Clarence weep, and so do I ; 
 
KING RICHARD III. 
 
 [ACT n. 
 
 I for an Edward weep, so do not they : 
 Alas, you three, on me, threefold distress'd, 
 Pour all your tears ! I am your sorrow's nurse, 
 And I will pamper it with lamentation. 
 
 Dor. Comfort, dear mother: God is much 
 
 displeas'd 
 
 That you take with unthankfulness his doing : 
 In common worldly things 'tis call'd ungrateful, 
 With dull unwillingness to repay a debt 
 Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent ; 
 Much more to be thus opposite with heaven, 
 For it requires the royal debt it lent you. 
 
 Riv. Madam, bethink you, like a careful 
 mother, [for him ; 
 
 Of the young prince your son: send straight 
 Let him be crown'd ; in him your comfort lives : 
 Drown desperate sorrow in dead Ed ward's grave, 
 And plant your joys in living Edward's throne. 
 
 Enter GLOSTER, BUCKINGHAM, STANLEY, 
 
 HASTINGS, RATCLIFF, and others. 
 Glo. Sister, have comfort: all of us have 
 
 cause 
 
 To wail the dimming of our shining star ; 
 But none can cure their harms by wailing 
 
 them. 
 
 Madam, my mother, I do cry you mercy; 
 I did not s^e your grace : humbly on my knee 
 I crave your blessing. [thy breast, 
 
 Duck. God bless thee ; and put meekness in 
 Love, charity, obedience, and true duty I 
 Glo. Amen; and make me die a good old 
 
 man! 
 
 That is the butt end of a mother's blessing ; 
 I marvel that her grace did leave it out [Aside. 
 Buck. You cloudy princes and heart-sorrow- 
 ing peers, 
 
 That bear this heavy mutual load of moan, 
 Now cheer each other in each other's love : 
 Though we have spent our harvest of this king, 
 We are to reap the harvest of his son. 
 The broken rancour of your high-swoln hearts, 
 But lately splinter'd, knit, and join'd together, 
 Must gently be preserv'd, cherish'd, and kept : 
 Me seemeth good that, with some little train, 
 Forthwith from Ludlow the young prince be fet 
 Hither to London, to be crown'd our king. 
 Riv. Why with some little train, my Lord 
 
 of Buckingham? 
 
 Buck. Marry, my lord, lest, by a multitude, 
 The new-heal'd wound of malice should break 
 
 out; 
 
 Which would be so much the more dangerous 
 By how much the estate is green and yet un- 
 
 govern'd : 
 
 Where every horse bears his commanding rein, 
 And may direct his course as please himself, 
 
 As well the fear of harm as harm apparent, 
 In my opinion, ought to be prevented. [us; 
 
 Glo. I hope the king made peace with all of 
 And the compact is firm and true in me. 
 
 Riv. And so in me; and so, I think, in all: 
 Yet, since it is but green, it should be put 
 To no apparent likelihood of breach, 
 Which haply by much company might be urg'd: 
 Therefore I say wiui noble Buckingham, 
 That it is meet so few should fetch the prince. 
 
 Hast. And so say I. 
 
 Glo. Then be it so ; and go we to determine 
 Who they shall be that straight shall post to 
 
 Ludlow. 
 
 Madam, and you, my mother, will you go 
 To give your censures in this business? 
 
 {Exeunt all but BUCK, and GLO. 
 
 Buck. My lord, whoever journeys to the 
 
 prince, 
 
 For God's sake, let not us two stay at home ; 
 For by the way I '11 sort occasion, 
 As index to the story we late talk'd of, 
 To part the queen's proud kindred from the 
 prince. 
 
 Glo. My other self, my counsel's consistory, 
 My oracle, my prophet ! my dear cousin, 
 I, as a child, will go by thy direction. 
 Toward Ludlow then, for we '11 not stay behind. 
 
 {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. LONDON. A Street. 
 Enter two Citizens, meeting. 
 
 1 Cit. Good-morrow, neighbour: whithei 
 
 away so fast ? 
 
 2 Cit. I promise you, I scarcely know myself: 
 Hear you the news abroad ? 
 
 1 Cit. Yes, that the king is dead. 
 
 2 Cit. Ill news, by 'r lady ; seldom comes the 
 
 better : 
 I fear, I fear 'twill prove a giddy world. 
 
 Entef a third Citizen. 
 
 3 Cit. Neighbours, God speed ! 
 
 1 Cit. Give you good-morrow, sir. 
 3 Cit. Doth the news hold of good King Ed- 
 ward's death ? [while ! 
 
 2 Cit. Ay, sir, it is too true ; God help, the 
 
 3 Cit. Then, masters, look to see a troublous 
 
 world. 
 
 1 Cit. No, no ; by God's good grace, his son 
 
 shall reign. [a child ! 
 
 3 Cit. Woe to that land that 's govern'd by 
 
 2 Cit. In him there is a hope of government, 
 Which, in his nonage, council under him, 
 And, in his full and ripen'd years, himself, 
 No doubt, shall then, and till then, govern well. 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 689 
 
 I Cit. So stood the state when Henry the Sixth 
 Was crown'd in Paris but at nine months old. 
 
 3 Cit. Stood the state so? No, no, good 
 
 friends, God wot ; 
 
 For then this land was famously enrich'd 
 With politic grave counsel ; then the king 
 Had virtuous uncles to protect his grace. 
 
 I Cit. Why, so hath this, both by his father 
 and mother. 
 
 3 Cit. Better it were they all cameby his father, 
 Or by his father there were none at all ; 
 For emulation now, who shall be nearest, 
 Will touch us all too near if God prevent not. 
 O, full of danger is the Duke of Gloster ! 
 And the queen's son;; and brothers haught and 
 
 proud : 
 
 And were they to be rul'd, and not to rule, 
 This sickly land might solace as before. 
 
 1 Cil. Come, come, we fear theworst ; all will 
 
 be well. 
 3 Cit. When clouds are seen, wise men put 
 
 on their cloaks ; 
 
 When great leaves fall, then winter is at hand ; 
 When the sun sets, who doth not look for 
 
 night ? 
 
 Untimely storms make men expect a dearth. 
 \11 may be well ; but, if God sort it so, 
 Tis more than we deserve or I expect. 
 
 2 Cit. Truly, the hearts of men are full of fear : 
 7ou cannot reason almost with a man 
 
 That looks not heavily and full of dread. 
 
 3 Cit. Before the days of change, still is it so : 
 By a divine instinct men's minds mistrust 
 Ensuing danger ; as, by proof, we see 
 
 The water swell before a boisterous storm. 
 But leave it all to God. Whither away? 
 
 2 Cit. Marry, we were sent for to the justices. 
 
 3 Cit. And so was I : I '11 bear you company. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. LONDON. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF YORK, the young 
 DUKE OF YORK, QUEEN ELIZABETH, and 
 the DUCHESS OF YORK. 
 
 Arch. Last night, I hear, they at Northamp- 
 ton lay ; 
 
 And at Stony-Stratford will they be to-night : 
 To-morrow or next day they will be here. 
 Dttch. I long with all my heart to see the 
 
 prince : 
 
 I hope he is much grown since last I saw him. 
 Q. Eliz. But I hear no ; they say my son of 
 
 York 
 Has almost overta'en him in his growth. 
 
 York. Ay, mother ; but I would not have it so. 
 
 Duch. Why, my young cousin ? it is good to 
 
 grow. [supper, 
 
 York. Grandam, one night, as we did sit at 
 
 My uncle Rivers talk'cl how I did grow 
 
 More than my brother: Ay> quoth my uncle 
 
 Gloster, [apace: 
 
 Small kerbs have grace, great weeds do grow 
 
 And since, methinks, I would not grow so fast, 
 
 Because sweet flowers are slow, and weeds make 
 
 haste. [not hold 
 
 Duck. Good faith, good faith, the saying did 
 
 In him that did object the same to thee : 
 
 He was the wretched'st thing when he was 
 
 young. 
 
 So long a growing, and so leisurely, 
 That, if his rule were true, he should be gracious. 
 Arch. And so no doubt he is, my gracious 
 
 madam. 
 
 Duck. I hope he is ; but yet let mothers doubt 
 York. Now, by my troth, if I had been re- 
 
 member'd, 
 
 I could have given my uncle's grace a flout, 
 To touch his growth nearer than he touch 'd mine. 
 Duck. How, my young York? I pr'ythee, let 
 
 me hear it. 
 
 York. Marry, they say my uncle grew so fast 
 That he could gnaw a crust at two hours old : 
 'Twas full two years ere I could get a tooth. 
 Grandam, this \*ould have been a biting jest. 
 Duck. I pr'ythee, pretty York, who told thee 
 
 this? 
 
 York. Grandam, his nurse. [wast born. 
 
 Duck. His nurse ! why she was dead ere thou 
 York. If 'twere not she, I cannot tell who 
 told me. [shrewd. 
 
 Q. Eliz. A parlous boy : go to, you are too 
 Arch. Good madam, be not angry with the 
 
 child. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Pitchers have ears. 
 Arch. Here comes a messenger. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 What news? [report. 
 
 Mess. Such news, my lord, as grieves me to 
 
 Q. Eliz. Ho\\ doth the prince ? 
 
 Mess. Well, madam, and in health. 
 
 Ditch. What is thy news ? 
 
 Mess. Lord Rivers and Lord Grey are sent 
 
 to Pomfret, 
 With them Sir Thomas Vaughan, prisoners. 
 
 Duck. Who hath committed them ? 
 
 Mess. The mighty dukes 
 
 Gloster and Buckingham. 
 
 Q. Eliz. For what offence? 
 
 Mess. The sum of all I can, I have disclos'd; 
 Why or for what the nobles were committed 
 Is all unknown to me, my gracious lady. 
 
690 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Ah me, I see the ruin of my house ! 
 The tiger now hath seiz'd the gentle hind ; 
 Insulting tyranny begins to jet 
 Upon the innocent and awless throne : 
 Welcome, destruction, blood, and massacre ! 
 I see, as in a map, the end of all. [days \ 
 
 Duck. Accurs'd and unquiet wrangling 
 How many of you have mine eyes beheld ? 
 My husband lost his life to get the crown ; 
 And often up and down my sons were toss'd, 
 For me to joy and weep their gain and loss : 
 And being seated, and domestic broils 
 Clean over-blown, themselves, the conquerors, 
 Make war upon themselves ; brother to brother, 
 Blood to blood, self against self: O, preposter- 
 ous 
 
 And frantic outrage, end thy damned spleen ; 
 Or let me die, to look on death no more ! 
 
 Q. Eliz. Come, come, my boy ; we will to 
 
 sanctuary. 
 Madam, farewell. 
 
 Duch. Stay, I will go with you. 
 
 Q. Eliz. You have no cause. 
 
 Arch. My gracious lady, go. 
 
 [To the QUEEN. 
 
 And thither bear your treasure and your goods. 
 For my part, I 'II resign unto your grace 
 The seal I keep ; and so betide to me 
 As well I tender you and all of yours ! 
 Come, I 'II conduct you to the sanctuary. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. LONDON. A Street. 
 
 The trumpets sound. Enter the PRINCE OF 
 WALES, GLOSTER, BUCKINGHAM, CATESBY, 
 CARDINAL BOUCHIER, and others. 
 
 Buck. Welcome, sweet prince, to London, to 
 
 your chamber. 
 
 Glo. Welcome, dear cousin, my thoughts' sove- 
 reign : 
 The weary way hath made you melancholy. 
 
 Prince. No, uncle ; but our crosses on the way 
 Have made it tedious, wearisome, and heavy : 
 I want more uncles here to welcome me. 
 
 Glo. Sweet prince, the untainted virtue of 
 
 your years 
 
 Kath not yet div'd into the world's deceit : 
 No more can you distinguish of a man 
 Than of his outward show; which, God he 
 
 knows, 
 
 Seldom or never jumpeth with the heart. 
 Those uncles which you want were dangerous ; 
 Your grace attended to their sugar'd words, 
 
 But look'd not on the poison of their hearts : 
 God keep you from them, and from such false 
 
 friends ! 
 
 Prince. God keep me from false friends ! but 
 
 they were none. [greet you. 
 
 Glo. My lord, the mayor of London comes to 
 
 Enter the Lord Mayor and his Train. 
 
 May. God bless your grace with health and 
 
 happy days ! 
 
 Prince. I thank you, good my lord; and 
 thank you all. {Exeunt Mayor, &*c. 
 I thought my mother and my brother York 
 Would long ere this have met us on the way : 
 Fie, what a slug is Hastings, that he comes not 
 To tell us whether they will come or no ! 
 Buck. And, in good time, here comes the 
 sweating lord. 
 
 Enter HASTINGS. 
 
 Prince. Welcome, my lord : what, will our 
 mother come? 
 
 Hast. On what occasion, God he knows, not I, 
 The queen your mother and your brother York 
 Have taken sanctuary : the tender prince 
 Would r ain have come with me to meet yourgrace, 
 But by his mother was perforce withheld. 
 
 Buck. Fie, what an indirect and peevish course 
 Is this of hers ? Lord cardinal, will your grace 
 Persuade the queen to send the Duke of York 
 Unto his princely brother presently? 
 If she deny, Lord Hastings, go with him, 
 And from her jealous arms pluck him perforce. 
 
 Card. My Lord of Buckingham, if my weak 
 
 oratory 
 
 Can from his mother win the Duke of York, 
 Anon expect him here ; but if she be obdurate 
 To mild entreaties, God in heaven forbid 
 We should infringe the holy privilege 
 Of blessed sanctuary ! not for all this land 
 Would I be guilty of so great a sin. [lord, 
 
 Buck. You are too senseless-obstinate, my 
 Too ceremonious and traditional : 
 Weigh it but with the grossness of this age, 
 You break not sanctuary in seizing him. 
 The benefit thereof is always granted 
 To those whose dealings have deserv'd the place, 
 And those who have the wit to claim the place : 
 This prince hath neither claim'd it nor deserv'd it; 
 And therefore, in mine opinion, cannot have it : 
 Then, taking him from hence that is not there, 
 You break no privilege nor charter there. 
 Oft have I heard of sanctuary-men ; 
 But sanctuary-children ne'er till now. 
 
 Card. My lord, you shall o'errule my mind 
 
 for once. 
 Come on, Lord Hastings, will you go with me? 
 
SCENE 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 691 
 
 Hast, I go, my lord. 
 
 Prince. Good lords, make all the speedy haste 
 you may. [Exettnt CAR. and HAST. 
 Say, uncle Gloster, if our brother come, 
 Where shall we sojourn till our coronation ? 
 
 Glo. Where it seems best unto your royal self. 
 If I may counsel you, some day or two 
 Your highness shall repose you at the Tower : 
 Then where you please, and shall be thought 
 
 most fit 
 For your best health and recreation, [place. 
 
 Prince. I do not like the Tower, of any 
 Did Julius Caesar build that place, my lord ? 
 
 Glo. He did, my gracious lord, begin that 
 
 place ; 
 Which, since, succeeding ages have re-edified. 
 
 Prince. Is it upon record, or else reported 
 Successively from age to age, he built it ? 
 
 Buck. Upon record, my gracious lord. 
 
 Prince. But say, my lord, it werenot register'd, 
 Methinks the truth should live from age to age, 
 As 'twere retail'd to all posterity, 
 Even to the general all-ending day. 
 
 Glo. So wise so young, they say, do never 
 live long. [Aside. 
 
 Prince. What say you, uncle? [long. 
 
 Glo. I say, without characters, fame lives 
 Thus, like the formal vice, Iniquity, 
 I moralize two meanings in one word. [Aside. 
 
 Prince. That Julius Caesar was a famous man ; 
 With what his valour did enrich his wit, 
 His wit set down to make his valour live : 
 Death makes no conquest of this conqueror ; 
 For now he lives in fame, though not in life. 
 I '11 tell you what, my cousin Buckingham, 
 
 Buck. What, my gracious lord ? 
 
 Prince. An if I live until I be a man. 
 I '11 win our ancient right in France again, 
 Or die a soldier, as I liv'd a king. 
 
 Glo. Short summers lightly have a forward 
 spring.^ [Aside. 
 
 Buck. Now, in good time, here comes the 
 Duke of York: 
 
 Enter YORK, HASTINGS, and the CARDINAL. 
 
 Prince. Richard of York! how fares our 
 
 loving brother? [you now. 
 
 York. Well, my dread lord; so must I call 
 
 Prince. Ay brother, to our grief, as it is 
 
 yours : 
 
 Too late he died that might have kept that title, 
 Which by his death hath lost much majesty. 
 Glo. How fares our cousin, noble Lord of 
 York? [lord, 
 
 York. I thank you, gentle uncle. O, my 
 You said that idle weeds are fast in growth : 
 The prince my brother hath outgrown me far. 
 
 Glo. He hath, my lord. 
 
 York. And therefore is he idle? 
 
 Glo. O, my fair cousin, I must not say so. 
 
 York. Then is he more beholding to you 
 than I. 
 
 Glo. He may command me as my sovereign; 
 But you have power in me as in a kinsman. 
 
 York. I pray you, uncle, give me this dagger. 
 
 Glo. My dagger, little cousin? with all my 
 heart. 
 
 Prince. A beggar, brother? [give; 
 
 York. Of my kind uncle, that I know will 
 And being but a toy, which is no grief to give. 
 
 Glo. A greater gift than that I'll give my 
 cousin. [it. 
 
 York. A greater gift ! O, that 's the sword to 
 
 Glo. Ay, gentle cousin, were it light enough. 
 
 York. O then, I see, you will part but with 
 
 light gifts ; 
 In weightier things you Ml say a beggar nay. 
 
 Glo. It is too weighty for your grace to wear. 
 
 York. I weigh it lightly, were it heavier. 
 
 Glo. What, would you have my weapon, little 
 lord? [call me. 
 
 York. I would, that I might thank you as you 
 
 Glo. How? 
 
 York. Little. [in talk : 
 
 Prince. My Lord of York will still be cross 
 Uncle, your grace knows how to bear with him. 
 
 York. You mean, to bear me, not to bear 
 
 with me: 
 
 Uncle, my brother mocks both you and me ; 
 Because that I am little, like an ape, 
 He thinks that you should bear me on your 
 shoulders. [reasons ! 
 
 Buck. With what a sharp-provided wit he 
 To mitigate the scorn he gives his uncle, 
 He prettily and aptly taunts himself: 
 So cunning and so young is wonderful, [along? 
 
 Glo. My gracious lord, wil 't please to pass 
 Myself and my good cousin Buckingham 
 Will to your mother, to entreat of her 
 To meet you at the Tower, and welcome you. 
 
 York. What, will you go unto the Tower, my 
 lord? [so. 
 
 Prince. My lord protector needs will have it 
 
 York. I shall not sleep in quiet at the Tower. 
 
 Glo. Why, what should you fear? [ghost: 
 
 York. Marry, my uncle Clarence' angry 
 My grandam told me he was murder'd there. 
 
 Prince. I fear no uncles dead. 
 
 Glo. Nor none that live, I hope. [fear. 
 
 Prince. An if they live, I hope I need not 
 But come, my lord ; and with a heavy heart, 
 Thinking on them, go I unto the Tower. 
 
 [Sennet. Exeunt PRINCE, YORK, HAST., 
 CAR., and Attendants. 
 
6 9 2 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Buck. Think you, my lord, this little prating 
 
 York 
 
 Was not incensed by his subtle mother 
 To taunt and scorn you thus opprobriously? 
 
 Glo. No doubt, no doubt: O, 'tis a parlous 
 
 boy; 
 
 Bold, quick, ingenious, forward, capable: 
 He is all the mother's, from the top to toe. 
 
 Buck. Well, let them rest. Come hither, 
 Catesby. [tend 
 
 Thou art sworn as deeply to effect what we in- 
 As closely to conceal what we impart : 
 Thou know'st our reasons urg'd upon the way ; 
 What think'st thou? is it not an easy matter 
 To make William Lord Hastings of our mind, 
 For the instalment of this noble duke 
 In the seat royal of this famous isle? [prince 
 
 Gate. He for his father's sake so loves the 
 That he will not be won to aught against him. 
 
 Buck. What think'st thou then of Stanley? 
 will not he? 
 
 Gate. He will do all in all as Hastings doth. 
 
 Buck. Well, then, no more but this: go, 
 gentle Catesby, [ings 
 
 And, as it were far off, sound thou Lord Hast- 
 How he doth stand affected to our purpose; 
 And summon him to-morrow to the Tower, 
 To sit about the coronation. 
 If thou dost find him tractable to us, 
 Encourage him, and tell him all our reasons : 
 If he be leaden, icy, cold, unwilling, 
 Be thou so too ; and so break off the talk, 
 And give us notice of his inclination : 
 For we to-morrow hold divided councils, 
 Wherein thyself shalt highly be employ'd. 
 
 Glo. Commend me to Lord William: tell 
 
 him, Catesby, 
 
 His ancient knot of dangerous adversaries 
 To-morrow are let blood at Pomfret Castle; 
 And bid my lord, for joy of this good news, 
 Give Mistress Shore one gentle kiss the more. 
 
 Buck. Good Catesby, go, effect this business 
 soundly. [I can. 
 
 Gate. My good lords both, with all the heed 
 
 Glo. Shall we hear from you, Catesby, ere 
 we sleep? 
 
 Gate. You shall, my lord. 
 
 Glo. At Crosby Place, there shall you find us 
 both. [Exit CATESBY. 
 
 Buck. Now, my lord, what shall we do if we 
 
 perceive 
 Lord Hastings will not yield to our complots? 
 
 Glo. Chop off his head, man ; somewhat we 
 
 will do: 
 
 And look, when I am king, claim thou of me 
 The earldom of Hereford, and all the movables 
 Whereof the king my brother was possess'd. 
 
 Buck. I '11 claim that promise at your grace's 
 hand. [kindness. 
 
 Glo. And look to have it yielded with all 
 Come, let us sup betimes, that afterwards 
 We may digest our complots in some form. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. Before LORD HASTINGS' House. 
 
 _, _.. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My lord, my lord ! [Knocking. 
 
 Hast. [Within.} Who knocks? 
 Mess. One from the Lord Stanley. 
 Hast. [Within.'} What is't o'clock? 
 Mess. Upon the stroke of four. 
 
 Enter HASTINGS. 
 
 Hast. Cannot my Lord Stanley sleep these 
 tedious nights? 
 
 Mess. So it appears by that I have to say. 
 First, he commends him to your noble self. 
 
 Hast. What then ? [night 
 
 Mess. Then certifies your lordship that this 
 He dreamt the boar had razed off his helm : 
 Besides, he says there are two councils held ; 
 And that may be determin'd at the one 
 Which may make you and him to rue at the 
 other. [pleasure, 
 
 Therefore he sends to know your lordship's 
 If you will presently take horse with him, 
 And with all speed post with him toward the 
 
 north, 
 To shun the danger that his soul divines. 
 
 Hast. Go, fellow, go, return unto thy lord; 
 Bid him not fear the separated councils : 
 His honour and myself are at the one, 
 And at the other is my good friend Catesby ; 
 Where nothing can proceed that toucheth us 
 Whereof I shall not have intelligence. 
 Tell him his fears are shallow, without instance : 
 And for his dreams, I wonder he 's so simple 
 To trust the mockery of unquiet slumbers: 
 To fly the boar before the boar pursues, 
 Were to incense the boar to follow us, 
 And make pursuit where he did mean no chase. 
 Go, bid thy master rise and come to me ; 
 And we will both together to the Tower, 
 Where, he shall see, the boar will use us 
 kindly. 
 
 Mess. I '11 go, my lord, and tell him what 
 you say. [Exit. 
 
 Enter CATESBY. 
 
 Gate. Many good-morrows to my noble lord ! 
 
 Hast. Good-morrow, Catesby ; you are early 
 
 stirring : [state ? 
 
 What news, what news, in this our tottering 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 693 
 
 Gate. It is a reeling world indeed, my lord ; 
 And I believe will never stand upright 
 Till Richard wear the garland of the realm. 
 Hast. How ! wear the garland ! dost thou 
 
 mean the crown? 
 
 Cafe. Ay, my good lord. [my shoulders 
 
 Hast. I '11 have this crown of mine cut from 
 Before I '11 see the crown so foul misplac'd. 
 But canst thou guess that he doth aim at it? 
 Cafe. Ay, on my life ; and hopes to find you 
 
 forward 
 
 Upon his party for the gain thereof: 
 And thereupon he sends you this good news, 
 That this same very day your enemies, 
 The kindred of the queen, must die at Pomfret. 
 Hast. Indeed, I am no mourner for that news, 
 Because they have been still my adversaries : 
 But that I '11 give my voice on Richard's side, 
 To bar my master's heirs in true descent, 
 God knows I will not do it to the death. 
 
 Cafe. God keep your lordship in that gra- 
 cious mind ! 
 Hast. But I shall laugh at this a twelve 
 
 month hence, 
 
 That they who brought me in my master's hate, 
 I live to look upon their tragedy. 
 Well, Catesby, ere a fortnight make me older, 
 I '11 send some packing that yet think not on 't. 
 Gate. 'Tis a vile thing to die, my gracious 
 
 lord, 
 
 When men are unprepar'd, and look not for it. 
 Hast. O monstrous, monstrous ! and so falls 
 
 it out 
 
 Witn Rivers, Vaughan, Grey: and so 'twill do 
 With some men else that think themselves as 
 
 safe 
 
 As thou and I ; who, as thou know'st, are dear 
 To princely Richard and to Buckingham. 
 Gate. The princes both make high account of 
 
 you, 
 For they account his head upon the bridge. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Hast. I know they do; and I have well de- 
 servM it. 
 
 Enter STANLEY. 
 
 Come on, come on ; where is your boar-spear, 
 
 man? 
 
 Fear you the boar, and go so unprovided? 
 Stan. My lord, good-morrow; and good- 
 morrow, Catesby: 
 You may jest on, but, by the holy rood, 
 I do not like these several councils, I. 
 
 Hast. My lord, I hold my life as dear as you 
 
 do yours ; 
 
 And never in my days, I do protest, 
 Was it more precious to me than 'tis now : 
 
 Think you, but that I know our state secure, 
 I would be so triumphant as I am? 
 Stan. The lords at Pomfret, when they rode 
 
 from London, [sure, 
 
 Were jocund, and suppos'd their states were 
 And they, indeed, had no cause to mistrust ; 
 But yet, you see, how soon the day o'ercast ! 
 This sudden stab of rancour I misdoubt ; 
 Pray God, I say, I prove a needless coward ! 
 What, shall we toward the Tower? the day is 
 
 spent. 
 Hast. Come, come, have with you. Wot you 
 
 what, my lord? 
 
 To-day the lords you talk of are beheaded. 
 Stan. They, for their truth, might better 
 
 wear their heads [hats. 
 
 Than some that have accus'd them wear their 
 But come, my lord, let 's away. 
 
 Enter a Pursuivant. 
 
 Hast. Go on before ; I '11 talk with this good 
 fellow. [Exeunt STAN, and GATE. 
 How now, sirrah! how goes the world with 
 thee? [ask. 
 
 Purs. The better that your lordship please to 
 Hast. I tell thee, man, 'tis better with me 
 now [meet : 
 
 Than when thou mett'st me last where now we 
 Then was I going prisoner to the Tower, 
 By the suggestion of the queen's allies ; 
 But now, I tell thee, keep it to thyself 
 This day those enemies are put to death, 
 And I in better state than e'er I was. 
 Purs. God hold it, to your honour's good 
 content ! [me. 
 
 Hast. Gramercy, fellow : there, drink that for 
 [Throwing him his purse. 
 Purs. I thank your honour. [Exit. 
 
 Enter a Priest. 
 
 Pr. Well met, my lord; I am glad to see 
 
 your honour. 
 Hast. I thank thee, good Sir John, with all 
 
 my heart. 
 
 I am in your debt for your last exercise ; 
 Come the next Sabbath, and I will content you, 
 
 Enter BUCKINGHAM. 
 
 Buck. What, talking with a priest, lord cham- 
 berlain ! 
 
 Your friends at Pomfret, they do need the priest ; 
 Your honour hath no shriving-work in hand. 
 Hast. Good faith, and when I met this holy 
 
 man, 
 
 The men you talk of came irxto my mind. 
 What, go you toward the Tower? 
 
694 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Buck. I do, my lord ; but long I cannot stay 
 
 there : 
 
 I shall return before your lordship thence. 
 Hast. Nay, like enough, for I stay dinner 
 
 there. 
 
 Buck. And supper too, although thou know'st 
 it not. [Aside. 
 
 Come, will you go? 
 
 Hast. I '11 wait upon your lordship. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. POMFRET. Before the Castle. 
 
 Enter RATCLIFF, with a Guard, conducting 
 RIVERS, GREY, and VAUGHAN to execution. 
 
 Riv. Sir Richard Ratcliff, let me tell thee 
 
 this, 
 
 To-day shalt thou behold a subject die 
 For truth, for duty, and for loyalty. [of you ! 
 Grey. God bless the prince from all the pack 
 A knot you are of damned blood-suckers. 
 Vaugh. You live that shall cry woe for this 
 
 hereafter. 
 
 Rat. Despatch ; the limit of your lives is out. 
 Riv. O Pomfret, Pomfret! O thou bloody 
 
 prison, 
 
 Fatal and ominous to noble peers ! 
 Within the guilty closure of thy walls 
 Richard the Second here was hack'd to death : 
 And, for more slander to thy dismal seat, 
 We give thee Up our guiltless blood to drink. 
 Grey. Now Margaret's curse is fallen upon 
 
 our heads, 
 
 When she exclaim'd on Hastings, you, and I, 
 For standing by when Richard stabb'd her son. 
 Riv. Then curs'd she Richard, then curs'd she 
 
 Buckingham, 
 
 Then curs'd she Hastings: O, remember, God, 
 To hear her prayer for them, as now for us ! 
 And for my sister and her princely sons, 
 Be satisfied, dear God, with our true blood, 
 Which, as thou know'st, unjustly must be spilt ! 
 Rat. Make haste ; the hour of death is ex- 
 piate. 
 Riv. Come, Grey, come, Vaughan, let us 
 
 here embrace : 
 Farewell, until we meet again in heaven. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. LONDON. A Room in the Tower. 
 
 BUCKINGHAM, STANLEY, HASTINGS, the 
 BISHOP OF ELY, RATCLIFF, LOVEL, and 
 others ; sitting at a table: Officers of the 
 Council attending. 
 
 Hast. Now, noble peers, the cause why we 
 are met 
 
 Is to determine of the coronation. 
 
 In God's name, speak, when is the royal day? 
 
 Buck. Are all things ready for that royal time? 
 
 Stan. They are ; and wants but nomination. 
 
 Ely. To-morrow, then, I judge a happy day. 
 
 Buck. Who knows the lord protector's min<? 
 
 herein ? 
 Who is most inward with the noble duke ? 
 
 Ely. You;' grace, we think, should soonest 
 know his mind. 
 
 Buck. We know each other's faces : for our 
 
 hearts, 
 
 He knows no more of mine than I of yours ; 
 Nor I of his, my lord, than you of mine. 
 Lord Hastings, you and he are near in love. 
 
 Hast. I thank his grace, I know he loves me 
 
 well ; 
 
 But for his purpose in the coronation 
 I have not sounded him, nor he deliver'd 
 His gracious pleasure any way therein : 
 But you, my noble lords, may name the time ; 
 And in the duke's behalf I '11 give my voice, 
 Which, I presume, he '11 take in gentle part. 
 
 Ely. In happy time, here comes the duke 
 himself. 
 
 Enter GLOSTER. 
 
 Glo. My noble lords and cousins all, good- 
 morrow. 
 
 I have been long a sleeper ; but I trust 
 My absence doth neglect no great design 
 Which by my presence might have been con- 
 cluded. 
 
 Buck. Had you not come upon your cue, my 
 
 lord, [part, 
 
 William Lord Hastings had pronounc'd your 
 
 I mean, your voice, for crowning of the king. 
 
 Glo. Than my Lord Hastings no man might 
 
 be bolder ; [well. 
 
 His lordship knows me well, and loves me 
 
 My lord of Ely, when I was last in Holborn 
 
 I saw good strawberries in your garden there : 
 
 I do beseech you send for some of them. 
 
 Ely. Marry, and will, my lord, with all my 
 
 heart. [Exit. 
 
 Glo. Cousin of Buckingham, a word with you. 
 
 [Takes him aside. 
 
 Catesby hath sounded Hastings in our business, 
 And finds the testy gentleman so hot 
 That he will lose his head ere give consent 
 His master's child, as worshipfully he terms it, 
 Shall lose the royalty of England's throne. 
 Buck. Withdraw yourself awhile ; I'll go with 
 you. \_Exeunt GLO. and BUCK. 
 
 Stan. We have not yet set down this day of 
 
 triumph. 
 To-morrow, in my judgment, is too sudden ; 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 695 
 
 For I myself am not so well provided 
 
 As else I would be, were the day prolong'd. 
 
 Re-enter BISHOP OF ELY. 
 
 Ely. Where is my lord the Duke of Gloster? 
 I have sent for these strawberries. 
 
 Hast. His grace looks cheerfully and smooth 
 
 this morning ; 
 
 There 's some conceit or other likes him well 
 When that he bids good-morrow with such spirit. 
 I think there 's ne'er a man in Christendom 
 Can lesser hide his love or hate than he ; 
 For by his face straight shall you know his heart. 
 
 Stan. What of his heart perceive you in his 
 
 face 
 By any livelihood he showed to-day ? 
 
 Hast. Marry, that with no man here he is 
 
 offended ; 
 For, were he, he had shown it in his looks. 
 
 Re-enter GLOSTER and BUCKINGHAM. 
 
 Glo. I pray you all, tell me what they deserve 
 That do conspire my death with devilish plots 
 Of damned witchcraft, and that have prevail'd 
 Upon my body with their hellish charms ? 
 
 Hast. The tender love I bear your grace, my 
 
 lord, 
 
 Makes me most forward in this princely presence 
 To doom the offenders : whosoe'er they be, 
 I say, my lord, they have deserved death. 
 
 Glo. Then be your eyes the witness of their 
 
 evil : 
 
 Look how I am bewitch'd ; behold, mine arm 
 Is, like a blasted sapling, wither'd up : 
 And this is Edward's wife, that monstrous witch, 
 Consorted with that harlot-strumpet Shore, 
 That by their witchcraft thus have marked me. 
 
 Hast. If they have done this deed, my noble 
 lord, [pet, 
 
 Glo. If! thou protector of this damned strum- 
 Talk'st thou to me of ifs ? Thou art a traitor : 
 Off with his head ! now, by Saint Paul I swear, 
 I will not dine until I see the same. 
 Lovel and Ratcliff : look that it be done : 
 The rest, that love me, rise and follow me. 
 [Exeunt all except H AST. , Lo v. , and R ATCLI FF. 
 
 Hast. Woe, woe, for England ! not a whit 
 
 for me ; 
 
 For I, too fond, might have prevented this. 
 Stanley did dream the boar did raze his helm ; 
 And I did scorn it, and disdain to fly. 
 Three times to-day my foot-cloth horse did 
 
 stumble, 
 
 And started, when he look'd upon the Tower, 
 As loth to bear me to the slaughter-house. 
 O, now I need the priest that spake to me : 
 
 I now repent I told the pursuivant, 
 As too triumphing, how mine enemies 
 To-day at Pomfret bloodily were butcher'd, 
 And I myself secure in grace and favour. 
 
 Margaret, Margaret, now thy heavy curse 
 Is lighted on poor Hastings' wretched head. 
 
 Rat. Come, come, despatch ; the duke would 
 
 be at dinner : 
 Make a short shrift ; he longs to see your head. 
 
 Hast. O momentary grace of mortal men, 
 Which we more hunt for than the grace of God ! 
 Who builds his hope in air of your good looks, 
 Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast, 
 Ready, with every nod, to tumble down 
 Into the fatal bowels of the deep. 
 
 Lav. Come, come, despatch ; 'tis bootless to 
 exclaim. [land ! 
 
 Hast. O bloody Richard ! miserable Eng- 
 
 1 prophesy the fearfull'st time to thee 
 
 That ever wretched age hath look'd upon. 
 Come, lead me to the block ; bear him my head : 
 They smile at me who shortly shall be dead. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. LONDON. The Tower Walls. 
 
 Enter GLOSTER and BUCKINGHAM in rusty 
 armour, marvellous ill-favoured. 
 
 Glo. Come, cousin, canst thou quake and 
 
 change thy colour, 
 
 Murder thy breath in middle of a word, 
 And then again begin, and stop again, 
 As if thou wert distraught and mad with terror? 
 
 Buck. Tut, I can counterfeit the deep 
 
 tragedian ; 
 
 Speak and look back, and pry on every side, 
 Tremble and start at wagging of a straw, 
 Intending deep suspicion : ghastly looks 
 Are at my service, like enforced smiles ; 
 And both are ready in their offices, 
 At any time, to grace my stratagems. 
 But what, is Catesby gone ? [along. 
 
 Glo. He is ; and, see, he brings the mayor 
 
 Enter the Lord Mayor and CATESBY. 
 
 Buck. Lord mayor, 
 
 Glo. Look to the drawbridge there ! 
 
 Buck. Hark ! a drum. 
 
 Glo. Catesby, o'erlook the walls. 
 
 Buck. Lord Mayor, the reason we have sent, 
 
 Glo. Look back, defend thee, here are 
 
 enemies. 
 Biuk. God and our innocency defend and 
 
 guard us ! [Lovel. 
 
 Glo. Be patient, they are friends, Ratcliff and 
 
696 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Enter LOVEL 0#</KATCLiFF, with HASTINGS' 
 head. 
 
 Lov. Here is the head of that ignoble traitor, 
 The dangerous and unsuspected Hastings. 
 
 Glo. So dear I lov'd the man that I must 
 
 weep. 
 
 I took him for the plainest harmless creature 
 That breath'd upon the earth a Christian ; 
 Made him my book, wherein my soul recorded 
 The history of all her secret thoughts : 
 So smooth he daub'd his vice with show of virtue 
 That, his apparent open guilt omitted, 
 I mean, his conversation with Shore's wife, 
 He liv'd from all attainder of suspect. 
 
 Buck. Well, well, he was the covert'st 
 
 shelter'd traitor 
 That ever liv'd. 
 
 Would you imagine, or almost believe, 
 Were 't not that by great preservation 
 We live to tell it you, the subtle traitor 
 This day had plotted, in the council -house, 
 To murder me and my good Lord of Gloster ! 
 
 May. Had he done so? [fidels? 
 
 Glo. What ! think you we are Turks or In- 
 Or that we would, against the form of law, 
 Proceed thus rashly in the villain's death, 
 But that the extreme peril of the case, 
 The peace of England and our persons' safety, 
 Enforc'd us to this execution ? 
 
 May. Now, fair befall you ! he deserv'd his 
 death ; [ceeded, 
 
 And your good graces both have well pro- 
 To warn false traitors from the like attempts. 
 I never look'd for better at his hands 
 After he once fell in -vith Mistress Shore, [die 
 
 Buck. Yet had we not determin'd he should 
 Until your lordship came to see his end ; 
 Which now the loving haste of these our friends, 
 Something against our meaning, hath prevented: 
 Because, my lord, we would have had you heard 
 The traitor speak, and timorously confess 
 The manner and the purpose of his treasons ; 
 That you might well have signified the same 
 Unto the citizens, who haply may 
 Misconstrue us in him, and wail his death. 
 
 May. But, my good lord, your grace's word 
 
 shall serve 
 
 As well as I had seen, and heard him speak : 
 And do not doubt, right noble princes both, 
 But I '11 acquaint our duteous citizens 
 With all your just proceedings in this case. 
 
 Glo. And to that end we wish'd your lordship 
 
 here, 
 To avoid the censures of the carping world. 
 
 Buck. But since you come too late of our in- 
 tent, 
 
 Yet witness what you hear we did intend : 
 And so, my good lord mayor, we bid farewell. 
 [Exit Lord Mayor. 
 
 Glo. Go, after, after, cousin Buckingham. 
 The mayor towards Guildhall hies him in all 
 
 post : 
 
 There, at your meetest vantage of the time, 
 Infer the bastardy of Edward's children : 
 Tell them how Edward put to death a citizen, 
 Only for saying he would make his son 
 Heir to the crown ; meaning, indeed, his house, 
 Which, by the sign thereof, was termed so. 
 Moreover, urge his hateful luxury, 
 And bestial appetite in change of lust ; [wives, 
 Which stretch'd unto their servants, daughters. 
 Even where his raging eye or savage heart, 
 Without control, listed to make a prey. 
 Nay, for a need, thus far come near my per- 
 son : [child 
 Tell them, when that my mother went with 
 Of that insatiate Edward, noble York, 
 My princely father, then had wars in France; 
 And, by true computation of the time, 
 Found that the issue was not his begot ; 
 Which well appeared in his lineaments, 
 Being nothing like the noble duke my father; 
 Yet touch this sparingly, as 'twere far off; 
 Because, my lord, you know my mother lives. 
 Buck. Doubt not, my lord, I '11 play the orator 
 As if the golden plea for which I plead 
 Were for myself: and Jo, my lord, adieu. 
 Glo. If you thrive well, bring them to Bay* 
 
 nard's Castle ; 
 
 Where you shall find me well accompanied 
 With reverend fathers and well learned bishops. 
 Buck. I go ; and towards three or four o'clock 
 Look for the news that the Guildhall affords. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Glo. Go, Lovel, with all speed to Doctor 
 Shaw. [both 
 
 Go thou \to GATE.] to Friar Penker ; bid them 
 Meet me within this hour at Baynard's Castle. 
 [Exeunt Lov. and GATE. 
 Now will I in, to take some privy order 
 To draw the brats of Clarence out of sight ; 
 And to give notice that no manner of person 
 Have any time recourse unto the princes. [Exit, 
 
 SCENE VI. LONDON. A Street. 
 Enter a Scrivener. 
 
 Scriv. Here is the indictment of the good 
 
 Lord Hastings; 
 
 Which in a set hand fairly is engross'd, 
 That it may be to-day read o'er in Paul's. 
 And mark how well the sequel hangs to- 
 gether: 
 
SCENE VII.] 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 697 
 
 Eleven hours I have spent to write it over, 
 For yesternight by Catesby was it sent me ; 
 The precedent was full as long a-doing : 
 And yet within these five hours Hastings liv'd, 
 Untainted, unexamin'd, free, at liberty. 
 Here 's a good world the while ! Who is so gross 
 That cannot see this palpable device ! 
 Yet who so bold but says he sees it not ! 
 Bad is the world ; and all will come to naught 
 When such ill dealing must be seen in thought. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE VII. LONDON. Court of Baynarcts 
 Castle. 
 
 Enter GLOSTFR and BUCKINGHAM, meeting. 
 
 Glo. How now, how now! what say the 
 citizens? 
 
 Btick. Now, by the holy mother of our Lord, 
 The citizens are mum, say not a word. 
 
 Glo. Touch'd you the bastardy of Edward's 
 children? [Lucy, 
 
 Buck. I did; with his contract with Lady 
 And his contract by deputy in France; 
 The insatiate greediness of his desires, 
 And his enforcement of the city wives ; 
 His tyranny for trifles; his own bastardy, 
 As being got, your father then in France, 
 And his resemblance, being not like the duke : 
 Withal I did infer your lineaments, 
 Being the right idea of your father, 
 Both in your form and nobleness of mind ; 
 Laid open all your victories in Scotland, 
 Your discipline in war, wisdom in peace, 
 Your bounty, virtue, fair humility; 
 Indeed, left nothing fitting for your purpose 
 Untouch'd or slightly handled in discourse : 
 And when my oratory drew toward end 
 I bid them that did love their country's good 
 Cry, God save Richard, England's royal king! 
 
 Glo. And did they so? [word; 
 
 Buck. No, so God help me, they spake not a 
 But, like dumb statuas or breathing stones, 
 Star'd each on other, and look'd deadly pale. 
 Which when I saw, I reprehended them ; 
 And ask'd the mayor what meant this wilful 
 
 silence : 
 
 His answer was, the people were not us'd 
 To be spoke to but by the recorder. 
 Then he was urg'd to tell my tale again, 
 Thus saith the duke, thus hath the duke inferred; 
 But nothing spoke in warrant from himself. 
 When he had done, some followers of mine own, 
 At lower end of the hall, hurl'd up their caps, 
 And some ten voices cried, God save King 
 
 Richard! 
 And thus I took the vantage of those few, 
 
 Thanks, gentle citizens and friends, quoth I ; 
 This general applause and cheerful shout 
 Argues your -wisdom andymir love to Richard: 
 And even here brake off and came away. 
 
 Glo. What tongueless blocks were they! 
 
 would they not speak? [come? 
 
 Will not the mayor, then, and his brethren, 
 
 Buck. The mayor is here at hand. Intend 
 
 some fear; 
 
 Be not you spoke with but by mighty suit : 
 And look you get a prayer-book in your hand, 
 And stand between two churchmen, good iy 
 
 lord; 
 
 For on that ground I '11 make a holy descant : 
 And be not easily won to our requests ; [it. 
 Play the maid's part, still answer nay, and take 
 
 Glo. I go ; and if you plead as well for them 
 As I can say nay to thee for myself, 
 No doubt we bring it to a happy issue. 
 
 Buck. Go, go, up to the leads ; the lord mayoi 
 knocks. [Exit GLOSTER. 
 
 Enter the Lord Mayor, Aldermen, and Citizens. 
 
 Welcome, my lord : I dance attendance here ; 
 I think the duke will not be spoke withal. 
 
 Enter t from the Castle, CATESBY. 
 
 Now, Catesby, what says your lord to my 
 request? [lord, 
 
 Cote. He doth entreat your grace, my noble 
 To visit him to-morrow or next day : 
 He is within, with two right reverend fathers, 
 Divinely bent to meditation : 
 And in no worldly suit would he be mov*d, 
 To draw him from his holy exercise. [duke ; 
 
 Buck. Return, good Catesby, to the gracious 
 Tell him, myself, the mayor and aldermen, 
 In deep designs, in matter of great moment, 
 No less importing than our general good, 
 Are come to have some conference with his grace. 
 
 Cote. I '11 signify so much unto him straight. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Buck. Ah, ha, my lord, this prince is not an 
 
 Edward ! 
 
 He is not lolling on a lewd day-bed, 
 But on his knees at meditation ; 
 Not dallying with a brace of courtezans, 
 But meditating with two deep divines ; 
 Not sleeping, to engross bis idle body, 
 But praying, to enrich his watchful soul : 
 Happy were England would this virtuous prince 
 Take on himself the sovereignty thereof: 
 But, sure, I fear, we shall not win him to it. 
 
 May. Marry, God defend his grace should 
 say us nay ! [again. 
 
 Buck. I fear he will. Here Catesby comes 
 
698 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Re-enter CATESBY. 
 
 Now, Catesby, what says his grace? 
 
 Cafe. He wonders to what end you have as- 
 sembled 
 
 Such troops of citizens to come to him : 
 His grace not being warn'd thereof before, 
 He fears, my lord, you mean no good to him. 
 
 Buck. Sorry I am my noble cousin should 
 Suspect me, that I mean no good to him : 
 By heaven, we come to him in perfect love ; 
 And so once more return and tell his grace. 
 
 [Exit CATESBY. 
 
 When holy and devout religious men 
 Are at their beads, 'tis much to draw them 
 
 thence, 
 So sweet is zealous contemplation. 
 
 Enter GLOSTER, in a Gallery above, between 
 two Bishops. CATESBY returns. 
 
 May. See, where his grace stands 'tween two 
 clergymen ! [prince, 
 
 Buck. Two props of virtue for a Christian 
 To stay him from the fall of vanity : 
 And, see, a book of prayer in his hand, 
 True ornament to know a holy man. 
 Famous Plantagenet, most gracious prince, 
 Lend favourable ear to our requests ; 
 And pardon us the interruption 
 Of thy devotion and right Christian zeal. 
 
 Glo. My lord, there needs no such apology : 
 I rather do beseech you pardon me, 
 Who, earnest in the service of my God, 
 Deferr'd the visitation of my friends. [sure? 
 But, leaving this, what is your grace's plea- 
 Buck. Even that, I hope, which pleaseth God 
 
 above, 
 And all good men of this ungovern'd isle. 
 
 Glo. I do suspect I have done some offence 
 That seems disgracious in the city's eye ; 
 And that you come to reprehend my ignorance. 
 Buck. You have, my lord : would it might 
 
 please your grace, 
 On our entreaties, to amend your fault ! 
 
 Glo. Else wherefore breathe I in a Christian 
 land ? [resign 
 
 Buck. Know, then, it is your fault that you 
 The supreme seat, the throne majestical, 
 The scepter'd office of your ancestors, ^rri 
 Your state of fortune and your due of birth, 
 The lineal glory of your royal house, 
 To the corruption of a blemish'd stock : 
 Whilst, in the mildness of your sleepy 
 
 thoughts, 
 
 Which here we waken to our country's good,^- 
 This noble isle doth want her proper limbs ; 
 Her face defac'd with scars of infamy, 
 
 Her royal stock graft with ignoble plants, 
 
 And almost shoulderM in the swallowing gulf 
 
 Of dark forgetfulness and deep oblivion. 
 
 Which to recure, we heartily solicit 
 
 Your gracious self to take oil you the charge 
 
 And kingly government of this your land ; 
 
 Not as protector, steward, substitute, 
 
 Or lowly factor for another's gain ; 
 
 But as successively, from blood to blood, 
 
 Your right of birth, your empery, your own. 
 
 For this, consorted with the citizens 
 
 Your very worshipful and loving friends, 
 
 And, by their vehement instigation, 
 
 In this just suit come I to move your grace. 
 
 Glo. I cannot tell if to depart in silence 
 Or bitterly to speak in your reproof 
 Best fitteth my degree or your condition : 
 If not to answer, you might haply think 
 Tongue-tied ambition, not replying, yielded 
 To bear the golden yoke of sovereignty, 
 Which fondly you would here impose on me 5 
 If to reprove you for this suit of yours, 
 So season'd with your faithful love to me, 
 Then, on the other side, I check'd my friends. 
 Therefore, to speak, and to avoid the first, 
 And then, in speaking, not to incur the last, 
 Definitively thus I answer you. 
 Your love deserves my thanks ; but my desert 
 Unmeritable shuns your high request. 
 First, if all obstacles were cut away, 
 And that my path were even to the crown, 
 As the ripe revenue and due of birth, 
 Yet so much is my poverty of spirit, 
 So mighty and so many my defects, [ness, 
 That I would rather hide me from my great- 
 Being a bark to brook no mighty sea, 
 Than in my greatness covet to be hid, 
 And in the vapour of my glory smother'd. 
 But, God be thank'd, there is no need of me, - 
 And much I need to help you, were there 
 
 need ; 
 
 The royai tree hath left us royal fruit, 
 Which, mellow'd by the stealing hours of time, 
 Will well become the seat of majesty, 
 And make, no doubt, us happy by his reign. 
 On him I lay that you would lay on me, 
 The right and fortune of his happy stars ; 
 Which God defend that I should wring from 
 
 him ! [grace ; 
 
 Buck. My lord, this argues conscience in your 
 But the respects thereof are nice and trivial, 
 All circumstances well considered. 
 You say that Edward is your brother's son s 
 So say we too, but not by Edward's wife ; 
 For first was he contract to Lady Lucy, 
 Your moiher lives a witness to his vow, 
 And afterward by substitute betroth'd 
 
'SCENE vn.J 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 699 
 
 To Bona, sister to the King of France. 
 
 These both put off, a poor petitioner, 
 
 A care-craz'd mother to a many sons, 
 
 A beauty- waning and distressed widow, 
 
 Even in the afternoon of her best days. 
 
 Made prize and purchase of his wanton eye, 
 
 Seduc'd the pitch and height of his degree 
 
 To base declension and loath'd bigamy : 
 
 By her, in his unlawful bed, he got 
 
 This Edward, whom our manners call the prince. 
 
 More bitterly could I expostulate, 
 
 Save that, for reverence to some alive, 
 
 I give a sparing limit to my tongue. 
 
 Then, good my lord, take to your royal self 
 
 This proffer'd benefit of dignity ; 
 
 If not to bless us and the land withal, 
 
 Vet to draw forth your noble ancestry 
 
 From the corruption of abusing time 
 
 Unto a lineal true-derived course. [you. 
 
 May. Do, good my lord ; your citizens entreat 
 
 Buck. Refuse not, mighty lord, this proffer'd 
 love. [suit ! 
 
 Gate. O, make them joyful, grant their lawful 
 
 Glo. Alas, why would you heap those cares 
 
 on me? 
 
 I am unfit for state and majesty : 
 I do beseech you, take it not amiss ; 
 I cannot nor I will not yield to you. 
 
 Buck. If you refuse it, as, in love and zeal, 
 Loth to depose the child, your brothers son 
 As well we know your tenderness of heart, 
 And gentle, kind, effeminate remorse, 
 Which we have noted in you to your kindred, 
 And equally, indeed, to all estates, 
 Yet know, whe'i you accept our suit or no, 
 Your brother's son shall never reign our king; 
 But we will plant some other in the throne, 
 To the disgrace and downfall of your house : 
 And in this resolution here we leave you. 
 Come, citizens, we will entreat no more. 
 
 [Exeunt BUCK., the Mayor and Citizens 
 retiring. 
 
 Cate. Call them again, sweet prince, accept 
 
 their suit : 
 If you deny them, all the land will rue it. 
 
 Glo. Will you enforce me to a world of cares? 
 Call them again. 
 
 [GATE, goes to the Mayor, &*<:., and then exit. 
 
 I am not made of stone, 
 But penetrable to your kind entreaties, 
 Albeit against my conscience and my soul. 
 
 fie-enter BUCKINGHAM and CATESBY, the 
 Mayor, &C. , coming forward. 
 
 Cousin of Buckingham, and sage, grave men, 
 Since you will buckle fortune on my back, 
 To fiear her burden, whe'r I will or no, 
 
 I must have patience to enduie the load: 
 But if black scandal or foul-fac'd reproach 
 Attend the sequel of your imposition, 
 Your mere enforcement shall acquittance me 
 From all the impure blots and stains thereof ; 
 For God he knows, and you may partly see, 
 How far I am from the desire of this, [say it. 
 May. God bless your grace ! we see it, and will 
 Glo. In saying so, you shall but say the truth. 
 Buck. Then I salute you with this royal 
 
 title, 
 
 Long live King Richard, England's worthy king! 
 All. Amen. [crown'd? 
 
 Buck. To-morrow may it please you to be 
 Glo. Even when you please, for you will have 
 
 it so. 
 Buck. To-morrow, then, we will attend your 
 
 grace : 
 
 And so, most joyfully, we take our leave. 
 Glo. Come, let us to our holy work again. 
 \To the Bishops, 
 
 Farewell, my cousin ; farewell, gentle friends, 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. LONDON. Be/ore the Tower. 
 
 Enter ; on one side, QUEEN ELIZABETH, DUCH- 
 ESS OF YORK, and MARQUIS OF DORSET ; on 
 the other, ANNE DUCHESS OF GLOSTER, 
 leading LADY MARGARET PLANTAGENET, 
 CLARENCE'S young Daughter. 
 
 Duch. Who meets us here? my niece Plai> 
 
 tagenet 
 
 Led in the hand of her kind aunt of Gloster? 
 Now, fof my life, she's wandering to the Tower, 
 On pure heart's love, to greet the tendei 
 
 princes. 
 Daughter, well met. 
 
 Anne. God give your graces both 
 
 A happy and a joyful time of day ! [away? 
 
 Q. Eliz. As much to you, good sister! Whither 
 
 Anne. No further than the Tower ; and, as I 
 
 guess, 
 
 Upon the like devotion as yourselves, 
 To gratulate the gentle princes there. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Kind sister, thanks: we'll enter all 
 
 together : 
 And, in good time, here the lieutenant comes, 
 
 Enter BRAKENBURY. 
 
 Master lieutenant, pray you, by your leave, 
 How doth the prince, and my young son of York? 
 Brak. Right well, dear madam. By your 
 patience. 
 
KING RICHARD III. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 I may not suffer you to visit them j 
 The king has strictly charg'd the contrary. 
 Q. Eliz. The king ! who 's ihat ? 
 Brak. I mean the lord protector. 
 
 Q. Eliz. The lord protect him from that 
 
 kingly title ! 
 
 Hath he set bounds between their love and me ? 
 
 I am their mother ; who shall bar me from them ? 
 
 Duck. I am their father's mother ; I will see 
 
 them. [mother : 
 
 Anne. Their aunt I am in law, in love their 
 
 Then bring me to their sights ; I '11 bear thy 
 
 blame, 
 And take thy office from thee, on my peril. 
 
 Brak. No, madam, no, I may not leave it so: 
 I am bound by oath, and therefore pardon me. 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 Enter STANLEY. 
 
 Stan. Let me but meet you, ladies, one hour 
 
 hence, 
 
 And I '11 salute your grace of York as mother 
 And reverend looker-on of two fair queens. 
 Come, madam, you must straight to West- 
 minster, 
 
 \To the DUCHESS OF GLOSTER. 
 There to be crowned Richard's royal queen. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Ah, cut my lace asunder, [beat, 
 That my pent heart may have some scope to 
 Or else I swoon with this dead-killing news ! 
 
 Anne. Despiteful tidings! Ounpleasingnews! 
 
 Dor. Be of good cheer : mother, how fares 
 your grace? [gone ! 
 
 Q. Eliz. O Dorset, speak not to me, get thee 
 Death and destruction dog thee at the heels ; 
 Thy mother's name is ominous to children. 
 If thou wilt outstrip death, go cross the seas, 
 And live with Richmond, from the reach of hell : 
 Go, hie thee, hie thee from this slaughter-house, 
 Lest thou increase the number of the dead ; 
 And make me die the thrall of Margaret's curse, 
 Nor mother, wife, nor England's counted queen. 
 
 Stan. Full of wise care is this your counsel, 
 
 madam. 
 
 Take all the swift advantage of the hours ; 
 You shall have letters from me to my son 
 In your behalf, to meet you on the way : 
 Be not ta'en tardy by unwise delay. 
 
 Duck. O ill-dispersing wind of misery ! 
 O my accursed womb, the bed of death ! 
 A cockatrice hast thou hatch'd to the world, 
 Whose unavoided eye is murderous. [sent. 
 
 Stan. Come, madam, come ; I in all haste was 
 
 Anne. And I with all unwillingness will go. 
 O, would to God that the inclusive verge 
 Of golden metal that must round my brow 
 Were red-hot steel, to sear me to the brain ! 
 
 Anointed let me be with deadly venom, 
 And die ere men can say God save the Queen I 
 Q. Eliz. Go, go, poor soul, I envy not thy 
 
 glory ; 
 
 To feed my humour, wish thyself no harm. 
 Anne. No, why ? When he that is my hus- 
 band now 
 
 Came to me, as I follow'd Henry's corse ; 
 When scarce the blood was well wash'd from his 
 
 hands 
 
 Which issu'd from my other angel husband, 
 And that dead saint which then I weeping 
 
 follow'd ; 
 
 O, when, I say, I look'd on Richard's face, 
 This was my wish, Be thou, quoth I, occurs 'd 
 For making me, so young, so old a widow! 
 And when thou wedifst, let sorrow haunt thy 
 
 bed; 
 
 And be thy wife, if any be so mad, 
 More miserable by the life of thee \death ! 
 
 Than thou hast made me by my dear lord's 
 Lo, ere I can repeat this curse again, 
 Within so small a time, my woman's heart 
 Grossly grew captive to his honey words, 
 And prov'd the subject of mine own soul's 
 
 curse, 
 
 Which hitherto hath held mine eyes from rest ; 
 For never yet one hour in his bed 
 Did I enjoy the golden dew of sleep, 
 But with his timorous dreams was still awak'd 
 Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick ; 
 And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me. 
 Q. Eliz. Poor heart, adieu ! I pity thy com- 
 
 plaining. 
 Anne. No more than with rny soul I mourn 
 
 for yours. [glory . 
 
 Q. Eliz. Farewell, thou woeful welcomer of 
 Anne. Adieu, poor soul, that tak'st thy leave 
 
 of it ! 
 
 Duck. Go thou to Richmond, and good for- 
 tune guide thee ! \To DORSET. 
 Go thou to Richard, and good angels tend 
 
 thee! [To ANNE. 
 
 Go thou to sanctuary, and good thoughts possess 
 
 thee ! [To QUEEN ELIZABETH. 
 
 I to my grave, where peace and rest lie with me ! 
 
 Eighty odd years of sorrow have I seen, 
 
 And each hour's joy wreck'd with a week of teen. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Stay yet, look back with me unto 
 
 the Tower. 
 
 Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes, 
 Whom envy hath immur'd within your walls ! 
 Rough cradle for such little pretty ones ! 
 Rude ragged nurse, old sullen playfellow 
 For tender princes, use my babies well ! 
 So foolish sorrow bids your stones farewell. 
 
 \Exeunt 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 701 
 
 SCENE II. LONDON. A Room of State in the 
 Palace. 
 
 Flourish of trumpets. RICHARD, as King, upon 
 his throne ; BUCKINGHAM, CATESBY, a Page, 
 and others. 
 
 K. Rich. Stand all apart. Cousin of Buck- 
 ingham, 
 
 Buck. My gracious sovereign ? 
 K. Rich. Give me thy hand. Thus high, by 
 
 thy advice 
 
 And thy assistance, is King Richard seated : 
 But shall we wear these glories for a day ? 
 Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them ? 
 Buck. Still live they, and for ever let them 
 
 last ! 
 K. Rich. Ah, Buckingham, now do I play the 
 
 touch, 
 
 To try if thou be current gold indeed : 
 Young Edward lives ; think now what I would 
 
 speak. 
 
 Buck. Say on, my loving lord. 
 K. Rich. Why, Buckingham, I say, I would 
 be king. [liege. 
 
 Buck. Why, so you are, my thrice-renowned 
 K. Rich. Ha ! am I king? 'tis so : but Ed- 
 ward lives. 
 
 Buck. True, noble prince. 
 K. Rich. O bitter consequence, 
 
 That Edward still should live, true, noble 
 
 prince ! 
 
 Cousin, thou wast not wont to be so dull : 
 Shall I be plain ? I wish the bastards dead ; 
 And I would have it suddenly perform'd. 
 What say'st thou now? speak suddenly, be brief. 
 Buck. Your grace may do your pleasure. 
 K. Rich. Tut, tut, thou art all ice, thy kind- 
 ness freezes : 
 
 Say, have I thy consent that they shall die ? 
 Buck. Give me some little breath, some pause, 
 
 dear lord, 
 
 Before I positively speak in this : 
 I will resolve your grace immediately. [Exit. 
 Cate. The king is angry : see, he gnaws his 
 lip. [Aside. 
 
 K. Rich. I will converse with iron-witted 
 fools [Descends from his throne. 
 
 And un respective boys ; none are for me 
 That look into m^ with considerate eyes : 
 High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect. 
 Boy ! 
 
 Page. f My lord? 
 
 K. Rich. Know'st thou not any whom corrupt- 
 ing gold 
 
 Would tempt into a close exploit of death ? 
 Page. I know a discontented gentleman, 
 
 Whose humble means match not his haughty 
 
 spirit : 
 
 Gold were as good as twenty orators, 
 And will, no doubt, tempt him to anything. 
 
 K. Rich. What is his name ? 
 
 Page. His name, my lord, is Tyrrel. 
 
 K. Rich. I partly know the man: go, call 
 him hither, boy. [Exit Page. 
 
 The deep-revolving witty Buckingham 
 No more shall be the neighbour to my counsels : 
 H?th he so long held out with me untir'd, 
 And stops he now for breath? well, be it so. 
 
 Enter STANLEY. 
 
 How now, Lord Stanley! what's the news? 
 
 Stan. Know, my loving lord, 
 The Marquis Dorset, as I hear, is fled 
 To Richmond, in the parts where he abides. 
 
 K. Rich. Come hither, Catesby: rumour it 
 
 abroad 
 
 That Anne, my wife, is very grievous sick ; 
 I will take order for her keeping close : 
 Inquire me out some mean poor gentleman 
 Whom I will marry straight to Clarence* 
 
 daughter ; 
 
 The bo> is foolish, and I fear not him. 
 Look, how thou dream'st! I say again, give out 
 That Anne my queen is sick, and like to die : 
 About it ; for it stands me much upon, 
 To stop all hopes whose growth may damage me. 
 [Exit CATESBY. 
 
 I must be married to my brother's daughter, 
 Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass : 
 Murder her brothers, and then marry her ! 
 Uncertain way of gain ! But I am in 
 So far in blood that sin will pluck on sin : 
 Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye. 
 
 Re-enter Page, with TYRREL. 
 
 Is thy name Tyrrel? [subject. 
 
 Ty. James Tyrrel, and your most obedient 
 K. Rich. Art thou, indeed? 
 Tyr. Prove me, my gracious lord. 
 
 K. Rich. Dar'st thou resolve to kill a friend 
 of mine? [enemies. 
 
 Tyr. Please you. But I had rather kill two 
 K. Rich. Why, then, thou hast it : two deep 
 
 enemies, 
 
 Foes to my rest, and my sweet sleep's disturbers, 
 Are they that I would have thee deal upon : 
 Tyrrel, I mean those bastards in the Tower. 
 Tyr. Let me have open means to come tc 
 
 them, 
 
 And soon I '11 rid you from the fear of them. 
 K. Rich. Thou sing's! sweet music. Hark< 
 come hither, Tyrrel: 
 
702 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Go, by this token : rise, and lend thine ear: 
 
 {Whispers. 
 
 There is no more but so : say it is done, 
 And I will love thee, and prefer thee for it. 
 Tyr. I will despatch it straight. {Exit. 
 
 Re-enter BUCKINGHAM. 
 
 Buck. My lord, I have consider'd in my mind 
 The late demand that you did sound me in. 
 
 K. Rich. Well, let that rest. Dorset is fled 
 to Richmond. 
 
 Buck. I hear the news, my lord. 
 
 K. Rich. Stanley, he is your wife's son: 
 well, look to it. [promise, 
 
 Buck. My lord, I claim the gift, my due by 
 For which your honour and your faith is pawn'd; 
 The earldom of Hereford, and the movables, 
 Which you have promised I shall possess. 
 
 K. Rich. Stanley, look to your wife : if she 
 
 convey 
 Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it. 
 
 Btick. What says your highness to my just 
 request? [Sixth 
 
 K. Rich. I do remember me, Henry the 
 Did prophesy that Richmond should be king, 
 When Richmond was a little peevish boy. 
 A king ! perhaps, 
 
 Buck. My lord, 
 
 K. Rich. How chance the prophet could not at 
 
 that time 
 Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him? 
 
 Buck. My lord, your promise for the earl- 
 dom, [Exeter, 
 
 K. Rich. Richmond ! When last I was at 
 The mayor in courtesy show'd me the castle, 
 And call'd it Rouge-mont: at which name I 
 
 started, 
 
 Because a bard of Ireland told me once 
 I should not live long after I saw Richmond. 
 
 Buck. My lord, 
 
 K. Rich. Ay, what's o'clock? [mind 
 
 Buck. I am thus bold to put your grace in 
 Of what you promis'd me. 
 
 K. Rich. Well, but what 's o'clock? 
 
 Buck. Upon the stroke of ten. 
 
 K. Rich. Well, let it strike. 
 
 Buck. Why let it strike? 
 
 K. Rich. Because that, like a Jack, thou 
 
 keep'st the stroke 
 
 Betwixt thy begging and my meditation. 
 I am not in the giving vein to-day. [or no. 
 
 Buck. Why, then resolve me whether you will 
 
 JK. Rich. Thou troublest me ; I am not in the 
 vein. {Exeunt K. RICH, and Train. 
 
 Butk. And is it thus? repays he my deep 
 
 service 
 With such contempt? made I him king for this? 
 
 O, let me think on Hastings, and be gone 
 To Brecknock while my fearful head is on ! 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 SCENE III. LONDON. Another Room in th& 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter TYRREL. 
 
 Tyr. The tyrannous and bloody act is done, 
 The most arch deed of piteous mssacre 
 That ever yet this land was guilty of. 
 Dighton and Forrest, whom I did suborn 
 To do this piece of ruthless butchery, 
 Albeit they were flesh'd villains, bloody dogs, 
 Melting with tenderness and mild compassion, 
 Wept like two children in their death's sad 
 
 story. 
 
 O thus, quoth Dighton, lay the gentle babes, 
 Thus, thus, quoth Forrest, girdling one another 
 Within their alabaster innocent arms: 
 Their lips were four red roses on a stalk, 
 Which in their summer beauty his s*d each other. 
 A book of prayers on their pillow lay ; 
 Which once, quoth Forrest, almost chang'd my 
 
 mind; 
 
 Biit, 0, the devil, there the villain stopp'd ; 
 When Dighton thus told on, we smothered 
 The most replenished sweet work of nature 
 That from the prime creation Jer she frairfd. 
 Hence both are gone ; with conscience and re- 
 morse 
 
 They could not speak ; and so I left them both, 
 To bear this tidings to the bloody king: 
 And here he comes : 
 
 Enter KING RICHARD. 
 
 All health, my sovereign lord ! 
 K. Rich. Kind Tyrrel, am I happy in thy 
 news? [charge 
 
 Tyr. If to have done the thing you gave in 
 Beget your happiness, be happy then, 
 For it is done. 
 
 K. Rich. But didst thou see them dead? 
 Tyr. I did, my lord. 
 
 K. Rich. And buried, gentle Tyrrel? 
 
 Tyr. The chaplain of the Tower hath buried 
 
 them; 
 
 But where, to say the truth, I do not know. 
 K. Rich. Come to me, Tyrrel, soon, at after 
 
 supper, 
 
 When thou shalt tell the process of their death. 
 Meantime, but think how I may do thee good, 
 And be inheritor of thy desire. 
 Farewell till then. 
 
 Tyr. I humbly take my leave. {Exit. 
 
 K'. Rich. The son of Clarence have I pent up 
 close : 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 703 
 
 His daughter meanly have I match'd in mar- 
 riage ; 
 
 The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham's bosom, 
 And Anne my wife hath bid the world good- 
 night. 
 
 Now, for I know the Bretagne Richmond aims 
 At young Elizabeth, my brother's daughter, 
 And by that knot looks proudly on the crown, 
 To her go I, a jolly thriving wooer. 
 
 Enter RATCLIFF. 
 
 Rat. My lord, 
 
 K. Rich. Good news or bad, that thou com'st 
 in so bluntly? [Richmond; 
 
 Rat. Bad news, my lord : Morton is fled to 
 And Buckingham, back'dwith the hardy Welsh- 
 men, 
 
 Is in the field, and still his power increaseth. 
 K. Rich. Ely with Richmond troubles me 
 
 more near 
 
 Than Buckingham and his rash-levied strength. 
 Come, I have learn'd that fearful commenting 
 Is leaden servitor to dull delay; 
 Delay leads impotent and snail-pac'd beggary: 
 Then fiery expedition be my wing, 
 Jove's Mercury, and herald for a king ! 
 Go, muster men : my counsel is my shield ; 
 We must be brief when traitors brave the field. 
 
 [Exetmt. 
 
 SCENE IV. LONDON. Before the Palace. 
 Enter QUEEN MARGARET. 
 
 Q. Mar. So, now pi'osperity begins to mellow, 
 And drop into the rotten mouth of death. 
 Here in these confines slily have I lurk'd, 
 To watch the waning of mine enemies. 
 A dire induction am I witness to, 
 And will to France ; hoping the consequence 
 Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical. 
 Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret : who comes 
 here? [Retires. 
 
 Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH and the DUCHESS 
 OF YORK. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Ah, my poor princes ! ah, my tender 
 
 babes ! 
 
 My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets ! 
 If yet your gentle souls fly in the air, 
 And be not fix'd in doom perpetual, 
 Hover about me with your airy wings, 
 And hear your mother's lamentation ! [right 
 
 Q. Mar. Hover about her ; say, that right for 
 Hath dimm'd your infant morn to aged night. 
 
 Duck. So many miseries have craz ; d my voice 
 That my woe-wearied tongue is still and mute. 
 Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead? 
 
 Q. Mar. Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet, 
 Edward for Edward pays a dying debt. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Wilt thou, O God, fly from such 
 
 gentle lambs, 
 
 And throw them in the entrails of the wolf? 
 When didst thou sleep when such a deed was 
 done? [sweet son. 
 
 Q. Mar. When holy Harry died, and my 
 Duch. Dead life, blind sight, poor mortal- 
 living ghost, [usurp'd, 
 Woe's scene, world's shame, grave's due by life 
 Brief abstract and record of tedious days, 
 Rest thy unrest on England's lawful earth, 
 
 [Sitting down. 
 
 Unlawfully made drunk with innocent blood ! 
 Q. Eliz. Ah, that thou wouldst as soon afford 
 
 a grave 
 
 As thou canst yield a melancholy seat ! [here. 
 Then would I hide my bones, not rest them 
 Ah, who hath any cause to mourn but we? 
 
 [Sitting down by her. 
 
 Q. Mar. If ancient sorrow be most reverent, 
 Give mine the benefit of seniory, 
 
 [ Coming forward. 
 
 And let my griefs frown on the upper hand. 
 If sorrow can admit society, 
 
 [Sitting down with them. 
 Tell o'er your woes again by viewing mine : 
 I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him ; 
 I had a Henry, till a Richard kill'd him: 
 Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard kill'd 
 
 him; 
 
 Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard kill'd him. 
 Duch. I had a Richard too, and thou didst 
 
 kill him; 
 
 I had a Rutland too, thou holp'st to kill him. 
 Q. Mar. Thou hadst a Clarence too, and 
 
 Richard kill'd him. 
 
 From forth *;he kennel of thy womb hath crept 
 A hell-hound that doth hunt us all to death : 
 That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes, 
 To worry lambs and lap their gentle blood ; 
 That foul defacer of God's handiwork ; 
 That excellent grand tyrant of the earth, 
 That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls, 
 Thy womb let loose, to chase us to our 
 
 graves. 
 
 O upright, just, and true-disposing God, 
 How do I thank thee that this carnal cur 
 Preys on the issue of his mother's body, 
 And makes her pew-fellow with others' moan ! 
 Duch. O Harry's wife, triumph not in my 
 
 woes! 
 
 God witness with me, I have wept for thine. 
 Q. Mar. Bear with me ; I am hungry for re- 
 venge, 
 And now I doy me with beholding it. 
 
704 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Thy Edward he is dead, that kill'd my Edward ; 
 Thy other Edward dead to quit my Edward ; 
 Young York he is but boot, because both they 
 Match not the high perfection of my loss : 
 Thy Clarence he is dead that stabb'd my Ed- 
 ward; 
 
 And the beholders of this frantic play, 
 The adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey, 
 Untimely smother'd in their dusky graves. 
 Richard yet lives, hell's black intelligencer ; 
 Only reserv'd their factor to buy souls, 
 And send them thither: but at hand, at hand, 
 Ensues his piteous and unpitied end : 
 Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray, 
 To have him suddenly convey'd from hence. 
 Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I pray, 
 That I may live to say, The dog is dead ! 
 Q. Eliz. O, thou didst prophesy the time 
 
 would come 
 
 That I should wish for thee to help me curse 
 That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back'd 
 toad ! [my fortune ; 
 
 Q. Mar. I call'd thee then, vain flourish of 
 I call'd thee then, poor shadow, painted queen ; 
 The presentation of but what I was, 
 The flattering index of a direful pageant ; 
 One heav'd a-high, to be hurl'd down below ; 
 A mother only mock'd with two fair babes ; 
 A dream of what thou wast ; a garish flag, 
 To be the aim of every dangerous shot ; 
 A sign of dignity, a breath, a bubble; 
 A queen in jest, only to fill the scene. 
 Where is thy husband now? where be thy 
 
 brothers? 
 
 Where be thy two sons? wherein dost thou joy? 
 Who sues, and kneels, and says, God save the 
 
 queen ? 
 
 Where be the bending peers that flatter'd thee? 
 Where be the thronging troops that follow'd thee? 
 Decline all this, and see what now thou art: 
 For happy wife, a most digressed widow ; 
 For joyful mother, one that wails the name ; 
 For one being su'd to, one that humbly sues ; 
 For queen, a very caitiff crown'd with care ; 
 For one that scorn'd at me, now scorn'd of me; 
 For one being fear'd of all, now fearing one ; 
 For one commanding all, obey'd of none. 
 Thus hath the course of justice wheel'd about, 
 And left thee but a very prey to time ; 
 Having no more but thought of what thou wast, 
 To torture thee the more, being what thou art. 
 Thou didst usurp my place, and dost thou not 
 Usurp the just proportion of my sorrow? 
 Now thy proud neck bears half my burden'd 
 
 yoke; 
 
 From which even here I slip my wearied head, 
 And leave the burden of it all on thee. 
 
 Farewell, York's wife, and queen of sad mis- 
 chance : [France. 
 These English woes shall make me smile in 
 Q. Eliz. O thou well skill'd in curses, stay 
 
 awhile, 
 
 And teach me how to curse mine enemies ! 
 Q. Mar. Forbear to sleep the night, and fast 
 
 the day ; 
 
 Compare dead happiness with living woe ; 
 Think that thy babes were fairer than they were, 
 And he that slew them fouler than he is : 
 Bettering thy loss makes the bad-causer worse ; 
 Revolving this will, teach thee how to curse. 
 Q. Eliz. My words are dull ; O, quicken 
 
 them with thine ! 
 
 Q. Mar. Thy woes will make them sharp, 
 and pierce like mine. \_Exit. 
 
 Duch. Why should calamity be full of words? 
 Q. Eliz. Windy attorneys to their client woes, 
 Airy succeeders of intestate joys, 
 Poor breathing orators of miseries ! [part 
 
 Let them have scope : though what they do im- 
 Help nothing else, yet do they ease the heart. 
 Duch. If so, then be not tongue-tied: go with 
 
 me, 
 
 And in the breath of bitter words let 's smother 
 My damned son, that thy two sweet sons 
 smother'd. [Drum within. 
 
 I hear his drum : be copious in exclaims. 
 
 Enter KING RICHARD and his Train, marching. 
 
 K. Rich. Who intercepts me in my expedi- 
 tion? [thee, 
 Duch. O, she that might have intercepted 
 By strangling thee in her accursed womb, 
 From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast 
 
 done! 
 
 Q. Eliz. Hidst thou that forehead with a 
 golden crown, [right, 
 
 Where should be branded, if that right were 
 The slaughter of the prince that ow'd that crown, 
 And the dire death of my poor sons and brothers? 
 Tell me thou villain-slave, where are my chil- 
 dren? 
 Duch. Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy 
 
 brother Clarence? 
 
 And little Ned Plantagenet, his son? [Grey? 
 Q. Eliz. Where is the gentle Rivers, Vaughan, 
 Duch. Where is kind Hastings ? 
 K. Rich. A flourish, trumpets! strike alarum, 
 
 drums ! 
 
 Let not the heavens hear these iell-tale women 
 Rail on the Lord's anointed : strike, I say ! 
 
 [Flourish. Alarums. 
 Either be patient, and entreat me fair, 
 Or with the clamorous report of war 
 Thus will I drown your exclamations. 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 705 
 
 Duck. Art thou my son ? At \s& 
 
 K. Rich. Ay, I thank God, my father, and 
 yourself. 
 
 Duck. Then patiently hear my impatience. 
 
 K. Rich. Madam, I have a touch of your 
 
 condition, 
 That cannot brook the accent of reproof. 
 
 Duch. O, let me speak ! 
 
 K. Rich. Do, then ; but I '11 not hear. 
 
 Duch. I will be mild and gentle in my words. 
 
 K. Rich. And brief, good mother ; for I am 
 in haste. 
 
 Duch. Art thou so hasty ? I have stay'd for 
 
 thee, 
 God knows, in torment and in agony. 
 
 K. Rich. And came I not at last to comfort 
 you ? [well 
 
 Duch. No, by the holy rood, thou know'st it 
 Thou cam'st on earth to make the earth my hell. 
 A grievous burden was thy birth to me ; 
 Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy ; 
 Thy school -days frightful, desperate, wild, and 
 furious ; [turous ; 
 
 Thy prime of manhood daring, bold, and ven- 
 Thy age confirm'd, proud, subtle, sly, and 
 bloody, [hatred : 
 
 More mild, but yet more harmful, kind in 
 What comfortable hour canst thou name 
 That ever grac'd me in thy company ? 
 
 K. Rich. Faith, none but Humphrey Hour, 
 
 that call'd your grace 
 To treakfast once forth of my company. 
 If I be so disgracious in your eye, 
 Let me march on and not offend you, madam. 
 Strike up the drum. 
 
 Duch. I pr'ythee, hear me speak. 
 
 K. Rich. You speak too bitterly. 
 
 Duch. Hear me a word ; 
 
 For I shall never speak to thee again. 
 
 K. Rich. So. [dinance 
 
 Duch. Either thou wilt die by God's just or- 
 Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror ; 
 Or I with grief and extreme age shall perish, 
 And never look upon thy face again. 
 Therefore take with thee my most heavy curse ; 
 Which in the day of battle tire thee more 
 Than all the complete armour that thou wear'st ! 
 My prayers on the adverse party fight ; 
 And there the little souls of Edward's children 
 Whisper the spirits of thine enemies, 
 And promise them success and victory. 
 Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end ; 
 Shame serves thy life and doth thy death attend. 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Though far more cause, yet much 
 
 less spirit to curse 
 Abides in me ; I say amen to her. \Going. 
 
 K. Rich. Stay, madam, I must talk a word 
 
 with you. 
 Q. Eliz. I have no more sons of the royal 
 
 blood 
 For thee to slaughter: for my daughters, 
 
 Richard, 
 They shall be praying nuns, not 
 
 queens; 
 And therefore level not to hit their lives. 
 
 K. Rich. You have a daughter call'd Elizabeth, 
 Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious. 
 
 Q. Eliz. And must she die for this? O, let 
 
 her live, 
 
 And I '11 corrupt her manners, stain her beauty; 
 Slander myself as false to Edward's bed ; 
 Throw over her the veil of infamy : 
 So she may live unscarr'd of bleeding slaughter, 
 I will confess she was not Edward's daughter. 
 K. Rich. Wrong not her birth; she is of 
 
 royal blood. 
 
 Q. Eliz. To save her life I '11 say she is not so. 
 K. Rich. Her life is safest only in her birth. 
 Q. Eliz. And only in that safety died her 
 brothers. [opposite. 
 
 K. Rich. Lo, at their births good stars were 
 Q. Eliz. No, to their lives bad friends were 
 
 contrary. 
 
 K. Rich. All unavoided is the doom of destiny. 
 Q. Eliz. True, when avoided grace makes 
 
 destiny : 
 
 My babes were destined to a fairer death 
 If grace had bless'd thee with a fairer life. 
 K. Rich. You speak as if that I had slain my 
 cousins. [cozen'd 
 
 Q. Eliz. Cousins, indeed ; and by their uncle 
 Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life. 
 Whose hand soever lanc'd their tender hearts, 
 Thy head, all indirectly, gave direction : 
 No doubt the murderous knife was dull and blunt 
 Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart, 
 To revel in the entrails of my lambs. 
 But that still use of grief makes wild grief tame, 
 My tongue should to thy ears not name my boys 
 Till that my nails were anchor'd in thine eyes ; 
 And I, in such a desperate bay of death, 
 Like a poor bark, of sails and tackling reft, 
 Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom. 
 
 K. Rich. Madam, so thrive I in my enterprise 
 And dangerous success of bloody wars, 
 As I intend more good to you and yours 
 Than ever you or yours by me were harm'd ! 
 Q. Eliz. What good is cover'd with the face 
 
 of heaven, 
 To be discover d, that can do me good ? 
 
 K. Rich. The advancement of your children, 
 
 gentle lady. [their heads? 
 
 Q. Eliz. Up to some scaffold, there to lose 
 
7 o6 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 K. Rich. No, to the dignity and height of 
 
 honour, 
 The high imperial type of this earth's glory. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Flatter my sorrows with report of it ; 
 Tell me what state, what dignity, what honour, 
 Canst thou demise to any child of mine ? [all 
 
 K. Rich. Even all I have; ay, and myself and 
 Will I withal endow a child of thine; 
 So in the Lethe of thy angry soul [wrongs 
 Thou drown the sad remembrance of those 
 Which thou supposest I have done to thee. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Be brief, lest that the process of thy 
 
 kindness 
 Last longer telling than thy kindness' date. 
 
 K. Rich. Then know, that from my soul I love 
 thy daughter. [her soul. 
 
 Q. Eliz. My daughter's mother thinks it with 
 
 K. Rich. What do you think ? 
 
 Q. Eliz. That thou dost love my daughter 
 
 from thy soul : [brothers ; 
 
 So from thy soul's love didst thou love her 
 
 And from my heart's love I do thank thee for it. 
 
 K. Rich. Be not so hasty to confound my 
 afiaoqo meaning: 
 
 I mean that with my soul I love thy daughter, 
 And do intend to make her Queen of England. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Well, then, who dost thou mean 
 shall be her king? 
 
 K. Rich. Even he that makes her queen : 
 who else should be? 
 
 Q. Eliz. What, thou? [madam? 
 
 K. Rich. I, even I: what think you of it, 
 
 Q. Eliz. How canst thou woo her ? 
 
 K. Rich. That I would learn of you, 
 
 As one being best acquainted with her humour. 
 
 Q. Eliz. And wilt thou learn of me ? 
 
 K. Rich. Madam, with all my heart. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Send to her, by the man that slew 
 
 her brothers, 
 
 A pair of bleeding hearts ; thereon engrave 
 Edward and York; then haply will she weep: 
 Therefore present to her, as sometime Margaret 
 Did to thy father, steep'd in Rutland's blood, 
 A handkerchief ; which, say to her, did drain 
 The purple sap from her sweet brothers' bodies, 
 And bid her wipe her weeping eyes withal. 
 If this inducement move her not to love, 
 Send her a letter of thy noble deeds ; 
 Tell her thou mad'st away her uncle Clarence, 
 Her uncle Rivers ; ay, and for her sake 
 Mad'st quick conveyance with her good aunt 
 Anne. [the way 
 
 K. Rich. You mock me, madam ; this is not 
 To win your daughter. 
 
 Q. Eliz. There is no other way ; 
 
 Unless thou couldst put on some other shape, 
 And not be Richard that hath done all this. 
 
 K. Rich. Say that I did all this for love of her? 
 
 Q. Eliz. Nay, then indeed she cannot choose 
 
 but hate thee, 
 Having bought love with such a bloody spoil. 
 
 K. Rich. Look, what is done cannot be now 
 
 amended : 
 
 Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes, 
 Which after-hours give leisure to repent. 
 If I did take the kingdom from your sons, 
 To make amends I '11 give it to your daughter. 
 If I hav kill'd the issue of your womb, 
 To quicken your increase I will beget 
 Mine issue of your blood upon your daughter : 
 A grandam's name is little less in love 
 Than is the doating title of a mother ; 
 They are as children but one step below, 
 Even of your mettle, of your very blood ; 
 Of all one pain, save for a night of groans 
 Endur'd of her, for whom you bid like sorrow. 
 Your children were vexation to your youth ; 
 But mine shall be a comfort to your age. 
 The loss you have is but a son being king, 
 And by that loss your daughter is made queen. 
 I cannot make you what amends I would, 
 Therefore accept such kindness as I can. 
 Dorset your son, that with a fearful soul 
 Leads discontented steps in foreign soil, 
 This fair alliance quickly shall call home 
 To high promotions and great dignity : . [wife, 
 The king, that calls your beauteous daughter 
 Familiarly shall call thy Dorset brother ; 
 Again shall you be mother to a king, 
 And all the ruins of distressful times 
 Repair'd with double riches of content. 
 What ! we have many goodly days to see : 
 The liquid drops of tears that you have shed 
 Shall come again, transform'd to orient pearl, 
 Advantaging their loan with interest 
 Of ten-times-double gain of happiness. 
 Go, then, my mother, to thy daughter go ; 
 Make bold her bashful years with your experi- 
 ence ; 
 
 Prepare her ears to hear a wooer's tale : 
 Put in her tender heart the aspiring flame 
 Of golden sovereignty ; acquaint the princess 
 With the sweet silent hours of marriage joys : 
 And when this arm of mine hath chastised 
 The petty rebel, dull-brain'd Buckingham, 
 Bound with triumphant garlands will I come, 
 And lead thy daughter to a conqueror's bed ; 
 To whom I will retail my conquest won, 
 And she shall be sole victress, Caesar's Caesar. 
 
 Q. Eliz. What were I best to say? her 
 
 father's brother 
 
 Would be her lord ? or shall I say her uncle ? 
 Or he that slew her brothers and her uncles ? 
 Under what title shall I woo for thee, '. aabkf 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 707 
 
 That God, the law, my honour, and her love 
 Can make seem pleasing to her tender years ? 
 K. Rich. Infer fair England's peace by this 
 
 alliance. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Which she shall purchase with still- 
 lasting war. [entreats. 
 K. Rich. Tell her the king,that may command, 
 . Eliz. That at her hands which the king's 
 
 King forbids. [queen. 
 
 K. Rich. Say she chall be a high and mighty 
 Q. Eliz. To wail the title, as her mother doth. 
 X. Rich. Say I will love her everlastingly. 
 Q. Eliz. But how long shall that title, ever, 
 
 last? 
 K. Rich. Sweetly in force unto her fair life's 
 
 end. [life last ? 
 
 Q. Eliz. But how long fairly shall her sweet 
 K. Rich. As long as heaven and nature 
 
 lengthens it. [it. 
 
 Q. Eliz. As long as hell and Richard likes of 
 JC. Rich. Say I, her sovereign, am her subject 
 
 low. [sovereignty. 
 
 Q. Eliz. But she, your subject, loathes such 
 JC. Rich. Be eloquent in my behalf to her. 
 Q. Eliz. An honest tale speeds best being 
 
 plainly told. [tale. 
 
 K. Rich. Then, plainly to her tell my loving 
 Q. Eliz. Plain and not honest is too harsh a 
 
 style. 
 K. Rich. Your reasons are too shallow and 
 
 too quick. [dead ; 
 
 Q. Eliz. O, no, my reasons are too deep and 
 
 Too deep and dead, poor infants, in their graves. 
 
 K. Rich. Harp not on that string, madam ; 
 
 that is past. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Harp on it still shall I till heart- 
 strings break. 
 K. Rich. Now, by my George, my garter, 
 
 and my crown, [usurp'd. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Profan'd, dishonour'd, and the third 
 K. Rich. I swear, 
 
 Q. Eliz. By nothing ; for this is no oath : 
 Thy George, profan'd hath lost his holy honour ; 
 Thy garter, blemish'd, pawn'd his knightly 
 
 virtue ; 
 
 Thy crown, usurp'd, disgrac'd his kingly glory. 
 If something thou wouldst swear to be believ'd, 
 Swear, then, by something that thou hast not 
 
 wrong' d. 
 
 K. Rich. Now, by the world, 
 Q. Eliz. 'Tis full of thy foul wrongs. 
 
 K. Rich. My father's death, 
 Q. Eliz. Thy life hath that dishonour'd. 
 K. Rich. Then, by myself, 
 Q. Eliz. Thyself is self-misus'd. 
 
 K. Rich. Why, then, by God, 
 Q. Eliz. God's wrong is most of all. 
 
 If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by him, 
 The unity the king thy brother made 
 Had not been broken, nor my brother slain : 
 If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by him, 
 The imperial metal, circling now thy head, 
 Plad grac'd the tender temples of my child ; 
 And both the princes had been breathing here, 
 Which now, two tender bedfellows for dust, 
 Thy broken faith hath made a prey for worms. 
 What canst thou swear by now? 
 
 K. Rich. The time to come. 
 
 Q. Eliz. That thou hast wrongM in the time 
 
 o'erpast ; 
 
 For I myself have many tears to wash 
 Hereafter time, for time past wronged by thee. 
 The children live whose parents thou hast 
 
 slaughtered, 
 
 Ungovern'd youth, to wail it in their age ; 
 The parents live whose children thou hast 
 
 butcherM, 
 
 Old barren plants, to wail it with their age. 
 Swear not by time to come ; for that thou hast 
 Misus'd ere used, by times ill-us'd o'erpast. 
 
 K. Rich. As I intend to prosper and repent ! 
 So thrive I in my dangerous attempt 
 Of hostile arms ! myself myself confound ! 
 Heaven and fortune bar me happy hours ! 
 Day, yield me not thy light ; nor, night, thy rest ! 
 Be opposite all planets of good luck 
 To my proceeding ! if, with pure heart's love, 
 Immaculate devotion, holy thoughts, 
 I tender not thy beauteous princely daughter ! 
 In her consists my happiness and thine ; 
 Without her, follows to myself and thee, 
 Herself, the land, and many a Christian soul, 
 Death, desolation, ruin, and decay : 
 It cannot be avoided but by this ; 
 It will not be avoided but by this. 
 Therefore, dear mother, I must call you so, 
 Be the attorney of my love to her : 
 Plead what I will be, not what I have been ; 
 Not my deserts, but what I will deserve : 
 Urge the necessity and state of times, 
 And be not peevish found in great designs. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Shall I be tempted of the devil thus? 
 
 K. Rich. Ay, if the devil tempt you to do 
 good. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Shall I forget myself to be myself? 
 
 K. Rich. Ay, if your selfs remembrance 
 wrong yourself. 
 
 Q. Eliz. But thou didst kill my children. 
 
 K. Rich. But in your daughter's womb I 
 
 bury them : 
 
 Where, in that nest of spicery, they shall breed 
 Selves of themselves, to your recomforture. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Shall I go win my daughter to thy 
 " 
 
7 o8 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 K. Rich. And be a happy mother by the deed. 
 Q. Eliz. I go. Write to me very shortly, 
 And you shall understand from me her mind. 
 K. Rich. Bear her my true love's kiss ; and so, 
 farewell. 
 
 [Kissing her. Exit Q. ELIZ. 
 Relenting fool, and shallow changing woman ! 
 
 Enter RATCLIFF ; CAHLKSW following. 
 
 How now ! what news? 
 Rat. Most mighty sovereign, on the western 
 
 coast ..,- jguii i/od 
 Rideth a puissant navy ; to the shore 
 Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends, 
 Unarm'd, and unresolv'd to beat them back : 
 'Tis thought that Richmond is their admiral ; 
 And there they hull, expecting but the aid 
 Of Buckingham to welcome them ashore. 
 K. Rich. Some light-foot friend post to the 
 
 Duke of Norfolk r-r-^rfon 
 Ratcliff, thyself, or Catesby ; where is he ? 
 Gate. Here, my good lord. 
 K. Rich. Catesby, fly to the duke. 
 
 Cate. I will, my lord, with all convenient 
 
 haste. 
 K. Rich. Ratcliff, come hither : post to 
 
 Salisbury : 
 
 When thou com'st thither, Dull, unmindful 
 villain, [To CATESBY. 
 
 Why stay'st thou here, and go'st not to the duke ? 
 Cate. First, mighty liege, tell me your high- 
 ness' pleasure, 
 
 What from your grace I shall deliver to him. 
 K. Rich. O, true, good Catesby: bid him 
 
 levy straight 
 
 The greatest strength and power he can make, 
 And meet me suddenly at Salisbury. 
 
 Cate. I go. [Exit. 
 
 Rat. What, may it please you, shall I do at 
 
 Salisbury ? 
 K. Rich. Why, what wouldst thou do there 
 
 before I go? 
 
 Rat. Your highness told me I should post 
 before. 
 
 
 Enter STANLEY. 
 
 ob of 1 
 
 K. Rich. My mind is chang'd. Stanley, 
 
 what news with you ? 
 Stan. None good, my liege, to please you with 
 
 the hearing ; 
 
 Nor none so bad but well may be reported. 
 K. Rich. Hoyday, a riddle ! neither good nor 
 
 bad! 
 
 What need'st thou run so many miles about, 
 When thou mayst tell thy tale the nearest way? 
 Once more, what news ? 
 
 Stan. Richmond is on the seas. 
 
 K. Rich. There let him sink, and be the 
 
 seas on him ! 
 
 White-liver'd runagate, what doth he there ? 
 Stan. I know not, mighty sovereign, but by 
 
 guess. 
 
 K. Rich. Well, as you guess ? 
 Stan. Stirr'd up by Dorset, Buckingham, 
 
 and Morton, 
 
 He makes for England here, to claim the crown. 
 K. Rich. Is the chair empty? is the sword 
 
 unsvvay'd ? 
 
 Is the king dead ? the empire unpossess'd ? 
 What heir of York is there alive but we ? 
 And who is England's king but great York's heir? 
 Then, tell me, what makes he upon the seas ? 
 Stan. Unless for that, my liege, I cannot 
 
 guess. 
 
 K. Rich. Unless for that he comes to be your 
 liege, [comes. 
 
 You cannot guess wherefore the Welshman 
 Thou wilt revolt, and fly to him, I fear. 
 
 Stan. No, mighty liege; therefore mistrust 
 
 me not. 
 K. Rich. Where is thy power, then, to beat 
 
 him back ? 
 
 Where be thy tenants and thy followers ? 
 Are they not now upon the western shore, 
 Safe-conducting the rebels from their ships? 
 Stan. No, my good lord, my friends are in 
 
 the north, snoafie 
 
 K. Rich. Cold friends to me : what do they 
 
 in the north, [west? 
 
 When they should serve their sovereign in the 
 
 Stan. They have not been commanded, 
 
 mighty king : 
 
 Pleaseth your majesty to give me leave, 
 I '11 muster up my friends, and meet your grace 
 Where and what time your majesty shall please. 
 K. Rich. Ay, ay, thou wouldst be gone to 
 
 join with Richmond ; 
 But I '11 not trust thee. -^,fJK 
 
 Stan. Most mighty sovereign, 
 
 You have no cause to hold my friendship 
 
 doubtful : 
 I never was nor never will be false. 
 
 K. Rich. Go, then, and muster men. But 
 leave behind [be firm, 
 
 Your son, George Stanley: look your heart 
 Or else his head's assurance is but frail. 
 
 Stan. So deal with him as I prove true to you. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 ; , Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My gracious sovereign, now in Devon- 
 shire, 
 
 As I by friends am well advertised, 
 Sir Edward Courtney, and the haughty prelate, 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 709 
 
 Bishop of Exeter, his elder brother, 
 
 With many more confederates, are in arms. 
 
 Enter a second Messenger. 
 
 2 Mess. In Kent, my liege, the Guilfords 
 
 are in arms ; 
 
 And every hour more competitors [strong. 
 Flock to the rebels, and their power grows 
 
 Enter a third Messenger. 
 
 3 Mess. My lord, the army of great Bucking- 
 
 ham, 
 
 K. Rich. Out on ye, owls ! nothing but songs 
 
 of death ? [He strikes him. 
 
 There, take thou that till thou bring better news. 
 
 3 Mess. The news I have to tell your majesty 
 Is, that by sudden floods and fall of waters, 
 Buckingham's army is dispers'd and scatter'd : 
 And he himself wander'd away alone, 
 No man knows whither. 
 
 K. Rich. I cry you mercy : 
 
 There is my purse to cure that blow of thine. 
 Hath any well-advised friend proclaim'd 
 Reward to him that brings the traitor in ? 
 
 3 Mess. Such proclamation hath been made, 
 
 my liege. 
 
 "vit^ uKlon ,5m<.yJ I JnoJ sri'i ffliw qLJ 
 Enter a fourth Messenger. 
 
 4 Mess. Sir Thomas Lovel and Lord Marquis 
 
 Dorset, 
 
 'Tis said, my liege, in Yorkshire are in arms. 
 But this good comfort bring I to your high- 
 ness,^' , , 
 
 The Bretagne navy is dispers'd by tempest : 
 Richmond, in Dorsetshire, sent out a boat 
 Unto the shore, to ask those on the banks 
 If they were his assistants, yea or no ; 
 Who answer'd him they came from Buckingham 
 Upon his party: he, mistrusting them, 
 Hois'd sail, and made his course again for Bre- 
 tagne. [in arms ; 
 K. Rich. March on, march on, since we are up 
 If not to fight with foreign enemies, 
 Yet to beat down these rebels here at home. 
 
 ^-^rCATESBY- 
 
 Cote. My liege, the Duke of Buckingham is 
 taken, [mond 
 
 That is the best news: that the Earl of Rich- 
 Is with a mighty power landed at Milford 
 Is colder news, but yet they must be told. 
 K. Rich. Away towards Salisbury ! while we 
 
 reason here 
 
 A royal battle might be won and lost : 
 Some one take order Buckingham be brought 
 To Salisbury; the rest march on with me. 
 
 [Flourish. Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V.- A Room in LORD STANLEY'S 
 House. 
 
 Enter STANLEY and SIR CHRISTOPHER 
 URSWICK. 
 
 Stan. Sir Christopher, tell Richmond this 
 
 from me: 
 
 That in the sty of the most deadly boar 
 My son George Stanley is frank'd up in hold : 
 If I revolt, off goes young George's head ; 
 The fear of that holds off my present aid. 
 So, get thee gone : commend me to thy lord ; 
 Withal say that the queen hath heartily con- 
 
 sented b n & ^ 
 
 He should espouse Elizabeth her daughter. 
 But tell me, where is princely Richmond now? 
 
 Chris. At Pembroke, or at Ha'rford-west, in 
 Wales. 
 
 Stan, What men of name resort to him? 
 
 Chris. Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned soldier; 
 Sir Gilbert Talbot, Sir William Stanley; 
 Oxford, redoubted Pembroke, Sir James Blunt, 
 And Rice ap Thomas, with a valiant crew ; 
 And many other of great name and worth : 
 And towards London do they bend their power, 
 If by the way they be not fought withal, [hand ; 
 
 Stan. Well, hie thee to thy lord ; I kiss his 
 These letters will resolve him of my mind. 
 Farewell. [Gives papers to SIR CHRIS. 
 
 ,IBOC j2n: ' sriT 
 
 ACTV. 
 SCENE I. SALISBURY. An open place. 
 
 Enter the Sheriff and Guard, with BUCKING- 
 HAM, led to execution. 
 
 Buck. Will not King Richard let me speak 
 with him ? 
 
 Sher. No, my good lord ; therefore be patient. 
 
 Buck. Hastings, and Edward's children, Grey, 
 
 and Rivers, 
 
 Holy King Henry, and thy fair son Edward, 
 Vaughan, and all that have miscarried 
 By underhand corrupted foul injustice,-^45rr 
 If that your moody discontented souls 
 Do through the clouds behold this present hour, 
 Even for revenge mock my destruction ! 
 This is All-Souls' day, fellows, is it not? 
 
 Sher. It is, my lord. 
 
 Buck. Why, then, All-Souls' day is my body's 
 
 doomsday. 
 
 This is the day which in King Edward's time 
 I wish'd might fall on me, when I was found 
 False to his children or his wife's allies ; 
 This is the day wherein I wish'd to fall 
 
7 io 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 By the false faith of him whom most I trusted ; 
 This, this All-Souls' day to my fearful soul 
 Is the determin'd respite of my wrongs : 
 That high All- Seer which I dallied with 
 Hath turn'd my feigned prayer on my head, 
 And given in earnest what I begg'd in jest. 
 Thus doth he force the swords of wicked men 
 To turn their own points on their masters' 
 
 bosoms : 
 
 Thus Margaret's curse falls heavy on my neck, 
 When he, quoth she, shall split thy heart with 
 
 sorrow, 
 
 Remember Margaret was a prophetess. 
 Come, sirs, convey me to the block of shame ; 
 Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of 
 
 blame. [Exeunt. 
 
 
 
 Enter, with drum and colours, RICHMOND, OX- 
 FORD, SIR JAMES BLUNT, SIR WALTER 
 HERBERT, and others, with Forces, march- 
 
 ins ' '.'', .V:^.:' i^w ILraori' 
 
 Richm. Fellows in arms, and my most loving 
 
 friends, 
 
 Bruis'd underneath the yoke of tyranny, 
 Thus far into the bowels of the land 
 Have we march'd on without impediment ; 
 And here receive we from our father Stanley 
 Lines of fair comfort and encouragement. 
 The wretched, bloody, and usurping boar, 
 That spoil' d your summer fields and fruitful 
 
 vines, 
 Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his 
 
 trough 
 
 In your embowell'd bosoms, this foul swine 
 Lies now even in the centre of this isle, 
 Near to the town of Leicester, as we learn : 
 From Tarn worth thither is but one day's march. 
 In God's name, cheerly on, courageous friends, 
 To reap the harvest of perpetual peace 
 By this one bloody trial of sharp war. 
 
 Oxf. Every man's conscience is a thousand 
 
 swords, 
 To fight against that bloody homicide. 
 
 Herb. I doubt not but his friends will turn to 
 
 us. 
 Bhmt. He hath no friends but what are friends 
 
 for fear, 
 
 Which in his dearest need will fly from him. 
 Richm. All for our vantage. Then, in God's 
 
 name, march: 
 True hope is swift, and flies with swallows* 
 
 wings; 
 Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures 
 
 kings. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. Bosworth 
 
 Field. 
 
 Enter KING RICHARD and Forces; the DUKE 
 OF NORFOLK, EARL OF SURREY, and others. 
 
 K. Rich. Here pitch our tents, even here in 
 
 Bosworth field. 
 
 My Lord of Surrey, why look you so sad ? 
 Sur. My heart is ten times lighter than my 
 
 looks. 
 
 K. Rich. My Lord of Norfolk, 
 Nor. Here, most gracious liege. 
 
 K. Rich. Norfolk, we must have knocks ; ha! 
 must we not ? [lord. 
 
 Nor. We must both give and take, my loving 
 K. Rich. Up with my tent ! Here will I lie 
 
 to-night ; 
 
 [Soldiers begin to set up the KING'S tent. 
 But where to-morrow? Well, all's one for 
 
 that. 
 
 Who hath described the number of the traitors ? 
 Nor. Six or seven thousand is their utmost 
 power. [count : 
 
 K. Rich. Why, our battalia trebles that ac- 
 Besides, the king's name is a tower of strength, 
 Which they upon the adverse faction want. 
 Up with the tent ! Come, noble gentlemen, 
 Let us survey the vantage of the ground; 
 Call for some men of sound direction : 
 Let's lack no discipline, make no delay; 
 For, lords, to-morrow is a busy day. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter, on the other side of the Field, RICH- 
 MOND, SIR WILLIAM BRANDON, OXFORD, 
 and other Lords. Some of the Soldiers pitch 
 RICHMOND'S tent. 
 
 Richm. The weary sun hath made a golden 
 
 set, 
 
 And by the bright track of his fiery car 
 Gives token of a goodly day to-morrow. 
 Sir William Brandon, you shall beat my stan- 
 dard. 
 
 Give me some ink and paper in my tent : 
 I '11 draw the form and model of our battle, 
 Limit each leader to his several charge, 
 And part in just proportion our small power. 
 My Lord of Oxford, you, Sir William Bran- 
 don, 
 
 And you, Sir Walter Herbert, stay with me. 
 The Earl of Pembroke keeps his regiment : 
 Good Captain Blunt, bear my good-night to him, 
 And by the second hour in the morning 
 Desire the earl to see me in my tent : 
 Yet one thing more, good captain, do for me, 
 Where is Lord Stanley quarter'd, do you know ? 
 Blunt. Unless I have mista'en his colours 
 much, 
 
SCENE HI.] 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 711 
 
 Which well I am assur'd I have not done, 
 His regiment lies half a mile at least 
 South from the mighty power of the king. 
 Richm. If without peril it be possible, 
 Sweet Blunt, make some good means to speak 
 
 with him, 
 
 And give him from me this most needful note. 
 Blunt. Upon my life, my lord, I '11 under- 
 take it ; 
 
 And so, God give you quiet rest to-night ! 
 Richm. Good-night, good Captain Blunt. 
 
 Come, gentlemen, 
 
 Let us consult upon to-morrow's business: 
 In to my tent ; the air is raw and cold. 
 
 [They withdraw into the tent. 
 
 Enter, to his tent, KING RICHARD, NORFOLK, 
 RATCLIFF, a</CATESBY. 
 
 K. Rick. What is 't o'clock? 
 
 Cote. It 's supper-time, my lord ; 
 
 It's six o'clock. 
 
 K. Rich. I will not sup to-night. 
 Give me some ink and paper. 
 What, is my beaver easier than it was? 
 And all my armour laid into my tent? 
 
 Gate. It is, my liege ; and all things are in 
 readiness. 
 
 K. Rich. Good Norfolk, hie thee to thy 
 
 charge ; 
 Use careful watch, choose trusty sentinels. 
 
 Nor. I go, my lord. 
 
 K. Rich. Stir with the lark to-morrow, gentle 
 Norfolk. 
 
 Nor. I warrant you, my lord. [Exit. 
 
 K. Rich. Ratcliff, 
 
 Rat. My lord? 
 
 K. Rich. Send out a pursuivant-at-arms 
 To Stanley's regiment ; bid him bring his power 
 Before sunrising, lest his son George fall 
 Into the blind cave of eternal night. 
 Fill me a bowl of wine. Give me a watch. 
 Saddle white Surrey to the field to-morrow. 
 Look that my staves be sound, and not too 
 
 heavy. 
 Ratcliff, 
 
 Rat. My lord? 
 
 K. Rich. Saw'st thou the melancholy Lord 
 Northumberland? 
 
 Rat. Thomas the Earl of Surrey and himself, 
 Much about cock-shut time, from troop to troop 
 Went through the army, cheering up the soldiers. 
 
 K. Rich. So, I am satisfied. Give me a bowl 
 
 of wine: 
 
 I have not that alacrity of spirit 
 Nor cheer of mind that I was wont to nave. 
 Set it down. Is ink and paper ready? 
 
 Rat. It is, my lord. 
 
 K. Rich. Bid my guard watch ; leave me. 
 Ratcliff, about the mid of night come to my tent 
 And help to arm me. Leave me, I say. 
 
 [K. RICH, retires into his tent. Exeunt 
 RATCLIFF and CATESBY. 
 
 RICHMOND'S tent opens, and discovers him and 
 his Officers, &c. 
 
 ' >' 
 Enter STANLEY. 
 
 Stan. Fortune and victory sit on thy helm ! 
 Richm. All comfort that the dark night can 
 
 afford 
 
 Be to thy person, noble father-in-law ! 
 Tell me, how fares our loving mother? 
 
 Stan. I, by attorney, bless thee from thy 
 
 mother, 
 
 Who prays continually for Richmond's good : 
 So much for that. The silent hours steal on, 
 And flaky darkness breaks within the east. 
 In brief, for so the season bids us be, ".'-." 
 Prepare thy battle early in the morning, 
 And put thy fortune to the arbitrement 
 Of bloody strokes and mortal-staring war. 
 I, as I may, that which I would I cannot, 
 With best advantage will deceive the time, 
 And aid thee in this doubtful stroke of arms: 
 But on thy side I may not be too forward, 
 Lest, being seen, thy brother, tender George, 
 Be executed in his father's sight. 
 Farewell : the leisure and the fearful time 
 Cuts off the ceremonious vows of love 
 And ample interchange of sweet discourse, 
 Which so-long-sunderM friends should dwell 
 
 upon: 
 
 God give us leisure for these rites of love ! 
 Once more, adieu : be valiant, and speed well I 
 Richm. Good lords, conduct him to his regi- 
 ment: 
 I'll strive, with troubled thoughts, to take a 
 
 nap, 
 
 Lest leaden slumber peise me down to-morrow, 
 When I should mount with wings of victory : 
 Once more, good -night, kind lords and gentle- 
 men. 
 
 [Exeunt Lords, 6v., with STAN. 
 O Thou whose captain I account myself, 
 Look on my forces with a gracious eye ; 
 Put in their hands thy bruising irons of wrath, 
 That they may crush down with a heavy fall 
 The usurping helmets of our adversaries 1 
 Make us thy ministers of chastisement, 
 That we may praise thee in thy victory ! 
 To thee I do commend my watchful soul 
 Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes: 
 Sleeping and waking, O, defend me still ! 
 
 [Sleeps. 
 
712 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 The Ghost of PRINCE EDWARD, son to HENRY 
 THE SIXTH, rises between the two tents. 
 
 Ghost. Let me sit heavy on thy soul to- 
 morrow! [To KING RICHARD. 
 Think how thou stabb'dst me in my prime of 
 
 youth , Y&& 
 At Tewksbury : despair, therefore, and die ! 
 
 Be cheerful, Richmond ; for the wronged souls 
 Of butcher'd princes fight in thy behalf: 
 King Henry's issue, Richmond, comforts thee. 
 
 The Ghost of KING HENRY THE SIXTH rises. 
 
 Ghost. When I was mortal, my anointed body 
 [To KING RICHARD. 
 
 By thee was punched full of deadly holes : 
 Think on the Tower and me: despair, and die, 
 Harry the Sixth bids thee despair and die ! 
 Virtuous and holy, be thou conqueror ! 
 
 [To RICHMOND. 
 
 Harry, that prophesied thou shouldst be king, 
 Doth comfort thee in sleep : live, and nourish ! 
 
 The Ghost 0/ CLARENCE rises. 
 
 Ghost. Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow ! 
 [To KING RICHARD. 
 
 I, that was wash'd to death with fulsome wine, 
 Poor Clarence, by thy guile betray'd to death ! 
 To-morrow in the battle think on me, 
 And fall thy edgeless sword : despair, and die! 
 
 Thou offspring of the house of Lancaster, 
 
 [To RICHMOND. 
 
 The wronged heirs of York do pray for thee : 
 Good angels guard thy battle! live, and flourish ! 
 
 The Ghosts of RIVERS, GREY, and VAUGHAN 
 
 rise. 
 
 G. of K. Let me sit heavy on thy soul to- 
 morrow, [To KING RICHARD. 
 Rivers, that died at Pomfret ! despair, and die ! 
 G. of G. Think upon Grey, and let thy soul 
 despair ! [ To KING RICHARD. 
 G. of V. Think upon Vaughan, and, with 
 
 guilty fear, 
 Let fall thy lance : despair, and die ! 
 
 [To KING RICHARD. 
 
 All Three. Awake, and think our wrongs in 
 Richard's bosom [ To RICHMOND. 
 Will conquer him ! awake, and win the day ! 
 
 The Ghost <T/" HASTINGS rises. 
 Ghost. Bloody and guilty, guiltily awake, 
 
 [To KING RICHARD. 
 And in a bloody battle end thy days ! 
 Think on Lord Hastings: despair, and die! 
 Quiet untroubled soul, awake, awake ! 
 
 [To RICHMOND. 
 Arm, fight, and conquer, for fair England's sake! 
 
 The Ghosts of the two young Princes rise. 
 
 Ghosts. Dream on thy cousins smother'd in 
 
 the Tower : 
 
 Let us be lead within thy bosom, Richard, 
 And weigh thee down to ruin, shame, and death! 
 Thy nephews' souls bid thee despair and die ! 
 
 Sleep, Richmond, sleep in peace, and wake 
 
 in joy ; 
 
 Good angels guard thee from the boar's annoy! 
 Live, and beget a happy race of kings ! 
 Edward's unhappy sons do bid thee flourish. 
 
 The Ghost of QUEEN ANNE wf^ 2 " 
 
 Ghost. Richard, thy wife, that wretched Anne 
 
 thy wife, 
 
 That never slept a quiet hour with thee, 
 Now fills thy sleep with perturbations : 
 To-morrow in the battle think on me, 
 And fall thy edgeless sword : despair, and die! 
 
 Thou quiet soul, sleep thou a quiet sleep ; 
 
 [To RICHMOND. 
 
 Dream of success and happy victory: 
 Thy adversary's wife doth pray for thee. 
 
 The Ghost ^BUCKINGHAM rises. 
 
 Ghost. The first was I that help'd thee to the 
 crown; [To KING RICHARD. 
 
 The last was I that felt thy tyranny : 
 O, in the battle think on Buckingham, 
 And die in terror of thy guiltiness ! 
 Dream on, dream on of bloody deeds and death : 
 Fainting, despair ; despairing, yield thy breath ! 
 I died for hope ere I could lend thee aid : 
 
 [70 RICHMOND. 
 
 But cheer thy heart, and be thou not dismay'd : 
 God and good angels fight on Richmond's side ; 
 And Richard falls in height of all his pride. 
 
 [The Ghosts vanish. K. RICH, starts 
 
 out of his dream. 
 K. Rich. Give me another horse, bind up 
 
 my wounds, 
 Have mercy, Jesu ! Soft ! I did but dream. 
 
 co ward conscience, how dost thou afflict me ! 
 The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight. 
 Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh. 
 What, do I fear myself? there 's none else by : 
 Richard loves Richard ; that is, I am I. 
 
 Is there a murderer here ? No ; yes ; I am : 
 Then fly. What, from myself? Great reason 
 
 why, 
 
 Lest I revenge. What, myself upon myself ! 
 Alack, I love my self. Wherefore? foranygood 
 That I myself have done unto myself? 
 O, no ! alas, I rather hate myself 
 For hateful deeds committed by myself ! 
 
 1 am a villain : yet I lie, I am not. 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 713 
 
 Fool, of thyself speak well : fool, do not flatter. 
 My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, 
 And every tongue brings in a several tale, 
 And every tale condemns me for a villain. 
 Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree ; 
 Murder, stern murder, in the dir'st degree ; 
 All several sins, all us'd in each degree, 
 Throng to the bar, crying all, Guilty ! guilty ! 
 I shall despair. There is no creature loves me ; 
 And if I die no soul shall pity me : 
 Nay, wherefore should they, since that I myself 
 Find in myself no pity to myself? 
 Methought the souls of all that I had murder'd 
 Came to my tent ; and every one did threat 
 To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard. 
 
 Enter RATCLIFF. 
 
 Rat. My lord, 
 
 K. Rich. Who 's there ? [village-cock 
 
 Rat. Ratcliff, my lord; 'tis I. The early 
 Hath twice done salutation to the morn ; 
 Your friends are up, and buckle on their armour. 
 
 K. Rich. O Ratcliff, I have dream'd a fear- 
 ful dream ! [true ? 
 What thinkest thou, will our friends prove all 
 
 Rat. No doubt, my lord. 
 
 K. Rich. O Ratcliff, I fear, I fear, 
 
 Rat. Nay, good my lord, be not afraid of 
 shadows. [night 
 
 K. Rich. By the apostle Paul, shadows to- 
 Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard 
 Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers 
 Armed in proof and led by shallow Richmond. 
 It is not yet near day. Come, go with me ; 
 Under our tents I '11 play the eaves-dropper, 
 To hear if any mean to shrink from me. 
 
 [Exeunt K. RICH, and RATCLIFF. 
 
 RICHMOND wakes. Enter OXFORD and others. 
 
 Lords. Good-morrow, Richmond ! [men, 
 Richm. Cry mercy, lords and watchful gentle- 
 That you have ta'en a tardy sluggard here. 
 Lords. How have you slept, my lord? 
 Richm. The sweetest sleep and fairest-boding 
 
 dreams 
 
 That ever enter'd in a drowsy head 
 Have I since your departure had, my lords. 
 Methought their souls whose bodies Richard 
 
 murder'd 
 
 Came to my tent, and cried on victory : 
 I promise you, my heart is very jocund 
 In the remembrance of so fair a dream. 
 How far into the morning is it, lords? 
 Lords. Upon the stroke of four. 
 Richm. Why, then, 'tis time to arm and give 
 direction. 
 
 {He advances to the Troops. 
 
 More than I have said, loving countrymen, 
 The leisure and enforcement of the time 
 Forbids to dwell on : yet remember this, 
 God and our good cause fight upon our side ; 
 The prayers of holy saints and wronged souls, 
 Like high-rear'd bulwarks, stand before our faces; 
 Richard except, those whom we fight against 
 Had rather have us win than him they follow : 
 For what is he they follow? truly, gentlemen, 
 A bloody tyrant and a homicide ; [lish'd ; 
 
 One rais'd in blood, and one in. blood estab- 
 One that made means to come by what he hath, 
 And slaughter'd those that were the means to 
 
 help him ; 
 
 A base foul stone, made precious by the foil 
 Of England's chair, where he is falsely set; 
 One that hath ever been God's enemy : 
 Then, if you fight against God's enemy, 
 God will, in justice, ward you as his soldiers; 
 If you do sweat to put a tyrant down, 
 You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain ; 
 If you do fight against your country's foes, 
 Your country's fat shall pay your pains the hire j 
 If you do fight in safeguard of your wives, 
 Your wives shall welcome home the conquerors ; 
 If you do free your children from the sword, 
 Your children's children quit it in your age. 
 Then, in the name of God and all these rights, 
 Advance your standards, draw your willing 
 
 swords. 
 
 For me, the ransom of my bold attempt 
 Shall be this cold corpse on the earth's cold face; 
 But if I thrive, the gain of my attempt 
 The least of you shall share his part thereof. 
 Sound drums and trumpets boldly and cheer- 
 fully; 
 
 God and Saint George ! Richmond and victory! 
 
 {Exeunt. 
 
 Re-enter KING RICHARD, RATCLIFF, 
 Attendants, a nd Forces. 
 
 K. Rich. What said Northumberland as touch- 
 
 ing Richmond? 
 
 Rat. That he was never trained up in arms. 
 K. Rich. He said the truth : and what said 
 Surrey then? [purpose. 
 
 Rat. He smil'd, and said, the better for our 
 K. Rich. He was in the right ; and so, in- 
 deed, it is. [Clock strikes. 
 Tell the clock there. Give me a calendar. 
 Who saw the sun to-day? 
 
 Rat. Not I, my lord. 
 
 K. Rich. Then he disdains to shine ; for by 
 
 the book 
 
 He should have brav'd the east an hour ago : 
 A black day will it be to somebody. 
 Ratcliff, 
 
KING RICHARD III. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Rat. My lord ? 
 
 K. Rich. The sun will not be seen to-day; 
 The sky doth frown and lower upon our army. 
 I would these dewy tears were from the ground. 
 Not shine to-day ! Why, what is that to me 
 More than to Richmond? for the selfsame heaven 
 That frowns on me looks sadly upon him. 
 
 Enter NORFOLK. 
 ,n9m9nri9g t -(Trh)Tv/- -f/ioi 
 
 Nor. Arm, arm, my lord ; the foe vaunts in 
 the field. [horse; 
 
 K. Rich. Come, bustle, bustle ; caparison my 
 Call up Lord Stanley, bid him bring his power: 
 I will lead forth my soldiers to the plain, 
 And thus my battle shall be ordered: 
 My forward shall be drawn out all in length, 
 Consisting equally of horse and foot ; 
 Our archers shall be placed in the midst :. n^rfT 
 John Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Earl of Surrey, 
 Shall have the leading of this foot and horse. 
 They thus directed, we ourself will follow 
 In the main battle; whose puissance on either side 
 Shall be well winged with our chiefest horse. 
 This, and Saint George to boot! What think'st 
 thou, Norfolk? 
 
 Nor. A good direction, warlike sovereign. 
 This found I on my tent this morning. 
 
 [Giving- a scroll. 
 
 K. Rich. [Reads.] Jocky of Norfolk, be not too 
 
 bold, 
 
 For Dickon thy master is bought and sold. 
 A thing devised by the enemy. 
 Go, gentlemen, every man unto his charge: 
 Let not our babbling dreams affright our souls ; 
 Conscience is but a word that cowards use, 
 Devis'd at first to keep the strong in awe : 
 Our strong arms be our conscience, swords our 
 
 ttvr.'X.'ilaw. 
 
 March on, join bravely, let us to 't pell-mell ; 
 If not to heaven, then hand in hand to hell. 
 What shall I say more than I have inferr'd ? 
 Remember whom you are to cope withal ; 
 A sort of vagabonds, rascals, and runaways, 
 A scum of Bretagnes, and base lackey peasants, 
 Whom their o'er-cloyed country vomits forth 
 To desperate ventures and assur'd destruction. 
 You sleeping safe, they bring you to unrest ; 
 You having lands, and bless'd with beauteous 
 
 wives, 
 
 They would restrain the one, distain the other. 
 And who doth lead them but a paltry fellow, 
 Long kept in Bretagne at our mother's cost? 
 A milk sop, one that never in his life 
 Felt so much cold as over shoes in snow? 
 Let 's whip these stragglers o'er the seas again; 
 Lash hence these over- weening rags of France, 
 These famish'd beggars, weary of their lives; 
 
 Who, but for dreaming on this fond exploit, 
 
 For want of means, poor rats, had hang'd them- 
 selves: 
 
 If we be conquer'd, let men conquer us, 
 
 And not these bastard Bretagnes; whom our 
 fathers [thump'd, 
 
 Have in their own land beaten, bobb'd, and 
 
 And, on record, left them the heirs of shame. 
 
 Shall these enjoy our lands? lie with our 
 wives? 
 
 Ravish our daughters? Hark! I hear their 
 drum. [Drum afar off. 
 
 Fight, gentlemen of England ! fight, bold yeo- 
 men ! 
 
 Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head ! 
 
 Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood; 
 
 Amaze the welkin with your broken staves ! 
 
 .' 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 What says Lord Stanley? will he bring his power? 
 
 Mess. My lord, he doth deny to come. 
 
 K. Rich. Off with his son George's head ! 
 
 Nor. My lord, the enemy is pass'd the 
 
 marsh : 
 After the battle let George Stanley die. 
 
 K. Rich. A thousand hearts are great within 
 
 my bosom : 
 
 Advance our standards, set upon our foes ; 
 Our ancient word of courage, fair Saint George, 
 Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons ! 
 Upon them ! Victory sits on our helms. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 .bnomr: -A bus looiq fii toon A 
 
 SCENE IV. Another part of the Field. 
 
 Alarum: excursions. Enter NORFOLK and 
 Forces ; to him CATESBY. 
 
 Gate. Rescue, my Lord of Norfolk, rescue, 
 
 rescue 1 
 
 The king enacts more wonders than a man, 
 Daring an opposite to every danger : 
 His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights, 
 Seeking for Richmond in the throat of death. 
 Rescue, fair lord, or else the day is lost ! 
 
 bct>d TfEv/oib m ' 
 Alarum. Enter KING RICHARD. 
 
 K. Rich. A horse ! a horse ! my kingdom 
 
 for a horse ! 
 Gate. Withdraw, my lord; I '11 help you to 
 
 a horse. 
 
 K. Rich. Slave, I have set my life upon a cast, 
 And I will stand the hazard of the die : 
 I think there be six Richmonds in the field ; 
 Five have I slain to-day instead of him.** ft. 
 A horse ! a horse I my kingdom for a horse ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
SCENE V.] 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 715 
 
 SCENE V. Another part of the Field. 
 
 Alarums. Enter, front opposite sides, KING 
 RICHARD and RICHMOND ; and exeunt fight- 
 ing. Retreat, and Jlourish. Then re-enter 
 RICHMOND, with STAN LEY bearing the crown, 
 and divers other Lords and Forces. 
 Richm. God and your arms be prais'd, vic- 
 torious friends ; 
 The day is ours, the bloody dog is dead. 
 
 Stan. Courageous Richmond, well hast thou 
 
 acquit thee ! 
 
 Lo, here, this long-usurped royalty 
 From the dead temples of this bloody wretch 
 Have I pluck'd off, to grace thy brows withal : 
 Wear it, enjoy it, and make much of it. 
 Richm. Great God of heaven, say Amen to 
 
 all! 
 
 But, tell me, is young George Stanley living? 
 
 Stan. He is, my lord, and safe in Leicester 
 
 town, [us. 
 
 Whither, if it please you, we may now withdraw 
 
 Richm. What men of name are slain oneither 
 
 side? 
 
 Stan. John Duke of Norfolk, Walter Lord 
 
 Ferrers, [don. 
 
 Sir Robert Brakenbury, and Sir William Bran- 
 
 Richm. Inter their bodies as becomes their 
 
 births : 
 Proclaim a pardon to the soldiers fled 
 
 That in submission will return to us : 
 And then, as we have ta'en the sacrament, 
 We will unite the white rose and the red : 
 Smile heaven upon this fair conjunction, 
 That long hath frown'd upon their enmity ! 
 What traitor hears me, and says not Amen ? 
 England hath long been mad, and scarr'd her- 
 self; 
 
 The brother blindly shed the brother's blood, 
 The father rashly slaughter'd his own son, 
 The son, compell'd, been butcher to the sire: 
 All this divided York and Lancaster, 
 Divided in their dire division, 
 O, now let Richmond and Elizabeth,,.;sK**AjO 
 The true succeeders of each royal house, 
 By God's fair ordinance conjoin together ! 
 And let their heirs, God, if thy will be so, 
 Enrich the time to come with smooth'd-fac'd 
 
 peace, 
 
 With smiling plenty, and fair prosperous days I 
 Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord, 
 That would reduce these bloody days again, 
 And make poor England weep in streams of 
 
 blood! 
 
 Let them not live to taste this land's increase 
 That would with treason wound this fair land's 
 
 peace ! 
 
 Now civil wounds are stopp'd, peace lives again : 
 That she may long live here, God say Amen ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 
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 KING HFNRV VTTT 
 
 XVUNVJT laj^lNJXI VI 11. 
 
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 . s i 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 KING HENRY THE EIGHTH. 
 
 CARDINAL WOLSEY. 
 
 CARDINAL CAMPEIUS. 
 
 CAPUCIUS, Ambas. from the Emperor CHARLES 
 
 V. 
 
 CRANMER, Archbishop of Canterbury. 
 DUKE OF NORFOLK. 
 DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 
 DUKE OF SUFFOLK. 
 EARL OF SURREY. 
 
 Lord Chamberlain. Lord Chancellor. 
 GARDINER, Bishop of Winchester. 
 BISHOP OF LINCOLN. 
 LORD ABERGAVENNY. 
 LORD SANDS. 
 SIR HENRY GUILDFORD. 
 SIR THOMAS LOVELL. 
 SIR ANTHONY DENNY. 
 SIR NICHOLAS VAUX. 
 Secretaries to WOLSEY. 
 CROMWELL, Servant to WOLSEY. 
 
 GRIFFITH, Gent. -Usher to QUEEN KATHAR- 
 INE. 
 
 Three Gentlemen. 
 
 DR. BUTTS, Physician to the KING. 
 Garter King-at-Arms. 
 Surveyor to the DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 
 BRANDON, and a Sergeant-at-Arms. 
 Doorkeeper of the Council Chamber. 
 Porter, and his Man. 
 Page to GARDINER. A Crier. 
 
 QUEEN KATHARINE, Wife to KING HENRY, 
 afterwards divorced. 
 
 ANNE BULLEN, her Maid of Honour, after- 
 wards Queen. 
 
 An Old Lady, Friend to ANNE BULLEN. 
 
 PATIENCE, Woman to QUEEN KATHARINE. 
 
 Several Lords and Ladies in the Dtimb Shows ; 
 Women attending upon the QUEEN ; 
 Scribes, Officers, Guards, and other Atten- 
 dants; Spirits. 
 
 SCENE, - 
 
 o) nobxeq & 
 -Chiefly in LONDON and WESTMINSTER ; once at KlMBOLTON. 
 
 ' PROLOGUE. 
 
 I come no more to make you laugh : things now 
 That bear a weighty and a serious brow, 
 Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe, 
 Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow, 
 We now present. Those that can pity, here 
 May, if they think it well, let fall a tear ; 
 The subject will deserve it. Such as give 
 Their money out of hope they may believe, 
 May here find truth too. Those that come to 
 
 see 
 
 Only a show or two, and so agree 
 The play may pass, if they be still and willing, 
 I '11 undertake may see away their shilling 
 Richly in two short hours. Only they 
 That come to hear a merry bawdy play, 
 A noise of targets, or to see a fellow 
 In a long motley coat guarded with yellow, 
 Will be deceiv'd for, gentle hearers, know, 
 To rank our chosen truth with such a show 
 As fool and fight is, beside forfeiting 
 Our own brains, and the opinion that we bring, 
 To make that only true we now intend, 
 
 Will leave us never an understanding friend. 
 Therefore, for goodness' sake, and as you are 
 
 known 
 
 The first and happiest hearers of the town, 
 Be sad, as we would make ye : think ye see 
 The very persons of our noble story 
 As they were living ; think you see them great, 
 And follow'd with the general throng and sweat 
 Of thousand friends ; then, in a moment, see 
 How soon this mightiness meets misery : 
 And if you can be merry then I '11 say 
 A man may weep upon his wedding-day. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCEN E I. LONDON. An Ante-chamber in the 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter the DUKE OF NORFOLK at one door; at 
 the other, the DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM and 
 the LORD ABERGAVENNY. 
 
 Buck. Good-morrow, and well met. 
 
 have you done 
 Since last we saw in France? 
 
 How 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 717 
 
 Nor. I thank your grace, 
 
 Healthful ; and ever since a fresh admirer 
 Of what I saw there. 
 
 Buck. An untimely ague 
 
 Stay'd me a prisoner in my chamber, when 
 Those suns of glory, those two lights of men, 
 Met in the vale of Andren. 
 
 Nor. 'Twixt Guynes and Arde : 
 
 I was then present, saw them salute on horse- 
 back ; [clung 
 Beheld them, when they lighted, how they 
 In their embracement, as they grew together ; 
 Which had they, what four thron'd ones could 
 
 have weigh'd 
 Such a compounded one? 
 
 Buck. All the whole time 
 
 I was my chamber's prisoner. 
 
 Nor. Then you lost 
 
 The view of earthly glory : men might say, 
 Till this time pomp was single, but now married 
 To one above itself. Each following day 
 Became the next day's master, till the last 
 Made former wonders it's : to-day the French, 
 All clinquant, all in gold, like heathen gods, 
 Shone down the English ; and to-morrow they 
 Made Britain India : every man that stood 
 Show'd like a mine. Their dwarfish pages were 
 As cherubims, all gilt : the madams too, 
 Not us'd to toil, did almost sweat to bear 
 The pride upon them, that their very labour 
 Was to them as a painting: now this masque 
 Was cried incomparable; and the ensuing night 
 Made it a fool and beggar. The two kings, 
 Equal in lustre, were now best, now worst, 
 As presence did present them ; him in eye, 
 Still him in praise : and, being present both, 
 'Twas said they saw but one ; and no discerner 
 Durst wag his tongue in censure. When these 
 suns, [leng'd 
 
 For so they phrase 'em, by their heralds chal- 
 The noble spirits to arms, they did perform 
 Beyond thought's compass: that former fabu- 
 lous story, 
 
 Being now seen possible enough, got credit, 
 That Bevis was believ'd. 
 
 Buck. O, you go far. 
 
 Nor. As I belong to worship, and affect 
 In honour honesty, the tract of everything 
 Would by a good discourser lose some life, 
 Which action's self was tongue to. All was 
 
 royal ; 
 
 To the disposing of it naught rebell'd, 
 Order gave each thing view ; the office did 
 Distinctly his full function. 
 
 Bttck. Who did guide 
 
 I mean, who set the body and the limbs 
 Of this great sport together, as you guess? 
 
 Nor. One, certes, that promises no element 
 In such a business. 
 
 Buck. I pray you, who, my lord? 
 
 Nor. All this was ordered by the good dis- 
 cretion 
 Of the right reverend Cardinal of York, [freed 
 
 Buck. The devil speed him ! no man's pie is 
 From his ambitious finger. What had he 
 To do in these fierce vanities? I wonder 
 That such a keech can with his very bulk 
 Take up the rays o' the beneficial sun, 
 And keep it from the earth. 
 
 Nor. Surely, sir, 
 
 There's in him stuff that puts him to these 
 ends; [grace 
 
 For, being not propp'd by ancestry, whose 
 Chalks successors their way ; nor call'd upon 
 For high feats done to the crown ; neither allied 
 To eminent assistants ; but, spider-like, 
 Out of his self-drawing web, he gives us note 
 The force of his own merit makes his way ; 
 A gift that heaven gives for him, which buys 
 A place next to the king. 
 
 Aber. \ cannot tell 
 
 What heaven hath given him, let some graver 
 
 eye 
 
 Pierce into that ; but I can see his pride 
 Peep through each part of him : whence has he 
 
 that? 
 
 If not from hell, the devil is a niggard ; 
 Or has given all before, and he begins 
 A new hell in himself. 
 
 Buck. Why the devil, 
 
 Upon this French going-out, took he upon him, 
 Without the privity o' the king, to appoint 
 Who should attend on him? He makes up the 
 
 file 
 
 Of all the gentry ; for the most part such 
 To whom as great a charge as little honour 
 He meant to lay upon : and his own letter, 
 The honourable board of council out, 
 Must fetch him in the papers. 
 
 Aber. I do know 
 
 Kinsmen of mine, three at the least, that have 
 By this so sicken'd their estates that never 
 They shall abound as formerly. 
 
 Bttck.':"' O, many ['em 
 
 Have broke their backs with laying manors on 
 For this great journey. What did this vanity 
 But minister communication of 
 A most poor issue ? 
 
 Nor. Grievingly I think, 
 
 The peace between the French and us not values 
 The cost that did conclude it. 
 
 Buck. Every man, 
 
 After the hideous storm that follow'd, was 
 A thing inspir'd ; and, not consulting, broke 
 
KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 Into a general prophecy, That this tempest, 
 Dashing the garment of this peace, aboded 
 The sudden breach on 't. 
 
 Nor. Which is budded out ; 
 
 For France hath flaw'd the league, and hath 
 
 attach'd 
 Our merchants' goods at Bourdeaux. 
 
 Aber. Is it therefore 
 
 The ambassador is silenc'd ? 
 
 Nor. Marry, is't. 
 
 Aber. A proper title of a peace; and pur- 
 
 chas'd 
 At a superfluous rate ! 
 
 Buck. Why, all this business 
 
 Our reverend cardinal carried. 
 
 Nor. Like it your grace , 
 
 The state takes notice of the private difference 
 Betwixt you and the cardinal. I advise you, 
 And take it from a heart that wishes towards you 
 Honour and plenteous safety, that you read 
 The cardinal's malice and his potency 
 Together ; to consider further, that 
 What his high hatred would effect wants not 
 A minister in his power. You know his nature, 
 That he 's revengeful ; and I know his sword 
 Hath a sharp edge : it 'slong, and, 't may be said, 
 It reaches far ; and where 'twill not extend, 
 Thither he darts it. Bosom up my counsel, 
 You'll find it wholesome. Lo, where comes 
 
 that rock 
 That I advise you shunning. 
 
 Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY, the piirse borne be- 
 fore him, certain of the Guard, and two Sec- 
 retaries with papers. The CARDINAL in his 
 passage fixeth his eye on BUCKINGHAM, and 
 BUCKINGHAM on him, both full of disdain. 
 
 Wol. The Duke of Buckingham's surveyor? 
 
 ha? 
 Where 's his examination ? rw x/;I ol in 
 
 I Seer. Here, so please you. 
 
 Wol. Is he in person ready ? 
 I Secr Ay, please your grace. 
 
 Wol. Well, we shall then know more; and 
 
 Buckingham 
 Shall lessen this big look. 
 
 \_Exeunt WOLSEY and Train. 
 
 Buck. This butcher's cur is venom-mouth'd, 
 
 and I [best 
 
 Have not the power to muzzle him ; therefore 
 
 Not wake him in his slumber. A beggar's book 
 
 Outworths a noble's blood. 
 
 Nor. What, are you chaf'd? 
 
 Ask God for temperance ; that 's the appliance 
 
 only 
 Which your disease requires. 
 
 Buck. ,5m; \ read in 's looks 
 
 Matter against me ; and his eye revil'd 
 Me, as his abject object: at this instant [king; 
 He bores me with some trick : he 's gone to the 
 I '11 follow, and outstare him. 
 
 Nor. Stay, my lord, 
 
 And let your reason with your choler question 
 What 'tis you go about : to climb steep hills 
 Requires slow pace at first : anger is like 
 A full-hot horse, who being allow'd his way, 
 Self-mettle tires him. Not a man in England 
 Can advise me like you : be to yourself 
 As you would to your friend. 
 
 Buck. I '11 to the king ; 
 
 And from a mouth of honour quite cry down 
 This Ipswich fellow's insolence ; or proclaim 
 There 's difference in no persons. 
 
 Nor. Be advis'd ; 
 
 Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot 
 That it do singe yourself: we may outrun, 
 By violent swiftness, that which we run at, 
 And lose by over-running. Know you not, 
 The fire that mounts the liquor till 't run o'er, 
 In seeming to augment it wastes it ? Be advis'd : 
 I say again, there is no English soul 
 More stronger to direct you than yourself, 
 If with the sap of reason you would quench 
 Or but allay the fire of passion. 
 
 Buck. Sir, 
 
 I am thankful to you ; and I '11 go along 
 By your prescription : but this top-proud fellow, 
 Whom from the flow of gall I name not, but 
 From sincere motions, by intelligence, 
 And proofs as clear as founts in July, when 
 We see each grain of gravel, I do know 
 To be corrupt and treasonous. 
 
 Nor. Say not treasonous. 
 
 Buck. To the king I '11 say 't ; and make my 
 
 vouch as strong 
 
 As shore of rock. Attend. This holy fox, 
 Or wolf, or both, for he is equal ravenous 
 As he is subtle, and as prone to mischief 
 As able to perform 't ; his mind and place 
 Infecting one another, yea, reciprocally, 
 Only to show his pomp as well in Francerjni:>< 
 As here at home, suggests the king our master 
 To this last costly treaty, the interview, 
 That swallow'dso much treasure, and like a glass 
 Did break i' the rinsing. 
 
 Nor. Faith, and so it did. 
 
 Buck. Pray, give me favour, sir. This cunning 
 
 cardinal 
 
 The articles o' the combination drew 
 As himself pleas'd ; and they were ratified 
 As he cried, Thus let be : to as much end 
 As give a crutch to the dead: but our count- 
 cardinal 
 Has done this, and 'tis well ; for worthy Wolsey, 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 719 
 
 Who cannot err, he did it. Now this follows, 
 Which, as I take it, is a kind of puppy 
 To the old dam treason, Charles the emperor, 
 Under pretence to see the queen his aunt, 
 For 'twas indeed his colour, but he came 
 To whisper Wolsey, here makes visitation : 
 His fears were that the interview betwixt 
 England and France might, through their amity, 
 Breed him some prejudice ; for from this league 
 Peep ; d harms that menac'd him : he privily 
 Deals with our cardinal ; and, as I trow, 
 Which I do well ; for I am sure the emperor 
 Paid ere he promis'd ; wherebyhis suit was granted 
 Ere it was ask'd ; but when the way was made, 
 And pav'd withgold, the emperor thusdesir'd, 
 That he would please to alter the king's course, 
 And break the foresaid peace. Let the king 
 
 know, 
 
 As soon he shall by me, that thus the cardinal 
 Does buy and sell his honour as he pleases, 
 And for his own advantage. 
 
 Nor. I am sorry 
 
 To hear this of him ; and could wish he were 
 Something mistaken in 't. 
 
 Buck. No, not a syllable : 
 
 I do pronounce him in that very shape 
 He shall appear in proof. 
 
 Enter BRANDON, a Sergeant-at-Arms before 
 him, and two or three of the Guard. 
 
 Bran. Your office, sergeant ; execute it. 
 
 Serg. Sir, 
 
 My lord the Duke of Buckingham, and Earl 
 Of Hereford, Stafford, and Northampton, I 
 Arrest thee of high treason, in the name 
 Of our most sovereign king. 
 
 Buck. Lo, you, my lord, 
 
 The net has fall'n upon me ! I shall perish 
 Under device and practice. 
 
 Bran. I am sorry 
 
 To see you ta'en from liberty, to look on 
 The business present : 'tis his highness' pleasure 
 You shall to the Tower. 
 
 Buck. It will help me nothing 
 
 To plead mine innocence ; for that dye is on me 
 Which makes my whit'st part black. The will 
 
 of heaven 
 
 Be done in this and all things ! I obey. 
 O my Lord Aberga'ny, fare you well ! 
 
 Bran. Nay, he must bear you company. 
 The king {To ABERGAVENNY. 
 
 Is pleas'd you shall to the Tower, till you know 
 How he determines further. 
 
 Aber. As the duke said, 
 
 The will of heaven be done, and the king's 
 
 pleasure 
 By me obeyM ! 
 
 Bran. Here is a warrant from 
 
 The king to attach Lord Montacute; and the 
 
 bodies 
 
 Of the duke's confessor, John de la Car, 
 One Gilbert Peck, his chancellor, 
 
 Buck. So, so; 
 
 These are the limbs o' the plot : no more, I 
 
 hope. 
 
 Bran. A monk o' the Chartreux. 
 Buck. O, Nicholas Hopkins? 
 
 Bran. He, 
 
 Buck. My surveyor is false; the o'er-great 
 cardinal [ready : 
 
 Hath show'd him gold ; my life is spann'd al- 
 I am the shadow of poor Buckingham, 
 Whose figure even this instant cloud puts on, 
 By darkening my clear sun. My lord, fare- 
 well. [Exeunt. 
 nij<Jfliam o3 alda Jon ,11^ aiainJofo ariT 
 SCENE II. LONDON. The Council Chamber. 
 
 Cornets. Enter KING HENRY, CARDINAL 
 WOLSEY, the Lords of the Council, SIR 
 THOMAS LOVELL, Officers, and Attendants. 
 The KING enters, leaning on the CARDINAL'S 
 shoulder. 
 
 K. Hen. My life itself, and the best heart of 
 it, [level 
 
 Thanks you for this great care : I stood i' the 
 Of a full-charg'd confederacy, and give thanks 
 To you that choked it. Let be call'd before us 
 That gentleman of Buckingham's : in person 
 I '11 hear him his confessions justify ; 
 And point by point the treasons of his master 
 He shall again relate. 
 
 [The KING takes his state. The Lords of 
 the Council take their several places. The 
 CARDINAL//**:^ himself under the KING'S 
 feet, on his right side. 
 
 ^'tfi Vorfj 3Jon,avJifli)UjOW ftni'-tytyna yiM iosisrfj// 
 
 A noise within, crying, " Room for the 
 Queen!" Enter QUEEN KATHARINE, 
 ushered by the DUKES OF NORFOLK and 
 SUFFOLK: she kneels. The KING riseth 
 from his state, takes her up, kisses, and 
 placeth her by him. 
 
 Q. Kath. Nay, we must longer kneel : I am 
 a suitor. [your suit 
 
 K. Hen. Arise, and take place by us : half 
 Never name to us; you have half our power: 
 The other moiety, ere you ask, is given ; 
 Repeat your will, and take it. 
 
 Q. Kath. Thank your majesty. 
 
 That you would love yourself, and in that love 
 Not unconsider'd leave your honour, nor 
 The dignity of your office, is the point 
 Of my petition. 
 
720 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 K. Hen. Lady mine, proceed. 
 Q. Kath. I am solicited, not by a few, 
 And those of true condition, that your subjects 
 Are in great grievance : there have been com- 
 missions 
 Sent down among 'em which have flaw'd the 
 
 heart 
 
 Of all their loyalties : wherein, although, 
 My good lord cardinal, they vent reproaches 
 Most bitterly on you, as putter-on 
 Of these exactions, yet the king our master, 
 Whose honour Heaven shield from soil ! even 
 
 he escapes not 
 
 Language unmannerly, yea, such which breaks 
 The sides of loyalty, and almost appears 
 In loud rebellion. 
 
 Nor. Not almost appears, 
 
 It doth appear ; for, upon these taxations, 
 The clothiers all, not able to maintain 
 The many to them 'longing, have put off 
 The spinsters, carders, fullers, weavers, who, 
 Unfit for other life, compell'd by hunger 
 And lack of other means, in desperate manner 
 Daring the event to the teeth, are all in uproar, 
 And danger serves among them. 
 
 K. Hen. Taxation ! 
 
 Wherein ? and what taxation ? My lord cardinal , 
 You that are blam'd for it alike with us, 
 Know you of this taxation? 
 
 Wol. Please you, sir, 
 
 I know but of a single part, in aught 
 Pertains to the state ; and front but in that file 
 Where others tell steps with me. 
 
 Q. Kath. No, my lord, 
 
 You know no more than others; but you frame 
 Things that are known alike; which are not 
 
 wholesome [must 
 
 To those which would not know them, and yet 
 Perforce be their acquaintance. These exactions, 
 Whereof my sovereign would have note, they are 
 Most pestilent to the hearing ; and to bear 'em 
 The back is sacrifice to the load. They say 
 They are devis'd by you ; or else you suffer 
 Too hard an exclamation. 
 
 K. Hen. Still exaction ! 
 
 The nature of it? in what kind, let's know, 
 Is this exaction? 
 
 Q. Kath. I am much too venturous 
 In tempting of your patience ; but am bolden'd 
 Under your promis'd pardon. The subjects' 
 
 grief 
 Comes through commissions, which compel 
 
 from each 
 
 The sixth part of his substance, to be levied 
 Without delay ; and the pretence for this 
 Is nam'd your wars in France : this makes bold 
 
 mouths; 
 
 Tongues spit their duties out, and cold hearts 
 
 freeze 
 
 Allegiance in them; their curses now f{j o r 
 Live where their prayers did : and it 's come to 
 
 pass 
 
 This tractable obedience is a slave 
 To each incensed will. I would your highness 
 Would give it quick consideration, for 
 There is no primer business. 
 
 K. Hen. By my life, 
 
 This is against our pleasure. 
 
 Wol. And for me, 
 
 I have no further gone in this than by 
 A single voice ; and that not pass'd me but 
 By learned approbation of the judges. If I am 
 Traduc'd by ignorant tongues, which neither 
 
 know 
 
 My faculties nor person, yet will be 
 The chronicles of my doing, let me say 
 'Tis but the fate of place, and the rough brake 
 That virtue must go through. We must not stint 
 Our necessary actions, in the fear 
 To cope malicious censurers ; which ever, 
 As ravenous fishes, do a vessel follow 
 That is new-trimm'd, but benefit no further 
 Than vainly longing. What we oft do best, 
 By sick interpreters, once weak ones, is 
 Not ours, or not allow'd ; what worst, as oft 
 Hitting a grosser quality, is cried up 
 For our best act. If we shall stand still, 
 In fear our motion will be mock'd or carp'd at, 
 We should take root here where we sit, or sit 
 State-statues only. 
 
 K. Hen. Things done well 
 
 And with a care exempt themselves from fear ; 
 Things done without example, in their issue 
 Are to be fear'd. Have you a precedent 
 Of this commission ? I believe, not any. 
 We must not rend our subjects from our laws, 
 And stick them in our will. Sixth part of each ? 
 A trembling contribution ! Why, we take 
 From every tree lop, bark, and part o' the timber; 
 And, though we leave it with a root, thus hack'd, 
 The air will drink the sap. To every county 
 Where this is question'd send our letters, with 
 Free pardon to each man that has denied 
 The force of this commission : pray, look to 't ; 
 I put it to your care. 
 
 Wol. A word with you. 
 
 [To the Secretary. 
 
 Let there be letters writ to every shire, 
 Of the king's grace and pardon. The griev'd 
 
 commons 
 
 Hardly conceive of me ; let it be nois'd 
 That through our intercession this revokement 
 And pardon comes : I shall anon advise you 
 Further in the proceeding. [Exit Secretary, 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 721 
 
 Enter Surveyor. 
 
 Q. Kath. I am sorry that the Duke of Buck- 
 ingham 
 Is run in your displeasure. 
 
 K. Hen. It grieves many : 
 
 The gentleman is learn'd, and a most rare 
 
 speaker ; 
 
 To nature none more bound ; his training such 
 That he may furnish and instruct great teachers, 
 And never seek for aid out of himself. Yet see, 
 When these so noble benefits shall prove 
 Not well dispos'd, the mind growing once 
 
 corrupt, 
 
 They turn to vicious forms, ten times more ugly 
 Than ever they were fair. This man so com- 
 plete, [we, 
 Who was enroll'd 'mongst wonders, and when 
 Almost with ravish'd list'ning, could not find 
 His hour of speech a minute ; he, my lady, 
 Hath into monstrous habits put the graces 
 That once were his, and is become as black 
 As if besmear'd in hell. Sit by us; you shall 
 
 hear 
 
 This was his gentleman in trust, of him 
 Things to strike honour sad. Bid him recount 
 The fore-recited practices ; whereof 
 We cannot feel too little, hear too much. 
 
 Wol. Stand forth, and with bold spirit relate 
 
 what you, 
 
 Most like a careful subject, have collected 
 Out of the Duke of Buckingham. 
 
 K. Hen. Speak freely. 
 
 Surv . First, it was usual with him, every day 
 It would infect his speech, that if the king 
 Should without issue die, he '11 carry it so 
 To make the sceptre his : these very words 
 I have heard him utter to his son-in-law, 
 Lord Aberga'ny ; to whom by oath he menac'd 
 Revenge upon the cardinal. 
 
 Wol. Please your highness, note 
 
 This dangerous conception in this point. 
 Not friended by his wish, to your high person 
 His will is most malignant ; and it stretches 
 Beyond you to your friends. 
 
 Q. Kath. My learn'd lord cardinal, 
 
 Deliver all with charity. 
 
 K. Hen. Speak on : 
 
 How grounded he his title to the crown 
 Upon our fail ? to this point hast thou heard him 
 At any time speak aught ? 
 
 Surv. He was brought to this 
 
 By a vain prophecy of Nicholas Hopkins. 
 
 K. Hen. What was that Hopkins ? 
 
 Surv. Sir, a Chartreux friar, 
 
 His confessor ; who fed him every minute 
 With words of sovereignty. 
 
 K. Hen. How know'st thou this ? 
 
 Surv. Not long before your highness sped to 
 
 France, .utjyA 
 
 The Duke being at the Rose, within the parish 
 Saint Lawrence Poultney, did of me demand 
 What was the speech among the Londoners 
 Concerning the French journey : I replied, 
 Men fear'd the French would prove perfidious, 
 To the king's danger. Presently the duke 
 Said, 'twas the fear, indeed ; andthathe doubted 
 'Twould prove the verity of certain words 
 Spoke by a holy monk ; That oft, says he, 
 Hath sent to me, wishing me to permit 
 John de la Car, my chaplain, a choice hour 
 To hear from him a matter of some moment I 
 Whom after under the confession's seal 
 He solemnly had sworn, that what he spoke 
 My chaplain to no creature living but 
 To me should utter, with demure confidence 
 This pausingly ensued, Neither the king nor'* 
 
 heirs, 
 
 Tell you the duke, shall prosper : bid him strive 
 To gain the love o' the commonalty : the duke 
 Shall govern England. 
 
 Q. Kath. If I know you well, 
 
 You were the duke's surveyor, and lost your 
 
 office 
 On the complaint o' the tenants: take good 
 
 heed . ;: { 
 
 You charge not in your spleen a noble person, 
 And spoil your nobler soul : I say, take heed ; 
 Yes, heartily beseech you. 
 
 K. Hen. Let him on : 
 
 Go forward. 
 
 Surv. On my soul, I '11 speak but truth. 
 I told my lord the duke, by the devil's illusions 
 The monk might be deceiv'd ; and that 'twas 
 
 dangerous for him 
 To ruminate on this so far, until 
 It forg'd him some design, which, being believ'd, 
 It was much like to do : he answer'd, Tush, 
 It can do me no damage ; adding further, 
 That, had the king in his last sickness fail'd, 
 The cardinal's and Sir Thomas Lovell's heads 
 Should have gone off. 
 
 K. Hen. Ha ! what, so rank ? Ah-ha ! 
 There 's mischief in this man : Canst thou say 
 further? 
 
 Surv. I can, my liege. 
 
 K. Hen. Proceed. 
 
 Surv. Being at Greenwich, 
 
 After your highness had reprov'd the duke 
 About Sir William Blomer, 
 
 K. Hen. I remember 
 
 Of such a time : being my sworn servant, 
 The duke retain'd him his. But onj what 
 hence ? 
 
722 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 [ACT*. 
 
 Surv. If, quoth he, I for this had been com- 
 mitted, 
 As, to the Tower, I thought, / would have 
 
 play'd 
 
 The part my father meant to act upon 
 The usurper Richard ; who, being at Salisbttry , 
 Made suit to come in's presence; which, if 
 
 granted, 
 
 As he made semblance of his duty, would 
 Have put his knife into him. 
 
 K. Hen. A giant traitor ! 
 
 Wol. Now, madam, may his highness live in 
 
 freedom, 
 And this man out of prison ? 
 
 Q. Kath. God mend all ! 
 
 K. Hen. There 's something more would out 
 of thee ; what say'st ? 
 
 Surv. After the duke his father, with the knife, 
 He stretch'd him, and, with one hand on his 
 
 dagger, 
 
 Another spread on 's breast, mounting his eyes, 
 He did discharge a horrible oath ; whose tenor 
 Was, were he evil us'd, he would out-go 
 His father by as much as a performance 
 Does an irresolute purpose. 
 
 K. Hen. There 's his period, 
 
 To sheath his knife in us. He is attach'd ; 
 Call him to present trial : if he may 
 Find mercy in the law, 'tis his ; if none, 
 Let him not seek't of us : by day and night, 
 He is a daring traitor to the height. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. LONIX>N. A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter the Lord Chamberlain d?LoRD SANDS. 
 
 Cham. Is't possible the spells of France 
 
 should juggle 
 Men into such strange mysteries ? 
 
 Sands. New customs, 
 
 Though they be never so ridiculous, 
 Nay, let them be unmanly, yet are follow'd. 
 Cham. As far as I see, all the good our 
 
 English 
 
 Have got by the late voyage is but merely 
 A fit or two o' the face ; but they are shrewd 
 
 ones ; 
 For when they hold them, you would swear 
 
 directly 
 
 Their very noses had been counsellors 
 To Pepin or Qotharius, they keep state so. 
 Sands. They have all new legs, and lame 
 
 ones : one would take it, 
 That never saw 'em pace before, the spavin 
 Or springhalt reign'd among 'em. 
 
 Cham. Death ! my lord, 
 
 Their clothes are after such a pagan cut too, 
 That sure they have worn out Christendom. 
 
 Enter SIR THOMAS LOVELL. 
 
 How now ? 
 What news, Sir Thomas Lovell ? 
 
 Lov. 'Faith, my lord, 
 
 I hear of none, but the new proclamation 
 That 's clapp'd upon the court -gate. 
 
 Cham. What is 't for ? 
 
 Lov. The reformation of our travell'd gallants, 
 That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors. 
 
 Cham. I am glad 'tis there : now I would 
 
 pray our monsieurs 
 
 To think an English courtier may be wise, 
 And never see the Louvre. 
 
 Lov. They must either 
 
 For so ran the conditions leave those remnants 
 Of fool and feather that they got in France, 
 With all their honourable points of ignorance 
 Pertaining thereunto, as fights and fireworks ; 
 Abusing better men than they can be, 
 Out of a foreign wisdom, renouncing clean 
 The faith they have in tennis, and tall stockings, 
 Short blister'd breeches, and those types of 
 
 travel, 
 
 And understand again, like honest men ; 
 Or pack to their old playfellows : there, I take it, 
 They may, cum privilegio, wear away 
 The lag end of their lewdness, and be laugh'd 
 at. 
 
 Sands. 'Tis time to give 'em physic, their 
 
 diseases 
 Are grown so catching. 
 
 Cham. What a loss our ladies 
 
 Will have of these trim vanities 1 
 
 Lov. Ay, marry, 
 
 There will be woe indeed, lords : the sly whore- 
 sons 
 
 Have got a speeding trick to lay down ladies ; 
 A French song and a fiddle has no fellow. 
 
 Sands. The devil fiddle 'em! I am glad 
 
 they 're going, 
 
 For, sure, there 's no converting of 'em : now 
 An honest country lord, as I am, beaten 
 A long time out of play, may bring his plain- 
 song, 
 
 And have an hour of hearing ; and, by'r Lady, 
 Held current music too. 
 
 Cham. Well said, Lord Sands ; 
 
 Your colt's tooth is not cast yet. 
 
 Sands. No, my lord ; 
 
 Nor shall not, while I have a stump. 
 
 Cham. Sir Thomas, 
 
 Whither were you a-going ? 
 
 Lov. To the cardinal's : 
 
 Your lordship is a guest too. 
 
 Cham. O, 'tis tme ; 
 
 This night he makes a supper, and a great one, 
 
SCENE IV.j 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 723 
 
 To many lords and ladies ; there will be 
 The beauty of this kingdom, I '11 assure you. 
 Lov. That churchman bears a bounteous mind 
 
 indeed, 
 
 A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us ; 
 His dews fall everywhere. 
 
 Cham. No doubt he 's noble ; 
 
 He had a black mouth that said other of him. 
 Sands. He may, my lord, has wherewithal ; 
 in him [trine : 
 
 Sparing would show a worse sin than ill doc- 
 Men of his way should be most liberal; 
 They are set here for examples. 
 
 Cham. True, they are so ; 
 
 But few now give so great ones. My barge 
 stays ; [Thomas, 
 
 Your lordship shall along. Come, good Sir 
 We shall be late else; which I would not be, 
 For I was spoke to, with Sir Henry Guildford, 
 This night to be comptrollers. 
 
 Sands. I am your lordship's. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ': *5 Jarf} K f yb; r-jgrijM amoo ^rTfvVI 
 
 SCENE IV. LONDON. The Presence Cham- 
 ber in York Place. 
 
 'aa3n<' lv> H v>ri ^o ^rro- L '. % riT 
 
 Hautboys. A small table under a state for the 
 
 CARDINAL, a longer table for the guests. 
 Enter, at one door t ANNE BULLEN, and 
 divers Lords, Ladies, and Gentlewomen, as 
 guests ; at another door, enter SlR HENRY 
 ... GUILDFORD. 
 
 Guild. Ladies, a general welcome from his 
 
 grace 
 
 Salutes ye all ; this night he dedicates 
 To fair content and you : none here, he hopes, 
 In all this noble bevy, has brought with her 
 One care abroad ; he would have all as merry 
 As, first, good company, good wine, good wel- 
 come [tardy : 
 Can make good people. O, my lord, you are 
 
 Enter Lord Chamberlain, LORD SANDS, and 
 
 maK>n: SlR THOMAS L VEI 4o/>rnhb o 
 The very thought of this fair company 
 Clapp'd wings to me. 
 
 Cham. You are young, Sir Henry Guildford. 
 
 Sands. Sir Thomas Lovell, had the cardinal 
 But half my lay-thoughts in him, some of these 
 Should find a running banquet ere they rested ; 
 I think would better please 'em : by my life, 
 They are a sweet society of fair ones. [fessor 
 
 Lov. O, that your lordship were but now con- 
 To one or two of these ! 
 
 Sands. I would I were; 
 
 They should find easy penance. 
 
 Lov. Faith, how easy? 
 
 Sands. As easy as a down-bed would afford it. 
 Chant. Sweet ladies, will it please you sit? 
 
 Sir Harry, 
 
 Place you that side ; I '11 take the charge of this : 
 His grace is ent'ring. Nay, you must not 
 freeze ; [weather : 
 
 Two women plac'd together makes cold 
 My Lord Sands, you are one will keep 'em 
 
 waking ; 
 Pray, sit between these ladies. 
 
 Sands. By my faith, 
 
 And thank your lordship. By your leave, sweet 
 ladies: 
 [Seats himself between ANNE BULLEN 
 
 and atiother Lady. 
 
 If I chance to talk a little wild, forgive me ; 
 I had it from my father. 
 
 Anne. Was he mad, sir? 
 
 Sands. O, very mad, exceeding mad, in love 
 
 too: 
 
 But he would bite none; just as I do now, 
 He would kiss you twenty with a breath. 
 
 [Kisses her. 
 
 Cham. Well said, my lord. 
 
 So, now you 're fairly seated. Gentlemen, 
 The penance lies on you if these fair ladies 
 Pass away frowning. 
 
 Sands. For my little cure, 
 
 Let me alone. 
 
 Hautboys. Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY, 
 attended; and takes his state. 
 
 Wol. Ye 're welcome, my fair guests: that 
 
 noble lady 
 
 Or gentleman that is not freely merry 
 Is not my friend : this, to confirm my welcome ; 
 And to you all, good health. [Drinks. 
 
 Sands. Your grace is noble : 
 
 Let me have such a bowl may hold my thanks, 
 And save me so much talking. 
 
 Wol. My Lord Sands, 
 
 I am beholden to you : cheer your neighbours. 
 Ladies, you are not merry : gentlemen, 
 Whose fault is this? 
 
 Sands. The red wine first must rise 
 
 In their fair cheeks, my lord ; then we shall have 
 
 'em 
 Talk us to silence. 
 
 Anne. You are a merry gamester, 
 
 My Lord Sands. -^ 
 
 Sands. Yes, if I make my play. 
 
 Here 's to your ladyship: and pledge it, madam, 
 For 'tis to such a thing, 
 
 Anne. You cannot show me. 
 
 Sands. I told your grace they would talk anon. 
 [Drum and trumpets: Chamber* 
 discharged within. 
 
724 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 Wol. What's that? 
 
 Chain. Look out there, some of ye. 
 
 [Exit a Servant. 
 
 Wol. What warlike voice, 
 
 And to what end, is this? Nay, ladies, fear not; 
 By all the laws of war ye 're privileg'd. 
 
 Re-enter Servant. 
 
 Cham. How now ! what is 't? 
 Serv. A noble troop of strangers, 
 
 For so they seem : they have left their barge, 
 
 and landed; 
 
 And hither make, as great ambassadors 
 From foreign princes. 
 
 Wol. Good lord chamberlain, 
 
 Go, give 'em welcome; you can speak the French 
 
 tongue ; 
 
 And, pray receive 'em nobly, and conduct 'em 
 
 Into our presence, where this heaven of beauty 
 
 Shall shine at full upon them. Some attend him. 
 
 [Exit Chamberlain attended. A II arise, 
 
 and tables removed. 
 You have now a broken banquet: but we'll 
 
 mend it. 
 
 A good digestion to you all : and once more 
 I shower a welcome on you ; welcome all. 
 
 Hautboys. Enter the KING, and others, as 
 maskers, habited like shepherds, with Torch- 
 bearers, ushered by the Lord Chamberlain. 
 They pass directly before the CARDINAL, and 
 gracefully salute him. 
 
 A noble company ! what are their pleasures ? 
 Cham. Because they speak no English, thus 
 
 they pray'd, r j on z 
 
 To tell your grace, that, having heard by fame 
 Of this so noble and so fair assembly 
 This night to meet here, they could do no less, 
 Out of the great respect they bear to beauty, 
 But leave their flocks; and, under your fair 
 
 conduct, 
 
 Crave leave to view these ladies, and entreat 
 An hour of revels with 'em. 
 
 Wol. Say, lord chamberlain, 
 
 They have done my poor house grace ; for which 
 
 I pay 'em [pleasures. 
 
 A thousand thanks, and pray 'em take their 
 
 [Ladies chosen for the dance. The KING 
 
 chooses ANNE BULLEN. 
 K. Hen. The fairest hand I ever touch'd! 
 
 O beauty, 
 
 Till now I never knew thee ! [Music. Dance. 
 Wol. My lord, 
 Cham. Your grace? 
 
 Wol. Pray tell them thus much from me : 
 There should be one amongst them, by his 
 person, 
 
 More worthy this place than myself ; to whom, 
 If I but knew him, with my love and duty 
 I would surrender it. 
 
 Cham. I will, my lord. 
 
 [ Goes to the Maskers, and returns. 
 
 Wol. What say they? 
 
 Cham. Such a one, they all confess, 
 
 There is indeed ; which they would have your grace 
 Find out, and he will take it. 
 
 Wol. Let me see, then. 
 
 [Comes from his state. 
 
 By all your good leaves, gentlemen ; here I '11 
 
 make 
 My royal choice. 
 
 K. Hen. Ye have found him, cardinal: 
 
 [ Unmasking. 
 
 You hold a fair assembly ; you do well, lord : 
 You are a churchman, or I '11 tell you, cardinal, 
 I should judge now unhappily. 
 
 Wol. I am glad 
 
 Your grace is grown so pleasant. 
 
 K. Hen. My lord chamberlain, 
 
 Pr'ythee, come hither: what fair lady's that? 
 
 Cham. An 't please your grace, Sir Thomas 
 
 Bullen's daughter, [women. 
 
 The Viscount Rochford, one of her highness' 
 
 K. Hen. By heaven, she is a dainty one. 
 
 Sweetheart, 
 
 I were unmannerly to take you out, 
 And not to kiss you. A health, gentlemen ! 
 Let it go round. 
 
 Wol. Sir Thomas Lovell, is the banquet ready 
 I' the privy chamber? 
 
 Lov. Yes, my lord. 
 
 Wol. Your grace, 
 
 I fear, with dancing is a little heated. 
 
 K. Hen. I fear, too much. 
 
 Wol. There 's fresher air, my lord. 
 
 In the next chamber. [sweet partner, 
 
 K. Hen. Lead in your ladies, every one : 
 I must not yet forsake you : let 's be merry : > 
 Good my lord cardinal, I have half a dozen 
 
 healths 
 
 To drink to these fair ladies, and a measure 
 To lead 'em once again ; and then let 's dream 
 Who 's best in favour. Let the music knock it. 
 rinaH [Exeunt, with trumpets. 
 Ijsnibifio arfo bsd ,!!?/ ' . .'.^J?. 
 
 92^d) V> 3HMW , ffi : ..____ ' irf to** 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. LONDON. A Street. 
 Enter two Gentlemen, meeting. 
 
 1 Gent. Whither away so fast? ; j i o 
 
 2 Gent. O, God save ye ! 
 E'en to the hall, to hear what shall become 
 Of the great Duke of Buckingham. 
 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 725 
 
 1 Gent. I '11 save you 
 That labour, sir. All's now done, but the 
 
 ceremony 
 Of bringing back the prisoner. 
 
 2 Gent. Were you there? 
 
 1 Gent. Yes, indeed, was I. 
 
 2 Gent. Pray, speak what has happen'd. 
 
 1 Gent. You may guess quickly what. 
 
 2 Gent. Is he found guilty? 
 
 1 Gent. Yes, truly is he, and condemn'd 
 
 upon 't. 
 
 2 Gent. I am sorry for 't. 
 
 1 Gent. So are a number more. 
 
 2 Gent. But, pray, how pass'd it? [duke 
 
 1 Gent. I '11 tell you in a little. The great 
 Came to the bar ; where to his accusations 
 He pleaded still not guilty, and alleg'd 
 Many sharp reasons to defeat the law. 
 
 The king's attorney, on the contrary, 
 Urg'd on the examinations, proofs, confessions 
 Of divers witnesses ; which the duke desir'd 
 To have brought, vivA voce, to his face : 
 At which appear'd against him his surveyor ; 
 Sir Gilbert Peck, his chancellor; and John Car, 
 Confessor to him ; with that devil-monk, 
 Hopkins, that made this mischief. 
 
 2 Gent. That was he 
 That fed him with his prophecies? 
 
 1 Gent. The same. 
 All these accus'd him strongly ; which he fain 
 Would have flung from him, but, indeed, he 
 
 could not : 
 
 And so his peers, upon this evidence, 
 Have found him guilty of high treason. Much 
 He spoke, and learnedly, for life ; but all 
 Was either pitied in him or forgotten. [self? 
 
 2 Gent. After all this, how did he bear him- 
 
 1 Gent. When he was brought again to the 
 
 bar to hear [stirr'd 
 
 His knell rung out, his judgment, he was 
 With such an agony, he sweat extremely, 
 And something spoke in choler, ill, and hasty; 
 But he fell to himself again, and sweetly 
 In all the rest show'd a most noble patience. 
 
 2 Gent. I do not think he fears death. 
 
 1 Gent. Sure, he does not, 
 He never was so womanish ; the cause 
 
 He may a little grieve at. 
 
 2 Gent. Certainly 
 The cardinal is the end of this. 
 
 1 Gent. 'Tis likely, 
 By all conjectures : first, Kildare's attainder, 
 Then deputy of Ireland ; who remov'd, 
 
 Earl Surrey was sent thither, and in haste too, 
 Lest he should help his father. 
 
 2 Gent. That trick of state 
 Was a deep envious one. 
 
 1 Gent. At his return 
 
 No doubt he will requite it. This is noted, 
 And generally, whoever the king favours 
 The cardinal instantly will find employment, 
 And far enough from court too. 
 
 2 Gent. All the commons 
 Hate him perniciously, and, o' my conscience, 
 Wish him ten fathom deep : this duke as much 
 They love and dote on; call him bounteous 
 
 Buckingham, 
 The mirror of all courtesy, 
 
 1 Gent. Stay there, sir, 
 And see the noble ruin'd man you speak of. 
 
 Enter BUCKINGHAM from his arraignment; 
 Tip-staves before him ; the axe with the edge 
 towards him; halberds on each side: with 
 him SIR THOMAS LOVELL, SIR NICHOLAS 
 VAUX, SIR WILLIAM SANDS, and common 
 people. 
 
 2 Gent. Let 's stand close, and behold him. 
 Buck. All good people, 
 
 You that thus far have come to pity me, 
 Hear what I say, and then go home and lose me 
 I have this day receiv'd a traitor's judgment, 
 And by that name must die : yet, heaven bear 
 
 witness, 
 
 And if I have a conscience, let it sink me, 
 Even as the axe falls, if I be not faithful ! 
 The law I bear no malice for my death ; 
 'T has done, upon the premises, but justice : 
 But those that sought it I could wish more 
 
 Christians : 
 
 Be what they will, I heartily forgive 'em : 
 Yet let 'em look they glory not in mischief, 
 Nor build their evils on the graves of great mens 
 For then my guiltless blood must cry against 'em 
 For further life in this world I ne'er hope, 
 Nor will I sue, although the king have mercies 
 More than I dare make faults. You few that 
 
 lov'd me, 
 
 And dare be bold to weep for Buckingham, 
 His noble friends and fellows, whom to leave 
 Is only bitter to him, only dying, 
 Go with me, like good angels, to my end ; 
 And as the long divorce of steel falls on me 
 Make of your prayers one sweet sacrifice, 
 And lift my soul to heaven. Lead on, o' God's 
 
 name. 
 
 Lov. I do beseech your grace, for charity, 
 If ever any malice in your heart 
 Were hid against me, now to forgive me frankly. 
 Bitck. Sir Thomas Lovell, I as free forgive you 
 As I would be forgiven : I forgive all ; 
 There cannot be those numberless offences 
 'Gainst me that I cannot take peace with: no 
 
 black envy 
 
726 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 [ACT II. 
 
 Shall make my grave. Commend me to his 
 
 grace ; 
 
 And if he speak of Buckingham, pray tell him 
 You met him half in heaven: my vows and 
 
 prayers 
 
 Yet are the king's ; and, till my soul forsake, 
 Shall cry for blessings on him : may he live 
 Longer than I have time to tell his years ! 
 Ever belov'd and loving may his rule be lyariT 
 And when old time shall lead him to his end, 
 Goodness and he fill up one monument 1 
 
 Lav. To the water side I must conduct your 
 
 grace ; 
 
 Then give my charge up to Sir Nicholas Vaux, 
 Who undertakes you to your end. 
 
 Vaux. Prepare there, 
 
 The duke is coming : see the barge be ready ; 
 And fit it uith such furniture as suits 
 The greatness of his person. 
 
 Buck. Nay, Sir Nicholas, 
 
 Let it alone ; my state now will but mock me. 
 When I came hither I was lord high constable 
 And Duke of Buckingham ; now, poor Edward 
 
 Bohun : ynsri 
 
 Yet I am richer than my base accusers, [it ; 
 That never knew what truth meant : I now seal 
 And with that blood will make 'em one day 
 
 groan for 't. 
 
 My noble father, Henry of Buckingham, 
 Who first rais'd head against usurping Richard, 
 Flying for succour to his servant Banister, 
 Being distress'd, was by that wretch betray'd, 
 And without trial fell ; God's peace be with him ! 
 Henry the Seventh succeeding, truly pitying 
 My father's loss, like a most royal prince, 
 Restart! me to my honours, and out of ruins 
 Made my name once more noble. Now his son, 
 Henry the Eighth, life, honour, name, and all 
 That ma'ie me happy, at one stroke has taken 
 For ever from the world. I had my trial, 
 And must needs say a noble one ; which makes 
 
 me 
 
 A little happier than my wretched father : 
 Yet thus far we are one in fortunes, both 
 Fell by our servants, by those men we lov'dmost; 
 A most unnatural and faithless service ! 
 Heaven has an end in all : yet, you that hear me, 
 This from a dying man receive as certain : 
 Where you are liberal of your loves and counsels, 
 Be sure you be not loose ; for those you make 
 
 friends [ceive 
 
 And give your hearts to, when they once per- 
 The least rub in your fortunes, fall away 
 Like water from ye, never found again I ?A 
 But where they mean to sink ye. All good 
 
 people, [hour 
 
 Pray for me I I must now forsake ye : the last 
 
 Of my long weary life is come upon me. 
 Farewell : 
 
 And when you would say something that is sad, 
 Speak how I fell. I have done ; and God for- 
 give me ! 
 
 [Exeunt BUCKINGHAM and Train. 
 
 1 Gent. O, this is full of pity ! Sir, it calls, 
 I fear, too many curses on their heads 
 
 That were the authors. 
 
 2 Gent. If the duke be guiltless, 
 'Tis full of woe : yet I can give you inkling 
 Of an ensuing evil, if it fall, 
 
 Greater than this. 
 
 1 Gent. Good angels, keep it from us ! 
 Where may it be? You do not doubt my faith, 
 
 sir ? [quire 
 
 2 Gent. This secret is so weighty, 'twill re- 
 A strong faith to conceal it. 
 
 1 Gent. Let me have it ; 
 I do not talk much. 
 
 2 Gent. I am confident ; 
 
 You shall, sir : did you not of late days hear 
 
 A buzzing of a separation 
 
 Between the king and Katharine ? [ j 13< f 
 
 1 Gent. Yes, but it held not : 
 For when the king once heard it, out of anger 
 He sent command to the lord mayor straight 
 To stop the rumour, and allay those tongues 
 That durst disperse it. 
 
 2 Gent. But that slander, sir, 
 
 Is found a truth now: for it grows again,( L , y/ 
 Fresher than e'er it was ; and held for certain 
 The king will venture at it. Either the cardinal, 
 Or some about him near, have, out of malice 
 To the good queen, possess'd him with a scruple 
 That will undo her : to confirm this too, 
 Cardinal Campeius is arriv'd, and lately ; 
 As all think, for this business. 
 
 1 Gent. 'Tis the cardinal ; 
 And merely to revenge him on the emperor 
 For not bestowing on him, at his asking, 
 
 The archbishopric of Toledo, this is purpos'd. 
 
 2 Gent. I think you have hit the mark : but 
 
 is 't not cruel [cardinal 
 
 That she should feel the smart of this? The 
 Will have his will, and she must fall. 
 
 i Gent. 'Tis woeful. 
 
 We are too open here to argue this ; 
 Let 's think in private more. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. LONDON. An Ante-chamber in 
 
 the Palace. .;)Wfl OD Ifc v9 
 
 Enter the Lord Chamberlain reading a letter. 
 
 Cham. My lord, The horses your lordship 
 sent for, with all the care I had, I saw well 
 chosen, ridden, and furnished. They were young 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 727 
 
 and handsome, and of the best breed in the north. 
 When they were ready to set <ntt for London, a 
 man of my lord cardinal 's, by commission and 
 main power, took 'em from me ; with this 
 reason, His master would be served before a 
 subject, if not before the king; which stopped 
 our mouths, sir. 
 
 I fear he will indeed : well, let him have them: 
 He will have all, I think. 
 
 Enter the DUKES OF NORFOLK and SUFFOLK. 
 
 Nor. Well met, my Lord Chamberlain. 
 
 Cham. Good- day to both your graces. 
 
 Suf. How is the king employ'd? 
 
 Cham. I left him private, 
 
 Full of sad thoughts and troubles. 
 
 Nor. What 's the cause ? 
 
 Cham. It seems the marriage with his 
 
 brother's wife 
 Has crept too near his conscience. 
 
 Suf. No, his conscience 
 
 Has crept too near another lady. 
 
 Nor. 'Tisso: 
 
 This is the cardinal's doing, the king-cardinal : 
 
 That blind priest, like the eldest son of fortune, 
 
 Turns what he lists. The king will know him 
 
 one day. [self else. 
 
 Suf. Pray God he do ! he '11 never know him- 
 
 Nor. Plow holily he works in all his business! 
 And with what zeal ! for, now he has crack'd 
 the league [nephew, 
 
 Between us and the emperor, the queen's great- 
 He dives into the king's soul, and there scatters 
 Dangers, doubts, wringing of the conscience, 
 Fears, and despairs, and all these for his mar- 
 riage: 
 
 And out of all these to restore the king, 
 He counsels a divorce ; a loss of her 
 That, like a jewel, has hung twenty years 
 About his neck, yet never lost her lustre ; 
 Of her that loves him with that excellence 
 That angels love good men with ; even of her 
 That, when the greatest stroke of fortune falls, 
 Will bless the king : and is not this course pious? 
 
 Cham. Heaven keep me from such counsel ! 
 'Tis most true ['em, 
 
 These newsare everywhere; every tongue speaks 
 And every true heart weeps for 't : all that dare 
 Look into these affairs see this main end, 
 The French king's sister. Heaven will one day 
 
 open 
 
 The king's eyes, that so long have slept upon 
 This bold bad man. 
 
 Suf. And free us from his slavery. 
 
 Nor. We had need pray, 
 And heartily, for our deliverance ; 
 Or this imperious man will work us all 
 
 From princes into pages : all men's honours 
 Lie like one lump before him, to be fashion'd 
 Into what pitch he please. 
 
 Suf. For me, my lords, 
 
 I love him not, nor fear him ; there 's my creed: 
 As I am made without him, so I '11 stand, 
 If the king please ; his curses and his blessings 
 Touch me alike, they are breath I not believe in. 
 I knew him, and I know him ; so I leave him 
 To him that made him proud, the pope. 
 
 Nor. Let 's in; 
 
 And with some other business put the king 
 From these sad thoughts that work too much 
 
 upon him : 
 My lord, you '11 bear us company? 
 
 Cham. Excuse me ; 
 
 The king has sent me other -where : besides, 
 You '11 find a most unfit time to disturb him : 
 Health to your lordships. 
 
 Nor. Thanks, my good lord chamberlain. 
 [Exit Lord Chamberlain. 
 
 NORFOLK opens a folding door. The KING is 
 discovered sitting, and reading pensively. 
 
 Suf. How sad he looks ! sure, he is much 
 afflicted. 
 
 K. Hen. Who is there, ha? 
 
 Nor. Pray God he be not angry. 
 
 K. Hen. Who's there, I say? How dare 
 
 you thrust yourselves 
 Into my private meditations ? 
 Who am I, ha? 
 
 Nor. A gracious king, that pardons all offences 
 Malice ne'er meant : our breach of duty this way 
 Is business of estate ; in which we come 
 To know your royal pleasure. 
 
 K. Hen. Ye are too bold : 
 
 Go to ; I '11 make you know your times of busi- 
 ness : 
 Is this an hour for temporal affairs, ha ? 
 
 Enter WOLSEY and CAMPEIUS. 
 
 Who 's there ? my good lord cardinal ? O my 
 
 Wolsey, 
 
 The quiet of my wounded conscience, 
 Thou art a cure fit for a king. You're welcome, 
 [To CAMPEIUS. 
 
 Most reverend learned sir, into our kingdom : 
 Use us and it. My good lord, have great care 
 I be not found a talker. [To WOLSEY. 
 
 Wol. Sir, you cannot. 
 
 I would your grace would give us but an hour 
 Of private conference. 
 
 K. Hen. We are busy ; go. 
 
 [To NORFOLK and SUFFOLK. 
 Nor. [Aside /0SUF.] This priest has no pride 
 in him ! 
 
728 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 [ACT II. 
 
 Suf. [Aside to NOR.] Not to speak of: 
 
 I would not be so sick though for his place : 
 But this cannot continue. 
 
 Nor. [Aside /<?SuF.] If it do, 
 I '11 venture one have-at-him. 
 
 Suf. [Aside to NOR.] I another. 
 
 [Exeunt NOR. and SUF. 
 Wol. Your grace has given a precedent of 
 
 wisdom 
 
 Above all princes, in committing freely 
 Your scruple to the voice of Christendom. 
 Who can be angry now ? what envy reach you? 
 The Spaniard, tied by blood and favour to her, 
 Must now confess, if they have any goodness, 
 The trial just and noble. All the clerks, 
 I mean the learned ones, in Christian kingdoms, 
 Have their free voices : Rome the nurse of 
 
 judgment, 
 
 Invited by your noble self, hath sent 
 One general tongue unto us, this good man, 
 This just and learned priest, Cardinal Cam- 
 
 peius, 
 
 Whom once more I present unto your highness. 
 K. Hen. And once more in mine arms I bid 
 
 him welcome, 
 
 And thank the holy conclave for their loves : 
 They have sent me such a man I would have 
 
 wish'd for. 
 Cam. Your grace must needs deserve all 
 
 strangers' loves, 
 
 You are so noble. To your highness' hand 
 I tender my commission ; by whose virtue, 
 The court of Rome commanding, you, my lord 
 Cardinal of York, are join'd with me their 
 
 servant, 
 In the unpartial judging of this business. 
 
 K. Hen. Two equal men. The queen shall 
 
 be acquainted 
 Forthwith for what you come. Where's 
 
 Gardiner? 
 Wol. I know your majesty has always lov'd 
 
 her 
 
 So dear in heart, not to deny her that 
 A woman of less place might ask by law, 
 Scholars allow'd freely to argue for her. 
 
 JC. Hen. Ay, and the best she shall have ; 
 
 and my favour 
 To him that does best : God forbid else. Car- 
 
 dinal, 
 
 Pr'ythee, call Gardiner to me, my new secre- 
 tary : 
 I find him a fit fellow. [Exit WOLSEY. 
 
 Re-enter WOLSEY with GARDINER. 
 
 Wol. [Aside to GARD.] Give me your hand : 
 
 much joy and favour to you ; 
 You are the king s now. 
 
 Card. [Aside toVJo~L.~\ But to be commanded 
 For ever by your grace, whose hand has rais'd 
 
 me. 
 K. Hen. Come hither, Gardiner. 
 
 [ They converse apart. 
 Cam. My Lord of York, was not one Doctor 
 
 Pace 
 In this man's place before him ? 
 
 Wol. Yes, he was. 
 
 Cam. Was he not held a learned man ? 
 Wol. Yes, surely. 
 
 Cam. Believe me, there's an ill opinion 
 
 spread, then, 
 Even of yourself, lord cardinal. 
 
 Wol. How! of me? 
 
 Cam. They will not stick to say you envied 
 
 him ; 
 
 And fearing he would rise, he was so virtuous, 
 Kept him a foreign man still ; which so griev'd 
 
 him 
 That he ran mad and died. 
 
 Wol. Heaven's peace be with him ! 
 
 That's Christian care enough: for living 
 
 murmurers 
 
 There 's places of rebuke. He was a fool ; 
 For he would needs be virtuous : that good fellow, 
 If I command him, follows my appointment : 
 I will have none so near else. Learn this, brother, 
 We live not to be grip'd by meaner persons. 
 K. Hen. Deliver this with modesty to the 
 queen. [Exit GARDINER. 
 
 The most convenient place that I can think of 
 For such receipt of learning is Black-Friars ; 
 There ye shall meet about this weighty busi- 
 ness : 
 
 My Wolsey, see it furnish'd. O, my lord, 
 Would it not grieve an able man to leave 
 So sweet a bedfellow? But, conscience, con- 
 science, 
 O, 'tis a tender place ! and I must leave her. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 ;:9V3 ;rlJtw R9t'.>. 
 
 SCENE III. LONDON. An Ante-chamber in 
 the QUEEN'S Apartments. 
 
 Enter ANNE BULLEN and an Old Lady. 
 
 Anne. Not for that neither : here 's the pang 
 
 that pinches : 
 His highness having liv'd so long with her, and 
 
 she 
 
 So good a lady that no tongue could ever 
 Pronounce dishonour of her, by my life, 
 She never knew harm-doing ; O, now, after 
 So many courses of the sun enthron'd, 
 Still growing in a majesty and pomp, the which 
 To leave a thousand-fold more bitter than 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 729 
 
 'Tis sweet at first to acquire, after this process, 
 To give her the avaunt ! it is a pity 
 r Would move a monster. 
 
 Old L. Hearts of most hard temper 
 
 Melt and lament for her. 
 
 Anne. O, God's will ! much better 
 
 She ne'er had known pomp : though it be tem- 
 poral, 
 
 Yet, if that quarrel, fortune, do divorce 
 It from the bearer, 'tis a sufferance panging 
 As soul and body's severing. 
 
 Old L. Alas, poor lady ! 
 
 She 's a stranger now again. 
 
 Anne. So much the more 
 
 Must pity drop upon her. Verily, 
 I swear, 'tis better to be lowly born, 
 And range with humble livers in content, 
 Than to be perk'd up in a glistering grief, 
 And wear a golden sorrow. 
 
 Old L. Our content 
 
 Is our best having. 
 
 Anne. By my troth and maidenhead, 
 
 I would not be a queen. 
 
 Old L. Beshrew me, I would, 
 
 And venture maidenhead for 't ; and so would 
 
 you, 
 
 For all this spice of your hypocrisy : 
 You, that have so fair parts of woman on you, 
 Have too a woman's heart ; which ever yet 
 Affected eminence, wealth, sovereignty; 
 Which, to say sooth, are blessings ; and which 
 
 gifts, 
 
 Saving your mincing, the capacity 
 Of your soft cheveril conscience would receive 
 If you might please to stretch it. 
 
 Anne. Nay, good troth, 
 
 Old L. Yes, troth and troth ; you would not 
 be a queen? 
 
 Anne. No, not for all the riches under heaven. 
 
 Old L. 'Tis strange : a threepence bowed 
 
 would hire me, 
 
 Old as I am, to queen it: but, I pray you, 
 What think you of a duchess? have you 
 
 limbs 
 To bear that load of title? 
 
 Anne. No, in truth. 
 
 Old L. Then you are weakly made: pluck 
 
 off a little ; 
 
 I would not be a young count in your way 
 For more than blushing comes to : if your back 
 Cannot vouchsafe this burden, 'tis too weak 
 Ever to get a boy. 
 
 Anne. How you do talk ! 
 
 I swear again I would not be a queen 
 For all the world. 
 
 Old L. In faith, for little England 
 
 You 'd venture an emballing : I myself 
 
 Would for Carnarvonshire, although there 
 
 long'd [here? 
 
 No more to the crown but that. Lo, who comes 
 
 Enter the Lord Chamberlain. 
 
 Cham. Good-morrow, ladies. What wer't 
 
 worth to know 
 The secret of your conference? 
 
 Anne. My good lord, 
 
 Not your demand ; it values not your asking : 
 Our mistress' sorrows we were pitying. [ing 
 
 Cham. It was a gentle business, and becom- 
 The action of good women : there is hope 
 All will be well. 
 
 Anne. Now, I pray God, amen ! 
 
 Cham. You bear a gentle mind, and heavenly 
 blessings [lady, 
 
 Follow such creatures. That you may, fair 
 Perceive I speak sincerely, and high note 's 
 Ta'en of your many virtues, the king's majesty 
 Commends his good opinion of you to you, and 
 Does purpose honour to you no less flowing 
 Than Marchioness of Pembroke ; to which title 
 A thousand pound a year, annual support, 
 Out of his grace he adds. 
 
 Anne. I do not know 
 
 What kind of my obedience I should tender ; 
 More than my all is nothing : nor my prayers 
 Are not words duly hallo w'd, nor my wishes 
 More worth than empty vanities ; yet prayers 
 
 and wishes 
 
 Are all I can return. Beseech your lordship, 
 Vouchsafe to speak my thanks and my obedience, 
 As from a blushing handmaid, to his highness ; 
 Whose health and royalty I pray for. 
 
 Cham. Lady, 
 
 I shall not fail to approve the fair conceit 
 The king hath of you. I have perus'd her 
 well ; [Aside. 
 
 Beauty and honour in her are so mingled 
 That they have caught the king: and who 
 
 knows yet 
 
 But from this lady may proceed a gem 
 To lighten all this isle? I'll to the king 
 And say I spoke with you. 
 
 Anne. My honour'd lord. 
 
 [Exit Lord Chamberlain. 
 
 Old L. Why, this it is ; see, see ! 
 I have been begging sixteen years in court, 
 Am yet a courtier beggarly, nor could 
 Come pat betwixt too early and too late 
 For any suit of pounds ; and you, O fate ! 
 A very fresh-fish here, fie, fie, fie upon [up 
 This compell'd fortune ! have your mouth fill'd 
 Before you open it. 
 
 Anne. This is strange to me. [no. 
 
 Old Z. How tastes it ? is it bitter ? forty pence, 
 
730 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 [ACT II. 
 
 There was a lady once, 'tis an old story, 
 That would not be a queen, that would she not, 
 For all the mud in Egypt : have you heard it? 
 
 Anne. Come, you are pleasant. 
 
 Old L. With your theme I could 
 
 O'ermount the lark. The Marchioness of Pem- 
 broke ! 
 
 A thousand pounds a year for pure respect 1 
 No other obligation ! By my life, 
 That promises more thousands : honour's train 
 Is longer than his foreskirt. By this time 
 I know your back will bear a duchess : say, 
 Are you not stronger than you were ? 
 
 Anne. Good lady, 
 
 Make yourself mirth with your particular fancy, 
 And leave me out on 't. Would I had no being, 
 If this salute my blood a jot: it faints me 
 To think what follows. 
 The queen is comfortless, and we forgetful 
 In our long absence : pray, do not deliver 
 What here you have heard to her. 
 
 Old L. ' What do you think me? 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. LONDON. A Hall in BLACK- 
 FRIARS. 
 
 Trumpet^ sennet, and cornets. Enter two 
 Vergers, with short silver -wands ; next them, 
 two Scribes, in the habits of doctors ; after 
 them, the ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY 
 alone; after him, the BISHOPS OF LINCOLN, 
 ELY, ROCHESTER, and SAINT ASAPH ; next 
 them, with some small distance, follows a 
 Gentleman bearing the purse, with the great 
 seal, and a Cardinal s hat ; then two Priests, 
 bearing each a silver cross ; then a Gentle- 
 man-usher bareheaded, accompanied with a 
 Sergeant-at-Arms bearing a silver mace; 
 then two Gentlemen bearing two great silver 
 pillars ; after them, side by side, the two 
 Cardinals, WOLSEY and CAMPEIUS; two 
 Noblemen with the sword and mace. Then 
 enter the KING and QUEEN and their Trains. 
 The KING takes place under the cloth of state; 
 the two Cardinals sit under him as judges. 
 The QUEEN takes place at some distance from 
 the KING. The Bishops place themselves on 
 each side the court, in mamurof a consistory ; 
 between them the Scribes. The Lords sit 
 next the Bishops. The Crier and the rest of 
 the Attendants stand in convenient order 
 about the hall. 
 
 Wol. Whilst out-commission from Rome is 
 
 read, 
 
 Let silence be commanded. 
 K. Hen. What 's the need? 
 
 It hath already publicly been read, 
 And on all sides the authority allow'd ; 
 You may, then, spare that time. 
 
 Wol. Be 't so. Proceed. 
 
 Scribe. Say, Henry King of England, come 
 into the court. 
 
 Crier. Henry King of England, &c. 
 
 K. Hen. Here. 
 
 Scribe. Say, Katharine Queen of England, 
 come into the court. 
 
 Crier. Katharine Queen of England, &c. 
 
 [The QUEEN makes no answer, rises out of 
 her chair, goes about the court, comes to 
 the KING, and kneels at his feet ; then 
 speaks. 
 
 Q. Kath. Sir, I desire you do me right and 
 
 justice ; 
 
 And to bestow your pity on me : for 
 I am a most poor woman, and a stranger, 
 Born out of your dominions ; having here 
 No judge indifferent, nor no more assurance 
 Of equal friendship and proceeding. Alas, sir, 
 In what have I offended you ? what cause 
 Hath my behaviour given to your displeasure, 
 That thus you should proceed to put me off, 
 And take your good grace from me? Heaven 
 
 witness, 
 
 I have been to you a true and humble wife, 
 At all times to your will conformable : 
 Ever in fear to kindle your dislike, [sorry 
 
 Yea, subject to your countenance, glad or 
 As I saw it inclin'd. When was the hour 
 I ever contradicted your desire, [friends 
 
 Or made it not mine too? Or which of your 
 Have I not strove to love, although I knew 
 He were mine enemy? what friend of mine 
 That had to him derived your anger, did I 
 Continue in my liking ? nay, gave notice 
 He was from thence discharg'd ? Sir, call to mind 
 That I have been your wife, in this obedience, 
 Upward of twenty years, and have been blest 
 With many children by you : if, in the course 
 And process of this time, you can report, 
 And prove it too, against mine honour aught, 
 My bond to wedlock or my love and duty, 
 Against your sacred person, in God's name, 
 Turn me away ; and let the foul'st contempt 
 Shut door upon me, and so give me up 
 To the sharp'st kind of justice. Please you, sir, 
 The king, your father, was reputed for 
 A prince most prudent, of an excellent 
 And unmatch'd wit and judgment: Ferdinand, 
 My father, King of Spain, was reckoned one 
 The wisest prince that there had reign'd by many 
 A year before : it is not to be question'd 
 That they had gather* d a wise council to them 
 Of every realm, that did debate this business, 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 731 
 
 Who deetn'd our marriage lawful : wherefore I 
 
 humbly 
 
 Beseech you, sir, to spare me, till I may 
 Be by my friends in Spain advis'd ; whose 
 
 counsel 
 
 I will implore ; if not, i' the name of God, 
 Your pleasure be fulfill'd ! 
 
 Wol. You have here, lady, 
 
 And of your choice, these reverend fathers ; 
 
 men 
 
 Of singular integrity and learning, 
 Yea, the elect o 5 the land, who are assembled 
 To plead your cause : it shall be therefore boot- 
 less 
 
 That longer you desire the court ; as well 
 For your own quiet as to rectify 
 What is unsettled in the king. 
 
 Cam. His grace 
 
 Hath spoken well and justly : therefore, madam, 
 It 's fit this royal session do proceed ; 
 And that, without delay, their arguments 
 Be now produc'd and heard. 
 
 Q. Kath. Lord cardinal, 
 
 To you I speak. 
 
 Wol. Your pleasure, madam ? 
 
 Q. Kath. Sir, 
 
 I am about to weep ; but, thinking that 
 We are a queen, or long have dream'd so, 
 
 certain 
 
 The daughter of a king, my drops of tears 
 I '11 turn to sparks of fire. 
 
 Wol. Be patient yet. 
 
 Q. Kath. I will, when you are humble; 
 
 nay, before, 
 
 Or God will punish me. I do believe, 
 Induc'd by potent circumstances, that 
 You are mine enemy ; and make my challenge 
 You shall not be my judge : for it is you 
 Have blown this coal betwixt my lord and me, 
 Which God's dew quench ! Therefore I say again, 
 I utterly abhor, yea, from my soul 
 Refuse you for my judge ; whom, yet once more, 
 I hold my most malicious foe, and think not 
 At all a friend to truth. 
 
 Wol. I do profess 
 
 You speak not like yourself; who ever yet 
 Have stood to charity, and display'd the effects 
 Of disposition gentle, and of wisdom [wrong : 
 O'ertopping woman's power. Madam, you do me 
 I have no spleen against you, nor injustice 
 For you or any : how far I have proceeded, 
 Or how far further shall, is warranted 
 By a commission from the consistory, [me 
 
 Yea, the whole consistory of Rome. You charge 
 That I have blown this coal : I do deny it : 
 The king is present : if it be known to him 
 That I gainsay my deed, how may he wound, 
 
 And worthily, my falsehood ! yea, as much 
 As you have done my truth. If he know 
 That I am free of your report, he knows 
 I am not of your wrong. Therefore in him 
 It lies to cure me : and the cure is, to [fore 
 Remove these thoughts from you : the which be- 
 His highness shall speak in, I do beseech 
 You, gracious madam, to unthink your speaking. 
 And to say so no more. 
 
 Q. Kath. My lord, my lord, 
 
 I am a simple woman, much too weak 
 To oppose your cunning. You 're meek and 
 
 humble-mouth'd ; 
 
 You sign your place and calling, in full seeming, 
 With meekness and humility ; but your heart 
 Is cramm'd with arrogancy, spleen, and pride. 
 You have, by fortune and his highness' favours, 
 Goneslightly o'er low steps, and now are mounted 
 Where powers are your retainers; and your 
 
 words, 
 
 Domestics to you, serve your will as 't please 
 Yourself pronounce their office. I must tell you, 
 You tender more your person's honour than 
 Your high profession spiritual : that again 
 I do refuse you for my judge ; and here, 
 Before you all, appeal unto the pope, 
 To bring my whole cause 'fore his holiness, 
 And to be judg'd by him. 
 
 [She curtsies to the KING, and offers to depart. 
 
 Cam. The queen Ls obstinate, 
 
 Stubborn to justice, apt to accuse it, and 
 Disdainful to be tried by it : 'tis not well. 
 She 's going away. 
 
 K. Hen. Call her again. 
 
 Crier. Katharine Queen of England, come 
 into the court. 
 
 Grif. Madam, you are call'd back. 
 
 Q. Kath. What need you note it? pray you, 
 
 keep your way : 
 When you are call'd, return. Now the Lord 
 
 help, 
 They vex me past my patience ! Pray you, pass 
 
 on: 
 
 I will not tarry ; no, nor ever more 
 Upon this business my appearance make 
 In any of their courts. 
 
 \Excunt QUEEN, GRIP. , and her other 
 Attendants. 
 
 K. Hen. Go thy ways, Kate: 
 
 That man i' the world who shall report he has 
 A better wife, let him in naught be trusted 
 For speaking false in that : thou art, alone, 
 If thy rare qualities, sweet gentleness, 
 Thy meekness saint-like, wife-likegovernment 
 Obeying in commanding and thy parts 
 Sovereign and pious else, could speak thee out, 
 The queen of earthly queens: she's noble bom; 
 
732 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 And like her true nobility she has 
 Carried herself towards me. 
 
 WoL Most gracious sir, 
 
 In humblest manner I require your highness 
 That it shall please you to declare, in hearing 
 Of all these ears, for where I am robb'd and 
 
 bound, 
 
 There must I be unloos'd ; although not there 
 At once and fully satisfied, whether ever I 
 Did broach this business to your highness ; or 
 Laid any scruple in your way, which might 
 Induce you to the question on 't ? or ever 
 Have to you, but with thanks to God for such 
 A royal lady, spake one the least word that 
 
 might 
 
 Be to the prejudice of her present state, 
 Or touch of her good person ? 
 
 K. Hen. My lord cardinal, 
 
 I do excuse you ; yea, upon mine honour, 
 I free you from't. You are not to be taught 
 That you have many enemies, that know not 
 Why they are so, but, like to village curs, 
 Bark when their fellows do : by some of these 
 The queen is put in anger. You are excus'd : 
 But will you be more justified ? you ever 
 Have wish'd the sleeping of this business ; never 
 Desir'd it to be stirr'd ; but oft have hinder'd, 
 
 oft, 
 
 The passages made toward it : on my honour, 
 I speak my good lord cardinal to this point, 
 And thus far clear him. Now, what mov'd me 
 
 to't, 
 
 I will be bold with time and your attention : 
 Then mark the inducement. Thus it came ; 
 
 give heed to't : 
 
 My conscience first receiv'd a tenderness, 
 Scruple, and prick, on certain speeches utter'd 
 By the Bishop of Bayonne, then French am- 
 bassador ; 
 
 Who had been hither sent on the debating 
 A marriage 'twixt the Duke of Orleans and 
 Our daughter Mary: I' the progress of this 
 
 business, 
 
 Ere a determinate resolution, he, 
 I mean the bishop, did require a respite ; 
 Wherein he might the king his lord advertise 
 Whether our daughter were legitimate, 
 Respecting this our marriage with the dowager, 
 Sometimes our brother's wife. This respite shook 
 The bosom of my conscience, enter'd me, 
 Yea, with a splitting power, and made to tremble 
 The region of my breast ; which forc'd such way 
 That many maz'd considerings did throng, 
 And press'd in with this caution. First, me- 
 
 thought 
 
 I stood not in the smile of heaven ; who had 
 Commanded nature that my lady's womb, 
 
 If it conceiv'd a male child by me, should 
 Do no more offices of life to 't than 
 The grave does to the dead ; for her male issue 
 Or died where they were made, or shortly after 
 This world had air'd them : hence 1 took a 
 
 thought 
 
 This was a judgment on me ; that my kingdom, 
 Well worthy the best heir o' the world, should 
 
 not 
 
 Be gladded in 't by me : then follows that 
 I weigh'd the danger which my realms stood in 
 By this my issue's fail ; and that gave to me 
 Many a groaning throe. Thus hulling in 
 The wild sea of my conscience, I did steer 
 Toward this remedy, whereupon we are 
 Now present here together ; that 's to say, 
 I meant to rectify my conscience, which 
 I then did feel full sick, and yet not well, 
 By all the reverend fathers of the land, 
 And doctors learn'd : first, I began in private 
 With you, my Lord of Lincoln ; you remember 
 How under my oppression I did reek 
 When I first mov'd you. 
 
 Lin. Very well, my liege. 
 
 K. Hen. I have spoke long : be pleas'd your- 
 self to say 
 How far you satisfied me. 
 
 Lin. So please your highness, 
 
 The question did at first so stagger me, 
 
 And did entreat your highness to this course 
 Which you are running here. 
 
 K. Hen. I then mov'd you, 
 
 My Lord of Canterbury ; and got your leave 
 To make this present summons : unsolicited 
 I left no reverend person in this court ; 
 But by particular consent proceeded 
 Under your hands and seals : therefore, go on ; 
 For no dislike i' the world against the person 
 Of the good queen, but the sharp thorny points 
 Of my alleged reasons, drive this forward . 
 Prove but our marriage lawful, by my life l 
 And kingly dignity, we are contented 
 To wear our mortal state to come with her, 
 Katharine our queen, before the primest creature 
 That 's paragon'd o' the world. 
 
 Cam*j'{ ,rni So pleasure your highness, 
 
 The queen being absent, 'tis a needful fitness 
 That we adjourn this court till further day: 
 Meanwhile must be an earnest motion 
 Made to the queen to call back her appeal 
 She intends unto his holiness. 
 
 [ They rise to depart. 
 
 K. Hen. I may perceive 
 
 These cardinals trifle with me : I abhor 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 733 
 
 This dilatory sloth and tricks of Rome. [Aside. 
 My learn'd and well-belov'd servant, Cranmer, 
 Pr'ythee, return ! with thy approach, I know, 
 My comfort comes along. Break up the court: 
 I say, set on. 
 
 [Exeunt in manner as they entered. 
 
 I 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. LONDON. Palace at Bridewell. 
 A Room in the QUEEN'S Apartment. 
 
 The QUEEN and some of her Women at -work. 
 
 Q. Kath. Take thy lute, wench: my soul 
 
 grows sad with troubles ; 
 Sing and disperse 'em, if thou canst: leave 
 working- 
 
 8 *!a nsrfw ,nmtTOW Jsdi oJ fanA 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Orpheus with his lute made trees, 
 And the mountain-tops that freeze, 
 
 Bow themselves, when he did sing : 
 To his music plants and flowers 
 Ever sprung ; as sun and showers 
 There had made a lasting spring. 
 
 Everything that heard him play, 
 Even the billows of the sea, 
 
 Hung their heads and then lay by 
 In sweet music is such art : 
 Killing care and grief of heart 
 
 Fall asleep, or, hearing, die. 
 
 Enter a Gentleman. 
 
 Q. Kath. How now ? [cardinals 
 
 Gent. An 't please your grace, the two great 
 Wait in the presence. 
 
 Q. Kath. Would they speak with me ? 
 
 Gent. They will'd me say so, madam. 
 
 Q. Kath. Pray their graces 
 
 To come near. [Exit Gent.] What can be their 
 
 business 
 
 With me, a poor weak woman, fallen from favour? 
 I do not like their coming, now I think on 't. 
 They should be good men ; their affairs as 
 
 righteous : 
 But all hoods make not monks. 
 
 Entsr WOLSEY and CAMPEIUS. 
 
 Wo I. Peace to your highness ! 
 
 Q. Kath. Your graces find me here part of a 
 
 housewife ; 
 
 I would be all, against the worst may happen. 
 
 What are your pleasures with me, reverend 
 
 lords ? [withdraw 
 
 Wol. May it please you, noble madam, to 
 Into your private chamber, we shall give you 
 The full cause of our coming. 
 
 Q. Kath. Speak it here ; 
 
 There 's nothing I have done yet, o' my con- 
 science, 
 
 Deserves a corner : would all other women 
 Could speak this with as free a soul as I do ! 
 My lords, I care not, so much I am happy 
 Above a number, if my actions 
 Were tried by every tongue, every eye saw 'em, 
 Envy and base opinion set against 'em, 
 I know my life so even. If your business 
 Seek me out, and that way I am wife in, 
 Out with it boldly: truth loves open dealing. 
 Wol. Tanta est erga te mentis integritas t 
 
 regina serenissima, 
 Q. Kath. O, good my lord, no Latin ; 
 I am not such a truant since my coming 
 As not to know the language I have lived in : 
 A strange tongue makes my cause more strange, 
 
 suspicious; 
 Pray, speak in English: here are some will 
 
 thank you, [sake, 
 
 If you speak truth, for their poor mistress' 
 Believe me, she has had much wrong: lord 
 
 cardinal, 
 
 The willing'st sin I ever yec committed 
 May be absolv'd in English. 
 
 Wol. Noble lady, 
 
 I am sorry my integrity should breed, 
 And service to his majesty and you, 
 So deep suspicion, where all faith was meant. 
 We come not by the way of accusation 
 To taint that honour every good tongue blesses, 
 Nor to betray you any way to sorrow, 
 You have too much, good lady ; but to know 
 How you stand minded in the weighty difference 
 Between the king and you ; and to deliver, 
 Like free and honest men, our just opinions, 
 And comforts to your cause. ; .'.: 
 
 Cam. Most honour 'd madam, 
 
 My Lord of York, out of his noble nature, 
 Zeal and obedience he still bore your grace, 
 Forgetting, like a good man, your late censure 
 Both of his truth and him, which was too far, 
 Offers, as I do, in a sign of peace, 
 His service and his counsel. 
 
 Q. Kath. To betray me. [Aside. 
 
 My lords, I thank you both for your good -wills; 
 Ye speak like honest men, pray God ye prove 
 
 so! 
 
 But how to make ye suddenly an answer, 
 In such a point of weight, so near mine 
 
 honour, 
 
 More near my life, I fear, with my weak wit, 
 And to such men of gravity and learning, 
 In truth, I know not. I was set at work 
 Among my maids; full little, God knows, 
 
 looking 
 Either for such men or such business. 
 
"734 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 [ACT III. 
 
 For her sake that I have been, for I feel 
 The last fit of my greatness, good your graces, 
 Let me have time and counsel for my cause : 
 Alas, I am a woman, friendless, hopeless 1 
 
 Wol. Madam, you wrong the king's love 
 
 with these fears : 
 Your hopes and friends are infinite. 
 
 Q. Kath. In England 
 
 But little for my profit : can you think, lords, 
 That any Englishman dare give me counsel ? 
 Or be a known friend, 'gainst his highness' 
 
 pleasure, 
 
 Though he be grown so desperate to be honest, 
 And live a subject ? Nay, forsooth, my friends, 
 They that must weigh out my afflictions, 
 They that my trust must grow to, live not here : 
 They are, as all my other comforts, far hence, 
 In mine own country, lords. 
 
 Cam. I would your grace 
 
 Would leave your griefs, and take my counsel. 
 
 Q. Kath. How, sir? 
 
 Cam. Put your main cause into the king's 
 
 protection ; 
 
 He 's loving and most gracious : 'twill be much 
 Both for your honour better and your cause ; 
 For if the trial of the law o'ertake ye 
 You '11 part away disgrac'd. 
 
 Wol. He tells you rightly. 
 
 Q. KcUh. Ye tell me what ye wish for both, 
 
 my ruin : 
 
 Is this your Christian counsel ? out upon ye ! 
 Heaven is above all yet ; there sits a Judge 
 That no king can corrupt. 
 
 Cam. Your rage mistakes us. 
 
 Q. Kath. The more shame for ye : holy men 
 
 I thought ye, 
 
 Upon my soul, two reverend cardinal virtues ; 
 But cardinal sins and hollow hearts I fear ye : 
 Mend them, for shame, my lords. Is this your 
 
 comfort ? 
 
 The cordial that ye bring a wretched lady, 
 A woman lost among ye, laugh'd at, scorn'd ? 
 I will not wish ye half my miseries ; 
 I have more charity: but say I warn'd ye ; 
 Take heed, for heaven's sake, take heed, lest at 
 
 once 
 The burden of my sorrows fall upon ye. 
 
 Wol. Madam, this is a mere distraction ; 
 You turn the good we offer into envy. 
 
 Q. Kath. Ye turn me into nothing : woe upon 
 ye, me, 
 
 And all such false professors ! would you have 
 If you have any justice, any pity, 
 If ye be anything but churchmen's habits, 
 Put my sick cause into his hands that hates me? 
 Alas ! has banish'd me his bed already, 
 His love too long ago I I am old, my lords, 
 
 And all the fellowship I hold now with him 
 Is only my obedience. What can happen 
 To me above this wretchedness ? all your studies 
 Make me a curse like this. 
 
 Cam. Your fears are worse. 
 
 Q. Kath. Have I liv'd thus long, let me 
 
 speak myself, 
 
 Since virtue finds no friends, a wife, a true one? 
 A woman, I dare say without vain-glory, 
 Never yet branded with suspicion ? 
 Have I with all my full affections 
 Still met the king? lov'd him next heaven? 
 
 obey'd him? 
 
 Been, out of fondness, superstitious to him ? 
 Almost forgot my prayers to content him ? 
 And am I thus rewarded ? 'tis not well, lords. 
 Bring me a constant woman to her husband, 
 One that ne'er dream'd a j oy beyond his pleasure ; 
 And to that woman, when she has done most, 
 Yet will I add an honour, a great patience. 
 Wol. Madam, you wander from the good we 
 
 aim at. [guilty, 
 
 Q. Kath. My lord, I dare not make myself so 
 To give up willingly that noble title 
 Your master wed me to : nothing but death 
 Shall e'er divorce my dignities. 
 
 Wol. Pray, hear me. 
 
 Q. Kath. Would I had never trod this 
 
 English earth, 
 
 Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it ! 
 Ye have angels' faces, but heaven knows your 
 
 hearts. 
 
 What will become of me now, wretched lady ? 
 I am the most unhappy woman living. 
 Alas, poor wenches, where are now your for- 
 tunes ? [ To her Women. 
 Shipwreck'd upon a kingdom, where no pity, 
 No friends, no hope ; no kindred weep for me ; 
 Almost no grave allow'd me : like the lily, 
 That once was mistress of the field and flourish'd, 
 I '11 hang my head and perish. 
 
 Wol. If your grace 
 
 Could but be brought to know our ends are 
 
 honest, 
 You 'd feel more comfort : why should we, good 
 
 lady, 
 
 Upon what cause, wrong you ? alas, our places, 
 The way of our profession is against it : 
 We are to cure such sorrows, not to sow 'em, 
 For goodness' sake, consider what you do ; 
 How you may hurt yourself, ay, utterly 
 Grow from the king's acquaintance, by this 
 
 Carriage. 
 
 The hearts of princes kiss obedience, 
 So much they love it ; but to stubborn spirits 
 They swell, and grow as terrible as storms. 
 I know you have a gentle, noble temper, 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 735 
 
 A soul as even as a calm : pray, think us 
 Those we profess, peace-makers, friends, and 
 
 servants. 
 Cam. Madam, you '11 find it so. You wrong 
 
 your virtues 
 
 With these weak women's fears : a noble spirit, 
 As yours was put into you, ever casts 
 Such doubts, as false coin, from it. The king 
 
 loves you ; 
 
 Beware you lose it not : for us, if you .please 
 To trust us in your business, we are ready 
 To use our utmost studies in your service. 
 Q. Kath. Do what ye will, my lords : and, 
 
 pray, forgive me 
 
 If I have us'd myself unmannerly ; 
 You know I am a woman, lacking wit 
 To make a seemly answer to such persons. 
 Pray, do my service to his majesty : 
 He has my heart yet ; and shall have my prayers 
 While I shall have my life. Come, reverend 
 
 fathers, 
 
 Bestow your counsels on me ; she now begs 
 That little thought, when she set footing here, 
 She should have bought her dignities so dear. 
 
 \Exeunt. 
 
 '. ni;gi> qo32 nsriJ j iLsg jasi ojui luo 
 SCENE II. LONDON. Ante-chamber to the 
 KING'S Apartment in the Palace. 
 
 Enter the DUKE OF NORFOLK, the DUKE OF 
 SUFFOLK, the EARL OF SURREY, and the 
 Lord Chamberlain. 
 
 Nor. If you will now unite in your complaints, 
 And force them with a constancy, the cardinal 
 Cannot stand under them : if you omit 
 The offer of this time, I cannot promise 
 But that you shall sustain more new disgraces, 
 With these you bear already. 
 
 Sur. I am joyful 
 
 To meet the least occasion that may give me 
 Remembrance of my father-in-law, the duke, 
 To be reveng'd on him. 
 
 Suf. Which of the peers 
 
 Have uncontemn'd gone by him, or at least 
 Strangely neglected ? when did he regard 
 The stamp of nobleness in any person 
 Out of himself? 
 
 Cham. My lords, you speak your pleasures : 
 What he deserves of you and me I know ; 
 What we can do to him, though now the time 
 Gives way to us, I much fear. If you cannot 
 Bar his access to the king, never attempt 
 Anything on him ; for he hath a witchcraft 
 Over the king in 's tongue. 
 
 Nor. O, fear him not -, 
 
 His spell in that is out : the king hath found 
 Matter against him that for ever mars 
 
 The honey of his language. No; he's settled. 
 Not to come off, in his displeasure. 
 
 Sur. Sir, 
 
 I should be glad to hear such news as this 
 Once every hour. 
 
 Nor. Believe it, this is true : 
 
 In the divorce his contrary proceedings 
 Are all unfolded ; wherein he appears 
 As I would wish mine enemy. 
 
 Sur. How came 
 
 His practices to light ? 
 
 Suf. Most strangely. 
 
 Sur. O, how, how ? 
 
 Suf. The cardinal's letters to the pope mis- 
 carried, [read 
 And came to the eye o' the king : wherein was 
 How that the cardinal did entreat his holiness 
 To stay the judgment o' the divorce ; for if 
 It did take place, I do, quoth he, perceive 
 My king is tangled in affection to 
 A creature of the queen s^ Lady Anne Bullen. 
 
 Sur. Has the king this ? 
 
 Suf. Believe it. 
 
 Sur. Will this work? 
 
 Cham. The king in this perceives him how 
 
 he coasts 
 
 And hedges his own way. But in this point 
 All his tricks founder, and he brings his physic 
 After his patient's death : the king already 
 Hath married the fair lady. 
 
 Sur. Would he had ! 
 
 Suf. May you be happy in your wish, my lord I 
 For, I profess, you have it. 
 
 Sur. Now, all my joy 
 
 Trace the conjunction ! 
 
 Suf. My amen to 't ! 
 
 Nor. All men's I 
 
 Suf. There 's order given for her coronation : 
 Marry, this is yet but young, and may be left 
 To some ears unrecounted. But, my lords, 
 She is a gallant creature, and complete 
 In mind and feature: I persuade me, from her 
 Will fall some blessing to this land, which shall 
 In it be memoriz'd. 
 
 Sur. But will the king 
 
 Digest this letter of the cardinal's ? 
 The Lord forbid ! 
 
 Nor. Marry, amen ! 
 
 Suf. No, no j 
 
 There be more wasps that buzz about his nose 
 Will make this sting the sooner. Cardinal 
 
 Campeius 
 
 Is stol'n away to Rome ; hath ta'en no leave ; 
 Has left the cause o' the king unhandled ; and 
 Is posted, as the agent of our cardinal, 
 To second all his plot. I do assure you 
 The king cried Ha ! at this. 
 
736 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Cham. v "'' Now, God incense him, 
 
 And let him cry Ha ! louder ! 
 
 Nor, But, my lord, 
 
 When returns Cranmer ? 
 
 Suf. He is return'd, in his opinions ; which 
 Have satisfied the king for his divorce, 
 Together with all famous colleges 
 Almost in Christendom : shortly, I believe, 
 His second marriage shall be publish'd, and 
 Her coronation. Katharine no more 
 Shall be call'd queen, but princess dowager 
 And widow to Prince Arthur. 
 
 Nor. This same Cranmer 's 
 
 A worthy fellow, and hath ta'en much pain 
 In the king's business. 
 
 Suf. He has ; and we shall see him 
 
 For it an archbishop. 
 
 NOK\ { 3j So I hear. 
 
 Suf. 'Tis so. 
 
 The cardinal ! 
 
 ,^\\W^L wttL-jn^iA. ,v sw**>, 
 
 Enter WOLSEY and CROMWELL. 
 
 Nor. Observe, observe, he 's moody. 
 
 Wol. The packet, Cromwell, 
 Gave 't you the king ? 
 
 Crom. To his own hand, in 's bedchamber. 
 
 Wol. Look'd he o' the inside of the paper ? 
 
 Crom. Presently 
 
 He did unseal them : and the first he view'd, 
 He did it with a serious mind ; a heed 
 Was in his countenance. You he bade 
 Attend him here this morning. 
 
 Wol. Is he ready 
 
 To come abroad ? 
 
 Crom. I think by this he is. 
 
 Wol. Leave me awhile. [Exit CROMWELL. 
 It shall be to the Duchess of Alen9on, 
 The French king's sister : he shall marry her. 
 Anne Bullen ! No ; I '11 no Anne Bullens for 
 
 him : 
 
 There 's more in't than fair visage. Bullen ! 
 No, we'll no Bullens. Speedily I wish 
 To hear from Rome. The Marchioness of 
 Pembroke ! 
 
 Nor. He 's discontented. 
 
 Suf. May be he hears the king 
 
 Does whet his anger to him. 
 
 Sur. Sharp enough, 
 
 Lord, for thy justice ! [daughter, 
 
 Wol. The late queen'sgentlewoman, a knight's 
 To be her mistress' mistress ! thequeen'squeen! 
 This candle burns not clear : 'tis I must snuff it ; 
 Then out it goes. What though I know her 
 
 virtuous 
 
 And well deserving? yet I know her for 
 A spleeny Lutheran ; and not wholesome to 
 Our cause, that she should lie i' the bosom of 
 
 Our hard-rul'd king. Again, there is sprung up 
 An heretic, an arch one, Cranmer ; one 
 Hath crawl'd into the favour of the king, 
 And is his oracle. 
 
 Nor. He is vex'd at something. 
 
 Sur. I would 'twere something that would 
 
 fret the string, 
 The master-cord on 's heart ! 
 
 Suf. The king, the king J 
 
 Enter the KING, reading a schedule, and 
 
 LOVELL. 
 
 K. Hen. What piles of wealth hath he ac- 
 cumulated 
 
 To his own portion ! and what expense by the 
 hour [thrift, 
 
 Seems to flow from him ! How, i' the name of 
 Does he rake this together ? Now, my lords, 
 Saw you the cardinal ? 
 
 Nor. My lord, we have [tion 
 
 Stood here observing him : some strange commo- 
 Is in his brain : he bites his lip and starts ; 
 Stops on a sudden, looks upon the ground, 
 Then lays his finger on his temple ; straight 
 Springs out into fast gait ; then stops again, 
 Strikes his breast hard ; and anon he casts 
 His eye against the moon : in most strange 
 
 postures 
 We have seen him set himself. 
 
 K. Hen. It may well be ; 
 
 There is a mutiny in 's mind. This morning 
 Papers of state he sent me to peruse, 
 As I requir'd : and wot you what I found 
 There, on my conscience, put unwittingly? 
 Forsooth, an inventory, thus importing, 
 The several parcels of his plate, his treasure, 
 Rich stuffs, and ornaments of household ; which 
 I find at such proud rate that it out-speaks 
 Possession of a subject. 
 
 Nor. It 's heaven's will : 
 
 Some spirit put this paper in the packet 
 To bless your eye withal. 
 
 K. Hen. If we did think 
 
 His contemplation were above the earth, 
 And fix'd on spiritual object, he should still 
 Dwell in his musings : but I am afraid 
 His thinkings are below the moon, not worth 
 His serious considering. 
 
 \He takes his seat and -whispers LOVELL, 
 who goes to WOLSEY. 
 
 Wol. Heaven forgive me ! 
 
 Ever God bless your highness ! 
 
 K. Hen. Good, my lord, 
 
 You are full of heavenly stuff, and bear the in- 
 ventory 
 Of your best graces in your mind ; the which 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 737 
 
 You were now running o'er: you have scarce 
 
 time 
 
 To steal from spiritual leisure a brief span 
 To keep your earthly audit : sure, in that 
 I deem you an ill husband, and am glad 
 To have you therein my companion. 
 
 mi. Sir, 
 
 For holy offices I have a time ; a time 
 To think upon the part of business which 
 I bear i' the state ; and nature does require 
 Her times of preservation, which perforce 
 I, her frail son, amongst my brethren mortal, 
 Must give my tendance to. 
 
 K. Hen. You have said well. 
 
 Wol. And ever may your highness yoke to- 
 gether. 
 
 As I will lend you cause, my doing well 
 With my well saying ! % 
 
 K. Hen. 'Tis well said again ; 
 
 And 'tis a kind of good deed to say well : 
 And yet words are no deeds. My father lov'd 
 
 you : 
 
 He said he did ; and with his deed did crown 
 His word upon you. Since I had my office 
 I have kept you next my heart ; have not alone 
 Employ'd you where high profits might come 
 
 home, 
 
 But par'd my present havings to bestow 
 My bounties upon you. 
 
 Wol. What should this mean ? [Aside. 
 
 Sur. The Lord increase this business ! 
 
 [Aside to others. 
 
 K. Hen. Have I not made you 
 
 The prime man of the state ? I pray you, tell me 
 If what I now pronounce you have found true : 
 And, if you may confess it, say withal 
 If you are bound to us or no. What say you ? 
 
 Wol. My sovereign, I confess your royal 
 graces, [could 
 
 Shower'd on me daily, have been more than 
 My studied purposes requite ; which went 
 Beyond all man's endeavours : my endeavours 
 Have ever come too short of my desires, 
 Yet fill'd with my abilities : mine own ends 
 Have been mine so that evermore they pointed 
 To the good of your most sacred person and 
 The profit of the state. For your great graces 
 Heap'd upon me, poor undeserver, I 
 Can nothing render but allegiant thanks ; 
 My prayers to heaven for you ; my loyalty, 
 Which ever has and ever shall be growing, 
 Till death, that winter, kill it. 
 
 -^ Hen. Fairly answer'd ; 
 
 A loyal and obedient subject is 
 Therein illustrated : the honour of it 
 Does pay the act of it ; as, i' the contrary, 
 The foulness is the punishment. I presume 
 
 That, as my hand has open'd bounty to you, 
 My heart dropp'd love, my power rain'd 
 
 honour, more 
 
 On you than any ; so your hand and heart, 
 Your brain, and every function of your power, 
 Should, notwithstanding that your bond of duty, 
 As 'twere in love's particular, be more 
 To me, your friend, than any. 
 
 Wol. I do profess 
 
 That for your highness' good I ever labour'd 
 More than mine own ; that am, have, and will 
 be, [you, 
 
 Though all the world should crack their duty to 
 And throw it from their soul j though perils did 
 Abound as thick as thought could make 'em, and 
 Appear in forms more horrid, yet my duty, 
 As doth a rock against the chiding flood, 
 Should the approach of this wild river break, 
 And stand unshaken yours. 
 
 K. Hen. 'Tis nobly spoken : 
 
 Take notice, lords, he has a loyal breast, 
 For you have seen him open 't. Read o'er this ; 
 [Giving him papers* 
 
 And after, this : and then to breakfast with 
 What appetite you have. 
 
 [Exit ', frowning upon CARDINAL WOLSEY : 
 the Nobles throng after him t smiling 
 and whispering, 
 
 Wol. What should this mean ? 
 
 What sudden anger's this ? how have I reap'd it? 
 He parted frowning from me, as if ruin 
 Leap'd from his eyes : so looks the chafed lion 
 Upon the daring huntsman that has gall'd him ; 
 Then makes him nothing. I must read this 
 
 paper; 
 
 I fear, the story of his anger. 'Tis so; 
 This paper has undone me : 'tis the account 
 Of all that world of wealth I have drawn together 
 For mine own ends; indeed, to gain the pope- 
 
 dom, 
 
 And fee my friends in Rome. O negligence, 
 Fit for a fool to fall by ! What cross devil 
 Made me put this main secret in the packet 
 I sent the king ? Is there no way to cure this ? 
 No new device to beat this from his brains ? 
 I know 'twill stir him strongly ; yet I know 
 A way, if it take right, in spite of fortune, 
 Will bring me off again. What 5 s this To the 
 
 Pope ? 
 
 The letter, as I live, with all the business 
 I writ to 's holiness. Nay then, farewell ! 
 I have touch'd the highest point of all my great- 
 ness ; 
 
 And from that full meridian of my glory 
 I haste now to my setting : I shall fall 
 Like a bright exhalation in the evening, 
 And no man see me more. 
 
 2 A 
 
KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Re-enter the DUKES OF NORFOLK and SUF- 
 FOLK, the EARL OF SURREY, and the Lord 
 Chamberlain. 
 
 Nor, Hear the king's pleasure, cardinal: 
 
 who commands you 
 To render up the great seal presently 
 Into our hands ; and to confine yourself 
 To Asher House, my Lord of Winchester's, 
 Till you hear further from his highness. 
 
 mi. Stay, 
 
 Where 's your commission, lords ? words cannot 
 
 carry 
 Authority so weighty. 
 
 Sttf. Who dare cross 'em, 
 
 Bearing the king's will from his mouth expressly ? 
 
 Wol. Till I find more than will or words to 
 
 do it, 
 
 I mean your malice, know, officious lords, 
 I dare and must deny it. Now I feel 
 Of what coarse metal ye are moulded, envy : 
 How eagerly ye follow my disgraces, 
 As if it fed ye ! and how sleek and wanton 
 Ye appear in everything may bring my ruin ! 
 Follow your envious courses, men of malice ; 
 You have Christian warrant for them, and, no 
 
 doubt, 
 
 In time will find their fit rewards. That seal, 
 You ask with such a violence, the king, 
 Mine and your master, with his own hand gave 
 
 me ; 
 
 Bade me enjoy it, with the place and honours, 
 During my life ; and, to confirm his goodness, 
 Tied it by letters-patents : now, who '11 take it ? 
 
 Sur. The king, that gave it. 
 
 Wol. It must be himself then. 
 
 Sur. Thou art a proud traitor, priest. 
 
 Wol. Proud lord, thou liest : 
 
 Within these forty hours Surrey durst better 
 Have burnt that tongue than said so. 
 
 Sur. Thy ambition, 
 
 Thou scarlet sin, robb'd this bewailing land 
 Of noble Buckingham, my father-in-law : 
 The heads of all thy brother cardinals, 
 With thee and all thy best parts bound together, 
 Weigh'd not a hair of his. Plague of your policy ! 
 You sent me deputy for Ireland ; 
 Far from his succour, from the king, from all 
 That might have mercy on the fault thou gav'st 
 
 him ; 
 
 Whilst your great goodness, out of holy pity, 
 Absolv'd him with an axe. 
 
 Wol. This, and all else 
 
 This talking lord can lay upon my credit, 
 I answer, is most false. The duke by law 
 Found his deserts : how innocent I was 
 From any private malice in his end, 
 
 His noble jury and foul cause can witness. 
 If I lov'd many words, lord, I should tell you 
 You have as little honesty as honour, 
 That in the way of loyalty and truth 
 Toward the king, my ever royal master, 
 Dare mate a sounder man than Surrey can be, 
 And all that love his follies. 
 
 Sur. By my soul, 
 
 Your long coat, priest, protects you ; thou 
 
 shouldst feel [lords, 
 
 My sword i' the life-blood of thee else. My 
 Can ye endure to hear this arrogance ? 
 And from this fellow ? If we live thus tamely, 
 To be thus jaded by a piece of scarlet, 
 Farewell, nobility; let his grace go forward, 
 And dare us with his cap like larks. 
 . Wol. All goodness 
 
 Is poison to thy stomach. 
 
 Sur. Yes, that goodness 
 
 Of gleaning all the land's wealth into one, 
 Into your own hands, cardinal, by extortion ; 
 The goodness of your intercepted packets 
 You writ to the pope against the king: your 
 
 goodness, [ous. 
 
 Since you provoke me, shall be most notori- 
 My Lord of Norfolk, as you are truly noble, 
 As you respect the common good, the state 
 Of our despis'd nobility, our issues, 
 Who, if he live, will scarce be gentlemen, 
 Produce the grand sum of his sins, the articles 
 Collected from his life : I '11 startle you 
 Worse than the sacring bell, when the brown 
 
 wench 
 Lay kissing in your arms, lord cardinal. 
 
 Wol. How much, methinks, I could despise 
 
 this man, 
 
 But that I am bound in charity against it ! 
 Nor. Those articles, my lord, are in the 
 
 king's hand : 
 But, thus much, they are foul ones. 
 
 Wol. So much fairer 
 
 And spotless shall mine innocence arise, 
 When the king knows my truth. 
 
 Sur. This cannot save you : 
 
 I thank my memory I yet remember 
 Some of these articles ; and out they shall. 
 Now, if you can blush and cry guilty, cardinal. 
 You '11 show a little honesty. 
 
 Wol. Speak on, sir ; 
 
 I dare your worst objections : if I blush, 
 It is to see a nobleman want manners. 
 
 Sur. I'd rather want those than my head. 
 
 Have at you ! 
 
 First, that, without the king's assent or know- 
 ledge, 
 
 You wrought to be a legate ; by which power 
 You maim'd the jurisdiction of all bishops. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 739 
 
 Nor. Then, that in all you writ to Rome, or 
 
 else 
 
 To foreign princes, Ego et Rex meus [king 
 Was still inscrib'd; in which you brought the 
 To be your servant. 
 
 Suf. Then, that, without the knowledge, 
 Either of king or council, when you went 
 Ambassador to the emperor, you made bold 
 To carry into Flanders the great seal. 
 
 Sur. Item, you sent a large commission 
 To Gregory de Cassalis, to conclude, 
 Without the king's will or the state's allowance, 
 A league between his highness and Ferrara. 
 
 Suf. That, out of mere ambition, you have 
 
 caus'd 
 Your holy hat to be stamp'd on the king's coin. 
 
 Sur. Then, that you have sent innumerable 
 substance, [science, 
 
 By what means got I leave to your own con- 
 To furnish Rome, and to prepare the ways 
 You have for dignities ; to the mere undoing 
 Of all the kingdom. Many more there are, 
 Which, since they are of you, and odious, 
 I will not taint my mouth with. 
 
 Cham. O my lord, 
 
 Press not a falling man too far ! 'tis virtue : 
 His faults lie open to the laws ; let them, 
 Not you, correct him. My heart weeps to see 
 
 him 
 So little of his great self. 
 
 Sur. I forgive him. [is, 
 
 Suf. Lord Cardinal, the king's further pleasure 
 Because all those things you have done of late, 
 By your power legatine within this kingdom, 
 Fall into the compass of a prczmunire, 
 That therefore such a writ be sued against you; 
 To forfeit all your goods, lands, tenements, 
 Chattels, and whatsoever, and to be 
 Out of the king's protection : this is my charge. 
 
 Nor. And so we '11 leave you to your medita- 
 tions 
 
 How to live better. For your stubborn answer 
 About the giving back the great seal to us, 
 The king shall know it, and, no doubt, shall 
 
 thank you. 
 
 So fare you well, my little good lord cardinal. 
 [Exeunt all but WOLSEY. 
 
 Wol. So farewell to the little good you bear 
 
 me. 
 
 Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness ! 
 This is the state of man : to-day he puts forth 
 The tender leaves of hope ; to-morrow blossoms, 
 And bears his blushing honours thick upon him ; 
 The third day comes a frost, a killing frost, 
 And, when he thinks, good easy man, full 
 
 surely 
 His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root, 
 
 And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd, 
 Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, 
 This many summers in a sea of glory ; 
 But far beyond my depth : my high-blown pride 
 At length broke under me ; and now has left me, 
 Weary and old with service, to the mercy 
 Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. 
 Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye : 
 I feel my heart new opened. O, how wretcnea 
 Is that poor man that hangs on prince's favours ! 
 There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to, 
 That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, 
 More pangs and fears than wars or women have : 
 And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, 
 Never to hope again. 
 
 Enter CROMWELL, amazedly. 
 
 Why, how now, Cromwell ! 
 
 Crom. I have no power to speak, sir. 
 
 Wol. What, amaz'd 
 
 At my misfortunes ? can thy spirit wonder 
 A great man should decline ? Nay, an you weep, 
 I am fallen indeed. 
 
 Crom. How does your grace ? 
 
 Wol. Why, well ; 
 
 Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell, 
 know myself now ; and I feel within me 
 
 A peace above all earthly dignities, 
 
 A still and quiet conscience. The king has 
 
 cur'd me, 
 I humbly thank his grace ; and from these 
 
 shoulders, 
 
 These ruin'd pillars, out of pity, taken 
 A load would sink a navy, too much honour : 
 O, 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden 
 Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven ! 
 
 Crom. I am glad your grace has made that 
 right use of it. [thinks, 
 
 Wol. I hope I have : I am able now, me- 
 Out of a fortitude of soul I feel, 
 To endure more miseries and greater far 
 Than my weak -hearted enemies dare offer. 
 What news abroad ? 
 
 Crom. The heaviest and the worsj: 
 
 Is your displeasure with the king. 
 
 Wol. God bless him ! 
 
 Crom. The next is that Sir Thomas More is 
 
 chosen 
 Lord Chancellor in your place. 
 
 Wol. That 's somewhat sudden : 
 
 But he 's a learned man. May he continue 
 Long in his highness' favour, and do justice, 
 For truth's sake and his conscience ; that his 
 bones, [ings, 
 
 When he has run his course and sleeps in bless- 
 May have a tomb of orphans' tears wept on 'em ! 
 What more ? 
 
/740 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Crotn* That Cramner is return'd with wel- 
 come, 
 
 Install'd Lord Archbishop of Canterbury. 
 Wol. That 's news indeed. 
 Crom. Last, that the Lady Anne, 
 
 Whom the king hath in secrecy long married, 
 This day was view'd in open as his queen, 
 Going to chapel ; and the voice is now 
 Only about her coronation. 
 
 Woli There was the weight that pull'd me 
 
 down. O Cromwell, 
 
 The king has gone beyond me : all my glories 
 In that one woman I have lost for ever : 
 No sun shall ever usher forth mine honours, 
 Or gild again the noble troops that waited 
 Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Crom- 
 well ; 
 
 I am a poor fallen man, unworthy now 
 To be thy lord and master : seek the king ; 
 That sun, I pray, may never set ! I have told 
 him [thee ; 
 
 What and, how true thou art: he will advance 
 Some little memory of me will stir him, 
 I know his noble nature, not to let 
 Thy hopeful service perish too : good Cromwell, 
 Neglect him not ; make use now, and provide 
 For thine own future safety. 
 
 Crom. O my lord, 
 
 Must I then leave you? must I needs forego 
 So good, so noble, and so true a master? 
 Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron, 
 With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord. 
 The king shall have my service ; but my prayers 
 For ever and for ever shall be yours. 
 
 Wol. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear 
 In all my miseries ; but thou hast forc'd me, 
 Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman. 
 Let's dry our eyes: and thus far hear me, 
 
 Cromwell ; 
 
 And, when I am forgotten, as I shall be, 
 And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention 
 Of me more must be heard of, say I taught 
 
 thee; 
 
 Say Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory, 
 And sounded all the depths and shoals of hon- 
 our, 
 
 Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in ; 
 A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it. 
 Mark but my fall, and that that ruin'd me. 
 Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition : 
 By that sin fell the angels; how can man, 
 
 then> 
 
 The image of his Maker, hope to win by it? 
 Love thyself last : cherish those hearts that hate 
 
 thee; 
 
 Corruption wins not more than honesty. 
 Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, 
 
 To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear 
 
 not: 
 
 Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, 
 Thy God's, and truth's ; then, if thou fall'st, O 
 
 Cromwell, 
 
 Thou fall'st a blessed martyr ! Serve the king ; 
 And, pr'ythee, lead me in : 
 There take an inventory of all I have, 
 To the last penny; 'tis the king's: my robe, 
 And my integrity to heaven, is all [well ! 
 
 I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Crom- 
 Had I but serv'd my God with half the zeal 
 I serv'd my king, he would not in mine age 
 Have left me naked to mine enemies. 
 
 Crom. Good sir, have patience. 
 
 Wol. So I have. Farewell 
 
 The hopes of court 1 my hopes in heaven do 
 
 dwell. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 [[6 10 
 
 SCENE I. A Street in Westminster. 
 Enter two Gentlemen, meeting. 
 
 1 Gent. You are well met once again. 
 
 2 Gent. So are you. 
 
 1 Gent. You come to take your stand here, 
 
 and behold 
 The Lady Anne pass from her coronation? 
 
 2 Gent. 'Tis all my business. At our last 
 
 encounter 
 The Duke of Buckingham came from his trial. 
 
 1 Gent. 'Tis very true : but that time offer'd 
 
 sorrow ; 
 This, general joy. 
 
 2 Gent. 'Tis well : the citizens, 
 
 I am sure, have shown at full their royal minds ; 
 As, let 'em have their rights, they are ever 
 
 forward, 
 
 In celebration of this day with shows, 
 Pageants, and sights of honour. 
 
 1 Gent. Never greater, 
 Nor, I'll assure you, better taken, sir. [tains, 
 
 2 Gent. May I be bold to ask what that con 
 That paper in your hand? 
 
 1 Gent. Yes ; 'tis the list 
 Of those that claim their offices this day, 
 By custom of the coronation. 
 
 The Duke of Suffolk is the first, and claims 
 To be high-steward ; next, the Duke of Norfolk, 
 He to be earl marshal : you may read the rest. 
 
 2 Gent. I thank you, sir; had I not known 
 
 those customs, 
 
 I should have been beholden to your paper. 
 But, I beseech you, what 's become of Katharine, 
 The princess dowager? how goes her business? 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 741 
 
 1 Gent. That I can tell you too. The Arch- 
 
 bishop 
 
 Of Canterbury, accompanied with other 
 Learned and reverend fathers of his order, 
 Held a late court at Dunstable, six miles off 
 From Ampthill, where the princess lay; to 
 
 which 
 
 She was often cited by them, but appeared not : 
 And, to be short, for not appearance and 
 The king's late scruple, by the main assent 
 Of all these learned men, she was divorc'd, 
 And the late marriage made of none effect : 
 Since which she was remov'd to Kimbolton, 
 Where she remains now sick. 
 
 2 Gent. Alas, good lady ! 
 
 [Trumpets. 
 
 The trumpets sound t stand close, the queen is 
 coming. 
 
 THE ORDER OF THE PROCESSION. 
 A lively flourish of trumpets '. then enter t 
 
 1. Two Judges. 
 
 2. Lord Chancellor, with the purse and mace before him. 
 
 3. Choristers singing. [Music. 
 
 4. M ayor of London, bearing the mace. Then Garter, in 
 
 his coat of arms, and on his head a gilt copper 
 crown. 
 
 5. Marquis Dorset, bearing a sceptre of gold, on his head 
 
 a demt-coronal of gold. With him, the Earl of 
 Surrey, bearing the rod of silver with the dove, 
 crowned with an earl's coronet. Collars of SS. 
 6; Duke of Suffolk, in his robe of estate, his coronet on 
 his head, bearing a long white wand, as high- 
 steward. With him, the Duke of Norfolk, with 
 the rod of marshalship, a coronet on his head. 
 Collars of SS. 
 
 7. A canopy borne by four of the Cinque-ports ; under 
 
 it the Queen in her rcbe ; her hair richly a- 
 dorned with pearl, crowned. On each side of 
 her, the Bishops of London and Winchester. 
 
 8. The old Duchess of Norfolk, in a coronal of gold, 
 
 wrought with flowers, bearing the Queen's train. 
 
 9. Certain Ladies or Countesses, with plain circlets of 
 
 gold without flowers. 
 
 A royal train, believe me. These I know: 
 Who's that that bears the sceptre? 
 
 1 Gent. Marquis Dorset : 
 And that the Earl of Surrey, with the rod. 
 
 2 Gent. A bold brave gentleman. That 
 
 should be 
 The Duke of Suffolk? 
 
 1 Gent. 'Tis the same, high-steward. 
 
 2 Gent. And that my Lord of Norfolk? 
 
 1 Gent. Yes. 
 
 2 Gent. Heaven bless thee ! 
 
 [Looking on the QUEEN. 
 Thou hast the sweetest face I ever look'd on. 
 Sir, as I have a soul, she is an angel; 
 Our king has all the Indies in his arms, 
 And more and richer, when he strains that lady : 
 I cannot blame his conscience. 
 
 1 Gent. They that bear 
 The cloth of honour over her are four barons 
 Of the Cinque-ports. 
 
 2 Gent. Those men are happy ; and so are all 
 
 are near her. 
 
 I take it, she that carries up the train 
 Is that old noble lady, Duchess of Norfolk. 
 
 1 Gent. It is ; and all the rest are countesses. 
 
 2 Gent. Their coronets say so. These are 
 
 stars indeed ; 
 And sometimes falling ones. 
 
 1 Gent. No more of that. 
 
 [Exit Procession, with a great flortrish of 
 trumpets. 
 
 Enter a third Gentleman. 
 
 God save you, sir ! where have you been broil- 
 ing? [a finger 
 
 3 Gent. Among the crowd i' the abbey ; where 
 Could not be wedg'd in more : I am stifled 
 With the mere rankness of their joy. 
 
 2 Gent. You saw 
 The ceremony? 
 
 3 Gent. That I did. 
 
 1 Gent. How was it? 
 3 Gent. Well worth the seeing. 
 
 2 Gent. Good sir, speak it to us. 
 
 3 Gent. As well as I am able. The rich stream 
 Of lords and ladies, having brought the queen 
 To a prepar'd place in the choir, fell off 
 
 A distance from her : while her grace sat down 
 To rest awhile, some half an hour or so, 
 In a rich chair of state, opposing freely 
 The beauty of her person to the people. 
 Believe me, sir, she is the goodliest woman 
 That ever lay by man : which when the people 
 Had the full view of, such a noise arose 
 As the shrouds make at sea in a stiff tempest, 
 As loud, and to as many tunes: hats, cloaks, 
 Doublets, I think, flew up ; and had their faces 
 Been loose, this day they had been lost. Such joy 
 I never saw before. Great-bellied women, 
 That had not half a week to go, like rams 
 In the old time of war, would shake the press, 
 And make 'em reel before 'em. No man living 
 Could say, This is my wife, there ; all were woven 
 So strangely in one piece. 
 
 2 Gent. But what follow'd? 
 
 3 Gent. At length her grace rose, and with 
 
 modest paces [saintlike, 
 
 Came to the altar; where she kneel'd, and, 
 Cast her fair eyes to heaven, and pray'd devoutly. 
 Then rose again, and bow'd her to the people : 
 When by the Archbishop of Canterbury 
 She had all the royal makings of a queen ; 
 As holy oil, Edward Confessor's crown, 
 The rod, and bird of peace, and all such emblems 
 
742 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Laid nobly on her : which perform'd, the choir, 
 With all the choicest music of the kingdom, 
 Together sung Te Deum. So she parted, 
 And with the same full state pac'd back again 
 To York Place, where the feast is held. 
 
 1 Gent. Sir, 
 You must no more call it York Place, that's 
 
 past: 
 
 For, since the cardinal fell, that title 's lost : 
 'Tis now the king's, and call'd Whitehall. 
 
 3 Gent. I know it ; 
 
 But 'tis so lately alter'd that the old name 
 Is fresh about me. 
 
 2 Gent. What two reverend bishops 
 Were those that went on each side of the queen? 
 
 3 Gent. Stokesly and Gardiner ; the one of 
 
 Winchester, 
 
 Newly preferr'd from the king's secretary, 
 The other, London. 
 
 2 Gent. He of Winchester 
 
 Is held no great good lover of the archbishop's, 
 The virtuous Cranmer. 
 
 3 Gent. All the land knows that :: 
 However, yet there is no great breach ; when it 
 
 comes, [him. 
 
 Cranmer will find a friend will not shrink from 
 
 2 Gent. Who may that be, I pray you? 
 
 3 Gent. Thomas Cromwell ; 
 A man in much esteem with the king, and truly 
 A worthy friend. The king 
 
 Has made him master o' the jewel-house, 
 And one, already, of the privy council. 
 
 2 Gent. He will deserve more. ' 
 
 3 Gent. Yes, without all doubt. 
 Come, gentlemen, ye shall go my way, which 
 Is to the court, and there ye shall be my 
 
 guests : 
 
 Something I can command. As I walk thither 
 I '11 tell ye more. 
 
 Both. You may command us, sir. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. Kimbolton. 
 
 Enter KATHARINE, Dowager, sick; led between 
 GRIFFITH and PATIENCE. 
 
 Grif. How does your grace ? 
 
 Kath. O Griffith, sick to death ! 
 
 My legs, like loaden branches, bow to the 
 
 earth, 
 
 Willing to leave their burden. Reach a chair : 
 So, now, methinks, I feel a little ease, [me, 
 Didst thou not tell me, Griffith, as thou ledd'st 
 That the great child of honour, Cardinal Wolsey, 
 Was dead? 
 
 Grif. Yes, madam ; but I think your grace, 
 Out of the pain you suffer 'd, gave no ear to 't. 
 
 Kath. Pr'ythee, good Griffith, tell me how 
 
 he died : 
 
 If well, he stepp'd before me, happily, 
 For my example. 
 
 Grif. Well, the voice goes, madam : 
 
 For after the stout Earl Northumberland 
 Arrested him at York, and brought him for- 
 ward, 
 
 As a man sorely tainted, to his answer, 
 He fell sick suddenly, and grew so ill 
 He could not sit his mule. 
 
 Kath. Alas, poor man ! 
 
 Grif. At last, with easy roads, he came to 
 
 Leicester, 
 
 Lodg'd in the abbey ; where the reverend abbot, 
 With all his covent, honourably receiv'd him ; 
 To whom he gave these words, O, father abbot, 
 An old man, broken with the storms of state, 
 Is come to lay his weary bones among ye ; 
 Give him a little earth for charity ! 
 So went to bed ; where eagerly his sickness 
 Pursu'd him still : and three nights after this, 
 About the hour of eight, which he himself 
 Foretold should be his last, full of repentance, 
 Continual meditations, tears, and sorrows, 
 He gave his honours to the world again, 
 His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace. 
 
 Kath. So may he rest ; his faults lie gently 
 on him ! [him, 
 
 Yet thus far, Griffith, give me leave to speak 
 And yet with charity. He was a man 
 Of an unbounded stomach, ever ranking 
 Himself with princes ; one that, by suggestion, 
 Tied all the kingdom : simony was fair play ; 
 His own opinion was his law : i' the presence 
 He would say untruths ; and be ever double 
 Both in his words and meaning : he was never, 
 But where he meant to ruin, pitiful : 
 His promises were, as he then was, mighty ; 
 But his performance, as he is now, nothing : 
 Of his own body he was ill, and gave 
 The clergy ill example. 
 
 Grif. Noble madam, 
 
 Men's evil manners live in brass ; their virtues 
 We write in water. May it please your highness 
 To hear me speak his good now ! 
 
 Kath. Yes, good Griffith ; 
 
 I were malicious else. 
 
 Grif. This cardinal, 
 
 Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly 
 Was fashion'd to much honour from his cradle. 
 He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one ; 
 Exceeding wise, fair-spoken, and persuading : 
 Lofty and sour to them that lov'd him not ; 
 But to those men that sought him sweet as 
 
 summer. 
 And though he were unsatisfied in getting, 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 743 
 
 Which was a sin, yet in bestowing, madam, 
 He was most princely : ever witness for him 
 Those twins of learning that he rais'd in you, 
 Ipswich and Oxford ! one of which fell with him, 
 Unwilling to outlive the good that did it ; 
 The other, though unfinished, yet so famous, 
 So excellent in art, and still so rising, 
 That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue. 
 His overthrow heap'd happiness upon him ; 
 For then, and not till then, he felt himself, 
 And found the blessedness of being little : 
 And, to add greater honours to his age 
 Than man could give him, he died fearing God. 
 
 Kath. After my death I wish no other herald, 
 No other speaker of my living actions, 
 To keep mine honour from corruption, 
 But such an honest chronicler as Griffith. 
 Whom I most hated living, thou hast made me, 
 With thy religious truth and modesty, 
 Now in his ashes honour : peace be with him ! 
 Patience, be near me still ; and set me lower : 
 I have not long to trouble thee. Good Griffith, 
 Cause the musicians play me that sad note 
 I nam'd my knell, whilst I sit meditating 
 On that celestial harmony I go to. 
 
 \_Sad and solemn music. 
 
 Grif. She is asleep; good wench, let's sit 
 
 down quiet, 
 For fear we wake her : softly, gentle Patience. 
 
 THE VISION. Enter, solemnly tripping one after 
 another, six Personages clad in white robes, -wear- 
 ing on their heads garlands of bays, and golden 
 vizards on their faces; branches of bays or palm 
 in their hands. They first congee unto her, then 
 dance; and, at certain changes, the first two hold 
 a spare garland over her head ; at which the other 
 four make reverent courtesies; then the two that 
 held the garland deliver the same to the other next 
 two, who observe the same order in tJteir changes, 
 and holding tJie garland over her head : which done, 
 they deliver the same garland to the last two, who 
 likewise ebserve the same order: at which, as it 
 were by inspiration, she makes in her sleep signs 
 of rejoicing, and holdeth up her hands to heaven : 
 and so in their dancing they vanish, carrying the 
 garland with them. The music continues. 
 
 Kath. Spirits of peace, where are ye ? Are 
 
 ye all gone ? 
 And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye? 
 
 Grif. Madam, we are here. 
 
 Kath. It is not you I call for : 
 
 Saw ye none enter since I slept ? 
 
 Grif. None, madam. 
 
 Kath. No? Saw you not, even now, a 
 
 blessed troop 
 
 Invite me to a banquet ; whose bright faces 
 Cast thousand beams upon me, like the sun ? 
 
 They promis'd me eternal happiness ; 
 And brought me garlands, Griffith, whi 
 
 which I feel 
 
 I am not worthy yet to wear : I shall, 
 Assuredly. [dreams 
 
 Grif. I am most joyful, madam, such good 
 Possess your fancy. 
 
 Kath. Bid the music leave, 
 
 They are harsh and heavy to me. [ Music ceases. 
 
 Pat. Do you note 
 
 How much her grace is alter'd on the sudden ? 
 How long her face is drawn? how pale she looks, 
 And of an earthy cold ? Mark you her eyes ! 
 
 Grif. She is going, wench : pray, pray. 
 
 Pat. Heaven comfort her ! 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. An 't like your grace, 
 Kath. You are a saucy fellow : 
 
 Deserve we no more reverence ? 
 
 Grif. You are to blame, 
 
 Knowing she will not lose her wonted greatness, 
 To use so rude behaviour : go to, kneel. 
 Mess. I humbly do entreat your highness* 
 pardon ; [staying 
 
 My haste made me unmannerly. There is 
 A gentleman, sent from the king, to see you. 
 Kath. Admit him entrance, Griffith : but 
 
 this fellow 
 Let me ne'er see again. 
 
 [Exeunt GRIFFITH and Messenger. 
 
 Re-enter GRIFFITH, with CAPUCIUS. 
 
 If my sight fail not, 
 You should be lord ambassador from the 
 
 emperor, 
 My royal nephew, and your name Capucius. 
 
 Cap. Madam, the same, your servant. 
 
 Kath. O, my Lord, 
 
 The times and titles now are alter'd strangely 
 With me since first you knew me. But, I 
 
 pray you, 
 What is your pleasure with me ? 
 
 Cap. Noble lady, 
 
 First, mine own service to your grace ; the next, 
 The king's request that I would visit you ; 
 Who grieves much for your weakness, and by me 
 Sends you his princely commendations, 
 And heartily entreats you take good comfort. 
 
 Kath. O, my good lord, that comfort comes 
 
 too late ; 
 
 'Tis like a pardon after execution : 
 That gentle physic, given in time, had cur'd me ; 
 But now I am past all comforts here, but 
 
 prayers. 
 How does his highness ? 
 
 Cap. Madam, in good health. 
 
 Kath. So may he ever do ! and ever flourish, 
 When I shall dwell with worms, and my poor 
 
744 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Banish'd the kingdom ! -Patience, is that letter 
 I caus'd you write yet sent away ? 
 
 Pat. No, madam. 
 
 [Giving it to KATHARINE. 
 Kath. Sir, I most humbly pray you to deliver 
 This to my lord the king. 
 
 Cap. Most willing, madam. 
 
 Kath. In which I have commended to his 
 
 goodness [daughter, 
 
 The model of our chaste loves, his young 
 The dews of heaven fall thick in blessings on 
 
 her! 
 
 Beseeching him to give her virtuous breeding ; 
 She is young, and of a noble modest nature, 
 I hope she will deserve well ; and a little 
 To love her for her mother's sake, that lov'd 
 
 him, [petition 
 
 Heaven knows how dearly. My next poor 
 Is, that his noble grace would have some pity 
 Upon my wretched women, that so long 
 Have follow'd both my fortunes faithfully : 
 Of which there is not one, I dare avow, 
 And now I should not lie, but will deserve, 
 For virtue and true beauty of the soul, 
 For honesty and decent carriage, 
 A right good husband, let him be a noble ; 
 And, sure, those men are happy that shall have 
 
 them. 
 
 The last is, for my men, they are the poorest, 
 But poverty could never draw 'em from me, 
 That they may have their wages duly paid 'em, 
 And something over to remember me by : 
 If heaven had pleas'd to have given me longer 
 
 life 
 
 And able means, we had not parted thus. 
 These are the whole contents : and, good my 
 
 lord, 
 
 By that you love the dearest in this world, 
 As you wish Christian peace to souls departed, 
 Stand these poor people's friend, and urge the 
 
 king 
 To do me this last right. 
 
 Cap. By heaven, I will, 
 
 Or let me lose the fashion of a man ! [me 
 
 Kath. I thank you, honest lord. Remember 
 In all humility unto his highness : 
 Say his long trouble now is passing [him, 
 
 Out of this world ; tell him, in death I bless'd 
 For so I will. Mine eyes grow dim. Farewell, 
 My lord. Griffith, farewell. Nay, Patience, 
 You must not leave me yet : I must to bed ; 
 Call in more women. When I am dead, good 
 
 wench, 
 
 Let me be us'd with honour : strew me over 
 With maiden flowers, that all the world may 
 
 know 
 I was a chaste wife to my grave : embalm me, 
 
 Then lay me forth : although unqueen'd, yet like 
 A queen, and daughter to a king, inter me. 
 I can no more. [Exeunt, leading KATHARINE. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 : ,li/:i -MK :.-.- , .>' 
 
 SCENE I. LONDON. A Gallery in the Palace. 
 
 Enter GARDINER, Bishop of Winchester, a 
 Page with a torch before him. 
 
 Gar. It 's one o'clock, boy, is 't not ? 
 
 Boy. It has struck. 
 
 Gar. These should be hours for necessities, 
 Not for delights ; times to repair our nature 
 With comforting repose, and not for us 
 To waste these times. 
 
 Enter SIR THOMAS LOVELL. 
 
 Good hour of night, Sir Thomas ! 
 Whither so late ? 
 
 Lov. Came you from the king, my Lord? 
 
 Gar. I did, Sir Thomas ; and left him at 
 
 primero 
 With the Duke of Suffolk. 
 
 Lov. I must to him too, 
 
 Before he go to bed, I'll take my leave. 
 
 Gar. Not yet, Sir Thomas Lovell. What 's 
 
 the matter ? 
 
 It seems you are in haste : an if there be 
 No great offence belongs to 't, give your friend 
 Some touch of your late business : affairs that 
 
 walk, 
 
 As they say spirits do, at midnight, have 
 In them a wilder nature than the business 
 That seeks despatch by day. 
 
 Lov. My lord, I love you ; 
 
 And durst commend a secret to your ear 
 Much weightier than this work. The queen 's 
 
 in labour, 
 
 They say in great extremity ; and fear'd 
 She '11 with the labour end. 
 
 Gar. The fruit she goes with 
 
 I pray for heartily, that it may find [Thomas, 
 Good time, and live : but for the stock, Sir 
 I wish it grubb'd up now. 
 
 Lov. Methinks I could 
 
 Cry thee amen ; and yet my conscience says 
 She 's a good creature, and, sweet lady, does 
 Deserve our better wishes. 
 
 Gar. But, sir, sir, 
 
 Hear me, Sir Thomas: you are a gentleman 
 Of mine own way; I know you wise, religious; 
 And, let me tell you, it will ne'er be well, 
 'Twill not, Sir Thomas Lovell, take 't of me, 
 Till Cranmer, Cromwell, her two hands, and she, 
 Sleep in their graves. 
 
SCENE; i.] 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 745 
 
 Lou* Now, sir, you speak of two 
 
 The most remark'd i' the kingdom. As for 
 
 Cromwell, [master 
 
 Beside that of the jewel-house, he's made 
 
 O' the rolls, and the king's secretary ; further, 
 
 sir, 
 
 Stands in the gap and trade of more preferments, 
 With which the time will load him. The arch- 
 bishop [speak 
 Is the king's hand and tongue ; and who dare 
 One syllable against him ? 
 
 Gar. Yes, yes, Sir Thomas, 
 
 There are that dare ; and I myself have ventur'd 
 To speak my mind of him : and indeed this day, 
 Sir, I may tell it you, I think I have 
 Incens'd the lords o' the council, that he is, 
 For so I know he is, they know he is, 
 A most arch heretic, a pestilence [moved, 
 
 That does infect the land : with which they 
 Have broken with the king ; who hath so far 
 Given ear to our complaint, of his great grace 
 And princely care; foreseeing those fell mischiefs 
 Our reasons laid before him, hath commanded 
 To-morrow morning to the council-board 
 He be convented. He's a rank weed, Sir 
 
 Thomas, 
 
 And we must root him out. From your affairs 
 I hinder you too long : good night, Sir Thomas. 
 Lov. Many good nights, my lord : I rest your 
 servant. 
 
 [Exeunt GARDINER and Page. 
 
 As LOVELL is going out, enter the KING and the 
 DUKE OF SUFFOLK. 
 
 K. Hen. Charles, I will play no more to-night; 
 My mind 's not on 't ; you are too hard for me. 
 
 Suf. Sir, I did never win of you before. 
 
 K. Hen. But little, Charles ; 
 Nor shall not, when my fancy's on my play. 
 Now, Lovell, from the queen what is the news? 
 
 Lov. I could not personally deliver to her 
 What you commanded me, but by her woman 
 I sent your message ; who return d her thanks 
 In the greatest humbleness, and desir'd your 
 
 highness 
 Most heartily to pray for her. 
 
 K. Hen. What say'st thou, ha? 
 
 To pray for her ? what, is she crying out ? 
 
 Lov. So said her woman : and that her suffer- 
 ance made 
 Almost each pang a death. 
 
 K. Hen. Alas, good lady ! 
 
 Suf. God safely quit her of her burden, and 
 With gentle travail, to the gladding of 
 Your highness with an heir ! 
 
 K. Hen. J Tis midnight, Charles ; 
 
 Pr'ythee, to bed ; and in thy prayers remember 
 
 The estate of my poor queen. Leave me alone ; 
 For I must think of that which company 
 Will not be friendly to. 
 
 Suf. I wish your highness 
 
 A quiet night ; and my good mistress will 
 Remember in my prayers. 
 
 K. Hen. Charles, good-night. 
 
 [Exit SUFFOLK. 
 
 Enter SIR ANTHONY DENNY. 
 
 Well, sir, what follows ? [bishop, 
 
 Den. Sir, I have brought my lord the arch- 
 As you commanded me. 
 
 K. Hen. Ha ! Canterbury? 
 
 Den. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 K. Hen. 'Tistrue: where is he, Denny? 
 
 Den. He attends your highness' pleasure. 
 
 K. Hen. Bring him to us. 
 
 [Exit DENNY. 
 
 Lov. This is about that which the bishop 
 
 spake: 
 I am happily come hither. [Aside. 
 
 Re-enter DENNY, with CRANMER. 
 
 K. Hen. Avoid the gallery. 
 
 [LOVELL seems to stay. 
 
 Ha ! I have said. Be gone. 
 
 What ! [Exeunt LOVELL and DENNY. 
 
 Cran. I am fearful : wherefore frowns he 
 
 thus? 
 
 'Tis his aspect of terror. All 's not well. [Aside. 
 K. Hen. How now, my lord ? you do desire 
 
 to know 
 Wherefore I sent for you. 
 
 Cran. It is my duty 
 
 To attend your highness' pleasure. 
 
 K. Hen. Pray you, arise, 
 
 My good and gracious Lord of Canterbury. 
 Come, you and I must walk a turn together ; 
 I have news to tell you : come, come, give me 
 
 your hand. 
 
 Ah, my good lord, I grieve at what I speak, 
 And am right sorry to repeat what follows : 
 I have, and most unwillingly, of late 
 Heard many grievous, I do say, my lord, 
 Grievous complaints of you ; which, being 
 
 consider 'd, 
 
 Have movM us and our council that you shall 
 This morning come before us ; where, I know, 
 You cannot with such freedom purge yourself 
 But that, till further trial in those charges 
 Which will require your answer, you must take 
 Your patience to you, and be well contented 
 To make your house our Tower: you a brother 
 
 of us, 
 
 It fits we thus proceed, or else no witness 
 Would come against you. 
 
746 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Cran. I humbly thank your highness ; 
 
 And am right glad to catch this good occasion 
 Most throughly to be winnow'd, where my chaff 
 And corn shall fly asunder : for I know 
 There's none stands under more calumnious 
 
 tongues 
 Than I myself, poor man. 
 
 K. Hen. Stand up, good Canterbury : 
 
 Thy truth and thy integrity is rooted 
 In us, thy friend : give me thy hand, stand up : 
 Pr'ythee, let 's walk. Now, by my holy-dame, 
 What manner of man are you? My lord, I 
 
 look'd 
 
 You would have given me your petition that 
 I should have ta'en some pains to bring together 
 Yourself and your accusers ; and to have heard 
 
 you, 
 Without indurance, further. 
 
 Cran. Most dread liege, 
 
 The good I stand on is my truth and honesty : 
 If they shall fail, I, with mine enemies, [not, 
 Will triumph o'er my person ; which I weigh 
 Being of those virtues vacant. I fear nothing 
 What can be said against me. 
 
 K. Hen. Know you not 
 
 How your state stands i'the world, with the 
 
 whole world ? 
 Your enemies are many, and not small j their 
 
 practices 
 
 Must bear the same proportion ; and not ever 
 The justice and the truth o' the question carries 
 The due o' the verdict with it : at what ease 
 Might corrupt minds procure knaves as corrupt 
 To swear against you ? such things have been 
 
 done. 
 
 You are potently oppos'd ; and with a malice 
 Of as great size. Ween you of better luck, 
 I mean in perjur'd witness, than your Master, 
 Whose minister you are, whiles here he liv'd 
 Upon this naughty earth ? Go to, go to ; 
 You take a precipice for no leap of danger, 
 And woo your own destruction. 
 
 Cran. God and your majesty 
 
 Protect mine innocence, or I fall into 
 The trap is laid for me ! 
 
 K. Hen. Be of good cheer ; 
 
 They shall no more prevail than we give way to. 
 Keep comfort to you ; and this morning see 
 You do appear before them: if they shall chance, 
 In charging you with matters, to commit you, 
 The best persuasions to the contrary 
 Fail not to use, and with what vehemency 
 The occasion shall instruct you : if entreaties 
 Will render you no remedy, this ring 
 Deliver them, and your appeal to us 
 There make before them. Look, the good 
 
 mam weeps ! 
 
 He 's honest, on mine honour. God's bless'd 
 
 mother ! 
 
 I swear he is true-hearted ; and a soul 
 None better in my kingdom. Get you gone, 
 And do as I have bid you. [Exit CRANMER.] 
 
 He has strangled 
 His language in his tears. 
 
 Enter an Old Lady. 
 
 Gent. [ Within.~\ Come back: what mean you? 
 
 Old L. I '11 not come back ; the tidings that 
 I bring [angels 
 
 Will make my boldness manners. Now, good 
 Fly o'er thy royal head, and shade thy person 
 Under their blessed wings ! 
 
 K. Hen. Now, by thy looks 
 
 I guess thy message. Is the queen deliver'd ? 
 
 Say ay ; and of a boy. 
 
 Old L. Ay, ay, my 
 
 And of a lovely boy : the God of Heaven 
 
 Ay, ay, my liege ; 
 
 Both now and ever bless her ! 'tis a girl, 
 Promises boys hereafter. Sir, your queen 
 Desires your visitation, and to be 
 Acquainted with this stranger ; 'tis as like you 
 As cherry is to cherry. 
 
 K. Hen. Lovell, 
 
 Re-enter LOVELL. 
 
 IrtI 
 
 Lov. Sir ? 
 
 K. Hen. Give her an hundred marks. I '11 
 
 to the queen [Exit. 
 
 Old L. An hundred marks ! By this light, 
 
 I '11 ha' more. 
 
 An ordinary groom is for such payment. 
 I will have more, or scold it out of him. 
 Said I for this, the girl was like to him ? 
 I will have more, or else unsay 't ; and now, 
 While it is hot, I '11 put it to the issue. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. Lobby before the Council Chamber. 
 
 Enter CRANMER; Servants, Door-keeper, &c., 
 
 attending. 
 Cran. I hope I am not too late ; and yet the 
 
 gentleman 
 
 That was sent to me from the council pray'd me 
 To make great haste. All fast? what means 
 
 this? Ho! 
 Who waits there ? Sure, you know me ? 
 
 D. Keep. Yes, my lord ; 
 
 But yet I cannot help you. 
 
 Cran. Why? 
 D. Keep. Y 
 
 Keep. Your grace must wait till you be 
 call'd for. 
 
 Enter DOCTOR BUTTS. 
 Cran. So. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 747 
 
 Butts. [Aside.] This is a piece of malice. I 
 
 am glad 
 
 I came this way so happily : the king 
 Shall understand it presently. [Exit. 
 
 Cran. [Aside.'] 'Tis Butts, 
 
 The King's physician : as he pass'd along, 
 How earnestly he cast his eyes upon me ! 
 Pray, heaven, he sound not my disgrace ! For 
 
 certain, 
 
 This is of purpose laid by some that hate me, 
 God turn their hearts ! I never sought their 
 
 malice, [make me 
 
 To quench mine honour : they would shame to 
 Wait else at door, a fellow-counseilor, 
 Among boys, grooms, and lackeys. But their 
 
 pleasuies 
 Must be fulfill'd, and I attend with patience. 
 
 The KING awaTBuTTS appear at a window above. 
 
 Butts. I'll show your grace the strangest 
 sight, 
 
 K. Hen. What's that, Butts? 
 
 Butts. I think your highness saw this many 
 a day. 
 
 K. Hen. Body o' me, where is it ? 
 
 Butts. There my lord : 
 
 The high promotion of his grace of Canterbury ; 
 Who holds his state at door, 'mongst pur- 
 suivants, 
 Pages, and footboys. 
 
 K. Hen. Ha ! 'tis he indeed : 
 
 Is this the honour they do one another ? 
 'Tis well there's one above them yet. I had 
 
 thought 
 
 They had parted so much honesty among 'em, 
 At least good manners, as not thus to suffer 
 A man of his place, and so near our favour, 
 To dance attendance on their lordships' plea- 
 sures, 
 
 And at the door too, like a post with packets. 
 By holy Mary, Butts, there s knavery : 
 Let 'em alone, and draw the curtain close ; 
 We shall hear more anon. \Exeunt. 
 
 The Cotmcil Chamber. 
 
 Enter the Lord Chancellor, the DUKE OF SUF- 
 FOLK, the DUKE OF NORFOLK, EARL OF 
 SURREY, Lord Chamberlain, GARDINER, 
 and CROMWELL. The Chancellor places 
 himself at the upper end of the table on the 
 left hand ; a seat being left void above him, 
 
 as for the ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY. 
 
 The rest seat themselves in order on each side. 
 CROMWELL at the lower end, as Secretary. 
 Chan. Speak to the business, master secre- 
 tary : 
 Why are we met in council ? 
 
 Crom. Please your honours, 
 
 The chief cause concerns his grace of Canter- 
 bury. 
 
 Gar. Has he had knowledge of it ? 
 
 Crom. Yes. 
 
 Nor. Who waits there ? 
 
 D. Keep. Without, my noble lords? 
 
 Gar. Yes. 
 
 D. Keep. My lord archbishop ; 
 
 And has done half an hour, to know your 
 pleasures. 
 
 Chan. Let him come in. 
 
 D. Keep. Your grace may enter now. 
 
 [CRAN. approaches the Council-table. 
 
 Chan. My good lord archbishop, I am very 
 
 sorry 
 
 To sit here at this present, and behold 
 That chair stand empty : but we all are men, 
 In our own natures frail, and capable 
 Of our flesh ; few are angels : out of which 
 frailty [teach us, 
 
 And want of wisdom, you, that best should 
 Have misdemean'd yourself, and not a little, 
 Toward the king first, then his laws, in filling 
 The whole realm, by your teaching and your 
 
 chaplains, 
 
 For so we are inform'd, with new opinions, 
 Divers and dangerous ; which are heresies, 
 And, not reform'd, may prove pernicious. 
 
 Gar. Which reformation must be sudden too, 
 My noble lords ; for those that tame wild horses 
 Pace 'em not in their hands to make 'em gentle, 
 But stop their mouths with stubborn bits, and 
 
 spur 'em, 
 
 Till they obey the manage. If we suffer, 
 Out of our easiness, and childish pity 
 To one man's honour, this contagious sickness, 
 Farewell all physic : and what follows then ? 
 Commotions, uproars, with a general taint 
 Of the whole state : as, of late days, our neigh- 
 bours, 
 
 The upper Germany, can dearly witness, 
 Yet freshly pitied in our memories. [gress 
 
 Crcn. My good lords, hitherto in all the pro- 
 Both of my life and office, I have labour'd, 
 And with no little study, that my teaching 
 And the strong course of my authority 
 Might go one way, and safely ; and the end 
 Was ever to do well : nor is there living, 
 I speak it with a single heart, my lords, 
 A man that more detests, more stirs against, 
 Both in his private conscience and his place, 
 Defacers of a public peace, than I do. 
 Pray heaven, the king may never find a heart 
 With less allegiance in it ! Men that make 
 Envy and crooked malice nourishment 
 Dare bite the best. I do beseech your lordships 
 
748 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 That, in this case of justice, my accusers, 
 
 Be what they will, may stand forth face to face, 
 
 And freely urge against me. 
 
 Suf. Nay, my lord, 
 
 That cannot be : you are a counsellor, 
 And, by that virtue, no man dare accuse you. 
 
 Gar. My lord, because we have business of 
 more moment, [pleasure, 
 
 We will be short with you. 'Tis his highness' 
 And our consent, for better trial of you, 
 From hence you be committed to the Tower ; 
 Where, being but a private man again, 
 You shall know many dare accuse you boldly, 
 More than, I fear, you are provided for. 
 
 Cran. Ah, my good Lord of Winchester, I 
 thank you ; [pass 
 
 You are always my good friend ; if your will 
 I shall both find your lordship judge and juror, 
 You are so merciful : I see your end, 
 'Tis my undoing : love and meekness, lord, 
 Become a churchman better than ambition : 
 Win straying souls with modesty again, 
 Cast none away. That I shall clear myself, 
 Lay all the weight ye can upon my patience, 
 I make as little doubt as you do conscience 
 In doing daily wrongs. I could say more, 
 But reverence to your calling makes me modest. 
 
 Gar. My lord, my lord, you are a sectary. 
 That 's the plain truth : your painted gloss dis- 
 covers, [ness. 
 To men that understand you, words and weak- 
 
 Crom. My Lord of Winchester, you are a little, 
 By your good favour, too sharp ; men so noble, 
 However faulty, yet should find respect 
 For what they have been : 'tis a cruelty 
 To load a falling man. 
 
 Gar. Good master secretary, 
 
 I cry your honour mercy ; you may, worst 
 Of all this table, say so. 
 
 Crom. Why, my lord? 
 
 Gar. Do not I know you for a favourer 
 Of this new sect ? ye are not sound. 
 
 Crom. Not sound ? 
 
 Gar. Not sound, I say. 
 
 Crom. Would you were half so honest ! 
 
 Men's prayers then would seek you, not their 
 fears. 
 
 Gar. I shall remember this bold language. 
 
 Crom. Do. 
 
 Remember your bold life too. 
 
 Chan. This is too much ; 
 
 Forbear, for shame, my lords. 
 
 Gar. I have done. 
 
 Crom. And I. 
 
 Chan. Then thus for you, my lord : it stands 
 
 agreed, 
 I take it, by all voices, that forthwith 
 
 You be conveyed to the Tower a prisoner ; 
 There to remain till the king's further pleasure 
 Be known unto us : are you all agreed, lords ? 
 
 All. We are. 
 
 Cran. Is there no other way of mercy, 
 
 But I must needs to the Tower, my lords ? 
 
 Gar. What other 
 
 Would you expect ? You are strangely trouble- 
 some. 
 Let some o' the guard be ready there. 
 
 Enter Guard. 
 
 Cran. For me ? 
 
 Must I go like a traitor thither ? 
 
 Gar. Receive him, 
 
 And see him safe i' the Tower. 
 
 Cran. Stay, good my lords, 
 
 I have a little yet to say. Look there, my lords j 
 By virtue of that ring I take my cause 
 Out of the gripes of cruel men, and give it 
 To a most noble judge, the king my master. 
 
 Cham. This is the king's ring. 
 
 Sur. 'Tis no counterfeit. 
 
 Suf. 'Tis the right ring, by heaven : I told ye 
 
 all, 
 
 When we first put this dangerous stone a-rolling, 
 'T would fall upon ourselves. 
 
 Nor. Do you think, my lords, 
 
 The king will suffer but the little finger 
 Of this man to be vex'd ? 
 
 Chan. 'Tis now too certain : 
 
 How much more is his life in value with him ? 
 Would I were fairly out on 't ! 
 
 Crom. My mind gave me, 
 
 In seeking tales and informations 
 Against this man, whose honesty the devil 
 And his disciples only envy at, 
 Ye blew the fire that burns ye : now have at ye. 
 
 Enter the KING frowning on them ; he takes 
 
 his seat. 
 Gar. Dread sovereign, how much are we 
 
 bound to heaven 
 
 In daily thanks, that gave us such a prince ; 
 Not only good and wise, but most religious ; 
 One that, in all obedience, makes the church 
 The chief aim of his honour ; and, to strengthen 
 That holy duty, out of dear respect, 
 His royal self in judgment comes to hear 
 The cause betwixt her and this great offender. 
 K. Hen. You were ever good at sudden 
 
 commendations, 
 
 Bishop of Winchester. But know, I come not 
 To hear such flattery now, and in my presence ; 
 They are too thin and bare to hide offences. 
 To me you cannot reach : you play the spaniel, 
 And think with wagging of your tongue to win 
 
 me; 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 749 
 
 But whatsoe'er thou tak'st me for, I am sure 
 Thou hast a cruel nature, and a bloody. 
 Good man [to CRANMER], sit down. Now let 
 
 me see the proudest, 
 
 He that dares most, but wag his finger at thee : 
 By all that 's holy, he had better starve 
 Than but once think this place becomes thee not. 
 Sur. May it please your grace, 
 K, Hen. No, sir, it does not please me. 
 I had thought I had had men of some under- 
 standing 
 
 And wisdom of my council ; but I find none. 
 Was it discretion, lords, to let this man, 
 This good man, few of you deserve that title, 
 This honest man, wait like a lousy footboy 
 At chamber door? and one as great as you are? 
 Why, what a shame was this ! Did my com- 
 mission 
 
 Bid ye so far forget yourselves ? I gave ye 
 Power as he was a counsellor to try him, 
 Not as a groom : there 's some of ye, I see, 
 More out of malice than integrity, 
 Would try him to the utmost, had ye mean ; 
 Which ye shall never have while I live. 
 
 Chan. Thus far, 
 
 My most dread sovereign, may it like your grace 
 To let my tongue excuse all. What was purpos'd 
 Concerning his imprisonment was rather, 
 If there be faith in men, meant for his trial, 
 And fair purgation to the world, than malice, 
 I 'm sure in me. 
 
 K. Hen. Well, well, my lords, respect him; 
 Take him, and use him well, he 's worthy of it. 
 I will say thus much for him, if a prince 
 May be beholding to a subject, I 
 Am, for his love and service, so to him. 
 Make me no more ado, but all embrace him : 
 Be friends, for shame, my lords ! My Lord of 
 
 Canterbury, 
 
 I have a suit which you must not deny me ; 
 That is, afair young maid that yet wants baptism, 
 You must be godfather, and answer for her. 
 Cran. The greatest monarch now alive may 
 
 glory 
 
 In such an honour : how may I deserve it, 
 That am a poor and humble subject to you ? 
 K. Hen. Come, come, my lord, you 'd spare 
 
 your spoons : you shall have 
 Two noble partners with you : the old Duchess 
 of Norfolk [you ? 
 
 And Lady Marquis Dorset : will these please 
 Oncemore,my Lord of Winchester, I charge you, 
 Embrace and love this man. 
 
 Gar. With a true heart 
 
 And brother-love I do it. 
 
 Cran. And let heaven 
 
 Witness how dear I hold this confirmation. 
 
 K. Hen. Good man, those joyful tears show 
 
 thy true heart : 
 
 The common voice, I see, is verified 
 Of thee, which says thus,- Do my Lord of 
 
 Canterbury 
 
 A shrewd turn, and he is your friend for ever. 
 Come, lords, we trifle time away ; I long 
 To have this young one made a Christian. 
 As I have made ye one, lords, one remain ; 
 So I grow stronger, you more honour gain. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. The Palace Yard. 
 
 Noise and tumult "within. Enter Porter and 
 his Man. 
 
 Port. You '11 leave your noise anon, ye 
 rascals: do you take the court for Paris garden? 
 ye rude slaves, leave your gaping. 
 
 [Within.] Good master porter, I belong to 
 the larder. 
 
 Port. Belong to the gallows, and be hanged, 
 you rogue ! is this a place to roar in ? Fetch 
 me a dozen crab-tree staves, and strong ones : 
 these are but switches to them. I '11 scratch 
 your heads : you must be seeing christenings? 
 do you look for ale and cakes here, you rude 
 rascals ? 
 
 Man. Pray, sir, be patient : 'tis as much 
 impossible, [cannons, 
 
 Unless we sweep them from the door with 
 To scatter 'em as 'tis to make 'em sleep 
 On May-day morning ; which will never be : 
 We may as well push against Paul's as stir 'em. 
 
 Port. How got they in, and be hang'd ? 
 
 Man. Alas, I know not ; how gets the tide in? 
 As much as one sound cudgel of four foot, 
 You see the poor remainder, could distribute, 
 I made no spare, sir. 
 
 Port. You did nothing, sir. 
 
 Man. I am not Samson, nor Sir Guy, nor 
 Colbrand, [any 
 
 To mow 'em down before me : but if I spar'd 
 That had a head to hit, either young or old, 
 He or she, cuckold or cuckold -maker, 
 Let me ne'er hope to see a chine again ; 
 And that I would not for a cow, God save her! 
 
 [Within.] Do you hear, master porter? 
 
 Port. I shall be with you presently, good 
 master puppy. Keep the door close, sirrah. 
 
 Man. What would you have me do ? 
 
 Port. What should you do, but knock them 
 down by the dozens? Is this Moorfields to 
 muster in? or have we some strange Indian 
 with the great tool come to court, the women 
 so besiege us ? Bless me, what a fry of fornica- 
 tion is at door I On my Christian conscience, 
 
750 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 [ACT V.' 
 
 this one christening will beget a thousand : 
 here will be father, godfather, and all together. 
 
 Man. The spoons will be the bigger, sir. 
 There is a fellow somewhat near the door, he 
 should be a brazier by his face, for, o' my con- 
 science, twenty of the dog-days now reign in 's 
 nose ; all that stand about him are under the 
 line, they need no other penance : that fire-drake 
 did I hit three times on the head, and three 
 times was his nose discharged against me ; he 
 stands there, like a mortar-piece, to blow us. 
 There was a haberdasher's wife of small wit 
 near him, that railed upon me till her pink'd 
 porringer fell off her head, for kindling such a 
 combustion in the state. I miss'd the meteor 
 once, and hit that woman, who cried out Clubs! 
 when I might see from far some forty trun- 
 cheoners draw to her succour, which were the 
 hope of the Strand, where she was quartered. 
 They fell on ; I made good my place : at length 
 they came to the broomstaff to me ; I defied 
 them still : when suddenly a file of boys behind 
 them, loose shot, delivered such a shower of 
 pebbles, that I was fain to draw mine honour 
 in, and let them win the work : the devil was 
 amongst them, I think, surely. 
 
 Port. These are the youths that thunder at a 
 play-house and fight for bitten apples ; that, no 
 audience, but the Tribulation of Tower-hill or 
 the limbs of Limehouse, their dear brothers, 
 are able to endure. I have some of them in 
 Limbo Patrum, and there they are like to 
 dance these three days ; besides the running 
 banquet of two beadles that is to come. 
 
 Enter the Lord Chamberlain. 
 
 Cham. Mercy o'me, what a multitude are 
 
 here ! [coming, 
 
 They grow still too ; from all parts they are 
 As if we kept a fair here ! Where are these 
 
 porters, 
 These lazy knaves? Ye have made a fine hand, 
 
 fellows. 
 
 There 's a trim rabble let in : are all these 
 Your faithful friends o' the suburbs ? We shall 
 
 have [ladies, 
 
 Great store of room, no doubt, left for the 
 When they pass back from the christening. 
 
 Port. An ; t please your honour, 
 
 We are but men ; and what so many may do, 
 Not being torn a pieces, we have done : 
 An army cannot rule 'em. 
 
 Cham. As I live, 
 
 If the king blame me for 't, I '11 lay ye all 
 By the heels, and suddenly ; and on your heads 
 Clap round fines for neglect : you 're lazy knaves; 
 And here ye lie baiting of bombards, when 
 
 Ye should do service. Hark ! the trumpets 
 
 sound ; 
 
 They are come already from the christening : 
 Go, break among the press, and find a way out 
 To let the troop pass fairly ; or I '11 find 
 A Marshalsea shall hold you play these two 
 months. 
 
 Port. Make way there for the princess. 
 
 Man. You great fellow, 
 
 Stand close up, or 1 : 11 make your head ache. 
 
 Port. You i' the camlet, get up o' the rail ; 
 I '11 pick you o'er the pales else. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. The Palace. 
 
 
 Enter trumpets, sounding; then two Aldermen, 
 Lord Mayor, Garter, CRANMER, DUKE OF 
 NORFOLK, with his marshal's staff, DUKE 
 OF SUFFOLK, two Noblemen bearing great 
 standing-bowls for the christening gifts ; then 
 four Noblemen bearing a canopy, tinder which 
 the DUCHESS OF NORFOLK, godmother, 
 bearing the child richly habited in a mantle, 
 <SrV. Train borne by a Lady ; then follows 
 the MARCHIONESS OF DORSET, the other 
 godmother, and Ladies. The troop pass once 
 about the stage, and Garter speaks. 
 
 Gart. Heaven, from thy endless goodness, 
 send prosperous life, long, and ever-happy, to 
 the high and mighty princess of England, 
 Elizabeth ! 
 
 Flourish. Enter KlNG and Train. 
 
 Cran. [Kneeling.] And to your royal grace 
 
 and the good queen, 
 
 My noble partners and myself thus pray ; 
 All comfort, joy, in this most gracious lady, 
 Heaven ever laid up to make parents happy, 
 May hourly fall upon ye ! 
 
 K. Hen. Thank you, good lord archbishop* 
 What is her name ? 
 
 Cran. Elizabeth. 
 
 K. Hen. Stand up, lord. 
 
 [The KING kisses the child. 
 With this kiss take my blessing : God protect 
 
 thee! 
 
 Into whose hand I give thy life. 
 Cran. Amen. 
 
 K. Hen. My noble gossips, ye have been 
 
 too prodigal. 
 
 I thank ye heartily ; so shall this lady, 
 When she has so much English. 
 
 Cran. Let me speak, sir, 
 
 For heaven now bids me ; and the words I utter 
 
 Let none think flattery, for they '11 find 'em truth. 
 
 This royal infant, Heaven still move about 
 
 her ! 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 751 
 
 Though in her cradle, yet now promises 
 Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings, 
 Which time shall bring to ripeness : she shall 
 
 be, 
 
 But few now living can behold that goodness, 
 A pattern to all princes living with her, 
 And all that shall succeed : Saba was never 
 More covetous of wisdom and fair virtue 
 Than this pure soul shall be : all princely graces, 
 That mould up such a mighty piece as this is, 
 With all the virtues that attend the good, 
 Shall still be doubled on her : truth shall nurse 
 
 her, 
 
 Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her : 
 She shall be lov'd and fear'd : her own shall 
 
 bless her ; 
 
 Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn, 
 And hang their heads with sorrow : good grows 
 
 with her : 
 
 In her days every man shall eat in safety, 
 Under his own vine, what he plants ; and sing 
 The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours : 
 God shall be truly known ; and those about her 
 From her shall read the perfect ways of honour, 
 And by those claim their greatness, not by blood. 
 Nor shall this peace sleep with her : but as when 
 The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix, 
 Her ashes new create another heir, 
 As great in admiration as herself; 
 So shall she leave her blessedness to one, 
 When heaven shall call her from this cloud of 
 
 darkness, 
 
 Who from the sacred ashes of her honour 
 Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was, 
 And so stand fix'd : peace, plenty, love, truth, 
 
 terror, 
 
 That were the servants to this chosen infant, 
 Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him : 
 Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine, 
 His honour and the greatness of his name 
 Shall be, and make new nations : he shall 
 
 flourish, 
 
 And, like a mountain cedar, reach his branches 
 To all the plains about him : our children's 
 
 children 
 Shall see this and bless Heaven. 
 
 K. Hen. Thou speak'st wonders. 
 
 Cran. She shall be, to the happiness of 
 
 England, 
 
 An aged princess ; many days shall see her, 
 And yet no day without a deed to crown it. 
 Would I had known no more ! but she must die, 
 She must, the saints must have her, yet a 
 
 virgin ; 
 
 A most unspotted lily shall she pass 
 To the ground, and all the world shall mourn 
 
 her. 
 
 K. Hen. O lord archbishop, 
 Thou hast made me now a man ; never, before 
 This happy child, did I get anything : 
 This oracle of comfort has so pleas'd me 
 That when I am in heaven I shall desire 
 To see what this child does, and praise my 
 
 Maker. 
 
 I thank ye all. To you, my good lord mayor, 
 And you, good brethren, I am much beholding; 
 I have received much honour by your presence, 
 And ye shall find me thankful. Lead the way, 
 
 lords : [ye, 
 
 Ye must all see the queen, and she must thank 
 She will be sick else. This day, no man think 
 Has business at his house ; for all shall stay : 
 This little one shall make it holiday. [Exeunt. 
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 'Tis ten to one this play can never please 
 All that are here : some come to take their ease, 
 And sleep an act or two ; but those, we fear, 
 We have frightened with our trumpets ; so, 'tis 
 
 clear, 
 
 They'll say 'tis naught : others to hear the city 
 Abus'd extremely, and to cry, T&at's witty! 
 Which we have not done neither : that, I fear, 
 All the expected good we 're like to hear 
 For this play at this time, is only in 
 The merciful construction of good women ; 
 For such a one we show'd 'em : if they smile, 
 And say 'twill do, I know, within awhile 
 All the best men are ours ; for 'tis ill hap 
 If they hold when their ladies bid 'em clap. 
 

 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 
 PRIAM, King of Troy. 
 
 HECTOR, 
 
 TROILUS, 
 
 PARIS, \his Sons. 
 
 DEIPHOBUS, 
 
 HELENUS, 
 
 M ARGARELON, a bastard Son of PRIAM, 
 
 CALCHAS, a Trojan Priest t taking part with 
 
 the Greeks. 
 
 PANDARUS, Uncle to CRESSIDA. 
 AGAMEMNON, the Grecian General. 
 MENELAUS, his Brother. 
 
 A '~ H J LLES ' ) Grecian Commanders. 
 AJAX, J 
 
 ~ 
 
 Commanders. 
 
 ULYSSES, 
 
 NESTOR, 
 
 DIOMEDES, 
 
 PATROCLUS, 
 
 THERSITES, a deformed and scurrilous Grecian* 
 
 ALEXANDER, Servant to CRESSIDA. 
 
 Servant to TROILUS. 
 
 Servant to PARIS. 
 
 Servant to DIOMEDES. 
 
 HELEN, Wife to MENELAUS. 
 ANDROMACHE, Wife to HECTOR. 
 CASSANDRA, Daughter to PRIAM, a Prophetess. 
 CRESSIDA, Daughter to CALCHAS. 
 
 Trojan and Greek Soldiers, and Attendants. 
 
 SCENE, TROY, and the Grecian Camp before it. 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 In Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of 
 
 Greece 
 
 The princes orgulous, their high blood chaf'd, 
 Have to the port of Athens sent their ships, 
 Fraught with the ministers and instruments 
 Of cruel war : sixty and nine, that wore 
 Their crownets regal, from the Athenian bay 
 Put forth toward Phrygia : and their vow is 
 
 made 
 
 To ransack Troy ; within whose strong immures 
 The ravish'd Helen, Menelaus' queen, 
 With wanton Paris sleeps ; and that 's the 
 
 quarrel. 
 
 To Tenedos they come ; 
 
 And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge 
 Their warlike fraughtage : now on Dardan plains 
 The fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch 
 eir brave pavilions : Priam's six-gated city, 
 rdan, and Tymbria, Helias, Chetas, Troien, 
 And Antenorides, with massy staples 
 And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts, 
 Sperr up the sons of Troy. 
 Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits, 
 On one and other side, Trojan and Greek, 
 Sets all on hazard : and hither am I come 
 A prologue arm'd, but not in confidence 
 Of author's pen or actor's voice ; but suited 
 
 In like conditions as our argument, 
 To tell you, fair beholders, that our play 
 Leaps o'er the vaunt and firstlings of those 
 
 broils, 
 
 Beginning in the middle ; starting thence away 
 To what may be digested in a play. 
 Like, or find fault ; do as your pleasures are ; 
 Now good or bad, 'tis but the chance of war. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. TROY. Before PRIAM'S Palace. 
 Enter TROILUS armed, and PANDARUS. 
 
 Tro. Call here my varlet ; I '11 unarm again : 
 Why should I war without the walls of Troy, 
 That find such cruel battle here within ? 
 Each Trojan that is master of his heart, 
 Let him to field ; Troilus, alas ! hath none. 
 
 Pan. Will this gear ne'er be mended ? 
 
 Tro. The Greeks are strong, and skilful to 
 their strength, [valiant ; 
 
 Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness 
 But I am weaker than a woman's tear, 
 Tamer than sleep, fonder than ignorance, 
 Less valiant than the virgin in the night, 
 And skilless as unpractis'd infancy. 
 
 Pan. Well, I have told you enough of this : 
 
SCENE L] 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 753 
 
 for my part, I '11 not meddle nor make no 
 further. He that will have a cake out of the 
 wheat must needs tarry the grinding. 
 
 Tro. Have I not tarried? 
 
 Pan. Ay, the grinding ; but you must tarry 
 the bolting. 
 
 Tro. Have I not tarried ? 
 
 Pan. Ay, the bolting ; but you must tarry 
 the leavening. 
 
 Tro. Still have I tarried. 
 
 Pan. Ay, to the leavening ; but here 's yet 
 in the word hereafter, the kneading, the making 
 of the cake, the heating of the oven, and the 
 baking ; nay, you must stay the cooling too, or 
 you may chance to burn your lips. [be, 
 
 Tro. Patience herself, what goddess e'er she 
 Doth lesser blench at sufferance than I do. 
 At Priam's royal table do I sit ; 
 And when fair Cressid conies into my thoughts, 
 So, traitor! when she comes! When is she 
 thence ? 
 
 Pan. Well, she looked yesternight fairer than 
 ever I saw her look, or any woman else. 
 
 Tro. I was about to tell thee, when my heart, 
 As wedged with a sigh, would rive in twain ; 
 Lest Hector or my father should perceive me, 
 I have, as when the sun doth light a storm, 
 Buried this sigh in wrinkle of a smile : 
 But sorrow that is couch'd in seeming gladness 
 Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness. 
 
 Pan. An her hair were not somewhat darker 
 than Helen's, well, go to, there were no more 
 comparison between the women, but, for my 
 part, she is my kinswoman ; I would not, as 
 they term it, praise her, but I would some- 
 body had heard her talk yesterday, as I did. 
 I will not dispraise your sister Cassandra's wit ; 
 but, 
 
 Tro. O Pandarus ! I tell thee, Pandarus, 
 When I do tell thee there my hopes lie drown'd, 
 Reply not in how many fathoms deep 
 They lie indrench'd. I tell thee, I am mad 
 In Cressid's love : thou answer'st, she is fair ; 
 Pour'st in the open ulcer of my heart [voice ; 
 Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her 
 Handiest in thy discourse, O, that her hand, 
 In whose comparison all whites are ink, 
 Writing their own reproach; to whose soft 
 
 seizure 
 
 The cygnet's down is harsh, and spirit of sense 
 Hard as the palm of ploughman ! This thou 
 
 tell'st me, 
 
 As true thou tell'st me, when I say I love her ; 
 But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm, [me 
 Thou la/st in every gash that love hath given 
 jThe knife that made it. 
 S .Pan. I speak no more than truth. 
 
 Tro. Thou dost not speak so much. 
 
 Pan. Faith, I '11 not meddle in 't. Let her 
 be as she is : if she be fair, 'tis the better for 
 her ; an she be not, she has the mends in her 
 own hands. 
 
 Tro. Good Pandarus, how now, Pandarus ! 
 
 Pan. I have had my labour for my travail ; 
 ill-thought on of her, and ill-thought on of you : 
 gone between and between, but small thanks 
 for my labour. 
 
 Tro. What, art thou angry, Pandarus ? 
 what, with me ? 
 
 Pan. Because she is kin to me, therefore 
 she 's not so fair as Helen : an she were not kin 
 to me, she would be as fair on Friday as Helen 
 is on Sunday. But what care I ? I care not 
 an she were a blackamoor ; 'tis all one to me. 
 
 Tro. Say I, she is not fair ? 
 
 Pan. I do not care whether you do or no. 
 She 's a fool to stay behind her father ; let her 
 to the Greeks; and so I'll tell her the next 
 time I see her : for my part, I Ml meddle nor 
 make no more in the matter. 
 
 Tro. Pandarus, 
 
 Pan. Not I. 
 
 Tro. Sweet Pandarus, 
 
 Pan. Pray you, speak no more to me : I 
 will leave all as I found it, and there an end. 
 [Exit. An alarum. 
 
 Tro. Peace, you ungracious clamours ! peace, 
 
 rude sounds ! 
 
 Fools on both sides ! Helen must needs be fair, 
 When with your blood you daily paint her thus. 
 I cannot fight upon this argument ; 
 It is too starv'd a subject for my sword. 
 But Pandarus, O gods, how do you plague 
 
 mel 
 
 I cannot come to Cressid but by Pandar ; 
 And he 's as tetchy to be woo'd to woo 
 As she is stubborn -chaste against all suit. 
 Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love, 
 What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we ? 
 Her bed is India ; there she lies, a pearl : 
 Between our Ilium and where she resides 
 Let it be call'd the wild and wandering flood ; 
 Ourself the merchant ; and this sailing Pandar 
 Our doubtful hope, our convoy, and our bark. 
 
 Alarum. Enter /ENEAS. 
 
 &ne. How now, Prince Troilus! wherefore 
 not afield? [sorts, 
 
 Tro. Because not there : this woman's answer 
 For womanish it is to be from thence. 
 What news, /Eneas, from the field to-day ? 
 sne. That Paris is returned home, and hurt, 
 Tro. By whom, ^!neas ? 
 
 Troilus, by Menelaus. 
 
754 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 Tro. Let Paris bleed : 'tis but a scar to scorn ; 
 
 Paris is gor'd with Menelaus' horn. {Alarum. 
 
 ^ne. Hark, what good sport is out of town 
 
 to-day ! 
 
 Tro. Better at home, if would I might were 
 
 may. [thither ? 
 
 But to the sport abroad ; are you bound 
 
 sne. In all swift haste. 
 
 Tro. Come, go we, then, together. 
 
 {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. TROY. A Street. 
 Enter CRESSIDA and ALEXANDER. 
 
 Cres. Who were those went by ? 
 
 Alex. Queen Hecuba and Helen. 
 
 Cres. And whither go they ? 
 
 Alex. Up to the eastern tower, 
 
 Whose height commands as subject all the vale, 
 To see the battle. Hector, whose patience 
 Is as a virtue fix'd, to-day was mov'd : 
 He chid Andromache, and struck his armourer ; 
 And, like as there were husbandry in war, 
 Before the sun rose he was harness'd light, 
 And to the field goes he ; where every flower 
 Did, as a prophet, weep what it foresaw 
 In Hector's wrath. 
 
 Cres. What was his cause of anger ? 
 
 Alex. The noise goes, this : there is among 
 
 the Greeks 
 
 A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector ; 
 They call him Ajax. 
 
 Cres. Good ; and what of him ? 
 
 Alex. They say he is a very man per se, 
 And stands alone. 
 
 Cres. So do all men, unless they are drunk, 
 sick, or have no legs. 
 
 Alex. This man, lady, hath robbed many 
 beasts of their particular additions : he is as 
 valiant as the lion, churlish as the bear, slow 
 as the elephant : a man into whom nature hath 
 so crowded humours that his valour is crushed 
 into folly, his folly sauced with discretion : there 
 is no man hath a virtue that he hath not a glimpse 
 of ; nor any man an attaint, but he carries some 
 stain of it : he is melancholy without cause, and 
 merry against the hair : he hath the joints of 
 everything ; but everything so out of joint that 
 he is a gouty Briareus, many hands and no use ; 
 or purblind Argus, all eyes and no sight. 
 
 Cres. But how should this man, that makes 
 me smile, make Hector angry ? 
 
 Alex. They say he yesterday coped Hector 
 in the battle, and struck him down ; the disdain 
 and shame whereof hath ever since kept Hector 
 fasting and waking. 
 
 Cres. Who comes here ? 
 
 Akx. Madam, your uncle Pandarus. 
 
 Enter PANDARUS. 
 
 Cres. Hector 's a gallant man. 
 
 Alex. As may be in the world, lady. 
 
 Pan. What 's that ? what 's that ? 
 
 Cres. Good-morrow, uncle Pandarus. 
 
 Pan. Good-morrow, cousin Cressid: what 
 do you talk of? Good-morrow, Alexander. 
 How do you, cousin ? When were you at Ilium ? 
 
 Cres. This morning, uncle. 
 
 Pan. What were you talking of when I came ? 
 Was Hector armed and gone ere ye came to 
 Ilium ? Helen was not up, was she ? 
 
 Cres. Hector was gone ; but Helen was not 
 up. 
 
 Pan. E'en so : Hector was stirring early. 
 
 Cres. That were we talking of, and of his 
 anger. 
 
 Pan. Was he angry ? 
 
 Cres. So he says here. 
 
 Pan. True, he was so ; I know the cause too ; 
 he '11 lay about him to-day, I can tell them that : 
 and there is Troilus will not come far behind 
 him ; let them take heed of Troilus, I can tell 
 them that too. 
 
 Cres. What, is he angry too ? 
 
 Pan. Who, Troilus? Troilus is the better 
 man of the two. 
 
 Cres. O Jupiter ! there 's no comparison. 
 
 Pan. What, not between Troilus and Hector? 
 Do you know a man if you see him ? 
 
 Cres. Ay, if I ever saw him before, and knew 
 him. 
 
 Pan. Well, I say Troilus is Troilus. 
 
 Cres. Then you say as I say ; for I am sure 
 he is not Hector. 
 
 Pan. No, nor Hector is not Troilus in some 
 degrees. 
 
 Cres. 'Tis just to each of them ; he is himself. 
 
 Pan. Himself ! Alas, poor Troilus ! I would 
 he were, 
 
 Cres. So he is. 
 
 Pan. Condition, I had gone barefoot to India. 
 
 Cres. He is not Hector. 
 
 Pan. Himself ! no, he 's not himself, would 
 'a were himself! Well, the gods are above; 
 time must friend or end : well, Troilus, well, 
 I would my heart were in her body ! No, 
 Hector is not a better man than Troilus. 
 
 Cres. Excuse me. 
 
 Pan. He is elder. 
 
 Cres. Pardon me, pardon me. 
 
 Pan. The other 's not come to 't ; you shall 
 tell me another tale when the other 's come to 't. 
 Hector shall not have his wit this year, 
 
 Cres. He shall not need it if he have his own. 
 
 Pan. Nor his qualities, 
 
SCEXI. ii.] 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 755 
 
 Cres. No matter. 
 
 Pan. Nor his beauty. 
 
 Cres. Twould not become him, his own 's 
 better. 
 
 Pan. You have no judgment, niece : Helen 
 herself swore the other day that Troilus, for a 
 brown favour, for so 'tis, I must confess, 
 not brown neither, 
 
 Cres. No, but brown. 
 
 Pan. Faith, to say truth, brown and not 
 brown. 
 
 Cres. To say the truth, true and not true. 
 
 Pan. She praised his complexion above 
 Paris. 
 
 Cres. Why, Paris hath colour enough. 
 
 Pan. So he has. 
 
 Cres. Then Troilus should have too much : 
 'if she praised him above, his complexion is 
 higher than his ; he having colour enough, and 
 the other higher, is too flaming a praise for a 
 good complexion. I had as lief Helen's golden 
 tongue had commended Troilus for a copper 
 nose. 
 
 Pan. I swear to you I think Helen loves him 
 better than Paris. 
 
 Cres. Then she 's a merry Greek indeed. 
 
 Pan. Nay, I am sure she does. She came 
 tohim the other day into the compassed window, 
 and, you know, he has not past three or four 
 hairs on his chin, 
 
 Cres. Indeed, a tapster's arithmetic may soon 
 bring his particulars therein to a total. 
 
 Pan. Why, he is very young : and yet will 
 he, within three pounds, lift as much as his 
 brother Hector. 
 
 Cres. Is he so young a man and so old a 
 lifter? 
 
 Pan. But to prove to you that Helen loves 
 him, she came, and puts me her white hand 
 to his cloven chin, 
 
 Cres. Juno have mercy ! how came it cloven? 
 
 Pan. Why, you know, 'tis dimpled : I think 
 his smiling becomes him better than any man 
 in all Phrygia. 
 
 Cres. O, he smiles valiantly. 
 
 Pan. Does he not ? 
 
 Cres. O yes, an 'twere a cloud in autumn. 
 
 Pan. Why, go to, then : but to prove to you 
 that Helen loves Troilus, 
 
 Cres. Troilus will stand to the proof if you '11 
 prove it so. 
 
 Pan. Troilus ! why, he esteems her no more 
 than I esteem an addle egg. 
 
 Cres. If you love an addle egg as well as 
 you love an idle head, you would eat chickens i' 
 the shell. 
 
 Pan. I cannot choose but laugh to think 
 
 how she tickled his chin ; indeed, she has a 
 marvellous white hand, I must needs confess, 
 
 Cres. Without the rack. 
 
 Pan. And she takes upon her to spy a white 
 hair on his chin. 
 
 Cres. Alas, poor chin ! many a wart is richer. 
 
 Pan. But there was such laughing ! Queen 
 Hecuba laughed, that her eyes ran o'er, 
 
 Cres. With millstones. 
 
 Pan. And Cassandra laughed, 
 
 Cres. But there was more temperate fire under 
 the pot of her eyes. Did her eyes run o'er too ? 
 
 Pan. And Hector laughed. 
 
 Cres. At what was all this laughing ? 
 
 Pan. Marry, at the white hair that Helen 
 spied on Troilus' chin. 
 
 Cres. An 't had been a green hair I should 
 have laughed too. 
 
 Pan. They laughed not so much at the hair 
 as at his pretty answer. 
 
 Cres. What was his answer ? 
 
 Pan. Quoth she, Here's but one and fifty 
 hairs on your chin, and one of them is white. 
 
 Cres. This is her question. 
 
 Pan. That 's true ; make no question of that. 
 One and fifty hairs, quoth he, and one white : 
 that white hair is my father, and all the rest 
 are his sons. Jupiter ! quoth she, which of 
 these hairs is Paris my husband? The forked 
 one, quoth he ; pluck it out and give it him. 
 But there was such laughing ! and Helen so 
 blushed, and Paris so chafed; and all the rest 
 so laughed that it passed. 
 
 Cres. So let it now ; for it has been a great 
 while going by. 
 
 Pan. Well, cousin, I told you a thing yester- 
 day ; think on 't. 
 
 Cres. So I do. 
 
 Pan. I '11 be sworn 'tis true ; he will weep 
 you, an 'twere a man born in April. 
 
 Cres. And I '11 spring up in his tears, an 'twere 
 a nettle against May. [A retreat sounded. 
 
 Pan. Hark ! they are coming from the field : 
 shall we stand up here, and see them as they 
 pass toward Ilium ? good niece, do ; sweet 
 Cressida. 
 
 Cres. At your pleasure. 
 
 Pan. Here, here, here 's an excellent place ; 
 here we may see most bravely : I '11 tell you 
 them all by their names as they pass by ; but 
 mark Troilus above the rest. 
 
 Cres. Speak not so loud. 
 
 . ?;' CT9ff J ! ?.I/HotT 2i? 
 
 /NEAS passes. 
 
 Pan. That 's /Eneas : is not that a brave 
 man ? he *s one of the flowers of Troy, I can 
 tell you. But mark Troilus ; you shall see anon. 
 
756 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 ANTENOR passes. 
 
 Ores. Who's that? 
 
 Pan. That's Antenor : he has a shrewd wit, 
 I can tell you ; and he 's a man good enough : 
 he's one o' the soundest judgments in Troy, 
 whosoever, and a proper man of person. When 
 comes Troilus ? I '11 show you Troilus anon : 
 if he see me, you shall see him nod at me. 
 
 Cres. Will he give you the nod ? 
 
 Pan. You shall see. 
 
 Cres. If he do, the rich shall have more. 
 
 HECTOR passes. 
 
 Pan. That's Hector, that, that, look you, 
 
 that ; there 's a fellow ! Go thy way, Hector ! 
 
 ^-There 's a brave man, niece. O brave Hector ! 
 
 Look how he looks ! There's a countenance ! 
 
 Is 't not a brave man ? 
 
 Cres. O, a brave man ! 
 
 Pan. Is 'a not ? It does a man's heart good. 
 Look you what hacks are on his helmet ! look 
 you yonder, do you see ? look you there : there 's 
 no jesting ; there 's laying on ; take 't off who 
 will, as they say : there be hacks ! 
 
 Cres. Be those with swords ? 
 
 Pan. Swords ! anything, he cares not ; an 
 the devil come to him, it 's all one : by god's 
 lid, it does one's heart good. Yonder comes 
 Paris, yonder comes Paris : 
 
 PARIS passes. 
 
 look ye yonder, niece ; is J t not a gallant man 
 top, is't not? Why, this is brave now. Who 
 said he came hurt home to-day ? he 's not hurt : 
 why, this will do Helen's heart good now, ha ! 
 Would I could see Troilus now ! you shall 
 see Troilus anon. 
 
 HELEN us passes. 
 
 Cres. Who's that? 
 
 Pan. That's Helenus : I marvel where 
 Troilus is : that 's Helenus : I think he went 
 not forth to-day : that 's Helenus. 
 
 Cres. Can Helenus fight, uncle ? 
 
 Pan. Helenus! no; yes, he'll fight indifferent 
 well. I marvel where Troilus is. Hark ! do 
 you not hear the people cry Troilus ? Helenus 
 is a priest. 
 
 Cres. What sneaking fellow comes yonder ? 
 
 TROILUS/^. 
 
 Pan. Where ? yonder? that 's Deiphobus : 
 'tis Troilus ! there 's a man, niece ! Hem ! 
 Brave Troilus ! the prince of chivalry ! 
 
 Cres. Peace, for shame, peace ! 
 
 Pan. Mark him ; note him : O brave 
 Troilus 1 look well upon him, niece ; look you 
 
 how his sword is bloodied, and his helm more 
 hack'd than Hector's ; and how he looks, and 
 how he goes ! O admirable youth ! he ne'er 
 saw three and twenty. Go thy way, Troilus, 
 go thy way ! Had I a sister were a grace, or a 
 daughter a goddess, he should take his choice. 
 
 admirable man ! Paris? Paris is dirt to him ; 
 and, I warrant, Helen, to change, would give 
 an eye to boot. 
 
 Cres. Here come more. 
 
 Forces pass. 
 
 Pan. Asses, fools, dolts ! chaff and bran, 
 chaff and bran ! porridge after meat ! I could 
 live and die i 5 the eyes of Troilus. Ne'er look, 
 ne'er look ; the eagles are gone : crows and 
 daws, crows and daws ! I had rather be such 
 a man as Troilus than Agamemnon and all 
 Greece. 
 
 Cres. There is among the Greeks Achilles, 
 ^a better man than Troilus. 
 
 Pan. Achilles ! a drayman, a porter, a very 
 camel. 
 
 Cres. Well, welL 
 
 Pan. Well, well! Why, have you any 
 discretion ? have you any eyes ? do you know 
 what a man is? Is not birth, beauty, good 
 shape, discourse, manhood, learning, gentleness, 
 virtue, youth, liberality, and such like, the 
 spice and salt that season a man ? 
 
 Cres. Ay, a minced man : and then to be 
 baked with no date in the pie, for then the 
 man's date 's out. 
 
 Pan. You are such a woman ! one knows 
 not at what ward you lie. 
 
 Cres. Upon my back, to defend my belly ; 
 upon my wit, to defend my wiles ; upon my 
 secrecy, to defend mine honesty ; my mask, to 
 defend my beauty ; and you, to defend all these : 
 and at all these wards I lie, at a thousand 
 watches. 
 
 Pan. Say one of your watches. 
 
 Cres. Nay, I '11 watch you for that ; and 
 that 's one of the chiefest of them too : if I can- 
 not ward what I would not have hit, I can 
 watch you for telling how I took the blow ; 
 unless it swell past hiding, and then it is past 
 watching. 
 
 Pan. You are such another ! 
 
 Enter TROILUS' Boy. 
 
 3 --z Ji .ovoiq 
 
 Boy. Sir, my lord would instantly speak with 
 you. 
 
 Pan. Where? 
 
 Boy. At your own house; there he unarms him. 
 
 Pan. Good boy, tell him I come. [Exit Boy. 
 
 1 doubt he be hurt. Fare ye well, good niece. 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 757 
 
 Cres. Adieu, uncle. 
 
 Pan. I '11 be with you, niece, by and by. 
 
 Cres. To bring, uncle. 
 
 Pan. Ay, a token from Troilus. 
 
 Cres. By the same token you are a bawd. 
 [Exit PANDARUS. 
 
 Words, vows, gifts, tears, and love's full sacrifice, 
 He offers in another's enterprise: 
 But more in Troilus thousand-fold I see 
 Than in the glass of Pandar's praise may be ; 
 Yet hold I off. Women are angels, wooing : 
 Things won are done, joy's soul lies in the doing: 
 That she belov'd knows naught that knows not 
 
 this, 
 
 Men prize the thing ungain'd more than it is : 
 That she was never yet that ever knew 
 Love got so sweet as when desire did sue : 
 Therefore this maxim out of love I teach, 
 Achievement is command ; ungain'd beseech : 
 Then though my heart's content firm love doth 
 
 bear, 
 
 Nothing of that shall from mine eyes appear. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III. THE GRECIAN CAMP. 
 AGAMEMNON'S Tent. 
 
 Before 
 
 Sennet. Enter AGAMEMNON, NESTOR, 
 ULYSSES, MENELAUS, and others. 
 
 Agam. Princes, [cheeks? 
 
 What grief hath set the jaundice on your 
 The ample proposition that hope makes 
 In all designs begun on earth below [disasters 
 Fails in the promis'd largeness : checks and 
 Grow in the veins of actions highest rear'd ; 
 As knots, by the conflux of meeting sap, 
 Infect the sound pine, and divert his grain 
 Tortive and errant from his course of growth. 
 Nor, princes, is it matter new to us 
 That we come short of our suppose so far 
 That, after seven years' siege, yet Troy walls 
 
 stand ; 
 
 Sith every action that hath gone before, 
 Whereof we have record, trial did draw 
 Bias and thwart, not answering the aim, 
 And that unbodied figure of the thought 
 That gav 't surmised shape. Why, then, you 
 
 princes, 
 
 Do you with cheeks abash'd behold our works ; 
 And call them shames, which are, indeed, 
 
 naught else 
 
 But the protractive trials of great Jove 
 To find persistive constancy in men ? 
 The fineness of which metal is not found 
 In fortune's love : for then the bold and coward, 
 The wise and fool, the artist and unread, 
 The hard and soft, seem all affin'd and kin : 
 
 But, in the wind and tempest of her frown, 
 Distinction, with a broad and powerful fan, 
 Puffing at all, winnows the light away ; 
 And what hath mass or matter, by itself 
 Lies rich in virtue and unmingled. [seat, 
 
 Nest. With due observance of thy godlike 
 Great Agamemnon, Nestor shall apply 
 Thy latest words. In the reproof of chance 
 Lies the true proof of men : the sea being 
 
 smooth, 
 
 How many shallow bauble boats dare sail 
 Upon her patient breast, making their way 
 With those of nobler bulk 1 
 But let the ruffian Boreas once enrage 
 The gentle Thetis, and, anon, behold 
 The strong-ribb'd bark through liquid moun- 
 tains cut, 
 
 Bounding between the two moist elements, 
 Like Perseus' horse : where 's then the saucy 
 
 boat, 
 
 Whose weak untimber'd sides but even now 
 Co-rivall'd greatness? either to harbour fled 
 Or made a toast for Neptune. Even so 
 Doth valour's show and valour's worth divide 
 In storms of fortune : for in her ray and bright- 
 ness 
 
 The herd hath more annoyance by the breeze 
 Than by the tiger : but when the splitting wind 
 Makes flexible the knees of knotted oaks, 
 And flies fled under shade, why, then the 
 
 thing of courage, 
 
 As rous'd with rage, with rage doth sympathize, 
 And with an accent tun'd in self-same key 
 Retorts to chiding fortune. 
 
 Ulyss. Agamemnon, 
 
 Thou great commander, nerve and bone of 
 
 Greece, 
 
 Heart of our numbers, soul and only spirit, 
 In whom the tempers and the minds of all 
 Should be shut up, hear what Ulysses speaks. 
 Besides the applause and approbation 
 The which, most mighty for thy place and 
 sway, [To AGAMEMNON. 
 
 And thou most reverend for thy stretch'd-out 
 life, [To NESTOR. 
 
 I give to both your speeches, which were such 
 As Agamemnon and the hand of Greece 
 Should hold up high in brass ; and such again 
 As venerable Nestor, hatch'd in silver, [tree 
 Should with a bond of air, strong as the axle- 
 On which heaven rides, knit all the Greekish 
 ears [both, 
 
 To his experienc'd tongue, yet let it please 
 Thou great, and wise, to hear Ulysses speak. 
 Agam. Speak, Prince of Ithaca; and be't 
 
 of less expect, 
 That matter needless, of importless burden, 
 
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 [ACT 1. 
 
 Divide thy lips, than we are confident, 
 When rank Thersites opes his mastiff jaws, 
 We shall hear music, wit, and oracle. 
 
 Ulyss. Troy, yet upon his basis, had been 
 
 down, [master, 
 
 And the great Hector's sword had lack'd a 
 But for these instances. 
 The specialty of rule hath been neglected : 
 And look, how many Grecian tents do stand 
 Hollowupon this plain, so many hollow factions. 
 When that the general is not like the hive, 
 To whom the foragers shall all repair, 
 What honey is expected ? Degree being vizarded , 
 The un worthiest shows as fairly in the mask. 
 The heavens themselves, the planets, and this 
 
 centre, 
 
 Observe degree, priority, and place, 
 Insisture, course, proportion, season, form, 
 Office, and custom, in all line of order : 
 And therefore is the glorious planet Sol 
 In noble eminence enthron'd and spher'd 
 Amidst the other ; whose medicinable eye 
 Corrects the ill aspects of planets evil, 
 And posts, like the commandment of a king, 
 Sans check, to good and bad : but when the 
 
 planets, 
 
 In evil mixture, to disorder wander, 
 What plagues and what portents ! what mutiny ! 
 What raging of the sea ! shaking of earth ! 
 Commotion in the winds ! frights, changes, 
 
 horrors, 
 
 Divert and crack, rend and deracinate 
 The unity and married calm of states [shak'd, 
 Quite from their fixture ! O, when degree is 
 Which is the ladder to all high designs, 
 The enterprise is sick ! How could communities, 
 Degrees in schools, and brotherhoods in cities, 
 Peaceful commerce from dividable shores, 
 The primogenitive and due of birth, 
 Prerogative of age, crowns, sceptres, laurels, 
 But by degree, stand in authentic place ? 
 Take but degree away, untune that string, 
 And, hark, what discord follows! each thing 
 
 meets 
 
 In mere oppugnancy : the bounded waters 
 Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores. 
 And make a sop of all this solid globe : 
 Strength should be lord of imbecility, 
 And the rude son should strike his father dead : 
 Force should be right ; or, rather, right and 
 
 wrong, 
 
 Between whose endless jar justice resides, 
 Should lose their names, and so should justice 
 
 too. 
 
 Then everything includes itself in power, 
 Power into will, will into appetite ; 
 And appetite, an universal wolf, 
 
 So doubly seconded with will and power, 
 
 Must make perforce an universal prey, 
 
 And last eat up himself. Great Agamemnon, 
 
 This chaos, when degree is suffocate, 
 
 Follows the choking. 
 
 And this neglection of degree it is 
 
 That by a pace goes backward, with a purpose 
 
 It hath to climb. The general 's disdain'd 
 
 By him one step below ; he by the next ; 
 
 That next by him beneath : so every step, 
 
 Exampled by the first pace that is sick 
 
 Of his superior, grows to an envious fever 
 
 Of pale and bloodless emulation ; 
 
 And 'tis this fever that keeps Troy on foot, 
 
 Not her own sinews. To end a tale of length, 
 
 Troy in our weakness stands, not in her strength. 
 
 Nest. Most wisely hath Ulyssesherediscover'd 
 The fever whereof all our power is sick. 
 
 Again. The nature of the sickness found, 
 
 Ulysses, 
 What is the remedy ? [crowns 
 
 Ulyss. The great Achilles, whom opinion 
 The sinew and the forehand of our host, 
 Having his ear full of his airy fame, 
 Grows dainty of his worth, and in his tent 
 Lies mocking our designs : with him Patroclus, 
 Upon a lazy bed, the livelong day 
 Breaks scurril jests ; 
 
 And with ridiculous and awkward action, 
 Which, slanderer, he imitation calls, 
 He pageants us. Sometime, great Agamemnon, 
 Thy topless deputation he puts on ; 
 And, like a strutting player, whose conceit 
 Lies in his hamstring, and doth think it rich 
 To hear the wooden dialogue and sound 
 'Twixt his stretch'd footing and the scaffoldage, 
 Such to-be-pitied and o'er-wrested seeming 
 He acts thy greatness in : and when he speaks 
 'Tis like a chime a-mending ; with terms un- 
 squar'd, [dropp'd, 
 
 Which, from the tongue of roaring Typhon 
 Would seem hyperboles. At this fusty stuff 
 The large Achilles, on his press'd bed lolling, 
 From his deep chest laughs out a loud applause ; 
 Cries, Excellent! 'tis Agamemnon just. 
 Now play me Nestor; hem, and stroke thy beard, 
 As he being drest to some oration. 
 That 's done ; as near as the extremes! ends 
 Of parallels ; as like as Vulcan and his wife : 
 Yet god Achilles still cries, Excellent! 
 ' Tis ^Nestor right. Now play h im me, Patroclus, 
 Arming to answer in a night alarm. 
 And then, forsooth, the faint defects of age 
 Must be the scene of mirth ; to cough and spit, 
 And, with a palsy-fumbling on his gorget, 
 Shake in and out the rivet : and at this sport 
 Sir Valour dies : cries, O, enough, Patroclus ; 
 
JSCENE'III.] 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 759 
 
 Or give me ribs of steel! I shall split all 
 In pleastire of my spleen. And in this fashion 
 All our abilities, gifts, natures, shapes, 
 Severals and generals of grace exact, 
 Achievements, plots, orders, preventions, 
 Excitements to the field or speech for truce, 
 Success or loss, what is or is not, serves 
 As stuff for these two to make paradoxes. 
 
 Nest. And in the imitation of these twain, 
 Who, as Ulysses says, opinion crowns 
 With an imperial voice, many are infect. 
 Ajax is grown self-willed ; and bears his head 
 In such a rein, in full as proud a place 
 As broad Achilles ; keeps his tent like him ; 
 Makes factious feasts ; rails on our state of war 
 Bold as an oracle ; and sets Thersites, 
 A slave, whose gall coins slanders like a mint, 
 To match us in comparisons with dirt, 
 To weaken and discredit our exposure, 
 How rank soever rounded in with danger. 
 
 Ulyss. They tax our policy, and call it 
 
 cowardice ; 
 
 Count wisdom as no member of the war ; 
 Forestall prescience, and esteem no act 
 But that of hand : the still and mental parts, 
 That do contrive how many hands shall strike, 
 When fitness calls them on ; and know, by 
 
 measure 
 
 Of their observant toil, the enemies' weight, 
 Why, this hath not a finger's dignity: 
 They call this bed- work, mappery, closet-war; 
 So that the ram that batters down the wall, 
 For the great swing and rudeness of his poise, 
 They place before his hand that made the engine, 
 Or those that with the fineness of their souls 
 By reason guide his execution. 
 
 Nest. Let this be granted, and Achilles' horse 
 Makes many Thetis' sons. [ Trumpet sounds. 
 
 Agam. What trumpet ? look, Menelaus. 
 
 Men. From Troy. 
 
 Agam. What would you 'fore our tent ? 
 
 sne. Is this great Agamemnon's tent, I 
 pray you ? 
 
 Agam. Even this. 
 
 Jfcne. May one, that is a herald and a prince, 
 Do a fair message to his kingly ears ? 
 
 Agam. With surety stronger than Achilles' 
 
 arm [voice 
 
 'Fore all the Greekish heads, which with one 
 
 Call Agamemnon head and general. [may 
 
 ALne. Fair leave and large security. How 
 A stranger to those most imperial looks 
 Know them from eyes of other mortals ? 
 
 Agam. How ! 
 
 Ay; 
 
 I ask, that I might waken reverence, 
 And bid the cheek be ready with a blush 
 Modest as morning when she coldly eyes 
 The youthful Phoebus : 
 Which is that god in office, guiding men ? 
 Which is the high and mighty Agamemnon ? 
 
 Agam. This Trojan scorns us ; or the men 
 
 of Troy 
 Are ceremonious courtiers. 
 
 </Ene. Courtiers as free, as debonair, unarm'd, 
 As bending angels ; that 's their fame in peace : 
 But when they would seem soldiers, they have 
 galls, [Jove's accord, 
 
 Good arms, strong joints, true swords ; and, 
 Nothing so full of heart. But peace, ./Eneas, 
 Peace, Trojan ; lay thy finger on thy lips ! 
 The worthiness of praise distains his worth, 
 If that the prais'd himself bring the praise forth : 
 But what the repining enemy commends, 
 That breath fame blows ; that praise, sole pure, 
 transcends. [^Eneas ? 
 
 Agam. Sir, you of Troy, call you yourself 
 
 Ane. Ay, Greek, that is my name. 
 
 Agam. What 's your affair, I pray you ? 
 
 JEne. Sir, pardon ; 'tis for Agamemnon's ears. 
 
 Agam. He hears not privately that comes 
 from Troy. [him : 
 
 JEne. Nor I from Troy come not to whisper 
 I bring a trumpet to awake his ear ; 
 To set his sense on the attentive bent, 
 And then to speak. 
 
 Agam. Speak frankly as the wind ; 
 
 It is not Agamemnon's sleeping hour : 
 That thou shalt know, Trojan, he is awake, 
 He tells thee so himself. 
 
 snc. Trumpet, blow loud, 
 
 Send thy brass voice through all these lazy tents ; 
 And every Greek of mettle, let him know 
 What Troy means fairly shall be spoke aloud. 
 
 {Trumpet sounds. 
 
 We have, great Agamemnon, here in Troy 
 A prince called Hector, Priam is his father, 
 Who in this dull and long-continued truce 
 Is rusty grown : he bade me take a trumpet 
 And to this purpose speak. Kings, princes, 
 
 lords! 
 
 If there be one among the fair'st of Greece 
 That holds his honour higher than his ease ; 
 That seeks his praise more than he fears his 
 
 peril; 
 
 That knows his valour and knows not his fear ; 
 That loves his mistress more than in confession, 
 With truant vows to her own lips he loves, 
 And dare avow her beauty and her worth 
 In other arms than hers, to him this challenge. 
 Hector, in view of Trojans and of Greeks, 
 Shall make it good, or do his best to do it, 
 
7 6o 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 [ACT i. \ 
 
 He hath a lady wiser, fairer, truer 
 Than ever Greek did compass in his arms 
 And will to-morrow with his trumpet call, 
 Mid- way between your tents and walls of Troy, 
 To rouse a Grecian that is true in love : 
 If any come, Hector shall honour him ; 
 If none, he '11 say in Troy when he retires, 
 The Grecian dames are sunburnt, and not worth 
 The splinter of a lance. Even so much. 
 Agam. This shall be told our lovers, Lord 
 
 If none of them have soul in such a kind, 
 We left them all at home : but we are soldiers ; 
 And may that soldier a mere recreant prove 
 That means not, hath not, or is not in love ! 
 If then one is, or hath, or means to be, 
 That one meets Hector ; if none else, I am he. 
 
 Nest. Tell him of Nestor, one that was a man 
 When Hector's grandsire suck'd : he is old now ; 
 But if there be not in our Grecian host 
 One noble man that hath one spark of fire 
 To answer for his love, tell him from me 
 I '11 hide my silver beard in a gold beaver, 
 And in my vantbrace put this wither'd brawn ; 
 And, meeting him, will tell him that my lady 
 Was fairer than his grandame, and as chaste 
 As may be in the world : his youth in flood, 
 I'll prove this truth with my three drops of 
 blood. [youth ! 
 
 j*Enc. Now heavens forbid such scarcity of 
 
 Ulyss. Amen. [hand ; 
 
 Agam. Fair Lord ^Eneas, let me touch your 
 To our pavilion shall I lead you, sir. 
 Achilles shall have word of this intent ; 
 So shall each lord of Greece, from tent to tent : 
 Yourself shall feast with us before you go, 
 And find the welcome of a noble foe. 
 
 [Exeunt all but ULYSS. and NEST. 
 
 Ulyss. Nestor, 
 
 Nest. What says Ulysses ? [brain ; 
 
 Ulyss. I have a young conception in my 
 Be you my time to bring it to some shape. 
 
 Nest. What is 't? 
 
 Ulyss. This 'tis : 
 
 Blunt wedges rive hard knots : the seeded pride 
 That hath to this maturity blown up 
 In rank Achilles must or now be cropp'd, 
 Or, shedding, breed a nursery of like evil, 
 To overbulk us all. 
 
 Nest. Well, and how ? [sends, 
 
 Ulyss. This challenge that the gallant Hector 
 However it is spread in general name, 
 Relates in purpose only to Achilles. [stance, 
 
 Nest. The purpose is perspicuous even as sub- 
 Whose grossness little characters sum up : 
 And, in the publication, make no strain 
 But that Achilles, were his brain as barren 
 
 As banks of Libya, though, Apollo knows, 
 'Tis dry enough,- will, with great speed of 
 
 judgment, 
 
 Ay, with celerity, find Hector's purpose 
 Pointing on him. 
 
 Ulyss. And wake him to the answer, think 
 you ? [else oppose 
 
 Nest. Yes, 'tis most meet: whom may you 
 That can from Hector bring his honour off, 
 If not Achilles? Though 't be a sportful combat, 
 Yet in the trial much opinion dwells ; 
 For here the Trojans taste our dear'st repute 
 With their fin'st palate: and trust to me, Ulysses, 
 Our imputation shall be oddly pois'd 
 In this wild action ; for the success, 
 Although particular, shall give a scantling 
 Of good or bad unto the general ; 
 And in such indexes, although small pricks 
 To their subsequent volumes, there is seen 
 The baby figure of tAe giant mass 
 Of things to come at large. It is suppos'd 
 He that meets Hector issues from our choice : 
 And choice being mutual act of all our souls, 
 Makes merit her election ; and doth boil, 
 As 'twere from forth us all, a man distill'd 
 Out of our virtues ; who miscarrying, [part, 
 What heart receives from hence the conquering 
 To steal a strong opinion to themselves ? 
 Which entertain'd, limbs are his instruments. 
 In no less working than are swords and bows 
 Directive by the limbs. 
 
 Ulyss. Give pardon to my speech ; 
 Therefore 'tis meet Achilles meet not Hector. 
 Let us, like merchants, show our foulest wares, 
 And think perchance they'll sell ; if not, 
 The lustre of the better shall exceed, 
 By showing the worst first. Do not consent 
 That ever Hector and Achilles meet ; 
 For both our honour and our shame in this 
 Are dogg'd with two strange followers. 
 
 Nest. I see them not with my old eyes : what 
 are they ? ;, . " 
 
 Ulyss. What glory our Achilles shares from 
 Hector, [him : 
 
 Were he not proud, we all should share with 
 But he already is too insolent ; 
 And we were better parch in Afric sun 
 Than in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes, 
 Should he 'scape Hector fair : if he were foil'd, 
 Why, then we did our main opinion crush 
 In taint of our best man. No, make a lottery ; 
 And, by device, let blockish Ajax draw 
 The sort to fight with Hector : among ourselves, 
 Give him allowance for the better man ; 
 For that will physic the great Myrmidon 
 Who broils in loud applause, and make him fall 
 His crest that prouder than blue Iris bends. 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 76i 
 
 If the dull brainless Ajax come safe off, 
 We '11 dress him up in voices : if he fail, 
 Yet go we under our opinion still 
 That we have better men. But, hit or miss, 
 Our project's life this shape of sense assumes, 
 Ajax employ'd plucks down Achilles' plumes. 
 Nest. Now, Ulysses, I begin to relish thy 
 
 advice ; 
 
 And I will give a taste of it forthwith 
 To Agamemnon : go we to him straight. 
 Two curs shall tame each other : pride alone 
 Must tarre the mastiffs on, as 'twere their bone. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. Another part of the Grecian Camp. 
 Enter AJAX and THERSITES. 
 
 Ajax. Thersites, 
 
 Ther. Agamemnon, how if he had boils, 
 full, all over, generally *, 
 
 Ajax. Thersites, 
 
 Ther. And those boils did run ? Say so, 
 did not the general run then ? were not that a 
 botchy core? 
 
 Ajax. Dog, 
 
 Ther. Then would come some matter from 
 him ; I see none now. 
 
 Ajax. Thou bitch-wolf's son, canst thou not 
 hear? Feel, then. [Beating him. 
 
 Ther. The plague of Greece upon thee, thou 
 mongrel beef-witted lord ! 
 
 Ajax. Speak, then, thou vinewedst leaven, 
 speak : I will beat thee into handsomeness. 
 
 Ther. I shall sooner rail thee into wit and 
 holiness : but I think thy horse will sooner con 
 an oration than thou learn a prayer without 
 book. Thou canst strike, canst thou? a red 
 murrain o' thy jade's tricks ! 
 
 Ajax. Toadstool, learn me the proclamation. 
 
 Ther. Dost thou think I have no sense, thou 
 strikest me thus ? 
 
 Ajax. The proclamation, 
 
 Ther. Thou art proclaimed a fool, I think. 
 
 Ajax. Do not, porcupine, do not ; my fingers 
 itch. 
 
 Ther. I would thou didst itch from head to 
 foot, and I had the scratching of thee ; I would 
 make thee the loathsomest scab in Greece. 
 When thou art forth in the incursions, thou 
 strikest as slow as another. 
 
 Ajax. I say, the proclamation, 
 
 Ther. Thou grumblest and railest every hour 
 on Achilles ; and thou art as full of envy at his 
 greatness as Cerberus is at Proserpina's beauty, 
 ay, that thou barkest at him. 
 
 Ajax. Mistress Thersites : 
 
 Ther. Thou shouldst strike him. 
 
 Ajax. Cobloaf ! 
 
 Ther. He would pun thee into shivers with 
 his fist, as a sailor breaks a biscuit. 
 
 Ajax. You whoreson cur ! [Beating him. 
 
 Ther. Do, do. 
 
 Ajax. Thou stool for a witch ! 
 
 Ther. Ay, do, do ; thou sodden- witted lord ! 
 thou hast no more brain than I have in mine 
 elbows ; an assinego may tutor thee : thou 
 scurvy valiant ass ! thou art here but to thrash 
 Trojans ; and thou art bought and sold among 
 those of any wit, like a barbarian slave. If 
 thou use to beat me, I will begin at thy heel, 
 and tell what thou art by inches, thou thing of 
 no bowels, thou ! 
 
 Ajax. You dog ! 
 
 Ther. You scurvy lord ! 
 
 Ajax. You cur ! [Beating him. 
 
 Ther. Mars his idiot! do, rudeness; do, 
 camel ; do, do. 
 
 Enter ACHILLES and PATROCLUS. 
 
 Achil. Why, how now, Ajax ! wherefore do 
 
 you thus? 
 How now, Thersites! what's the matter, man? 
 
 Ther. You see him there, do you ? 
 
 Achil. Ay ; what 's the matter ? 
 
 Ther. Nay, look upon him. 
 
 Achil. So I do : what's the matter? 
 
 Ther. Nay, but regard him well. 
 
 Achil. Well ! why, I do so. 
 
 Ther. But yet you look not well upon him ; 
 for whosoever you take him to be, he is Ajax. 
 
 Achil. I know that, fool. 
 
 Ther. Ay, but that fool knows not himself. 
 
 Ajax. Therefore I beat thee. 
 
 Ther. Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit 
 he utters ! his evasions have ears thus long. I 
 have bobbed his brain more than he has beat 
 my bones : I will buy nine sparrows for a 
 penny, and his pia mater is not worth the 
 ninth part of a sparrow. This lord, Achilles, 
 Ajax, who wears his wit in his belly, and his 
 guts in his head, I '11 tell you what I say of 
 him. 
 
 Achil. What? 
 
 Ther. I say, this Ajax, 
 
 [AjAX offers to beat Aim, ACHILLES 
 interposes. 
 
 Achil. Nay, good Ajax. 
 
 Ther. Has not so much wit, 
 
 Achil. Nay, I must hold you. 
 
 Ther. As will stop the eye of Helen's needle, 
 for whom he comes to fight. 
 
 Achil. Peace, fool ! 
 
762 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 [ACT II. 
 
 Ther. I would have peace and quietness, but 
 the fool will not : he there ; that he ; look you 
 there. 
 
 Ajax. O thou damned cur ! I shall, 
 
 AchiL Will you set your wit to a fool's ? 
 
 Ther. No, I warrant you ; for a fool's will 
 shame it. 
 
 Patr. Good words, Thersites. 
 
 AchiL What's the quarrel? 
 
 Ajax. I bade the vile owl go learn me the 
 tenor of the proclamation, and he rails upon me. 
 
 Ther. I serve thee not. 
 
 Ajax. Well, go to, go to. 
 
 Ther. I serve here voluntary. 
 
 AchiL Your last service was sufferance, 'twas 
 not voluntary, no man is beaten voluntary : 
 Ajax was here the voluntary, and you as under 
 an impress. 
 
 Ther. E'en so ; a great deal of your wit, too, 
 lies in your sinews, or else there be liars. 
 Hector shall have a great catch if he knock out 
 either of your brains : 'a were as good crack a 
 fusty nut with no kernel. 
 
 AchiL What, with me too, Thersites ? 
 
 Ther. There's Ulysses and old Nestor, 
 whose wit was mouldy ere your grandsires had 
 nails on their toes, yoke you like draught 
 oxen, and make you plough up the wars. 
 
 AchiL What, what ? 
 
 Ther. Yes, good sooth: to, Achilles! to, 
 Ajax! to! 
 
 Ajax. I shall cut out your tongue. 
 
 Ther. 'Tis no matter ; I shall speak as much 
 as thou afterwards. 
 
 Patr. No more words, Thersites ; peace ! 
 
 Ther. I will hold my peace when Achilles' 
 brach bids me, shall I ? 
 
 AchiL There 's for you, Patroclus. 
 
 Ther. I will see you hanged, like clotpoles, 
 ere I come any more to your tents : I will keep 
 where there is wit stirring, and leave the faction 
 of fools. [Exit. 
 
 Patr. A good riddance. 
 
 AchiL Marry, this, sir, is proclaim'd through 
 
 all our host : 
 
 That Hector, by the fifth hour of the sun, 
 Will, with a trumpet, 'twixt our tents and Troy, 
 To-morrow morning call some knight to arms 
 That hath a stomach ; and such a one that dare 
 Maintain I know not what; 'tis trash. Fare- 
 well. 
 
 Ajax. Farewell. Who shall answer him ? 
 
 AchiL I know not, it is put to lottery ; 
 
 otherwise 
 He knew his man. 
 
 Ajax. O, meaning you. I '11 go learn more 
 of it. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. TROY. A Room in PRIAM'S 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter PRIAM, HECTOR, TROILUS, PARIS, 
 and HELENUS. 
 
 Pri. After so many hours, lives, speeches 
 
 spent, 
 
 Thus once again says Nestor from the Greeks : 
 Deliver Helen, and all damage else, 
 As honour, loss of time, travail, expense, 
 Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is 
 
 consumed 
 
 In hot digestion of this cormorant "war, 
 Shall be struck off: Hector, what say you to 't ? 
 Hect. Though no man lesser fears the Greeks 
 
 than I, 
 
 As far as toucheth my particular, 
 Yet, dread Priam, 
 
 There is no lady of more softer bowels, 
 More spongy to suck in the sense of fear, 
 More ready to cry out, Who knows what follows? 
 Than Hector is : the wound of peace is surety, 
 Surety secure ; but modest doubt is call'd 
 The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches 
 To the bottom of the worst. Let Helen go : 
 Since the first sword was drawn about this 
 
 question, ( 
 
 Every tithe soul, 'mongst many thousand dismes, 
 Hath been as dear as Helen, I mean, of ours: 
 If we have lost so many tenths of ours, 
 To guard a thing not ours, nor worth to us, 
 Had it our name, the value of one ten, 
 What merit 's in that reason which denies 
 The yielding of her up ? 
 
 Tro. Fie, fie, my brother ! 
 
 Weigh you the worth and honour of a king, 
 So great as our dread father, in a scale 
 Of common ounces? will you with counters sum 
 The past-proportion of his infinite ? 
 And buckle-in a waist most fathomless 
 With spans and inches so diminutive 
 As fears and reasons ? fie, for godly shame I 
 Hel. No marvel though you bite so sharp at 
 
 reasons : [father 
 
 You are so empty of them. Should not our 
 
 Bear the great sway of his affairs with reasons, 
 
 Because your speech hath none that tells him so ? 
 
 Tro. You are for dreams and slumbers, 
 
 brother priest ; [reasons : 
 
 You fur your gloves with reason. Here are your 
 You know an enemy intends you harm ; 
 You know a sword employ'd is perilous, 
 And reason flies the object of all harm : 
 Who marvels, then, when Helenus beholds 
 A Grecian and his sword, if he do set 
 The very wings of reason to his heels, 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 763 
 
 And fly like chidden Mercury from Jove, 
 
 Or like a star disorb'd? Nay if we talk of 
 
 reason [honour 
 
 Let 's shut our gates and sleep : manhood and 
 Should have hare hearts would they but fat their 
 
 thoughts 
 
 With this cramm'd reason : reason and respect 
 Make livers pale and lustihood deject. [cost 
 Hect. Brother, she is not worth what she doth 
 The holding. 
 
 Tro. What is aught but as 'tis valued ? 
 
 Hect. But value dwells not in particular will ; 
 It holds his estimate and dignity 
 As well wherein 'tis precious of itself 
 As in the prizer : 'tis mad idolatry 
 To make the service greater than the god ; 
 And the will dotes, that is attributive 
 To what infectiously itself affects, 
 Without some image of the affected merit. 
 
 Tro. I take to-day a wife, and my election 
 Is led on in the conduct of my will ; 
 My will enkindled by mine eyes and ears, 
 Two traded pilots 'twixt the dangerous shores 
 Of will and judgment : how may I avoid, 
 Although my will distaste what it elected, 
 The wife I chose ? there can be no evasion 
 To blench from this, and to stand firm by honour : 
 We turn not back the silks upon the merchant 
 When we have soil'd them ; nor the remainder 
 
 viands 
 
 We do not throw in unrespective sieve, 
 Because we now are full. It was thought meet 
 Paris should do some vengeance on the Greeks : 
 Your breath of full consent bellied his sails ; 
 The seas and winds, old wranglers, took a 
 
 truce, [desir'd ; 
 
 And did him service : he touch'd the ports 
 And for an old aunt, whom the Greeks held 
 
 captive, [freshness 
 
 He brought a Grecian queen, whose youth and 
 Wrinkles Apollo's, and makes stale the morning. 
 Why keep we her? the Grecians keep our aunt : 
 Is she worth keeping? why, she is a pearl, 
 Whose price hath launch'd above a thousand 
 
 ships, 
 
 And turn'd crown'd kings to merchants. 
 If you '11 avouch 'twas wisdom Paris went, 
 As you must needs, for you all cried, Go, go, 
 If you '11 confess he brought home noble prize, 
 As you must needs, for you all clapp'd your hands, 
 And cried, Inestimable ! why do you now 
 The issue of your proper wisdoms rate, 
 And do a deed that fortune never did, 
 Beggar the estimation which you priz'd 
 Richer than sea and land? O theft most base, 
 That we have stol'n what we do fear to keep ! 
 'But thieves, unworthy of a thing so stol'n, 
 
 That in their country did them that disgrace, 
 We fear to warrant in our native place ! 
 
 Cas. [ Within. ] Cry, Trojans, cry ! 
 
 Pri. What noise? what shriek is this? 
 
 Pro. 'Tis our mad sister, I do know her voice. 
 
 Cas. [Within.} Cry, Trojans! 
 
 Hect. It is Cassandra. 
 
 Enter CASSANDRA, raving. 
 
 Cas. Cry, Trojans, cry ! lend me ten thousand 
 
 eyes, 
 And I will fill them with prophetic tears. 
 
 Hect. Peace, sister, peace. [old, 
 
 Cas. Virgins and boys, mid-age and wrinkled 
 Soft infancy, that nothing canst but cry, 
 Add to my clamours ! let us pay betimes 
 A moiety of that mass of moan to come. 
 Cry, Trojans, cry ! practise your eyes with tears ! 
 Troy must not be, nor goodly Ilion stand ; 
 Our firebrand brother, Paris, burns us all. 
 Cry, Trojans, cry ! an Helen and a woe : 
 Cry, cry ! Troy burns, or else let Helen go. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Hect. Now, youthful Troilus, do not these 
 
 high strains 
 
 Of divination in our sister work 
 Some touches of remorse ? or is your blood 
 So madly hot that no discourse of reason, 
 Nor fear of bad success in a bad cause, 
 Can qualify the same? 
 
 Tro. Why, brother Hector, 
 
 We may not think the justness of each act 
 Such and no other than event doth form it ; 
 Nor once deject the courage of our minds 
 Because Cassandra 's mad : her brain-sick 
 
 raptures 
 
 Cannot distaste the goodness of a quarrel 
 Which hath our several honours all engag'd 
 To make it gracious. For my private part, 
 I am no more touch'd than all Priam's sons : 
 And Jove forbid there should be done amongst 
 
 us 
 
 Such things as might offend the weakest spleen 
 To fight for and maintain ! 
 
 Par. Else might the world convince of levity 
 As well my undertakings as your counsels: 
 But I attest the gods, your full consent 
 Gave wings to my propension, and cut off 
 All fears attending on so dire a project. 
 For what, alas, can these my single arms? 
 What propugnation is in one man's valour, 
 To stand the push and enmity of thost: 
 This quarrel would excite ? Yet, I protest, 
 Were I alone to pass the difficulties, 
 And had as ample power as I have will, 
 Paris should ne'er retract what he hath done, 
 Nor faint in the pursuit. 
 
7 6 4 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 Prim Paris, you speak 
 
 Like one besotted on your sweet delights : 
 You have the honey still, but these the gall ; 
 So to be valiant is no praise at all. 
 
 Par. Sir, I propose not merely to myself 
 The pleasures such a beauty brings with it ; 
 But I would have the soil of her fair rape 
 Wip'd off in honourable keeping her. 
 What treason were it to the ransack'd queen, 
 Disgrace to your great worths, and shame to me, 
 Now to deliver her possession up 
 On terms of base compulsion ! Can it be 
 That so degenerate a strain as this 
 Should once set footing in your generousbosoms? 
 There 's not the meanest spirit on our party, 
 Without a heart to dare or sword to draw, 
 When Helen is defended ; nor none so noble, 
 Whose life were ill bestow'd or death unfam'd, 
 Where Helen is the subject : then, I say, [well, 
 Well may we fight for her, whom, we know 
 The world's large spaces cannot parallel. 
 Hect. Paris and Troilus, you have both said 
 
 well; 
 
 And on the cause and question now in hand 
 Have gloz'd, but superficially; not much 
 Unlike young men, whom Aristotle thought 
 Unfit to hear moral philosophy: 
 The reasons you allege do more conduce 
 To the hot passion of distemper'd blood 
 Than to make up a free determination 
 'Twixt right and wrong; for pleasure and 
 
 revenge 
 
 Have ears more deaf than adders to the voice 
 Of any true decision. Nature ci'aves 
 All dues be render'd to their owners : now, 
 What nearer debt in all humanity 
 Than wife is to the husband ? If this law 
 Of nature be corrupted through affection ; 
 And that great minds, of partial indulgence 
 To their benumbed wills, resist the same ; 
 There is a law in each well-order'd nation 
 To curb those raging appetites that are 
 Most disobedient and refractory. 
 If Helen, then, be wife to Sparta's king, 
 As it is known she is, these moral laws 
 Of nature and of nations speak aloud 
 To have her back return'd : thus to persist 
 In doing wrong extenuates not wrong, 
 But makes it much more heavy. Hector's 
 
 opinion 
 
 Is this, in way of truth : yet, ne'ertheless, 
 My spritely brethren, I propend to you 
 In resolution to keep Helen still ; 
 For 'tis a cause that hath no mean dependence 
 Upon our joint and several dignities. 
 
 Tro. Why, there you touch'd the life of our 
 
 Were it not glory that we more affected 
 Than the performance of our heaving spleens, 
 I would not wish a drop of Trojan blood 
 Spent more in her defence. But, worthy Hector. 
 She is a theme of honour and renown ; 
 A spur to valiant and magnanimous deeds; 
 Whose present courage may beat down our foes, 
 And fame in time to come can6nize us: 
 For, I presume, brave Hector would not lose 
 So rich advantage of a promis'd glory, 
 As smiles upon the forehead of this action, 
 For the wide world's revenue. 
 
 Hect. I am yours, 
 
 You valiant offspring of great Priamus. 
 I have a roisting challenge sent amongst 
 The dull and factious nobles of the Greeks 
 Will strike amazement to their drowsy spirits : 
 I was advertised their great general slept, 
 Whilst emulation in the army crept : 
 This, I presume, will wake him. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. THE GRECIAN CAMP. Before 
 
 ACHILLES' Tent. 
 
 Enter THERSITES. 
 
 Ther. How now, Thersites ! what, lost in 
 the labyrinth of thy fury ! Shall the elephant 
 Ajax carry it thus ? he beats me, and I rail at 
 him : O worthy satisfaction ! would it were 
 otherwise ; that I could beat him, whilst he 
 railed at me. 'Sfoot, I '11 learn to conjure and 
 raise devils, but I '11 see some issue of my 
 spiteful execrations. Then there 's Achilles, 
 a rare engineer. If Troy be not taken till 
 these two undermine it, the walls will stand 
 till they fall of themselves. O thou great 
 thunder-darter of Olympus, forget that thou 
 art Jove, the king ot gods ; and, Mercury, lose 
 all the serpentine craft of thy caducetis ; if ye 
 take not that little little less-than-little wit 
 from them that they have ! which short-aimed 
 ignorance itself knows is so abundant scarce, it 
 will not in circumvention deliver a fly from a 
 spider, without drawing their massy irons and 
 cutting the web. After this, the vengeance on 
 the whole camp ! or, rather, the bone-ache ! 
 for that, methinks, is the curse dependent on 
 those that war for a placket. I have said my 
 prayers ; and devil envy say Amen. What, 
 ho ! my Lord Achilles ! 
 
 Enter PATROCLUS. 
 
 Patr. Who 's there? Thersites ! Good Ther- 
 sites, come in and rail. 
 
 Ther. If I could have remembered a gilt 
 counterfeit, thou wouldst not have slipped out 
 of my contemplation : but it is no matter ; 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 765 
 
 thyself upon thyself ! The common curse of 
 mankind, folly and ignorance, be thine in great 
 revenue ! heaven bless thee from a tutor, and 
 discipline come not near thee ! Let thy blood 
 be thy direction till thy death ! then if she 
 that lays thee out says thou art a fair corse, 
 I '11 be sworn and sworn upon 't she never 
 shrouded any but lazars. Amen. Where's 
 Achilles? 
 
 Patr. What, art thou devout? wast thou in 
 prayer ? 
 
 Ther. Ay, the heavens hear me ! 
 
 Enter ACHILLES. 
 
 Achil. Who 's there ? 
 
 Pair. Thersites, my lord. 
 
 Achil. Where, where? Art thou come? 
 Why, my cheese, my digestion, why hast thou 
 not served thyself in to my table so many 
 meals ? Come, what 's Agamemnon ? 
 
 Ther. Thy commander, Achilles : then tell 
 me, Patroclus, what 's Achilles ? 
 
 Pair. Thy lord, Thersites : then tell me, I 
 pray thee, what's thyself? 
 
 Ther. Thy knower, Patroclus : then tell me, 
 Patroclus, what art thou ? 
 
 Pair. Thou mayest tell that knowest. 
 
 Achil. O, tell, tell. 
 
 Ther. I '11 decline the whole question. Aga- 
 memnon commands Achilles ; Achilles is my 
 lord ; I am Patroclus' knower ; and Patroclus 
 is a fool. 
 
 Patr. You rascal ! 
 
 Ther. Peace, fool ! I have not done. 
 
 Achil. He is a privileged man. Proceed, 
 Thersites. 
 
 Ther. Agamemnon is a fool ; Achilles is a 
 fool; Thersites is a fool; and, as aforesaid, 
 Patroclus is a fool. 
 
 Achil. Derive this ; come. 
 
 Ther. Agamemnon is a fool to offer to com- 
 mand Achilles ; Achilles is a fool to be com- 
 manded of Agamemnon ; Thersites is a fool to 
 serve such a fool ; and Patroclus is a fool posi- 
 tive. 
 
 Patr. Why am i a fool ? _ 
 
 Ther. Make that demand of the jwefeft It 
 suffices me thou art. Look you, who comes 
 here? 
 
 Achil. Patroclus, I'll speak with nobody. 
 Come in with me, Thersites. [Exit. 
 
 Ther. Here is such patchery, such juggling, 
 and such knavery ! all the argument is a cuckold 
 and a whore ; a good quarrel to draw emulous 
 factions and bleed to death upon. Now the 
 dry serpigo on the subject ! and war and lechery 
 confound all ! [Exit. 
 
 Enter AGAMEMNON, ULYSSES, NESTOR, 
 DIOMEDES, and AJAX. 
 
 Agam. Where is Achilles ? [lord. 
 
 Patr. Within his tent ; but ill-dispos'd, my 
 
 Agam. Let it be known to him that we are 
 
 here. 
 
 He shent our messengers ; and we lay by 
 Our appertainments, visiting of him : 
 Let him be told so ; lest, perchance, he think 
 We dare not move the question of our place, 
 Or know not what we are. 
 
 Patr. I shall say so to him. [Exit. 
 
 Ulyss. We saw him at the opening of his 
 
 tent: 
 He is not sick. 
 
 Ajax. Yes, lion-sick, sick of proud heart : 
 you may call it melancholy, if you will favour 
 the man ; but, by my head, 'tis pride : but why, 
 why? let him show us the cause. A word, my 
 lord. [Takes AGAMEMNON aside. 
 
 Nest. What moves Ajax thus to bay at him ? 
 
 Ulyss. Achilles hath inveigled his fool from 
 him. 
 
 Nest. Who, Thersites? 
 
 Ulyss. He. 
 
 Nest. Then will Ajax lack matter, if he have 
 lost his argument. 
 
 Ulyss. No ; you see, he is his argument that 
 has his argument, Achilles. 
 
 Nest. All the better ; their fraction is more 
 our wish than their faction. But it was a strong 
 composure a fool could disunite. 
 
 Ulyss. The amity that wisdom knits not, 
 folly may easily untie. Here comes Patroclus. 
 
 Nest. No Achilles with him. 
 
 Ulyss. The elephant hath joints, but none 
 for courtesy : his legs are legs for necessity, not 
 for flexure. 
 
 Re-enter PATROCLUS. 
 
 Patr. Achilles bids me say, he is much sorry 
 If anything more than your sport and pleasure 
 Did move your greatness and this noble state 
 To call upon him ; he hopes it is no other 
 But for your health and your digestion sake, 
 An after-dinner's breath. 
 
 Agam. Hear you, Patroclus : 
 
 We are too well acquainted with these answers : 
 But his evasion, wing'd thus swift with scorn, 
 Cannot outfly our apprehensions. 
 Much attribute he hath ; and much the reason 
 Why we ascribe it to him : yet all his virtues, 
 Not virtuously on his own part beheld, 
 Do in our eyes begin to lose their gloss ; 
 Yea, like fair fruit in an unwholesome dish, 
 Are like to rot untasted. Go and tell him 
 
 T~v 
 
766 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 [ACT n. 
 
 We come to speak with him ; and you shall 
 
 not sin 
 
 If you do say we think him over-proud 
 And under-honest ; in self-assumption greater 
 Than in the note of judgment ; and worthier 
 
 than himself 
 
 Here tend the savage strangeness he puts on, 
 Disguise the holy strength of their command, 
 And underwrite in an observing kind 
 His humorous predominance ; yea, watch 
 His pettish lunes, his ebbs, his flows, as if 
 The passage and whole carriage of this action 
 Rode on his tide. Go tell him this ; and add, 
 That if he overhold his price so much, 
 We '11 none of him ; but let him, like an engine 
 Not portable, lie under this report, 
 Bring action hither, this cannot go to war : 
 A stirring dwarf we do allowance give 
 Before a sleeping giant : tell him so. 
 
 Pair. I shall ; and bring his answer presently. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Again. In second voice we '11 not be satisfied ; 
 We come to speak with him. Ulysses, enter 
 you. [Exit ULYSSES. 
 
 Ajax. What is he more than another ? 
 
 Agam. No more than what he thinks he is. 
 
 Ajax. Is he so much ? Do you not think 
 he thinks himself a better man than I am ? 
 
 Agam. No question. 
 
 Ajax. Will you subscribe his thought, and 
 say he is ? 
 
 Agam. No, noble Ajax ; you are as strong, 
 as valiant, as wise, no less noble, much more 
 gentle, and altogether more tractable. 
 
 Ajax. Why should a man be proud ? How 
 doth pride grow ? I know not what pride is. 
 
 Agam. Your mind is the clearer, Ajax, and 
 your virtues the fairer. He that is proud eats 
 up himself: pride is his own glass, his own 
 trumpet, his own chronicle ; and whatever 
 praises itself but in the deed devours the deed 
 in the praise. 
 
 Ajax. I do hate a proud man as I hate the 
 engendering of toads. 
 
 Nest. Yet he loves himself : is 't not strange ? 
 
 [Aside. 
 Re-enter ULYSSES. 
 
 Ulyss. Achilles will not to the field to-morrow. 
 
 Agam. What 's his excuse ? 
 
 Ulyss. He doth rely on none ; 
 
 But carries on the stream of his dispose, 
 Without observance or respect of any, 
 In will peculiar and in self-admission. 
 
 Agam. Why will he not, upon our fair 
 
 request, 
 Untent his person, and share the air with us ? 
 
 Ulyss. Things small as nothing, for request's 
 sake only, [greatness : 
 
 He makes important : possess'd he is with 
 And speaks not to himself but with a pride 
 That quarrels at self-breath : imagin'd worth 
 Holds in his blood such swoln and hot discourse 
 That 'twixt his mental and his active parts 
 Kingdom'd Achilles in commotion rages, 
 And batters down himself: what should I say? 
 He is so plaguy proud that the death tokens of it 
 Cry, No recovery. 
 
 Agam. Let Ajax go to him. 
 
 Dear lord, go you and greet him in his tent : 
 'Tis said he holds you well ; and will be led, 
 At your request, a little from himself. 
 
 Ulyss. O Agamemnon, let it not be so ! 
 We '11 consecrate the steps that Ajax makes 
 When they go from Achilles. Shall the proud 
 
 lord, 
 
 That bastes his arrogance with his own seam, 
 And never suffers matter of the world 
 Enter his thoughts, save such as do revolve 
 And ruminate himself, shall he be worshipp'd 
 Of that we hold an idol more than he ? 
 No, this thrice-worthy and right valiant lord 
 Must not so stale his palm, nobly acquir'd ; 
 Nor, by my will, assubjngate his merit, 
 As amply titled as Achilles is, 
 By going to Achilles : 
 That were to enlard his fat-already pride, 
 And add more coals to Cancer when he burns 
 With entertaining great Hyperion. 
 This lord go to him ! Jupiter forbid ; 
 And say in thunder, Achilles go to him. 
 
 Nest. O, this is well ; he rubs the vein of him. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Dio. And how his silence drinks up this ap- 
 
 ?lause ! [Aside. 
 
 f I go to him, with my armed fist 
 I '11 pash him o'er the face. 
 
 Agam. O, no, you shall not go. [pride : 
 
 Ajax. An 'a be proud with me I '11 pheeze his 
 Let me go to him. [quarrel. 
 
 Ulyss. Not for the worth that hangs upon our 
 
 Ajax. A paltry, insolent fellow ! 
 
 Nest. How he describes himself ! [Aside. 
 
 Ajax. Can he not be sociable ? 
 
 Ulyss. The raven chides blackness. [Aside. 
 
 Ajax. I '11 let his humours blood. 
 
 Agam. He will be the physician that should 
 be the patient. [Aside. 
 
 Ajax. An all men were o' my mind, 
 
 Ulyss. Wit would be out of fashion. [Aside. 
 
 Ajax. 'A should not bear it so, 'a should eat 
 swords first : shall pride carry it ? 
 
 Nest. An 'twould, you 'd carry half. [Aside. 
 
 Ulyss. 'A would have ten shares. [Aside. 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 767 
 
 Ajax. I will knead him, I '11 make him supple. 
 
 Nest. He 's not yet thorough warm : force 
 him with praises : pour in, pour in : his ambi- 
 tion is dry. [Aside. 
 
 Ulyss. My lord, you feed too much on this 
 dislike. [To AGAMEMNON. 
 
 Nest. Our noble general, do not do so. 
 
 Dio. You must prepare to fight without 
 Achilles. [harm. 
 
 Ulyss. Why 'tis this naming of him does him 
 Here is a man but 'tis before his face ; 
 I will be silent. 
 
 Nest. Wherefore should you so ? 
 
 He is not emulous, as Achilles is. 
 
 Ulyss. Know the whole world, he is as 
 valiant. 
 
 Ajax. A whoreson dog, that shall palter thus 
 
 with us ! 
 Would he were a Trojan ! 
 
 Nest. What a vice were it in Ajax now, 
 
 Ulyss. If he were proud, 
 
 Dio. Or covetous of praise, 
 
 Ulyss. Ay, or surly borne, 
 
 Dio. Or strange, or self- affected! 
 
 Ulyss. Thank the heavens, lord, thou art of 
 sweet composure ; [suck ; 
 
 Praise him that got thee, she that gave thee 
 Fam'd be thy tutor, and thy parts of nature 
 Thrice-fam'd, beyond all erudition : 
 But he that disciplin'd thy arms to fight, 
 Let Mars divide eternity in twain, 
 And give him half: and, for thy vigour, 
 Bull-bearing Mil his addition yield 
 To sinewy Ajax. I will not praise thy wisdom, 
 Which, like a bourn, a pale, a shore, confines 
 Thy spacious and dilated parts : here's Nestor, 
 Instructed by the antiquary times, 
 He must, he is, he cannot but be wise ; 
 But pardon, father Nestor, were your days 
 As green as Ajax', and your brain so temper'd, 
 You should not have the eminence of him, 
 But be as Ajax. 
 
 Ajax. Shall I call you father? 
 
 Nest. Ay, my good son. 
 
 Dio. Be rul'd by him, Lord Ajax. 
 
 Ulyss. There is no tarrying here ; the hart 
 
 Achilles 
 
 Keeps thicket. Please it our great general 
 To call together all his state of war ; 
 Fresh kings are come to Troy. To-morrow 
 We must with all our main of power stand fast : 
 And here 's a lord, come knights from east to 
 
 west, 
 And cull their flower, Ajax shall cope the best. 
 
 Agam. Go we to council. Let Achilles sleep : 
 
 Light boats sail swift, though greater hulks 
 
 draw deep. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. TROY. A Room in PRIAM'S 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter PANDARUS and a Servant. 
 
 Pan. Friend, you, pray you, a word : do 
 not you follow the young Lord Paris ? 
 
 Serv. Ay, sir, when he goes before me. 
 
 Pan. You depend upon him, I mean ? 
 
 Serv. Sir, I do depend upon the lord. 
 
 Pan. You depend upon a noble gentleman ; 
 I must needs praise him. 
 
 Serv. The lord be praised ! 
 
 Pan. You know me, do you not ? 
 
 Serv. Faith, sir, superficially, 
 
 Pan. Friend, know me better ; I am the 
 Lord Pandarus. 
 
 Serv. I hope I shall know your honour better. 
 
 Pan. I do desire it 
 
 Serv. You are in the state of grace. 
 
 [Music within. 
 
 Pan. Grace ! not so, friend ; honour and 
 lordship are my titles. What music is this? 
 
 Serv. I do but partly know, sir : it is music 
 in parts. 
 
 Pan. Know you the musicians ? 
 
 Serv. Wholly, sir. 
 
 Pan. Who play they to ? 
 
 Serv. To the hearers, sir. 
 
 Pan. At whose pleasure, friend ? 
 
 Serv. At mine, sir, and theirs that love music. 
 
 Pan. Command, I mean, friend. 
 
 Serv. Who shall I command, sir ? 
 
 Pan. Friend, we understand not one another : 
 I am too courtly, and thou art too cunning. 
 At whose request do these men play ? 
 
 Serv. That 's to 't, indeed, sir. Marry, sir, 
 at the request of Paris my lord, who is there in 
 person ; with him, the mortal Venus, the heart- 
 blood of beauty, love's invisible soul, 
 
 Pan. Who, my cousin Cressida ? 
 
 Serv. No, sir, Helen : could you not find 
 out that by her attributes ? 
 
 Pan. It should seem, fellow, that thou hast 
 not seen the Lady Cressida. I come to speak 
 with Paris from the Prince Troilus : I will 
 make a complimental assault upon him, for 
 my business seethes. 
 
 Serv. Sodden business ! there 's a stewed 
 phrase indeed ! 
 
 Enter PARIS and HELEN, attended. 
 
 Pan. Fair be to you, my lord, and to all 
 this fair company ! fair desires, in all fair 
 measure, fairly guide them ! especially to you, 
 fair queen ! fair thoughts be your fair pillow 1 
 
768 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Helen. Dear lord, you are full of fair words. 
 
 Pan. You speak your fair pleasure, sweet 
 queen. Fair prince, here is good broken music. 
 
 Par. You have broke it, cousin : and by my 
 life, you shall make it whole again ; you shall 
 piece it out with a piece of your performance. 
 Nell, he is full of harmony. 
 
 Pan. Truly, lady, no, 
 
 Helen. O, sir, 
 
 Pan* Rude, in sooth ; in good sooth, very 
 rude. 
 
 Par* Well said, my lord ! well, you say so in 
 fits. 
 
 Pan. I have business to my lord, dear queen. 
 My lord, will you vouchsafe me a word ? 
 
 Helen. Nay, this shall not hedge us out : 
 we '11 hear you sing, certainly. 
 
 Pan. Well, sweet queen, you are pleasant 
 with me. But, marry, thus, my lord, My 
 dear lord, and most esteemed friend, your 
 brother Troilus, 
 
 Helen. My Lord Pandarus ; honey-sweet 
 lord, 
 
 Pan. Go to, sweet queen, go to : commends 
 himself most affectionately to you, 
 
 Helen. You shall not bob us out of our 
 melody : if you do, our melancholy upon your 
 head! 
 
 Pan. Sweet queen, sweet queen ; that '* a 
 sweet queen, i' faith. 
 
 Helen. And to make a sweet lady sad is a 
 sour offence. 
 
 Pan. Nay, that shall not serve your turn ; 
 that shall it not, in truth, la. Nay, I care not 
 for such words ; no, no. And, my lord, he 
 desires you that, if the king call for him at 
 supper, you will make his excuse. 
 
 Helen. My Lord Pandarus, 
 
 Pan. What says my sweet queen, my very 
 very sweet queen ? 
 
 Par. What exploit's in hand? where sups 
 he to-night ? 
 
 Helen. Nay, but, my lord, 
 
 Pan. What says my sweet queen? My 
 cousin will fall out with you. You must not 
 know where he sups. 
 
 Par. I '11 lay my life, with my disposer 
 Cressida. 
 
 Pan. No, no, no such matter ; you are 
 wide : come, your disposer is sick. 
 
 Par. Well, I '11 make excuse. 
 
 Pan. Ay, good my lord. Why should you 
 say Cressida ? no, your poor disposer 's sick. 
 
 Par. I spy. 
 
 Pan. You spy! what do you spy? Come, 
 give me an instrument. Now, sweet queen. 
 
 Helen. Why, this is kindly done. 
 
 Pan. My niece is horribly in love with a 
 thing you have, sweet queen. 
 
 Helen. She shall have it, my lord, if it be 
 not my Lord Paris. 
 
 Pan. He ! no, she '11 none of him ; they two 
 are twain. 
 
 Helen. Falling in, after falling out, may 
 make them three. 
 
 Pan. Come, come, I'll hear no more of 
 this ; I '11 sing you a song now. 
 
 Helen. Ay, ay, pr'ythee now. By my troth, 
 sweet lord, thou hast a fine forehead. 
 
 Pan. Ay, you may, you may. 
 
 Helen. Let thy song be love : this love will 
 undo us all. O Cupid, Cupid, Cupid ! 
 
 Pan. Love ! ay, that it shall, i' faith, [love. 
 
 Par. Ay, good now, love, love, nothing but 
 
 Pan. In good troth, it begins so : 
 
 Love, love, nothing but love, still more ! 
 
 For, oh, love s bow 
 
 Shoots buck and doe I 
 
 The shaft confounds. 
 
 Not that it wounds, 
 But tickles still the sore. 
 These lovers cry Oh ! oh 1 they die ! 
 
 Yet that which seems the wound to kill, 
 Doth turn oh I oh J to ha ! ha ! he ! 
 
 So dying love lives still : 
 Oh ! oh ! a while, but ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 Oh t oh ! groans out for ha 1 ha ! ha ! 
 
 Heigh ho ! 
 
 Helen. In love, i' faith, to the very tip of the 
 nose. 
 
 Par. He eats nothing but doves, love ; and 
 that breeds hot blood, and hot blood begets 
 hot thoughts, and hot thoughts beget hot deeds, 
 and hot deeds is love. 
 
 Pan. Is this the generation of love? hot 
 blood, hot thoughts, and hot deeds? Why, 
 they are vipers : is love a generation of vipers ? 
 Sweet lord, who 's a-field to-day ? 
 
 Par. Hector, Deiphobus, Helenus, Antenor, 
 and all the gallantry of Troy : I would fain 
 have armed to-day, but my Nell would not 
 have it so. How chance my brother Troilus 
 went not ? 
 
 Helen. He hangs the lip at something : 
 you know all, Lord Pandarus. 
 
 Pan. Not I, honey-sweet queen. I long to 
 hear how they sped to-day. You '11 remember 
 your brother's excuse ? 
 
 Par. To a hair. 
 
 Pan. Farewell, sweet queen. 
 
 Helen. Commend me to your niece. in/; 
 
 Pan. I will, sweet queen. [Exit. 
 
 [A retreat sounded. 
 
 Par. They are come from field : let us to 
 
 Priam's hall [woo you 
 
 To greet the warriors. Sweet Helen, I must 
 
SCENE II. J 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 769 
 
 To help unarm our Hector: his stubborn buckles, 
 With these your white enchanting fingers 
 
 touch'd, 
 
 Shall more obey than to the edge of steel, 
 Or force of Greekish sinews ; you shall do more 
 Than all the island kings, disarm great Hector. 
 Helen. 'Twill make us proud to be his ser- 
 vant, Paris ; 
 
 Yea, what he shall receive of us in duty 
 Gives us more palm in beauty than we have, 
 Yea, overshines ourself. 
 
 Par. Sweet, above thought I love thee. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. TROY. PANDARUS' Orchard. 
 Enter PANDARLS and TROILUS' Boy, meeting. 
 
 Pan. How now ! where 's thy master ? at 
 my cousin Cressida's ? [him thither. 
 
 Boy. No, sir ; he stays for you to conduct 
 
 Pan. O, here he comes. 
 
 Enter TROILUS. 
 How now, how now ! 
 
 Tro. Sirrah, walk off. [Exit Boy. 
 
 Pan. Have you seen my cousin ? 
 
 Tro. No, Pandarus : I stalk about her door, 
 Like a strange soul upon the Stygian banks 
 Staying for waftage. O, be thou my Charon, 
 And give me swift transportance to those fields 
 Where I may wallow in the lily beds 
 Propos'd for the deserver ! O gentle Pandarus, 
 From Cupid's shoulder pluck his painted wings, 
 And fly with me to Cressid ! 
 
 Pan. Walk here i' the orchard, I '11 bring her 
 straight. [Exit. 
 
 Tro. I am giddy; expectation whirls me round. 
 The imaginary relish is so sweet 
 That it enchants my sense : what will it be, 
 When that the wat'ry palate tastes indeed 
 Love's thrice-repured nectar? death, I fear me; 
 Swooning destruction ; or some joy too fine, 
 Too subtle-potent, tun'd too sharp in sweetness, 
 For the capacity of my ruder powers : 
 I fear it much ; and I do fear besides 
 That I shall lose distinction in my joys ; 
 As doth a battle, when they charge on heaps 
 The enemy flying. 
 
 Re-enter PANDARUS. 
 
 Pan. She's making her ready, she'll come 
 straight : you must be witty now. She does so 
 blush, and fetches her wind so short, as if she 
 were frayed with a sprite : I '11 fetch her. It 
 is the prettiest villain : she fetches her breath 
 as short as a new-ta'en sparrow. [Exit. 
 
 ^ Tro. Even such a passion doth embrace my 
 bosom: 
 
 My heart beats thicker than a feverous pulse ; 
 And all my powers do their bestowing lose, 
 Like vassalage at unawares encount'ring 
 The eye of majesty. 
 
 Re-enter PANDARUS with CRESSIDA. 
 
 Pan. Come, come, what need you blush? 
 shame's a baby. Here she is now : swear the 
 oaths now to her that you have sworn to me. 
 What, are you gone again? you must be 
 watched ere you be made tame, must you? 
 Come your ways, come your ways ; an you 
 draw backward, we'll put you i' the fills. 
 Why do you not speak to her? Come, draw 
 this curtain, and let's see your picture. Alas 
 the day, how loth you are to offend daylight ! 
 an 'twere dark, you'd close sooner. So, so ; 
 rub on, and kiss the mistress. How now, a 
 kiss in fee-farm ! build there, carpenter ; the 
 air is sweet. Nay, you shall fight your hearts 
 out ere I part you. The falcon as the tercel, 
 for all the ducks i' the river : go to, go to. 
 
 Tro. You have bereft me of all words, lady. 
 
 Pan. Words pay no debts, give her deeds : 
 but she '11 bereave you o' the deeds too, if she 
 call your activity in question. What, billing 
 again ? Here's In witness whereof the parties 
 interchangeably Come in, come in : I '11 go 
 get a fire. [Exit. 
 
 Cres. Will you walk in, my lord ? 
 
 Tro. O Cressida, how often have I wished 
 me thus ! 
 
 Cres. Wished, my lord ! The gods grant, 
 O my lord ! 
 
 Tro. What should they grant ? what makes 
 this pretty abruption ? What too curious dreg 
 espies my sweet lady in the fountain of our love? 
 
 Cres. More dregs than water, if my fears 
 have eyes. 
 
 Tro. Fears make devils of cherubims ; they 
 never see truly. 
 
 Cres. Blind fear, that seeing reason leads, 
 finds safer footing than blind reason stumbling 
 without fear : to fear the worst oft cures the 
 worse. 
 
 Tro. O, let my lady apprehend no fear : in all 
 Cupid's pageant there is presented no monster. 
 
 Cres. Nor nothing monstrous neither ? 
 
 Tro. Nothing, but our undertakings ; when 
 we vow to weep seas, live in fire, eat rocks, 
 tame tigers ; thinking it harder for our mistress 
 to devise imposition enough than for us to 
 undergo any difficulty imposed. This is the 
 monstruosity in love, lady, that the will is 
 infinite, and the execution confined ; that the 
 desire is boundless, and the act a slave to limit. 
 
 Cres. They say, all lovers swear more per- 
 
 2 B 
 
770 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 TACT HI. 
 
 formance than they are able, and yet reserve 
 an ability that they never perform ; vowing 
 more than the perfection of ten, and discharg- 
 ing less than the tenth part of one. They that 
 have the voice of lions and the act of hares, 
 are they not monsters ? 
 
 Tro. Are there such ? such are not we : 
 praise us as we are tasted, allow us as we 
 prove ; our head shall go bare till merit crown 
 it : no perfection in reversion shall have a 
 praise in present : we will not name desert 
 before his birth ; and, being born, his addition 
 shall be humble. Few words to fair faith : 
 Troilus shall be such to Cressid as what envy 
 can say worst shall be a mock for his truth ; 
 and what truth can speak truest not truer than 
 Troilus. 
 
 Cres. Will you walk in, my lord ? 
 
 Re-enter PANDARUS. 
 
 Pan. What, blushing still? have you not 
 done talking yet ? 
 
 Ores. Well, uncle, what folly I commit, I 
 dedicate to you. 
 
 Pan. I thank you for that : if my lord get 
 a boy of you, you '11 give him me. Be true to 
 my lord : if he flinch, chide me for it. 
 
 Tro. You know now your hostages ; your 
 uncle's word and my firm faith. 
 
 Pan. Nay, I '11 give my word for her too : 
 our kindred, though they be long ere they are 
 wooed, they are constant being won : they are 
 burs, I can tell you ; they '11 stick where they 
 are thrown. 
 
 Cres. Boldness comes to me now, and brings 
 
 me heart : 
 
 Prince Troilus, I have lov'd you night and day 
 For many weary months. 
 
 Tro. Why was my Cressid, then, so hard to 
 win ? 
 
 Cres. Hard to seem won ; but I was won, my 
 
 lord, 
 
 With the first glance that ever Pardon me, 
 If I confess much, you will play the tyrant. 
 I love you now ; but not, till now, so much 
 But I might master it : in faith, I lie ; 
 My thoughts were like unbridl'd children, grown 
 Too headstrong for their mother: see, we fools! 
 Why have I blabb'd ? who shall be true to us, 
 When we are so unsecret to ourselves ? 
 But, though I lov'd you well, I woo'd you not ; 
 And yet, good faith, I wish'd myself a man, 
 Or that we women had men's privilege 
 Of speaking first. Sweet, bid me hold my 
 
 tongue ; 
 
 For, in this rapture, I shall surely speak 
 The thing I shall repent. See, see, your silence, 
 
 Cunning in dumbness, from my weakness draws 
 My very soul of conscience ! Stop my mouth. 
 
 Tro. And shall, albeit sweet music issues 
 thence. 
 
 Pan. Pretty, i' faith. 
 
 Cres. My lord, I do beseech you, pardon me ; 
 'Twas not my purpose thus to beg a kiss : 
 I am asham'd ; O heavens ! what have I done? 
 For this time will I take my leave, my lord. 
 
 Tro. Your leave, sweet Cressid ! 
 
 Pan. Leave! an you take leave till to-morrow 
 morning, 
 
 Cres. Pray you, content you. 
 
 Tro. What offends you, lady ? 
 
 Cres. Sir, mine own company. 
 
 Tro. You cannot shun 
 
 Yourself. 
 
 Cres. Let me go and try : 
 I have a kind of self resides with you ; 
 But an unkind self, that itself will leave 
 To be another's fool. I would be gone : 
 Where is my wit ? I know not what I speak. 
 
 Tro. Well know they what they speak that 
 speak so wisely. 
 
 Cres. Perchance, my lord, I show more craft 
 
 than love ; 
 
 And fell so roundly to a large confession, 
 To angle for your thoughts : but you are wise ; 
 Or else you love not ; for to be wise and love 
 Exceeds man's might ; that dwells with gods 
 above. 
 
 Tro. Othat I thought it could be in a woman, 
 As, if it can, I will presume in you, 
 To feed for aye her lamp and flames of love ; 
 To keep her constancy in plight and youth, 
 Outliving beauty's outward, with a mind 
 That doth renew swifter than blood decays ! 
 Or, that persuasion could but thus convince me, 
 That my integrity and truth to you 
 Might be affronted with the match and weight 
 Of such a winnow'd purity in love ; 
 How were I then uplifted ! but, alas ! 
 I am as true as truth's simplicity, 
 And simpler than the infancy of truth. 
 
 Cres. In that I '11 war with you. 
 
 Tro. O virtuous fight, 
 
 When right with right wars who shall be most 
 
 right ! 
 
 True swains in love shall, in the world to come, 
 Approve their truths by Troilus : when their 
 
 rhymes, 
 
 Full of protest, of oath, and big compare, 
 Want similes, truth tir'd with iteration, 
 As true as steel, as plantage to the moon, 
 As sun to day, as turtle to her mate, 
 As iron to adamant, as earth to the centre, 
 Yet, after all comparisons of truth, 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 771 
 
 As truth's authentic author to be cited, 
 As true as Troilus shall crown up the verse, 
 And sanctify the numbers. 
 
 Cres. Prophet may you be! 
 
 If I be false, or swerve a hair from truth, 
 When time is old and hath forgot itself, 
 When waterdrops have worn the stones of Troy, 
 And blind oblivion swallow'd cities up, 
 And mighty states characterless are grated 
 To dusty nothing ; yet let memory 
 From false to false, among false maids in love, 
 Upbraid my falsehood ! when they have said 
 
 as false 
 
 As air, as water, wind, or sandy earth, 
 As fox to lamb, as wolf to heifer's calf, 
 Pard to the hind, or stepdame to her son ; 
 Yea, let them say, to stick the heart of falsehood, 
 As false as Cressid. 
 
 Pan. Go to, a bargain made : seal it, seal it ; 
 I '11 be the witness. Here I hold your hand ; 
 here my cousin's. If ever you prove false one 
 to another, since I have taken such pains to 
 bring you together, let all pitiful goers -between 
 be called to the world's end after my name, 
 2all them all Pandars ; let all constant men be 
 Troiluses, all false women Cressids, and all 
 brokers between Pandars ! say, amen. 
 
 Tro. Amen. 
 
 Cres. Amen. 
 
 Pan. Amen. Whereupon I will show you 
 a chamber and a bed ; which bed, because it 
 shall not speak of your pretty encounters, press 
 it to death : away 1 
 
 And Cupid grant all tongue-tied maidens here, 
 Bed, chamber, Pandar to provide this geer ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. THE GRECIAN CAMP. 
 
 Enter AGAMEMNON, ULYSSES, DIOMEDES, 
 NESTOR, AJAX, MENELAUS, and CALCHAS. 
 
 Cal. Now, princes, for the service I have 
 
 done you 
 
 The advantage of the time prompts me aloud 
 To call for recompense. Appear it to your mind 
 That, through the sight I bear in things to Jove, 
 I have abandon'd Troy, left my possession, 
 Incurr'd a traitor's name ; expos'd myself, 
 From certain and possess'd conveniences, 
 To doubtful fortunes ; sequest'ring from me all 
 That time, acquaintance, custom, and condition 
 Made tame and most familiar to my nature ; 
 And here, to do you service, am become 
 As new into the world, strange, unacquainted : 
 1 do beseech you, as in way of taste, 
 To give me now a little benefit, 
 
 Out of those many register^ in promise, 
 Which, you say, live to come in my behalf. 
 
 Agam. What wouldst thou of us, Trojan? 
 make demand. [Antenor, 
 
 Cal. You have a Trojan prisoner, call'd 
 Yesterday took : Troy holds him very dear. 
 Oft have you, often have you thanks there- 
 fore, 
 
 Desir'd my Cressid in right great exchange, 
 Whom Troy hath still denied : but this Antenor, 
 I know, is such a wrest in their affairs 
 That their negotiations all must slack 
 Wanting his manage ; and they will almost 
 Give us a prince of blood, a son of Priam, 
 In change of him : let him be sent, great princes, 
 And he shall buy my daughter ; and her presence 
 Shall quite strike off all service I have done 
 In most accepted pain. 
 
 Agam. Let Diomedes bear him, 
 
 And bring us Cressid hither : Calchas shall have 
 What he requests of us Good Diomed, 
 Furnish you fairly for this interchange : 
 Withal, bring word if Hector will to-morrow 
 Be answered in his challenge : Ajax is ready. 
 
 Dio. This shall I undertake ; and 'tis a burden 
 Which I am proud to bear. 
 
 [Exeunt DIOMEDES and CALCHAS, 
 
 Enter ACHILLES and PATROCLUS, before 
 their tent. 
 
 Ulyss. Achilles stands i' the entrance of his 
 
 tent : 
 
 Please it our general to pass strangely by him, 
 As if he were forgot ; and, princes all, 
 Lay negligent and loose regard upon him : 
 I will come last. 'Tis like he '11 question me 
 Why such unplausive eyes are bent on him : 
 If so, I have derision med'cinable, 
 To use between your strangeness and his pride, 
 Which his own will r.hall have desire to drink : 
 It may do goodj pride hath no other glass 
 To show itself but pride ; for supple knees 
 Feed arrogance, and are the proud man's fees. 
 
 Agam. We'll execute your purpose, and 
 
 put on 
 
 A form of strangeness as we pass along ; 
 So do each lord ; and either greet him not, 
 Or else disdainfully, which shall shake him 
 
 more 
 Than if not look'd on. I will lead the way. 
 
 Achil. What, comes the general to speak 
 
 with me ? [Troy. 
 
 You know my mind, I '11 fight no more 'gainst 
 
 Agam. What says Achilles? would he aught 
 with us? [general? 
 
 Nest. Would you, my lord, aught with the 
 
 Achil. No. 
 
772 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Nest. Nothing, my lord. 
 
 Agam. The better. 
 
 [Exeunt AGAMEMNON and NESTOR. 
 
 Achil. Good day, good day. 
 
 Men. How do you? how do you? {.Exit. 
 
 Achil. What, does the cuckold scorn me? 
 
 Ajax. How now, Patroclus? 
 
 Achil. Good-morrow, Ajax. 
 
 Ajax. Ha? 
 
 Achil. Good-morrow. 
 
 Ajax. Ay, and good next day too. [Exit. 
 
 Achil. What mean these fellows? Know 
 they not Achilles? [to bend, 
 
 Pair. They pass by strangely . they were us'd 
 To send their smiles before them to Achilles ; 
 To come as humbly as they us'd to creep 
 To holy altars. 
 
 Achil. What, am I poor of late ? 
 
 'Tis certain, greatness, once fallen out with 
 fortune, [is, 
 
 Must fall out with men too. What the declin'd 
 He shall as soon read in the eyes of others 
 As feel on his own fall : for men, like butterflies, 
 Show not their mealy wings but to the summer ; 
 And not a man, for being simply man, 
 Hath any honour ; but honour for those honours 
 That are without him. as place, riches, and 
 
 favour, 
 
 Prizes of accident as oft as merit : 
 Which when they fall, as being slippery standers, 
 The love that lean'd on them as slippery too, 
 Do one pluck down another, and together 
 Die in the fall. But 'tis not so with me ; 
 Fortune and I are friends ; I do enjoy 
 At ample point all that I did possess [out 
 
 Save these men's looks ; who do, methinks, find 
 Something not worth in me such rich beholding 
 As they have often given. Here is Ulysses : 
 I '11 interrupt his reading. 
 How now, Ulysses ! 
 
 Ufyss. Now, great Thetis' son ! 
 
 Achil. What are you reading ? 
 
 Ulyss. A strange fellow here 
 
 Writes me, That man, how dearly ever parted, 
 How much in having, or without or in, 
 Cannot make boast to have that which he hath, 
 Nor feels not what he owes, but by reflection ; 
 As when his virtues shining upon others 
 Heat them, and they retort that heat again 
 To the first giver. 
 
 Achil. This is not strange, Ulysses. 
 
 The beauty that is borne here in the face 
 The bearer knows not, but commends itself 
 To others' eyes: nor doth the eye itself, 
 That most pure spirit of sense, behold itself, 
 Not going from itself; but eye to eye oppos'd: 
 Salutes each other with each other's form : 
 
 For speculation turns not to itself 
 
 Till it hath travell'd, and is mirror'd there 
 
 Where it may see itself. This is not strange 
 
 at all. 
 
 Ulyss. I do not strain at the position, 
 It is familiar, but at the author's drift ; 
 Who, in his circumstance, expressly proves 
 That no man is the lord of anything, 
 Though in and of him there be much consisting, 
 Till he communicate his parts to others ; 
 Nor doth he of himself know them for aught 
 Till he behold them form'd in the applause 
 Where they 're extended ; who, like an arch, 
 
 reverberates 
 
 The voice again ; or, like a gate of steel 
 Fronting the sun, receives and renders back 
 His figure and his heat. I was much rapt in 
 
 this; 
 
 And apprehended here immediately 
 The unknown Ajax. 
 
 Heavens, what a man is there ! a very horse ; 
 That has he knows not what. Nature, what 
 
 things there are 
 
 Most abject in regard and dear in use ! 
 What things again most dear in the esteem 
 And poor in worth ! Now shall we see to-morrow 
 An act that very chance doth throw upon him, 
 Ajax renown'd. O heavens, what some men do, 
 While some men leave to do ! 
 How some men creep in skittish fortune's hall, 
 Whiles others play the idiots in her eyes ! 
 How one man eats into another's pride, 
 While pride is fasting in his wantonness ! 
 To see these Grecian lords ! why, even already 
 They clap the lubber Ajax on the shoulder 
 As if his foot were on brave Hector's breast, 
 And great Troy shrinking. 
 
 Achil, I do believe it ; for they pass'd by me 
 As misers do by beggars, neither gave to me 
 Good word nor look. What, are my deeds 
 
 forgot? [back, 
 
 Ulyss. Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his 
 Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, 
 A great-siz'd monster of ingratitudes : 
 Those scraps are good deeds past ; which are 
 
 devour'd 
 
 As fast as they are made, forgot as soon 
 As done: perseverance, dear my lord, 
 Keeps honour bright : to have done is to hang 
 Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail [way ; 
 In monumental mockery. Take the instant 
 For honour travels in a strait so narrow [path ; 
 Where one but goes abreast : keep, then, the 
 For emulation hath a thousand sons 
 That one by one pursue : if you give way, 
 Or hedge aside from the direct forthright, 
 Like to an enter'd tide they all rush by. 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 773 
 
 And leave you hindmost ; 
 Or, like a gallant horse fall'n in first rank, 
 Lie there for pavement to the abject rear, 
 O'er-run and trampl'd on : then what they do 
 in present, [yours ; 
 
 Though less than yours in past, must o'ertop 
 For time is like a fashionable host, [hand ; 
 That slightly shakes his parting guest by the 
 And with his arms out-stretch'd, as he would fly, 
 Grasps in the comer : welcome ever smiles, 
 And farewell goes out sighing. O, let not 
 
 virtue seek 
 
 Remuneration for the thing it was ; 
 For beauty, wit, 
 
 High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service, 
 Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all 
 To envious and calumniating time. [kin, 
 One touch of nature makes the whole world 
 That all, with one consent, praise new-born 
 gawds, [past ; 
 
 Though they are made and moulded of things 
 And give to dust that is a little gilt [eye 
 
 More laud than gilt o'er-dusted. The present 
 Praises the present object: 
 Then marvel not, thou great and complete man, 
 That all the Greeks begin to worship Ajax ; 
 Since things in motion sooner catch the eye 
 Than what not stirs. The cry went once on 
 
 thee. 
 
 And still it might ; and yet it may again, 
 If thou wouldst not entomb thyself alive, 
 And case thy reputation in thy tent ; 
 Whose glorious deeds but in these fields of late 
 Made emulous missions 'mongst the gods them- 
 selves, 
 And drave great Mars to faction. 
 
 Achil. Of this my privacy 
 
 I have strong reasons. 
 
 Ulyss. But 'gainst your privacy 
 
 The reasons are more potent and heroical : 
 'Tis known, Achilles, that you are in love 
 With one of Priam's daughters. 
 
 Achil. Ha ! known ! 
 
 Ulyss. Is that a wonder ? 
 The providence that's in a watchful state 
 Knows almost every grain of Pluto's gold ; 
 Finds bottom in the uncomprehcnsive deeps ; 
 Keeps place with thought, and almost, like the 
 
 gods, 
 
 Does thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles. 
 There is a mystery with whom relation 
 Durst never meddle in the soul of state ; 
 Which hath an operation more divine 
 Than breath or pen can give expressure to : 
 All the commerce that you have had with Troy 
 As perfectly is ours as yours, my lord ; 
 And better would it fit Achilles much 
 
 To throw down Hector than Polyxena : 
 But it must grieve young Pyrrhus now at borne, 
 When fame shall in our island sound her trump ; 
 And all the Greekish girls shall tripping sing, 
 Great Hector's sister did Achilles win ; 
 Bttt our brave Ajax bravely beat down him. 
 Farewell, my lord: I as your lover speak; 
 The fool slides o'er the ice that you should 
 
 break. [Exit. 
 
 Pair. To this effect, Achilles, have I moved 
 
 you: 
 
 A woman impudent and mannish grown 
 Is not more loath'd than an effeminate man 
 In time of action. I stand condemn'd for this ; 
 They think my little stomach to the war, 
 And your great love to me, restrains you thus : 
 Sweet, rouse yourself; and the weak wanton 
 
 Cupid 
 
 Shall from your neck unloose his amorous fold, 
 And, like a dew-drop from the lion's mane, 
 Be shook to air. 
 
 Achil. Shall Ajax fight with Hector ? 
 
 Patr. Ay, and perhaps receive much honour 
 
 by him. 
 
 Achil. I see my reputation is at stake; 
 My fame is shrewdly gor'd. 
 
 Patr. O, then, beware; 
 
 Those wounds heal ill that men do give them- 
 selves ; 
 
 Omission to do what is necessary 
 Seals a commission to a blank of danger ; 
 And danger, like an ague, subtly taints . 
 Even then when we sit idly in the sun. 
 Achil. Go call Thersites hither, sweet 
 
 Patroclus : 
 
 I '11 send the fool to Ajax, and desire him 
 To invite the Trojan lords, after the combat, 
 To see us here unarm'd : I have a woman's 
 
 longing, 
 
 An appetite that I am sick withal, 
 To see great Hector in his weeds of peace ; 
 To talk with him, and to behold his visage, 
 Even to my full of view. A labour sav'd ! 
 
 Enter THERSITES. 
 
 Ther. A wonder ! 
 
 Achil. What? 
 
 Ther. Ajax goes up and down the field 
 asking for himself. 
 
 Achil. How so? 
 
 Ther. He must fight singly to-morrow with 
 Hector ; and is so prophetically proud of an her- 
 oical cudgelling that he raves in saying nothing. 
 
 Achil. How can that be? 
 
 Ther. Why, he stalks up and down like a 
 peacock, a stride and a stand : ruminates like 
 an hostess that hath no arithmetic but her brain 
 
774 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 to set down her reckoning: bites his lip with a 
 politic regard, as who should say, There were 
 wit in this head, an 'twould out ; and so there 
 is ; but it lies as coldly in him as fire in a flint, 
 which will not show without knocking. The 
 man 's undone for ever ; for if Hector break not 
 his neck i' the combat, he '11 break it himself in 
 vain-glory. He knows not me : I said Good- 
 morrow^ Ajax ; and he replies, Thanks, 
 Agamemnon. What think you of this man, 
 that takes me for the general ? He is grown a 
 very land fish, languageless, a monster. A 
 plague of opinion ! a man may wear it on both 
 sides, like a leather jerkin. 
 
 Ach.il. Thou must be my ambassador to him, 
 Thersites. 
 
 Ther. Who, I? why, he'll answer nobody; 
 he professes not answering : speaking is for 
 beggars ; he wears his tongue in 's arms. I 
 will put on his presence : let Patroclus make 
 demands to me, you shall see the pageant of 
 Ajax. 
 
 Achil. To him, Patroclus: tell him, I 
 humbly desire the valiant Ajax to invite the 
 most valorous Hector to come unarmed to my 
 tent ; and to procure safe conduct for his person 
 of the magnanimous and most illustrious six-or- 
 seven -times-honoured captain -general of the 
 Grecian army, Agamemnon. Do this. 
 
 Pair. Jove bless great Ajax ! 
 
 Ther. Hum! 
 
 Pair. I come from the worthy Achilles, 
 
 Ther. Ha! 
 
 Pair. Who most humbly desires you to invite 
 Hector to his tent, 
 
 Ther. Hum! 
 
 Pair. And to procure safe conduct from 
 Agamemnon. 
 
 Ther. Agamemnon! 
 
 Pair. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Ther. Ha! 
 
 Patr. What say you to 't ? 
 
 Ther. God be wi' you, with all my heart. 
 
 Patr. Your answer, sir. 
 
 Ther. If to-morrow be a fair day, by eleven 
 o'clock it will go one way or other : howsoever, 
 he shall pay for me ere he has me. 
 
 Patr. Your answer, sir. 
 
 Ther. Fare you well, with all my heart. 
 
 Achil. Why, but he is not in this tune, is he? 
 
 Ther. No, but he 's out o' tune thus. What 
 music will be in him when Hector has knocked 
 out his brains I know not: but, I am sure, 
 none ; unless the fiddler Apollo get his sinews 
 to make catlings on. 
 
 Achil. Come, thou shalt bear a letter to him 
 straight. 
 
 Ther. Let me bear another to his horse ; for 
 that 's the more capable creature. 
 
 Achil. My mind is troubl'd, like a fountain 
 
 stirr'd ; 
 And I myself see not the bottom of it. 
 
 [Exeunt ACHIL. and PATROCLUS. 
 
 Ther. Would the fountain of your mind were 
 clear again, that I might water an ass at it ! I 
 had rather be a tick in a sheep than such a 
 valiant ignorance. [Exit. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 SCENE I. TROY. A Street. 
 
 Enter^ at one side, ./ENEAS, and Servant with 
 a torch; at the other, PARIS, DEIPHOBUS, 
 ANTENOR, DIOMEDES, and others, -with 
 torches. 
 
 'Par. See, ho ! who 's that there ? 
 
 Dei. 'Tis the Lord ^Eneas. 
 
 Ai.ne. Is the prince there in person? 
 Had I so good occasion to lie long [business 
 As you, Prince Paris, nothing but heavenly 
 Should rob my bed-mate of my company. 
 
 Dio. That's my mind too. Good-morrow, 
 Lord yfineas. [hand, 
 
 Par. A valiant Greek, ^Eneas, take his 
 Witness the process of your speech, wherein 
 You told how Diomed, a whole week by days, 
 Did haunt you in the field. 
 
 ALne* Health to you, valiant sir, 
 
 During all question of the gentle truce ; 
 But when I meet you arm'd, as black defiance 
 As heart can think or courage execute. 
 
 Dio. The one and other Diomed embraces. 
 Our bloods are now in calm ; and, so long, 
 
 health ; 
 
 But when contention and occasion meet, 
 By Jove, I '11 play the hunter for thy life 
 With all my force, pursuit, and policy. 
 
 ALne. And thou shalt hunt a lion, that will 
 fly [ness, 
 
 With his face backward. In humane gentle- 
 Welcome to Troy ! now, by Anchises' life, 
 Welcome indeed ! By Venus' hand I swear 
 No man alive can love, in such a sort, 
 The thing he means to kill, more excellently. 
 
 Dio. We sympathise. Jove, let ^neas live, 
 If to my sword his fate be not the glory, 
 A thousand complete courses of the sun ! 
 But, in mine emulous honour, let him die, 
 With every joint a wound, and that to-morrow ! 
 
 ALne. We know each other well. 
 
 Dio. We do ; and long to know each other 
 worse. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 775 
 
 Par. This is the most despiteful gentle greet- 
 ing, 
 
 The noblest hateful love, that e'er I heard of. 
 What business, lord, so early? 
 
 j&ne. I was sent for to the king ; but why, 
 I know not. [this Greek 
 
 Par. His purpose meets you : 'twas to bring 
 To Calchas' house ; and there to render him, 
 For the enfreed Antenor, the fair Cressid : 
 Let's have your company; or, if you please, 
 Haste there before us : I constantly do think, 
 Or, rather, call my thought a certain know- 
 ledge, 
 
 My brother Troilus lodges there to-night : 
 Rouse him, and give him note of our approach, 
 With the whole quality wherefore: I fear 
 We shall be much unwelcome. 
 
 ALne. That I assure you : 
 
 Troilus had rather Troy were borne to Greece 
 Than Cressid borne from Troy. 
 
 Par. There is no help ; 
 
 The bitter disposition of the time 
 Will have it so. On, lord ; we '11 follow you. 
 
 j&ne. Good-morrow, all. 
 
 [Exit, with Servant. 
 
 Par. And tell me, noble Diomed, faith, 
 
 tell me true, 
 
 Even in the soul of sound good-fellowship, 
 Who, in your thoughts, merits fair Helen best, 
 Myself or Menelaus? 
 
 Dio. Both alike : 
 
 He merits well to have her, that doth seek her, 
 Not making any scruple of her soilure, 
 With such a hell of pain and world of charge ; 
 And you as well to keep her, that defend her, 
 Not palating the taste of her dishonour, 
 With such a costly loss of wealth and friends : 
 He, like a puling cuckold, would drink up 
 The lees and dregs of a flat tamed piece ; 
 You, like a lecher, out of whorish loins 
 Are pleas'd to breed out your inheritors : 
 Both merits pois'd, each weighs nor less nor 
 
 more ; 
 But he as he, each heavier for a whore. 
 
 Par. You are too bitter to your country- 
 woman. 
 
 Dio. She 's bitter to her country. Hear me, 
 
 Paris : 
 
 For every false drop in her bawdy veins 
 A Grecian's life hath sunk ; for every scruple 
 Of her contaminated carrion weight [speak, 
 A Trojan hath been slain : since she could 
 She hath not given so many good words breath 
 As for her Greeks and Trojans suffer'd death. 
 
 Par. Fair Diomed, you do as chapmen do, 
 Dispraise the thing that you desire to buy : 
 But we in silence hold this virtue well, 
 
 We '11 not commend what we intend to sell. 
 Here lies our way. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. TROY. Court ^PANDARUS' 
 House. 
 
 Enter TROILUS and CRESSIDA. 
 
 Tro. Dear, trouble not yourself: the morn 
 is cold. [uncle down ; 
 
 Cres. Then, sweet my lord, I'll call mine 
 He shall unbolt the gates. 
 
 Tro. Trouble him not ; 
 
 To bed, to bed : sleep kill those pretty eyes, 
 And give as soft attachment to thy senses 
 As infants empty of all thought ! 
 
 Cres. Good -morrow, then. 
 
 Tro. I pr'ythee now, to bed. 
 
 Cres. Are you aweary of me ? 
 
 Tro. O Cressida ! but that the busy day, 
 Wak'd by the lark, hath rous'd the ribald crows, 
 And dreaming night will hide our joys no longer, 
 I would not from thee. 
 
 Cres. Night hath been too brief. 
 
 Tro. Beshrew the witch! with venomous 
 
 wights she stays 
 
 As tediously as hell ; but flies the grasps of love 
 With wings more momentary-swift than thought 
 You will catch cold, and curse me. 
 
 Cres. Pr'ythee, tarry; 
 
 You men will never tarry. 
 
 foolish Cressid ! I might have still held off, 
 And then you would have tarried. Hark ! 
 
 there's one up. [here? 
 
 Pan. [Within.} What, 's all the doors open 
 Tro. It is your uncle. [mocking : 
 
 Cres. A pestilence on him ! now will he be 
 
 1 shall have such a life ! 
 
 Enter PANDARUS. 
 
 Pan. How now, how now? how go maiden- 
 heads? 
 
 Here, you maid ! where 's my cousin Cressid? 
 Cres. Go hang yourself, you naughty mocking 
 
 uncle ! 
 
 You bring me to do, and then you flout me too. 
 Pan. To do what? to do what? let her say 
 what: what have I brought you to do? 
 
 Cres. Come, come, beshrew your heart! 
 
 you '11 ne'er be good, 
 Nor suffer others. 
 
 Pan. Ha, ha ! Alas, poor wretch ! ah, poor 
 capocchia! hast not slept to-night? would he 
 not, a naughty man, let it sleep? a bugbear 
 take him ! 
 
 Cres. Did not I toll you? would he were 
 
 knock'd i' the head ! [Knocking. 
 
 Who 's that at door? good uncle, go and see. 
 
776 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 My lord, come you again into my chamber : 
 You smile, and mock me, as if I meant naughtily. 
 
 Tro. Ha! ha! 
 
 Cres. Come, you are deceiv'd, I think of no 
 
 such thing. [Knocking. 
 
 How earnestly they knock ! Pray you, come in : 
 
 I would not for half Troy have you seen here. 
 
 [Exeunt TROILUS and CRESSIDA. 
 
 Pan. [Going' to the door.'] Who's there? 
 what's the matter? will you beat down the 
 door? How now? what's the matter? 
 
 Enter ^ENEAS. 
 
 &ne. Good-morrow, lord, good-morrow. 
 
 Pan. Who's there? my lord yEneas? By 
 my troth, I knew you not: what news with 
 you so early? 
 
 j3Lne. Is not Prince Troilus here? 
 
 Pan. Here ! what should he do here ? 
 
 ALne. Come, he is here, my lord; do not 
 
 deny him : 
 It doth import him much to speak with me. 
 
 Pan. Is he here, say you? 'tis more than I 
 know, I'll be sworn. For my own part, I 
 came in late. What should he do here? 
 
 j*Ene. Who! nay, then: come, come, 
 you '11 do him wrong ere you are ware : you Ml 
 be so true to him to be false to him ; do not 
 you know of him, but yet go fetch him hither ; 
 go- 
 As PANDARUS is going out, re-enter TROILUS. 
 
 Tro. How now ! what 's the matter? 
 
 sEne. My lord, I scarce have leisure to 
 
 salute you, 
 
 My matter is so rash. There is at hand 
 Paris your brother, and Deiphobus, 
 The Grecian Diomed, and our Antenor 
 Deliver'd to us ; and for him forthwith, 
 Ere the first sacrifice, within this hour, 
 We must give up to Diomedes' hand 
 The Lady Cressida. 
 
 Tro. Is it so concluded? 
 
 sEne. By Priam, and the general state of 
 
 Troy: 
 They are at hand, and ready to effect it. 
 
 Tro. How my achievements mock me ! 
 I will go meet them : and, my lord yEneas, 
 We met by chance ; you did not find me here. 
 
 sEne. Good, good, my lord ; the secrets of 
 
 nature 
 Have not more gift in taciturnity. 
 
 [Exeunt TROILUS and ^ENEAS. 
 
 Pan. Is't possible? no sooner got but lost? 
 The devil take Antenor ! the young prince will 
 go mad : a plague upon Antenor ! I would 
 they had broke 's neck ! 
 
 Re-enter CRESSIDA. 
 
 Cres. How now! what is the matter? who 
 was here? 
 
 Pan. Ah, ah ! 
 
 Cres. Why sigh you so profoundly? where 's 
 my lord? gone! tell me, sweet uncle, what's 
 the matter? 
 
 Pan. Would I were as deep under the earth 
 as I am above ! 
 
 Cres. O the gods! what's the matter? 
 
 Pan. Pr'ythee, get thee in. Would thou 
 hadst ne'er been born? I knew thou wouldst 
 be his death ! O, poor gentleman ! A plague 
 upon Antenor ! 
 
 Cres. Good uncle, I beseech you, on my 
 knees I beseech you, what 's the matter ? 
 
 Pan. Thou must be gone, wench, thou must 
 be gone ; thou art changed for Antenor : thou 
 must to thy father, and be gone from Troilus : 
 'twill be his death; 'twill be his bane; he 
 cannot bear it. 
 
 Cres. O you immortal gods ! I will not go. 
 
 Pan. Thou must. 
 
 Cres. I will not, uncle: I have forgot my 
 
 father; 
 
 I know no touch ot consanguinity ; 
 No kin, no love, no blood, no soul so near me 
 As the sweet Troilus. O you gods divine ! 
 Make Cressid's name the very crown of false- 
 hood [death 
 If ever she leave Troilus ! Time, force, and 
 Do to this body what extremes you can ; 
 But the strong base and building of my love 
 Is as the very centre of the earth, 
 Drawing all things to it. I '11 go in and weep, 
 
 Pan. Do, do. 
 
 Cres. Tear my bright hair, and scratch my 
 
 praised cheeks ; [heart 
 
 Crack my clear voice with sobs, and break my 
 
 With sounding Troilus. I will not go from 
 
 Troy. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. TROY. Street before PANDARUS' 
 House. 
 
 Enter PARIS, TROILUS, AENEAS, DEIPHOBUS, 
 ANTENOR, and DIOMEDES. 
 
 Par. It is great morning ; and the how 
 
 prefix'd 
 
 Of her delivery to this valiant Greek 
 Comes fast upon : good my brother Troilus, 
 Tell you the lady what she is to do, 
 And haste her to the purpose. 
 
 Tro. Walk in to her house ; 
 
 I '11 bring her to the Grecian presently : 
 And to his hand when I deliver her, / 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 777 
 
 Think it an altar ; and thy brother Troilus 
 A priest, there offering to it his own heart. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Par. I know what 'tis to love ; 
 And would, as I shall pity, I could help ! 
 Please you walk in, my lords. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. TROY. A Room in PANDARUS' 
 House. 
 
 Enter PANDARUS and CRESSIDA. 
 
 Pan. Be moderate, be moderate. 
 
 Cres. Why tell you me of moderation ? 
 The grief is fine, full, perfect, that I taste, 
 And violenteth in a sense as strong [it? 
 
 As that which causeth it : how can I moderate 
 If I could temporize with my affection, 
 Or brew it to a weak and colder palate, 
 The like allayment could I give my grief : 
 My love admits no qualifying dross ; 
 No more my grief, in such a precious loss. 
 
 Pan. Here, here, here he comes. 
 
 Enter TROILUS. 
 Ah, sweet ducks ! 
 
 Cres. O Troilus ! Troilus ! [Embracing- him. 
 Pan. What a pair of spectacles is here ! Let 
 me embrace too. O heart, as the goodly saying 
 is, 
 
 O heart, heavy heart, 
 Why sigh'st thou without breaking? 
 
 where he answers again, 
 
 Because thou canst not ease thy smart 
 By silence nor by speaking. 
 
 There was never a truer rhyme. Let us cast 
 away nothing, for we may live to have need of 
 such a verse : we see it, we see it. How now, 
 lambs ! [purity 
 
 Tro. Cressid, I love thee in so strain'd a 
 That the bless'd gods, as angry with my fancy, 
 More bright in zeal than the devotion which 
 Cold lips blow to their deities, take thee from 
 me. 
 
 Cres. Have the gods envy? 
 
 Pan. Ay, ay, ay, ay ; 'tis too plain a case. 
 
 Cres. And is it true that I must go from Troy? 
 
 Tro. A hateful truth. 
 
 Cres. What, and from Troilus too? 
 
 Tro. From Troy and Troilus. 
 
 Cres. Is it possible? 
 
 Tro. And suddenly ; where injury of chance 
 Puts back leave-taking, justles roughly by 
 All time of pause, rudely beguiles our lips 
 Of all rejoindure, forcibly prevents 
 Our lock'd embrasures, strangles our dear vows 
 Even in the birth of our own lab'ring breath : 
 We two, that with so many thousand sighs 
 
 Did buy each other, must poorly sell ourselves 
 With the rude brevity and discharge of one. 
 Injurious time now, with a robber's haste, 
 Crams his rich thievery up, he knows not how : 
 As many farewells as be stars in heaven, 
 With distinct breath and consign'd kisses to 
 
 them, 
 
 He fumbles up into a loose adieu ; 
 And scants us with a single famish'd kiss, 
 Distasted with the salt of broken tears. 
 
 JEne. [ Within.'} My lord, is the lady ready? 
 
 Tro. Hark ! you are call'd. Some say the 
 
 Genius so 
 
 Cries, Come! to him that instantly must die. 
 Bid them have patience ; she shall come anon. 
 
 Pan. Where are my tears? rain, to lay this 
 wind, or my heart will be blown up by the 
 root? [Exit. 
 
 Cres. I must, then, to the Grecians ? 
 
 Tro. No remedy. 
 
 Cres. A woeful Cressid 'mongst the merry 
 
 Greeks! 
 When shall we see again ? 
 
 Tro. Hear me, my love. Be thou but true 
 of heart, [is this ? 
 
 Cres. I true ! how now ! what wicked deem 
 
 Tro. Nay, we must use expostulation kindly, 
 For it is parting from us : 
 I speak not be thou true, as fearing thee ; 
 For I will throw my glove to death himself 
 That there 's no maculation in thy heart : 
 But be thou true, say I, to fashion in 
 My sequent protestation ; be thou true, 
 And I will see thee. [dangers 
 
 Cres. O, you shall be expos'd, my lord, to 
 As infinite as imminent ! but I '11 be true. 
 
 Tro. And I '11 grow friend with danger. 
 Wear this sleeve. [see you ? 
 
 Cres. And you this glove. When shall I 
 
 Tro. I will corrupt the Grecian sentinels, 
 To give thee nightly visitation. 
 But yet be true. 
 
 Cres. O heavens ! be true, again ! 
 
 Tro. Hear why I speak it, love: 
 The Grecian youths are full of quality ; 
 They're loving, well compos'd, with gifts of 
 
 nature flowing, 
 
 And swelling o'er with arts and exercise : 
 How novelty may move, and parts with person, 
 Alas, a kind of godly jealousy, 
 Which, I beseech you, call a virtuous sin, 
 Makes me afeard. 
 
 Cres. O heavens ! you love me not. 
 
 Tro. Die I a villain, then ! 
 In this I do not call your faith in question 
 So mainly as my merit ; I cannot sing, 
 Nor heel the high lavolt, nor sweeten talk, 
 
778 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Nor play at subtle games ; fair virtues all, 
 To which the Grecians are most prompt and 
 
 pregnant : 
 
 But I can tell, that in each grace of these 
 There lurks a still and dumb-discoursive devil 
 That tempts most cunningly: but be not tempted. 
 
 Ores. Do you think I will ? 
 
 Tro. No. 
 
 But something may be done that we will not : 
 And sometimes we are devils to ourselves, 
 When we will tempt the frailty of our powers, 
 Presuming on their changeful potency. 
 
 ^Ene. \Within.~\ Nay, good my lord, 
 
 Tro. Come, kiss ; and let us part. 
 
 Par. {Within.} Brother Troilus ! 
 
 Tro. Good brother, come you hither ; 
 
 And bring ^Eneas and the Grecian with you. 
 
 Ores. My lord, will you be true ? 
 
 Tro. Who, I ? alas, it is my vice, my fault : 
 While others fish with craft for great opinion, 
 I with great truth catch mere simplicity; 
 Whilst some with cunning gild their copper 
 
 crowns, 
 
 With truth and plainness I do wear mine bare. 
 Fear not my truth : the moral of my wit 
 Is plain and true ; there 's all the reach of it. 
 
 Enter AENEAS, PARIS, ANTENOR, DEIPHOBUS, 
 and DIOMEDES. 
 
 Welcome, Sir Diomed ! here is the lady 
 Which for An tenor we deliver you: 
 At the port, lord, I '11 give her to thy hand ; 
 And by the way possess thee what she is. 
 Entreat her fair ; and, by my soul, fair Greek, 
 If e'er thou stand at mercy of my sword, 
 Name Cressid, and thy life shall be as safe 
 As Priam is in Ilion. 
 
 Dio. Fair Lady Cressid, 
 
 So please you, save the thanks this prince 
 
 expects : 
 
 The lustre in your eye, heaven in your cheek, 
 Pleads your fair usage ; and to Diomed 
 You shall be mistress, and command him wholly. 
 
 Tro. Grecian,thou dost not use mecourteously , 
 To shame the zeal of my petition to thee 
 In praising her : I tell thee, lord of Greece, 
 She is as far high-soaring o'er thy praises 
 As thou unworthy to be call'd her servant. 
 I charge thee use her well, even for my charge ; 
 For, by the dreadful Pluto, if thou dost not, 
 Though the great bulk Achilles be thy guard, 
 I '11 cut thy throat. 
 
 Dio. O, be not mov'd, Prince Troilus : 
 
 Let me be privileg'd by my place and message 
 To be a speaker free ; when I am hence 
 I '11 answer to my lust: and know you, lord, 
 I '11 nothing do on charge : to her own worth 
 
 She shall be priz'd; but that you say/' be 't so," 
 I '11 speak it in my spirit and honour, ''no." 
 Tro. Come, to the port. I'll tell thee, 
 Diomed, [head. 
 
 This brave shall oft make thee to hide thy 
 Lady, give me your hand ; and, as we walk, 
 To our own selves bend we our needful talk. 
 [Exeunt TRO., CRES., and DIOMEDES. 
 [ Trumpet within. 
 Par. Hark ! Hector's trumpet. 
 j&ne. How have we spent this morning? 
 The prince must think me tardy and remiss, 
 That swore to ride before him to the field. 
 Par* 'Tis Troilus' fault. Come, come, to 
 
 field with him. 
 
 Dio. Let us make ready straight. 
 j$Lne. Yea, with a bridegroom's fresh alacrity 
 Let us address to tend on Hector's heels : 
 The glory of our Troy doth this day lie 
 On his fair worth and single chivalry. 
 
 {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V, THE GRECIAN CAMP. Lists set out. 
 
 Enter A.} AX, armed; AGAMEMNON, ACHILLES, 
 PATROCLUS, MENELAUS, ULYSSES, NESTOR, 
 and others* 
 
 Agam, Here art thou in appointment fresh 
 
 and fair, 
 
 Anticipating time. With starting courage 
 Give with thy trumpet a loud note to Troy, 
 Thou dreadful Ajax ; that the appalled air 
 May pierce the head of the great combatant, 
 And hale him hither. 
 
 Ajax. Thou, trumpet, there 's my purse, 
 Now crack thy lungs and split thy brazen pipe : 
 Blow, villain, till thy sphered bias cheek 
 Out-swell the colic of puff'd Aquilon : 
 Come, stretch thy chest, and let thy eyes spout 
 
 blood ; 
 Thou blow'st for Hector. {Trumpet sounds. 
 
 Ulyss, No trumpet answers. 
 
 Achil. 'Tis but early day. 
 
 Agam. Is not yon Diomed, with Calchas' 
 daughter ? 
 
 Ulyss. 'Tis he, I ken the manner of his gait ; 
 He rises on the toe : that spirit of his 
 In aspiration lifts him from the earth. 
 
 Enter DIOMEDES, with CRESSIDA. 
 
 Agam. Is this the lady Cressid? 
 
 Dio. Even she ? 
 
 Agam. Most dearly welcome to the Greeks, 
 
 sweet lady. 
 
 Nest. Our general doth salute you with a kiss. 
 Ulyss. Yet is the kindness but particular; 
 'Twere better she were kiss'd in general. 
 
SCENB V. ] 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 779 
 
 Nest. And very courtly counsel: I '11 begin. 
 So much for Nestor. [fair lady. 
 
 Achil. I '11 take that winter from your lips, 
 Achilles bids you welcome. 
 
 Men. I had good argument for kissing once. 
 Patr. But that's no argument for kissing 
 
 now ; 
 
 For thus popp'd Paris in his hardiinent, 
 And parted thus you and your argument. 
 
 Ulyss. O deadly gall, and theme of all our 
 
 scorns ! 
 
 For which we lose our heads to gild his horns. 
 Patr. The first was Menelaus' kiss; this, 
 
 mine; 
 Patroclus kisses you. 
 
 Men. O, this is trim ! 
 
 Patr. Paris and I kiss evermore for him. 
 Men. I '11 have my kiss, sir. Lady, by your 
 
 leave. 
 
 Cres. In kissing, do you render or receive? 
 Patr. Both take and give. 
 Cres. I'll make my match to live, 
 
 The kiss you take is better than you give ; 
 Therefore no kiss. 
 
 Men. I '11 give you boot, I '11 give you three 
 for one. [none. 
 
 Cres. You 're an odd man ; give even or give 
 Men. An odd man, lady? every man is odd. 
 Cres. No, Paris is not; for, you know, 'tis 
 
 true, 
 
 That you are odd, and he is even with you. 
 Men. You fillip me o' the head. 
 Cres. No, I '11 be sworn. 
 
 Ulyss. It were no match, your nail against 
 
 his horn. 
 
 May I, sweet lady, beg a kiss of you ? 
 Cres. You may. 
 Ulyss. I do desire it. 
 
 Cres. Why, beg then, do. 
 
 Ulyss. Why then, for Venus' sake, give me 
 
 a kiss 
 When Helen is a maid again, and his. 
 
 Cres. I am your debtor, claim it when 'tis 
 
 due. [you. 
 
 Ulyss. Never 's my day, and then a kiss of 
 
 Dio. Lady, a word. I'll bring you to your 
 
 father. 
 
 [DIOMEDES leads out CRESSIDA. 
 
 Nest. A woman of quick sense. 
 
 Ulyss. Fie, fie upon her ! 
 
 There 's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip, 
 
 Nay, her foot speaks : her wanton spirits look 
 
 out 
 
 At every joint and motive of her body. 
 O, these encounterers, so glib of tongue, 
 That give a coasting welcome ere it comes, 
 And wide unclasp the tables cf their thoughts 
 
 To every ticklish reader ! set them down 
 
 For sluttish spoils of opportunity, 
 
 And daughters of the game. [ Trumpet within. 
 
 All. The Trojans' trumpet. 
 
 Agam. Yonder comes the troop. 
 
 Enter HECTOR, armed; ^ENEAS, TROILUS, and 
 other Trojans, with Attendants. 
 
 ALne. Hail, all you state of Greece! what 
 shall be done [purpose 
 
 To him that victory commands? Or do you 
 A victor shall be known? will you the knights 
 Shall to the edge of all extremity 
 Pursue each other : or shall be divided 
 By any voice or order of the field? 
 Hector bade ask. 
 
 Agam. Which way would Hector have it ? 
 
 sne. He cares not ; he '11 obey conditions. 
 
 Achil. 'Tis done like Hector; but securely 
 
 done, 
 
 A little proudly, and great deal misprizing 
 The knight oppos'd. 
 
 jne. If not Achilles, sir, 
 
 What is your name? 
 
 Achil. If not Achilles, nothing. 
 
 ALne. Therefore Achilles. But, whate'er, 
 
 know this: 
 
 In the extremity of great and little 
 Valour and pride excel themselves in Hector; 
 The one almost as infinite as all, 
 The other blank as nothing. Weigh him well, 
 And that which looks like pride is courtesy. 
 This Ajax is half made of Hector's blood : 
 In love whereof, half Hector stays at home ; 
 Half heart, hah hand, half Hector comes to 
 seek [Greek. 
 
 This blended knight, half Trojan and half 
 
 Achil. A maiden battle then? O, I perceive 
 you. 
 
 Re-enter DIOMEDES. 
 
 Agam. Here is Sir Diomed. Go, gentle 
 
 knight, 
 
 Stand by our Ajax ; as you and Lord ^neas 
 Consent upon the order of their fight 
 So be it ; either to the uttermost, 
 Or else a breath : the combatants being kin 
 Half stints their strife before their strokes begin. 
 [AjAX and HECTOR enter the lists. 
 Ulyss. They are oppos'd already. 
 Agam. What Trojan is that same that looks 
 so heavy? [knight; 
 
 Ulyss. The youngest son of Priam, a true 
 Not yet mature, yet matchless : firm of word ; 
 Speaking in deeds, and deedless in his tongue ; 
 Not soon provok'd, nor, being provok'd, soon 
 calm'd : 
 
7 8o 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 His heart and hand both open and both free ; 
 For what he has he gives, what thinks he shows ; 
 Yet gives he not till judgment guide his bounty, 
 Nor dignifies an impure thought with breath : 
 Manly as Hector, but more dangerous ; 
 For Hector, in his blaze of wrath, subscribes 
 To tender objects; but he, in heat of action, 
 Is more vindicative than jealous love: 
 They call him Troilus ; and on him erect 
 A second hope, as fairly built as Hector. 
 Thus says yEneas ; one that knows the youth 
 Even to his inches, and, with private soul, 
 Did in great Ilion thus translate him to me. 
 
 [Alarum. HECTOR and AJAX _/%>/*/. 
 
 Again. They are in action. 
 
 Nest. Now, Ajax, hold thine own ! 
 
 Tro. Hector, thou sleep'st ; 
 
 Awake thee ! 
 
 Agam. His blows are well disposed : there, 
 Ajax ! 
 
 Dio. You must no more. [ Trumpets cease. 
 
 &ne. Princes, enough, so please you. 
 
 Ajax. I am not warm yet, let us fight again. 
 
 Dio. As Hector pleases. 
 
 Hect. Why, then will I no more : 
 
 Thou art, great lord, my father's sister's son, 
 A cousin-german to great Priam's seed ; 
 The obligation of our blood forbids 
 A gory emulation 'twixt us twain ; 
 Were thy commixtion Greek and Trojan so, 
 That thou could'st say This hand is Grecian all, 
 And this is Trojan; the sinews of this leg 
 All Greek, and this all Troy; my mother's blood 
 Runs on the dexter cheek , and this sinister 
 Bounds in my fathers ; by Jove multipotent, 
 Thou shouldst not bear from me a Greekish 
 
 member 
 
 Wherein my swcrd had not impressure made 
 Of our rank feud : but the just gods gainsay 
 That any drop thou borrow'dst from thy mother, 
 My sacred aunt, should by my mortal sword 
 Be drain'd ! Let me embrace thee, Ajax: 
 By him that thunders, thou hast lusty arms ; 
 Hector would have them fall upon him thus : 
 Cousin, all honour to thee ! 
 
 Ajax. I thank thee, Hector : 
 
 Thou art too gentle and too free a man : 
 I came to kill thee, cousin, and bear hence 
 A great addition earned in thy death. 
 
 Hect. Not Neoptolemus so mirable, 
 On whose bright crest Fame with her loud'st 
 
 Oyes 
 
 Cries, J^his is he, could promise to himself 
 A thought of added honour torn from Hector. 
 
 sEne. There is expectance here from both 
 
 the sides 
 What further you will do. 
 
 Hect. We '11 answer it ; 
 
 The issue is embracement : Ajax, farewell. 
 
 Ajax. If I might in entreaties find success, 
 As selcl' I have the chance, I would desire 
 My famous cousin to our Grecian tents. 
 
 Dio. 'Tis Agamemnon's wish ; and great 
 
 Achilles 
 Doth long to see unarm'd the valiant Hector. 
 
 Hect. ./Eneas, call my brother Troilus to me : 
 And signify this loving interview 
 To the expecters of our Trojan part ; [cousin ; 
 Desire them home. Give me thy hand, my 
 I will go eat with thee, and see your knights. 
 
 Ajax. Great Agamemnon comes to meet us 
 here. [by name ; 
 
 Hect. The worthiest of them tell me name 
 But for Achilles, mine own searching eyes 
 Shall find him by his large and portly size. 
 
 Agam. Worthy of arms ! as welcome as to one 
 That would be rid of such an enemy ; 
 But that 's no welcome : understand more clear, 
 What's past and what's to come is strew'd 
 
 with husks 
 
 And formless ruin of oblivion ; 
 But in this extant moment, faith and troth, 
 Strain'd purely from all hollow bias-drawing, 
 Bids thee, with most divine integrity, 
 From heart of very heart, great Hector, welcome. 
 
 Hect. I thank thee, most imperious Agamem- 
 non, [to you. 
 
 Agam. My well-fam'd lord of Troy, no less 
 \To TROILUS. 
 
 Men. Let me confirm my princely brother's 
 
 greeting ; 
 You brace of warlike brothers, welcome hither. 
 
 Hect. Who must we answer? 
 
 &ne. The noble Menelaus. 
 
 Hect. O you, my lord? by Mars his gauntlet, 
 
 thanks ! 
 
 Mock not, that I affect the untraded oath ; 
 Your quondam wife swears still by Venus' glove : 
 She 's well, but bade me not commend her to 
 you. [theme. 
 
 Men. Name her not now, sir ; she 's a deadly 
 
 Hect. O, pardon ; I offend. [oft, 
 
 Nest. I have, thou gallant Trojan, seen thee 
 Labouring for destiny, make cruel way 
 Through ranks of Greekish youth j and I have 
 
 seen thee, 
 
 As hot as Perseus, spur thy Phrygian steed, 
 Despising many forfeits and subduements, 
 When thou hast hung thy advanced sword i' the 
 
 air, 
 
 Not letting it decline on the declin'd, 
 That I have said to some my standers-by, 
 Lo, Jupiter is yonder, dealing life! 
 And I have seen thee pause, and take thy breath, 
 
SCENE V.] 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 781 
 
 When that a ring of Greeks have hemm'dthee in, 
 Like an Olympian wrestling : this have I seen ; 
 But this thy countenance, still lock'd in steel, 
 I never saw till now. I knew thy grandsire, 
 And once fought with him: he was a soldier good; 
 But, by great Mars, the captain of us all, 
 Never like thee. Let an old man embrace thee ; 
 And, worthy warrior, welcome to our tents. 
 
 ^.ne. 'Ti^ the old Nestor. 
 
 Hect. Let me embrace thee, good old chronicle, 
 That hast so long walk'd hand in hand with 
 
 time: 
 Most reverend Nestor, I am glad to clasp thee. 
 
 Nest. I would my arms could match thee in 
 
 contention, 
 As they contend with thee in courtesy. 
 
 Hect. I would they could. 
 
 Nest. Ha! [morrow: 
 
 By this white beard, I 'd fight with thee to- 
 Well, welcome, welcome ! I have seen the time. 
 
 Ulyss. I wonder now how yonder city stands, 
 When we have here her base and pillar by us. 
 
 Hect. I know your favour, Lord Ulysses, well. 
 Ah, sir, there 's many a Greek and Trojan dead, 
 Since first I saw yourself and Diomed 
 In I lion, on your Greekish embassy. [ensue : 
 
 Ulyss. Sir, I foretold you then what would 
 My prophecy is but half his journey yet ; 
 For yonder walls, that pertly front your town, 
 Yond towers, whose wanton tops do buss the 
 
 clouds, 
 Must kiss their own feet. 
 
 Hect. I must not believe you : 
 
 There they stand yet ; and modestly I think 
 The fall of every Phrygian stone will cost 
 A drop of Grecian blood : the end crowns all ; 
 And that old common arbitrator, time, 
 Will one day end it. 
 
 Ulyss. So to him we leave it. 
 
 Most gentle and most valiant Hector, welcome : 
 After the general, I beseech you next 
 To feast with me, and see me at my tent. 
 
 Achil. I shall forestall thee, Lord Ulysses, 
 
 thou ! 
 
 Now, Hector, I have fed mine eyes on thee ; 
 I have with exact view perus'd thee, Hector, 
 And quoted joint by joint. 
 
 Hect. Is this Achilles? 
 
 Achil. I am Achilles. [thee. 
 
 Hect. Stand fair, I pray thee: let me look on 
 
 Achil. Behold thy fill. 
 
 Hect. Nay, I have done already. 
 
 AchiL Thou art too brief : I will the second 
 
 time, 
 As I would buy thee, view thee limb by limb. 
 
 Hect. O, like a book of sport thou 'It read 
 me o'er ; 
 
 But there 's more in me than thou understand'st. 
 Why dost thou so oppress me with thine eye? 
 
 Achil. Tell me, you heavens, in which part 
 of his body [there, 
 
 Shall I destroy him? whither there, or there, or 
 That I may give the local wound a name, 
 And make distinct the very breach whereout 
 Hector's great spirit flew : answer me, heavens ! 
 
 Hect. It would discredit the bless'd gods, 
 
 proud man, 
 
 To answer such a question : stand again : 
 Think'st thou to catch my life so pleasantly. 
 As to prenominate in nice conjecture 
 Where thou wilt hit me dead? 
 
 Achil. I tell thee, yea. 
 
 Hect. Wert thou an oracle to tell me so, 
 I 'd not believe thee. Henceforth guard thee 
 
 well; 
 
 For I '11 not kill thee there, nor there, nor there ; 
 But, by the forge that stithied Mars his helm, 
 I Ml kill thee everywhere, yea, o'er and o'er. 
 You wisest Grecians, pardon me this brag, 
 His insolence draws folly from my lips ; 
 But I Ml endeavour deeds to match these words, 
 Or may I never, 
 
 Ajax. Do not chafe thee, cousin : 
 
 And you, Achilles, let these threats alone, 
 Till accident or purpose bring you to 't : 
 You may have every day enough of Hector, 
 If you have stomach ; the general state, I fear, 
 Can scarce entreat you to be odd with him. 
 
 Hect. I pray you, let us see you in the field : 
 We have had pelting wars since you refus'd 
 The Grecians' cause. 
 
 Achil. Dost thou entreat me, Hector? 
 
 To-morrow do I meet thee, fell as death; 
 To-night all friends. 
 
 Hect. Thy hand upon that match. 
 
 Agam. First, all you peers of Greece, go to 
 
 my tent ; 
 
 There in the full convive we : afterwards, 
 As Hector's leisure and your bounties shall 
 Concur together, severally entreat him. 
 Beat loud the tabourines, let the trumpets blow, 
 That this great soldier may his welcome know. 
 \Exeunt all but TRO. and ULYSSES. 
 
 Tro. My Lord Ulysses, tell me, I beseech 
 
 you, 
 
 In what place of ths field doth Calchas keep? 
 Ulyss. At Menelaus' tent, most princely 
 
 Troilus : 
 
 There Diomed doth feast with him to-night ; 
 Who neither looks upon the heaven nor earth, 
 But gives all gaze and bent of amorous view 
 On the fair Cressid. 
 
 Tro. Shall I, sweet lord, be bound to you 
 so much, 
 
782 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 After we part from Agamemnon's tent, 
 To bring me thither ? 
 
 Ulyss. You shall command me, sir. 
 
 As gentle tell me, of what honour was 
 This Cressida in Troy? Had she no lover there 
 That wails her absence? 
 
 Tro. Q, sir, to such as boasting show their 
 
 scars 
 
 A mock is due. Will you walk on, my lord? 
 She was belov'd, she lov'd ; she is, and doth : 
 But, still, sweet love is food for fortune's tooth. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. THE GRECIAN CAMP. 
 ACHILLES' Tent. 
 
 Before 
 
 Enter ACHILLES and PATROCLUS. 
 
 Achil. I '11 heat his blood with Greekish wine 
 
 to-night, 
 
 Which with my scimitar I '11 cool to-morrow. 
 Patroclus, let us feast him to the height. 
 
 Pair. Here comes Thersites. 
 
 Enter THERSITES. 
 
 Achil. How now, thou core of envy! 
 
 Thou crusty batch of nature, what's the news? 
 
 Ther. Why, thou picture of what thou 
 seemest, and idol of idiot worshippers, here 's 
 a letter for thee. 
 
 Achil. From whence, fragment? 
 
 Ther. Why, thou full dish of fool, from Troy. 
 
 Patr. Who keeps the tent now? [wound. 
 
 Ther. The surgeon's box, or the patient's 
 
 Patr. Well said Adversity! and what need 
 these tricks? 
 
 Ther. Pr'ythee, be silent, boy ; I profit not 
 by thy talk ; thou art thought to be Achilles' 
 male varlet. 
 
 Patr. Male varlet, you rogue ! what's that? 
 
 Ther. Why, his masculine whore. Now, the 
 rotten diseases of the south, the guts griping, 
 ruptures, catarrhs, loads o' gravel i' the back, 
 lethargies, cold palsies, raw eyes, dirt-rotten 
 livers, wheezing lungs, bladders full of im- 
 posthume, sciaticas, limekilns i' the palm, 
 incurable bone-ache, and the rivelled fee- 
 simple of the tetter, take and take again such 
 preposterous discoveries ! 
 
 Patr. Why, thou damnable box of envy, 
 thou, what meanest thou to curse thus? 
 
 Ther. Do I curse thee? 
 
 Patr. Why, no, you ruinous butt ; you whore- 
 son indistinguishable cur, no. 
 
 Ther. No I why art thou, then, exasperate, 
 
 thou idle immaterial skein of sleave-silk, thou 
 green sarcenet flap for a sore eye, thou tassel 
 of a prodigal's purse, thou? Ah, how the poor 
 world is pestered with such water-flies, 
 diminutives of nature ! 
 
 Patr. Out, gall ! 
 
 Ther. Finch egg ! [quite 
 
 Achil. My sweet Patroclus, I am thwarted 
 From my great purpose in to-morrow's battle. 
 Here is a letter from Queen Hecuba ; 
 A token from her daughter, my fair love ; 
 Both taxing me and gaging me to keep 
 An oath that I have sworn. I will not break it : 
 Fall, Greeks ; fail, fame ; honour ; or go or stay ; 
 My major vow lies here, this I '11 obey. 
 Come, come, Thersites, help to trim my tent; 
 This night in banqueting must all be spent. 
 Away, Patroclus! 
 
 \_Exeunt ACHIL. and PATR. 
 
 Ther. With too much blood and too little 
 brain these two may run mad; but, if with too 
 much brain and too little blood they do, I '11 be 
 a curer of madmen. Here 's Agamemnon, an 
 honest fellow enough, and one that loves quails ; 
 but he has not so much brain as ear-wax : and 
 the goodly transformation of Jupiter there, his 
 brother, the bull, the primitive statue, and 
 oblique memorial of cuckolds ; a thrifty shoeing- 
 horn in a chain, hanging at his brother's leg, 
 to what form, but that he is, should wit larded 
 with malice, and malice forced with wit, turn 
 him to? To an ass, were nothing; he is both 
 ass and ox: to an ox, were nothing; he is both 
 ox and ass. To be a dog, a mule, a cat, a 
 fitchew, a toad, a lizard, an owl, a puttock, or 
 a herring without a roe, I would not care; but 
 to be Menelaus, I would conspire against 
 destiny. Ask me not what I would be, if I 
 were not Thersites; for I care not to be the 
 louse of a lazar, so I were not Menelaus. 
 Hoy-day ! spirits and fires ! 
 
 Enter HECTOR, TROILUS, AJAX, AGAMEM- 
 NON, ULYSSES, NESTOR, MENELAUS, and 
 DIOMEDES, -with lights. 
 
 Agam. We go wrong, we go wrong. 
 Ajax. No, yonder 'tis ; 
 
 There, where we see the lights. 
 
 Hect. I trouble you. 
 
 Ajax. No, not a whit. 
 
 Ulyss. Here comes himself to guide you. 
 
 Re-enter ACHILLES. 
 
 Achil. Welcome, brave Hector; welcome, 
 princes all. [good night. 
 
 Again. So now, fair prince of Troy, I bid 
 Ajax commands the guard to tend on you. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 783 
 
 Hect. Thanks, and good night to the Greeks' 
 general. 
 
 Men. Good-night, my lord. 
 
 Hect. Good-night, sweet Lord Menelaus. 
 
 Ther. Sweet draught : sweet, quoth 'a! sweet 
 sink, sweet sewer. 
 
 AchiL Good-night [or tarry. 
 
 And welcome, both at once, to those that go 
 
 Agam. Good-night. 
 
 {Exeunt AGAM. and MEN. 
 
 AchiL Old Nestor tarries ; and you too, 
 
 Diomed, 
 Keep Hector company an hour or two. 
 
 Dio. I cannot, lord ; I have important 
 
 business, [Hector. 
 
 The tide whereof is now. Good-night, great 
 
 Hect. Give me your hand. [tent ; 
 
 Ulyss. Follow his torch ; he goes to Calchas' 
 I '11 keep you company. [Aside to TROILUS. 
 
 Tro. Sweet sir, you honour me. 
 
 Hect. And so good-night. 
 
 {Exit Dio.'; ULYSS. and TRO. following. 
 
 Achil. Come, come, enter my tent. 
 {Exeunt ACHIL., HECT., AJAX, at/NEST. 
 
 Ther. That same Diomed 's a false-hearted 
 rogue, a most unjust knave; I will no more 
 trust him when he leers than I will a serpent 
 when he hisses : he will spend his mouth and 
 promise, like Brabbler the hound ; but when he 
 performs astronomers foretell it ; it is prodigious, 
 there will come some change ; the sun borrows 
 of the moon when Diomed keeps his word. I 
 will rather leave to see Hector than not to dog 
 him : they say he keeps a Trojan drab, and uses 
 the traitor Calchas' tent : I '11 after. Nothing 
 but lechery ! all incontinent varlets ! {Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. THE GRECIAN CAMP. Before 
 CALCHAS' Tent. 
 
 Enter DIOMEDES. 
 
 Dio. What, are you up here, ho? speak. 
 Cal. [Within.} Who calls? 
 Dio. Diomed. Calchas, I think. Where's 
 your daughter? 
 
 Cal. {Within.'} She comes to you. 
 
 Enter TROILUS and ULYSSES, at a distance; 
 after them THERSITES. 
 
 Ulyss. Stand where the torch may not 
 discover us. 
 
 Enter CRESSIDA. 
 
 Tro. Cressid comes forth to him. 
 Dio. How now, my charge ! 
 
 Ores. Now, my sweet guardian! Hark, a 
 word with you. [Whispers. 
 
 Tro. Yea, so familiar ! 
 
 Ulyss. She will sing any man at first sight. 
 
 Ther. And any man may sing her, if he can 
 take her cliff; she's noted. 
 
 Dio. Will you remember? 
 
 Cres. Remember? yes. 
 
 Dio. Nay, but do, then ; 
 
 And let your mind be coupled with your words. 
 
 Tro. What should she remember? 
 
 Ulyss. List! [to folly. 
 
 Cres. Sweet honey Greek, tempt me no more 
 
 Ther. Roguery ! 
 
 Dio. Nay, then, 
 
 Cres. I '11 tell you what, 
 
 Dio. Pho, pho ! come, tell a pin : you are 
 forsworn. [have me do? 
 
 Cres. In faith, I cannot: what would you 
 
 Ther. A juggling trick, to be secretly open. 
 
 Dio. What did you swear you would bestow 
 on me? 
 
 Cres. I pr'ythee, do not hold me to mine oath 
 Bid me do anything but that, sweet Greek. 
 
 Dio. Good-night. 
 
 Tro. Hold, patience ! 
 
 Ulyss. How now, Trojan ! 
 
 Cres. Diomed, 
 
 Dio. No, no, good-night : I '11 be your fool 
 no more. 
 
 Tro. Thy better must. 
 
 Cres. Hark ! one word in your ear. 
 
 Tro. O plague and madness ! [I pray you, 
 
 Ulyss. You are mov'd, prince ; let us depart, 
 Lest your displeasure should enlarge itself 
 To wrathful terms: this place is dangerous; 
 The time right deadly ; I beseech you, go. 
 
 Tro. Behold, I pray you ! 
 
 Ulyss. Nay, good my lord, go off: 
 
 You flow to great destruction ; come, my lord. 
 
 Tro. I pray thee, stay. 
 
 Ulyss. You have not patience ; come. 
 
 Tro. I pray you, stay; by hell and all hell's 
 
 torments, 
 I will not speak a word. 
 
 Dio. And so, good-night. 
 
 Cres. Nay, but you part in anger. 
 
 Tro. Doth that grieve thee? 
 
 wither'd truth ! 
 
 Ulyss. Why, how now, lord? 
 
 Tro. By Jove, 
 
 1 will be patient. 
 
 Cres. Guardian ! why, Greek ! 
 
 Dio. Pho, pho ! adieu ; you palter. 
 Cres. In faith, I do not: come hither once 
 again. [will you go? 
 
 Ulyss. You shake, my lord, at something: 
 You will break out. 
 
 Tro. She strokes his cheek ! 
 
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Ulyss. Come, come. 
 
 Tro. Nay, stay; by Jove, I will not speak a 
 
 word: 
 
 There is between my will and all offences 
 A guard of patience : stay a little while. 
 
 Ther. How the devil luxury, with his fat 
 rump and potato finger, tickles these together ! 
 Fry, lechery, fry ! 
 
 Dio. But will you, then? 
 
 Cres. In faith, I will, la ; never trust me else. 
 
 Dio. Give me some token for the surety of it. 
 
 Cres. I '11 fetch you one. [Exit. 
 
 Ulyss. You have sworn patience. 
 
 Tro. Fear me not, sweet lord ; 
 
 I will not be myself, nor have cognition 
 Of what I feel : I am all patience. 
 
 Re-enter CRESSIDA. 
 
 Ther. Now the pledge ; now, now, now ! 
 
 Cres. Here, Diomed, keep this sleeve. 
 
 Tro. O, beauty ! where 's thy faith ? 
 
 Ulyss. My lord, 
 
 Tro. I will be patient ; outwardly I will. 
 
 Cres. You look upon that sleeve ; behold it 
 
 well. 
 He lov'd me O false wench! Give't me again. 
 
 Dio. Whose was 't ? 
 
 Cres. It is no matter, now I have 't again. 
 I will not meet with you to-morrow night : 
 I pr'ythee, Diomed, visit me no more, [stone. 
 
 Ther. Now she sharpens : Well said, Whet- 
 
 Dio. I shall have it. 
 
 Cres. What, this? 
 
 Dio. Ay, that. 
 
 Cres. O, all you gods? O pretty, pretty 
 
 pledge ! 
 
 Thy master now lies thinking in his bed 
 Of thee and me ; and sighs, and takes my glove, 
 And gives memorial dainty kisses to it, 
 As I kiss thee. Nay, do not snatch it from me ; 
 He that takes that doth take my heart withal. 
 
 Dio. I had your heart before, this follows it. 
 
 Tro. I did swear patience. 
 
 Cres. You shall not have it, Diomed; faith, 
 
 you shall not ; 
 I '11 give you something else. 
 
 Dio. I will have this: whose was it? 
 
 Cres. It is no matter. 
 
 Dio. Come, tell me whose it was. 
 
 Cres. 'Twas one's that loved me better than 
 
 you will. 
 But, now you have it, take it. 
 
 Dio. Whose was it? 
 
 Cres. By all Diana's waiting women yond, 
 And by herself, I will not tell you whose. 
 
 Dio. To-morrow will I wear it on my helm ; 
 And grieve his spirit that dares not challenge it. 
 
 Tro. Wert thou the devil, and wor'st it on 
 
 thy horn, 
 It should be challeng'd. 
 
 Cres. Well, well, 'tis done, 'tis past; and 
 
 yet it is not ; 
 I will not keep my word. 
 
 Dio. Why, then, farewell ; 
 
 Thou never shalt mock Diomed again, [word 
 
 Cres. You shall not go : one cannot speak a 
 But it straight starts you. 
 
 Dio. I do not like this fooling. 
 
 Ther. Nor I, by Pluto: but that that likes 
 not you pleases me best. 
 
 Dio. What, shall I come? the hour? 
 
 Cres. Ay, come : O Jove ! 
 Do come : I shall be plagu'd. 
 
 Dio. Farewell till then. 
 
 Cres. Good-night: I pr'ythee, come. 
 
 [Exit DIOMEDES. 
 
 Troilus, farewell ! one eye yet looks on thee ; 
 But with my heart the other eye doth see. 
 Ah, poor our sex ! this fault in us I find, 
 The error of our eye directs our mind : 
 What error leads must err ; O, then conclude, 
 Minds sway'd by eyes are full of turpitude. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Ther. A proof of strength she could not 
 
 publish more, 
 Unless she said, My mind is now turn'd whore. 
 
 Ulyss. All 's done, my lord. 
 
 Tro. It is. 
 
 Ulyss. Why stay we, then? 
 
 Tro. To make a recordation to my soul 
 Of every syllable that here was spoke. 
 But if I tell how these two did co-act, 
 Shall I not lie in publishing a truth? 
 Sith yet there is a credence in my heart, 
 An esperance so obstinately strong, 
 That doth invert the attest of eyes and ears ; 
 As if those organs had deceptious functions 
 Created only to calumniate. 
 Was Cressid here? 
 
 Ulyss. I cannot conjure, Trojan. 
 
 Tro. She was not, sure. 
 
 Ulyss. Most sure she was. 
 
 Tro. Why, my negation hath no taste of 
 madness. [but now. 
 
 Ulyss. Nor mine, my lord : Cressid was here 
 
 Tro. Let it not be believ'd for womanhood ! 
 Think, we had mothers ; do not give advantage 
 To stubborn critics, apt, without a theme, 
 For depravation, to square the general sex 
 By Cressid's rule : rather think this not Cressid. 
 
 Ulyss. What hath she done, prince, that can 
 soil our mothers? 
 
 Tro. Nothing at all, unless that this were 
 she. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 785 
 
 Ther. Will he swagger himself out on 's own 
 eyes? 
 
 Tro. This she ? no; this is Diomed's Cressida : 
 If beauty have a soul, this is not she; 
 If souls guide vows, if vows be sanctimonies, 
 If sanctimony be the gods' delight, 
 If there be rule in unity itself, 
 This is not she. O madness of discourse, 
 That cause sets up with and against itself ! 
 Bi-fold authority ! where reason can revolt 
 Without perdition, and loss assume all reason 
 Without revolt: this is, and is not, Cressid! 
 Within my soul there doth conduce a fight 
 Of this strange nature, tnat a thing inseparate 
 Divides more wider than the sky and earth ; 
 And yet the spacious breadth of this division 
 Admits no orifex for a point, as subtle 
 As Ariachne's broken woof, to enter. 
 Instance, O instance ! strong as Pluto's gates ; 
 Cressid is mine, tied with the bonds of heaven : 
 Instance, O instance ! strong as heaven itself; 
 The bonds of heaven are slipp'd, dissolv'd, and 
 
 loos' d ; 
 
 And with another note, five-finger-tied, 
 The fractions of her faith, orts of her love, 
 The fragments, scraps, the bits, and greasy relics 
 Of her o'er-eaten faith, are bound to Diomed. 
 
 Ulyss. May worthy Troilus be but half-attach'd 
 With that which here his passion doth express ? 
 
 Tro. Ay, Greek ; and that shall be divulged 
 
 well 
 
 In characters as red as Mars his heart [fancy 
 Inflam'd with Venus: never did young man 
 With so eternal and so fix'd a soul. 
 Hark, Greek : as much as I do Cressid love, 
 So much by weight hate I her Diomed : 
 That sleeve is mine that he '11 bear on his helm ; 
 Were it a casque compos'd by Vulcan's skill 
 My sword should bite it : not the dreadful spout 
 Which shipmen do the hurricano call, 
 Constring'd in mass by the almighty sun, 
 Shall dizzy with more clamour Neptune's ear 
 In his descent, than shall my prompted sword 
 Falling on Diomed. 
 
 Ther. He '11 tickle it for his concupy. 
 
 Tro. O Cressid ! O false Cressid ! false, false, 
 
 false ! 
 
 Let all untruths stand by thy stained name, 
 And they '11 seem glorious. 
 
 Ulyss. O, contain yourself ; 
 
 Your passion draws ears hither. 
 
 Enter /ENEAS. 
 
 ALne. I have been seeking you this hour, 
 
 my lord : 
 
 Hector, by this, is arming him in Troy ; 
 Ajax, your guard, stays to conduct you home. 
 
 Tro. Have with you, prince. My courteous 
 
 lord, adieu. 
 
 Farewell, revolted fair ! and, Diomed, 
 Stand fast, and wear a castle on thy head ! 
 
 Ulyss. I '11 bring you to the gates. 
 
 Tro. Accept distracted thanks. 
 
 {Exeunt TRO., ^NE., and ULYSS. 
 
 Ther. Would I could meet that rogue 
 Diomed ! I would croak like a raven ; I would 
 bode, I would bode. Patroclus will give me 
 anything for the intelligence of this whore: 
 the parrot will not do more for an almond than 
 he for a commodious drab. Lechery, lechery ; 
 still wars and lechery; nothing else holds 
 fashion : a burning devil take them ! 
 
 SCENE III. TROY. Before PRIAM'S Palace. 
 Enter HECTOR and ANDROMACHE. 
 
 And. When was my lord so much ungently 
 
 temper'd 
 
 To stop his ears against admonishment ? 
 Unarm, unarm, and do not fight to-day. 
 
 Hect. You train me to offend you ; get you in : 
 By all the everlasting gods, I '11 go ! 
 
 And. My dreams will, sure, prove ominous 
 
 to the day. 
 Hect. No more, I say. 
 
 Enter CASSANDRA. 
 
 Cas. Where is my brother Hector ? 
 
 And, Here, sister; arm'd, and bloody in intent. 
 Consort with me in loud and dear petition, 
 Pursue we him on knees ; for I have dream'd 
 Of bloody turbulence, and this whole night 
 Hath nothing been but shapes and forms of 
 slaughter. 
 
 Cas. O, 'tis true. 
 
 Hect. Ho ! bid my trumpet sound ! 
 
 Cas. No notes of sally, for the heavens, 
 sweet brother. [me swear. 
 
 Hect. Begone, I say: the gods have heard 
 
 Cas. The gods are deaf to hot and peevish 
 
 vows: 
 
 They are polluted offerings, more abhorr'd 
 Than spotted livers in the sacrifice. 
 
 And. O, be persuaded ! do not count it holy 
 To hurt by being just : it is as lawful, 
 For we would give much, to use violent thefts, 
 And rob in the behalf of charity. [vow ; 
 
 Cas. It is the purpose that makes strong the 
 But vows to every purpose must not hold : 
 Unarm, sweet Hector. 
 
 Hect. Hold you still, I say ; 
 
 Mine honour keeps the weather of my fate : 
 Life every man holds dear ; but the dear man 
 Holds honour far more precious dear than life. 
 
7 86 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Enter TROILUS. 
 
 How now, young man ! mean'st thou to fight 
 to-day ? 
 
 And. Cassandra, call my father to persuade. 
 [Exit CASSANDRA. 
 
 Hect. No, faith, young Troilus; doff thy 
 
 harness, youth ; 
 
 I am to-day i' the vein of chivalry : 
 Let grow thy sinews till their knots be strong, 
 And tempt not yet the brushes of the war. 
 Unarm thee, go ; and doubt thou not, brave boy, 
 I '11 stand to-day for thee, and me, and Troy. 
 
 Tro. Brother, you have a vice of mercy in you, 
 Which better fits a lion than a man. 
 
 Hect, What vice is that, good Troilus? chide 
 me for it. [fall, 
 
 Tro. When many times the captive Grecians 
 Even in the fan and wind of your fair sword, 
 You bid them rise and live. 
 
 Hect, O, 'tis fair play. 
 
 Tro. Fool's play, by Heaven, Hector. 
 
 Hect. How now ! how now ! 
 
 Tro. For the love of all the gods, 
 
 Let 3 s leave the hermit pity with our mothers ; 
 And when we have our armours buckled on, 
 The venom'd vengeance ride upon our swords ; 
 Spur them to ruthful work, rein them from ruth. 
 
 Hect. Fie, savage, fie!. 
 
 Tro. Hector, then 'tis wars. 
 
 Hect. Troilus, I would not have you fight 
 to-day, 
 
 Tro Who should withhold me ? 
 Not fate, obedience, nor the hand of Mars 
 Beckoning with fiery truncheon my retire ; 
 Not Priamus and Hecuba on knees, 
 Their eyes o'ergalled with recourse of tears ; 
 Nor you, my brother, with your true sword 
 
 drawn, 
 
 Oppos'd to hinder me, should stop my way, 
 But by my ruin. 
 
 Re-enter CASSANDRA, with PRIAM. 
 
 Cas. Lay hold upon him, Priam, hold him 
 
 fast: 
 
 He is thy crutch ; now if thou lose thy stay, 
 Thou on him leaning and all Troy on thee, 
 Fall all together. 
 
 Pri. Come, Hector, come, go back : 
 
 Thy wife hath dream'd ; thy mother hath had 
 
 visions ; 
 
 Cassandra doth foresee ; and I myself 
 Am like a prophet suddenly enrapt, 
 To tell thee that this day is ominous : 
 Therefore, come back. 
 
 Hect. ^Eneas is a-field ; 
 
 And I do stand engag'd to many Greeks, 
 
 Even in the faith of valour, to appear 
 This morning to them. 
 
 Pri. Ay, but thou shalt not go. 
 
 Hect. I must not break my faith. 
 You know me dutiful ; therefore, dear sir, 
 Let me not shame respect ; but give me leave 
 To take that course by your consent and voice 
 Which you do here forbid me, royal Priam. 
 Cas. O Priam, yield not to him ! 
 And. Do not, dear father. 
 
 Hect. Andromache, I am offended with you : 
 Upon the love you bear me, get you in. 
 
 [Exit ANDROMACHE. 
 
 Tro. This foolish, dreaming, superstitious girl 
 Makes all these bodements. 
 
 Cas. O, farewell, dear Hector ! 
 
 Look, how thou diest ! look, how thy eye turns 
 
 pale! 
 
 Look, how thy wounds do bleed at many vents ! 
 Hark, how Troy roars! how Hecuba cries out! 
 How poor Andromache shrills her dolours forth! 
 Behold, destruction, frenzy, and amazement, 
 Like witless antics, one another meet, 
 And all cry, Hector ! Hector 3 s dead ! O 
 
 Hector ! 
 
 Tro. Away ! away ! [my leave : 
 
 Cas. Farewell: yet, soft! Hector I take 
 Thou dost thyself and all our Troy deceive. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Hect. You are amaz'd, my liege, at her 
 
 exclaim : [fight ; 
 
 Go in, and cheer the town: v/e'll forth, and 
 
 Do deeds worth praise, and tell you them at 
 
 night. [about thee ! 
 
 Pri. Farewells the gods with safety stand 
 
 [Exeunt severally PRIAM and HECTOR. 
 
 Alarums. 
 Tro. They are at it, hark ! Proud Diomed, 
 
 believe, 
 I come to lose my arm, or win my sleeve. 
 
 As TROILUS is going out, enter from the other 
 side PANDARUS. 
 
 Pan. Do you hear, my lord? do you hear? 
 
 Tro. What now? [girl. 
 
 Pan. Here 's a letter come from yond poor 
 
 Tro. Let me read, 
 
 Pan. A whoreson phtisick, a whoreson 
 rascally phtisick so troubles me, and the foolish 
 fortune of this girl ; and what one thing, what 
 another, that I shall leave you one o' these 
 days: and I have a rheum in mine eyes too; 
 and such an ache in my bones, that unless a 
 man were cursed I cannot tell what to think 
 on't. What says she there? 
 
 Tro. Words, words, mere words, no matter 
 from the heart; 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 787 
 
 The effect doth operate another way. 
 
 [ Tearing the letter. 
 
 Go, wind, to wind, there turn and change to- 
 gether. 
 
 My love with words and errors still she feeds ; 
 But edifies another with her deeds. 
 
 {Exeunt severally. 
 
 SCENE IV. Plains between Troy and the 
 Grecian Camp. 
 
 Alarums : excursions. Enter THERSITES. 
 
 Ther. Now they are clapper-clawing one 
 another; I'll go look on. That dissembling 
 abominable varlet, Diomed, has got that same 
 scurvy doting foolish young knave's sleeve of 
 Troy there .in his helm : I would fain see them 
 meet; that that same young Trojan ass, that 
 loves the whore there, might send that Greekish 
 whoremasterly villain, with the sleeve, back to 
 the dissembling luxurious drab, of a sleeve-less 
 errand. O' the t'other side, the policy of those 
 crafty swearing rascals, that stale old mouse- 
 eaten dry cheese, Nestor, and that same dog-fox, 
 Ulysses, is not proved worth a blackberry: 
 they set me up, in policy, that mongrel cur, 
 Ajax, against that dog of as bad a kind, 
 Achilles: and now is the cur Ajax prouder 
 than the cur Achilles, and will not arm to-day ; 
 whereupon the Grecians begin to proclaim 
 barbarism, and policy grows into an ill opinion. 
 Soft ! here come sleeve, and t'other. 
 
 Enter DIOMEDES, TROILUS following. 
 
 Tro. Fly not; for shouldst thou take the 
 
 river Styx 
 I would swim after. 
 
 Dio. Thou dost miscall retire: 
 
 I do not fly ; but advantageous care 
 Withdrew me from the odds of multitude: 
 Have at thee ! 
 
 Ther. Hold thy whore, Grecian ! now for thy 
 
 whore, Trojan ! now the sleeve, now the sleeve ! 
 
 [Exeunt TRO. and DiQ. t fighting. 
 
 Enter HECTOR. 
 
 Hect. What art thou, Greek! art thou for 
 
 Hector's match? 
 Art thou of blood and honour? 
 
 Ther. No, no, I am a rascal; a scurvy 
 railing knave ; a very filthy rogue. 
 
 Hect. I do believe thee ; live. [Exit. 
 
 Ther. God-a-mercy, that thou wilt believe 
 me ; but a plague break thy neck for frighting 
 me! What 's become of the wenching rogues? 
 I think they have swallowed one another: I 
 
 would laugh at that miracle. Yet, in a sort, 
 lechery eats itself. I '11 seek them. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE V. Another part of the Plains. 
 Enter DIOMEDES and a Servant. 
 
 Dio. Go, go, my servant, take thou Troilus 1 
 
 horse ; 
 
 Present the fair steed to my lady Cressid: 
 Fellow, commend my service to her beauty ; 
 Tell her I have chastis'd the amorous Trojan, 
 And am her knight by proof. 
 
 Set v. I go, my lord. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Enter AGAMEMNON. 
 
 Agam. Renew, renew! The fierce Polydamus 
 Hath beat down Menon : bastard Margarelon 
 Hath Doreus prisoner, 
 
 And stands colossus-wise, waving his beam, 
 Upon the pashed corses of the kings 
 Epistrophus and Cedius : Polixenes is slain ; 
 Amphimacus and Thoas deadly hurt ; 
 Patroclus ta'en, or slain ; and Palamedes 
 Sore hurt and bruis'd : the dreadful Sagittary 
 Appals our numbers : haste we, Diomed, 
 To reinforcement, or we perish all. 
 
 Enter NESTOR, 
 
 Nest. Go, bear Patroclus' body to Achilles ; 
 And bid the snail-pac'd Ajax arm for shame. 
 There is a thousand Hectors in the field : 
 Now here he fights on Galathe his horse, 
 And there lacks work ; anon he 's there afoot, 
 And there they fly or die, like scaled skulls 
 Before the belching whale ; then is he yonder, 
 And there the strawy Greeks, ripe for his edge, 
 Fall down before him like the mower's swath : 
 Here, there, and everywhere he leavesand takes; 
 Dexterity so obeying appetite 
 That what he will he does ; and does so much 
 That proof is call'd impossibility. 
 
 Enter ULYSSES. 
 
 Ulyss. O, courage, courage, princes! great 
 
 Achilles 
 
 Is arming, weeping, cursing, vowing vengeance: 
 Patroclus' wounds have rous'd his drowsy blood, 
 Together with his mangl'd Myrmidons, 
 That noiseless, handless, hack'd and chipp'd, 
 
 come to him, 
 
 Crying on Hector. Ajax hath lost a friend, 
 And foams at mouth, and he is arm'd and at it, 
 Roaring for Troilus ; who hath done to-day 
 Mad and fantastic execution; 
 Engaging and redeeming of himself 
 With such a careless force and forceless care 
 
788 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 As if that luck, in very spite of cunning, 
 Bade him win all. 
 
 Enter AjAX. 
 
 Ajax. Troilus ! thou coward Troilus ! [Exit. 
 Dio. Ay, there, there. 
 
 Nest. So, so, we draw together. 
 
 Enter ACHILLES. 
 
 Achil. Where is this Hector? 
 
 Come, come, thou boy-queller, show thy face ; 
 
 Know what it is to meet Achilles angry : 
 
 Hector! where J s Hector? I will none but 
 
 Hector. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI. Another Part of the Plains. 
 Enter AJAX. 
 
 Ajax. Troilus, thou coward Troilus, show 
 thy head ! 
 
 Enter DlOMEDES. 
 
 Dio. Troilus, I say ! where 's Troilus ? 
 Ajax. What wouldst thou ? 
 
 Dio. I would correct him. 
 Ajax. Were I the general, thou shouldst 
 have my office [Troilus ! 
 
 Ere that correction. Troilus, I say! what, 
 
 Enter TROILUS. 
 
 Tro. O traitor Diomed ! turn thy false face, 
 
 thou traitor, 
 
 And pay thy life thou owest me for my horse ! 
 Dio. Ha ! art thou there ? 
 Ajax. I'llfightwith him alone: stand, Diomed. 
 Dio. He is my prize. I will not look upon. 
 Tro. Come, both, you cogging Greeks ; have 
 
 at you both. [Exeunt fighting. 
 
 Enter HECTOR. 
 
 Hect. Yea, Troilus? O, well fought, my 
 youngest brother ! 
 
 Enter ACHILLES. 
 
 Achil. Now do I see thee, ha ! have at thee, 
 Hector ! 
 
 Hect. Pause, if thou wilt. [Trojan : 
 
 Achil. I do disdain thy courtesy, proud 
 Be happy that my arms are out of use : 
 My rest and negligence befriend thee now, 
 But thou anon shalt hear of me again; 
 Till when, go seek thy fortune. [Exit. 
 
 Hect. Fare thee well : 
 
 I would have been much more a fresher man 
 Had I expected thee. How now, my brother ! 
 
 Re-enter TROILUS. 
 Tro. Ajax hath ta'en ^Eneas : shall it be ? 
 
 No, by the flame of yonder glorious heaven, 
 He shall not carry him ; I '11 be ta'en too, 
 Or bring him off. fate, hear me what I say! 
 I reck not though I end my life to-day. [Exit. 
 
 Enter one in sumptuous armoiir. 
 
 Hect. Stand, stand, thou Greek; thou art a 
 
 goodly mark : 
 
 No? wilt thou not ? I like thy armour well ; 
 I '11 frush it, and unlock the rivets all. [abide? 
 But I 11 be master of it .Wilt thou not, beast, 
 Why then, fly on, I '11 hunt thee for thy hide. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VII. Another Part of the Plains. 
 Enter ACHILLES, ivtth Myrmidons. 
 
 Achil. Come here about me, you my Myr- 
 midons ; 
 
 Mark what I say. Attend me where I wheel: 
 Strike not a stroke, but keep yourselves in breath: 
 And when I have the bloody Hector found, 
 Empale him with your weapons round about ; 
 In fellest manner execute your aims. 
 Follow me, sirs, and my proceedings eye: 
 It is decreed Hector the great must die. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter MENELAUS and PARIS, fighting; then 
 TKERSITES. 
 
 Ther. The cuckold and the cuckold-maker 
 are at it. Now, bull ! now, dog ! 'Loo, Paris, 
 'loo ! now my double-henned sparrow ! 'loo, 
 Paris, 'loo ! The bull has the game : 'ware 
 horns, ho ! [Exeunt PARIS and MENELAUS. 
 
 Enter MARGARELON. 
 
 Mar. Turn, slave, and fight. 
 
 Ther. What art thou ? 
 
 Mar. A bastard son of Priam's. 
 
 Ther I am a bastard too ; I love bastards : 
 I am a bastard begot, bastard instructed, bastard 
 in mind, bastard in valour, in everything illegiti- 
 mate. One bear will not bite another, and 
 wherefore should one bastard ? Take heed, the 
 quarrel's most ominous to us: if the son of a 
 whore fight for a whore he tempts judgment : 
 farewell, bastard. [Exit. 
 
 Mar. The devil take thee, coward ! [Exit. 
 
 SCENE VIII. Another Part of the Plains. 
 Enter HECTOR. 
 
 Hect. Most putrified core, so fair without, 
 Thy goodly armour thus hath cost thy lite. 
 Now is my day's work done: I'll take good 
 breath: 
 
SCENE IX.] 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 789 
 
 Rest, sword ; thou hast thy fill of blood and 
 death ! 
 
 [P^lts off his helmet and hangs his 
 shield behind him. 
 
 Enter ACHILLES and Myrmidons, 
 
 Achil. Look, Hector, how the sun begins to 
 
 set; 
 
 How ugly night comes breathing at his heels ; 
 Even with the vail and dark'ning of the sun, 
 To close the day up, Hector's life is done. 
 Hect. I am unarm'd ; forego this vantage, 
 Greek. [I seek. 
 
 Achil. Strike, fellows, strike ; this is the man 
 [HECTOR falls. 
 
 So, Ilion, fall thou next! now, Troy, sink down! 
 Here lies thy heart, thy sinews, and thy bone. 
 On, Myrmidons; and cry you all amain, 
 Achilles hath the mighty Hector slain. 
 
 [A retreat sounded. 
 
 Hark ! a retire upon our Grecian part, [my lord. 
 Myr. The Trojan trumpets sound the like, 
 Achil. The dragon wing of night o'erspreads 
 
 the earth, 
 
 And, stickler-like, the armies separate. 
 My half-supp'd sword, that frankly would have 
 fed, [bed 
 
 Pleas'd with this dainty bait, thus goes to 
 [Sheathes his sword. 
 Come, tie his body to my horse's tail ; 
 Along the field I will the Trojan trail. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IK. Another Part of the Plains. 
 
 Enter AGAMEMNON, AJAX, MENELAUS, 
 NESTOR, DIOMEDES, atid others, man king. 
 Shouts within. 
 
 Again. Hark ! hark ! what shout is that ? 
 
 Nest. Peace, drums ! [Achilles ! 
 
 [Within.] Achilles! Achilles! Hector 's slain, 
 
 Dio. The bruit is, Hector's slain, and by 
 Achilles. 
 
 Ajax. If it be so, yet bragless let it be ; 
 Great Hector was a man as good as he. [sent 
 
 Agam. March patiently along. Let one be 
 To pray Achilles see us at our tent. 
 If in his death the gods have us befriended ; 
 Great Troy is ours, and our sharp wars are 
 ended. [Exeunt, marching. 
 
 SCENE ^.Another Part of the Plains. 
 Enter AENEAS and Trojans. 
 
 sEne. Stand, ho ! yet are we masters of the 
 
 field: 
 Never go home ; here starve we out the night. 
 
 Enter TROILUS. 
 
 Tro. Hector is slain. 
 
 All. Hector ! the gods forbid ! 
 
 Tro. He 's dead ; and at the murderer's 
 horse's tail, [field. 
 
 In beastly sort, dragg'd through the shameful 
 Frown on, you heavens, effect your rage with 
 speed! [Troy! 
 
 Sit, gods, upon your thrones, and smile at 
 I say, at once let your brief plagues be mercy. 
 And linger not our sure destructions on ! 
 
 JEne. My lord, you do discomfort all the host. 
 Tro. You understand me not that tell me 
 
 so : 
 
 I do not speak of flight, of fear, of death ; 
 But dare all imminence that gods and men 
 Address their dangers in. Hector is gone : 
 Who shall tell Priam so, or Hecuba ? 
 Let him that will a screech-owl aye be call'd 
 Go in to Troy, and say there, Hector 's dead : 
 There is a word will Priam turn to stone ; 
 Make wells and Niobes of the maids and wives, 
 Cold statues of the youth ; and, in a word, 
 Scare Troy out of itself. But, march away: 
 Hector is dead ; there is no more to say. 
 Stay yet. You vile abominable tents, 
 Thus proudly pight upon our Phrygian plains, 
 Let Titan rise" as early as he dare, 
 I'll through and through you! And, thou 
 
 great-siz'd coward, 
 
 No space of earth shall sunder our two hates: 
 I '11 haunt thee like a wicked conscience still, 
 That mouldeth goblins swift as frenzy's 
 
 thoughts. 
 
 Strike a free march to Troy ! with comfort go : 
 Hope of revenge shall hide our inward woe. 
 
 [Exeunt yENEAS and Trojans. 
 
 As TROILUS is going out, enter, from the other 
 side, PANDARUS. 
 
 Pan. But hear you, hear you ! 
 
 Tro. Hence, broker lackey! ignomy and 
 shame pursue thy life, and live aye with thy 
 name ! [Exit. 
 
 Pan. A goodly medicine for my aching 
 bones! O world! world! world! thus is the 
 poor agent despised! O traitors and bawds, 
 how earnestly are you set at work, and how ill 
 requited! Why should our endeavour be so 
 loved, and the performance so loathed ? what 
 verse for it? what instance for it? Let me 
 see: 
 
 Full merrily the humble-bee doth sing 
 Till he hath lost his honey and his sting ; 
 And being once subdued in armed tail, 
 Sweet honey and sweet notes together fail 
 
790 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Good traders in the flesh, set this in your 
 
 painted cloths. 
 
 As many as be here of pander's hall, 
 Your eyes, half out, weep out at Pandar's fall ; 
 Or, if you cannot weep, yet give some groans, 
 Though not for me, yet for your aching bones 
 Brethren and sisters of the old-door trade, 
 
 Some two months hence my will shall here be 
 
 made: 
 
 It should be now, but that my fear is this, 
 Some galled goose of Winchester would hiss : 
 Till then I '11 sweat, and seek about for eases ; 
 And, at that time, bequeath you my diseases. 
 
 n * 
 
TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 TIMON, a noble Athenian. 
 
 The Servant of ISIDORE. 
 
 Lucius, ) 
 
 Two of TIMON'S Creditors. 
 
 LUCULLUS, > Lords and Flatterers of TIMON. 
 
 Cupid and Maskers. 
 
 SEMPRONIUS, ) 
 
 Three Strangers. 
 
 VENTIDIUS, one of TIMON'S false Friends. 
 
 Poet. 
 
 ALCIBIADES, an Athenian General. 
 
 Painter. 
 
 APEMANTUS, a churlish Philosopher. 
 
 Jeweller. 
 
 FLAVIUS, Steward to TIMON. 
 
 Merchant. 
 
 FLAMINIUS, ) 
 
 An Old Athenian. 
 
 LUCILIUS, > TIMON'S Servants. 
 
 
 SERVILIUS, ) 
 
 A Page. 
 
 CAPHIS, "} 
 
 A FooL 
 
 PHILOTUS, 
 
 PHRYNIA ^ 
 
 TITUS, \Servants to TIMON'S Creditors. 
 
 TIMANDRA \Mistresses to ALCIBIADES. 
 
 Lucius, 
 
 ' 
 
 HORTENSIUS, J 
 
 Other Lords, Senators, Officers, Soldiers, 
 
 Two Servants 0/VARRO. 
 
 Thieves, and Attendants. 
 
 SCENE, ATHENS, and the Woods adjoining. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. ATHENS. A Hall in TIMON'S 
 House. 
 
 Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and 
 others, at several doors, 
 
 Poet. Good-day, sir. 
 
 Pain. I am glad you are well. 
 
 Poet. I have not seen you long: how goes 
 the world ? 
 
 Pain. It wears, sir, as it grows. 
 
 Poet. Ay, that 's well known : 
 
 But what particular rarity ? what strange, 
 Which manifold record not matches ? See, 
 Magic of bounty! all these spirits thy power 
 Hath conjur'd to attend I know the merchant. 
 
 Pain. I know them both; the other 's a jeweller. 
 
 Mer. O, 'tis a worthy lord ! 
 
 few. Nay, that 's most fix'd. 
 
 Mer. A most incomparable man; breath'd, 
 
 as it were, 
 
 To an untirable and continuate goodness : 
 He passes. 
 
 Jew. I have a jewel here. 
 
 Mer. O, pray, let's see't: for the Lord 
 Timon, sir? [that 
 
 Jew. If he will touch the estimate : but, for 
 
 Poet. [Reciting to himself.] When we for 
 
 recompense have prais'd the vile, 
 It stains the glory in that happy verse 
 Which aptly sings the good. 
 
 Mer. 'Tis a good form. 
 
 [Looking at the jewel. 
 
 Jew. And rich : here is a water, look ye. 
 
 Pain. You are rapt, sir, in some work, some 
 
 dedication 
 To the great lord. 
 
 Poet. A thing slipp'd idly from me. 
 
 Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes 
 From whence 'tis nourish'd : the fire i' the flint 
 Shows not till it be struck ; our gentle flame 
 Provokes itself, and, like the current, flies 
 Each bound it chafes. What have you there ? 
 
 Pain. A picture, sir. And when comes your 
 book forth ? [sir, 
 
 Poet. Upon the heels of my presentment, 
 Let 's see your piece. 
 
 Pain. 'Tis a good piece. 
 
 Pott So 'tis: this comes off well and excellent. 
 
 Pain. Indifferent 
 
 Poet. Admirable t how this grace 
 
 Speaks his own standing ! what a mental power 
 This eye shoots forth ! how big imagination 
 Moves in this lip ! to the dumbness of the gesture 
 One might interpret. 
 
792 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life. 
 Here is a touch ; is 't good ? 
 
 Poet. I will say of it 
 
 It tutors nature : artificial strife 
 Lives in these touches, livelier than life. 
 
 Enter certain Senators, and pass over. 
 
 Pain. How this lord is follow'd ! 
 
 Poet. The senators of Athens: happy man ! 
 
 Pain. Look, more ! 
 
 Poet. You see this confluence, this great flood 
 
 of visitors. 
 
 I have, in this rough work, shap'd out a man, 
 Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug 
 With amplest entertainment . my free drift 
 Halts not particularly, but moves itself 
 In a wide sea of wax : no levell'd malice 
 Infects one comma in the course I hold ; 
 But flies an eagle flight, bold, and forth on, 
 Leaving no track behind. 
 
 Pain. How shall I understand you ? 
 
 Poet. I will unbolt to you. 
 
 You see how all conditions, how all minds, 
 As well of glib and slippery creatures as 
 Of grave and austere quality, tender down 
 Their services to Lord Timon r his large fortune, 
 Upon his good and gracious nature hanging, 
 Subdues and properties to his love and tendance 
 All sorts of hearts; yea, from the glass-fac'd 
 
 flatterer 
 
 To Apemantus, that few things loves better 
 Than to abhor himself: even he drops down 
 The knee before him, and returns in peace 
 Most rich in Timon's nod. 
 
 Pain. I saw them speak together 
 
 Poet. Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill 
 Feign'd Fortune to be thron'd : the base o' the 
 
 mount 
 
 Is rank'd with all deserts, all kinds of natures, 
 That labour on the bosom of this sphere 
 To propagate their states: amongst them all, 
 Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady fix'd, 
 One do I personate of Lord Timon's frame, 
 Whom Fortune with her ivory hand wafts to 
 her ; [servants 
 
 Whose present grace to present slaves and 
 Translates his rivals. 
 
 Pain. 'Tis conceiv'd to scope. 
 
 This throne, this Fortune, andthishill, methinks, 
 With one man beckon'd from the rest below, 
 Bowing his head against the steepy mount 
 To climb his happiness, would be well express'd 
 In our condition. 
 
 Poet. Nay, sir, but hear me on. 
 
 All those which were his fellows but of late, 
 Some better than his value, on the moment 
 Follow his strides, his lobbies fill with tendance, 
 
 Rain sacrificial whisperings in his ear, 
 
 Make sacred even his stirrup, and through him 
 
 Drink the free air. 
 
 Pain. Ay, marry, what of these ? 
 
 Poet. When Fortune, in her shift and change 
 
 of mood, 
 
 Spurnsdownher late belov'd, all his dependents, 
 Which labour'd after him to the mountain's top, 
 Even on their knees and hands, let him slip down, 
 Not one accompanying his declining foot. 
 
 Pain. 'Tis common : 
 A thousand moraJ paintings I can show 
 That shall demonstrate these quick blows of 
 
 Fortune's 
 
 More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well 
 To show Lord Timon that mean eyes have seen 
 The foot above the head. 
 
 Trumpets sound. Enter TlMON, attended ; 
 the Servant of VWIIDIVS talking with him. 
 
 Tun. Imprison'd is he, say you ? 
 
 Ven. Serv. Ay, my good lord: five talents 
 
 is his debt; 
 
 His means most short, his creditors most strait : 
 Your honourable letter he desires 
 To those have shut him up ; which failing him, 
 Periods his comfort. 
 
 Tim. Noble Ventidius ! Well; 
 
 I am not of that feather to shake oft [him 
 
 My friend when he most needs me, I do know 
 A gentleman that well deserves a help, [him. 
 Which he shall have ; I '11 pay the debt, and free 
 
 Ven. Serv. Your lordship ever binds him. 
 
 Tim. Commend me to him : I will send his 
 
 ransom \ 
 
 And, being enfranchis'd, bid him come tome : 
 'Tis not enough to help the feeble up, 
 But to support him after. Fare you well. 
 
 Ven. Serv. All happiness to your honour ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 Enter an Old Athenian. 
 
 Old Ath. Lord Timon, hear me speak. 
 Tim. Freely, good father. 
 
 Old Ath. Thou hast a servant nam'd Lucilius. 
 Tim. I have so : what of him ? 
 Old Ath. Most noble Timon, call the man 
 
 before thee. 
 Tim. Attends he here, or no ? Lucilius ! 
 
 LUCILIUS comes forward Jrom among the 
 Attendants. 
 
 Luc. Here, at your lordship's service. 
 
 Old Ath. This fellow here, Lord Timon, 
 
 this thy creature, 
 
 By night frequents my house. I am a man 
 That from my first have been inclin'd to thrift ; 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 793 
 
 And my estate deserves an heir more rais'd 
 Than one which holds a trencher. 
 
 Tim. Well ; what further ? 
 
 Old Ath. One only daughter have I, no kin 
 
 else, 
 
 On whom I may confer what I have got : 
 The maid is fair, o' the youngest for a bride, 
 And I have bred her at my dearest cost 
 In qualities of the best. This man of thine 
 Attempts her love : I pr'ythee, noble lord, 
 join with me to forbid him her resort ; 
 Myself have spoke in vain. 
 
 Tim. The man is honest. 
 
 Old Ath. Therefore he will be, Timon : 
 His honesty rewards him in itself; 
 It must not bear my daughter. 
 
 Tim. Does she love him ? 
 
 Old Ath. She is young and apt : 
 Our own precedent passions do instruct us 
 What levity 's in youth. 
 
 Tim. [To LUCILIUS.] Love you the maid? 
 
 Luc. Ay, my good lord ; and she accepts of 
 it. [missing, 
 
 Old Ath. If in her marriage my consent be 
 I call the gods to witness, I will choose 
 Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world, 
 And dispossess her all. 
 
 Tim. How shall she be endow'd, 
 
 If she be mated with an equal husband ? 
 
 Old Ath. Three talents on the present; in 
 future all. [long : 
 
 Tim. This gentleman of mine hath serv'd me 
 To build his fortune I will strain a little, 
 For 'tis a bond in men. Give him thy daughter : 
 What you bestow, in him I '11 counterpoise, 
 And make him weigh with her. 
 
 Old Ath. Most noble lord, 
 
 Pawn me to this your honour, she is his. 
 
 Tim. My hand to thee ; mine honour on my 
 promise. [may 
 
 Luc. Humbly I thank your lordship : never 
 That state or fortune fall into my keeping 
 Which is not ow'd to you ! 
 
 [Exeunt LUCILIUS and Old Athenian. 
 
 Poet. Vouchsafe my labour, and long live 
 your lordship ! [anon : 
 
 Tim. I thank you ; you shall hear from me 
 Go not away. What have you there, my friend ? 
 
 Pain. A piece of painting, which I do beseech 
 Your lordship to accept. 
 
 Tim. Painting is welcome. 
 
 The painting is almost the natural man ; 
 For since dishonour traffics with man's nature, 
 He is but outside : these pencill'd figures are 
 Even such as they give out. I like your work ; 
 And you shall find I like it : wait attendance 
 .Till you hear further from me. 
 
 Pain. The gods preserve you ! 
 
 Tim. Well fare you, gentleman: give me 
 
 your hand : 
 
 We must needs dine together. Sir, your jewel 
 Hath suffer'd under praise. 
 
 Jew. What, my lord! dispraise? 
 
 Tim. A mere satiety of commendations, 
 If I should pay you for 't as 'tis extoll'd 
 It would unclew m : quite. 
 
 Jew. My lord, 'tis rated 
 
 As those which sell would give. But you well 
 
 know, 
 
 Things of light value, differing in the owners, 
 Are prized by their masters: believe 't, dear lord, 
 You mend the jewel by the wearing it. 
 
 Tim. Well mock'd. [common tongue, 
 
 Mer. No, my good lord ; he speaks the 
 Which all men speak with him. [chid ? 
 
 Tim. Look, who comes here: will you be 
 
 Enter APEMANTUS. 
 
 Jew. We'll bear, with your lordship. 
 
 Mer. He '11 spare none. 
 
 Tim. Good-morrow to thee, gentle Ape- 
 mantus ! [good-morrow ; 
 
 Apem. Till I be gentle, stay thou for thy 
 
 When thou art Timon's dog, and these knaves 
 
 honest. [know'st them not. 
 
 Tim. Why dost thou call them knaves? thou 
 
 Apem. Are they not Athenians ? 
 
 Tim. Yes. 
 
 Apem. Then I repent not. 
 
 Jew. You know me, Apemantus? 
 
 Apem. Thou knowest I do ; I call'd thee by 
 thy name. 
 
 Tim. Thou art proud, Apemantus. 
 
 Apem. Of nothing so much as that I am not 
 like Timon. 
 
 Tim. Whither art going ? [brains. 
 
 Apem. To knock out an honest Athenian's 
 
 Tim. That 's a deed thou 'It die for. [law. 
 
 Apem. Right, if doing nothing be death by the 
 
 Tim. How likest thou this picture, Ape- 
 mantus ? 
 
 Apem. The best, for the innocence. 
 
 Tim. Wrought he not well that painted it? 
 
 Apem. He wrought better that made the 
 painter ; and yet he 's but a filthy piece of work. 
 
 Pain. You are a dog. 
 
 Apem. Thy mother's of my generation: 
 what 's she, if I be a dog ? 
 
 Tim. Wilt dine with me, Apemantus ? 
 
 Apem. No ; I eat not lords. 
 
 Tim. An thou shouldst, thou 'dst anger ladies. 
 
 Apem. O, they eat lords ; so they come by 
 great bellies. 
 
 Tim. That 's a lascivious apprehension. 
 
794 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 Apem. So thou apprehendest it : take it for 
 thy labour. 
 
 Tim. How dost thou like this jewel, Ape- 
 man tus ? 
 
 Apem. Not so well as plain-dealing, which 
 will not cost a man a doit. 
 
 Tim. What dost thou think 'tis worth? 
 
 Apem. Not worth my thinking, How now, 
 poet! 
 
 Poet. How now, philosopher ! 
 
 Apem. Thou liest. 
 
 Poet. Art not one ? 
 
 Apem. Yes. 
 
 Poet. Then I lie not. 
 
 Apem. Art not a poet ? 
 
 Poet. Yes. 
 
 Apem. Then thou liest : look in thy last work, 
 where thou hast feign'd him a worthy fellow. 
 
 Poet. That 's not feign'd, he is so. 
 
 Apem. Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay 
 thee for thy labour : he that loves to be flattered 
 is worthy o' the flatterer. Heavens, that I were 
 a lord ! 
 
 Tim. What wouldst do then, Apemantus ? 
 
 Apem. Even as Apemantus does now, hate 
 a lord with my heart. 
 
 Tim. What, thyself? 
 
 Apem. Ay. 
 
 Tim. Wherefore? 
 
 Apem. That I had no angry wit to be a 
 lord. Art not thou a merchant ? 
 
 Mer. Ay, Apemantus. 
 
 Apem. Traffic confound thee, if the gods 
 will not ! 
 
 Mer. If traffic do it, the gods do it. 
 
 Apem. Traffic 's thy god, and thy god con- 
 found thee ! 
 
 Trumpet sounds. Enter a Servant. 
 
 Tim. What trumpet 's that ? 
 Serv. 'Tis Alcibiades, and some twenty horse, 
 All of companionship. 
 
 Tim. Pray, entertain them ; give them guide 
 
 to us. [Exeunt some Attendants. 
 
 You must needs dine with me: go not you 
 
 hence 
 
 Till I have thank'd you : when dinner 's done 
 Show me this piece. I am joyful of your sights. 
 
 Enter ALCIBIADES, with his company. 
 
 Most welcome, sir ! [ They salute. 
 
 Apem. So, so, there ! 
 
 Aches contract and starve your supple joints! 
 That there should be small love 'mongst these 
 sweet knaves, [bred out 
 
 And all this court'sy! The strain of man's 
 Into baboon and monkey. 
 
 Alcib. Sir, you have sav'd my longing, and 
 
 I feed 
 Most hungerly on your sight. 
 
 Tim. Right welcome, sir ! 
 
 Ere we depart we '11 share a bounteous time 
 In different pleasures. Pray you, let us in. 
 
 [Exeunt all but APEMANTUS. 
 
 Enter Two Lords. 
 
 I Lord. What time o' day is't, Apemantus? 
 Apem. Time to be honest. 
 
 1 Lord. That time serves still, [omitt'st it. 
 Apem. The more accursed thou, that still 
 
 2 Lord. Thou art going to Lord Timon's feast. 
 Apem. Ay; to see meat fill knaves, and 
 
 wine heat fools. 
 
 2 Lord. Fare thee well, fare thee well. 
 Apem. Thou art a fool to bid me fare well twice. 
 2 Lord. Why, Apemantus? 
 Apem. Shouldst have kept one to thyself, 
 for I mean to give thee none. 
 
 1 Lord. Hang thyself. 
 
 Apem. No, I will do nothing at thy bidding : 
 make thy requests to thy friend. 
 
 2 Lord. Away, unpeaceable dog, or I '11 
 spurn thee hence. 
 
 Apem. I will fly, like a dog, the heels o' the 
 ass. [Exit. 
 
 1 Lord. He 's opposite to humanity. Come, 
 
 shall we in 
 
 And taste Lord Timon's bounty? he outgoes 
 The very heart of kindness. [gold, 
 
 2 Lord. He pours it out ; Plutus, the god of 
 Is but his steward : no meed but he repays 
 Sevenfold above itself ; no gift to him 
 
 But breeds the giver a return exceeding 
 All use of quittance. 
 
 1 Lord. The noblest mind he carries 
 That ever govern'd man. [Shall we in ? 
 
 2 Lord. Long may he live in fortunes ! 
 i Lord. I '11 keep you company. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. ATHENS. A Room of State in 
 TIMON'S House. 
 
 Hautboys playing loud music. A great banquet 
 served in; FLAVIUS and others attending; 
 then enter TIMON, ALCIBIADES, Lucius, 
 LUCULLUS, SEMPRONIUS, andother Athenian 
 Senators, with VENTIDIUS, and Attendants. 
 Then comes ; dropping after all \ APEMANTUS, 
 discontentedly. 
 
 Ven. Most honour'd Timon, [father's age, 
 It hath pleas'd the gods to remember my 
 And call him to long peace. 
 He is gone happy, and has left me rich : 
 Then, as in grateful virtue I am bound 
 
SCENE II.} 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 795 
 
 To your free heart, I do return those talents, 
 Doubled with thanks and service, from whose 
 
 help 
 I deriv'd liberty. 
 
 Tim. O, by no means, 
 
 Honest Ventidius; you mistake my love: 
 I gave it freely ever ; and there 's none 
 Can truly say he gives if he receives : [dare 
 If our betters play at that game, we must not 
 To imitate them ; faults that are rich are fair. 
 
 Ven. A noble spirit ! 
 
 [ They all stand ceremoniously looking on 
 TIMON. 
 
 Tim. Nay, my lords, ceremony was but 
 
 devis'd at first 
 
 To set a gloss on faint deeds, hollow welcomes, 
 Recanting goodness, sorry ere 'tis shown ; 
 But where there is true friendship there needs 
 
 none. 
 
 Pray, sit ; more welcome are ye to my fortunes 
 Than my fortunes to me. [They sit. 
 
 I Lord. My lord, we always have confess'd it. 
 
 Apern. Ho, ho, confess'd it ! hang'd it, have 
 you not ? 
 
 Tim. O, Apemantus ! you are welcome. 
 
 Apem. No ; 
 
 You shall not make me welcome. 
 I come to have thee thrust me out of doors. 
 
 Tim. Fie, thou art a churl ; you have got a 
 
 humour there 
 
 Does not become a man ; 'tis much to blame. 
 They say, my lords, ira furor brevis est; 
 But yond man is ever angry. 
 Go, let him have a table by himself; 
 For he does neither affect company 
 Nor is he fit for 't, indeed. 
 
 Apem. Let me stay at thine apparel, Timon : 
 I come to observe ; I give thee warning on 't. 
 
 Tim* I take no heed of thee; thou art an 
 Athenian, therefore welcome: I myself would 
 have no power; pr'ythee, let my meat make 
 thee silent. 
 
 Apem. I scorn thy meat ; 'twould choke me, 
 for I should ne'er flatter thee. O you gods, 
 what a number of men eat Timon, and he sees 
 'em not ! it grieves me to see 
 So many dip their meat in one man's blood ; 
 And all the madness is, he cheers them up too. 
 I wonder men dare trust themselves with men : 
 Methinks they should invite them without knives; 
 Good for their meat and safer for their lives. 
 There 's much example for 't ; the fellow that 
 sits next him now, parts bread with him, 
 pledges the breath of him in a divided draught, 
 is the readiest man to kill him : 't has been 
 prov'd. If I were a huge man I should fear 
 to drink at meals, 
 
 Lest they should spy my windpipe's dangerous 
 
 notes : [throats. 
 
 Great men should drink with harness on their 
 
 Tim. My lord, in heart ; and let the health 
 go round. 
 
 2 Lord. Let it flow this way, my good lord. 
 
 Apem. Flow this way ! A brave fellow ! he 
 keeps his tides well. Those healths will make 
 thee and thy state look ill, Timon. 
 Here 's that which is too weak to be a sinner, 
 Honest water, which ne'er left man i' the mire : 
 This and my food are equals ; there 's no odds : 
 Feasts are too proud to give thanks to the gods. 
 
 APEMANTUS' GRACE. 
 
 Immortal gods, I crave no pelf; 
 
 I pray for no man but myself: 
 
 Grant I may never prove so fond, 
 
 To trust man on his oath or bond ; 
 
 Or a harlot for her weeping ; 
 
 Or a dog that seems a -sleeping; 
 
 Or a keeper with my ireedom ; 
 
 Or my friends, if I should need 'em. 
 
 Amen So fall to t : 
 
 Rich men sin, and I eat root. 
 
 [Eats and drinks. 
 Much good dich thy good heart, Apemantus ! 
 
 Tim. Captain Alcibiades, your heart's in 
 the field now. 
 
 Alcib. My heart is ever at your service, my 
 lord. 
 
 Tim. You had rather be at a breakfast of 
 enemies than a dinner of friends. 
 
 Alcib. So they were bleeding-new, my lord, 
 there 's no meat like them ; I could wish my 
 best friend at such a feast. 
 
 Apem. Would all those flatterers were thine 
 enemies, then; that then thou might'st kill 
 'em, and bid me to 'em. 
 
 i Lord. Might we but have that happiness, 
 my lord, that you would once use our hearts, 
 whereby we might express some part of our 
 zeals, we should think ourselves for ever perfect. 
 Tim. O, no doubt, my good friends, but the 
 gods themselves have provided that I shall have 
 much help from you : how had you been my 
 friends else? why have you that charitable title 
 from thousands, did not you chiefly belong to 
 my heart? I have told more of you to myself 
 than you can with modesty speak in your own 
 behalf; and thus far I confirm you. O you 
 gods, think I, what need we have any friends 
 if we should ne'er have need of 'em? they were 
 the most needless creatures living, should we 
 ne'er have use for 'em ; and would most 
 resemble sweet instruments hung up in cases, 
 that keep their sounds to themselves. Why, I 
 have often wished myself poorer, that I might 
 come nearer to you. We are born to do 
 
79 6 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 benefits : and what better or properer can we 
 
 call our own than the riches of our friends? 
 
 O, what a precious comfort 'tis to have so 
 
 many, like brothers, commanding one another's 
 
 fortunes ! O joy, e'en made away ere it can 
 
 be born! Mine eyes cannot hold out water, 
 
 methinks : to forget their faults I drink to you. 
 
 Apem. Thou weepest to make them drink, 
 
 Timon. [eyes, 
 
 2 Lord. Joy had the like conception in our 
 And at that instant like a babe sprung up. 
 
 Apem. Ho, ho ! I laugh to think that babe 
 a bastard. [me much. 
 
 3 Lord. I promise you, my lord, you mov'd 
 Apem. Much ! [ Tticket sounded. 
 Tim. What means that trump? 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 How now ! 
 
 Serv. Please you, my lord, there are certain 
 ladies most desirous of admittance. 
 
 Tim. Ladies! what are their wills? 
 
 Serv. There comes with them a forerunner, 
 my lord, which bears that office, to signify 
 their pleasures. 
 
 Tim. I pray, let them be admitted. 
 
 Enter CUPID. 
 
 Cup. Hail to thee, worthy Timon ; and to all 
 That of his bounties taste ! The five best senses 
 Acknowledge thee their patron; and come freely 
 To gratulate thy plenteous bosom : 
 The ear, taste, touch, smell, pleas'd from thy 
 
 table rise ; 
 
 They only now come but to feast thine eyes. 
 Tim. They are welcome all; let 'em have 
 
 kind admittance. 
 
 Music, make their welcome ! [Exit CUPID. 
 I Lord. You see, my lord, how ample 
 you 're belov'd. 
 
 Music. Re-enter CUPID, with, a mask of 
 Ladies as Amazons , with lutes in their hands, 
 dancing and playing. 
 
 Apem. Hoy-day, what a sweep of vanity 
 
 comes this way! 
 
 They dance ! they are mad women. 
 Like madness is the glory of this life, 
 As this pomp shows to a little oil and root. 
 We make ourselves fools to disport ourselves, 
 And spend our flatteries to drink those men 
 Upon whose age we void it up again, 
 With poisonous spite and envy. 
 Who lives that 's not depraved or depraves ? 
 Who dies that bears not one spurn to their graves 
 Of their friends' gift? 
 I should fear those that dance before me now 
 
 Would one day stamp upon me: 't has been done; 
 Men shut their doors against a setting sun. 
 
 The Lords rise from table, with much adoring 
 of TIMON ; and, to show their loves, each 
 singles out an Amazon, and all dance, men 
 with women, a lofty strain or two to the haut- 
 boys, and cease. 
 
 Tim. You have done our pleasures much 
 
 grace, fair ladies, 
 
 Set a fair fashion on our entertainment, 
 Which was not half so beautiful and kind ; 
 You have added worth unto 't and lustre, 
 And entertain'd me with mine own device ; 
 I am to thank you for 't. [best. 
 
 I Lady. My lord, you take us even at the 
 
 Apem. Faith, for the worst is filthy; and 
 would not hold taking, I doubt me. [you : 
 
 Tim. Ladies, there is an idle banquet attends 
 Please you to dispose yourselves. 
 
 All Ladies. Most thankfully, my lord. 
 
 [Exetint CUPID and Ladies. 
 
 Tim. Flavius, 
 
 Flav. My lord ? 
 
 Tim. The little casket bring me hither. 
 
 Flav. Yes, my lord. [Aside.'} More jewels 
 
 yet! 
 
 There is no crossing him in his humour, 
 Else I should tell him, well, i' faith, I should, 
 When all's spent, he'd be cross'd then, an he 
 
 could. 
 
 'Tis pity bounty had not eyes behind, 
 That man might ne'er be wretched for his mind. 
 [Exit, and returns with the casket. 
 
 1 Lord. Where be our men ? 
 Serv. Here, my lord, in readiness. 
 
 2 Lord. Our horses ! 
 
 Tim. O my friends, 
 
 I have one word to say to you. Look you, 
 
 my good lord, 
 
 I must entreat you, honour me so much 
 As to advance this jewel ; accept it, and wear it. 
 Kind my lord. 
 
 I Lord. I am so far already in your gifts, 
 
 All. So are we all. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. My lord, there are certain nobles of 
 
 the senate 
 Newly alighted, and come to visit you. 
 
 Tim. They are fairly welcome. 
 
 Flav. I beseech your honour, 
 
 Vouchsafe me a word ; it does concern you near. 
 
 Tim. Near; why, then, another time I'll 
 
 hear thee: [entertainment. 
 
 I pr'ythee, let's be provided to show 'em 
 
 Flav. I scarce know how. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 797 
 
 Enter another Servant. 
 
 2 Serv. May it please your honour, Lord 
 
 Lucius, 
 
 Out of his free love, hath presented to you 
 Four milk-white horses, trapp'd in silver. 
 
 Tim. I shall accept them fairly: let the presents 
 Be worthily entertained. 
 
 Enter a third Servant. 
 
 How now ! what news ? 
 
 3 Serv, Please you, my lord, that honourable 
 gentleman, Lord Lucullus, entreats your com- 
 pany to-morrow to hunt with him ; and has 
 sent your honour two brace of greyhounds. 
 
 Tim. I '11 hunt with him ; and let them be 
 
 receiv'd, 
 Not without fair reward. 
 
 Flav. [Aside.'} What will this come to? 
 
 He commands us to provide, and give great gifts, 
 And all out of an empty coffer: 
 Nor will he know his purse ; or yield me this, 
 To show him what a beggar his heart is, 
 Being of no power to make his wishes good : 
 His promises fly so beyond his state 
 That what he speaks is all in debt, he owes 
 For every word : he is so kind that he now 
 Pays interest for 't ; his land 's put to their books. 
 Well, would I were gently put out of office 
 Before I were forc'd out ! 
 Happier is he that has no friend to feed 
 Than such that do e'en enemies exceed. 
 I bleed inwardly for my lord. [Exit. 
 
 Tim. You do yourselves 
 
 Much wrong, you bate too much of your own 
 
 merits : 
 Here, my lord, a trifle of our love. 
 
 2 Lord. With more than common thanks I 
 
 will receive it 
 
 3 Lord. O, he is the very soul of bounty ! 
 Tim. And now I remember, my lord, you gave 
 
 Good words the other day of a bay courser 
 I rode on : it is yours because you lik'd it. 
 
 3 Lord. O, I beseech you, pardon me, my 
 lord, in that. [know no man 
 
 Tim. You may take my word, my lord ; I 
 Can justly praise but what he does affect: 
 I weigh my friend's affection with mine own ; 
 I '11 tell you true. I '11 call to you. 
 
 All Lords. O, none so welcome. 
 
 Tim. I take all and your several visitations 
 So kind to heart, 'tis not enough to give ; 
 Methinks I could deal kingdoms to my friends 
 And ne'er be weary. Alcibiades, 
 Thou art a soldier, therefore seldom rich ; 
 It comes in charity to thee : for all thy living 
 Is 'mongst the dead ; and all the lands thou hast 
 Lie in a pitch'd field. 
 
 Alctb. Ay, defil'd land, my lord. 
 
 1 Lord. We are so virtuously bound, 
 Tim. And so 
 
 Am I to you. 
 
 2 Lord. So infinitely endear'd, 
 Tim. All to you. Lights, more lights. 
 
 I Lord. The best of happiness, 
 
 Honour, and fortunes keep with you, Lord 
 Timon ! 
 
 Tim. Ready for his friends. 
 
 [Exeunt ALCIBIADES, Lords, &*c. 
 
 Apem. What a coil 's here ! 
 
 Serving of becks and jutting-out of bums ! 
 I doubt whether their legs be worth the sums 
 That are given for 'em. Friendship's full of 
 dregs : [legs. 
 
 Methinks false hearts should never have sound 
 Thus honest fools lay out their wealth on 
 court'sies. [sullen 
 
 Tim. Now, Apemantus, if thou wert not 
 I would be good to thee. 
 
 Apem. No, I '11 nothing : for if I should be 
 bribed too, there would be none left to rail 
 upon thee ; and then thou wouldst sin the faster. 
 Thou givest so long, Timon, I fear me thou 
 wilt give away thyself in paper shortly : what 
 need these feasts, pomps, and vain glories? 
 
 Tim. Nay, an you begin to rail on society 
 once, I am sworn not to give regard to you. 
 Farewell ; and come with better music. [Exit. 
 
 Apem. So ; thou 'It not hear me now, 
 thou shall not then, I '11 lock thy heaven from 
 thee. 
 
 O, that men's ears should be 
 To counsel deaf, but not to flattery ! [Exit. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. ATHENS. A Room in a Senator's 
 House. 
 
 Enter a Senator, with papers in his hand. 
 
 Sen. And late, five thousand ; to Varro and 
 
 to Isidore [sum, 
 
 He owes nine thousand ; besides my former 
 
 Which makes it five-and-twenty. Still in 
 
 motion 
 
 Of raging \\aste ? It cannot hold ; it will not. 
 If I want gold, steal but a beggar's dog 
 And give it Timon, why, the dog coins gold : 
 If I would sell my horse and buy twenty more 
 Better than he, why, give my horse to Timon, 
 Ask nothing, give it him, it foals me, straight, 
 And able horses : no porter at his gate ; 
 But rather one that smiles, and still invites 
 All that pass by. It cannot hold ; no reason 
 
798 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 [ACT II. 
 
 Can found his state in safety. Caphis, ho ! 
 Caphis, I say ! 
 
 Enter CAPHIS. 
 
 Caph. Here, sir ; what is your pleasure ? 
 
 Sen. Get on your cloak and haste you to 
 
 Lord Timon ; 
 
 Importune him for my moneys ; be not ceas'd 
 With slight denial ; nor then silenc'd, when 
 Commend me to your master and the cap 
 Plays in the right hand, thus : but tell him 
 My uses cry to me, I must serve my turn 
 Out of mine own ; his days and times are past, 
 And my reliances on his fracted dates 
 Have smit my credit : I love and honour him ; 
 But must not break my back to heal his finger : 
 Immediate are my needs ; and my relief 
 Must not be toss'd and turn'd to me in words, 
 But find supply immediate. Get you gone : 
 Put on a most importunate aspect, 
 A visage of demand ; for, I do fear, 
 When every feather sticks in his own wing 
 Lord Timon will be left a naked gull, 
 Which flashes now a phoenix. Get you gone. 
 
 Caph. I go, sir. 
 
 Sen. Take the bonds along with you, 
 And have the dates in compt. 
 
 Caph. I will, sir. 
 
 Sen. Go. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. ATHENS. A Hall in TIMON'S 
 House. 
 
 Enter FLAVIUS, "with many bills in his hand. 
 
 Flav. No care, no stop ! so senseless of 
 
 expense 
 
 That he will neither know how to maintain it 
 Nor cease his flow of riot : takes no account 
 How things go from him ; nor resumes no care 
 Of what is to continue : never mind 
 Was to be so unwise to be so kind. 
 What shall be done ? he will not hear, till feel : 
 I must be round with him now he comes from 
 
 hunting. 
 Fie, fie, fie, fie ! 
 
 Enter CAPHIS, and the Servants of ISIDORE 
 and VARRO. 
 
 Caph. Good -even, Varro : what, 
 
 You come for money ? 
 
 Var. Serv. Is 't not your business too ? 
 
 Caph. It is : and yours too, Isidore ? 
 Isid. Serv. It is so. 
 
 Caph. Would we were all discharg'd ! 
 Var. Serv. I fear it. 
 
 Caph. Here comes the lord. 
 
 Enter TIMON, ALCIBIADES, and Lords, &e. 
 
 Tim. So soon as dinner 's done we '11 forth 
 
 again, 
 My Alcibiades. With me ? what is your will ? 
 
 Caph. My lord, here is a note of certain dues. 
 
 Tim. Dues ! whence are you ? 
 
 Caph. Of Athens here, my lord. 
 
 Tim. Go to my steward. [me off 
 
 Caph. Please it your lordship, he hath put 
 To the succession of new days this month : 
 My master is awak'd by great occasion 
 To call upon his own ; and humbly prays you 
 That, with your other noble parts, you '11 suit 
 In giving him his right. 
 
 Tim. Mine honest friend, 
 
 I pr'ythee but repair to me next morning. 
 
 Caph. Nay, good my lord, 
 
 Tim. Contain thyself, good friend. 
 
 Var* Serv. One Varro's servant, my good 
 lord, 
 
 Isid. Serv. From Isidore ; 
 He humbly prays your speedy payment, 
 
 Caph. If you did know, my lord, my master's 
 wants, [six weeks 
 
 Var. Serv. 'Twas due on forfeiture, my lord, 
 And past, 
 
 Isid. Serv. Your steward puts me off, my 
 
 lord; 
 And I am sent expressly to your lordship. 
 
 Tim. Give me breath. 
 I do beseech you, good my lords, keep on ; 
 I '11 wait upon you instantly. 
 
 [Exeunt ALCIBIADES and Lords. 
 Come hither : pray you, [To FLAVIUS. 
 
 How goes the world, that I am thus encounter'd 
 With clamorous demands of date-broke bonds, 
 And the detention of long-since-due debts, 
 Against my honour ? 
 
 Flav. Please you, gentlemen, 
 
 The time is unagreeable to this business : 
 Your importunacy cease till after dinner ; 
 That I may make his lordship understand 
 Wherefore you are not paid. 
 
 Tim. Do so, my friends. 
 
 See them well entertained. [Exit. 
 
 Flav. Pray, draw near. [Exit. 
 
 Enter APEMANTUS and Fool. 
 
 Caph. Stay, stay, here comes the fool with 
 Apemantus : let 's ha' some sport with 'em. 
 
 Var. Serv. Hang him, he '11 abuse us. 
 
 Isid. Serv. A plague upon him, dog ! 
 
 Var. Serv. How dost, fool ? 
 
 Apem. Dost dialogue with thy shadow ? 
 
 Var. Serv. I speak not to thee. 
 
 Apem. No, 'tis to thyself. Come away. 
 
 [To the Fool. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 799 
 
 hid. Serv. [To Var Serv.] There's the fool 
 hangs on your back already. 
 
 Apem. No, thou stand'st single, thou art not 
 on him yet. 
 
 Caph. Where 's the fool now ? 
 
 Apem. Pie last asked the question. Poor 
 rogues and usurers' men ! bawds between gold 
 and want ! 
 
 All Serv. What are we, Apemantus ? 
 
 Apem. Asses. 
 
 All Serv. Why? 
 
 Apem. That you ask me what you are, and 
 do not know yourselves. Speak to 'em, fool. 
 
 Fool. How do you, gentlemen ? 
 
 All Serv. Gramercies, good fool : how does 
 your mistress? 
 
 Fool. She's e'en setting on water to scald 
 such chickens as you are. Would we could 
 see you at Corinth. 
 
 Apem. Good ! gramercy. [page. 
 
 Fool. Look you, here comes my mistress' 
 
 Enter Page. 
 
 Page. [ To the Fool. ] Why, how now, captain ? 
 what do you in this wise company ? How dost 
 thou, Apemantus? 
 
 Apem. W.nild I had a rod in my mouth, 
 that I might answer thee profitably. 
 
 Page. Pr'ythee, Apemantus, read me the 
 superscription of these letters : I know not 
 which is which. 
 
 Apem. Canst not read ? 
 
 Page. No. 
 
 Apem. There will little learning die, then, 
 that day thou art hanged. This is to Lord 
 Timon ; this to Alcibiades. Go ; thou wast 
 born a bastard, and thou 'It die a bawd. 
 
 Page. Thou wast whelped a dog, and thou 
 shalt famish a dog's death. Answer not, I -3TH 
 gone. [Exit Page. 
 
 Apem. E'en so thou outrun'st grace. 
 Fool, I will go with you to Lord Timon's. 
 
 Fool. Will you leave me there ? 
 
 Apem. If Timon stay at home. You three 
 serve three usurers ? 
 
 All Serv. Ay ; would they served us ! 
 
 Apem. So would I, as good a trick as ever 
 hangman served thief. 
 
 Fool. Are you three usurers' men ? 
 
 All Serv. Ay, fool. 
 
 Fool. I think no usurer but has a fool to his 
 servant ; my mistress is one, and I am her fool. 
 When men come to borrow of your masters 
 they approach sadly and go away merry ; but 
 they enter my mistress' house merrily and go 
 away sadly : the reason of this? 
 
 Van Serv. 1 could render one. 
 
 Apem. Do it, then, that we may account 
 thee a whoremaster and a knave ; which, not- 
 withstanding, thou shalt be no less esteemed. 
 
 Var. Se)-v. What is a whoremaster, fool ? 
 
 Fool. A fool in good clothes, and something 
 like thee. 'Tis a spirit : sometime it appears 
 like a lord ; sometime like a lawyer ; some- 
 time like a philosopher, with two stones more 
 than 's artificial one. He is very often like a 
 knight ; and, generally, in all shapes that man 
 goes up and down in from fourscore to thirteen 
 this spirit walks in. 
 
 Var. Serv. Thou art not altogether a fool. 
 
 Fool. Nor thou altogether a wise man: as 
 much foolery as I have, so much wit thou lackest. 
 
 Apem. That answer might have become 
 Apemantus. [Timon. 
 
 Var. Serv. Aside, aside ; here comes Lord 
 
 Re-enter TlMON and FLAVIUS. 
 
 Apem. Come with me, fool, come. 
 
 Fool. I do not always follow lover, elder 
 
 brother, and woman ; sometime the philosopher. 
 
 [Exeunt APEMANTUS and Fool. 
 
 Flav. Pray you, walk near ; I '11 speak with 
 you anon. [Exeunt Serv. 
 
 Tim. You make me marvel : wherefore, ere 
 
 this time, 
 
 Had you not fully laid my state before me ; 
 That I might so have rated my expense 
 As I had leave of means ? 
 
 Flav. You would not hear me 
 
 At many leisures I propos'd. 
 
 Tim- Go to : 
 
 Perchance some single vantages you took 
 When my indisposition put you back ; 
 And that unaptness made you minister 
 Thus to excuse yourself. 
 
 Flav. O my good lord 
 
 At many times I brought in my accounts, [off, 
 Laid them before you ; you would throw them 
 And say you found them in mine honesty. 
 When, for some trifling present, you have bid 
 me [wept ; 
 
 Return so much, I have shook my head and 
 Yea, 'gainst the authority of manners, pray'd you 
 To hold your hand more close : I did endure 
 Not seldom, nor no slight checks, when I have 
 Prompted you, in the ebb of your estate, 
 And your great flow of debts. My loved lord, 
 Though you hear now, too late ! yet now 's 
 
 a time, 
 
 The greatest of your having lacks a half 
 To pay your present debts. 
 
 Tim. Let all my land be sold. 
 
 Flav. 'Tis all engaged, some forfeited and 
 gone; 
 
8oo 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 And what remains will hardly stop the mouth 
 Of present dues : the future comes apace : 
 What shall defend the interim ? and at length 
 How goes our reckoning ? 
 
 Tim. To Lacedaemon did my land extend. 
 Flav. O my good lord, the world is but a 
 
 word: 
 
 Were it all yours to give it in a breath, 
 How quickly were it gone ! 
 
 Tim. You tell me true. 
 
 Flav. If you suspect my husbandry or false- 
 hood, 
 
 Call me before the exactest auditors 
 And set me on the proof. So the gods bless me, 
 When all our offices have been oppress'd 
 With riotous feeders ; when our vaults have wept 
 With drunken spilth of wine ; when every room 
 Hath blaz'd with lights and bray'd with min- 
 strelsy ; 
 
 I have retir'd me to a wasteful cock, 
 And set mine eyes at flow. 
 
 Tim Pr'ythee, no more. 
 
 Flav. Heavens, have I said, the bounty of 
 this lord ! [ants 
 
 How many prodigal bits have slaves and peas- 
 This night englutted ! Who is not Timon's ? 
 What heart, head, sword, force, means, but is 
 
 Lord Timon's ? 
 
 Great Timon, noble, worthy, royal Timon ! 
 Ah ! when the means are gone that buy this 
 
 praise 
 
 The breath is gone whereof this praise is made : 
 Feast-won, fast-lost ; one cloud of winter 
 
 showers, 
 These flies are couch'd. 
 
 Tim. Come, sermon me no further : 
 
 No villanous bounty yet hath passed my heart ; 
 Unwisely, not ignobly, have I given. 
 Why dost thou weep? Canst thou the con- 
 science lack 
 To think I shall lack friends? Secure thy 
 
 heart ; 
 
 If I would broach the vessels of my love, 
 And try the argument of hearts by borrowing, 
 Men and men's fortunes could I frankly use 
 As I can bid thee speak. 
 
 Flav. Assurance bless your thoughts ! 
 
 Tim. And, in some sort, these wants of mine 
 
 are crown 'd 
 
 That I account them blessings ; for by these 
 Shall I try friends : you shall perceive how you 
 Mistake my fortunes ; I am weal thy in my friends. 
 Within there ! Flaminius ! Servilius ! 
 
 Enter FLAMINIUS, SERVILIUS, and other 
 
 Servants. 
 Serv. My lord ? my lord ? 
 
 Tim. I will despatch you severally : you to 
 Lord Lucius ; to Lord Lucullus you ; I hunted 
 with his honour to-day ; you to Sempronius : 
 commend me to their loves ; and I am proud, 
 say, that my occasions have found time 10 use 
 'em toward a supply of money : let the request 
 be fifty talents. 
 
 Flam. As you have said, my lord. 
 Flav. Lord Lucius and Lucullus ? hum ! 
 
 [Aside. 
 Tim. Go you, sir, [ to another Serv.] to the 
 
 senators, 
 
 Of whom, even to the state's best health, I have 
 Deserv'd this hearing, bid 'em send o' the instant 
 A thousand talents to me. 
 
 Flav. I have been bold, 
 
 For that I knew it the most general way, 
 To them to use your signet and your name ; 
 But they do shake their heads, and I am here 
 No richer in return. 
 
 Tim. Is 't true ? can 't be ? 
 
 Flav. They answer, in a joint and corporate 
 
 voice, 
 
 That now they are at fall, want treasure, cannot 
 Do what they would ; are sorry you are 
 
 honourable, [not 
 
 But yet they could have wish'd they know 
 Something hath been amiss a noble nature 
 May catch a wrench would all were well 
 
 /tis pity ; 
 
 And so, intending other serious matters, 
 After distasteful looks, and these hard fractions, 
 With certain half- caps and cold-moving nods, 
 They froze me into silence. 
 
 Tim. You gods, reward them ? 
 
 Pr'ythee, man, look cheerly These old fellows 
 Have their ingratitude in them hereditary : 
 Their blood is cak'd, 'tis cola, it seldom flows ; 
 'Tis lack of kindly warmth they are not kind ; 
 And nature, as it grows again toward earth, 
 Is fashion'd for the journey dull and heavy. 
 Go to Ventidius [ to a Serv ] ; pr'ythee, [ to 
 
 FLAVIUS] be not sad, 
 
 Thou art true and honest ; ingeniously I speak, 
 No blame belongs to thee: \To Serv.] Ven- 
 tidius lately 
 
 Buried his father ; by whose death he 's stepp'd 
 Into a great estate : when he was poor, 
 Imprison'd, and in scarcity of friends, [me ; 
 I clear'd him with five talents : greet him from 
 Bid him suppose some good necessity [ber'd 
 Touches his friend, which craves to be remem- 
 With those five talents: \To FLAV.] That 
 
 had, give 't these fellows 
 To whom 'tis instant due. Ne'er speak or 
 
 think [sink. 
 
 That Timon's fortunes 'mong his friends can 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 801 
 
 Flav. I would I could not think it: that 
 
 thought is bounty's foe ; 
 Being free itself it thinks all others so. {Exeunt. 
 
 ,'f- 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. ATHENS. A Room in LUCULLUS' 
 House. 
 
 FLAMINIUS waiting. Enter a Servant to 
 him. 
 
 Serv. I have told my lord of you ; he is 
 coming down to you. 
 Flam. I thank you, sir. 
 
 Enter LUCULLUS 
 
 Serv. Here 's my lord. 
 
 LucuL {Aside.'} One of Lord Timon's men? 
 a gift, I warrant. Why, this hits right ; I 
 dreamt of a silver basin and ewer to-night. 
 Flaminius, honest Flaminius ; you are very 
 respectively welcome, sir. Fill me some wine. 
 {Exit Servant.] And how does that honour- 
 able, complete, free-hearted gentleman of 
 Athens, thy very bountiful good lord and 
 master ? 
 
 Flam. His health is well, sir, 
 
 Lucul. I am right glad that his health is well, 
 sir : and what hast thou Uere under thy cloak, 
 pretty Flaminius? 
 
 Flam. Faith, nothing but an empty box, sir ; 
 which, in my lord's behalf, I come to entreat 
 your honour to supply ; who, having great and 
 instant occasion to use fifty talents, hath sent to 
 your lordship to furnish him, nothing doubting 
 your present assistance therein. 
 
 Lucul. La, la, la, la, nothing doubting, 
 says he ? Alas, good lord ! a noble gentleman 
 'tis, if he would not keep so good a house. 
 Many a time and often I ha'e dined with him 
 and told him on 't ; and come again to supper 
 to him of purpose tc have him spend less ; and 
 yet he would embrace no counsel, take no 
 warning by my coming. Every man has his 
 fault, and honesty is his : I ha'e told him on 't, 
 but I could ne'er get him from 't. 
 
 Re-enter Servant, with wine. 
 
 Serv. Please your lordship, here is the wine. 
 
 Liuul. Flaminius, I have noted thee always 
 wise. Here 's to thee. 
 
 Flam. Your lordship speaks your pleasure. 
 
 LucuL I have observed thee always for a to- 
 wardly prompt spirit, give thee thy due, and 
 one that knows what belongs to reason; and 
 canst use the time well, if the time use thee 
 
 well : good parts in thee. Get you gone, sirrah 
 [to the Servant, who goes out.] Draw nearer, 
 honest Flaminius. Thy lord 's a bountiful 
 gentleman: but thou art wise; and thou 
 knowest well enough, although thou comest to 
 me, that this is no time to lend money ; especially 
 upon bare friendship, without security. I lere 's 
 three solidares for thee : good boy, wink at me, 
 and say thou saw'st me not. Fare thee well. 
 
 Flam. Is't possible the world should so 
 
 much differ : 
 
 And we alive that liv'd ! Fly, damned baseness, 
 To him that worships thee. 
 
 [ Throwing the money back. 
 
 Lucul. Ha ! now I see thou art a fool, and fit 
 for thy master. {Exit. 
 
 Flam* May these add to the number that 
 
 may scald thee ! 
 
 Let molten coin be thy damnation, 
 Thou disease of a friend and not himself! 
 Has friendship such a faint and milky heart, 
 It turns in less than two nights? O you gods, 
 I feel my master's passion ! This slave 
 Unto his honour has my lord's meat in him : 
 Why should it thrive and turn to nutriment 
 When he is turn'd to poison? 
 O, may diseases only work upon 't ! 
 And when he 's sick to death, let not that part 
 
 of nature 
 
 Which my lord paid for, be of any power 
 To expel sickness, but prolong his hour ! 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. ATHENS. A public Place. 
 Enter Lucius, with Three Strangers. 
 
 Luc Who, the Lord Timon? he is my very 
 good friend, and an honourable gentleman. 
 
 1 Stran. We know him for no less, though 
 we are but strangers to him. But I can tell 
 you one thing, my lord, and which I hear from 
 common rumours, now Lord Timon's happy 
 hours are done and past, and his estate shrinks 
 from him. 
 
 Luc. Fie, no, do not believe it; he cannot 
 want for money. 
 
 2 Stran. But believe you this, my lord, that 
 not long ago, one of his men was with the Lord 
 Lucullus to borrow so many talents; nay, urged 
 extremely for 't, and showed what necessity be- 
 longed to 't, and yet was denied. 
 
 Luc. How? 
 
 2 Stran. I tell you, denied, my lord. 
 
 Luc. What a strange case was that ! now, 
 before the gods, I am ashamed on 't. Denied 
 that honourable man! there was very little 
 honour showed in 't. For my own part, I must 
 
 2 C 
 
802 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 needs confess I have received some small kind- 
 nesses from him, as money, plate, jewels, and 
 such like trifles, nothing comparing to his ; yet, 
 had he mistook him and sent to me, I should 
 ne'er have denied his occasion so many talents. 
 
 Enter SERVILIUS. 
 
 Ser. See, by good hap, yonder 's my lord ; I 
 have sweat to see his honour. My honoured 
 lord, [To Lucius. 
 
 Luc. Servilius ! you are kindly met, sir. Fare 
 thee well: commend me to thy honourable- 
 virtuous lord, my very exquisite friend. 
 
 Ser. May it please your honour, my lord 
 hath sent, -B j 7i: 
 
 Luc. Ha! what has he sent? I am so much 
 endeared to that lord ; he 's ever sending : how 
 shall I thank him, thinkest thou? And what 
 has he sent now? 
 
 Ser. Has only sent his present occasion now, 
 my lord ; requesting your lordship to supply his 
 instant use with so many talents. 
 
 Luc. I know his lordship is but merry with 
 
 me; 
 He cannot want fifty-five hundred talents. 
 
 Ser. But in the meantime he wants less, my 
 
 lord. 
 
 If his occasion were not virtuous 
 I should not urge it half so faithfully. 
 
 Luc. Dost thou speak seriously, Servilius? 
 
 Ser. Upon my soul, 'tis true, sir. 
 
 Luc. What a wicked beast was I to disfurnish 
 myself against such a good time, when I might 
 ha' shown myself honourable ! how unluckily it 
 happened that I should purchase the day before 
 for a little part, and undo a great deal of honour ! 
 Servilius, now, before the gods, I am not able 
 to do 't, the more beast, I say. I was send- 
 ing to use Lord Timon myself, these gentlemen 
 can witness ; but I would not for the wealth of 
 Athens I had done't now. Commend me 
 bountifully to his good lordship ; and I hope 
 his honour will conceive the fairest of me, 
 because I have no power to be kind : and tell 
 him this from me, I count it one of my greatest 
 afflictions, say, that I cannot pleasure such an 
 honourable gentleman. Good Servilius, will 
 you befriend me so far as to use mine own 
 words to him ? 
 
 Ser. Yes, sir, I shall. 
 
 Luc. I '11 look you out a good turn, Servilius. 
 [Exit SERVILIUS. 
 
 True, as you said, Timon is shrunk indeed ; 
 And he that 's once denied will hardly speed. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 1 Stran. Do you observe this, Hostilius? 
 
 2 Stran. Ay, too well. 
 
 I Stran. Why, this is the world's soul ; and 
 
 just of the same piece 
 
 Is every flatterer's spirit. Who can call him 
 His friend that dips in the same dish? for, in 
 My knowing, Timon has been this lord's father, 
 And kept his credit with his purse ; 
 Supported his estate ; nay, Timon's money 
 Has paid his men their wages : he ne'er drinks 
 But Timon's silver treads upon his lip ; 
 And yet, O see the monstrousness of man 
 When he looks out in an ungrateful shape ! 
 He does deny him, in respect of his, 
 What charitable men afford to beggars. 
 
 3 Stran. Religion groans at it 
 
 I Stran. For mine own part, 
 
 I never tasted Timon in my life, 
 Nor came any of his bounties over me 
 To mark me for his friend ; yet I protest, 
 For his right noble mind, illustrious virtue, 
 And honourable carriage, 
 Had his necessity made use of me, 
 I would have put my wealth into donation, 
 And the best half should have return'd to him, 
 So much I love his heart : but, I perceive, 
 Men must learn now with pity to dispense : 
 For policy sits above conscience. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. ATHENS. A Room in 
 SEMPRONIUS' House. 
 
 Enter SEMPRONIUS and a Servant of 
 TIMON'S. 
 
 Sem. Must he needs trouble me in 't, hum ! 
 
 'bove all others? 
 
 He might have tried Lord Lucius or Lucullus ; 
 And now Ventidius is wealthy too, 
 Whom he redeem'd from prison : all these 
 Owe their estates unto him. 
 
 Serv. My lord, 
 
 They have all been touch'd and found base 
 
 metal; for 
 They have all denied him. 
 
 Sem. How ! have they denied him ? 
 
 Has Ventidius and Lucullus denied him? 
 And does he send to me? Three? hum ! 
 It shows but little love or judgment in him : 
 Must I be his last refuge J His friends, like 
 
 physicians, 
 Thrive, give him over: must I take the cure 
 
 upon me? him, 
 
 Has much disgrac'd me in't; I am angry at 
 That might have known my place : I see no 
 
 sense for 't, 
 
 But his occasions might have woo'd me first ; 
 For, in my conscience, I was the first man 
 That e'er received gift from him : 
 And does he think so backwardly of me now 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 803 
 
 That I '11 requite it last? No: 
 
 So it may prove an argument of laughter 
 
 To the rest, and 'mongst the lords I be thought 
 
 a fool. 
 
 I had rather than the worth of thrice the sum 
 Had sent to me first, but for my mind's sake ; 
 I had such a courage to do him good. But now 
 
 return, 
 
 And with their faint reply this answer join ; 
 Who bates mine honour shall not know my coin. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Serv. Excellent! Your lordship 's a goodly 
 villain. The devil knew not what he did when 
 he made man politic, he cross'd himself by 't : 
 and I cannot think but, in the end, the villanies 
 of man will set him clear. How fairly this lord 
 strives to appear foul ! takes virtuous copies to 
 be wicked ; like those that under hot ardent 
 zeal would set whole realms on fire : 
 Of such a nature is his politic love. 
 This was my lord's best hope ; now all are fled, 
 Save only the gods: now his friends are dead, 
 Doors, that were ne'er acquainted with their 
 
 wards 
 
 Many a bounteous year, must be employ'd 
 Now to guard sure their master. 
 And this is all a liberal course allows ; 
 Who cannot keep his wealth must keep his 
 
 house. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV. ATHENS. A Hall in TIMON'S 
 
 House. 
 Enter Two Servants of VARRO and the Servant 
 
 of Lucius, meeting TITUS, HORTENSIUS, 
 
 and other Servants of TIMON'S creditors^ 
 
 waiting his coming out. 
 
 i Var. Serv. Well met ; good-morrow, Titus 
 and Hortensius. 
 
 Tit. The like to you, kind Varro. 
 
 Hor. Lucius ! 
 
 What, do we meet together ? 
 
 Luc. Serv. Ay, and I think 
 
 One business does command us all ; for mine 
 Is money. 
 ^ Tit. So is theirs and ours. 
 
 Enter PHILOTUS. 
 
 Luc. Serv. And Sir Philotus too ! 
 
 Phi. Good-day at once. 
 
 Luc. Serv. Welcome, good brother. 
 
 What do you think the hour? 
 
 Phi. Labouring for nine. 
 
 Luc. Serv. So much? 
 
 Phi. Is not my lord seen yet? 
 
 Luc. Serv. Not yet. 
 
 Phi. I wonder on 't : he was wont to shine 
 at seven. 
 
 Luc. Serv. Ay, but the days are waxed shorter 
 
 with him : 
 
 You must consider that a prodigal course 
 Is like the sun's ; but not, like his, recoverable. 
 I fear 
 
 'Tis deepest winter in Lord Timon's purse ; 
 That is, one may reach deep enough and yet 
 Find little. 
 
 Phi. I am of your fear for that. [event. 
 
 Tit. I '11 show you how to observe a strange 
 Your lord sends now for money. 
 
 Hor. Most true, he does. 
 
 Tit. And he wears jewels now of Timon's gift, 
 For which I wait for money. 
 
 Hor. It is against my heart. 
 
 Luc. Serv. Mark how strange it shows, 
 
 Timon in this should pay more than he owes : 
 And e'en as if your lord should wear rich jewels 
 And send for money for 'em. 
 
 Hor. I am weary of this charge, the gods 
 
 can witness : 
 
 I know my lord hath spent of Timon's wealth, 
 And now ingratitude makes it worse than stealth. 
 
 I Var. Serv. Yes, mine's three thousand 
 crowns : what 's yours ? 
 
 Luc. Serv. Five thousand mine. 
 
 I Var. Serv. 'Tis much deep : and it should 
 
 seem by the sum 
 
 Your master's confidence was above mine ; 
 Else, surely, his had equall'd. 
 
 Enter FLAMINIUS. 
 
 Tit. One of Lord Timon's men. 
 
 Luc. Serv. Flaminius ! sir, a word : pray, is 
 my lord ready to come forth ? 
 
 Flam. No, indeed, he'is not. 
 
 Tit. We attend his lordship ; pray, signify 
 so much. 
 
 Flam. I need not tell him that ; he knows 
 you are too diligent. [Exit. 
 
 Enter FLAVIUS, in a cloak , muffled. 
 
 Luc. Serv. Ha ! is not that his steward 
 
 muffled so ? 
 He goes away in a cloud : call him, call him. 
 
 Tit. Do you hear, sir ? 
 
 Both Var. Serv. By your leave, sir, 
 
 Flav. What do you ask of me, my friends ? 
 
 Tit. We wait for certain money here, sir. 
 
 Flav. Ay, 
 
 If money were as certain as your waiting 
 'Twere sure enough. 
 
 Why then preferr'd you not your sums and bills 
 When your false masters eat of my lord's meat? 
 Then they could smile, and fawn upon his 
 debts, [maws. 
 
 And take down th' interest into their gluttonous 
 
804 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 [ACT III. 
 
 You do yourselves but wrong to stir me up ; 
 Let me pass quietly : 
 
 Believe 't my lord and I have made an end j 
 I have no more to reckon, he to spend. 
 
 Liic. Serv. Ay, but this answer will not serve. 
 
 Flav. If 'twill not serve 'tis not so base as you ; 
 For you serve knaves. [Exit 
 
 1 Var. Serv. How ! What does his cashier'd 
 worship mutter ? 
 
 2 Var. Serv. No matter what ; he 's poor, 
 and that's revenge enough. Who can speak 
 broader than he that has no house to put his 
 head in ? such may rail against great buildings. 
 
 Enter SERVILIUS. 
 
 Tit. O, here 's Servilius ; now we shall know 
 some answer. 
 
 Ser. If I might beseech you, gentlemen, to 
 repair some other hour, I should much derive 
 from 't ; for, take 't of my soul, my lord leans 
 wondrously to discontent : his comfortable tem- 
 per has forsook him ; he is much out ot health, 
 and keeps his chamber, [not sick : 
 
 Luc. Serv. Many do keep their chambers are 
 And, if it be so far beyond his health, 
 Methinks he should the sooner pay his debts, 
 And make a clear way to the gods. 
 
 Ser. Good gods ! 
 
 Tit. We cannot take this for answer, sir. 
 
 Flam. [ Within. ] Servilius, help ! my lord ! 
 my lord ! 
 
 .SwterTiMON, in a rage; FLAMINIUS/^/^Z^/W^; 
 
 Tint. What, are my doors oppos'd against 
 
 my passage ? 
 
 Have I been ever free, and must my house 
 Be my retentive enemy, my gaol ? 
 The place which I have feasted, does it now, 
 Like all mankind, show me an iron heart ? 
 
 Luc. Serv. Put in now, Titus. 
 
 Tit. My lord, here is rny bill. 
 
 Luc. Serv. Here 's mine. 
 
 Hor. Serv. And mine, my lord. 
 
 Both. Var. Serv. And ours, my lord. 
 
 Phi. All our bills. [to the girdle. 
 
 Tim. Knock me down with 'em : cleave me 
 
 Luc. Serv. Alas, my lord, 
 
 Tim. Cut my heart in sums. 
 
 Tit. Mine, fifty talents. 
 
 Tim. Tell out my blood. 
 
 Luc. Serv. Five thousand crowns, my lord. 
 
 Tim. Five thousand drops pays that. 
 What yours ? and yours ? 
 
 1 Var. Serv. My lord, 
 
 2 Var. Serv. My lord, 
 
 Tim. Tear me, take me, and the gods fall 
 upon you t [Exit. 
 
 Hor. Faith, I perceive our masters may 
 throw their caps at their money : these debts 
 may well be called desperate ones, for a mad- 
 man owes 'em. [Exeunt. 
 
 Re-enter TIMON and FLAVIUS. 
 
 Tim. They have e'en put my breath from 
 
 me, the slaves. 
 Creditors ! devils. 
 
 Flav. My dear lord, 
 
 Tim. What if it should be so ? 
 
 Flam. My lord, 
 
 Tim. I '11 have it so. My steward ! 
 
 Flav. Here, my lord. 
 
 Tim. So fitly ? Go, bid all my friends again, 
 Lucius, Lucullus, and Sempronius ; all : 
 I 'II once more feast the rascals 
 
 Flav. O my lord, 
 
 You only speak from your distracted soul ; 
 There is not so much left to furnish out 
 A moderate table. 
 
 Tim. Be 't not in thy care J go, 
 
 I charge thee, invite them all : let in the tide 
 Of knaves once more ; my cook and I J ll pro- 
 vide, [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V k ATHENS. The Senate House. 
 
 . 
 The Senate sitting. 
 
 1 Sen. My lords, you have my voice to it ; 
 
 the fault 's 
 
 Bloody ; 'tis necessary he should die : 
 Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy. 
 
 2 Sen. Most true ; the law shall bruise him. 
 
 Enter ALCIBIADES, attended. 
 
 Alcib. Honour, health, and compassion to 
 the senate ! 
 
 I Sen. Now, captain ? 
 
 Alcib. I am an humble suitor to your virtues ; 
 For pity is the virtue of the law, 
 And none but tyrants use it cruelly. 
 It pleases time and fortune to lie heavy: 
 Upon a friend of mine, who, in hot blood, 
 I lath stepp'd into the law, which is past depth 
 To those that without heed do plunge into 't. 
 He is a man, setting his fate aside, 
 Of comely virtues : 
 
 Nor did he soil the fact with cowardice, 
 An honour in him which buys out his fault, 
 But with a noble fury and fair spirit, 
 Seeing his reputation touch'd to death, 
 He did oppose his foe : 
 And with such sober and unnoted passion 
 He did behove his anger ere 'twas spent, 
 As if he had but prov'd an argument. 
 
 I Sen. You undergo too strict a paradox, 
 
SCENE V.] 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 805 
 
 Striving to make an ugly deed look fair : 
 Your words have took such pains, as if they 
 laboured [quarrelling 
 
 To bring manslaughter into form, and set 
 Upon the head of valour ; which, indeed, 
 Is valour misbegot, and came into the world 
 When sects and factions were newly born : 
 He 's truly valiant that can wisely suffer 
 The worst that man can breathe ; and make 
 
 > his wrongs [carelessly ; 
 
 His outsides, to wear them like his raiment, 
 And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart, 
 To bring it into danger. 
 If wrongs be evils, and enforce us kill, 
 What folly 'tis to hazard life for ill ! 
 
 Alcib. My lord, [clear : 
 
 1 Sen. You cannot make gross sins look 
 To revenge is no valour, but to bear. [me, 
 
 Alcib. My lords, then, under favour, pardon 
 If I speak like a captain : 
 Why do fond men expose themselves to battle, 
 And not endure all threats ? sleep upon 't, 
 And let the foes quietly cut their throats, 
 Without repugnancy ? but if there be 
 Such valour in the bearing, what make we 
 Abroad ? why, then, women are more valiant, 
 That stay at home, if bearing carry it ; 
 And th' ass more captain than the lion ; the 
 
 fellow 
 
 Loaden with irons wiser than the judge, 
 If wisdom be in suffering. O my lords, 
 As you are great, be pitifully good : 
 Who cannot condemn rashness in cold blood ? 
 To kill, I grant, is sin's extremest gust ; 
 But, in defence, by mercy, 'tis most just 
 To be in anger is impiety ; 
 But who is man that is not angry ? 
 Weigh but the crime with this. 
 
 2 Sen. You breathe in vain. 
 
 Alcib. In vain ! his service done 
 
 At Lacedsemon and Byzantium 
 Were a sufficient briber for his life. 
 
 1 Sen. What's that? 
 
 Alcib. Why, I say, my lords, h'as done fair 
 
 service, 
 
 And slain in fight many of your enemies : 
 How full of valour did he bear himself 
 In the last conflict, and made plenteous wounds ! 
 
 2 Sen. He has made too much plenty with 
 
 'em, he 
 
 Is a sworn rioter : he has a sin that often 
 Drowns him, and takes his valour prisoner : 
 If there were no foes, that were enough 
 To overcome him : in that beastly fury 
 He has been known to commit outrages 
 And cherish factions : 'tis inferr'd to us 
 His days are foul and his drink dangerous. 
 
 I Sen. He dies. 
 
 Alcib. Hard fate ! he might have died in war. 
 My lords, if not for any parts in him, ^ 
 Though his right arm might purchase his own 
 
 time, 
 And be in debt to none, yet, more to move 
 
 you, 
 
 Take my deserts to his, and join them both : 
 And, for I know your reverend ages love 
 Security, I '11 pawn my victories, all 
 My honours to you, upon his good returns. 
 If by this crime he owes the law his life, 
 Why, let the war receiv 't in valiant gore ; 
 For law is strict, and war is nothing more. 
 
 1 Sen. We are for law, he dies ; urge it no 
 
 more, 
 
 On height of our displeasure : friend or brother, 
 He forfeits his own blood that spills another. 
 
 Alcib. Must it be so ? it must not be. My lords, 
 I do beseech you, know me. 
 
 2 Sen. How I 
 
 Alcib. Call me to your remembrances. 
 
 3 Sen. What I 
 Alcib. I cannot think but your age has for- 
 got me ; 
 
 It could not else be I should prove so base 
 
 To sue, and be denied such common grace : 
 
 My wounds ache at you. 
 
 I Sen. Do you dare our anger? 
 
 'Tis in few words, but spacious in effect ; 
 
 We banish thee for ever. 
 
 Alcib. Banish me ! 
 
 Banish your dotage ; banish usury, 
 
 That makes the senate ugly, 
 
 i Sen. If, after two days' shine, Athens con- 
 tain thee, 
 
 Attend our weightier judgment. And, not to 
 swell our spirit, 
 
 He shall be executed presently. 
 
 [Exeunt Senators. 
 
 Alcib. Now the gods keep you old enough ; 
 that you may live 
 
 Only in bone, that none may look on you ! 
 
 I am worse than mad : I have kept back their 
 foes, 
 
 While they have told their money, and let out 
 
 Their coin upon large interest ; I myself 
 
 Rich only in large hurts ; all those for this ? 
 
 Is this the balsam that the usuring senate 
 
 Pours into captains' wounds? Ha ! banishment ? 
 
 It comes not ill ; I hate not to be banish'd ; 
 
 It is a cause worthy my spleen and fury, 
 
 That I may strike at Athens. I '11 cheer up 
 
 My discontented troops, and lay for hearts. 
 
 'Tis honour with most lands to be at odds ; 
 
 Soldiers should brook as little wrongs as gods. 
 
 {Exit. 
 
So6 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 [ACT HI.\ 
 
 SCENE VI. ATHENS. A magnificent Room 
 in TIMON'S House. 
 
 Music. Tables set out: Servants attending. 
 Enter divers Lords at several doors. 
 
 1 Lord. The good time of day to you, sir. 
 
 2 Lord. I also wish it to you. I think this 
 honourable lord did but try us this other day. 
 
 1 Lord. Upon that were my thoughts tiring 
 when we encountered : I hope it is not so low 
 with him as he made it seem in the trial of his 
 several friends. 
 
 2 Lord. It should not be by the persuasion 
 of his new feasting. 
 
 1 Lord. I should think so : he hath sent me 
 an earnest inviting, which many my near occa- 
 sions did urge me to put off; but he hath 
 conjured me beyond them, and I must needs 
 appear. 
 
 2 Lord. In like manner was I in debt to my 
 importunate business, but he would not hear 
 my excuse. I am sorry, when he sent to borrow 
 of me, that my provision was out. 
 
 1 Lord. I am sick of that grief too, as I 
 understand how all things go. 
 
 2 Lord. Every man here 's so. What would 
 he have borrowed of you ? 
 
 1 Lord. A thousand pieces. 
 
 2 Lord. A thousand pieces ! 
 I Lord. What of you ? 
 
 3 Lord. He sent to me, sir, Here he comes. 
 
 Enter TIMON and Attendants. 
 
 Tim. With all my heart, gentlemen both. 
 And how fare you ? 
 
 1 Lord. Ever at the best, hearing well of 
 your lordship. 
 
 2 Lord. The swallow follows not summer 
 more willing than we your lordship. 
 
 Tim. Nor more willingly leaves winter ; 
 such summer -birds are men. [Aside.'} Gentle- 
 men, our dinner will not recompense this long 
 stay : feast your ears with the music awhile, if 
 they will fare so harshly o' the trumpet's 
 sound ; we shall to 't presently. 
 
 1 Lord. I hope it remains not unkindly 
 with your lordship that I returned you an 
 empty messenger. 
 
 Tim. O, sir, let it not trouble you. 
 
 2 Lord. My noble lord, 
 
 Tim. Ah, my good friend ! what cheer ? 
 
 2 Lord. My most honourable lord, I am e'en 
 sick of shame that, when your lordship this 
 other day sent to me, I was so unfortunate a 
 beggar. 
 
 Tim. Think not on 't, sir. 
 t 
 
 2 Lord. If you had sent but two hours 
 before, 
 
 Tim. Let it not cumber your better remem- 
 brance. Come, bring in all together. 
 
 [ The banquet brought in. 
 
 2 Lord. All covered dishes ! 
 
 I Lord. Royal cheer, I warrant you. 
 3 Lord. Doubt not that, if money and the 
 season can yield it. 
 
 i Lord. How do you ? What 's the news ? 
 3 Lord. Alcibiades is banished: hear you of it? 
 I <Sr* 2 Lord. Alcibiades banished ! 
 3 Lord. 'Tis so, be sure of it. 
 
 1 Lord. How ! how ! 
 
 2 Lord. I pray you, upon what ? 
 
 Tim. My worthy friends, will you draw near? 
 
 3 Lord. I '11 tell you more anon. Here 's a 
 noble feast toward. 
 
 2 Lord. This is the old man still. 
 
 3 Lord. Will't hold? will't hold? 
 
 2 Lord. It does : but time will and so, 
 
 3 Lord. I do conceive. 
 
 Tim. Each man to his stool with that spur 
 as he would to the lip of his mistress : your 
 diet shall be in all places alike. Make not a 
 city feast of it, to let the meat cool ere we can 
 agree upon the first place : sit, sit. The gods 
 require our thanks. 
 
 You great benefactors, sprinkle our society with 
 thankfulness. For your own gifts make yourselves 
 praised : but reserve still to give, lest your deities be 
 despised. Lend to each man enough, that one need 
 not lend to another ; for, were your godheads to borrow 
 of men, men would forsake the gods. Make the meat 
 be beloved more than the man that gives it. Let no 
 assembly of twenty be without a score of villains : if 
 there sit twelve women at the table, let a dozen of them 
 be as they are. The rest of your fees, O gods, the 
 senators of Athens, together with the common tag of 
 people, what is amiss in them, you gods, make suit- 
 able for destruction. For these my present friends, as 
 they are to me nothing, so in nothing bless them, and 
 to nothing are they welcome. 
 Uncover, dogs, and lap. 
 
 [ The dishes , when uncovered, are seen 
 
 to be full of warm water. 
 Some speak. What does his lordship mean ? 
 Some other. I know not. 
 Tim. May you a better feast never behold, 
 You knot of mouth-friends ! smoke and luke- 
 warm water 
 
 Is your perfection. This is Timon's last ; 
 Who, stuck and spangled with your flatteries, 
 Washes it off, and sprinkles in your faces 
 
 [ Throwing the water in their faces. 
 Your reeking villany. Live loath'd and long, 
 Most smiling, smooth, detested parasites, 
 Courteous destroyers, affable wolves, meek 
 bears, [flies, 
 
 You fools of fortune, trencher-friends, time's 
 
SCENE VI.] 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 807 
 
 Cap and knee slaves, vapours, and minute-jacks! 
 Of man and beast the infinite malady 
 Crust you quite o'er ! What, dost you go ? 
 Soft, take thy physic first, thou too, and 
 
 thou ; 
 
 Stay, I will lend thee money, borrow none. 
 [ Throws the dishes at them, and 
 
 drives them out. 
 
 What, all in motion ? Henceforth be no feast 
 Whereat a villain 's not a welcome guest. 
 Burn, house ! sink, Athens ! henceforth hated be 
 Of Timon, man, and all humanity ! [Exit. 
 
 Re-enter the Lords. 
 
 1 Lord. How now, my lords ! 
 
 2 Lord. Know you the quality of Lord 
 Timon's fury? 
 
 3 Lord. Pish ! did you see my cap ? 
 
 4 Lord. I have lost my gown. 
 
 1 Lord. He's but a mad lord, and naught 
 but humour sways him. He gave me a jewel 
 the other day, and now he has beat it out of 
 my hat : did you see my jewel ? 
 
 3 Lord. Did you see my cap ? 
 
 2 Lord. Here 'tis. 
 
 4 Lord. Here lies my gown. 
 
 1 Lord. Let 's make no stay. 
 
 2 Lord. Lord Timon 's mad. 
 
 3 Lord. I feel 't upon my bones. 
 
 4 Lord. One day he gives us diamonds, next 
 
 day stones. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. Without the Walls ^ATHENS. 
 
 Enter TIMON. 
 Tim. Let me look back upon thee, O thou 
 
 wall 
 
 That girdlest in those wolves, dive in the earth 
 And fence not Athens ! Matrons, turn incon- 
 tinent ! 
 
 Obedience fail in children! slaves and fools, 
 Pluck the grave wrinkled senate from the bench 
 And minister in their steads! to general filths 
 Convert, o' the instant, green virginity, 
 Do't in your parent's eyes ! bankrupts, hold fast ; 
 Rather than render back, out with your knives 
 And cut your trusters' throats ! bound servants, 
 
 steal ! 
 
 Large-handed robbers your grave masters are, 
 And pill by law ! maid, to thy master's bed, 
 Thy mistress is o' the brothel ! son of sixteen, 
 Pluck the lin'd crutch from thy old limping sire, 
 With it beat out his brains ! piety and fear, 
 Religion to the gods, peace, justice, truth, 
 Domestic awe, night- rest, and neighbourhood, 
 
 Instruction, manners, mysteries, and trades, 
 Degrees, observances, customs and laws, 
 Decline to your confounding contraries, [men, 
 And let confusion live! Plagues incident to 
 Your potent and infectious fevers heap 
 On Athens, ripe for stroke ! thou cold sciatica, 
 Cripple our senators, that their limbs may halt 
 As lamely as their manners ! lust and liberty 
 Creep in the minds and marrows of our youth, 
 That 'gainst the stream of virtue they may strive 
 And drown themselves in riot ! itches, blains, 
 Sow all the Athenian bosoms ; and their crop 
 Be general leprosy ! breath infect breath ; 
 That their society, as their friendship, may 
 Be merely poison ! Nothing I '11 bear from thee 
 But nakedness, thou detestable town! 
 Take thou that too, with multiplying banns! 
 Timon will to the woods ; where he shall find 
 The unkindest beast more kinder than mankind. 
 The gods confound, hear me, ye good gods 
 
 all, 
 
 The Athenians both within and out that wall ! 
 
 And grant, as Timon grows, his hate may grow 
 
 To the whole race of mankind, high and low ! 
 
 Amen. [Exit. 
 
 c < oi.agR iw :.. i eu/tp! -TUV ::J oiiV - 
 
 SCENE II. ATHENS. A Room in TIMON'S 
 
 House. 
 
 Enter FLAVIUS, with Two or Three Servants. 
 
 i Serv. Here you, master steward, where 's 
 
 our master? 
 
 Are we undone ? cast off? nothing remaining ? 
 Flav. Alack, my fellows, what should I say 
 
 to you ? 
 
 Let me be recorded by the righteous gods, 
 I am as poor as you. 
 
 1 Serv. Such a house broke ! 
 
 So noble a master fall'n ! All gone ! and not 
 One friend to take his fortune by the arm 
 And go along with him ! 
 
 2 Serv. As we do turn our backs 
 To our companion thrown into his grave, 
 
 So his familiars from his buried fortunes 
 Slink all away ; leave their false vows with him, 
 Like empty purses pick'd ; and his poor self, 
 A dedicated beggar to the air, 
 With his disease of all-shunn'd poverty, 
 Walks, like contempt, alone. More of our 
 fellows. 
 
 Enter other Servants. 
 
 Flav. All broken implements of a ruin'd 
 house. [livery, 
 
 3 Serv. Yet do our hearts wear Timon's 
 That see I by our faces ; we are fellows still, 
 Serving alike in sorrow : kak'd is our bark ; 
 
8o8 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 And we, poor mates, stand on the dying deck 
 Hearing the surges threat : we must all part 
 Into this sea of air. 
 
 Flav. Good fellows all, 
 
 The latest of my wealth I '11 share amongst you. 
 Wherever we shall meet, for Timon's sake, 
 Let 's yet be fellows ; let 's shake our heads, 
 
 and say, 
 
 As 'twere a knell unto our master's fortune, 
 We have seen better days. Let each take some. 
 [Giving them money. 
 Nay, put out all your hands. Not one word 
 
 more : 
 Thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poor. 
 
 [Servants embrace, and part several ways. 
 O, the fierce wretchedness that glory brings us ! 
 Who would not wish to be from wealth exempt 
 Since riches point to misery and contempt ? 
 Who would be so mock'd with glory ? or to live 
 But in a dream of friendship ? [pounds, 
 
 To have his pomp, and all what state corn- 
 But only painted, like his varnish'd friends? 
 Poor honest lord, brought low by his own heart, 
 Undone by goodness ! strange, unusual blood, 
 When man's worst sin is, he does too much good ! 
 Who then -dares to be half so kind again ? 
 For bounty, that makes gods, does still mar 
 
 men. 
 
 My dearest lord, bless'd to be most accurs'd, 
 Rich only to be wretched, thy great fortunes 
 Are made thy chief afflictions. Alas, kind lord ! 
 He 's flung in rage from this ingrateful seat 
 Of monstrous friends ; nor has he with him to 
 Supply his life, or that which can command it. 
 I '11 follow and enquire him out : 
 I '11 ever serve his mind with my best will ; 
 Whilst I have gold, I '11 be his steward still. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III. The Woods. Before TIMON'S 
 Cave. 
 
 Enter TIMON. 
 
 Tint. O blessed breeding sun, draw from the 
 
 earth 
 
 Rotten humidity ; below thy sister's orb 
 Infect the air ! Twinn'd brothers of one womb, 
 Whose procreation, residence, and birth 
 Scarce is dividant, touch them with several 
 
 fortunes ; 
 
 The greater scorns the lesser : not nature, 
 To whom all sores lay siege, can bear great 
 
 fortune 
 
 But by contempt of nature. 
 Raise me this beggar and deny 't that lord ; 
 The senator shall bear contempt hereditary 
 The beggar native honour. 
 
 It is the pasture lards the other's sides, 
 
 The want that makes him lean. Who dares, 
 
 who dares, 
 
 In purity of manhood stand upright, 
 And say, This man 's a flatterer ? if one be, 
 So are they all ; for every grise of fortune 
 Is smooth'd by that below: the learned pate 
 Ducks to the golden fool : all is oblique ; 
 There 's nothing level in our cursed natures 
 But direct villany. Therefore, be abhorred 
 All feasts, societies, and throngs of men ! 
 His semblable, yea, himself Timon disdains : 
 Destruction fang mankind ! Earth, yield me 
 
 roots ! [Digging. 
 
 Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate 
 With thy most operant poison ! What is here? 
 Gold? yellow, glittering, precious gold? No, 
 
 gods, 
 
 I am no idle votarist. Roots, you clear heavens ! 
 Thus much of this will make black, white ; 
 
 foul, fair ; [valiant. 
 
 Wrong, right ; base, noble ; old, young ; coward, 
 Ha, you gods ! why this ? what this, you gods ? 
 
 why, this [sides ; 
 
 Will lug your priests and servants from your 
 Pluck stout men's pillows from below their 
 
 beads: 
 
 This yellow slave 
 
 Will knit and break religions ; bless the accurs'd; 
 Make the hoar leprosy ador'd ; place thieves, 
 And give them title, knee, and approbation, 
 With senators on the bench : this is it 
 That makes the wappen'd widow wed again ; 
 She whom the spital-house and ulcerous sores 
 Would cast the gorge at, this embalms and 
 
 spices 
 
 To the April day again. Come, damned earth, 
 Thou common whore of mankind, that putt'st 
 
 odds 
 
 Among the rout of nations, I will make thee 
 Do thy right nature. [March afar off.] Ha ! 
 
 a drum ? Thou 'rt quick, 
 But yet I '11 bury thee : thou It go, strong thief, 
 When gouty keepers of thee cannot stand : 
 Nay, stay thou out for earnest. 
 
 [Keeping some gold. 
 
 Enter ALCIBIADES, with drum and fife, in 
 warlike manner; PHRYNIA and TIMANDRA. 
 
 Alcib. What art thou there ? speak. 
 
 Tim. A beast, as thou art. The canker gnaw 
 
 thy heart 
 For showing me again the eyes of man ! 
 
 Alcib. What is thy name ? Is man so hateful 
 
 to thee, 
 That art thyself a man ? 
 
 Tim. I am misanthropos t and hate mankind. 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 809 
 
 For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog, 
 That I might love thee something. 
 
 Alcib. I know thee well ; 
 
 But in thy fortunes am unlearn'd and strange. 
 
 Tim. I know thee too ; and more than that 
 
 I know thee 
 
 I not desire to know. Follow thy drum ; 
 With man's blood paint the ground, gules, gules : 
 Religious canons, civil laws are cruel ; 
 Then what should war be? This fell whore of 
 
 thine 
 
 Hath in her more destruction than thy sword, 
 For all her cherubin look. 
 
 Phry. Thy lips rot off ! 
 
 Tim. I will not kiss thee ; then the rot 
 
 returns 
 To thine own lips again. [change ? 
 
 Alcib. How came the noble Timon to this 
 
 Tim. As the moon does, by wanting light to 
 
 give: 
 
 But then renew I could not, like the moon ; 
 There were no suns to borrow of. 
 
 Alcib. Noble Timon, 
 
 What friendship may I do thee ? 
 
 Tim. None, but to 
 
 Maintain my opinion. 
 
 Alcib. What is it, Timon? 
 
 Tim. Promise me friendship, but perform 
 none : if thou wilt not promise, the gods plague 
 thee, for thou art a man ! if thou dost perform, 
 confound thee, for thou art a man ! 
 
 Alcib. I have heard in some sort of thy 
 miseries. [perity. 
 
 Tim. Thou saw'st them when I had pros- 
 
 Alcib. I see them now ; then was a blessed 
 time. [harlots. 
 
 Tim. As thine is now, held with a brace of 
 
 Timan. Is this the Athenian minion whom 
 
 the world 
 Voic'd so regardfully ? 
 
 Tim. Art thou Timandra ? 
 
 Timan. Yes. 
 
 Tim. Be a whore still ! they love thee not 
 
 that use thee ; 
 
 Give them diseases, leaving with thee their lust. 
 Make use of thy salt hours : season the slaves 
 For tubs and baths ; bring down rose-cheek'd 
 
 youth to 
 The tub-fast and the diet. 
 
 Timan. Hang thee, monster ! 
 
 Alcib. Pardon him, sweet Timandra ; for his 
 
 wits 
 
 Are drown'd and lost in his calamities. 
 I have but little gold of late, brave Timon, 
 The want whereof doth daily make revolt 
 In my penurious band : I have heard and 
 griev'd, 
 
 How cursed Athens, mindless of thy worth, 
 Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighboul 
 
 states, 
 
 But for thy sword and fortune, trod upon them, 
 Tim. I pr'ythee, beat thy drum, and get thee 
 
 fne. [Timon. 
 
 am thy friend, and pity thee, dear 
 Tim. How dost thou pity him whom thou 
 
 dost trouble ? 
 I had rather be alone. 
 
 Alcib. Why, fare thee well : 
 
 Here is some gold for thee. 
 
 Tim. Keep it, I cannot eat it. 
 
 Alcib. When I have laid proud Athens on a 
 
 heap, 
 
 Tim. Warr'st thou 'gainst Athens ? 
 Alcib. Ay, Timon, and have cause. 
 
 Tim. The gods confound them all in thy 
 
 conquest ; 
 
 And thee after, when thou hast conquer'd 1 
 Alcib. Why me, Timon ? 
 Tim. That by killing of villains, 
 Thou wast born to conquer my country. 
 Put up thy gold : go on, here 's gold, go on-, 
 Be as a planetary plague, when Jove 
 Will o'er some high-vie' d city hang his poison 
 In the sick air : let not thy sword skip one : 
 Pity not honour'd age for his white beard, 
 He is an usurer : strike me the counterfeit matron : 
 It is her habit only that is honest, 
 Herself 's a bawd : let not the virgin's cheek 
 Make soft thy trenchant sword ; for those milk 
 paps, [eyes, 
 
 That through the window-bars bore at men's 
 Are not within the leaf of pity writ, 
 But set them down horrible traitors : spare not 
 the babe, [mercy; 
 
 Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their 
 Think it a bastard, whom the oracle 
 Hath doubtfully pronounc'd thy throat shall cut, 
 And mince it sans remorse : swear against 
 
 objects ; 
 
 Put armour on thine ears and on thine eyes ; 
 Whose proof nor yells of mothers, maids, nor 
 
 babes, 
 
 Nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding, 
 Shall pierce a jot. There 's gold to pay thy 
 
 soldiers : 
 
 Make large confusion ; and, thy fury spent, 
 Confounded be thyself! Speak not, be gone. 
 Alcib. Hast thou gold yet? I'll take the 
 
 gold thou giv'st me, 
 Not all thy counsel. 
 
 Tim. Dost thou, or dost thou not, heaven's 
 
 curse upon thee ! 
 
 Phr. dr* Timan. Give us some gold, good 
 Timon : hast thou more ? 
 
8io 
 
 TIMON OF ATHBNS. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Tim. Enough to make a whore forswear her 
 
 trade, [sluts, 
 
 And to make whores a bawd. Hold up, you 
 Your aprons mountant : you are not oathable, 
 Although I know you '11 swear, terribly swear, 
 Into strong shudders and to heavenly agues, 
 The immortal gods that hear you, spare your 
 
 oaths, 
 
 I '11 trust to your conditions : be whores still ; 
 And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you, 
 Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up ; 
 Let your close fire predominate his smoke, 
 And be no turncoats : yet may your pains six 
 
 months [roofs 
 
 Be quite contrary : and thatch your poor thin 
 With burdens of the dead; some that were 
 
 hang'd, 
 No matter : wear them, betray with them : 
 
 whore still ; 
 
 Paint till a horse may mire upon your face : 
 A pox of wrinkles ! 
 
 Phr. &> Timan. Well, more gold. What 
 
 then ? 
 Believe 't, that we '11 do anything for gold. 
 
 Tim. Consumptions sow [shins, 
 
 In hollow bones of man ; strike their sharp 
 And mar men's spurring. Crack the lawyer's 
 
 voice, 
 
 That he may never more false title plead, 
 Nor sound his quillets shrilly : hoar the flamen, 
 That scolds against the quality of flesh 
 And not believes himself down with the nose, 
 Down with it flat ; take the bridge quite away 
 Of him that, his particular to foresee, 
 Smells from the general weal : make curl'd-pate 
 
 ruffians bald ; 
 
 And let the unscarr'd braggarts of the war 
 Derive some pain from you : plague all ; 
 That your activity may defeat and quell 
 The source of all erection. There's more 
 
 gold : 
 
 Do you damn others and let this damn you, 
 And ditches grave you all ! 
 
 Phr. & Timan. More counsel with more 
 
 money, bounteous Timon. 
 Tim. More whore, more mischief first ; I 
 
 have given you earnest. 
 Alcib. Strike up the drum towards Athens ! 
 
 Farewell, Timon : 
 If I thrive well I '11 visit thee again. 
 
 Tim. If I hope well I '11 never see thee more. 
 Alcib. I never did thee harm. 
 Tim. Yes, thou spok'st well of me. 
 Alcib. Call'st thou that harm ? 
 
 Tim, Men daily find it. Get thee away, and 
 
 take 
 'Thy beagles with thee. 
 
 Alcib. We but offend him. Strike. 
 
 [Drum beats. Exeunt ALCIBIADES, 
 
 PHRYNIA, and TIMANDRA. 
 Tim. That nature, being sick of man's un- 
 
 kindness, 
 
 Should yet be hungry ! Common mother, thou, 
 
 \Digging. 
 
 Whose womb unmeasurable and infinite breast 
 Teems and feeds all ; whose self-same mettle, 
 Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is 
 
 puff'd, 
 
 Engenders the black toad and adder blue, 
 The gilded newt and eyeless venom'd worm, 
 With all the abhorred births below crisp heaven 
 Whereon Hyperion's quickening fire doth shine ; 
 Yield him, who all thy human sons doth hate, 
 From forth thy plenteous bosom, one poor root ! 
 Ensear thy fertile and conceptious womb, 
 Let it no more bring out ingrateful man ! 
 Go great with tigers, dragons, wolves, and 
 bears ; [face 
 
 Teem with new monsters, whom thy upward 
 Hath to the marbled mansion all above 
 Never presented ! O, a root, dear thanks ! 
 Dry up thy marrows, vines, and plough-torn 
 
 leas; 
 
 Whereof ingrateful man, with liquorish draughts 
 And morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind, 
 That from it all consideration slips ! 
 
 ss/j 
 Enter APEMANTUS. 
 
 More man ? plague, plague ! 
 
 Apem. I was directed hither : men reporr 
 Thou dost affect my manners, and dost use 
 
 them. [a dog 
 
 Tim. 'Tis, then, because thou dost not keep 
 
 Whom I would imitate : consumption catch thee ! 
 
 Apem. This is in thee a nature but affected ; 
 
 A poor unmanly melancholy sprung 
 
 From change of fortune. Why this spade? 
 
 this place ? 
 
 This slave-like habit ? and these looks of care ? 
 Thy flatterers yet wear silk, drink wine, lie soft ; 
 Hug their diseas'd perfumes, and have forgot 
 That ever Timon was. Shame not these woods 
 By putting on the cunning of a carper. 
 Be thou a flatterer now, and seek to thrive 
 By that which has undone thee : hinge thy knee, 
 And let his very breath whom thou 'It observe 
 Blow off thy cap ; praise his most vicious strain, 
 And call it excellent : thou wast told thus ; 
 Thou gav'st thine ears, like tapsters that bid 
 
 welcome, 
 
 To knaves and all approachers : 'tis most just 
 That thou turn rascal ; hadst thou wealth again 
 Rascals should have't. Do not assume my 
 
 likeness. 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 Sn 
 
 Tim. Were I like thee, I'd throw away 
 myself. [like thyself ; 
 
 Apem. Thou hast cast away thyself, being 
 A madman so long, now a fool. What, think'st 
 That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain, 
 Will put thy shirt on warm ? Will these moss'd 
 
 trees, 
 
 That have outliv'd the eagle, page thy heels, 
 And skip when thou point'st out? Will the 
 
 cold brook, 
 
 Candied with ice, caudle thy morning taste 
 To cure thy o'ernight's surfeit ? call the crea- 
 tures, 
 
 Whose naked natures live in all the spite 
 Of wreckful heaven; whose bare unhoused 
 
 trunks, 
 
 To the conflicting elements expos'd, 
 Answer mere nature, bid them flatter thee ; 
 O, thou shall find, 
 
 Tim. A fool of thee : depart. 
 
 Apem. I love thee better now than e'er I did. 
 
 Tim. I hate thee worse. 
 
 Apem. Why? 
 
 Tim. Thou flatter'st misery. 
 
 Apem. I flatter not ; but say thou art a 
 caitiff. 
 
 Tim. Why dost thou seek me out ? 
 
 Apem. To vex thee. 
 
 Tim. Always a villain's office or a fool's. 
 Dost please thyself in 't? 
 
 Apem. Ay. 
 
 Tim. What ! a knave too ? 
 
 Apem. If thou didst put this sour-cold habit 
 
 on 
 
 To castigate thy pride, 'twere well : but thou 
 Dost it enforcedly ; thou 'dst courtier be again 
 Wert thou not beggar. Willing misery 
 Outlives incertain pomp, is crown'd before : 
 The one is filling still, never complete ; 
 The other, at high wish : best state, contentless, 
 Hath a distracted and most wretched being, 
 Worse than the worst, content. 
 Thou should'st desire to die, being miserable. 
 
 Tim. Not by his breath that is more miser- 
 able. 
 
 Thou art a slave, whom Fortune's tender arm 
 With favour never clasp'd ; but bred a dog. 
 Hadst thou, like us from our first swath, pro- 
 ceeded 
 
 The sweet degrees that this brief world affords 
 To such as may the passive drugs of it [thyself 
 Freely command, thou wouldst have plung'd 
 In general riot ; melted down thfy youth 
 In different beds of lust ; and never learn'd 
 The icy precepts o f respect, but follow'd 
 The sugar'd game before thee. But myself, 
 Who had the world as my confectionary ; 
 
 The mouths, the tongues, the eyes, and hearts 
 
 of men 
 
 At duty, more than I could frame employment; 
 That numberless upon me stuck, as leaves 
 Do on the oak, have with one winter's brush 
 Fell from their boughs, and left me open, bare 
 For every storm that blows ; I, to bear this, 
 That never knew but better, is some burden : 
 Thy nature did commence in sufferance, time 
 Hath made thee hard in 't, Why shouldst thou 
 hate men ? [given ? 
 
 They never flatter'd thee: what hast thou 
 If thou wilt curse, thy father, that poor rag, 
 Must be thy subject ; who, in spite, put stuff 
 To some she beggar, and compounded thee 
 Poor rogue hereditary. Hence ! be gone ! 
 If thou hadst not been born the worst of men, 
 Thou hadst been a knave and flatterer. 
 
 Apem. Art thou proud yet ? 
 
 Tim. Ay, that I am not thee. 
 
 Apem. I, that I was 
 
 No prodigal. 
 
 Tim. I, that I am one now : 
 Were all the wealth I have shut up in thee, 
 I 'd give thee leave to hang it. Get thee gone. 
 That the whole life of Athens were in this ! 
 Thus would I eat it. [Eating a root. 
 
 Apem. Here ; I will mend thy feast. 
 
 [Offering 1 him something. 
 
 Tim. First mend my company, take away 
 thyself. 
 
 Apem. So I shall mend mine own by the lack 
 of thine. [botch'd ; 
 
 Tim. 'Tis not well mended so, it is but 
 If not, I would it were. 
 
 Apem. What wouldst thou have to Athens ? 
 
 Tim. Thee thither in a whirlwind. If thou 
 
 wilt, 
 Tell them there I have gold ; look, so I have. 
 
 Apem. Here is no use for gold. 
 
 Tim. The best and truest : 
 
 For here it sleeps, and does no hired harm. 
 
 Apem. Where ly'st o* nights, Timon ? 
 
 Tim. Under that 's above me. 
 
 Where feed'st thou o' days, Apemantus ? 
 
 Apem. Where my stomach finds meat ; or, 
 rather, where I eat it. 
 
 Tim. Would poison were obedient, and knew 
 my mind ? 
 
 Apem. Where wouldst thou send it ? 
 
 Tim. To sauce thy dishes. 
 
 Apem. The middle of humanity thou never 
 knewest, but the extremity of both ends : when 
 thou wast in thy gilt and thy perfume they 
 mocked thee for too much curiosity ; in thy 
 rags thou knowest none, but art despised for 
 the contrary. There's a medlar for thee, eat it. 
 
812 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Tim. On what I hate I feed not. 
 
 Apem. Dost hate a medlar ? 
 
 Tim. Ay, though it look like thee. 
 
 Apem. An thou hadst hated medlars sooner, 
 thou shouldst have loved thyself better now. 
 What man didst thou ever know unthrift that 
 was beloved after his means ? 
 
 Tim. Who \vithout those means thou talkest 
 of didst thou ever know beloved ? 
 
 Apem. Myself. 
 
 Tim. I understand thee; thou hadst some 
 means to keep a dog. 
 
 Apem. What things in the world canst thou 
 nearest compare to thy flatterers ? 
 
 Tim. Women nearest ; but men, men are 
 the things themselves. What wouldst thou do 
 with the world, Apemantus, if it lay in thy 
 power ? 
 
 Apem. Give it the beasts, to be rid of the 
 men. 
 
 Tim. Wouldst thou have thyself fall in the 
 confusion of men, and remain a beast with the 
 beasts ? 
 
 Apem. Ay, Timon. 
 
 Tim. A beastly ambition, which the gods 
 grant thee t' attain to ! If thou wert the lion, 
 the fox would beguile thee : if thou wert the 
 lamb, the fox would eat thee : if thou wert the 
 fox, the lion would suspect thee, when, perad- 
 venture, thou wert accused by the ass : if thou 
 wert the ass, thy dulness would torment thee ; 
 and still thou livedst but as a breakfast to the 
 wolf: if thou wert the wolf, thy greediness 
 would afflict thee, and oft thou shouldst hazard 
 thy life for thy dinner : wert thou the unicorn, 
 pride and wrath would confound thee, and 
 make thine own self the conquest of thy fury : 
 wert thou a bear, thou wouldst be killed by the 
 horse ; wert thou a horse, thou wouldst be 
 seized by the leopard ; wert thou a leopard, 
 thou wert german to the lion, and the spots of 
 thy kindred were jurors on thy life : all thy 
 safety were remotion ; and thy defence absence. 
 What beast couldst thou be, that were not 
 subject to a beast ? and what a beast art thou 
 already, that seest not thy loss in transformation! 
 
 Apem. If thou couldst please me with speak- 
 ing to me, thou might'st have hit upon it here : 
 the commonwealth of Athens is become a forest 
 of beasts. 
 
 Tim. How has the ass broke the wall, that 
 thou art out of the city ? 
 
 Apem. Yonder comes a poet and a painter : 
 the plague of company light upon thee ! I will 
 fear to catch it, and give way : when I know 
 not what else to do, I '11 see thee again. 
 
 Tim. When there is nothing living but thee, 
 
 thou shalt be welcome. I had rather be a 
 beggar's dog than Apemantus. 
 
 Apem. Thou art the cap of all the fools alive. 
 
 Tim. Would thou wert clean enough to spit 
 upon! 
 
 Apem. A plague on thee, thou art too bad 
 to curse. 
 
 Tim. All villains that do stand by thee are 
 pure. 
 
 Apem. There is no leprosy but what thou 
 speak'st. 
 
 Tim. If I name thee. 
 I '11 beat thee, but I should infect my hands. 
 
 Apem. I would my tongue could rot them off ! 
 
 Tim. Away, thou issue of a mangy dog ! 
 Choler does kill me that thou art alive ; 
 I swoon to see thee. 
 
 Apem. Would thou wouldst burst ! 
 
 Tim. Away, 
 
 Thou tedious rogue ! I am sorry I shall lose 
 A stone by thee. [Throws a stone at him. 
 
 Apem. Beast ! 
 
 Tim. Slave ! 
 
 Apem. Toad ! 
 
 Tim, Rogue, rogue, rogue ! 
 
 [APEM. retreats backward, as going. 
 
 I am sick of this false world; and will love 
 
 naught 
 
 But even the mere necessities upon 't. 
 Ther Timon, presently prepare thy grave ; 
 Lie where the light foam of the sea may beat 
 Thy grave-stone daily : make thine epitaph, 
 That death in me at others' lives may laugh. 
 O thou sweet king-killer and dear divorce 
 
 [Looking on the gold. 
 'Twixt natural son and sire ! thou bright 
 
 defiler 
 
 Of Hymen's purest bed ! thou valiant Mars ! 
 Thou ever young, fresh, lov'd and delicate 
 
 wooer, 
 
 Whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow 
 That lies on Dian's lap ! thou visible god, 
 That solder'st close impossibilities, 
 And mak'st them kiss ! that speak'st with every 
 
 tongue 
 
 To every purpose ! O thou touch of hearts ! 
 Think, thy slave, man, rebels; and by thy 
 
 virtue 
 
 Set them into confounding odds, that beasts 
 May have the world in empire ! 
 
 Apem. Would 'twere so ! 
 
 But not till I am dead. I '11 say thou 'st gold : 
 Thou wilt be throng'd to shortly. 
 
 Tim. Throng'd to? 
 
 Apem. Ay. 
 
 Tim. Thy back, I pr'ythee. 
 
 Apem. Live, and love thy misery 1 
 
SCENE HI.] 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 813 
 
 Tim. Long live so, and so die ! [Exit APK- 
 
 MANTUS.] I am quit. 
 
 More things like men? Eat, Timon, and 
 abhor them. 
 
 Enter Thieves. 
 
 1 Thief. Where should he have this gold? 
 It is some poor fragment, some slender ort of 
 his remainder : the mere want of gold and the 
 falling-from of his friends drove him into this 
 melancholy. 
 
 2 Thief. It is noised he hath a mass of trea- 
 sure. 
 
 3 Thief. Let us make the assay upon him : 
 if he care not for't, he will supply us easily; if 
 he covetously reserve it, how shall 's get it ? 
 
 2 Thief. True ; for he bears it not about him, 
 'tis hid. 
 
 1 Thief. Is not this he ? 
 Thieves. Where? 
 
 2 Thief. 'Tis his description. 
 
 3 Thief. He ; I know him. 
 Thieves. Save thee, Timon. 
 Tim. Now, thieves? 
 Thieves. Soldiers, not thieves. 
 Tim. Both too ; and women's sons. 
 Thieves. We are not thieves, but men that 
 
 much do want. 
 Tim. Your greatest want is, you want much 
 
 of meat. 
 Why should you want? Behold, the earth 
 
 hath roots ; 
 
 Within this mile break forth a hundred springs : 
 The oaks bear mast, the briars scarlet hips ! 
 The bounteous housewife, nature, on each bush 
 Lays her full mess before you. Want ! why 
 
 want ? [water, 
 
 I Thief. We cannot live on grass, on berries, 
 As beasts and birds and fishes. 
 
 Tim. Nor on the beasts themselves, the birds, 
 
 and fishes ; 
 
 You must eat men. Yet thanks I must you con, 
 That you are thieves profess'd ; that you work 
 
 not 
 
 In holier shapes : for there is boundless theft 
 In limited professions. Rascal thieves, 
 Here 's gold. Go, suck the subtle blood o' the 
 
 grape 
 
 Till the high fever seethe your blood to froth, 
 And so 'scape hanging : trust not the physician ; 
 His antidotes are poison, and he slays 
 More than you rob : take wealth and lives 
 
 together ; 
 
 Do villany, do, since you protest to do 't, 
 Like workmen. I '11 example you with thievery: 
 The sun 's a thief, and wilh his great attraction 
 Robs the vast sea : the moon 's an arrant thief, 
 
 And her pale fire she snatches from the sun : 
 1 he sea 's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves 
 The moon into salt tears : the earth 's a thief, 
 That feeds and breeds by a composture stolen 
 From general excrement : each thing 's a thief: 
 The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough 
 power [away, 
 
 Have uncheck'd theft. Love not yourselves ; 
 Rob one another ; there 's more gold ; cut 
 
 throats ; 
 
 All that you meet are thieves. To Athens go, 
 Break open shops ; nothing can you steal 
 But thieves do lose it : steal not less for this 
 I give you ; and gold confound you howsoe'er ! 
 Amen. [TiMON retires to his cave. 
 
 3 Thief. Has almost charmed me from my 
 profession by persuading me to it. 
 
 1 Thief. 'Tis in the malice of mankind that 
 he thus advises us ; not to have us thrive in 
 our mystery. 
 
 2 Thief. I'll believe him as an enemy, and 
 give over my trade. 
 
 I Thief. Let us first see peace in Athens : 
 there is no time so miserable but a man may be 
 true. {Exeunt Thieves. 
 
 Enter FLAVIUS. 
 
 Flav. O you gods ! 
 
 Is yon despis'd and ruinous man my lord ? 
 Full of decay and failing? O monument 
 And wonder of good deeds evilly bestow'd ! 
 What an alteration of honour 
 Has desperate want made 1 
 What viler thing upon the earth than friends 
 Who can bring noblest minds to basest ends ! 
 How rarely does it meet with this time's guise, 
 When man was wish'd to love his enemies ! 
 Grant I may ever love, and rather woo 
 Those that would mischief me than those that 
 
 do! 
 
 Has caught me in his eye : I will present 
 My honest grief unto him ; and, as my lord, 
 Still serve him with my life. My dearest 
 
 master ! 
 
 TIMON comes forward from his cave. 
 
 Tim. Away! what art thou? 
 
 Flav. Have you forgot me, sir? 
 
 Tim. Why dost ask that ? I have forgot all 
 
 men ; 
 
 Then, if thou grant'st thou'rt a man, I have 
 forgot thee. 
 
 Flav. An honest poor servant of yours. 
 
 7im. Then I know thee not : 
 I ne'er had honest man about me, I ; all 
 I kept were knaves, to serve in meat to villains. 
 
 Flav. The gods are witness, 
 
8i 4 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Ne'er did poor steward wear a truer grief 
 For his undone lord than mine eyes for you. 
 Tim. What, dost thou weep? come nearer ; 
 
 then I love thee 
 
 Because thou art a woman, and disclaim 'st 
 Flinty mankind ; whose eyes do never give 
 But thorough lust and laughter. Pity 's sleeping : 
 Strange times, that weep with laughing, not 
 
 with weeping ! 
 Flav. I beg of you to know me, good my 
 
 lord, [wealth lasts, 
 
 To accept my grief, and, whilst this poor 
 To entertain me as your steward still. 
 
 Tim. Had I a steward 
 So true, so just, and now so comfortable? 
 It almost turns my dangerous nature mild. 
 Let me behold thy face. Surely, this man 
 Was born of woman. 
 Forgive my general and exceptless rashness, 
 You perpetual-sober gods I I do proclaim 
 One honest man, mistake me not, but one; 
 No more, I pray, and he 's a steward. 
 How fain would I have hated all mankind ! 
 And thou redeem'st thyself: but all, save thee, 
 I fell with curses. 
 
 Methinks thou art more honest now than wise ; 
 For by oppressing and betraying me 
 Thou might'st have sooner got another service : 
 For many so arrive at second masters [true, 
 Upon their first lord's neck. But tell me 
 For I must ever doubt, though ne'er so sure, 
 Is not thy kindness subtle, covetous, 
 If not a usuring kindness, and, as rich men 
 
 deal gifts, 
 
 Expecting in return twenty for one? [breast 
 Flav. No, my most worthy master ; in whose 
 Doubt and suspect, alas, are plac'd too late : 
 You should have fear'd false times when you 
 
 did feast : 
 
 Suspect still comes where an estate is least. 
 That which I show, heaven knows, is merely 
 
 love, 
 
 Duty, and zeal to your unmatched mind, 
 Care of your food and living ; and, believe it, 
 My most honour'd lord, 
 For any benefit that points to me, 
 Either in hope or present, I 'd exchange 
 For this one wish, that you had power and 
 
 wealth 
 To requite me, by making rich yourself. 
 
 Tim. Look thee, 'tis so ! Thou singly 
 
 honest man, 
 
 Here, take : the gods, out of my misery, 
 Have sent thee treasure. Go, live rich and 
 
 happy ; [men ; 
 
 But thus condition'd: thou shalt build from 
 Hate all, curse all ; show charity to none ; 
 
 But let the famish'd flesh slide from the bone 
 Ere thou relieve the beggar : give to dogs 
 What thou deny'st to men ; let prisons swallow 
 'em, [blasted woods, 
 
 Debts wither 'em to nothing: be men like 
 And may diseases lick up their false bloods ! 
 And so, farewell and thrive. 
 
 Flav. O, let me stay, 
 
 And comfort you, my master. 
 
 Tim. If thou hat'st curses, 
 
 Stay not ; but fly whilst thou'rt bless'd and free : 
 
 Ne'er see thou man, and let me ne'er see thee. 
 
 [Exeunt severally. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. The Woods. Before TIMON'S 
 Cave. 
 
 Enter Poet and Painter ; TIMON watching 
 them from his cave. 
 
 Pain. As I took note of the place, it cannot 
 be far where he abides. 
 
 Poet. What 's to be thought of him ? Does 
 the rumour hold for true that he's so full of 
 gold? 
 
 Pain. Certain : Alcibiades reports it ; Phrynia 
 and Timandra had gold of him: he likewise 
 enriched poor straggling soldiers with great 
 quantity : 'tis said he gave unto his steward a 
 mighty sum 
 
 Port, Then this breaking of his has been but 
 a try for his friends. 
 
 Pain. Nothing else: you shall see him a 
 palm in Athens again, and flourish with the 
 highest. Therefore 'tis not amiss we tender 
 our loves to him, in this supposed distress of 
 his : it will show honestly in us ; and is very 
 likely to load our purposes with what they 
 travail for, if it be a just and true report that 
 goes of his having. 
 
 Poet. What have you now to present unto 
 him? 
 
 Pain. Nothing at this time but my visitation: 
 only I will promise him an excellent piece. 
 
 Poet. I must serve him so too, tell him of 
 an intent that 's coming toward him. 
 
 Pain. Good as the best. Promising is the 
 very air o' the time: it opens the eyes of 
 expectation : performance is ever the duller for 
 his act; and but in the plainer and simpler 
 kind of people the deed of saying is quite out 
 of use. To promise is most courtly and 
 fashionable : performance is a kind of will or 
 testament which argues a great sickness in his 
 judgment that makes it. -4^ 
 
 fc.it Ti 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 815 
 
 Tim. Excellent workman! thou canst not 
 paint a man so bad as is thyself. 
 
 Poet. I am thinking what I shall say I have 
 provided for him : it must be a personating of 
 himself: a satire against the softness of 
 prosperity, with a discovery of the infinite 
 flatteries that follow youth and opulency. 
 
 TzVw.^Must thou needs stand for a villain in 
 thine own work? wilt thou whip thine own 
 faults in other men? Do so, I have gold for 
 thee. 
 
 Poet. Nay. let 's seek him : 
 Then do we sin against our own estate 
 When we may profit meet and come too late. 
 
 Pain. True; [night, 
 
 'YVhen the day serves, before black-corner'd 
 Find what thou want'st by free and oflfer'd light. 
 Come. [god 's gold, 
 
 Tim. I'll meet you at the turn. What a 
 That he is worshipp'd in a baser temple 
 Than where swine feed ! [the foam : 
 
 'Tis thou that rigg'st the bark, and plouglrst 
 Settlest admired reverence in a slave: 
 To thee be worship ! and thy saints for aye 
 Be crown'd with plagues, that thee alone obey ! 
 Fit I meet them. [Advancing from his cave. 
 
 Poet. Hail, worthy Timon ! 
 
 Pain. Our late noble master ! 
 
 Tim. Have I once liv'd to see two honest 
 men? 
 
 Poet. Sir, 
 
 Having often of your open bounty tasted, 
 Hearing you were retir'd, your friends fall'n off, 
 Whose thankless natures, O abhorred spirits ! 
 Not all the whips of heaven are large enough : 
 What ! to you, 
 
 Whose star-like nobleness gave life and influence 
 To their whole being ! I 'm wrapt, and cannot 
 
 cover 
 
 The monstrous bulk of this ingratitude 
 With any size of words. [better : 
 
 Tim. Let it go naked, men may see 't the 
 You that are honest, by being what you are, 
 Make them best seen and known. 
 
 Pain. He and myself 
 
 Have travail'd in the great shower of your gifts, 
 And sweetly felt it. 
 
 Tim. Ay, you are honest men. 
 
 Pain. We are hither come to offer you our 
 service. [requite you? 
 
 Tim. Most honest men ! Why, how shall I 
 Can you eat roots, and drink cold water? no. 
 
 Both. What we can do, we '11 do, to do you 
 service. [have gold ; 
 
 Tim. Ye 're honest men : ye 've heard that I 
 I am sure you have : speak truth ; ye 're honest 
 men. 
 
 Pain. So it is said, my noble lord: but 
 
 therefore 
 Came not my friend nor I. 
 
 Tim. Good honest men ! Thou draw'st a 
 
 counterfeit 
 
 Best in all Athens : thou 'rt indeed the best ; 
 Thou counterfeit's! most lively. 
 
 Pain. So, so, my lord. 
 
 Tim. E'en so, sir, as I say. And, for thy 
 
 fiction, [To the Poet. 
 
 Why, thy verse swells with stuff so fine and 
 
 smooth 
 
 That thou art even natural in thine art. 
 But for all this, my honest-natur'd friends, 
 I must needs say you have a little fault: 
 Marry, 'tis not monstrous in you ; neither wish I 
 You take much pains to mend. 
 
 Both. Beseech your honour 
 
 To make it known to us. 
 
 Tim. You '11 take it ill. 
 
 Both. Most thankfully, my lord. 
 
 Tim. Will you indeed? 
 
 Both. Doubt it not, worthy lord. 
 
 Tim. There 's never a one of you but trusts a 
 
 knave 
 That mightily deceives you. 
 
 Both. Do we, my lord? 
 
 Tim. Ay, and you hear him cog, see him 
 
 dissemble, 
 
 Know his gross patchery, love him, feed him, 
 Keep in your bosom : yet remain assur'd 
 That he 's a made-up villain. 
 
 Pain. I know not such, my lord. 
 
 Poet. Nor I. 
 
 Tim. Look you, I love you well ; I '11 give 
 
 you gold, 
 
 Rid me these villains from your companies : 
 Hang them or stab them, drown them in a 
 draught, [me, 
 
 Confound them by some course, and come to 
 I '11 give you gold enough. 
 Both. Name them, my lord ; let 's kno\f 
 them. [in company: 
 
 Tim. You that way, and you this,- but two 
 Each man apart, all single and alone, 
 Yet an arch-villain keeps him company. 
 If where thou art two villains shall not be, 
 
 [To the Painter. 
 
 Come not near him. If thou wouldst not reside 
 tn< [Tb/fcPoet. 
 
 But where one villain is, then him abandon. 
 Hence ! pack ! there 's gold, ye came for gold, 
 ye slaves : [hence ! 
 
 You have done work for me, there 's payment : 
 You ate an alchemist, make gold of that :- 
 Out, rascal dogs ! 
 
 [Exit, beating and driving them eut. 
 
8i6 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 
 [ACTV. 
 
 Enter FLAVIUS and two Senators. 
 
 Flew. It is in vain that you would speak 
 
 with Timon; 
 
 For he is set so only to himself 
 That nothing but himself, which looks like man, 
 Is friendly with him. 
 
 1 Sen. Bring us to his cave : 
 It is our part and promise to the Athenians 
 To speak with Timon. 
 
 2 Sen. At all times alike 
 
 Men are not still the same: 'twas time and 
 griefs [hand, 
 
 That fram'd him thus: time, with his fairer 
 Offering the fortunes of his former days, 
 The former man may make him. Bring us to 
 
 him, 
 And chance it as it may. 
 
 Flav. Here is his cave. 
 
 Peace and content be here ! Lord Timon ! 
 
 Timon ! 
 
 Look out, and speak to friends ; the Athenians, 
 By two of their most reverend senate, greet thee : 
 Speak to them, noble Timon. 
 
 TIMON comes from his Cave. 
 
 Tim. Thou sun, that comfort'st, burn! 
 
 Speak and be hang'd : 
 
 For each true word a blister ! and each false 
 Be as a cauterizing to the root o' the tongue, 
 Consuming it with speaking ! 
 
 I Sen. Worthy Timon, 
 
 Tim. Of none but such as you, and you of 
 Timon. [Timon. 
 
 I Sen. The senators of Athens greet thee, 
 Tim. I thank them ; and would send them 
 
 back the plague, 
 Could I but catch it for them. 
 
 1 Sen. O, forget 
 What we are sorry for ourselves in thee. 
 The senators with one consent of love 
 Entreat thee back to Athens ; who have thought 
 On special dignities, which vacant lie 
 
 For thy best use and wearing. 
 
 2 Sen. They confess 
 Toward thee forgetfulness too general, gross: 
 Which now the public body, which doth seldom 
 Play the recanter, feeling in itself 
 
 A lack of Timon's aid, haih sense withal 
 Of its own fail, restraining aid to Timon ; 
 And send forth us to make their sorrow'd render, 
 Together with a recompense more fruitful 
 Than their offence can weigh down by the dram; 
 Ay, even such heaps and sums of love and wealth 
 As shall to thee blot out what wrongs were theirs, 
 And write in thee the figures of their love, 
 Ever to read them thine. 
 
 Tim. You witch me in it ; 
 
 Surprise me to the very brink of tears: 
 Lend me a fool's heart and a woman's eyes, 
 And I '11 beweepthese comforts, worthy senators. 
 
 1 Sen. Therefore so please thee to return 
 
 with us, 
 
 And of our Athens, thine and ours, to take 
 The captainship, thou shalt be met with thanks, 
 Allow' d with absolute power, and thy good name 
 Live with authority : so soon we shall drive back 
 Of Alcibiades the approaches wild ; 
 Who, like a boar too savage, doth root up 
 His country's peace. 
 
 2 Sen. And shakes his threat'ning sword 
 Against the walls of Athens. 
 
 I Sen. Therefore, Timon, 
 
 Tim. Well, sir, I will ; therefore, I will, 
 
 sir; thus, 
 
 If Alcibiades kill my countrymen, 
 Let Alcibiades know this of Timon, [Athens, 
 That Timon cares not. But if he sack fair 
 And take our goodly aged men by the beards, 
 Giving our holy virgins to the stain 
 Of contumelious, beastly, mad-brain'd war; 
 Then let him know, and tell him Timon 
 
 speaks it, 
 
 In pity of our aged and our youth, 
 I cannot choose but tell him that I care not, 
 And let him tak't at worst; for their knives 
 
 care not, 
 
 While you have throats to answer ; for myself, 
 There 's not a whittle in the unruly camp 
 But I do prize it at my love, before [you 
 
 The reverend'st throat in Athens. So I leave 
 To the protection of the prosperous gods, 
 As thieves to keepers. 
 
 Flav. Stay not, all 's in vain. 
 
 Tim. Why, I was writing of my epitaph ; 
 It will be seen to-morrow : my long sickness 
 Of health and living now begins to mend, 
 And nothing brings me all things. Go, live 
 
 still ; 
 
 Be Alcibiades your plague, you his, 
 And last so long enough ! 
 
 I Sen. We speak in vain. 
 
 Tim. But yet I love my country; and am not 
 One that rejoices in the common wreck, 
 As common bruit doth put it. 
 
 I Sen. That 's well spoke. 
 
 Tim. Commend me to my loving country- 
 men, 
 
 1 Sen. These words become your lipr as they 
 
 pass thorough them. [triumphers 
 
 2 Sen. And enter in our ears like great 
 In their applauding gates. 
 
 Tim. Commend me to them ; 
 
 And tell them that, to ease them of their griefs, 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 817 
 
 Their fears of hostile strokes, their aches, 1 
 Their pangs of love, with other incident throes 
 That nature's fragile vessel doth sustain 
 In life's uncertain voyage, I will some kindness 
 do them, [wrath. 
 
 I '11 teach them to prevent wild Alcibiades* 
 
 I Sen. I like this well ; he will return again. 
 
 Tim. I have a tree, which grows here in my 
 
 close, 
 
 That mine own use invites me to cut down, 
 And shortly must I fell it : tell my friends, 
 Tell Athens, in the sequence of degree, 
 From high to low throughout, that whoso please 
 To stop affliction, let him take his halter, 
 Come hither, ere my tree hath felt the axe, 
 And hang himself. I pray you, do my greeting. 
 
 Flav. Trouble him no further ; thus you still 
 shall find him. [Athens, 
 
 Tim. Come not to me again: but say to 
 Timon hath made his everlasting mansion 
 Upon the beached verge of the salt flood; 
 Who once a day with his embossed froth 
 The turbulent surge shall cover : thither come, 
 And let my grave-stone be your oracle. 
 Lips, let sour words go by and language end : 
 What is amiss, plague and infection mend I 
 Graves only be men's works and death their gain ! 
 Sun, hide thy beams! Timon hath done his reign. 
 [Retires to his cave. 
 
 1 Sen. His discontents are unremovably 
 Coupled to nature. 
 
 2 Sen. Our hope in him is dead : let us return, 
 And strain what other means is left unto us 
 In our dear peril. 
 
 I Sen. It requires swift foot. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE \\.-The Walls of Athens. 
 Enter two Senators and a Messenger. 
 
 1 Sen. Thou hast painfully discover'd: are 
 
 his files 
 As full as thy report? 
 
 Mess. I have spoke the least : 
 
 Besides, his expedition promises 
 Present approach. [not Timon. 
 
 2 Sen. We stand much hazard if they bring 
 Mess. I met a courier, one mine ancient friend; 
 
 Whom, though in general part we were oppos'd, 
 
 Yet our old love had a particular force, 
 
 And made us speak like friends : this man was 
 
 riding 
 
 From Alcibiades to Timon's cave 
 With letters of entreaty, which imported 
 His fellowship i' the cause against your city, 
 In part for his sake mov'd. 
 
 I Sen. Here come our brothers. 
 
 Enter Senators from TlMON. 
 
 3 Sen. No talk of Timon, nothing of him 
 
 expect. 
 
 The enemies' drum is heard, and fearful scouring 
 Doth choke the air with dust : in, and prepare : 
 Ours is the fall, I fear ; our foes the snare. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. The Woods. TIMON'S Ca 
 and a rude Tomb seen. 
 
 '* 
 
 oinl 
 Enter a Soldier seeking TIMON. _b \ti 
 
 Sold. By all description this should be the 
 place. [is this? 
 
 Who's here? speak, ho! No answer? What 
 Timon is dead, who hath outstretch'd his span: 
 Some beast rear'd this ; there does not live a 
 man. [tomb 
 
 Dead, sure ; and this his grave, what *s on this 
 I cannot read ; the character I '11 take with wax: 
 Our captain hath in every figure skill, 
 An ag*d interpreter, though young in daj 
 Before proud Athens he 's set down by tl 
 Whose fall the mark of his ambition is. 
 
 SCENE IV. Before the Walls of Athens. 
 
 Trumpets sound. Enter ALCIBIADES and 
 Forces. 
 
 Alcib. Sound to this coward and lascivious 
 
 town 
 Our terrible approach. [A parley sounded. 
 
 Enter Senators on the Walls. 
 Till now you have gone on, and fill'd the time 
 With all licentious measure, making your wills 
 The scope of justice ; till now, myself, and such 
 As slept within the shadow of your power, 
 Have wander'd with our travers'd arms, and 
 
 breath'd 
 
 Our sufferance vainly. Now the time is flush, 
 When crouching marrow, in the bearer strong, 
 Cries, of itself, No more: now breathless wrong 
 Shall sit and pant in your great chairs of ease ; 
 And pursy insolence shall break his wind 
 With fear and horrid flight. 
 
 1 Sen. Noble and young, 
 When thy first griefs were but a mere conceit, 
 Ere thou hadst power or we had cause of fear, 
 We sent to thee, to give thy rages balm, 
 
 To wipe out our ingratitude with loves 
 Above their quantity. 
 
 2 Sen. So did we woo 
 Transformed Timon to our city's love, 
 
 By humble message and by promis'd means : 
 We were not all unkind, nor all deserve 
 The common stroke of war. 
 
Si8 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 [ACT V. 
 
 1 Sen. These walls of ours 
 Were not erected by their hands from whom 
 You have receiv'd your griefs : nor are they such 
 That these great towers, trophies, and schools 
 
 should fall 
 For private faults in them. 
 
 2 Sen. Nor are they living 
 Who were the motives that you first went out ; 
 Shame, that they wanted cunning, in excess, 
 Hath broke their hearts. March, noble lord, 
 Into our city with thy banners spread : 
 
 By decimation and a tithed death, 
 
 If thy revenges hunger for that food [tenth ; 
 
 Which nature loathes, take thou the destin'd 
 
 And by the hazard of the spotted die 
 
 Let die the spotted. 
 
 1 Sen. All have not offended ; 
 For those that were, it is not square to take, 
 On those that are, revenges : crimes, like lands, 
 Are not inherited. Then, dear countryman, 
 Bring in thy ranks, but leave without thy rage : 
 Spare thy Athenian cradle, and those kin 
 Which, in the bluster of thy wrath, must fall 
 With those that have offended : like a shepherd 
 Approach the fold and cull the infected forth, 
 But kill not all together. 
 
 2 Sen. What thou wilt, 
 Thou rather shalt enforce it with thy smile 
 Than hew to 't with thy sword. 
 
 1 Sen. Set but thy foot 
 Against our rampir'd gates and they shall ope ; 
 So thou wilt send thy gentle heart before 
 
 To say thou 'It enter friendly. 
 
 2 Sen. Throw thy glove, 
 Or any token of thine honour else, 
 
 That thou wilt use the wars as thy redress, 
 And not as our confusion, all thy powers 
 Shall make their harbour in our town till we 
 Have seal'd thy full desire. 
 
 Alcib. Then there 's my glove ; 
 
 Descend, and open your uncharged ports; 
 
 Those enemies of Timon's and mine own, 
 Whom you yourselves shall set out for reproof, 
 Fall, and no more : and, to atone your fears 
 With my more noble meaning, not a man 
 Shall pass his quarter or offend the stream 
 Of regular justice in your city's bounds, 
 But shall be render'd to your public laws 
 At heaviest answer. 
 
 Both. 'Tis most nobly spoken. 
 
 Alcib. Descend, and keep your words. 
 
 \The Senators descend and open the gates. 
 
 Enter a Soldier. 
 
 Sol. My noble general, Timon is dead; 
 Entomb'd upon the very hem o' the sea; 
 And on his grave-stone this insculpture, which 
 With wax I brought away, whose soft impres- 
 
 sion 
 Interprets for my poor ignorance. 
 
 Alcib. [Reads.] Here lies a wretched corse, of 
 
 wretched soul bereft : 
 Seek not my name, a plague consume you wicked 
 
 caitiffs left! 
 Here lie I, Timon ; who, alive, all living men 
 
 did hate: 
 Pass by, and curse thy Jill; but pass, and stay 
 
 not here thy gait. 
 
 These well express in thee thy latter spirits : 
 Though thou abhorr'dst in us our human griefsj 
 Scorn'dst our brain's flow, and those our 
 
 droplets which 
 
 From niggard nature fall, yet rich conceit 
 Taught thee to make vast Neptune weep for aye 
 On thy low grave, on faults forgiven. Dead 
 Is noble Timon : of whose memory 
 Hereafter more. Bring me into your city, 
 And I will use the olive with my sword : 
 Make war breed peace ; make peace stint war ; 
 
 make each 
 
 Prescribe to other, as each other's leech. 
 Let our drums strike. \Exeunt. 
 
 
 i 
 
 rdT 
 
 oil.: i qmawoiijH ;: 11 
 

 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 CAIUS MARCIUS CORIOLANUS, a noble Roman. 
 TITUS LARTIUS, \ Generals against the Vols- 
 COMINIUS, / dans. 
 
 MENENIUS AGRIPPA, Friend to CORIOLANUS. 
 
 YOUNG MARCIUS, Son to CORIOLANUS. 
 
 A Roman Herald. 
 
 TULLUS AUFIDIUS, General of the Volscians 
 
 Lieutenant to AUFIDIUS. 
 
 Conspirators with AUFIDIUS. 
 
 IVfill 
 
 A Citizen of Antium. 
 Two Volscian Guards. 
 
 VOLUMNIA, Mother to CORIOLANUS. 
 
 VIRGILIA, Wife to CORIOLANUS. 
 VALERIA, Friend to VIRGILIA. 
 Gentlewoman attending on VIRGILIA. 
 
 Roman and Volscian Senators, Patricians, 
 ^Ediles, Lictors, Soldiers, Citizens, Messen- 
 gers, Servants to AUFIDIUS, and other 
 Attendants. 
 
 SCENE, Partly in ROME, and partly in the Territories of the Volscians and Antiates. 
 
 ACT I. 
 SCENE I. ROME. A Street. 
 
 Enter a company of mutinous Citizens, with 
 staves, clubs t and other weapons. 
 
 I Cit. Before we proceed any further, hear 
 me speak. 
 
 Citizens. Speak, speak. 
 
 I Cit. You are all resolved rather to die 
 than to famish ? 
 
 Citizens. Resolved, resolved. 
 
 I Cit. First, you know Caius Marcius is 
 chief enemy to the people* 
 
 Citizens. We know 't, we know 't. 
 
 1 Cit. Let us kill him, and we '11 have corn 
 at our own price. Is 't a verdict ? 
 
 Citizens. No more talking on 't ; let it be 
 done : away, away ! 
 
 2 Cit. One word, good citizens. 
 
 1 Cit. We are accounted poor citizens ; the 
 patricians good. What authority surfeits on 
 would relieve us : if they would yield us but 
 the superfluity, while it were wholesome, we 
 might guess they relieved us humanely; but 
 they think we are too dear : the leanness that 
 afflicts us, the object of our misery, is an 
 inventory to particularize their abundance ; our 
 sufferance is a gain to them. Let us revenge 
 this with our pikes ere we become rakes : for 
 the gods know I speak this in hunger for bread, 
 not in thirst for revenge. 
 
 2 Cit. Would you proceed especially against 
 Caius Marcius? 
 
 1 Cit. Against him first : he 's a very dog to 
 the commonalty. 
 
 2 Cit. Consider you what services he has 
 done for his country ? 
 
 1 Cit. Very well ; and could be content to 
 give him good report for't, but that he pays 
 himself with being proud. 
 
 2 Cit. Nay, but speak not maliciously. 
 
 1 Cit. I say unto you, what he hath done 
 famously he did it to that end : though soft- 
 conscienced men can be content to say it was 
 for his country, he did it to please his mother, 
 and to be partly proud ; which he is, even to 
 the altitude of his virtue. 
 
 2 Cit. What he cannot help in his nature 
 you account a vice in him. You must in no 
 way say he is covetous. 
 
 i Cit. If I must not, I need not be barren 
 of accusations ; he hath faults, with surplus, to 
 tire in repetition. [Shouts within.'} What shouts 
 are these ? The other side o' the city is risen : 
 why stay we prating here ? to the Capitol ! 
 
 Citizens. Come, come. 
 
 1 Cit. Soft ! who comes here ? 
 
 2 Cit. Worthy Menenius Agrippa ; one that 
 hath always loved the people. 
 
 I Cit. He 's one honest enough ; would all 
 the rest were so ! 
 
 Enter MENENIUS AGRIPPA. 
 
 Men. What work's, my countrymen, in 
 
 hand ? where go you 
 
 With bats and clubs? the matter? speak, I 
 pray you. 
 
820 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 [ACT 1," 
 
 I Cit. Our business is not unknown to the 
 senate ; they have had inkling this fortnight 
 what we intend to do, which now we '11 show 
 'em in deeds. They say poor suitors have 
 strong breaths ; they shall know we have strong 
 arms too. 
 
 Men. Why, masters, my good friends, mine 
 
 honest neighbours, 
 Will you undo yourselves ? 
 
 I Cit. We cannot, sir, we are undone already. 
 
 Men. I tell you, friends, most charitable care 
 Have the patricians of you. For your wants, 
 Your suffering in this dearth, you may as well 
 Strike at the heaven with your staves as lift them 
 Against the Roman state ; whose course will on 
 The way it takes, cracking ten thousand curbs 
 Of more strong link asunder than can ever 
 Appear in your impediment : for the dearth, 
 The gods, not the patricians, make it ; and 
 Your knees to them, not arms, must help. 
 
 Alack, 
 
 You are transported by calamity [slander 
 
 Thither where more attends you; and you 
 The helms o' the state, who care for you Uke 
 
 fathers, 
 When you curse them as enemies. 
 
 I Cit. Care for us! True, indeed! They 
 ne'er cared for us yet. Suffer us to famish, 
 and their storehouses crammed with grain; 
 make edicts for usury, to support usurers; 
 repeal daily any wholesome act established 
 against the rich; and provide more piercing 
 statutes daily, to chain up and restrain the 
 poor. If the wars eat us not up, they will ; 
 and there 's all the love they bear us. 
 
 Men. Either you must 
 Confess yourselves wondrous malicious, 
 Or be accus'd of folly. I shall tell you 
 A pretty tale: it may be you have heard it ; 
 But, since it serves my purpose, I will venture 
 To stale 't a little more. 
 
 I Cit. Well, I '11 hear it, sir : yet you must 
 not think to fob-off our disgrace with a tale : 
 but, an 't please you, deliver. 
 
 Men. There was a time when all the body's 
 
 members 
 
 Rebell'd against the belly ; thus accus'd it: 
 That only like a gulf it did remain 
 I' the midst o' the body, idle and unactive, 
 Still cupboarding the viand, never l>earing 
 Like labour with the rest; where the other 
 
 instruments 
 
 Did see and hear, devise, instruct, walk, feel, 
 And, mutually participate, did minister 
 Unto the appetite and affection common 
 Of the whole body. The belly answered, 
 
 I Cit. Well, sir, what answer made the belly? 
 
 Men. Sir, I shall tell you.- With a kind of 
 smile, [thus, 
 
 Which ne'er came from the lungs, but even 
 For, look you, I may rqake the belly smile 
 As well as speak, it tauntingly replied 
 To the discontented members, the mutinous 
 
 parts 
 
 That envied his receipt ; even so most fitly 
 As you malign our senators for that 
 They are not such as you. 
 
 I Cit. Your belly's answer? What! 
 
 The kingly-crowned head, the vigilant eye, 
 The counsellor heart, the arm our soldier, 
 Our steed the leg, the tongue our trumpeter, 
 With other muniments and petty helps 
 In this our fabric, if that they, 
 
 Men. What then? 
 
 'Fore me, this fellow speaks ! what then ? 
 
 what then ? [restrain'd 
 
 I Cit. Should by the cormorant belly be 
 Who is the sink o' the body, 
 
 Men. Well, what then? 
 
 I Cit. The former agents, if they did com- 
 plain, 
 What could the belly answer ? 
 
 Men. I will tell you ; 
 
 If you '11 bestow a small, of what you have 
 
 little, 
 Patience awhile, you '11 hear the belly's answer. 
 
 l Cit. You are long about it. 
 
 Men. Note me this, good friend ; 
 
 Your most grave belly was deliberate, 
 Not rash like his accusers, and thus answer'd : 
 True is it, my incorporate friends, quoth he, 
 That I receive the general food at first 
 Which you do live upon; and fit it is, 
 Because I am the storehouse and the shop 
 Of the -whole body: but, if you do remember, 
 I send it through the rivers of your blood, 
 Even to the court ', the heart, to the seat <? the 
 
 brain ; 
 
 And, through the cranks and offices of man, 
 The strongest nerves and small inferior veins 
 Front me receive that natural competency 
 Whereby they live: and though that all at ona 
 You t my good friends, this says the belly, 
 mark me, 
 
 I Cit. Ay, sir; well, well. 
 
 Men. Though all at once cannot 
 
 See "what I do deliver out to each, 
 Yet I can make my audit up, that all 
 From me do back receive the flour of all, 
 And leave me but the bran. What say you to't ? 
 
 I Cit. It was an answer : how apply you this ? 
 
 Men. The senators of Rome are this good 
 
 belly, 
 And you the mutinous members : for, examine 
 
SCENE !.] 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 821 
 
 Their counsels and their cares; digest things 
 rightly [find, 
 
 Touching the weal o' the common ; you shall 
 No public benefit which you receive 
 But it proceeds or comes from them to you, 
 Andnowayfromyourselves. Whatdo you think, 
 You, the great toe of this assembly ? 
 
 I Cit. I the great toe ? why the great toe ? 
 
 Men. For that, being one o' the lowest, 
 
 basest, poorest, 
 
 Of this most wise rebellion, thou go'st foremost : 
 Thou rascal, that art worst in blood to run, 
 Lead'st first to win some vantage. 
 But make you ready your stiff bats and clubs : 
 Rome and her rats are at the point of battle ; 
 The one side must have bale. 
 
 Enter CAIUS MARCIUS. 
 
 Hail, noble Marcius ! 
 Mar. Thanks. What 's the matter, you 
 
 dissentious rogues, 
 
 That, rubbing the poor itch of your opinion, 
 Make yourselves scabs ? 
 
 i Cit. We have ever your good word. 
 
 Mar. He that will give good words to ye 
 
 will flatter [curs, 
 
 Beneath abhorring. What would you have, you 
 That like nor peace nor war ? The one affrights 
 
 you, [you 
 
 The other makes you proud. He that trusts to 
 Where he should find you lions finds you hares ; 
 Where foxes, geese : you are no surer, no, 
 Than is the coal of fire upon the ice, 
 Or hailsto ic in the sun. Your virtue is [him, 
 To make him worthy whose offence subdues 
 And curse that justice did it. Who deserves 
 
 gieatness 
 
 Deserves your hate ; and your affections are 
 A sick man's appetite, who desires most that 
 Which would increase his evil. He that depends 
 Upon your favours swims with fins of lead, 
 And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye ! 
 
 Trust ye ! 
 
 With every minute you do change a mind ; 
 And call him noble that was now your hate, 
 Him vile that was your garland. What 's the 
 
 matter, 
 
 That in these several places of the city 
 You cry against the noble senate, who, 
 Under the gods, keep you in awe, which else 
 Would feed on one another? What's their 
 
 seeking ? [they say, 
 
 Men. For corn at their own rates; whereof, 
 The city is well stor'd. 
 
 Mar. ^ Hang 'em! They say! 
 
 They '11 s>t by the fire and presume to know 
 What 's done i' the Capitol ; who 'a like to rise, 
 
 Who thrives and who declines ; side factions, 
 
 and give out 
 
 Conjectural marriages; making parties strong, 
 And feebling such as stand not in their liking 
 Below their cobbled shoes. They say there 's 
 
 grain enough! 
 
 Would the nobility lay aside their ruth 
 And let me use my sword, I 'd make a quarry 
 With thousands of these quarter'd slaves, as high 
 As I could pick my lance. 
 
 Men. Nay, these are almost thoroughly per- 
 suaded ; 
 
 For though abundantly they lack discretion, 
 Yet are they passing cowardly. But, I beseech 
 
 you, 
 What says the other troop? 
 
 Mar. They are dissolved : hang 'em ! 
 
 They said they were an-hungry; sigh'd forth 
 
 proverbs, [eat, 
 
 That hunger broke stone walls, that dogs must 
 That meat was made for mouths, that the gods 
 
 sent not 
 
 Corn for the rich men only : with these shreds 
 They vented their complainings ; which being 
 
 answer'd, 
 
 And a petition granted them, a strange one, 
 To break the heart of generosity, 
 And make bold power look pale, they threw 
 
 their caps [moon, 
 
 As they would hang them on the horns o' the 
 Shouting their emulation. 
 
 Men. What is granted them? 
 
 Mar. Five tribunes, to defend their vulgar 
 
 wisdoms, 
 
 Of their own choice : one 's Junius Brutus, 
 Sicinius Velutus, and I know not. 'Sdeath ! 
 The rabble should have hrst unroof'd the city 
 Ere so prevail'd with me : it will in time 
 Win upon power, and throw forth greater themes 
 For insurrection's arguing. 
 
 Men. This is strange. 
 
 Mar. Qo, get you home, you fragments ! 
 
 Enter a Messenger, hastily* 
 
 Mess. Where 's Caius Marcius? 
 Mar. Here : what 's the matter ? 
 
 Mess. The news is, sir, the Volsces are in 
 arms. [to vent 
 
 Mar. I am glad on 't : then we shall ha' means 
 Our musty superfluity. See, our best elders. 
 
 Enter COMINIUS, TITUS LARTIUS, and other 
 Senators; JUNIUS BRUTUS and SICINIUS 
 VELUTUS. 
 
 i Sen. Marcius, 'tis true that you have lately 
 
 told us, 
 The Volsces are in arms. 
 
822 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 [ACT i: 
 
 Mar. They have a leader, 
 
 Tullus Aufidius, that will put you to \. 
 I sin in envying his nobility ; 
 And were I anything but what I am, 
 I would wish me only he. 
 
 Com. You have fought together. 
 
 Mar. Were half to half the world by the ears, 
 
 and he 
 
 Upon my party, I 'd revolt, to make 
 Only my wars with him : he is a lion 
 That I am proud to hunt. 
 
 i Sen. Then, worthy Marcius, 
 
 Attend upon Cominius to these wars. 
 
 Com. It is your former promise. 
 
 Mar. Sir, it is; 
 
 And I am constant. Titus Lartius, thou 
 Shalt see me once more strike at Tullus' face. 
 What, art thou stiff? stand'st out? 
 
 Tit. No, Caius Marcius ; 
 
 I '11 lean upon one crutch and fight with the other 
 Ere stay behind this business. 
 
 Men. O, true bred ! 
 
 I Sen. Your company to the Capitol ; where 
 
 I know, 
 Our greatest friends attend us. 
 
 Tit. Lead you on : 
 
 Follow, Cominius ; we must fellow you ; 
 Right worthy your priority. 
 
 Com. Noble Marcius ! 
 
 I Sen. Hence to your homes ; be gone ! 
 
 [To the Citizens. 
 
 Mar. Nay, let them follow : 
 
 The Volsces have much corn; take these rats 
 
 thither 
 
 To gnaw their garners. Worshipful mutineers, 
 Your valour puts well forth: pray, follow. 
 
 [Exeunt Senators, COM., MAR., TIT., 
 and MENEN. Citizens steal away. 
 
 Sic. Was ever man so proud as is this Marcius? 
 
 Bru. He has no equal. [people, 
 
 Sic. When we were chosen tribunes for the 
 
 Bru. Mark'd you his lip and eyes? 
 
 Sic. Nay, but his taunts. 
 
 Bru. Being mov'd, he will not spare to gird 
 the gods. 
 
 Sic. Be-mock the modest moon. 
 
 Bru. The present wars devour him: he is 
 
 grown 
 Too proud to be so valiant. 
 
 Sic. Such a nature, 
 
 Tickled with good success, disdains the shadow 
 Which he treads on at noon : but I do wonder 
 His insolence can brook to be commanded 
 Under Cominius. 
 
 Bru. Fame, at the which he aims, 
 
 In whom already he is well grac'd, cannot 
 Better be held, nor more attain'd, than by 
 
 A place below the first : for what miscarries 
 Shall be the general's fault, though he perform 
 To the utmost of a man ; and giddy censure 
 Will then cry out of Marcius, O, if he 
 Had borne the business ! 
 
 Sic. Besides, if things go well, 
 
 Opinion, that so sticks on Marcius, shall 
 Of his demerits rob Cominius. 
 
 Bru. Come : 
 
 Half all Cominius' honours are to Marcius, 
 Though Marcius earn'd them not ; and all his 
 
 faults 
 
 To Marcius shall be honours, though, indeed, 
 In aught he merit not. 
 
 Sic. Let 's hence, and hear 
 
 How the despatch is made ; and in what fashion, 
 More than in singularity, he goes 
 Upon this present action. 
 
 Bru. Let 's along. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. CORIOLI. The Senate House. 
 Enterlui^vs AUFIDIUS and certain Senators. 
 
 I Sen. So, your opinion is, Aufidius, 
 That they of Rome are enter'd in our counsels, 
 And know how we proceed. 
 
 Auf. Is it not yours? 
 
 What ever hath been thought on in this state, 
 That could be brought to bodily act ere Rome 
 Had circumvention ! 'Tis not four days gone 
 Since I heard thence ; these are the words : I 
 
 think 
 
 I have the letter here ; yes, here it is : [Reads. 
 They have pressed a power, but it is not known 
 Whether for east or west: the dearth is great ; 
 The people mutinous: and it is rumour 1 d> 
 Cominius, Marcius your old enemy, 
 Who is of Rome worse hated than of you, 
 And Titus Lartius, a most valiant Roman y 
 These three lead on this preparation 
 Whither *tis bent: most likely 'tis for yott: 
 Consider of it. 
 
 1 Sen. Our army 's in the field : 
 
 We never yet made doubt but Rome was ready 
 To answer us. 
 
 Auf. Nor did you think it folly 
 
 To keep your great pretences veil'd till when 
 They needs must show themselves; which in 
 
 the hatching, 
 
 It seem'd, appear'd to Rome. By the discovery 
 We shall be shorten'd in our aim ; which was, 
 To take in many towns ere, almost, Rome 
 Should know we were afoot. 
 
 2 Sen. Noble Aufidius, 
 Take your commission; hie you to your bands: 
 Let us alone to guard Corioli : 
 
SCENE I XL] 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 823 
 
 If they set down before 's, for the remove 
 Bring up your army ; but I think you '11 find 
 They 've not prepar'd for us. 
 
 Auf. O, doubt not that ; 
 
 I speak from certainties. Nay, more, 
 Some parcels of their power are forth already, 
 And only hitherward. I leave your honours. 
 If we and Caius Marcius chance to meet, 
 'Tis sworn between us we shall ever strike 
 Till one can do no more. 
 
 All. The gods assist you ! 
 
 Auf. And keep your honours safe ! 
 
 1 Sen. Farewell. 
 
 2 Sen. Farewell. 
 
 All. Farewell. [Exeunt. 
 
 .:r::;7 .8T;.1 t O.. ,J\~6 ! 
 
 SCENE III. ROME. An Apartment in 
 MARCIUS' House. 
 
 Enter VOLUMNIA and VIRGILIA: they sit 
 down on two low stools and sew. 
 
 Vol. I pray you, daughter, sing, or express 
 yourself in a more comfortable sort : if my son 
 were my husband, I should freelier rejoice in 
 that absence wherein he won honour than in 
 the embracements of his bed where he would 
 show most love. When yet he was but tender- 
 bodied, and the only son of my womb ; when 
 youth with comeliness plucked all gaze his 
 way; when, for a day of king's entreaties, a 
 mother should not sell him an hour from her 
 beholding ; I, considering how honour would 
 become such a person; that it was no better 
 than picture-like to hang by the wall if renown 
 made it not stir, was pleased to let him seek 
 danger where he was like to find fame. To a 
 cruel war I sent him ; from whence he returned, 
 his brows bound with oak. I tell thee, daughter, 
 I sprang not more in joy at first hearing he was 
 a man-child than now in first seeing he had 
 proved himself a man. 
 
 Vir. But had he died in the business, madam ? 
 how then? 
 
 Vol. Then his good report should have been 
 my son; I therein would have found issue. 
 Hear me profess sincerely, had I a dozen 
 Sons, each in my love alike, and none less dear 
 than thine and my good Marcius, I had rather 
 had eleven die nobly for their country than one 
 voluptuously surfeit out of action. 
 
 Enter a Gentlewoman. 
 
 Gent. Madam, the Lady Valeria is come to 
 visit you. [myself. 
 
 Vir. Beseech you, give me leave to retire 
 Vol. Indeed you shall not. 
 Methinks I hear hither your husband's drum ; 
 
 See him pluck Aufidius down by the hair ; 
 As children from a bear, the Volsces shunning 
 
 him: 
 
 Methinks I see him stamp thus, and call thus, 
 Come on, you cowards! you were got in fear 
 Though you were born in Rome: his bloody brow 
 With his mail'd hand then wiping, forth he goes, 
 Like to a harvest-man that 's task'd to mow 
 Or all, or lose his hire. 
 
 Vir. His bloody brow! O Jupiter, no blood! 
 
 Vol. Away, you fool ! it more becomes a 
 
 man 
 
 Than gilt his trophy : the breasts of Hecuba, 
 When she did suckle Hector, look'd not lovelier 
 Than Hector's forehead when it spit forth blood 
 At Grecian swords contending. Tell Valeria 
 We are fit to bid her welcome. [Exit Gent. 
 
 Vir. Heavens bless my lord from fell Aufidius! 
 
 Vol. He '11 beat Aufidius' head below his knee, 
 And tread upon his neck. 
 
 Re-enter Gentlewoman, with VALERIA and 
 her Usher. 
 
 Val. My ladies both, good-day to you. 
 
 Vol. Sweet madam. 
 
 Vir. I am glad to see your ladyship. 
 
 Val. How do you both? you are manifest 
 housekeepers. What are you sewing here? 
 A fine spot, in good faith. How does your 
 little son? 
 
 Vir. I thank your ladyship: well, good madam. 
 
 Vol. He had rather see the swords and hear 
 a drum than look upon his schoolmaster. 
 
 Val. O' my word, the father's son: I'll 
 swear 'tis a very pretty boy. O' my troth, I 
 looked upon him o' Wednesday half an hour 
 together : has such a confirmed countenance. 
 I saw him run after a gilded butterfly; and 
 when he caught it he let it go again ; and after 
 it again ; and over and over he comes, and up 
 again; catched it again; or whether his fall 
 enraged him, or how 'twas, he did so set his 
 teeth and tear it ; O, I warrant, how he 
 mammocked it ! 
 
 Vol. One on 's father's moods. 
 
 Val. Indeed, la, 'tis a noble child. 
 
 Vir. A crack, madam. 
 
 Val. Come, lay aside your stitchery ; I must 
 have you play the idle huswife with me this 
 afternoon. 
 
 Vir. No, good madam ; I will not out of doors. 
 
 Val. Not out of doors ! 
 
 Vol. She shall, she shall. 
 
 Vir. Indeed, no, by your patience ; I '11 not 
 over the threshold till my lord return from the 
 wars. .Vv\l 
 
 Val. Fie, you confine yourself most un- 
 
82 4 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 [ACT I. 
 
 reasonably; come, you must go visit the good 
 lady that lies in. 
 
 Vir. I will wish her speedy strength, and visit 
 her with my prayers ; but I cannot go thither. 
 
 Vol. Why, I pray you? 
 
 Vir. 'Tis not to save labour, nor that I want 
 love. 
 
 Val. You would be another Penelope: yet 
 they say all the yarn she spun in Ulysses' 
 absence did but fill Ithaca full of moths. 
 Come ; I would your cambric were sensible as 
 your finger, that you might leave pricking it 
 for pity. Come, you shall go with us. 
 
 Vir. No, good madam, pardon me; indeed 
 I will not forth. 
 
 Val. In truth, la, go with me ; and I '11 tell 
 you excellent news of your husband. 
 
 Vir. O, good madam, there can be none yet. 
 
 Val. Verily, I do not jest with you ; there 
 came news from him last night. 
 
 Vir. Indeed, madam? 
 
 Val. In earnest, it 's true ; I heard a senator 
 speak it. Thus it is: The Volsces have an 
 army forth ; against whom Cominius the general 
 is gone, with one part of our Roman power: 
 your lord and Titus Lartius are set down before 
 their city Corioli ; they nothing doubt prevailing, 
 and to make it brief wars. This is true, on 
 mine honour ; and so, I pray, go with us. 
 
 Vir. Give me excuse, good madam ; I will 
 obey you in everything hereafter. 
 
 Vol. Let her alone, lady ; as she is now, she 
 will but disease our better mirth. 
 
 Val. In troth, I think she would. Fare you 
 well, then. Come, good sweet lady. Pr'ythee, 
 Virgil ia, turn thy solemness out o' door, and 
 go along with us. 
 
 Vir. No, at a word, madam ; indeed I must 
 not. I wish you much mirth. 
 
 Val. Well, then, farewell. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. Before Corioli. 
 
 Enter, with drums and colours, MARCIUS, 
 TITUS LARTIUS, Officers, and Soldiers. 
 
 Mar. Yonder comes news: a wager they 
 
 have met. 
 
 Lart. My horse to yours, no. 
 Mar. 'Tis done. 
 
 Lart. Agreed. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mar. Say, has our general met the enemy? 
 Mess. They lie in view ; but have not spoke 
 
 as yet. 
 
 Lart. So, the good horse is mine. 
 Mar. I '11 buy him of you. 
 
 Lart. No, I '11 nor sell nor give him : lend 
 
 you him I will 
 
 For half a hundred years. Summon the town. 
 Mar. How far off lie these armies? 
 Mess. Within this mile and half. 
 
 Mar. Then shall we hear their 'larum, and 
 
 they ours. 
 
 Now, Mars, I pr'ythee, make us quick in work, 
 
 That we with smoking swords may march from 
 
 hence [blast. 
 
 To help our fielded friends ! Come, blow thy 
 
 They sound a parley. Enter, on the Walls, 
 
 some Senators and others. 
 Tullus Aufidius, is he within your walls? [he, 
 I Sen. No, nor a man that fears you less than 
 That 's lesser than a little. Hark, our drums 
 [Drums afar off. 
 Are bringing forth our youth ! we '11 break our 
 
 walls, 
 
 Rather than they shall pound us up: our gates, 
 Which yet seem shut, we have but pinn'd with 
 
 rushes ; 
 
 They '11 open of themselves. Hark you far off ! 
 [Alarum afar off. 
 
 There is Aufidius; list what work he makes 
 Amongst your cloven army. 
 
 Mar. ' O, they are at it ! 
 
 Lart. Their noise be our instruction. 
 
 Ladders, ho! 
 The Volsces enter and pass over. 
 
 Mar. They fear us not, but issue forth their 
 
 city. [fight 
 
 Now put your shields before your hearts, and 
 
 With hearts more proof than shields. Advance, 
 
 brave Titus: 
 
 They do disdain us much beyond our thoughts, 
 Which makes me sweat with wrath. Come 
 
 on, my fellows : 
 
 He that retires I '11 take him for a Volsce, 
 And he shall feel mine edge. 
 
 Alarums^ and exeunt Romans and Volsces 
 fighting. The Romans are beaten back to 
 their trenches. Re-enter MARCIUS. 
 Mar. All the contagion of the south light 
 
 on you, [plagues 
 
 You shames of Rome ! you herd of Boils and 
 Plaster you o'er, that you may be abhorr'd 
 Further than seen, and one infect another 
 Against the wind a mile ! You souls of geese, 
 That bear the shapes of men, how have you 
 
 run [and hell ! 
 
 From slaves that apes would beat! Pluto 
 All hurt behind ; backs red, and faces pale 
 With flight and agued fear ! Mend, and charge 
 
 home, 
 
SCENE V.] 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 825 
 
 Or, by the fires of heaven, I '11 leave the foe 
 And make my wars on you : look to 't : come on ; 
 If you '11 standfast we'll beat them to their wives, 
 As they us to our trenches followed. 
 Another alarum. The Volsces and Romans 
 re-enter, and the fight is renewed. The 
 Volsces retire into Corioli, and MARCIUS 
 follows them to the gates. 
 So, now the gates are ope : now prove good 
 
 seconds : 
 
 'Tis for the followers fortune widens them, 
 Not for the fliers : mark me, and do the like. 
 [He enters the gates. 
 
 1 Sol. Fool -hardiness : not I. 
 
 2 Sol. Nor I. 
 
 [MARCIUS is shut in. 
 i Sol. See, they have shut him in. 
 All. To the pot, I warrant him. 
 
 [Alarum continues. 
 Re-enter TITUS LARTIUS. 
 Lart. What is become of Marcius? 
 All. Slain, sir, doubtless. 
 
 I Sol. Following the fliers at the very heels, 
 With them he enters ; who, upon the sudden, 
 Clapp'd-to their gates : he is himself alone, 
 To answer all the city. 
 
 Lart. O noble fellow ! 
 
 Who, sensible, outdares his senseless sword, 
 And when it bows stands up ! Thou art left, 
 
 Marcius : 
 
 A carbuncle entire, as big as thou art, 
 Were not so rich a jewel. Thou wast a soldier 
 Even to Cato's wish, not fierce and terrible 
 Only in strokes ; but with thy grim looks and 
 The thunder-like percussion of thy sounds 
 Thou mad'st thine enemies shake, as if the world 
 Were feverous and did tremble. 
 Re-enter MARCIUS, bleeding, assaulted by the 
 
 enemy. 
 
 i Sol. Look, sir. 
 
 Lart. O, 'tis Marcius ! 
 
 Let 's fetch him off, or make remain alike. 
 
 [ They fight, and all enter the city. 
 
 SCENE V. Within CORIOLI. A Street. 
 Enter certain Romans, with spoils. 
 
 1 Rom. This will I carry to Rome. 
 
 2 Rom. And I this. 
 
 3 Rom. A murrain on 't ! I took this for silver. 
 
 [Alarum continues still afar off. 
 Enter MARCIUS and TITUS LARTIUS with a 
 
 trumpet. 
 
 Mar. See^here these movers that do prize 
 their hours 
 
 At a crack'd drachm ! Cushions, leaden spoons, 
 Irons of a doit, doublets that hangmen would 
 Bury with those that wore them, these base 
 slaves, [with them ! 
 
 Ere yet the fight be done, pack up: down 
 And hark, what noise the general makes ! To 
 
 him! 
 
 There is the man of my soul's hate, Aufidius, 
 Piercing our Romans : then, valiant Titus, take 
 Convenient numbers to make good the city ; 
 Whilst I, with those that have the spirit, will 
 
 haste 
 To help Cominius. 
 
 Lart. Worthy sir, thou bleed'st; 
 
 Thy exercise hath been too violent for 
 A second course of fight. 
 
 Mar. Sir, praise me not ; 
 
 My work hath yet not warm'd me: fare you 
 
 well: 
 
 The blood I drop is rather physical 
 Than dangerous to me : to Aufidius thus 
 I will appear, and fight. 
 
 Lart. Now the fair goddess, Fortune, 
 
 Fall deep in love with thee; and her great 
 charms [man, 
 
 Misguide thy opposers' swords ! Bold gentle- 
 Prosperity be thy page ! 
 
 Mar. Thy friend no less 
 
 Than those she placeth highest ! So farewell. 
 
 Lart. Thou worthiest Marcius! 
 
 [Exit MARCIUS. 
 
 Go, sound thy trumpet in the market-place ; 
 Call thither all the officers o' the town, 
 Where they shall know our mind : away ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI. Near the Camp of COMINIUS. 
 Enter COMINIUS and Forces, retreating. 
 Com. Breathe you, my friends : well fought ; 
 
 we are come off 
 
 Like Romans, neither foolish in our stands 
 Nor cowardly in retire : believe me, sirs, 
 We shall be charg'd again. Whiles we have 
 
 struck, 
 
 By interims and conveying gusts we have heard 
 The charges of our friends. Ye Roman gods, 
 Lead their successes as we wish our own, 
 That both our powers, with smiling fronts 
 
 encountering, 
 
 May give you thankful sacrifice ! 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Thy news? 
 
 Mess. The citizens of Corioli have issued, 
 And given to Lartius and to Marcius battle : 
 I saw our party to their trenches driven, 
 And then I came away. 
 
826 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 Com. Though them speak'st truth, 
 
 Methinks thou speak'st not well. How long 
 is't since? 
 
 Mess. Above an hour, my lord. 
 
 Com. 'Tis not a mile ; briefly we heard their 
 
 drums: 
 
 How couldst thou in a mile confound an hour, 
 And bring thy news so late? 
 
 Mess. Spies of the Volsces 
 
 Held me in chase, that I was forc'd to wheel 
 Three or four miles about; else had I, sir, 
 Half an hour since brought my report. 
 
 Com. Who 's yonder, 
 
 That does appear as he were flay'd? O gods ! 
 He has the stamp of Marcius ; and I have 
 Before-time seen him thus. 
 
 Mar. {Within.} Come I too late? 
 
 Com. The shepherd knows not thunder from 
 
 a tabor 
 
 More than I know the sound of Marcius' tongue 
 From every meaner man. 
 
 Enter MARCIUS. 
 
 Mar. Come I too late? 
 
 Com. Ay, if you come not in the blood of 
 
 others, 
 But mantled in your own. 
 
 Mar, O ! let me clip you 
 
 In arms as sound as when I woo'd ; in heart 
 As merry as when our nuptial day was done, 
 And tapers burn'd to bedward ! 
 
 Com. Flower of warriors, 
 
 How is't with Titus Lartius? 
 
 Mar. As with a man busied about decrees : 
 Condemning some to death and some to exile ; 
 Ransoming him or pitying, threat'ning the other; 
 Holding Corioli in the name of Rome, 
 Even like a fawning greyhound in the leash, 
 To let him slip at will. 
 
 Com. Where is that slave 
 
 Which told me they had beat you to your 
 
 trenches? 
 Where 's he? call him hither. 
 
 Mar. Let him alone ; 
 
 He did inform the truth : but for our gentlemen, 
 The common file, a plague! tribunes for 
 them ! [budge 
 
 The mouse ne'er shunn'd the cat as they did 
 From rascals worse than they. 
 
 Com. But how prevail'd you? 
 
 Mar. Will the time serve to tell? I do not 
 
 think. 
 
 Where is the enemy? are you lords o' the field? 
 If not, why cease you till you are so? 
 
 Com. Marcius, 
 
 We have at disadvantage fought, and did 
 Retire, to win our purpose. 
 
 Mar. How lies their battle? know you on 
 
 which side 
 They have placed their men of trust? 
 
 Com. As I guess, Marcius, 
 
 Their bands in the vaward are the Antiates, 
 Of their best trust ; o'er them Aufidius, 
 Their very heart of hope. 
 
 Mar. I do beseech you, 
 
 By all the battles wherein we have fought, 
 By the blood we have shed together, by the 
 vows [directly 
 
 We have made to endure friends, that you 
 Set me against Aufidius and his Antiates ; 
 And that you not delay the present, but, 
 Filling the air with swords advanc'd and darts, 
 We prove this very hour. 
 
 Com. Though I could wish 
 
 You were conducted to a gentle bath, 
 And balms applied to you, yet dare I never 
 Deny your asking : take your choice of those 
 That best can aid your action. 
 
 Mar. Those are they 
 
 That most are willing. If any such be here, 
 As it were sin to doubt, that love this painting 
 Wherein you see me smear'd ; if any fear 
 Lesser his person than an ill report ; 
 If any think brave death outweighs bad Iife 5 
 And that his country 's dearer than himself; 
 Let him alone, or so many so minded, 
 Wave thus [waving his hand\ to express his 
 
 disposition, 
 And follow Marcius. 
 
 [They all shout, and wave their swords ; take 
 
 him up in their arms, and cast up their caps. 
 O, me alone ! make you a sword of me ? 
 If these shows be not outward, which of you 
 But is four Volsces ? none of you but is 
 Able to bear against the great Aufidius 
 A shield as hard as his. A certain number, 
 Though thanks to all, must I select from all : 
 
 the rest 
 
 Shall bear the business in some other fight, 
 As cause will be obey'd. Please you to march ; 
 And four shall quickly draw out my command, 
 Which men are best inclin'd. 
 
 Com. March on, my fellows: 
 
 Make good this ostentation, and you shall 
 Divide in all with us. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VII. The Gates of Corioli. 
 TITUS LARTIUS, having set a guard upon 
 Corioli) going with drum and trumpet toward 
 COMINIUS andCAlUS MARCius,enters with a 
 Lieutenant, a party of Soldiers, and a Scout. 
 Lart. So, let the ports be guarded : keep 
 your duties 
 
SCENE VIII.] 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 827 
 
 As I have set them down. If I do send, de- 
 
 spatch 
 
 Those centuries to our aid ; the rest will serve 
 For a short holding : if we lose the field 
 We cannot keep the town. 
 
 Lieut. Fear not our care, sir. 
 
 Lart. Hence, and shut your gates upon 's. 
 
 Our guider, come ; to the Roman camp con- 
 
 duct us. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VIII. A Field of Battle between the 
 Roman and the Volscian Camps. 
 
 Alarum. Enter, from opposite sides, MARCIUS 
 
 Mar. I '11 fight with none but thee ; for I do 
 
 hate thee 
 Worse than a promise-breaker. 
 
 Auf. We hate alike : 
 
 Not Afric owns a serpent I abhor 
 More than thy fame and envy. Fix thy foot. 
 Mar. Let the first budger die the other's 
 
 slave, 
 And the gods doom him after ! 
 
 Auf. Iflfly, Marcius, 
 
 Halloo me like a hare. 
 
 Mar. Within these three hours, Tullus, 
 Alone I fought in your Corioli walls, [blood 
 And made what work I pleas'd: 'tis not my 
 Wherein thou seest me mask'd ; for thy revenge 
 Wrench up thy power to the highest. 
 
 Auf. Wert thou the Hector 
 
 That was the whip of your bragg'd progeny, 
 Thou shouldst not scape me here. 
 
 [They fight, and certain Volsces come to 
 
 the azV/0/"AuFiDlus. 
 
 Officious, and not valiant, you have sham'd me 
 In your condemned seconds. 
 
 [Exeunt fighting, driven in by MAR. 
 
 SCENE IX. The Roman Camp. 
 
 Alarum. A retreat is sounded. Flourish. 
 Enter, at one side, COMINIUS and Romans; 
 at the other side, MARCIUS, -with his arm in 
 a scarf, and other Romans. 
 
 Com. If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's 
 
 work, 
 
 Thou 'It not believe thy deeds : but I '11 report it 
 Where senators shall mingle tears with smiles ; 
 Where great patricians shall attend, and shrug, 
 I' the end admire; where ladies shall be frighted, 
 And, gladly quak'd, hear more ; where the dull 
 
 tribunes, 
 That, with the fusty plebeians, hate thine 
 
 honours, 
 Shall say, against their hearts, We thank the gods 
 
 Our Rome hath such a soldier ! 
 
 Yet cam'st thou to a morsel of this feast, 
 
 Having fully dined before. 
 
 Enter TITUS LARTIUS, with his power, from 
 the pursuit. 
 
 Lart. O general. 
 
 Here is the steed, we the caparison : 
 Hadst thou beheld, 
 
 Mar. Pray now, no more ; my mother, 
 
 Who has a charter to extol her blood, [done 
 When she does praise me grieves me. I have 
 As you have done, that 's what I can ; induc'd 
 As you have been, that 's for my country : 
 He that has but effected his good will 
 Hath overta'en mine act. 
 
 Com. You shall not be 
 
 The grave of your deserving ; Rome must know 
 The value of her own : 'twere a concealment 
 Worse than a theft, no less than a traducement, 
 To hide your doings ; and to silence that 
 Which, to the spire and top of praises vouch'd, 
 Would seem but modest : therefore, I beseech 
 
 you, 
 
 In sign of what you are, not to reward 
 What you have done, before our army hear me. 
 
 Mar. I have some wounds upon me, and 
 
 they smart 
 To hear themselves remember'd. 
 
 Com. Should they not, 
 
 Well might they fester 'gainst ingratitude, 
 And tent themselves with death. Of all the 
 horses, [of all 
 
 Whereof we have ta'en good, and good store, 
 The treasure in this field achiev'd and city, 
 We render you the tenth ; to be ta'en forth 
 Before the common distribution at 
 Your only choice. 
 
 Mar. I thank you, general ; 
 
 But cannot make my heart consent to take 
 A bribe to pay my sword : I do refuse it ; 
 And stand upon my common part with those 
 That have beheld the doing. 
 
 [A long flourish. They all cry," Marcius ! 
 Marcius !" cast up their, caps and lances: 
 COMINIUS and LARTIUS stand bare. 
 
 Mar. May these same instruments which you 
 profane [shall 
 
 Never sound more ! When drums and trumpets 
 I' the field prove flatterers, let courts and cities be 
 Made all of false-fac'd soothing ! 
 When steel grows soft as the parasite's silk, 
 Let him be made a coverture for the wars ! 
 No more, I say ! for that I have not wash'd 
 My nose that bled, or foil'd some debile wretch, 
 Which, without note, here's many else have 
 done, 
 
828 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 You shout me forth in acclamations hyper- 
 bolical; 
 
 As if I loved my little should be dieted 
 In praises sauc'd with lies. 
 
 Com. Too modest are you ; 
 
 More cruel to your good report than grateful 
 To us that give you truly : by your patience, 
 If 'gainst yourself you be incens'd, we '11 put 
 you, [manacles, 
 
 Like one that means his proper harm, in 
 Then reason safely with you. Therefore be it 
 
 known, 
 
 As to us, to all the world, that Caius Marcius 
 Wears this war's garland: in token of the 
 
 which, 
 
 My noble steed, known to the camp, I give him, 
 With all his trim belonging ; and from this time, 
 For what he did before Corioli, call him, 
 With all the applause and clamour of the host, 
 CAIUS MARCIUS CORIOLANUS. 
 Bear the addition nobly ever ! 
 
 [Flourish. Trumpets sound, and drums. 
 
 All. Caius Marcius Coriolanus ! 
 
 Cor. I will go wash ; 
 
 And when my face is fair you shall perceive 
 Whether I blush or no : howbeit, I thank you. 
 I mean to stride your steed ; and at all times 
 To undercrest your good addition 
 To the fairness of my power. 
 
 Com. So, to our tent; 
 
 Where, ere we do repose us, we will write 
 To Rome of our success. You, Titus Lartius, 
 Must to Corioli back : send us to Rome 
 The best, with whom we may articulate, 
 For their own good and ours. 
 
 Lart. I shall, my lord. 
 
 Cor. The gods begin to mock me. I, that now 
 Refus'd most princely gifts, am bound to beg 
 Of my lord general. 
 
 Com. Take 't : 'tis yours. What is \ ? 
 
 Cor. I sometime lay here in Corioli 
 At a poor man's house ; he us'd me kindly : 
 He cried to me ; I saw him prisoner ; 
 But then Aufidius was within my view, 
 And wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity : I request 
 
 you 
 To give my poor host freedom. 
 
 Com. O, well begg'd ! 
 
 Were he the butcher of my son he should 
 Be free as is the wind. Deliver him, Titus. 
 
 Lart. Marcius, his name? 
 
 Cor. By Jupiter, forgot : 
 
 I am weary; yea, my memory is tir'd. 
 Have we no wine here? 
 
 Com. Go we to our tent : 
 
 The blood upon your visage dries 5 'tis time 
 It should be look'd to : come. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE X.TAe Camp of the Volsces. 
 
 A flourish. Cornets. Enter TULLUS AUFI- 
 DIUS, bloody, with two or three Soldiers. 
 
 Auf. The town is ta'en ! [dition. 
 
 i Sol. 'Twill be deliver'd back on good con- 
 
 Auf. Condition! 
 
 I would I were a Roman ; for I cannot, 
 Being a Volsce, be that I am. Condition! 
 What good condition can a treaty find 
 P the part that is at mercy? Five times, 
 Marcius, [beat me ; 
 
 I have fought with thee; so often hast thou 
 And wouldst do so, I think, should we encounter 
 As often as we eat. By the elements, 
 If e'er again I meet him beard to beard, 
 He 's mine or I am his : mine emulation 
 Hath not that honour in 't it had ; for where 
 I thought to crush him in an equal force, 
 True sword to sword, I '11 potch at him some 
 
 way, 
 Or wrath or craft may get him. 
 
 i Sol. He 's the devil. 
 
 Auf. Bolder, though not so subtle. My 
 
 valour 's poisoned 
 
 With only suffering stain by him ; for him 
 Shall fly out of itself : nor sleep nor sanctuary, 
 Being naked, sick ; nor fane nor Capitol, 
 The prayers of priests nor times of sacrifice, 
 Embarquements all of fury, shall lift up 
 Their rotten privilege and custom 'gainst 
 My hate to Marcius : where I find him, were it 
 At home, upon my brother's guard, even there, 
 Against the hospitable canon, would I 
 Wash my fierce hand in 's heart. Go you to 
 the city; [must 
 
 Learn how 'tis held ; and what they are that 
 Be hostages for Rome. 
 
 I Sol. Will not you go ? 
 
 Auf. I am attended at the cypress grove : 
 I pray you, [thither 
 
 'Tis south the city mills, bring me word 
 How the world goes, that to the pace of it 
 I may spur on my journey. 
 
 I Sol. I shall, sir. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. ROME. A public Place. 
 Enter MENENIUS, SICINIUS, and BRUTUS. 
 
 Men. The augurer tells me we shall have 
 news to night. 
 
 Bru. Good or bad ? 
 
 Men. Not according to the prayer of the 
 people, for they love not Marcius. 
 
SCENE I.j 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 820 
 
 Sic. Nature teaches beasts to know their 
 friends. 
 
 Men. Pray you, who does the wolf love ? 
 
 Sic. The lamb. 
 
 Men. Ay, to devour him ; as the hungry 
 plebeians would the noble Marcius. 
 
 Bru. He 's a lamb indeed, that baas like a 
 bear. 
 
 Men. He 's a bear indeed, that lives like a 
 lamb. You two are old men : tell me one 
 thing that I shall ask you. 
 
 Both Trib. Well, sir. 
 
 Men. In what enormity is Marcius poor in, 
 that you two have not in abundance? 
 
 Brit. He 's poor in no one fault, but stored 
 with all. 
 
 Sic. Especially in pride. 
 
 Bru. And topping all others in boasting. 
 
 Men. This is strange now : do you two know 
 how you are censured here in the city, I mean 
 of us o' the right-hand file? Do you? 
 
 Both Trib. Why, how are we censured? 
 
 Men. Because you talk of pride now, will 
 you not be angry? 
 
 Both Trib. Well, well, sir, well. 
 
 Men. Why, 'tis no great matter ; for a very 
 little thief of occasion will rob you of a great 
 deal of patience: give your dispositions the 
 reins, and be angry at your pleasures; at the 
 least, if you take it as a pleasure to you in 
 being so. You blame Marcius for being proud? 
 
 Bru. We do it not alone, sir. 
 
 Men. I know you can do very little alone ; 
 for your helps are many, or else your actions 
 would grow wondrous single: your abilities 
 are too infant-like for doing much alone. You 
 talk of pride : O that you could turn you eyes 
 toward the napes of your necks, and make but 
 an interior survey of your good selves ! O that 
 you could ! 
 
 Bru. What then, sir ? 
 
 Men. Why, then you should discover a brace 
 ofunmeriting, proud, violent, testy magistrates, 
 alias, fools, as any in Rome. 
 
 Sic. Menenius, you are known well enough 
 too. 
 
 Men. I am known to be a humorous patrician, 
 and one that loves a cup of hot wine with not 
 a drop of allaying Tiber in 't : said to be some- 
 thing imperfect in favouring the first complaint, 
 hasty and tinder-like upon too trivial motion ; 
 one that converses more with the buttock of 
 the night than with the forehead of the morning. 
 What I think I utter, and spend my malice in 
 tny breath. Meeting two such wealsmen as 
 you are, I cannot call you Lycurguses, if 
 the drink you give me touch my palate adversely, 
 
 I make a crooked face at it. I cannot say your 
 worships have delivered the matter well when 
 I find the ass in compound with the major part 
 of your syllables ; and though I must be content 
 to bear with those that say you are reverend 
 grave men, yet they lie deadly that tell you 
 have good faces. If you see this in the map 
 of my microcosm, follows it that I am known 
 well enough too ? What harm can your bisson 
 conspectuities glean out of this character, if I 
 be known well enough too ? 
 
 Bru. Come, sir, come, we know you well 
 enough. 
 
 Men. You know neither me, yourselves, nor 
 anything. You are ambitious for poor knaves' 
 caps and legs : you wear out a good wholesome 
 forenoon in hearing a cause between an orange- 
 wife and a fosset-seller ; and then rejourn the 
 controversy of threepence to a second day of 
 audience. When you are hearing a matter 
 between party and party, if you chance to be 
 pinched with the colic, you make faces like 
 mummers; set up the bloody flag against all 
 patience; and, in roaring for a chamber-pot, 
 dismiss the controversy bleeding, the more 
 entangled by your hearing : all the peace you 
 make in their cause is calling both the parties 
 knaves. You are a pair of strange ones. 
 
 Bru. Come, come, you are well understood 
 to be a perfecter giber for the table than a 
 necessary bencher in the Capitol. 
 
 Men, Our very priests must become mockers 
 if they shall encounter such ridiculous subjects 
 as you are. When you speak best unto the 
 purpose it is not worth the wagging of your 
 beards ; and your beards deserve not so honour- 
 able a grave as to stuff a botcher's cushion or 
 to be entombed in an ass's pack-saddle. Yet 
 you must be saying, Marcius is proud; who, 
 in a cheap estimation, is worth all your pre- 
 decessors since Deucalion ; though peradventure 
 some of the best of them were hereditary hang- 
 men. God-den to your worships : more of your 
 conversation would infect my brain, being the 
 herdsmen of the beastly plebeians: I will be 
 bold to take my leave of you. 
 
 CBRUTUS and SICINIUS retire. 
 
 Enter VoLUMNlA, VIRGILIA, VALERIA, &c. 
 
 How now, my as fair as noble ladies, and the 
 moon, were she earthly, no nobler, whither 
 do you follow your eyes so fast ? 
 
 Vol. Honourable Menenius, my boy Marcius 
 approaches ; for the love of Juno let 's go. 
 
 Men. Ha ! Marcius coming home ! 
 
 Vol. Ay, worthy Menenius; and with most 
 prosperous approbation. 
 
8 3 o 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 [ACT II. 
 
 Men. Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee. 
 Hop ! Marcius coming home ! 
 
 Vol. Vir. Nay, 'tis true. 
 
 Vol. Look, here's a letter from him: the 
 state hath another, his wife another; and I 
 think there 's one at home for you. 
 
 Men. I will make my very house reel to- 
 night. A letter frr me? 
 
 Vir. Yes, certain, there's a letter for you; 
 I saw it. 
 
 Men. A letter for me ! It gives me an estate 
 of seven years' health; in which time I will 
 make a lip at the physician : the most sovereign 
 prescription in Galen is but empiricutic, and, 
 to this preservative, of no better report than a 
 horse-drench. Is he not wounded? he was 
 wont to come home wounded. 
 
 Vir. O, no, no, no. 
 
 Vol. O, he is wounded, I thank the gods for't. 
 
 Men. So do I too, if it be not too much. 
 Brings a victory in his pocket ? The wounds 
 become him. 
 
 Vol. On's brows: Menenius, he comes the 
 third time home with the oaken garland. 
 
 Men. Has he disciplined Aufidius soundly ? 
 
 Vol. Titus Lartius writes, they fought to- 
 gether, but Aufidius got off. 
 
 Men. And 'twas time for him too, I'll warrant 
 him that : an he had stayed by him, I would 
 not have been so fidiused for all the chests in 
 Corioli, and the gold that's in them. Is the 
 senate possessed of this ? 
 
 Vol. Good ladies, let's go. Yes, yes, yes; 
 ihe senate has letters from the general, wherein 
 he gives my son the whole name of the war : 
 he hath in this action outdone his former deeds 
 doubly. 
 
 Val. In troth, there 's wondrous things spoke 
 of him. 
 
 Men. Wondrous! ay, I warrant you, and 
 not without his true purchasing. 
 
 Vir. The gods grant them true ! 
 
 Vol. True ! pow, wow. 
 Men. True ! I '11 be sworn they are true. 
 Where is he wounded ? [To the Tribunes, who 
 come forward.] God save your good worships ! 
 Marcius is coming home: he has more cause 
 to be proud. Where is he wounded ? 
 
 Vol. F the shoulder and i' the left arm: 
 there will be large cicatrices to show the people 
 when he shall stand for his place. He received 
 in the repulse of Tarquin seven hurts i' the 
 body. 
 
 Men. One i' the neck and two i' the thigh, 
 there 's nine that I know. 
 
 Vol. He had, before this last expedition, 
 twenty-five wounds upon him, 
 
 Men. Now it's twenty-seven: every gash 
 was an enemy's grave. [A shout and flourish.} 
 Hark ! the trumpets. 
 
 Vol. These are the ushers of Marcius : before 
 
 him ^ [tears; 
 
 He carries noise, and behind him he leaves 
 
 Death, that dark spirit, in's nervy arm doth 
 
 lie ; [die. 
 
 Which, being advanc'd, declines, and then men 
 
 A sennet. Trumpets sotmd. Enter COMINIUS 
 and TITUS LARTIUS; between them, CORIO- 
 LANUS, crowned with an oaken garland ; 
 with Captains, Soldiers, and a Herald. 
 
 Her. Know, Rome, that all alone Marcius 
 
 did fight 
 
 Within Corioli gates : where he hath won, 
 With fame, a name to Caius Marcius ; these 
 In honour follows Coriolanus : 
 Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus ! 
 
 [Flourish. 
 
 All. Welcome to Rome, renowned Corio- 
 lanus ! [heart ; 
 Cor. No more of this, it does offend my 
 Pray now, no more. 
 
 Com. Look, sir, your mother ! 
 
 Cor. O, 
 
 You have, I know, petition'd all the gods ( 
 For my prosperity I [Kneels. 
 
 Vol. Nay, my good soldier, up; 
 
 My gentle Marcius, worthy Caius, and 
 By deed-achieving honour newly nam'd, 
 What is it ? Coriolanus must I call thee ? 
 But, O, thy wife ! 
 
 Cor. My gracious silence, hail ! 
 
 Wouldst thou have laugh'd had I come coffin'd 
 
 home, 
 
 That weep'st to see me triumph ? Ah, my dear, 
 Such eyes the widows in Corioli wear, 
 And mothers that lack sons. 
 
 Men. Now the gods crown thee ! 
 
 Cor. And live you yet ? O my sweet lady, 
 pardon. \To VALERIA. 
 
 Vol. I know not where to turn. O, welcome 
 home ; [all. 
 
 And welcome, general ; and you are welcome 
 Men. A hundred thousand welcomes. I 
 could weep [Welcome : 
 
 And I could laugh; I am light and heavy. 
 A curse begin at very root on 's heart 
 That is not glad to see thee ! You are three 
 That Rome should dote on : yet, by the faith 
 of men, [will not 
 
 We have some old crab trees here at home that 
 Be grafted to your relish. Yet welcome, warriors; 
 We call a nettle but a nettle ; and 
 The faults of fools but folly. 
 
SCENE I.J 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 831 
 
 Com. Ever right 
 
 Cor. Menenius ever, ever. 
 
 Her. Give way there, and go on ! 
 
 Cor. Your hand, and yours : 
 
 L To his wife and mother. 
 Ere in our own house I do shade my head, 
 The good patricians must be visited ; 
 From whom I have receiv'd not only greetings, 
 But with them change of honours. 
 
 Vol. I have lived 
 
 To see inherited my very wishes, 
 And the buildings of my fancy: only [but 
 
 There 's one thing wanting, which I doubt not 
 Our Rome will cast upon thee. 
 
 Cor. Know, good mother, 
 
 I had rather be their servant in my way 
 Than sway with them in theirs. 
 
 Com. On, to the Capitol. 
 
 \_Flourish. Cornets. Exeunt in state, as 
 before. The Tribunes remain. 
 
 Bru. All tongues speak of him, and the 
 
 bleared sights 
 
 Are spectacled to see him : your prattling nurse 
 Into a rapture lets her baby cry 
 While she chats him : the kitchen malkin pins 
 Her richest lockram 'bout her reechy neck, 
 Clambering the walls to eye him : stalls, bulks, 
 
 windows, 
 
 Are smother'd up, leads fill'd, and ridges hors'd 
 With variable complexions; all agreeing 
 In earnestness to see him : seld-shown flamens 
 Do press among the popular throngs, and puff 
 To win a vulgar station : our veil'd dames 
 Commit the war of white and damask, in 
 Their nicely gawded cheeks, to the wanton spoil 
 Of Phoebus' burning kisses : such a pother, 
 As if that whatsoever god who leads him 
 Were slily crept into his human powers, 
 And gave him graceful posture. 
 
 Sic. On the sudden, 
 
 I warrant him consul. 
 
 Bru. Then our office may, 
 
 During his power, go sleep. [honours 
 
 Sic. He cannot temperately transport his 
 From where he should begin and end ; but will 
 Lose those that he hath won. 
 
 Bru. In that there 's comfort. 
 
 Sic. Doubt not the commoners, for whom we 
 
 stand, 
 
 But they, upon their ancient malice, will forget, 
 With the least cause, these his ne whonours; which 
 That he '11 give them make as little question 
 As he is proud to do 't. 
 
 Bru. I heard him swear, 
 
 Were he to stand for consul, never would he 
 Appear i' the market-place, nor on him put 
 The napless vesture of humility ; 
 
 Nor, showing, as the manner is, his wounds 
 To the people, beg their stinking breaths. 
 
 Sic. 'Tis right. 
 
 Bru. It was his word: O, he would miss it 
 rather [him, 
 
 Than carry it but by the suit of the gentry to 
 And the desire of the nobles. 
 
 Sic. I wish no better 
 
 Than have him hold that purpose, and to put it 
 In execution. 
 
 Bru. 'Tis most like he will. 
 
 Sic. It shall be to him then, as our good wills, 
 A sure destruction. 
 
 Bru. So it must fall out 
 
 To him or our authorities. For an end, 
 We must suggest the people in what hatred 
 He still hath held them; that to's power he 
 would [and 
 
 Have made them mules, silenc'd their pleaders, 
 Dispropertied their freedoms : holding them, 
 In human action and capacity, 
 Of no more soul nor fitness for the world 
 Than camels in their war ; who have their pro- 
 
 vand 
 
 Only for bearing burdens, and sore blows 
 For sinking under them. 
 
 Sic. This, as you say, suggested 
 
 At some time when his soaring insolence 
 Shall touch the people, which time shall not 
 
 want, 
 
 If it be put upon 't ; and that 's as easy 
 As to set dogs on sheep, will be his fire 
 To kindle their dry stubble ; and their blaze 
 Shall darken him for ever. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Bru. What 's the matter ? 
 
 Mess. You are sent for to the Capitol. 'Tis 
 
 thought 
 
 That Marcius shall be consul : [and 
 
 I have seen the dumb men throng to see him, 
 The blind to hear him speak : matrons flung 
 
 gloves, 
 
 Ladies and maids their scarfs and handkerchers, 
 Upon him as he pass'd : the nobles bended 
 As to Jove's statue ; and the commons made 
 A shower and thunder with their caps and shouts: 
 I never saw the like. 
 
 Bru. Let 's to the Capitol ; 
 
 And carry with us ears and eyes for the time, 
 But hearts for the event. 
 
 Sic. Have with you. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. ROME. The Capitol. 
 Enter two Officers, to lay czishions. 
 i Off. Come, come; they are almost here. 
 How many stand for consulships ? 
 
CORIOLANUS. 
 
 [ACT H. 
 
 2 Off. Three, they say: but 'tis thought of 
 every one Coriolanus will carry it. 
 
 1 Off. That's a brave fellow; but he's 
 vengeance proud, and loves not the common 
 people. 
 
 2 Off. Faith, there have been many great 
 men that have flattered the people, who ne'er 
 loved them ; and there be many that they have 
 loved, they know not wherefore: so that, if 
 they love they know not why, they hate upon 
 no better a ground : therefore, for Coriolanus 
 neither to care whether they love or hate him 
 manifests the true knowledge he has in their 
 disposition ; and, out of his noble carelessness, 
 lets them plainly see 't. 
 
 1 Off. If he did not care whether he had 
 their love or no, he waved indifferently 'twixt 
 doing them neither good nor harm; but he 
 seeks their hate with greater devotion than they 
 can render it him ; and leaves nothing undone 
 that may fully discover him their opposite. 
 Now, to seem to affect the malice and dis- 
 pleasure of the people is as bad as that which 
 he dislikes, to flatter them for their love. 
 
 2 Off. He hath deserved worthily of his 
 country: and his ascent is not by such easy 
 degrees as those who, having been supple and 
 courteous to the people, bonnetted, without any 
 further deed to have them at all into their esti- 
 mation and report : but he hath so planted his 
 honours in their eyes, and his actions in their 
 hearts, that for their tongues to be silent, and 
 not confess so much, were a kind of ingrateful 
 injury ; to report otherwise were a malice that, 
 giving itself the lie, would pluck reproof and 
 rebuke from every ear that heard it. 
 
 I Off. No more of him ; he is a worthy man : 
 make way, they are coming. 
 
 A Sennet. Enter, with Lictors before them, 
 COMINIUS the Consul, MENENIUS, CORIO- 
 LANUS, Senators, SICINIUS, and BRUTUS. 
 The Senators take their places ; the Tribunes 
 take theirs also by themselves. 
 
 Men. Having determin'd of the Volsces, and 
 To send for Titus Lartius, it remains, 
 As the main point of this our after-meeting, 
 To gratify his noble service that 
 Hath thus stood for his country: therefore 
 
 please you, 
 
 Most reverend and grave elders, to desire 
 The present consul, and last general 
 In our well-found successes, to report 
 A little of that worthy work perform'd 
 By Caius Marcius Coriolanus ; whom 
 We meet here, both to thank and to remember 
 With honours like himself. 
 
 I Sen. Speak, good Cominius: 
 
 Leave nothing out for length, and make us 
 
 think 
 
 Rather our state 's defective for requital 
 Than we to stretch it out. Masters o' the 
 
 people, 
 
 We do request your kindest ears ; and, after, 
 Your loving motion toward the common body, 
 To yield what passes here. 
 
 Sic. We are convented 
 
 Upon a pleasing treaty ; and have hearts 
 Inclinable to honour and advance 
 The theme of our assembly. 
 
 Bru. Which the rather 
 
 We shall be bless'd to do, if he remember 
 A kinder value of the people than 
 He hath hereto priz'd them at. 
 
 Men. That 's off, that 's off ; 
 
 I would you rather had been silent. Please 
 
 you 
 To hear Cominius speak ? 
 
 Bru. Most willingly : 
 
 But yet my caution was more psrtinent 
 Than the rebuke you give it. 
 
 Men. He Iov2s your people ; 
 
 But tie him not to be their bedtellow. 
 Worthy Cominius, speak. 
 
 [CORIOLANUS rises, and offers to go away. 
 Nay, keep your place. 
 
 I Sen. Sit, Coriolanus ; never shame to hear 
 What you have nobly done. 
 
 Cor. Your honours' pardon : 
 
 I had rather have my wounds to heal again 
 Than hear say how I got them. 
 
 Bru. Sir, I hope 
 
 My words disbench'd you not. 
 
 Cor. No, sir ; yet oft, 
 
 When blows have made me stay, I fled from 
 
 words. [people, 
 
 You sooth'd not, therefore hurt not : but your 
 
 I love them as they weigh. 
 
 Men. Pray now, sit down. 
 
 Cor. I had rather have one scratch my head 
 
 i' the sun 
 
 When the alarum were struck, than idly sit 
 To hear my nothings monster' d. \_Exit. 
 
 Men. Masters o' the people, 
 
 Your multiplying spawn how can he flatter, 
 That 's thousand to one good one, when you 
 
 now see 
 
 He had rather venture all his limbs for honour 
 
 Than one on's ears to hear it? Proceed, 
 
 Cominius. [lanus 
 
 Com. I shall lack voice : the deeds of Corio- 
 Should not be utterM feebly. It is held 
 That valour is the chiefest virtue, and 
 Most dignifies the haver : if it be,. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 833 
 
 The man I speak of cannot in the world 
 Be singly counterpois'd. At sixteen years, 
 When Tarquin made a head for Rome, he fought 
 Beyond the mark of others : our then dictator, 
 Whom with all praise I point at, saw him fight, 
 When with his Amazonian chin he drove 
 The bristled lips before him : he bestrid 
 An o'erpress'd Roman, and i' the consul's view 
 Slew three opposers : Tarquin's self he met, 
 And struck him on his knee : in that day's feats, 
 When he might act the woman in the scene, 
 He prov'd best man i' the field, and for his meed 
 Was brow-bound with the oak. His pupil age 
 Man-enter'd thus, he waxed like a sea; 
 And in the brunt of seventeen battles since 
 He lurch'd all swords of the garland. For this 
 
 last, 
 
 Before and in Corioli, let me say, 
 I cannot speak him home : he stopp'd the fliers ; 
 And by his rare example made the coward 
 Turn terror into sport : as weeds before 
 A vessel under sail, so men obey'd, 
 And fell below his stem: his sword, death's 
 
 stamp, 7 , ', 
 
 Where it did mark, it took ; from face to foot 
 He was a thing of blood, whose every motion 
 Was timed with dying cries : alone he enter'd 
 The mortal gate of the city, which he painted 
 With shunless destiny ; aidless came off, 
 And with a sudden re-enforcement struck 
 Corioli like a planet. Now all 's his : 
 When, by and by, the din of war 'gan pierce 
 His ready sense; then straight his doubled spirit 
 Re-quicken'd what in flesh was fatigate, 
 And to the battle came he ; where he did 
 Run reeking o'er the lives of men as if 
 'Twere a perpetual spoil : and till we call'd 
 Both field and city ours he never stood 
 To ease his breast with panting. 
 
 Men. Worthy man ! 
 
 i Sen. He cannot but with measure fit the 
 
 honours 
 Which we devise him. 
 
 Com. Our spoils he kick'd at ; 
 
 And look'd upon things precious as they were 
 The common muck of the world : he covets less 
 Than misery itself would give ; rewards 
 His deeds with doing them ; and is content 
 To spend the time to end it. 
 
 Men. He 's right noble : 
 
 Let him be call'd for. 
 
 i Sen. Call Coriolanus. 
 
 Off. He doth appear. 
 
 Re-enter CORIOLANUS.^ 
 
 Men. The senate, Coriolanus, are well pleas'd 
 To make thee consul. 
 
 Cor. I do owe them still 
 
 My life and services. 
 
 Men. It then remains 
 
 That you do speak to the people. 
 
 Cor. I do beseech you 
 
 Let me o'erleap that custom ; for I cannot 
 Put on the gown, stand naked, and entreat them, 
 For my wounds' sake, to give their suffrage : 
 
 please you 
 That I may pass this doing. 
 
 Sic. Sir, the people 
 
 Must have their voices ; neither will they bate 
 One jot of ceremony. 
 
 Men. Put them not to 't : 
 
 Pray you, go fit you to the custom ; and 
 Take to you, as your predecessors have, 
 Your honour with your form. 
 
 Cor. It is a part 
 
 That I shall blush in acting, and might well 
 Be taken from the people. 
 
 Bru. Mark you that ? 
 
 Cor. To brag unto them, thus I did, and 
 thus ; [hide 
 
 Show them the unaching scars which I should 
 As if I had receiv'd them for the hire 
 Of their breath only! 
 
 Men. Do not stand upon 't. 
 
 We recommend to you, tribunes of the people, 
 Our purpose to them ; and to our noble consul 
 Wish we all joy and honour. 
 
 Sen. To Coriolanus come all joy and honour ! 
 {Flourish. Exeunt all but Sic. 
 and BRU. 
 
 Bru. You see how he intends to use the 
 people. 
 
 Sic. May they perceive 's intent! He will 
 
 requite them 
 
 As if he did contemn what he requested 
 Should be in them to give. 
 
 Bru. Come, we '11 inform them 
 
 Of our proceedings here : on the market-place 
 I know they do attend us. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. ROME. The Forum. 
 Enter several Citizens. 
 
 1 Cit. Once, if he do require our voices, we 
 ought not to deny him. 
 
 2 Cit. We may, sir, if we will. 
 
 3 Cit. We have power in ourselves to do it, 
 but it is a power that we have no power to do: 
 for if he show us his wounds and tell us his 
 deeds, we are to put our tongues into those 
 wounds, and speak for them ; so, if he tell us 
 his noble deeds, we must also tell him our 
 noble acceptance of them. Ingratitude is mon- 
 strous : and for the multitude to be ingrateful, 
 
834 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 [ACT ii. ^ 
 
 were to make a monster of the multitude ; of 
 the which we, being members, should bring 
 ourselves to be monstrous members. 
 
 1 Cit. And to make us no better thought of, 
 a little help will serve ; for once we stood up 
 about the corn, he himself stuck not to call us 
 the many-headed multitude. 
 
 3 Cit. We have been called so of many ; not 
 that our heads are some brown, some black, 
 some auburn, some bald, but that our wits are 
 so diversely coloured; and truly I think, if all 
 our wits were to issue out of one skull, they 
 would fly east, west, north, south; and their 
 consent of one direct way should be at once to 
 all the points o' the compass. 
 
 2 Cit. Think you so? Which way do you 
 judge my wit would fly ? 
 
 3 Cit. Nay, your wit will not so soon out as 
 another man's will, 'tis strongly wedged up in 
 a block-head ; but if it were at liberty, 'twould, 
 sure, southward. 
 
 2 Cit. Why that way? 
 
 3 Cit. To lose itself in a fog ; where being 
 three parts melted away with rotten dews, the 
 fourth would return, for conscience' sake, to 
 help to get thee a wife. 
 
 2 Cit. You are never without your tricks : 
 you may, you may. 
 
 3 Cit. Are you all resolved to give your 
 voices ? But that 's no matter, the greater part 
 carries it. I say, if he would incline to the 
 people, there was never a worthier man. Here 
 he comes, and in the gown of humility : mark 
 his behaviour. We are not to stay altogether, 
 but to come by him where he stands, by ones, 
 by twos, and by threes. He's to make his 
 requests by particulars ; wherein every one of us 
 has a single honour, in giving him our own voices 
 with our own tongues : therefore follow me, and 
 I '11 direct you how you shall go by him. 
 
 All. Content, content. {Exeunt. 
 
 Enter CORIOLANUS and MENENIUS. 
 
 Men. O sir, you are not right ; have you not 
 
 known 
 The worthiest men have done 't ! 
 
 Cor. What must I say? 
 
 1 pray ', sir, Plague upon 't ! I cannot bring 
 My tongue to such a pace. Look, sir; my 
 
 wounds; 
 
 1 got them in my country's service, when 
 Some certain of your brethren roared, and ran 
 From the noise of our own drums. 
 
 Men. O me, the gods ! 
 
 You must not speak of that : you must desire 
 
 them 
 To think upon you. 
 
 Cor. Think upon me ! hang 'em! 
 
 I would they would forget me, like the virtues 
 Which our divines lose by 'em. 
 
 Men. You '11 mar all : 
 
 I '11 leave you. Pray you, speak to 'em, I pray 
 
 you, 
 In wholesome manner. 
 
 Cor. Bid them wash their faces 
 
 And keep their teeth clean. {Exit MENENIUS. 
 So, here comes a brace : 
 
 Re-enter two Citizens. 
 You know the cause, sirs, of my standing here. 
 
 1 Cit. We do, sir ; tell us what hath brought 
 
 you to 't. 
 Cor. Mine own desert 
 
 2 Cit. Your own desert ! 
 
 Cor. Ay, not mine own desire. 
 
 I Cit. How ! not your own desire ! 
 
 Cor. No, sir, 'twas never my desire yet to 
 trouble the poor with begging. 
 
 I Cit. You must think, if we give you any- 
 thing, we hope to gain by you. 
 
 Cor. Well then, I pray, your price o' the 
 consulship ? 
 
 1 Cit. The price is to ask it kindly. 
 
 Cor. Kindly ! sir, I pray, let me ha 't : I 
 have wounds to show you, which shall be 
 yours in private. Your good voice, sir; what 
 say you ? 
 
 2 Cit. You shall ha' it, worthy sir. 
 
 Cor. A match, sir. There is in all two 
 worthy voices begg'd. I have your alms: adieu. 
 
 1 Cit. But this is something odd. 
 
 2 Cit. An 'twere to give again, but 'tis no 
 matter. [Exeunt two Citizens. 
 
 Re-enter oilier two Citizens. 
 Cor. Pray you now, if it may stand with the 
 tune of your voices that I may be consul, I 
 have here the customary govvn. 
 
 3 Cit. You have deserved nobly of your 
 country, and you have not deserved nobly. 
 
 Cor. Your enigma? 
 
 3 Cit. You have been a scourge to her 
 enemies, you have been a rod to her friends; 
 you have not, indeed, loved the common 
 people. 
 
 Cor. You should account me the more 
 virtuous, that I have not been common in my 
 love. I will, sir, flatter my sworn brother, 
 the people, to earn a dearer estimation of them ; 
 'tis a condition they account gentle : and since 
 the wisdom of their choice is rather to have my 
 hat than my heart, I will practise the insinuat- 
 ing nod, and be off to them most counterfeitly ; 
 that is, sir, I will counterfeit the bewitchment 
 of some popular man, and give it bountifully 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 835 
 
 to the desirers. Therefore, beseech you, I 
 may be consul. 
 
 4 Cit. We hope to find you our friend ; and 
 therefore give you our voices heartily. 
 
 3 Cit. You have received many wounds for 
 your country. 
 
 Cor. I will not seal your knowledge with 
 showing them. I will make much of your 
 voices, and so trouble you no further. 
 
 Both Cit. The gods give you joy, sir, heartily! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Cor. Most sweet voices ! 
 Better it is to die, better to starve, 
 Than crave the hire which first we do deserve. 
 Why in this wolfish toge should I stand here, 
 To beg of Hob and Dick, that do appear, 
 Their needless vouches? Custom calls me to't: 
 What custom wills, in all things should we do 't, 
 The dust on antique time would lie unswept, 
 And mountainous error be too highly heap'd 
 For truth to o'erpeer. Rather than fool it so, 
 Let the high office and the honour go 
 To one that would do thus. I am half through ; 
 The one part suffer'd, the other will I do. 
 Here come more voices. 
 
 Re-enter other three Citizens. 
 Your voices : for your voices I have fought ; 
 Watch'd for your voices ; for your voices bear 
 Of wounds two dozen odd ; battles thrice six 
 I have seen and heard of ; for your voices have 
 Done many things, some less, some more : your 
 
 voices : 
 Indeed, I would be consul. 
 
 5 Cit. He has done nobly, and cannot go 
 without any honest man's voice. 
 
 6 Cit. Therefore let him be consul : the gods 
 give him joy, and make him good friend to the 
 people ! 
 
 All 3 Citizens. Amen, amen. God save 
 thee, noble consul ! [Exeunt. 
 
 Cor. Worthy voices ! 
 Re-inter MENENIUS, with BRUTUS and 
 
 SICINIUS. 
 Men. You have stood your limitation; and 
 
 the tribunes 
 
 Endue you with the people's voice : remains 
 That, in the official marks invested, you 
 Anon do meet the senate. 
 
 Cor. Is this done ? 
 
 Sic. The custom of request you have dis- 
 
 charg'd : 
 
 The people do admit you ; and are summoned 
 To meet anon, upon your approbation. 
 Cor. Where? at the senate-house? 
 Sic. There, Coriolanus. 
 
 Cor. May I change these garments ? 
 
 Sic. You may, sir. 
 
 Cor. That I'll straight do; and, knowing 
 
 myself again, 
 Repair to the senate -house. [along ? 
 
 Men. I'll keep you company. Will you 
 
 Bru. We stay here for the people. 
 
 Sic. Fare you well. 
 
 [Exeunt COR. and MEN. 
 He has it now ; and by his looks methinks 
 'Tis warm at his heart. [weeds. 
 
 Bru. With a proud heart he wore his humble 
 Will you dismiss the people ? 
 
 Re-enter Citizens. 
 
 Sic. How now, my masters ! have you chose 
 this man ? 
 
 1 Cit. He has our voices, sir. [loves. 
 Bru. We pray the gods he may deserve your 
 
 2 Cit. Amen, sir : to my poor unworthy 
 
 notice, 
 He mocked us when he begg'd our voices. 
 
 3 Cit. Certainly, 
 He flouted us downright. 
 
 1 Cit. No, 'tis his kind of speech, he did 
 
 not mock us. 
 
 2 Cit. Not one amongst us, save yourself, 
 
 but says 
 
 He us'd us scornfully: he should have show'd us 
 His marks of merit, wounds receiv'd for's 
 
 country. 
 
 Sic. Why, so he did, I am sure. 
 Citizens. No, no ; no man saw 'em. 
 
 3 Cit. He said he had wounds, which he 
 
 could show in private ; 
 And with his hat, thus waving it in scorn, 
 / would be consul, says he ; aged custom, 
 But by your voices, will not so permit me ; 
 Your voices therefore : when we granted that, 
 Here was, I thank you for your voices, thank 
 
 you, 
 Your most sweet voices: now you have left 
 
 your voices 
 
 I have no further with you: was not this 
 mockery ? 
 
 Sic. Why, either were you ignorant to see ; t? 
 Or, seeing it, of such childish friendliness 
 To yield your voices ? 
 
 Brtt. Could you not have told him, 
 
 As you were lesson'd, when he had no power, 
 But was a petty servant to the state, 
 He was your enemy ; ever spake against 
 Your liberties, and the charters that you bear 
 I' the body of the weal : and now, arriving 
 A place of potency and sway o' the state, 
 If he should still malignantly remain 
 Fast foe to the plebeii, your voices might 
 Be curses to yourselves ? You should have said, 
 
836 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 [ACT III. 
 
 That as his worthy deeds did claim no less 
 Than what he stood for, so his gracious nature 
 Would think upon you for your voices, and 
 Translate his malice towards you into love, 
 Standing your friendly lord. 
 
 Sic. Thus to have said, 
 
 As you were fore-advis'd, had touch'd his spirit 
 And tried his inclination ; from him pluck'd 
 Either his gracious promise, which you might, 
 As cause had call'd you up, have held him to ; 
 Or else it would have gall'd his surly nature, 
 Which easily endures not article 
 Tying him to aught ; so, putting him to rage, 
 You should have ta'en the advantage of his 
 
 choler, 
 And pass'd him unelected. 
 
 Bru. Did you perceive 
 
 He did solicit you in free contempt 
 When he did need your loves ; and do you think 
 That his contempt shall not be bruising to you 
 When he hath power to crush? Why, had 
 your bodies [cry 
 
 No heart among you? Or had you tongues to 
 Against the rectorship of judgment ? 
 
 Sic. Have you 
 
 Ere now denied the asker ? and now again, 
 On him that did not ask but mock, bestow 
 Your su'd-for tongues ? [him yet. 
 
 3 Cit. He's not confirm'd; we may deny 
 
 2 Cit. And will deny him : 
 I '11 have five hundred voices of that sound. 
 
 I Cit. I twice five hundred, and their friends 
 to piece 'em. [friends 
 
 Bru. Get you hence instantly; and tell those 
 They have chose a consul that will from them 
 
 take 
 
 Their liberties ; make them of no more voice 
 Than dogs, that are as often beat for barking 
 As therefore kept to do so. 
 
 Sic. Let them assemble ; 
 
 And, on a safer judgment, all revoke 
 Your ignorant election : enforce his pride 
 And his old hate unto you : besides, forget not 
 With what contempt he wore the humble weed ; 
 How in his suit he scorn'd you : but your loves, 
 Thinking upon his services, took from you 
 The apprehension of his present portance, 
 Which, most gibingly, ungravely, he did fashion 
 After the inveterate hate he bears you. 
 
 Bru. Lay 
 
 A fault on us, your tribunes ; that we labour'd, 
 No impediment between, but that you must 
 Cast your election on him. 
 
 Sic. Say you chose him 
 
 More after our commandment than as guided 
 By your own true affections; and that your 
 minds, 
 
 Pre-occupied with what you rather must do 
 Than what you should, made you against the 
 
 grain 
 
 To voice him consul. Lay the fault on us. 
 Bru. Ay, spare us not. Say we read lectures 
 
 to you, 
 
 How youngly he began to serve his country, 
 How long continued : and what stock he springs 
 
 of [came 
 
 The noble house o' the Marcians ; from whence 
 That Ancus Marcius, Numa's daughter's son, 
 Who, after great Hostilius, here was king ; 
 Of the same house Publius and Quintus were, 
 That our best water brought by conduits 
 
 hither ; 
 
 And Censorinus, darling of the people, 
 And nobly nam'd so, twice being censor, 
 Was his great ancestor. 
 
 Sic. One thus descended, 
 
 That hath beside well in his person wrought 
 To be set high in place, we did commend 
 To your remembrances : but you have found, 
 Scaling his present bearing with his past, 
 That he 's your fixed enemy, and revoke 
 Your sudden approbation. 
 
 Bru. Say you ne'er had done 't, 
 
 Harp on that still, but by our putting on: 
 And presently when you have drawn your 
 
 number, 
 Rep to the Capitol. 
 
 Citizens. We will so ; almost all 
 
 Repent in their election. {Exeunt. 
 
 Bru. Let them go on ; 
 
 This mutiny were better put in hazard 
 Than stay, past doubt, for greater: 
 If, as his nature is, he fall in rage 
 With their refusal, both observe and answer 
 The vantage of his anger. 
 
 Sic. To the Capitol, 
 
 Come: we will be there before the stream o* 
 
 the people ; 
 
 And this shall seem, as partly 'tis, their own, 
 Which we have goaded onward. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 SCENE I. ROME. A Street. 
 
 Cornets. Enter CORIOLANUS, MENENIUS, 
 
 COMINUS, TITUS LARTIUS, Senators, and 
 
 Patricians. 
 
 Cor. Tullus Aufidius, then, had made new 
 head ? [caus'd 
 
 Lart. He had, my lord ; and that it was which 
 Our swifter composition. 
 
 Cor. So then the Volsces stand but as at first; 
 
SCENE "l. 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 Ready, when time shall prompt them, to make 
 
 road 
 Upon 's again. 
 
 Com. They are worn, lord consul, so 
 
 That we shall hardly in our ages see 
 Their banners wave again. 
 
 Cor. Saw you Aufidius ? 
 
 Lart. On safeguard he came to me ; and did 
 
 curse 
 
 Against the Volsces, for they had so vilely 
 Yielded the town : he is retir'd to Antium. 
 
 Cor. Spoke he of me? 
 
 Lart. He did, my lord. 
 
 Cor. How? what? 
 
 Lart. How often he had met you, sword to 
 
 sword ; 
 
 That of all things upon the earth he hated 
 Your person most; that he would pawn his 
 
 fortunes 
 
 To hopeless restitution, so he might 
 Be call'd your vanquisher. 
 
 Cor. At Antium lives he ? 
 
 Lart. At Antium. 
 
 Cor. I wish I had a cause to seek him there, 
 To oppose his hatred fully. Welcome home. 
 
 [To LARTIUS. 
 
 Enter SICINIUS and BRUTUS. 
 
 Behold ! these are the tribunes of the people, 
 The tongues o' the common mouth. I do 
 
 despise them; 
 
 For they do prank them in authority, 
 Against all noble sufferance. 
 
 Sic. Pass no further. 
 
 Cor. Ha ! what is that ? 
 
 Brti. It will be dangerous to go on : no 
 further. 
 
 Cor. What makes this change ? 
 
 Men. The matter ? [commons ? 
 
 Com. Hath he not pass'd the nobles and the 
 
 Bni. Cominius, no. 
 
 Cor. Have I had children's voices ? 
 
 I Sen. Tribunes, give way ; he shall to the 
 market-place. 
 
 Bru. The people are incens'd against him. 
 
 Sic. Stop, 
 
 Or all will fall in broil. 
 
 Cor. Are these your herd ? 
 
 Must these have voices, that can yield them 
 
 now, [your offices ? 
 
 And straight disclaim their tongues ? What are 
 
 You being their mouths, why rule you not their 
 
 teeth? 
 Have you not set them on ? 
 
 Men. Be calm, be calm. 
 
 Cor. It is a purpos'd thing, and grows by plot, 
 To curb the will of the nobility : 
 
 Suffer 't, and live with such as cannot 
 Nor ever will be rul'd. 
 
 Bru. Call 't not a plot : 
 
 The people cry you mock'd them ; and of !._, 
 When corn was given them gratis, you repin'd ; 
 Scandal'd the suppliants for the people, call'd 
 
 them 
 Time-pleasers, flatterers, foes to nobleness. 
 
 Cor. Why, this was known before. 
 
 Bru. Not to them all. 
 
 Cor. Have you inform'd them sithence ? 
 
 Bru. How ! I inform them ! 
 
 Cor. You are like to do such business. 
 
 Bru. Not unlike, 
 
 Each way, to better yours. 
 
 Cor. Why, then, should I be consul? By 
 
 yon clouds, 
 
 Let me deserve so ill as you, and make me 
 Your fellow tribune. 
 
 Sic. You show too much of that 
 
 For which the people stir : if you will pass 
 To where you are bound, you must inquire 
 
 your way, 
 
 Which you are out of, with a gentler spirit ; 
 Or never be so noble as a consul, 
 Nor yoke with him for tribune. 
 
 Men. Let 's be calm. 
 
 Com. The people are abus'd ; set on. This 
 
 palt'ring 
 
 Becomes not Rome ; nor has Coriolanus 
 Deserv'd this so dishonour'd rub, laid falsely 
 I' the plain way of his merit. 
 
 Cor. Tell me of corn ! 
 
 This was my speech, and I will speak 't again, 
 
 Alen. Not now, not now. 
 
 I Sen. Not in this heat, sir, now. 
 
 Cor. Now, as I live, I will. My nobler 
 
 friends, 
 
 I crave their pardons : 
 
 For the mutable, rank-scented many, let them 
 Regard me as I do not flatter, and 
 Therein behold themselves : I say again, 
 In soothing them we nourish 'gainst our senate 
 The cockle of rebellion, insolence, sedition, 
 Which we ourselves have plough'd for, sow'd, 
 
 and scatter'd, 
 
 By mingling them with us, the honour'd number; 
 Who lack not virtue, no, nor power, but that 
 Which they have given to beggars. 
 
 Men. Well, no more. 
 
 I Sen. No more words, we beseech you. 
 
 Cor. How ! no more ! 
 
 As for my country I have shed my blood, 
 Not fearing outward force, so shall my lungs 
 Coin words till their decay against those measles 
 Which we disdain should tetter us, yet sought 
 The very way to catch them. 
 
3$ 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 [ACT III. 
 
 Bru. You speak o' the people 
 
 As if you were a god to punish, not 
 A man of their infirmity. 
 
 Sic. 'Twere well 
 
 We let the people know 't. 
 
 Men. What, what ? his choler ? 
 
 Cor. Choler! 
 
 Were I as patient as the midnight sleep, 
 By Jove, 'twould be my mind ! 
 
 Sic. It is a mind 
 
 That shall remain a poison where it is, 
 Not poison any further. 
 
 Cor. Shall remain ! 
 
 Hear you this Triton of the minnows? mark you 
 His absolute shall? 
 
 Com. 'Twas from the canon. 
 
 Cor. Shall! 
 
 good, but most unwise patricians ! why, 
 You grave, but reckless senators, have you thus 
 Given Hydra leave to choose an officer, 
 That with his peremptory shall, being but 
 The horn and noise o' the monster, wants not 
 
 spirit 
 
 To say he '11 turn your current in a ditch, 
 And make your channel his ? If he have power, 
 Then vail your ignorance : if none, awake 
 Your dangerous lenity. If you are learn'd 
 Be not as common fools ; if you are not, 
 Let them have cushions by you. You are 
 
 plebeians 
 
 If they be senators : and they are no less 
 When, both your voices blended, the great' st 
 taste [trate; 
 
 Most palates theirs. ' They choose their magis- 
 And such a one as he, wh puts his shall, 
 His popular shall, against a graver bench 
 Than ever frown'd in Greece. By Jove himself, 
 It makes the consuls base : and my soul aches 
 To know, when two authorities are up, 
 Neither supreme, how soon confusion 
 May enter 'twixt the gap of both, and take 
 The one by the other. 
 
 Com. Well, on to the market-place. 
 
 Cor. Whoever gave that counsel, to give forth 
 The corn o' the storehouse gratis, as 'twas us'd 
 Sometime in Greece, 
 
 Men. Well, well, no more of that. 
 
 Cor. Though there the people had more 
 absolute power, 
 
 1 say, they nourished disobedience, fed 
 The ruin of the state. 
 
 Bru. Why, shall the people give 
 
 One that speaks thus their voice? 
 
 Cor. I '11 give my reasons, 
 
 More worthier than their voices. They know 
 
 the corn 
 Was not our recompense, resting well assur'd 
 
 They ne'er did service for 't : being press'd to 
 
 the war, 
 
 Even when the navel of the state was touch'd, 
 They would not thread the gates, this kind 
 
 of service 
 
 Did not deserve corn gratis : being i' the war, 
 Their mutinies and revolts, wherein they show'd 
 Most valour, spoke not for them. The accusation 
 Which they have often made against the senate, 
 All cause unborn, could never be the motive 
 Of our so frank donation. Well, what then? 
 How shall this bisson multitude digest 
 The senate's courtesy? Let deeds express 
 What 's like to be their words : We did request 
 
 it; 
 
 We are the greater poll \ and in true fear 
 They gave us our demands: thus we debase 
 The nature of our seats, and make the rabble 
 Call our cares fears : which will in time 
 Break ope the locks o' the senate, and bring in 
 The crows to peck the eagles. 
 
 Men. Come, enough. 
 
 Bru. Enough, with over-measure. 
 
 Cor. No, take more : 
 
 What may be sworn by, both divine and human, 
 
 Seal what I end withal ! This double worship, 
 
 Where one part does disdain with cause, the 
 
 other [wisdom, 
 
 Insult without all reason ; where gentry, title, 
 Cannot conclude but by the yea and no 
 Of general ignorance. it must omit 
 Real necessities, and give way the while 
 To unstable slightness: purpose so barr'd, it 
 
 follows, [youj 
 
 Nothing is done to purpose. Therefore, beseech 
 You that will be less fearful than discreet; 
 That love the fundamental part of state 
 More than you doubt the change on't; that 
 
 prefer 
 
 A noble life before a long, and wish 
 To vamp a body with a dangerous physic 
 That 's sure of death without it, at once pluck 
 
 out 
 
 Vhe multitudinous tongue ; let them not lick 
 The sweet which is their poison : your dishonour 
 Mangles true judgment, and bereaves the state 
 Of that integrity which should become 't ; 
 Not having the power to do the good it would, 
 For the ill which doth control 't. 
 Bru. Has said enough. 
 
 Sic. Has spoken like a traitor, and shall 
 
 answer 
 As traitors do. 
 
 Cor. Thou wretch despite o'erwhelm thee ! 
 What should the people do with these bald 
 
 tribunes? 
 On whom depending, their obedience fails 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 839 
 
 To the greater bench : in a rebellion, [law, 
 When what 's not meet, but what must be, was 
 Then were they chosen ; in a better hour 
 Let what is meet be said it must be meet, 
 And throw their power i' the dust. 
 
 Bru. Manifest treason. 
 
 Sic. This a consul? no. 
 
 Bru. The sediles, ho! Let him be appre- 
 hended, [whose name myself 
 
 Sic. Go, call the people [Exit BRUTUS]; in 
 Attach thee as a traitorous innovator, 
 A foe to the public weal. Obey, I charge thee, 
 And follow to thine answer. 
 
 Cor. Hence, old goat ! 
 
 Sen. and Pat. We '11 surety him. 
 
 Com. Aged sir, hands off. 
 
 Cor. Hence, rotten thing ! or I shall shake 
 
 thy bones 
 Out of thy garments. 
 
 Sic. Help, ye citizens 1 
 
 Re-enter BRUTUS, with, the ^Ediles and a 
 rabble 0/ Citizens. 
 
 Men. On both sides more respect. 
 
 Sic. Here's he that would take from you 
 all your power. 
 
 Bni. Seize him, sediles. 
 
 Citizens. Down with him ! down with him ! 
 
 2 Sen. Weapons, weapons, weapons ! 
 
 [They all bustle about CORIOLANUS. 
 Tribunes, patricians, citizens ! what, ho ! 
 Sicinius, Brutus, Coriolanus, citizens ! 
 
 Citizens. Peace, peace, peace; stay, hold, 
 peace ! 
 
 Men. What is about to be? I am out of 
 breath ; [bunes 
 
 Confusion 's near ; I cannot speak. You tri- 
 To the people, Coriolanus, patience : 
 Speak, good Sicinius. 
 
 Sic. Hear me, people ; peace ! 
 
 Citizens. Let's hear our tribune": peace! 
 Speak, speak, speak. 
 
 Sic. You are at point to lose your liberties: 
 Marcius would have all from you ; Marcius, 
 Whom late you have nam'd for consul. 
 
 Men. Fie, fie, fie ! 
 
 This is the way to kindle, not to quench. 
 
 I Sen. To unbuild the city, and to lay all flat. 
 
 Sic. What is the city but the people ? 
 
 Citizens. True, 
 
 The people are the city. 
 
 Bru. By the consent of all, we were establish'd 
 The people's magistrates. 
 
 Cit. You so remain. 
 
 Men. And so are like to do. 
 
 Cor. That is the way to lay the city flat; 
 To bring the roof to the foundation, 
 
 And bury all which yet distinctly ranges, 
 In heaps and piles of ruin. 
 
 Sic. This deserves death. 
 
 Bru. Or let us stand to our authority, 
 Or let us lose it. We do here pronounce, 
 Upon the part o' the people, in whose power 
 We were elected theirs, Marcius is worthy 
 Of present death. 
 
 Sic. Therefore lay hold of him ; 
 
 Bear him to the rock Tarpeian, and from thence 
 Into destruction cast him. 
 
 Bru. ^Ediles, seize him ! 
 
 Citizens. Yield, Marcius, yield ! 
 
 Men. Hear me one word ; 
 
 Beseech you, tribunes, hear me but a word. 
 
 sEd. Peace, peace ! [friends, 
 
 Men. Be that you seem, truly your country's 
 And temperately proceed to what you would 
 Thus violently redress. 
 
 Bru. Sir, those cold ways, 
 
 That seem like prudent helps, are very poisonous 
 Where the disease is violent. Lay hands upon 
 
 him, 
 And bear him to the rock. 
 
 Cor. No; I '11 die here. 
 
 [Draws his sword. 
 
 There's some among you have beheld me 
 
 fighting : [seen me. 
 
 Come, try upon yourselves what you have 
 
 Men. Down with that sword! Tribunes, 
 withdraw awhile. 
 
 Bru. Lay hands upon him. 
 
 Men. Help Marcius, help, 
 
 You that be noble ; help him, young and old ! 
 
 Citizens. Down with him, down with him ! 
 [In this mutiny the Tribunes, the ^Ediles, 
 and the People are beat in. 
 
 Men. Go, get you to your house ; be gone, 
 
 away! 
 All will be naught else. 
 
 2 Sen. Get you gone. 
 
 Cor. Stand fast ; 
 
 We have as many friends as enemies. 
 
 Men. Shall it be put to that ? 
 
 I Sen. The gods forbid ! 
 
 I pr'ythee, noble friend, home to thy house ; 
 Leave us to cure this cause. 
 
 Men. For 'tis a sore upon us, 
 
 You cannot tent yourself: be gone, beseech you. 
 
 Com. Come, sir, along with us. [are, 
 
 Cor. I would they were barbarians, as they 
 Though in Rome litter'd, not Romans, as 
 
 they are not, 
 Though calv'd i' the porch o' the Capitol, 
 
 Men. Be gone ; 
 
 Put not your worthy rage into your tongue ; 
 One time will owe another. 
 
840 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Cor. On fair ground 
 
 I could beat forty of them. 
 
 Men. I could myself 
 
 Take up a brace o' the best of them ; yea, the 
 two tribunes. 
 
 Com. But now 'tis odds beyond arithmetic ; 
 And manhood is call'd foolery when it stands 
 Against a falling fabric. Will you hence, 
 Before the tag return ? whose rage doth rend 
 Like interrupted waters, and o'erbear 
 What they are used to bear. 
 
 Men. Pray you, be gone : 
 
 I '11 try whether my old wit be in request 
 With those that have but little : this must be 
 
 patch'd 
 With cloth of any colour. 
 
 Com, -i luey ^ Nay, come away. 
 
 [Exeunt COR. , COM. , and others. 
 
 1 Pat. This man has marr'd his fortune. 
 Men. His nature is too noble for the world : 
 
 He would not flatter Neptune for his trident, 
 Or Jove for 's power to thunder. His heart 's 
 
 his mouth : 
 What his breast forges, that his tongue must 
 
 vent ; 
 
 And, being angry, does forget that ever 
 He heard the name of death. [A noise within. 
 Here 's goodly work ! 
 
 2 Pat. I would they were a-bed ! 
 Men. I would they were in Tiber ! What, 
 
 the vengeance, 
 Could he not speak 'em fair ? 
 
 Re-enter BRUTUS and SICINIUS, with the 
 rabble. 
 
 Sic. Where is this viper 
 
 That would depopulate the city and 
 Be every man himself? 
 
 Men. You worthy tribunes, 
 
 Sic. He shall be thrown down the Tarpeian 
 
 rock 
 
 With rigorous hands : he hath resisted law, 
 And therefore law shall scorn him further trial 
 Than the severity of the public power, 
 Which he so sets at naught. 
 
 i Cit. He shall well know 
 
 The noble tribunes are the people's mouths, 
 And we their hands. 
 
 Citizens. He shall, sure on 't. 
 
 Men. Sir, sir, 
 
 Sic. Peace ! 
 
 Men. Do not cry havoc, where you should 
 
 but hunt 
 With modest warrant. 
 
 Sic. Sir, how comes 't that you 
 
 Have holp to make this rescue ? 
 
 Men. Hear me speak : 
 
 As I do know the consul's worthiness, 
 So can I name his faults, 
 
 Sic. Consul ! what consul ? 
 
 Men. The consul Coriolanus. 
 
 Bru. He consul ! 
 
 Citizens. No, no, no, no, no. 
 
 Men. If, by the tribunes' leave, and yours, 
 
 good people, 
 
 I may be heard, I would crave a word or two; 
 The which shall turn you to no further harm 
 Than so much loss of time. 
 
 Sic. Speak briefly, then ; 
 
 For we are peremptory to despatch 
 This viperous traitor : to eject him hence 
 Were but one danger ; and to keep him here 
 Our certain death : therefore it is decreed 
 He di-es to-night. 
 
 Men. Now the good gods forbid 
 
 That our renowned Rome, whose gratitude 
 Towards her deserved children is enroll'd 
 In Jove's own book, like an unnatural dam 
 Should now eat up her own ! 
 
 Sic. He 's a disease that must be cut away. 
 
 Men. O, he 's a limb that has but a disease j 
 Mortal, to cut it off ; to cure it, easy. 
 What has he done to Rome that 's worthy death ? 
 Killing our enemies, the blood he hath lost, 
 Which I dare vouch is more than that he hath 
 By many an ounce, he dropt it for his country ; 
 And what is left, to lose it by his country 
 Were to us all, that do't and suffer it, 
 A brand to the end o' the world. 
 
 Sic. This is clean kam. 
 
 Bru. Merely awry: when he did love his 
 
 country, 
 It honour'd him. 
 
 Men. The service of the foot, 
 
 Being once gangren'd, is not then respected 
 For what before it was. 
 
 Bru. We'll hear no more. 
 
 Pursue him to his house, and pluck him thence ; 
 Lest his infection, being of catching nature, 
 Spread further. 
 
 Men. One word more, one word. 
 
 This tiger-footed rage, when it shall find 
 The harm of unscann'd swiftness, will, too late, 
 Tie leaden pounds to's heels. Proceed by 
 
 process ; 
 
 Lest parties, as he is belov'd, -break out, 
 And sack great Rome with Romans. 
 
 Bru. If it were so, 
 
 Sic. What do you talk? 
 Have we not had a taste of his obedience ? 
 Our sediles smote? ourselves resisted ? come, 
 
 Men. Consider this : he has been bred i' the 
 
 wars 
 Since he could draw a sword, and is ill school'd 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 841 
 
 In bolted language ; meal and bran together 
 He throws without distinction. Give me leave, 
 I '11 go to him, and undertake to bring him 
 Where he shall answer, by a lawful form, 
 In peace, to his utmost peril. 
 
 I Sen. Noble tribunes, 
 
 It is the humane way: the other course 
 Will prove too bloody ; and the end of it 
 Unknown to the beginning. 
 
 Sic. Noble Menenius, 
 
 Be you then as the people's officer. 
 Masters, lay down your weapons. 
 
 Bru. Go not home. 
 
 Sic. Meet on the market-place. We'll 
 
 attend you there : 
 
 Where, if you bring not Marcius, we '11 proceed 
 In our first way. 
 
 Men. I '11 bring him to you. 
 
 [ To the Senators. ] Let me desire your company : 
 
 he must come, 
 Or what is worst will follow. 
 
 I Sen. Pray you, let 's to him. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. ROME. A Room in CORIOLANUS'S 
 
 House. 
 Enter CORIOLANUS and Patricians. 
 
 Cor. Let them pull all about mine ears; 
 
 present me 
 
 Death on the wheel, or at wild horses' heels ; 
 Or pile ten hills on the Tarpeian rock, 
 That the precipitation might down stretch 
 Below the beam of sight ; yet will I still 
 Be thus to them. 
 
 I Pat. You do the nobler. 
 
 Cor. I muse my mother 
 Does not approve me further, who was wont 
 To call them woollen vassals, things created 
 To buy and sell with groats ; to show bare heads 
 In congregations, to yawn, be still, and wonder, 
 When one but of my ordinance stood up 
 To speak of peace or war. 
 
 Enter VOLUMNIA. 
 
 I talk of you : [ To VOLUMNI A. 
 
 Why did you wish me milder? Would you 
 have me 
 
 False to my nature? Rather say, I play 
 
 The man I am. 
 
 Vol. O, sir, sir, sir, 
 
 I would have had you put your power well on 
 
 Before you had worn it out. 
 
 Cor. Let go. [you are 
 
 Vol. You might have been enough the man 
 
 With striving less to be so : lesser had been 
 
 The thwartings of your dispositions if 
 
 You had not show'd them how ye were dispos'd 
 Ere they lack'd power to cross you. 
 
 Cor. Let them hang. 
 
 Vol. Ay, and burn too. 
 
 Enter MENENIUS and Senators. 
 
 Men. Come, come, you have been too rough, 
 
 something too rough ; 
 You must return and mend it. 
 
 i Sen. There 's no remedy ; 
 
 Unless, by not so doing, our good city 
 Cleave in the midst, and perish. 
 
 Vol. Pray, be counseled ; 
 
 I have a heart as little apt as yours, 
 But yet a brain that leads my use of anger 
 To better vantage. 
 
 Men. Well said, noble woman ! 
 
 Before he should thus stoop to the herd, but that 
 The violent fit o' the time craves it as physic 
 For the whole state, I would put mine armour on, 
 Which I can scarcely bear. 
 
 Cor. What must I do? 
 
 Men. Return to the tribunes. 
 
 Cor. Well, what then? what then? 
 
 Men. Repent what you have spoke. 
 
 Cor. For them? I cannot do it to the gods ; 
 Must I then do't to them? 
 
 Vol. You are too absolute; 
 
 Though therein you can never be too noble 
 But when extremities speak. I have heard 
 
 you say, 
 
 Honour and policy, like unsever'd friends, 
 I' the war do grow together : grant that, and 
 
 tell me 
 
 In peace what each of them by th* other lose 
 That they combine not there. 
 
 Cor. Tush, tush ! 
 
 Men. A good demand. 
 
 Vol. If it be honour in your wars to seem 
 The same you are not, which for your best ends 
 You adopt your policy, how is it less or worse 
 That it shall hold companionship in peace 
 With honour as in war ; since that to both 
 It stands in like request? 
 
 Cor. Why force you this? 
 
 Vol. Because that now it lies you on to speak 
 To the people ; not by your own instruction, 
 Nor by the matter which yourheart prompts you, 
 But with such words that are but rooted in 
 Your tongue, though but bastards, and syllables 
 Of no allowance, to your bosom's truth, 
 Now, this no more dishonours you at all 
 Than to take in a town with gentle words, 
 Which else would put you to your fortune and 
 The hazard of much blood. 
 I would dissemble with my nature where 
 My fortunes and my friends at stake requir'd 
 
842 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 I should do so in honour : I am in this 
 Your wife, your son, these senators, the nobles ; 
 And you will rather show our general louts 
 How you can frown, than spend a fawn upon 
 
 'em 
 
 For the inheritance of their loves and safeguard 
 Of what that want might ruin. 
 
 Men. Noble lady ! 
 
 Come, go with us ; speak fair : you may salve so, 
 Not what is dangerous present, but the loss 
 Of what is past. 
 
 Vol. I pr'ythee now, my son, 
 
 Go to them with this bonnet in thy hand ; 
 And thus far having stretch'd it, here be with 
 
 them, [business 
 
 Thy knee bussing the stones, for in such 
 Action is eloquence, and the eyes of the ignorant 
 More learned than the ears, waving thy head, 
 Which often, thus, correcting thy stout heart, 
 Now humble as the ripest mulberry 
 That will not hold the handling : or say to them 
 Thou art their soldier, and, being bred in 
 
 broils, 
 
 Hast not the soft way which, thou dost confess, 
 Were fit for thee to use, as they to claim, 
 In asking their good loves; but thou wilt frame 
 Thyself, forsooth, hereafter theirs, so far 
 AS thou hast power and person. 
 
 Men. This but done, 
 
 Even as she speaks, why, their hearts were 
 
 yours : 
 
 For they have pardons, being ask'd, as free 
 As words to little purpose. 
 
 Vol. Pr'ythee now, 
 
 Go, and be rul'd : although I know thou had'st 
 
 rather 
 
 Follow thine enemy in a fiery gulf 
 Than flatter him in a bower. Here is Cominius. 
 
 Enter COMINIUS. 
 
 Com. I have been i' the market-place ; and, 
 
 sir, 'tis fit 
 
 You make strong party, or defend yourself 
 By calmness or by absence : all 's in anger. 
 
 Men. Only fair speech. 
 
 Com. I think 'twill serve, if he 
 
 Can thereto frame his spirit. 
 
 Vol. He must, and will. 
 
 Pr'ythee now, say you will, and go about it. 
 
 Cor. Must I go show them my unbarb'd 
 
 sconce? must I, 
 
 With my base tongue, give to my noble heart 
 A lie, that it must bear? Well, I will do't: 
 Yet, were there but this single plot to lose, 
 This mould of Marcius, they to dust should 
 grind it, [place : 
 
 And throw 't against the wind. To the market- 
 
 You have put me now to such a part which 
 
 never 
 I shall discharge to the life. 
 
 Com. Come, come, we '11 prompt you. 
 
 Vol. I pr'ythee now, sweet son, as thou 
 
 hast said 
 
 My praises made thee first a soldier, so, 
 To have my praise for this, perform a part 
 Thou hast not done before. 
 
 Cor. Well, I must do 't : 
 
 Away, my disposition, and possess me 
 Some harlot's spirit! My throat of war be 
 
 turn'd, 
 
 Which quired with my drum, into a pipe 
 Small as an eunuch, or the virgin voice 
 That babies lulls asleep ! the smiles of knaves 
 Tent in my cheeks; and school-boys' tears 
 
 take up 
 
 The glasses of my sight ! a beggar's tongue 
 Make motion through my lips ; and my arm'd 
 
 knees, 
 
 Who bow'd but in my stirrup, bend like his 
 That hath receiv'd an alms ! I will not do 't ; 
 Lest I surcease to honour mine own truth, 
 And by my body's action teach my mind 
 A most inherent baseness. 
 
 Vol. At thy choice, then: 
 
 To beg of thee, it is my more dishonour 
 Than thou of them. Come all to ruin : let 
 Thy mother rather feel thy pride than fear 
 Thy dangerous stoutness ; for I mock at death 
 With as big heart as thou. Do as thou list. 
 Thy valiantness was mine, thou suck'dst it 
 
 from me ; 
 But owe thy pride thyself. 
 
 Cor. Pray, be content: 
 
 Mother, I am going to the market-place ; 
 Chide me no more. I'll mountebank their 
 
 loves, [belov'd 
 
 Cog their hearts from them, and come home 
 Of all the trades in Rome. Look, I am going: 
 Commend me to my wife. I '11 return consul ; 
 Or never trust to what my tongue can do 
 I' the way of flattery further. 
 
 Vol. Do your will. [Exit. 
 
 Com. Away! the tribunes do attend you: 
 
 arm yourself 
 
 To answer mildly ; for they are prepar'd 
 With accusations, as I hear, more strong 
 Than are upon you yet. 
 
 Cor. The word is, mildly. Pray you, let us 
 
 go: 
 
 Let them accuse me by invention, I 
 Will answer in mine honour. 
 
 Men. Ay, but mildly. 
 
 Cor. Well, mildly be it then ; mildly. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 843 
 
 SCENE III. ROME. Tht. Forum. 
 Enter SICINIUS and BRUTUS. 
 
 Bru. In this point charge him home, that 
 
 he affects 
 
 Tyrannical power : if he evade us there, 
 Enforce him with his envy to the people; 
 And that the spoil got on the Antiates 
 Was ne'er distributed. 
 
 Enter an ^Edile. 
 
 What, will he come? 
 
 Ad* He 's coming. 
 
 Bru. How accompanied? 
 
 &d. With old Menenius, and those senators 
 That always favour'd him. 
 
 Sic. Have you a catalogue 
 
 Of all the voices that we have procur'd, 
 Set down by the poll? 
 
 jEd. I have ; 'tis ready. 
 
 Sic. Have you collected them by tribes? 
 
 sEd. I have. 
 
 Sic. Assemble presently the people hither : 
 And when they hear me say, // shall be so 
 r the right and strength a' the commons, be it 
 either [them, 
 
 For death, for fine, or banishment, then let 
 If I say fine, cry Fine, if death, cry Death; 
 Insisting on the old prerogative 
 And power i' the truth o' the cause. 
 
 j*Ed. I shall inform them. 
 
 Bru. And when such time they have begun 
 
 to cry, 
 
 Let them not cease, but with a din confus'd 
 Enforce the present execution 
 Of what we chance to sentence. 
 
 ;3Ld. Very well. 
 
 Sic. Make them be strong, and ready for 
 
 this hint, 
 When we shall hap to give 't them. 
 
 Bru. Go about it 
 
 [Exit ^Edile. 
 
 Put him to choler straight : he hath been us'd 
 Ever to conquer, and to have his worth 
 Of contradiction: being once chaf'd, he cannot 
 Be rein'd again to temperance ; then he speaks 
 What 's in his heart ; and that is there which 
 
 looks 
 With us to break his neck. 
 
 Sic. Well, here he comes. 
 Enter CORIOLANUS, MENENIUS, COMINIUS, 
 Senators, and Patricians. 
 
 Men. Calmly, I do beseech you. 
 Cor. Ay, as an ostler, that for the poorest 
 piece [honour'd gods 
 
 Will bear the knave by the volume. The 
 
 Keep Rome in safety, and the chairs of justice 
 Supplied with worthy men ! plant love among 's! 
 Throng our large temples with the shows of 
 
 peace, 
 And not our streets with war ! 
 
 i Sen. Amen, amen! 
 
 Men. A noble wish. 
 
 Re-enter yEdile, with Citizens. 
 
 Sic. Draw near, ye people. [I say ! 
 
 sd. List to your tribunes ; audience : peace, 
 
 Cor. First, hear me speak. 
 
 Both. Tri. Well, say. Peace, ho! 
 
 Cor. Shall I be charg'd no further than this 
 
 present ? 
 Must all determine here? 
 
 Sic. I do demand, 
 
 If you submit you to the people's voices, 
 Allow their officers, and are content 
 To suffer lawful censure for such faults 
 As shall be proved upon you? 
 
 Cor. I am content. 
 
 Men. Lo, citizens, he says he is content : 
 The warlike service he has done, consider; 
 think [like 
 
 Upon the wounds his body bears, which show 
 Graves i' the holy churchyard. 
 
 Cor. Scratches with briers, 
 
 Scars to move laughter only. 
 
 Men. Consider further, 
 
 That when he speaks not like a citizen, 
 You find him like a soldier : do not take 
 His rougher accents for malicious sounds, 
 But, as I say, such as become a soldier. 
 Rather than envy you. 
 
 Com. Well, well, no more. 
 
 Cor. What is the matter, 
 That being pass'd for consul with full voice, 
 I am so dishonour'd that the very hour 
 You take it off again? 
 
 Sic. Answer to us. 
 
 Cor. Say then: 'tis true, I ought so. 
 
 Sic. We charge you that you h sve contrived 
 
 to take 
 
 From Rome all season'd office, and to wind 
 Yourself into a power tyrannical ; 
 For which you are a traitor to the people. 
 
 Cor. How! traitor! 
 
 Men. Nay, temperately; your promise. 
 
 Cor. The fires i' the lowest hell fold in the 
 
 Call me their traitor ! Thou injurious tribune ! 
 Within thine eyes sat twenty thousand deaths, 
 In thy hands clutch'd as many millions, in 
 Thy lying tongue both numbers, I would say, 
 Thou liest unto thee, with a voice as free 
 As I do pray the gods. 
 
844 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 {ACT iv. 
 
 Sic. Mark you this, people? 
 
 Citizens. To the rock, to the rock with him ! 
 
 Sic. Peace! 
 
 We need not put new matter to his charge : 
 What you have seen him do and heard him 
 
 speak, 
 
 Beating your officers, cursing yourselves, 
 Opposing laws with strokes, and here defying 
 Those whose great power must try him ; even 
 
 this, 
 
 So criminal, and in such capital kind, 
 Deserves the extremest death. 
 
 Bru. But since he hath 
 
 Serv'd well for Rome, 
 
 Cor. What do you prate of service ? 
 
 Bru. I talk of that, that know it. 
 
 Cor. You? [mother? 
 
 Men. Is this the promise that you made your 
 
 Com. Know, I pray you, 
 
 Cor. I '11 know no further : 
 
 Let them pronounce the steep Tarpeian death, 
 Vagabond exile, flaying, pent to linger 
 But with a grain a day, I would not buy 
 Their mercy at the price of one fair word, 
 Nor check my courage for what they can give, 
 To have 't with saying Good-morrow. 
 
 Sic. For that he has, 
 
 As much as in him lies, from time to time 
 Envied against the people, seeking means 
 To pluck away their power ; as now at last 
 Given hostile strokes, and that not in the 
 
 presence 
 
 Of dreaded justice, but on the ministers 
 That do distribute it; in the name o' the people, 
 And in the power of us the tribunes, we, 
 Even from this instant, banish him our city; 
 In peril of precipitation 
 From off the rock Tarpeian, never more 
 To enter our Rome gates : i' the people's name, 
 I say it shall be so. 
 
 Citizens. It shall be so, it shall be so; let 
 
 him away : 
 He 's banished, and it shall be so. 
 
 Com. Hear me, my masters, and my common 
 friends, 
 
 Sic. He 's sentenc'd ; no more hearing. 
 
 Com. Let me speak : 
 
 I have been consul, and can show for Rome 
 Her enemies' marks upon me. I do love 
 My country's good with a respect more tender, 
 More holy and profound, than mine own life, 
 My dear wife's estimate, her womb's increase, 
 And treasure of my loins; then if I would 
 Speak that, 
 
 Sic. We know your drift. Speak what ? 
 
 JBru. There 's no more to be said, but he is 
 banish'd, 
 
 As enemy to the people and his country : 
 It shall be so. 
 
 Citizens. It shall be so, it shall be so. 
 Cor. You common cry of curs ! whose breath 
 
 I hate 
 
 As reek o' the rotten fens, whose loves I prize 
 As the dead carcasses of unburied men 
 That do corrupt my air, I banish you ; 
 And here remain with your uncertainty ! 
 Let every feeble rumour shake your hearts! 
 Your enemies, with nodding of their plumes, 
 Fan you into despair ! Have the power still 
 To banish your defenders ; till at length 
 Your ignorance, which finds not till it feels, 
 Making not reservation of yourselves, 
 Still your own foes, deliver you, as most 
 Abated captives, to some nation 
 That won you without blows ! Despising, 
 For you, the city, thus I turn my back : 
 There is a world elsewhere. 
 
 [JSxeuntCoR., COM., MEN., Senators, 
 
 and Patricians. 
 
 sEd. The people's enemy is gone, is gone ! 
 Citizens. Our enemy is banish'd ! he is gone ! 
 
 Hoo! hoo! 
 
 \Shouting) and throwing up their caps. 
 Sic. Go, see him out at gates, and follow 
 
 him, 
 
 As he hath follow'd you, with all despite ; 
 Give him deserv'd vexation. Let a guard 
 Attend us through the city. [gates ; come. 
 Citizens. Come, come, let us see him out at 
 The gods preserve our noble tribunes ! Come. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. ROME. Before a Gate of the City. 
 
 Enter CORIOLANUS, VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, 
 MENENIUS, COMINIUS, and several young 
 Patricians. 
 
 Cor. Come, leave your tears; a brief fare- 
 well: the beast 
 
 With manyheads butts me away. Nay, mother, 
 Where is your ancient courage? you were us'd 
 To say extremity was the trier of spirits ; 
 That common chances common men could bear ; 
 That when the sea was calm all boats alike 
 Show'd mastership in floating ; fortune's blows, 
 When most struck home, being gentle wounded, 
 
 craves 
 
 A noble cunning: you were us'd to load me 
 With precepts that would make invincible 
 The heart that conn'd them. 
 
 Vir. O heavens 1 O heavens ! 
 
 Cor. Nay, I pr'ythee, woman, t 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 CORIOLANU9. 
 
 845 
 
 Vol. Now the red pestilence strike all trades 
 
 in Rome, 
 And occupations perish ! 
 
 Cor. What, what, what! 
 
 I shall be lov'd when I am lack'd. Nay, mother, 
 Resume that spirit when you were wont to say, 
 If you had been the wife of Hercules, 
 Six of his labours you 'd have done, and sav'd 
 Your husband so much sweat. Cominius, 
 Droop not; adieu. Farewell, my wife, my 
 
 mother : 
 
 I '11 do well yet. Thou old and true Menenius, 
 Thy tears are salter than a younger man's, 
 And venomous to thine eyes. My sometime 
 
 general, 
 
 I have seen thee stern, and thou hast oft beheld 
 Heart-hard'ning spectacles; tell these sad women 
 'Tis fond to wail inevitable strokes, 
 As 'tis to laugh at 'em. My mother, you wot 
 
 well 
 
 My hazards still have been your solace : and 
 Believe 't not lightly, though I go alone, 
 Like to a lonely dragon, that his fen [your son 
 Makes fear'd and talk'd of more than seen, 
 Will or exceed the common or be caught 
 With cautelous baits and practice. 
 
 Vol. My first son, 
 
 Whither wilt thou go? Take good Cominius 
 With thee awhile : determine on some course 
 More than a wild exposture to each chance 
 That starts i' the way before thee. 
 
 Cor. O the gods ! 
 
 Com. I '11 follow thee a month, devise with 
 thee [of us, 
 
 Where thou shalt rest, that thou mayst hear 
 And we of thee : so, if the time thrust forth 
 A cause for thy repeal, we shall not send 
 O'er the vast world to seek a single man ; 
 And lose advantage, which doth ever cool 
 I' the absence of the needer. 
 
 Cor. Fare ye well : 
 
 Thou hast years upon thee ; and thou art too full 
 Of the wars' surfeits to go rove with one 
 That 's yet unbruis'd: bring me but out at gate. 
 Come, my sweet wife, my dearest mother, and 
 My friends of noble touch; when I am forth, 
 Bid me farewell, and smile. I pray you, come. 
 While I remain above the ground, you shall 
 Hear from me still ; and never of me aught 
 But what is like me formerly. 
 
 Men. That's worthily 
 
 As any ear can hear. Come, let 's not weep. 
 If I could shake off but one seven years 
 From these old arms and legs, by the good gods, 
 I 'd with thee every foot. 
 
 Cor. Give me thy hand : 
 
 Come. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. ROME. A Street near the Gate. 
 Enter SiciNius, BRUTUS, and an ^Edile. 
 
 Sic. Bid them all home; he's gone, and 
 
 we '11 no further. 
 
 The nobility are vex'd, whom we see have sided 
 In his behalf. 
 
 Bru. Now we have shown our power, 
 
 Let us seem humbler after it is done 
 Than when it was a-doing. 
 
 Sic. Bid them home : 
 
 Say their great enemy is gone, and they 
 Stand in their ancient strength. 
 
 Bru. Dismiss them home. 
 
 [Exit ^Edile. 
 Here comes his mother. 
 
 Sic. Let 's not meet her. 
 
 Bru. Why? 
 
 Sic. They say she 's mad. [your way. 
 
 Bru. They have ta'en note of us : keep on 
 
 and MENENIUS. 
 
 Vol. O, you're well met : the hoarded plague 
 
 o' the gods 
 Requite your love ! 
 
 Men. Peace, peace, be not so loud. 
 
 Vol. If that I could for weeping, you should 
 
 hear, [gone ? 
 
 Nay, and you shall hear some. Will you be 
 
 [To BRUTUS. 
 
 Vir. You shall stay too [To SiciNius]: I 
 
 would I had the power 
 To say so to my husband. 
 
 Sic. Are you mankind ? 
 
 Vol. Ay, fool ; is that a shame ? Note but 
 
 this fool. 
 
 Was not a man my father ? Hadst thou foxship 
 To banish him that struck more blows for Rome 
 Than thou hast spoken words ? 
 
 Sic. O blessed heavens ! 
 
 Vol. More noble blows than ever thou wise 
 words; [yet go; 
 
 And for Rome's good. I'll tell thee what; 
 Nay, but thou shalt stay too : I would my son 
 Were in Arabia, and thy tribe before him, 
 His good sword in his hand. 
 
 Sic. What then? 
 
 Vir. What then ! 
 
 He 'd make an end of thy posterity. 
 
 Vol. Bastards and all. [Rome ! 
 
 Good man, the wounds that he does bear for 
 
 Men. Come, come, peace. 
 
 Sic. I would he had continu'd to his country 
 As he began, and not unknit himself 
 The noble knot he made. 
 
 Bru. I would he had. 
 
846 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 [ACT IV. 
 
 Vol. I would he had! 'Twas you incens'd 
 
 the rabble; 
 
 Cats, that can judge as fitly of his worth 
 As I can of those mysteries which heaven 
 Will not have earth to know. 
 
 Bru. Pray, let us go. 
 
 VoL Now, pray, sir, get you gone : [this, 
 You have done a brave deed. Ere you go, hear 
 As far as doth the Capitol exceed 
 The meanest house in Rome, so far my son, 
 This lady's husband here ; this, do you see ? 
 Whom you have banish'd, does exceed you all. 
 
 Bru. Well, well, we'll leave you. 
 
 Sic. Why stay we to be baited 
 
 With one that wants her wits? 
 
 Vol. Take my prayers with you. 
 
 I would the gods had nothing else to do 
 
 [Exeunt Tribunes. 
 
 But to confirm my curses ! Could I meet 'em 
 But once a day, it would unclog my heart 
 Of what lies heavy to 't. 
 
 Men. You have told them home, 
 
 And, by my troth, you have cause. You '11 sup 
 with me ? 
 
 Vol. Anger 's my meat ; I sup upon myself, 
 And so shall starve with feeding. Come, let's 
 
 go: 
 
 Leave this faint puling, and lament as I do, 
 In anger, Juno-like. Come, come, come. 
 
 Men. Fie, fie, fie! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. A Highway between Rome and 
 Antium. 
 
 Enter a Roman and a Volsce, meeting. 
 
 Rom. I know you well, sir ; and you know 
 me : your name, I think, is Adrian. 
 
 Vols. It is so, sir : truly, I have forgot you. 
 
 Rom. I am a Roman; and my services are, 
 as you are, against 'em : know you me yet ? 
 
 Vols. Nicanor? no. 
 
 Rom. The same, sir. 
 
 Vols. You had more beard when I last saw 
 you ; but your favour is well approved by your 
 tongue. What 's the news in Rome ? I have a 
 note from the Volscian state, to find you out 
 there : you have well saved me a day's journey. 
 
 Rom. There hath been in Rome strange 
 insurrection; the people against the senators, 
 patricians, and nobles. 
 
 Vols. Hath been! is it ended, then? Our 
 state thinks not so ; they are in a most warlike 
 preparation, and hope to come upon "them in 
 the heat of their division. 
 
 Rom. The main blaze of it is past, but a 
 small thing would make it flame again : for the 
 nobles receive so to heart the banishment of 
 
 that worthy Coriolanus that they are in a ripe 
 aptness to take all power from the people, and 
 to pluck from them their tribunes for ever. 
 This lies glowing, I can tell you, and is almost 
 mature for the violent breaking out. 
 
 Vols. Coriolanus banished ! 
 
 Rom. Banished, sir. 
 
 Vols. You will be welcome with this intelli- 
 gence, Nicanor. 
 
 Rom. The day serves well for them now. I 
 have heard it said the fittest time to corrupt a 
 man's wife is when she's fallen out with her 
 husband. Your noble Tullus Aufidius will 
 appear well in these wars, his great opposer, 
 Coriolanus, being now in no request of his 
 country. 
 
 Vols. He cannot choose. I am most for- 
 tunate thus accidentally to encounter you : you 
 have ended my business, and I will merrily 
 accompany you home. 
 
 Rom. I shall, between this and supper, tell 
 you most strange things from Rome ; all tending 
 to the good of their adversaries. Have you an 
 army ready, say you ? 
 
 Vols. A most royal one ; the centurions and 
 their charges, distinctly billeted, already in the 
 entertainment, and to be on foot at an hour's 
 warning. 
 
 Rom. I am joyful to hear of their readiness, 
 and am the man, I think, that shall set them 
 in present action. So, sir, heartily well met, 
 and most glad of your company. 
 
 Vols. You take my part from me, sir ; I have 
 the most cause to be glad of yours. 
 
 Rom. Well, let us go together. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. ANTIUM. Before AUFIDIUS'S 
 House. 
 
 Enter CORIOLANUS, in mean apparel, disguised 
 and mu-ffled. 
 
 Cor. A goodly city is this Antium. City, 
 'Tis I that made thy widows : many an heir 
 Of these fa ; r edifices 'fore my wars 
 Have I heard groan and drop : then know me 
 not, [stones 
 
 Lest that thy wives with spits and boys with 
 In puny battle slay me. 
 
 Enter a Citizen. 
 
 Save you, sir. 
 
 Cit. And you. 
 
 Cor. Direct me, if it be your will, 
 
 Where great Aufidius lies : is he in Antium? 
 
 Cit. He is, and feasts the nobles of the state 
 At his house this night. 
 
 Cor. Which is his house, beseech you? 
 
SCENE V.] 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 847 
 
 Cit. This, here, before you. 
 Cor. Thank you, sir: farewell. 
 
 [Exit Citizen. 
 
 world, thy slippery turns ! Friends now fast 
 
 sworn, 
 
 Whose double bosoms seem to wear one heart, 
 Whose house, whose bed, whose meal and 
 
 exercise 
 
 Are still together, who twin, as 'twere, in love 
 Unseparable, shall within this hour, 
 On a dissension of a doit, break out 
 To bitterest enmity ; so fellest foes, [sleep 
 Whose passions and whose plots have broke their 
 To take the one the other, by some chance, 
 Some trick not worth an egg, shall grow dear 
 
 friends, 
 
 And interjoin their issues. So with me : 
 My birthplace hate I, and my love 's upon 
 This enemy town. I '11 enter: if he slay me, 
 He does fair justice ; if he give me way, 
 
 1 '11 do his country service. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE V. ANTIUM. A Hall in AUFIDIUS'S 
 
 House. 
 Music within. Enter a Servant. 
 
 1 Serv. Wine, wine, wine ! What service is 
 
 here ! 
 
 I think our fellows are asleep. [Exit. 
 
 Enter a second Servant. 
 
 2 Serv. Where 's Cotus ? my master calls for 
 him. Cotus! [Exit. 
 
 Enter CORIOLANUS. 
 
 Cor. A goodly house : the feast smells well ; 
 
 but I 
 Appear not like a guest 
 
 Re-enter the first Servant. 
 
 1 Serv. What would you have, friend? whence 
 are you? Here 's no place for you : pray, go to 
 the door. 
 
 Cor. I have deserv'd no better entertainment 
 In being Coriolanus. 
 
 Re-enter second Servant. 
 
 2 Serv. Whence are you, sir? Has the porter 
 his eyes in his head, that he gives entrance to 
 such companions? Pray, get you out. 
 
 Cor. Away! 
 
 2 Serv. Away ! Get you away. 
 Cor. Now thou art troublesome. 
 2 Serv. Are you so brave? I'll have you 
 talked with anon. 
 
 Enter a third Servant. The first meets him. 
 
 ZStrv. What fellow's this? 
 
 I Serv. A strange one as ever I looked on : I 
 
 cannot get him out o' the house : pr'ythee, call 
 my master to him. 
 
 3 Serv. What have you to do here, fellow? 
 Pray you, avoid the house. 
 
 Cor. Let me but stand ; I will not hurt your 
 hearth. 
 
 3 Serv. What are you? 
 
 Cor. A gentleman. 
 
 3 Serv. A marvellous poor one. 
 
 Cor. True, so I am. 
 
 3 Serv. Pray you, poor gentleman, take up 
 some other station ; here 's no place for you ; 
 pray you, avoid: come. 
 
 Cor. Follow your function, go, 
 And batten on cold bits. [Pushes him away. 
 
 3 Serv. What, you will not? Pr'ythee, tell 
 my master what a strange guest he has here. 
 
 2 Serv. And I shall. [Exit, 
 
 3 Serv. Where dwellest thou? 
 Cor. Under the canopy. 
 
 3 Serv. Under the canopy ! 
 
 Cor. Ay. 
 
 ^Serv. Where's that? 
 
 Cor. r the city of kites and crows. 
 
 3 Serv. I' the city of kites and crows ! What 
 an ass it is ! Then thou dwellest with daws too? 
 
 Cor. No, I serve not thy master. 
 
 3 Serv. How, sir ! Do you meddle with my 
 master? 
 
 Cor. Ay; 'tis an honester service than to 
 
 meddle with thy mistress : 
 Thou prat'st and prat'st ; serve with thy trencher, 
 hence ! [Beats him in. 
 
 Enter AUFIDIUS and the second Servant 
 
 Auf. Where is this fellow? 
 
 2 Serv. Here, sir : I'd have beaten him like 
 a dog, but for disturbing the lords within. 
 
 Auf. Whence comest thou? what wouldst 
 
 thou? thy name? [name? 
 
 Why speak'st not? speak, man: what's thy 
 
 Cor. If, Tullus, [Unmuffling. 
 
 Not yet thou know'st me, and, seeing me, dost 
 
 not 
 
 Think me for the man I am, necessity 
 Commands me name myself. 
 
 Auf. What is thy name? 
 
 [Servants retire. 
 
 Cor. A name unmusical to the Volscians' ears, 
 And harsh in sound to thine. 
 
 Auf. Say, what's thy name? 
 
 Thou hast a grim appearance, and thy face 
 Bears a'command in 't ; though thy tackle 's torn, 
 Thou show'st a noble vessel : what 's thy name? 
 
 Cor. Prepare thy brow to frown : know'st 
 thou me yet? 
 
 Auf. I know thee not : thy name? 
 
848 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Cor. My name is Caius Marcius, who hath 
 
 done 
 
 To thee particularly, and to all the Volsces, 
 Great hurt and mischief; thereto witness may 
 My surname, Coriolanus : the painful service, 
 The extreme dangers, and the drops of blood 
 Shed for my thankless country, are requited 
 But with that surname ; a good memory, 
 And witness of the malice and displeasure 
 Which thou shouldst bear me : only that name 
 
 remains ; 
 
 The cruelty and envy of the people, 
 Permitted by our dastard nobles, who 
 Have all forsook me, hath devour'd the rest, 
 And suffer'd me by the voice of slaves to be 
 Whoop'd out of Rome. Now, this extremity 
 Hath brought me to thy hearth : not out of hope, 
 Mistake me not, to save my life ; for if 
 I had fear'd death, of all the men i' the world 
 I would have 'voided thee ; but in mere spite, 
 To be full quit of those iny banishers, 
 Stand I before thee here. Then if thou hast 
 A heart of wreak in thee, that wilt revenge 
 Thine own particular wrongs, and stop those 
 
 maims [straight, 
 
 Of shame seen through thy country, speed thee 
 And make my misery serve thy turn : so use it 
 That my revengeful services may prove 
 As benefits to thee ; for I will fight 
 Against my canker'd country with the spleen 
 Of all the under fiends. But if so be 
 Thou dar'st not this, and that to prove more 
 
 fortunes 
 
 Thou 'rt tir'd, then, in a word, I also am 
 Longer to live most weary, and present 
 My throat to thee and to thy ancient malice ; 
 Which not to cut would thee show but a fool, 
 Since I have ever follow'd thee with hate, 
 Drawn tuns of blood out of thy country's breast, 
 And cannot live but to thy shame, unless 
 It be to do thee service. 
 
 Auf. O Marcius, Marcius ! 
 
 Each word thou hast spoke hath weeded from 
 
 my heart 
 
 A root of ancient envy. If Jupiter 
 Should from yond cloud speak divine things, 
 And say 'Tis true, I'd not believe them more 
 Than thee, all noble Marcius. Let me twine 
 Mine arms about that body, where against 
 My grained ash an hundred times hath broke 
 And scar'd the moon with splinters : here I clip 
 The anvil of my sword, and do contest 
 As hotly and as nobly with thy love 
 As ever in ambitious strength I did 
 Contend against thy valour. Know thou first, 
 I lov'd the maid I married ; never man 
 Sighed truer breath; but that I see thee here, 
 
 Thou noble thing ! more dances my rapt heart 
 Than when I first my wedded mistress saw 
 Bestride my threshold. Why, thou Mars! 1 
 
 tell thee, 
 
 We have a power on foot ; and I had purpose 
 Once more to hew thy target from thy brawn, 
 Or lose mine arm for't : thou hast beat me out 
 Twelve several times, and I have nightly since 
 Dreamt of encounters 'twixt thyself and me ; 
 We have been down together in my sleep, 
 Unbuckling helms, fisting each other's throat, 
 And wak'd half dead with nothing. Worthy 
 
 Marcius, 
 
 Had we no other quarrel else to Rome, but that 
 Thou art thence banish'd, we would muster all 
 From twelve to seventy ; and, pouring war 
 Into the bowels of ungrateful Rome, 
 Like a bold flood o'erbear. O, come, go in, 
 And take our friendly senators by the hands ; 
 Who now are here, taking their leaves of me, 
 Who am prepar'd against your territories, 
 Though not for Rome itself. 
 
 Cor. You bless me, gods ! 
 
 Auf. Therefore, most absolute sir, if thou 
 
 wilt have 
 
 The leading of thine own revenges, take 
 The one half of my commission ; and set down, 
 As best thou art experience'd, since thou know'st 
 Thy country's strength and weakness, thine 
 
 own ways ; 
 
 Whether to knock against the gates of Rome, 
 Or rudely visit them in parts remote, 
 To fright them, ere destroy. But come in : 
 Let me commend thee first to those that shall 
 Say yea to thy desires. A thousand welcomes ! 
 And more a friend than e'er an enemy ; 
 Yet, Marcius, that was much. Your hand : 
 
 most welcome ! 
 
 [Exeunt COR. and AUF. 
 
 1 Serv. [Advancing.'} Here's a strange altera- 
 tion! 
 
 2 Serv. By my hand, I had thought to have 
 strucken him with a cudgel ; and yet my mind 
 gave me his clothes made a false report of him. 
 
 1 Serv. What an arm he has! He turned 
 me about with his finger and his thumb, as one 
 
 ould set up a top. 
 
 2 Serv. Nay, I knew by his face that there 
 was something in him : he had, sir, a kind of 
 face, methought, I cannot tell how to term it. 
 
 1 Serv. He had so; looking as it were, 
 would I were hanged, but I thought there was 
 more in him than I could think. 
 
 2 Serv. So did I, I'll be sworn : he is simply 
 the rarest man i' the world. 
 
 i Serv. I think he is : but a greater soldier 
 than he you wot on. 
 
.] 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 849 
 
 2 Serv. Who, my master? 
 
 1 Serv. Nay, it 's no matter for that. 
 
 2 Serv. Worth six on him. 
 
 1 Serv. Nay, not so neither : but I take him 
 to be the greater soldier. 
 
 2 Serv. Faith, look you, one cannot tell how 
 to say that : for the defence of a town our 
 general is excellent. 
 
 I Serv. Ay, and for an assault too. 
 
 Re-enter third Servant. 
 
 3 Serv. O slaves, I can tell you news, news, 
 you rascals ! [take. 
 
 I and 2 Serv. What, what, what ? let 's par- 
 
 3 Serv. I would not be a Roman, of all 
 nations ; I had as lieve be a condemned man. 
 
 i and 2 Serv. Wherefore? wherefore? 
 
 3 Serv. Why, here's he that was wont to 
 .thwack our general, Caius Marcius. 
 
 1 Serv. Why do you say, thwack our general? 
 3 Serv. I do not say, thwack our general; 
 
 but he was always good enough for him. 
 
 2 Serv. Come, we are fellows and friends : 
 he was ever too hard for him; I have heard 
 him say so himself. 
 
 1 Serv. He was too hard for him directly, to 
 say the troth on 't : before Corioli he scotched 
 him and notched him like a carbonado. 
 
 2 Serv. An he had been cannibally given, he 
 might have broiled and eaten him to. 
 
 1 Serv. But more of thy news? 
 
 3 Serv. Why, he is so made on here within 
 as if he were son and heir to Mars ; set at upper 
 end o' the table ; no question asked him by any 
 of the senators, but they stand bald before him : 
 our general himself makes a mistress of him ; 
 sanctifies himself with's hand, and turns up 
 the white o' the eye to his discourse. But the 
 bottom of the news is, our general is cut i' the 
 middle, and but one half of what he was yester- 
 day ; for the other ha^ half, by the entreaty and 
 grant of the whole '.able. He '11 go, he says, 
 and sowl the portev of Rome gates by the ears : 
 he will mow all down before him, and leave 
 his passage polJ.ed. 
 
 2 Serv. An'd he 's as like to do 't as any man 
 I can imagir,e. 
 
 3 Serv, "Do't! he will do't; for, look you, 
 sir, he b'as as many friends as enemies ; which 
 friend?., sir, as it were, durst not, look you, sir, 
 show themselves, as we term it, his friends, 
 whilst he 's in dejectitude. 
 
 i Serv. Dejectitude! what's that? 
 
 3 Serv. But when they shall see, sir, his crest 
 up again, and the man in blood, they will out 
 of their burrows, like conies after rain, and 
 revel all with him. 
 
 1 Serv. But when goes this forward ? 
 
 3 Serv. To-morrow; to-day; presently; you 
 shall have the drum struck up this afternoon: 
 'tis as it were a parcel of their feast, and to be 
 executed ere they wipe their lips. 
 
 2 Serv. Why, then we shall have a stirring 
 world again. This peace is good for nothing 
 but to rust iron, increase tailors, and breed 
 ballad-makers. 
 
 1 Serv. Let me have war, say I ; it exceeds 
 peace as far as day does night; it's spritely, 
 waking, audible, and full of vent. Peace is a 
 very apoplexy, lethargy ; mulled, deaf, sleepy, 
 insensible; a getter of more bastard children 
 than wars a destroyer of men. 
 
 2 Serv. 'Tis so : and as wars, in some sort, 
 may be said to be a ravisher, so it cannot be 
 denied but peace is a great maker of cuckolds. 
 
 I Serv. Ay, and it makes men hate one 
 another. 
 
 3 Serv. Reason ; because they then less need 
 one another. The wars for my money. I hope 
 to see Romans as cheap as Volscians. They 
 are rising, they are rising. 
 
 All. In, in, in, in ! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI. ROME. A public Place. 
 Enter SICINIUS and BRUTUS. 
 
 Sic. We hear not of him, neither need we 
 
 fear him ; 
 
 His remedies are tame i' the present peace 
 And quietness of the people, which before 
 Were in wild hurry. Here do we make his friends 
 Blush that the world goes well ; who rather had, 
 Though they themselves did suffer by 't, behold 
 Dissentious numbers pestering streets than see 
 Our tradesmen singing in their shops, and going 
 About their functions friendly. 
 
 Bru. We stood to't in good time. Is this 
 Menenius ? 
 
 Sic. 'Tis he, 'tis he : O, he is grown most kind 
 Of late. 
 
 Enter MENENIUS. 
 
 Bru. Hail, sir ! 
 
 Men. Hail to you both ! 
 
 Sic. Your Coriolanus is not much miss'd 
 But with his friends : the commonwealth doth 
 
 stand ; 
 
 And so would do, were he more angry at it. 
 Men. All 's well ; and might have been much 
 
 better if 
 He could have temporiz'd. 
 
 Sic. Where is he, hear you ? 
 
 Men. Nay, I hear nothing : his mother and 
 
 his wife 
 Hear nothing from him. 
 
8 5 o 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Enter three or four Citizens. 
 
 Citizens* The gods preserve you both ! 
 
 Sic. God-den, our neighbours. 
 
 Bru. God-den to you all, God-den to you all. 
 
 i Cit. OUrselves, our wives, and children, on 
 
 our knees, 
 Are bound to pray for you both. 
 
 Sic. Live and thrive ! 
 
 Bru. Farewell, kind neighbours; we wish'd 
 
 Coriolanus 
 Had lov'd you as we did. 
 
 Citizens. Now the gods keep you ! 
 
 Both Tri. Farewell, ferewell. 
 
 [Exeunt Citizens. 
 
 Sic. This is a happier and more comely time 
 Than when these fellows ran about the streets 
 Crying confusion. 
 
 Bru. Caius Marcius was 
 
 A worthy officer i' the war ; but insolent, 
 O'ercomewith pride, ambitious past all thinking, 
 Self-loving, 
 
 Sic. And affecting one sole throne, 
 
 Without assistance. 
 
 Men. I think not so. [tion, 
 
 Sic. We should by this, to all our lamenta- 
 If he had gone forth consul, found it so. 
 
 Bru. The gods have well prevented it, and 
 
 Rome 
 Sits safe and still without him. 
 
 Enter an ^Edile, 
 
 ^d. Worthy tribunes, 
 
 There is a slave, whom we have put in prison, 
 Reports, the Volsces with two several powers 
 Are enter'd in the Roman territories ; 
 And with the deepest malice of the war 
 Destroy what lies before 'em. 
 
 Men. Tis Aufidius, 
 
 Who, hearing of our Marcius' banishment, 
 Thrusts forth his horns again into the world ; 
 Which were inshell'd when Marcius stood for 
 
 Rome, 
 And durst not once peep out. 
 
 Sic. Come, what talk you 
 
 Of Marcius? 
 
 Bru. Go see this rumourer whipp'd.It 
 
 cannot be 
 The Volsces dare break with us, 
 
 M**- Cannot be ! 
 
 We hav record that very well it can; 
 And three examples of the like have been 
 Within my age. But reason with the fellow, 
 Before you punish him, where he heard this ; 
 Lest you shall chance to whip your information, 
 And beat the messenger who bids beware 
 Of what is to be dreaded. 
 
 Sic. Tell not me : 
 
 I know this cannot be. 
 
 Bru. Not possible. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. The nobles in great earnestness are 
 
 going 
 
 All to the senate-house : some news is come 
 That turns their countenances. 
 
 Sic. 'Tis this slave, 
 
 Go whip him 'fore the people's eyes : his rais- 
 ing; 
 Nothing but his report. 
 
 Mess. Yes, worthy sir, 
 
 The slave's report is seconded ; and more, 
 More fearful, is deliver'd. 
 
 Sic. What more fearful? 
 
 Mess. It is spoke freely out of many mouths, 
 How probable I do not know, that Marcius, 
 Join'd with Aufidius, leads a power 'gainst Rome, 
 And vows revenge as spacious as between 
 The young'st and oldest thing, 
 
 Sic. This is most likely ! 
 
 Bru. Rais'd only, that the weaker sort may 
 
 wish 
 God Marcius home again. 
 
 Sic. The very trick on 't, 
 
 Men. This is unlikely : 
 He and Aufidius can no more atone 
 Than violentest contrariety. 
 
 Enter a second Messenger. 
 
 2 Mess. You are sent for to the senate: 
 A fearful army, led by Caius Marcius 
 Associated with Aufidius, rages 
 Upon our territories ; and have already [took 
 Overborne their way, consurn'd with fire, and 
 What lay before them. 
 
 Enter COMINIUS. 
 
 Com. O, you have made good work ! 
 
 Men. Whsvit news ? what news ? 
 
 Com. You have holp tO> ravish your own 
 
 daughters, and 
 
 To melt the city leads upon your pates ; 
 To see your wives dishonour'd to your noses, 
 
 Men. What's the news? what 's the news? 
 
 Com. Your temples burned in their cement; 
 
 and 
 
 Your franchises, whereon you stood, ct^nfin d 
 Into an auger's bore. 
 
 Men. Pray now, your news * 
 
 You have made fair work, I fear me. Pr&T, 
 
 your news ? 
 If Marcius should be join'd with Volscians, ' 
 
 Com. If1 
 
 He is their god : fce leads them like a thing 
 Made by some other deity than nature, 
 
SCENE VI.] 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 8 5 l 
 
 That shapes man better ; and they follow him, 
 
 Against us brats, with no less confidence 
 
 Than boys pursuing summer butterflies, 
 
 Or butchers killing flies. 
 
 > Men. You have made good work, 
 
 You and your apron men ; you that stood so 
 
 much 
 
 Upon the voice of occupation and 
 The breath of garlic-eaters ! 
 
 Com. He will shake 
 
 Your Rome about your ears. 
 
 Men. As Hercules 
 
 Did shake down mellow fruit. You have made 
 fair work ! 
 
 Brti. But is this true, sir ? 
 
 Com. Ay ; and you '11 look pale 
 
 Before you find it other. All the regions 
 Do smilingly revolt ; and who resist 
 Are only mock'd for valiant ignorance, 
 And perish constant fools. Who is 't can blame 
 
 him? 
 Your enemies and his find something in him. 
 
 Men. We are all undone unless 
 The noble man have mercy. 
 
 Com. Who shall ask it ? 
 
 The tribunes cannot do 't for shame ; the people 
 Deserve such pity of him as the wolf [they 
 Does of the shepherds : for his best friends, if 
 Should say, Be good to Rome, they charg'd him 
 
 even 
 
 As those should do that had deserv'd his hate, 
 And therein show'd like enemies. 
 
 Men. 'Tis true : 
 
 If he were putting to my house the brand 
 That should consume it, I have not the face 
 To say, Beseech you, cease. You have made 
 
 fair hands, 
 You and your crafts ! you have crafted fair ! 
 
 Com. You have brought 
 
 A trembling upon Rome, such as was never 
 So incapable of help. 
 
 Both Tri. Say not, we brought it. 
 
 Men. How ! Was it we ? we lov'd him ; 
 but, like beasts, [clusters, 
 
 And cowardly nobles, gave way unto your 
 Who did hoot him out o' the city. 
 
 Com. But I fear 
 
 They '11 roar him in again. Tullus Aufidius, 
 The second name of men, obeys his points 
 As if he were his officer: desperation 
 Is all the policy, strength, and defence, 
 That Rome can make against them. 
 
 Enter a troop 0/" Citizens. 
 
 Men. Here comes the clusters. 
 
 And is Aufidius with him ? You are they 
 That made the air unwholesome, when you cast 
 
 Your stinking greasy caps in hooting at 
 Coriolanus' exile. Now he 's coming ; 
 And not a hair upon a soldier's head [combs 
 Which will not prove a whip : as many cox- 
 As you threw caps up will he tumble down, 
 And pay you for your voices. 'Tis no matter ; 
 If he could burn us all into one coal, 
 We have deserv'd it 
 
 Citizens. Faith, we hear fearful news. 
 
 1 Cit. For mine own part, 
 When I said banish him, I said 'twas pity. 
 
 2 Cit. And so did I. 
 
 3 Cit. And so did I ; and, to say the truth, so 
 did very many of us. That we did, we did for 
 the best ; and though we willingly consented to 
 his banishment, yet it was against our will. 
 
 Com. You are goodly things, you voices ! 
 Men. You have made 
 
 Good work, you and your cry ! Shall 's to the 
 
 Capitol ? 
 Com. O, ay ; what else ? 
 
 [Exeunt COM. and MEN. 
 Sic. Go, masters, get you home ; be not dis- 
 
 may'd: 
 
 These are a side that would be glad to have 
 This true which they so seem to fear. Go home, 
 And show no sign of fear. 
 
 1 Cit. The gods be good to us ! Come, 
 masters, let's home. I ever said we were i' 
 the wrong when we banished him. 
 
 2 Cit. So did we all. But come, let 's home. 
 
 [Exeunt Citizens. 
 Bru. I do not like this news. 
 Sic. Nor I. [wealth 
 
 Bru. Let 's to the Capitol : would half my 
 Would buy this for a lie ! 
 
 Sic. Pray, let us go. [Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE VII. A Camp at a small distance 
 from Rome. 
 
 Enter AUFIDIUS and his Lieutenant. 
 
 Auf. Do f .hey still fly to the Roman ? 
 
 Lieu. I do not know what witchcraft 's in 
 
 him, but 
 
 Your soldiers use him as the grace 'fore meat, 
 Their talk at table, and their thanks at end ; 
 And you are darken'd in this action, sir, 
 Even by your own. 
 
 Auf. I cannot help it now, 
 
 Unless, by using means, I lame the foot 
 Of our design. He bears himself more proudlier, 
 Even to my person, than I thought he would 
 When first I did embrace him : yet his nature 
 In that 's no changeling ; and I must excuse 
 What cannot be amended. 
 
 Lieu. Yet I wish, sir, 
 
8 5 2 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 I mean, for your particular, you had not 
 Join'd in commission with him ; but either 
 Had borne the action of yourself, or else 
 To him had left it solely. [sure, 
 
 Auf. I understand thee well; and be thou 
 When he shall come to his account, he knows not 
 What I can urge against him. Although it seems, 
 And so he thinks, and is no less apparent 
 To the vulgar eye, that he bears all things fairly, 
 And shows good husbandry for the Volscian state, 
 Fights dragon-like, and does achieve as soon 
 As draw his sword : yet he hath left undone 
 That which shall break his neck or hazard mine 
 Whene'er we come to our account. [Rome ? 
 Lieu. Sir, I beseech you, think you he'll carry 
 Auf. All places yield to him ere he sits down ; 
 And the nobility of Rome are his : 
 The senators and patricians love him too : 
 The tribunes are no soldiers ; and their people 
 Will be as rash in the repeal as hasty 
 To expel him thence. I think he'll be to Rome 
 As is the osprey to the fish, who takes it 
 By sovereignty of nature. First he was 
 A noble servant to them ; but he could not 
 Carry his honours even : whether 'twas pride, 
 Which out of daily fortune ever taints 
 The happy man; whether defect of judgment, 
 To fail in the disposing of those chances 
 Which he was lord of; or whether nature, 
 Not to be other than one thing, not moving 
 From the casque to the cushion, but command- 
 ing peace 
 
 Even with the same austerity and garb 
 As he controll'd the war ; but one of these, 
 As he hath spices of them all, not all, 
 For I dare so far free him, made him fear'd, 
 So hated, and so banish'd : but he has a merit 
 To choke it in the utterance. So our virtues 
 Lie in the interpretation of the time : 
 And power, unto itself most commendable, 
 Hath not a tomb so evident as a cheer 
 To extol what it hath done. 
 One fire drives out one fire ; one nail, one nail ; 
 Rights by rights falter, strengths by strengths 
 
 do fail. 
 
 Come , let's away. When , Caius , Rome is thine , 
 
 Thou art poor'st of all ; then shortly art thou 
 
 mine. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 SCENE I. ROME. A public Plate. 
 
 Enter MENENIUS, COMINIUS, SICINIUS, 
 BRUTUS, and others. 
 
 Men. No, I'll not go: you hear what he 
 hath said 
 
 Which was sometime his general; who lov'd 
 
 him 
 
 In a most dear particular. He call'd me father : 
 But what o' that? Go, you that banish'd him; 
 A mile before his tent fall down, and knee 
 The way into his mercy : nay, if he coy'd 
 To hear Cominius speak, I'll keep at home. 
 
 Com. He would not seem to know me. 
 
 Men. Do you hear? 
 
 Com. Yet one time he did call me by my 
 
 name: 
 
 I urg'd our old acquaintance, and the drops 
 That we have bled together. Coriolanus 
 He would not answer to : forbad all names ; 
 He was a kind of nothing, titleless, 
 Till he had forg'd himself a name o' the fire 
 Of burning Rome. 
 
 Men. Why, so, you have made good work ! 
 A pair of tribunes that have rack'd for Rome, 
 To make coals cheap, a noble memory ! 
 
 Com. I minded him how royal 'twas to pardon 
 When it was less expected : he replied, 
 It was a bare petition of a state 
 To one whom they had punish'd. 
 
 Men. Very well : 
 
 Could he say less ? 
 
 Com. I offer'd to awaken his regard 
 For 's private friends : his answer to me was, 
 He could not stay to pick them in a pile 
 Of noisome musty chaff: he said 'twas folly 
 For one poor grain or two to leave unburnt, 
 And still to nose the offence. 
 
 Men. For one poor grain 
 
 Or two ! I am one of those ; his mother, wife, 
 His child, and this brave fellow too, we are the 
 
 grains : 
 
 You are the musty chaff; and you are smelt 
 Above the moon : we must be burnt for you. 
 
 Sic. Nay, pray, be patient: if you refuse your 
 
 aid 
 
 In this so never-heeded help, yet do not 
 Upbraid 's with our distress. But, sure, if you 
 Would be your country's pleader ; your good 
 
 tongue, 
 
 More than the instant army we can make, 
 Might stop our countryman. 
 
 Men. No; I '11 not meddle. 
 
 Sic. Pray you, go to him. 
 
 Men. What should I do ? 
 
 Bru. Only make trial what your love can do 
 For Rome, towards Marcius. 
 
 Men. Well, and say that Marcius 
 
 Return me, as Cominius is return'd, 
 Unheard ; what then ? 
 But as a discontented friend, grief-shot 
 With his unkindness ? Say 't be so ? 
 
 Sic. Yet your good-will 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 853 
 
 Must have that thanks from Rome, after the 
 
 measure 
 As you intended well. 
 
 Men. I'll undertake 't: 
 
 I think he '11 hear me. Yet to bite his lip 
 And hum at good Cominius much unhearts me. 
 He was not taken well: he had not din'd: 
 The veins unfill'd, our blood is cold, and then 
 We pout upon the morning, are unapt 
 To give or to forgive ; but when we have stuff 'd 
 These pipes and these conveyances of our blood 
 With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls 
 Than in our priest-like fasts : therefore I '11 
 
 watch him 
 
 Till he be dieted to my request, 
 And then I '11 set upon him. [ness, 
 
 Brti. You know the very road into his kind- 
 And cannot lose your way. 
 
 Men. Good faith, I '11 prove him, 
 
 Speed how it will. I shall ere long have 
 
 knowledge 
 Of my success. [Exit. 
 
 Com. He '11 never hear him. 
 
 Sic. Not? 
 
 Com. I tell you, he does sit in gold, his eye 
 Red as 'twould burn Rome ; and his injury 
 The gaoler to his pity. I kneel'd before him ; 
 'Twas very faintly he said Rise ; dismiss'd me 
 Thus, with his speechless hand : what he would 
 do, [not, 
 
 He sent in writing after me; what he would 
 Bound with an oath to yield to his conditions : 
 So that all hope is vain, 
 Unless in 's noble mother and his wife ; 
 Who, as I hear, mean to solicit him [hence, 
 For mercy to his country. Therefore, let's 
 And with our fair entreaties haste them on. 
 /. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. An advanced Post of the Volscian 
 Camp before Rome. The Guard at their stations. 
 
 Enter to them MENENIUS. 
 
 1 G. Stay : whence are you ? 
 
 2 G. Stand, and go back. 
 Men. You guard like men ; 'tis well : but, by 
 
 your leave, 
 
 I am an officer of state, and come 
 To speak with Coriolanus. 
 
 i G. From whence ? 
 
 Men. From Rome. 
 
 1 G. You may not pass, you must return: 
 
 our general 
 Will no more hear from thence. [before 
 
 2 G. You '11 see your Rome embrac'd with fire 
 You '11 speak with Coriolanus. 
 
 Men. Good my friends, 
 
 If you have heard your general talk of Rome, 
 And of his friends there, it is lots to blanks 
 My name hath touch'd your ears : it is Menenius. 
 
 i G. Be it so ; go back : the virtue of your 
 
 name 
 Is not here passable. 
 
 Men. I tell thee, fellow, 
 
 Thy general is my lover : I have been [read 
 The book of his good acts, whence men have 
 His fame unparallel'd, haply amplified; 
 For I have ever verified my friends, 
 Of whom he's chief, with all the size that verity 
 Would without lapsing suffer : nay, sometimes, 
 Like to a bowl upon a subtle ground, [praise 
 I have tumbled past the throw: and in his 
 Have almost stamp'd the leasing: therefore, 
 
 fellow, 
 I must have leave to pass. 
 
 1 G. Faith, sir, if you had told as many lies 
 in his behalf as you have utter'd words in your 
 own, you should not pass here : no, though it 
 were as virtuous to lie as to live chastely. 
 Therefore, go back. 
 
 Men. Pr'ythee, fellow, remember my name 
 is Menenius, always factionary on the party of 
 your general. 
 
 2 G. Howsoever you have been his liar, as 
 you say you have, I am one that, telling true 
 under him, must say, you cannot pass. There- 
 fore, go back. 
 
 Men. Has he dined, canst thou tell? for I 
 would not speak with him till after dinner. 
 I G. You are a Roman, are you ? 
 Men. I am as thy general is. 
 
 1 G. Then you should hate Rome, as he does. 
 Can you, when you have pushed out your gates 
 the very defender of them, and, in a violent 
 popular ignorance, given your enemy your 
 shield, think to front his revenges with the easy 
 groans of old women, the virginal palms of your 
 daughters, or with the palsied intercession of such 
 a decayed dotant as you seem to be ? Can you 
 think to blow out the intended fire your city is 
 ready to flame in, with such weak breath as 
 this? No, you are deceived; therefore, back 
 to Rome, and prepare for your execution : you 
 are condemned ; our general has sworn you out 
 of reprieve and pardon. 
 
 Men. Sirrah, if thy captain knew I were here 
 he would use me with estimation. 
 
 2 G. Come, my captain knows you not. 
 Men. I mean thy general. 
 
 I G. My general cares not for you. Back, 
 I say ; go, lest I let forth your half pint of 
 blood; back; that's the utmost of your 
 having : back. 
 
 Men. Nay, but, fellow, fellow, 
 
8 54 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Enter CORIOLANUS and AUFIDIUS. 
 
 Cor. What 's the matter ? 
 
 Men. Now, you companion, I '11 say an errand 
 for you ; you shall know now that I am in esti- 
 mation ; you shall perceive that a jack guardant 
 cannot office me from my son Coriolanus : guess 
 but by my entertainment with him if thou 
 standest not i' the state of hanging, or of some 
 death more long in spectatorshipand crueller in 
 suffering ; behold now presently, and swoon for 
 what 's to come upon thee. The glorious gods 
 sit in hourly synod about thy particular pros- 
 perity, and love thee no worse than thy old 
 father Menenius does ! O my son ! my son ! thou 
 art preparing fire for us ; look thee, here 's water 
 to quench it. I was hardly moved to come to 
 thee ; but being assured none but myself could 
 move thee, I have been blown out of your gates 
 with sighs ; and conjure thee to pardon Rome 
 and thy petitionary countrymen. The good 
 gods assuage thy wrath, and turn the dregs of 
 it upon this varlet here ; this, who, like a block, 
 hath denied my access to thee. 
 
 Cor. Away! 
 
 Men. How ! away ! [affairs 
 
 Cor. Wife, mother, child, I know not. My 
 Are servanted to others : though I owe 
 My revenge properly, my remission lies 
 In Volscian breasts. That we have been 
 
 familiar, 
 
 Ingrate forgetfulness shall poison, rather 
 Than pity note how much. Therefore, be gone. 
 Mine ears against your suits are stronger than 
 Your gates against my force. Yet, for I lov'd thee, 
 Take this along ; I writ it for thy sake, 
 
 [Gives a letter. 
 
 And would have sent it. Another word, Men- 
 enius, 
 
 I will not hear thee speak. This man, Aufidius, 
 Was my beloved in Rome : yet thou behold'st ! 
 
 Auf. You keep a constant temper. 
 
 [Exeunt COR. and AUF. 
 
 1 G. Now, sir, is your name Menenius ? 
 
 2 G. 'Tis a spell, you see, of much power : 
 you know the way home again. 
 
 1 G. Do you hear how we are shent for keep- 
 ing your greatness back ? 
 
 2 G. What cause,do you think, I ha veto swoon? 
 Men. I neither care for the world nor your 
 
 general: for such things as you, I can scarce 
 think there's any, ye 're so slight. He that 
 hath a will to die by himself fears it not from 
 another. Let your general do his worst. For 
 you, be that, you are, long; and your misery 
 increase with your age ! I say to you, as I was 
 said to, away ! [Exit. 
 
 1 G. A noble fellow, I warrant him. 
 
 2 G. The worthy fellow is our general : he is 
 the rock, the oak not to be wind-shaken. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. The Tent of CORIOLANUS. 
 Enter CORIOLANUS, AUFIDIUS, and others. 
 
 Cor. We will before the walls of Rome to- 
 morrow 
 
 Set down our host. My partner in this action, 
 You must report to the Volscian lords how 
 
 plainly 
 I have borne this business. 
 
 Auf. Only their ends 
 
 You have respected ; stopp'd your ears against 
 The general suit of Rome ; never admitted 
 A private whisper, no, not with such friends 
 That thought them sure of you. 
 
 Cor. This last old man, 
 
 Whom with a crack'd heart I have sent to Rome, 
 Lov'd me above the measure of a father ; 
 Nay, godded me, indeed. Their latest refuge 
 Was to send him ; for whose old love I have, 
 Though I show'd sourly to him, once more 
 
 offer'd 
 
 The first conditions, which they did refuse, 
 And cannot now accept, to grace him only, 
 That thought he could do more, a very little 
 I have yielded to : fresh embassies and suits, 
 Nor from the state nor private friends, hereafter 
 Will I lend ear to. Ha! what shout is this? 
 
 [Shout within. 
 
 Shall I be tempted to infringe my vow 
 In the same time 'tis made? I will not. 
 
 Enter, in mourning habits, VIRGILIA, VOLUM- 
 NIA, leading young MARCIUS, VALERIA, and 
 Attendants. 
 
 My wife comes foremost; then the honour'd 
 
 mould 
 
 Wherein this trunk was fram'd, and in her hand 
 The grandchild to her blood. But, out, affection ! 
 All bond and privilege of nature, break ! 
 Let it be virtuous to be obstinate. [eyes, 
 What is that curt'sy worth? or those doves' 
 Which can make gods forsworn? I melt, and 
 
 am not [bows, 
 
 Of stronger earth than others. My mother 
 As if Olympus to a molehill should 
 In supplication nod : and my young boy 
 Hath an aspect of intercession which 
 Great nature cries, Deny not. Let the Volsces 
 Plough Rome and harrow Italy : I '11 never 
 Be such a gosling to obey instinct ; but stand, 
 As if a man were author of himself, 
 And knew no other kin. 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 8S5 
 
 Vir. 
 
 My lord and husband ! 
 
 Cor, These eyes are not the same I wore in 
 
 Rome. 
 
 Vir. The sorrow that delivers us thus chang'd 
 Makes you think so. 
 
 'Cor. Like a dull actor now, 
 
 I have forgot my part, and I am out, 
 Even to a full disgrace. Best of my flesh, 
 Forgive my tyranny ; but do not say, 
 For that, Forgive our Romans. O, a kiss 
 Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge ; 
 Now, by the jealous queen of heaven, that kiss 
 I carried from thee, dear ; and my true lip 
 Hath virgin'd it e'er since. You gods ! I prate, 
 And the most noble mother of the world 
 Leave unsaluted : sink, my knee, i' the earth ; 
 
 {Kneels. 
 
 Of thy deep duty more impression show 
 Than that of common sons. 
 
 Vol. O, stand up bless'd ! 
 
 Whilst, with no softer cushion than the flint, 
 I kneei before thee; and unproperly 
 Show duty, as mistaken all this while 
 Between the child and parent. \_Kneels. 
 
 Cor. What is this? 
 
 Your knees to me? to your corrected son? 
 Then let the pebbles on the hungry beach 
 Fillip the stars; then let the mutinous winds 
 Strike the proud cedars 'gainst the fiery sun ; 
 Murdering impossibility, to make 
 What cannot be, slight work. 
 
 Vol. Thou art my warrior ; 
 
 I holp to frame thee. Do you know this lady? 
 
 Cor. The noble sister of Publicola, 
 The moon of Rome ; chaste as the icicle 
 That 's curded by the frost from purest snow, 
 And hangs on Dian's temple : dear Valeria ! 
 
 Vol. This is a poor epitome of yours, 
 Which, by the interpretation of full time, 
 May show like all yourself. 
 
 Cor. The god of soldiers, 
 
 With the consent of supreme Jove, inform 
 Thy thoughts with nobleness; that thou mayst 
 
 prove 
 
 To shame unvulnerable, and stick i' the wars 
 Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw, 
 And saving those that eye thee ! 
 
 Vol. Your knee, sirrah. 
 
 Cor. That 's my brave boy. [self, 
 
 Vol. Even he, your wife, this lady, and my- 
 Are suitor.; to you. 
 . Cor. I beseech you, peace : 
 Or, if you'd ask, remember this before, 
 The things I have forsworn to grant may never 
 Be held by you denials. Do not bid me 
 Dismiss my soldiers, or capitulate 
 Again with Rome's mechanics. Tell me not 
 
 Wherein I seem unnatural: desire not 
 To allay my rages and revenges with 
 Your colder reasons. 
 
 Vol. O, no more, no more ! 
 
 You have said you will not grant us anything; 
 For we have nothing else to ask but that 
 Which you deny already : yet we will ask ; 
 That, if you fail in our request, the blame 
 May hang upon your hardness; therefore hear 
 
 us. [we '11 
 
 Cor. Aufidius, and you Volsces, mark : for 
 
 Hear naught from Rome in private. Your 
 
 request? [raiment 
 
 Vol. Should we be silent and not speak, our 
 And state of bodies would bewray what life 
 We have led since thy exile. Think with thy- 
 
 self, 
 
 How more unfortunate than all living women 
 Are we come hither: since that thy sight, 
 
 which should [comforts, 
 
 Make our yes flow with joy, hearts dance with 
 Constrains them weep, and shake with fear and 
 
 sorrow ; 
 
 Making the mother, wife, and child to see 
 The son, the husband, and the father tearing 
 His country's bowels out. And to poor we, 
 Thine enmity's most capital : thou barr'st us 
 Our prayers to the gods, which is a comfort 
 That all but we enjoy ; for how can we, 
 Alas, how can we for our country pray, 
 Whereto we are bound, together with thy 
 
 victory, 
 
 Whereto we are bound? alack, or we must lose 
 The country, our dear nurse; or else thy person, 
 Our comfort in the country. We must find 
 An evident calamity, though we had [thou 
 Our wish, which side should win; for either 
 Must, as a foreign recreant, be led 
 With manacles thorough our streets, or else 
 Triumphantly tread on thy country's ruin, 
 And bear the palm for having bravely shed 
 Thy wife and children's blood. P'or myself, son, 
 I purpose not to wait on fortune till [thee 
 
 These war,s determine: if I cannot persuade 
 Rather to show a noble grace to both parts 
 Than seek the end of one, thou shalt no sooner 
 March to assault thy country than to tread, 
 Trust to't, thou shalt not, on thy mother's 
 
 womb, 
 That brought thee to this world. 
 
 Vir. Ay, and mine, 
 
 That brought you forth this boy, to keep your 
 
 name 
 Living to time. 
 
 Boy. 'A shall not tread on me ; 
 
 I '11 run away till I am bigger ; but then 1 11 
 
 fight. 
 
856 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Cor. Not of a woman's tenderness to be, 
 Requires nor child nor woman's face to see. 
 I have sat too long. [Rising. 
 
 Vol. Nay, go not from us thus. 
 
 If it were so that our request did tend 
 To save the Romans, thereby to destroy 
 The Volsces whom you serve, you might 
 
 condemn us, 
 
 As poisonous of your honour : no ; our suit 
 Is, that you reconcile them : while the Volsces 
 May say, This mercy we have showed; the 
 
 Romans, 
 
 This we received ; and each in either side 
 Give thee all-hail to thee, and cry, Be blessed 
 For making up this peace! Thou know'st, 
 
 great son, 
 
 The end of war 's uncertain ; but this certain, 
 That, if thou conquer Rome, the benefit 
 Which thou shall thereby reap is such a name, 
 Whose repetition will be dogg'd with curses ; 
 Whose chronicle thus writ, The manwas noble, 
 But with his last attempt he wifid it out; 
 Destroyed his country ; and his name remains 
 To the ensuing age abhorr'd. Speak to me, son : 
 Thou hast affected the fine strains of honour, 
 To imitate the graces of the gods, 
 To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o' the air, 
 And yet to charge thy sulphur with a bolt 
 That should but rive an oak. Why dost not 
 
 speak? 
 
 Think'st thou it honourable for a noble man 
 Still to remember wrongs? Daughter, speak 
 
 you : [boy : 
 
 He cares not for your weeping. Speak thou, 
 Perhaps thy childishness will move him more 
 Than can our reasons. There is no man in the 
 
 world [prate 
 
 More bound to his mother ; yet here he lets me 
 Like one i' the stocks. Thou hast never in 
 
 thy life 
 
 Show'd thy dear mother any courtesy ; 
 Whenshe, poor hen, fond of no second brood, 
 Has cluck'd thee to the wars, and safely home, 
 Loaden with honour. Say my request 's unjust, 
 And spurn me back: but if it be not so, 
 Thou art not honest ; and the gods will plague 
 
 thee, 
 
 That thou restrain'st from me the duty which 
 To a mother's part belongs. He turns away: 
 Down, ladies ; let us shame him with our knees. 
 To his surname Coriolanus 'longs more pride 
 Than pity to our prayers. Down : an end ; 
 This is the last. So we will home to Rome, 
 And die among our neighbours. Nay, behold's: 
 This boy, that cannot tell what he would have, 
 But kneels and holds up hands for fellowship, 
 Does reason our petition with more strength 
 
 Than thou hast to deny't. Come, let us go: 
 
 This fellow had a Volscian to his mother ; 
 
 His wife is in Corioli, and his child 
 
 Like him by chance. Yet give us our despatch : 
 
 I am hush'd until our city be afire, 
 
 And then I '11 speak a little. 
 
 Cor. [After holding VOLUMNIA by the hands 
 
 in silence.'} O mother, mother! 
 What have you done? Behold, the heavens do 
 
 ope, 
 
 The gods look down, and this unnatural scene 
 They laugh at. O my mother, mother ! O ! 
 You have won a happy victory to Rome ; 
 But for your son, believe it, O, believe it, 
 Most dangerously you have with him prevail'd, 
 If not most mortal to him. But let it come. 
 Aufidius, though I cannot make true wars, 
 I'll frame convenient peace. Now,good Aufidius, 
 If you were in my stead, would you have heard 
 A mother less? or granted less, Aufidius? 
 
 Auf. I was mov'd withal. 
 
 Cor. I dare be sworn you were: 
 
 And, sir, it is no little thing to make 
 Mine eyes to sweat compassion. But, good sir, 
 What peace you '11 make, advise me: for my part, 
 I '11 not to Rome, I '11 back with you ; and, pray 
 
 you, 
 Stand to me in this cause. O mother ! wife ! 
 
 Auf. I am glad thou hast set thy mercy and 
 
 thy honour 
 
 At difference in thee : out of that I '11 work 
 Myself a former fortune. [Aside. 
 
 [The Ladies make signs to CORIOLANUS. 
 
 Cor. Ay, by and by ; 
 
 [To VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, &<:. 
 But we '11 drink together ; and you shall bear 
 A better witness back than words, which we, 
 On like conditions, will have counter-seal'd. 
 Come, enter with us. Ladies, you deserve 
 To have a temple built you: all the swords 
 In Italy, and her confederate arms, 
 Could not have made this peace. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. ROME. A public Place. 
 Enter MENENIUS and SICINIUS. 
 
 Men. See you yond coigne o' the Capitol, 
 yond corner-stone? 
 
 Sic. Why, what of that? 
 
 Men. If it be possible for you to displace it 
 with your little finger, there is some hope the 
 ladies of Rome, especially his mother, may 
 prevail with him. But I say there is no hope 
 in 't : our throats are sentenced, and stay upon 
 execution. 
 
 Sic. Is't possible that so short a time can 
 alter the condition of a man? 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 857 
 
 Men. There is differency between a grub and 
 a butterfly; yet your butterfly was a grub. 
 This Marcius is grown from man to dragon : he 
 has wings ; he 's more than a creeping thing. 
 
 Sic. He loved his mother dearly. 
 
 Men. So did he me: and he no more 
 remembers his mother now than an eight-year- 
 old horse. The tartness of his face sours ripe 
 grapes: when he walks, he moves like an 
 engine, and the ground shrinks before his 
 treading: he is able to pierce a corslet with his 
 eye; talks like a knell, and his hum is a 
 battery. He sits in his state as a thing made 
 for Alexander. What he bids be done is 
 finished with his bidding. He wants nothing 
 of a god but eternity, and a heaven to throne in. 
 
 Sic. Yes, mercy, if you report him truly. 
 
 Men. I paint him in the character. Mark 
 what mercy his mother shall bring from him : 
 there is no more mercy in him than there is 
 milk in a male tiger ; that shall our poor city 
 find : and all this is 'long of you. 
 
 Sic. The gods be good unto us ! 
 
 Men. No, in such a case the gods will not 
 be good unto us. When we banished him we 
 respected not them : and, he returning to break 
 our necks, they respect not us. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Sir, if you 'd save your life, fly to your 
 
 house : 
 
 The plebeians have got your fellow-tribune, 
 And hale him up and down ; all swearing, if 
 The Roman ladies bring not comfort home, 
 They '11 give him death by inches. 
 
 Enter a second Messenger. 
 
 Sic. What 's the news? 
 
 2 Mess. Good news, good news ; the ladies 
 
 have prevail'd, 
 
 The Volscians are dislodg'd and Marcius gone : 
 A merrier day did never yet greet Rome, 
 No, not the expulsion of the Tarquins. 
 
 Sic. Friend, 
 
 Art thou certain this is true? is it most certain? 
 
 2 Mess. As certain as I know the sun is fire : 
 
 Where have you hirk'd, that you make doubt 
 
 of it? [tide 
 
 Ne'er through an arch so hurried the blown 
 
 As the recomforted through the gates. Why, 
 
 hark you ! 
 [ Trumpets and hautboys sounded, drums 
 
 beat 'en , and shouting within. 
 The trumpets, sackbuts, psalteries, and fifes, 
 Tabors and cymbals, and the shouting Romans, 
 Make the sun dance. Hark you ! 
 
 [Shouting again. 
 
 Men. This is good news. 
 
 I will go meet the ladies. This Volumnia 
 Is worth of consuls, senators, patricians, 
 A city full : of tribunes such as you, [to-day: 
 A sea and land full. You have pray'd well 
 This morning, for ten thousand of your throats 
 I 'd not have given a doit. Hark, how they joy 1 
 [Shouting- and music. 
 
 Sic. First, the gods bless you for your 
 
 tidings ; next, 
 Accept my thankfulness. 
 
 2 Mess. Sir, we have all 
 
 Great cause to give great thanks. 
 
 Sic. They are near the city? 
 
 Mess. Almost at point to enter. 
 
 Sic. We will meet them, 
 
 And help the joy. {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. ROME. A Street near the Gate. 
 Enter VOLUMNIA, VIRGII.IA, VALERIA, &Y., 
 accompanied by Senators, Patricians, and 
 Citizens. 
 
 i Sen. Behold our patroness, the life of Rome! 
 Call all your tribes together, praise the gods, 
 And make triumphant fires; strew flowers 
 
 before them : 
 
 Unshout the noise that banish'd Marcius, 
 Repeal him with the welcome of his mother; 
 Cry, Welcome , ladies , welcome! 
 
 All. Welcome, ladies, 
 
 Welcome ! 
 
 [A flourish with drums and trumpets. 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI. ANTITJM. A public Place. 
 Enter TULLUS AUFIDIUS, with Attendants. 
 
 Auf. Go tell the lords of the city I am here : 
 Deliver them this paper ; having read it, 
 Bid them repair to the market-place: where I, 
 Even in theirs and in the commons' ears, 
 Will vouch the truth of it. Him I accuse 
 The city ports by this hath enter'd, and 
 Intends to appear before the people, hoping 
 To purge himself with words : despatch. 
 
 [Exeunt Attendants. 
 Enter three or four Conspirators of AUFIDIUS'S 
 
 faction. 
 Most welcome ! 
 
 1 Con. How is it with our general ? 
 
 Auf. Even so 
 
 As with a man by his own alms empoison'd, 
 And with his charity slain. 
 
 2 Con. Most noble sir, 
 If you do hold the same intent wherein 
 You wish'd us parties, we '11 deliver you 
 Of your great danger. 
 
CORIOLANUS. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Auf. Sir, I cannot tell: 
 
 We must proceed as we do find the people. 
 
 3 Con. The people will remain uncertain 
 whilst [either 
 
 'Twixt you there 's difference : but the fall of 
 Makes the survivor heir of all. 
 
 Auf. I know it; 
 
 And my pretext to strike at him admits 
 A good construction. I rais'd him, and I 
 pawn'd [heighten'd, 
 
 Mine honour for his truth: who being so 
 He water'd his new plants with dews of flattery, 
 Seducing so my friends ; and to this end 
 He bow'd his nature, never known before 
 But to be rough, unswayable, and free. 
 
 3 Con. Sir, his stoutness, 
 When he did stand for consul, which he lost 
 By lack of stooping, 
 
 Auf. That I would have spoke of: 
 
 Being banish'd for 't, he came unto my hearth ; 
 Presented to my knife his throat : I took him ; 
 Made him joint-servant with me ; gave him way 
 In all his own desires; nay, let him choose 
 Out of my files, his projects to accomplish, 
 My best and freshest men ; serv'd his design- 
 
 ments 
 
 In mine own person ; holp to reap the fame 
 Which he made all his ; and took some pride 
 To do myself this wrong : till, at the last, 
 I seem'd his follower, not partner; and 
 He wagfd me with his countenance as if 
 I had been mercenary. 
 
 I Con. So he did, my lord : 
 
 The army marvell'd at it ; and, in the last, 
 When he had carried Rome, and that we look'd 
 For no less spoil than glory, 
 
 Auf. There was it ; 
 
 For which my sinews shall be stretch'd upon 
 
 him. 
 
 At a few drops of women's rheum, which are 
 As cheap as lies, he sold the blood and labour 
 Of our great action : therefore shall he die, 
 And I '11 renew me in his fall. But, hark ! 
 
 [Drums and trumpets sotmd, with great 
 shouts of the people. 
 
 1 Con. Your native town you enter'd like a 
 
 post, 
 
 And had no welcomes home ; but he returns 
 Splitting the air with noise. 
 
 2 Con. And patient fools, 
 Whose children he hath slain, their base throats 
 
 tear 
 With giving him glory. 
 
 3 Con. Therefore, at your vantage, 
 Ere he express himself, or move the people 
 With what he would say, let him feel your sword, 
 Which we will second. When he lies along, 
 
 After your way his tale pronounc'd shall bury 
 His reasons with his body. 
 
 Auf. Say no more : 
 
 Here come the lords. 
 
 Enter the Lords of the City. 
 
 Lords. You are most welcome home. 
 
 Auf. I have not deserv'd it. 
 
 But, worthy lords, have you with heed perus'd 
 What I have written to you? 
 
 Lords. We have. 
 
 I Lord. And grieve to hear 't. 
 
 What faults he made before the last, I think 
 Might have found easy fines : but there to end 
 Where he was to begin, and give away 
 The benefit of our levies, answering us 
 With our own charge : making a treaty where 
 There was a yielding. This admits no excuse. 
 
 Auf. He approaches : you shall hear him. 
 
 Enter CORIOLANUS, with drums and colours ; 
 a crowd of Citizens with him. 
 
 Cor. Hail, lords ! I am return'd your soldier ; 
 No more infected with my country's love 
 Than when I parted hence, but still subsisting 
 Under your great command. You are to know 
 That prosperously I have attempted, and 
 With bloody passage led your wars even to 
 The gates of Rome. Our spoils we have 
 
 brought home 
 
 Do more than counterpoise a full third part 
 The charges of the action. We have made pe; 
 With no less honour to the Antiates 
 Than shame to the Romans: and we here 
 
 deliver, 
 
 Subscribed by the consuls and patricians, 
 Together with the seal o' the senate, what 
 We have compounded on. 
 
 Auf. Read it not, noble lords ; 
 
 But tell the traitor, in the highest degree 
 He hath abus'd your powers. 
 
 Cor. Traitor ! How now ! 
 
 Auf. Ay, traitor, Marcius. 
 
 Cor. Marcius ! 
 
 Auf. Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius. Dost 
 
 thou think 
 I'll grace thee with that r6bbery, thy stol'n 
 
 name 
 
 Coriolanus in Corioli ? 
 You lords and heads o' the state, perfidiously 
 He has betray'd your business, and given up, 
 For certain drops of salt, your city Rome, 
 I say your city, to his wife and mother; 
 Breaking his oath and resolution, like 
 A twist of rotten silk ; never admitting 
 Counsel o' the war ; but at his nurse's tears 
 He whin'd and roar'd away your victory; 
 
 peace 
 
SCENE VI.] 
 
 CORIOLANTJS. 
 
 859 
 
 That pages blush'd at him, and men of heart 
 Look'd wondering each at other. 
 
 Cor. Hear'st thou, Mars? 
 
 Auf. Name not the god, thou boy of tears, 
 
 Cor. Ha ! 
 
 Atif. No more. 
 
 Cor. Measureless liar, thou hast made my 
 
 heart [slave ! 
 
 Too great for what contains it. Boy ! O 
 
 Pardon me, lords, 'tis the first time that ever 
 
 I was forc'd to scold. Your judgments, my 
 
 grave lords, 
 
 Must give this cur the lie : and his own notion, 
 Who wears my stripes impress'd upon him; 
 
 that must bear 
 
 My beating to his grave, shall join to thrust 
 The lie unto him. 
 
 1 Lord. Peace, both, and hear me speak. 
 Cor. Cut me to pieces, Volsces; men and lads, 
 
 Stain all your edges on me. Boy ! False hound ! 
 If you have writ your annals true, 'tis there, 
 That, like an eagle in a dove-cote, I 
 Flutter' d your Volscians in Corioli : 
 Alone I did it. Boy ! 
 
 Auf. Why, noble lords, 
 
 Will you be put in mind of his blind fortune, 
 Which was your shame, by this unholy braggart, 
 'Fore your own eyes and ears? 
 
 Conspirators. Let him die for 't. 
 
 Citizens. Tear him to pieces, do it presently: 
 he killed my son ; my daughter ; he killed my 
 cousin Marcus ; he killed my father, 
 
 2 Lord. Peace, ho ! no outrage ; peace ! 
 The man is noble, and his fame folds in 
 This orb o' the earth. His last offences to us 
 Shall have judicious hearing. Stand, Aufidius, 
 And trouble not the peace. 
 
 Cor. O that I had him,, 
 
 With six Aufidiuses, or more, his tribe, 
 To use my lawful sword ! 
 
 Auf. Insolent villain ! 
 
 Conspirators. Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him! 
 [AUF. and the Conspirators draw, and kill 
 COR., who falls: AUF. stands on him. 
 Lords. Hold, hold, hold, hold ! 
 
 Atif. My noble masters, hear me speak. 
 
 1 Lord. O Tullus, 
 
 2 Lord. Thou hast done a deed whereat 
 
 valour will weep. [quiet ; 
 
 3 Lord. Tread not upon him. Masters all, be 
 Put up your swords. [this rage, 
 
 Auf. My lords, when you shall know, as in 
 Provok'd by him, you cannot, the great danger 
 Which this man's life did owe you, you '11 rejoice 
 That he is thus cut off. Please it your honours 
 To call me to your senate, I '11 deliver 
 Myself your loyal servant, or endure 
 Your heaviest censure. 
 
 1 Lord. Bear from hence his body, 
 And mourn you for him. Let him be regarded 
 As the most noble corse that ever herald 
 
 Did follow to his urn. 
 
 2 Lord. His own impatience 
 Takes from Aufidius a great part of blame. 
 Let 's make the best of it 
 
 Auf. My rage is gone; 
 
 And I am struck with sorrow. Take him up: 
 Help, three o' the chiefest soldiers ; I '11 be one. 
 Beat thou the drum, that it speak mournfully: 
 Trail your steel pikes. Though in this city he 
 Hath widow'd and unchilded many a one, 
 Which to this hour bewail the injury, 
 Yet he shall have a noble memory. 
 Assist. 
 
 [Exeunt, bearing the 
 
 A dead march sounded. 
 
 W .tiftk 
 
 
 

 
 
 JULIUS C^SAR. 
 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 JULIUS OESAR. 
 
 OCTAVIUS CESAR, 
 
 MARCUS ANTONIUS, 
 
 M. yMiL. LEPIDUS, 
 
 CICERO, ^ 
 
 PUBLIUS, \Senators. 
 
 POPILIUS LENA, J 
 
 MARCUS BRUTUS, 
 
 CASSIUS, 
 
 CASCA, 
 
 TREBONIUS, 
 
 LIGARIUS, 
 
 DECIUS BRUTUS, 
 
 METELLUS CIMBER, 
 
 ClNNA, 
 
 Triumvirs after the 
 death of JULIUS 
 CESAR. 
 
 Conspirators against 
 JULIUS CESAR. 
 
 FLAVIUS and MARULLUS, Tribunes. 
 
 ARTEMIDORUS, a Sophist of Cnidos. 
 
 A Soothsayer. 
 
 CINNA, a Poet. 
 
 Another Poet. 
 
 LUCILIUS, TITINIUS MESSALA, YOUNG CATO, 
 
 and VOLUMNIUS, Friends to BRUTUS and 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 VARRO, CLITUS, CLAUDIUS, STRATO, Lucius, 
 
 DARDANIUS, Servants to BRUTUS. 
 PINDARUS, Servant to CASSIUS. 
 
 CALPHURNIA, Wife to CESAR. 
 PORTIA, Wife to BRUTUS. 
 
 Senators, Citizens, Guards, Attendants, 
 
 SCENE, Dtiring a great part of the Play at ROME ; afterwards at SARDIS, and near PHILIPPI. 
 
 ACT I. 
 SCENE I. ROME. A Street. 
 
 Enter FLAVIUS, MARULLUS, and a rabble of 
 Citizens. 
 
 Flav. Hence ! home, you idle creatures, get 
 
 you home: 
 
 Is this a holiday? What ! know you not, 
 Being mechanical, you ought not walk 
 Upon a labouring day without the sign 
 Of your profession ? Speak, what trade art thou ? 
 
 1 Cit. Why, sir, a carpenter. [rule ? 
 Mar. Where is thy leather apron and thy 
 
 What dost thou with thy best apparel on? 
 You, sir, what trade are you? [man, 
 
 2 Cit. Truly, sir, in respect of a fine work- 
 I am but, as you would say, a cobbler. 
 
 Mar. But what trade art thou? answer me 
 directly. 
 
 2 Cit. A trade, sir, that I hope I may use 
 with a safe conscience ; which is indeed, sir, a 
 mender of bad soles. 
 
 Mar. What trade, thou knave, thou naughty 
 knave, what trade? 
 
 2 Cit. Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out 
 with me : yet, if you be out, sir, I can mend 
 you. 
 
 Mar. What meanest thou by that? mend me, 
 thou saucy fellow ! 
 
 2 Cit. Why, sir, cobble you. 
 
 Flav. Thou art a cobbler, art thou? 
 
 2 Cit. Truly, sir, all that I live by is with 
 the awl : I meddle with no tradesman's matters, 
 nor women's matters, but with awl. I am, 
 indeed, sir, a surgeon to old shoes; when they 
 are in great danger, I re-cover them. As 
 proper men as ever trod upon neats-leather 
 have gone upon my handiwork. 
 
 Flav. But wherefore art not in thy shop to- 
 day? 
 Why dost thou lead these men about the streets? 
 
 2 Cit. Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to 
 get myself into more work. But, indeed, sir, 
 we make holiday to see Caesar, and to rejoice 
 in his triumph. 
 
 Mar. Wherefore rejoice? What conquest 
 
 brings he home? 
 
 What tributaries follow him to Rome, 
 To grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels? 
 You blocks, you stones, you worse than sense- 
 less things ! 
 
 O you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome, 
 Knew you not Pompey ? Many a time and oft 
 Have you climb'd up to walls and battlements, 
 To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops, 
 Your infants in your arms, and there have sat 
 The live-long day, with patient expectation, 
 To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome : 
 And when you saw his chariot but appear, 
 Have you not made an universal shout, 
 That Tiber trembled underneath her banks, 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 JULIUS CAESAR. 
 
 861 
 
 To hear the replication of your sounds 
 
 Made in her concave shores? 
 
 And do you now put on your best attire? 
 
 And do you now cull out a holiday? 
 
 And do you now strew flowers in his way 
 
 That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood? 
 
 Be gone ! 
 
 Run to your houses, fall upon your knees, 
 
 Pray to the gods to intermit the plague 
 
 That needs must light on this ingratitude. 
 
 . Flav. Go, go, good countrymen, and for 
 
 this fault 
 
 Assemble all the poor men of your sort ; 
 Draw them to Tiber banks, and weep your tears 
 Into the channel, till the lowest stream 
 Do kiss the most exalted shores of all. 
 
 [Exeunt Citizens. 
 
 See, whe'r their basest metal be not mov'd ; 
 They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness. 
 Go you down that way towards the Capitol : 
 This way will I : disrobe the images 
 If you do find them deck'd with ceremonies. 
 
 Mar. May we do so? 
 You know it is the feast of Lupercal. 
 
 Flav. It is no matter ; let no images 
 Be hung with Caesar's trophies. I '11 about, 
 And drive away the vulgar from the streets: 
 So do you too, where you perceive them thick. 
 These growing feathers pluck'd from Caesar's 
 
 wing 
 
 Will make him fly an ordinary pitch ; 
 Who else would soar above the view of men, 
 And keep us all in servile fearfulness. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. ROME. A public Place. 
 Enter^ in procession, with music, CAESAR; 
 
 ANTONY, for the cotirse ; CALPHURNIA, 
 
 PORTIA, DECIUS, CICERO, BRUTUS, CASSIUS, 
 
 and CASCA ; a great crowd following: among 
 
 them a Soothsayer. 
 
 Cas. Calphurnia, 
 
 Casca. Peace, ho ! Caesar speaks. 
 
 [Music ceases. 
 
 Cas. Calphurnia, 
 
 Cal. Here, my lord. 
 
 C<zs. Stand you directly in Antonius' way 
 When he doth run his course. Antonius. 
 
 Ant. Caesar, my lord. 
 
 Cas. Forget not, in your speed, Antonius, 
 To touch Calphurnia; for our elders say, 
 The barren, touched in this holy chase, 
 Shake off their sterile curse. 
 
 Ant. I shall remember : 
 
 When Caesar says, Do this, it is perform'd. 
 
 Cas. Set on ; and leave no ceremony out. 
 
 [Music. 
 
 Sooth. Caesar ! 
 
 Cas. Ha ! who calls? 
 
 Casca. Bid every noise be still. Peace yet 
 again. [Music ceases. 
 
 Cas. Who is it in the press that calls on me? 
 I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music, 
 Cry, Ccesar. Speak ; Caesar is turn'd to hear. 
 
 Sooth. Beware the ides of March. 
 
 Cas. What man is that? 
 
 Bru. A soothsayer bids you beware the ides 
 of March. 
 
 Cas. Set him before me ; let me see his face. 
 
 Cas. Fellow, come from the throng; look 
 upon Caesar. 
 
 Cas. What say'st thou to me now? speak 
 once again. 
 
 Sooth. Beware the ides of March. [Pass. 
 
 Cas. He is a dreamer; let us leave him. 
 [Sennet. Exeunt all but BRU. and CAS. 
 
 Cas. Will you go see the order of the course? 
 
 Bru. Not I. 
 
 Cas. I pray you do. [part 
 
 Bru. I am not gamesome : I do lack some 
 Of that quick spirit that is in Antony. 
 Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires ; 
 I '11 leave you. 
 
 Cas. Brutus, I do observe you now of late : 
 I have not from your eyes that gentleness 
 And show of love as I was wont to have : 
 You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand 
 Over your friend that loves you. 
 
 Bru. Cassius, 
 
 Be not deceiv'd : if I have vail'd my look, 
 I turn the trouble of my countenance 
 Merely upon myself. Vexed I am 
 Of late with passions of some difference, 
 Conceptions only proper to myself, [haviours; 
 Which gives some soil, perhaps, to my be- 
 But let not therefore my good friends be griev'd, 
 Among which number, Cassius, be you one, 
 Nor construe any further my neglect 
 Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war, 
 Forgets the shows of love to other men. 
 
 Cas. Then, Brutus, I have much mistook 
 
 your passion ; 
 
 By means whereof this breast of mine hath buried 
 Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations. 
 Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face ? 
 
 Bru. No, Cassius ; for the eye sees not itself 
 But by reflection, by some other things. 
 
 Cas. 'Tisjust: 
 
 And it is very much lamented, Brutus, 
 That you have no such mirrors as will turn 
 Your hidden worthiness into your eye, 
 That you might see your shadow. I have heard, 
 Where many of the best respect in Rome, 
 Except immortal Caesar, speaking of Brutus, 
 
862 
 
 JULIUS CESAR. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 And groaning underneath this age's yoke, 
 Have wish'd that noble Brutus had his eyes. 
 
 Bru. Into what dangers would you lead me, 
 
 Cassius, 
 
 That you would have me seek into myself 
 For that which is not in me ? [hear : 
 
 Cas. Therefore, good Brutus, be prepar'd to 
 And, since you know you cannot see yourself 
 So well as by reflection, I, your glass, 
 Will modestly discover to yourself 
 That of yourself v/hich you yet know not of. 
 And be not jealous on me, gentle Brutus: 
 Were I a common laugher, or did use 
 To stale with ordinary oaths my love 
 To every new protester ; if you know 
 That I do fawn on men, and hug them hard, 
 And after scandal them ; or if you know 
 That I profess myself in banqueting 
 To all the rout, then hold me dangerous. 
 
 [Flourish and shout. 
 
 Bru. What means this shouting ? I do fear 
 
 the people 
 Choose Caesar for their king. 
 
 Cas. Ay, do you fear it ? 
 
 Then must I think you would not have it so. 
 
 Bru. I would not, Cassius; yet I love him 
 
 well. 
 
 But wherefore do you hold me here so long ? 
 What is it that you would impart to me ? 
 If it be aught toward the general good, 
 Set honour in one eye and death r the other, 
 And I will look on both indifferently; 
 For, let the gods so speed me as I love 
 The name of honour more than I fear death. 
 
 Cas. I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus, 
 As well as I do know your outward favour. 
 Well, honour is the subject of my story. 
 I cannot tell what you and other men 
 Think of this life ; but, for my single self, 
 I had as lief not be as live to be 
 In awe of such a thing as I myself. 
 I was born free as Caesar ; so were you : 
 We both have fed as well ; and we can both 
 Endure the winter's cold as well as he. 
 For once, upon a raw and gusty day, 
 The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores, 
 Caesar said to me, Dar>st thou, Cassius, now 
 Leap in with me into this angry flood, 
 And swim to yonder point ? Upon the word, 
 Accoutred as I was, I plunged in, 
 And bade him follow : so indeed he did. 
 The torrent roar'd ; and we did buffet it 
 With lusty sinews, throwing it aside 
 And stemming it with hearts of controversy : 
 But ere we could arrive the point propos'd, 
 Caesar cried, Help me, Cassius, or f sink! 
 I, as ^neas, our great ancestor, 
 
 Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder 
 The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of 
 
 Tiber 
 
 Did I the tired Caesar : and this man 
 Is now become a god ; and Cassius is 
 A wretched creature, and must bend his body 
 If Caesar carelessly but nod on him. 
 He had a fever when he was in Spain, 
 And, when the fit was on him, I did mark 
 How he did shake : 'tis true, this god did shake : 
 His coward lips did from their colour fly; 
 And that same eye, whose bend doth awe the 
 
 world, 
 
 Did lose his lustre : I did hear him groan : 
 Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans 
 Mark him, and write his speeches in their books, 
 Alas ! it cried, Give me some drink, Titinius, 
 As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me, 
 A man of such a feeble temper should 
 So get the start of the majestic world, 
 And bear the palm alone. [Shout : flourish. 
 
 Bru. Another general shout ! 
 I do believe that these applauses are 
 For some new honours that are heap'd on Caesar. 
 Cas. Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow 
 
 world 
 
 Like a Colossus ; and we petty men 
 Walk under his huge legs, and peep about 
 To find ourselves dishonourable graves. 
 Men at some time are masters of their fates: 
 The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, 
 But in ourselves, that we are underlings. 
 Brutus and Caesar: what should be in that 
 
 Caesar ? [yours ? 
 
 Why should that name be sounded more than 
 Write them together, yours is as fair a name ; 
 Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well ; 
 Weigh them, it is as heavy ; conjure with 'em, 
 Brutus will starta spirit as soon as Caesar. [Shout. 
 Now, in the names of all the gods at once, 
 Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed, 
 That he has grown so great? Age, thou art 
 
 sham'd ! 
 
 Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods ! 
 When went there by an age, since the great flood, 
 But it was fam'd with more than with one man ? 
 When could they say, till now, that talk'd of 
 
 Rome, 
 
 That her wide walls encompass'd but one man ? 
 Now is it Rome indeed, and room enough, 
 When there is in it but one only man. 
 O ! you and I have heard our fathers say, 
 There was a Brutus once that would have brook'd 
 The eternal devil to keep his state in Rome 
 As easily as a king. [jealous ; 
 
 Bru. That you do love me, I am nothing 
 What you would work me to, I have some aim : 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 JULIUS CESAR. 
 
 863 
 
 How I have thought of this, and of these times, 
 I shall recount hereafter; for this present, 
 I would not, so with love I might entreat you, 
 Be any further mov'd. What you have said 
 I will consider ; what you have to say 
 I will with patience hear : and find a time 
 Both meet to hear and answer such high things. 
 Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this ; 
 Brutus had rather be a villager 
 Than to repute himself a son of Rome 
 Under these hard conditions as this time 
 Is like to lay upon us. 
 
 Cas. I am glad that my weak words 
 Have struck but thus much show of fire from 
 
 Brutus. 
 
 Bru. The games are done, and Caesar is re- 
 turning. 
 Cas. As they pass by, pluck Casca by the 
 
 sleeve ; 
 
 And he will, after his sour fashion, tell you 
 What hath proceeded worthy note to-day. 
 
 Re-enter CAESAR and his Train. 
 
 Bru. I will do so. But, look you, Cassius, 
 The angry spot doth glow on Caesar's brow, 
 And all the rest look like a chidden train: 
 Calphurnia's cheek is pale ; and Cicero 
 Looks with such ferret and such fiery eyes 
 As we have seen him in the Capitol, 
 Being crossed in conference by some senators. 
 
 Cas. Casca will tell us what the matter is. 
 
 Cces. Antonius. 
 
 Ant. Caesar? 
 
 Cas. Let me have men about me that are fat ; 
 Sleek-headed men, and such as sleep o' nights: 
 Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look ; 
 He thinks too much : such men are dangerous. 
 
 Ant. Fear him not, Caesar, he 's not danger- 
 ous; 
 He is a noble Roman, and well given. 
 
 Cces. Would he were fatter ! But I fear him 
 
 not: 
 
 Yet if my name were liable to fear, 
 I do not know the man I should avoid 
 So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much ; 
 He is a great observer, and he looks 
 Quite through the deeds of men : he loves no 
 
 plays, 
 
 As thou dost, Antony; he hears no music: 
 Seldom he smiles ; and smiles in such a sort 
 As if he mock'd himself, and scorn'd his spirit 
 That could be mov'd to smile at anything. 
 Such men as he be never at heart's ease 
 Whiles they behold a greater than themselves; 
 And therefore are they very dangerous. 
 I rather tell thee what is to be fear'd 
 Than what I fear, for always I am Caesar. 
 
 Come on my right hand, for this ear is deaf, 
 And tell me truly what thou think'st of him. 
 [Exeunt CJESKK and STRAIN. CASCA 
 stays behind. 
 
 Casca. You pull'd me by the cloak ; would 
 you speak with me? [to-day, 
 
 Bru. Ay, Casca ; tell us what hath chanc'd 
 That Caesar looks so sad? [not? 
 
 Casca. Why, you were with him, were you 
 
 Bru. I should not then ask Casca what had 
 chanc'd. 
 
 Casca. Why, there was a crown offered him: 
 and being offered him, he put it by with the 
 back of his hand, thus ; and then the people 
 fell a-shouting. 
 
 Bru. What was the second noise for? 
 
 Casca. Why, for that too. [cry for? 
 
 Cas. They shouted thrice : what was the last 
 
 Casca. Why, for that too. 
 
 Bru. Was the crown offer'd him thrice? 
 
 Casca. Ay, marry, was 't, and he put it by 
 thrice, every time gentler than other; and at 
 every putting by mine honest neighbours 
 shouted. 
 
 Cas. Who offered him the crown? 
 
 Casca, Why, Antony. 
 
 Bru. Tell us the manner of it, gentle Casca. 
 
 Casca. I can as well be hanged as tell the 
 manner of it : it was mere foolery ; I did not 
 mark it. I saw Mark Antony offer him a crown ; 
 yet 'twas not a crown neither, 'twas one of 
 these coronets; and, as I told you, he put it 
 by once : but, for all that, to my thinking, he 
 would fain have had it. Then he offered it to 
 him again; then he put it by again: but, to 
 my thinking, he was very loth to lay his fingers 
 off it. And then he offered it the third time ; 
 he put it the third time by : and still, as he 
 refused it, the rabblement hooted, and clapped 
 their chapped hands, and threw up their sweaty 
 night-caps, and uttered such a deal of stinking 
 breath because Caesar refused the crown, that 
 it had almost choked Caesar; for he swooned, 
 and fell down at it : and for mine own part I 
 durst not laugh, for fear of opening my lips 
 and receiving the bad air. 
 
 Cas. But, soft, I pray you : what, did Caesar 
 swoon? 
 
 Casca. He fell down in the market-place, and 
 foamed at mouth, and was speechless. 
 
 Bru. 'Tis very like, he hath the falling 
 sickness. 
 
 Cas. No, Caesar hath it not ; but you, and I, 
 And honest Casca, we have the falling sickness. 
 
 Casca. I know not what you mean by that ; 
 but I am sure Caesar fell down. If the tag-rag 
 people did not clap him and hiss him, according 
 
86 4 
 
 JULIUS C^SAR. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 as he pleased and displeased them, as they use 
 to do the players in the theatre, I am no true 
 man. [self? 
 
 Bru. What said he when he came unto him- 
 
 Casca. Marry, before he fell down, when he 
 perceived the common herd was glad he refused 
 the crown, he plucked me ope his doublet, and 
 offered them his throat to cut. An I had been 
 a man of any occupation, if I would not have 
 taken him at a word, I would I might go to hell 
 among the rogues. And so he fell. When he 
 came to himself again, he said, If he had done 
 or said anything amiss, he desired their worships 
 to think it was his infirmity. Three or four 
 wenches, where I stood, cried, Alas, good soul! 
 and forgave him with all their hearts : but 
 there 's no heed to be taken of them ; if Caesar 
 had stabbed their mothers they would have done 
 no less. 
 
 Brzi. And after that he came, thus sad, away? 
 
 Casca. Ay. 
 
 Cas. Did Cicero say anything? 
 
 Casca. Ay, he spoke Greek. 
 
 Cas. To what effect? 
 
 Casca. Nay, an I tell you that, I'll ne'er 
 look you i' the face again: but those that 
 understood him smiled at one another, and shook 
 their heads ; but, for mine own part, it was Greek 
 to me. I could tell you more news too : Mar- 
 ullus and Flavius, for pulling scarfs off Caesar's 
 images, are put to silence. Fare you well. 
 There was more foolery yet, if I could re- 
 member it. 
 
 Cas. Will you sup with me to-night, Casca? 
 
 Casca. No, I am promised forth. 
 
 Cas. Will you dine with me to-morrow? 
 
 Casca. Ay, if I be alive, and your mind hold, 
 and your dinner worth the eating. 
 
 Cas. Good ; I will expect you. 
 
 Casca. Do so : farewell, both. [Exit. 
 
 Bru. What a blunt fellow is this grown to be ! 
 He was quick mettle when he went to school. 
 
 Cas. So is he now, in execution 
 Of any bold or noble enterprise, 
 However he puts on this tardy form. 
 This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit, 
 Which gives men stomach to digest his words 
 With better appetite. [you : 
 
 ' Bru. And so it is. For this time I will leave 
 To-morrow, if you please to speak with me, 
 I will come home to you ; or, if you will, 
 Come home to me, and I will wait for you. 
 
 Cas. I will do so : till then, think of the 
 world. [Exit BRUTUS. 
 
 Well, Brutus, thou art noble ; yet, I see, 
 Thy honourable metal may be wrought 
 From that it is dispos'd : therefore it is meet 
 
 That noble minds keep ever with their likes ; 
 For who so firm that cannot be seduc'd? 
 Caesar doth bear me hard ; but he loves Brutus: 
 If I were Brutus now, and he were Cassius, 
 He should not humour me. I will this night, 
 In several hands, in at his windows throw, 
 As if they came from several citizens, 
 Writings, all tending to the great opinion 
 That Rome holds of his name; wherein ob- 
 
 scurely 
 
 Caesar's ambition shall be glanced at : 
 And, after this, let Caesar seat him sure ; 
 For we will shake him, or worse days endure. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III. ROME. A Street. 
 
 Thunder and Lightning. Enter, from opposite 
 sides, CASCA, with his sword drawn, and 
 CICERO. 
 
 Cic. Good-even, Casca : brought you Caesar 
 
 home? 
 Why are you breathless? and why stare you so? 
 
 Casca. Are not you mov'd, when all the sway 
 
 of earth 
 
 Shakes like a thing unfirm? O Cicero, 
 I have seen tempests, when the scolding winds 
 Have riv'd the knotty oaks ; and I have seen 
 The ambitious ocean swell, and rage, and foam, 
 To be exalted with the threat'ning clouds : 
 But never till to-night, never till now, 
 Did I go through a tempest dropping fire. 
 Either there is a civil strife in heaven ; 
 Or else the world, too saucy with the gods, 
 Incenses them to send destruction. 
 
 Cic. Why, saw you anything more wonderful ? 
 
 Casca. A common slave, you know him well 
 
 by sight, 
 his left 
 
 Held up his left hand, which did flame and burn 
 Like twenty torches join'd ; and yet his hand, 
 Not sensible of fire, remain'd unscorch'd. 
 Besides, I ha' not since put up my sword, 
 Against the Capitol I met a lion, 
 Who glar'd upon me, and went surly by, 
 Without annoying me : and there were drawn 
 Upon a heap a hundred ghastly women, 
 Transformed with their fear ; who swore they 
 
 saw 
 
 Men, all in fire, walk up and down the streets. 
 And yesterday the bird of night did sit, 
 Even at noon-day, upon the market-place, 
 Hooting and shrieking. When these prodigies 
 Do so conjointly meet, let not men say, 
 These are their reasons, they are natural; 
 For I believe they are portentous things 
 Unto the climate that they point upon. 
 Cic. Indeed, it is a strange-disposed time: 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 JULIUS CESAR. 
 
 865 
 
 But men may construe things after their fashion, 
 Clean from the purpose of the things themselves. 
 Comes Caesar to the Capitol to-morrow? 
 
 Casca. He doth ; for he did bid Antonius 
 Send word to you he would be there to-morrow. 
 
 Cic. Good-night, then, Casca : this disturbed 
 
 sky 
 Is not to walk in. 
 
 Casca, Farewell, Cicero. [Exit CICERO. 
 
 Enter CASSIUS. 
 
 Cas. Who's there? 
 
 Casca. A Roman. 
 
 Cas. Casca, by your voice. 
 
 Casca. Your ear is good. Cassius, what 
 night is this ! 
 
 Cas. A very pleasing night to honest men. 
 
 Casca. Who ever knew the heavens menace 
 so? [of faults. 
 
 Cas. Those that have known the earth so full 
 For my part, I have walk'd about the streets, 
 Submitting me unto the perilous night ; 
 And, thus unbraced, Casca, as you see, 
 Have bar'd my bosom to the thunder-stone : 
 And when the cross-blue lightning seem'd to 
 
 open 
 
 The breast of heaven, I did present myself 
 Even in the aim and very flash of it. 
 
 Casca. But wherefore did you so much tempt 
 
 the heavens? 
 
 It is the part of men to fear and tremble 
 When the most mighty gods, by tokens, send 
 Such dreadful heralds to astonish us. 
 
 Cas. You are dull, Casca ; and those sparks 
 
 of life 
 
 That should be in a Roman you do want, 
 Or else you use not. You look pale, and gaze, 
 And put on fear, and cast yourself in wonder, 
 To see the strange impatience of the heavens : 
 But if you would consider the true cause 
 Why all these fires, why all these gliding ghosts, 
 Why birds and beasts, from quality and kind ; 
 Why old men fools, and children calculate ; 
 Why all these things change, from their ordin- 
 ance, 
 
 Their natures, and pre-formed faculties, 
 To monstrous quality ; why, you shall find 
 That heaven hath infus'd them with these spirits, 
 To make them instruments of fear and warning 
 Unto some monstrous state. 
 Now could I, Casca, name to thee a man 
 Most like this dreadful night 
 That thunders, lightens, opens graves, and roars 
 As doth the lion in the Capitol, 
 A man no mightier than thyself or me 
 In personal action ; yet prodigious grown, 
 And fearful, as these strange eruptions are. 
 
 Casca. 'Tis Caesar that you mean ; is it not, 
 Cassius? 
 
 Cas. Let it be who it is: for Romans now 
 Have thews and limbs like to their ancestors ; 
 But, woe the while ! our fathers' minds are dead, 
 And we are govern'd with our mothers' spi i:s; 
 Our yoke and sufferance show us womanish. 
 
 Casca. Indeed they say the senators to-morrow 
 Mean to establish Caesar as a king; 
 And he shall wear his crown by sea and land, 
 In every place, save here in Italy. 
 
 Cas. I know where I will wear this ('rigger 
 
 then; 
 
 Cassius from bondage will deliver Cassius : 
 Therein, ye gods, you make the weak most 
 
 strong ; 
 
 Therein, ye gods, you tyrants do defeat: 
 Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass, 
 Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron, 
 Can be retentive to the strength of spirit ; 
 But life, being weary of these worldly bars, 
 Never lacks power to dismiss itself. 
 If I know this, know all the world besides, 
 That part of tyranny that I do bear, 
 I can shake off at pleasure. [ Thunder still. 
 
 Casca. So can I : 
 
 So every bondman in his own hand bears 
 The power to cancel his captivity. 
 
 Cas. And why should Csesar be a tyrant, then? 
 Poor man ! I know he would not be a wolf, 
 But that he sees the Romans are but sheep : 
 He were no lion, were not Romans hinds. 
 Those that with haste will make a mighty fire 
 Begin it with weak straws : what trash is Rome, 
 What rubbish, and what offal, when it serves 
 For the base matter to illuminate 
 So vile a thing as Caesar I But, O grief, 
 Where hast thou led me? I perhaps speak this 
 Before a willing bondman ; then I know 
 My answer must be made : but I am arm'd, 
 And dangers are to me indifferent. [man 
 
 Casca. You speak to Casca; and to such a 
 That is no fleering tell-tale. Hold, my hand : 
 Be factious for redress of all these griefs ; 
 And I will set this foot of mine as far 
 As who goes farthest. 
 
 Cas. There 's a bargain made. 
 
 Now know you, Casca, I have mov'd already 
 Some certain of the noblest-minded Romans 
 To undergo with me an enterprise 
 Of honourable-dangerous consequence ; 
 And I do know by this they stay for me 
 In Pompey's porch : for now, this fearful night, 
 There is no stir or walking in the streets ; 
 And the complexion of the element 
 In favour 's like the work we have in hand, 
 Most bloody, fiery, and most terrible. 
 
 2E 
 
866 
 
 JULIUS CESAR. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 Casca. Stand close a while, for here comes 
 
 one in haste. 
 
 Cas. 'Tis Cinna, I do know him by his gait ; 
 He is a friend. 
 
 Enter CINNA. 
 Cinna, where haste you so? 
 Cin. To find out you. Who's that? 
 
 Metellus Cimber? 
 
 Cas. No, it is Casca ; one incorporate 
 To our attempts. Am I not stay'd for, Cinna ? 
 Cin. I am glad on 't. What a fearful night 
 is this 1 [sights. 
 
 There 's two or three of us have seen strange 
 Cas. Am I not stay'd for? Tell me. 
 Cin. Yes, you are. 
 
 Cassius, if you could 
 
 But win the noble Brutus to our party, 
 
 Cas. Be you content : good Cinna, take this 
 
 paper, 
 
 And look you lay it in the praetor's chair, 
 Where Brutus may but find it ; and throw this 
 In at his window ; set this up with wax 
 Upon old Brutus' statue : all this done, [us. 
 Repair to Pompey's porch, where you shall find 
 Is Decius Brutus and Trebonius there? 
 
 Cin. All but Metellus Cimber ; and he 's gone 
 To seek you at your house. Well, I will hie, 
 And so bestow these papers as you bade me. 
 
 Cas. That done, repair to Pompey's theatre. 
 {Exit CINNA. 
 
 Come, Casca, you and I will yet, ere day, 
 See Brutus at his house : three parts of him 
 Is ours already ; and the man entire, 
 Upon the next encounter, yields him ours. 
 
 Casca. O, he sits high in all the people's 
 
 hearts : 
 
 And that which would appear offence in us, 
 His countenance, like richest alchemy, 
 Will change to virtue and to worthiness. 
 
 Cas. Him, and his worth, and our great need 
 
 of him, 
 
 You have right well conceited. Let us go, 
 For it is after midnight ; and ere day 
 We will awake him, and be sure of him. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. ROME. BRUTUS'S Orchard. 
 Enter BRUTUS. 
 
 Brtt. What, Lucius, ho! 
 
 1 cannot, by the progress of the stars, 
 
 Give guess how near to day. Lucius, I say ! 
 I would it were my fault to sleep so soundly. 
 When, Lucius, when? awake, I say! what, 
 Lucius! 
 
 Enter Lucius. 
 
 Luc. Call'd you, my lord ? 
 Bru. Get me a taper in my study, Lucius: 
 When it is lighted, come and call me here. 
 Luc. I will, my lord. [Exit. 
 
 Bru. It must be by his death : and, for my 
 
 part, 
 
 I know no personal cause to spurn at him, 
 But for the general. He would be crown'd : 
 How that might change his nature, there 's the 
 
 question : 
 
 It is the bright day that brings forth the adder; 
 And that craves wary walking. Crown him? 
 
 that 
 
 And then, I grant, we put a sting in him, 
 That at his will he may do danger with. 
 The abuse of greatness is, when it disjoins 
 Remorse from power : and, to speak truth of 
 
 Caesar, 
 
 I have not known when his affections sway'd 
 More than his reason. But 'tis a common proof 
 That lowliness is young ambition's ladder, 
 Whereto the climber-upward turns his face ; 
 But when he once attains the utmost round, 
 He then unto the ladder turns his back, 
 Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees 
 By which he did ascend. So Caesar may ; 
 Then, lest he may, prevent. And, since the 
 
 quarrel 
 
 Will bear no colour for the thing he is, 
 Fashion it thus ; that what he is, augmented, 
 Would run to these and these extremities : 
 And therefore think him as a serpent's egg, 
 Which, hatch'd, would as his kind grow mis- 
 chievous ; 
 And kill him in the shell. 
 
 Re-enter Lucius. 
 
 Luc. The taper burneth in your closet, sir. 
 Searching the window for a flint, I found 
 
 [Giving him a letter, 
 
 This paper, thus seal'd up ; and I am sure 
 It did not lie there when I went to bed. 
 
 Bru. Get you to bed again, it is not day. 
 Is not to-morrow, boy, the ides of March? 
 
 Luc. I know not, sir. [word. 
 
 Bru. Look in the calender, and bring me 
 
 Luc. I will, sir. [Exit. 
 
 Bru. The exhalations, whizzing in the air, 
 Give so much light that I may read by them. 
 
 [Opens the letter and reads. 
 Brutus, thou sleep' st: awake, and see thyself. 
 Shall Rome, &>c. Speak, strike, redress! 
 Brutus, thou sleefst: awake. 
 Such instigations have been often dropp'd 
 Where I have took them up. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 JULIUS CESAR. 
 
 Shall Rome, &c. Thus must I piece it out, 
 Shall Rome stand under one man's awe ? What, 
 
 Rome? 
 
 My ancestors did from the streets of Rome 
 The Tarquin drive, when he was call'd a king. 
 Speak, strike, redress! Am I entreated then 
 To speak and strike ! O Rome ! I make thee 
 
 promise, 
 
 If the redress will follow, thou receivest 
 Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus ! 
 
 Re-enter Lucius. 
 
 Luc. Sir, March is wasted fourteen days. 
 
 [Knocking 1 within. 
 
 Bru. 'Tis good. Go to the gate ; somebody 
 knocks. [Exit Lucius. 
 
 Since Cassius first did whet me against Caesar, 
 I have not slept. 
 
 Between the acting of a dreadful thing 
 And the first motion, all the interim is 
 Like a phantasma or a hideous dream : 
 The genius and the mortal instruments 
 Are then in council ; and the state of man, 
 Like to a little kingdom, suffers then 
 The nature of an insurrection. 
 
 Re-enter Lucius. 
 
 Luc. Sir, 'tis your brother Cassius at the door 
 Who doth desire to see you. 
 
 Bru. Is he alone? 
 
 Luc. No, sir, there are more with him. 
 
 Bru. Do you know them? 
 
 Luc. No, sir; their hats are pluck'd about 
 
 their ears, 
 
 And half their faces buried in their cloaks, 
 That by no means I may discover them 
 By any mark of favour. 
 
 Bru. Let 'em enter. 
 
 [Exit Lucius. 
 
 They are the /action. O conspiracy, [night, 
 Sham'st thou to show thy dangerous brow by 
 When evils are most free? O, then, by day 
 Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enough 
 To mask thy monstrous visage? Seek none, 
 
 conspiracy ; 
 
 Hide it in smiles and affability: 
 For if thou hath thy native semblance on, 
 Not Erebus itself were dim enough 
 To hide thee from prevention. 
 
 Enter CASSIUS, CASCA, DECIUS, CINNA, 
 METELLUS CIMBER, a 
 
 Cas. I think we are too bold upon your rest : 
 Good-morrow, Brutus; do we trouble you? 
 
 Bru. I have been up this hour; awake all 
 
 night. 
 Know I these men that come along with you? 
 
 Cas. Yes, every man of them ; and no man 
 
 here 
 
 But honours you ; and every one doth wish 
 You had but that opinion of yourself 
 Which every noble Roman bears of you. 
 This is Trebonius. 
 
 Bru. He is welcome hither. 
 
 Cas. This, Decius Brutus. 
 
 Bru. He is welcome too, 
 
 Cas. This, Casca; this, Cinna; 
 And this, Metellus Cimber. 
 
 Bru. They are all welcome. 
 
 What watchful cares do interpose themselves 
 Betwixt your eyes and night ? 
 
 Cas. Shall I entreat a word? 
 
 [BRUTUS and CASSIUS -whisper. 
 
 Dec. Here lies the east ; doth not the day 
 break here? 
 
 Casca. No. 
 
 Cin. O, pardon, sir, it doth ; and yon grey 
 
 lines 
 That fret the clouds are messengers of day. 
 
 Casca. You shall confess that you are both 
 
 deceiv'd. 
 
 Here, as I point my sword, the sun arises ; 
 Which is a great way growing on the south, 
 Weighing the youthful season of the year. 
 Some two months hence up higher toward the 
 
 north 
 
 He first presents his fire ; and the high east 
 Stands, as the Capitol, directly here. 
 
 Bru. Give me your hands all over, one by 
 one. 
 
 Cas. And let us swear our resolution. 
 
 Bru. No, not an oath : if not the face of men, 
 The sufferance of our souls, the time's abuse, 
 If these be motives weak, break off betimes, 
 And every man hence to his idle bed ; 
 So let high -sighted tyranny range on, 
 Till each man drop by lottery. But if these, 
 As I am sure they do, bear fire enough 
 To kindle cowards, and to steel with valour 
 The melting spirits of women ; then, country- 
 men, 
 
 What need we any spur, but our own cause, 
 To prick us to redress? what other bond 
 Than secret Romans, that have spoke the word 
 And will not palter? and what other oath 
 Than honesty to honesty engag'd 
 That this shall be, or we will fall for it? 
 Swear priests, and cowards, and men cautelous, 
 Old feeble carrions, and such suffering souls 
 That welcome wrongs ; unto bad causes swear 
 Such creatures as men doubt : but do not stain 
 The even virtue of our enterprise, 
 Nor the insuppressive mettle of our spirits, 
 To think that or our cause or our performance 
 
868 
 
 JULIUS CESAR. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 Did need an oath ; when every drop of blood 
 
 That every Roman bears, and nobly bears, 
 
 Is guilty of a several bastardy 
 
 If he do break the smallest particle 
 
 Of any promise that hath pass'd from him. 
 
 Cas. But what of Cicero? shall we sound 
 
 him? 
 I think he will stand very strong with us. 
 
 Casca. Let us not leave him out. 
 
 Cin. No, by no means. 
 
 Met. O, let us have him ; for his silver hairs 
 Will purchase us a good opinion, 
 And buy men's voices to commend our deeds : 
 It shall be said his judgment rul'd our hands ; 
 Our youths and Wildness shall no whit appear, 
 But all be buried in his gravity. 
 
 Bru. O, name him not: let us not break 
 
 with him ; 
 
 For he will never follow anything 
 That other men begin. 
 
 Cas. Then leave him out. 
 
 Casca. Indeed he is not fit. 
 
 Dec. Shall no man else be touch 'd but only 
 Caesar? 
 
 Cas. Decius, well urg*d. I think it is not 
 
 meet 
 
 Mark Antony, so well belov'd of Caesar, 
 Should outlive Caesar : we shall find of him 
 A shrewd contriver ; and, you know, his means, 
 If he improve them, may well stretch so far 
 As to annoy us all : which to prevent, 
 Let Antony and Caesar fall together. 
 
 Bru. Our course will seem too bloody, Caius 
 
 Cassius, 
 
 To cut the head off and then hack the limbs, 
 Like wrath in death and envy afterwards ; 
 For Antony is but a limb of Caesar: 
 Let 's be sacrificers, but not butchers, Caius. 
 We all stand up against the spirit of Caesar ; 
 And in the spirit of men there is no blood: 
 O that we, then, could come by Caesar's spirit, 
 And not dismember Caesar ! But, alas, 
 Caesar must bleed for it ! And, gentle friends, 
 Let's kill him boldly, but not wrathfully; 
 Let 's carve him as a dish fit for the gods, 
 Not hew him as a carcase fit for hounds : 
 And let our hearts, as subtle masters do, 
 Stir up their servants to an act of rage, 
 And after seem to chide 'em. This shall make 
 Our purpose necessary, and not envious: 
 Which so appearing to the common eyes, 
 We shall be call'd purgers, not murderers. 
 And for Mark Antony, think not of him ; 
 For he can do no more than Caesar's arm 
 When Caesar's head is off. 
 
 Cas. Yet I fear him ; 
 
 For in the engrafted love he bears to Caesar, 
 
 Bru. Alas, good Cassius, do not think of him : 
 If he love Caesar, all that he can do 
 Is to himself, take thought and die for Caesar: 
 And that were much he should ; for he is given 
 To sports, to wildness, and much company. 
 
 Treb. There is no fear in him ; let him not 
 
 die; 
 For he will live, and laugh at this hereafter. 
 
 [Clock strikes. 
 
 Bru. Peace, count the clock. 
 
 Cas. The clock hath stricken three. 
 
 Treb. 'Tis time to part. 
 
 Cas. But it is doubtful yet 
 
 Whether Caesar will come forth to-day or no : 
 For he is superstitious grown of late ; 
 Quite from the main opinion he held once 
 Of fantasy, of dreams, and ceremonies : 
 It may be these apparent prodigies, 
 The unaccustom'd terror of this night, 
 And the persuasion of his augurers, 
 May hold him from the Capitol to-day. 
 
 Dec. Never fear that : if he be so resolv'd 
 I can o'ersway him ; for he loves to hear 
 That unicorns may be betray'd with trees, 
 And bears with glasses, elephants with holes, 
 Lions with toils, and men with flatterers: 
 But when I tell him he hates flatterers, 
 He says he does, being then most flatter'd. 
 Let me work ; 
 
 For I can give his humour the true bent, 
 And I will bring him to the Capitol. 
 
 Cas. Nay, we will all of us be there to fetch 
 him. [most? 
 
 Bru. By the eighth hour : is that the utter- 
 
 Cin. Be that the uttermost, and fail not then. 
 
 Met. Caius Ligarius doth bear Caesar hard, 
 Who rated him for speaking well of Pompey : 
 I wonder none of you have thought of him. 
 
 Bru. Now, good Metellus, go along by him : 
 He loves me well, and I have given him reasons ; 
 Send him but hither, and I'll fashion him. 
 
 Cas. The morning comes upon 's : we '11 leave 
 
 you, Brutus: [member 
 
 And, friends, disperse yourselves: but all re- 
 
 What you have said, and show yourselves true 
 
 Romans. 
 
 Bru. Good gentlemen, look fresh and merrily; 
 Let not our looks put on our purposes ; 
 But bear it as our Roman actors do, 
 With untir'd spirits and formal constancy; 
 And so, good-morrow to you every one. 
 
 [Exeunt all but BRUTUS. 
 Boy ! Lucius ! Fast asleep? it is no matter ; 
 Enjoy the heavy honey-dew of slumber : 
 Thou hast no figures nor no fantasies 
 Which busy care draws in the brains of men ; 
 Therefore thou sleep'st so sound. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 JULIUS CESAR. 
 
 869 
 
 Enter PORTIA. 
 
 Par. Brutus, my lord ! 
 
 Bru. Portia, what mean you? wherefore rise 
 
 you now? 
 
 It is not for your health thus to commit 
 Your weak condition to the raw cold morning. 
 
 For. Nor for yours neither. You have un- 
 
 gently, Brutus, 
 
 Stole from my bed : and yesternight, at supper, 
 You suddenly arose, and walk'd about, 
 Musing and sighing, with your arms across; 
 And when I ask'd you what the matter was, 
 You star'd upon me with ungentle looks : 
 I urg'd you further ; then you scratch'd your 
 
 head, 
 
 And too impatiently stamp'd with your foot: 
 Yet I insisted, yet you answer'd not ; 
 But with an angry wafture of your hand 
 Gave sign for me to leave you : so I did ; 
 Fearing to strengthen that impatience 
 Which seem'd too much enkindled ; and withal 
 Hoping it was but an effect of humour, 
 Which sometime hath his hour with every man. 
 It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep ; 
 And, could it work so much upon your shape 
 As it hath much prevail'd on your condition, 
 I should not know you, Brutus. Dear my lord, 
 Make me acquainted with your cause of grief. 
 
 Bru. I am not well in health, and that is all. 
 
 For. Brutus is wise, and were he not in 
 
 health, 
 He would embrace the means to come by it. 
 
 Bru. Why, so I do. Good Portia, go to bed. 
 
 For. Is Brutus sick? and is it physical 
 To walk unbraced, and suck up the humours 
 Of the dank morning? What, is Brutus sick, 
 And will he steal out of his wholesome bed, 
 To dare the vile contagion of the night, 
 And tempt the rheumy and unpurg'd air 
 To add unto his sickness? No, my Brutus; 
 You have some sick offence within your mind, 
 Which by the right and virtue of my place 
 I ought to know of: and upon my knees 
 I charm you, by my once -commended beauty, 
 By all your vows of love, and that great vow 
 Which did incorporate and make us one, 
 That you unfold to me, yourself, your half, 
 Why you are heavy ; and what men to-night 
 Have had resort to you, for here have been 
 Some six or seven, who did hide their faces 
 Even from darkness. 
 
 Bru. Kneel not, gentle Portia. 
 
 For. I should not need if you were gentle 
 
 Brutus. 
 
 Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus, 
 Is it excepted I should know no secrets 
 
 That appertain to you? Am I yourself 
 But as it were in sort or limitation, 
 To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed, 
 And talk to you sometimes? Dwell I but in 
 
 the suburbs 
 
 Of your good pleasure? If it be no more, 
 Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife. 
 
 Bru. You are my true and honourable wife ; 
 As dear to me as are the ruddy drops 
 That visit my sad heart. 
 
 For. If this were true, then should I know 
 
 this secret. 
 
 I grant 1 am a woman ; but withal 
 A woman that Lord Brutus took to wife: 
 I grant I am a woman ; but withal 
 A woman well-reputed, Cato's daughter. 
 Think you I am no stronger than my sex, 
 Being so father 'd and so husbanded? 
 Tell me your counsels, I will not disclose 'em : 
 I have made strong proof of my constancy, 
 Giving myself a voluntary wound 
 Here in the thigh : can I bear that with patience. 
 And not my husband's secrets? 
 
 Bru. O ye gods, 
 
 Render me worthy of this noble wife ! 
 
 {Knocking within. 
 
 Hark, hark ! one knocks : Portia, go in awhile ; 
 And by and by thy bosom shall partake 
 The secrets of my heart: 
 All my engagements I will construe to thee, 
 All the charactery of my sad brows. 
 Leave me with haste. [Exit PORTIA. 
 
 Lucius, who's that knocks? 
 
 Enter Lucius with LiGARius. 
 
 Luc. Here is a sick man that would speak 
 with you. 
 
 Bru. CaiusLigarius, that Metellus spake of. 
 Boy, stand aside. Caius Ligarius, how ! 
 
 Lig. Vouchsafe good -morrow from a feeble 
 tongue. 
 
 Bru. O, what a time have you chose out, 
 
 brave Caius, 
 To wear a kerchief ! Would you were not sick ! 
 
 Lig. I am not sick if Brutus have in hand 
 Any exploit worthy the name of honour. 
 
 Bru. Suchan exploit have I in hand, Ligarius, 
 Had you a healthful ear lo hear of it. 
 
 Lig. By all the gods that Romans bow before, 
 I here discard my sickness ! Soul of Rome ! 
 Brave son, deriv'd from honourable loins ! 
 Thou, like an exorcist, hast conjurM up 
 My mortified spirit. Now bid me run, 
 And I will strive with things impossible ; 
 Yea, get the better of them. What's to do? 
 
 Bru. A piece of work that will make sick 
 men whole. 
 
8;o 
 
 JULIUS CESAR. 
 
 [ACT n. 
 
 Lig. But are not some whole that we must 
 make sick? [Caius, 
 
 Brti. That must we also. What it is, my 
 I shall unfold to thee, as we are going 
 To whom it must be done. 
 
 Lig. Set on your foot ; 
 
 And with a heart new fir'd I follow you 
 To do I know not what : but it sufficeth 
 That Brutus leads me on. 
 
 Bru. Follow me, then. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. ROME. A Room in CAESAR'S 
 Palace. 
 
 Thunder and lightning. Enter OESAR in his 
 night-gown. 
 
 Cats. Nor heaven nor earth have been at 
 
 peace to-night : 
 
 Thrice hath Calphurnia in her sleep cried out, 
 Help, ho! They murder Ccesar ! Who's 
 
 within? 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. My lord ? 
 
 Cces. Go bid the priests do present sacrifice, 
 And bring me their opinions of success. 
 
 Serv. I will, my lord. [Exit. 
 
 Enter CALPHURNIA. 
 
 Cal. What mean you, Caesar? Think you 
 
 to walk forth? 
 You shall not stir out of your house to-day. 
 
 Cces. Caesar shall forth: the things that 
 threaten'd me [see 
 
 Ne'er look'd but on my back ; when they shall 
 The face of Caesar they are vanished. 
 
 Cal. Caesar, I never stood on ceremonies, 
 Yet now they fright me. There is one within, 
 Besides the things that we have heard and seen, 
 Recounts most horrid sights seen by the watch. 
 A lioness hath whelped in the streets; 
 And graves have yawn'd and yielded up their 
 
 dead; 
 
 Fierce fiery warriors fight upon the clouds, 
 In ranks and squadrons and right form of war, 
 Which drizzled blood upon the Capitol ; 
 The noise of battle hurtled in the air, 
 Horses did neigh, and dying men did groan ; 
 And ghosts did shriek and squeal about the 
 
 streets. 
 
 O Caesar, these things are beyond all use, 
 And I do fear them ! 
 
 Cces. What can be avoided, 
 
 Whose end is purpos'd by the mighty gods? 
 Yet Caesar shall go forth ; for these predictions 
 Are to the world in general as to Caesar. 
 
 Cal. When beggars die there are no comets 
 seen ; [of princes. 
 
 The heavens themselves blaze forth the death 
 Cces. Cowards die many times before their 
 deaths ; 
 
 The valiant never taste of death but once. 
 
 Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, 
 
 It seems to me most strange that men should 
 fear; 
 
 Seeing that death, a necessary end, 
 
 Will come when it will come. 
 
 Re-enter Servant. 
 
 What say the augurers? 
 
 Serv. They would not have you to stir forth 
 
 to-day. 
 
 Plucking the entrails of an offering forth, 
 They could not find a heart within the beast. 
 
 Cces. The gods do this in shame of cowardice : 
 Caesar should be a beast without a heart 
 If he should stay at home to-day for fear. 
 No, Caesar shall not : danger knows full well 
 That Caesar is more dangerous than he : 
 We are two lions litter'd in one day, 
 And I the elder and more terrible : 
 And Caesar shall go forth. 
 
 Cal. Alas, my lord, 
 
 Your wisdom is consum'd in confidence. 
 Do not go forth to-day : call it my fear 
 That keeps you in the house, and not your own 
 We'll send Mark Antony to the senate-house ; 
 And he shall say you are not well to-day: 
 Let me, upon my knee, prevail in this. 
 
 Cces. Mark Antony shall say I am not well : 
 And for thy humour I will stay at home. 
 
 Enter DECIUS. 
 
 Here 's Decius Brutus, he shall tell them so. 
 
 Dec. Caesar, all hail ! Good-morrow, worthy 
 
 Caesar: 
 I come to fetch you to the senate-house. 
 
 Cces. And you are come in very happy time, 
 To bear my greeting to the senators, 
 And tell them that I will not come to-day: 
 Cannot, is false; and that I dare not, falser: 
 I will not come to-day, tell them so, Decius. 
 
 Cal. Say he is sick. 
 
 Cces. Shall Caesar send a lie ? 
 
 Have I in conquest stretch'd mine arm so far, 
 To be afeard to tell graybeards the truth? 
 Decius, go tell them Caesar will not come. 
 
 Dec. Most mighty Caesar, let me know some 
 
 cause, 
 Lest I be laugh'd at when I tell them so. 
 
 Cces. The cause is in my will, I will not 
 
 come; 
 That is enough to satisfy the senate. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 JULIUS CESAR. 
 
 871 
 
 But for your private satisfaction, 
 Because I love you, I will let you know, 
 Calphurnia here, my wife, stays me at home : 
 She dreamt to-night she saw my statua, 
 Which, like a fountain with a hundred spouts, 
 Did run pure blood ; and many lusty Romans 
 Came smiling and did bathe their hands in it : 
 And these does she apply for warnings and 
 
 portents, 
 
 And evils imminent ; and on her knee 
 Hath begg'd that I will stay at home to-day. 
 
 Dec. This dream is all amiss interpreted ; 
 It was a vision fair and fortunate : 
 Your statue spouting blood in many pipes, 
 In which so many smiling Romans bath'd, 
 Signifies that from you great Rome shall suck 
 Reviving blood ; and that great men shall press 
 For tinctures, stains, relics, and cognizance. 
 This by Calphurnia's dream is signified. [it. 
 
 Ctzs. And this way have you well expounded 
 
 Dec. I have, when you have heard what I 
 
 can say : 
 
 And know it now, the senate have concluded 
 To give this day a crown to mighty Caesar. 
 If you shall send them word you will not come, 
 Their minds may change. Besides, it were a 
 
 mock, 
 
 Apt to be render'd, for some one to say, 
 Break up the senate till another time. 
 When CtzsaSs wife shall meet with better dreams. 
 If Caesar hide himself, shall they not whisper, 
 Lo, Ccesar is afraid ? 
 Pardon me, Csesar ; for my dear dear love 
 To your proceeding bids me tell you this ; 
 And reason to my love is liable. 
 
 Ctzs. How foolish do your fears seem now, 
 
 Calphurnia ! 
 
 I am ashamed I did yield to them. 
 Give me my robe for I will go : 
 
 Enter PUBLIUS, BRUTUS, LIGARIUS, ME- 
 TELLUS, CASCA, TREBONIUS, and CINNA. 
 
 And look where Publius is come to fetch me. 
 
 Ptib. Good-morrow, Caesar. 
 
 Cces. Welcome, Publius. 
 
 What, Brutus, are you stirred so early too? 
 Good-morrow, Casca. Caius Ligarius, 
 Caesar was ne'er so much your enemy 
 As that same ague which hath made you lean. 
 What is 't o'clock? 
 
 Bru. Caesar, 'tis strucken eight. 
 
 Cces. I thank you for your pains and courtesy. 
 
 Enter ANTONY. 
 
 See ! Antony, that revels long o' nights 
 Is notwithstanding up. 
 Good -morrow, Antony. 
 
 Ant. So to most noble Csesar. 
 
 Cces. Bid them prepare within. 
 I am to blame to be thus waited for. 
 Now Cinna ; now Metellus : what, Tre- 
 
 bonius ! 
 
 I have an hour's talk in store for you ; 
 Remember that you call on me to-day : 
 Be near me, that I may remember you. 
 
 Treb. Caesar, I will: and so near will I 
 
 be, [Aside. 
 
 That your best friends shall wish I had been 
 
 further. 
 Cces. Good friends, go in and taste some 
 
 wine with me ; 
 
 And we, like friends, will straightway go to- 
 gether. 
 Bru. That every like is not the same, O 
 
 Caesar, 
 The heart of Brutus yearns to think upon ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. ROME. A Street near the 
 Capitol. 
 
 Enter ARTEMIDORUS reading a paper. 
 
 Art. Ctzsar, beware of Bruttts ; take heed of 
 Cassius j come not near Casca ; have an eye to 
 Cinna; trust not Trebonius ; mark-well Metellus 
 Cimber; Decius Brutus loves thee not ; thou 
 hast wronged Caius Ligarius. There is but 
 one mind in all these men, and it is bent 
 against Ccesar. If thou beest not immortal^ 
 look about you : security gives way to conspiracy. 
 The mighty gods defend thee! Thy lover t 
 
 ARTEMIDORUS. 
 
 Here will I stand till Caesar pass along, 
 And as a suitor will I give him this. 
 My heart laments that virtue cannot live 
 Out of the teeth of emulation. 
 If thou read this, O Caesar, thou mayst five ; 
 If not, the fates with traitors do contrive. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV. ROME. Another part of the 
 same Street ', before the House of BRUTUS. 
 
 Enter PORTIA and Lucius. 
 
 For. I pr'ythee, boy, run to the senate- 
 house; 
 
 Stay not to answer me, but get thee gone : 
 Why dost thou stay? 
 
 Luc. To know my errand, madam. 
 
 For. I would have had thee there and here 
 
 again 
 
 Ere I can tell thee what thou shouldst do 
 there. 
 
8 7 2 
 
 JULIUS CESAR. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 constancy, be strong upon my side ! 
 
 Set a huge mountain 'tween my heart and 
 tongue ! 
 
 1 have a man's mind, but a woman's might. 
 How hard it is for women to keep counsel ! 
 Art thou here yet? 
 
 Luc. Madam, what should I dc? 
 
 Run to the Capitol, and nothing else? 
 And so return to you, and nothing else? 
 
 For. Yes, bring me word, boy, if thy lord 
 
 look well, 
 
 For he went sickly forth : and take good note 
 What Caesar doth, what suitors press to him. 
 Hark, boy! what noise is that? 
 
 Luc. I hear none, madam. 
 
 For. Pr'ythee, listen well : 
 
 I heard a bustling rumour, like a fray, 
 And the wind brings it from the Capitol. 
 
 Luc. Sooth, madam, I hear nothing. 
 
 Enter ARTEMIDORUS. 
 
 For. Come hither, fellow : 
 
 Which way hast thou been? 
 
 Art. At mine own house, good lady. 
 
 For. What is 't o'clock? 
 Art. About the ninth hour, lady. 
 For. Is Caesar yet gone to the Capitol? 
 Art. Madam, not yet : I go to take my stand, 
 To see him pass on to the Capitol. 
 
 For. Thou hast some suit to Csesar, hast 
 
 thou not? 
 Art. That I have, lady: if it will please 
 
 Caesar 
 
 To be so good to Csesar as to hear me, 
 I shall beseech him to befriend himself. 
 For. Why, know'st thou any harm's in- 
 tended towards him? 
 Art. None that I know will be, much that 
 
 I fear may chance. 
 Good-morrow to you. Here the street is 
 
 narrow : 
 
 The throng that follows Caesar at the heels 
 Of senators, of praetors, common suitors, 
 Will crowd a feeble man almost to death : 
 I'll get me to a place more void, and there 
 Speak to great Caesar as he comes along. 
 
 \Exti. 
 For. I must go in. Ah me! how weak a 
 
 thing 
 
 The heart of woman is ! O Brutus, 
 The heavens speed thee in thine enterprise ! 
 Sure the boy heard me. Brutus hath a suit 
 That Csesar will not grant. O, I grow faint. 
 Run, Lucius, and commend me to my lord ; 
 Say I am merry : come to me again, 
 And bring me word what he doth say to thee. 
 [Exeunt severally. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. ROME. The Capitol; the Senate 
 sitting. 
 
 A crowd of People in the street leading to the 
 Capitol; among them ARTEMIDORUS and 
 the Soothsayer. Flourish. Entei CESAR, 
 BRUTUS, CASSIUS, CASCA, DECIUS, ME- 
 TELLUS, TREBONIUS, CINNA, ANTONY, 
 LEPIDUS, POPILIUS, PUBLIUS, and others. 
 
 Cces. The ides of March are come. 
 
 Sooth. Ay, Csesar; but not gone. 
 
 Art. Hail, Csesar ! Read this schedule. 
 
 Dec. Trebonius doth desire you to o'er read, 
 At your best leisure, this his humble suit. 
 
 Art. O Csesar, read mine first; for mine's 
 
 a suit [Csesar. 
 
 That touches Csesar nearer: read it, great 
 
 Cces. What touches us ourself shall be last 
 serv'd. 
 
 Art. Delay not, Csesar ; read it instantly. 
 
 Cces. What, is the fellow mad? 
 
 Pub. Sirrah, give place. 
 
 Cas. What, urge you your petitions in the 
 
 street? 
 Come to the Capitol. 
 
 CESAR enters the Capitol^ the rest following. 
 All the Senators rise. 
 
 Pop. I wish your enterprise to-day may thrive. 
 Cas. What enterprise, Popilius? 
 Pop. Fare you well. 
 
 {Advances to CESAR. 
 Bru. What said Popilius Lena? 
 Cas. He wish'd to-day our enterprise might 
 
 thrive. 
 I fear our purpose is discovered. 
 
 Bru. Look how he makes to Csesar : mark 
 him. [tion. 
 
 Cas. Casca, be sudden, for we fear preven- 
 Brutus, what shall be done? If this be known, 
 Cassius or Csesar never shall turn back, 
 For I will slay myself. 
 
 Bru. Cassius, be constant: 
 
 Popilius Lena speaks not of our purposes ; 
 For, look, he smiles, and Caesar doth not change. 
 Cas. Trebonius knows his time; for, look 
 
 you, Brutus, 
 He draws Mark Antony out of the way. 
 
 [Exeunt ANT. and TREE. CESAR and 
 
 the Senators take their seats. 
 Dec. Where is MetellusCimber? Let him go, 
 And presently prefer his suit to Csesar. 
 
 Bru. He is address'd : press near and second 
 him. 
 
SCENE I.J 
 
 JULIUS C^SAR. 
 
 873 
 
 Cin. Casca, you are the first that rears your 
 hand. 
 
 Casca, Are we all ready? 
 
 Cces. What is now amiss 
 That Caesar and his senate must redress? 
 
 Met. Most high, most mighty, and most 
 
 puissant Caesar, 
 
 Metellus Cimber throws before thy seat 
 An humble heart, [Kneeling. 
 
 Cas. I must prevent thee, Cimber. 
 
 These couchings and these lowly courtesies 
 Might fire the blood of ordinary men, 
 And turn pre-ordinance and first decree 
 Into the law of children. Be not fond 
 To think that Caesar bears such rebel blood 
 That will be thaw'd from the true quality 
 With that which melteth fools ; I mean, sweet 
 
 words, 
 
 Low crooked curt'sies, and base spaniel fawning. 
 Thy brother by decree is banished: 
 If thou dost bend, and pray, and fawn for him, 
 I spurn thee like a cur out of my way. 
 Know, Caesar doth not wrong; nor without 
 
 cause 
 Will he be satisfied. 
 
 Met. Is there no voice more worthy than my 
 
 own, 
 
 To sound more sweetly in great Caesar's ear 
 For the repealing of my banish'd brother? 
 
 Bru. I kiss thy hand, but not in flattery, 
 
 Caesar, 
 
 Desiring thee that Publius Cimber may 
 Have an immediate freedom of repeal. 
 
 Cces. What, Brutus! 
 
 Cas. Pardon, Caesar; Caesar, pardon: 
 
 As low as to thy foot doth Cassius fall, 
 To beg enfranchisement for Publius Cimber. 
 
 Cces. I could be well mov'd if I were as you ; 
 If I could pray to move, prayers would move me: 
 But I am constant as the northern star, 
 Of whose true-fix'd and resting quality 
 There is no fellow in the firmament. 
 The skies are painted with unnumber'd sparks, 
 They are all fire, and every one doth shine ; 
 But there's but one in all doth hold his place: 
 So in the world, 'tis furnish'd well with men, 
 And men are flesh and blood, and apprehensive ; 
 Yet in the number I do know but one 
 That unassailable holds on his rank, 
 Unshak'd of motion : and that I am he, 
 Let me a little show it even in this, 
 That I was constant Cimber should be banish'd, 
 And constant do remain to keep him so. 
 
 Cin. O Caesar, 
 
 Cces. Hence ! wilt thou lift up Olympus? 
 
 Dec. Great Caesar, 
 
 Cas. Doth not Brutus bootless kneel? 
 
 Casca. Speak, hands, for me ! 
 [CASCA stabs CAESAR in the neck. C/ESAR 
 catches hold of his arm. He is then 
 stabbed by several other Conspirators^ 
 and at last by MARCUS BRUTUS. 
 CCES. Et tu, Brute? Then fall, Caesar! 
 [Dies. The Senators and People retire in 
 
 confusion. 
 
 Cin. Liberty ! Freedom ! Tyranny is dead ! 
 Run hence, proclaim, cry it about the streets. 
 Cas. Some to the common pulpits, and cry 
 
 out, 
 Liberty , freedom , and enfranchisement! 
 
 Bru. People and senators ! be not affrighted ; 
 Fly not ; stand still : ambition's debt is paid. 
 Casca. Go to the pulpit, Brutus. 
 Dec. And Cassius too. 
 
 Bru. Where's Publius? [mutiny. 
 
 Cin. Here, quite confounded with this 
 Met. Stand fast together, lest some friend of 
 
 Caesar's 
 
 Should chance, [cheer ; 
 
 Brii. Talk not of standing. Publius, good 
 There is no harm intended to your person, 
 Nor to no Roman else: so tell them, Publius. 
 Cas. And leave us, Publius; lest that the 
 
 people, 
 
 Rushingon us, should do your age some mischief. 
 Bru. Do so : and let no man abide this deed, 
 But we the doers. 
 
 Re-enter TREBONIUS. 
 
 Cas. Where is Antony? 
 
 Tre. Fled to his house amaz'd : 
 
 Men, wives, and children stare, cry out, and run, 
 As it were doomsday. 
 
 Bru. Fates ! we will know your pleasures. 
 That we shall die, we know ; 'tis but the time, 
 And drawing days out, that men stand upon. 
 
 Cas. Why, he that cuts off twenty years of 
 
 life, 
 Cuts oft so many years of fearing death. 
 
 Brti. Grant that, and then is death a benefit : 
 So are we Caesar's friends, that have abridg'd 
 His time of fearing death. Stoop, Romans, 
 
 stoop, 
 
 And let us bathe our hands in Caesar's blood 
 Up to the elbows, and besmear our swords : 
 Then walk we forth even to the market-place, 
 And, waving our red weapons o'er our heads, 
 Let's all cry, Peace! freedom! and liberty! 
 
 Cas. Stoop then, and wash. How many 
 
 ages hence 
 
 Shall this our lofty scene be acted over, 
 In states unborn and accents yet unknown ! 
 
 Bru. How many times shall Caesar bleed in 
 sport, 
 
8 7 4 
 
 JULIUS CESAR. 
 
 [ACT HI. 
 
 That now on Pompey's basis lies along 
 No worthier than the dust ! 
 
 Cas. So oft as that shall be, 
 
 So often shall the knot of us be call'd 
 The men that gave their country liberty. 
 
 Dec. What, shall we forth? 
 
 Cas. Ay, every man away : 
 
 Brutus shall lead ; and we will grace his heels 
 With the most boldest and best hearts of Rome. 
 
 Bru. Soft, who comes here? 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 A friend of Antony's. 
 
 Serv. Thus, Brutus, did my master bid me 
 
 kneel ; 
 
 Thus did Mark Antony bid me fall down ; 
 And, being prostrate, thus he bade me say: 
 Brutus is noble, wise, valiant, and honest ; 
 Caesar was mighty, bold, royal, and loving : 
 Say I lov'd Brutus, and I honour him ; [him. 
 Say I fear'd Caesar, honour'd him, and lov'd 
 If Brutus will vouchsafe that Antony 
 May safely come to him, and be resolv'd 
 How Caesar hath deserv'd to lie in death, 
 Mark Antony shall not love Caesar dead 
 So well as Brutus living ; but will follow 
 The fortunes and affairs of noble Brutus 
 Through the hazards of this untrod state 
 With all true faith. So says my master Antony. 
 
 Bru. Thy master is a wise and valiant Roman : 
 I never thought him worse. 
 Tell him, so please him come unto this place, 
 He shall be satisfied ; and, by my honour, 
 Depart untouch'd. 
 
 Serv. I '11 fetch him presently. [Exit. 
 
 Bru. I know that we shall have him well to 
 friend. 
 
 Cas. I wish we may : but yet have I a mind 
 That fears him much ; and my misgiving still 
 Falls shrewdly to the purpose. 
 
 Brti. But here comes Antony. 
 
 Re-enter ANTONY. 
 
 Welcome, Mark Antony. 
 Ant. O mighty Caesar ! dost thoulie so low? 
 Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils, 
 Shrunk to this little measure? Fare thee well. 
 I know not, gentlemen, what you intend, 
 Who else must be let blood, who else is rank : 
 If I myself, there is no hour so fit 
 As Caesar's death's hour ; nor no instrument 
 Of half that worth as those your swords, made 
 
 rich 
 
 With the most noble blood of all this world. 
 I do beseech ye, if you bear me hard, 
 Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and 
 
 smoke. 
 
 Fulfil your pleasure. Live a thousand years, 
 I shall not find myself so apt to die : 
 No place will please me so, no mean of death 
 As here by Caesar, and by you cut off, 
 The choice and master spirits of this age. 
 
 Bru. O Antony ! beg not your death of us. 
 Though now we must appear bloody and cruel, 
 As by our hands and this our present act 
 You see we do ; yet see you but our hands, 
 And this the bleeding business they have done : 
 Our hearts you see not, they are pitiful ; 
 And pity to the general wrong of Rome, 
 As fire drives out fire, so pity pity, 
 Hath done this deed on Caesar. For your part, 
 To you our swords have leaden points, Mark 
 
 Antony : 
 
 Our arms no strength of malice, and our hearts, 
 Of brothers' temper, do receive you in 
 With all kind love, good thoughts, and rever- 
 ence, [man's 
 Cas. Your voice shall be as strong as any 
 In the disposing of new dignities. 
 
 Bru. Only be patient till we have appeas'd 
 The multitude, beside themselves with fear, 
 And then we will deliver you the cause 
 Why I, that did love Caesar when I struck him, 
 Have thus proceeded. 
 
 Ant. I doubt not of your wisdom. 
 
 Let each man render me his bloody hand : 
 First, Marcus Brutus, will I shake with you ; 
 Next, Caius Cassius, do I take your hand ; 
 Now, Decius Brutus, yours ; now yours, Me- 
 
 tellus; 
 
 Yours, Cinna ; and, my valiant Casca, yours; 
 Though last, not least in love, yours, good 
 
 Trebonius. 
 
 Gentlemen all, alas, what shall I say? 
 My credit now stands on such slippery ground 
 That one of two bad ways you must conceit me, 
 Either a coward or a flatterer. 
 That I did love thee, Caesar, O, 'tis true: 
 If then, thy spirit look upon us now, 
 Shall it not grieve thee dearer than thy death 
 To see thy Antony making his peace, 
 Shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes, 
 Most noble ! in the presence of thy corse? 
 Had I as many eyes as thou hast wounds, 
 Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy blood, 
 It would become me better than to close 
 In terms of friendship with thine enemies. 
 Pardon me, Julius! Here wast thou bay'd, 
 
 brave hart ; 
 Here didst thou fall; and here thy hunters 
 
 stand, 
 
 Sign'd in thy spoil, andcrimson'd in thy Lethe. 
 O world, thou wast the forest to this hart; 
 And this, indeed, O world, the heart of thee. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 JULIUS CESAR. 
 
 875 
 
 How like a deer strucken by many princes 
 Dost thou here lie ! 
 
 Cas. Mark Antony, 
 
 Ant. Pardon me, Caius Cassius : 
 
 The enemies of Caesar shall say this ; 
 Then in a friend it is cold modesty. 
 
 Cas, I blame you not for praising Caesar so ; 
 But what compact mean you to have with us? 
 Will you be prick'd in number of our friends ; 
 Or shall we on, and not depend on you? 
 
 Ant. Therefore I took your hands ; but was, 
 
 indeed, 
 
 S way'd from the point by looking down on Caesar. 
 Friends am I with you all, and love you all ; 
 Upon this hope, that you shall give me reasons 
 Why and wherein Caesar was dangerous. 
 
 Brit. Or else were this a savage spectacle : 
 Our reasons are so full of good regard 
 That were you, Antony, the son of Caesar, 
 You should be satisfied. 
 
 Ant. That 's all I seek : 
 
 And am moreover suitor that I may 
 Produce his body to the market-place ; 
 And in the pulpit, as becomes a friend, 
 Speak in the order of his funeral. 
 
 Bru. You shall, Mark Antony. 
 
 Cas. Brutus, a word with you. 
 
 You know not what you do : do not consent 
 That Antony speak in his funeral : 
 Know you how much the people may be mov'd 
 By that which he will utter? 
 
 [Aside to BRUTUS. 
 
 Bru. By your pardon ; 
 
 I will myself into the pulpit first, 
 And show the reason of our Caesar's death : 
 What Antony shall speak, I will protest 
 He speaks by leave and by permission ; 
 And that we are contented Caesar shall 
 Have all true rites and lawful ceremonies. 
 It shall advantage more than do us wrong. 
 
 Cas. I know not what may fall ; I like it not. 
 
 Bru. Mark Antony, here, take you Caesar's 
 
 body. 
 
 You shall not in your funeral speech blame us, 
 But speak all good you can devise of Caesar ; 
 And say you do 't by our permission ; 
 Else shall you not have any hand at all 
 About his funeral : and you shall speak 
 In the same pulpit whereto I am going, 
 After my speech is ended. 
 
 Ant. Be it so; 
 
 I do desire no more. 
 
 Bru. Prepare the body then, and follow us. 
 [Exeunt all but ANTONY. 
 
 Ant. O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of 
 
 earth, 
 That I am meek and gentle with these butchers ! 
 
 Thou art the ruins of the noblest man 
 That ever lived in the tide of times. 
 Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood ! 
 Over thy wounds now do I prophesy, 
 Which like dumb mouths do ope their ruby lips, 
 To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue, 
 A curse shall light upon the limbs of men ; 
 Domestic fury and fierce civil strife 
 Shall cumber all the parts of Italy ; 
 Blood and destruction shall be so in use, 
 And dreadful objects so familiar, 
 That mothers shall but smile when they behold 
 Their infants quarter'd with the hands of war ; 
 All pity chok'd with custom of fell deeds : 
 A.nd Caesar's spirit, ranging for revenge, 
 With Ate by his side come hot from hell, 
 Shall in these confines with a monarch's voice 
 Cry Havoc, and let slip the dogs of war ; 
 That this foul deed shall smell above the earth 
 With carrion men, groaning for burial. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 You serve Octavius Caesar, do you not ? 
 
 Serv. I do, Mark Antony. 
 
 Ant. Caesar did write for him to come to 
 Rome. [ing ; 
 
 Serv. He did receive his letters, and is com- 
 And bid me say to you by word of mouth, 
 O Caesar ! [Seeing the body. 
 
 Ant. Thy heart is big, get thee apart and 
 
 weep. 
 
 Passion, I see, is catching ; for mine eyes, 
 Seeing those beads of sorrow stand in thine, 
 Began to water. Is thy master coming? 
 
 Serv. He lies to-night within seven leagues 
 of Rome. 
 
 Ant. Post back with speed, and tell him 
 
 what hath chanc'd : 
 
 Here is a mourning Rome, a dangerous Rome, 
 No Rome of safety for Octavius yet ; 
 Hie hence and tell him so. Yet, stay awhile ; 
 Thou shalt not back till I have borne this corse 
 Into the market-place: there shall I try, 
 In my oration, how the people take 
 The cruel issue of these bloody men ; 
 According to the which thou shalt discourse 
 To young Octavius of the state of things. 
 Lend me your hand. 
 
 [Exeunt with OESAR'S body. 
 
 SCENE II. ROME. The Forum. 
 
 Enter BRUTUS and CASSIUS, and a throng of 
 Citizens. 
 
 Citizens. We will be satisfied; let us be 
 
 satisfied. [friends. 
 
 Bru. Then follow me, and give me audience, 
 
876 
 
 JULIUS CESAR. 
 
 [ACT nr. 
 
 Cassius, go you into the other street, 
 
 And part the numbers. 
 
 Those that will hear me speak, let 'em stay here ; 
 
 Those that will follow Cassius, go with him ; 
 
 And public reasons shall be rendered 
 
 Of Caesar's death. 
 
 1 Cit. I will hear Brutus speak. 
 
 2 Cit. I will hear Cassius ; and compare their 
 
 reasons, 
 When severally we hear them rendered. 
 
 [Exit CASSIUS, with some of the Citizens. 
 BRUTUS goes into the Rostrum. 
 
 3 Cit. The noble Brutus is ascended : silence ! 
 Bni. Be patient till the last. 
 
 Romans, countrymen, and lovers ! hear me for 
 my cause; and be silent, that you may hear: 
 believe me for mine honour ; and have respect 
 to mine honour, that you may believe : censure 
 me in your wisdom ; and awake your senses, 
 that you may the better judge. If there be any 
 in this assembly, any dear friend of Caesar's, to 
 him I say that Brutus' love to Caesar was no 
 less than his. If, then, that friend demand 
 why Brutus rose against Caesar, this is my 
 answer, Not that I loved Caesar less, but that 
 I loved Rome more. Had you rather Caesar 
 were living, and die all slaves, than that Caesar 
 were dead, to live all free men? As Caesar 
 loved me, I weep for him; as he was fortunate, 
 I rejoice at it ; as he was valiant, I honour him : 
 but, as he was ambitious, I slew him: there io 
 tears for his love; joy for his fortune; honour 
 for his valour; and death for his ambition. 
 Who is here so base that would be a bondman? 
 If any, speak ; for him have I offended. Who 
 is here so rude that would not be a Roman? 
 If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who 
 is here so vile that will not love his country? 
 If any, speak; for him have I offended. I 
 pause for a reply. 
 
 Citizens. None, Brutus, none. 
 
 Bru. Then none have I offended. I have 
 done no more to Caesar than you shall do to 
 Brutus. The question of his death is enrolled 
 in the Capitol; his glory not extenuated, 
 wherein he was worthy; nor his offences en- 
 forced, for which he suffered death. Here 
 comes his body, mourn'd by Mark Antony : 
 
 Enter ANTONY and others -with CESAR'S body. 
 
 who, though he had no hand in his death, 
 shall receive the benefit of his dying, a place 
 in the commonwealth ; as which of you shall 
 not? With this I depart, that, as I slew my 
 best lover for the good of Rome, I have the 
 same dagger for myself, when it shall please my 
 country to need my death. 
 
 Citizens. Live, Brutus ! live, live ! 
 
 1 Cit. Bring him with triumph home unto 
 
 his house. 
 
 2 Cit. Give him a statue with his ancestors. 
 
 3 Cit. Let him be Caesar. 
 
 4 Cit. Caesar's better parts 
 Shall be crown'd in Brutus. 
 
 1 Cit. We'll bring him to his house with 
 
 shouts and clamours. 
 Bru. My countrymen, 
 
 2 Cit. Peace, silence ! Brutus speaks. 
 I Cit. Peace, ho ! 
 
 Bru. Good countrymen, let me depart alone, 
 And for my sake stay here with Antony : 
 Do grace to Caesar's corse, and grace his speech 
 Tending to Caesar's glories; which Mark 
 
 Antony, 
 
 By our permission, is allow'd to make. 
 I do entreat you, not a man depart, 
 Save I alone, till Antony have spoke. [Exit. 
 I Cit. Stay, ho! and let us hear Mark 
 
 Antony. 
 
 3 Cit. Let him go up into the public chair; 
 We '11 hear him. Noble Antony, go up. 
 
 Ant. For Brutus' sake I am beholden to you. 
 
 [Goes tip. 
 
 4 Cit. What does he say of Brutus? 
 
 3 Cit. He says, for Brutus' sake 
 He finds himself beholden to us all. 
 
 4 Cit. 'Twere best he speak no harm of 
 
 Brutus here. 
 
 1 Cit. This Caesar was a tyrant. 
 
 3 Cit. Nay, that 's certain : 
 
 We are bless'd that Rome is rid of him. 
 
 2 Cit. Peace ! let us hear what Antony can 
 
 say. 
 
 Ant. You gentle Romans. 
 
 Cit. Peace, ho! let us hear him. 
 
 Ant. Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend 
 
 me your ears ; 
 
 I come to bury Caesar, not to praise hinui^ 
 The evil that men do lives after them ; 
 The good is oft interred with their bones ; 
 So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus 
 Hath told you Caesar was ambitious: 
 If it were so, it was a grievous fault ; 
 And grievously hath Caesar answer'd it. 
 Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest, 
 For Brutus is an honourable man ; 
 So are they all, all honourable men, 
 Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral. 
 He was my friend, faithful and just to me: 
 But Brutus says he was ambitious ; 
 And Brutus is an honourable man. 
 He hath brought many captives home to Rome, 
 Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill: 
 Did this in Caesar seem ambitious ? 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 JULIUS CESAR. 
 
 877 
 
 When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath 
 
 wept: 
 
 Ambition should be made of sterner stuff j 
 Yet Brutus says he was ambitious ; 
 And Brutus is an honourable man. 
 You all did see that on the Lupercal 
 I thrice presented him a kingly crown, 
 Which he did thrice refuse : was this ambition? 
 Yet Brutus says he was ambitious ; 
 And, sure, he is an honourable man. 
 I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, 
 But here I am to speak what I do know. 
 You all did love him once, not without cause : 
 What cause withholds you, then, to mourn for 
 
 him? 
 
 judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts, 
 And men have lost their reason! Bear with 
 
 me; 
 
 My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, 
 And I must pause till it come back to me. 
 
 1 Cit. Methinks there is much reason in his 
 
 sayings. 
 
 2 Cit. If thou consider rightly of the matter, 
 Caesar has had great wrong. 
 
 3 Cit. Has he, masters? 
 
 1 fear there will a worse come in his place. 
 
 4 Cit. Mark'd ye his words ? He would not 
 
 take the crown ; 
 Therefore 'tis certain he was not ambitious. 
 
 1 Cit. If it be found so, some will dear abide 
 
 it. [weeping. 
 
 2 Cit. Poor soul ! his eyes are red as fire with 
 
 3 Cit. There's not a nobler man in Rome 
 
 than Antony. [speak. 
 
 4 Cit. Now mark him, he begins again to 
 Ant. But yesterday the word of Caesar might 
 
 Have stood against the world : now lies he there, 
 And none so poor to do him reverence. 
 
 masters, if I were dispos'd to stir 
 
 Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, 
 
 1 should do Erutus wrong, and Cassius wrong, 
 Who, you all know, are honourable men : 
 
 I will not do them wrong ; I rather choose 
 To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you, 
 Than I will wrong such honourable men. 
 But here 's a parchment with the seal of Caesar, 
 I found it in his closet, 'tis his will : 
 Let but the commons hear this testament, 
 Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read, 
 And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's 
 
 wounds, 
 
 And dip their napkins in his sacred blood ; 
 Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, 
 And, dying, mention it within their wills, 
 Bequeathing it as a rich legacy 
 Unto their issue. [Antony. 
 
 4 Cit. We'll hear the will: read it, Mark 
 
 Citizens. The will, the will! we will hear 
 Caesar's will. 
 
 Ant. Have patience, gentle friends, I must 
 
 not read it ; 
 
 It is not meet you know how Caesar lov'd you. 
 You are not wood, you are not stones, but men ; 
 And, being men, hearing the will of Caesar, 
 It will inflame you, it will make you mad : 
 'Tis good you know not that you are his heirs ; 
 For, if you should, O, what would come of it ! 
 
 4 Cit. Read the will ; we '11 hear it, Antony ; 
 You shall read us the will, Caesar's will. 
 
 Ant. Will you be patient? will you stay 
 
 awhile? 
 
 I have o'ershot myself to tell you of it: 
 I fear I wrong the honourable men 
 Whose daggers have stabb'd Caesar ; I do fear it. 
 
 4 Cit. They were traitors : honourable men ! 
 
 Citizens. The will ! the testament ! 
 
 2 Cit. They were villains, murderers: the 
 will ! read the will ! [will? 
 
 Ant. You will compel me, then, to read the 
 Then make a ring about the corse of Caesar, 
 And let me show you him that made the will. 
 Shall I descend? and will you give me leave? 
 
 Citizens. Come down. 
 
 2 Cit. Descend. [ANTONY comes down. 
 
 3 Cit. You shall have leave. 
 
 4 Cit. A ring ; stand round. [body. 
 
 1 Cit. Stand from the hearse, stand from the 
 
 2 Cit. Room for Antony, most noble 
 
 Antony ! [off. 
 
 Ant. Nay, press not so upon me ; stand far 
 Citizens. Stand back ; room ; bear back ! 
 Ant. If you have tears, prepare to shed them 
 
 now. 
 
 You all do know this mantle: I remember 
 The first time ever Caesar put it on ; 
 'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent, 
 That day he overcame the Nervii: 
 Look ! in this place ran Cassius' dagger through: 
 See what a rent the envious Casca made : 
 Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd ; 
 And, as he pluck'd his cursed steel away, 
 Mark how the blood of Caesar follow'd it, 
 As rushing out of doors, to be resolv'd 
 If Brutus so unkiTTdly knock'd or no ; 
 For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel : 
 Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar loved him! 
 This was the most unkindest cut of all ; 
 For when the nobte Caesar saw him stab, 
 Ingratitude, more-Strong than traitors' arms, 
 Quite vanquish'd bun : then burst his mighty 
 
 heart; 
 
 And, in his mantle Vouffling up his face, 
 Even at the base of Pompey's statua, 
 Which all the while Ian blood, great Caesar fell. 
 
8;8 
 
 JULIUS CESAR. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 O, what a fall was there, my countrymen ! 
 Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, 
 Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us. 
 O, now you weep ; and I perceive you feel 
 The dint of pity : these are gracious drops. 
 Kind souls, what, weep you when you but be- 
 hold 
 
 Our Caesar's vesture wounded ? Look you here, 
 Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors. 
 
 1 Cit. O piteous spectacle ! 
 
 2 Cit. O noble Csesar ! 
 
 3 Cit. O woeful day ! 
 
 4 Cit. O traitors, villains ! 
 
 1 Cit. O most bloody sight ! 
 
 2 Cit. We will be revenged : revenge, 
 about, seek, burn, fire, kill, slay, let 
 not a traitor live ! 
 
 Ant. Stay, countrymen. 
 
 1 Cit. Peace there ! hear the noble Antony. 
 
 2 Cit. We'll hear him, we'll follow him, 
 we'll die with him. 
 
 Ant. Good friends, sweet friends, let me 
 
 not stir you up 
 
 To such a sudden flood of mutiny. 
 They that have done this deed are honourable ; 
 What private griefs they have, alas, I know not, 
 That made them do it; they are wise and 
 
 honourable, 
 
 And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you. 
 I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts : 
 I am no orator, as Brutus is ; 
 But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man, 
 That love my friend ; and that they know full 
 
 well 
 
 That gave me public leave to speak of him : 
 For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, 
 Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, 
 To stir men's blood : I only speak right on ; 
 I tell you that which you yourselves do know ; 
 Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor poor 
 
 dumb mouths, 
 
 And bid them speak for me : but were I Brutus, 
 And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony 
 Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue 
 In every wound of Csesar, that should move 
 The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny. 
 Citizens. We'll mutiny. 
 I Cit. We'll burn the hou|e of Brutus. 
 
 3 Cit. Away, then! come seek the con- 
 
 spirators. 
 Ant. Yet hear me, countrymen; yet hear 
 
 me speak. 
 Citizens. Peace, ho! hear Antony, most 
 
 noble Antony. 
 Ant. Why, friends, you go to do you know 
 
 not what : 
 Wherein hath Csesar thus leserv'd your loves? 
 
 Alas, you know not, I must tell you, then. 
 You have forgot the will I told you of. 
 
 Citizens. Most true ; the will : let's stay 
 and hear the will. 
 
 Ant. Here is the will and under Caesar's seal 
 To every Roman citizen he gives, 
 To every several man, seventy-five drachmas. 
 
 2 Cit. Most noble Caesar ! we'll revenge 
 
 his death. 
 
 3 Cit. O royal Caesar ! 
 
 Ant. Hear me with patience. 
 
 Citizens. Peace, ho ! 
 
 Ant. Moreover, he hath left you all his walks, 
 His private arbours, and new-planted orchards 
 On this side Tiber; he hath left them you, 
 And to your heirs for ever, common pleasures, 
 To walk abroad and recreate yourselves. 
 Here was a Caesar ! when comes such another? 
 
 1 Cit. Never, never. Come away, away ! 
 We'll burn his body in the holy place, 
 
 And with the brands fire the traitors' houses. 
 Take up the body. 
 
 2 Cit. Go, fetch fire. 
 
 3 Cit. Pluck down benches. 
 
 4 Cit. Pluck down forms, windows, anything. 
 
 [Exeunt Citizens with the body. 
 Ant. Now let it work : mischief, thou art 
 
 afoot. 
 Take thou what course thou wilt ! 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 How now, fellow ! 
 
 Serv. Sir, Octavius is already come to Rome. 
 Ant. Where is he? 
 
 Serv. He and Lepidus are at Caesar's house. 
 Ant. And thither will I straight to visit him : 
 He comes upon a wish. Fortune is merry, 
 And in this mood will give us anything. 
 
 Serv. I heard him say Brutus and Cassius 
 Are rid like madmen through the gates of Rome. 
 Ant. Belike they had some notice of the 
 
 people, 
 
 How I had mov'd them. Bring me to Octavius. 
 
 [Exeitnt. 
 
 SCENE III. ROME. A Street. 
 Enter CINNA the Poet. 
 
 Cin. I dreamt to-night that I did feast with 
 
 Caesar, 
 
 And things unlucky charge my fantasy : 
 I have no will to wander forth of doors, 
 Yet something leads me forth. 
 
 .rwiA 
 
 Enter Citizens. 
 
 1 Cit. What is your name? 
 
 2 Cit. Whither are you going? 
 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 JULIUS OESAR. 
 
 879 
 
 3 Cit. Where do you dwell? 
 
 4 Cit. Are you a married man or a bachelor? 
 
 2 Cit. Answer every man directly. 
 
 1 Cit. Ay, and briefly. 
 4 Cit. Ay, and wisely. 
 
 3 Cit. Ay, and truly, you were best. 
 
 Cin. What is my name ? Whither am I 
 going? Where do I dwell? Am la married 
 man or a bachelor? Then to answer every 
 man directly and briefly, wisely and truly. 
 Wisely, I say I am a bachelor. 
 
 2 Cit. That's as much as to say they are 
 fools that marry : you '11 bear me a bang for 
 that, I fear. Proceed ; directly. 
 
 Cin. Directly, I am going to Caesar's funeral. 
 
 1 Cit. As a friend or an enemy? 
 Cin. As a friend. 
 
 2 Cit. That matter is answered directly. 
 
 4 Cit. For your dwelling, briefly. 
 Cin. Briefly I dwell by the Capitol. 
 
 3 Cit. Your name, sir, truly. 
 Cin. Truly my name is Cinna. 
 
 I Cit. Tear him to pieces ; he 's a conspirator. 
 Cin. I am Cinna the poet, I am Cinna the 
 poet. 
 
 4 Cit. Tear him for his bad verses, tear him 
 for his bad verses. 
 
 Cin. I am not Cinna the conspirator. 
 
 4 Cit. It is no matter, his name's Cinna; 
 pluck but his name out of his heart, and turn 
 him going. 
 
 3 Cit. Tear him, tear him! Come, brands, 
 ho! fire-brands: to Brutus', to Cassius'; burn 
 all : some to Decius' house, and some to 
 Casca's ; some to Ligarius' : away, go ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. ROME. A room in ANTONY'S 
 House. 
 
 ANTONY, OCTAVIUS, and LEPIDUS, 
 seated at a table. 
 
 Ant. These many, then, shall die; their 
 
 names are prick'd. 
 Oct. Your brother too must die; consent 
 
 you, Lepidus? 
 Lep. I do consent. 
 
 Oct. Prick him down, Antony. 
 
 Lep. Upon condition Publius shall not live, 
 Who is your sister's son, Mark Antony. 
 
 Ant. He shall not live ; look, with a spot I 
 
 damn him. 
 
 But, Lepidus, go you to Caesar's house ; 
 Fetch the will hither, and we shall determine 
 How to cut off some charge in legacies. 
 
 Lep. What, shall I find you here? 
 
 Oct. Or here or at the Capitol. 
 
 [Exit LEPIDUS. 
 
 Ant. This is a slight unmeritable man, 
 Meet to be sent on errands : is it fit, 
 The threefold world divided, he should stand 
 One of the three to share it? 
 
 Oct. So you thought him ; 
 
 And took his voice who should be prick'd to 
 
 die, 
 In our black sentence and proscription, [you : 
 
 Ant. Octavius, I have seen more days than 
 And though we lay these honours on this man, 
 To ease ourselves of divers slanderous loads, 
 He shall but bear them as the ass bears gold, 
 To groan and sweat under the business, 
 Either led or driven as we point the way ; 
 And having brought our treasure where we will, 
 Then take we down his load, and turn him off, 
 Like to the empty ass, to shake his ears 
 And graze in commons. 
 
 Oct. You may do your will : 
 
 But he 's a tried and valiant soldier. 
 
 Ant. So is my horse, Octavius ; and for that 
 I do appoint him store of provender : 
 It is a creature that I teach to fight, 
 To wind, to stop, to run directly on, 
 His corporal motion govern'd by my spirit. 
 And, in some taste, is Lepidus but so ; 
 He must be taught, and train'd, and bid go 
 
 forth; 
 
 A barren-spirited fellow ; one that feeds 
 On abject orts and imitations, 
 Which, out of use and stal'd by other men, 
 Begin his fashion : do not talk of him 
 But as a property. And now, Octavius, 
 Listen great things. Brutus and Cassius 
 Are levying powers: we must straight make 
 
 head: 
 
 Therefore let our alliance be combin'd, 
 Our best friends made, our means stretch'd ; 
 And let us presently go sit in council, 
 How covert matters may be best disclos'd, 
 And open perils surest answered. 
 
 Oct. Let us do so : for we are at the stake, 
 And bay'd about with many enemies; [fear, 
 And some that smile have in their hearts, I 
 Millions of mischiefs. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. Before BRUTUS'S Tent, in the 
 Camp near Sardis. 
 
 Drum. Enter BRUTUS, LUCILIUS, Lucius, 
 and Soldiers ; TITINIUS and PINDARUS 
 meeting them. 
 
 Bru. Stand, ho ! 
 
 Lucil. Give the word, ho ! and stand. 
 
88o 
 
 JULIUS CESAR. 
 
 [ACT rv. 
 
 Bru. What now, Luciliusl is Cassius near? 
 
 LuciL He is at hand ; and Pindarus is come 
 To do you salutation from his master. 
 
 [PiN. gives a letter to BRU. 
 
 Bru. He greets me well. Your master, 
 
 Pindarus, 
 
 In his own change, or by ill officers, 
 Hath given me some worthy cause to wish 
 Things done undone : but if he be at hand 
 I shall be satisfied. 
 
 Pin. I do not doubt 
 
 But that my noble master will appear 
 Such as he is, full of regard and honour. 
 
 Bru. He is not doubted. A word, Lucilius ; 
 How he receiv'd you let me be resolv'd. 
 
 Lucil. With courtesy and with respect 
 
 enough ; 
 
 But not with such familiar instances, 
 Nor with such free and friendly conference 
 As he hath us'd of old. 
 
 Bru. Thou hast described 
 
 A hot friend cooling : ever note, Lucilius, 
 When love begins to sicken and decay, 
 It useth an enforced ceremony. 
 There are no tricks in plain and simple faith : 
 But hollow men, like horses hot at hand, 
 Make gallant show and promise of their mettle ; 
 But when they should endure the bloody spur, 
 They fall their crests, and, like deceitful jades, 
 Sink in the trial. Comes his army on? 
 
 Lucil. They mean this night in Sardis to be 
 
 quarter'd ; 
 
 The greater part, the horse in general, 
 Are come with Cassius. [March within. 
 
 Bru. Hark ! he is arriv'd : 
 
 March gently on to meet him. 
 
 Enter CASSIUS and Soldiers. 
 
 Cos. Stand, ho ! 
 
 Bru. Stand, ho ! speak the word along. 
 
 Within. Stand! 
 
 Within. Stand! 
 
 Within. Stand! [wrong. 
 
 Cas. Most noble brother, you have done me 
 
 Bru. Judge me, you gods! wrong I mine 
 
 enemies? 
 And, if not so, how should I wrong a brother? 
 
 Cas. Brutus, this sober form of yours hides 
 
 wrongs ; 
 And when you do them, 
 
 Bru. Cassius, be content; 
 
 Speak your griefs softly, I do know you well : 
 Before the eyes of both our armies here, 
 Which should perceive nothing but love from us, 
 J^et us not wrangle: bid them move away; 
 Then in my tent, Cassius, enlarge your griefs, 
 And I will give you audience. 
 
 Cas. Pindarus, 
 
 Bid our commanders lead their charges off 
 A little from this ground. [man 
 
 Bru. Lucilius, do you the like ; and let no 
 Come to our tent till we have done our con- 
 ference. 
 Let Lucius and Titinius guard our door. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. Within the Tent o/ BRUTUS. 
 Enter BRUTUS and CASSIUS. 
 
 Cas. That you have wrong'd me doth appear 
 
 in this, 
 
 You have condemn'd and noted Lucius Pella 
 For taking bribes here of the Sardians ; 
 Wherein my letters, praying on his side, 
 Because I knew the man, were slighted off. 
 
 Bru. You wrong'd yourself, to write in such 
 a case. 
 
 Cas. In such a time as this it is not meet 
 That every nice offence should bear his com- 
 ment. 
 
 Bru. Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself 
 Are much condemn'd to have an itching palm ; 
 To sell and mart your offices for gold 
 To undeservers. 
 
 Cas. I an itching palm ! 
 
 You know that you are Brutus that speak this, 
 Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last. 
 
 Bru. The name of Cassius honours this cor- 
 ruption, 
 And chastisement doth therefore hide his head. 
 
 Cas. Chastisement! 
 
 Bru. Remember March, the ides of March 
 
 remember ! 
 
 Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake? 
 What villain touch'd his body, that did stab, 
 And not for justice? What, shall one of us, 
 That struck the foremost man of all this world 
 But for supporting robbers, shall we now 
 Contaminate our fingers with base bribes, 
 And sell the mighty space of our large honours 
 For so much trash as may be grasped thus? 
 I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, 
 Than such a Roman. 
 
 Cas, Brutus, bay not me, 
 
 I '11 not endure it : you forget yourself 
 To hedge me in; I am a soldier, I, 
 Older in practice, abler than yourself 
 To make conditions. 
 
 Bru. Go to; you are not, Cassius. 
 
 Cas, I am. 
 
 Bru. I say you are not. 
 
 Cas. Urge me no more, I shall forget myself; 
 Have mind upon your health, tempt me no 
 further. 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 JULIUS CESAR. 
 
 881 
 
 Bru. Away, slight man ! 
 
 Cas. Is't possible? 
 
 Bru, Hear me, for I will speak. 
 
 Must I give way and room to your rash choler? 
 Shall I be frighted when a madman stares? 
 
 Cas. O ye gods, ye gods ! must I endure all 
 this? 
 
 Bru. All this ! ay, more : fret till your proud 
 
 heart break ; 
 
 Go, show your slaves how choleric you are, 
 And make your bondmen tremble. Must I 
 
 budge? 
 
 Must I observe you? Must I stand and crouch 
 Under your testy humour? By the gods, 
 You shall digest the venom of your spleen 
 Though it do split you ; for from this day forth 
 I '11 use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter, 
 When you are waspish. 
 
 Cas. Is it come to this? 
 
 Bru. You say you are a better soldier: 
 Let it appear so ; make your vaunting true, 
 And it shall please me well : for mine own part, 
 I shall be glad to learn of noble men. 
 
 Cas. You wrong me every way ; you wrong 
 
 me, Brutus; 
 
 I said an elder soldier, not a better: 
 Did I say better? 
 
 Bru. If you did, I care not. 
 
 Cas. When Caesar liv'd, he durst not thus 
 have mov'd me. 
 
 Bru. Peace, peace! you durst not so have 
 tempted him. 
 
 Cas. I durst not ! 
 
 Bru. No. 
 
 Cas. What, durst not tempt him ! 
 
 Bru. For your life you durst not. 
 
 Cas. Do not presume too much upon my love; 
 I may do that I shall be sorry for. [for. 
 
 Bru. You have done that you should be sorry 
 There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats ; 
 For I am arm'd so strong in honesty 
 That they pass by me as the idle wind, 
 Which I respect not. I did send to you 
 For certain sums of gold, which you denied 
 
 me; 
 
 For I can raise no money by vile means : 
 By heaven, I had rather coin my heart, 
 And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring 
 From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash 
 By any indirection ; I did send 
 To you for gold to pay my legions, [Cassius ? 
 Which you denied me : was that done like 
 Should I have answer'd Caius Cassius so ? 
 When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous, 
 To lock such rascal counters from his friends, . 
 Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts, 
 Dash him to pieces ! 
 
 Cas. I denied you not. 
 
 Bru. You did. 
 
 Cas. I did not : he was but a fool that brought 
 My answer back. Brutus hath riv'd my heart: 
 A friend should bear his friend's infirmities, 
 But Brutus makes mine greater than they are. 
 
 Brtt. I do not, till you practise them on me. 
 
 Cas. You love me not. 
 
 Bru. I do not like your faults. 
 
 Cas. A friendly eye could never see such 
 faults. [appear 
 
 Bru. A flatterer's would not, though they do 
 As huge as high Olympus. [come, 
 
 Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, 
 Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius, 
 For Cassius is aweary of the world ; 
 Hated by one he loves ; brav'd by his brother ; 
 Check'd like a bondman ; all his faults observ'd 
 Set in a notebook, learn'd, and conn'd by rote, 
 To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep 
 My spirit from mine eyes ! There is my dagger, 
 And here my naked breast ; within, a heart 
 Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold : 
 If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth ; 
 I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart : 
 Strike, as thou didst at Caesar ; for I know, 
 When thou didst hate him worst, thou lov'dst 
 
 him better 
 Than ever thou lov'dst Cassius. 
 
 Bru. Sheathe your dagger : 
 
 Be angry when you will, it shall have scope ; 
 Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour. 
 O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb, 
 That carries anger as the flint bears fire ; 
 Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark, 
 And straight is cold again. 
 
 Cas. Hath Cassius livM 
 
 To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, 
 When grief and blood ill-temper'd vexeth him ? 
 
 Bru. When I spoke that I was ill-temper'd 
 too. [hand. 
 
 Cas. Do you confess so much? Give me your 
 
 Bru. And my heart too. 
 
 Cas. O Brutus, 
 
 Bru. What 's the matter ? 
 
 Cos. Have not you love enough to bear with 
 me, [me 
 
 When that rash humour which my mother gave 
 Makes me forgetful ? 
 
 Bru. Yes, Cassius ; and frorn henceforth, 
 When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, 
 He '11 think your mother chides, and leave you 
 so. \Noise within. 
 
 Poet. [Within.] Let me go in to see the 
 
 generals ; 
 
 There is some grudge between 'em ; 'tis not meet 
 They be alone. 
 
882 
 
 JULIUS CAESAR. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Lucil. [ Within.} You shall not come to them. 
 Poet [Within.] Nothing but death shall stay 
 me. 
 
 Enter Poet, followed by LUCILIUS and 
 
 TlTINIUS. 
 
 Cas. How now ! what 's the matter? 
 
 Poet. For shame, you generals ! what do you 
 
 mean? [be; 
 
 Love, and be friends, as two such men should 
 
 For I have seen more years, I 'm sure, than ye. 
 
 Cas. Ha, ha ! how vilely doth this cynic 
 
 rhyme ! [hence ! 
 
 Bru. Get you hence, sirrah; saucy fellow, 
 
 Cas. Bear with him, Brutus ; 'tis his fashion. 
 
 Bru. I '11 know his humour when he knows 
 
 his time : [fools ? 
 
 What should the wars do vrith these jigging 
 
 Companion hence ! 
 
 Cas. Away, away, be gone I 
 
 [Exit Poet. 
 
 Bru. Lucilius and Titinius, bid the com- 
 manders 
 
 Prepare to lodge their companies to-night. 
 Cas. And come yourselves, and bring Me* 
 
 with you 
 Immediately to us. 
 
 [Exeunt LuciL. and TIT. 
 Bru. Lucius, a bowl of wine ! 
 
 Cas. I did hot think you could have been so 
 
 angry. 
 
 Bru. O Cassius, I am sick of many griefs. 
 Cas. Of your philosophy you make no use 
 If you give place to accidental evils. 
 
 Bru. No man bears sorrow better. Portia is 
 
 dead. 
 
 Cas. Ha! Portia! 
 Bru. She is dead. 
 Cas. How scap'd I killing when I cross'd 
 
 you so? 
 
 O insupportable and touching loss ! 
 Upon what sickness? 
 
 Bru. Impatient of my absence, 
 
 And grief that young Octavius with Mark Antony 
 Have made themselves so strong ; for with her 
 
 death 
 
 That tidings came ; with this she fell distract, 
 And, her attendants absent, swallow'd fire. 
 Cas. And died so? 
 Bru. Even so. 
 CAS. O ye immortal gods. 
 
 Enter Lucius with wine and tapers. 
 
 Bru. Speak no more of her. Give me a 
 
 bowl of wine.--- 
 In this I bury all unkindness, Cassius. -^,^ 
 
 [Drinks. 
 
 Cas. My heart is thirsty for that noble 
 
 pledge. 
 
 Fill, Lucius, till the wine o'erswell the cup ; 
 I cannot drink too much of Brutus' love. 
 
 [Drinks. 
 Bru. Come in, Titinius ! 
 
 Re-enter TITINIUS, with MESSALA. 
 
 Welcome, good Messala ! 
 Now sit we close about this taper here, 
 And call in question our necessities. 
 
 Cas. Portia, art thou gone ? 
 
 Bru. No more, I pray you. 
 
 Messala, I have here received letters, 
 That young Octavius and Mark Antony 
 Come down upon us with a mighty power, 
 Bending their expedition toward Philippi. 
 
 Mes. Myself have letters of the self-same 
 tenor. 
 
 Bru. With what addition ? 
 
 Mes. That, by proscription and bills of out- 
 lawry, 
 
 Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus 
 Have put to death an hundred senators. 
 
 Bru. Therein our letters do not well agree ; 
 Mine speak of seventy senators that died 
 By their proscriptions, Cicero being one. 
 
 Cas. Cicero one ! 
 
 Mes. Cicero is dead, 
 
 And by that order of proscription. 
 Had you your letters from your wife, my lord ? 
 
 Bru. No, Messala. 
 
 Mes. Nor nothing in your letters writ of her? 
 
 Bru. Nothing, Messala. 
 
 Mes. That, methinks, is strange. 
 
 Bru. Why ask you ? hear you aught of her 
 in yours ? 
 
 Mes. No, my lord. 
 
 Bru. Now, as you are a Roman, tell me true. 
 
 Mes. Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell : 
 For certain she is dead, and by strange manner. 
 
 Bru. Why, farewell, Portia. We must die, 
 
 Messala : 
 
 With meditating that she must die once, 
 I have the patience to endure it now. 
 
 Mes. Even so great men great losses should 
 endure. 
 
 Cas. I have as much of this in art as you, 
 But yet my nature could not bear it so. 
 
 Bru. Well, to our work alive. What do you 
 
 think 
 Of marching to Philippi presently ? 
 
 Cas. I do not think it good. 
 
 Bru. Your reason? 
 
 Cas. This it is : 
 
 'Tis better that the enemy seek us : 
 So shall he waste his means, weary his soldiers, 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 JULIUS OESAR. 
 
 883 
 
 Doing himself offence ; whilst we, lying still, 
 Are full of rest, defence, and nimbleness. 
 
 Bru. Good reasons must, of force, give place 
 
 to better. 
 
 The people 'twixt Philippi and this ground 
 Do stand but in a forc'd affection ; 
 For they have grudg'd us contribution : 
 The enemy, marching along by them, 
 By them shall make a fuller number up, 
 Come on refresh'd, new-aided, and encourag'd ; 
 From which advantage shall we cut him off 
 If at Philippi we do face him there, 
 These people at our back. 
 
 Cas. Hear me, good brother. 
 
 Bru. Under your pardon. You must note 
 
 beside, 
 
 That we have tried the utmost of our friends, 
 Our legions are brimful, our cause is ripe : 
 The enemy increaseth every day ; 
 We, at the height, are ready to decline. 
 There is a tide in the affairs of men 
 Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; 
 Omitted, all the voyage of their life 
 Is bound in shallows and in miseries. 
 On such a full sea are we now afloat ; 
 And we must take the current when it serves, 
 Or lose our ventures. 
 
 Cas. Then, with your will, go on ; 
 
 We '11 along ourselves, and meet them at 
 
 Philippi. [talk, 
 
 Bru. The deep of night is crept upon our 
 And nature must obey necessity ; 
 Which we will niggard with a little rest. 
 There is no more to say ? 
 
 Cas. No more. Good -night : 
 
 Early to-morrow will we rise, and hence. 
 
 Bru. Lucius, my gown. [Exit Lucius.] 
 
 Farewell good Messala: 
 Good-night, Titinius ; noble, noble Cassius, 
 Good-night, and good repose. 
 
 Cas. O my dear brother ! 
 
 This was an ill beginning of the night : 
 Never come such division 'tween our souls ! 
 Let it not, Brutus. 
 
 Bru. Everything is well. 
 
 Cas. Good-night, my lord. 
 
 Bru. Good -night, good brother. 
 
 Tit. and Mes. Good-night, Lord Brutus. 
 
 Bru. Farewell, every one. 
 
 [Exeunt CAS., TIT., and MES. 
 
 Re-enter Lucius with the gown. 
 
 Give me the gown. Where is thy instrument? 
 
 Luc. Here in the tent. 
 
 Bru. What, thou speak'st drowsily ! 
 
 Poor knave, I blame thee not j thou art o'er- 
 watch'd. 
 
 Call Claudius and some other of my men ; 
 I '11 have them sleep on cushions in my tent. 
 Luc. Varro and Claudius ! 
 
 Enter VARRO and CLAUDIUS. 
 
 Var. Calls my lord? [sleep; 
 
 Brti. I pray you, sirs, lie in my tent and 
 It may be I shall raise you by and by 
 On business to my brother Cassius. 
 
 Var. So please you we will stand and watch 
 your pleasure. [sirs ; 
 
 Bru. I will not have it so: lie down, good 
 It may be I shall otherwise bethink me. 
 Look, Lucius, here 's the book I sought for so ; 
 I put it in the pocket of my gown. 
 
 [VAR. and CLAUD, lie down. 
 Luc. I was sure your lordship did not give 
 it me. [forgetful. 
 
 Bru. Bear with me, good boy, I am much 
 Canst thou hold up thy heavy eyes awhile, 
 And touch thy instrument a strain or two? 
 Luc. Ay, my lord, an 't please you. 
 Bru. It does, my boy : 
 
 I trouble thee too much, but thou art willing. 
 Luc. It is my duty, sir. [might ; 
 
 Bru. I should not urge thy duty past thy 
 I know young bloods look for a time of rest. 
 Luc. I have slept, my lord, already. 
 Bru. It was well done; and thou shalt 
 
 sleep again ; 
 
 I will not hold thee long : if I do live 
 I will be good to thee. [ Music and a Song. 
 This is a sleepy tune. O murderous slumber, 
 Lay'st thou thy leaden mace upon my boy 
 That plays the music? Gentle knave, good- 
 night ; 
 
 I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee : 
 If thou dost nod, thou break'st thy instrument ; 
 I'll take it from thee; and, good boy, good- 
 night. 
 Let me see, let me see ; is not the leaf turn'd 
 
 down 
 Where I left reading? Here it is, I think. 
 
 [Sits down. 
 
 Enter the Ghost 0/OESAR. 
 
 How ill this taper burns! Ha! who comes 
 
 here? 
 
 I think it is the weakness of mine eyes 
 That shapes this monstrous apparition. 
 It comes upon me. Art thou anything? 
 Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil, 
 That mak'st my blood cold and my hair to 
 
 stare? 
 
 Speak to me what thou art. 
 Ghost. Thy evil spirit, Brutus. 
 Bru. Why com'st thou? 
 
884 
 
 JULIUS CESAR. 
 
 L ACT V. 
 
 Ghost. To tell thee thou shalt see me at 
 Philippi. 
 
 Bru. Well; 
 Then I shall see thee again? 
 
 Ghost. Ay, at Philippi. 
 
 Bru. Why, I will see thee at Philippi, 
 then. [Exit Ghost. 
 
 Now I have taken heart thou vanishest : 
 111 spirit, I would hold more talk with thee. 
 Boy Lucius ! Varrol Claudius ! sirs, awake ! 
 Claudius ! 
 
 Luc. The strings, my lord, are false. 
 
 Bru. He thinks he still is at his instrument. 
 Lucius, awake ! 
 
 Luc. My lord? 
 
 Bru. Didst thou dream, Lucius, that thou 
 so criedst out? 
 
 Luc. My lord, I do not know that I did cry. 
 
 Bru. Yes, that thou didst: didst thou see 
 anything ? 
 
 Luc. Nothing, my lord. 
 
 Bru. Sleep again, Lucius. Sirrah, Claudius ! 
 Fellow, thou, awake ! 
 
 Var. My lord? 
 
 Clou. My lord? 
 
 Bru. Why did you cry so out, sirs, in your 
 sleep? 
 
 Var. and Clau. Did we, my lord ? 
 
 Bru. Ay : saw you anything ? 
 
 Var. No, my lord, I saw nothing. 
 
 Clau. Nor I, my lord. 
 
 Bru. Go and commend me to my brother 
 
 Cassius ; 
 
 Bid him set on his powers betimes before, 
 And we will follow. 
 
 Var. and Clau. It shall be done, my lord. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. The Plains of Pkilippi. 
 Enter OCTAVIUS, ANTONY, and their Army. 
 
 Oct. Now, Antony, our hopes are answered : 
 You said the enemy would not come down, 
 But keep the hills and upper regions ; 
 It proves not so : their battles are at hand 
 They mean to warn us at Philippi here, 
 Answering before we do demand of them. 
 
 Ant. Tut, I am in their bosoms, and I know 
 Wherefore they do it : they could be content 
 To visit other places ; and come down 
 With fearful bravery, thinking by this face 
 To fasten in our thoughts that they have 
 
 courage j 
 But 'tis not so. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Prepare you, generals : 
 
 The enemy comes on in gallant show ; 
 Their bloody sign of battle is hung out, 
 And something to be done immediately. 
 
 Ant. Octavius, lead your battle softly on, 
 Upon the left hand of the even field. 
 ? Oct. Upon the right hand I; keep thou 
 the left. 
 
 Ant. Why do you cross me in this exigent ? 
 
 Oct. I do not cross you ; but I will do so. 
 
 [March. 
 
 Drum. Enter BRUTUS, CASSIUS, and their 
 Army; LUCILIUS, TiTiNius, MESSALA, 
 and others. 
 
 Bru. They stand, and would have parley. 
 
 Cas. Stand fast, Titinius : we must out and 
 talk. [battle? 
 
 Oct. Mark Antony, shall we give sign of 
 
 Ant. No, Caesar, we will answer on their 
 
 charge. [words. 
 
 Make forth; the generals would have some 
 
 Oct. Stir not until the signal. [men ? 
 
 Bru. Words before blows : is it so, country- 
 
 Oct. Not that we love words better, as you do. 
 
 Bru. Good words are better than bad strokes, 
 Octavius. 
 
 Ant. In your bad strokes, Brutus, you give 
 
 good words: 
 
 Witness the hole you made in Caesar's heart, 
 Crying, Long- live! hail, Cczsar! 
 
 Cas. Antony, 
 
 The posture of your blows are yet unknown ; 
 But for your words, they rob the Hybla bees, 
 And leave them honeyless. 
 
 Ant. Not stingless too. 
 
 Bru. O yes, and soundless too; 
 For you have stol'n their buzzing, Antony, 
 And very wisely threat before you sting. 
 
 Ant. Villains, you did not so when your 
 
 vile daggers 
 
 Hack'd one another in the sides of Caesar : 
 You show'd your teeth like apes, and fawn'd 
 
 like hounds, 
 
 And bow'd like bondmen, kissing Caesar's feet ; 
 Whilst damned Casca, like a cur, behind, 
 Struck Caesar on the neck. O you flatterers ! 
 
 Cas. Flatterers 1 Now, Brutus, thank your- 
 self: 
 
 This tongue had not offended so to-day 
 If Cassius might have rul'd. 
 
 Oct. Come, come, the cause: if arguing 
 
 make us sweat, 
 
 The proof of it will turn to redder drops. 
 Look, 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 JULIUS CESAR. 
 
 885 
 
 I draw a sword against conspirators ; 
 
 When think you that the sword goes up again ? 
 
 Never till Caesar's three-and-thirty wounds 
 
 Be well aveng'd ; or till another Caesar 
 
 Have added slaughter to the sword of traitors. 
 
 Brit. Caesar, thou canst not die by traitors' 
 
 hands, 
 Unless thou bring'st them with thee. 
 
 Oct. So I hope ; 
 
 I was not born to die on Brutus' sword. 
 
 Bru. O, if thou wert the noblest of thy strain, 
 Young man, thou couldst not die more honour- 
 able. 
 
 Cos. A peevish school-boy, worthless of 
 
 such honour, 
 Join'd with a masker and a reveller ! 
 
 Ant. Old Cassius still ! 
 
 Oct. Come, Antony; away! 
 
 Defiance, traitors, hurl we in your teeth: 
 If you dare fight to-day, come to the field ; 
 If not, when you have stomachs. 
 
 [Exeunt OCT., ANT., and their Army. 
 
 Cas. Why, now, blow wind, swell billow, 
 
 a. id swim bark ! 
 The storm is up, and all is on the hazard. 
 
 Bru. Ho, Lucilius ! hark, a word with you. 
 
 Lucil. My lord. 
 
 [BRU and LUCIL. converse apart. 
 
 Cas. Messala, 
 
 Mes. What says my general ? 
 
 Cas. Messala, 
 
 This is my birth-day ; as this very day 
 Was Cassius bom. Give me thy hand Messala : 
 Be thou my witness that, against my will, 
 As Pompey was, am I compell'd to set 
 Upon one battle all our liberties. 
 You know that I held Epicurus strong, 
 And his opinion : now I change my mind, 
 And partly credit things that do presage. 
 Coming from Sardis, on our former ensign 
 Two mighty eagles fell ; and there they perch'd, 
 Gorging and feeding from our soldiers' hands ; 
 Who to Philippi here consorted us : 
 This morning are they fled away and gone ; 
 And in their steads do ravens, crows, and kites 
 Fly o'er our heads, and downward look on us, 
 As we were sickly prey : their shadows seem 
 A canopy most fatal, under which 
 Our army lies, ready to give up the ghost. 
 
 Mes. Believe not so. 
 
 Cas. I but believe it partly ; 
 
 For I am fresh of spirit ; and resolv'd 
 To meet all perils very constantly. 
 
 Bru. Even so, Lucilius. 
 
 Cas. Now, most noble Brutus, 
 
 The gods to-day stand friendly, that we may, 
 Lovers of peace, lead on our days to age ! 
 
 But, since the affairs of men rest still incertain, 
 Let 's reason with the worst that may befall. 
 If we do lose this battle, then is this 
 The very last time we shall speak together : 
 What are you, then, determined to do ? 
 
 Bru. Even by the rule of that philosophy 
 By which I did blame Cato for the death 
 Which he did give himself. f know not how, 
 But I do find it cowardly and vile, 
 For fear of what might fall, so to prevent 
 The time of life : arming myself with patience 
 To stay the providence of some high powers 
 That govern us below. 
 
 Cas. Then, if we lose this battle, 
 
 You are contented to be led in triumph 
 Through the streets of Rome? [Roman, 
 
 Bru. No, Cassius, no : think not, thou noble 
 That ever Brutus will go bound to Rome ; 
 He bears too great a mind. But this same day 
 Must end that work the ides of March began ; 
 And whether we shall meet again I know not. 
 Therefore our everlasting farewell take : 
 For ever, and for ever, farewell, Cassius ! 
 If we do meet again, why, we shall smile ; 
 If not, why, then, this parting was well made. 
 
 Cas. For ever, and for ever, farewell, Brutus ! 
 If we do meet again we'll smile indeed ; 
 If not, 'tis true this parting was well made. 
 
 Bru. Why, then, lead on. O that a man 
 
 might know 
 
 The end of this day's business ere it come ! 
 But it sumceth that the day will end, 
 And then the end is known. Come, ho ! 
 away ! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. THE PLAINS OF PHILIPPI. The 
 Field of Battle. 
 
 Alarum. Enter BRUTUS and MESSALA. 
 
 Bru. Ride, ride, Messala, ride, and give 
 
 these bills 
 Unto the legions on the other side : 
 
 [Lmid alarum. 
 
 Let them set on at once ; for I perceive 
 But cold demeanour in Octavius' wing, 
 And sudden push gives them the overthrow. 
 Ride, ride, Messala : let them all come down. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. THE PLAINS OF PHILIPPI. 
 Another part of the Fifld. 
 
 Alarum. Enter CASSIUS and TITINIUS. 
 
 Cas. O look, Titinius, }cck, the villains fly 1 
 Myself have to mine own turn'd enemy : 
 This ensign here of mine was turning back ; 
 I slew the coward, and did take it from him. 
 
886 
 
 JULIUS CESAR. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Tit. O Casskis, Brutus gave the word too 
 
 early ; 
 
 Who, having some advantage on Octavius, 
 Took it too eagerly : his soldiers fell to spoil : 
 Whilst we by Antony are all enclos'd. 
 
 Enter PiNDARUS. 
 
 Pin. Fly further off, my lord, fly further off ; 
 Mark Antony is in your tents, my lord ! 
 Fly, therefore, noble Cassius ! fly far off. 
 
 Cas. This hill is far enough. Look, look, 
 
 Titinius ; 
 Are those my tents where I perceive the fire ? 
 
 Tit. They are, my lord.. 
 
 Cas. Titinius, if thou lov'st me, 
 
 Mount thou my horse, and hide thy spurs in him, 
 Till he have brought thee up to yonder troops 
 And here again, that I may rest assur'd 
 Whether yond troops are friend or enemy. 
 
 Tit. I will be here again even with a thought. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Cas. Go, Pindarus, get higher on that hill ; 
 My sight was ever thick ; regard Titinius, 
 And tell me what thou not'st about the field. 
 [Exit PINDARUS. 
 
 This day I breathed first : time is come round, 
 And where I did begin there shall I end ; 
 My life is run his compass. Sirrah, what news ? 
 
 Pin. [Above.] O my lord ! 
 
 Cas. What news ? 
 
 Pin. Titinius is enclosed round about 
 With horsemen, that make to him on the spur; 
 Yet he spurs on. Now they are almost on 
 
 him ; 
 Now, Titinius! now some 'light: O, he 'lights 
 
 too: 
 
 He 's ta'en j and, hark ! they shout for joy. 
 
 [Shout. 
 
 Cas. Come down, behold no more. 
 
 O, coward that I am, to live so long, 
 To see my best friend ta'en before my face ! 
 
 Enter PINDARUS. 
 
 Come hither, sirrah : 
 
 In Parthia did I take thee prisoner ; 
 
 And then I swore thee, saving of thy life, 
 
 That whatsoever I did bid thee do 
 
 Thou shouldst attempt it. Come now, keep 
 
 thine oath ! 
 
 Now be a freeman ; and with this good sword, 
 That ran through Caesar's bowels, search this 
 
 bosom. 
 
 Stand not to answer : here, take thou the hilts ; 
 And when my face is cover'd, as 'tis now, 
 Guide thou the sword. Caesar, thou art re- 
 
 veng'd, 
 Even with the sword that kill'd thee. [Dies. 
 
 Pin. So, I am free ; yet would not so have 
 
 been, 
 
 Durst I have done my will. O Cassius ! 
 Far from this country Pindarus shall run, 
 Where never Roman shall take note of him. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Re-enter TITINIUS, -with MESSALA. 
 
 Mes. It is but change, Titinius ; for Octavius 
 Is overthrown by noble Brutus' power, 
 As Cassius' legions are by Antony. 
 
 Tit. These tidings will well comfort Cassius. 
 
 Mes. Where did you leave him ? 
 
 Tit. All disconsolate, 
 
 With Pindarus, his bondman, on this hill. 
 
 Mes. Is not that he that lies upon the ground? 
 
 Tit. He lies not like the living. O my heart ! 
 
 Mes, Is not that he ? 
 
 Tit. No, this was he, Messala, 
 
 But Cassius is no more. O setting sun, 
 As in thy red rays thou dost sink to-night, 
 So in his red blood Cassius' day is set, 
 The sun of Rome is set ! Our day is gone ; 
 Clouds, dews, and dangers come; our deeds 
 
 are done ! 
 Mistrust of my success hath done this deed. 
 
 Mes. Mistrust of good success hath done this 
 
 deed. 
 
 O hateful error, melancholy's child, 
 Why dost thou show to the apt thoughts of men 
 The things that are not ? O error, soon conceiv'd, 
 Thou never com'st unto a happy birth, 
 But kill'st the mother that engender'd thee ! 
 
 Tit. What, Pindarus ! where art thou, Pin- 
 darus? 
 
 Mes. Seek him, Titinius : whilst I go to meet 
 The noble Brutus, thrusting this report 
 Into his ears: I may say, thrusting it; 
 For piercing steel and darts envenomed 
 Shall be as welcome to the ears of Brutus 
 As tidings of this sight. 
 
 Tit. " Hie you, Messala, 
 
 [Exit MESSALA. 
 
 And I will seek for Pindarus the while. 
 Why didst thou send me forth, brave Cassius? 
 Did I not meet thy friends? and did not they 
 Put on my brows this wreath of victory, 
 And bid me giv 't thee? Didst thou not hear 
 
 their shouts? 
 
 Alas, thou hast misconstru'd everything. 
 But, hold thee, take this garland on thy brow, 
 Thy Brutus bid me give it thee, and I 
 Will do his bidding. Brutus, come apace, 
 And see how I regarded Caius Cassius. 
 By your leave, gods. This is a Roman's part: 
 Come, Cassius' sword, and find Titinius' heart. 
 
 [Dies. 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 JULIUS CESAR. 
 
 887 
 
 Alarum. Re-enter MESSALA, with BRUTUS, 
 
 YOUNG CATO, STRATO, VOLUMNIUS, and 
 
 LUCILIUS. 
 
 Bru. Where, where, Messala, doth his body 
 lie? 
 
 Mes. Lo, yonder ; and Titinius mourning it. 
 
 Bru. Titinius' face is upward. 
 
 Cato. He is slain. 
 
 Bru. O Julius Caesar, thou art mighty yet ! 
 Thy spirit walks abroad, and turns our swords 
 In our own proper entrails. [Low alarums. 
 
 Cato. Brave Titinius ! 
 
 Look, whe'r he have notcrowivd dead Cassius! 
 
 Bru. Are yet two Romans living such as 
 
 these ? 
 
 The last of all the Romans, fare thee well ! 
 It is impossible that ever Rome [tears 
 
 Should breed thy fellow. Friends, I owe more 
 To this dead man than you shall see me pay. 
 I shall find time, Cassius, I shall find time. 
 Come, therefore, and to Thassos send his body : 
 His funerals shall not be in our camp, 
 Lest it discomfort us. Lucilius, come ; 
 And come, young Cato ; let us to the field. 
 Labeo and Flavius, set our battles on: 
 'Tis three o'clock ; and, Romans, yet ere night 
 We shall try fortune in a second fight. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. Another part of the Field. 
 
 Alarum. Enter, fighting. Soldiers of both 
 Armies ; then BRUTUS, YOUNG CATO, LU- 
 CILIUS, and others. 
 
 Bru. Yet, countrymen, O, yet hold up your 
 heads ! [with me? 
 
 Cato. W 7 hat bastard doth not ? Who will go 
 I will proclaim my name about the field : 
 I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho ! 
 A foe to tyrants, and my country's friend ; 
 I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho ! 
 
 [Charges the enemy. 
 
 Bru. And I am Brutus, Marcus Brutus, I ; 
 Brutus, my country's friend ; know me for 
 
 Brutus ! 
 [Exit, charging the enemy. YOUNG CATO 
 
 is overpowered, and falls. 
 Lucil. O young and noble Cat, art thou 
 
 down? 
 
 Why, now thou diest as bravely as Titinius ; 
 And mayst be honour'd, being Cato's son. 
 i Sold. Yield, or thou diest. 
 Lucil. Only I yield to die ? 
 
 There is so much that thou wilt kill me straight ; 
 [ Offering money. 
 Kill Brutus, and be honour'd in his death. 
 
 1 Sold. We must not. A noble prisoner ! 
 
 2 Sold. Room, ho ! Tell Antony Brutus is 
 
 ta'en. [general. 
 
 i Sold. I '11 tell the news. Here comes the 
 
 Enter ANTONY. 
 
 Brutus is ta'en, Brutus is ta'en, my lord. 
 
 Ant. Where is he? 
 
 Lucil. Safe, Antony ; Brutus is safe enough: 
 I dare assure thee that no enemy 
 Shall ever take alive the noble Brutus : 
 The gods defend him from so great a shame ! 
 When you do find him, or alive or dead, 
 He will be found like Brutus, like himself. 
 
 Ant. This is not Brutus, friend ; but, I assure 
 
 you, 
 
 A prize no less in worth : keep this man safe, 
 Give him all kindness : I had rather have 
 Such men my friends than enemies. G on, 
 And see whe'r Brutus be alive or dead ; 
 And bring us word unto Octavius' tent 
 How everything is chanc'd. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. Another part of the Field. 
 
 Enter BRUTUS, DARDANIUS, CLITUS, STRATO, 
 and VOLUMNIUS. 
 
 Bru. Come, poor remains of friends, rest on 
 
 this rock. 
 Cli. Statilius show'd the torch-light ; but, 
 
 my lord, 
 
 He came not back : he is or ta'en or slain. 
 Bru. Sit thee down, Clitus : slaying is the 
 
 word ; 
 It is a deed in fashion. Hark thee, Clitus. 
 
 [ Whispering him. 
 Cli. What, I, my lord ? No, not for all the 
 
 world. 
 
 Bru. Peace, then, no words. 
 Cli. I '11 rather kill myself. 
 
 Bru. Hark thee, Dardanius ! 
 
 [ Whispers him. 
 
 Dar. Shall I do such a deed ? 
 
 Cli. O Dardanius ! 
 Dar. O Clitus ! 
 
 Cli. What ill request did Brutus make to thee? 
 Dar. To kill him, Clitus. Look, he medi- 
 tates. 
 
 Cli. Now is that noble vessel full of grief, 
 That it runs over even at his eyes. [word. 
 
 Bru. Come hither, good Volumnius ; list a 
 Vol. What says my lord ? 
 Bru. Why, this, Volumnius : 
 
 The ghost of Csesar hath appear'd to me 
 Two several times by night, at Sardis once, 
 And this last night here in Philippi fields : 
 I know my hour is come. 
 
JULIUS CESAR. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Vol. Not so, my lord. 
 
 Bru. Nay, I am sure it is, Volumnius. 
 Thou seest the world, Volumnius, how it goes; 
 Our enemies have beat us to the pit : 
 
 [Low alarums. 
 
 It is more worthy to leap in ourselves 
 Than tarry till they push us. Good Volumnius, 
 Thou know'st that we two went to school to- 
 gether : 
 
 Even for that our love of old, I pray thee, 
 Hold thou my sword-hilts whilst I run on it. 
 Vol. That 's not an office for a friend, my lord. 
 [Alarum still. 
 
 Cli. Fly, fly, my lord ; there is no tarrying 
 here. [Volumnius. 
 
 Bru. Farewell to you ; and you ; and you, 
 Strato, thou hast been all this while asleep ; 
 Farewell to thee too, Strato. Countrymen, 
 My heart doth joy that yet, in all my life, 
 I found no man but he was true to me. 
 I shall have glory by this losing day 
 More than Octavius and Mark Antony 
 By this vile conquest shall attain unto. 
 So, fare you well at once ; for Brutus' tongue 
 Hath almost ended his life's history : 
 Night hangs upon mine eyes ; my bones would 
 
 rest, 
 That have but labour'd to attain this hour. 
 
 [Alarum. Cry within^ " Fly, fly, fly ! " 
 Cli. Fly, my lord, fly. 
 
 , Bru. Hence ! I will follow. 
 
 [Exeunt CLI., DAR., and\oi 
 I pr'ythee, Strato, stay thou by thy lord : 
 Thou art a fellow of a good respect ; 
 Thy life hath had some smatch of honour in it: 
 Hold, then, my sword, and turn away thy face, 
 While I do run upon it. Wilt thou, Strato ? 
 Stra. Give me your hand first : fare you well, 
 
 my lord. 
 
 Bru. Farewell, good Strato. Caesar, now 
 be still : 
 
 I kill'd not thee with half so good a will. 
 
 [He runs on his sword^ and dies. 
 
 Alarum. Retreat. Enter OCTAVIUS, AN- 
 TONY, and Army ; MESSALA and LUCILIUS, 
 prisoners. 
 
 Oct. What man is that ? 
 
 Mes. My master's man. Strato, where is 
 thy master ? [Messala : 
 
 Stra. Free from the bondage you are in, 
 The conquerors can but make a fire of him ; 
 For Brutus only overcame himself, 
 And no man else hath honour by his death. 
 
 Lucil. So Brutus should be found. I thank 
 
 thee, Brutus, 
 That thou hast prov'd Lucilius' saying true. 
 
 Oct. All that serv'd Brutus I will entertain 
 
 them. 
 Fellow, wilt thou bestow thy time with me ? 
 
 Stra. Ay, if Messala will prefer me to you. 
 
 Oct. Do so, good Messala. 
 
 Mes. How died my master, Strato ? 
 
 Stra. I held the sword, and he did run on it. 
 
 Mes. Octavius, then take him to follow thee, 
 That did the latest service to my master. 
 
 Ant. This was the noblest Roman of them 
 
 all: 
 
 All the conspirators, save only he, 
 Did that they did in envy of great Cassar ; 
 He only, in a general honest thought, 
 And common good to all, made one of them. 
 His life was gentle ; and the elements 
 So mix'd in him that Nature might stand up 
 And say to all the world, This was a man ! 
 
 Oct. According to his virtue, let us use him 
 With all respect and rites of burial. 
 Within my tent his bones to-night shall lie, 
 Most like a soldier, order'd honourably. 
 So, call the field to rest : and let 's away, 
 To part the glories of this happy day. 
 
 [Exeztni. 
 
 
 ban ,ar;j; 
 

 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 M. ANTONY, 
 OCTAVIUS CESAR, 
 M. ^EMIL. LEPIDUS, 
 
 Triumvir*. 
 
 SEXTUS POMPEIUS. 
 
 DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS, 
 
 VENTIDIUS, 
 
 EROS, 
 
 SCARUS, 
 
 D ERG ETAS, 
 
 DEMETRIUS, 
 
 PHILO, 
 
 Friends to ANTONY. 
 
 MEC^NAS, 
 
 AGRIPPA, 
 
 DOLABELLA, 
 
 PROCULEIUS, 
 
 THYREUS, 
 
 GALLUS, 
 
 - Friends to OESAR. 
 
 MEN AS, ) 
 
 MENECRATES, [ Friends to POMPEY. 
 
 VARRIUS, J 
 
 TAURUS, Lieutenant -General to OESAR. 
 
 CANIDIUS, Lieutenant- General to ANTONY. 
 
 SILIUS, an Officer in VENTIDIUS'S Army. 
 
 EUPHRONIUS, an Ambassador from ANTONY 
 
 to OESAR. 
 ALEXAS, MARDIAN, SELEUCUS, and Dio- 
 
 MEDES, Attendants on CLEOPATRA. 
 A Soothsayer. A Clown. 
 
 CLEOPATRA, Queen of Egypt. 
 
 OCTAVIA, Sister to CESAR and Wife to 
 ANTONY. 
 
 CHARM i AN and IRAS, Attendants on CLEO- 
 PATRA. 
 
 Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and other 
 Attendants. 
 
 SCENE, Dispersed; in several parts of the Roman Empire. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. ALEXANDRIA. A Room in CLEO- 
 PATRA'S Palace. 
 
 Enter DEMETRIUS and PHILO. 
 
 Phi. Nay, but this dotage of our general's 
 O'erflows the measure : those his goodly eyes, 
 That o'er the files and musters of the war 
 Have glow'd like plated Mars, now bend, 
 
 now turn 
 
 The office and devotion of their view 
 Upon a tawny front : his captain's heart, 
 Which in the scuffles of great fights hath burst 
 The buckles on his breast, reneges all temper, 
 And is become the bellows and the fan 
 To cool a gipsy's lust. [Flourish -within.] 
 
 Look where they come : 
 
 Take but good note, and you shall see in him 
 The triple pillar of the world transform'd 
 Into a strumpet's fool : behold and see ! 
 
 Enter ANTONY and CLEOPATRA, with their 
 Trains; Eunuchs fanning her. 
 
 Cleo. If it be love, indeed, tell me how much. 
 Ant. There 's beggary in the love that can 
 be reckon'd. 
 
 Cleo. I '11 set a bourn how far to be belov'd. 
 Ant. Then must thou needs find out new 
 heaven, new earth. 
 
 Enter an Attendant. 
 
 Att. News, my good lord, from Rome. 
 
 Ant. Grates me : the sum. 
 
 Cleo. Nay, hear them, Antony : 
 Fulvia perchance is angry ; or, who knows 
 If the scarce-bearded Caesar have not sent 
 His powerful mandate to you, Do this or this ; 
 7ake in that kingdom and enfranchise that ; 
 Perform '/, or else we damn thee. 
 
 Ant. How, my love ! 
 
 Cleo. Perchance ! nay, and most like: 
 
 You must not stay here longer, your dismission 
 
 Is come from Caesar ; therefore hear it, Antony. 
 
 Where's Fulvia's process? Caesar's I would 
 
 say ? both ? [queen , 
 
 Call in the messengers. As I am Egypt's 
 
 Thou blushest, Antony; and that blood of thine 
 
 Is Caesar's-homager : else so thy cheek pays 
 
 shame [sengers! 
 
 When shrill-tongu'd Fulvia scolds. The mes- 
 
 Ant. Let Rome in Tiber melt, and the 
 
 wide arch 
 Of the rang'd empire fall ! Here is my space. 
 
890 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 Kingdoms are clay : our dungy earth alike 
 Feeds beast as man : the nobleness of life 
 Is to do thus ; when such a mutual pair 
 
 [Embracing. 
 
 And such a twain can do 't, in which I bind, 
 On pain of punishment, the world to weet 
 We stand up peerless. 
 
 Cleo. Excellent falsehood ! 
 
 Why did he marry Fulvia, and not love her ? 
 I '11 seem the fool I am not ; Antony 
 Will be himself. 
 
 Ant. But stirr'd by Cleopatra. 
 
 Now, for the love of Love and her soft hours, 
 Let's not confound the time with conference 
 
 harsh : 
 
 There 's not a minute of our lives should stretch 
 Without some pleasure now : what sport to- 
 night ? 
 
 Cleo. Hear the ambassadors. 
 
 Ant. Fie, wrangling queen ! 
 
 Whom everything becomes, to chide, to laugh, 
 To weep ; whose every passion fully strives 
 To make itself in thee fair and admir'd ! 
 No messenger ; but thine, and all alone, 
 To-night we'll wander through the streets and 
 
 note 
 
 The qualities of people. Come, my queen ; 
 Last night you did desire it : speak not to us. 
 [Exeunt ANT. and CLEO., with their Train. 
 
 Dem. Is Caesar with Antonius priz'd so 
 slight? 
 
 Phi. Sir, sometimes, when he is not Antony, 
 He comes too short of that great property 
 Which still should go with Antony. 
 
 Dem. I am full sorry 
 
 That he approves the common liar, who 
 Thus speaks of him at Rome : but I will hope 
 Of better deeds to-morrow. Rest you happy ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. ALEXANDRIA. Another Room in 
 Cleopatra's Palace. 
 
 Enter CHAR MI AN, IRAS, ALEXAS, and a 
 Soothsayer. 
 
 Char. Lord Alexas, sweet Alexas, most 
 anything Alexas, almost most absolute Alexas, 
 where 's the soothsayer that you praised so to 
 the queen ? O that I knew this husband, 
 which you say must charge his horns with 
 garlands ! 
 
 Alex. Soothsayer, 
 
 Sooth. Your will ? 
 
 Char. Is this the man? Is't you, sir, that 
 know things? 
 
 Sooth. In nature's infinite book of secrecy 
 A little I can read. 
 
 Alex. Show him your hand. 
 
 Enter ENOBARBUS. 
 
 Eno. Bring in the banquet quickly; wine 
 
 enough 
 Cleopatra's health to drink. 
 
 Char. Good sir, give me good fortune. 
 
 Sooth. I make not, but foresee. 
 
 Char. Pray, then, forsee me one. 
 
 Sooth. You shall be yet far fairer than you are. 
 
 Char. He means in flesh. 
 
 Iras. No, you shall paint when you are old. 
 
 Char. Wrinkles forbid ! 
 
 Alex. Vex not his prescience ; be attentive. 
 
 Char. Hush! 
 
 Sooth. You shall be more beloving than 
 beloved. [drinking. 
 
 Char. I had rather heat my liver with 
 
 Alex. Nay, hear him. 
 
 Char. Good now, some excellent fortune! 
 Let me be married to three kings in a forenoon, 
 and widow them all: let me have a child at 
 fifty, to whom Herod of Jewry may do homage : 
 find me to marry me with Octavius Caesar, and 
 companion me with my mistress. 
 
 Sooth. You shall outlive the lady whom you 
 serve. 
 
 Char. O excellent! I love long life better 
 than figs. 
 
 Sooth. You have seen and prov'd a fairer 
 
 former fortune 
 Than that which is to approach. 
 
 Char. Then belike my children shall have 
 no names: pr'ythee, how many boys and 
 wenches must I have? 
 
 Sooth. If every of your wishes had a womb, 
 And fertile every wish, a million. 
 
 Char. Out, fool ! I forgive thee for a witch. 
 
 Alex. You think nona but your sheets are 
 privy to your wishes. 
 
 Char. Nay, come, tell Iras hers. 
 
 Alex. We '11 know all our fortunes. 
 
 Eno. Mine, and most of our fortunes, to- 
 night, shall be drunk to bed. 
 
 Iras. There's a palm presages chastity, if 
 nothing else. 
 
 Char. Even as the o'erflowing Nilus pre- 
 sageth famine. 
 
 Iras. Go, you wild bedfellow, you cannot 
 soothsay. 
 
 Char. Nay, if an oily palm be not a fruitful 
 prognostication, I cannot scratch mine ear. 
 Pr'ythee, tell her but a worky-day fortune. 
 
 Sooth. Your fortunes are alike. 
 
 Iras. But how, but how? give me particulars. 
 
 Sooth. I have said. 
 
 Iras. Am I not an inch of fortune better 
 than she? 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 891 
 
 Char. Well, if you were but an inch of for- 
 tune better than I, where would you choose it? 
 
 Iras. Not in my husband's nose. 
 
 Char. Our worser thoughts heavens mend ! 
 Alexas, come, his fortune, his fortune ! O, let 
 him marry a woman that cannot go, sweet Isis, 
 I beseech thee ! And let her die too, and give 
 him a worse ! and let worse follow worse, till 
 the worst of all follow him laughing to his grave, 
 fiftyfold a cuckold ! Good Isis, hear me this 
 prayer, though thou deny me a matter of more 
 weight ; good Isis, I beseech thee ! 
 
 Iras. Amen. Dear goddess, hear that 
 prayer of the people ! for, as it is a heart- 
 breaking to see a handsome man loose-wived, 
 so it is a deadly sorrow to behold a foul knave 
 uncuckolded: therefore, dear Isis, keep de- 
 corum, and fortune him accordingly ! 
 
 Char. Amen. 
 
 Alex. Lo, now, if it lay in their hands to 
 make me a cuckold, they would make them- 
 selves whores, but they 'd do 't ! 
 
 Eno. Hush ! here comes Antony. 
 
 Char. Not he ; the queen. 
 
 Enter CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Cleo. Saw you my lord ? 
 Eno. No, lady. 
 
 Cleo. Was he not here ? 
 
 Char. No, madam. [sudden 
 
 Cleo. He was dispos'd to mirth ; but on the 
 A Roman thought hath struck him. Enobar- 
 
 bus, 
 
 Eno. Madam ? 
 Cleo. Seek him, and bring him hither. 
 
 W T here's Alexas ? [preaches. 
 
 Alex. Here, at youi service. My lord ap- 
 
 Cleo. We will not look upon him : go with us. 
 
 {Exeunt CLEO., ENO., CHAR., IRAS, ALEX. 
 
 and Soothsayer. 
 
 Enter ANTONY, with a Messenger and 
 Attendants. 
 
 Mess. Fulvia thy wife first came into the field. 
 Ant. Against my brother Lucius 
 Mess. Ay: 
 
 But soon that war had end, and the time's state 
 Made friends of them, jointing their force 'gainst 
 
 Caesar; 
 
 Whose better issue in the war, from Italy, 
 Upon the first encounter, drave them. 
 
 Ant. Well, what worst ? [teller. 
 
 Mess. The nature of bad news infects the 
 Ant. When it concerns the fool or coward. 
 
 On: 
 
 Things that are past are done with me. 'Tis 
 thus; 
 
 Who tells me true, though in his tale lie death 
 I hear him as he flatter'd. 
 
 Mess. Labienus, 
 
 This is stiff news, hath, with his Parthian 
 
 force, 
 
 Extended Asia from Euphrates ; 
 His conquering banner shook from Syria 
 To Lydia and to Ionia ; 
 Whilst, 
 
 Ant. Antony, thou wouldst say, 
 
 Mess. O, my lord ! 
 
 Ant. Speak to me home, mince not the 
 
 general tongue : 
 
 Name Cleopatra as she is call'd in Rome ; 
 Rail thou in Fulvia's phrase ; and taunt my 
 
 faults 
 
 With such full license as both truth and malice 
 Have power to utter. O, then we bring forth 
 weeds [told us 
 
 When our quick minds lie still ; and our ills 
 Is as our earing. Fare thee well awhile. 
 Mess. At your noble pleasure. [Exit. 
 
 Ant. From Sicyon, ho, the news ! Speak 
 there ! 
 
 1 Att. The man from Sicyon, is there such 
 
 an one ? 
 
 2 Att. He stays upon your will. 
 
 Ant. Let him appear. 
 
 These strong Egyptian fetters I must break, 
 Or lose myself in dotage. 
 
 Enter a second Messenger. 
 
 What are you? 
 
 2 Mess. Fulvia thy wife is dead. 
 Ant. Where died she? 
 
 2 Mess. In Sicyon : [serious 
 
 Her length of sickness, with what else more 
 Importeth thee to know, this bears. 
 
 \Gives a letter. 
 
 Ant. Forbear me. 
 
 {Exit second Messenger. 
 
 There 's a great spirit gone ! Thus did I desire 
 
 it: 
 
 What our contempts do often hurl from us, 
 We wish it ours again ; the present pleasure, 
 By revolution lowering, does become 
 The opposite of itself : she 's good, being gone; 
 The hand could pluck her back that shov'd 
 
 her on. 
 
 I must from this enchanting queen break off : 
 Ten thousand harms, more than the ills I know, 
 My idleness doth hatch. Ho, Enobarbus ! 
 
 Re-enter ENOBARBUS. 
 
 Eno. What 's your pleasure, sir ? 
 
 Ant. I must with haste from hence. 
 
 Eno. Why, then, we kill all our women : we 
 
892 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 see how mortal an unkindness is to them ; if 
 they suffer our departure, death 's the word. 
 
 Ant. I must be gone. 
 
 Eno. Under a compelling occasion, let 
 women die : it were pity to cast them away 
 for nothing ; though, between them and a great 
 cause, they should be esteemed nothing. Cleo- 
 patra, catching but the least noise of this, dies 
 instantly ; I have seen her die twenty times 
 upon far poorer moment : I dp think there is 
 mettle in death, which commits some loving 
 act upon her, she hath such a celerity in dying. 
 
 Ant. She is cunning past man's thought. 
 
 Eno. Alack, sir, no ; her passions are made 
 of nothing but the finest part of pure love : we 
 cannot call her winds and waters, sighs and 
 tears ; they are greater storms and tempests 
 than almanacs can report : this cannot be cun- 
 ning in her ; if it be, she makes a shower of rain 
 as well as Jove. 
 
 Ant. Would I had never seen her ! 
 
 Eno. O sir, you had then left unseen a 
 wonderful piece of work ; which not to have 
 been blessed withal would have discredited 
 your travel. 
 
 Ant. Fulvia is dead. 
 
 Eno. Sir? 
 
 Ant. Fulvia is dead. 
 
 Eno. Fulvia! 
 
 Ant. Dead. 
 
 Eno. Why, sir, give the gods a thankful 
 sacrifice. When it pleaseth their deities to 
 take the wife of a man from him, it shows to 
 man the tailors of the earth ; comforting therein 
 that when old robes are worn out there are 
 members to make new. If there were no more 
 women but Fulvia, then had you indeed a cut, 
 and the case to be lamented : this grief is 
 crowned with consolation ; your old smock 
 brings forth a new petticoat : and, indeed, 
 the tears live in an onion that should water this 
 sorrow. [state 
 
 Ant. The business she hath broached in the 
 Cannot endure my absence. 
 
 Eno. And the business you have broached 
 here cannot be without you ; especially that of 
 Cleopatra's, which wholly depends on your 
 abode. 
 
 Ant. No more light answers. Let our officers 
 Have notice what we purpose. I shall break 
 The cause of our expedience to the queen, 
 And get her leave to part. For not alone 
 The death of Fulvia, with more urgent touches, 
 Do strongly speak to us ; but the letters too 
 Of many our contriving friends in Rome 
 Petition us at home : Sextus Pompeius 
 Hath given the dare to Caesar, and commands 
 
 The empire of the sea ; our slippery people, 
 Whose love is never link'd to the deserver 
 Till his deserts are past, begin to throw 
 Pompey the Great, and all his dignities, 
 Upon his son ; who, high in name and power, 
 Higher than both in blood and life, stands up 
 For the main soldier : whose quality, going on, 
 The sides o' the world may danger : much is 
 
 breeding, 
 
 Which, like the courser's hair, hath yet but life, 
 And not a serpent's poison. Say, our pleasure, 
 To such whose place is under us, requires 
 Our quick remove from hence. 
 Eno. I shall do 't. {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. ALEXANDRIA. A Room in 
 CLEOPATRA'S Palace. 
 
 Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and 
 ALEXAS. 
 
 Cleo. Where is he? 
 
 Char. I did not see him since. 
 
 Cleo. See where he is, who 's with him, what 
 
 he does : 
 
 I did not send you : if you find him sad, ' 
 Say I am dancing ; if in mirth, report 
 That I am sudden sick : quick, and returru 
 
 {Exit ALEXAS. 
 Char. Madam, methinks, if you did love him 
 
 dearly, 
 
 You do not hold the method to enforce 
 The like from him. 
 
 Cleo. What should I do, I do not ? 
 
 Char. In each thing give him way ; cross him 
 
 in nothing. 
 
 Cleo. Thou teachest like a fool, the way to 
 lose him. [forbear : 
 
 Char. Tempt him not so too far ; I wish, 
 In time we hate that which we often fear. 
 But here comes Antony. 
 
 Cleo. I am sick and sullen. 
 
 Enter ANTONY. 
 
 Ant. I am sorry to give breathing to my 
 purpose, [fall : 
 
 Cleo. Help me away, dear Charmian ; I shall 
 It cannot be thus long, the sides of nature 
 Will not sustain jt. 
 
 Ant. Now, my dearest queen, 
 
 Cleo. Pray you, stand further from me. 
 
 Ant. What 's the matter ? 
 
 Cleo. I know, by that same eye, there 's some 
 
 good news. 
 
 What says the married woman ? You may go : 
 Would she had never given you leave to come ! 
 Let her not say 'tis I that keep you here, 
 I have no power upon you ; hers you are. 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 893 
 
 Ant. The gods best know, 
 
 Cleo. O, never was there queen 
 
 So mightily betrayM ! Yet at the first 
 I saw the treasons planted. 
 
 Ant. Cleopatra, 
 
 Cleo. Why should I think you can be mine 
 
 and true, 
 
 Though you in swearing shake the throned gods, 
 Who have been false to Fulvia? Riotous 
 
 madness, 
 
 To be entangled with those mouth-made vows, 
 Which break themselves in swearing ! 
 
 Ant. Most sweet queen, 
 
 Cleo. Nay, pray you, seek no colour for your 
 
 going, 
 
 But bid farewell, and go : when you su'd staying, 
 Then was the time for words : no going then ; 
 Eternity was in our lips and eyes, 
 Bliss in our brows' bent ; none our parts so poor 
 But was a race of heaven : they are so still, 
 Or thou, the greatest soldier of the world, 
 Art turn'd the greatest liar. 
 
 Ant. How now, lady ! 
 
 Cleo. I would I had thy inches ; thou shouldst 
 
 know 
 There were & heart in Egypt. 
 
 Ant. Hear me, queen : 
 
 The strong necessity of time commands 
 Our services awhile ; but my full heart 
 Remains in use with you. Our Italy 
 Shines o'er with civil swords : Sextus Pompeius 
 Makes his approaches to the port of Rome : 
 Equality of two domestic powers [strength, 
 Breeds scrupulous faction : the hated, grown to 
 Are -newly grown to love: the condemn'd 
 
 Pompey, 
 
 Rich in his father's honour, creeps apace 
 Into the hearts of such as have not thriv'd 
 Upon the present state, whose numbers threaten; 
 And quietness, grown sick of rest, would purge 
 By any desperate change. My more particular, 
 And that which most with you should safe my 
 
 going, 
 Is Fulvia's death. [me freedom, 
 
 Cleo. Though age from folly could not give 
 It does from childishness : can Fulvia die ? 
 
 Ant. She 's dead, my queen : 
 Look here, and, at thy sovereign leisure, read 
 The garboils she awak'd ; at the last, best. 
 See when and where she died. 
 
 Cleo. O most false love ! 
 
 Where be the sacred vials thou shouldst fill 
 With sorrowful water? Now I see, I see, 
 In Fulvia's death how mine receiv'd shall be. 
 
 Ant. Quarrel no more, but be prepar'd to 
 
 know 
 The purposes I bear ; which are, or cease, 
 
 As you shall give the advice. By the fire 
 That quickens Nilus' slim, I go from hence 
 Thy soldier, servant ; making peace or war 
 As thou affect'st. 
 
 Cleo. Cut my lace, Charmian, come ; 
 
 But let it be : I am quickly ill and well, 
 So Antony loves. 
 
 Ant. My precious queen, forbear; 
 
 And give true evidence to his love, which stands 
 An honourable trial. 
 
 Cleo. So Fulvia told me. 
 
 I pr'ythee, turn aside and weep for her ; 
 Then bid adieu to me, and say the tears 
 Belong to Egypt : good now, play one scene 
 Of excellent dissembling ; and let it look 
 Like perfect honour. 
 
 Ant. You '11 heat my blood : no more. 
 
 Cleo. You can do better yet; but this is 
 meetly. 
 
 Ant. Now, by my sword, 
 
 Cleo. And target. Still he mends ; 
 
 But this is not the best: look, pr'ythee, 
 
 Charmian, 
 
 How this Herculean Roman does become 
 The carriage of his chafe. 
 
 Ant. I '11 leave you, lady. 
 
 Cleo. Courteous lord, one word. 
 Sir, you and I must part, but that 's not it : 
 Sir, you and I have lov'd, but there 's not it ; 
 That you know well : something it is I would, 
 O, my oblivion is a very Antony, 
 And I am all forgotten. 
 
 Ant. But that your royalty 
 
 Holds idleness your subject, I should take you 
 For idleness itself. 
 
 Cleo. 'Tis sweating labour 
 
 To bear such idleness so near the heart 
 As Cleopatra this. But, sir, forgive me ; 
 Since my becomings kill me, when they do not 
 Eye well to you : your honour calls you hence ; 
 Therefore be deaf to my unpitied folly, 
 And all the gods go with you ! upon your sword 
 Sit laurel victory ! and smooth success 
 Be strew'd before your feet ! 
 
 Ant. Let us go. Come ; 
 
 Our separation so abides, and flies, 
 That thou, residing here, go'st yet with me, 
 And I, hence fleeting, here remain with thee. 
 Away ! [Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE IV. ROME. An Apartment m 
 QESAK'S House. 
 
 Enter OCTAVIUS OESAR, LEPIDUS, and 
 Attendants. 
 
 Cczs. You may see, Lepidus, and henceforth, 
 know. 
 
894 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 It is not Caesar's natural vice to hate 
 Our great competitor. From Alexandria 
 This is the news : he fishes, drinks, and wastes 
 The lamps of night in revel : is not more manlike 
 Than Cleopatra ; nor the queen of Ptolemy [or 
 More womanly than he : hardly gave audience, 
 Vouchsafd to think he had partners: you 
 
 shall find there 
 
 A man who is the abstract of all faults 
 That all men follow. 
 
 Lep. I must not think there are 
 
 Evils enow to darken all his goodness : 
 His faults in him seem as the spots of heaven, 
 More fiery by night's blackness ; hereditary 
 Rather than purchas'd ; what he cannot change 
 Than what he chooses. 
 
 Cces. You are too indulgent. Let us grant 
 
 it is not 
 
 Amiss to tumble on the bed of Ptolemy; 
 To give a kingdom for a mirth ; to sit 
 And keep the turn of tippling with a slave ; 
 To reel the streets at noon, and stand the buffet 
 With knaves that smell of sweat: say this 
 
 becomes him, 
 
 As his composure must be rare indeed 
 Whom these things cannot blemish, yet must 
 
 Antony 
 
 No way excuse his soils when we do bear 
 So great weight in his lightness. If he fill'd 
 His vacancy 'with his voluptuousness, 
 Full surfeits and the dryness ef his bones 
 Call on him for 't : but to confound such time, 
 That drums him from his sport, and speaks as 
 
 loud 
 
 As his own state and ours, 'tis to be chid 
 As we rate boys, who, being mature in know- 
 ledge, 
 
 Pawn their experience to their present pleasure, 
 And so rebel to judgment. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Lep. Here 's more news. 
 
 Mess. Thy biddings have been done; and 
 
 every hour, 
 
 Most noble Caesar, shalt thou have report 
 How 'tis abroad. Pompey is strong at sea ; 
 And it appears he is belov'd of those 
 That only have fear'd Caesar : to the ports 
 The discontents repair, and men's reports 
 Give him much wrong'd. 
 
 Cces. I should have known no less : 
 
 It hath been taught us from the primal state 
 That he which is was wish'd until he were ; 
 And the ebb'd man, ne'er lov'd till ne'er 
 worth love, [body, 
 
 Comes dear'd by being lack'd. This common 
 Like to a vagabond flag upon the stream, 
 
 Goes to and back, lackeying the varying tide, 
 To rot itself with motion. 
 
 Mess. Caesar, I bring thee word, 
 
 Menecrates and Menas, famous pirates, 
 Make the sea serve them, which they ear and 
 
 wound 
 
 With keels of every kind : many hot inroads 
 They make in Italy ; the borders maritime 
 Lack blood to think on't, and flush youth re volt : 
 No vessel can peep forth but 'tis as soon 
 Taken as seen ; for Pompey's name strikes more 
 Than could his war resisted. 
 
 Cces. Antony, 
 
 Leave thy lascivious wassails. When thou once 
 Wast beaten from Modena, where thou slew'st 
 Hirtius and Pansa, consuls at thy heel 
 Did famine follow ; whom thou fought'st against, 
 Though daintily brought up, with patience more 
 Than savages could suffer : thou didst drink 
 The stale of horses, and the gilded puddle 
 Which beasts would cough at : thy palate then 
 
 did deign 
 
 The roughest berry on the rudest hedge ; 
 Yea, like the stag, when snow the pasture sheets, 
 The barks of trees thou browsed'st ; on the Alps 
 It is reported thou didst eat strange flesh, 
 Which some did die to look on : and all this, 
 It wounds thine honour that I speak it now, 
 Was borne so like a soldier that thy cheek 
 So much as lank'd not. 
 
 Lep. 'Tis pity of him. 
 
 Cces. Let his shames quickly 
 Drive him to Rome : 'tis time we twain 
 Did show ourselves 'i the field ; and to that end 
 Assemble we immediate council : Pompey 
 Thrives in our idleness. 
 
 Lep. To-morrow, Caesar, 
 
 I shall be furnish'd to inform you rightly 
 Both what by sea and land I can be able 
 To front this present time. 
 
 CCES. Till which encounter 
 
 It is my business too. Farewell. [meantime 
 
 Lep. Farewell, my lord : what you shall know 
 Of stirs abroad, I shall beseech you, sir, 
 To let me be partaker. 
 
 Cces. Doubt not, sir ; 
 
 I knew it for my bond. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. ALEXANDRIA. A Room in the 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and 
 MARDIAN. 
 
 Cleo. Charmian, 
 Char. Madam? 
 Cleo. Ha, ha ! 
 Give me to drink mandragora. 
 
SCENE V.] 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 895 
 
 Char. Why, madam? 
 
 Cleo. That I might sleep out this great gap 
 
 of time 
 My Antony is away. 
 
 Char. ' You think of him too much. 
 
 Cleo. O, 'tis treason ! 
 
 Char. Madam, I trust, not so. 
 
 Cleo. Thou, eunuch Mardian ! 
 
 Mar. What 's your highness' pleasure? 
 
 Cleo. Not now to hear thee sing ; I take no 
 
 pleasure 
 
 In aught an eunuch has : 'tis well for thee 
 That, being unseminar'd, thy freer thoughts 
 May not fly forth of Egypt. Hast thou affec- 
 tions? 
 
 Mar. Yes, gracious madam. 
 
 Cleo. Indeed! '[nothing 
 
 Mar. Not in deed, madam; for I can do 
 But what indeed is honest to be done : 
 Yet have I fierce affections, and think 
 What Venus did with Mars. 
 
 Cleo. O Charrm'an, 
 
 Where think'st thou he is now? Stands he or 
 
 sits he ? 
 
 Or does he walk? or is he on his horse? 
 O happy horse to bear the weight of Antony ! 
 Do bravely, horse ! for wott'st thou whom thou 
 
 mov'st? 
 
 The demi-Atlas of this earth, the arm 
 And burgonet of men. He 's speaking now, 
 Or murmuring, Where's my serpent of old Nile? 
 For so he calls me. Now I feed myself 
 With most delicious poison : think on me, 
 That am with Phoebus' amorous pinches black, 
 And wrinkled deep in time? Broad-fronted 
 
 Caesar, 
 
 When thou wast here above the ground I was 
 A morsel for a monarch : and great Pompey 
 Would stand and make his eyes grow in my 
 
 brow; 
 
 There would he anchor his aspect and die 
 With looking on his life. 
 
 Enter ALEXAS. 
 
 Alex. Sovereign of Egypt, hail ! 
 
 Cleo. How much unlike art thou Mark 
 Antony ! [hath 
 
 Yet, coming from him, that great medicine 
 With his tinct gilded thee. 
 How goes it with my brave Mark Antony? 
 
 Alex. Last thing he did, dear queen, 
 He kiss'd, the last of many doubled kisses, 
 This orient pearl: his speech sticks in my 
 heart. 
 
 Cleo. Mine ear must pluck it thence. 
 
 Alex. Good friend ', quoth he, 
 
 Say, the firm Roman to great Egypt sends 
 
 This treasure of an oyster; at whose foot, 
 To mend the petty present, I will piece 
 Her opulent throne "with kingdoms ; all the east, 
 Say thou, shall call her mistress. So he 
 
 nodded, 
 
 And soberly did mount an arm-girt steed, 
 Who neigh'd so high that what I would have 
 
 spoke 
 Was beastly dumb'd by him. 
 
 Cleo. What, was he sad or merry? 
 
 Alex. Like to the time o' the year between 
 
 the extremes 
 Of hot and cold, he was nor sad nor merry. 
 
 Cleo. O well-divided disposition! Note him, 
 Note him, good Charmian, 'tis the man ; but 
 
 note him : 
 
 He was not sad, for he would shine on those 
 That make their looks by his; he was not 
 
 merry, 
 
 Which seem'd to tell them his remembrance lay 
 In Egypt with his joy ; but between both : 
 
 heavenly mingle ! Be'st thou sad or merry, 
 The violence of either thee becomes, 
 
 So does it no man else. Mett'st thou my posts? 
 
 Alex. Ay, madam, twenty several messengers : 
 Why do you send so thick? 
 
 Cleo. Who 's born that day 
 
 When I forget to send to Antony 
 Shall die a beggar. Inkandpaper,Charmian. 
 Welcome, my good Alexas. Did I, Charmian, 
 Ever love Caesar so? 
 
 Char. O that brave Caesar ? 
 
 Cleo. Be chok'd with such another emphasis ! 
 Say, the brave Antony. 
 
 Char. The valiant Caesar ! 
 
 Cleo. By Isis, I will give thee bloody teeth 
 If thou with Caesar paragon again 
 My man of men. 
 
 Char. By your most gracious pardon, 
 
 1 sing but after you. 
 
 Cleo. My salad days, 
 
 When I was green in judgment : cold in blood, 
 To say as I said then ! but, come, away ; 
 Get me ink and paper : he shall have every day 
 A several greeting, or I '11 unpeople Egypt. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. MESSINA. A Room in POMPEY'S 
 House. 
 
 Enter POMPEY, MENECRATES, and MENAS. 
 
 Pom. If the great gods be just, they shall 
 
 assist 
 The deeds of justest man. 
 
896 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 [ACT IL 
 
 Mene. Know, worthy Pompey, 
 
 That what they do delay they not deny. 
 
 Pom. Whiles we are suitors to their throne, 
 
 decays 
 The thing we sue for. 
 
 Mene. We, ignorant of ourselves, 
 
 Beg often our own harms, which the wise powers 
 Deny us for our good ; so find we profit 
 By losing of our prayers. 
 
 Pom. I shall do well : 
 
 The people love me, and the sea is mine ; 
 My powers are crescent, and my auguring hope 
 Says it will come to the full. Mark Antony 
 In Egypt sits at dinner, and will make 
 No wars without doors : Caesar gets money where 
 He loses hearts : Lepidus flatters both, 
 Of both is flatter' d; but he neither loves 
 Nor either cares for him. 
 
 Men. Caesar and Lepidus 
 
 Are in the field : a mighty strength they carry. 
 
 Pom. Where have you this? 'tis false. 
 
 Men. From Silvius, sir. 
 
 Pom. He dreams: I know they are in Rome 
 
 together, 
 
 Looking for Antony. But all the charms of love, 
 Salt Cleopatra, soften thy wan'd lip ! 
 Let witchcraft join with beauty, lust with both ! 
 Tie up the libertine in a field of feasts, 
 Keep his brain fuming ; Epicurean cooks 
 Sharpen with cloyless sauce his appetite ; 
 That sleep and feeding may prorogue his honour 
 Even till a Lethe'd dullness. 
 
 Enter VARRIUS. 
 
 How now, Varrius ! 
 
 Var. This is most certain that I shall 
 
 deliver : 
 
 Mark Antony is every hour in Rome 
 Expected : since he went from Egypt 'tis 
 A space for further travel. 
 
 Pom. I could have given less matter 
 
 A better ear. Menas, I did not think 
 This amorous surfeiter would have donn'd his 
 
 helm 
 
 For such a petty war ; his soldiership 
 Is twice the other twain : but let us rear 
 The higher our opinion, that our stirring 
 Can from the lap of Egypt's widow pluck 
 The ne'er lust-wearied Antony. 
 
 Men. I cannot hope 
 
 Caesar and Antony shall well greet together : 
 His wife that 's dead did trespasses to Caesar ; 
 His brother warr'd upon him ; although, I think, 
 Not mov'd by Antony. 
 
 Pom. I know not, Menas, 
 
 How lesser enmities may give way to greater. 
 Were 't not that we stand up against them all, 
 
 'Twere pregnant they should square between 
 
 themselves ; 
 
 For they have entertained cause enough 
 To draw their swords : but how the fear of us 
 May cement their divisions, and bind up 
 The petty difference, we yet not know. 
 Be 't as our gods will have 't ! It only stands 
 Our lives upon to use our strongest hands. 
 Come, Menas. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. ROME. A Room in the House of 
 LEPIDUS. 
 
 Enter ENOBARBUS and LEPIDUS. 
 
 Lep. Good Enobarbus, 'tis a worthy deed, 
 And shall become you well, to entreat your 
 
 captain 
 To soft and gentle speech. 
 
 Eno. I shall entreat him 
 
 To answer like himself : if Caesar move him, 
 Let Antony look over Caesar's head, 
 And speak as loud as Mars. By Jupiter, 
 Were I the wearer of Antonius* beard, 
 I would not shave 't to-day. 
 
 Lep. 'Tis not a time 
 
 For private stomaching. 
 
 Eno. Every time 
 
 Serves for the matter that is then born in 't. 
 
 Lep. But small to greater matters must give 
 way. 
 
 Eno. Not if the small come first. 
 
 Lep. Your speech is passion : 
 
 But, pray you, stir no embers up. Here conies 
 The noble Antony. 
 
 Enter ANTONY and VENTIDIUS. 
 Eno. And yonder Cassar. 
 
 Enter CESAR, MEC^ENAS, <WMTAGRIPPA. 
 
 Ant. If we compose well here, to Parthia : 
 Hark, Ventidius. 
 
 Cces. I do not know, 
 
 Mecaenas ; ask Agrippa. 
 
 Lep. Noble friends, [not 
 
 That which combin'd us was most great, and let 
 A leaner action rend us. What 's amiss, 
 May it be gently heard : when we debate 
 Our trivial difference loud, w do commit 
 Murder in healing wounds: then, noble 
 
 partners, 
 
 The rather for I earnestly beseech, [terms, 
 Touch you the sourest points with sweetest 
 Nor curstness grow to the matter. 
 
 Ant. 'Tis spoken well. 
 
 Were we before our armies, and to fight, 
 I should do thus. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 C<es. Welcome to Rome. 
 
 Ant. Thank you. 
 
 Cces. Sit 
 
 Ant. Sit, sir. 
 
 Cess. Nay, then. 
 
 Ant. I learn, you take things ill which are 
 
 not so, 
 Or being, concern you not. 
 
 Cess. I must be laugh'd at 
 
 If, or for nothing or a little, I 
 Should say myself offended, and with you 
 Chiefly i' the world; more laugh'd at that I 
 should [name 
 
 Once name you derogately, when to sound your 
 It not concern'd me. 
 
 Ant. My being in Egypt, Caesar, 
 
 What was't to you? 
 
 Cces. No more than my residing here at Rome 
 Might be to you in Egypt : yet, if you there 
 Did practise on my state, your being in Egypt 
 Might be my question. 
 
 Ant. How intend you, practis'd? 
 
 Cas. You may be pleas'd to catch at mine 
 
 intent [brother 
 
 By what did here befall me, Your wife and 
 
 Made wars upon me ; and their contestation 
 
 Was theme for you, you were the word of war. 
 
 Ant. You do mistake your business; my 
 
 brother never 
 
 Did urge me in his act : I did inquire it ; 
 And have my learning from some true reports 
 That drew their swords with you. Did he not 
 
 rather 
 
 Discredit my authority with yours ; 
 And make the wars alike against my stomach, 
 Having alike your cause? Of this my letters 
 Before did satisfy you. If you '11 patch a quarrel 
 As matter whole you have not to make it with, 
 It must not be with this. 
 
 Cas. You praise yourself 
 
 By laying defects of judgment to me; but 
 You patch'd up your excuses. 
 
 Ant. Not so, not so ; 
 
 I know you could not lack, I am certain on 't, 
 Very necessity of this thought, that I, 
 Your partner in the cause 'gainst which he 
 
 fought, 
 
 Could not with graceful eyes attend those wars 
 Which 'fronted mine own peace. As for my wife, 
 I would you had her spirit in such another : 
 The third o' the world is yours ; which with a 
 
 snaffle 
 You may pao* easy, but not such a wife. 
 
 Eno. Would we had all such wives, that the 
 
 men 
 Might go to wars with the women. 
 
 Ant. Somuchuncurrjable^hergarboil3,Gesar, 
 
 Made out of her impatience, which not wanted 
 Shrewdness of policy too, I grieving grant 
 Did you toe much disquiet : for that you must 
 But say I could not help it. 
 
 Cces. I wrote to you 
 
 When rioting in Alexandria; you 
 Did pocket up my letters, and with taunts 
 Did gibe my missive out of audience. 
 
 Ant. Sir, 
 
 He fell upon me ere admitted : then 
 Three kings I had newly feasted, and did want 
 Of what I was i' the morning : but next day 
 I told him of myself; which was as much 
 As to have ask'd him pardon. Let this fellow 
 Be nothing of our strife; if we contend, 
 Out of our question wipe him. 
 
 Cces. You have broken 
 
 The article of your oath ; which you shall never 
 Have tongue to charge me with. 
 
 Lep. Soft, Caesar ! 
 
 Ant. No, Lepidus, let him speak : 
 The honour is sacred which he talks on now, 
 Supposing that I lack'd it. But on, Caesar; 
 The article of my oath. 
 
 Cces. To lend me arms and aid when I re- 
 
 quir'd them ; 
 The which you both denied. 
 
 Ant. Neglected, rather; 
 
 And then when poison'd hours had bound me up 
 From mine own knowledge. As nearly as I may, 
 I '11 play the penitent to you: but mine honesty 
 Shall not make poor my greatness, nor my 
 
 power 
 
 Work without it. Truth is, that Fulvia, 
 To have me out of Egypt, made wars here ; 
 For which myself, the ignorant motive, do 
 So far ask pardon as befits mine honour 
 To stoop in such a case. 
 
 Lep. 'Tis noble spoken. 
 
 Mec. If it might please you to enforce no 
 
 further 
 
 The griefs between ye : to forget them quite 
 Were to remember that the present need 
 Speaks to atone you. 
 
 Lep. Worthily spoken, Mecaenas. 
 
 Eno. Or, if you borrow one another's love 
 for the instant, you may, when you hear no 
 more words of Pompey, return it again: you 
 shall have time to wrangle in when you have 
 nothing else to do. 
 
 Ant. Thou art a soldier only : speak no more. 
 
 Eno. That truth should be silent I had 
 almost forgot. 
 
 Ant. You wrong this presence; therefore 
 speak no more 
 
 Eno. Go to, then ; your considerate stone. 
 
 Cees. I do not much dislike the matter, but 
 
898 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 The manner of his speech ; for 't cannot be 
 We shall remain in friendship, our conditions 
 So differing in their acts. Yet, if I knew 
 What hoop should hold us stanch, from edge 
 
 to edge 
 O' the world I would pursue it. 
 
 Agr. Give me leave, Caesar, 
 
 C<zs. Speak, Agrippa. 
 
 Agr. Thou hast a sister by the mother's side, 
 Admir'd Octavia : great Mark Antony 
 Is now a widower. 
 
 Cess. Say not so, Agrippa : 
 
 If Cleopatra heard you, your reproof 
 Were well deserv'd of rashness. 
 
 Ant. I am not married, Caesar : let me hear 
 Agrippa further speak. 
 
 Agr. To hold you in perpetual amity, 
 To make you brothers, and to knit your hearts 
 With an unslipping knot, take Antony 
 Octavia to his wife ; whose beauty claims 
 No worse a husband than the best of men ; 
 Whose virtue and whose general graces speak 
 That which none else can utter. By this 
 
 marriage, 
 
 All little jealousies, which now seem great, 
 And all great fears, which now import their 
 dangers, [tales, 
 
 Would then be nothing : truths would then be 
 Where now half tales be truths : her love to both 
 Would, each to other and all loves to both, 
 Draw after her. Pardon what I have spoke ; 
 For 'tis a studied, not a present thought, 
 By duty ruminated. 
 
 Ant. Will Caesar speak? 
 
 Cces. Not till he hears how Antony is touch'd 
 With what is spoke already. 
 
 Ant. What power is in Agrippa, 
 
 If I would say, Agrippa^ be it so y 
 To make this good? 
 
 Cces. The power of Caesar, and 
 
 His power unto Octavia. 
 
 Ant. May I never 
 
 To this good purpose, that so fairly shows, 
 Dream of impediment ! Let me have thy hand : 
 Further this act of grace ; and from this hour 
 The heart of brothers govern in our loves 
 And sway our great designs ! 
 
 Cas. There is my hand. 
 
 A sister I bequeath you, whom no brother 
 Did ever love so dearly : let her live 
 To join our kingdoms and our hearts ; and never 
 Fly off our loves again ! 
 
 Lep. Happily, amen ! 
 
 Ant. I did not think to draw my sword 
 
 'gainst Pompey; 
 
 For he hath laid strange courtesies and great 
 Of late upon me : I must thank him only, 
 
 Lest my remembrance suffer ill report;, 
 At heel of that, defy him. 
 
 Lep. Time calls upon 's : 
 
 Of us must Pompey presently be sought, 
 Or else he seeks out us. 
 
 Ant. Where lies he? 
 
 Cas. About the Mount Misenum. 
 
 Ant. What 's his strength 
 
 By land? 
 
 Cess. Great and increasing : but by sea 
 He is an absolute master. 
 
 Ant. So is the fame. 
 
 Would we had spoke together ! Haste we for it: 
 Yet, ere we put ourselves in arms, despatch we 
 The business we have talk'd of. 
 
 Cces. With most gladness ; 
 
 And do invite you to my sister's view, y ted 
 Whither straight I '11 lead you. 
 
 Ant. Let us, Lepidus, 
 
 Not lack your company. 
 
 Lep. Noble Antony, 
 
 Not sickness should detain me. 
 
 [Flourish. Exeunt CMS., ANT., and LEP. 
 
 Mec. Welcome from Egypt, sir. 
 
 Eno. Half the heart of Caesar, worthy 
 Mecaenas ! my honourable friend, Agrippa ! 
 
 Agr. Good Enobarbus ! 
 
 Mec. We have cause to be glad that matter? 
 are so well digested. You stay'd well by it in 
 Egypt. 
 
 Eno. Ay, sir; we did sleep day out of c<Jun- 
 tenance, and made the night light with drinking. 
 
 Mec. Eight wild boars roasted whole at a 
 breakfast, and but twelve persons there; is 
 this true? 
 
 Eno. This was but as a fly by an eagle : we 
 had much more monstrous matter of feasts, 
 which worthily deserved noting. 
 
 Mec. She's a most triumphant lady, if 
 report be square to her. 
 
 Eno. When she first met Mark Antony she 
 pursed up his heart, upon the river of Cydnus. 
 
 Agr. There she appeared indeed ; or my 
 reporter devised well for her. 
 
 Eno. I will tell you. 
 
 The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, 
 Burn'd on the water : the poop was beaten gold ; 
 Purple the sails, and so perfumed that 
 The winds were love-sick with them ; the oars 
 were silver, [made 
 
 Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and 
 The water which they beat to follow faster, 
 As amorous of their strokes. For her own 
 
 person, 
 
 It beggar d all description : she did lie 
 In her pavilion, cloth-of-gold of tissue,-- 
 O'er-picturing that Venus where we see 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 99 
 
 The fancy out-work nature : on each side her 
 Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids, 
 With divers-colourM fans, whose wind did 
 
 seem 
 To glow the delicate cheeks which they did 
 
 cool, 
 And what they undid did. 
 
 Agr. O, rare for Antony ! 
 
 Eno. Her gentlewomen, like the Nereids, 
 So many mermaids, tended her i' the eyes, 
 And made their bends adornings : at the helm 
 A seeming mermaid steers : the silken tackle 
 Swell with the touches of those flower-soft 
 
 hands 
 
 That yarely frame the office. From the barge 
 A strange invisible perfume hits the sense 
 Of the adjacent wharfs. The city cast 
 Her people out upon her ; and Antony, 
 Enthron'd i' the market-place, did sit alone, 
 Whistling to the air ; which, but for vacancy, 
 Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too, 
 And made a gap in nature. 
 
 Agr. Rare Egyptian ! 
 
 Eno. Upon her landing, Antony sent to her, 
 Invited her to supper: she replied 
 It should be better he became her guest ; 
 Which she entreated : our courteous Antony 
 Whom ne'er the word of No woman heard 
 
 speak, 
 Being barber'd ten times o'er, goes to the 
 
 feast, 
 
 And, for his ordinary, pays his heart 
 For what his eyes eat only. 
 
 Agr. Royal wench ! 
 
 She made great Caesar lay his sword to bed : 
 He plough'd her, and she cropp'd. 
 
 Eno. I saw her once 
 
 Hop forty paces through the public street ; 
 And having lost her breath, she spoke and 
 
 panted, 
 
 That she did make defect perfection, 
 And, breathless, power breathe forth. 
 
 Mec. Now Antony must leave her utterly. 
 
 Eno. Never ; he will not : 
 Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale 
 Her infinite variety: other women cloy 
 The appetites they feed ; but she makes hungry 
 Where most she satisfies : for vilest things 
 Become themselves in her ; that the holy priests 
 Bless her when she is riggish. 
 
 Mec* If beauty, wisdom, modesty, can settle 
 The heart of Antony, Octavia is 
 A blessed lottery to him. 
 
 Agr. Let us go.t- 
 
 Good Encbarbus. make yourself my guest 
 Whilst you abide here. 
 
 Eno. Humbly, sir, I thank you. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. ROME. A Room in OESAR'S 
 House. 
 
 Enter CESAR, ANTONY, OCTAVIA between 
 them, and Attendants. 
 
 Ant. The world and my great office will 
 
 sometimes 
 Divide me from your bosom. 
 
 Octa. All which time 
 
 Before the gods my knee shall bow my prayers 
 To them for you. 
 
 Ant. Good-night, sir. My Octavia, 
 
 Read not my blemishes in the world's report : 
 I have not kept my square ; but that to come 
 Shall all be done by the rule. Good-night, 
 dear lady. 
 
 Octa. Good-night, sir. 
 
 Cces. Good-night [Exeunt CES. and OCTA. 
 
 Enter Soothsayer. 
 
 Ant. Now, sirrah, you do wish yourself in 
 Egypt ? [nor you 
 
 Sooth. Would I had never come from thence, 
 Thither I 
 
 Ant. If you can, your reason ? 
 
 Sooth. I see it in 
 
 My motion, have it not in my tongue : but yet 
 Hie you to Egypt again. 
 
 Ant. Say to me, [mine ? 
 
 Whose fortunes shall rise higher, Caesar's 01 
 
 Sooth. Caesar's 
 
 Therefore, O Antony, stay not by his side : 
 Thydemon, that 's thy spirit which keeps thee, is 
 Noble, courageous, high, unmatchable, 
 Where Caesar's is not ; but near him thy angel 
 Becomes afear'd, as being o'erpower'd : therefore 
 Make space enough between you. 
 
 Ant. Speak this no more. 
 
 Sooth. To none but thee ; no more but when 
 
 to thee. 
 
 If thou dost play with him at any game, 
 Thou art sure to lose ; and of that natural luck 
 He beats thee 'gainst the odds : thy lustre 
 
 thickens 
 
 When he shines by : I say again, thy spirit 
 Is all afraid to govern thee near him ; 
 But, he away, 'tis noble. 
 
 Ant. Get thee gone : 
 
 Say to Ventidius I would speak with him : 
 
 [Exit Soothsayer 
 
 He shall to Parthia. Be it art or hap, 
 He hath spoken true : the very dice obey him ; 
 And in our sports my better cunning faints 
 Under his chance : if we draw lots he speeds 5 
 His cocks do win the battle still of mine, 
 When it is all to naught ; and his quails ever 
 
goo 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 [ACT n. 
 
 Beat mine, inhoop'd, at odds. I will to Egypt : 
 And though I make this marriage for my peace, 
 I' the east my pleasure lies. 
 
 Enter VENTIDIUS. 
 
 O, come, Ventidius, 
 
 You must to Parthia : your commission's ready ; 
 Follow me and receive it. \Exetint. 
 
 SCENE IV. ROME. A Street. 
 Enter LEPIDUS, MEC^ENAS, and AGRIPPA. 
 
 Lep. Trouble yourselves no further : pray 
 
 you, hasten 
 Your generals after. 
 
 Agr. Sir, Mark Antony 
 
 Win e'en but kiss Octavia, and we '11 follow. 
 
 Lep. Till I shall see you in your soldier's dress, 
 Which will become you both, farewell. 
 
 Mec. We shall, 
 
 As I conceive the journey, be at the mount 
 Before you, Lepidus, 
 
 Lep. Your way is shorter ; 
 
 My purposes do draw me much about : 
 You '11 win two days upon me. 
 
 Mec. and Agr. Sir, good success ! 
 
 Lep. Farewell. {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. ALEXANDRIA. A Room in the 
 Palace. 
 
 , CHARMIAN, IRAS, ALEXAS, 
 and Attendants. 
 
 Cleo. Give me some music, music, moody 
 
 food 
 Of us that trade in love. 
 
 Attend. The music, ho ! 
 
 Enter MARDIAN, 
 
 Cleo. Let it alone ; let 's to billiards : 
 Come, Charmian. 
 
 Char. My arm is sore ; best play with Mardian. 
 
 Cleo. As well a woman with an eunuch play'd 
 As with a woman. Come, you '11 play with me, 
 sir? 
 
 Mar. As well as I can, madam. 
 
 Cleo. And when good- will is show'd, though 't 
 
 come too short, 
 
 The actor may plead pardon. I '11 none nqw : 
 Give me mine angle, we '11 to the river : there, 
 My music playing far off, I will betray 
 Tawny-finn d fi shes ; my bended hook shall pierce 
 Their slimy jaws ; and as I draw them up 
 I '11 think them every one an Antony, 
 And say, Ah ha / you* re caught. 
 
 Char. 'Twas merry when 
 
 You wager'd on your angling ; when your diver 
 
 Did hang a salt fish on his hook, which he 
 With fervency drew up. 
 
 Cleo. That time, O times !-^ 
 
 I laugh'd him out of patience ; and that night 
 I laugh'd him into patience : and next morn, 
 Ere the ninth hour, I drunk him to his bed ; 
 Then put my tires and mantles on him, whilst 
 I wore his sword Philippan. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 O ! from Italy ! 
 
 Ram thou thy fruitful tidings in mine ears, 
 That long time have been barren. 
 
 Mess. Madam, madam, 
 
 Cleo. Antony 's dead ! 
 
 If thou say so, villain, thou kill'st thy mistress . 
 But well and free, 
 
 If thou so yield him, there is gold, and here 
 My bluest veins to kiss, a hand that kings 
 Have lipp'd, and trembled kissing. 
 
 Mess. First, madam, he 's well. 
 
 Cleo. Why, there 's more gold. But, sirrah, 
 
 mark, we use 
 
 To say the dead are well : bring it to that, 
 The geld I give thee will I melt and pour 
 Down thy ill -uttering throat. 
 
 Mess. Good madam, hear me. 
 
 Cleo. Well, go to, I will ; 
 
 But there 's no goodness in thy face : if Antony 
 Be free and healthful, why so tart a favour 
 Tc trumpet such good tidings ! If not well, 
 Thou shouldst come like a fury crowu'd with 
 
 snakes, 
 Not like a formal man. 
 
 Mess. Will 't please you hear me? 
 
 Cleo. I have a mind to strike thee ere thou 
 
 speak'st : 
 
 Yet, if thou say Antony lives, is well, 
 Or friends with Caesar, or not captive to him, 
 I '11 set thee in a shower of gold, and hail 
 Rich pearls upon thee. 
 
 Mess. Madam, he 's well. 
 
 Cleo. Well said. 
 
 Mess. And friends with Caesar. 
 
 Cleo. Thou 'rt an honest man. 
 
 Mess. Caesar and be are greater friends than 
 ever.^i*^!;! 
 
 Cleo. Make thee a fortune from me. 
 
 Mess. But yet, madam, 
 
 Cleo. I do not like but yet, it does allay 
 The good precedence ; fie upon but yet ! 
 But yet is as a gaoler to bring forth 
 Some monstrous malefactor. Pr'ythee, friend, 
 Pour out the pack of matter to mine ear, 
 The good and bad together : he 's friends with 
 Caesar ; [free. 
 
 In state of health, thou say'st ; and, thou say'st, 
 
SCENE V.] 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 901 
 
 Mess. Free, madam! no; I made no such 
 
 report : 
 He 's bound unto Octavia. 
 
 Cleo. For what good turn ? 
 
 Mess. For the best turn i' the bed. 
 Cleo. I am pale, Charmian. 
 
 Mess. Madam, he 's married to Octavia. 
 Cleo. The most infectious pestilence upon 
 thee ! [Strikes him down. 
 
 Mess. Good madam, patience. 
 Cleo. What say you ? Hence, 
 
 [Strikes hint again. 
 
 Horrible villain ! or I '11 spurn thine eyes 
 Like balls before me; I '11 unhair thy head : 
 
 [She hales him up and down. 
 Thou shalt be whipp'd with wire and stew'd in 
 
 brine, 
 Smarting in ling'ring pickle. 
 
 Mess. Gracious madam, 
 
 I that do bring the news made not the match. 
 Cleo. Say 'tis not so, a province I will give 
 thee, [hadst 
 
 And make thy fortunes proud : the blow thou 
 Shall make thy peace for moving me to rage ; 
 And I will boot thee with what gift beside 
 Thy modesty can beg. 
 
 Mess. He 's married, madam. 
 
 Cleo. Rogue, thou hast liv'd too long. 
 
 [Draws a dagger. 
 
 Mess. Nay, then I '11 run. 
 
 What mean you, madam? I have made no 
 
 fault. [Exit. 
 
 Char. Good madam, keep yourself within 
 
 yourself: 
 The man is innocent. 
 
 Cleo. Some innocents scape not the thunder- 
 bolt. 
 
 Melt Egypt into Nile ! and kindly creatures 
 Turn all to serpents ! Call the slave again : 
 Though I am mad, I will not bite him : call. 
 Char. He is afear'd to come. 
 Cleo. I will not hurt him. 
 
 [Exit CHARMIAN. 
 
 These hands do lack nobility, that they strike 
 A meaner than myself ; since I myself 
 Have given myself the cause. 
 
 Re-enter CHARMIAN and Messenger. 
 
 Come hither, sir. 
 
 Though it be honest, it is never good 
 To bring bad news : give to a gracious message 
 An host of tongues ; but let ill tidings tell 
 Themselves when they be felt. 
 
 Mess. I have done my duty. 
 
 Cleo. Is he married ? 
 I cannot hate thee worser than I do 
 If thou again say Yes. 
 
 Mess. He is married, madam. 
 
 Cleo. The gods confound thee 1 dost thou hold 
 
 there still I 
 
 Mess. Should I lie, madam ? 
 Cleo. O, I would thou didst, 
 
 So half my Egypt were submerg'd, and made 
 A cistern for scal'd snakes ! Go, get thee hence : 
 Hadst thou Narcissus in thy face, to me 
 Thou wouldst appear most ugly. He is married ? 
 Mess. I crave your hignness 3 pardon. 
 Cleo. He is married ? 
 
 Mess, Take no offence that I would not 
 
 offend you : 
 
 To punish me for what you make me do 
 
 Seems much unequal : he is married to Octavia. 
 
 Cleo. O that his fault should make a knave of 
 
 thee, [hence : 
 
 Thou art not what thou 'rt sure of ! Get thee 
 
 The merchandise which thou hast brought from 
 
 Rome [hand, 
 
 Are all too dear for me: lie they upon thy 
 
 And be undone by 3 em ! [Exit Messenger. 
 
 Char. Good your highness, patience. 
 
 Cleo. In praising Antony I have disprais*d 
 
 Caesar. 
 
 Char. Many times, madam. 
 Cleo. I am paid for \ now. 
 
 Lead me from hence ; 
 
 I faint : O Iras, Charmian ! 'tis no matter. 
 Go to the fellow, good Alexas ; bid him 
 Report the feature of Octavia, her years, 
 Her inclination, let him not leave out 
 The colour of her hair : bring me word quickly. 
 [Exit ALEXAS. 
 
 Let him for ever go: let him not Charmian, 
 Though he be painted one way like a Gorgon, 
 T' other way he 's a Mars. Bid you Alexas 
 
 [To MARDIAN. 
 Bring me word how tall she is. Pity me, 
 
 Charmian, 
 
 But do not speak to me. Lead me to my 
 chamber. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI. Near Misenum. 
 
 Flourish. Enter POMPEY and MENAS at one 
 side, with drum and trumpet ; at the other, 
 CESAR, /NTONY, LEPIDUS, ENOBARBUS, 
 MEC^ENAS, with Soldiers marching. 
 
 Pom. Your hostages I have, so have you mine ; 
 And we shall talk before we fight. 
 
 Cces. Most meet 
 
 That first we come to words ; and therefore have 
 
 we 
 
 Our written purposes before us sent ; 
 Which, if thou hast considerM, let us know 
 If 'twill tie up thy discontented sword, 
 
902 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 [ACT II. 
 
 And carry back to Sicily much tall youth 
 That else must perish here. 
 
 Pom. To you all three, 
 
 The senators alone of this great world, 
 Chief factors for the gods, I do not know 
 Wherefore my father should revengers want, 
 Having a son and friends ; since Julius Csesar, 
 Who at Philippi the good Brutus ghosted, 
 There saw you labouring for him. What was 't 
 That mov'd pale Cassius to conspire ; and what 
 Made the all-honour'd, honest Roman, Brutus, 
 With the arm'd rest, courtiers of beauteous 
 
 freedom, 
 
 To drench the Capitol, but that they would 
 Have one man but a man? And that is it 
 Hath made me rig my navy ; at whose burden 
 The anger'd ocean foams ; with which I meant 
 To scourge the ingratitude that despiteful Rome 
 Cast on my noble father. 
 
 Cess. Take your time. 
 
 Ant. Thou canst not fear us, Pompey, with 
 
 thy sails ; 
 We'll speak with thee at sea: at land thou 
 
 know'st 
 How much we do o ? er-count thee. 
 
 Pom. At land, indeed, 
 
 Thou dost o'er-count me of my father's house : 
 But, since the cuckoo builds not for himself, 
 Remain in 't as thou mayst. 
 
 Lep. Be pleas'd to tell us, 
 
 For this is from the present, how you take 
 The offers we have sent you. 
 
 Cess. There 's the point. 
 
 Ant. Which do not be entreated to, but weigh 
 What it is worth embrac'd. 
 
 Cess. And what may follow, 
 
 To try a larger fortune. 
 
 Pom. You have made me offer 
 
 Of Sicily, Sardinia ; and I must 
 Rid all the sea of pirates ; then to send 
 Measures of wheat to Rome ; this 'greed upon, 
 To part with unhack'd edges, and bear back 
 Our targes undinted. 
 
 Cas. , Ant. , and Lep. That 's our offer. 
 
 Pom. Know, then, 
 
 I came before you here a man prepar'd 
 To take this offer : but Mark Antony 
 Put me to some impatience : though I lose 
 The praise of it by telling, you must know, 
 When Caesar and your brother were at blows, 
 Your mother came to Sicily, and did find 
 Her welcome friendly. 
 
 Ant. I have heard it, Pompey ; 
 
 And am well studied for a liberal thanks 
 Which I do owe you. 
 
 Pom. Let me have your hand : 
 
 I did not think, sir, to have met you here. 
 
 Ant. The beds i' the east are soft; and, 
 thanks to you, [hither ; 
 
 That call'd me, timelier than my purpose, 
 For I have gain'd by it. 
 
 C<zs. Since I saw you last 
 
 There is a change upon you. 
 
 Pom. Well, I know not 
 
 What counts harsh fortune casts upon my face \ 
 But in my bosom shall she never come 
 To make my heart her vassal. 
 
 Lep. Well met here. 
 
 Pom. I hope so, Lepidus. Thus we are 
 
 agreed : 
 
 I crave our composition may be written, 
 And seal'd between us. 
 
 Cas. That 's the next to do. 
 
 Pom. We'll feast each other ere we part; 
 
 and let 's 
 Draw lots who shall begin. 
 
 Ant. That will I, Pompey. 
 
 Pom. No, Antony, take the lot : but, first 
 Or last, your fine Egyptian cookery [Csesar 
 Shall have the fame. I have heard that Julius 
 Grew fat with feasting there. 
 
 Ant. You have heard much. 
 
 Pom. I have fair meanings, sir. 
 
 Ant. And fair words to them. 
 
 Pom. Then so much have I heard : 
 And I have heard Apollodorus carried, 
 
 Eno. No more of that: he did so. 
 
 Pom. What, I pray you? 
 
 Eno. A certain queen to Csesar in a mattress. 
 
 Pom. I know thee now: how far'st thou, 
 soldier? 
 
 Eno. Well-, 
 
 And well am like to do ; for I perceive 
 Four feasts are toward. 
 
 Pom. Let me shake thy hand ; 
 
 I never hated thee : I have seen thee fight, 
 When I have envied thy behaviour. 
 
 Eno. Sir, 
 
 I never lov'd you much ; but I ha' prais'd ye, 
 When you have well deserv'd ten times as much 
 As I have said you did. 
 
 Pom. Enjoy thy plainness, 
 
 It nothing ill becomes thee. 
 Aboard my galley I invite you all : 
 Will you lead, lords? 
 
 Cces. , Ant. , and Lep. Show us the way, sir. 
 
 Pom. Come. 
 
 {Exeunt all but MEN. and ENO. 
 
 Men. {Aside.'} Thy father, Pompey, would 
 ne'er have made this treaty. You and I have 
 known, sir. 
 
 Eno. At sea, I think. 
 
 Men. We have, sir. 
 
 Eno. You have done well by water. 
 
SCENE VI. j 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 903 
 
 Men. And you by land. 
 
 Eno. I will praise any man that will praise 
 me ; though it cannot be denied what I have 
 done by land. 
 
 Men. Nor what I have done by water. 
 
 Eno. Yes, something you can deny for your 
 own safety: you have been a great thief by 
 sea. 
 
 Men. And you by land. 
 
 Eno. There I deny my land service. But give 
 me your hand, Menas : if our eyes had authority, 
 here they might take two thieves kissing. 
 
 Men. All men's faces are true, whatsoe'er 
 their hands are. 
 
 Eno. But there is never a fair woman has a 
 true face. 
 
 Men. No slander ; they steal hearts. 
 
 Eno. We came hither to fight with you. 
 
 Men. For my part, I am sorry it is turned to 
 a drinking. Pompey doth this day laugh away 
 his fortune. 
 
 Eno. If he do, sure, he cannot weep it back 
 again. 
 
 Men. You have said, sir. We looked not 
 for Mark Antony here : pray you, is he married 
 to Cleopatra? 
 
 Eno. Caesar's sister is called Octavia. 
 
 Men. True, sir ; she was the wife of Caius 
 Marcellus. 
 
 Eno. But she is now the wife of Marcus 
 Antonius. 
 
 Men. Pray you, sir? 
 
 Eno. 'Tis true. 
 
 Men. Then is Caesar and he for ever knit to- 
 gether. 
 
 Eno. If I were bound to divine of this unity, 
 I would not prophesy so. 
 
 Men. I think the policy of that purpose made 
 more in the marriage than the love of the parties. 
 
 Eno. I think so too. But you shall find the 
 band that seems to tie their friendship together 
 will be the very strangler of their amity : Oc- 
 tavia is of a holy, cold, and still conversation. 
 
 Men. Who would not have his wife so? 
 
 Eno. Not he that himself is not so ; which is 
 Mark Antony. He will to his Egyptian dish 
 again : then shall the sighs of Octavia blow the 
 fire up in Caesar; and, as I said before, that 
 which is the strength of their amity shall 
 prove the immediate author of their variance. 
 Antony will use his affection where it is : he 
 married but his occasion here. 
 
 Men. And thus it may be. Come, sir, will 
 you aboard? I have a health for you. 
 
 Eno. I shall take it, sir : we have used our 
 throats in Egypt. 
 
 Men. Come, let 's away. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VII. On board POMPEY'S Galley , lying 
 near Misenum. 
 
 Music. Enter two or three Servants with a 
 banquet. 
 
 1 Serv. Here they'll be, man. Some o* 
 their plants are ill-rooted already; the least 
 wind i' the world will blow them down. 
 
 2 Serv. Lepidus is high-coloured. 
 
 1 Serv. They have made him drink alms-drink. 
 
 2 Serv. As they pinch one another by the 
 disposition, he cries out, no more; reconciles 
 them to his entreaty and himself to the drinK. 
 
 1 Serv. But it raises the greater war between 
 him and his discretion. 
 
 2 Serv. Why, this it is to have a name in 
 great men's fellowship: I had as lief have a 
 reed that will do me no service as a partizan I 
 could not heave. 
 
 I Serv. To be called into a huge sphere, and 
 not to be seen to move in 't, are the holes where 
 eyes should be, which pitifully disaster the 
 cheeks. 
 
 A senntt sounded. Enter CESAR, ANTONY, 
 LEPIDUS, POMPEY, AGRIPPA, MEC^ENAS, 
 ENOBARBUS, MENAS, with other Captains. 
 
 Ant. [To OESAR.] Thus do they, sir: they 
 
 take the flow o' the Nile 
 By certain scales i' the pyramid ; they know, 
 By the height, the lowness, or the mean, if 
 
 dearth 
 
 Or foison follow : the higher Nilus swells 
 The more it promises : as it ebbs, the seedsman 
 Upon the slime and ooze scatters his grain, 
 And shortly comes to harvest. 
 
 Lep. You 've strange serpents there. 
 
 Ant. Ay, Lepidus. 
 
 Lep. Your serpent of Egypt is bred now of 
 your mud by the operation of your sun : so is 
 your crocodile. 
 
 Ant. They are so. [Lepidus ! 
 
 Pom. Sit, and some wine! A health to 
 
 Lep. I am not so well as I should be, but 
 I '11 ne'er out. 
 
 Eno. Not till you have slept; I fear me 
 you '11 be in till then. 
 
 Lep. Nay, certainly, I have heard the 
 Ptolemies' pyramises are very goodly things; 
 without contradiction, I have heard that 
 
 Men. [Aside to POM.] Pompey, a word. 
 
 Pom. [Aside to MEN.] Say in mine ear: what 
 is't? 
 
 Men. [Aside to POM.] Forsake thy seat, I do 
 
 beseech thee, captain, 
 And hear me speak a word. 
 
904 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 [ACT II. 
 
 Pom. [Aside fo MEN.] Forbear me till 
 
 anon. 
 This wine for Lepidus ! 
 
 Lep. What manner o' thing is your crocodile? 
 
 Ant. It is shaped, sir, like itself; and it is as 
 broad as it hath breadth: it is just so high as it 
 is, and moves with its own organs : it lives by 
 that which nourisheth it; and, the elements 
 once out of it, it transmigrates. 
 
 Lep. What colour is it of? 
 
 Ant. Of its own colour too. 
 
 Lep. 'Tis a strange serpent. 
 
 Ant. 'Tis so. And the tears of it are wet. 
 
 Cess. Will this description satisfy him? 
 
 Ant. With the health that Pompey gives 
 him, else he is a very epicure. 
 
 Pom. [Aside to MEN.] Go, hang, sir, hang! 
 
 Tell me of that? away ! 
 Do as I bid you. Where 's this cup I call'd for? 
 
 Men. [Aside to POM. ] If for the sake of merit 
 
 thou wilt hear me, 
 Rise from thy stool. 
 
 Pom. [Aside to MEN.] I think thou'rt mad. 
 The matter? [Rises and walks aside. 
 
 Men. I have ever held my cap off to thy 
 fortunes. 
 
 Pom. Thou hast serv'd me with much faith. 
 
 What 's else to say? 
 Be jolly, lords. 
 
 Ant. These quicksands, Lepidus, 
 
 Keep off them, for you sink. 
 
 Men. Wilt thou be lord of all the world? 
 
 Pom. What say'st thou? 
 
 Men. Wilt thou be lord of the whole world? 
 That 's twice. 
 
 Pom. How should that be? 
 
 Men. But entertain it, and, 
 
 Although thou think me poor, I am the man 
 Will give thee all the world. 
 
 Pom. Hast thou drunk well ? 
 
 Men. No, Pompey, I have kept me from 
 
 the cup. 
 
 Thou art, if thou dar'st be, the earthly Jove : 
 Whate'er the ocean pales or sky inclips 
 Is thine, if thou wilt have 't. 
 
 Pom. Show me which way. 
 
 Men. These three world-sharers, these com- 
 petitors, 
 
 Are in thy vessel : let me cut the cable ; 
 And, when we are put off, fall to their throats : 
 All then is thine. 
 
 Pont. Ah, this thou shouldst have done, 
 And not have spoke on 't ! In me 'tis villany ; 
 In thee 't had been good service. Thou must 
 
 know 
 
 'Tis not my profit that does lead mine honour ; 
 Mine honour it. Repent that e'er thy tongue 
 
 Hath so betray'd thine act: being done un- 
 known, 
 
 I should have found it afterwards well done ; 
 But must condemn it now. Desist, and drink. 
 
 Men. [Aside.} For this 
 I '11 never follow thy pall'd fortunes more. 
 Who seeks, and will not take when once 'tis 
 
 offer'd. > 
 Shall never find it more. 
 
 Pom. This health to Lepidus ! 
 
 Ant. Bear him ashore. I '11 pledge it for him, 
 Pompey. 
 
 Eno. Here 's to thee, Menas ! 
 
 Men. Enobarbus, welcome! 
 
 Pom. Fill till the cup be hid. 
 
 Eno. There 's a strong fellow, Menas. 
 [Pointing to the Attendant who carries off\J&?. 
 
 Men. Why ? 
 
 Eno. 'A bears 
 
 The third part of the world, man ; see'st not? 
 
 Men. The third part, then, is drunk : would 
 
 it were all, 
 That it might go on wheels ! 
 
 Eno. Drink thou ; increase the reels. 
 
 Men. Come. 
 
 Porn. This is not yet an Alexandrian feast. 
 
 Ant. It ripens towards it. Strike the vessels, 
 
 hoi- 
 Here is to Caesar ! 
 
 CCBS. I could well forbear 't. 
 
 It's monstrous labour when I wash my brain 
 And it grows fouler. 
 
 Ant. Be a child o' the time. 
 
 C<zs. Possess it, I'll make answer : 
 But I had rather fast from all four days 
 Than drink so much in one. 
 
 Eno. Ha, my brave emperor ! 
 
 [To ANTONY. 
 
 Shall we dance now the Egyptian Bacchanals, 
 And celebrate our drink ? 
 
 Pom.' qi<: Let's ha't, good soldier. 
 
 Ant. Come, let 's all take hands, [sense 
 
 Till that the conquering wine hath steep'd our 
 In soft and delicate Lethe. 
 
 Eno. All take hands. 
 
 Make battery to our ears with the loud music : 
 The while I '11 place you : then the boy shall 
 
 sing; 
 
 The holding every man shall beat as loud 
 As his strong sides can volley. 
 [Music plays. ENO. places them hand in hand. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Come, thou monarch of the vine, 
 Plumpy Bacchus with pink eyne 1 
 In thy fats our cares be drown'd, 
 With thy grapes our hairs be crown'd : 
 Cup us, till the world go round, 
 Cup us, till the world go round I 
 
SCENE VII.] 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 90S 
 
 C<zs. What would you more? Pompey, 
 
 good -night. Good brother, 
 Let me request you off: our graver business 
 Frowns at this levity. Gentle lords, let 'spart; 
 You see we have burnt our cheeks : strong 
 
 Enobarb 
 
 Is weaker than the wine ; and mine own tongue 
 Splits what it speaks : the wild disguise haih 
 almost [night. 
 
 Antick'd us all. What needs more words. Good- 
 Good Antony, your hand. 
 
 Pom. I '11 try you on the shore. 
 
 Ant. And shall, sir : give 's your hand. 
 Pom. O Antony, 
 
 You have my father's house, but, what ? we 
 
 are friends. 
 Come, down into the boat. 
 
 Eno. Take heed you fall not. 
 
 [Exeunf POM., CES., ANT., and Attendants. 
 Menas, I '11 not on shore. 
 
 Men. No, to my cabin. 
 
 These drums ! these trumpets, flutes ! what ! 
 Let Neptune hear we bid a loud farewell 
 To these great fellows : sound and be hang'd, 
 sound out ! 
 
 [A flourish of 'trumpets ', with drums. 
 Eno. Hoo ! says 'a. There 's my cap. 
 Men. Hoo ! noble captain, come. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. A Plain in Syria. 
 Enter VENTIDIUS, in triumph, with SILIUS 
 and other Romans, Officers, and Soldiers; 
 the dead, body 0/TACORUS borne in front. 
 Ven. Now, darting Parthia, art thou struck ; 
 
 and now 
 
 Pleas'd fortune does of Marcus Crassus' death 
 Make me revenger. Bear the king's son's body 
 Before our army. Thy Pacorus, Orodes, 
 Pays this for Marcus Crassus. 
 
 Sil. Noble Ventidius, 
 
 Whilst yet with Parthian blood thy sword is warm 
 The fugitive Parthians follow; spur through 
 
 Media, 
 
 Mesopotamia, and the shelters whither 
 The routed fly : so thy grand captain Antony 
 Shall set thee on triumphant chariots, and 
 Put garlands on thy head. 
 
 Ven. O Silius, Silius, 
 
 I have done enough : a lower place, note well, 
 May make too great an act; for learn this, 
 
 Silius, 
 
 Better to leave undone, than by our deed 
 Acquire too high a fame when him we serve 's 
 
 away. 
 Caesar and Antony have ever won 
 
 More in their officer, than person : Sossius, 
 
 One of my place in Syria, his lieutenant, 
 
 For quick accumulation of renown, 
 
 Which he achiev'd by the minute, lost his favour. 
 
 Who does i' the wars more than his captain can 
 
 Becomes his captain's captain : and ambition, 
 
 The soldier's virtue, rather makes choice of loss 
 
 Than gain which darkens him. 
 
 I could do more to do An>.onius good, 
 
 But 'twould offend him ; and in his offence 
 
 Should my performance perish. 
 
 Sil. Thou hast, Ventidius, that 
 
 Without the which a soldier and his sword 
 Grants scarce distinction. Thou wilt write to 
 Antony ? 
 
 Ven. I '11 humbly signify what in his name, 
 That magical word of war, we have effected ; 
 How, with his banners, and his well-paid ranks, 
 The ne'er-yet-beaten horse of Parthia 
 We have jaded out o } the field. 
 
 Sil. Where is he now ? 
 
 Ven. He purposeth to Athens : whither, 
 
 with what haste 
 
 The weight we must convey with 's will permit, 
 
 We shall appear before him. On, there ; pass 
 
 along ! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. ROME. An Ante-Chamber in 
 
 CESAR'S House. 
 
 Enter AGRIPPA and ENOBARBUS, meeting. 
 Agr. What, are the brothers parted ? 
 Eno. They have despatch'd with Pompey, he 
 
 is gone ; 
 
 The other three are sealing. Octavia weeps 
 To part from Rome: Caesar is sad; and Lepidus, 
 Since Pompey's feast, as Menas says, is troubled 
 With the green sickness. 
 Agr. 'Tis a noble Lepidus. 
 
 Eno. A very fine one : O, how he loves 
 Csesar ! [Antony ! 
 
 Agr. Nay, but how dearly he adores Mark 
 Eno. Caesar ? Why he 's the Jupiter of men. 
 Agr. What 's Antony ? The god of Jupiter. 
 Eno. Speak you of Caesar? How! the 
 
 nonpareil ! 
 
 Agr. Of Antony. O thou Arabian bird ! 
 Eno. Would you praise Caesar, say Ctzsar, 
 
 go no further. 
 
 Agr. Indeed, he plied them both with ex- 
 cellent praises. [Antony : 
 Eno. But he loves Caesar best ; yet he loves 
 Hoo 1 hearts, tongues, figures, scribes, bards, 
 poets cannot [hoo ! 
 Think, speak, cast, write, sing, number, 
 His love to Antony. But as for Caesar, 
 Kneel down, kneel down, and wonder. 
 
906 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Agr. Both he loves. 
 
 Eno. They are his shards, and he their beetle. 
 
 [Trumpets inithin.~\ So, 
 This is to horse. Adieu, noble Agrippa. 
 Agr. Good fortune, worthy soldier ; and 
 
 farewell. 
 
 Enter CESAR, ANTONY, LEPIDUS, ana 
 OCTAVIA. 
 
 Ant. No further, sir. 
 
 Cces. You take from me a great part of myself; 
 Use me well in't. Sister, prove such a wife 
 As my thoughts make thee, and as my furthest 
 
 band 
 
 Shall pass on thy approof. Most noble Antony, 
 Let not the piece of virtue which is set 
 Betwixt us as the cement of our love, 
 To keep it builded, be the ram to batter 
 The fortress of it ; for better might we 
 Have lov'd without this mean if on both parts 
 This be not cherish'd. 
 
 Ant. Make me not offended 
 
 In your distrust. 
 
 Cces. I have said. 
 
 Ant. You shall not find, 
 
 Though you be therein curious, the least cause 
 For what you seem to fear : so, the gods keep 
 
 you, 
 
 And make the hearts of Romans serve your ends ! 
 We will here part. [well : 
 
 Cces. Farewell, my dearest sister, fare thee 
 The elements be kind to thee, and make 
 Thy spirits all of comfort ! Fare thee well. 
 
 Octa. My noble brother ! 
 
 Ant. The April 's in her eyes : it is love's 
 
 spring, [cheerful. 
 
 And these the showers to bring it on. Be 
 
 Octa. Sir, look well to my husband's house ; 
 and 
 
 Cats. What, 
 
 Octavia ? 
 
 Octa. I '11 tell you in your ear. 
 
 Ant. Her tongue will not obey her heart, 
 
 nor can 
 Her heart inform her tongue, the swan's down 
 
 feather, 
 
 That stands upon the swell at the full of tide, 
 And neither way inclines. 
 
 Eno. [Aside to AGRIPPA.] Will Caesar weep? 
 
 Agr. [Aside to ENO.] He has a cloud in 's face. 
 : Eno. [Aside to AGRIPPA.] He were the 
 
 worse for that, were he a horse ; 
 So is he, being a man. 
 
 Agr. [Aside to ENO.] Why, Enobarbus, 
 When Antony found Julius Caesar dead, 
 He cried almost to roaring ; and he wept 
 When at Philippi he found Brutus slain. 
 
 Eno. [Aside /0 AGRIPPA.] That year, indeed, 
 
 he was troubled with a rheum ; 
 What willingly he did confound he wail'd : 
 Believe 't till I weep too. 
 
 Cces. No, sweet Octavia, 
 
 You shall hear from me still ; the time shall not 
 Out-go my thinking on you. 
 
 Ant. Come, sir, come ; 
 
 I '11 wrestle with you in my strength of love : 
 Look, here I have you ; thus I let you go, 
 And give you to the gods. 
 
 C(zs. Adieu ; be happy ! 
 
 Lep. Let all the number of the stars give 
 
 light 
 To thy fair way ! 
 
 Cces. Farewell, farewell ! [Kisses OCTAVIA. 
 
 Ant. Farewell ! 
 
 [ Trumpets sound within. Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. ALEXANDRIA. A Room in the 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and 
 ALEXAS. 
 
 Cleo. Where is the fellow? 
 
 Alex. Half afear'd to come. 
 
 Cleo, Go to, go to. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Come hither, sir. 
 
 Alex. Good majesty, 
 
 Herod of Jewry dare not look upon you 
 But when you are well pleas'd. 
 
 Cleo. That Herod's head 
 
 I '11 have : but how ? when Antony is gone, 
 Through whom I might command it? Come 
 thou near. 
 
 Mess. Most gracious majesty, 
 
 Cleo. Didst thou behold 
 
 Octavia ? 
 
 Mess. Ay, dread queen. 
 
 Cleo. Where? 
 
 Mess. Madam, in Rome 
 
 I look'd her in the face, and saw her led 
 Between her brother and Mark Antony. 
 
 Cleo. Is she as tall as me ? 
 
 Mess. She is not, madam. 
 
 Cleo. Didst hear her speak? is she shrill 
 tongu'd or low-? 
 
 Mess. Madam, I heard her speak ; she is 
 low voic'd. [her long. 
 
 Cleo. That's not so good : he cannot like 
 
 Char. Like her ! O Isis ! 'tis impossible. 
 
 Cleo. I think so, Charmian : dull of tongue 
 
 and dwarfish ! 
 
 What majesty is in her gait ? Remember, 
 If e'er thou look'dst on majesty. 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 907 
 
 Mess. She creeps, 
 
 Her motion and her station are as one ; id HA 
 She shows a body rather than a life, 
 A statue than a breather. 
 
 Cleo. Is this certain ? 
 
 Mess. Or I have no observance. 
 
 Char. Three in Egypt 
 
 Cannot make better note. 
 
 Cleo. He 's very knowing ; 
 
 I do perceive 't : there 's nothing in her yet : 
 The fellow has good judgment. 
 
 Char. Excellent. 
 
 Cho. Guess at her years, I pr'ythee. 
 
 Mess. Madam, 
 
 She was a widow. 
 
 Cleo. Widow ! Charmian, hark ! 
 
 Mess. And I do think she 's thirty. 
 
 Cleo. Bear'st thou her face in mind? is't 
 long or round ? 
 
 Mess. Round even to faultiness. 
 
 Cleo. For the most part, too, they are foolish 
 
 that are so. 
 Her hair, what colour? 
 
 Mess. Brown, madam : and her forehead 
 As low as she would wish it. 
 
 Cleo. There 's gold for thee. 
 
 Thou must not take my former sharpness ill : 
 I will employ thee back again ; I find thee 
 Most fit for business : go make thee ready ; 
 Our letters are prepar'd. [Exit Messenger. 
 
 Char. A proper man. 
 
 Cleo. Indeed, he is so : I repent me much 
 That so I harried him. Why, methinks, by him 
 This creature 3 s no such thing. 
 
 Char. Nothing, madam. 
 
 Cleo. The man hath seen some majesty, and 
 should know. 
 
 Char. Hath he seen majesty? Isis else defend, 
 And serving you so long ! 
 
 Cleo. I have one thing more to ask him yet, 
 
 good Charmian : 
 
 But 'tis no matter ; thou shalt bring him to me 
 Where I will write. All may be well enough. 
 
 Char. I warrant you, madam. {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. ATHENS. A Room in 
 ANTONY'S House. 
 
 Enter ANTONY and OCTAVIA. 
 
 Ant. Nay, nay, Octavia, not only that, 
 That were excusable, that and thousands more 
 Of semblable import, but he hath wag'd 
 New wars 'gainst Pompey ; made his will, and 
 
 read it 
 
 To public ear : [not 
 
 Spoke scantly of me : when perforce he could 
 But pay me terms of honour, cold and sickly 
 
 He vented them ; most narrow measure lent me : 
 When the best hint was given him, he not took't, 
 Or did it from his teeth. 
 
 Octa. O my good lord, 
 
 Believe not all ; or, if you must believe, 
 Stomach not all. A more unhappy lady, 
 If this division chance, ne'er stood between, 
 Praying for both parts : 
 Sure the good gods will mock me presently 
 When I shall pray, 0, bless my lord and 
 
 husband! 
 
 Undo that prayer, by crying out as loud, 
 (9, bless my brother I Husband win, win 
 
 brother, 
 
 Prays and destroys the prayer ; no midway 
 'Twixt these extremes at all. 
 
 Ant. Gentle Octavia, 
 
 Let your best love draw to that point which 
 
 seeks 
 
 Best to preserve it : if I lose mine honour 
 I lose myself : better I were not yours 
 Than yours so branchless. But, as you re- 
 quested, [lady, 
 Yourself shall go between 's : the meantime, 
 I '11 raise the preparation of a war [haste ; 
 Shall stain your brother: make your soonest 
 So your desires are yours. 
 
 Octa. Thanks to my lord. 
 
 The Jove of power make me, most weak, most 
 
 weak, [be 
 
 Your reconciler I Wars 'twixt you twain would 
 
 As if the world should cleave, and that slain men 
 
 Should solder up the rift. shv/? r {begins, 
 
 Ant. When it appears to you where this 
 
 Turn your displeasure that way ; for our faults 
 
 Can never be so equal that your love 
 
 Can equally move with them. Provide your 
 
 going ; [cost 
 
 Choose your own company, and command what 
 
 Your heart has mind to. \Exeunt* 
 
 SCENE V. ATHENS. Another Room in 
 ANTONY'S House. 
 
 Enter ENOBARBUS and EROS, meeting. 
 
 Eno. How now, friend Eros ! 
 
 Eros. There 's strange news come, sir. 
 
 Eno. What, man? [upon Pompey. 
 
 Eros. Caesar and Lepidus have made wars 
 
 Eno. This is old : what is the success ? 
 
 Eros. Caesar, having made use of him in the 
 wars 'gainst Pompey, presently denied him 
 rivality ; would not let him partake in the glory 
 of the action : and not resting here, accuses 
 him of letters he had formerly wrote to Pom- 
 pey ; upon his own appeal seizes him : so the 
 poor third is up, till death enlarge his confine. 
 
908 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 LACT in. 
 
 Eno. Then world, thou hast a pair of chaps, 
 
 no more ; 
 
 And throw between them all the food thou hast, 
 
 They'll grind the one the other. Where's 
 
 Antony ? [spurns 
 
 Eros. He 's walking in the garden thus ; and 
 The rush that lies before him ; cries, Fool 
 
 Lepidus ! 
 
 And threats the throat of that his officer 
 That murder'd Pompey. 
 
 Eno. Our great navy 's rigg'd. 
 
 Eros. For Italy and Caesar. More, Domitius ; 
 My lord desires you presently : my news 
 I might have told hereafter. 
 
 Eno. 'Twill be naught : 
 
 But let it be. Bring me to Antony. 
 
 Eros. Come, sir. \Exeunt. 
 
 :'( J.-:J 
 
 SCENE VI. ROME. A Room in CESAR'S 
 House. 
 
 Enter CESAR, AGRIPPA, and MEC^NAS. 
 
 Cces. Contemning Rome, he has done all 
 
 this, and more, 
 
 In Alexandria : here's the manner oft : 
 I' the market-place, on a tribunal silver'd, 
 Cleopatra and himself in chairs of gold 
 Were publicly enthron'd : at the feet sr,t 
 Caesarion, whom they call my father's son, 
 And all the unlawful issue that their lust [her 
 Since then hath made between them. Unto 
 He gave the 'stablishment of Egypt ; made her 
 Of Lower Syria, Cyprus, Lydia, 
 Absolute queen. 
 
 Mec. This in the public eye ? 
 
 Cces. V the common show-place, where they 
 
 exercise. 
 
 His sons he there proclaim'd the kings of kings : 
 Great Media, Parthia, and Armenia 
 He gave to Alexander ; to Ptolemy he assign'd 
 Syria, Cilicia, and Phoenicia : she 
 In the habiliments of the goddess Isis [ence, 
 That day appear'd ; and oft before gave audi- 
 As 'tis reported, so. 
 
 Mec. Let Rome be thus 
 
 Inform'd. 
 
 Agr. Who, queasy with his insolence 
 Already, will their good thoughts call from him. 
 
 Cces. The people know it : and have now 
 
 receiv'd 
 His accusations. 
 
 Agr. Who does he accuse ? 
 
 Cces. Caesar : and that, having in Sicily 
 Sextus Pompeius spoil'd, we had not rated him 
 His part o' the isle : then does he say he lent me 
 Some shipping, unrestor'd : lastly, he frets 
 That Lepidus of the triumvirate 
 
 Should be depos'd; and, being, that we detain 
 All his revenue. 
 
 Agr. Sir, this should be answer'd. 
 
 Cces. 'Tis done already, and the messenger 
 
 gone. 
 
 I have told him Lepidus was grown too cruel ; 
 That he his high authority abus'd, 
 And did deserve his change : for what I have 
 
 conquer'd 
 
 I grant him part ; but then, in his Armenia 
 And other of his conquer'd kingdoms, I 
 Demand the like. 
 
 Mec. He '11 never yield to that. 
 
 Cces* Nor must not, then, be yielded to in this. 
 
 Enter OCTAVIA, with her Train. 
 
 Octa. Hail, Caesar, and my lord ! hail, most 
 dear Caesar ! 
 
 CCES. That ever I should call thee castaway ! 
 
 Octa. You have not call'd me so, nor have 
 you cause. [come not 
 
 Cces. Why have you stol'n upon us thus ? You 
 Like Caesar's sister : the wife of Antony 
 Should have an army for an usher, and 
 The neighs of horse to tell of her approach 
 Long ere she did appear ; the trees by the way 
 Should have borne men ; and expectation 
 
 fainted, 
 
 Longing for what it had not ; nay, the dust 
 Should have ascended to the roof of heaven, 
 Rais'd by your populous troops : but you are 
 
 come 
 
 A market-maid to Rome ; and have prevented 
 The ostentation of our love, which left unshown 
 Is often left unlov'd : we should have met you 
 By sea and land ; supplying every stage 
 With an augmented greeting. 
 
 Octa. Good my lord, 
 
 To come thus was I not constrained, but did it 
 On my free-will. My lord, Mark Antony, 
 Hearing that you prepar'd for war, acquainted 
 My grieved ear withal : whereon I begg'd 
 His pardon for return. 
 
 Cces. Which soon he granted, 
 
 Being an obstruct 'tween his lust and him. 
 
 Octa. Do not say so, my lord. 
 
 Cces. I have eyes upon him, 
 
 And his affairs come to me on the wind. 
 Where is he now ? 
 
 Octa. My lord, in Athens. 
 
 Cces. No, my most wronged sister ; Cleo- 
 patra [empire 
 Hath nodded him to her. He hath given his 
 Up to a whore ; who now are levying [bled 
 The kings o' the earth for war : he hath assem- 
 Bocchus, the king of Libya ; Archelaus 
 Of Cappadocia ; Philadelphos, king 
 
SCENE VII.] 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 909 
 
 Of Paphlagonia ; the Thracian king, Adallas ; 
 King Malchus of Arabia ; King of Pont ; 
 Herod of Jewry ; Mithridates, king 
 Of Comagene ; Polemon and Amyntas, 
 The kings of Mede and Lycaonia, with a 
 More larger list of sceptres. 
 
 Octa. Ay me, most wretched, 
 
 That have my heart parted betwixt two friends 
 That do afflict each other ! 
 
 Cas. Welcome hither : 
 
 Your letters did withhold our breaking forth, 
 Till we perceiv'd both how you were wrong led 
 And we in negligent danger. Cheer your heart : 
 Be you not troubled with the time, which drives 
 O'er your content these strong necessities ; 
 But let determin'd things to destiny 
 Hold unbewail'd their way. Welcome to Rome ; 
 Nothing more dear to me. You are abus'd 
 Beyond the mark of thought : and the high gods, 
 To do you justice, make their ministers 
 Of us and those that love you. Best of comfort ; 
 And ever welcome to us. 
 
 Agr. Welcome, lady. 
 
 Mec. Welcome, dear madam. 
 Each heart in Rome does love and pity you : 
 Only the adulterous Antony, most large 
 In his abominations, turns you off ; 
 And gives his potent regiment to a trull 
 That noises it against us. 
 
 Octa. Is it so, sir ? [you 
 
 Cas. Most certain. Sister, welcome : pray 
 Be ever known to patience : my dear'st sister ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 f*!- *b 57^o^woH - 
 
 SCENE VII. ANTONY'S Camp near the 
 Promontory of Actium. 
 
 Enter CLEOPATRA and ENOBARBUS. 
 
 Cleo. I will be even with thee, doubt it not. 
 
 Eno. But why, why, why ? [wars, 
 
 Cleo. Thou hast forspoke my being in these 
 And say'st it is not fit. 
 
 Eno. Well, is it, is it? 
 
 Cleo. If not denounc'd against us, why 
 
 should not we 
 Be there in person ? 
 
 Eno. [Aside.] Well, I could reply : 
 If we should serve with horse and mares to- 
 gether [bear 
 The horse were merely lost ; the mares would 
 A soldier and his horse. 
 
 Cleo. What is 't you say? 
 
 Eno. Your presence needs must puzzle 
 
 Antony ; [time, 
 
 Take from his heart, take from his brain, from 's 
 
 What should not then be spar'd. He is already 
 
 Traduc'd for levity : and 'tis said in Rome 
 
 That Photinus an eunuch and your maids 
 Manage this war. 
 
 Cleo. Sink Rome, and their tongues rot 
 
 That speak against us I A charge we bear i' 
 
 the war, 
 
 And, as the president of my kingdom, will 
 Appear there for a man. Speak not against it ; 
 I will not stay behind. 
 
 Eno. Nay, I have done. 
 
 Here comes the emperor. 
 
 Enter ANTONY and CANIDIUS. 
 
 Ant. Is it not strange, Canidius, 
 
 That from Tarentum and Brundusium 
 He could so quickly cut the Ionian sea, 
 And take in Toryne? You have heard on't, 
 sweet ? 
 
 Cleo. Celerity is never more admir'd 
 Than by the negligent. 
 
 Ant. A good rebuke, 
 
 Which might have well become the best of men 
 To taunt at slackness. Canidius, we 
 Will fight with him by sea. 
 
 Cleo. By sea! what else? 
 
 Can. Why will my lord do so? 
 
 Ant. For that he dares us to't. 
 
 Eno. So hath my lord dar'd him to single fight. 
 
 Can. Ay, and to wage this battle at Pharsalia, 
 Where Csesar fought with Pompey : but these 
 
 offers, 
 
 Which serve not for his vantage, he shakes off; 
 And so should you. 
 
 Eno. Your ships are not well mann'd : 
 
 Your mariners are muleteers, reapers, people 
 Ingross'd by swift impress; in Caesar's fleet 
 Are those that often have 'gainst Pompey 
 
 fought : 
 
 Their ships are yare ; yours heavy : no disgrace 
 Shall fall you for refusing him at sea, 
 Being prepar'd for land. 
 
 Ant. By sea, by sea. 
 
 Eno. Most worthy sir, you therein throw 
 
 away 
 
 The absolute soldiership you have by land ; 
 Distract your army, which doth most consist 
 Of war-mark'd footmen ; leave unexecuted 
 Your own renowned knowledge ; quite forego 
 The way which promises assurance ; and 
 Give up yourself merely to chance and hazard 
 From firm security. 
 
 Ant. I '11 fight at sea. 
 
 Cleo. I have sixty sails, Csesar none better. 
 
 Ant. Our overplus of shipping will we burn ; 
 And, with the rest full-mann'd, from the head 
 
 of Actium 
 
 Beat the approaching Csesar. But if we fail 
 We then can do 't at land. 
 
g 10 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Thy business? 
 Mess. The news is true, my lord; he is 
 
 descried ; 
 
 Caesar has taken Toryne. [possible j 
 
 Ant. Can he be there in person? 'tis im- 
 Strange that his power should be. Canidius, 
 Our nineteen legions thou shalt hold by land, 
 And our twelve thousand horse. We '11 to our 
 
 ship: 
 Away, my Thetis ! 
 
 Enter a Soldier. 
 
 How now, worthy soldier? 
 
 Sold. O noble emperor, do not fight by sea ; 
 Trust not to rotten planks : do you misdoubt 
 This sword and these my wounds? Let the 
 
 Egyptians 
 
 And the Phoenicians go a-ducking : we 
 Have used to conquer standing on the earth 
 And fighting foot to foot. 
 
 Ant. Well, well: away. 
 
 [Exeunt ANT., CLEO., arc^ENO. 
 
 Sold. By Hercules, I think I am i' the right. 
 
 Can. Soldier, thou art : but his whole action 
 
 grows 
 
 Not in the power on 't : so our leader 's led, 
 And we are women's men. 
 
 Sold. You keep by land 
 
 The legions and the horse whole, do you not? 
 
 Can. Marcus Octavius, Marcius Justeius, 
 Publicola, and Caelius are for sea : 
 But we keep whole by land. This speed of 
 
 Caesar's 
 Carries beyond belief. 
 
 Sold. While he was yet in Rome 
 
 His power went out in such distractions as 
 Beguil'd all spies. 
 
 Can. Who 's his lieutenant, hear you? 
 
 Sold. They say one Taurus. 
 
 Can. Well I know the man. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. The emperor calls Canidius. 
 
 Can. With news the time 's with labour : and 
 
 throes forth 
 Each minute some. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VIII. A Plain near Actiutn. 
 Enter C^SAR, TAURUS, Officers, and others. 
 
 Cats. Taurus, 
 Taw\ My lord? 
 
 C<zs. Strike not by land ; keep whole ; pro- 
 voke not battle 
 Till we have done at sea. Do not exceed 
 
 The prescript of this scroll : our fortune lies 
 Upon this jump. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IX. Another part of the Plain. 
 Enter ANTONY and ENOBARBUS. 
 
 Ant. Set we our squadrons on yon side o' 
 
 the hill, 
 
 In eye of Caesar's battle ; from which place 
 We may the number of the ships behold, 
 And so proceed accordingly. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE X. Another part of the Plain. 
 
 Enter CANIDIUS, marching -with his land 
 Army oneway; and TAURUS, the Lieutenant 
 of C^SAR, with his Army, the other way. 
 After their going zn, is heard the noise of a 
 sea-fight. 
 
 Alarum. Enter ENOBARBUS. 
 Eno. Naught, naught, all naught ! I can be- 
 hold no longer : 
 
 The Antoniad, the Egyptian admiral, 
 With all their sixty, fly and turn the rudder : 
 To see 't mine eyes are blasted. 
 
 Enter SCARUS. 
 
 Scar. Gods and goddesses. 
 
 All the whole synod of them ! 
 
 Eno. What's thy passion? 
 
 Scar. The greater cantle of the world is lost 
 With very ignorance ; we have kiss'd away 
 Kingdoms and provinces. 
 
 Eno. How appears the fight? 
 
 Scar. On our side like the token'd pestilence, 
 Where death is sure. Yon ribaudred nag of 
 Egypt, [fight, 
 
 Whom leprosy o'ertake! i' the midst o' the 
 When vantage like a pair of twins appear'd, 
 Both as the same, or rather ours the elder, 
 The breese upon her, like a cow in June, 
 Hoists sails and flies. 
 
 Eno. That I beheld : [not 
 
 Mine eyes did sicken at the sight, and could 
 Endure a further view. 
 
 Scar. She once being loof'd 
 
 The noble ruin of her magic, Antony, 
 Claps on hissea-wing, and, like a doting mallard, 
 Leaving the fight in height, flies after her : 
 I never saw an action of such shame ; 
 Experience, manhood, honour, ne'er before 
 Did violate so itself. 
 
 Eno. Alack, alack ! 
 
 Enter CANIDIUS. 
 
 Can. Our fortune on the sea is out of breath, 
 And sinks most lamentably. Had our general 
 
SCENE XI.] 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Been what he knew himself, it had gone well : 
 O, he has given example for our flight 
 Most grossly by his own ! 
 
 Eno. Ay, are you thereabouts? 
 Why, then, good-night indeed. 
 
 Can. Towards Peloponnesus are they fled. 
 
 Scar. 'Tis easy to 't ; and there I will attend 
 What further comes. 
 
 Can. To Caesar will I render 
 
 My legions and my horse ; six kings already 
 Show me the way of yielding. 
 
 Eno. I '11 yet follow 
 
 The wounded chance of Antony, though my 
 
 reason 
 Sits in the wind against me. \Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE XI. ALEXANDRIA. A Room in the 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter ANTONY and Attendants. 
 
 Ant. Hark ! the land bids me tread no more 
 
 upon't, [hither: 
 
 It is asham'd to bear me ! Friends, come 
 I am so lated in the world that I 
 Have lost my way for ever : I have a ship 
 Laden with gold, take that, divide it ; fly, 
 And make your peace with Caesar. 
 
 All. Fly ! not we. 
 
 Ant. I have fled myself, and have instructed 
 
 cowards [gone ; 
 
 To run and show their shoulders. Friends, be 
 I have myself resolv'd upon a course 
 Which has no need of you ; begone : 
 My treasure's in the harbour, take it. O, 
 I followed that I blush to look upon; 
 My very hairs do mutiny ; for the white 
 Reprove the brown for rashness, and they them 
 For fear and doting. Friends, be gone: you 
 
 shall 
 
 Have letters from me to some friends that will 
 Sweep your way for you. Pray you, look not 
 
 sad, 
 
 Nor make replies of loathness : take the hint 
 Which my despair proclaims ; let that be left 
 Which leaves itself : to the sea-side straightway : 
 I will possess you of that ship and treasure. 
 Leave me, I pray, a little : pray you now : 
 Nay, do so ; for, indeed, I have lost command, 
 Therefore I pray you : I '11 see you by and by. 
 
 \Sits down. 
 
 Enter CLEOPATRA, led by CHARMIAN and 
 IRAS, EROS following. 
 
 Eros. Nay, gentle madam, to him, com- 
 fort him. 
 
 Iras. Do, most dear queen. 
 Char. Do! why, what else? 
 
 Cleo. Let me sit down. O Juno ! 
 
 Ant. No, no, no, no, no. 
 
 Eros. See you here, sir? 
 
 Ant. O fie, fie, fie ! 
 
 Char. Madam, 
 
 Iras. Madam, O good empress, 
 
 Eros. Sir, sir, 
 
 Ant. Yes, my lord, yes; he at Philippi 
 
 kept 
 
 His sword e'en like a dancer ; while I struck 
 The lean and wrinkled Cassius ; and 'twas I 
 That the mad Brutus ended ; he alone 
 Dealt on lieutenantry, and no practice had 
 In the brave squares of war: yet now no 
 matter. 
 
 Cleo. Ah, stand by. 
 
 Eros. The queen, my lord, the queen. 
 
 Iras. Go to him, madam, speak to him: 
 He is unqualitied with very shame. 
 
 Cleo. Well then, sustain me : O ! 
 
 Eros. Most noble sir, arise ; the queen ap- 
 proaches : 
 Her head 3 s declin'd, and death will seize her, 
 
 but 
 Your comfort make the rescue. 
 
 Ant. I have offended reputation, 
 A most unnoble swerving. 
 
 Eros. Sir, the queen. [See 
 
 Ant. O, whither hast thou led me, Egypt? 
 How I convey my shame out of thine eyes 
 B/ looking back, what I have left behind 
 'StroyM in dishonour. 
 
 Cleo. O my lord, my lord, 
 
 Forgive my fearful sails ! I little thought 
 You would have followed. 
 
 Ant. Egypt, thou kn^w'st too well 
 
 My heart was to thy rudder tied by the strings, 
 And thou shouldst tow me after : o'er my spirit 
 Thy full supremacy thou knew'st, and that 
 Thy beck might from the bidding ot the gods 
 Command me. 
 
 Cleo. O, my pardon ! 
 
 Ant. Now I must 
 
 To the young man send humble treaties, dodge 
 And palter in the shifts of lowness ; who 
 With half the bulk o' the world play'd as 1 
 
 pleas'd, 
 
 Making and marring fortunes You did know 
 How much you were my conqueror ; and that 
 My sword, made weak by my affection, would 
 Obey it on all cause. 
 
 Cleo. Pardon, pardon! 
 
 Ant. Fall not a tear, I say ; one of them rates 
 All that is won and lost . give me a kiss ; 
 Even this repays me. We sent our school- 
 master ; 
 Is he come back? Love, I am full ol lead. 
 
912 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 [ACT III. 
 
 Some wine, within there, and our viands! 
 
 Fortune knows 
 
 We scorn her most when most she offers blows. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE XII. CESAR'S Camp in Egypt. 
 
 Enter C^SAR, DOLABELLA, THYREUS, 
 and others. 
 
 Cas. Let him appear that 's come from An- 
 tony. 
 Know you him ? 
 
 Dot. Caesar, 'tis his schoolmaster : 
 
 An argument that he is pluck'd, when hither 
 He sends so poor a pinion of his wing, 
 Which had superfluous kings for messengers 
 Not many moons gone by. 
 
 Enter EUPHRONIUS. 
 
 Cas. Approach, and speak. 
 
 Eup. Such as I am, I come from Antony : 
 I was of late as petty to his ends 
 As is the morn-dew on the myrtle leaf 
 To his grand sea. 
 
 Cas. Be 't so : declare thine office. 
 
 Eup. Lord of his fortunes he salutes thee, and 
 Requires to live in Egypt : which not granted, 
 He lessens his requests ; and to thee sues 
 To let him breathe between the heavens and 
 
 earth, 
 
 A private man in Athens : this for him. 
 Next, ^ Cleopatra does confess thy greatness; 
 Submits her to thy might ; and of thee craves 
 The circle of the Ptolemies for her heirs, 
 Now hazarded to thy grace. 
 
 Cas. For Antony, 
 
 I have no ears to his request. The queen 
 Of audience nor desire shall fail ; so she 
 From Egypt drive her all-disgraced friend, 
 Or take his life there : this if she perform 
 She shall not sue unheard. So to them both. 
 
 Eup. Fortune pursue thee ! 
 
 Cas. Bring him through the bands. 
 
 [Exit EUPHRONIUS. 
 
 T> try thy eloquence, now 'tis time : despatch ; 
 From Antony win Cleopatra: promise, 
 
 [To THYR. 
 
 And in our name, what she requires ; add more, 
 From thine invention, offers : women are not 
 In their best fortunes strong; but want will 
 
 perjure 
 The ne'er-touch' d vestal : try thy cunning, 
 
 Thyreus ; 
 
 Make thine own edict for thy pains, which we 
 Will answer as a law. 
 
 Thyr. Caesar, I go. 
 
 Cas. Observe how Antony becomes his flaw, 
 
 And what thou think'st his very action speaks 
 In every power that moves. 
 
 Thyr. Caesar, I shall. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE XIII. ALEXANDRIA. A Room in 
 the Palace. 
 
 Enter CLEOPATRA, ENOBARBUS, CHARMIAN, 
 and IRAS. 
 
 Cleo. What shall we do, Enobarbus? 
 
 Eno. Think, and die. 
 
 Cleo. Is Antony or we in fault for this ? 
 
 Eno. Antony only, that would make his will 
 Lord of his reason. What though you fled 
 From that great face of war, whose several ranges 
 Frighted each other ? why should he follow ? 
 The itch of his affection should not then 
 Have nick'd his captainship ; at such a point, 
 When half to half the world oppos'd, he being 
 The mered question : 'twas a shame no less 
 Than was his loss to course your flying flags 
 And leave his navy gazing. 
 
 Cleo. Pr'ythee, peace. 
 
 Enter ANTONY, with EUPHRONIUS. 
 
 Ant. Is that his answer ? 
 
 Eup. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Ant. The queen shall then have courtesy, so 
 
 she 
 Will yield us up, 
 
 Eup. He says so. 
 
 Ant. Let her know 't. 
 
 To the boy Caesar send this grizzled head. 
 And he will fill thy wishes to the brim 
 With principalities. 
 
 Cleo. That head, my lord ? 
 
 Ant. To him again : tell him he wears the rose 
 Of youth upon him ; from which the world 
 
 should note 
 
 Something particular : his coins, ships, legions, 
 May be a coward's ; whose ministers would 
 
 prevail 
 
 Under the service of a child as soon [fore 
 
 As i' the command of Caesar : I dare him there- 
 To lay his gay comparisons apart, 
 And answer me declin'd, sword against sword, 
 Ourselves alone. I '11 write it : follow me. 
 
 [Exeunt ANTONY and EUPHRONIUS. 
 
 Eno. Yes, like enough, high-battled Caesar 
 
 will 
 Unstate his happiness, and be stag'd to the 
 
 show 
 
 Against a sworder. I see men's judgments are 
 A parcel of their fortunes ; and things outward 
 Do draw the inward quality after them, 
 To suffer all alike. That he should dream, 
 Knowing all measures, the full Caesar will 
 
SCENE XIII.] 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 913 
 
 Answer his emptiness ! Caesar, thou hast sub- 
 
 du'd 
 His judgment too. 
 
 Enter an Attendant. 
 
 Att. A messenger from G 
 
 Cleo. What, no more ceremony? See, my 
 
 women ! [nose 
 
 Against the blown rose may they stop their 
 
 That kneel'd unto the buds. Admit him, sir. 
 
 [Exit Attendant. 
 
 Eno. [Aside.] Mine honesty and I begin to 
 
 square. 
 
 The loyalty well held to fools does make 
 Our faith mere folly : yet he that can endure 
 To follow with allegiance a fallen lord 
 Does conquer him that did his master conquer, 
 And earn a place i' the story. 
 
 Enter THYREUS. 
 
 Cleo. Caesar's will ? 
 
 Thyr. Hear it apart. 
 
 Cleo. None but friends : say boldly. 
 
 Thyr. So, haply, are they friends to Antony. 
 
 Eno. He needs as many, sir, as Caesar has ; 
 Or needs not us. If Caesar please, our master 
 Will leap to be his friend : for us, you know 
 Whose he is we are, and that is Csesar's. 
 
 Thyr. So. 
 
 Thus then, thou most renown'd : Caesar entreats 
 Not to consider in what case thou stand'st, 
 Further than he is Csesar. 
 
 Cleo. Go on : right royal. 
 
 Thyr. He knows that you embrace not Antony 
 As you did love, but as you fear'd him. 
 
 Cleo. O! [he 
 
 Thyr. The scars upon your honour, therefore, 
 Does pity, as constrained blemishes, 
 Not as deserv'd. 
 
 Cleo. He is a god, and knows 
 
 What is most right : mine honour was not yielded, 
 But conquer'd merely. 
 
 Eno. [Aside.} To be sure of that, 
 
 I will ask Antony. Sir, sir, thou art so leaky 
 That we must leave thee to thy sinking, for 
 Thy dearest quit thee. [Exit. 
 
 Thyr. Shall I say to Caesar 
 
 What you require of him ? for he partly begs 
 To be desir'd to give. It much would please him 
 That of his fortunes you should make a staff 
 To lean upon : but it would warm his spirits 
 To hear from me you had left Antony, 
 And put yourself under his shroud, who is 
 The universal landlord. 
 
 Cleo. What 's your name ? 
 
 Thyr. My name is Thyreus. 
 
 Cleo. Most kind messenger, 
 
 Say to great Caesar this : in deputation 
 I kiss his conquering hand : tell him lam prompt 
 To lay my crown at's feet, and there to kneel: 
 Tell him, from his all-obeying breath I hear 
 The doom of Egypt. 
 
 Thyr. } Tis your noblest course. 
 
 Wisdom and fortune combating together, 
 If that the former dare but what it can, 
 No chance may shake it. Give me grace to lay 
 My duty on your hand. 
 
 Cleo. Your Csesar's father 
 
 Oft, when he hath mus'd of taking kingdoms 
 
 in, 
 
 Bestow'd his lips on that unworthy place, 
 As it rain'd kisses. 
 
 Re-enter ANTONY and ENOBARBUS. 
 
 Ant. Favours, by Jove that thunders ! 
 What art thou, fellow? 
 
 Thyr. One that but performs 
 
 The bidding of the fullest man, and worthiest 
 To have command obey'd. 
 
 Eno. [Aside.] You will be whipp'd. 
 
 Ant. Approach there ! Ay, you kite ! Now, 
 gods and devils 1 [Ho I 
 
 Authority melts from me : of late, when I cried, 
 Like boys unto a muss, kings would start forth 
 And cry, Your will? Have you no ears? I am 
 Antony yet. 
 
 Enter Attendants. 
 
 Take hence this Jack and whip him. 
 
 Eno. 'Tis better playing with a lion's whelp 
 Than with an old one dying. 
 
 Ant. Moon and stars ! 
 
 Whip him. Were't twenty of the greatest tri- 
 butaries 
 
 That do acknowledge Caesar, should I find them 
 So saucy with the hand of she here, what 's 
 
 her name 
 
 Since she was Cleopatra ? Whip him, fellows, 
 Till, like a boy, you see him cringe his face, 
 And whine aloud for mercy : take him hence. 
 
 Thyr. Mark Antony,- 
 
 Ant. Tug him away : being whipp'd, 
 
 Bring him again. This Jack of Caesar's shall 
 Bear us an errand to him. 
 
 [Exeunt Attend, -with THYR. 
 You were half blasted ere I knew you. Ha ! 
 Have I my pillow let unpress'd in Rome, 
 Forborne the getting of a lawful race, 
 And by a gem of women, to be abus'd 
 By one that looks on feeders ? 
 
 Cleo. Good my lord, 
 
 Ant. You have been a boggier ever : 
 But when we in our viciousness grow hard, 
 O misery on 't ! the wise gods seal our eyes ; 
 
914 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 In our own filth drop our clear judgments ; 
 
 make us 
 
 Adore our errors ; laugh at 's, while we strut 
 To our confusion. 
 
 Cleo. O, is 't come to this ? 
 
 Ant. I found you as a morsel cold upon 
 Dead Caesar's trencher ; nay, you were a frag- 
 ment 
 
 Of Cneius Pompey's; besides what hotter hours, 
 Unregister'd in vulgar fame, you have 
 Luxuriously pick'd out : for I am sure, [be, 
 Though you can guess what temperance should 
 You know not what it is. 
 
 Cleo. . Wherefore is this ? 
 
 Ant. To let a fellow that will take rewards, 
 And say, God quit you! be familiar with 
 My playfellow, your hand ; this kingly seal 
 And plighter of high hearts ! O that I were 
 Upon the hill of Basan, to outroar 
 The horned herd ! for I have savage cause ; 
 And to proclaim it civilly were like 
 A halter'd neck which does the hangman thank 
 For being yare about him. 
 
 Re-enter Attendants with THYREUS. 
 
 Is he whipp'd ? 
 
 I Att. Soundly, my lord. 
 
 Ant. Cried he ? and begg'd he pardon ? 
 
 I Att. He did ask favour. 
 
 Ant. If that thy father live, let him repent 
 Thou wast not made his daughter; and be thou 
 
 sorry 
 
 To follow Caesar in his triumph, since 
 Thou hast been whipp'd for following him : 
 
 henceforth 
 
 The white hand of a lady fever thee, 
 Shake thou to look on't. Get thee back to 
 
 Caesar, 
 
 Tell him thy entertainment : look thou say 
 He makes me angry with him ; for he seems 
 Proud and disdainful, harping on what I am, 
 Not what he knew I was : he makes me angry ; 
 And at this time most easy 'tis to do 3 t, 
 When my good stars, that were my former guides, 
 Have empty left their orbs, and shot their fires 
 Into the abysm of hell. If he mislike 
 My speech and what is done, tell him he has 
 Hipparchus, my enfranchis'd bondman, whom 
 He may at pleasure whip, or hang, or torture, 
 As he shall like, to quit me : urge it thou : 
 Hence with thy stripes, be gone. 
 
 [Exit THYREUS. 
 
 Cleo. Have you done yet ? 
 
 Ant. Alack, our terrene moon 
 
 Is now eclips'd ; and it portends alone 
 The fall of Antony ! 
 
 Cleo. I must stay his time. 
 
 Ant. To flatter Caesar, would you mingle eyes 
 With one that ties his points ? 
 
 Cleo. Not know me yet ? 
 
 Ant. Cold-hearted toward me ? 
 
 Cleo. Ah, dear, if I be so, 
 
 From my cold heart let heaven engender hail, 
 And poison it in the source ; and the first stone 
 Drop in my neck : as it determines, so 
 Dissolve my life ! The next Caesarion smite ! 
 Till, by degrees, the memory of my womb, 
 Together with my brave Egyptians all, 
 By the discandying of this pelleted storm, 
 Lie graveless, till the flies and gnats of Nile 
 Have buried them for prey ! 
 
 Ant. I am satisfied. 
 
 Caesar sits down in Alexandria ; where 
 I will oppose his fate. Our force by land 
 Hath nobly held : our sever'd navy too 
 Have knit again, and fleet, threat'ning most 
 sea-like. [hear, lady? 
 
 Where hast thou been, my heart ? Dost thou 
 If from the field I shall return once more 
 To kiss these lips, I will appear in blood : 
 I and my sword will earn our chronicle : 
 There 's hope in 't yet 
 
 Cleo. That 's my brave lord ! 
 
 Ant. I will be treble-sinew'd, hearted, 
 
 breath'd, 
 
 And fight maliciously : for when mine hours 
 Were nice and lucky, men did ransom lives 
 Of me for jests ; but now I '11 set my teeth, 
 And send to dark ness all that stop me. Come, 
 Let 's have one other gaudy night : call to me 
 All my sad captains, fill our bowls ; once more 
 Let's mock the midnight bell. 
 
 Cleo. It is my birthday. 
 
 I had thought tc have held it poor ; but since 
 
 my lord 
 Is Antony again I will be Cleopatra. 
 
 Ant. We will yet do well. 
 
 Cleo. Call all his noble captains to my lord. 
 
 Ant. Do so ; we Ml speak to them : and to- 
 night I '11 force 
 The wine peep through their scars. Come on, 
 
 my queen ; 
 
 There 's sap in 't yet. The next time I do fight 
 I '11 make death love me ; for I will contend 
 Even with his pestilent scythe. 
 
 [Exeunt all but ENO. 
 
 Eno. Now he '11 outstare the lightning. To 
 
 be furious 
 
 Is to be frighted out of fear ; and in that mood 
 The dove will peck the estridge ; and I see still 
 A diminution in our captain's brain 
 Restores his heart : when valour preys on reason 
 It eats the sword it fights with. I will seek 
 Some way to leave him. [Exit. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 915 
 
 -' 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. CESAR'S Camp at Alexandria. 
 
 Enter CESAR reading a Utter ; AGRIPPA, 
 MEC^NAS, and others. 
 
 Cas. He calls me boy; and chides as he had 
 
 power 
 
 To beat rae out of Egypt ; my messenger 
 He hath whipp'd with rods ; dares me to per- 
 sonal combat, 
 
 Caesar to Antony : let the old ruffian know 
 I have many other ways to die ; meantime 
 Laugh at his challenge. 
 
 Mec. Caesar must think, 
 
 When one so great begins to rage, he 's hunted 
 Even to falling. Give him no breath, but now 
 Make boot of his distraction : never anger 
 Made good guard for itself. 
 
 Cces. Let our best heads 
 
 Know that to-morrow the last of many battles 
 We mean to fight. Within our files there are, 
 Of those that serv'd Mark Antony but late, 
 Enough to fetch him in. See it done : 
 And feast the army ; we have store to do 't, 
 And they have earn'd the waste. Poor Antony ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. ALEXANDRIA. A Room in the 
 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter ANTONY, CLEOPATRA, ENOBARBUS, 
 CHARMIAN, IRAS, ALEXAS, and others. 
 
 Ant. He will not fight with me, Domitius. 
 
 Eno. No. 
 
 Ant. Why should he not ? [fortune, 
 
 Eno. He thinks, being twenty tiirr.s of better 
 He is twenty men to one. 
 
 Ant. To-morrow, soldier, 
 
 By sea arid land I '11 fight : or I will live, 
 Or bathe my dying honour in the blood 
 Shall make it live again. Woo 't thou fight well? 
 
 Eno. I '11 strike, and cry, Take all. 
 
 Ant. Well said ; come on. 
 
 Call forth my household servants : let 's to-night 
 Be bounteous at our meal. 
 
 Enter Servants. 
 
 Give me thy hand, 
 
 Thou hast been rightly honest ; so hast thou ; 
 Thou, and thou, and thou ;- -you have serv'd 
 
 me well, 
 And kings have been your fellows. 
 
 Cleo. \_Aside to ENO.] What means this? 
 Eno. [Aside to CLEO.] 'Tis one of those odd 
 
 tricks which sorrow shoots 
 Out of the mind. 
 
 Ant. And thou art honest too. 
 
 I wish I could be made so many men, 
 And all of you clapp'd up together in 
 An Antony, that I might do you service 
 So good as you have done. 
 
 Serv. The gods forbid t 
 
 Ant. Well, my good fellows, wait on me to- 
 night : 
 
 Scant not my cups ; and make as much of me 
 As when mine empire was your fellow too, 
 And suffer'd my command. 
 
 Cleo. [Aside to ENO.] What does he mean? 
 
 Eno. [Aside to CLEO.] To make his followers 
 weep. 
 
 Ant. Tend me to-night ; 
 
 May be it is the period of your auty : 
 Haply you shall not see me more ; or if, 
 A mangled shadow : perchance to-morrow 
 You 'li serve another master. I look on you 
 As one that takes his leave. Mine honest 
 
 friends, 
 
 I turn you not away ; but, like a master 
 Married to your good service, stay till death : 
 Tend me to-night two hours, I ask no more, 
 And the gods yield you for 't ! 
 
 Eno. What mean you, sir, 
 
 To give them this discomfort ? Look, they weep; 
 And I, an ass, am onion-ey'd : for shame, 
 Transform us not to women. 
 
 Ant. Ho, ho, ho ! 
 
 Now the witch take me, if I meant it thus ! 
 Grace grow where those drops fall ! My 
 
 hearty friends, 
 
 You take me in too dolorous a sense ; [you 
 For I spake to you for your comfort, did desire 
 To burn this night with torches : know, my 
 
 hearts, 
 
 I hope well of to-morrow ; and will lead you 
 Where rather I '11 expect victorious life 
 Than death and honour. Let 's to supper ; 
 
 come, 
 And drown consideration. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. ALEXANDRIA. Before the Palace. 
 Enter two Soldiers to their guard. 
 
 1 Sold. Brother, good-night : to-morrow is 
 
 the day. [well. 
 
 2 Sold. It will determine one way : fare you 
 Heard you of nothing strange about the streets? 
 
 1 Sold. Nothing. What news ? [to you. 
 
 2 Sold. Belike 'tis but a rumour. Good-night 
 
 1 Sold. Well, sir, good-night. 
 
 Enter two other Soldiers. 
 
 2 Sold. Soldiers, have careful watch. 
 
 3 Sold. And you. Good -night, good-night. 
 [The first two place themselves at their posts. 
 
9i6 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 4 Sold. Here we : [ The third and fourth 
 
 take their posts.} and if to-morrow 
 Our navy thrive, I have an absolute hope 
 Our landmen will stand up. 
 
 3 Sold. 'Tis a brave arm)', 
 And full of purpose. 
 
 [Music as of hautboys under the stage. 
 
 4 Sold. Peace, what noise ? 
 
 1 Sold. List, list ! 
 
 2 Sold. Hark! 
 
 I Sold. Music i' the air. 
 
 3 Sold. Under the earth. 
 
 4 Sold. It signs well, does it not ? 
 
 3 Sold. No. 
 
 i Sold. Peace, I say ! 
 
 What should this mean ? [lov'd, 
 
 2 Sold. 'Tis the god Hercules, whom Antony 
 Now leaves him. 
 
 1 Sold. Walk ; let 's see if other watchmen 
 Do hear what we do. 
 
 [They advance to another post. 
 
 2 Sold. How now, masters ! 
 Soldiers. [Speaking together. ] How now ! 
 
 How now ! do you heai this ? 
 
 I Sold. Ay ; is 't not strange ? 
 
 3 Sold. Do you hear, masters? do you hear? 
 i Sold. Follow the noise so far as we have 
 
 quarter ; 
 Let 's see how 't will give off. 
 
 Soldiers. [Speaking together.} Content. 'Tis 
 strange. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. ALEXANDRIA. A Room in the 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter ANTONY and CLEOPATRA ; CHARMIAN, 
 IRAS, and others attending. 
 
 Ant. Eros 1 mine armour, Eros ! 
 Cleo. Sleep a little. 
 
 Anit. No, my chuck. Eros, come; mine 
 armour, Eros ! 
 
 Enter EROS with armour. 
 
 Come, good fellow, put mine iron on. 
 If fortune be not ours to-day, it is 
 Because we brave her. Come. 
 
 Cleo. Nay, I '11 help too. 
 
 What's this for? 
 
 Ant. Ah, let be, let be ! thou art 
 
 The armourer of my heart. False, false; this, 
 this. 
 
 Cleo. Sooth, la, I '11 help : thus it must be. 
 
 Ant. Well, well ; 
 
 We shall thrive now. Seest thou, my good 
 
 fellow? 
 (Io put on thy defences. 
 
 Eros. Briefly, sir. 
 
 Cleo. Is not this buckled well ? 
 
 Ant. Rarely, rarely: 
 
 He that unbuckles this, till we do please 
 To doff 't for our repose, shall hear a storm. 
 Thou fumblest, Eros ; and my queen 's a squire 
 More tight at this than thou: despatch. O 
 love, [knew'st 
 
 That thou couldst see my wars to-day, and 
 The royal occupation ! thou shouldst see 
 A workman in't. 
 
 Enter an Officer, armed. 
 
 Good-morrow to thee ; welcome : 
 Thou look'st like him that knows a warlike 
 
 charge : 
 
 To business that we love we rise betime, 
 And go to 't with delight. 
 
 Off. A thousand, sir, 
 
 Early though it be, have on their riveted trim, 
 And at the port expect you. 
 
 [Shout. Flourish of Trumpets within. 
 
 Enter other Officers and Soldiers. 
 
 2 Off. The morn is fair. Good-morrow, 
 
 general. 
 
 All. Good-morrow, general. 
 Ant. 'Tis well blown, lads : 
 
 This morning, like the spirit of a youth 
 That means to be of note, begins betimes. 
 So, so ; come, give me that : this way ; well 
 
 said. 
 
 Fare thee well, dame, whate'er becomes of me : 
 
 This is a soldier's kiss : rebukable, [Kisses her. 
 
 And worthy shameful check it were, to stand 
 
 On more mechanic compliment ; I '11 leave thee 
 
 Now, like a man of steel. You that will fight, 
 
 Follow me close ; I '11 bring you to't. Adieu. 
 
 [Exeunt ANT. , EROS, Officers, and Soldiers. 
 
 Char. Please you, retire to your chamber. 
 
 Cleo. Lead me. 
 
 He goes forth gallantly. That he and Caesar 
 
 might 
 
 Determine this great war in single fight ! 
 Then, Antony, but now Well, on. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 <&& - r refa-.Us 
 SCENE V. ANTONY'S Camp near Alexandria. 
 
 Trumpets sound within. Enter ANTONY and 
 EROS ; a Soldier meeting them. 
 
 Sold. The gods make this a happy day tc 
 
 Antony ! 
 Ant. Would thou and those thy scars had once 
 
 prevail'd 
 To make me fight at land ! 
 
 Sold. Hadst thou done so, 
 
 The kings that have revolted, and the soldier 
 
SCENE VI. J 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 917 
 
 That has this morning left thee, would have still 
 Follow'd thy heels. 
 
 Ant. Who 's gone this morning ? 
 
 Sold. Who. 
 
 One ever near thee : call for Enobarbus, 
 He shall not hear thee ; or from Caesar's camp 
 Say, I am none of thine. 
 
 Ant. What say'st thou ? 
 
 Sold. Sir, 
 
 He is with Caesar. 
 
 Eros. Sir, his chests and treasure 
 
 He has not with him. 
 
 Ant. Is he gone ? 
 
 Sold. Most certain. 
 
 Ant. Go, Eros, send his treasure after; do 
 
 it; 
 
 Detain no jot, I charge thee ; write to him, 
 I will subscribe, gentle adieus and greetings ; 
 Say that I wish he never find more cause 
 To change a master. O, my fortunes have 
 Corrupted honest men! Eros, despatch. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI. C/ESAR'S Camp before Alexandria. 
 
 Flourish. Enter CAESAR, with AGRIPPA, 
 ENOBARBUS, and others. 
 
 C<zs. Go forth, Agrippa, and begin the fight : 
 Our will is Antony be took alive ; 
 Make it so known. 
 
 Agr. Caesar, I shall. [Exit. 
 
 Cas. The time of universal peace is near : 
 Prove this a prosperous day, the three-nook'd 
 
 world 
 Shall bear the olive freely. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Antony 
 
 Is come into the field. 
 
 Cas. Go charge Agrippa 
 
 Plant those that have revolted in the van, 
 That Antony may seem to spend his fury 
 Upon himself. [Exeunt CAESAR and his Train. 
 
 Eno. Alexas did revolt ; and went to Jewry 
 On affairs of Antony ; there did persuade 
 Great Herod to incline himself to Caesar, 
 And leave his master Antony : for this pains 
 Caesar hath hang'd him. Canidius, and the rest 
 That fell away, have entertainment, but 
 No honourable trust. I have done ill; 
 Of which I do accuse myself so sorely 
 That I will joy no more. 
 
 Enter a Soldier of CESAR'S. 
 
 Sold. Enobarbus, Antony 
 
 Hath after thee sent all thy treasure, with 
 His bounty overplus: the messenger 
 
 Came on my guard, and at thy tent is now 
 Unloading of his mules. 
 
 Eno. I give it you. 
 
 Sold. Mock not, Enobarbus. 
 
 I tell you true : best you saf d the bringer 
 Out of the host ; I must attend mine office, 
 Or would have done 't myself. Your emperor 
 Continues still a Jove. [Exit. 
 
 Eno. I am alone the villain of the earth, 
 And feel I am so most. O Antony, [paid 
 Thou mine of bounty, how wouldst thou have 
 My better service, when my turpitude 
 Thou dost so crown with gold ! This blows my 
 
 heart : 
 
 If swift thought break it not, a swifter mean 
 Shall outstrike thought : but thought will do 't, 
 
 I feel. 
 
 I fight against thee ! No : I will go seek 
 Some ditch wherein to die ; the foul'st best fits 
 My latter part of life. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE VII. Field of Battle between the 
 Camps. 
 
 Alarum. Drums and trumpets. Enter 
 AGRIPPA and others. 
 
 Agr. Retire, we have engag'd ourselves too 
 
 far: 
 
 Caesar himself has work, and our oppression 
 Exceeds what we expected. [Exeunt. 
 
 Alarum. Enter ANTONY, and SCARUS 
 wounded. 
 
 Scar. O my brave emperor, this is fought 
 
 indeed ! 
 Had we done so at first, we had driven them 
 
 home 
 With clouts about their heads. 
 
 Ant. Thou bleed'st apace. 
 
 Scar. I had a wound here that was like a T, 
 But now 'tis made an H. 
 
 Ant. They do retire. 
 
 Scar. We '11 beat 'em into bench-holes : I have 
 
 yet 
 Room for six scotches more. 
 
 Enter EROS. 
 
 Eros. They are beaten, sir; and our advan- 
 tage serves 
 For a fair victory. 
 
 Scar. Let us score their backs, 
 
 And snatch 'em up, as we take hares, behind : 
 'Tis sport to maul a runner. 
 
 Ant. I will reward thee 
 
 Once for thy spritely comfort, and tenfold 
 For thy good valour. Come thee on. 
 
 Scar. I '11 halt after. [Exeunt. 
 
 
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 SCENE VIII. Under the Walls of Alexandria. 
 
 Alarum. Enter ANTONY marching; SCARUS 
 and Forces. 
 
 Ant. We have beat him to his camp. Run 
 one before, [morrow, 
 
 And let the queen know of our gests. To- 
 Before the sun shall see us, we '11 spill the blood 
 That has to-day escap'd. I thank you all ; 
 For doughty-handed are you, and have fought 
 Not as you serv'd the cause, but as 't had been 
 Each man's like mine; you have shown all 
 
 Hectors. 
 
 Enter the city, clip your wives, your friends, 
 Tell them your feats; whilst they with joyful 
 tears [kiss 
 
 Wash the congealment from your wounds, and 
 The honour'd gashes whole. Give me thy hand ; 
 
 [To SCARUS. 
 
 Enter CLEOPATRA, attended. 
 
 To this great fairy I '11 commend thy acts, 
 Make her thanks bless thee. O thou day o' 
 
 the world, [all, 
 
 Chain mine arm'd neck ; leap thou, attire and 
 Through proof of harness to my heart, and there 
 Ride on the pants triumphing. 
 
 Cleo.^ Lord of lords! 
 
 O infinite virtue, com'st thou smiling from 
 The world's great snare uncaught? 
 
 Ant. My nightingale, 
 
 We have beat them to their beds. What, girl ! 
 
 though grey [yet ha' we 
 
 Do something mingle with our younger brown ; 
 A brain that nourishes our nerves, and can 
 Get goal for goal of youth. Behold this man ; 
 Commend unto his lips thy favouring hand ; 
 Kiss it, my warrior : he hath fought to-day 
 As if a god, in hate of mankind, had 
 Destroy'd in such a shape. 
 
 Cleo. I '11 give thee, friend, 
 
 An armour all of gold ; it was a king's. 
 
 Ant. He has deserv'd it, were it carbuncled 
 Like holy Phoebus' car. Give me thy hand : 
 Through Alexandria make a jolly march ; 
 Bear our hack'd targets like the men that owe 
 
 them: 
 
 Had our great palace the capacity 
 To camp this host, we all would sup together, 
 And drink carouses to the next day's fate, 
 Which promises royal peril. Trumpeters, 
 With brazen din blast you the city's ear ; 
 Make mingle with our rattling tabourines j 
 That heaven and earth may strike their sounds 
 
 together, 
 Applauding our approach. {.Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IX. CAESAR'S Camp. 
 Sentinels at their Post. 
 
 1 Sold. If we be not reliev'd within this hour, 
 We must return to the court of guard: the 
 
 night 
 
 Is shiny ; and they say we shall embattle 
 By the second hour i' the morn. 
 
 2 Sold. This last day was 
 A shrewd one to 's. 
 
 Enter ENOBARBUS. 
 
 Eno. O, bear me witness, night. 
 
 3 Sold. What man is this? 
 
 2 Sold. Stand close and list to him. 
 Eno. Be witness to me, O thou blessed moon, 
 
 When men revolted shall upon record 
 Bear hateful memory, poor Enobarbus did 
 Before chy face repent ! 
 
 1 Sold. Enobarbus ! 
 
 3 Sold. Peace ! 
 Hark further. 
 
 Eno. O sovereign mistress of true melancholy, 
 The poisonous damp of night disponge upon 
 
 me, 
 
 That life, a very rebel to my will, 
 May^ hang no longer on me : throw my heart 
 Against the flint and hardness of my fault ; 
 Which, being dried with grief, will break to 
 
 powder, 
 
 And finish all foul thoughts. O Antony, 
 Nobler than my revolt is infamous, 
 Forgive me in thine own particular; 
 But let the world rank me in register 
 A master-leaver and a fugitive : 
 O Antony ! O Antony ! [Dies. 
 
 2 Sold. Let 's speak 
 To him. 
 
 i Sold. Let 's hear him, for the things he 
 
 speaks 
 May concern Caesar. 
 
 3 Sold. Let 's do so. But he sleeps. 
 
 1 Sold. Swoons rather ; for so bad a prayer 
 
 as his 
 Was never yet fore sleep. 
 
 2 Sold. Go we to him. 
 
 3 Sold. Awake, sir, awake ; speak to us. 
 
 2 Sold. Hear you, sir? 
 I Sold. The hand of death hath raught him. 
 
 [Drums afar off.'} Hark ! the drums 
 Do merrily wake the sleepers. Let us bear 
 
 him 
 
 To the court of guard ; he is of note : our hour 
 Is fully out. 
 
 3 Sold. Come on, then ; 
 
 He may recover yet. [Exeunt with the body. 
 
SCENE X.] 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 919 
 
 SCENE X. Ground between the two Camps. 
 
 Enter ANTONY and SCARUS, with Forces, 
 marching. 
 
 Ant. Their preparation is to-day by sea ; 
 We please them not by land. 
 
 Scar. For both, my lord. 
 
 Ant. I would they 'd fight i' the fire or i 5 the 
 
 air; 
 
 We 'd fight there too. But this it is ; our foot 
 Upon the hills adjoining to the city 
 Shall stay with us : order for sea is given ; 
 They have put forth the haven : forward now, 
 Where their appointment we may best discover, 
 And look on their endeavour. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE XL Another part of the Ground. 
 Enter C.ESAR, with his Forces, marching. 
 
 Cas. But being charg'd, we will be still by 
 
 land, 
 
 Which, as I trtke't, we shall ; for his best force 
 Is forth to man his galleys. To the vales, 
 And hold our best advantage. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE XII. Another part of the Ground. 
 Enter ANTONY and SCARUS. 
 
 Ant. Yet they're not join'd : where yond 
 
 pine does stand 
 
 I shall discover all : I '11 bring thee word 
 Straight how 'tis like to go. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scar. Swallows have built 
 
 In Cleopatra's sails their nests : the augurers 
 Say they know not, they cannot tell; look 
 
 grimly, 
 
 And dare not speak their knowledge. Antony 
 Is valiant and dejected; and, by starts, 
 His fretted fortunes give him hope and fear 
 Of what he has and has not. 
 
 [Alarum afar off y as at a sea-fight. 
 
 Re-enter ANTONY. 
 
 Ant. All is lost ; 
 
 This foul Egyptian hath betrayed me : 
 My fleet hath yielded to the foe ; and yonder 
 They cast their caps up, and carouse together 
 Like friends long lost. Triple-turn'd whore ! 
 
 'tis thou 
 
 Hast sold me to this novice ; and my heart 
 Makes only wars on thee. Bid them all fly; 
 For when I am reveng'd upon my charm, 
 I have done all. Bid them all fly; begone. 
 
 [Exit SCARUS. 
 
 sun, thy uprise shall I see no more : 
 Fortune and Antony part here: even here 
 
 Do we shake hands.-^All come to this ! The 
 
 hearts 
 
 That spaniel'd me at heels, to whom I gave 
 Their wishes, do discandy, melt their sweets 
 On blossoming Caesar ; and this pine is bark'<3 
 That overtopp'd them all. Betray'd I am : 
 O this false soul of Egypt ! this grave charm, 
 Whose eye beck'd forth my wars and call'd them 
 
 home; 
 
 Whose bosom was my crownet, my chief end, 
 Like a right gipsy, hath, at fast and loose, 
 Beguil'd me to the very heart of loss. 
 What, Eros, Eros ! 
 
 Enter CLEOPATRA. 
 
 7T\i- 
 
 Ah, thou spell ! Avaunt ! 
 Cleo. Why is my lord enrag'd against his love ? 
 Ant. Vanish; or I shall give thee thy de- 
 serving, [thee, 
 And blemish Caesar's triumph. Let him take 
 And hoist thee up to the shouting plebeians: 
 Follow his chariot, like the greatest spot 
 Of all thy sex ; most monster-like, be shown 
 For poor'st diminutives, for doits ; and let 
 Patient Octavia plough thy visage up 
 With her prepared nails. [Exit CLEO.] 'Tis 
 
 well thou 'rt gone, 
 
 If it be well to live ; but better 'twere 
 Thou fell'st into my fury, for one death 
 Might have prevented many. Eros, ho ! 
 The shirt of Nessus is upon me: teach me, 
 Alcides, thou mine ancestor, thy rage : 
 Let me lodge Lichas on the horns o' the moon; 
 And with those hands, that grasp'd the heaviest 
 club, [die: 
 
 Subdue my worthiest self. The witch shall 
 To the young Roman boy she hath sold me, 
 
 and I fall 
 Under this plot: she dies for 't. Eros, ho ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE XIII. ALEXANDRIA. A Room in 
 the Palace. 
 
 Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and 
 MARDIAN. 
 
 Cleo. Help me, my women ! O, he is more 
 mad [saly 
 
 Than Telamon for his shield ; the boar of Thes- 
 Was never so emboss'd. 
 
 Char. To the monument ! 
 
 There lock yourself, and send him word you 
 
 are dead. 
 
 The soul and body rive not more in parting 
 Than greatness going off. 
 
 Cleo. To the monument ! 
 
 Mardian, go tell him I have slain myself; 
 
920 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Say that the last I spoke was Antony ', 
 
 And word it, pr'ythee, piteously : hence, Mar- 
 
 dian; 
 
 And bring me how he takes my death. 
 To the monument ! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE XIV. ALEXANDRIA. Another Room. 
 Enter ANTONY and EROS. 
 
 Ant. Eros, thou yet behold'st me ? 
 
 Eros. Ay, noble lord. 
 
 Ant. Sometime we see a cloud that's 
 
 dragonish ; 
 
 A vapour sometime like a bear or lion, 
 A tower'd citadel, a pendant rock, 
 A forked mountain, or blue promontory 
 With trees upon 't, that nod unto the world, 
 And mock our eyes with air : thou hast seen 
 
 these signs j 
 They are black vesper's pageants. 
 
 Eros. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Ant. That which is now a horse, even with 
 
 a thought 
 
 The rack dislimns ; and makes it indistinct, 
 As water is in water. 
 
 Eros. It does, my lord. [is 
 
 Ant. My good knave Eros, now thy captain 
 Even such a body : here I am Antony ; 
 Yet cannot hold this visible shape, my knave. 
 I made these wars for Egypt ; and the queen, 
 Whose heart I thought I had, for she had mine ; 
 Which, whilst it was mine, had annex'd unto 't 
 A million more now lost, she, Eros, has 
 Pack'd cards with Caesar, and false-play'd my 
 
 glory 
 
 Unto an enemy's triumph. 
 Nay, weep not, gentle Eros ; there is left us 
 Ourselves to end ourselves. 
 
 Enter MARDIAN. 
 
 O, thy vile lady ! 
 She has robb'd me of my sword. 
 
 Mar. No, Antony ; 
 
 My mistress lov'd thee, and her fortunes mingled 
 With thine entirely. 
 
 Ant. Hence, saucy eunuch ; peace ! 
 
 She hath betray'd me, and shall die the death. 
 
 Mar. Death of one person can be paid but 
 once, [do 
 
 And that she has discharg'd : what thou wouldst 
 Is done unto thy hand : the last she spake 
 Was, Antony I most noble Antony ! 
 Then in the midst a tearing groan did break 
 The name of Antony ; it was divided 
 Between her heart and lips : she render'd life, 
 Thy name so buried in her. 
 
 Ant. Dead then? 
 
 Mar. Dead. 
 
 Ant. Unarm, Eros; the long day's task is 
 done, [safe 
 
 And we must sleep. That thou depart'st hence 
 Does pay thy labour richly ; go. 
 
 [Exit MARDIAN. 
 Off, pluck off; 
 
 The sevenfold shield of Ajax cannot keep 
 The battery from my heart. O, cleave, my sides ! 
 Heart, once be stronger than thy continent, 
 Crack thy frail case ! Apace, Eros, apace. 
 No more a soldier. Bruised pieces, go ; 
 You have been nobly borne. From me awhile. 
 
 [Exit EROS. 
 
 I will o'ertake thee, Cleopatra, and 
 Weep for my pardon. So it must be, for now 
 All length is torture. Since the torch is out, 
 Lie down, and stray no further : now all labour 
 Mars what it does ; yea, very force entangles 
 Itself withstrength: seal then, and all is done. 
 Eros ! I come, my queen. Eros ! stay for 
 me : [hand, 
 
 Where souls do couch on flowers, we '11 hand in 
 And with our sprightly port make the ghosts 
 
 gaze: 
 
 Dido and her ^Eneas shall want troops, 
 And all the haunt be ours. Come, Eros, Eros! 
 
 Re-enter EROS. 
 
 Eros. What would my lord ? 
 Ant. Since Cleopatra died, 
 
 I have liv'tj in such dishonour that the gods 
 Detest my baseness. I, that with my sword 
 Quarter'd the world, and o'er green Neptune's 
 
 back 
 
 With ships made cities, condemn myself to lack 
 The courage of a woman ; less noble mind 
 Than she which by her death our Csesar tells, 
 / am conqueror of myself. Thou art sworn, Eros, 
 That, when the exigent should come, which 
 
 now 
 
 Is come indeed when I should see behind me 
 The inevitable prosecution of 
 Disgrace and horror, that, on my command, 
 Thou then wouldst kill me : do 't ; the time is 
 
 come : 
 
 Thou strik'st not me, 'tis Csesiir thou defeat'st. 
 Put colour in thy cheek. 
 
 Eros. The gods withhold me ! 
 
 Shall I do that which all the Parthian darts, 
 Though enemy, lost aim, and could not ? 
 
 Ant. Eros, 
 
 Wouldst thou be window'd in great Rome, and 
 
 see 
 Thy master thus with pleach'd arms, bending 
 
 down 
 
 His corrigible neck, his face subdu'd 
 To penetrative shame ; whilst the wheel'd seat 
 
SCENE XIV.] 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 921 
 
 Of fortunate Caesar, drawn before him, branded 
 His baseness that ensu'd ? 
 
 Eros. I would not see J t. 
 
 Ant. Come, then ; for with a wound I must 
 be cur'd. [worn 
 
 Draw that thy honest sword, which thou hast 
 Most useful for thy country. 
 
 Eros. O, sir, pardon me ! 
 
 Ant. When I did make thee free, swor'st 
 
 thou not then 
 
 To do this when I bade thee ? Do it at once ; 
 Or thy precedent services, are all 
 But accidents unpurpos'd. Draw, and come. 
 
 Eros. Turn from me then that noble counten- 
 ance, 
 Wherein the worship of the whole world lies. 
 
 Ant. Lo thee ! [Turning from him. 
 
 Eros. My sword is drawn. 
 
 Ant. Then let it do at once 
 
 The thing why thou hast drawn it. 
 
 Eros. My dear master, 
 
 My captain and my emperor, let me say, 
 Before I strike this bloody stroke, farewell. 
 
 Ant. 'Tis said, man ; and farewell, [now? 
 
 Eros. Farewell, great chief. Shall I strike 
 
 Ant. Now, Eros. 
 
 Eros. Why, there then [/#//.? on his sword]: 
 
 thus do I escape the sorrow 
 Of Antony's death. [Dies. 
 
 Ant. Thrice nobler than myself ! 
 
 Thou teachest me, O valiant Eros, what [Eros 
 I should, and thou couldst not. My queen and 
 Have, by their brave instruction, got upon me 
 A nobleness on record : but I will be 
 A bridegroom in my death, and run into 't 
 As to a lover's bed. Come, then ; and, Eros, 
 Thy master dies thy scholar : to do thus 
 
 [Falling on his sword. 
 
 I learn'd of thee. How ! not dead ? not dead ? 
 The guard, ho ! O, despatch me ! 
 
 Enter DERCETAS and Guard. 
 
 1 Guard. What's the noise ? 
 Ant. I have done my work ill, friends : O, 
 
 make an end 
 Of what I have begun. 
 
 2 Guard. The stai is fallen. 
 I Guard. And time is at his period. 
 
 All. Alas, and woe 1 
 
 Ant. Let him that loves me, strike me dead. 
 
 1 Guard. Not I. 
 
 2 Guard. Nor I. 
 
 3 Guard. Nor any one. [Exeunt Guard. 
 Der. Thy death and fortunes bid thy followers 
 
 fly. {ings, 
 
 This sword but shown to Caesar, with this tid- 
 Shall enter me with him. 
 
 Enter DIOMEDES. 
 
 Dio. Where 's Antony ? 
 Der. There, Diomed, there. 
 
 Dio. Lives he ? 
 
 Wilt thou not answer, man ? 
 
 [Exit DERCETAS. 
 Ant. Art thou there, Diomed? Draw thy 
 
 sword, and give me 
 Sufficing strokes for death. 
 
 Dio. Most absolute lord, 
 
 My mistress Cleopatra sent me to thee. 
 Ant. When did she send thee ? 
 Dio. Now, my lord. 
 
 Ant. Where is she ? 
 
 Dio. Lock'd in her monument. She had a 
 
 prophesying fear 
 
 Of what hath come to pass : for when she saw, 
 Which never shall be found, you did suspect 
 She had dispos'd with Caesar, and that your rage 
 Would not be purg'd, she sent you word she 
 
 was dead ; 
 
 But, fearing since how it might work, hath sent 
 Me to proclaim the truth ; and I am come, 
 I dread, too late. 
 
 Ant. Too late, good Diomed. Call my 
 
 guard, I pr'ythee. 
 Dio. What, ho ! the emperor's guard ! The 
 
 guard, what, ho ! 
 Come, your lord calls ! 
 
 Enter some of the Guard. 
 
 Ant. Bear me, good friends, where Cleopatra 
 
 bides; 
 
 'Tis the last service that I shall command you. 
 i Guard. Woe, woe are we, sir, you may 
 
 not live to wear 
 All your true followers out. 
 All. Most heavy day ! 
 
 Ant. Nay, good my fellows, do not please 
 sharp fate [come 
 
 To grace it with your sorrows : bid that wel- 
 Which comes to punish us, and we punish it, 
 Seeming to bear it lightly. Take me up : 
 I have led you oft : carry me now, good friends, 
 And have my thanks for all. 
 
 [Exeunt, bearing ANTONY. 
 
 SCENE XV. ALEXANDRIA. A Monument. 
 
 Enter, above, CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, and 
 IRAS. 
 
 Cleo. O Charmian, I will never go from hence. 
 
 Char. Be comforted, dear madam. 
 
 Cleo. No, I will not : 
 
 All strange and terrible events are welcome, 
 But comforts we despise ; our size of sorrow, 
 
922 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Proportion'd to our cause, must be as great 
 As that which makes it. 
 
 Enter, below, DiOMEDES. 
 
 How now ! is he dead ? 
 Dio. His death 's upon him, but not dead. 
 Look out o' the other side your monument ; 
 His guard have brought him thither. 
 
 Enter, below, ANTONY, borne by the Guard. 
 
 Cleo. O sun, 
 
 Burn the great sphere thou mov'st in ! -dark- 
 ling stand 
 
 The varying shore o' the "world. O Antony, 
 Antony, Antony ! Help, Charmian ; help, 
 
 Iras, help, 
 Help, friends below ; let 's draw him hither. 
 
 Ant. Peace ! 
 
 Not Caesar's valour hath o'erthrown Antony, 
 But Antony's hath triumph'd on itself. 
 
 Cleo. So it should be, that none but Antony 
 Should conquer Antony ; but woe 'tis so ! 
 Ant. I am dying, Egypt, dying ; only 
 I here importune death awhile, until 
 Of many thousand kisses the poor last 
 I lay upon thy lips. 
 
 Cleo. I dare not, dear, 
 
 Dear my lord, pardon, I dare net, 
 Lest I be taken : not the imperious show 
 Of the full-fortun'd Caesar ever shall [have 
 Be brooch'd with me : if knife, drugs, serpents 
 Edge, sting, or operation, I am safe ; 
 Your wife Octavia, with her modest eyes 
 And still conclusion, shall acquire no honour 
 Demuring upon me. But come, come, An- 
 tony, [up ; 
 Help me, my women, we must draw thee 
 Assist, good friends. 
 
 Ant. O, quick, or I am gone. 
 
 Cleo. Here's sport indeed ! How heavy 
 
 weighs my lord ! 
 
 Our strength is all gone into heaviness, 
 That makes the weight: had I great Juno's 
 
 power, 
 The strong-wing'd Mercury should fetch thee 
 
 And set thee by Jove's side. Yet come a 
 
 little, 
 
 Wishers were ever fools, O, come, come, come; 
 
 [They draw ANTONY up. 
 
 And welcome, welcome ! die where thou hast 
 
 liv'd : 
 
 Quicken with kissing : had my lips that power, 
 Thus would I wear them out. 
 
 All. A heavy sight ! 
 
 Ant. I am dying, Egypt, dying : 
 Give me some wine, and let me speak a little. 
 
 Cleo. No, let me speak ; and let me rail sc 
 high [wheel. 
 
 That the false housewife Fortune break he* 
 Provok'd by my offence. 
 
 Ant. One word, sweet queen ? 
 
 Of Caesar seek your honour, with your safety. 
 
 Cleo. They do not go together. 
 
 Ant. Gentle, hear me : 
 
 None about Caesar trust but Proculeius. 
 
 Cleo. My resolution and my hands I '11 trust ; 
 None about Caesar. 
 
 Ant. The miserable change now at my end 
 Lament nor sorrow at : but please your thoughts 
 In feeding them with those my former fortunes 
 Wherein I liv'd, the greatest prince o' the world, 
 The noblest ; and do now not basely die, 
 Not cowardly put off my helmet to 
 My countryman, a Roman by a Roman 
 Valiantly vanquished. Now my spirit is going : 
 I can no more. 
 
 Cleo. Noblest of men, woo 't die ? 
 
 Hast thou no care of me ? shall I abide 
 In this dull world, which in thy absence is 
 No better than a sty ? O, see, my women, 
 
 [ANTONY dies. 
 
 The crown o' the earth doth melt. My lord ! 
 O, wither'd is the garland of the war, [girls 
 The soldier's pole is fallen: young boys and 
 Are level now with men : the odds is gone, 
 And there is nothing left remarkable 
 Beneath the visiting moon. [Faints. 
 
 Char. O, quietness, lady ! 
 
 Iras. She is dead too, our sovereign. 
 
 Char. Lady, 
 
 Iras. Madam, 
 
 Char. O madam, madam, madam, 
 
 Iras. Royal Egypt, 
 
 Empress, 
 
 Char. Peace, peace, Iras! [manded 
 
 Cleo. No more, but e'en a woman, and corn- 
 By such poor passion as the maid that milks 
 And does the meanest chares. It were for me 
 To throw my sceptre at the injurious gods ; 
 To tell them that this world did equal theirs 
 Till they had stol'n our j e wel. All 's but naught : 
 Patience is sottish, and impatience does 
 Become a dog that 's mad : then is it sin 
 To rush into the secret house of death 
 Ere death dare come to us? How do you, 
 women? [Charmian! 
 
 What, what! good cheer! Why, how now, 
 My noble girls ! Ah, women, women, look, 
 Our lamp is spent, it 's out ! Good sirs, take 
 heart ; [noble, 
 
 We '11 bury him ; and then, what 's brave, what 's 
 Let 's do it after the high Roman fashion, 
 
SCENE XV.] 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 923 
 
 And make death proud to take us. Come, 
 
 away: 
 
 This case of that huge spirit now is cold : 
 Ah, women, women ! Come ; we have no friend 
 But resolution, and the briefest end. 
 [Exetmt; those above bearing off ANTONY'S 
 body. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. CESAR'S Camp before Alexandria. 
 
 Enter CAESAR, AGRIPPA, DOLABELLA, ME- 
 C^NAS, GALLUS, PROCULEIUS, and others. 
 
 Cas. Go to him, Dolabella, bid him yield ; 
 Being so frustrate, tell him that he mocks 
 The pauses that he makes. 
 
 DoL Csesar, I shall. [Exit. 
 
 Enter DERCETAS with the sword of ANTONY. 
 
 Cas. Wherefore is that? and what art thou 
 
 that dar'st 
 Appear thus to us? 
 
 Der. I am call'd Dercetas ; 
 
 Mark Antony I serv'd, who best was worthy 
 Best to be serv'd : whilst he stood up and spoke, 
 He was my master ; and I wore my life 
 To spend upon his haters. If thou please 
 To take me to thee, as I was to him 
 I '11 be to Caesar ; if thou pleasest not, 
 I yield thee up my life. 
 
 Cas. What is 't thou say'st ? 
 
 Der. I say, O Caesar, Antony is dead. 
 
 Cas. The breaking of so great a thing should 
 
 make 
 
 A greater crack : the round world 
 Should have shook lions into civil streets, 
 And citizens to their dens. The death of Antony 
 Is not a single doom ; in the name lay 
 A moiety of the world. 
 
 Der. He is dead, Caesar ; 
 
 Not by a public minister of justice, 
 Nor by a hired knife ; but that self hand 
 Which writ his honour in the acts it did 
 Hath, with the courage which the heart did 
 
 lend it, 
 
 Splitted the heart. This is his sword ; 
 I robb'd his wound of it ; behold it stain'd 
 With his most noble blood. 
 
 Cas. Look you sad, friends? 
 
 The gods rebuke me, but it is tidings 
 To wash the eyes of kings. 
 
 Agr. And strange it is 
 
 That nature must compel us to lament 
 Our most persisted deeds. 
 
 Mec. His taints and honours 
 
 Weigh'd equal with him. 
 
 Agr. A rarer spirit never 
 
 Did steer humanity : but you, gods, will give us 
 
 Some faults to make us men. Caesar is touch'd. 
 
 Mec. When such a spacious mirror's set 
 
 before him, 
 He needs must see himself. 
 
 Cas. O Antony ! 
 
 I have follow'd thee to this. But we do lance 
 Diseases in our bodies : I must perforce 
 Have shown to thee such a declining day 
 Or look on thine ; we could not stall together 
 In the whole world : but yet let me lament, 
 With tears as sovereign as the blood of hearts, 
 That thou, my brother, my competitor 
 In top of all design, my mate in empire, 
 Friend and companion in the front of war, 
 The arm of mine own body, and the heart 
 Where mine his thoughts did kindle, that 
 
 our stars, 
 
 Unreconciliable, should divide 
 Our equalness to this. Hear me, good 
 
 friends, 
 But I will tell you at some meeter season : 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 The business of this man looks out of him ; 
 We '11 hear him what he says. Whence are you ? 
 
 Mess. A poor Egyptian yet. The queen my 
 
 mistress, 
 
 Confin'd in all she has, her monument, 
 Of thy intents desires instruction, 
 That she preparedly may frame herself 
 To the way she 's forc'd to. 
 
 Cas. Bid her have good heart : 
 
 She soon shall know of us, by some of ours, 
 How honourable and how kindly we 
 Determine for her ; for Caesar cannot learn 
 To be ungentle. 
 
 Mess. So the gods preserve thee ! [Exit. 
 
 Cas. Come hither, Proculeius. Go, and say 
 We purpose her no shame: give her what 
 
 comforts 
 
 The quality of her passion shall require 
 Lest, in her greatness, by some mortal stroke 
 She do defeat us; for her life in Rome 
 Would be eternal in our triumph : go, 
 And with your speediest bring us what she says, 
 And how you find of her. 
 
 Pro. Gesar, I shall. [Exit. 
 
 Cas. Gallus, go you along. [Exit GALLUS.] 
 
 Where 's Dolabella, 
 To second Proculeius? 
 
 Agr. and Mec. Dolabella! 
 
 Cas. Let him alone, for I remember now 
 How he 's employ'd : he shall in time be ready. 
 Go with me to my tent ; where you shall see 
 How hardly I was drawn into this war ; 
 How calm and gentle I proceeded still 
 
924 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 CACT v. 
 
 In all my writings: go with me, and see 
 What I can show in this. \_Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. ALEXANDRIA. A Room in the 
 Monument. 
 
 Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, and IRAS. 
 
 Cleo. My desolation does begin to make 
 A better life. 'Tis paltry to be Caesar ; 
 Not being Fortune, he 's but Fortune's knave, 
 A minister of her will : and it is great 
 To do that thing that ends all other deeds; 
 Which shackles accidents and bolts up change ; 
 Which sleeps, and never palates more the dug, 
 The beggar's nurse and Caesar's. 
 
 Enter i to the gates of the Monument, PRO- 
 
 CULEIUS, GALLUS, and Soldiers. 
 Pro. Caesar sends greeting to the Queen of 
 
 Egypt; 
 
 And bids thee study on what fair demands 
 Thou mean'st to have him grant thee. 
 
 Cleo. What 's thy name ? 
 
 Pro. My name is Proculeius. 
 Cleo. Antony 
 
 Did tell me of you, bade me trust you ; but 
 I do not greatly care to be deceiv'd, 
 That have no use for trusting. If your master 
 Would haveaqueen his beggar, you musttellhim 
 That majesty, to keep decorum, must 
 No less beg than a kingdom : if he please 
 To give me conquer'd Egypt for my son, 
 He gives me so much of mine own as I 
 Will kneel to him with thanks. 
 
 Pro. Be of good cheer ; 
 
 You are fallen into a princely hand, fear nothing: 
 Make your full reference freely to my lord, 
 Who is so full of grace that it flows over 
 On all that need : let me report to him 
 Your sweet dependency; and you shall find 
 A conqueror that will pray in aid for kindness 
 Where he for grace is kneel'd to. 
 
 Cleo. Pray you, tell him 
 
 I am his fortune's vassal, and I send him 
 The greatness he has got. I hourly learn 
 A doctrine of obedience ; and would gladly 
 Look him i' the face. 
 
 Pro. This I '11 report, dear lady. 
 
 Have comfort, for I know your plight is pitied 
 Of him that caus'd it. 
 
 Gal. You see how easily she may be surpris'd : 
 [Here PROCULEIUS and two of the Guard 
 ascend the Monument by a ladder placed 
 against a window, and, havingdescended, 
 come behind CLEOPATRA. Some of the 
 Guard unbar and open the gates. 
 Guard her till Caesar come. 
 
 [To PRO. and the Guard. Exit. 
 
 Iras. Royal queen ! 
 
 Char. O Cleopatra ! thou art taken, queen ! 
 
 Cleo. Quick, quick, good hands. 
 
 [Drawing- a dagger. 
 
 Pro. Hold, worthy lady, hold : 
 
 [Seizes and disarms her. 
 Do not yourself such wrong, who are in this 
 Reliev'd, but not betray' d. 
 
 Cleo. What, of death too, 
 
 That rids our dogs of languish? 
 
 Pro. Cleopatra, 
 
 Do not abuse my master's bounty by 
 The undoing of yourself : let the world see 
 His nobleness well acted, which your death 
 Will never let come forth. 
 
 Cleo. Where art thou, death ? 
 
 Come hither, come! come, come, and take a 
 
 queen 
 Worth many babes and beggars ! 
 
 Pro. O, temperance, lady! 
 
 Cleo. Sir, I will eat no meat, I '11 not drink, 
 
 sir; 
 
 If idle talk will once be accessary, 
 I '11 not sleep neither : this mortal house I '11 ruin, 
 Do Caesar what he can. Know, sir, that I 
 Will not wait pinion'd at your master's court ; 
 Nor once be chastis'd with the sober eye 
 Of dull Octavia. Shall they hoist me up, 
 And show me to the shouting varletry 
 Of censuring Rome? Rather a ditch in Egypt 
 Be gentle grave unto me ! rather on Nilus' mud 
 Lay me stark nak'd, and let the water-flies 
 Blow me inco abhorring ! rather make 
 My country's high pyramides my gibbet, 
 And hang me up in chains ! 
 
 Pro. You do extend 
 
 These thoughts of horror further than you shall 
 Find cause in Caesar. 
 
 Enter DOLABELLA. , 
 
 Dol. Proculeius, 
 
 What thou hast done thy master Caesar knows, 
 And he hath sent for thee: as for the queen, 
 I '11 take her to my guard. 
 
 Pro. So, Dolabella, 
 
 It shall content me best: be gentle to her. 
 To Caesar I will speak what you shall please, 
 
 [To CLEOPATRA. 
 If you '11 employ me to him. 
 
 Cleo. Say I would die. 
 
 [Exeunt PROCULEIUS and Soldiers. 
 Dol. Most noble empress, you have heard of 
 
 me? 
 
 Cleo. I cannot tell. 
 
 Dol. Assuredly you know me. 
 
 Cleo. No matter, sir, what I have heard or 
 known. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 925 
 
 Vou laugh when boys or women tell their 
 
 dreams ; 
 Is't not your trick? 
 
 Dol. I understand not, madam. 
 
 Cleo. I dream'd there was an emperor 
 
 Antony : 
 
 O, such another sleep, that I might see 
 But such another man ! 
 
 Dol. If it might please you, 
 
 Cko. His face was as the heavens ; and there- 
 in stuck 
 A sun and moon, which kept their course, and 
 
 lighted 
 The little O, the earth. 
 
 Dol. Most sovereign creature, 
 
 Cko. His legs bestrid the ocean : his rear'd 
 
 arm 
 
 Crested the world : his voice was propertied 
 As all the tuned spheres, and that to friends ; 
 But when he meant to quail and shake the orb, 
 He was as rattling thunder. For his bounty, 
 There was no winter in 't ; an autumn 'twas 
 That grew the more by reaping : his delights 
 Were dolphin-like ; they show'd his back above 
 The element they liv'd in : in his livery 
 Walk'd crowns and crownets ; realms and 
 
 islands were 
 As plates dropp'd from his pocket. 
 
 Dol. Cleopatra, 
 
 Cleo. Think you there was or might be such 
 
 a man 
 As this I dream'd of? 
 
 Dol. Gentle madam, no. 
 
 Cleo. You lie, up to the hearing of the gods. 
 But if there be, or ever were, one such, 
 It 's past the size of dreaming : nature wants 
 
 stuff 
 
 To vie strange forms with fancy : yet to imagine 
 An Antony were nature's peace 'gainst fancy, 
 Condemning shadows quite. 
 
 Dol. Hear me, good madam. 
 
 Your loss is, as yourself, great ; and you bear it 
 As answering to the weight : would I might 
 
 never 
 
 O'ertake pursu'd success, but I do feel, 
 By the rebound of yours, a grief that smites 
 My very heart at root. 
 
 Cleo. I thank you, sir. 
 
 Know you what Caesar means to do with me ? 
 
 Dol. I am loth to tell you what I would you 
 knew. 
 
 Cleo. Nay, pray you, sir, 
 
 Dol. Though he be honourable, 
 
 Cleo. He '11 lead me, then, in triumph ? 
 
 Dol. Madam, he will ; 
 
 I know it. [Flourish within* 
 
 Within. Make way there, Caesar ! 
 
 Enter OESAR, CALLUS, PROCULEIUS, 
 MEC^ENAS, SELEUCUS, and Attendants. 
 
 Cas. Which is the Queen of Egypt ? 
 
 Dol. It is the emperor, madam. 
 
 [CLEOPATRA kneels. 
 
 C<zs. Arise, you shall not kneel : 
 I pray you rise ; rise, Egypt. 
 
 Cleo. Sir, the gods 
 
 Will have it thus ; my master and my lord 
 I must obey. 
 
 Cas. Take to you no hard thoughts : 
 
 The record of what injuries you did us, 
 Though written in our flesh, we shall remember 
 As things but done by chance. 
 
 Cleo. Sole sir o' the world, 
 
 I cannot project mine own cause so well 
 To make it clear : but do confess I have 
 Been laden with like frailties which before 
 Have often sham'd our sex. 
 
 Cas. Cleopatra, know 
 
 We will extenuate rather than enforce : 
 If you apply yourself to our intents, [find 
 Which towards you are most gentle, you shall 
 A benefit in this change ; but if you seek 
 To lay on me a cruelty, by taking 
 Antony's course, you shall bereave yourself 
 Of my good purposes, and put your children 
 To that destruction which I 11 guard them from, 
 If thereon you rely. I '11 take my leave. 
 
 Cleo. And may, through all the world : 'tis 
 
 yours ; and we, 
 
 Your scutcheons and your signs of conquest, 
 
 shall [good lord. 
 
 Hang in what place you please. Here, my 
 
 Cas. You shall advise me in all for Cleopatra. 
 
 Cleo. This is the brief of money, plate, and 
 
 jewels 
 
 I am possess'd of : 'tis exactly valued ; [cus ? 
 Not petty things admitted. Where's Seleu- 
 
 Sel. Here, madam. [my lord, 
 
 Cleo. This is my" treasurer : let him speak, 
 Upon his peril, that I have reserv'd 
 To myself nothing. Speak the truth, Seleucus. 
 
 Sel. Madam, 
 
 I had rather seal my lips than to my peril 
 Speak that which is not. 
 
 Cleo. What have I kept back ? 
 
 Sel. Enough to purchase what you have 
 made known. 
 
 Cas. Nay, blush not, Cleopatra ; I approve 
 Your wisdom in the deed. 
 
 Cleo. See, Caesar ! O, behold, 
 
 How pomp is follow'd I mine will now be 
 
 yours ; [mine. 
 
 And, should we shift estates, yours would be 
 
 The ingratitude of this Seleucus does 
 
9 26 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Even make me wild : O slave, of no more trust 
 Than love that 's hir'd ! What, goest thou 
 
 back ? thou shalt 
 
 Go back, I warrant thee ; but I '11 catch thine 
 eyes [dog ! 
 
 Though they had wings ; slave, soulless villain, 
 O rarely base ! 
 
 Cces. Good queen, let us entreat you. 
 
 Cleo. O Caesar, what a wounding shame is 
 
 this, 
 
 That thou, vouchsafing here to visit me, 
 Doing the honour of thy lordliness 
 To one so meek, that mine own servant should 
 Parcel the sum of my disgraces by 
 Addition of his envy ! Say, good Caesar, 
 That I some lady trifles have reserv'd, 
 Immoment toys, things of such dignity 
 As we greet modern friends withal ; and say, 
 Some nobler token I have kept apart 
 For Livia and Octavia, to induce 
 Their mediation ; must I be unfolded 
 With one that I have bred ? The gods ! It 
 
 smites me 
 
 Beneath the fall I have. Pr'ythee, go hence ; 
 [To SELEUCUS. 
 
 Or I shall show the cinders of my spirits 
 Through the ashes of my chance. Wert thou 
 
 a man, 
 Thou wouldst have mercy upon me. 
 
 Cas. Forbear, Seleucus, 
 
 [Exit SELEUCUS. 
 
 Cleo. Be it known that we, the greatest, are 
 
 misthought 
 
 For things that others do ; and when we fall 
 We answer others' merits in our name. 
 And therefore to be pitied. 
 
 Cces. Cleopatra, 
 
 Not what you have reserv'd, nor what acknow- 
 
 ledg'd, 
 
 Put we i' the roll of conquest : still be 't yours, 
 Bestow it at your pleasure ; and believe 
 Caesar 's no merchant, to iriake prize with you 
 Of things that merchants sold. Therefore be 
 
 cheer 5 d ; 
 Make not your thoughts your prisons : no, dear 
 
 queen ; 
 
 For we intend so to dispose you as 
 Yourself shall give us counsel. Feed and sleep : 
 Our care and pity is so much upon you 
 That we remain your friend ; and so, adieu. 
 Cleo. My master and my lord ! 
 Cces. Not so. Adieu. 
 
 [Flourish. Exeunt C^SAR and his Train. 
 Cleo. He words me, girls, he words me, that 
 
 I should not 
 
 Be noble to myself : but hark thee, Charmian ! 
 [ Whispers CHARMIAN. 
 
 Iras. Finish, good lady; the bright day is 
 
 done, 
 And we are for the dark. 
 
 Cleo. Hie thee again : 
 
 I have spoke already, and it is provided ; 
 Go put it to the haste. 
 
 Char. Madam, I will. 
 
 Re-enter DOLABELLA. 
 t 
 
 DoL Where is the queen? 
 
 Char. Behold, sir. [Exit. 
 
 Cleo. Dolabella ! 
 
 Dol. Madam, as thereto sworn by your 
 
 command, 
 
 Which my love makes religion to obey, 
 I tell you this : Caesar through Syria 
 Intends his journey ; and within three days 
 You with your children will he send before : 
 Make your best use of this : I have perform'd 
 Your pleasure and my promise. 
 
 Cleo. Dolabella, 
 
 I shall remain your debtor. 
 
 Dol. I your servant. 
 
 Adieu, good queen ; I must attend on Csesar. 
 
 Cleo. Farewell, and thanks. 
 
 [Exit DOLABELLA. 
 Now, Iras, what think' st thou ? 
 Thou, an Egyptian puppet, shalt be shown 
 In Rome as well as I : mechanic slaves, 
 With greasy aprons, rules, and hammers, shall 
 Uplift us to the view ; in their thick breaths, 
 Rank of gross diet, shall we be enclouded, 
 And forc'd to drink their vapour. 
 
 Iras. The gods forbid ! 
 
 Cleo. Nay, 'tis most certain, Iras : saucy 
 lictors [rhymers 
 
 Will catch at us like strumpets; and scald 
 Ballad us out o' tune : the quick comedians 
 Extemporally will stage us, and present 
 Our Alexandrian revels ; Antony 
 Shall be brought drunken forth, and I shall see 
 Some squeaking Cleopatra boy my greatness 
 I' the posture of a whore. 
 
 Iras. O the good gods ! 
 
 Cleo. Nay, that's certain. 
 
 Iras. I '11 never see 't ; for I am sure my nails 
 Are stronger than mine eyes. 
 
 Cleo. ' Why, that 's the way 
 
 To fool their preparation and to conquer 
 Their most absurd intents. 
 
 Enter CHARMIAN. 
 
 Now, Charmian ! 
 
 Show me, my women, like a queen. Go fetch 
 My best attires ; I am again for Cydnus, 
 To meet Mark Antony : sirrah, Iras, go. 
 Now, noble Charmian, we '11 despatch indeed : 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 927 
 
 And when thou hast done this chare, I '11 give 
 thee leave [all. 
 
 To play till doomsday. Bring our crown and 
 Wherefore 's this noise ? 
 
 [Exit IRAS. A noise within. 
 
 Enter one of the Guard. 
 
 Guard. Here is a rural fellow 
 
 That will not be denied your highness' presence : 
 He brings you figs. 
 
 Cleo. Let him come in. [Exit Guard. 
 
 What poor an instrument 
 May do a noble deed ! he brings me liberty. 
 My resolution 's plac'd, and I have nothing 
 Of woman in me : now from head to foot 
 I am marble-constant ; now the fleeting moon 
 No planet is of mine. 
 
 Re-enter Guard, with Clown bringing a basket. 
 
 Guard. This is the man. 
 
 Cleo. Avoid, and leave him. [Exit Guard. 
 Hast thou the pretty worm of Nilus there 
 That kills and pains not ? 
 
 Clown. Truly, I have him : but I would not 
 be the party that should desire you to touch 
 him, for his biting is immortal ; those that do 
 die of it do seldom or never recover. [on 't ? 
 
 Cleo. Remember'st thou any that have died 
 
 Clown. Very many, men and women too. 
 I heard of one of them no longer than yester- 
 day : a very honest woman, but something 
 given to lie ; as a woman should not do but in 
 the way of honesty : how she died of the biting 
 of it, what pain she felt, truly she makes a 
 very good report o' the worm ; but he that will 
 believe all that they say shall never be saved 
 by half that they do : but this is most fallible, 
 the worm 's an odd worm. 
 
 Cleo. Get thee hence ; farewell. 
 
 Clown. I wish you all joy of the worm. 
 
 [Sets down the basket. 
 
 Cleo. Farewell. 
 
 Clown. You must think this, look you, that 
 the worm will do his kind. 
 
 Cleo. Ay, ay ; farewell. 
 
 Clown. Look you, the worm is not to be 
 trusted but in the keeping of wise people ; for 
 indeed there is no goodness in the worm. 
 
 Cleo. Take thou no care ; it shall be heeded. 
 
 Clown. Very good. Give it nothing, I pray 
 you, for it is not worth the feeding. 
 
 Cleo. Will it eat me? 
 
 Clown. You must not think I am so simple 
 but I know the devil himself will not eat a 
 woman: I know that a woman is a dish for 
 the gods, if the devil dress her not. But, truly, 
 these same whoreson devils do the gods great 
 
 harm in their women, for in every ten that they 
 make the devils mar five. 
 
 Cleo. Well, get thee gone ; farewell. 
 
 Clown. Yes, forsooth : I wish you joy o' the 
 worm. [Exit. 
 
 Re-enter IRAS, with a r?be t crown, <SrY. 
 
 Cleo. Give me my robe, put on my crown; 
 
 I have 
 
 Immortal longings in me : now no more 
 The juice of Egypt's grape shall moist this lip : 
 Yare, yare, good Iras ; quick. Methinks I hear 
 Antony call ; I see him rouse himself 
 To praise my noble act ; I hear him mock 
 The luck of Caesar, which the gods give men 
 To excuse their after wrath. Husband, I come : 
 Now to that name my courage prove my title ! 
 I am fire and air ; my other elements 
 I give to baser life. So, have you done? 
 Come then, and take the last warmth of my lips. 
 Farewell, kind Charmian ; Iras, long farewell. 
 [Kisses them. iRAsfatts and dies. 
 Have I the aspic in my lips ? Dost fall ? 
 If thou and nature can so gently part, 
 The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch, 
 Which hurts and is desir'd. Dost thou lie still? 
 If thus thou vanishes!, thou tell'st the world 
 It is not worth leave-taking. 
 
 Char. Dissolve, thick cloud, and rain ; that 
 
 I may say 
 The gods themselves do weep ! 
 
 Cleo. This proves me base : 
 
 If she first meet the curled Antony, 
 He '11 make demand of her, and spend that kiss 
 Which is my heaven to have. Come, thou 
 
 mortal wretch, 
 
 [To an aspy which she applies to her breast. 
 With thy sharp teeth this knot intrinsicate 
 Of life at once untie : poor venomous fool, 
 Be angry, and despatch. O couldst thou speak, 
 That I might hear thee call great Caesar ass 
 Unpolicied ! 
 
 Char. O eastern star ! 
 
 Cleo. Peace, peace ! 
 
 Dost thou not see my baby at my breast 
 That sucks the nurse asleep ? 
 
 Char. O, break ! O, break ! 
 
 Cleo. As sweet as balm, as soft as air, as 
 
 gentle : 
 O Antony ! Nay, I will take thee too : 
 
 [Applying another asp to her arm. 
 What, should I stay, 
 
 [Falls on a bed and dies. 
 
 Char. In this vile world? So, fare thee 
 
 well. 
 
 Now boast thee, death, in thy possession lies 
 A lass unparallel'd. Downy windows, close; 
 
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 And golden Phoebus never be beheld 
 
 Of eyes again so royal ! Your crown 's awry ; 
 
 I '11 mend it and then play. 
 
 Enter the Guard, rushing in. 
 
 I Guard. Where is the queen? 
 Char. Speak softly, wake her not. 
 
 I Guard. Caesar hath sent, 
 Char. Too slow a messenger. 
 
 [Applies an asp. 
 O, come apace, despatch : I partly feel thee. 
 
 1 Guard. Approach, ho ! all 's not well : 
 
 Caesar 's beguil'd. [call him. 
 
 2 Guard. There 's Dolabella sent from Caesar ; 
 
 1 Guard. What work is here ! Charmian, is 
 
 this well done? [cess 
 
 Char. It is well done, and fitting for a prin- 
 Descended of so many royal kings. 
 Ah, soldier ! {Dies. 
 
 Re-enter DOLABELLA. 
 
 Dol. How goes it here? 
 
 2 Guard. All dead. 
 
 Dol. Caesar, thy thoughts 
 
 Touch their effects in this : thyself art coming 
 To see perform'd the dreaded act which thou 
 So sought'st to hinder. 
 
 Within. A way there, a way for Caesar ! 
 
 Re-enter CAESAR and his Train. 
 Dol. O, sir, you are too sure an augurer ; 
 That you did fear is done. 
 
 Cces. Bravest at the last, 
 
 She levell'd at our purposes, and, being royal, 
 Took her own way. The manner of their 
 
 deaths? 
 I do not see them bleed. 
 
 Dol. ,:H, Who was last with them? 
 
 I Guard. A simple countryman that brought 
 
 her figs. 
 This was his basket. 
 
 Cas. Poison'd then. 
 
 I Guard. O Caesar, 
 
 This Charmian hVd but now ; she stood and 
 
 spake : 
 
 I found her trimming up the diadem 
 On her dead mistress ; tremblingly she stood, 
 And on the sudden dropp'd. 
 
 Gas. O noble weakness ! 
 
 If they had swallow'd poison 'twould appear 
 By external swelling : but she looks like sleep, 
 As she would catch another Antony 
 In her strong toil of grace. 
 
 Dol. Here on her breast 
 
 .There is a vent of blood, and something blown : 
 The like is on her arm. 
 
 I Guard. This is an aspic's trail : and these 
 
 fig-leaves 
 
 Have slime upon them, such as the aspic leaves 
 Upon the caves of Nile. 
 
 Cess. Most probable 
 
 That so she died ; for her physician tells me 
 She hath pursu'd conclusions infinite 
 Of easy ways to die. Take up her bed, 
 And bear her women from the monument : 
 She shall be buried by her Antony: 
 No grave upon the earth shall clip in it 
 A pair so famous. High events as these 
 Strike those that make them ; and their story is 
 No less in pity than his glory which 
 Brought them to be lamented. Our army shall 
 In solemn show attend this funeral; 
 And then to Rome. Come, Dolabella, see 
 High order in this great solemnity. \Exeunt. 
 
 jo'rt ei tf TO! 
 

 CYMBELINE. 
 
 ^nhtTft "e r r bo/. 
 ~ t hm>D 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 CYMBELINE, King of Britain. 
 
 CLOTEN, Son to the Queen by a former Husband. 
 
 POSTHUMUS LEONATUS, a Gentleman, Hus- 
 band to IMOGEN. 
 
 BELARIUS, a banished Lord t disguised under 
 the name of MORGAN. 
 
 SSons to CYMBELINE, disguised 
 under the names of POLY- 
 DORE and CADWAL, sup- 
 posed Sons to BELARIUS. 
 PHILARIO, Friend to POSTHUMUS, \ T .. 
 IACHIMO, Friend to PHILARIO, / 
 A French Gentleman, Friend to PHILARIO. 
 CAIUS Lucius, General of the Roman Forces. 
 A Roman Captain. 
 Two British Captains. 
 
 PlSANIO, Servant to POSTHUMUS. 
 CORNELIUS, a Physician. 
 Two Lords of CYMBELINE'S Court. 
 Two Gentlemen of the same. 
 Two Gaolers. 
 
 QUEEN, Wife to CYMBELINE. 
 
 IMOGEN, Daughter to CYMBELINE by a former 
 
 Queen. 
 HELEN, Woman to IMOGEN. 
 
 Lords, Ladies, Roman Senators, Tribunes, Ap- 
 paritions, a Soothsayer, a Dutch Gentleman, 
 a Spanish Gentleman, Musicians, Officers, 
 Captains, Soldiers, Messengers, and other 
 Attendants. 
 
 SCENE, Sotnetimes in BRITAIN ; sometimes in ITALY. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. BRITAIN. The Garden behind 
 CYMBELINE'S Palace. 
 Enter two Gentlemen. 
 
 1 Gent. You do not meet a man but frowns : 
 
 our bloods 
 
 No more obey the heavens than our courtiers 
 Still seem as does the king. 
 
 2 Gent. But what's the matter? 
 
 1 Gent. His daughter, and the heir of 's king- 
 
 dom, whom 
 
 He purpos'd to his wife's sole son, a widow 
 That late he married, hath referr'd herself 
 Unto a poor but worthy gentleman. She's 
 
 wedded ; 
 
 Her husband banish'd ; she imprison'd : all 
 Is outward sorrow ; though I think the king 
 Be touch'd at very heart. 
 
 2 Gent. None but the king ? 
 
 1 Gent. He that hath lost her too : so is the 
 
 queen, [courtier, 
 
 That most desir'd the match. But not a 
 Although they wear their faces to the bent 
 Of the king's looks, hath a heart that is not 
 Glad at tne thing they scowl at. 
 
 2 Gent. And why so? 
 
 I Gent. He that hath miss'd the princess is a 
 
 thing 
 
 Too bad for bad report : and he that hath her, 
 I mean that married her alack, good man ! 
 
 
 And therefore banish'd, is a creature such 
 As, to seek through the regions of the earth 
 For one his like, there would be something failing 
 In him that should compare. I do not think 
 So fair an outward and such stuff within 
 Endows a man but he. 
 
 2 Gent. You speak him far. 
 
 1 Gent. I do extend him, sir, within himself; 
 Crush him together, rather than unfold 
 
 His measure duly. 
 
 2 Gent. What 's his name and birth? 
 I Gent. I cannot delve him to the root : his 
 
 father 
 
 Was call'd Sicilius, who did join his honour, 
 Against the Romans, with Cassibelan, 
 But had his titles by Tenantius, whom 
 He serv'd with glory and admir'd success, 
 So gain'd the sur-addition Leonatus: 
 And had, besides this gentleman in question, 
 Two other sons, who, in the wars o' the time, 
 Died with their swords in hand ; for which their 
 
 father, 
 
 Then old and fond of issue, took such sorrow 
 That he quit being ; and his gentle lady, 
 Big of this gentleman, our theme, deceas'd 
 As he was born. The king he takes the babe 
 To his protection; callshim Posthumus Leonatus; 
 Breeds him, and makes him of his bed-chamber: 
 Puts to him all the learnings that his time 
 Could make him the receiver of ; which he took, 
 As we do air, fast as 'twas minister'd ; 
 
 2G 
 
930 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 And in's spring became a harvest: liv'd in 
 
 court, 
 
 Which rare it is to do, mostprais'd, most lov'd ; 
 A sample to the youngest j to the more mature 
 A glass that feated them ; and to the graver 
 A child that guided dotards : to his mistress, 
 For whom he now is banish'd, her own price 
 Proclaims how she esteem'd him and his virtue ; 
 By her election may be truly read 
 What kind of man he is. 
 
 2 Gent. I honour him 
 
 Even out of your report. But, pray you, tell me, 
 Is she sole child to the king ? 
 
 1 Gent. His only child. 
 He had two sons, if this be worth your hearing, 
 Mark it, the eldest of them at three years old, 
 I' the swathing clothes the other, from their 
 
 nursery [knowledge 
 
 Were stol'n ; and to this hour no guess in 
 Which way they went. 
 
 2 Gent. How long is this ago ? 
 
 1 Gent. Some twenty years. [convey'd ! 
 
 2 Gent. That a king's children should be so 
 So slackly guarded ! And the search so slow 
 That could not trace them ! 
 
 1 Gent. Howsoe'er 'tis strange, 
 Or that the negligence may well be iaugh'd at, 
 Yet is it true, sir. 
 
 2 Gent. I do well believe you. 
 
 i Gent. We must forbear : here comes the 
 
 gentleman, 
 The queen, and princess. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter the QUEEN, POSTHUMUS, and IMOGEN. 
 
 Queen. No, be assur'd you shall not find me, 
 
 daughter, 
 
 After the slander of most stepmothers, 
 Evil-ey'd unto you : you 're my prisoner, but 
 Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys [mus, 
 That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthu- 
 So soon as I can win the offended king, 
 I will be known your advocate : marry, yet 
 The fire of rage is in him ; and 'twere good 
 You lean'd unto his sentence with what patience 
 Your wisdom may inform you. 
 
 Post. Please your highness, 
 
 I will from hence to-day. 
 1 Queen. You know the peril. 
 
 I '11 fetch a turn about the garden, pitying 
 The pangs of barr'd affections ; though the king 
 Hath charg'd you should not speak together. 
 
 \_Exit. 
 
 Into. O 
 
 Dissembling courtesy ! How fine this tyrant 
 
 Can tickle where she wounds ! -My dearest 
 
 husband, [ing, 
 
 I something fear my father's wrath ; but noth- 
 
 Always reserv'd my holy duty, what 
 His rage can do on me. You must be gone ; 
 And I shall here abide the hourly shot 
 Of angry eyes ; not comforted to live, 
 But that there is this jewel in the world 
 That I may see again. 
 
 Post. My queen ! my mistress ! 
 
 lady, weep no more, lest I give cause 
 To be suspected of more tenderness 
 Than doth become a man ! I will remain 
 The loyal'st husband that did e'er plight troth: 
 My residence in Rome at one Philario's, 
 Who to my father was a friend, to me 
 Known but by letter : thither write, my queen, 
 And with mine eyes I '11 drink the words you 
 
 send, 
 Though ink be made of gall. 
 
 Re-enter QUEEN. 
 
 Queen. Be brief, I pray you : 
 
 If the king come I shall incur I know not 
 How much of his displeasure. [Aside.] Yet 
 
 I '11 move him 
 
 To walk this way : I never do him wrong 
 But he does buy my injuries to be friends, 
 Pays dear for my offences. [Exit. 
 
 Post. Should we be taking leave 
 
 As long a term as yet we have to live, 
 The loathness to depart would grow. Adieu ! 
 
 Imo. Nay, stay a little : 
 Were you but riding forth to air yourself, 
 Such parting were too petty. Look here, 
 
 love; 
 
 This diamond was my mother's : take it, heart ; 
 But keep it till you woo another wife, 
 When Imogen is dead. 
 
 Post. How, how ! another ? 
 You gentle gods, give me but this I have, 
 And sear up my embracements from a next 
 With bonds of death ! Remain, remain thou 
 here [Putting on the ring. 
 
 While sense can keep it on ! And, sweetest. 
 
 fairest, 
 
 As I my poor self did exchange for you, 
 To your so infinite loss, so in our trifles 
 
 1 still win of you : for my sake wear this ; 
 It is a manacle of love ; I '11 place it 
 Upon this fairest prisoner. 
 
 [Putting a bracelet on her arm. 
 Imo. O the gods ! 
 
 When shall we see again? 
 
 Post. Alack, the king ! 
 
 v "o,-" 
 
 Enter CYMBELINE and Lords. 
 
 Cynu Thou basest thing, avoid ! hence from 
 
 my sight ! 
 If after this command thou fraught the court 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 931 
 
 With thy unworthiness, thou diest : away ! 
 Thou art poison to my blood. 
 
 Post. The gods protect you ! 
 
 And bless the good remainders of the court ! 
 I am gone. [Exit. 
 
 Imo. There cannot be a pinch in death 
 More sharp than this is. 
 
 Cym. O disloyal thing, 
 
 That shouldst repair my youth, thou heapest 
 A year's age on me ! 
 
 Imo. I beseech you, sir, 
 
 Harm not yourself with your vexation : I 
 Am senseless of your wrath ; a touch more rare 
 Subdues all pangs, all fears. 
 
 Cym. Past grace ? obedience ? 
 
 Imo. Past hope, and in despair ; that way 
 past grace. [my queen ! 
 
 Cym. That mightst have had the sole son of 
 
 Imo. O bless'd that I might not ! I chose an 
 
 eagle, 
 And did avoid a puttock. 
 
 Cym. Thou took'st a beggar ; wouldst have 
 
 made my throne 
 A seat for baseness. 
 
 Imo. No ; I rather added 
 
 A lustre to it. 
 
 %~ m. O thou vile one ! 
 
 o. Sir, 
 
 It is your fault that I have lov'd Posthumus : 
 You bred him as my playfellow ; and he is 
 A man worth any woman ; overbuys me 
 Almost the sum he pays. 
 
 Cym. What, art thou mad ? 
 
 Imo. Almost, sir : heaven restore me ! 
 
 Would I were 
 
 A neat-herd's daughter, and my Leonatus 
 Our neighbour shepherd's son ! 
 
 Cym. Thou foolish thing ! 
 
 Re-enter QUEEN. 
 
 They were again together : you have done 
 
 [To the Queen. 
 
 Not after our command. Away with her, 
 And pen her up. 
 
 Queen. Beseech your patience. Peace, 
 Dear lady daughter, peace ! Sweet sovereign, 
 Leave us to ourselves; and make yourself some 
 
 comfort 
 Out of your best advice. 
 
 Cym. Nay, let her languish 
 
 A drop of blood a day ; and, being aged, 
 Die of this folly ! [Exit, with Lords. 
 
 Queen, Fie ! you must give way. 
 
 Enter PISANIO. 
 
 Here is your servant. How now, sir ! What 
 news? 
 
 Pis. My lord your son drew on my master. 
 
 Queen. Ha ! 
 
 No harm, I trust, is done ! 
 
 Pis. There might have been, 
 
 But that my master rather play'd than fought, 
 And had no help of anger : they were parted 
 By gentlemen at hand. 
 
 Queen. I am very glad on 't. 
 
 Imo. Your son 's my father's friend ; he takes 
 
 his part. 
 
 To draw upon an exile ! O brave sir ! 
 I would they were in Afric both together ; 
 Myself by with a needle, that I might prick 
 The goer back. Why came you from your 
 master ? [me 
 
 Pis. On his command : he would not suffer 
 To bring him to the haven : left these notes 
 Of what commands I should be subject to, 
 When 't pleas'd you to employ me. 
 
 Queen. This hath been 
 
 Your faithful servant : I dare lay mine honour 
 He will remain so. 
 
 Pis. I humbly thank your highness. 
 
 Queen. Pray, walk awhile. 
 
 Imo. About some half hour hence, 
 
 I pray you, speak with me : you shall at least 
 Go see my lord aboard : for this time leave me. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. BRITAIN. A Public Place. 
 Enter CLOTEN and two Lords. 
 
 1 Lord. Sir, I would advise you to shift a 
 shirt ; the violence of action hath made you 
 reek as a sacrifice : where air comes out air 
 comes in : there 's none abroad so wholesome 
 as that you vent. 
 
 Clo. If my shirt were bloody, then to shift 
 it. Have I hurt him? 
 
 2 Lord. [Aside.} No, faith ; not so much as 
 his patience. 
 
 1 Lord. Hurt him ! His body 's a passable 
 carcass if he be not hurt : it is a throughfare 
 for steel if it be not hurt. 
 
 2 Lord. [Aside.] His steel was in debt; it 
 went o' the back side the town. 
 
 Clo. The villain would not stand me. 
 
 2 Lord. [Aside.] No; but he fled forward 
 still, toward your face. 
 
 1 Lord. Stand you ! You have land enough 
 of your own : but he added to your having ; 
 gave you some ground. 
 
 2 Lord. [Aside.] As many inches as you have 
 oceans. Puppies I 
 
 Clo. I would they had not come between us. 
 2 Lord. [Aside.] So would I, till you had 
 
932 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 [ACT r. 
 
 measured how long a fool you were upon the 
 ground. 
 
 Clo. And that she should love this fellow, 
 and refuse me ! 
 
 2 Lord. [Aside. ] If it be a sin to make a true 
 election, she is damned. 
 
 1 Lord. Sir, as I told you always, her 
 beauty and her brain go not together : she 's a 
 good jign, but I have seen small reflection of 
 her wit. 
 
 2 Lord. [Aside.] She shines not upon fools, 
 lest the reflection should hurt her. 
 
 Clo. Come, I'll to my chamber. Would 
 there had been some hurt done ! 
 
 2 Lord. [Aside. ] I wish not so ; unless it had 
 been the fall of an ass, which is no great hurt. 
 
 Cio. You Ml go with us ? 
 
 1 Lord. I '11 attend your lordship. 
 Clo. Nay, come, let 's go together. 
 
 2 Lord. Well, my lord. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. BRITAIN. A Room in CYMBE- 
 LINE'S Palace. 
 
 Enter IMOGEN and PISANIO. 
 
 Into. I would thou grew'st unto the shores o' 
 
 the haven, 
 
 And questioned'st every sail : if he should write, 
 And I not have it, 'twere a paper lost, 
 As offer'd mercy is. What was the last 
 That he spake to thee ? 
 
 Pis. It was, His queen, his queen I 
 
 Into. Then wav'd his handkerchief? 
 
 Pis. And kiss'd it, madam. 
 
 Imo. Senseless linen I happier therein than 
 
 I! 
 And that was all ? 
 
 Pis. No, madam ; for so long 
 
 As he could make me with this eye or ear 
 Distinguish him from others, he did keep 
 The deck, with glove, or hat, or handkerchief 
 Still waving, as the fits and stirs of 's mind 
 Could best express how slow his soul sail'd on, 
 How swift his ship. 
 
 Imo. Thou shouldst have made him 
 
 As little as a crow, or less, ere left 
 To after-eye him. 
 
 Pis. Madam, so I did. 
 
 Into. I would have broke mine eye-strings, 
 
 crack'd them, but 
 
 To look upon him, till the diminution 
 Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle ; 
 Nay, follow'd him till he had melted from 
 The smallness of a gnat to air ; and then 
 Have turned mine eye and wept. But, good 
 
 Pisanio, 
 When shall we hear from him ? 
 
 Pis. Be assur'd, madam, 
 
 With his next vantage. 
 
 Imo. I did not take my leave of him, but had 
 Most pretty things to say : ere I could tell him 
 I low I would think on him, at certain hours, 
 Such thoughts and such ; or I could make him 
 
 swear 
 
 The shes of Italy should not betray [him 
 
 Mine interest and his honour ; or have charg'd 
 At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at midnight, 
 To encounter me with orisons, for then 
 I am in heaven for him ; or ere I could 
 Give him that parting kiss which I had set 
 Betwixt two charming words, comes in my 
 
 father, 
 
 And like the tyrannous breathing of the north 
 Shakes all our buds from growing. 
 
 Enter a Lady. 
 
 Lady. The queen, madam. 
 
 Desires your highness' company. 
 
 Imo. Those things I bid ycu do, get them 
 
 despatched. 
 I will attend the queen. 
 
 Pis. Madam, I shall. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. ROME. An Apartment in 
 PHILARIO'S House. 
 
 Enter PHILARIO, IACHIMO, a Frenchman, a 
 Dutchman, and a Spaniard. 
 
 loch. Believe it, sir, I have seen him in 
 Britain: he was then of a crescent note; ex- 
 pected to prove so worthy as since he hath been 
 allowed the name of: but I could then have 
 looked on him without the help of admiration ; 
 though the catalogue of his endowments had 
 been tabled by his side, and I to peruse him by 
 items. 
 
 Phi. You speak of him when he was less fur- 
 nished than now he is with that which makes 
 him both without and within. 
 
 French. I have seen him in France : we had 
 very many there could behold the sun with as 
 firm eyes as he. 
 
 loch. This matter of marrying his king's 
 daughter, wherein he must be weighed rather 
 by her value than his own, words him, I 
 doubt not, a great deal from the matter. 
 
 French. And then his banishment, 
 
 loch. Ay, and the approbation of those that 
 weep this lamentable divorce, under her colours, 
 are wonderfully to extend him; be it but to 
 fortify her judgment, which else an easy battery 
 might lay flat, for taking a beggar without less 
 quality. But how comes it he is to sojourn with 
 you? How creeps acquaintance? 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 933 
 
 Phi. His father and I were soldiers together ; 
 to whom I have been often bound for no less 
 than my life. Here comes the Briton : let him 
 be so entertained amongst you as suits with 
 gentlemen of your knowing to a stranger of his 
 quality. 
 
 Enter POSTHUMUS. 
 
 I beseech you all, be better known to this 
 gentleman ; whom I commend to you as a noble 
 friend of mine : how worthy he is I will leave 
 to appear hereafter, rather than story him in his 
 own hearing. 
 
 French. Sir, we have known together in 
 Orleans. 
 
 Post. Since when I have been debtor to you 
 for courtesies, which I will be ever to pay and 
 yet pay still. 
 
 French. Sir, you o'errate my poor kindness : 
 I was glad I did atone my countryman and 
 you; it had been pity you should have been 
 put together with so mortal a purpose as then 
 each bore, upon importance of so slight and 
 trivial a nature. 
 
 Post. By your pardon, sir, I was then a 
 young traveller; rather shunned to go even 
 with what I heard than in my every action to 
 be guided by others* experiences: but, upon 
 my mended judgment, if I offend not to say 
 it is mended, my quarrel was not altogether 
 slight. 
 
 French Faith, yes, to be put to the arbitre- 
 ment of swords ; and by such two that would, 
 by all likelihood, have confounded one the 
 other, or have fallen both. 
 
 lack. Can we, with manners, ask what was 
 the difference? 
 
 French. Safely, I think: 'twas a contention 
 in public, which may, without contradiction, 
 suffer the report. It was much like an argu- 
 ment that fell out last night, where each of us 
 fell in praise of our country mistresses; this 
 gentleman at that time vouching, and upon 
 warrant of bloody affirmation, his to be more 
 fair, virtuous, wise, chaste, constant-qualified, 
 and less attemptible than any the rarest of our 
 ladies in France. 
 
 lach. That lady is not now living; or this 
 gentleman's opinion, by this, worn out. 
 
 Post. She holds her virtue still, and I my 
 mind. 
 
 lach. You must not so far prefer her fore ours 
 of Italy. 
 
 Post. Being so far provoked as I was in 
 France, I would abate ner nothing; though I 
 profess myself her adorer, not her friend. 
 
 lach. As fair and as good, a kind of hand- 
 
 in-hand comparison, had been something too 
 fair and too good for any lady in Brittany. If 
 she went before others I have seen, as that 
 diamond of yours out-lustres many I have be- 
 held, I could not but believe she excelled 
 many: but I have not seen the most precious 
 diamond that is, nor you the lady. 
 
 Post. I praised her as I rated her : so do I 
 my stone. 
 
 lach. What do you esteem it at? 
 
 Post. More than the world enjoys. 
 
 lach. Either your unparagoned mistress is 
 dead, or she 's outprized by a trifle. 
 
 Post. You are mistaken : the one may be sold 
 or given, if there were wealth enough for the 
 purchase or merit for the gift : the other is not 
 a thing for sale, and only the gift of the gods. 
 
 lach. Which the gods have given you? 
 
 Post. Which, by their graces, I will keep. 
 
 lach. You may wear her in title yours : but, 
 you know, strange fowl light upon neighbour- 
 ing ponds. Your ring may be stolen too: so 
 your brace of unprizeable estimations, the one 
 is but frail and the other casual ; a cunning 
 thief or a that- way-accomplished courtier would 
 hazard the winning both of first and last. 
 
 Post. Your Italy contains none so accom- 
 plished a courtier to convince the honour of my 
 mistress, if in the holding or loss of that you 
 term her frail. I do nothing doubt you have 
 store of thieves ; notwithstanding I fear not my 
 ring. 
 
 Phi. Let us leave here, gentlemen. 
 
 Post. Sir, with all my heart. This worthy 
 signior, I thank him, makes no stranger of me ; 
 we are familiar at first. 
 
 lach. With five times so much conversation 
 I should gee ground of your fair mistress ; make 
 her go back even to the yielding, had I ad- 
 mittance and opportunity to friend. 
 
 Post. No, no. 
 
 lach. I dare thereupon pawn the moiety of 
 my estate to your ring ; which, in my opinion, 
 o'ervalues it something : but I make my wager 
 rather against your confidence than her reputa- 
 tion: and, to bar your offence herein too, I 
 durst attempt it against any lady in the 
 world. 
 
 Post. You are a great deal abused in too 
 bold a persuasion ; and I doubt not you sus- 
 tain what you 're worthy of by your attempt. 
 
 lach. What's that? 
 
 Post. A repulse : though your attempt, as you 
 call it, deserve more, a punishment too. 
 
 Phi. Gentlemen, enough of this : it came in 
 too suddenly ; let it die as it was born, and, I 
 pray you, be better acquainted. 
 
934 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 loch. Would I had put my estate and my 
 neighbour's on the approbation of what I have 
 spoke ! 
 
 Post. What lady would you choose to assail? 
 
 loch. Yours ; whom in constancy you think 
 stands so safe. I will lay you ten thousand 
 ducats to your ring that, commend me to the 
 court where your lady is, with no more ad- 
 vantage than the opportunity of a second 
 conference, and I will bring from thence 
 that honour of hers which you imagine so 
 reserved. 
 
 Post. I will wage against your gold gold to 
 it: my ring I hold dear as my finger ; 'tis part 
 of it. 
 
 loch. You are afraid, and therein the wiser. 
 If you buy ladies' flesh at a million a dram, you 
 cannot preserve it from tainting : but I see you 
 have some religion in you, that you fear. 
 
 Post. This is but a custom in your tongue ; 
 you bear a graver purpose, I hope. 
 
 lack. I am the master of my speeches ; and 
 would undergo what 's spoken, I swear. 
 
 Post. Will you? I shall but lend my diamond 
 till your return : let there be covenants drawn 
 between us: my mistress exceeds in goodness 
 the hugeness of your unworthy thinking: I dare 
 you to this match : here 's my ring. 
 
 Phi. I will have it no lay. 
 
 lack. By the gods, it is one. If I bring you 
 no sufficient testimony that I have enjoyed the 
 dearest bodily part of your mistress, my ten 
 thousand ducats are yours ; so is your diamond 
 too : if I come off, and leave her in such honour 
 as you have trust in, she your jewel, this your 
 jewel, and my gold are yours ; provided I 
 have your commendation for my more free 
 entertainment. 
 
 Post. I embrace these conditions ; let us have 
 articles betwixt us. Only, thus far you shall 
 answer: if you make your voyage upon her, 
 and give me directly to understand you have 
 prevail'd, I am no further your enemy; she is 
 not worth our debate : if she remain unseduced, 
 you not making it appear otherwise, for 
 your ill opinion and the assault you have made 
 to her chastity you shall answer me with your 
 sword. 
 
 loch. Your hand, a covenant : we will have 
 these things set down by lawful counsel, and 
 straight away for Britain, lest the bargain 
 should catch cold and starve : I will fetch my 
 gold, and have our two wagers recorded. 
 
 Post. Agreed. {Exeunt POST, and IACH. 
 
 French. Will this hold, think you? 
 
 Phi. Signior lachimo will not from it. 
 Pray, let us follow 'em. {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. BRITAIN. A Room in CYM- 
 BELINE'S Palace. 
 
 Enter QUEEN, Ladies, and CORNELIUS. 
 
 Queen. Whiles yet the dew 's on ground 
 
 gather those flowers ; 
 Make haste: who has the note of them? 
 
 I Lady. I, madam. 
 
 Queen. Despatch. {Exeunt Ladies. 
 
 Now, master doctor, have you brought those 
 
 drugs? 
 
 Cor. Pleaseth your highness, ay : here they 
 are , madam : {Presenting a small box. 
 But I beseech your grace, without offence, 
 My conscience bids me ask, wherefore you 
 
 have 
 
 Commanded of me these most poisonous com- 
 pounds, 
 
 Which are the movers of a languishing death ; 
 But, though slow, deadly? 
 
 Queen. I wonder, doctor, 
 
 Thou ask'st me such a question. Have I not 
 
 been 
 
 Thy pupil long? Hast thou not learn'd me how 
 To make perfumes? distil? preserve? yea, so 
 That our great king himself doth woo me oft 
 For my confections? Having thus far pro- 
 ceeded, 
 
 Unless thou think'st me devilish, is 't not meet 
 That I did amplify my judgment in 
 Other conclusions? I will try the forces 
 Of these thy compounds on such creatures as 
 We count not worth the hanging, but none 
 
 human, 
 
 To try the vigour of them, and apply 
 Allayments to their act ; and by them gather 
 Their several virtues and effects. 
 
 Cor. Your highness 
 
 Shall from this practice but make hard your 
 
 heart: 
 
 Besides, the seeing these effects will be 
 Both noisome and infectious. 
 
 Queen. O, content thee. 
 
 Here comes a flattering rascal ; upon him 
 
 {Aside. 
 
 Will I first work : he 's for his master, 
 And enemy to my son. 
 
 Enter PISANIO. 
 
 How now, Pisanio ! 
 
 Doctor, your service for this time is ended ; 
 
 Take your own way. 
 
 Cor. {Aside. ] I do suspect you, madam ; 
 But you shall do no harm. 
 
 Queen. Hark thee, a word. 
 
 {To PISANIO. 
 
SCENE V.] 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 935 
 
 Cor. [Aside.} I do not like her. She doth 
 
 think she has 
 
 Strange lingering poisons : I do know her spirit 
 And will not trust one of her malice with 
 A drug of such damn'd nature. Those she has 
 Will stupify and dull the sense awhile; [dogs, 
 Which first perchance she '11 prove on cats and 
 Then afterward up higher : but there is 
 No danger in what show of death it makes, 
 More than the locking up the spirits a time, 
 To be more fresh, reviving. She is fool'd 
 With a most false effect ; and I the truer 
 So to be false with her. 
 
 Queen. No further service, doctor, 
 
 Until I send for thee. 
 
 Cor. I humbly take my leave. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Queen. Weeps she still, say'st thou? Dost 
 
 thou think in time 
 
 She will not quench, and let instructions enter 
 Where folly now possesses? Do thou work : 
 When thou shalt bring me word she loves my 
 
 son, 
 
 I '11 tell thee on the instant thou art then 
 As great as is thy master ; greater, for 
 His fortunes all lie speechless, and his name 
 Is at last gasp : return he cannot, nor 
 Continue where he is : to shift his being 
 Is to exchange one misery with another ; 
 And every day that comes comes to decay 
 A day's work in him. What shalt thou expect, 
 To be depender on a thing that leans, 
 Who cannot be new built, nor has no friends 
 [The QUEEN drops the box: PISANIO 
 
 takes it up. 
 
 So much as but to prop him ? Thou tak'st up 
 Thou know'st not what; but take it for thy 
 
 labour : 
 
 It is a thing I made, which hath the king 
 Five times redeem'd from death : I do not know 
 What is more cordial : nay, I pr'ythee, take it ; 
 It is an earnest of a further good 
 That I mean to thee. Tell thy mistress how 
 The case stands with her ; do 't as from thyself. 
 Think what a chance thou changest on ; but 
 
 think 
 
 Thou hast thy mistress still, to boot, my son, 
 Who shall take notice of thee : I '11 move the 
 
 king 
 
 To any shape of thy preferment, such 
 As thou 'It desire ; and then myself, I chiefly, 
 That set thee on to this desert, am bound 
 To load thy merit richly. Call my women : 
 Think on my words. [Exit PISANIO. 
 
 A sly and constant knave ; 
 Not to be shak'd : the agent for his master ; 
 And the remembrancer of her to hold 
 
 The hand-fast to her lord. I have given him 
 
 that 
 
 Which, if he take, shall quite unpeople her 
 Of liegers for her sweet ; and which she after, 
 Except she bend her humour, shall be assur'd 
 To taste of too. 
 
 Re-enter PISANIO and Ladies. 
 
 So, so ; well done, well done : 
 The violets, cowslips, and the primroses, 
 Bear to my closet. Fare thee well, Pisanio ; 
 Think on my words. 
 
 [Exeunt QUEEN and Ladies. 
 Pis. And shall do : 
 
 But when to my good lord I prove untrue 
 I '11 choke myself : there 's all I '11 do for you. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE VI. BRITAIN. Another Room in the 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter IMOGEN. 
 
 Into. A father cruel and a step-dame false ; 
 A foolish suitor to a wedded lady, [band ! 
 
 That hath her husband banish'd ; O, that hus- 
 My supreme crown of grief ! and those repeated 
 Vexations of it ! Had I been thief-stolen, 
 As my two brothers, happy I but most miser- 
 able 
 
 Is the desire that 's glorious : bless'd be those, 
 How mean soe'er, that have their honest wills, 
 Which seasons comfort. Who may this be? 
 Fie! 
 
 Enter PISANIO and IACHIMO. 
 
 Pis. Madam, a noble gentleman of Rome 
 Comes from my lord with letters. 
 
 loch. Change you, madam ? 
 
 The worthy Leonatus is in safety, 
 And greets your highness dearly. 
 
 [Presents a letter. 
 
 Imo. Thanks, good sir : 
 
 Yon 're kindly welcome. [most rich ! 
 
 lach. [Aside.'} All of her that is out of door 
 If she be furnish'd with a mind so rare, 
 She is alone the Arabian bird ; and I 
 Have lost the wager. Boldness be my friend ! 
 Arm me, audacity, from head to foot ! 
 Or, like the Parthian, I shall flying fight ; 
 Rather directly fly. 
 
 Imo. [Reads.} He is one of the noblest iwte t 
 to whose kindnesses 1 am most infinitely tied. 
 Reflect upon him accordingly , as you value 
 your truest LEONATUS. 
 
 So far I read aloud : 
 But even the very middle of my heart 
 Is warm'd by the rest, and takes it thankfully. 
 
936 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 [ACT I. 
 
 You are as welcome, worthy sir, as I 
 Have words to bid you ; and shall find it so 
 In all that I can do. 
 
 lack. Thanks, fairest lady. 
 
 What, are men mad? Hath nature given them 
 
 eyes 
 
 To see this vaulted arch, and the rich cope 
 Of sea and land, which can distinguish 'twixt 
 The fiery orbs above and the twinn'd stones 
 Upon th' unnumber'd beach ? and can we not 
 Partition make with spectacles so precious 
 'Twixt fair and foul ? 
 
 Imo. What makes your admiration ? 
 
 loch. It cannot be i' the eye ; for apes and 
 
 monkeys, 
 
 'Twixt two such shes, would chatter this way 
 and [ment ; 
 
 Contemn with mows the other: nor i' the judg- 
 For idiots in this case of favour would 
 Be wisely definite : nor i' the appetite ; 
 Sluttery, to such neat excellence oppos'd, 
 Should make desire vomit emptiness, 
 Not so allur'd to feed. 
 
 Imo. What is the matter, trow ? 
 
 loch. The cloyed will, 
 
 That satiate yet unsatisfied desire, [first 
 
 That tub both fill'd and running, ravening 
 The lamb, longs after for the garbage. 
 
 Imo. What, dear sir, 
 
 Thus raps you ? Are you well ? 
 
 lack. Thanks, madam; well. Beseech you, 
 sir, desire [To PISANIO. 
 
 My man's abode where I did leave him : he 
 Is strange and peevish. 
 
 Pis. I was going, sir, 
 
 To give him welcome. \Exit. 
 
 Imo. Continues well my lord ? His health, 
 beseech you ? 
 
 loch. Well, madam. 
 
 Imo. Is he dispos'd to mirth ? I hope he is. 
 
 lack. Exceeding pleasant ; none a stranger 
 
 there 
 
 So merry and so gamesome : he is call'd 
 The Briton reveller. 
 
 Imo. When he was here 
 
 He did incline to sadness ; and ofttimes 
 Not knowing why. 
 
 lack. I never saw him sad. 
 
 There is a Frenchman his companion, one 
 An eminent monsieur, that, it seems, much loves 
 A Gallian girl at home : he furnaces [ton, 
 The thick sighs from him; whiles the jolly Bri- 
 Your lord, I mean, laughs from 's free lungs, 
 cries, O, [knows 
 
 Can my sides hold, to think that man, who 
 By history, report, or his own proof, 
 What woman is, yea, what she cannot choose 
 
 But must be,~**-will his free hours languish for 
 Assured bondage? 
 
 Imo. Will my lord say so? 
 
 lack. Ay, madam; with his eyes in flood 
 
 with laughter. 
 
 It is a recreation to be by [heavens know, 
 
 And hear him mock the Frenchman. But, 
 Some men are much to blame. 
 
 Imo. Not he, I hope. 
 
 lack. Not he: but yet heaven's bounty to- 
 wards him might 
 
 Be us'd more thankfully. In himself 'tis much ; 
 In you, which I count his beyond all talents, 
 Whilst I am bound to wonder I am bound 
 To pity too. 
 
 Imo. What do you pity, sir? 
 
 lack. Two creatures heartily. 
 
 Imo. Am I one, sir? 
 
 You look on me : what wreck discern you in me 
 Deserves your pity? 
 
 lack. ' Lamentable! What, 
 
 To hide me from the radiant sun, and solace 
 I' the dungeon by a snuff? 
 
 Imo. I pray you, sir, 
 
 Deliver with more openness your answers 
 To my demands. Why do you pity me? 
 
 lack. That others do, 
 
 I was about to say, enjoy your But 
 
 It is an office of the gods to venge it, 
 Not mine to speak on 't. 
 
 Imo. You do seem to know 
 
 Something of me, or what concerns me : pray 
 
 you, 
 
 Since doubting things go ill often hurts more 
 Than to be sure they do ; for certainties 
 Either are past remedies, or, tunely knowing, 
 The remedy then born, discover to me 
 What both you spur and stop. 
 
 lack. Had I this cheek 
 
 To bathe my lips upon ; this hand, whose touch, 
 Whose every touch, would force the feeler's soul 
 To the oath of loyalty; this object, which 
 Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye, 
 Fixingit only here ; should I, damn'd then, 
 Slaver with lips as common as the stairs 
 That mount the Capitol; join gripes with hands 
 Made hard with hourly falsehood, falsehood as 
 With labour, then bo-peeping in an eye 
 Base and unlustrous as the smoky light 
 That 's fed with stinking tallow, it were fit 
 That all the plagues of hell should at one time 
 Encounter such revolt. 
 
 Imo. My lord, I fear, 
 
 Has forgot Britain. 
 
 lack. And himself. Not I, 
 
 Inclin'd to this intelligence, pronounce 
 The beggary of his change ; but 'tis your graces 
 
SCENE VI.] 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 937 
 
 That from my mutest conscience to my tongue 
 Charms this report out. 
 
 Imo. Let me hear no more. 
 
 loch. O dearest soul ! your cause doth strike 
 
 my heart 
 
 With pity that doth make me sick ! A lady 
 So fair, and fasten'd to an empery, 
 Would make the great'st king double, to be 
 
 partner'd 
 
 With tomboys, hir'd with that self-exhibition 
 Which your own coffers yield! with diseas'd 
 
 ventures, 
 
 That play with ail infirmities for gold [stuff 
 Which rottenness can lend nature ! such boil'd 
 As well might poison poison ! Be reveng'd ; 
 Or she that bore you was no queen, and you 
 Recoil from your great stock. 
 
 Imo. Reveng'd ! 
 
 How should I be reveng'd? If this^be true, 
 As I have such a heart that both mine ears 
 Must not in haste abuse, if it be true, 
 How should I be reveng'd? 
 
 lack. Should he make me 
 
 Live like Diana's priest betwixt cold sheets, 
 Whiles he is vaulting variable ramps, 
 In your despite, upon your purse? Revenge it. 
 I dedicate myself to your sweet pleasure ; 
 More noble than that runagate to your bed ; 
 And will continue fast to your affection, 
 Still close as sure. 
 
 Imo. What ho, Pisanio ! 
 
 lack. Let me my service tender on your lips. 
 
 Imo. Away ! I do condemn mine ears that 
 
 have 
 
 So long attended thee. If thou wert honourable 
 Thou wouldst have told this tale for virtue, not 
 For such an end thou seek'st, as base as 
 
 strange. 
 
 Thou wrong'st a gentleman who is as far 
 From thy report as thou from honour; and 
 Solicit'st here a lady that disdains 
 Thee and the devil alike. What, ho, Pisanio! 
 The king my father shall be made acquainted 
 Of thy assault : if he shall think it fit 
 A saucy stranger in his court to mart 
 As in a Romish stew, and to expound 
 His beastly mind to us, he hath a court 
 He little cares for, and a daughter who 
 He not respects at all. What, ho, Pisanio! 
 
 lack. O happy Leonatus ! I may say : 
 The credit that thy lady hath of thee [ness 
 Deserves thy trust ; and thy most perfect good- 
 Her assur'd credit ! Blessed live you long ! 
 A lady to the worthiest sir that ever 
 Country call'd his ! and you his mistress, only 
 For the most worthiest fit! Give me your 
 pardon. 
 
 I have spoke this to know if your affiance 
 Were deeply rooted ; and shall make your lord 
 That which he is new o'er: and he is one 
 The truest manner'd ; such a holy witch 
 That he enchants societies unto him ; 
 Half all men's hearts are his. 
 
 Imo. You make amends. 
 
 lack. He sits 'mongst men like a descended 
 
 god: 
 
 He hath a kind of honour sets him off 
 More than a mortal seeming. Be not angry, 
 Most mighty princess, that I have adventur d 
 To try your taking of a false report ; which hath 
 Honoured with confirmation your great judgment 
 In the election of a sir so rare, [him 
 
 Which you know cannot err: the love I bear 
 Made me to fan you thus ; but the gods made 
 you, [don. 
 
 Unlike all others, chaffless. Pray, your par- 
 
 Into. All 's well, sir : take my power i' the 
 court for yours. [got 
 
 loch. My humble thanks. I had almost for- 
 To entreat your grace but in a small request, 
 And yet of moment too, for it concerns 
 Your lord, myself, and other noble friends, 
 Are partners in the business. 
 
 Into. Pray, what is 't ? 
 
 loch. Some dozen Romans of us, and your 
 lord, [sums 
 
 The best feather of our wing, have mingled 
 To buy a present for the emperor ; 
 Which I, the factor for the rest, have done 
 In France : 'tis plate of rare device, and jewels 
 Of rich and exquisite form ; their values great ; 
 And I am something curious, being strange 
 To have them in safe stowage : may it please you 
 To take them in protection? 
 
 Imo. Willingly ; 
 
 And pawn mine honour for their safety : since 
 My lord hath interest in them, I will keep them 
 In my bedchamber. 
 
 lack. They are in a trunk, 
 
 Attended by my men : I will make bold 
 To send them to you only for this night ; 
 I must aboard to-morrow. 
 
 Imo. O, no, no. [word 
 
 loch. Yes, I beseech; or I shall short my 
 By length'ning my return. From Gallia 
 I cross'd the seas on purpose and on promise 
 To see your grace. 
 
 Imo. I thank you for your pains : 
 
 But not away to-morrow ! 
 
 loch. O, I must, madam : 
 
 Therefore I shall beseech you, if you please 
 To greet your lord with writing, do't to-night: 
 I have outstood my time ; which is material 
 To the tender of our present 
 
938 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 [ACT n. 
 
 Into. I will write. 
 
 Send your trunk to me ; it shall safe be kept 
 And truly yielded you. You 're very welcome. 
 
 {Exeunt. 
 
 ACT ii. 
 
 SCENE I. BRITAIN. Court before CYM- 
 BELINE'S Palace. 
 
 Enter CLOTEN and two Lords. 
 
 Clo. Was there ever man had such luck ! when 
 I kissed the jack, upon an up-cast to be hit 
 away ! I had a hundred pound on 't : and then 
 a whoreson jackanapes must take me up for 
 swearing ; as if I borrowed mine oaths of him, 
 and might not spend them at my pleasure. 
 
 1 Lord. What got he by that? You have 
 broke his pate with your bowl. 
 
 2 Lord. [Aside.] If his wit had been like 
 him that broke it, it would have run all out. 
 
 Clo. When a gentleman is disposed to swear, 
 it is not for any standers-by to curtail his oaths, 
 ha? 
 
 2 Lord. No, my lord ; [aside] nor crop the 
 ears of them. 
 
 Clo. Whoreson dog! I give him satisfac- 
 tion? Would he had been one of my rank ! 
 
 2 Lord. [Aside.] To have smelt like a fool. 
 
 Clo. I am not vexed more at anything in the 
 earth, a pox on't! I had rather not be so 
 noble as I am; they dare not fight with me, 
 because of the queen my mother : every jack- 
 slave hath his belly full of fighting, and I must 
 go up and down like a cock that nobody can 
 match. 
 
 2 Lord. [Aside.] You are cock and capon too ; 
 and you crow, cock, with your comb on. 
 
 Clo. Sayest thou? 
 
 1 Lord. It is not fit your lordship should 
 undertake every companion that you give offence 
 to 
 
 Clo. No, I know that: but it is fit I should 
 commit offence to my inferiors. 
 
 2 Lord. Ay, it is fit for your lordship only. 
 Clo. Why, so I say. 
 
 1 Lord. Did you hear of a stranger that 's come 
 to court to-night? 
 
 Clo. A stranger, and I not know on 't ! 
 
 2 Lord. [Aside.] He's a strange fellow him- 
 self, and knows it not. v\i 1 
 
 I Lord. There's an Italian come; and, 'tis 
 thought, one of Leonatus' friends. 
 
 Clo. Leonatus ! a banished rascal ; and he 's 
 another, whatsoever he be. Who told you of 
 this stranger? 
 
 I Lord. One of your lordship's pages. 
 
 Clo. Is it fit I went to look upon him? Is 
 there no derogation in 't. 
 
 1 Lord. You cannot derogate, my lord. 
 Clo. Not easily, I think. 
 
 2 Lord. [Aside.] You are a fool granted; 
 therefore your issues, being foolish, do not 
 derogate. 
 
 Clo. Come, I '11 go see this Italian : what I 
 have lost to-day at bowls I '11 win to-night of 
 him. Come, go. 
 
 2 Lord. I '11 attend your lordship. 
 
 [Exeunt CLOTEN and first Lord. 
 That such a crafty devil as is his mother 
 Should yield the world this ass ! a woman that 
 Bears all down with her brain ; and this her son 
 Cannot take two from twenty, for his heart, 
 And leave eighteen. Alas, poor princess, 
 Thou divine Imogen, what thou endur'st, 
 Betwixt a father by thy stepdame govern'd: 
 A mother hourly coining plots ; a wooer 
 More hateful than the foul expulsion is 
 Of thy dear husband, than that horrid act 
 Of the divorce he 'd make ! The heavens hold 
 
 firm 
 
 The walls of thy dear honour ; keep unshak'd 
 That temple, thy fair mind ; that thou mayst 
 
 stand 
 
 To enjoy thy banish'd lord and this great land ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. BRITAIN. IMOGEN'S Bed- 
 chamber ; in one part of it a Trunk. 
 
 IMOGEN in bed reading; a Lady attending. 
 
 Imo. Who's there? my woman Helen? 
 
 Lady. Please you, madam. 
 
 Imo. What hour is it? 
 
 Lady. Almost midnight, madam. 
 
 Imo. I have read three hours, then: mine 
 
 eyes are weak : 
 
 Fold down the leaf where I have left: to bed: 
 Take not away the taper, leave it burning; 
 And if thou canst awake by four o' the clock, 
 I pr'ythee, call me. Sleep hath seiz'd me 
 wholly. [Exit Lady. 
 
 To your protection I commend me, gods ! 
 From fairies and the tempters of the night 
 Guard me, beseech ye ! 
 
 [Sleeps. IACHIMO comes from the trunk. 
 
 lack. The crickets sing, and man's o'er- 
 
 labour'd sense 
 
 Repairs itself by rest. Our Tarquin thus 
 Did softly press the rushes ere he waken'd 
 The chastity he wounded. Cytherea, 
 How bravely thou becom'st thy bed ! fresh lily I 
 And whiter than the sheets ! That I might touch \ 
 But kiss ; one kiss ! Rubies unparagon'd, 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 939 
 
 How dearly they do 't I 'Tis her breathing that 
 Perfumes the chamber thus: the flame o' the 
 
 taper 
 
 Bows toward her, and would underpeepher lids, 
 To see the enclosed lights, now canopied 
 Under these windows, white and azure, lac'd 
 With blue of heaven's own tinct. But my 
 
 design 
 
 To note the chamber : I will write all down : 
 Such and such pictures; there the window: 
 
 such 
 
 The adornment of her bed ; the arras, figures, 
 Why, such and such ; and the contents o' the 
 
 story, 
 
 Ah, but some natural notes about her body 
 Above ten thousand meaner movables 
 Would testify, to enrich mine inventory. 
 O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her! 
 And be her sense but as a monument, 
 Thus in a chapel lying ! Come off, come off; 
 [ Taking off her bracelet. 
 
 As slippery as the Gordian knot was hard ! 
 'Tis mine ; and this will witness outwardly, 
 As strongly as the conscience does within, 
 To the madding of her lord. On her left breast 
 A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops 
 I' the bottom of a cowslip. Here 's a voucher 
 Stronger than ever law could make : this secret 
 Will force him think I have pick'd the lock, 
 
 and ta'en [what end? 
 
 The treasure of her honour. No more. To 
 Why should I write this down, that 's riveted, 
 Screw'd to my memory? She hath been read- 
 ing late 
 
 The tale of Tereus ; here the leaf's turnM down 
 Where Philomel gave up. I have enough: 
 To the trunk again, and shut the spring of it. 
 Swift, swift, you dragons of the night, that 
 
 dawning 
 
 May bare the raven's eye ! I lodge in fear ; 
 Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here. 
 
 [Clock strikes. 
 One, two, three, Time, time ! 
 
 [Goes into the trunk. Scene closes. 
 
 SCENE III. BRITAIN. An Ante-chamber 
 adjoining IMOGEN'S Apartment. 
 
 Enter CLOTEN and Lords. 
 
 I Lord. Your lordship is the most patient 
 man in loss, the most coldest that ever turned 
 up ace. 
 
 Clo. It would make any man cold to lose. 
 
 I Lord. But not every man patient after the 
 noble temper of your lordship. You are most 
 hot and furious when you win. 
 
 Clo. Winning will put any man into courage. 
 
 If I could get this foolish Imogen, I should 
 have gold enough. It 's almost morning, is 't 
 not? 
 
 1 Lord. Day, my lord. 
 
 Clo. I would this music would come : I am 
 advised to give her music o' mornings; they 
 say it will penetrate. 
 
 Enter Musicians. 
 
 Come on ; tune : if you can penetrate her with 
 your fingering, so; we'll try with tongue too: 
 if none will do, let her remain; but I '11 never 
 give o'er. First, a very excellent good-con- 
 ceited thing ; after a wonderful sweet air, with 
 admirable rich words to it, and then let her 
 consider. 
 
 SONG. 
 Hark, hark I the lark at heaven's gate sings, 
 
 And Phoebus 'gins arise, 
 His steeds to water at those springs 
 
 On chalic'd flowers that lies ; 
 And winking Mary-buds begin 
 To ope their golden eyes ; 
 With everything that pretty is : 
 My lady sweet, arise ; 
 Arise, arise ! 
 
 So, get you gone. If this penetrate, I will con- 
 sider your music the better : if it do not, it is a 
 vice in her ears ; which horse-hairs and calves' 
 guts, nor the voice of unpaved eunuch to boot, 
 can never amend. [Exeunt Musicians. 
 
 2 Lord. Here comes the king. 
 
 Clo. I am glad I was up so late ; for that 's 
 the reason I was up so early : he cannot choose 
 but take this service I have done fatherly. 
 
 Enter CYMBELINE and QUEEN. 
 Good-morrow to your majesty and to my 
 gracious mother. [daughter? 
 
 Cym. Attend you here the door of our stern 
 Will she not forth? 
 
 Clo. I have assailed her with music, but she 
 vouchsafes no notice. 
 
 Cym. The exile of her minion is too new ; 
 She hath not yet forgot him : some more time 
 Must wear the print of his remembrance out, 
 And then she 's yours. 
 
 Queen. You are most bound to the king, 
 Who lets go by no vantages that may 
 Prefer you to his daughter. Frame yourself 
 To orderly solicits, and be friended 
 With aptness of the season ; make denials 
 Increase your services ; so seem as if 
 You were inspir'd to do those duties which 
 You tender to her ; that you in all obey her, 
 Save when command to your dismission tends, 
 And therein you are senseless. 
 
 Clo. Senseless ! not so. 
 
940 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. So like you, sir, ambassadors from 
 
 Rome; 
 The one is Caius Lucius. 
 
 Cynt. A worthy fellow. 
 
 Albeit he comes on angry purpose now ; 
 But that 's no fault of his : we must receive him 
 According to the honour of his sender ; [us, 
 And towards himself, his goodness forespent on 
 We must extend our notice. Our dear son, 
 When you have given good-morning to your 
 
 mistress, 
 
 Attend the queen and us; we shall have need 
 To employ you towards this Roman. Come, 
 
 our queen. 
 
 [Exeunt CYM. , QUEEN, Lords, and Mess. 
 
 Clo. If she be up, I '11 speak with her ; if not, 
 
 Let her lie still and dream. By your leave, 
 
 ho ! {.Knocks. 
 
 I know her women are about her: what 
 If I do line one of their hands? 'Tis gold 
 Which buys admittance ; oft it doth ; yea, and 
 
 makes 
 
 Diana's rangers false themselves, yield up 
 Their deer to the stand o' the stealer; and 'tis 
 
 gold [thief; 
 
 Which makes the true man kill'd and saves the 
 Nay, sometimes hangs both thief and true man : 
 
 what 
 
 Can it not do and undo? I will make 
 One of her women lawyer to me ; for 
 I yet not understand the case myself. 
 By your leave. [Knocks. 
 
 Enter a Lady. 
 
 Lady. Who's there that knocks? 
 
 Clo. A gentleman. 
 
 Lady. No more? 
 
 Clo. Yes, and a gentlewoman's son. 
 
 Lady. That 's more 
 
 Than some, whose tailors are as dear as yours, 
 Can justly boast of. What 's your lordship's 
 pleasure? 
 
 Clo. Your lady's person : is she ready? 
 
 Lady. Ay, 
 
 To keep her chamber. 
 
 Clo. There is gold for you ; sell me your good 
 report. [of you 
 
 Lady. How 1 my good name ? or to report 
 What I shall think is good? The princess ! 
 
 Enter IMOGEN. 
 
 Clo. Good -morrow, fairest: sister, your sweet 
 
 hand. [much pains 
 
 Imo. Good-morrow, sir. You lay out too 
 
 For purchasing but trouble : the thanks I give 
 
 Is telling you that I am poor of thanks, 
 And scarce can spare them. 
 
 Clo. Still, I swear I love you. 
 
 Imo. Ifyou but saidso, 'twere asdeep with me: 
 If you swear still, your recompense is still 
 That I regard it not. 
 
 Clo. This is no answer. 
 
 Imo. But that you shall not say I yield, being 
 silent, [faith, 
 
 I would not speak. I pray you, spare me : 
 I shall unfold equal discourtesy [knowing 
 
 To your best kindness : one of your great 
 Should learn, being taught, forbearance. 
 
 Clo. To leave you in your madness 'twere 
 
 my sin : 
 I will not. 
 
 Imo. Fools are not mad folks. 
 
 Clo. Do you call me fool ? 
 
 Imo. As I am mad, I do : 
 If you '11 be patient I '11 no more be mad ; 
 That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir, 
 You put me to forget a lady's manners 
 By being so verbal : and learn now, for all, 
 That I, which knowmy heart, dohere pronounce, 
 By the very truth of it, I care not for you ; 
 And am so near the lack of charity, 
 To accuse myself, I hate youj which I had 
 
 rather 
 You felt than make 't my boast. 
 
 Clo. You sin against 
 
 Obedience, which you owe your father. For 
 The contract you pretend with that base 
 
 wretch, 
 
 One bred of alms and foster'd with cold dishes, 
 With scraps o' the court, it is no contract, 
 
 none : 
 
 And though it be allow'd in meaner parties, 
 Yet who than he more mean? to knit their 
 
 souls, 
 
 On whom there is no more dependency 
 But brats and beggary, in self-figur'd knot ; 
 Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement by 
 The consequence o' the crown ; and must not soil 
 The precious note of it with a base slave, 
 A hilding for a livery, a squire's cloth, 
 A pantler, not so eminent. 
 
 Imo. Profane fellow ! 
 
 Wert thou the son of Jupiter, and no more 
 But what thou art besides, thou wert too base 
 To be his groom : thou wert dignified enough, 
 Even to the point of envy, if 'twere made 
 Comparative* for your virtues, to be styl'd 
 The under-hangman of his kingdom ; and hated 
 For being preferr'd so well. 
 
 Clo. The south fog rot him ! 
 
 Imo. He never can meet more mischance than 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 To be but nam'd of thee. His meanest garment, 
 That ever hath but clipp'd his body, is dearer 
 In my respect than all the hairs above thee, 
 Were they all made such men. 
 
 Enter PISANIO. 
 
 How now, Pisanio ! 
 
 Clo. His garment ! Now, the devil, 
 
 Imo. To Dorothy my woman hie thee pre- 
 sently, 
 
 Clo. His garment ! 
 
 Imo. I am sprited with a fool ; 
 
 Frighted, and anger'd worse. Go, bid my 
 
 woman 
 
 Search for a jewel that too casually [me 
 
 Hath left mine arm : it was thy master's ; shrew 
 If I would lose it for a revenue 
 Of any king's in Europe. I do think 
 I saw 't this morning : confident I am 
 Last night 'twas on mine arm ; I kiss'd it : 
 I hope it be not gone to tell my lord 
 That I kiss aught but he. 
 
 Pis. 'Twill not be lost. 
 
 Imo. I hope so : go and search. 
 
 [Exit PISANIO. 
 
 Clo. You have abus'd me. 
 
 His meanest garment ? 
 
 Imo. Ay, I said so, sir : 
 
 If you will make 't an action, call witness to 't. 
 
 Clo. I will inform your father. 
 
 Into. Your mother too : 
 
 She 's my good lady; and will conceive, I hope, 
 But the worse of me. So I leave you, sir, 
 To the worst of discontent. [Exit. 
 
 Clo. I '11 be revenged : 
 
 His meanest garment ! Well. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV. ROME. An Apartment in 
 PHILARIO'S House. 
 
 Enter POSTHUMUS and PHILARIO. 
 
 Post. Fear it not, sir : I would I were so sure 
 To win the king as I am bold her honour 
 Will remain hers. 
 
 Phi. What means do you make to him ? 
 
 Post. Not any ; but abide the change of time ; 
 Quake in the present winter's state, and wish 
 That warmer days would come : in these sear'd 
 
 hopes 
 
 I barely gratify your love ; they failing, 
 I must die much your debtor. 
 
 Phi. Your very goodness and your company 
 O'erpays all I can do. By this your king 
 Hath heard of great Augustus : Caius Lucius 
 Will do 's commission throughly : and I think 
 He '11 grant the tribute, send the arrearages, 
 
 Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance 
 is yet fresh in their grief. 
 
 Post. I do believe, 
 
 Statist though I am none, nor like to be, 
 That this will prove a war ; and you shall hear 
 The legions now in Gallia sooner landed 
 In our not-fearing Britain than have tidings 
 Of any penny tribute paid. Our countrymen 
 Are men more ordered than when Julius Caesar 
 Smil'd at their lack of skill, but found their 
 
 courage 
 
 Worthy his frowning at : their discipline, 
 Now mingled with their courage, will make 
 
 known 
 
 To their approvers they are people such 
 That mend upon the world. 
 
 Phi. See ! lachimo ! 
 
 Enter IACHIMO. 
 
 
 Post. The swiftest harts have posted you by 
 
 land ; 
 
 And winds of all the corners kiss'd your sails, 
 To make your vessel nimble. 
 
 Phi. Welcome, sir. 
 
 Post. \ hope the briefness of your answer made 
 The speediness of your return. 
 
 loch. Your lady 
 
 Is one of the fairest that I have look'd upon. 
 
 Post. And therewithal the best; or let her 
 
 beauty 
 
 Look through a casement to allure false hearts, 
 And be false with them. 
 
 lach. Here are letters for you. 
 
 Post. Their tenor good, I trust. 
 
 lack. 'Tis very like. 
 
 Phi. Was Caius Lucius in the Britain court 
 When you were there ? 
 
 loch. He was expected then, 
 
 But not approach'd. 
 
 Post. All is well yet. 
 
 Sparkles this stone as it was wont? or is't not 
 Too dull for your good wearing? 
 
 loch. If I had lost it 
 
 I should have lost the worth of it in gold. 
 I '11 make a journey twice as far, to enjoy 
 A second night of such sweet shortness which 
 Was mine in Britain ; for the ring is won. 
 
 Post. The stone 's too hard to come by. 
 
 lack. Not a whit, 
 
 Your lady being so easy. 
 
 Post. Make not, sir, 
 
 Your loss your sport : I hope you know that we 
 Must not continue friends. 
 
 lach. Good sir, we must, 
 
 If you keep covenant. Had I not brought 
 The knowledge of your mistress home, I grant 
 We were to question further : but I now 
 
942 
 
 CYMBEL1NE. 
 
 [ACT ir. 
 
 Profess myself the winner of her honour, 
 Together with your ring ; and not the wronger 
 Of her or you, having proceeded but 
 By both your wills. 
 
 Post. If you can make 't apparent 
 
 That you have tasted her in bed, my hand 
 And ring is yours : if not, the foul opinion 
 You had of her pure honour gains or loses 
 Your sword or mine, or masterless leaves both 
 To who shall find them. 
 
 lack. Sir, my circumstances, 
 
 Being so near the truth as I will make them, 
 Must first induce you to believe : whose strength 
 I will confirm with oath ; which I doubt not 
 You'll give me leave to spare when you shall find 
 You need it not. 
 
 Post. Proceed. 
 
 lack. First, her bedchamber, 
 
 Where, I confess, I slept not ; but profess 
 Had that was well worth watching, it was 
 
 hang'd 
 
 With tapestry of silk and silver ; the story 
 Proud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman, 
 And Cydnus swell'd above the banks, or for 
 The press of boats or pride : a piece of work 
 So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive 
 In workmanship and value ; which I wonder'd 
 Could be so rarely and exactly wrought, 
 Since the true life on 't was, 
 
 Post. f This is true ; 
 
 And this you might have heard of here, by me 
 Or by some other. 
 
 lack. More particulars 
 
 Must justify my knowledge. 
 
 Post. So they must, 
 
 Or do your honour injury. 
 
 lack. The chimney 
 
 Is south the chamber ; and the chimney-piece 
 Chaste Dian bathing : never saw I figures 
 So likely to report themselves : the cutter 
 Was as another nature, dumb j outwent her, 
 Motion and breath left out. 
 
 Post. This is a thing 
 
 Which you might from relation likewise reap ; 
 Being, as it is, much spoke of. 
 
 lack. The roof o' the chamber 
 
 With golden cherubins is fretted: her and- 
 irons, 
 
 I had forgot them, were two winking Cupids 
 Of silver, each on one foot standing, nicely 
 Depending on their brands. 
 
 Post. This is her honour ! 
 
 Let it be granted you have seen all this, and 
 
 praise 
 
 Be given to your remembrance, the description 
 Of what is in her chamber nothing saves 
 The wager you have laid. 
 
 loch* Then, if you can, 
 
 [Pulling out the bracelet, 
 Be pale ; I beg but leave to air this jewel ; see ! 
 And now 'tis up again : it must be married 
 To that your diamond ; I ; 11 keep them. 
 
 Post. Jove ! 
 
 Once more let me behold it : is it that 
 Which I left with her ? 
 
 Jack. Sir, I thank her, that : 
 
 She stripped it from her arm ; I see her yet ; 
 Her pretty action did outsell her gift, 
 And yet enrich'd it too : she gave it me, and said 
 She priz'd it once. 
 
 Post. Maybe she pluck'd it off 
 
 To send it me. 
 
 lack. She writes so to you ? doth she ? 
 
 Post. O, no, no, no ! 'tis true. Here, take 
 
 this too ; [Gives the ring. 
 
 It is a basilisk unto mine eye, 
 
 Kills me to look on't. Let there be no honour 
 
 Where there is beauty ; truth where semblance ; 
 
 love 
 
 Where there 's anotherman : the vows of women 
 Of no more bondage be to where they are made 
 Than they are to their virtues; which is 
 
 nothing. 
 O, above measure false ! 
 
 Phi. Have patience, sir, 
 
 And take your ring again ; 'tis not yet won : 
 It may be probable she lost it ; or, 
 Who knows if one o' her women, being corrupted, 
 Hath stolen it from her ? 
 
 Post. Very true ; 
 
 And so I hope he came by't. Back my ring : 
 Render to me some corporal sign about her, 
 More evident than this ; for this was stolen. 
 
 loch. By Jupiter, I had it from her arm. 
 
 Post. Hark you, he swears ; by Jupiter he 
 
 swears. [sure 
 
 'Tis true, nay, keep the ring, 'tis true : I am 
 
 She would not lose it : her attendants are 
 
 All sworn and honourable : they induc'd to 
 
 steal it ! 
 
 And by a stranger ! No, he hath enjoyed her : 
 The cognizance of her incontinency 
 Is this, she hath bought the name of whore 
 
 thus dearly. 
 
 There, take thy hire ; and all the fiends of hell 
 Divide themselves between you ! 
 
 Phi. Sir, be patient : 
 
 This is not strong enough to be believ'd 
 Of one persuaded well of, 
 
 Post. Never talk on 't ; 
 
 She hath been colted by him. 
 
 loch. If you seek 
 
 For further satisfying, under her breast, 
 Worthy the pressing, lies a mole, right proud 
 
SCENE V.] 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 943 
 
 Of that most delicate lodging : by my life, 
 I kiss'd it ; and it gave me present hunger 
 To feed again, though full. You do remember 
 This stain upon her ? 
 
 Post. Ay, and it doth confirm 
 
 Another stain, as big as hell can hold, 
 Were there no more but it. 
 
 loch. Will you hear more ? 
 
 Post. Spare your arithmetic : never count the 
 
 turns ; 
 Once, and a million ! 
 
 Jack. I'll be sworn, 
 
 Post. No swearing. 
 
 If you will swear you have not done 't, you lie ; 
 And I will kill thee if thou dost deny 
 Thou 'st made me cuckold. 
 
 loch. I'll deny nothing. 
 
 Post. O, that I had her here to tear her limb- 
 meal ! 
 
 I will go there and do 't ; i' the court ; before 
 Her father : I '11 do something, [Exit. 
 
 Phi. Quite besides 
 
 The government of patience ! You have won : 
 Let 's follow him, and pervert the present wrath 
 He hath against himself. 
 
 lack. With all my heart. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. ROME. Another Room in 
 PHILARIO'S House. 
 
 Enter POSTHUMUS. 
 
 Post. Is there no way for men to be, but 
 
 women 
 
 Must be half- workers ? We are all bastards ; 
 And that most venerable man which I 
 Did call my father was I know not where 
 When I was stamp'd ; some coiner with his tools 
 Made me a counterfeit : yet my mother seem'd 
 The Dian of that time : so doth my wife 
 The nonpareil of this. O, vengeance, ven- 
 geance ! 
 
 Me of my lawful pleasure she restrain'd, 
 And pray'd me oft forbearance : did it with 
 A pudency so rosy, the sweet view on 't 
 Might well have warm'd old Saturn ; that I 
 
 thought her 
 
 As chaste as unsunn'd snow. O, all the devils ! 
 This yellow lachimo in an hour, was 't not ? 
 Or less, at first ? Perchance he spoke not, 
 
 but, 
 
 Like a full-acorn'd boar, a German one, 
 Cried O I and mounted ; found no opposition 
 But what he look'd for should oppose, and she 
 Should from encounter guard. Could I find out 
 The woman's part in me ! For there 's no 
 motion 
 
 That tends to vice in man but I affirm 
 
 It is the woman's part : be it lying, note it, 
 
 The woman's ; flattering, hers ; deceiving, 
 
 hers ; [hers ; 
 
 Lust and rank thoughts, hers, hers ; revenges, 
 Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain, 
 Nice longing, slanders, mutability, 
 AH faults that have a name, nay, that hell 
 
 knows, 
 
 Why, hers, in part or all ; but rather all ; 
 For ev'n to vice 
 
 They are not constant, but are changing still 
 One vice, but of a minute old, for one 
 Not half so old as that. I'll write against them, 
 Detest them, curse them. Yet 'tis greater skill 
 In a true hate to pray they have their will : 
 The very devils cannot plague them better. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. BRITAIN. A Room of State in 
 CYMBELINE'S Palace. 
 
 Enter, at one side, CYMBELINE, QUEEN, 
 CLOTEN, and Lords; at the other CAIUS 
 Lucius and Attendants. 
 
 Cym. Now say, what would Augustus Caesar 
 with us ? [brance yet 
 
 Luc. When Julius Caesar, whose remem- 
 Lives in men's eyes, and will to ears and tongues 
 Be theme and hearing ever, was in this Britain, 
 And conquer'd it, Cassibelan, thine uncle, 
 Famous in Caesar's praises no whit less 
 Than in his feats deserving it, for him 
 And his succession granted Rome a tribute 
 Yearly three thousand pounds ; which by thee 
 
 lately 
 Is left untender'd. 
 
 Queen. And, to kill the marvel, 
 
 Shall be so ever. 
 
 Clo. There be many Caesars 
 
 Ere such another Julius. Britain is 
 A world by itself ; and we will nothing pay 
 For wearing our own noses. 
 
 Qiieen. That opportunity, 
 
 Which then they had to take from % to resume 
 We have again. Remember, sir, my liege, 
 The kings your ancestors ; together with 
 The natural bravery of your isle, which stands 
 As Neptune's park, ribbed and paled in 
 With rocks unscaleable and roaring waters ; 
 With sands that will not bear your enemies' 
 boats, [conquest 
 
 But suck them up to the top-mast. A kind of 
 Caesar made here ; but made not here his brag 
 Of came, and saw, and overcame: with shame, 
 
944 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 The first that ever touch'd him, he was carried 
 From off our coast, twice beaten ; and his ship- 
 ping, 
 
 Poor ignorant baubles ! on our terrible seas, 
 Like egg-shells mov'd upon their surges, crack'd 
 As easily 'gainst our rocks : for joy whereof 
 The fam'd Cassibelan, who was once at point, 
 O, giglot fortune ! to master Caesar's sword, 
 Made Lud's town with rejoicing fires bright 
 And Britons strut with courage. 
 
 Clo. Come, there's no more tribute to be 
 paid : our kingdom is stronger than it was at 
 that time; and, as I said, there is no more such 
 Caesars : other of them may have crooked 
 noses ; but to owe such straight arms, none. 
 
 Cym. Son, let your mother end. 
 
 Clo. We have yet many among us can gripe 
 as hard as Cassibelan : I do not say I am one ; 
 but I have a hand. Why tribute ? why should 
 we pay tribute ? If Caesar can hide the sun 
 from us with a blanket, or put the moon in his 
 pocket, we will pay him tribute for light ; else, 
 sir, no more tribute, pray you now. 
 
 Cym. You must know, 
 Till the^ injurious Romans did extort 
 This tribute from us, we were free : Caesar's 
 
 ambition, 
 
 Which swell'd so much that it did almost stretch 
 The sides o' the world, against all colour, here 
 Did put the yoke upon 's ; which to shake off 
 Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon 
 Ourselves to be. 
 
 Clo. We do. 
 
 Cym. Say then to Caesar, 
 
 Our ancestor was that Mulmutius which 
 Ordain'd our laws, whose use the sword of 
 Caesar [franchise 
 
 Hath too much mangled ; whose repair and 
 Shall, by the power we hold, be our good deed, 
 Though Rome be therefore angry : Mulrautius 
 
 made our laws, 
 
 Who was the first of Britain which did put 
 His brows within a golden crown, and call'd 
 Himself a king. 
 
 Luc. I am sorry, Cymbeline, 
 
 That I am to pronounce Augustus Caesar, 
 Caesar, that hath more kings his servants than 
 Thyself domestic officers, thine enemy : 
 Receive it from me, then : War and confusion 
 In Caesar's name pronounce I 'gainst thee : look 
 For fury not to be resisted. Thus defied, 
 I thank thee for myself. 
 
 Cym. Thou art welcome, Caius. 
 
 Thy Caesar knighted me ; my youth I spent 
 Much under him ; of him I gather'd honour ; 
 Which he to seek of me again, perforce, 
 Behoves me keep at utterance. I am perfect 
 
 That the Pannonians and Dalmatians for 
 Their liberties are now in arms, a precedent 
 Which not to read would show the Britons cold : 
 So Caesar shall not find them. 
 
 Luc. Let proof speak. 
 
 Clo. His majesty bids you welcome. Make 
 pastime with us a day or two, or longer : if you 
 seek us afterwards in other terms, you shall find 
 us in our salt-water girdle : if you beat us out 
 of it, it is yours ; if you fall in the adventure, 
 our crows shall fare the better for you ; and 
 there 's an end. 
 
 Luc. So, sir. [mine: 
 
 Cym. I know your master's pleasure, and he 
 All the remain is, welcome. \Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. BRITAIN. Another Room in the 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter PISANIO with a letter. 
 Pis. How ! of adultery ? Wherefore write 
 
 you not 
 What monster 's her accuser ? Leonatus ! 
 
 master ! what a strange infection 
 
 Is fallen into thy earl What false Italian, 
 As poisonous tongu'd as handed, hath pre- 
 
 vail'd 
 
 On thy too ready hearing ? Disloyal ! No : 
 She 's punish'd for her truth ; and undergoes, 
 More goddess-like than wife-like, such assaults 
 As would take in some virtue. O my master ! 
 Thy mind to her is now as low as were 
 Thy fortunes. How ! that I should murder her? 
 Upon the love, and truth, and vows which I 
 Have made to thy command? I, her? her 
 
 blood ? 
 
 If it be so to do good service, never 
 Let me be counted serviceable. I Tow look I, 
 That I should seem to lack humanity 
 So much as this fact comes to? {Reading.] 
 
 Do *t : the letter 
 
 That I have sent her, by her own command 
 Shall give thee opportunity : O damn'd paper ! 
 Black as the ink that 's on thee ! Senseless 
 
 bauble, 
 
 Art thou a fedary for this act, and look'st 
 So virgin-like without ? Lo, here she comes. 
 
 1 am ignorant in what I am commanded. 
 
 Enter IMOGEN. 
 Imo. How now, Pisanio ! 
 Pis. Madam, here is a letter from my lord. 
 Imo. Who? thy loru? that is my lord, 
 
 Leonatus ? 
 
 O, learn'd indeed were thac astronomer 
 That knew the stars as I his characters ; 
 He 'd lay the future open. You good gods, 
 
SCFtfS II.] 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 945 
 
 Let what is here contain'd relish of love, 
 Of my lord's heallh, of his content, yet not 
 That we two are asunder, let that grieve him; 
 Some griefs are med'cinable ; that is one of 
 
 them, 
 
 For it doth physic love ; of his content [be 
 All but in that ! Good wax, thy leave: bless'd 
 You bees that make these locks of counsel ! 
 
 Lovers 
 
 And men ia dangerous bonds pray not alike : 
 Though forfeiters you cast in prison, yet 
 You clasp young Cupid's tables. Good news, 
 
 gods ! [Reads. 
 
 Justice, and your father's wrath, should he 
 fake me in his dominion , could not be so cruel 
 to me, as you, O the dearest of creatures, would 
 even renew me with your eyes. Take notice 
 that I am in Cambria^ at Milford-Haven . 
 what your own love will, out of this, advise you, 
 follow. So he wishes you all happiness that 
 remains loyal to his vow, and your, increasing 
 in love, LEONATUS POSTHUMUS. 
 
 O for a horse with wings! Hear'st thou, 
 
 Pisanio ? 
 
 He is at Milford-Haven : read, and tell me 
 How far 3 tis thither. If one of mean affairs 
 May plod it in a week, why may not I 
 Glide thither in a day ? Then, true Pisanio, 
 Who long'st, like me, to see thy lord ; who 
 
 long'st 
 
 O, let rne 'bate but not like me ; yet long'st, 
 But in a fainter kind : O, not like me ; 
 For mine's beyond beyond, say, and speak 
 
 thick, 
 
 Love's councillor should fill the bores of hearing 
 To the smothering of the sense, how far it is 
 To this same blessed Milford : and, by the 
 
 way, 
 
 Tell me how Wales was made so happy as 
 To inherit such a haven : but, first of all, 
 How we may steal from hence ; and for the gap 
 That we shall make in time, from our hence- 
 going [hence : 
 And our return, to excuse. But first, how get 
 Why should excuse be born or e'er begot ? 
 We '11 talk of that hereafter. Pr'ythee, speak, 
 How many score of miles may we well ride 
 'Twixt hour and hour ? 
 
 Pis. One score 'twixt sun and sun, 
 
 Madam, 's enough for you, and too much too. 
 
 Into. Why, one that rode to 's execution, man, 
 Could never go so slow : I have heard of riding 
 
 wagers, 
 
 Where horses have been nimbler than the sands 
 That run i' the clock's behalf; but this is 
 
 foolery : 
 Go bid my woman feign a sickness ; say 
 
 She'll home to her father: and provide me 
 
 presently 
 
 A riding suit no costlier than would fit 
 A franklin's housewife. 
 
 Pis. Madam, you 're best consider. 
 
 Inw. I see before me, man, nor here, nor here, 
 Nor what ensues ; but have a fog in them 
 That I cannot look through. Away, 1 prithee; 
 Do as 1 bid thee : there's no more to say ; 
 Accessible is none but Milford way. {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. WALES. A mountainous Country 
 with a Cave, 
 
 terBELARius, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS. 
 
 Bel. A goodly day not to keep house, with 
 
 such [gate 
 
 Whose roof 's as low as ours ! Stoop, boys : this 
 Instructs you how to adore the heavens, and 
 
 bows you 
 
 To a morning's holy office : the gates of monarchs 
 Are arch'd so high that giants may jet through, 
 And keep their impious turbans on, without 
 Good-morrow to the sun. Hail, thou fair 
 
 heaven ! 
 
 We house i' the rock, yet use thee not so hardly 
 As prouder livers do. 
 
 Gut. Hail, heaven ! 
 
 Arv, Hail, heaven ! 
 
 Bel. Now for our mountain sport : up to 
 
 yond hill, 
 Your legs aie young; I'll tread these flats. 
 
 Consider, 
 
 When you above perr 2ive me like a crow, 
 That it is place which lessens and sets off: 
 And you may then revolve what tales I have 
 
 told you 
 
 Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war : 
 This service is not service so being done, 
 But being so allow'd : to apprehend thus 
 Draws us a profit from all things we see ; 
 And often, to our comfort, shall we find 
 The sharded beetle in a safer hold 
 Than is the full-wing'd eagle. O, this life 
 Is nobler than attending for a check, 
 Richer than doing nothing for a bauble, 
 Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk : 
 Such gain the cap of him that makes 'em fine, 
 Yet keeps his book uncross'd : no life to ours. 
 Gui. Out of your proof you speak : we, poor 
 
 unfledg'd, [know not 
 
 Have never wing'd from view o' the nest ; nor 
 What air 's from home. Haply this life is best, 
 If quiet life be best ; sweeter to you 
 That have a sharper known ; well corresponding 
 With your stiff age : but unto us it is 
 A cell of ignorance ; travelling abed ; 
 
CYMBELINE. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 A prison for a debtor, that not dares 
 To stride a limit. 
 
 Arv. What should we speak of 
 
 When we are old as you ? when we shall hear 
 The rain and wind beat dark December, how, 
 In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse 
 The freezing hours away ? We have seen nothing : 
 We are beastly ; subtle as the fox for prey ; 
 Like warlike as the wolf for what we eat : 
 Our valour is to chase what flies ; our cage 
 We make a quire, as doth the prison'd bird, 
 And sing our bondage freely. 
 
 Bel. How you speak ! 
 
 Did you but know the city's usuries, 
 And felt them knowingly : the art o' the court, 
 As hard to leave as keep ; whose top to climb 
 Is certain falling, or so slippery that 
 The fear 's as bad as falling : the toil o' the war, 
 A pain that only seems to seek out danger 
 I' the name of fame and honour ; which dies i' 
 
 the search, 
 
 And hath as oft a slanderous epitaph 
 As record of fair act ; nay, many times 
 Doth ill deserve by doing well ; what 's worse, 
 Must court'sy at the censure. O, boys, this 
 
 story 
 
 The world may read in me : my body 's mark'd 
 With Roman swords ; and my report was once 
 First with the best of note : Cymbeline lov'd me ; 
 And when a soldier was the theme, my name 
 Was not far off; then was I as a tree [night 
 Whose boughs did bend with fruit : but in one 
 A storm or robbery, call it what you will, 
 Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my 
 
 leaves, 
 And left me bare to weather. 
 
 Gui. Uncertain favour? 
 
 Bel. My fault being nothing, as I have told 
 
 you oft, [vail'd 
 
 But that two villains, whose false oaths pre- 
 Before my perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline 
 I was confederate with the Romans : so 
 Follow'd my banishment ; and this twenty years 
 This rock and these demesnes have been my 
 
 world : 
 
 Where I have liv'd at honest freedom ; paid 
 More pious debts to heaven than in all 
 The fore-end of my time. But up to the 
 
 mountains ! 
 
 This is not hunters' language. He that strikes 
 The venison first shall be the lord o' the feast ; 
 To him the other two shall minister ; 
 And we will fear no poison, which attends 
 In place of greater state. I '11 meet you in the 
 
 valleys. {Exeunt GUI. and ARV. 
 How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature ! 
 These boys know little they are sons to the king ; 
 
 Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive. 
 They think they are mine : and though train'd 
 
 up thus meanly [hit 
 
 I' the cave wherein they bow, their thoughts do 
 The roofs of palaces ; and nature prompts them, 
 In simple and low things, to prince it much 
 Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore, 
 The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, who 
 The king his father cail'd Guiderius, Jove ! 
 When on my three-foot stool I sit, and tell 
 The warlike feats I have done, his spirits fly out 
 Into my story : say, Thus mine enemy fell, 
 And thus I set my foot on 'j neck; even then 
 The princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats, 
 Strains his young nerves, and puts himself in 
 
 posture [wal, 
 
 That acts my words. The younger brother, Cad- 
 Once Arviragus, in as like a figure 
 Strikes life into my speech, and shows much more 
 Hisown conceiving. Hark, thegameisrous'd! 
 O Cymbeline ! heaven and my conscience knows 
 Thou didst unjustly banish me : whereon, 
 At three and two years old, I stole these babes ; 
 Thinking to bar thee of succession, as 
 Thou reft'st me of my lands. Euriphile, 
 Thou wast their nurse ; they took thee for their 
 
 mother, 
 
 And every day do honour to her grave : 
 Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan cail'd, 
 They take for natural father. The game is up. 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV. Wales, near Mi If ord- Haven. 
 Enter PISANIO and IMOGEN. 
 
 Imo. Thou told'st me, when we came from 
 
 horse, the place 
 
 Was near at hand. Ne'er long'd my mother so 
 To see me first as I have now. Pisanio J Man ! 
 Where is Posthumus ? What is in thy mind 
 That makes thee stare thus ? Wherefore breaks 
 
 that sigh 
 
 From the inward of thee ? One but painted thus 
 Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd 
 Beyond self-explication : put thyself 
 Into a 'haviour of less fear, ere wildness 
 Vanquish my steadier senses. What's the 
 
 matter ? 
 
 Why tender'st thou that paper to me, with 
 A look untender ? If 't be summer news, 
 Smile to 't before ; if winterly, thou need'st 
 But keep that countenance still. My husband's 
 
 hand! 
 
 That drug-damn'd Italy hath out-craftied him, 
 And he's at some hard point Speak, man; 
 
 thy tongue 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 May take off some extremity, which to read 
 Would be even mortal to me. 
 
 Pis. Please you, read ; 
 
 And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing 
 The most disdain'd of fortune. 
 
 Imo. [Reads.} Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath 
 played the strumpet in my bed ; the testimonies 
 "whereof lie bleeding in me. I speak not otit of 
 weak surmises ; but from proof as strong as my 
 grief and as certain as 1 expect my revenge. 
 That part thou, Pisanio, mtist act for me, if thy 
 faith be not tainted with the breach of hers. Let 
 thine own hands take away her life ; I shall give 
 thee opportunity at Milford- Haven: she hath my 
 letter for the -purpose : where, if thott fear to 
 strike, and to make me certain it is done, thou 
 art the pander to her dishonour, and equally to 
 me disloyal. 
 
 Pis. What, shall I need to draw my sword ? 
 
 the paper 
 
 Hath cut her throat already. No, 'tis slander ; 
 Whose edge is sharper than the sword ; whose 
 
 tongue 
 
 Outvenoms all the worms of Nile ; whose breath 
 Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie 
 All corners of the world: kings, queens, and 
 
 states, 
 
 Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave 
 This viperous slander enters. What cheer, 
 
 madam? [false? 
 
 Imo. False to his bed? What is it to be 
 To lie in watch there, and to think on him ? 
 To weep 'twixt clock and clock ? if sleep charge 
 
 nature, 
 
 To break it with a fearful dream of him, 
 And cry myself awake? that's false to his bed, 
 Is it? 
 
 Pis. Alas, good lady ! [lachimo, 
 
 Imo. I false ! Thy conscience witness : 
 Thou didst accuse him of incontinency ; 
 Thou then look'dst like a villain; now, me- 
 
 thinks, 
 
 Thy favour } s good enough. Some jay of Italy, 
 Whose mother was her painting, hath betray'd 
 
 him: 
 
 Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion ; 
 And for I am richer than to hang by the walls 
 I must be ripp'd : to pieces with me ! O, 
 Men's vows are women's traitors ! All good 
 
 seeming, 
 
 By thy revolt, O husband, shall be thought 
 Put on for villany, not born where 't grows, 
 But worn a bait for ladies. 
 
 Pis. Good madam, hear me. 
 
 Imo. True honest men being heard, like false 
 
 vEneas, [weeping 
 
 Were, in his time, thought false : and Sinon's 
 
 Did scandal many a holy tear ; took pity 
 From most true wretchedness : so thou, Post- 
 humus, 
 
 Wilt lay the leaven on all proper men ; 
 Goodly and gallant shall be false and perjur'd 
 From thy great fail. Come, fellow, be thou 
 honest : [him, 
 
 Do thou thy master's bidding : when thou see'st 
 A little witness my obedience : look ! 
 I draw the sword myself : take it, and hit 
 The innocent mansion of my love, my heart : 
 Fear not ; 'tis empty of all things but grief: 
 Thy master is not there ; who was indeed 
 The riches of it : do his bidding ; strike. 
 Thou mayst be valiant in a better cause ; 
 But now thou seem'st a coward. 
 
 Pisa Hence, vile instrument ! 
 
 Thou shalt not damn my hand. 
 
 Imo. Why, I must die ; 
 
 And if I do not by thy hand, thou art 
 No servant of thy master's : against self-slaughter 
 There is a prohibition so divine [heart : 
 
 That cravens my weak hand. Come, here's my 
 Something's afore 't. Soft, soft! we'll no 
 
 defence ; 
 
 Obedient as the scabbard. What is here? 
 The scriptures of the loyal Leonatus 
 All turn'd to heresy? Away, away, 
 Corrupters of my faith ! you shall no more 
 Be stomachers to my heart. Thus may poor fools 
 Believe false teachers: though those that are 
 
 betray'd 
 
 Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor 
 Stands in worse case of woe. 
 And thou, Posthumus, that didst set up 
 My disobedience 'gainst the king my father, 
 And make me put into contempt the suits 
 Of princely fellows, shalt hereafter find 
 It is no act of common passage, but 
 A strain of rareness : and I grieve myself 
 To think, when thou shalt be disedg'd by her 
 That now thou tir'st on, how thy memory 
 Will then be pang'd by me. Pr'ythee, despatch : 
 The lamb entreats the butcher: where 's thy 
 
 knife? 
 
 Thou art too slow to do thy master's bidding, 
 When I desire it too. 
 
 Pis. O gracious lady, 
 
 Since I receiv'd command to do this business 
 I have not slept one wink. 
 
 Imo. Do 't, and to bed then. 
 
 Pis. I '11 wake mine eyeballs blind first. 
 
 Imo. Wherefore then 
 
 Didst undertake it ? Why hast thou abus'd 
 So many miles with a pretence? this place? 
 Mine action and thine own? our horses' labour? 
 The time inviting thee? the perturb'd court, 
 
94* 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 For my being absent ; whereunto 1 never 
 Purpose return ? Why hast thou gone so far, 
 To be unbent when thou hast ta'en thy stand, 
 The elected deer before thee ? 
 
 Pis. But to win time 
 
 To lose so bad employment ; in the which 
 I have consider'd of a course. Good lady, 
 Hear me with patience. 
 
 Imo. Talk thy tongue weary: speak: 
 
 I have heard I am a strumpet ; and mine ear, 
 Therein false struck, can take no greater wound, 
 Nor tent to bottom that. But speak. 
 
 Pis. Then, madam, 
 
 I thought you would not back again. 
 
 Imo. Most like, 
 
 Bringing me here to kill me. 
 
 Pis. Not so neither : 
 
 But if I were as wise as honest, then 
 My purpose would prove well. It cannot be 
 But that my master is abus'd : 
 Some villain, ay, and singular in his art, 
 Hath done you both this cursed injury. 
 
 Imo. Some Roman courtezan. 
 
 Pis. No, on my life : 
 
 I '11 give but notice you are dead, and send him 
 Some bloody sign of it ; for 'tis commanded 
 I should do so : you shall be miss'd at court, 
 And that will well confirm it. 
 
 Imo. Why, good fellow, 
 
 What shall I do the while? where bide? how 
 
 live? 
 
 Or in my life what comfort when I am 
 Dead to my husband? 
 
 Pis. If you '11 back to the court, 
 
 Imo. No court, no father ; nor no more ado 
 With that harsh, noble, simple nothing, 
 That Cloten, whose love-suit hath been to me 
 As fearful as x a siege. 
 
 Pis. If not at court, 
 
 Then not in Britain must you bide. 
 
 Imo. Where then? 
 
 Hath Britain all the sun that shines? Day, 
 
 night, 
 Are they rot but in Britain? V the world's 
 
 volume 
 
 Our Britain seems as of it, but not in 't ; 
 In a great pool a swan's nest : pr'ythee, think 
 There 's livers out of Britain. 
 
 Pis. I am most glad 
 
 You think of other place. The ambassador, 
 Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford-Haven 
 To-morrow: now, if you could wear a mind 
 Dark as your fortune is, and but disguise 
 That which to appear itself must not yet be, 
 But by self danger, you should tread a course 
 Privy and full of view ; yea, haply, near 
 The residence of Posthumus, so nigh at least 
 
 That though his actions were not visible, yet 
 Report should render him hourly to your ear, 
 As truly as he moves. 
 
 Imo. O, for such means, 
 
 Though peril to my modesty, not death on 't, 
 I would adventure. 
 
 Pis. Well then, here 's the point : 
 
 You must forget to be a woman ; change 
 Command into obedience ; fear and niceness, 
 1 he handmaids of all women, or, more truly, 
 Woman its pretty self, into a waggish courage ; 
 Ready in gibes, quick-answer'd, saucy, and 
 As quarrelous as the weasel ; nay, you must . 
 Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek, 
 Exposing it, but, O, the harder heart ! 
 Alack, no remedy ! to the greedy touch 
 Of common-kissing Titan ; and forget 
 Your laboursome and dainty trims, wherein 
 You made great Juno angry. 
 
 Imo. Nay, be brief; 
 
 I see into thy end, and am almost 
 A man already. 
 
 Pis. First, make yourself but like one. 
 
 Fore-thinking this, I have already fit, 
 'Tis in my cloak-bag, doublet, hat, hose, all 
 That answer to them: would you, in their 
 
 serving, 
 
 And with what imitation you can borrow 
 From youth of such a season, 'fore noble Lucius 
 Present yourself, desire his service, tell him 
 Wherein you are happy, which you '11 make 
 
 him know 
 
 If that his head have ear in music, doubtless 
 With joy he will embrace you ; for he 's hon- 
 ourable 
 And, doubling that, most holy. Your means 
 
 abroad 
 
 You have me, rich ; and I will never fail 
 Beginning nor supplyment 
 
 Imo. Thou art all the comfort 
 
 The gods will diet me with. Pr'ythee, away : 
 There 's more to be consider'd ; but we '11 even 
 All that good time will give us : this attempt 
 I am soldier to, and will abide it with 
 A prince's courage. Away, I pr'ythee. 
 
 Pis. Well, madam, we must take a short 
 
 farewell, 
 
 Lest, being miss'd, I be suspected of [tress, 
 Your carriage from the court. My noble mis- 
 Here is a box; I had it horn the queen; 
 What 's in 't is precious ; if you are sick at sea 
 Or stomach-qualm'd at land, a dram of this 
 Will drive away distemper. To some shade, 
 And fit you to your manhood : may the gods 
 Direct you to the best ! 
 
 Imo. Amen : thank thee. 
 
 4*1011 
 
SCENE V.j 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 943 
 
 SCENE V. BRITAIN. A Room in CYM- 
 BELINE'S Palace. 
 
 Enter CYMBELINE, QUEEN, CLOTEN, Lucius, 
 and Lords. 
 
 Cym. Thus far; and so farewell. 
 
 Luc. Thanks, royal sir. 
 
 My emperor hath wrote ; I must from hence ; 
 And am right sorry that I must report ye 
 My master's enemy. 
 
 Cym. Our subjects, sir, 
 
 Will not endure his yoke ; and for ourself 
 To show less sovereignty than they, must needs 
 Appear unkinglike. 
 
 Luc. So, sir, I desire of you 
 
 A conduct over-land to Milford-Haven. 
 Madam, all joy befall his grace and you ! 
 
 Cym. My lords, you are appointed for that 
 
 office; 
 
 'The due of honour in no point omit. 
 So farewell, noble Lucius. 
 
 Luc. Your hand, my lord. 
 
 Clo. Receive it friendly : but from this time 
 
 forth 
 I wear it as your enemy. 
 
 Luc. Sir, the event 
 
 Is yet to name the winner : fare you well. 
 
 Cym. Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my 
 
 lords, 
 
 Till he have cross'd the Severn. Happiness ! 
 [Exeunt Lucius and Lords. 
 
 Queen. He goes hence frowning: but it 
 
 honours us 
 That we have given him cause. 
 
 Clo. 'Tis all the better; 
 
 Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it. 
 
 Cym. Lucius hath wrote already to the em- 
 peror 
 
 How it goes here. It fits us therefore ripely 
 Our chariots and our horsemen be in readiness : 
 The powers that he already hath in Gallia 
 Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he 
 
 moves 
 His war for Britain. 
 
 Queen. 'Tis not sleepy business; 
 
 But must be look'd to speedily and strongly. 
 
 Cym. Our expectation that it would be thus 
 Hath made us forward. But, my gentle queen, 
 Where is our daughter? She hath not appear'd 
 Before the Roman, nor to us hath tender'd 
 The duty of the day : she looks us like 
 A thing more made of malice than of duty : 
 We have noted it. Call her before us; for 
 We have been too slight in sufferance. 
 
 [Exit an Attendant. 
 
 Queen. Royal sir, 
 
 Since the exile of Posthumus, most retir'd 
 Hath her life been ; the cure whereof, my lord. 
 'Tis time must do. Beseech your majesty, 
 Forbear sharp speeches to her : she 's a lady 
 So tender of rebukes that words are strokes, 
 And strokes death to her. 
 
 Re-enter Attendant. 
 
 Cym. Where is she, sir? How 
 
 Can her contempt be answer'd? 
 
 Atten. Please you, sir, 
 
 Her chambers are all lock'd ; and there 's no 
 
 answer [make. 
 
 That will be given to the loud'st of noise we 
 
 Queen. My lord, when last I went to visit her, 
 She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close; 
 Whereto constrain'd by her infirmity 
 She should that duty leave unpaid to you 
 Which daily she was bound to proffer : this 
 She wish'd me to make known ; but our great 
 
 court 
 Made me to blame in memory. 
 
 Cym. Her door 's lock'd ? 
 
 Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that which 
 
 I fear 
 Prove false ! [Exit. 
 
 Queen. Son, I say, follow the king, [vant, 
 
 Clo. That man of hers, Pisanio, her old ser- 
 I have not seen these two days. 
 
 Queen. Go, look after. 
 
 [Exit CLOTEN. 
 
 Pisanio, thou that stand'st so for Posthumus ! 
 He hath a drug of mine ; I pray his absence 
 Proceed by swallowing that ; for he believes 
 It is a thing most precious. But for her, [her; 
 Where is she gone? Haply despair hath seiz'd 
 Or, wing'd with fervour of her love, she 's flown 
 To her desir'd Posthumus: gone she is 
 To death or to dishonour ; and my end 
 Can make good use of either : she being down, 
 I have the placing of the British crown. 
 
 Re-enter CLOTEN. 
 
 How now, my son ! 
 
 Clo. 'Tis certain she is fled. 
 
 Go in and cheer the king : he rages ; none 
 Dare come about him. 
 
 Queen. All the better: may 
 
 This night forestall him of the coming day ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Clo. I love and hate her : for she 's fair and 
 royal, [quisite 
 
 And that she hath all courtly parts more ex- 
 Than lady, ladies, woman ; from every one 
 The best she hath, and she, of all compounded. 
 Outsells them all. I love her therefore: but, 
 Disdaining me, and throwing favours on 
 
950 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 The low Posthumus, slanders so her judgment 
 That what's else rare is chok'd; and in that 
 
 point 
 
 I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed, 
 To be reveng'd upon her. For when fools shall 
 
 Enter PISANIO. 
 
 Who is here? What, are you packing, sirrah? 
 Come hither : ah, you precious pander ! Villain, 
 Where is thy lady? In a word ; or else 
 Thou art straightway with the fiends. 
 
 Pis. O, good my lord ! 
 
 Clo. Where is thy lady? or, by Jupiter 
 I will not ask again. Close villain, 
 I '11 have this secret from thy heart, or rip 
 Thy heart to find it. Is she with Posthumus? 
 From whose so many weights of baseness cannot 
 A dram of worth be drawn. 
 
 Pis. Alas, my lord, 
 
 How can she be with him? When was she 
 
 miss'd? 
 He is in Rome. 
 
 Clo. Where is she, sir? Come nearer; 
 
 No further halting : satisfy me home 
 What is become of her. 
 
 Pis. O, my all-worthy lord ! 
 
 Clo. All-worthy villain ! 
 
 Discover where thy mistress is at once, 
 At the next word, no more of worthy lord, 
 Speak, or thy silence on the instant is 
 Thy condemnation and thy death. 
 
 Pis. Then, sir, 
 
 This paper is the history of my knowledge 
 Touching her flight. [Presenting a letter. 
 
 Clo. Let's see't. I will pursue her 
 
 Even to Augustus' throne. 
 
 Pis. [Aside.] Or this or perish. 
 
 She 's far enough ; and what he learns by this 
 May prove his travel, not her danger. 
 
 Clo. Hum! 
 
 Pis. [Aside.] I'll write to my lord she's 
 
 dead. O Imogen, 
 Safe mayst thou wander, safe return again ! 
 
 Clo. Sirrah, is this letter true? 
 
 Pis. Sir, as I think. 
 
 Clo. It is Posthumus' hand; I know't. 
 Sirrah, if thou wouldst not be a villain, but do 
 me true service, undergo those employments 
 wherein I should have cause to use thee with a 
 serious industry, that is, what viilany soe'er I 
 bid thee do, to perform it directly and truly, 
 I would think thee an honest man : thou shouldst 
 neither want my means for thy relief nor my 
 voice for thy preferment. 
 
 Pis. Well, my good lord. 
 
 Clo. Wilt thou serve me? for since patiently 
 and constantly thou hast stuck to the bare for- 
 
 tune of that beggar Posthumus, thou canst not, 
 in the course of gratitude, but be a diligent 
 follower of mine, wilt thou serve me? 
 
 Pis. Sir, I will. 
 
 Clo. Give me thy hand; here's my purse. 
 Hast any of thy late master's garments in thy 
 possession? 
 
 Pis. I have, my lord, at my lodging, the 
 same suit he wore when he took leave of my 
 lady and mistress. 
 
 Clo. The first service thou dost me, fetch 
 that suit hither : let it be thy first service ; go. 
 
 Pis. I shall, my lord. [Exit. 
 
 Clo. Meet thee at Milford-Haven ! I forgot 
 to ask him one thing ; I '11 remember 't anon : 
 even there, thou villain Posthumus, will I kill 
 thee. I would these garments were come. 
 She said upon a time, the bitterness of it I 
 now belch from my heart, that she held the 
 very garment of Posthumus in more respect 
 than my noble and natural person, together with 
 the adornment of my qualities. With that suit 
 upon my back will I ravish her : first kill him, 
 and in her eyes ; there shall she see my valour, 
 which will then be a torment to her contempt. 
 He on the ground, my speech of insultment 
 ended on his dead body, and when my lust 
 hath dined, which, as I say, to vex her, I will 
 execute in the clothes that she so praised, to 
 the court I '11 knock her back, foot her home 
 again. She hath despised me rejoicingly, and 
 I '11 be merry in my revenge. 
 
 Re-enter PISANIO, with the clothes. 
 
 Be those the garments? 
 Pis. Ay, my noble lord. 
 Clo. How long is 't since she went to Milford- 
 Haven? 
 
 Pis. She can scarce be there yet. 
 Clo. Bring this apparel to my chamber ; that 
 is the second thing that I have commanded 
 thee: the third is, that thou wilt be a volun- 
 tary mute to my design. Be but duteous, and 
 true preferment shall tender itself to thee. 
 My revenge is now at Milford: would I had 
 wings to follow it ! Come, and be true. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Pis. Thou bidd'st me to my loss : for true to 
 
 thee 
 
 Were to prove false, which I will never be, 
 To him that is most true. To Milford go, 
 And find not her whom thou pursu'st. Flow, 
 
 flow, 
 You heavenly blessings on her ! This fool's 
 
 speed 
 
 Be cross'd with slowness ; labour be his meed ' 
 
 [Exit. 
 
SCENE VI.] 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 951 
 
 SCENE VI. WALES. Before the Cave of 
 BELARIUS. 
 
 Enter IMOGEN, in boy's clothes. 
 
 Imo. I see a man's life is a tedious one : 
 I have tir'd myself ; and for two nights together 
 Have made the ground my bed. I should be 
 
 sick, 
 
 But that my resolution helps me. - Milford, 
 When from the mountain-top Pisanio show'd 
 
 thee, 
 
 Thou wast within a ken : O Jove ! I think 
 Foundations fly the wretched ; such, I mean, 
 Where they should be reliev'd. Two beggars 
 
 told me 
 
 I could not miss my way : will poor folks lie, 
 That have afflictions on them, knowing 'tis 
 A punishment or trial ? Yes ; no wonder, 
 When rich ones scarce tell true : to lapse in 
 
 fulness 
 
 Is sorer than to lie for need ; and falsehood 
 Is worse in kings than beggars. My dear lord ! 
 Thou art one o' the false ones : now I think 
 
 on thee 
 
 My hunger 's gone ; but even before, I was 
 At point to sink for food. But what is this? 
 Here is a path to 't : 'tis some savage hold : 
 I were best not call ; I dare not call : yet 
 
 famine, 
 
 Ere clean it o'erthrow nature, makes it valiant. 
 Plenty and peace breeds cowards ; hardness ever 
 Of hardiness is mother. Ho ! who 's here ? 
 If anything that 's civil, speak ; if savage, 
 Take or lend. Ho! No answer? then I'll 
 
 enter. 
 
 Best draw my sword ; and if mine enemy 
 But fear the sword, like me, he '11 scarcely look 
 
 on't. 
 Such a foe, good heavens ! [Goes into the Cave. 
 
 Enter BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and 
 ARVIRAGUS. 
 
 Bel. You, Polydore, have prov'd best wood- 
 man, and 
 
 Are master of the feast : Cadwal and I 
 Will play the cook and servant ; 'tis our match: 
 The sweat of industry would dry and die 
 But for the end it works to. Come ; our stomachs 
 Will make what 's homely savoury : weariness 
 Can snore upon the flint, when restive sloth 
 Finds the down pillow hard. New, peace be 
 
 here, 
 Poor house, that keep'st thyself ! 
 
 Gui. I am throughly weary. 
 
 Arv. I am weak with toil, yet strong in 
 appetite. 
 
 Gut. There is cold meat i' the cave ; we '11 
 
 browse on that 
 Whilst what we have kill'd be cook'd. 
 
 Bel. Stay ; come not in. 
 
 [Looking into the Cave. 
 But that it eats our victuals, I should think 
 Here were a fairy. 
 
 Gui. What 's the matter, sir ? 
 
 Bel. By Jupiter, an angel ! or, if not, 
 An earthly paragon ! Behold divineness 
 No elder than a boy ! 
 
 Re-enter IMOGEN. 
 
 Imo. Good masters, harm me not : 
 Before I enter'd here I call'd ; and thought 
 To have begg'd or bought what I have took : 
 
 good troth, 
 I have stol'n nought ; nor would not, though 
 
 I had found 
 Gold strew'd o' the floor. Here 's money for 
 
 my meat : 
 
 I would have left it on the board, so soon 
 As I had made my meal ; and parted 
 With prayers for the provider. 
 
 Gut. ' Money, youth ? 
 
 Arv. All gold and silver rather turn to dirt ! 
 And 'tis no better reckon'd, but of those 
 Who worship dirty gods. 
 
 Imo. I see you are angry : 
 
 Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should 
 Have died had I not made it. 
 
 Bel. Whither bound? 
 
 Imo. To Milord-Haven. 
 
 Bel. What 's your name ? 
 
 Imo. Fidele, sir. I have a kinsman who 
 Is bound for Italy ; he embark'd at Milford ; 
 To whom being going, almost spent with hunger, 
 I am fallen in this offence. 
 
 Bel. Pr'ythee, fair youth, 
 
 Think us no churls, nor measure our good minds 
 By this rude place we live in. Well encounter'd ! 
 'Tis almost night : you shall have better cheer 
 Ere you depart ; and thanks to stay and eat it. 
 Boys, bid him welcome. 
 
 Gut. Were you a woman, youth, 
 
 I should woo hard but be your groom. In 
 
 honesty 
 I'd bid for you as I do buy. 
 
 Arv. I '11 make 't my comfort 
 
 He is a man ; I '11 love him as my brother : 
 And such a welcome as I'd give to him, 
 After long absence, such as yours : most wel- 
 come ! 
 Be sprightly, for you fall 'mongst friends. 
 
 Into. 'Mongst friends, 
 
 If brothers. [Aside.} Would it had been so that 
 they 
 
952 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Had been my father's sons ! then had my prize 
 Been less ; and so more equal ballasting 
 To thee, Posthumus. 
 
 Bel. He wrings at some distress. 
 
 Gut. Would I could free 't ! 
 
 Arv. Or I ; whate'er it be, 
 
 What pain it cost, what danger ! gods ! 
 
 Bel. Hark, boys. [Whispering. 
 
 Into. Great men, 
 
 That had a court no bigger than this cave, 
 That did attend themselves, and had the virtue 
 Which their own conscience seal'd them, 
 
 laying by 
 
 That nothing gift of differing multitudes, 
 Could not out-peer these twain. Pardon me, 
 
 gods ! 
 
 I'd change my sex to be companion with them, 
 Since Leonatus' false. 
 
 Bel. It shall be so. 
 
 Boys, we'll go dress our hunt. Fair youth, 
 
 come in : 
 Discourse is heavy, fasting ; when we have 
 
 supp'd 
 
 We '11 mannerly demand thee of thy story, 
 So far as thou wilt speak it. 
 
 Gui. Pray* draw near. 
 
 Arv. The night to the owl and morn to the 
 lark less welcome. 
 
 Into. Thanks, sir. 
 
 Arv. I pray, draw near. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VII. ROME. A public Place. 
 Enter two Senators and Tribunes. 
 
 I Sen. This is the tenor of the Emperor's 
 
 writ: 
 
 That since the common men are now in action 
 'Gainst the Pannonians and Dalmatians, 
 And that the legions now in Gallia are 
 Full weak to undertake our wars against 
 The fallen-off Britons, that we do incite 
 The gentry to this business. He creates 
 Lucius pro-consul : and to you, the tribunes, 
 For this immediate levy, he commends 
 His absolute commission. Long live Csesar ! 
 
 1 Tri. Is Lucius general of the forces ? 
 
 2 Sen. Ay. 
 i Tri. Remaining now in Gallia ? 
 
 i Sen. With those legions 
 
 Which I have spoke of, whereunto your levy 
 Must be supplyant : the words of your commission 
 Will tie you to the numbers, and the time 
 Of their despatch. 
 
 I Tri. We will discharge our duty. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. WALES. The Forest near the Cave of 
 BELARIUS. 
 
 Enter CLOTEN. 
 
 Clo. I am near to the place where they should 
 meet, if Pisanio have mapped it truly. How 
 fit his garments serve me ! Why should his 
 mistress, who was made by him that made the 
 tailor, not be fit too ? the rather, saving rever- 
 ence of the word, for 'tis said a woman's fit- 
 ness comes by fits. Therein I must play the 
 workman. I dare speak it to myself, for it is 
 not vainglory for a man and his glass to confer 
 in his own chamber, I mean, the lines of my 
 body are as well drawn as his ; no less young, 
 more strong, not beneath him in fortunes, be- 
 yond him in the advantage of the time, above 
 him in birth, alike conversant in general services, 
 and more remarkable in single oppositions : yet 
 this imperceiverant thing loves him in my de- 
 spite. What mortality is ! Posthumus, thy head, 
 which now is growing upon thy shoulders, shall 
 within this hour be off, thy mistress enforced, 
 thy garments cut to pieces before thy face ; and 
 all this done, spurn her home to her father, who 
 may haply be a little angry for my so rough 
 usage ; but my mother, having power of his 
 testiness, shall turn all into my commendations. 
 My horse is tied up safe : out, sword, and to a 
 sore purpose ! Fortune, put them into my hand ! 
 This is the very description of their meeting- 
 place : and the fellow dares not deceive me. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. WALES. Before the Cave. 
 
 Enter^from the Cave, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, 
 ARVIRAGUS, and IMOGEN. 
 
 Bel. [To IMOGEN.] You are not well: remain 
 
 here in the cave ; 
 We '11 come to you after hunting. 
 
 Arv. [To IMOGEN.] Brother, stay here: 
 
 Are we not brothers ? 
 
 Into. So man and man should be ; 
 
 But clay and clay differs in dignity, 
 Whose dust is both alike. I am very sick. 
 
 Gui. Go you to hunting. I '11 abide with him. 
 
 Into. So sick I am not, yet I am not well; 
 But not so citizen a wanton as [me ; 
 
 To seem to die ere sick : so please you, leave 
 Stick to your journal course : the breach of 
 custom [me 
 
 Is breach of all. I am ill ; but your being by 
 Cannot amend me : society is no comfort 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 953 
 
 To one not sociable : I am not very sick, 
 Since I can reason of it. Pray you, trust me 
 
 here : 
 
 I '11 rob none but myself ; and let me die, 
 Stealing so poorly. 
 
 Gui. I love thee ; I have spoke it : 
 
 How much the quantity, the weight as much, 
 As I do love my father. 
 
 Bel. What ? how ! how ! 
 
 Arv. If it be sin to say so, sir, I yoke me 
 In my good brother's fault : I know not why 
 I love this youth ; and I have heard you say 
 Love's reason 's without reason : the bier at door, 
 And a demand who is 't shall die, I 'd say 
 My fat her > not this youth. 
 
 Bel. [Aside.] O noble strain ! 
 
 worthiness of nature ! breed of greatness ! 
 Cowards father cowards, and base things sire 
 
 base : 
 Nature hath meal and bran, contempt and grace. 
 
 1 'm not their father ; yet who this should be 
 Doth miracle itself, lov'd before me. 
 
 'Tis the ninth hour o' the morn. 
 
 Arv. Brother, farewell. 
 
 Into. I wish ye sport 
 
 Arv. You health, so please you, sir. 
 
 Imo. [Aside.] These are kind creatures. 
 
 Gods, what lies I have heard ! 
 Our courtiers say all 's savage but at court : 
 Experience, O, thou disprov'st report ! 
 The imperious seas breed monsters ; for the dish, 
 Poor tributary rivers as sweet fish. 
 I am sick still ; heart -sick. Pisanio, 
 I '11 now taste of thy drug. [SwaV^ws some. 
 
 Gut. I could n^t stir him : 
 
 He said he was gentle, but unfortunate ; 
 Dishonestly afflicted, but yet honest. [after 
 
 Arv. Thus did he answer me : yet said here- 
 I might know more. 
 
 Bel. To the field, to the field 1 
 
 We '11 leave you for this time : go in and rest. 
 
 Arv. We '11 not be long away. 
 
 Bel. Pray, be not sick, 
 
 For you must be our housewife. 
 
 Imo. Well, or ill, 
 
 I arn bound to you. 
 
 Bel. And shalt be ever. 
 
 [Exit IMOGEN into the Cave. 
 This youth, howe'er distress'd, appears he hath 
 
 had 
 Good ancestors. 
 
 Arv. How angel-like he sings ! 
 
 Gui. But his neat cookery ! He cut our roots 
 
 in characters ; 
 
 And sauc'd our broths as Juno had been sick, 
 And he her dieter. 
 
 Arv. Nobly he yokes 
 
 A smiling with a sigh, as if the sigh 
 Was that it was for not being such a smile ; 
 The smile mocking the sigh that^it would fly 
 From so divine a temple to commix 
 With winds that sailors rail at. 
 
 Gui. I do note, 
 
 That grief and patience, rooted in him both, 
 Mingle their spurs together. 
 
 Arv. Grow, patience ! 
 
 And let the stinking elder, grief, untwine 
 His perishing root with the increasing vine ! 
 
 Bel. It is great morning. Come, away! 
 Who's there? 
 
 Enter CLOTEN. 
 
 Clo. I cannot find those runagates ; that vil- 
 lain 
 Hath mock'd me. I am faint. 
 
 Bel. Those runagates ! 
 
 Means he not us? I partly know him ; 'tis 
 Cloten, the son o' the queen. I fear some 
 
 ambush. 
 
 I saw him not these many years, and yet 
 I know 'tis he. We are held as outlaws : hence ! 
 
 Gui. He is but one: you and my brother 
 
 search 
 
 What companies are near : pray you, away; 
 Let me alone with him. 
 
 [Exeunt BELARIUS and ARVIRAGUS. 
 
 Clo. Soft ! What are you 
 
 That fly me thus? some villain mountaineers ? 
 I have heard of such. What slave art thou ? 
 
 Gui. A thing 
 
 More slavish did I ne'er than answering 
 A slave without a knock. 
 
 Clo. Thou art a robber, 
 
 A law-breaker, a villain : yield thee, thief. 
 
 Gui. To whom? to thee? What art thou? 
 
 have not I 
 
 An arm as big as thine? a heart as big? 
 Thy words, I grant, are bigger; for I wear not 
 My dagger in my mouth. Say what thou art, 
 Why I should yield to thee ? 
 
 Clo. Thou villain base, 
 
 Know'st me not by my clothes ? 
 
 Gui. No, nor thy tailor, rascal, 
 
 Who is thy grandfather : he made those clothes, 
 Which, as it seems, make thee. 
 
 Clo. Thou precious varlet, 
 
 My tailor made them not. 
 
 Gui. Hence, then, and thank 
 
 The man that gave them thee. Thou art some 
 
 fool; 
 I am loth to beat thee. 
 
 Clo. Thou injurious thief, 
 
 Hear but my name, and tremble. 
 
 Gui. What 's thy name ? 
 
954 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Clo. Cloten, thou villain. 
 
 Gut. Cloten. thou double villain, be thy name, 
 I cannot tremble at it ; were it toad, or adder, 
 
 spider, 
 'Twould move me sooner. 
 
 Clo. To thy further fear, 
 
 Nay, to thy mere confusion, thou shalt know 
 I'm son to the queen. 
 
 Gut. I 'm sorry for 't ; not seeming 
 
 So worthy as thy birth. 
 
 Clo. Art not afeard ? 
 
 Gut. Those that I reverence, those I fear, 
 
 the wise : 
 At fools I laugh, not fear them. 
 
 Clo. Die the death : 
 
 When I have slain thee with my proper hand, 
 I '11 follow those that even now fled hence, 
 And on the gates of Lud's town set your 
 
 heads : 
 Yield, rustic mountaineer. \_Exeunt fighting. 
 
 Re-enter BELARIUS and ARVIRAGUS. 
 
 Bel. No company 's abroad. 
 
 Arv. None in the world: you did mistake 
 him, sure. 
 
 Bel. I cannot tell : long is it since I saw him, 
 But time hath nothing blurr'd those lines of 
 
 favour 
 
 Which then he wore ; the snatches in his voice, 
 And burst of speaking, were as his : I am 
 
 absolute 
 'Twas very Cloten. 
 
 Arv. In this place we left them : 
 
 I wish my brother make good time with him, 
 You say he is so fell. 
 
 Bet. Being scarce made up, 
 
 I mean to man, he had not apprehension 
 Of roaring terrors ; for defect of judgment 
 Is oft the cure of fear. But, see, thy brother. 
 
 Re-enter GUIDERIUS with CLOTEN'S head. 
 
 Gut. This Cloten wasafool, an empty purse, 
 There was no money in 't : not Hercules 
 Could have knock'd out his brains, for he had 
 
 none: 
 
 Yet I not doing this, the fool had borne 
 My head as I do his. 
 
 Bel. What hast thou done ? 
 
 Gui. I am perfect what : cut off one Cloten's 
 
 head, 
 
 Son to the queen, after his own report ; 
 Who call'd me traitor, mountaineer ; and swore, 
 With his own single hand he 'd take us in, 
 Displace our heads where, thank the gods ! 
 
 they grow, 
 And set them on Lud's town. 
 
 Bel. We are all undone. 
 
 Gui. Why, worthy father, what have we to 
 
 lose 
 
 But that he swore to take, our lives? The law 
 Protects not us : then why should we be tender, 
 To let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us ; 
 Play judge and executioner all himself, 
 For we do fear the law? What company 
 Discover you abroad ? 
 
 Bel. No single soul 
 
 Can we set eye on, but in all safe reason 
 He must have some attendants. Though his 
 
 humour 
 
 Was nothing but mutation, ay, and that 
 From one bad thing to worse ; not frenzy, not 
 Absolute madness could so far have rav'd, 
 To bring him here alone : although perhaps 
 It may be heard at court that such as we 
 Cave here, hunt here, are outlaws, and in time 
 May make some stronger head : the which he 
 
 hearing, 
 
 As it is like him, might break out, and swear 
 He 'd fetch us in ; yet is 't not probable 
 To come alone, either he so undertaking [fear, 
 Or they so suffering : then on good ground we 
 If we do fear this body hath a tail 
 More perilous than the head. 
 
 Arv. Let ordinance 
 
 Come as the gods foresay it : howsoe'er, 
 My brother hath done well. 
 
 Bel. I had no mind 
 
 To hunt this day : the boy Fidele's sickness 
 Did make my way long forth. 
 
 Gui. With his own sword, 
 
 Which he did wave against my throat, I have 
 
 ca'en 
 
 His head from him : I '11 throw 't into the creek 
 Behind our rock ; and let it to the sea, 
 And tell the fishes he 's the queen's son, Cloten : 
 That 's all I reck. [Exit. 
 
 Bel. I fear 'twill be reveng'd ; 
 
 Would, Polydore, thou hadst not done 't ! 
 
 though valour 
 Becomes thee well enough. 
 
 Arv. Would I had done't, 
 
 So the revenge alone pursu'd me ! Polydore, 
 I love thee brotherly ; but envy much 
 Thou hast robb'd me of this deed: I would 
 revenges, [us through, 
 
 That possible strength might meet, would seek 
 And put us to our answer. 
 
 Bel. Well, 'tis done : 
 
 We '11 hunt no more to-day, nor seek for danger 
 Where there 's no profit. I pr'ythee, to our rock ; 
 You and Fidele play the cooks: I '11 stay 
 Till hasty Polydore return, and bring him 
 To dinner presently. 
 
 Arv. Poor sick Fidele ! 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 955 
 
 I '11 willingly to him : to gain his colour 
 I 'd let a parish of such Clotens' blood, 
 And praise myself for charity. [Exit. 
 
 Bel. O thou goddess, 
 
 Thou divine nature, how thyself thou blazon'st 
 In these two princely boys ! They are as gentle 
 As zephyrs blowing below the violet, 
 Not wagging his sweet head ; and yet as rough, 
 Their royal blood enchaf d, as the rud'st wind 
 That by the top doth take the mountain pine, 
 And make him stoop to the vale. 'Tis wonder 
 That an invisible instinct should frame them 
 To royalty unlearn'd ; honour untaught ; 
 Civility not seen from other ; valour 
 That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop 
 As if it had been sow'd. Yet still it 's strange 
 What Cloten's being here to us portends, 
 Or what his death will bring us. 
 
 Re-enter GUIDERIUS. 
 
 Gui. Where 's my brother? 
 
 I have sent Cloten's clotpoll down the stream, 
 In embassy to his mother : his body 's hostage 
 For his return. [Solemn music. 
 
 Bel. My ingenious instrument ! 
 
 Hark, Polydore, it sounds ! But what occasion 
 Hath Cadwal now to give it motion? Hark ! 
 
 Gui. Is he at home ? 
 
 Bel. He went hence even now. 
 
 Gui. What does he mean ? since death of my 
 
 dear'st mother 
 
 It did not speak before. All solemn things 
 Should answer solemn accidents. The matter? 
 Triumphs for nothing and lamenting toys 
 Is jollity for apes and grief for boys. 
 Is Cadwal mad ? 
 
 Bel. Look, here he comes, 
 
 And brings the dire occasion in his arms 
 Of what we blame him for ! 
 
 Re-enter ARVIRAGUS, bearing IMOGEN as dead 
 in his arms. 
 
 Arv. The bird is dead 
 
 That we have made so much on. I had rather 
 Have skipp'd from sixteen years of age to 
 
 sixty, 
 
 To have turn'd my leaping time into a crutch, 
 Than have seen this. 
 
 Gui. O sweetest, fairest lily ! 
 
 My brother wears thee not the one half so well 
 As when thou grew'st thyself. 
 
 Bel. O melancholy ! 
 
 Who ever yet could sound thy bottom ? find 
 The ooze to show what coast thy sluggish crare 
 Might easiliest harbour in? Thou blessed thing! 
 Jove knows what man thou might' st have made ; 
 but I, 
 
 Thou diedst, a most rare boy, of melancholy ! 
 How found you him ? 
 
 Arv. Stark, as you see : 
 
 Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber, 
 Not as death's dart, being laugh'd at : his right 
 
 cheek 
 Reposing on a cushion. 
 
 Gui. Where? 
 
 Arv. O' the floor ; 
 
 His arms thus leagu'd : I thought he slept ; and 
 put [rudeness 
 
 My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose 
 Answer'd my steps too loud. 
 
 Gui. Why, he but sleeps : 
 
 If he be gone he '11 make his grave a bed ; 
 With female fairies will his tomb be haunted, 
 And worms will not come to thee. 
 
 Arv. With fairest flowers, 
 
 Whilst summer lasts and I live here, Fidele, 
 I '11 sweeten thy sad grave : thou shalt not lack 
 The flower that 's like thy face, pale primrose ; 
 
 nor 
 
 The azure hare-bell, like thy veins ; no, nor 
 The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander, 
 Out-sweeten'd not thy breath : the ruddock 
 
 would, 
 
 With charitable bill, O bill, sore shaming 
 Those rich-left heirs that let their fathers lie 
 Without a monument ! bring thee all this ; 
 Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are 
 
 none, 
 To winter-ground thy corse. 
 
 Gui. Pr'ythee, have done ; 
 
 And do not play in wench-like words with that 
 Which is so serious. Let us bury him. 
 And not protract with admiration what 
 Is now due debt. To the grave ! 
 
 Arv. Say, where shall 's lay him? 
 
 Gui. By good Euriphile, our mother. 
 
 Arv. Be'tso: 
 
 And let us, Polydore, though now our voices 
 Have got the mannish crack, sing him to the 
 
 ground, 
 
 As once our mother ; use like note and words, 
 Save that Euriphile must be Fidele. 
 
 Gui. Cadwal, 
 
 I cannot sing : I '11 weep, and word it with thee ; 
 For notes of sorrow out of tune are worse 
 Than priests and fanes that lie. 
 
 Arv. We '11 speak it, then. 
 
 Bel. Great griefs, I see, medicine the less : 
 
 for Cloten 
 
 Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys : 
 And though he came our enemy, remember, 
 He was paid for that : thou mean and mighty, 
 
 rotting 
 Together, have one dust, yet reverence, 
 
956 
 
 CYMBELINE, 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 That angel of the world, doth make distinction 
 Of place 'tween high and low. Our foe was 
 
 princely ; 
 
 And though you took his life, as being our foe, 
 Yet bury him as a prince. 
 
 Gui. Pray you, fetch him hither. 
 
 Thersites' body is as good as Ajax*, 
 When neither are alive. 
 
 Arv. If you '11 go fetch him, 
 
 We '11 say our song the whilst. Brother, begin. 
 
 [Exit BELARIUS. 
 
 Gut. Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to 
 
 the east ; 
 My father hath a reason for 't. 
 
 Arv. 'Tis true. 
 
 Gui. Come on, then, and remove him. 
 
 Arv. So, Begin. 
 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Gui. Fear no more the heat o 1 the sun, 
 Nor the furious winter's rages ; 
 Thou thy worldly task hast done, 
 
 Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages : 
 Golden lads and girls all must, 
 As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. 
 
 A rv. Fear no more the frown o' the great ; 
 Thou art past the tyrant's stroke : 
 Care no more to clothe and eat ; 
 
 To thee the reed is as the oak t 
 The sceptre, learning, physic, must 
 All follow this, and come to dust. 
 
 Gui. Fear no more the lightning-flash, 
 Arv. Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone ; 
 
 Gui. Fear not slander, censure rash ; 
 Arv. Thou hast finish'd joy and moan : 
 
 Both. All lovers young, all lovers must 
 
 Consign to thee, and come to dust. 
 
 Gui. No exerciser harm thee ! 
 Arv. Nor no witchcraft charm thee ! 
 Gui. Ghost unlaid forbear thee I 
 Arv. Nothing ill come near thee ! 
 Both, Quiet consummation have ; 
 
 And renowned be thy grave ! 
 
 Re-enter BELARIUS with the body of CLOTEN. 
 
 Gui. We have done our obsequies : come, 
 lay him down. [night, more : 
 
 Bel. Here's a few flowers; but 'bout mid- 
 The herbs that have on them cold dew o' the 
 night [faces. 
 
 Are strewings fitt'st for graves. Upon their 
 You were as flowers, now wither'd : even so 
 These herblets shall, which we upon youstrew. 
 Come on, away : apart upon our knees. 
 The ground that gave them first has them again : 
 Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain. 
 [Exeunt BEL. , GUI. , and ARV. 
 Into. [Awaking.} Yes, sir, to Milford-Haven; 
 which is the way? 
 
 I thank you. By yon bush? Pray, how far 
 
 thither? 
 
 'Ods pittikins ! can it be six mile yet ? 
 I have gone all night. Faith, I '11 lie down and 
 
 sleep. 
 
 But, soft ! no bedfellow : O gods and god- 
 desses ! [Seeing the body. 
 These flowers are like the pleasures of the world; 
 This bloody man, the care on't. I hope I 
 
 dream ; 
 
 For so I thought I was a cave-keeper, 
 And cook to honest creatures : but 'tis not so ; 
 'Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing, 
 Which the brain makes of fumes : our very eyes 
 Are sometimes, like our judgments, blind. 
 
 Good faith, 
 
 I tremble still with fear : but if there be 
 Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity 
 As a wren's eye, fear'd gods, a part of it ! 
 The dream 's here still ; even when I wake it is 
 Without me, as within me; not imagin'd, felt. 
 A headless man ! The garments of Posthumus ! 
 I know the shape of 's leg : this is his hand ; 
 His foot Mercurial ; his Martial thigh ; 
 The brawns of Hercules : but his Jovial face 
 Murder in heaven? How! 'Tis gone. Pis- 
 
 anio, 
 
 All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks, 
 And mine to boot, be darted on thee ! Thou, 
 Conspir'd with that irregulous devil, Cloten, 
 Hast here cut off my lord. To write and read 
 Be henceforth treacherous ! Damn'd Pisanio 
 Hath with hisforged letters, damn'd Pisanio, 
 From this most bravest vessel of the world 
 Struck the main-top ! O Posthumus 1 alas, 
 Where is thy head? where 's that? Ay me! 
 
 where's that? 
 
 Pisanio might have kill'd thee at the heart, 
 And left thy head on. How should this be? 
 
 Pisanio? 
 
 'Tis he and Cloten : malice and lucre in them 
 Have laid this woe here. O 'tis pregnant^ 
 
 pregnant ! 
 
 The drug he gave me, which he said was precious 
 And cordial to me, have I not found it [home 
 Murderous to the senses? That confirms it 
 This is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten's : O ! 
 Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood, 
 That we the horrider may seem to those 
 Which chance to find us : O, my lord, my lord J 
 
 Enter Lucius, a Captain and other Officers, 
 and a Soothsayer. 
 
 Cap. To them, the legions garrison'd in Gallia, 
 After your will, have cross'd the sea ; attending 
 You here at Milford-Haven with your ships: 
 They are in readiness. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 CYMBELINE, 
 
 9S7 
 
 Luc. But what from Rome? 
 
 Cap. The senate hath stirr'd up the confiners 
 And gentlemen of Italy ; most willing spirits, 
 That promise noble service : and they come 
 Under the conduct of bold lachimo, 
 Sienna's brother. 
 
 Luc. When expect you them? 
 
 Cap. With the next benefit o' the wind. 
 
 Luc. This forwardness 
 
 Makes our hopes fair. Command our present 
 
 numbers [sir, 
 
 Be muster'd ; bid the captains look to 't. Now, 
 
 What have you dream'd of late of this war's 
 
 purpose? [a vision, 
 
 Sooth. Last night the very gods show'd me 
 I fast and pray'd for their intelligence, thus : 
 I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wingM 
 From the spongy south to this part of the west, 
 There vanish'd in the sunbeams: which por- 
 tends, 
 
 Unless my sins abuse my divination, 
 Success to the Roman host. 
 
 Luc. Dream often so, 
 
 And never false. Soft,, ho ! what trunk is here 
 Without his top? The ruin speaks that some- 
 time 
 
 It was a worthy building. How! a page! 
 Or dead or sleeping on him? But dead, rather ; 
 For nature doth abhor to make his bed 
 With the defunct, or sleep upon the dead. 
 Let 's see the boy's face, 
 
 Cap. He 's alive, my lord. 
 
 Luc. He '11, then, instruct us of this body. 
 
 Young one, 
 
 Inform us of thy fortunes ; for it seems 
 They crave to be demanded. Who is this 
 Thou mak'st thy bloody pillow ? or who was he, 
 That otherwise than noble nature did, [terest 
 Hath alter'd that good picture ? What 's thy in- 
 In this sad wreck? How came it? Who is it? 
 What art thou? 
 
 Imo. I am nothing: or if not, 
 
 Nothing to be were better. This was my master, 
 A very valiant Briton and a good, 
 That here by mountaineers lies slain : alas ! 
 There is no more such masters : I may wander 
 From east to Occident, cry out for service, 
 Try many, all good, serve truly, never 
 Find such another master. 
 
 Luc. 'Lack, good youth ! 
 
 Thou mov'st no less with thy complaining than 
 Thy master in bleeding: say his name, good 
 friend. [and do 
 
 Imo. Richard du Champ {Aside. ] If I do lie, 
 No harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope 
 They'll pardon it.-JSay you, sir? 
 
 Luc. Thy name? 
 
 Imo. Fidele. 
 
 Luc. Thou dost approve thyself the very 
 same : [name. 
 
 Thy name well fits thy faith, thy faith thy 
 Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not say 
 Thou shalt be so well master'd ; but, be sure, 
 No less belov'd. The Roman emperor's letters, 
 Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner 
 Than thine own worth prefer thee : go with me. 
 
 Imo. I '11 follow, sir. But first, an 't please 
 
 the gods, 
 
 I '11 hide my master from the flies, as deep 
 As these poor pickaxes can dig: and when 
 With wild wood-leaves and weeds I ha' strew'd 
 
 his grave, 
 
 And on it said a century of prayers, 
 Such as I can, twice o'er, I'll weep and sigh; 
 And leaving so his service, follow you, 
 So please you entertain me. 
 
 Luc. Ay, good youth ; 
 
 And rather father thee than master thee. 
 My friends, 
 
 The boy hath taught us manly duties : let us 
 Find out the prettiest daisied plot we can, 
 And make him with our pikes and partisans 
 A grave: come, arm him. Boy, he is preferr'd 
 By thee to us; and he shall be interr'd 
 As soldiers can. Be cheerful ; wipe thine eyes : 
 Some falls are means the happier to arise. 
 
 {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. BRITAIN. A Room in CYM- 
 BFLINE'S Palace. 
 
 Enter CYMBELINE, Lords, PISANIO, and 
 Attendants. 
 
 Cym. Again; and bring me word how 'tis 
 
 with her. 
 A fever with the absence of her son ; 
 
 [Exit an Attendant. 
 A madness, of which her life 's in danger, 
 
 Heavens, 
 
 How deeply you at once do touch me ! Imogen, 
 The great part of my comfort, gone ; my queen 
 Upon a desperate bed, and in a time 
 When fearful wars point at me ; her son gone, 
 So needful for this present : it strikes me, past 
 The hope of comfort. But for thee, fellow, 
 Who needs must know of her departure, and 
 Dost seem so ignorant, we '11 enforce it from thee 
 By a sharp torture. 
 
 Pis. Sir, my life is yours, [tress, 
 
 I humbly set it at your will : but, for my mis- 
 I nothing know where she remains, why gone, 
 Nor when she purposes return. Beseech your 
 
 highness, 
 Hold me your loyal servant. 
 
CYMBELINE. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 I Lord. Good my liege, 
 
 The day that she was missing he was here : 
 I dare be bound he 's true, and shall perform 
 All parts of his subjection loyally. 
 For Cloten, 
 
 There wants no diligence in seeking him, 
 And will no doubt be found. 
 
 Cym. The time is troublesome, 
 
 We '11 slip you for a season ; but our jealousy 
 
 \To PlSANIO. 
 
 Does yet depend. 
 
 i Lord. So please your majesty, 
 
 The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn, 
 Are landed on your coast ; with a supply 
 Of Roman gentlemen by the senate sent. 
 
 Cym. Now for the counsel of my son and 
 
 queen ! 
 I am amaz'd with matter. 
 
 I Lord. Good my liege, 
 
 Your preparation can affront no less 
 Than what you hear of: come more, for more 
 
 you 're ready : 
 
 The want is but to put those powers in motion 
 That long to move. 
 
 Cym. I thank you. Let 's withdraw, 
 
 And meet the time as it seeks us. We fear not 
 What can from Italy annoy us ; but 
 We grieve at chances here. Away I 
 
 [Exeunt all but PlSANIO. 
 
 Pis. I heard no letter from my master since 
 I wrote him Imogen was slain : 'tis strange : 
 Nor hear I from my mistress, who did promise 
 To yield me often tidings ; neither know I 
 What is betid to Cloten ; but remain 
 Perplex'd in all : the heavens still must work. 
 Wherein I am false I am honest ; not true to be 
 
 true: 
 
 These present wars shall find I love my country, 
 Even to the note o' the king, or I '11 fall in them. 
 All other doubts, by time let them be clear'd : 
 Fortune brings in some boats that are not steer'd. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV. WALES. Before the Cave. 
 
 Enter BELAJLIUS, GUIDERIUS, and 
 ARVIRAGUS. 
 
 Gut. The noise is round about us. 
 
 Bel. Let us from it. 
 
 Arv. What pleasure, sir, find we in life, to 
 
 lock it 
 From action and adventure? 
 
 Gui. Nay, what hope 
 
 Have we in hiding us? this way the Romans 
 Must or for Britons slay us or receive us 
 For barbarous and unnatural revolts 
 During their use, and slay us after. 
 
 Bel. Sons, 
 
 We '11 higher to the mountains ; there secure us. 
 To the king's party there 's no going : newness 
 Of Cloten's death, we being not known, not 
 
 muster'd 
 
 Among the bands, may drive us to a render 
 Where we have liv'd ; and so extort from 's 
 That which we 've done, whose answer would 
 
 be death, 
 Drawn on with torture. 
 
 Gui. This is, sir, a doubt 
 
 In such a time nothing becoming you 
 Nor satisfying us. 
 
 Arv. It is not likely 
 
 That when they hear the Roman horses neigh, 
 Behold their quartered fires, have both their 
 
 eyes 
 
 And ears so cloy'd importantly as now, 
 That they will waste their time upon cur note, 
 To know from whence we are. 
 
 Bel. O, I am known 
 
 Of many in the army : many years, 
 Though Cloten then but young, you see, not 
 
 wore him 
 
 From my remembrance. And , besides, the king 
 Hath not deserv'd my service nor your loves ; 
 Who find in my exile the want of breeding 
 The certainty of this hard life ; aye hopeless 
 To have the courtesy your cradle promis'd, 
 But to be still hot summer's tanlings and 
 The shrinking slaves of winter. 
 
 Gui. Than be so, 
 
 Better to cease to be. Pray, sir, to the army : 
 I and my brother are not known ; yourself 
 So out of thought, and thereto so o'ergrown, 
 Cannot be question'd. 
 
 Arv. By this sun that shines, 
 
 I '11 thither: what thing is it that I never 
 Did see man die ! scarce ever look'd on blood. 
 But that of coward hares, hot goats, and 
 
 venison ! 
 
 Never bestrid a horse, save one that had 
 A rider like myself, who ne'er wore rowel 
 Nor iron on his heel ! I am asham'd 
 To look upon the holy sun, to have 
 The benefit of his blessed beams, remaining 
 So long a poor unknown. 
 
 Gui. By heavens, I '11 go : 
 
 If you will bless me, sir, and give me leave, 
 I '11 take the better care ; but if you will not, 
 The hazard therefore due fall on me by 
 The hands of Romans ! 
 
 Arv. So say I, Amen. 
 
 Bel. No reason I, since of your lives you set 
 So slight a valuation, should reserve 
 My crack'd one to more care. Have with you, 
 boys! 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 959 
 
 If in your country wars you chance to die. 
 That is my bed too, lads, and there I '11 lie : 
 Lead, lead. {Aside.} The time seems long ; 
 
 their blood thinks scorn 
 Till it fly out, and show them princes born. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. BRITAIN. A Field between the 
 British and Roman Camps. 
 
 Enter POSTHUMUS with a bloody handkerchief. 
 
 Post. Yea, bloody cloth, I '11 keep thee ; for 
 
 I wish'd 
 Thou shouldst be colour'd thus. You married 
 
 ones, 
 If each of you should take this course, how 
 
 many 
 
 Must murder wives much better than them- 
 selves 
 
 For wrying but a little ! O Pisanio ! 
 Every good servant does not all commands : 
 No bond but to do just ones. Gods ! if you 
 Should have ta'en vengeance on my faults, I 
 
 never 
 
 Had liv'd to put on this : so had you sav'd 
 The noble Imogen to repent ; and struck 
 Me, wretch more worth your vengeance. But 
 
 alack, 
 You snatch some hence for little faults ; that's 
 
 love, 
 
 To have them fall no more : you some permit 
 To second ills with ills, each elder worse, 
 And make them dread it, to the doers' thrift. 
 But Imogen is your own : do your best wills, 
 And make me bless'd to obey ! I am brought 
 
 hither 
 
 Among the Italian gentry, and to fight 
 Against my lady's kingdom : 'tis enough 
 That, Britain, I have kilFd thy mistress ; peace ! 
 I '11 give no wound to thee. Therefore, good 
 
 heavens, 
 
 Hear patiently my purpose : I '11 disrobe me 
 Of these Italian weeds, and suit myself 
 As does a Briton peasant : so I '11 fight 
 Against the part I come with ; so I '11 die 
 For thee, O Imogen, even for whom my life 
 Is every breath a death : and thus unknown, 
 Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril 
 Myself I '11 dedicate. Let me make men know 
 More valour in me than my habits show. 
 Gods, put the. strength o' the Leonati in me ! 
 To shame the guise o' the world, I will begin 
 The fashion, less without and more within. 
 
 SCENE II. BRITAIN. A Field between the 
 Camps. 
 
 Enter, at one side, Lucius, IACHIMO, IMOGEN, 
 and the Roman Army ; at the other side, the 
 British Army; LEONATUS PosTHUMUsyW&w- 
 ing it like a poor soldier. They march over 
 and go out. Alarums. Then enter again, in 
 skirmish, IACHIMO and POSTHUMUS : ke 
 vanquisheth and disarmeth IACHIMO, and 
 then leaves him. 
 
 lack. The heaviness and guilt within my 
 
 bosom 
 
 Takes off my manhood : I have belied a lady, 
 The princess of this country, and the air on 't 
 Revengingly enfeebles me ; or could this carl, 
 A very drudge of nature's, have subdu'd me 
 In my profession ? Knighthoods and honours 
 
 borne 
 
 As I wear mine are titles but of scorn. 
 If that thy gentry, Britain, go before 
 This lout as he exceeds our lords, the odds 
 Is that we scarce are men, and you are gods. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 The battle continues ; the Britons fiy ; CYM- 
 BELINE is taken : then enter to his rescue 
 BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS. 
 Bel. Stand, stand ! We have the advantage 
 
 of the ground ; 
 
 The lane is guarded : nothing routs us but 
 The villany of our fears. 
 
 Gui. and Arv. Stand, stand, and fight ! 
 
 Re-enter POSTHUMUS, andsecoitds the Britons : 
 they rescue CYMBELINE, and exeunt. Then 
 re-enter Lucius, IACHIMO, and IMOGEN. 
 Luc. Away, boy, from the troops, and save 
 
 thyself ; 
 
 For friends kill friends, and the disorder 's such 
 As war were hoodwink'd. 
 
 loch. 'Tis their fresh supplies. 
 
 Luc. It is a day turn'd strangely : or betimes 
 
 Let 's re-enforce or fly [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. BRITAIN. Another part of the 
 
 Field. 
 
 Enter POSTHUMUS and a British Lord. 
 Lord. Cam'st thou from where they made the 
 
 stand ? 
 
 Post. I did : 
 
 Though you, it seems, come from the fliers. 
 Lord. I did. 
 
 Post. No blame be to you, sir ; for all was 
 
 lost, 
 
 But that the heavens fought : the king himseli 
 Of his wings destitute, the army broken, 
 
g6o 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 LACT v. 
 
 And but the backs of Britons seen, all flying 
 Through a straight lane ; the enemy full-hearted, 
 Lolling the tongue with slaughtering, having 
 
 work 
 
 More plentiful than tools to do 't, struck down 
 Some mortally, some slightly touch'd, some 
 
 falling [damnVd 
 
 Merely through fear ; that the strait path was 
 With dead men hurt behind, and cowards living, 
 To die with lengthen'd shame. 
 
 Lord. Where was this lane ? 
 
 Post. Close by the battle, ditch'd, and wall'd 
 
 with turf, 
 
 Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier, 
 An honest one, I warrant ; who deserv'd 
 So long a breeding as his white beard came to, 
 In doing this for 's country : athwart the lane 
 He, with two striplings, lads more like to run 
 The country base than to commit such slaughter ; 
 With faces fit for masks, or rather fairer 
 Than those for preservation cas'd, or shame, 
 Made good the passage ; cried to those that fled, 
 Our Britain's harts die flying, not our men : 
 To darkness fleet, souls that fly backwards ! 
 
 Stand; 
 
 Or we are Romans, and will give you that 
 Like beasts which you shun beastly, andmaysave, 
 But to look back in frown : stand, stand! 
 
 These three, 
 
 Three thousand confident, in act as many, 
 For three performers are the file when all 
 The rest do nothing, with this word, Stand, 
 
 stand! 
 
 Accommodated by the place, more charming 
 With their own nobleness, which could have 
 
 turn'd 
 
 A distaff to a lance, gilded pale looks, 
 Part shame, part spirit renew' d ; that some, 
 
 turn'd coward 
 
 But by example, O, a sin in war 
 Damn'd in the first beginners ! 'gan to look 
 The way that they did, and to grin like lions 
 Upon the pikes o' the hunters. Then began 
 A stop i' the chaser, a retire ; anon 
 A rout, confusion thick : forthwith they fly, 
 Chickens, the way which they stoop'd eagles ; 
 
 slaves, [cowards, 
 
 The strides they victors made : and now our 
 Like fragments in hard voyages, became 
 The life o' the need ; having found the back- 
 door open [wound ! 
 Of the unguarded hearts, heavens, how they 
 Some slain before ; some dying; some their friends 
 O'erborne i' the former wave : ten chas'd by one 
 Are now each one the slaughter-man of twenty : 
 Those that would die or ere resist are grown 
 The mortal bugs o' the field. 
 
 Lord. This was strange chance, 
 
 A narrow lane, an old man, and two boys ! 
 
 Post. Nay, do not wonder at it : you are made 
 Rather to wonder at the things you hear 
 Than to work any. Will you rhyme upon 't, 
 And vent it for a mockery ? Here is one : 
 Two boys, an old man twice a boy, a lane, 
 Preserved the Britons, was the Romans' bane, 
 
 Lord. Nay, be not angry, sir. 
 
 Post. 'Lack, to what end? 
 
 Who dares not stand his foe I '11 be his friend ; 
 For if he '11 do as he is made to do 
 I know he '11 quickly fly my friendship too. 
 You have put me into rhyme. 
 
 Lord. Farewell ; you 're angry. 
 
 \Extt. 
 
 Post. Still going? This is a lord ! O noble 
 
 misery, 
 
 To be i' the field and ask what news of me ! 
 To-day how many would have given their honours 
 To have sav'd their carcasses ! took heel to do't, 
 And yet died too ! I, in mine own woe charm'd, 
 Could not find death where I did hear him 
 groan, [monster, 
 
 Nor feel him where he struck : being an ugly 
 'Tis strange he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds, 
 Sweet words; or hath more ministers than we 
 That draw his knives i' the war. Well, I will 
 
 find him : 
 
 For being now a favourer to the Briton, 
 No more a Briton, I have resum'd again 
 The part I came in : fight I will no more, 
 But yield me to the veriest hind that shall [is 
 Once touch my shoulder. Great the slaughter 
 Here made by the Roman ; great the answer be 
 Britons must take : for me, my ransom J s death ; 
 On either side I come to spend my breath ; 
 Which neither here I '11 keep nor bear again, 
 But end it by some means for Imogen. 
 
 Enter two British Captains and Soldiers. 
 
 1 Cap. Great Jupiter be prais'd ! Lucius is 
 
 taken : 
 'Tis thought the old man and his sons were angels. 
 
 2 Cap. There wasa fourth man, in a silly habit, 
 That gave the affront with them. 
 
 1 Cap. So 'tis reported ; 
 But none of 'em can be found. Stand ! who's 
 
 there ? 
 
 Post. A Roman ; 
 
 Who had not now been drooping here if seconds 
 Had answer'd him. 
 
 2 Cap. Lay hands on him ; a dog ! 
 A leg of Rome shall not return to tell 
 
 What crows have peck'd them here : he brags 
 
 his service, 
 As if he were of note ; bring him to the king. 
 
SCENE IV.J 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 961 
 
 Enter CYMBELINE attended; BELARIUS, Gum- 
 ERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, PISANIO, and Roman 
 Captives. 7 tie Captains present POSTHUMUS 
 to CYMBELINE, who delivers him over to a 
 Gaoler: after which all go out. 
 
 SCENE IV. BRITAIN. A Prison. 
 Enter POSTHUMUS and two Gaolers. 
 
 1 Gaol. You shall not now be stolen, you have 
 
 locks upon you ; 
 So, graze as you find pasture. 
 
 2 Gaol. Ay, or a stomach. 
 
 [Exeunt Gaolers. 
 Post. Most welcome, bondage ! for thou art 
 
 a way, 
 
 I think, to liberty : yet am I better [rather 
 Than one that 's sick o' the gout ; since he had 
 Groan so in perpetuity than be cur'd 
 By the sure physician death, who is the key 
 To unbar these locks. My conscience, thou art 
 
 fetter'd [give me 
 
 More than my shanks and wrists : you good gods, 
 The penitent instrument to pick that bolt, 
 Then free for ever ! Is 't enough I am sorry ? 
 Sc children temporal fathers do appease ; 
 Gods are more full of mercy. Must I repent ? 
 I cannot do it better than in gyves, 
 Desir'd more than constrain'd : to satisfy, 
 If of my freedom 'tis the main part, take 
 No stricter render of me than my all. 
 I know you are more clement than vile men, 
 Who of their broken debtors take a third, 
 A sixth, a tenth, letting them thrive again 
 On their abatement : that 's not my desire : 
 For Imogen's dear life take mine ; and though 
 'Tis not so dear, yet 'tis a life ; you coin'd it : 
 'Tween man and man they weigh not every stamp; 
 Though light, take pieces for the figure's sake : 
 You rather mine, being yours : and so, great 
 
 powers, 
 
 If you will take this audit, take this life, 
 And cancel these cold bonds. O Imogen ! 
 I '11 speak to thee in silence. [Sleeps. 
 
 Solemn Music. Enter, as in an apparition, 
 SICILIUS LEONATUS,ya//5<fr to POSTHUMUS, 
 an old man attired like a warrior, leading in 
 his hand an ancient matron, his wife and 
 mother to POSTHUMUS, with music before 
 them : then, after other music, follow the two 
 yoiing LEONATI, brothers to POSTHUMUS, 
 with wounds, as they died in the wars. They 
 circle POSTHUMUS round as he lies sleeping. 
 
 Sici. No more, thou thunder-master, show 
 Thy spite on mortal flies : 
 
 With Mars fall out, with Juno chide, 
 
 That thy adulteries 
 
 Rates and revenges. 
 Hath my poor boy done aught but well, 
 
 Whose face I never saw ? 
 I died whilst in the womb he stay'd 
 
 Attending nature's law : 
 Whose father then, as men report 
 
 Thou orphans' father art, 
 Thou shouldst have been, and shielded him 
 
 From this earth-vexing smart. 
 
 Moth. Lucina lent not me her aid, 
 
 But took me in my throes ; 
 That from me was Posthumus ripp'd, 
 Came crying 'mongst his foes, 
 A thing of pity ! 
 
 Sict. Great nature, like his ancestry, 
 
 Moulded the stuff so fair 
 That he deserv'd the praise o' the world 
 As great Sicilius' heir. 
 
 1 Bro. When once he was mature for man, 
 In Britain where was he 
 
 That could stand up his parallel ; 
 
 Or fruitful object be 
 In eye of Imogen, that best 
 
 Could deem his dignity ? 
 
 Moth. With marriage wherefore was hemock'd, 
 
 To be exil'd, and thrown 
 From Leonati' seat, and cast 
 From her his dearest one, 
 Sweet Imogen ? 
 
 Sici. Why did you suffer lachimo, 
 
 Slight thing of Italy, 
 To taint his nobler heart and brain 
 
 With needless jealousy ; 
 And to become the geek and scorn 
 
 O' the other's villany ? 
 
 2 Bro. For this from stiller seats we came, 
 Our parents and us twain, 
 
 That, striking in our country's cause, 
 
 Fell bravely and were slain ; 
 Our fealty and Tenantius' right 
 
 With honour to maintain. 
 
 i Bro. Like hardiment Posthumus hath 
 
 To Cymbeline perform'd : 
 Then, Jupiter, thou king of gods, 
 
 Why hast thou thus adjourn'd 
 The graces for his merits due, 
 
 Being all to dolours turn'd ? 
 
 Sici. Thy crystal window ope ; look out j 
 
 No longer exercise 
 Upon a valiant race thy harsh 
 And potent injuries. 
 
 2U 
 
9 62 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Jup. 
 Offe 
 
 Moth, Since, Jupiter, our son is good, 
 
 Take off his miseries. 
 Sici. Peep through thy marble mansion; help; 
 
 Or we poor ghosts will cry 
 To the shining synod of the rest 
 
 Against thy deity. 
 
 Both Bro. Help, Jupiter ; or we appeal, 
 And from thy justice fly. 
 
 JUPITER descends in thunder and lightning, sit- 
 ing upon an eagle : he throws a thunderbolt. 
 7%e Ghosts fall on their knees. 
 
 up. No more, you petty spirits of 'region low, 
 end our hearing ; hush ! How dare you 
 
 ghosts 
 Accuse the thunderer, whose bolt, you know, 
 
 Sky-planted, batters all rebelling coasts ? 
 Poor shadows of Elysium, hence ; and rest 
 
 Upon your never-withering banks of flowers : 
 Be not with mortal accidents oppress'd ; 
 
 No care of yours it is ; you know 'tis ours. 
 W'.iom best I love I cross ; to make my gift, 
 
 The more delay'd, delighted. Be content ; 
 Your low-laid son our godhead will uplift : 
 
 His comforts thrive, his trials well are spent. 
 Our Jovial star reign'd at his birth, and in 
 
 Our temple was he married. Rise, and fade ! 
 He shall be lord of Lady Imogen, 
 
 And happier much by his affliction made. 
 This tablet lay upon his breast, wherein 
 
 Our pleasure his full fortune doth confine : 
 And so away ; no further with your din 
 
 Express impatience, lest you stir up mine. 
 
 Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline. 
 
 [Ascends. 
 
 Sici. He came in thunder ; his celestial breath 
 Was sulphurous to smell : the holy eagle 
 Stoop'd, as to foot us : his ascension is 
 More sweet than our bless'd fields : his royal bird 
 Prunes the immortal wing, and cloys his beak, 
 As when his god is pleas'd. 
 
 All. Thanks, Jupiter I 
 
 Sici. The marble pavement closes, he isenter'd 
 His radiant roof. Away ! and, to be blest, 
 Let us with care perform his great behest. 
 
 [Ghosts vanish. 
 
 Post. [Waking.} Sleep, thou hast been a 
 
 grandsire, and begot 
 A father to me ; and thou hast created 
 A mother and two brothers : but, O scorn ! 
 Gone ! they went hence so soon as they were born. 
 And so I am awake. Poor wretches that depend 
 On greatness' favour dream as I have done, 
 Wake and find nothing. But, alas, I swerve : 
 Many dream not to find, neither deserve, 
 And yet are steep'd in favours ; so am I, 
 
 That have this golden chance, and know not 
 why. [rare one ! 
 
 What fairies haunt this ground ? A book ? O 
 Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment 
 Nobler than that it covers : let thy effects 
 So follow, to be most unlike our courtiers, 
 As good as promise. 
 
 [Reads.} Whenas a lion's whelp shall, to 
 himself unknown, without seeking find, and be 
 embraced by a piece of tender air ; and when 
 from a stately cedar shall be lopped branches 
 which, being deaa many years, shall after re- 
 vive, be jointed to the old stock, and freshly 
 grow ; then shall Posthumiis end his miseries, 
 Britain be fortunate^ and flourish in peace and 
 plenty. 
 
 'Tis still a dream ; or else such stuff as madmen 
 Tongue, and brain not : either both or nothing : 
 Or senseless speaking, or a speaking such 
 As sense cannot untie. Be what it is, 
 The action of my life is like it, which 
 I '11 keep, if but for sympathy. 
 
 Re-enter Gaoler. 
 
 Gaol. Come, sir, are you ready for death ? 
 
 Post. Over- roasted rather ; ready long ago. 
 
 Gaol. Hanging is the word, sir : if you be 
 ready for that, you are well cooked. 
 
 Post. So, if I prove a good repast to the 
 spectators, the dish pays the shot. 
 
 Gaol. A heavy reckoning for you, sir. But 
 the comfort is, you shall be called to no more 
 payments, fear no more tavern bills ; which are 
 often the sadness of parting, as the procuring of 
 mirth : you come in faint for want of meat, 
 depart reeling with too much drink ; sorry that 
 you have paid too much, and sorry that you are 
 paid too much ; purse and brain both empty, 
 the brain the heavier for being too light, the 
 purse too light, being drawn of heaviness : O, 
 of this contradiction you shall now be quit. 
 O, the charity of a penny cord ! it sums up 
 thousands in a trice : you have no true debitor 
 and creditor but it ; of what 's past, is, and to 
 come, the discharge: your neck, sir, is pen, 
 book, and counters ; so the acquittance follows. 
 
 Post. I am merrier to die than thou art to 
 live. 
 
 Gaol. Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the 
 toothache : but a man that were to sleep your 
 sleep, and a hangman to help him to bed, I 
 think he would change places with his officer ; 
 for, look you, sir, you know not which way you 
 shall go. 
 
 Post. Yes, indeed do I, fellow. 
 
 Gaol. Your death has eyes in 's head, then ; 
 I have not seen him so pictured: you must 
 
SCENE V.] 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 963 
 
 either be directed by some that take upon them 
 to know, or take upon yourself that which I am 
 sure you do not know ; or jump the after-inquiry 
 on your own peril : and how you shall speed in 
 your journey's end I think you '11 never return 
 to tell one. 
 
 Post. I tell thee, fellosv, there are none want 
 eyes to direct them the way I am going, but 
 such as wink and will not use them. 
 
 Gaol What an infinite mock is this, that a 
 man should have the best use of eyes to see the 
 way of blindness ! I am sure hanging 's the 
 way of winking. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Knock off his manacles ; bring your 
 prisoner to the king. 
 
 Post. Thou bringest good news, I am called 
 to be made free. 
 
 Gaol. I '11 be hanged, then. 
 
 Post. Thou shalt be then freer than a gaoler ; 
 no bolts for the dead. 
 
 [Exeunt POST, and Messenger. 
 
 Gaol. Unless a man would marry a gallows 
 and beget young gibbets I never saw one so 
 prone. Yet, on my conscience, there are verier 
 knaves desire to live, for all he be a Roman : 
 and there be some of them too that die against 
 their wills ; so should I if I were one. I would 
 we were all of one mind, and one mind good ; 
 O, there were desolation of gaolers and gallowses! 
 I speak against my present profit ; but my wish 
 hath a preferment in 't. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE V. BRITAIN. CYMBELINE'S Tent. 
 
 Enter CYMBELINE, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, 
 ARVIRAGUS, PISANIO, Lords, Officers, and 
 Attendants. 
 
 Cym. Stand by my side, you whom the gods 
 
 have made 
 
 Preservers of my throne. Woe is my heart 
 That the poor soldier that so richly fought, 
 Whose rags sham'd gilded arms, whose naked 
 
 breast 
 
 Stepp'd before targes of proof, cannot be found : 
 He shall be happy that can find him, if 
 Our grace can make him so. 
 
 Bel. I never saw 
 
 Such noble fury in so poor a thing ; 
 Such precious deeds in one that promis'd naught 
 But beggary and poor looks. 
 
 Cym. No tidings of him ? 
 
 Pis. He hath been search'd among the dead 
 
 and living, 
 But no trace of him. 
 
 Cym. To my grief, I am 
 
 The heir of his reward, which I will add 
 To you, the liver, heart, and brain of Britain, 
 ['lo BEL., GUI., and ARV. 
 By whom I grant she lives. 'Tis now the time 
 To ask of whence you are : report it. 
 
 Bel. Sir, 
 
 In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen : 
 Further to boast were neither true nor modest, 
 Unless I add we are honest. 
 
 Cym. Bow your knees. 
 
 Arise my knights o' the battle : I create you 
 Companions to our person, and will fit you 
 With dignities becoming your estates. 
 
 Enter CORNELRJS and Ladies. 
 
 There's business in these faces. Why so sadly 
 Greet you our victory? you look like Romans, 
 And not o' the court of Britain. 
 
 Cor. Hail, great king ! 
 
 To sour your happiness, I must report 
 The queen is dead. 
 
 Cym, Who worse than a physician 
 
 Would this report become ? But I consider 
 By medicine life may be prolong'd, yet death 
 Will seize the doctor too. How ended she ? 
 
 Cor. With horror, madly dying, like her life ; 
 Which, being cruel to the world, concluded 
 Most cruel to herself. What she confess'd 
 I will report, so please you : these her women 
 Can trip me if I err ; who with wet cheeks 
 Were present when she finish'd. 
 
 Cym. Pr'ythee, say. 
 
 Cor. First, she confess'd she never lov'd you ; 
 
 only 
 
 Affected greatness got by you, not you : 
 Married your royalty, was wife to your place ; 
 Abhorr'd your person. 
 
 Cym. She alone knew this ; 
 
 And but she spoke it dying, I would not 
 Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed. 
 
 Cor. Your daughter, whom she bore in hand 
 
 to love 
 
 With such integrity, she did confess 
 Was as a scorpion to her sight ; whose life, 
 But that her flight prevented it, she had 
 Ta'en off by poison. 
 
 Cym. O most delicate fiend ! 
 
 Who is 't can read a woman? Is there more ? 
 
 Cor. More, sir, and worse. She did confess 
 
 she had 
 
 For you a mortal mineral ; which, being took, 
 Should by the minutefeed on life, and, lingering, 
 By inches waste you : in which time she pur- 
 
 pos'd, 
 
 By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to 
 O'ercome you with her show ; and in time, 
 When she had fitted you with her craft, to work 
 
964 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Her son into the adoption of the crown : 
 But, failing of her end by his strange absence, 
 Grew shameless-desperate ; open'd, in despite 
 Of heaven and men, her purposes ; repented 
 The evils she hatch'd were not effected ; so, 
 Despairing, died. 
 
 Cym. Heard you all this, her women? 
 
 I Lady. We did, so please your highness. 
 
 Cym. Mine eyes 
 
 Were not in fault, for she was beautiful ; 
 Mine ears, that heard her flattery ; nor my heart 
 That thought her like her seeming; it had been 
 
 vicious 
 
 To have mistrusted her : yet, O my daughter ! 
 That it was folly in me thou mayst say, 
 And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all ! 
 
 Enter Lucius, IACHIMO, the Soothsayer, and 
 other Roman Prisoners, guarded; POSTHU- 
 MUS behind^ and IMOGEN. 
 
 Thou com'st not, Caius, now for tribute ; that 
 The Britons have raz'd out, though with the 
 
 loss [suit 
 
 Of many a bold one, whose kinsmen have made 
 That their good souls may be appeas'd with 
 
 slaughter [granted : 
 
 Of you their captives, which ourself have 
 So, think of your estate. [day 
 
 Luc. Consider, sir, the chance of war: the 
 Was yours by accident ; had it gone with us 
 We should not, when the blood was cool, have 
 
 threaten'd 
 Our prisoners with the sword. But since the 
 
 gods 
 
 Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives 
 May be call'd ransom, let it come: sufficeth 
 A Roman with a Roman's heart can suffer : 
 Augustus lives to think on't: and so much 
 For my peculiar care. This one thing only 
 I will entreat; my boy, a Briton born, 
 Let him be ransom'd : never master had 
 A page so kind, so duteous, diligent, 
 So tender over his occasions, true, 
 So foat, so nurse-like : let his virtue join 
 With my request, which I'll make bold 
 
 highness 
 
 Cannot d jay ; he hath done no Briton harm 
 Though he have serv'd a Roman: save him, sir, 
 And spare no blood beside. 
 
 Cym. I have surely seen him : 
 
 His favour is familiar to me. 
 Boy, thou hast look'd thyself into my grace, 
 And art mine own. I know not why nor 
 
 wherefore 
 
 To say live, boy : ne'er thank thy master ; live : 
 And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt, 
 Fitting my bounty and thy state, I '11 give it: 
 
 your 
 
 Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner, 
 The noblest ta'en. 
 
 Into. I humbly thank your highness. 
 
 Luc. I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad ; 
 And yet I know thou wilt. 
 
 Imo. No, no: alack, 
 
 There 's other work in hand : I see a thing 
 Bitter to me as death : your life, good master, 
 Must shuffle for itself. 
 
 Luc. The boy disdains me, 
 
 He leaves me, scorns me : briefly die their joys 
 That place them on the truth of girls and 
 
 boys. 
 Why stands he so perplex'd? 
 
 Cym. What wouldst thou, boy? 
 
 I love thee more and more: think more and 
 
 more [on? speak, 
 
 What 's best to ask. Know'st him thou look'st 
 
 Wilt have him live? Is he thy kin? thy friend? 
 
 Imo. He is a Roman ; no more kin to me 
 Than I to your highness ; who, being born your 
 
 vassal, 
 Am something nearer. 
 
 Cym. Wherefore ey'st him so? 
 
 Imo. I '11 tell you, sir, in private, if you please 
 To give me hearing. 
 
 Cym. Ay, with all my heart, 
 
 And lend my best attention. What 's thy name F 
 
 Imo. Fidele, sir. 
 
 Cym. Thou 'rt my good youth, my page ; 
 
 I '11 be thy master : walk with me ; speak freely. 
 
 [CYM. and IMO. converse apart. 
 
 Bel. Is not this boy reviv'd from death? 
 
 Arv. One sand another 
 
 Not more resembles that sweet rosy lad 
 Who died, and was Fidele. What think you? 
 
 Gui. The same dead thing alive. 
 
 Bel. Peace, peace ! see further ; he eyes us 
 
 not ; forbear ; 
 
 Creatures may be alike : were 't he, I am sure 
 He would have spoke to us. 
 
 Gui. But we saw him dead. 
 
 Bel. Be silent ; let 's see further. 
 
 Pis. [Aside.'} It is my mistress : 
 
 Since she is living, let the time run on 
 To good or bad. 
 
 [CYM. andlwo. come forward. 
 
 Cym. Come, stand thou by our side ; 
 
 Make thy demand aloud. [To IACH.] Sir, 
 
 step you forth ; 
 
 Give answer to this boy, and do it freely ; 
 Or, by our greatness and the grace of it, 
 Which is our honour, bitter torture shall 
 Winnow the truth from falsehood. On, speak 
 to him. [render 
 
 Imo. My boon is that this gentleman may 
 Of whom he had this ring. 
 
SCENE V.] 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 965 
 
 Post. [Aside.} What 's that to him ? 
 
 Cym. That diamond upon your finger, say, 
 How came it yours ? [that 
 
 lack. Thou 'It torture me to leave unspoken 
 Which to be spoke would torture thee. 
 
 Cym. How ! me ? 
 
 loch. I am glad to be constrain'd to utter 
 
 that which 
 
 Torments me to conceal. By villany 
 I got this ring : 'twas Leonatus' jewel, 
 Whom thou didst banish ; and, which more 
 
 may grieve thee, 
 
 As it doth me, a nobler sir ne'er liv'd 
 'Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou hear more, 
 
 my lord ? 
 
 Cym. All that belongs to this. 
 lack. That paragon, thy daughter, 
 
 For whom my heart drops blood, and my false 
 
 spirits 
 
 Quail to remember, Give me leave ; I faint. 
 Cym. My daughter! what of her? Renew 
 
 thy strength : 
 
 I had rather thou shouldst live while nature will 
 Than die ere I hear more : strive, man, and 
 
 speak. 
 
 loch. Upon a time, unhappy was the clock 
 That struck the hour ! it was in Rome, 
 
 accurs'd [would 
 
 The mansion where! 'twas at a feast, O, 
 Our viands had been poison'd, or at least 
 Those which I heav'd to head ! the good 
 
 Posthumus, 
 
 What should I say? he was too good to be 
 Where ill men were ; and was the best of all 
 Amongst the rar'st of good ones, sitting sadly, 
 Hearing us praise our loves of Italy 
 For beauty that made barren the swell'd boast 
 Of him that best could speak ; for feature laming 
 The shrine of Venus, or straight-pight Minerva, 
 Postures beyond brief nature ; for condition, 
 A shop of all the qualities that man 
 Loves woman for ; besides that hook of wiving, 
 Fairness which strikes the eye, 
 
 Cym. I stand on fire : 
 
 Come to the matter. 
 
 lack. All too soon I shall, 
 
 Unless thou wouldst grieve quickly. This 
 
 Posthumus, 
 
 Most like a noble lord in love, and one 
 That had a royal lover, took his hint ; 
 And not dispraising whom we prais'd, therein 
 He was as calm as virtue, he began 
 His mistress' picture ; which by his tongue being 
 
 made, 
 
 And then a mind put in 't, either our brags 
 Were crack'd of kitchen trulls, or his description 
 Prov'd us unspeaking sots. 
 
 Cym. Nay, nay, to the purpose. 
 
 lack. Your daughter's chastity there it 
 
 begins. 
 
 He spake of her as Dian had hot dreams 
 And she alone were cold : whereat I, wretch, 
 Made scruple of his praise ; and wager'd with 
 
 him 
 
 Pieces of gold, 'gainst this, which then he wore 
 Upon his honour'd finger, to attain 
 In suit the place of 's bed, and win this ring 
 By hers and mine adultery : he, true knight, 
 No lesser of her honour confident 
 Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring ; 
 And would so, had it been a carbuncle 
 Of Phcebus' wheel ; and might so safely, had 
 
 it 
 
 Been all the worth of 's car. Away to Britain 
 Post I in this design. Well may you, sir, 
 Remember me at court, where I was taught 
 Of your chaste daughter the wide difference 
 'Twixt amorous and villanous. Being thus 
 
 quench'd 
 
 Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain 
 'Gan in your duller Britain operate 
 Most vilely, for my vantage excellent ; 
 And, to be brief, my practice so prevail'd 
 That I retum'd with simular proof enough 
 To make the noble Leonatus mad, 
 By wounding his belief in her renown 
 With tokens thus and thus ; averring notes 
 Of chamber-hanging, pictures, this her brace- 
 
 let, 
 
 cunning how I got it ! nay, some marks 
 Of secret on her person, that he could not 
 But think her bond of chastity quite crack'd, 
 
 1 having ta'en the forfeit. Whereupon, 
 Methinks I see him now, 
 
 Post. [Coming fat-ward.] Ay, so thou dost, 
 Italian fiend ! Ah me, most credulous fool, 
 Egregious murderer, thief, anything 
 That 's due to all the villains past, in being, 
 To come ! O, give me cord, or knife, or poison, 
 Some upright justicer ! Thou, king, send out 
 For torturers ingenious : it is I 
 That all the abhorred things o' the earth amend 
 By being worse than they. I am Posthumus, 
 That kill'd thy daughter: villain-like, I lie, 
 That caus'd a lesser villain than myself, 
 A sacrilegious thief, to do 't : the temple 
 Of virtue was she ; yea, and she herself. 
 Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set 
 The dogs o' the street to bay me : every villain 
 Be call'd Posthumus Leonatus ; and 
 Be villany less than 'twas ! O Imogen ! 
 My queen, my life, my wife ! O Imogen, 
 Imogen, Imogen ! 
 
 Into. Peace, my lord ; hear, hear, 
 
966 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Post. Shall 's have a play of this ? Thou 
 
 scornful page^ 
 There lie thy part. [Striking- her : she falls. 
 
 Pis. O, gentlemen, help! [mus! 
 
 Mine and your mistress ! O, my lord Posthu- 
 Youne'erkill'd Imogen till now. Help, help! 
 Mine honour'd lady ! 
 
 Cym. Does the world go round? 
 
 Post. How come these staggers on me? 
 
 Pis. Wake, my mistress ! 
 
 Cym. If this be so, the gods do mean to 
 
 strike me 
 To death with mortal joy. 
 
 Pis. How fares my mistress? 
 
 Into. O, get thee from my sight ; 
 Thou gav'st me poison: dangerous fellow, 
 
 hence ! 
 Breathe not where princes are. 
 
 Cym. The tune of Imogen. 
 
 Pis. Lady, 
 
 The gods throw stones of sulphur on me if 
 That box I gave you was not thought by me 
 A precious thing : I had it from the queen. 
 
 Cym. New matter still? 
 
 Imo. It poison'd me. 
 
 Cor. O gods ! 
 
 I left out one thing which the queen confess'd, 
 Which must approve thee honest: If Pisanio 
 Have, said she, given his mistress that confection 
 Which I gave him for cordial, she is serv'd 
 As I -would serve a rat. 
 
 Cym. What's this, Cornelius? 
 
 Cor. The queen, sir, very oft importun'd me 
 To temper poisons for her ; still pretending 
 The satisfaction of her knowledge only 
 In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs, 
 Of no esteem: I, dreading that her purpose 
 Was of more danger, did compound for her 
 A certain stuff, which, being ta'en, would cease 
 The present power of life ; but in short time 
 All offices of nature should again 
 Do their due functions. Have you ta'en of it? 
 
 Imo. Most like I did, for I was dead. 
 
 Bel. My boys, 
 
 There was our error. 
 
 Gui. This is sure Fidele. 
 
 Imo. Why did you throw your wedded lady 
 
 from you? 
 
 Think that you are upon a rock ; and now 
 Throw me again. {Embracing him. 
 
 Post. Hang there like fruit, my soul, 
 
 Till the tree die ! 
 
 Cym. How now, my flesh, my child ! 
 
 What, mak'st thou me a dullard in this act? 
 Wilt thou not speak to me? 
 
 lino. Your blessing, sir. 
 
 [Kneeling. 
 
 Bel. Though you did love this youth, I 
 
 blame ye not; 
 You had a motive for it. 
 
 [To GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGDS. 
 
 Cym. My tears that fall 
 
 Prove holy water on thee ! Imogen, 
 Thy mother 's dead. 
 
 Imo. I am sorry for 't, my lord 
 
 Cym. O, she was naught ; and long of her 
 
 it was 
 
 That we meet here so strangely: but her son 
 Is gone, we know not how nor where. 
 
 Pis. My lord, 
 
 Now fear is from me, I '11 speak troth. Lord 
 
 Cloten, 
 
 Upon my lady's missing, came to me 
 With his sword drawn ; foam'd at the mouth, 
 
 and swore, 
 
 If I discover'd not which way she was gone, 
 It was my instant death. By accident 
 I had a feigned letter of my master's 
 Then in my pocket ; which directed him 
 To seek her on the mountains near to Milford ; 
 Where, in a frenzy, in my master's garments, 
 Which he enforc'd from me, away he posts 
 With unchaste purpose, and with oath to violate 
 My lady's honour : what became of him 
 I further know not. 
 
 Gui. Let me end the story : 
 
 I slew him there. 
 
 Cym. Marry, the gods forfend ! 
 
 I would not thy good deeds should from my lips 
 Pluck a hard sentence : pr ythee, valiant youth, 
 Deny 't again. 
 
 G^t^. I have spoke it, and I did it. 
 
 Cym. He was a prince. [me 
 
 Gui. A most incivil one : the wrongs he did 
 Were nothing prince-like ; for he did provoke me 
 With language that would make me spurn the sea, 
 If it could so roar to me : I cut off's head ; 
 And am right glad he is not standing here 
 To tell this tale of mine. 
 
 Cym. I am sorry for thee : 
 
 By thine own tongue thou art condemn'd, and 
 
 must 
 Endure our law : thou 'rt dead. 
 
 Imo. That headless man 
 
 I thought had been my lord. 
 
 Cym. Bind the offender, 
 
 And take him from our presence. 
 
 Bel. Stay, sir king : 
 
 This man is better than the man he slew, 
 As well descended as thyself ; and hath 
 More of thee merited than a band of Clotens 
 Had ever scar for. Let his arms alone ; 
 
 [To the Guard. 
 They were not born for bondage. 
 
SCENE V.] 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 967 
 
 Cynt. Why, old soldier, 
 
 Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for 
 By tasting of our wrath? How of descent 
 As good as we ? 
 
 Arv. In that he spake too far. 
 
 Cym. And thou shalt die for 't. 
 
 Bel. We will die all three : 
 
 But I will prove that two on 's are as good 
 As I have given out him. My sons, I must, 
 For mine own part, unfold a dangerous speech, 
 Though, haply, well for you. 
 
 Arv. Your danger 's 
 
 Ours. 
 
 Gut. And our good his. 
 
 Bel. Have at it, then ! 
 
 By leave, thou hadst, great king, a subject who 
 Was call'd Belarius. 
 
 Cym. What of him ? he is 
 
 A banish'd traitor. 
 
 Bel. He it is that hath 
 
 Assum'd this age : indeed, a banish'd man ; 
 I know not how a traitor. 
 
 Cym. Take him hence : 
 
 The whole world shall not save him. 
 
 Bel. Not too hot : 
 
 First pay me for the nursing of thy sons ; 
 And let it be confiscate all so soon, 
 As I have receiv'd it. 
 
 Cym. Nursing of my sons ! 
 
 Be^ I am too blunt and saucy : here 's my 
 
 knee: 
 
 Ere I arise I will prefer my sons ; 
 Then spare not the old father. Mighty sir, 
 These twoyoung gentlemen, that call me father, 
 And think they are my sons, are none of mine; 
 They are the issue of your loins, my liege, 
 And blood of your begetting. 
 
 Cym. How ! my issue ! 
 
 Bel. So sure as you your father's. I, old 
 
 Morgan, 
 
 Am that Belarius whom you sometime banish'd : 
 Your pleasure was my mere offence, my punish- 
 ment 
 
 Itself, and all my treason ; that I suffer'd 
 Was all the harm I did. These gentle princes, 
 For such and so they are, these twenty years 
 Have I train'd up : those arts they have as I 
 Could put into them ; my breeding, was, sir, as 
 Your highness knows. Their nurse, Euriphile, 
 Whom for the theft I wedded, stole these children 
 Upon my banishment : I mov'd her to 't ; 
 Having receiv'd the punishment before 
 For that which I did then : beaten for loyalty 
 Excited me to treason : their dear loss, 
 The more of you 'twas felt, the more it shap'd 
 Unto my end of stealing them. But, gracious sir, 
 Here are your sons again ; and I must lose 
 
 Two of the sweet'st companions in the world : 
 The benediction of these covering heavens 
 Fall on their heads like dew ! for they are worthy 
 To inlay heaven with stars. 
 
 Cym. Thou weep'st, and speak'st. 
 
 The service that you three have done is more 
 Unlike than this thou tell'st. I lost my children: 
 If these be they, 1 know not how to wish 
 A pair of worthier sons. 
 
 Bel. Be pleas'd awhile.- 
 
 This gentleman, whom I call Polydore, 
 Most worthy prince, as yours, is true Guiderius : 
 This gentleman, my Cadwal, Arviragus, 
 Your younger princely son ; he, sir, was lapp'd 
 In a most curious mantle, wrought by the hand 
 Of his queen mother, which, for more probation, 
 I can with ease produce. 
 
 Cym. Guiderius had 
 
 Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star ; 
 It was a mark of wonder. 
 
 Bel. This is he ; 
 
 Who hath upon him still that natural stamp : 
 It was wise nature's end in the donation, 
 To be his evidence now. 
 
 Cym. O, what, am I 
 
 A mother to the birth of three ? Ne'er mother 
 Rejoic'd deliverance more. Bless'dmayyou be, 
 That, after this strange starting from your orbs, 
 You may reign in them now ! O Imogen, 
 Thou hast lost by this a kingdom. 
 
 Imo. No, my lord ; 
 
 I have got two worlds by't. O my gentle 
 
 brothers, 
 
 Have we thus met ? O, never say hereafter 
 But I am truest speaker : you call'd me brother 
 When I was but your sister j I you brothers 
 When you were so indeed. 
 
 Cym. Did you e'er meet? 
 
 Arv. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 Gui. And at first meeting lov'd ; 
 
 Continued so until we thought he died. 
 
 Cor. By the queen's dram she swallow'd. 
 
 Cym. O rare instinct ! 
 
 When shall I hear all through? This fierce 
 
 abridgment 
 
 Hath to it circumstantial branches, which 
 Distinction should be rich in. Where? how 
 
 liv'd you ? 
 
 And when came you to serve our Roman captive? 
 How parted with your brothers ? how first met 
 them ? [These, 
 
 Why fled you from the court? and whither? 
 And your three motives to the battle, with 
 I know not how much more, should be de- 
 manded ; 
 
 And all the other by-dependencies, [place 
 
 From chance to chance : but nor the time nor 
 
968 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 See, 
 
 Will serve our long inter'gatories. 
 Posthumus anchors upon Imogen ; [eye 
 
 And she, like harmless lightning, throws her 
 On him, her brothers, me, her master ; hitting 
 Each object with a joy : the counterchange 
 Is severally in all. Let's quit this ground, 
 And smoke the temple with our sacrifices. 
 Thou art my brother ; so we '11 hold thee ever. 
 [T0 BELARIUS. 
 
 Imo. You are my father too; and did relieve me, 
 To see this gracious season. 
 
 Cym. All o'erjoy'd, 
 
 Save these in bonds : let them be joyful too, 
 For they shall taste our comfort. 
 
 Into. My good master, 
 
 I will yet do you service. 
 
 Luc. Happy be you ! 
 
 Cym. The forlorn soldier, thatsonoblyfought, 
 He would have well becom'd this place, and 
 
 grac'd 
 The thankings of a king. 
 
 Post. I am, sir, 
 
 The soldier that did company these three 
 In poor beseeming ; 'twas a fitment for 
 The purpose I then follow'd. That I was he, 
 Speak, lachimo : I had you down, and might 
 Have made you finish. 
 
 loch. I am down again : [Kneeling. 
 
 But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee, 
 As then your force did. Take that life, beseech 
 
 you, 
 
 Which I so often owe : but your ring first ; 
 And here the bracelet of the truest princess 
 That ever swore her faith. 
 
 Post. Kneel not to me : 
 
 The power that I have on you is to spare you ; 
 The malice towards you to forgive you : live, 
 And deal with others better. 
 
 Cym. Nobly doom'd ! 
 
 We '11 learn our freeness of a son-in-law ; 
 Pardon 's the word to all. 
 
 Arv. You holp us, sir, 
 
 As you did mean indeed to be our brother ; 
 Joy'd are we that you are. [of Rome, 
 
 Post. Your servant, princes. Good my lord 
 Call forth your soothsayer: as I slept, me- 
 
 thought 
 
 Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back, 
 Appear'd to me, with other spritely shows 
 Of mine own kindred : when I wak'd I found 
 This label on my bosom ; whose containing 
 Is so from sense in hardness that I can 
 Make no collection of it : let him show 
 His skill in the construction. 
 
 Luc, Philarmonus, 
 
 Sooth. Here, my good lord. 
 
 Luc. Read, and declare the meaning. 
 
 Sooth. {Reads. ] Whenas a lion's whelp shall, 
 to himself unknown, without seeking find, and 
 be embraced by a piece of tender air ; and when 
 from a stately cedar shall be lopped branches, 
 which, being dead many years, shall after re- 
 vive, be jointed to the old stock, and freshly 
 grow ; then shall Posthumus end his miseries, 
 Britain be fortunate, and flourish in peace and 
 plenty. 
 
 Thou, Leonatus, art the lion's whelp ; 
 The fit and apt construction of thy name, 
 Being Leo-natus, doth import so much : 
 The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter, 
 \To CYMBELIKE. 
 
 Which we call mollis aer ; and mollis aer 
 We term it mulier : which mulier I divine 
 Is this most constant wife ; who even now, 
 Answering the letter of the oracle, 
 Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp'd about 
 With this most tender air. 
 
 Cym. This hath some seeming. 
 
 Sooth. The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline, 
 Personates thee : and thy lopp'd branches point 
 Thy two sons forth, who, by Belarius stol'n, 
 For many years thought dead, are now reviv'd, 
 To the majestic cedar join'd ; whose issue 
 Promises Britain peace and plenty. 
 
 Cym. Well, 
 
 By peace we will begin : and, Caius Lucius, 
 Although the victor, we submit to Caesar, 
 And to the Roman empire j promising 
 To pay our wonted tribute, from the which 
 We were dissuaded by our wicked queen ; 
 Whom heavens, injustice both on her and hers, 
 Have laid most heavy hand. 
 
 Sooth. The fingers of the powers above do tune 
 The harmony of this peace. The vision, 
 Which I made known to Lucius ere the stroke 
 Of this yet scarce-cold battle, at this instant, 
 Is full accomplish'd ; for the Roman eagle, 
 From south to west on wing soaring aloft, 
 Lessen'd herself, and in the beams o' the sun 
 So vanish'd : which foreshow'd our princely eagle, 
 The imperial Caesar, should again unite 
 His favour with the radiant Cymbeline, 
 Which shines here in the west. 
 
 Cym. Laud we the gods ; 
 
 And let our crooked smokesclimbtotheirnostrils 
 From our bless d altars. Publish we this peace 
 To all our subjects. Set we forward : let 
 A Roman and a British ensign wave 
 Friendly together: so through Lud's town march: 
 And in the temple of great Jupiter 
 Our peace we 'it ratify ; seal it with feasts. 
 Set on there ! Never was a war did cease, 
 Ere bloody hands were wash'd, with such a 
 peace. \Exeunt. 
 
TITUS ANDRONICUS 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 SATURNINUS, Son to the late Emperor of Rome, 
 
 and afterwards declared Emperor. 
 BASSIANUS, Brother to SATURNINUS, in love 
 
 with LAVINIA. 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS, a noble Roman, General 
 
 against the Goths. 
 MARCUS ANDRONICUS, Tribune of the People, 
 
 and Brother to TITUS. 
 Lucius, 
 
 MARCUS' Som to TlTUS ANDR ONICUS. 
 
 MUTIUS, 
 
 YOUNG Lucius, a Boy, Son to Lucius. 
 
 PUBLICS, Son to MARCUS the Tribune. 
 
 , a noble Roman. 
 ALARBUS, ) 
 
 DEMETRIUS, > Sons to TAMORA. 
 CHIRON, ) 
 
 AARON, a Moor, beloved by TAMORA. 
 A Captain, Tribune, Messenger, and Clown,- 
 
 Romans. 
 Goths and Romans. 
 
 TAMORA, Queen of the Goths. 
 
 LAVINIA, Daughter to TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 A Nurse, and a black Child. 
 
 Kinsmen of TlTUS, Senators, Tribunes, Officers, 
 Soldiers, and Attendants. 
 
 SCENE, ROME, and the Country near it. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. ROME. Before the Capitol. 
 
 The Tomb of the ANDRONICI appearing ; the 
 Tribunes and Senators aloft. Enter, below, 
 SATURNINUS and his Followers on one side, 
 and BASSIANUS and his Followers on the 
 other, with drums and colours. 
 
 Sat. Noble patricians, patrons of my right, 
 Defend the justice of my cause with arms ; 
 And, countrymen, my loving followers, 
 Plead my successive title with your swords : 
 I am his first-born son that was the last 
 That wore the imperial diadem of Rome : 
 Then let my father's honours live in me, 
 Nor wrong mine age with this indignity. 
 
 Bas. Romans, friends, followers, favourers 
 
 of my right, 
 
 If ever Bassianus, Caesar's son, 
 Were gracious in the eyes of royal Rome, 
 Keep, then, this passage to the Capitol ; 
 And suffer not dishonour to approach 
 The imperial seat, to virtue consecrate, 
 To justice, continence, and nobility : 
 But let desert in pure election shine ; 
 And, Romans, fight for freedom in your choice. 
 
 Enter MARCUS ANDRONICUS aloft, with the 
 crown. 
 
 Marc. Princes, that strive by factions and 
 by friends 
 
 Ambitiously for rule and empery, [stand 
 
 Know that the people of Rome, for whom we 
 
 A special party, have by common voice, 
 
 In election for the Roman empery, 
 
 Chosen Andronicus, surnamed Pius 
 
 For many good and great deserts to Rome : 
 
 A nobler man, a braver warrior, 
 
 Lives not this day within the city walls : 
 
 He by the senate is accited home 
 
 From weary wars against the barbarous Goths ; 
 
 That, with his sons, a terror to our foes, 
 
 Hath yok'd a nation strong, train'd up in arms. 
 
 Ten years are spent since first he undertook 
 
 This cause of Rome, and chastised with arms 
 
 Our enemies' pride : five times he hath return 'd 
 
 Bleeding to Rome, bearing his valiant sons 
 
 In coffins from the field ; 
 
 And now at last, laden with honour's spoils, 
 
 Returns the good Andronicus to Rome, 
 
 Renowned Titus, flourishing in arms. 
 
 Let us entreat, by honour of his name 
 
 Whom worthily you would have now succeed, 
 
 And in the Capitol and senate's right, 
 
 Whom you pretend to honour and adore, 
 
 That you withdraw you, and abate your strength ; 
 
 Dismiss your followers, and, as suitors should, 
 
 Plead your deserts in peace and humbleness. 
 
 Sat. How fair the tribune speaks to calm my 
 thoughts ! 
 
 Bas. Marcus Andronicus, so I do affy 
 In thy uprightness and integrity, 
 And so I love and honour thee and thine, 
 
970 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 [ACT f . 
 
 Thy noble brother Titus and his sons, 
 And her to whom my thoughts are humbled all, 
 Gracious Lavinia, Rome's rich ornament, 
 That I will here dismiss my loving friends ; 
 And to my fortunes and the people's favour 
 Commit my cause in balance to be weigh'd. 
 
 [Exeunt the Followers ofBAS. 
 Sat. Friends, that have been thus forward in 
 
 my right, 
 
 I thank you all, and here dismiss you all ; 
 And to the love and favour of my country 
 Commit myself, my person, and the cause. 
 
 [Exezmt the Followers 0/SAT. 
 Rome, be as just and gracious unto me 
 As I am confident and kind to thee. 
 Open the gates, tribunes, and let me in. 
 Bas. Tribunes, and me, a poor competitor. 
 [Flourish. Exeunt ; SAT. and BAS. go ^lp 
 into the Capitol. 
 
 Enter a Captain. 
 
 Cap. Romans, make way. The good An- 
 
 dronicus, 
 
 Patron of virtue, Rome's best champion, 
 Successful in the battles that he fights, 
 With honour and with fortune is return'd 
 From where he circumscribed with his sword, 
 And brought to yoke, the enemies of Rome. 
 
 Flourish of trumpets, &*c. Enter MARTI us 
 and MUTIUS ; after them two Men bearing 
 a coffin covered with black ; then LUCIUS and 
 QUINTUS. After them TITUS ANDRONICUS ; 
 and then TAMORA, with ALARBUS, DEME- 
 TRIUS, CHIRON, AARON, and other Goths, 
 prisoners ; Soldiers and People following. 
 The bearers set down the coffin, and TITUS 
 
 Tit. Hail, Rome, victorious in thy mourning 
 
 weeds ! 
 
 Lo, as the bark that hath discharg'd her fraught 
 Returns with precious lading to the bay 
 From whence at first she weigh'd her anchorage, 
 Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs, 
 To re-salute his country with his tears, 
 Tears of true joy for his return to Rome. 
 Thou great defender of this Capitol, 
 Stand gracious to the rites that we intend! 
 Romans, of five-and-twenty valiant sons, 
 Half of the number that King Priam had, 
 Behold the poor remains, alive and dead ! 
 These that survive let Rome reward with love ; 
 These that I bring unto their latest home, 
 With burial amongst their ancestors : 
 Here Goths have given me leave to sheathe my 
 
 sword. 
 Titus, unkind, and careless of thine own, 
 
 Why suffer'st thou thy sons, unburied yet, 
 To hover on the dreadful shore of Styx ? 
 Make way to lay them by their brethren. 
 
 \The tomb is opened. 
 
 There greet in silence, as the dead are wont, 
 And sleep in peace, slain in your country'swars ! 
 O sacred receptacle of my joys, 
 Sweet cell of virtue and nobility, 
 How many sons of mine hast thou in store, 
 That thou wilt never render to me more ! 
 
 Luc. Give us the proudest prisoner of the 
 
 Goths, 
 
 That we may hew his limbs, and on a pile 
 Ad manes fratrum sacrifice his flesh 
 Before this earthly prison of their bones ; 
 That so the shadows be not unappeas'd, 
 Nor we disturb'd with prodigies on earth. 
 
 Tit. I give him you, the noblest that sur- 
 vives, 
 The eldest son of this distressed queen. 
 
 Tarn. Stay, Roman brethren ! Gracious 
 
 conqueror, 
 
 Victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed, 
 A mother's tears in passion for her son : 
 And if thy sons were ever dear to thee, 
 O, think my son to be as dear to me ! 
 Sufficeth not that we are brought to Rome, 
 To beautify thy triumphs and return, 
 Captive to thee and to thy Roman yoke ; 
 But must my sons be slaughter'd in the streets 
 For valiant doings in their country's cause ? 
 O, if to fight for king and common weal 
 Were piety in thine, it is in these. 
 Andronicus, stain not thy tomb with blood : 
 Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods ? 
 Draw near them, then, in being merciful : 
 Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge : 
 Thrice-noble Titus, spare my first-born son. 
 
 Tit. Patient yourself, madam, and pardon me. 
 These are their brethren, whom you Goths 
 
 beheld 
 
 Alive and dead ; and for their brethren slain 
 Religiously they ask a sacrifice : 
 To this your son is mark'd ; and die he must, 
 To appease their groaning shadows that are gone. 
 
 Luc. Away with him ! and make a fire 
 
 straight ; 
 
 And with our swords, upon a pile of wood 
 Let 'shew his limbs till they be clean consum'd. 
 [Exeunt Luc. , QUIN., MARC., awt/MuT., 
 with ALARBUS. 
 
 Tarn. O cruel, irreligious piety ! 
 
 Chi. Was ever Scythia half so barbarous ? 
 
 Dem. Oppose not Scythia to ambitious Rome. 
 Alarbus goes to rest ; and we survive 
 To tremble under Titus' threatening looks. 
 Then, madam, stand resolv'd j but hope withal 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 971 
 
 The self-same gods that arm'd the Queen of 
 
 Troy 
 
 With opportunity of sharp revenge 
 Upon the Thracian tyrant in his tent, 
 May favour Tamora, the queen of Goths, 
 When Goths were Goths and Tamora was 
 
 queen, 
 To quit the bloody wrongs upon her foes. 
 
 Re-enter Lucius, QUINTUS, MARTIUS, and 
 MUTIUS, with their swords bloody. 
 
 Lite. See, lord and father, how we have 
 
 perform'd 
 
 Our Roman rites : Alarbus' limbs are lopp'd, 
 And entrails feed the sacrificing fire, 
 Whose smoke like incense doth perfume the sky. 
 Remaineth naught but to inter our brethren, 
 And with loud 'larums welcome them to Rome. 
 
 Tit. Let it be so, and let Andronicus 
 Make this his latest farewell to their souls. 
 [ Trumpets sounded and the coffinlaidinthetomb. 
 In peace and honour rest you here, my sons ; 
 Rome's readiest champions, repose you here in 
 
 rest, 
 
 Secure from worldly chances and mishaps ! 
 Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells, 
 Here grow no damned grudges ; here are no 
 
 storms, 
 No noise, but silence and eternal sleep : 
 
 Enter LAVINIA. 
 
 In peace and honour rest you here, my sons ! 
 
 Lav. In peace and honour live Lord Titus 
 
 long; 
 
 My noble lord and father, live in fame ! 
 Lo, at this tomb my tributary tears 
 I render for my brethren's obsequies ; 
 And at thy feet I kneel, with tears of joy 
 Shed on the earth for thy return to Rome : 
 O, bless me here with thy victorious hand, 
 Whose fortunes Rome's best citizens applaud ! 
 
 Tit. Kind Rome, that hast thus lovingly 
 
 reserv'd 
 
 The cordial of mine age to glad my heart ! 
 Lavinia, live ; outlive thy father's days, 
 And fame's eternal date, for virtue's praise ! 
 
 Enter t below, MARCUS ANDRONICUS and Tri- 
 bunes ; re-enter SATURNINUS, BASSIANUS, 
 and Attendants. 
 
 Marc. Long live Lord Titus, my beloved 
 
 brother, ' 
 
 Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome ! 
 Tit. Thanks, gentle tribune, noble brother 
 Marcus. [ful wars, 
 
 Marc. And welcome, nephews, from success- 
 You that survive and you that sleep in fame ! 
 
 Fair lords, your fortunes are alike in all, 
 That in your country's service drew your swords: 
 But safer triumph is this funeral pomp 
 That hath aspir'd to Solon's happiness, 
 And triumphs over chance in honour's bed. 
 Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome, 
 Whose friend in justice thou hast ever been, 
 Send thee by me, their tribune and their trust, 
 This palliament of white and spotless hue ; 
 And name thee in election for the empire 
 With these our late-deceased emperor's sons: 
 Be candidatus, then, and put it on, 
 And help to set a head on headless Rome. 
 
 Tit. A better head her glorious body fits 
 Than his that shakes for age and feebleness : 
 What, should I don this robe and trouble you? 
 Be chosen with proclamations to-day, 
 To-morrow yield up rule, resign my life, 
 And set abroach new business for you all? 
 Rome, I have been thy soldier forty years, 
 And led my country's strength successfully, 
 And buried one-and-twenty valiant sons, 
 Knighted in field, slain manfully in arms, 
 In right and service of their noble country : 
 Give me a staff of honour for mine age, 
 But not a sceptre to control the world : 
 Upright he held it, lords, that held it last. 
 
 Marc. Titus, thou shalt obtain and ask the 
 err.pery. [tell? 
 
 Sat. Proud and ambitious tribune, canst thou 
 
 Tit. Patience, Prince Saturninus. 
 
 Sat. Romans, do me right; 
 
 Patricians, draw your swords, and sheathe them 
 
 not 
 
 Till Saturninus be Rome's emperor. 
 Andronicus, would thou wert shipp'd to hell 
 Rather than rob me of the people's hearts ! 
 
 Luc. Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the good 
 That noble-minded Titus means to thee ! 
 
 Tit. Content thee, prince; I will restore to 
 thee [selves. 
 
 The people's hearts, and wean them from them 
 
 Bos. Andronicus, I do not natter thee, 
 But honour thee, and will do till I die* 
 My faction if thou strengthen with thy friends, 
 I will most thankful be ; and thanks to men 
 Of noble minds is honourable meed. [here, 
 
 Tit. People of Rome, and people's tribunes 
 I ask your voices and your suffrages : 
 Will you bestow them friendly on Andronicus? 
 
 Trib. To gratify the good Andronicus, 
 And gratulate his safe return to Rome, 
 The people will accept whom he admits. 
 
 Tit. Tribunes, I thank you : and this suit I 
 
 make, 
 
 That you create your emperor's eldest son, 
 Lord, Saturnine ; whose virtues will, I hope, 
 
972 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 Reflect on Rome as Titan's rays on earth, 
 And ripen justice in this commonweal : 
 Then, if you will elect by my advice, 
 Crown him, and say, Long live our emperor! 
 Marc. With voices and applause of every 
 
 sort, 
 
 Patricians and plebeians, we create 
 Lord Saturninus Rome's great emperor ; 
 And say, Long live our emperor Saturnine ! 
 
 [A long flourish. 
 
 Sat. Titus Andronicus, for thy favours done 
 To us in our election this day 
 I give thee thanks in part of thy deserts, 
 And will with deeds requite thy gentleness ; 
 And for an onset, Titus, to advance 
 Thy name and honourable family, 
 Lavinia will I make my empress, 
 Rome's royal mistress, mistress of my heart, 
 And in the sacred Pantheon her espouse : 
 Tell me, Andronicus, doth this motion please 
 
 thee? [match 
 
 Tit. It doth, my worthy lord; and in this 
 I hold me highly honour' d of your grace : 
 And here, in sight of Rome, to Saturnine, 
 King and commander of our commonweal, 
 The wide world's emperor, do I consecrate 
 My sword, my chariot, and my prisoners; 
 Presents well worthy Rome's imperial lord : 
 Receive them, then, the tribute that I owe, 
 Mine honour's ensigns humbled at thy feet. 
 
 Sat. Thanks, noble Titus, father of my life ! 
 How proud I am of thee and of thy gifts 
 Rome shall record ; and when I do forget 
 The least of these unspeakable deserts, 
 Romans, forget your fealty to me. 
 
 Tit. [To TAMORA.] Now, madam, are you 
 
 prisoner to an emperor ; 
 To him that for your honour and your state 
 Will use you nobly and your followers. 
 
 Sat. A goodly lady, trust me ; of the hue 
 That I would choose were I to choose anew. 
 Clear up, fair queen, that cloudy countenance : 
 Though chance of war hath wrought this change 
 
 of cheer, 
 
 Thou com'st not to be made a scorn in Rome : 
 Princely shall be thy usage every way. 
 Rest on my word, and let not discontent 
 Daunt all your hopes: madam, he comforts 
 
 you 
 Can make you greater than the Queen of 
 
 Goths. 
 
 Lavinia, you are not displeas'd with this? 
 Lav. Not I, my lord ; sith true nobility 
 Warrants these words in princely courtesy. 
 Sat. Thanks, sweet Lavinia. Romans, let 
 
 us go: 
 Ransomless here we set our prisoners free : 
 
 Proclaim our honours, lords, with trump and 
 drum. 
 [Flourish. SAT. courts TAMORA in 
 
 dtimb show. 
 
 Bas. Lord Titus, by your leave, this maid is 
 
 mine. [Seizing LAVINIA. 
 
 Tit. How, sir ! are you in earnest, then, my 
 
 lord? 
 
 Bas. Ay, noble Titus ; and resolv'd withal 
 To do myself this reason and this right. 
 
 Marc. Suum cuique is our Roman justice: 
 This prince in justice seizeth but his own. 
 Luc. And that he will and shall, if Lucius 
 live. [peror's guard? 
 
 Tit. Traitors, avaunt! Where is the em- 
 Treason, my lord, Lavinia is surpris'd ! 
 Sat. Surpris'd ! by whom ? 
 Bas. By him that justly may 
 
 Bear his betroth'd from all the world away. 
 
 [Exeunt BAS. and MAR. with LAV. 
 Mut. Brothers, help to convey her hence 
 
 away, 
 And with my sword I '11 keep this door safe. 
 
 [Exeunt Luc., QUIN., and MAR. 
 Tit. Follow, my lord, and I '11 soon bring 
 
 her back. 
 
 Mut. My lord, you pass not here. 
 Tit. What, villain boy ! 
 
 Barr'st me my way in Rome? 
 
 [Stabbing MUTIUS. 
 
 Mut. Help, Lucius, help! 
 
 [Dies. 
 
 Re-enter Lucius. 
 
 Luc. My lord, you are unjust; and more 
 
 than so, 
 In wrongful quarrel you have slain your son. 
 
 Tit. Nor thou nor he are any sons of mine ; 
 My sons would never so dishonour me : 
 Traitor, restore Lavinia to the emperor. 
 
 Luc. Dead, if you will ; but not to be his wife, 
 That is another's lawful promis'd love. [Exit. 
 
 Sat. No, Titus, no ; the emperor needs her 
 
 not, 
 
 Nor her, nor thee, nor any of thy stock : 
 I '11 trust by leisure him that mocks me once ; 
 Thee never, nor thy traitorous haughty sons, 
 Confederates all thus to dishonour me. 
 Was there none else in Rome to make a stale 
 But Saturnine? Full well, Andronicus, 
 Agree these deeds with that proud brag of thine, 
 That said'st I begg'd the empire at thy hands. 
 
 Tit. O monstrous ! what reproachful words 
 are these? [ing piece 
 
 Sat. But go thy ways ; go, give that chang- 
 To him that flourish'd for her with his sword : 
 A valiant son-in-law thou shalt enjoy; 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 973 
 
 One fit to bandy with thy lawless sons, 
 To ruffle in the commonwealth of Rome. 
 Tit. These words are razors to my wounded 
 
 heart. [Goths, 
 
 Sat, And therefore, lovely Tamora, Queen of 
 
 That, like the stately Phoebe 'mongst her 
 
 nymphs, 
 
 Dost overshine the gallant'st dames of Rome, 
 If thou be pleas'd with this my sudden choice, 
 Behold, I choose thee, Tamora, for my bride, 
 And will create thee empress of Rome. 
 Speak, Queen of Goths, dost thou applaud my 
 
 choice? 
 
 And here I swear by all the Roman gods, 
 Sith priest and holy water are so near, 
 And tapers burn so bright, and everything 
 In readiness for Hymemeus stand, 
 I will not re-salute the streets of Rome, 
 Or climb my palace, till from forth this place 
 I lead espous'd my bride along with me. 
 
 Tarn. And here, in sight of heaven, to Rome 
 
 I swear, 
 
 If Saturnine advance the Queen of Goths, 
 She will a handmaid be to his desires, 
 A loving nurse, a mother to his youth. 
 
 Sat- Ascend, fair queen, Pantheon. Lords, 
 
 accompany 
 
 Your noble emperor and his lovely bride, 
 Sent by the heavens for Prince Saturnine, 
 Whose wisdom hath her fortune conquered : 
 There shall we consummate our spousal rites. 
 \_Exeiint SAT. and his Followers ; TAM. 
 
 and her sons ; AARON and Goths. 
 Tit, I am not bid to wait upon this bride. 
 Titus, when wert thou wont to walk alone, 
 Dishonour'd thus, and challenged of wrongs? 
 
 Re-enter MARCUS, Lucius, QUINTUS, and 
 MARTI us. 
 
 Marc. O Titus, see, O see what thou hast 
 
 done ! 
 In a bad quarrel slain a virtuous son. 
 
 Tit. No, foolish tribune, no; no son of 
 
 mine, 
 
 Nor thou, nor these, confederates in the deed 
 That hath dishonour'd all our family ; 
 Unworthy brother and unworthy sons ! 
 
 Luc. But let us give him burial, as becomes; 
 Give Mutius burial with our brethren. 
 
 Tit. Traitors, away! he rests not in this 
 
 tomb : 
 
 This monument five hundred years hath stood, 
 Which I have sumptuously re-edified : 
 Here none but soldiers and Rome's servitors 
 Repose in fame ; none basely slain in brawls : 
 Bury him where you can, he comes not here. 
 
 Marc. My lord, this is impiety in you : 
 
 My nephew Mutius' deeds do plead for him ; 
 He must be buried with his brethren. 
 
 Quin. and Mart. And shall, or him we will 
 
 accompany. [that word? 
 
 Tit. And shall ! What villain was it spake 
 
 Quin. He that would vouch it in any place 
 
 but here. [spite? 
 
 Tit. What, would you bury him in my de- 
 
 Marc. No, noble Titus ; but entreat of thee 
 
 To pardon Mutius, and to bury him. 
 
 Tit. Marcus, even thou hast struck upon my 
 crest, [wounded : 
 
 And with these boys mine honour thou hast 
 My foes I do repute you every one ; 
 So trouble me no more, but get you gone. 
 Marc. He is not with himself; let us with- 
 draw. 
 Quin. Not I, till Mutius' bones be buried. 
 
 [MARCUS and the Sons of TITUS kneel. 
 
 Marc. Brother, for in that name doth nature 
 
 plead, [speak, 
 
 Quin. Father, and in that name doth nature 
 
 Tit. Speak thou no more, if all the rest will 
 
 speed. 
 Marc. Renowned Titus, more than half my 
 
 soul, 
 Luc. Dear father, soul and substance of us 
 
 all, 
 
 Marc. Suffer thy brother Marcus to inter 
 His noble nephew here in virtue's nest, 
 That died in honour and Lavinia's cause : 
 Thou art a Roman, be not barbarous. 
 The Greeks upon advice did bury Ajax, 
 That slew himself; and wise Laertes' son 
 Did graciously plead for his funerals : 
 Let not young Mutius, then, that was thy joy, 
 Be barr'd his entrance here. 
 
 Tit. Rise, Marcus, rise: 
 
 The dismall'st day is this that e'er I saw, 
 To be dishonour'd by my sons in Rome ! 
 Well, bury him, and bury me the next. 
 
 [MuTius is put into the tomb. 
 Luc. There lie thy bones, sweet Mutius, with 
 
 thy friends, 
 
 Till we with trophies do adorn thy tomb. 
 All. [Kneeling.] No man shed tears for noble 
 
 Mutius ; 
 
 He lives in fame that died in virtue's cause. 
 Marc. My lord, to step out of these dreary 
 
 dumps, 
 
 How comes it that the subtle Queen of Goths 
 Is of a sudden thus advanc'd in Rome ? 
 
 Tit. I know not, Marcus ; but I know it is, 
 
 Whether by device or no, the heavens can tell : 
 
 Is she not, then, beholden to the man 
 
 That brought her for this high good turn so far ? 
 
 Marc. Yes, and will nobly him remunerate. 
 
974 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 Flourish. Re-enter, at one side, SATURNI- 
 NUS attended; TAMORA, DEMETRIUS, CHI- 
 RON, and AARON: at the other, BASSIANUS, 
 LAVINIA, and others. 
 
 Sat. So, Bassianus, you have play'd your 
 
 prize : 
 
 God give you joy, sir, of your gallant bride ! 
 Bas. And you of yours, my lord ! I say no 
 
 more, 
 
 Nor wish no less ; and so I take my leave, 
 Sat. Traitor, if Rome have law or we have 
 
 power, 
 
 Thou and thy faction shall repent this rape. 
 Bas. Rape, call you it, my lord, to seize my 
 
 own, 
 
 My true-betrothed love, and now my wife ? 
 But let the laws of Rome determine all ; 
 Meanwhile I am possess'd of that is mine, [us ; 
 Sat. 'Tis good, sir : you are very short with 
 But if we live we '11 be as sharp with you. 
 Bas. My lord, what I have done, as best I 
 
 may, 
 
 Answer I must, and shall do with my life. 
 Only thus much I give your grace to know, 
 By all the duties that I owe to Rome, 
 This noble gentleman, Lord Titus here, 
 Is in opinion and in honour wrong'd, 
 That, in the rescue of Lavinia, 
 With his own hand did slay his youngest son, 
 In zeal to you, and highly mov'd to wrath 
 To be controll'd in that he frankly gave : 
 Receive him, then, to favour, Saturnine, 
 That hath express'd himself, in all his deeds, 
 A father and a friend to thee and Rome. 
 
 Tit. Prince Bassianus, leave to plead my 
 
 deeds : 
 
 'Tis thou and those that have dishonour' d me. 
 Rome and the righteous heavens be my judge 
 How I have lov'd and honour'd Saturnine ! 
 
 Tarn. My worthy lord, if ever Tamora 
 Were gracious in those princely eyes of thine, 
 Then hear me speak indifferently for all ; 
 And at my suit, sweet, pardon what is past. 
 
 Sat. What, madam ! be dishonour'd openly, 
 And basely put it up without revenge ? 
 
 Tarn. Not so, my lord ; the gods of Rome 
 
 forfend 
 
 I should be author to dishonour you ! 
 But on mine honour dare I undertake 
 For good Lord Titus' innocence in all, 
 Whose fury not dissembled speaks his griefs : 
 Then at my suit look graciously on him ; 
 Lose not so noble a friend on vain suppose, 
 Nor with sour looks afflict his gentle heart. 
 My lord, be rul'd by me, be won at last ; 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Dissemble all your griefs and discontents : 
 You are but newly planted in your throne ; 
 Lest, then, the people and patricians too, 
 Upon a just survey, take Titus' part, 
 And so supplant you for ingratitude, 
 Which Rome reputes to be a heinous sin, 
 Yield at entreats ; and then let me alone : 
 I '11 find a day to massacre them all, 
 And raze their faction and their family, 
 The cruel father and his traitorous sons, 
 To whom I sued for my dear son's life ; 
 And make them know what 'tis to let a queen 
 Kneel in the streets and beg for grace in vain. 
 Come, come, sweet emperor, come, Androni- 
 
 cus, 
 
 Take up this good old man, and cheer the heart 
 That dies in tempest of thy angry frown. 
 
 Sat. Rise, Titus, rise ; my empress hath pre- 
 vail'd. 
 
 Tit. I thank your majesty and her, my lord : 
 These words, these looks, infuse new life in 
 me. 
 
 Tarn. Titus, I am incorporate in Rome, 
 A Roman now adopted happily, 
 And must advise the emperor for his good. 
 This day all quarrels die, Andronicus ; 
 And let it be mine honour, good my lord. 
 That I have reconcil'd your friends and you, 
 For you, Prince Bassianus, I have pass'd 
 My word and promise to the emperor 
 That you will be more mild and tractable. 
 And fear not, lords, and you, Lavinia, 
 By my advice, all humbled on your knees, 
 You shall ask pardon of his majesty. 
 
 Luc. We do ; and vow to heaven and to his 
 
 highness 
 
 That what we did was mildly as we might, 
 Tendering our sister's honour and our own. 
 
 Marc. That on mine honour here I do protest. 
 
 Sat. Away, and talk not ; trouble us no more. 
 
 Tarn. Nay, nay, sweet emperor, we must all 
 
 be friends : 
 
 The tribune and his nephews kneel for grace ; 
 I will not be denied : sweet heart, look back. 
 
 Sat. Marcus, for thy sake and thy brother's 
 
 here, 
 
 And at my lovely Tamora's entreats, 
 I do remit these young men's heinous faults : 
 Stand up. 
 
 Lavinia, though you left me like a churl, 
 I found a friend ; and sure as death I swore 
 I would not part a bachelor from the priest. 
 Come, if the emperor's court can feast two brides, 
 You are my guest, Lavinia, and your friends. 
 This day shall be a love-day, Tamora. 
 
 Tit. To-morrow, an it please your majesty 
 To hunt the panther and the hart with me, 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 975 
 
 With horn and hound we '11 give your grace bon- 
 
 jour. 
 Sat. Be it so, Titus, and gramercy too. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. ROME. Before the Palace. 
 Enter AARON. 
 
 Aar. Now climbeth Tamora Olympus' top, 
 Safe out of fortune's shot ; and sits aloft, 
 Secure of thunder's crack or lightning's flash ; 
 Advanc'd above pale envy's threatening reach. 
 As when the golden sun salutes the morn, 
 And, having gilt the ocean with his beams, 
 Gallops the zodiac in his glistering coach, 
 And overlooks the highest-peering hill ; 
 So Tamora : 
 
 Upon her will doth earthly honour wait, 
 And virtue stoops and trembles at her frown. 
 Then, Aaron, arm thy heart and fit thy thoughts 
 To mount aloft with thy imperial mistress, 
 And mount her pitch, whom thou in triumph 
 
 long 
 
 Hast prisoner held, fetter'd in amorous chains, 
 And faster bound to Aaron's charming eyes 
 Than is Prometheus tied to Caucasus. 
 Away with slavish weeds and servile thoughts ! 
 I will be bright, and shine in pearl and gold, 
 To wait upon this new-made empress. 
 To wait, said I ? to wanton with this queen, 
 This goddess, this Semiramis, this nymph, 
 This syren, that will charm Rome's Saturnine, 
 And see his shipwreck and his commonweal's, 
 Holla ! what storm is this ? 
 
 Enter DEMETRIUS and CHIRON braving. 
 
 Dem. Chiron, thy years want wit, thy wit 
 
 wants edge 
 
 And manners, to intrude where I am grac'd ; 
 And may, for aught thou know'st, affected be. 
 Chi. Demetrius, thou dost over-ween in all ; 
 And so in this, to bear me down with braves. 
 Tis not the difference of a year or two 
 Makes me less gracious or thee more fortunate : 
 1 am as able and as fit as thou 
 To serve and to deserve my mistress' grace ; 
 And that my sword upon thee shall approve, 
 And plead my passions for Lavinia's love. 
 Aar. [Aside.] Clubs, clubs ! these lovers 
 
 will not keep the peace. 
 Dem. Why, boy, although our mother, 
 
 unadvis'd, 
 
 Gave you a dancing-rapier by your side, 
 Are you so desperate grown to threat your 
 friends ? 
 
 Go to ; have your lath glu'd within your sheath 
 Till you know better how to handle it. [have, 
 
 Chi. Meanwhile, sir, with the little skill I 
 Full well shalt thou perceive how much I dare. 
 
 Dem. Ay, boy, grow ye so brave ? 
 
 [They draw. 
 
 Aar. [Coming forward.] Why, how now, 
 
 lords ! 
 
 So near the emperor's palace dare you draw, 
 And maintain such a quarrel openly ? 
 Full well I wot the ground of all this grudge : 
 I would not for a million of gold 
 The cause were known to themitmost concerns ; 
 Nor would your noble mother for much more 
 Be so dishonour'd in the court of Rome. 
 For shame, put up. 
 
 Dem. Not I, till I have sheath'd 
 
 My rapier in his bosom, and withal 
 Thrust these reproachful speechesdown his throat 
 That he hath breath'd in my dishonour here. 
 
 Chi. For that I am prepar'd and full re- 
 sol v'd, [tongue, 
 Foul-spoken coward, that thunder's! with thy 
 And with thy weapon nothing dar'st perform. 
 
 Aar. Away, I say ! 
 
 Now, by the gods that warlike Goths adore, 
 This petty brabble will undo us all. 
 Why, lords, and think you not how dangerous 
 It is to jet upon a prince's right ? 
 What, is Lavinia, then, become so loose, 
 Or Bassianus so degenerate, 
 That for her love such quarrels may be broach'd 
 Without controlment, justice, or revenge? 
 Young lords, beware 1 and should the empress 
 know [please. 
 
 This discord's ground, the music would not 
 
 Chi. I care not, I, knew she and all the 
 
 world : 
 I love Lavinia more than all the world. 
 
 Dem. Youngling, learn thou to make some 
 
 meaner choice : 
 Lavinia is thine elder brother's hope. 
 
 Aar. Why, are you mad ? or know ye not 
 
 in Rome 
 
 How furious and impatient they be, 
 And cannot brook competitors in love? 
 I tell you, lords, you do but plot your deaths 
 By this device. 
 
 Chi. Aaron, a thousand deaths 
 
 Would I propose to achieve her whom I love. 
 
 Aar. To achieve her ! How? 
 
 Dem. Why mak'st thou it so strange ? 
 
 She is a woman, therefore may be woo'd ; 
 She is a woman, therefore may be won ; 
 She is Lavinia, therefore must be lov'd. 
 What, man ! more water glideth by the mill 
 Than wots the miller of ; and easy it is 
 
976 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 Of a cut loaf to steal a shive, we know : 
 Though Bassianus be the emperor's brother, 
 Better than he have worn Vulcan's badge. 
 
 Aar. [Aside.] Ay, and as good as Saturninus 
 may. 
 
 Dem. Then why should he despair that 
 
 knows to court it 
 
 With words, fair looks, and liberality? 
 What, hast not thou full often struck a doe, 
 And borne her cleanly by the keeper's nose ? 
 
 Aar. Why, then, it seems some certain snatch 
 
 or so 
 Would serve your turns. 
 
 Chi. Ay, so the turn were serv'd. 
 
 Dem. Aaron, thou hast hit it. 
 
 Aar. Would you had hit it too ! 
 
 Then should not we be tir'd with this ado. 
 Why, hark ye, hark ye, and are you such fools 
 To square for this ? Would it offend you, then, 
 That both should speed ? 
 
 Chi. Faith, not me. 
 
 Dem. Nor me, so I were one. 
 
 Aar. For shame, be friends, and join for 
 
 that you jar : 
 
 'Tis policy and stratagem must do 
 That you affect ; and so must you resolve 
 That what you cannot as you would achieve, 
 You must perforce accomplish as you may. 
 Take this of me, Lucrece was not more chaste 
 Than this Lavinia, Bassianus' love. 
 A speedier course than lingering languishment 
 Must we pursue, and I have found the path. 
 My lords, a solemn hunting is in hand ; 
 There will the lovely Roman ladies troop : 
 The forest-walks are wide and spacious ; 
 And many unfrequented plots there are 
 Fitted by kind for rape and villany : 
 Single you thither, then, this dainty doe, 
 And strike her home by force if not by words : 
 This way, or not at all, stand you in hope. 
 Come, come, our empress, with her sacred wit 
 To villany and vengeance consecrate, 
 Will we acquaint with all that we intend ; 
 And she shall file our engines with advice 
 That will not suffer you to square yourselves, 
 But to your wishes' height advance you both. 
 The emperor's court is like the house of fame, 
 The palace full of tongues, of eyes, and ears : 
 The woods are ruthless, dreadful, deaf, and dull ; 
 There speak and strike, brave boys, and take 
 your turns ; [eye, 
 
 There serve your lust, shadow'd from heaven's 
 And revel in Lavinia's treasury. 
 
 Chi. Thy counsel, lad, smells of nocowardice. 
 
 Dem. Sit fas aut nefas, till I find the stream 
 To cool this heat, a charm to calm these fits, 
 Per Styga, per manes vehor. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. A Forest near Rome: a Lodge 
 seen at a distance. Horns and cry of hounds 
 heard. 
 
 Enter TITUS ANDRONICUS, with Hunters, &*c. 9 
 MARCUS, Lucius, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS. 
 
 Tit. The hunt is up, the morn is bright and 
 
 a y> 
 
 Thefieldsare fragrant, and the woods are green. 
 Uncouple here, and let us make a bay, 
 And wake the emperor and his lovely bride, 
 And rouse the prince, and ring a hunter's peal, 
 That all the court may echo with the noise. 
 Sons, let it be your charge, as it is ours, 
 To attend the emperor's person carefully : 
 I have been troubled in my sleep this night, 
 But dawning day new comfort hath inspir'd. 
 
 Horns -wind a peal. Enter SATURNINUS, 
 TAMORA, BASSIANUS, LAVINIA, DEME- 
 TRIUS, CHIRON, and Attendants. 
 
 Many good-morrows to your majesty; 
 Madam, to you as many and as good : 
 I promised your grace a hunter's peal. 
 
 Sat. And you have rung it lustily, my lord ; 
 Somewhat too early for new-married ladies. 
 Bas. Lavinia, how say you ? 
 Lav. I say no ; 
 
 I have been broad awake two hours and more. 
 Sat. Come on, then, horse and chariots let 
 
 us have, 
 And to our sport. [To TAMORA.] Madam, 
 
 now shall ye see 
 Our Roman hunting. 
 
 Marc. I have dogs, my lord, 
 
 Will rouse the proudest panther in the chase, 
 And climb the highest promontory top. 
 
 Tit. And I have horse will follow where the 
 
 game 
 
 Makes way, and run like swallows o'er the plain. 
 Dem. Chiron, we hunt not, we, with horse 
 
 nor hound, 
 But hope to pluck a dainty doe to ground. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. A lonely part of the Forest. 
 Enter AARON with a bag of gold. 
 
 Aar. He that had wit would think that I 
 
 had none, 
 
 To bury so much gold under a tree, 
 And never after to inherit it. 
 Let him that thinks of me so abjectly 
 Know that this gold must coin a stratagem, 
 Which, cunningly effected, will beget 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 977 
 
 A. very excellent piece of villany : 
 
 And so repose, sweet gold, for their unrest 
 
 {Hides the gold. 
 That have their alms out of the empress' chest. 
 
 Enter TAMORA. 
 
 Tarn. My lovely Aaron, wherefore look'st 
 
 thou sad 
 
 When everything doth make a gleeful boast ? 
 The birds chant melody on every bush ; 
 The snake lies rolled in the cheerful sun ; 
 The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind, 
 And make a chequer'd shadow on the ground : 
 Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us sit, 
 And, whilst the babbling echo mocks the hounds, 
 Replying shrilly to the well-tun'd horns, 
 As if a double hunt were heard at once, 
 Let us sit down and mark their yelping noise ; 
 And, after conflict such as was suppos'd 
 The wandering prince and Dido once enjoy'd, 
 When with a happy storm they were surpris'd, 
 And curtain'd with a counsel -keeping cave, 
 We may, each wreathed in the other's arms, 
 Our pastimes done, possess a golden slumber ; 
 Whiles hounds and horns and sweet melodious 
 
 birds 
 
 Be unto us as is a nurse's song 
 Of lullaby to bring her babe asleep. 
 
 Aar. Madam, though Venus govern your 
 
 desires, 
 
 Saturn is dominator over mine : 
 What signifies my deadly-standing eye, 
 My silence and my cloudy melancholy, 
 My fleece of woolly hair that now uncurls 
 Even as an adder when she doth unroll 
 To do some fatal execution ? 
 No, madam, these are no venereal signs, 
 Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand, 
 Blood and revenge are hammering in my head. 
 Hark, Tamora, the empress of my soul, 
 Which never hopes more heaven than rests in 
 
 thee, 
 
 This is the day of doom for Bassianus : 
 His Philomel must lose her tongue to-day; 
 Thy sons make pillage of her chastity, 
 And wash their hands in Bassianus' blood. 
 Seest thou this letter? take it up, I pray thee, 
 And give the king this fatal-plotted scroll. 
 Now question me no more, we are espied ; 
 Here comes a parcel of our hopeful booty, 
 Which dreads not yet their lives' destruction. 
 Tarn. Ah, my sweet Moor, sweeter to me 
 
 than life ! [comes : 
 
 Aar. No more, great empress, Bassianus 
 Be cross with him ; and I '11 go fetch thy sons 
 To back thy quarrels, whatsoe'er they be. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Enter BASSIANUS and LAVINIA. 
 
 as. Who have we here? Rome's royal 
 
 empress, 
 
 Unfurnish'd of her well -beseeming troop? 
 Or is it Dian, habited like her, 
 Who hath abandoned her holy groves 
 To see the general hunting in this forest ? 
 
 Tarn. Saucy controller of our private steps ! 
 Had I the power that some say Dian had, 
 Thy temples should be planted presently 
 With horns, as was Actseon's ; and the hounds 
 Should drive upon thy new-transformed limbs, 
 Unmannerly intruder as thou art ! 
 
 Lav. Under your patience, gentle empress, 
 'Tis thought you have a goodly gift in horning ; 
 And to be doubted that your Moor and you 
 Are singled forth to try experiments : [day ! 
 Jove shield your husband from his hounds to- 
 'Tis pity they should take him for a stag. 
 
 Bas. Believe me, queen, your swarth Cim- 
 merian 
 
 Doth make your honour of his body's hue, 
 Spotted, detested, and abominable. 
 Why are you sequester'd from all your train, 
 Dismounted from your snow-white goodly steed. 
 And wander'd hither to an obscure plot, 
 Accompanied but with a barbarous Moor, 
 If toul desire had not conducted you ? 
 
 Lav. And, being intercepted in your sport, 
 Great reason that my noble lord be rated 
 For sauciness. I pray you, let us hence, 
 And let her joy her raven-colour'd love ; 
 This valley fits the purpose passing welL 
 
 Bas. The king my brother shall have note of 
 this. [noted long : 
 
 Lav. Ay, for these slips have made him 
 Good king, to be so mightily abus'd ! 
 
 Tarn. Why have I patience to endure all this? 
 
 Enter DEMETRIUS and CHIRON. 
 
 Dem. How now, dear sovereign, and our 
 
 gracious mother ! 
 
 Why doth your highness look so pale and wan ? 
 Tarn. Have I not reason, think you, to look 
 
 pale? 
 
 These two have 'tic'd me hither to this place : 
 A barren detested vale you see it is ; 
 The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean, 
 O'ercome with moss and baleful mistletoe : 
 Here never shines the sun ; here nothing breeds. 
 Unless the nightly owl or fatal raven : 
 And when they show'd me this abhorred pit 
 They told me, here at dead time of the night 
 A thousand fiends, a thousand hissing snakes, 
 Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urchins, 
 Would make such fearful and confused cries 
 
978 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 As any mortal body hearing it 
 
 Should straight fall mad or else die suddenly. 
 
 No sooner had they told this hellish tale 
 
 But straight they told me they would bind me 
 
 here 
 
 Unto the body of a dismal yew, 
 And leave me to this miserable death : 
 And then they call'd me foul adulteress, 
 Lascivious Goth, and all the bitterest terms 
 That ever ear did hear to such effect : 
 And had you not by wondrous fortune come, 
 This vengeance on me had they executed. 
 Revenge it, as you love your mother's life, 
 Or be ye not henceforth call'd my children. 
 Dem. This is a witness that I am thy son. 
 
 \Stabs BASSIANUS. 
 
 Chi. And this for me, struck home to show 
 my strength. 
 
 [Also stabs BAS. , who dies. 
 Lav. Ay, come, Semiramis, nay, barbarous 
 
 Tamora, 
 
 For no name fits thy nature but thy own ! 
 Tarn. Give me thy poniard ; you shall 
 know, my boys, [wrong. 
 
 Your mother's hand shall right your mother's 
 Dem. Stay, madam ; here is more belongs 
 to her ; [straw : 
 
 First thrash the corn, then after burn the 
 This minion stood upon her chastity, 
 Upon her nuptial vow, her loyalty, [ness : 
 And with that painted hope braves your mighti- 
 And shall she carry this unto her grave ? 
 
 Chi. An if she do, I would I were an eunuch. 
 Drag hence her husband to some secret hole, 
 And make his dead trunk pillow to our lust. 
 
 Tarn. But when ye have the honey ye desire, 
 Let not this wasp outlive, us both to sting. 
 Chi. I warrant you, madam, we will make 
 
 that sure. 
 
 Come, mistress, now perforce we will enjoy 
 That nice-preserved honesty of yours, [face, 
 Lav. O Tamora ! thou bear'st a woman's 
 Tarn. I will not hear her speak ; away with 
 her ! [a word. 
 
 Lav. Sweet lords, entreat her hear me but 
 Dent. Listen, fair madam: let it be your 
 
 glory 
 
 To see her tears ; but be your heart to them 
 As unrelenting flint to drops of rain, [the dam ? 
 Lav. When did the tiger's young ones teach 
 O, do not learn her wrath, she taught it thee; 
 The milk thou suck'dst from her did turn to 
 
 marble ; 
 
 Even at thy teat thou hadst thy tyranny. 
 Yet every mother breeds not sons alike : 
 PO thou entreat her show a woman pity. 
 
 {To CHIRON. 
 
 Chi. What, wouldst thou have me prove 
 myself a bastard ? [lark : 
 
 Lav. 'Tis true, the raven doth not hatch a 
 Yet I have heard, O, could I find it now ! 
 The lion, mov'd with pity, did endure 
 To have his princely paws par'd all away : 
 Some say that ravens foster forlorn children, 
 The whilst their own birds famish in their nests: 
 O, be to me, though thy hard heart say no, 
 Nothing so kind, but something pitiful ! 
 
 Tarn. I know not what it means : away with 
 
 her! 
 Lav. O, let me teach thee ! for my father's 
 
 sake, 
 That gave thee life, when well he might have 
 
 slain thee, 
 Be not obdurate, open thy deaf ears. 
 
 Tarn. Hadst thou in person ne'er offended me, 
 Even for his sake am I pitiless. 
 Remember, boys, I pour'd forth tears in vain 
 To save your brother from the sacrifice ; 
 But fierce Andronicus would not relent : 
 Therefore away with her. and use her as you 
 
 will; 
 The worse to her the better lov'd of me. 
 
 Lav. O Tamora, be call'd a gentle queen, 
 And with thine own hands kill me in this place ! 
 For 'tis not life that I have begg'd so long ; 
 Poor I was slain when Bassianus died. 
 
 Tarn. What begg'st thou, then? fond woman, 
 
 let me go. 
 Lav. 'Tis present death I beg ; and one thing 
 
 more, 
 
 That womanhood denies my tongue to tell : 
 O, keep me from their worse than killing lust, 
 And tumble me into some loathsome pit, 
 Where never man's eye may behold my body : 
 Do this, and be a charitable murderer. [fee : 
 Tarn. So should I rob my sweet sons of their 
 No, let them satisfy their lust on thee. [long. 
 Dem. Away 1 for thou hast stay'd us here too 
 Lav. No grace? no womanhood? Ah, 
 
 beastly creature ! 
 
 The blot and enemy to our general name ! 
 Confusion fall, 
 
 Chi. Nay, then I '11 stop your mouth : bring 
 
 thou her husband : 
 
 This is the hole where Aaron bid us hide him. 
 [DEM. throws BAS.'S body into the pit ; then 
 
 exit with CHI., dragging off LAV. 
 Tarn. Farewell, my sons: see that you make 
 
 her sure : 
 
 Ne'er let my heart know merry cheer indeed 
 Till all the Andronici be made away. 
 Now will I hence to seek my lovely Moor, 
 And let my spleenful sons this trull deflower. 
 
 IE**. 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 979 
 
 Re-enter AARON, with QUINTUS and 
 MARTI us. 
 
 Aar. Come on, my lords, the better foot 
 
 before : 
 
 Straight will I bring you to the loathsome pit 
 Where I espied the panther fast asleep. 
 
 Qttin. My sight is very dull, whate'er it bodes. 
 Mart. And mine, I promise you ; were 't not 
 
 for shame, 
 Well could I leave our sport to sleep awhile. 
 
 [Falls into the pit. 
 
 Quin. What, art thou fallen? What subtle 
 
 hole is this, [briers, 
 
 Whose mouth is cover'd with rude-growing 
 
 Upon whose leaves are drops of new-shed blood 
 
 As fresh as morning's dew distill'd on flowers ? 
 
 A very fatal place it seems to me. [fall? 
 
 Speak, brother, hast thou hurt thee with the 
 
 Mart. O brother, with the dismallest object 
 
 hurt 
 
 That ever eye with sight made heart lament ! 
 Aar. [Aside.} Now will I fetch the king to 
 
 find them here, 
 
 That he thereby may give a likely guess 
 How these were they that made away his 
 brother. [Exit. 
 
 Mart. Why dost not comfort me, and help 
 
 me out 
 
 From this unhallow'd and blood-stained hole? 
 
 Quin. I am surprised with an uncouth fear ; 
 
 A chilling sweat o'er-runs my trembling joints ; 
 
 My heart suspects more than mine eye can see. 
 
 Mart. To prove thou hast a true divining 
 
 heart, 
 
 Aaron and thou look down into this den, 
 And see a fearful sight of blood and death. 
 Quin. Aaron is gone ; a'.id my compassionate 
 
 heart 
 
 Will not permit mine eyes once to behold 
 The thing whereat it trembles by surmise : 
 O, tell me how it is ; for ne'er till now 
 Was I a child to fear I know not what. 
 
 Mart. Lord Bassianus lies embrewed here, 
 All on a heap, like to a slaughter'd lamb, 
 In this detested, dark, blood-drinking pit. 
 Qiiin. If it be dark, how dost thou know 
 
 'tis he? 
 
 Mart. Upon his bloody finger he doth wear 
 A precious ring that lightens all the hole, 
 Which, like a taper in some monument, 
 Doth shine upon the dead man's earthy cheeks, 
 And shows the ragged entrails of the pit : 
 So pale did shine the moon on Pyramus 
 When he by night lay bath'd in maiden blood. 
 O brother, help me with thy fainting hand, 
 If fear hath made thee faint, as me it hath, 
 
 Out of this fell devouring receptacle, 
 As hateful as Cocytus' misty mouth. 
 
 Qidn. Reach me thy hand, that I may help 
 
 thee out ; 
 
 Or, wanting strength to do thee so much good, 
 I may be pluck'd into the swallowing womb 
 Of this deep pit, poor Bassianus' grave. 
 I have no strength to pluck thee to the brink. 
 Mart. Nor I no strength to climb without 
 thy help. [again, 
 
 Quin. Thy hand once more ; I will not lose 
 Till thou art here aloft, or I below : 
 Thou canst not come to me, I come to thee. 
 
 [Falls in. 
 
 . Enter SATURNINUS with AARON. 
 
 Sat. Along with me : I '11 see what hole is 
 
 here, 
 
 And what he is that now is leap'd into it. 
 Say, who art thou that lately didst descend 
 Into this gaping hollow of the earth ? 
 
 Mart. The unhappy son of old Andronicus, 
 Brought hither in a most unlucky hour, 
 To find thy brother Bassianus dead. [jest : 
 
 Sat. My brother dead ! I know thou dost but 
 He and his lady both are at the lodge 
 Upon the north side of this pleasant chase ; 
 'Tis not an hour since I left him there. 
 
 Mart. We know not where you left him all 
 
 alive ; 
 But, out, alas ! here have we found him dead. 
 
 Re-enter TAMORA, with Attendants ; TITUS 
 ANDRONICUS and Lucius. 
 
 Tarn. Where is my lord the king ? 
 
 Sat. Here, Tamora ; though griev'd with kill- 
 ing grief. 
 
 Tarn. Where is thy brother Bassianus ? 
 
 Sat. Now to the bottom dost thou search my 
 
 wound : 
 Poor Bassianus here lies murdered. 
 
 Tarn. Then all too late I bring this fatal writ, 
 [Giving a letter. 
 
 The complot of this timeless tragedy ; 
 And wonder greatly that man's face can fold 
 In pleasing smiles such murderous tyranny. 
 
 Sat. [Reads.} An if we miss to meet him 
 
 handsomely, 
 
 Sweet huntsman, Bassianus "'tis we mean, 
 Do thou so much as dig the grave for him : 
 Thou know'st our meaning. Look for thy reward 
 Among the nettles at the elder tree 
 Which over shades the mouth of that same pit 
 Where we decreed to bury Bassianus. 
 Do this, and purchase us thy lasting friends. 
 O Tamora ! was ever heard the like ? 
 This is the pit and this the elder tree : 
 
9 8o 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 [ACT n. 
 
 Look, sirs, if you can find the huntsman out 
 That should have murder'd Bassianus here. 
 
 Aar. My gracious lord, here is the bag of gold. 
 
 [Showing it. 
 
 Sat. [To TITUS.] Two of thy whelps, fell curs 
 
 of bloody kind, 
 
 Have here bereft my brother of his life. 
 Sirs, drag them from the pit unto the prison : 
 There let them bide until we have devis'd 
 Some never-heard-of torturing pain for them. 
 
 Tarn. What, are they in this pit? O wondrous 
 
 thing ! 
 How easily murder is discovered ! 
 
 Tit. High emperor, upon my feeble knee 
 I beg this boon, with tears not lightly shed, 
 That this fell fault of my accursed sons, 
 Accursed if the fault be prov'd in them, 
 
 Sat. If it be prov'd ! you see it is apparent. 
 Who found this letter ? Tamora, was it you ? 
 
 Tarn. Andronicus himself did take it up. 
 
 Tit. I did, my lord : yet let me be their bail ; 
 For, by my father's reverend tomb, I vow 
 They shall be ready at your highness' will 
 To answer their suspicion with their lives. 
 
 Sat. Thou shah not bail them : see thou follow 
 me. [murderers : 
 
 Some bring the murder'd body, some the 
 Let them not speak a word, the guilt is plain; 
 For, by my soul, were there worse end than death, 
 That end upon them should be executed. 
 
 Tarn. Andronicus, I will entreat the king : 
 Fear not thy sons ; they shall do well enough. 
 
 Tit. Come, Lucius, come ; stay not to talk 
 
 with them. 
 [Exeunt severally. Attendants bearing the body. 
 
 SCENE IV. Another part of the Forest. 
 
 Enter DEMETRIUS and CHI RON, with LAVINIA 
 ravished ; her hands cut off, and her tongue 
 cut out. 
 
 Dem. So, now go tell, and if thy tongue can 
 
 speak, 
 
 Who 'twas that cut thy tongue and ravish'd thee. 
 Chi. Write down thy mind, bewray thy mean- 
 ing so, 
 
 And if thy stumps will let thee play the scribe. 
 
 Dem. See, how with signs and tokens she can 
 
 scrowl. [hands. 
 
 Chi. Go home, call for sweet water, wash thy 
 
 Dem. She hath no tongue to call, nor hands 
 
 to wash ; 
 
 And so let 's leave her to her silent walks. 
 
 Chi. An 'twere my case I should go hang 
 
 myself. [the cord. 
 
 Dem. If thou hadst hands to help thee knit 
 
 [Exeunt DEM. and CHI. 
 
 Enter MARCUS. 
 
 Marc. Who is this, my niece, that flies 
 
 away so fast ? 
 
 Cousin, a word ; where is your husband ? 
 If I do dream, would all my wealth would 
 
 wake me ! 
 
 If I do wake, some planet strike me down, 
 That I may slumber in eternal sleep ! 
 Speak, gentle niece, what stern ungentle 
 
 hands [bare 
 
 Have lopp'd, and hew'd, and made thy body 
 Of her two branches, those sweet ornaments 
 Whose circling shadows kings have sought to 
 
 sleep in, 
 
 And might not gain so great a happiness 
 As have thy love ? Why dost not speak to me? 
 Alas, a crimson river of warm blood, 
 Like to a bubbling fountain stirr'd with wind, 
 Doth rise and fall between thy rosed lips, 
 Coming and going with thy honeyed breath. 
 But sure some Tereus hath deflowered thee, 
 And lest thou shouldst detect him, cut thy 
 
 tongue. 
 
 Ah, now thou turn'st away thy face for shame J 
 And notwithstanding all this loss of blood, 
 As from a conduit with three issuing spouts, 
 Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan's face 
 Blushing to be encounter'd with a cloud. 
 Shall I speak for thee? shall I say 'tis so ? 
 O, that I knew thy heart, and knew the beast, 
 That I might rail at him, to ease my mind ! 
 Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp'd, 
 Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is. 
 Fair Philomela, she but lost her tongue, 
 And in a tedious sampler sew'd her mind : 
 But, lovely niece, that mean is cut from thee ; 
 A craftier Tereus, cousin, hast thou met, 
 And he hath cut those pretty fingers off 
 That could have better sew'd than Philomel. 
 O, had the monster seen those lily hands 
 Tremble, like aspen leaves, upon a lute, 
 And make the silken strings delight to kiss 
 
 them, [life ! 
 
 He would not then have touch'd them for his 
 Or had he heard the heavenly harmony 
 Which that sweet tongue hath made, 
 He would have dropp'd his knife, and fell asleep 
 As Cerberus at the Thracian poet's feet. 
 Come, let us go, and make thy father blind ; 
 For such a sight will blind a father's eye : 
 One hour's storm will drown the fragrant meads 
 What will whole months of tears thy father's 
 
 eyes? 
 
 Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee : 
 O, could our mourning ease thy misery ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 981 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. ROME. A Street. 
 
 Enter Senators, Tribunes, a/z^Officers of Justice, 
 -with MARTI us a</ QUINTUS bound, passing 
 on to the place of execution ; TlTUS going 
 before \ pleading. 
 
 Tit. Hear me, grave fathers ! noble tribunes, 
 
 stay ! 
 
 For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent 
 In dangerous wars, whilst you securely slept ; 
 For all my blood in Rome's great quarrel shed ; 
 For all the frosty nights that I have watch'd ; 
 And for these bitter tears, which now you see 
 Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks ; 
 Be pitiful to my condemned sons, 
 Whose souls are not corrupted as 'tis thought. 
 For two-and-twenty sons I never wept, 
 Because they died in honour's lofty bed. 
 For these, good tribunes, in the dust I write 
 
 {Throwing himself on the ground. 
 My heart's deep languor and my soul's sad tears : 
 Let my tears stanch the earth's dry appetite ; 
 My sons' sweet blood will make it shame and 
 
 blush. 
 
 {Exeunt Sen., Trib., &c., with the prisoners. 
 O earth, I will befriend thee more with rain, 
 That shall distil from these two ancient ruins, 
 Than youthful April shall with all his showers: 
 In summer's drought I '11 drop upon thee still ; 
 In winter, with warm tears I '11 melt the snow, 
 And keep eternal spring-time on thy face, 
 So thou refuse to drink my dear sons' blood. 
 
 Enter Lucius -with his s-word drawn. 
 
 O reverend tribunes ! O gentle aged men ! 
 Unbind my sons, reverse the doom of death ; 
 And let me say, that never wept before, 
 My tears are now prevailing orators. 
 
 Luc. O noble father, you lament in vain : 
 The tribunes hear you not, no man is by ; 
 And you recount your sorrows to a stone. 
 
 Tit. Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me 
 
 plead. 
 Grave tribunes, once more I entreat of you. 
 
 Luc. My gracious lord, no tribune hears you 
 speak. [hear 
 
 Tit. Why, 'tis no matter, man : if they did 
 They would not mark me ; or if they did mark 
 They would not pity me ; yet plead I must, 
 And bootless unto them. 
 Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones ; 
 Why, though they cannot answer my distress, 
 Yet in some sort they are better than the 
 tribunes, 
 
 For that they will not intercept my tale : 
 When I do weep they humbly at my feet 
 Receive my tears, and seem to weep with me ; 
 And were they but attired in grave weeds 
 Rome could afford no tribune like to these. 
 A stone is soft as wax, tribunes more hard than 
 
 stones ; 
 
 A stone is silent, and offendeth not, 
 And tribunes with their tongues doom men 
 
 to death. {Rises. 
 
 But wherefore stard'st thou with thy weapon 
 
 drawn? [death : 
 
 Luc. To rescue my two brothers from their 
 For which attempt the judges have pronounc'd 
 My everlasting doom of banishment. 
 
 Tit. O happy man ! they have befriended 
 
 thee. 
 
 Why, foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceive 
 That Rome is but a wilderness of tigers ? 
 Tigers must prey ; and Rome affords no prey 
 But me and mine : how happy art thou, then, 
 From these devourers to be banished ! 
 But who comes with our brother Marcus here? 
 
 Enter MARCUS and LAVINIA. 
 
 Marc. Titus, prepare thy aged eyes to weep; 
 Or if not so, thy noble heart to break : 
 I bring consuming sorrow to thine age. 
 
 Tit. Will it consume me ? let me see it then. 
 
 Marc. This was thy daughter. 
 
 Tit. Why, Marcus, so she is. 
 
 Luc. Ay me ! this object kills me ! [her. 
 
 Tit. Faint-hearted boy, arise, and look upon 
 Speak, my Lavinia, what accursed hand 
 Hath made thee handless in thy father's sight ? 
 What fool hath added water to the sea, 
 Or brought a fagot to bright-burning Troy? 
 My grief was at the height before thou cam'st ; 
 And now, like Nilus, it disdaineth bounds. 
 Give me a sword, I '11 chop off my hands too ; 
 For they have fought for Rome, and all in vain ; 
 And they have nurs'd this woe in feeding life ; 
 In bootless prayer have they been held up, 
 And they have serv'd me to effectless use : 
 Now all the service I require of them 
 Is that the one will help to cut the other. 
 'Tis well, Lavinia, that thou hast no hands ; 
 For hands, to do Rome service, are but vain. 
 
 Luc. Speak, gentle sister, who hath martyr'd 
 thee? 
 
 Marc. O,that delightful engine ofher thoughts, 
 That blabb'd them with such pleasing eloquence, 
 Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage, 
 Where, like a sweet melodious bird, it sung 
 Sweet varied notes, enchanting every ear ! 
 
 Luc. O, say thou for her, who hath done thia 
 deed? 
 
TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Marc. O, thus I found her, straying in the 
 
 park, 
 
 Seeking to hide herself, as doth the deer 
 That hath receiv'd some unrecuring wound. 
 
 Tit. It was my deer ; and he that wounded 
 
 her 
 
 Hath hurt me more than had he kill'd me dead : 
 For now I stand as one upon a rock, 
 Eaviron'd with a wilderness of sea ; 
 Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave, 
 Expecting ever when some envious surge 
 Will in his brinish bowels swallow him. 
 This way to death my wretched sons are gone ; 
 Here stands my other son, a banish'd man ; 
 And here my brother, weeping at my woes : 
 But that which gives my soul the greatest spurn 
 Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my soul. 
 Had I but seen thy picture in this plight 
 It would have madded me : what shall I do 
 Now I behold thy lively body so ? 
 Thou hast no hands to wipe away thy tears, 
 Nor tongue to tell me who hath martyr'd thee : 
 Thy husband he is dead ; and for his death 
 Thy brothers are condemn'd, and dead by this. 
 Look, Marcus ! ah, son Lucius, look on her ! 
 When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears 
 Stood on her cheeks, as doth the honey dew 
 Upon a gather'd lily almost wither'd. 
 
 Marc. Perchance she weeps because they 
 
 kill'd her husband : 
 Perchance because she knows them innocent. 
 
 Tit. If they did kill thy husband, then be 
 
 joyful, 
 the lau 
 
 Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them. 
 No, no, they would not do so foul a deed ; 
 Witness the sorrow that their sister makes. 
 Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips ; 
 Or make some sign how I may do thee ease : 
 Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius, 
 And thou, and I, sit round about some fountain, 
 Looking all downwards, to behold our cheeks 
 How they are stain'd, as meadows, yet not dry, 
 With miry slime left on them by a flood ? 
 And in the fountain shall we gaze so long, 
 Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness, 
 And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears ? 
 Or shall we cut away our hands like thine ? 
 Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows 
 Pass the remainder of our hateful days ? 
 What shall we do? let us, that have our tongues, 
 Plot some device of further misery, 
 To make us wonder'd at in time to come. 
 
 Luc. Sweet father, cease your tears ; for at 
 
 your grief 
 See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps. 
 
 Marc. Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, 
 dry thine eyes. 
 
 Tit. Ah, Marcus, Marcus! brother, well I wot 
 Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine, 
 For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine 
 
 own. 
 
 Luc. Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks. 
 Tit. Mark, Marcus, mark ! I understand her 
 
 signs: 
 Had she a tongue to speak, now would she 
 
 say 
 
 That to her brother which I said to thee : 
 His napkin, with his true tears all bewet, 
 Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks. 
 O, what a sympathy of woe is this, 
 As far from help as limbo is from bliss ! 
 
 Enter AARON. 
 
 Aar. Titus Andronicus, my lord the emperor 
 Sends thee this word, that if thou love thy sons, 
 Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus, 
 Or any one of you, chop off your hand 
 And send it to the king : he for the same 
 Will send thee hither both thy sons alive ; 
 And that shall be the ransom for their fault. 
 
 Tit. O gracious emperor ! O gentle Aaron ! 
 Did ever raven sing so like a lark 
 That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise ? 
 With all my heart I "11 send the emperor 
 My hand : 
 
 Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off? 
 Luc. Stay, father ! for that noble hand of 
 
 thine, 
 
 That hath thrown down so many enemies, 
 Shall not be sent : my hand will serve the turn : 
 My youth can better spare my blood than you ; 
 And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives. 
 Marc. Which of your hands hath not defended 
 
 Rome, 
 
 And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe, 
 Writing destruction on the enemy's castle ? 
 O, none of both but are of high desert : 
 My hand hath been but idle ; let it serve 
 To ransom my two nephews from their death ; 
 Then have I kept it to a worthy end. 
 
 Aar. Nay, come, agree whose hand shall 
 
 go along, 
 
 For fear they die before their pardon come. 
 Marc. My hand shall go. 
 Luc. By heaven, it shall not go ! 
 
 Tit. Sirs, strive no more : such wither'd herbs 
 
 as these 
 
 Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine. 
 L^^c. Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy 
 
 son, 
 
 Let me redeem my brothers both from death.^ 
 Marc. And for our father's sake and mother's 
 
 care, 
 Now let me show a brother's love to thee. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 983 
 
 Tit. Agree between you ; I will spare my 
 
 hand. 
 
 Luc. Then I'll go fetch an axe. 
 Marc. But I will use the axe. 
 
 {Exeunt Lucius and MARCUS. 
 Tit. Come hither, Aaron ; I 'li deceive them 
 
 both: 
 
 Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine. 
 Aar. [Aside.} If that be call'd deceit, I will 
 
 be honest, 
 
 And never whilst I live deceive men so : 
 But I '11 deceive you in another sort, 
 And that you '11 say ere half an hour pass. 
 
 [He cuts off TITUS'S hand. 
 
 Re-enter Lucius and MARCUS. 
 
 Tit. Now stay your strife : what shall be is 
 
 despatch'd. 
 
 Good Aaron, give his majesty my hand : 
 Tell him it was a hand that warded him 
 From thousand dangers ; bid him bury it j 
 More hath it merited, that let it have. 
 As for my sons, say I account of them 
 As jewels purchas'd at an easy price ; 
 And yet dear too, because I bought mine own. 
 
 Aar. I go, Andronicus : and for thy hand 
 Look by and by to have thy sons with thee : 
 Their heads I mean. O, how this villany 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it ! 
 Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace, 
 Aaron will have his soul black like his face. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Tit. O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven, 
 And bow this feeble ruin to the earth : 
 If any power pities wretched tears, 
 To that I call ! [To LAVINIA.] What, wilt 
 
 thou kneel with me ? 
 Do, then, dear heart ; for heaven shall hear 
 
 our prayers ; 
 
 Or with our sighs we '11 breathe the welkin dim, 
 And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds 
 When they do hug him in their melting bosoms. 
 
 Marc. O brother, speak with possibilities, 
 And do not break into these deep extremes. 
 Tit. Is not my sorrow deep, having no 
 
 bottom ? 
 
 Then be my passions bottomless with them. 
 Marc. But yet let reason govern thy lament. 
 Tit.^ If there were reason for these miseries, 
 Then into limits could I bind my woes : 
 When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth 
 
 o'erflow ? 
 
 If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, 
 Threatening the welkin with his big-swoln face? 
 And wilt thou have a reason for this coil ? 
 I am the sea ; hark, how her sighs do flow I 
 
 She is the weeping welkin, I the earth : 
 Then must my sea be moved with her sighs ; 
 Then must my earth with her continual tears 
 Become a deluge, overflow'd and drown'd : 
 For why my bowels cannot hide her woes, 
 But like a drunkard must I vomit them. 
 Then give me leave ; for losers will have leave 
 To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues. 
 
 Enter a Messenger, with two heads and a hand. 
 
 Mess. Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid 
 For that good hand thou sent'st the emperor. 
 Here are the heads of thy two noble sons ; 
 And here's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent 
 
 back, 
 
 Thy griefs their sports, thy resolution mock'd : 
 That woe is me to think upon thy woes, 
 More than remembrance of my father's death. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Marc. Now let hot yEtna cool in Sicily, 
 And be my heart an ever-burning hell ! 
 These miseries are more than may be borne. 
 To weep with them that weep doth ease some 
 
 deal ; 
 But sorrow flouted at is double death. 
 
 Luc. Ah, that this sight should make so deep 
 
 a wound, 
 
 And yet detested life not shrink thereat ! 
 That ever death should let life bear his name, 
 Where life hath no more interest but to breathe ! 
 [LAVINIA kisses him. 
 
 Marc. Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfort- 
 less 
 
 As frozen water to a starved snake. [end ? 
 
 Tit. When will this fearful slumber have an 
 Marc. Now, farewell, flattery: die, Androni- 
 cus ; [heads, 
 Thou dost not slumber : see thy two sons' 
 Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here ; 
 Thy other banish'd son, with this dear sight 
 Struck pale and bloodless ; and thy brother, I, 
 Even like a stony image, cold and numb. 
 Ah ! now no more will I control thy griefs : 
 Rent off thy silver hair, thy other hand 
 Gnawing with thy teeth ; and be this dismal 
 
 sight 
 
 The closing up of our most wretched eyes : 
 Now is a time to storm ; why art thou still ? 
 Tit. Ha, ha, ha ! [this hour. 
 
 Marc. Why dost thou laugh ? it fits not with 
 Tit. Why, I have not another tear to shed ; 
 Besides, this sorrow is an enemy, 
 And would usurp upon my watery eyes, 
 And make them blind with tributary tears : 
 Then which way shall I find revenge's cave ? 
 For these two heads do seem to speak to me, 
 And threat me I shall never come to bliss 
 
TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Till all these mischiefs be return'd again 
 Even in their throats that have committed them. 
 Come, let me see what task I have to do. 
 You heavy people circle me about, 
 That I may turn me to each one of you, 
 And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs. 
 The vow is made. Come, brother, take a 
 
 head; 
 
 And in this hand the other will I bear. 
 Lavinia, thou shalt be employ'd in these things ; 
 Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy 
 
 teeth. 
 
 As for thee, boy, go, get thee from my sight ; 
 Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay : 
 Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there : 
 And if you love me, as I think you do, 
 Let 's kiss and part, for we have much to do. 
 
 [Exeunt TITUS, MARCUS, and LAVINIA. 
 Luc. Farewell, Andronicus, my noble 
 
 father, 
 
 The woefull'st man that ever liv'd in Rome : 
 Farewell, proud Rome ; till Lucius come again, 
 He leaves his pledges dearer than his life : 
 Farewell, Lavinia, my noble sister ; 
 O, would thou wert as thou 'tofore hast been ! 
 But now nor Lucius nor Lavinia lives 
 But in oblivion and hateful griefs. 
 If Lucius live, he will requite your wrongs, 
 And make proud Saturnine and his empress 
 Beg at the gates, like Tarquin and his queen. 
 Now will I to the Goths, and raise a power 
 To be reveng'd on Rome and Saturnine. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. ROME. A Room in TITUS'S House. 
 A Banquet set out. 
 
 Enter TITUS, MARCUS, LAVINIA, <ZW</YOUNG 
 Lucius, a boy. 
 
 Tit. So, so ; now sit : and look you eat no 
 
 more 
 
 Than will preserve just so much strength in us 
 As will revenge these bitter woes of ours. 
 Marcus, unknit that sorrow- wreathen knot : 
 Thy niece and I, poor creatures, want our hands, 
 And cannot passionate our tenfold grief 
 With folded arms. This poor right hand of 
 
 mine 
 
 Is left to tyrannize upon my breast ; 
 And when my heart, all mad with misery, 
 Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh, 
 Then thus I thump it down. 
 Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk in signs ! 
 
 [To LAVINIA. 
 When thy poor heart beats with outrageous 
 
 beating, 
 Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still. 
 
 Wound it with sighing, girl ; kill it with groans ; 
 Or get some little knife between thy teeth, 
 And just against thy heart make thou a hole, 
 That all the tears that thy poor eyes let fall 
 May run into that sink, and, soaking in, 
 Drown the lamenting fool in sea-salt tears. 
 Marc. Fie, brother, fie ! teach her not thus 
 
 to lay 
 Such violent hands upon her tender life. 
 
 Tit. How now ! has sorrow made thee dote 
 
 already ? 
 
 Why, Marcus, no man should be mad but I. 
 What violent hands can she lay on her life? 
 Ah, wherefore dost thou urge the name of 
 
 hands ; 
 
 To bid ^Eneas tell the tale twice o'er 
 How Troy was burnt and he made miserable? 
 O, handle not the theme, to talk of hands, 
 Lest we remember still that we have none. 
 Fie, fie, how frantically I square my talk, 
 As if we should forget we had no hands, 
 If Marcus did not name the word of hands ! 
 Come, let's fall to; and, gentle girl, eat this. 
 Here is no drink! Hark, Marcus, what she 
 
 says ; 
 
 I can interpret all her martyr'd signs ; 
 She says she drinks no other drink but tears, 
 Brew'd with her sorrow, mesh'd upon her 
 
 cheeks : 
 
 Speechless complainer, I will learn thy thought ; 
 In thy dumb action will I be as perfect 
 As begging hermits in their holy prayers: 
 Thou shalt not sigh, nor hold thy stumps to 
 
 heaven, 
 
 Nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a sign, 
 
 But I of these will wrest an alphabet, [ing. 
 
 And by still practice learn to know thy mean- 
 
 Y. Luc. Good grandsire, leave these bitter 
 
 deep laments: 
 
 Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale. 
 Marc. Alas, the tender boy, in passion mov'd, 
 Doth weep to see his grandsire's heaviness. 
 Tit. Peace, tender sapling ; thou art made of 
 
 tears, 
 And tears will quickly melt thy life away. 
 
 [MARCUS strikes the dish with a knife. 
 What dost thou strike at, Marcus, with thy 
 
 knife? 
 Marc. At that that I have kill'd, my lord, 
 
 a fly. 
 Tit. Out on thee, murderer ! thou kill'st my 
 
 heart ; 
 
 Mine eyes are cloy'd with view of tyranny : 
 A deed of death done on the innocent 
 Becomes not Titus' brother : get thee gone ; 
 I see thou art not for my company. 
 
 Marc. Alas, my lord, I have but kill'd a fly. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 985 
 
 Tit. But how if that fly had a father and 
 
 mother? 
 
 How would he hang his slender gilded wings, 
 And buzz lamenting doings in the air ! 
 Poor harmless fly, 
 
 That with his pretty buzzing melody 
 Came here to make us merry ! and thou hast 
 kill'd him. [favour'd fly, 
 
 Marc. Pardon me, sir; 'twas a black ill- 
 Like to the empress' Moor; therefore I kill'd 
 him. 
 
 Tit. O, O, O. 
 
 Then pardon me for reprehending thee, 
 For thou hast done a charitable deed. 
 Give me thy knife, I will insult on him 
 Flattering myself as if it were the Moor 
 Come hither purposely to poison me. 
 There's for thyself, and that's for Tamora. 
 Ah, sirrah ! 
 
 Yet I do think we are not brought so low 
 But that between us we can kill a fly 
 That comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor. 
 
 Marc. Alas, poor man ! grief has so wrought 
 
 on him, 
 He takes false shadows for true substances. 
 
 Tit. Come, take away. Lavinia, go with me: 
 I '11 to thy closet ; and go read with thee 
 Sad stories chanced in the times of old. 
 Come, boy, and go with me : thy sight is young, 
 And thou shalt read when mine begins to dazzle. 
 
 \Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. ROME. Before TITUS'S House. 
 
 Enter TITUS and MARCUS. Then enter 
 YOUNG Lucius running, with books under 
 his arm, and LAVINIA running after him. 
 
 Y. Luc. Help, grandsire, help! my aunt 
 
 Lavinia 
 
 Follows me everywhere, I know not why. 
 
 Good uncle Marcus, see how swift she comes ! 
 
 Alas, sweet aunt, I know not what you mean. 
 
 Marc. Stand by me, Lucius : do not fear 
 
 thine aunt. [harm. 
 
 Tit. She loves thee, boy, too well to do thee 
 
 Y. Luc. Ay, when my father was in Rome 
 
 she did. [signs? 
 
 Marc. What means my niece Lavinia by these 
 
 Tit. Fear her not, Lucius: somewhat doth 
 
 she mean : 
 
 See, Lucius, see how much she makes of thee : 
 Somewhither would she have thee go with her. 
 Ah, boy, Cornelia never with more care 
 Read to her sons than she hath read to thee 
 Sweet poetry and Tully's Orator. 
 
 Marc. Canst thou not guess wherefore she 
 plies thee thus? [guess, 
 
 Y. Luc. My lord, I know not, I, nor can I 
 Unless some fit or frenzy do possess her: 
 For I have heard my grandsire say full oft 
 Extremity of griefs would make men mad ; 
 And I have read that Hecuba of Troy 
 Ran mad through sorrow : that made me to 
 
 fear; 
 
 Although, my lord, I know my noble aunt 
 Loves me as dear as e'er my mother did, 
 And would not, but in fury, fright my youth : 
 Which made me down to throw my books, and 
 
 fly, 
 
 Causeless, perhaps : but pardon me, sweet aunt: 
 And, madam, if my uncle Marcus go, 
 I will most willingly attend your ladyship. 
 
 Marc. Lucius, I will. 
 
 [LAVINIA turns over with her stumps the 
 books which Lucius has let fall. 
 
 Tit. How now, Lavinia! Marcus, what 
 
 means this? 
 
 Some book there is that she desires to see. 
 Which is it, girl, of these? Open them, boy. 
 But thou art deeper read and better skill'd : 
 Come, and take choice of all my library, 
 And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heavens 
 Reveal the damn'd contriver of this deed. 
 Why lifts she up her arms in sequence thus? 
 
 Marc. I think she means that there was 
 
 more than one 
 
 Confederate in the fact; ay, more there was, 
 Or else to heaven she heaves them for revenge. 
 
 Tit. Lucius, what book is that she tosseth so? 
 
 Y. Luc. Grandsire, 'tis Ovid's Metamorpho- 
 sis ; 
 My mother gave it me. 
 
 Marc. For love of her that 's gone, 
 
 Perhaps she cull'd it from among the rest. 
 
 Tit. Soft ! see how busily she turns the leaves! 
 Help her: 
 
 What would she find? Lavinia, shall I read? 
 This is the tragic tale of Philomel, 
 And treats of Tereus' treason and his rape ; 
 And rape, I fear, was root of thine annoy. 
 
 Marc. See, brother, see ; note how she quotes 
 the leaves. 
 
 Tit. Lavinia, wert thou thus surpris'd, sweet 
 
 g ir l 
 
 Ravish'd, and wrong'd, as Philomela was, 
 Forc'd in the ruthless, vast, and gloomy 
 
 woods ? 
 See, see ! 
 
 Ay, such a place there is where we did hunt. 
 O, had we never, never hunted there ! 
 Pattern'd by that the poet here describes, 
 By nature made for murders and for rapes. 
 
986 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Marc. O, why should nature build so foul a 
 
 den, 
 Unless the gods delight in tragedies? 
 
 Tit. Give signs, sweet girl, for here are 
 
 none but friends, 
 
 What Roman lord it was durst do the deed : 
 Or slunk not Saturnine, as Tarquin erst, 
 That left the camp to sin in Lucrece' bed ? 
 Marc. Sit down, sweet niece : brother, sit 
 
 down by me. 
 
 Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury, 
 Inspire me, that I may this treason find ! 
 My lord, look here : look here, Lavinia : 
 This sandy plot is plain ; guide, if thou canst, 
 This after me, when I have writ my name 
 Without the help of any hand at all. 
 
 [He writes his name with his staff, guid- 
 ing it with his feet and mouth. 
 Curs'd be that heart that forc'd us to this 
 shift ! [last 
 
 Write thou, good niece ; and here display at 
 What God will have disco ver'd for revenge : 
 Heaven guide thy pen to print thy sorrows 
 
 plain, 
 
 That we may know the traitors and the truth ! 
 [She takes the staff in her mouth, guides 
 
 it with her stumps, and writes. 
 Tit. O, do ye read, my lord, what she hath 
 
 writ? 
 
 Stuprunt Chiron Demetrius. [Tamora 
 
 Marc. What, what ! the lustful sons of 
 Performers of this heinous, bloody deed ? 
 
 Tit. Magni Dominator poli, 
 Tarn lentus audis scelera ? tarn lentus vides ? 
 Marc. O, calm thee, gentle lord ; although 
 
 I know 
 
 There is enough written upon this earth 
 To stir a mutiny in the mildest thoughts, 
 And arm the minds of infants to exclaims, 
 My lord, kneel down with me ; Lavinia, kneel ; 
 And kneel, sweet boy, the .Roman Hector's 
 
 hope; 
 
 And swear with me, as, with the woeful fere 
 And father of that chaste dishonour'd dame, 
 Lord Junius Brutus sware for Lucrece' rape, 
 That we will prosecute, by good advice, 
 Mortal revenge upon these traitorous Goths, 
 And see their blood, or die with this reproach. 
 
 Tit. 'Tis sure enough, an you knew how. 
 But if you hunt these bear- whelps, then beware: 
 The dam will wake ; and if she wind you once, 
 She 's with the lion deeply still in league, 
 And lulls him whilst she playeth on her back, 
 And when he sleeps will she do what she list. 
 You are a young huntsman, Marcus ; let it 
 
 alone ; 
 And, come, I will go get a leaf of brass, 
 
 And with a gad of steel will write these words, 
 And lay it by : the angry northern wind 
 Will blow these sands, like Sybil's leaves, 
 abroad, [you ? 
 
 And where 's your lesson then ? Boy, what say 
 Y. Luc. I say, my lord, that if I were a man, 
 Their mother's bedchamber should not be safe 
 For these bad-bondmen to the yoke of Rome. 
 Marc. Ay, that 's my boy ! thy father hath 
 
 full oft 
 
 For his ungrateful country done the like. 
 Y. Ltic. And, uncle, so will I, an if I live. 
 Tit. Come, go with me into mine armoury; 
 Lucius, I '11 fit thee ; and withal, my boy, 
 Shalt carry from me to the empress' sons 
 Presents that I intend to send them both : 
 Come, come ; thou 'It do thy message, wilt 
 thou not ? [grandsire. 
 
 Y. Luc. Ay ; with my dagger in their bosoms, 
 Tit. No, boy, not so; I'll teach thee an- 
 other course. 
 
 Lavinia, come. Marcus, look to my house : 
 Lucius and I '11 go brave it at the court ; 
 Ay, marry, will we, sir ; and we '11 be waited 
 on. 
 
 [Exeunt TIT. , LAV. , and Y. Luc. 
 Marc. O heavens, can you hear a good man 
 
 groan, 
 
 And not relent, or not compassion him? 
 Marcus, attend him in his ecstasy, 
 That hath more scars of sorrow in his heart 
 Than foemen's marks upon his batter'd shield ; 
 But yet so just that he will not revenge : 
 Revenge, ye heavens, for old Andronicus ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. ROME. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter AARON, DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, at 
 one door; at another door, YOUNG Lucius 
 and an Attendant, with a bundle of weapons, 
 and verses writ upon them. 
 
 Chi. Demetrius, here 's the son of Lucius ; 
 He hath some message to deliver us. 
 
 Aar. Ay, some mad message from his mad 
 
 grandfather. [may, 
 
 Y. Luc. My lords, with all the humbleness I 
 
 I greet your honours from Andronicus, 
 
 And pray the Roman gods confound you both ! 
 
 [Aside. 
 Dem. Gramercy, lovely Lucius : what 's the 
 
 news? 
 
 Boy. [Aside. ] That you are both decipher'd, 
 that 's the news, [you, 
 
 For villains mark'd with rape. May it please 
 My grandsire, well-advis'd, hath sent by me 
 The goodliest weapons of his armoury 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 987 
 
 To gratify your honourable youth, 
 The hope of Rome ; for so he bade me say ; 
 And so I do, and with his gifts present 
 Your lordships, that whenever you have need, 
 You may be armed and appointed well : 
 And so I leave you both, {aside} like bloody 
 villains. 
 
 [Exeunt Y. Luc. and Attendant. 
 Dem. What 's here ? A scroll ; and written 
 
 round about ? 
 Let 's see : 
 [Reads. ~} Integer vita, scelerisqtu purus, 
 
 Nan eget Mauri jaculis, nee arcu. 
 Chi. O, 'tis a verse in Horace ; I know it 
 
 well: 
 I read it in the grammar long ago. 
 
 Aar. Ay, just, a verse in Horace ; right, 
 
 you have it. 
 
 Now, what a thing it is to be an ass ! [Aside. 
 Here 's no sound jest 1 the old man hath found 
 their guilt ; [lines, 
 
 And sends them weapons wrapp'd about with 
 That wound, beyond their feeling, to the quick. 
 But were our witty empress well a-foot, 
 She would applaud Andronicus' conceit. 
 But let her rest in her unrest awhile. 
 And now, young lords, was 't not a happy star 
 Led us to Rome, strangers, and more than so, 
 Captives, to be advanced to this height ? 
 It did me good before the palace gate 
 To brave the tribune in his brother's hearing. 
 
 Dem. But me more good to see so great a lord 
 Basely insinuate and send us gifts. 
 
 Aar. Had he not reason, Lord Demetrius ? 
 Did you not use his daughter very friendly? 
 Dem. I would we had a thousand Roman 
 
 dames 
 
 At such a bay, by turn to serve our lust. 
 Chi. A charitable wish, and full of love. 
 Aar. Here lacks but your mother for to say 
 
 amen. 
 Chi. And that would she for twenty 
 
 thousand more. 
 
 Dem. Come, let usgo ; and pray toall the gods 
 For our beloved mother in her pains. 
 
 Aar. [Aside.'} Pray to the devils; the gods 
 have given us over. 
 
 [Flourish within. 
 Dem. Why do the emperor's trumpets flourish 
 
 thus? 
 
 Chi. Belike, for joy the emperor hath a son. 
 Dem. Soft ! who comes here ? 
 
 Enter a Nurse, with a blackamoor Child in her 
 arms. 
 
 Nur. Good-morrow, lords : 
 
 O, tell me, did you see Aaron the Moor ? 
 
 Aar. Well, more or less, or ne'er a whit at all, 
 Here Aaron is ; and what with Aaron now? 
 
 Ntir. O gentle Aaron, we are all undone ! 
 Now help, or woe betide thee evermore ! 
 
 Aar. Why, what a caterwauling dost thou 
 
 keep! 
 What dost thou wrap and fumble in thine arms? 
 
 Nur. O, that which I would hide from 
 heaven's eye, [grace ! 
 
 Our empress' shame and stately Rome's dis- 
 She is deliver'd, lords, she is deliver'd. 
 
 Aar. To whom ? 
 
 Nur. I mean, she's brought a-bed. 
 
 Aar. Well, God give her good rest ! What 
 hath he sent her ? 
 
 Nur. A devil. 
 
 Aar. Why, then she is the devil's dam ; a 
 joyful issue. [issue : 
 
 Nur. A joyless, dismal, black, and sorrowful 
 Here is the babe, as loathsome as a toad 
 Amongst the fairest breeders of our clime : 
 The empress sends it thee, thy stamp, thy seal, 
 And bids thee christen it with thy dagger's point. 
 
 Aar. Zounds, ye whore ! is black so base a 
 
 hue? 
 Sweet bio wse, you are a beauteous blossom, sure. 
 
 Dem. Villain, what hast thou done? 
 
 Aar. That which thou canst not undo. 
 
 Chi. Thou hast undone our mother. 
 
 Aar. Villain, I have done thy mother. 
 
 Dem. And therein, hellish dog, thou hast 
 undone. [choice ! 
 
 Woe to her chance, and damn'd her loathed 
 Accurs'd the offspring of so foul a fiend ! 
 
 Chi. It shall not live. 
 
 Aar. It shall not die. 
 
 Nur. Aaron, it must ; the mother wills it so. 
 
 Aar. What, must it, nurse ? then let no man 
 
 but I 
 Do execution on my flesh and blood. 
 
 Dem. I '11 broach the tadpole on my rapier's 
 
 point : 
 
 Nurse, give it me ; my sword shall soon despatch 
 it. [up. 
 
 Aar. Sooner this sword shall plough thy bowel s 
 
 [Takes the Child from the Nurse, and draws. 
 Stay, murderous villains ! will you kill your 
 
 brother ? 
 
 Now, by the burning tapers of the sky, 
 That shone so brightly when this boy was got, 
 He dies upon my scimitar's sharp point 
 That touches this my first-born son and heir ! 
 I tell you, younglings, not Enceladus, 
 With all his threatening band of Typhon's brood, 
 Nor great Alcides, nor the god of war, 
 Shall seize this prey out of his father's hands. 
 What, what, ye sanguine, shallow-hearted boys ! 
 
9 88 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Ye white-Iim'd walls ! ye alehouse-painted 
 
 signs ! 
 
 Coal-black is better than another hue, 
 In that it scorns to bear another hue ; 
 For all the water in the ocean 
 Can never turn a swan's black legs to white, 
 Although she lave them hourly in the flood. 
 Tell the empress from me, I am of age 
 To keep mine own, excuse it how she can. 
 
 Dem. Wilt thou betray thy noble mistress 
 thus ? [self, 
 
 Aar. My mistress is my mistress ; this, my- 
 The vigour and the picture of my youth : 
 This before all the world do I prefer ; 
 This maugre all the world will I keep safe, 
 Or some of you shall smoke for it in Rome. 
 
 Dem. By this our mother is for ever sham'd, 
 
 Chi. Rome will despise her for this foul 
 escape. 
 
 JVttr. The emperor, in his rage, will doom her 
 death. 
 
 Chi. I blush to think upon this ignomy. 
 
 Aar. Why, there 's the privilege your beauty 
 
 bears : 
 
 Fie, treacherous hue, that will betray with blush- 
 ing 
 
 The close enacts and counsels of the heart ! 
 Here's a young lad fram'd of another leer : 
 Look how the black slave smiles upon the 
 
 father, 
 
 As who should say, Old lad, I am thine own. 
 He is your brother, lords ; sensibly fed 
 Of that self-blood that first gave life to you ; 
 And from that womb where you imprison'd were 
 He is enfranchised and come to light : 
 Nay, he is your brother by the surer side, 
 Although my seal be stamped in his face. 
 
 Nur. Aaron, what shall I say unto the 
 empress ? 
 
 Dem. Advise thee, Aaron, what is to be done, 
 And we will all subscribe to thy advice : 
 Save thou the child, so we may all be safe. 
 
 Aar. Then sit we down, and let us all con- 
 sult. 
 
 My son and I will have the wind of you : 
 Keep there : now talk at pleasure of your safety. 
 
 [They sit. 
 
 Dem. How many women saw this child of his? 
 
 Aar. Why, so, brave lords ! when we join in 
 
 league 
 
 I am a lamb : but if you brave the Moor, 
 The chafed boar, the mountain lioness, 
 The ocean swells not so as Aaron storms. 
 But say, again, how many saw the child ? 
 
 Nur. Cornelia the midwife and myself ; 
 And no one else but the deliver'd empress. 
 
 Aar. The empress, the midwife, and yourself: 
 
 Two may keep counsel when the third 's away : 
 Go to the empress, tell her this I said: 
 
 [Stabs her, and she dies. 
 
 Weke, weke ! so cries a pig prepar'd to the 
 spit. 
 
 Dem. What mean'st thou, Aaron? Wherefore 
 didst thou this ? 
 
 Aar. O Lord, sir, 'tis a deed of policy: 
 Shall she live to betray this guilt of ours, 
 A long-tongu'd babbling gossip? no, lords, no : 
 And now be it known to you my full intent. 
 Not far, one Muliteus lives, my countryman ; 
 His wife but yesternight was brought to bed ; 
 His child is like to her, fair as you are : 
 Go pack with him, and give the mother gold, 
 And tell them both the circumstance of all ; 
 And how by this their child shall be advanc'd, 
 And be received for the emperor's heir, 
 And substituted in the place of mine, 
 To calm this tempest whirling in the court ; 
 And let the emperor dandle him for his own. 
 Hark ye, lords ; ye see I have given her physic. 
 [Pointing to the Nurse. 
 And you must needs bestow her funeral ; 
 The fields are near, and you are gallant grooms : 
 This done, see that you take no longer days, 
 But send the midwife presently to me. 
 The midwife and the nurse well made away, 
 Then let the ladies tattle what they please. 
 
 Chi. Aaron, I see thou wilt not trust the air 
 With secrets. 
 
 Dem. For this care of Tamora, 
 Herself and hers are highly bound to thee. 
 
 [Exeunt DEM. and CHI., bearing off the 
 dead Nurse. 
 
 Aar. Now to the Goths, as swift as swallow 
 
 flies; 
 
 There to dispose this treasure in mine arms, 
 And secretly to greet the empress' friends. 
 Come on, you thick-lipp'd slave, I '11 bear you 
 
 hence ; 
 
 For it is you that puts us to our shifts : 
 I '11 make you feed on berries and on roots, 
 And feed on curds and whey, and suck the goat, 
 And cabin in a cave ; and bring you up 
 To be a warrior and command a camp. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III. ROME. A public Place. 
 
 EnferTlTUS, bear ing arrows, with letters at the 
 ends of them ; with him MARCUS, YOUNG 
 Lucius, and other Gentlemen, with bows. 
 
 Tit. Come, Marcus, come: kinsmen, this 
 
 is the way. 
 
 Sir boy, now let me see your archery; 
 Look ye draw home enough, and 'tis there 
 straight. 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 989 
 
 Terras Astrcea reliquit : 
 
 Be you remember'd, Marcus, she 's gone, she 's 
 fled. [shall 
 
 Sirs, take you to your tools. You, cousins, 
 Go sound the ocean and cast your nets ; 
 Happily you may catch her in the sea ; 
 Yet there 's as little justice as at land. 
 No ; Publius and Sempronius, you must do it ; 
 'Tis you must dig with mattock and with spade, 
 And pierce the inmost centre of the earth : 
 Then, when you come to Pluto's region, 
 I pray you deliver him this petition ; 
 Tell him it is for justice and for aid, 
 And that it comes from old Andronicus, 
 Shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome. 
 Ah, Rome ! Well, well ; I made thee miserable 
 What time I threw the people's suffrages 
 On him that thus doth tyrannize o'er me. 
 Go, get you gone ; and pray be careful all, 
 And leave you not a man-of-war unsearch'd : 
 This wicked emperor may have shipp'd her 
 
 hence ; 
 And, kinsmen, then we may go pipe for justice. 
 
 Marc. O Publius, is not this a heavy case, 
 To see thy noble uncle thus distract ? [cerns 
 
 Pub. Therefore, my lord, it highly us con- 
 By day and night to attend him carefully, 
 And feed his humour kindly as we may, 
 Till time beget some careful remedy. 
 
 Marc. Kinsmen, his sorrows are past remedy. 
 Join with the Goths ; and with revengeful war 
 Take wreak on Rome for this ingratitude, 
 And vengeance on the traitor Saturnine. 
 
 Tit. Publius, how now ! how now, my 
 
 masters ! 
 What, have you met with her ? [word, 
 
 Pub. No, my good lord ; but Pluto sends you 
 If you will have Revenge from hell, you shall : 
 Marry, for Justice, she is so employ'd, [else, 
 He thinks, with Jove in heaven, or somewhere 
 So that perforce you must needs stay a time. 
 
 Tit. He doth me wrong to feed me with 
 
 delays. 
 
 I Ml dive into the burning lake below, 
 And pull her out of Acheron by the heels. 
 Marcus, we are but shrubs, no cedars we, 
 No big-bon'd men, fram'd of the Cyclops' size; 
 But metal, Marcus, steel to the very back, 
 Yet wrung with wrongs more than our backs 
 
 can bear : 
 
 And, sith there is no justice in earth nor hell, 
 We will solicit heaven, and move the gods 
 To send down Justice for to wreak ourwrongs. 
 Come, to this gear. You are a good archer, 
 Marcus, [fie gives them the arrows. 
 Ad Jovem, that's for you: here, ad Apolli- 
 ntm : 
 
 Ad Martem, that 's for myself : 
 Here, boy, to Pallas : here, to Mercury: 
 To Saturn, Caius, not to Saturnine ; 
 You were as good to shoot against the wind. 
 To it, boy. Marcus, loose when I bid. 
 Of my word, I have written to effect ; 
 There 's not a god left unsolicited. [court : 
 
 Marc. Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the 
 We will afflict the emperor in his pride. 
 
 Tit. Now, masters, draw. [They shoot.] O, 
 
 well said, Lucius ! 
 
 Good boy, in Virgo's lap ; give it Pallas. 
 Marc. My lord, I aim a mile beyond the 
 
 moon : 
 Your letter is with Jupiter by this. 
 
 Tit. Ha ! ha ! 
 
 Publius, Publius, what hast thou done ? 
 See, see, thou hast shot off one of Taurus' horns. 
 Marc. This was the sport, my lord : when 
 
 Publius shot, 
 
 The Bull, being gall'd, gave Aries such a knock 
 That down fell both the Ram's horns in the 
 
 court ; 
 And who should find them but the empress' 
 
 villain ? 
 She laugh'd, and told the Moor he should not 
 
 choose 
 
 But give them to his master for a present. 
 Tit. Why, there it goes : God give his lord- 
 ship joy ! 
 
 Enter a Clown, with a basket and two pigeons 
 in it. 
 
 News, news from heaven ! Marcus, the post is 
 
 come. 
 
 Sirrah, what tidings ? have you any letters? 
 Shall I have justice ? what says Jupiter? 
 
 Clo. Ho, the gibbet-maker ? he says that he 
 hath taken them down again, for the man must 
 not be hanged till the next week. 
 
 Tit. But what says Jupiter, I ask thee ? 
 
 Clo. Alas, sir, I know not Jupiter ; I never 
 drank with him in all my life. 
 
 Tit. Why, villain, art not thou the carrier? 
 
 Clo. Ay, of my pigeons, sir ; nothing else. 
 
 Tit. Why, didst thou not come from heaven ? 
 
 Clo. From heaven ! alas, sir, I never came 
 there : God forbid I should be so bold to press 
 to heaven in my young days. Why, I am going 
 with my pigeons to the tribunal plebs, to take 
 up a matter of brawl betwixt my uncle and one 
 of the imperial's men. 
 
 Marc. Why, sir, that is as fit as can be to 
 serve for your oration ; and let him deliver the 
 pigeons to the emperor from you. 
 
 Tit. Tell me, can you deliver an oration to 
 the emperor with a grace ? 
 
990 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Clo. Nay, truly, sir, I could never say grace 
 in all my life. 
 
 Tit. Sirrah, come hither: make no more ado, 
 But give your pigeons to the emperor : 
 By me thou shalt have justice at his hands. 
 Hold, hold ; meanwhile here 's money for thy 
 
 charges. 
 
 Give me pen and ink. [tion ? 
 
 Sirrah, can you with a grace deliver a supplica- 
 
 Clo. Ay, sir. 
 
 Tit. Then here is a supplication for you. 
 And when you come to him, at the first 
 approach you must kneel ; then kiss his foot ; 
 then deliver up your pigeons ; and then look 
 for your reward. I '11 be at hand, sir ; see you 
 do it bravely. 
 
 Clo. I warrant you, sir, let me alone. 
 
 Tit. Sirrah, hast thou a knife? Come, let 
 
 me see it. 
 
 Here, Marcus, fold it in the oration ; [ant : 
 For thou hast made it like an humble suppli- 
 And when thou hast given it to the emperor, 
 Knock at my door, and tell me what he says. 
 
 Clo. God be with you, sir ; I will. 
 
 Tit. Come, Marcus, let us go. Publius, 
 follow me. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. ROME. Before the Palace. 
 
 Enter SATURNINUS, TAMORA, DEMETRIUS. 
 CHIRON, Lords, and others ; SATURNINUS 
 with the arrows in his hand that TITUS shot. 
 
 Sat. Why, lords, what wrongs are these ! was 
 
 ever seen 
 
 An emperor in Rome thus overborne, 
 Troubled, confronted thus ; and, for the extent 
 Of legal justice, us 'd in such contempt ? 
 My lords, you know, as do the mightful gods, 
 However these disturbers of our peace 
 Buzz in the people's ears, there naught hath 
 
 But even with law, against the wilful sons 
 Of old Andronicus. And what an if 
 His sorrows have so overwhelm'd his wits, 
 Shall we be thus afflicted in his freaks, 
 His fits, his frenzy, and his bitterness ? 
 And now he writes to heaven for his redress : 
 See, here's to Jove, and this to Mercury ; 
 This to Apollo ; this to the god of war ; 
 Sweet scrolls to fly about the streets of Rome ! 
 What 's this but libelling against the senate, 
 And blazoning our injustice everywhere? 
 A goodly humour, is it not, my lords ? 
 As who would say, in Rome no justice were. 
 But if I live, his feigned ecstasies 
 Shall be no shelter to these outrages : 
 But he and his shall know that justice lives 
 
 In Saturninus' health ; whom, if she sleep, 
 
 He '11 so awake as she in fury shall 
 
 Cut off the proud'st conspirator that lives. 
 
 Tarn. My gracious lord, my lovely Saturnine, 
 Lord of my life, commander of my thoughts, 
 Calm thee, and bear the faults of Titus' age, 
 The effects of sorrow for his valiant sons, 
 Whose loss hath pierc'd him deep, and scarr'd 
 
 his heart ; 
 
 And rather comfort his distressed plight 
 Than prosecute the meanest or the best 
 For these contempts. [A side.'} Why, thus it 
 
 shall become 
 
 High-witted Tamora to gloze with all : 
 But, Titus, I have touch'd thee to the quick, 
 Thy life-blood on 't : if Aaron now be wise, 
 Then is all safe, the anchor's in the port. 
 
 Enter Clown. 
 ,11 s ( jog ,o> 
 
 How now, good fellow ! wouldst thou speak 
 
 with us ? 
 Clo. Yes, forsooth, an your mistership be 
 
 imperial. 
 Tarn. Empress I am, but yonder sits the 
 
 emperor. 
 
 Clo. 'Tis he. God and Saint Stephen give 
 you good-den : I have brought you a letter and 
 a couple of pigeons here. 
 
 [SATURNINUS reads the letter. 
 Sat. Go, take him away, and hang him pre- 
 
 sently. 
 
 Clo. How much money must I have ? 
 7am. Come, sirrah, you must be hang'd. 
 Clo. Hang'd ! By 'r lady, then I have brought 
 up a neck to a fair end. [Exit guarded. 
 
 Sat. Despiteful and intolerable wrongs ! 
 Shall I endure this monstrous villany ? 
 I know from whence this same device proceeds : 
 May this be borne, as if his traitorous sons, 
 That died by law for murder of our brother, 
 Have by my means been butcher'd wrongfully? 
 Go, drag the villain hither by the hair ; 
 Nor age nor honour shall shape privilege. 
 For this proud mock I '11 be thy slaughter-man ; 
 Sly frantic wretch, that holp'st to make me 
 
 great, 
 In hope thyself should govern Rome and me. 
 
 What news with thee, y 
 
 ^Emil. Arm, my lord ! Rome never had more 
 
 cause ! 
 The Goths have gather'd head ; and with a 
 
 power, 
 
 Of high resolved men, bent to the spoil, 
 They hither march amain, under conduct 
 Of Lucius, son to old Andronicus ; 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 991 
 
 Who threats, in course of this revenge, to do 
 As much as ever Coriolanus did. 
 
 Sat. Is warlike Lucius general of the Goths ? 
 These tidings nip me ; and I hang the head 
 As flowers with frost, or grass beat down with 
 
 storms : 
 
 Ay, now begin our sorrows to approach : 
 'Tis he the common people love so much ; 
 Myself hath often overheard them say, 
 When I have walked like a private man, 
 That Lucius' banishment was wrongfully, 
 And they have wish'd that Lucius were their 
 emperor. 
 
 Tarn. Why should you fear ? is not your city 
 strong ? 
 
 Sat. Ay, but the citizens favour Lucius, 
 And will revolt from me to succour him. 
 
 Tarn. King, be thy thoughts imperious, like 
 
 thy name. 
 
 Is the sun dimm'd, that gnats do fly in it ? 
 The eagle suffers little birds to sing, 
 And is not careful what they mean thereby, 
 Knowing that with the shadow of his wing 
 He can at pleasure stint their melody : 
 Even so mayst thou the giddy men of Rome. 
 Then cheer thy spirit : for know, thou emperor, 
 I will enchant the old Andronicus 
 With words more sweet, and yet more danger- 
 ous, 
 
 Than baits to fish or honey-stalks to sheep, 
 Whenas the one is wounded with the bait, 
 The other rotted with delicious feed. 
 
 Sat. But he will not entreat his son for us. 
 
 Tarn. If Tamora entreat him, then he will : 
 For I can smooth and fill his aged ear 
 With golden promises that, were his heart 
 Almost impregnable, his old ears deaf, 
 Yet should both ear and heart obey my tongue. 
 Go thou before \to ^EMILIUS] ; be our ambassa- 
 dor: 
 
 Say that the emperoi requests a parley 
 Of warlike Lucius, and appoint the meeting 
 Even at his father's house, the old Andronicus. 
 
 Sat. ^milius, do this message honourably : 
 And if he stand on hostage for his safety, 
 Bid him demand what pledge will please him 
 best. 
 
 jEmil. Your bidding shall I do effectually. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Tarn. Now will I to that old Andronicus, 
 And temper him, with all the art I have, 
 To pluck proud Lucius from the warlike 
 
 Goths. 
 
 And now, sweet emperor, be blithe again, 
 And bury all thy fear in my devices. 
 
 Sat. Then go successfully, and plead to him. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 SCENE I. Plains near Rome. 
 
 Enter Lucius and Goths, with drum and 
 colours. 
 
 Luc. Approved warriors and my faithful 
 
 friends, 
 
 I have received letters from great Rome, 
 Which signify what hate they bear their emperor, 
 And how desirous of our sight they are. 
 Therefore, great lords, be as your titles witness, 
 Imperious and impatient of your wrongs ; 
 And wherein Rome hath done you any scath 
 Let him make treble satisfaction. 
 
 1 Goth. Brave slip, sprung from the great 
 
 Andronicus, [fort ; 
 
 Whose name was once our terror, now our com- 
 Whose high exploits and honourable deeds 
 Ingrateful Rome requites with foul contempt, 
 Be bold in us : we '11 follow where thou lead'st, 
 Like stinging bees in hottest summer's day, 
 Led by their master to the flowered fields, 
 And be aveng'd on cursed Tamora. [him. 
 
 Goths. And as he saith, so say we all with 
 Luc. I humbly thank him, and I thank you 
 
 all. 
 But who comes here, led by a lusty Goth ? 
 
 Enter a Goth, leading AARON with his Child 
 in his arms. 
 
 2 Goth. Renowned Lucius, from our troops 
 
 I stray'd 
 
 To gaze upon a ruinous monastery ; 
 And as I earnestly did fix mine eye 
 Upon the wasted building, suddenly 
 I heard a child cry underneath a wall. 
 I made unto the noise ; when soon I heard 
 The crying babe controll'd with this discourse : 
 Peace, tawny slave, half me and half thy dam! 
 Did not thy hue bewray whose brat thou art, 
 Had nature lent thee but thy mother's look, 
 Villain, thott mightst have been an emperor: 
 But w/iere the bull and cow are both milk-white 
 They never do beget a coal-black calf. 
 Peace, villain, peace i even thus he rates the 
 
 babe, 
 
 For I must bear thee to a trusty Goth ; 
 Who, when he knows thou art the empress* babe y 
 Will hold thee dearly for thy mother's sake. 
 With this, my weapon drawn, Irush'd upon him, 
 Surpris'd him suddenly, and brought him hither, 
 To use as you think needful of the man. [devil 
 Luc. O worthy Goth, this is the incarnate 
 That robb'd Andronicus of his good hand ; 
 This is the pearl that pleas'd your empress' eye ; 
 
992 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 And here 's the base fruit of his burning lust. 
 Say, wall-ey'd slave, whither wouldst thou 
 
 convey 
 
 This growing image of thy fiend-like face? 
 Why dost not speak ? what, deaf? No ; not a 
 
 word ? 
 
 A halter, soldiers ; hang him on this tree, 
 And by his side his fruit of bastardy, 
 
 Aar. Touch not the boy, he is of royal blood. 
 
 Ltic. Too like the sire for ever being good. 
 First hang the child, that he may see it sprawl, 
 A sight to vex the father's soul withal. 
 Get me a ladder. 
 
 [A ladder brought, which AARON is 
 obliged to ascend. 
 
 Aar. Lucius, save the child, 
 
 And bear it from me to the empress. 
 If thou do this, I '11 show thee wondrous things 
 That highly may advantage thee to hear : 
 If thou wilt not, befall what may befall, 
 I '11 speak no more, but vengeance rot you all ! 
 
 Luc. Say on : an if it please me which thou 
 
 speak'st, 
 Thy child shall live, and I will see it nourish'd. 
 
 Aar. An if it please thee I why, assure thee, 
 
 Lucius, 
 
 'Twill vex thy soul to hear what I shall speak ; 
 For I must talk of murders, rapes, andmassacres, 
 Acts of black night, abominable deeds, 
 Complots of mischief, treason, villanies, 
 Ruthful to hear, yet piteously perform'd : 
 And this shall all be buried by my death, 
 Unless thou swear to me my child shall live. 
 
 Luc. Tell on thy mind ; I say thy child shall 
 live. [begin. 
 
 Aar. Swear that he shall, and then I will 
 
 Luc. Who should I swear by ? thou believ'st 
 
 no god : 
 That granted, how canst thou believe an oath ? 
 
 Aar. What if I do not? as, indeed, I do not ; 
 Yet, for I know thou art religious, 
 And hast a thing within thee called conscience, 
 With twenty popish tricks and ceremonies 
 Which I have seen thee careful to observe, 
 Therefore I urge thy oath ; for that I know 
 An idiot holds his bauble for a god, 
 And keeps the oath which by that god he 
 
 swears ; 
 
 To that I '11 urge him : therefore thou shalt vow 
 By that same god, what god soe'er it be 
 That thou ador'st and hast in reverence, 
 To save my boy, to nourish and bring him up ; 
 Or else I will discover naught to thee. 
 
 Luc. Even by my god I swear to thee I will. 
 
 Aar. First know thou, I begot him on the 
 empress. 
 
 Luc. O most insatiate luxurious woman ! 
 
 Aar. Tut, Lucius, this was but a deed of 
 
 charity 
 
 To that which thou shalt hear of me anon. 
 'Twas her two sons that murder'd Bassianus ; 
 They cut thy sister's tongue, and ravish'd her, 
 And cut her hands, and trimm'd her as thou 
 saw'st. [trimming ? 
 
 Luc. O detestable villain! call'st thou that 
 
 Aar. Why, she was wash'd, and cut, and 
 
 trimm'd ; and 'twas 
 Trim sport for them that had the doing of it. 
 
 Luc. O barbarous, beastly villains, like thy- 
 self! [them: 
 
 Aar. Indeed, I was their tutor to instruct 
 That codding spirit had they from their mother, 
 As sure a card as ever won the set ; 
 That bloody mind, I think, they learn'd of me, 
 As true a dog as ever fought at head. 
 Well, let my deeds be witness of my worth. 
 I train'd thy brethren to that guileful hole 
 Where the dead corpse of Bassianus lay : 
 I wrote the letter that thy father found, 
 And hid the gold within the letter mention'd, 
 Confederate with the queen and her two sons: 
 And what not done, that thou hast cause to rue, 
 Wherein I had no stroke of mischief in 't? 
 I play'd the cheater for thy father's hand ; 
 And when I had it, drew myself apart, 
 And almost broke my heart with extreme 
 
 laughter : 
 
 I pry'd me through the crevice of a wall 
 When, for his hand, he had his two sons' heads; 
 Beheld his tears, and laugh'd so heartily 
 That both mine eyes were rainy like to his: 
 And when I told the empress of this sport, 
 She swooned almost at my pleasing tale, 
 And for my tidings gave me twenty kisses. 
 
 Goth. What, canst thou say all this, and 
 never blush ? 
 
 Aar. Ay, like a black dog, as the saying is. 
 
 Luc. Art thou not sorry for these heinous 
 deeds? [more. 
 
 Aar. Ay, that I had not done a thousand 
 Even now I curse the day, and yet, I think, 
 Few come within the compass of my curse, 
 Wherein I did not some notorious ill : 
 As, kill a man, or else devise his death ; 
 Ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it; 
 Accuse some innocent, and forswear myself; 
 Set deadly enmity between two friends ; 
 Make poor men's cattle stray and break their 
 
 necks ; 
 
 Set fire on barns and hay-stacks in the night, 
 And bid the owners quench them with their 
 
 tears. 
 
 Oft have I digg'd up dead men from their graves t 
 And set them upright at their dear friends' doors, 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 993 
 
 Even when their sorrows almost were forgot; 
 And on their skins, as on the bark of trees, 
 Have with my knife carved in Roman letters, 
 Let not your sorrow die, tJiough I ant dead. 
 Tut, I have done a thousand dreadful things 
 As willingly as one would kill a fly; 
 And nothing grieves me heartily indeed 
 But that I cannot do ten thousand more, [die 
 
 Luc. Bring down the devil ; for he must not 
 So sweet a death as hanging presently. 
 
 Aar. If there be devils, would I were a devil, 
 To live and burn in everlasting fire, 
 So I might have your company in hell, 
 But to torment you with my bitter tongue ! 
 
 Luc. Sirs, stop his mouth, and let him speak 
 no more. 
 
 Enter a Goth. 
 
 3 Goth. My lord, there is a messenger from 
 
 Rome 
 
 Desires to be admitted to your presence. 
 Luc. Let him come near. 
 
 Enter /EMILIUS. 
 
 Welcome, ^Emilius: what's the news from 
 Rome? [Goths, 
 
 &mil. Lord Lucius, and you princes of the 
 The Roman emperor greets you all by me ; 
 And, for he understands you are in arms, 
 He craves a parley at your father's house, 
 Willing you to demand your hostages, 
 And they shall be immediately deliver'd. 
 
 I Goth. What says our general? 
 
 Luc. ^Emilius, let the emperorgive hispledges 
 Unto my father and my uncle Marcus, 
 And we will come. March away. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. ROME. Before TITUS'S House. 
 
 Enter TAMORA, DEMETRIUS, and CHIRON, 
 disguised. 
 
 Tarn. Thus, in this strange and sad habili- 
 ment 
 
 I will encounter with Andronicus, 
 And say I am Revenge, sent from below 
 To join with him and right his heinous wrongs. 
 Knock at his study, where they say he keeps 
 To ruminate strange plots of dire revenge ; 
 Tell him Revenge is come to join with him, 
 And work confusion on his enemies. 
 
 [They knock. 
 
 Enter TITUS, above. 
 
 Tit. Who doth molest my contemplation? 
 Is ic your trick to make me ope the door, 
 That so my sad decrees may fly away, 
 And all my study be to no effect? 
 
 You are deceiv'd : for what I mean to do 
 See here in bloody lines I have set down ; 
 And what is written shall be execut d. 
 
 Tarn. Titus, I am come to talk with thee. 
 
 Tit. No, not a word : how can I grace my 
 
 talk, 
 
 Wanting a hand to give it action ? 
 Thou hast the odds of me ; therefore no more. 
 
 'lam. If thou didst know me, thou v ouldst 
 talk with me. 
 
 Tit. I am not mad ; I know thee well enough : 
 Witness this wretched stump, witness these 
 
 crimson lines; 
 
 Witness these trenches made by grief and care ; 
 Witness the tiring day and heavy night; 
 Witness all sorrow, that I know thee well 
 For our proud empress, mighty Tamora: 
 Is not thy coming for my other hand ? 
 
 Tarn. Know thou, sad man, I am not Tamora; 
 She is thy enemy and I thy friend : 
 I am Revenge ; sent from the infernal kingdom 
 To ease the gnawing vulture of thy mind 
 By working wreakful vengeance on thy foes. 
 Come down and welcome me to this world's 
 
 light ; 
 
 Confer with me of murder and of death : 
 There 's not a hollow cave or lurking-place, 
 No vast obscurity or misty vale, 
 Where bloody murder or detested rape 
 Can couch for fear but I will find them out ; 
 And in their ears tell them my dreadful 
 
 name, 
 Revenge, which makes the foul offenders quake. 
 
 Tit. Art thou Revenge ? and art thou sent 
 
 to me 
 To be a torment to mine enemies ? [come me. 
 
 Tarn. I am ; therefore come down and wel- 
 
 Tit. Do me some service ere I come to thee. 
 Lo, by thy side where Rape and Murder stands ; 
 Now give some 'surance that thou art Revenge, 
 Stab them, or tear them on thy chariot wheels ; 
 And then I '11 come and be thy waggoner, 
 And whirl along with thee about the globe. 
 Provide thee two proper palfreys, black as jet, 
 To hale thy vengeful waggon swift away, 
 And find out murderers in their guilty caves : 
 And when thy car is loaden with their heads 
 I will dismount, and by the waggon-wheel 
 Trot, like a servile footman, all day long, 
 Even from Hyperion's rising in the east 
 Until his very downfall in the sea : 
 And day by day I '11 do this heavy task, 
 So thou destroy Rapine and Murder there. 
 
 Tarn. These are my ministers, and come with 
 me. 
 
 Tit. Are these thy ministers ? what are they 
 call'd? 
 
 2 I 
 
994 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Tarn. Rapine and Murder ; therefore called 
 
 so 
 
 'Cause they take vengeance of such kind of men. 
 Tit. Good lord, how like the empress' sons 
 
 they are ! 
 
 And you the empress ! But we worldly men 
 Have miserable, mad, mistaking eyes. 
 
 sweet Revenge, now do I come to thee ; 
 And, if one arm's embracement will content 
 
 thee, 
 
 1 will embrace thee in it by and by. 
 
 [Exit from above. 
 
 Tarn. This closing with him fits his lunacy: 
 Whate'er I forge to feed his brain-sick fits, 
 Do you uphold and maintain in your speeches, 
 For now he firmly takes me for Revenge ; 
 And, being credulous in this mad thought, 
 I '11 make him send for Lucius his son ; 
 And, whilst I at a banquet hold him sure, 
 I '11 find some cunning practice out of hand 
 To scatter and disperse the giddy Goths, 
 Or, at the least, make them his enemies. 
 See, here he comes, and I must ply my theme. 
 
 Enter TITUS. 
 
 Tit. Long have I been forlorn, and all for 
 
 thee: 
 
 Welcome, dread fury, to my woeful house ; 
 Rapine and Murder, you are welcome too : 
 How like the empress and her sons you are ! 
 Well are you fitted, had you but a Moor : 
 Could not all hell afford you such a devil ? 
 For well I wot the empress never wags 
 But in her company there is a Moor ; 
 And, would you represent our queen aright, 
 It were convenient you had such a devil : 
 But welcome as you are. What shall we do ? 
 
 Tarn. What wouldst thou have us do, An- 
 dronicus ? [him. 
 
 Dem. Show me a murderer, I '11 deal with 
 
 Chi. Show me a villain that hath done a rape, 
 And I am sent to be reveng'd on him. 
 
 Tarn. Show me a thousand that have done 
 
 thee wrong, 
 And I will be revenged on them all. [Rome, 
 
 Tit. Look round about the wicked streets of 
 And when thou find'st a man that 's like thyself, 
 Good Murder, stab him; he's a murderer. 
 Go thou with him ; and when it is thy hap 
 To find another that is like to thee, 
 Good Rapine, stab him ; he 's a ravisher. 
 Go thou with them ; and in the emperor's court 
 There is a queen, attended by a Moor ; [tion, 
 Well mayst thou know her by thy own propor- 
 For up and down she doth resemble thee ; 
 I pray thee, do on them some violent death ; 
 They have been violent to me and mine. 
 
 Tarn. Well hast thou lesson'd us ; this shall 
 
 we do. 
 
 But would it please thee, good Andronicus, 
 To send for Lucius, thy thrice-valiant son, 
 Who leads towards Rome a band of warlike 
 
 Goths, 
 
 And bid him come and banquet at thy house ; 
 When he is here, even at thy solemn feast, 
 I will bring in the empress and her sons, 
 The emperor himself, and all thy foes ; 
 And at thy mercy shall they stoop and kneel, 
 And on them shalt thou ease thy angry heart. 
 What says Andronicus to this device ? [calls. 
 
 Tit. Marcus, my brother ! 'tis sad Titus 
 
 Enter MARCUS. 
 
 Go, gentle Marcus, to thy nephew Lucius ; 
 Thou shalt inquire him out among the Goths : 
 Bid him repair to me, and bring with him 
 Some of the chiefest princes of the Goths ; 
 Bid him encamp his soldiers where they are : 
 Tell him the emperor and the empress too 
 Feast at my house, and he shall feast with them. 
 This do thou for my love ; and so let him 
 As he regards his aged father's life. 
 
 Marc. This will I do, and soon return again. 
 
 [Exit 
 
 Tarn. Now will I hence about thy business, 
 And take my ministers along with me. 
 
 Tit. Nay, nay, let Rape and Murder stay 
 
 with me, 
 
 Or else I '11 call my brother back again, 
 And cleave to no revenge but Lucius. 
 
 Tarn. [Aside to them.'] What say you, boys? 
 
 will you abide with him, 
 Whiles I go tell my lord the emperor 
 How I have govern'd our determin'd jest ? 
 Yield to his humour, smooth and speak him fair, 
 And tarry with him till I come again. 
 
 Tit. [Aside.] I know them all, though they 
 suppose me mad, [vices, 
 
 And will o'er-reach them in their own de- 
 A pair of cursed hell-hounds and their dam. 
 
 Dem. Madam, depart at pleasure ; leave us 
 here. [goes 
 
 Tarn. Farewell, Andronicus : Revenge now 
 To lay a complot to betray thy foes. 
 
 Tit. I know thou dost ; and, sweet Revenge, 
 farewell ! [Exit TAMORA. 
 
 Chi. Tell us, old man, how shall we be 
 employ 'd? [do. 
 
 Tit. Tut, I have work enough for you to 
 Publius, come hither, Cains, and Valentine ! 
 
 Enter PUBLIUS and others. 
 
 Pub. What is your will ? 
 Tit. Know you these two ? 
 
SCENE II.j 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 995 
 
 Piib. The empress' sons, 
 I take them, Chiron and Demetrius. 
 
 Tit. Fie, Publius, fie ! thou art too much 
 
 deceiv'cl, 
 
 The one is Murder, Rape is the other's name ; 
 And therefore bind them, gentle Publius : 
 Caius and Valentine, lay hands on them : 
 Oft have you heard me wish for such an hour, 
 And now I find it; therefore bind them sure ; 
 And stop their mouths if they begin to cry. 
 [Exit. PUBLIUS, &c. t lay hold on CHIRON 
 
 and DEMETRIUS. 
 
 Chi. Villains, forbear ! we are the empress' 
 
 sons. [manded. 
 
 Pub. And therefore do we what we are com- 
 
 Stop close their mouths, let them not speak a 
 
 word. 
 Is he sure bound ? look that you bind them fast. 
 
 Re-enter TITUS ANDRONICUS, with LAVINIA ; 
 he bearing a knife and she a basin. 
 
 Tit. Come, come, Lavinia ; look, thy foes 
 
 are bound. [me ; 
 
 Sirs, stop their mouths, let them not speak to 
 But let them hear what fearful words I utter. 
 O villains, Chiron and Demetrius ! 
 Here stands the spring whom you have stain'd 
 
 with mud ; 
 
 This goodly summer with your winter mix'd. 
 You kill'd her husband ; and for that vile fault 
 Two of her brothers were condemn'd to death, 
 My hand cut off and made a merry jest ; 
 Both her sweet hands, her tongue, and that, 
 
 more dear 
 
 Than hands or tongue, her spotless chastity, 
 Inhuman traitors, you constrain'd and forc'd. 
 What would you say, if I should let you speak? 
 Villains, for shame you could not beg for grace. 
 Hark, wretches ! how I mean to martyr you. 
 This one hand yet is left to cut your throats, 
 Whilst that Lavinia 'tween her stumpsdoth hold 
 The basin that receives your guilty blood. 
 You know your mother means to feast with me, 
 And calls herself Revenge, and thinks me 
 
 mad : 
 
 Hark, villains ! I will grind your bones to dust, 
 And with your blood and it I '11 make a paste ; 
 And of the paste a coffin I will rear, 
 And make two pasties of your shameful heads ; 
 And bid that strumpet, your unhallow'd dam, 
 Like to the earth, swallow her own increase. 
 This is the feast that I have bid her to, 
 And this the banquet she shall surfeit on ; 
 For worse than Philomel you us'd my daughter, 
 And worse than Progne I will be reveng'd : 
 And now prepare your throats. Lavinia, come. 
 [He cuts their throats. 
 
 Receive the blood : and when that they are dead, 
 Let me go grind their bones to powder small, 
 And with this hateful liquor temper it ; 
 And in that paste let their vile heads be bak'd. 
 Come, come, be every one officious 
 To make this banquet ; which I wish may prove 
 More stern and bloody than the Centaurs' feast. 
 So, now bring them in, for I will play the cook, 
 And see them ready 'gainst their mother comes. 
 [Exeunt t bearing the dead bodies. 
 
 SCENE III. ROME. A Pavilion in TITUS'S 
 Gardens, with tables, &>c. 
 
 Enter Lucius, MARCUS, and Goths, with 
 AARON prisoner. 
 
 Luc. Uncle Marcus, since 'tis my father's 
 
 mind 
 That I repair to Rome, I am content. 
 
 I Goth. And ours with thine, befall what 
 fortune will. [Moor, 
 
 Lite. Good uncle, take you in this barbarous 
 This ravenous tiger, this accursed devil ; 
 Let him receive no sustenance, fetter him, 
 Till he be brought unto the empress' face 
 For testimony of her foul proceedings : 
 And see the ambush of our friends be strong ; 
 I fear the emperor means no good to us. 
 
 Aar. Some devil whisper curses in mine ear, 
 And prompt me, that my tongue may utter forth 
 The venomous malice of my swelling heart ! 
 
 Luc. Away, inhuman dog ! unhallow'd 
 
 slave ! 
 Sirs, help our uncle to convey him in. 
 
 [Exeunt Goths with AAR. Flourish within. 
 The trumpets show the emperor is at hand. 
 
 Enter SATURNINUS afl?TAMORA, with 
 Tribunes, Senators, and others. 
 
 Sat. What, hath the firmament more suns 
 
 than one? 
 
 Luc. What boots it thee to call thyself the sun? 
 Marc. Rome's emperor, and nephew, break 
 
 the parle ; 
 
 These quarrels must be quietly debated. 
 The feas' is ready, which the careful Titus 
 Hath ordain'd to an honourable end, 
 For peace, for love, for league, and good to 
 Rome : [places. 
 
 Please you, therefore, draw nigh, and take your 
 Sat. Marcus, we will. 
 [Hautboys sound. The company sit at table. 
 
 Enter TITUS, dressed like a cook, LAVINIA, 
 vailed, YOUNG Lucius, andothers. TITUS 
 places the dishes on the table. 
 Tit. Welcome, my gracious lord ; welcome, 
 dread queen ; 
 
996 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Welcome, ye warlike Goths ; welcome, Lucius ; 
 And welcome all : although the cheer be poor, 
 'Twill fill your stomachs ; please you eat of it. 
 Sat. Why art thou thus attir'd, Andronicus? 
 Tit. Because T would be sure to have all well 
 To entertain your highness and your empress. 
 Tarn. We are beholden to you, good An- 
 dronicus. [were. 
 Tit. And if your highness knew my heart, you 
 My lord the emperor, resolve me this : 
 Was it well done of rash Virginius 
 To slay his daughter with his own right hand, 
 Because she was enforc'd, stain'd, and de- 
 
 flower'd ? 
 
 Sat. It was, Andronicus. 
 Tit. Your reason, mighty lord. [shame, 
 
 Sat. Because the girl should not survive her 
 And by her presence still renew his sorrows. 
 
 Tit. A reason mighty, strong, and effectual ; 
 A pattern, precedent, and lively warrant 
 For me, most wretched, to perform the like : 
 Die, die, Lavinia, and thy shame with thee ; 
 
 [Kills LAVINIA. 
 
 And with thy shame thy father's sorrow die ! 
 Sat. What hast thou done, unnatural and 
 
 unkind ? 
 Tit. KilPd her for whom my tears have made 
 
 me blind. 
 
 I am as woeful as Virginius was, 
 And have a thousand times more cause than he 
 To do this outrage ; and it is now done. 
 Sat. What, was she ravish'd? tell who did 
 
 the deed. 
 Tit. Will 't please you eat ? will 't please your 
 
 highness feed? 
 Tarn. Why hast thou slain thine only 
 
 daughter thus? 
 
 Tit. Not I ; 'twas Chiron and Demetrius : 
 They ravish'd her, and cut away her tongue ; 
 And they, 'twas they that did her all this wrong. 
 Sat. Go, fetch them hither to us presently. 
 Tit. Why, there they are both, baked in that 
 
 pie, 
 
 Whereof their mother daintily hath fed, 
 Eating the flesh that she herself hath bred. 
 'Tis true, 'tis true ; witness my knife's sharp 
 point. [Kills TAMORA. 
 
 Sat. Die, frantic wretch, for this accursed 
 deed ! [Kills TITUS. 
 
 Luc. Can the son's eye behold his father 
 
 bleed? 
 
 There 's meed for meed, death for a deadly deed. 
 [A7//rSATURNiNUS. A great tumult. Lucius, 
 MARCUS, and their partisans, ascend the 
 steps before TITUS'S house. 
 Marc. You sad-fac'd men, people and sons 
 of Rome, 
 
 By uproar sever'd, like a flight of fowl 
 Scatter'd by winds and high tempestuous gusts, 
 O, let me teach you how to knit again 
 This scatter'd corn into one mutual sheaf, 
 These broken limbs again into one body : 
 Lest Rome herself be bane unto herself, 
 And she whom mighty kingdoms court' sy to. 
 Like a forlorn and desperate castaway, 
 Do shameful execution on herself. 
 But if my frosty signs and chaps of age, 
 Grave witnesses of true experience, 
 Cannot induce you to attend my words, 
 Speak, Rome's dear friend [to Lucius] : as erst 
 
 our ancestor, 
 
 When with his solemn tongue he did discourse 
 To love-sick Dido's sad attending ear 
 The story of that baleful burning night 
 When subtle Greeks surpris'd King Priam's 
 
 Troy, 
 
 Tell us what Sinon hath bewitch'd our ears, 
 Or who hath brought the fatal engine in 
 That gives our Troy, our Rome, the civil wound. 
 My heart is not compact of flint nor steel ; 
 Nor can I utter all our bitter grief, 
 But floods of tears will drown my oratory 
 And break my very utterance, even in the time 
 When it should move you to attend me most, 
 Lending your kind commiseration. 
 Here is a captain, let him tell the tale ; 
 Your hearts will throb and weep to hear him 
 
 speak. 
 
 Luc. Then, noble auditory, be it known to you 
 That cursed Chiron and Demetrius 
 Were they that murdered our emperor's brother ; 
 And they it were that ravished our sister : 
 For their fell faults our brothers were beheaded ; 
 Our father's tears despis'd, and basely cozen'd 
 Of that true hand that fought Rome's quarrel out 
 And sent her enemies unto the grave. 
 Lastly, myself unkindly banished, 
 The gates shut on me, and turn'd weeping out, 
 To beg relief among Rome's enemies ; 
 Who drown'd their enmity in my true tears, 
 And op'd their arms to embrace me as a friend : 
 And I am the turn'd-forth, be it known to you, 
 That have preserv'd her welfare in my blood ; 
 And from her bosom took the enemy's point, 
 Sheathing the steel in my adventurous body. 
 Alas ! you know I am no vaunter, I ; 
 My scars can witness, dumb although they are, 
 That my report is just and full of truth. 
 But, soft ! methinks I do digress too much, 
 Citing my worthless praise : O, pardon me ; 
 For when no friends are by, men praise them- 
 selves, [child. 
 Marc. Now is my turn to speak. Behold this 
 [Pointing to the Child in an Attendant's arms. 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 997 
 
 Of this was Tamora delivered ; 
 The issue of an irreligious Moor, 
 Chief architect and plotter of these woes : 
 The villain is alive in Titus' house, 
 Damn'd as he is, to witness this is true. 
 Now judge what cause had Titus to revenge 
 These wrongs unspeakable, past patience, 
 Or more than any living man could hear. 
 Now you have heard the truth, what say you, 
 
 Romans ? 
 
 Have we done aught amiss, show us wherein, 
 And. from the place where you behold us now, 
 The poor remainder of Andronici 
 Will, hand in hand, all headlong cast us down, 
 And on the ragged stones beat forth our brains, 
 And make a mutual closure of our house. 
 Speak, Romans, speak ; and if you say we shall, 
 Lo, hand in hand, Lucius and I will fall. 
 
 sErnil. Come, come, thou reverend man of 
 
 Rome, 
 
 And bring our emperor gently in thy hand, 
 Lucius our emperor ; for well I know 
 The common voice do cry it shall be so. 
 
 Romans. [Several speak.} Lucius, all hail, 
 Rome's royal emperor ! 
 
 Marc. Go, go into old Titus* sorrowful house, 
 [ To Attendants, "who go into the house. 
 And hither hale that misbelieving Moor, 
 To be adjudg'd some direful slaughtering death, 
 As punishment for his most wicked life. 
 
 [Lucius, MARCUS, drv., descend. 
 
 Iranians. [Several speak.~\ Lucius, all hail, 
 Rome's gracious governor ! [so 
 
 Luc. Thanks, gentle Romans : may I govern 
 To heal Rome's harms and wipe away her woe ! 
 But, gentle people, give me aim awhile, 
 For nature puts me to a heavy task : 
 Stand all aloof ; but, uncle, draw you near, 
 To shed obsequious tears upon this trunk. 
 O, take this warm kiss on thy pale cold lips, 
 
 [Kisses TITUS. 
 These sorrowful drops upon thy blood-stain'd 
 
 face, 
 The last true duties of thy noble son ! 
 
 Marc. Tear for tear and loving kiss for kiss 
 Thy brother Marcus tenders on thy lips : 
 O, were the sum of these that I should pay 
 Countless and infinite, yet would I pay them ! 
 
 Luc. Come hither, boy; come, come, and 
 
 learn of us [well : 
 
 To melt in showers : thy grandsire lov'd thee 
 
 Many a time he danc'd thee on his knee, 
 Sung thee asleep, his loving breast thy pillow ; 
 Many a matter hath he told to thee, 
 Meet and agreeing with thine infancy; 
 In that respect, then, like a loving child, 
 Shed yet some small drops from thy tender 
 
 spring, 
 
 Because kind nature doth require it so : 
 Friends should associate friends in grief and woe : 
 Bid him farewell ; commit him to the grave ; 
 Do him that kindness, and take leave of him. 
 Y. Luc. O grandsire, grandsire ! even with 
 
 all my heart 
 
 Would I were dead, so you did live again ! 
 O Lord, I cannot speak to him for weeping ; 
 My tears will choke me if I ope my mouth. 
 
 Re-enter Attendants with AARON. 
 
 l. You sad Andronici, have done with 
 
 woes : 
 
 Give sentence on this execrable wietch, 
 That hath been breeder of these dire events. 
 Luc. Set him breast-deep in earth, and 
 
 famish him ; 
 
 There let him stand, and rave, and cry for food : 
 If any one relieves or pities him, 
 For the offence he dies. This is our doom : 
 Some stay to see him fasten'd in the earth. 
 Aar. O, why should wrath be mute and fury 
 
 dumb? 
 
 I am no baby, I, that with base prayers 
 I should repent the evils I have done : 
 Ten thousand worse than ever yet I did 
 Would I perform, if I might have my will : 
 If one good deed in all my life I did, 
 I do repent it from my very soul. [hence, 
 
 Luc. Some loving friends convey the emperor 
 And give him burial in his father's grave : 
 My father and Lavinia shall forthwith 
 Be closed in our household's monument. 
 As for that heinous tiger, Tamora, 
 No funeral rite, nor man in mournful weeds, 
 No mournful bell shall ring her burial ; 
 But throw her forth to beasts and birds of prey : 
 Her life was beast-like and devoid of pity ; 
 And, being so, shall have like want of pity. 
 See justice done on Aaron, that damn'd Moor, 
 By whom our heavy haps had their beginning : 
 Then, afterwards, to order well the state, 
 That like events may ne'er it ruinate. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 

 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 ANTIOCHUS, King of Antioch. 
 PERICLES, Prince of Tyre. 
 HELICANUS, \ . T , . ~ 
 ESCANES, > }t Lords cf Tyre. 
 
 SIMON IDES, King of Pentapolis. 
 CLEON, Governor of Tharsns. 
 LYSIMACHUS, Governor of Mitylenc. 
 CERIMON, a Lord of Ephestis. 
 THALIARD, a Lord of Antioch. 
 PHILEMON, Servant to CERIMON. 
 LEONINE, Servant to DIONYZA. 
 Marshal. 
 
 A Pander ; and BOULT, his Servant. 
 GOWER, as Chorus. 
 
 The Daughter of ANTIOCHUS. 
 
 DIONYZA, Wife to CLEON. 
 
 THAISA, Daughter to SIMONIDES. 
 
 MARINA, Daughter to PERICLES and THAISA. 
 
 LYCHORIDA, Nurse to MARINA. 
 
 DIANA. 
 
 A Bawd. 
 
 Lords, Ladies, Knights, Gentlemen, Sailors. 
 Pirates, Fishermen, and Messengers. 
 
 SCENE, Dispersedly in various Countries. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Enter GOWER. 
 Before the Palace of Antioch. 
 To sing a song that old was sung, 
 From ashes ancient Gower is come ; 
 Assuming man's infirmities, 
 To glad your ear and please your eyes. 
 It hath been sung at festivals, 
 On ember-eves and holy-ales; 
 And lords and ladies in their lives 
 Have read it for restoratives : 
 The purchase is to make men glorious ; 
 Et bonum quo antiquius, eo inelhis. 
 If you, born in these latter times, 
 When wit 's more ripe, accept my rhymes, 
 And that to hear an old man sing 
 May to your wishes pleasure bring, 
 I life would wish, and that I might 
 Waste it for you, like taper-light. 
 This Antioch, then, Antiochus the Great 
 Built up, this city, for his chiefest seat ; 
 The fairest in all Syria, 
 I tell you what mine authors say. 
 This king unto him took a fere, 
 Who died and left a female heir, 
 So buxom, blithe, and full of face, 
 As heaven had lent her all his grace ; 
 With whom the father liking took, 
 And her to incest did provoke : 
 Bad child ; worse father ! to entice his own 
 To evil should be done by none : 
 But custom what they did begin 
 Was with long use account no sin. 
 The beauty of this sinful dame 
 
 Made many princes thither frame 
 
 To seek her as a bed-fellow, 
 
 In marriage-pleasures play-fellow: 
 
 Which to prevent he made a law, 
 
 To keep her still, and men in awe, 
 
 That whoso ask'd her for his wife, 
 
 His riddle told not, lost his life: 
 
 So for her many a wight did die, 
 
 As yon grim looks do testify. 
 
 What now ensues, to the judgment of your eye 
 
 I give, my cause who best can justify. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE I. ANTIOCH. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter ANTIOCHUS, PERICLES, and 
 Attendants. 
 
 Ant. Young Prince of Tyre, you have at 
 
 large receiv'd 
 The danger of the task you undertake. 
 
 Per. I have, Antiochus, and, with a soul 
 Embolden'd with the glory of her praise, 
 Think death no hazard in this enterprise. 
 
 Ant. Bring in our daughter, clothed like a 
 
 bride, 
 
 For the embracements even of Jove himself; 
 At whose conception, till Lucina reign'd, 
 Nature this dowry gave, to glad her presence, 
 The senate-house of planets all did sit, 
 To knit in her their best perfections. 
 
 Music. Enter the Daughter of ANTIOCHUS. 
 
 Per. See where she comes, apparell'd like 
 
 the spring, 
 
 Graces her subjects, and her thoughts the king 
 Of every virtue gives renown to men ! 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 999 
 
 Her face the book of praises, where is read 
 
 Nothing but curious pleasures, as from thence 
 
 Sorrow were ever raz'd, and testy wrath 
 
 Could never be her mild companion. 
 
 Ye gods, that made me man, and sway in love, 
 
 That have inflam'd desire in my breast 
 
 To taste the fruit of yon celestial tree, 
 
 Or die in the adventure, be my helps, 
 
 As I am son and servant to your will, 
 
 To compass such a boundless happiness ! 
 
 Ant. Prince Pericles, 
 
 Per. That would be son to great Antiochus. 
 
 Ant. Before thee stands this fair Hesperides, 
 With golden fruit, but dangerous to be touch'd ; 
 For death-like dragons here affright thee hard : 
 Her face, like heaven, enticeth thee to view 
 Her countless glory, which desert must gain ; 
 And which, without desert, because thine eye 
 Presumes to reach, all thy whole heap must die. 
 Yon sometime famous princes, like thyself, 
 Drawn by report, adventurous by desire, 
 Tell thee, with speechless tongues and sem- 
 blance pale, 
 
 That, without covering, save yon field cf stars, 
 Here they stand martyrs, slain in Cupid's wars ; 
 And with dead cheeks advise thee to desist 
 For going on death's net, whom none resist. 
 
 Per. Antiochus, I thank thee, who hath 
 
 taught 
 
 My frail mortality to know itself, 
 And by those fearful objects to prepare 
 This body, like to them, to what I must; 
 For death remember'd should be like a mirror, 
 Who tells us life 's but breath, to trust it error. 
 I '11 make my will, then ; and, as sick men do, 
 Who know the world, see heaven, but, feeling 
 
 woe, 
 
 Gripe not at earthly joys, as erst they did ; 
 So I bequeath a happy peace to you 
 And all good men, as every prince should do ; 
 My riches to the earth from whence they 
 
 came ; 
 But my unspotted fire of love to you. 
 
 [To the Daughter of ANTIOCHUS. 
 Thus ready for the way of life or death, 
 I wait the sharpest blow, Antiochus. 
 
 Ant. Scorning advice, read the conclusion, 
 
 then: 
 
 Which read and not expounded, 'tis decreed, 
 As these before thee, thou thyself shalt bleed. 
 
 Daugh. In all save that, mayst thou prove 
 
 prosperous ! 
 In all save that, I wish thee happiness ! 
 
 Per. Like a bold champion I assume the lists, 
 Nor ask advice of any other thought 
 But faithfulness and courage. 
 
 [Reads the Kiddle. 
 
 I am no viper, yet I feed 
 On mother s flesh which did me breed. 
 I sought a husband, in which labour 
 I found that kindness in a father. 
 He 's father, son, and husband mild ; 
 I mother, wife, and yet his child. 
 How they may be, and yet in two, 
 As you will live, resolve it you. 
 
 Sharp physic is the last : but, O you powers 
 That give heaven countless eyes to view men's 
 
 acts, 
 
 Why cloud they not their sights perpetually, 
 If this be true, which makes me pale to read 
 
 it? 
 
 Fair glass of light, I lov'd you, and could still, 
 [Takes hold of the hand of the Princess. 
 Were not this glorious casket stor'd with ill : 
 But I must tell you, now my thoughts revolt : 
 For he 's no man on whom perfections wait 
 That, knowing sin within, will touch the gate. 
 You're a fair viol, and your sense the strings; 
 Who, finger'd to make man his lawful music, 
 Would draw heaven dov/n, and all the gods to 
 
 hearken ; 
 
 But, being play'd upon before your time, 
 Hell only danceth at so harsh a chime. 
 Good sooth, I care not for you. 
 
 Ant. Prince Pericles, touch not, upon thy life, 
 For that 's an article within our law 
 As dangerous as the rest. Your time 's expir'd : 
 Either expound now, or receive your sentence. 
 
 Per. Great king, 
 
 Few love to hear the sins they love to act ; 
 'Twould 'braid yourself too near for me to tell it. 
 Who has a book of all that monarchs do, 
 He 's more secure to keep it shut than shown : 
 For vice repeated is like the wandering wind, 
 Blows dust in others' eyes, to spread itself; 
 And yet the end of all is bought thus dear, 
 The breath is gone, and the sore eyes see clear: 
 To stop the air would hurt them. The blind 
 
 mole casts [throng'd 
 
 Copp'd hills towards heaven, to tell the earth is 
 By man's oppression ; and the poor worm doth 
 
 die for 't. [their will ; 
 
 Kings are earth's gods : in vice their law 's 
 And if Jove stray, who dares say Jove doth ill? 
 It is enough you know ; and it is fit, 
 What being more known grows worse, to 
 
 smother it. 
 
 All love the womb that their first being bred. 
 Then give my tongue like leave to love my head. 
 Ant. [Aside.} Heaven, that I had thy head ! 
 
 he has found the meaning: [Tyre, 
 But I will gloze with him. Young Prince of 
 Though by the tenor of our strict edict, 
 Your exposition misinterpreting, 
 We might proceed to cancel of your days; 
 
IOOO 
 
 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 Yet hope, succeeding from so fair a tree 
 As your fair self, doth tune us otherwise : 
 Forty days longer we do respite you ; 
 If by which time our secret be undone, 
 This mercy shows we '11 joy in such a son : 
 And until then your entertain shall be 
 As doth befit our honour and your worth. 
 [Exeunt ANT. , his Daughter, and Attendants. 
 Per. How courtesy would seem to cover sin, 
 When what is done is like an hypocrite, 
 The which is good in nothing but in sight ! 
 If it be true that I interpret false, 
 Then were it certain you were not so bad 
 As with foul incest to abuse your soul ; 
 Where now you 're both a father and a son, 
 By your untimely claspings with your child, 
 Which pleasure fits an husband, not a father ; 
 And she an eater of her mother's flesh, 
 By the defiling of her parent's bed ; [feed 
 
 And both like serpents are, who, though they 
 On sweetest flowers, yet they poison breed. 
 Antioch, farewell ! for wisdom sees, those men 
 Blush not in actions blacker than the night 
 Will shun no course to keep them from the light. 
 One sin I know another doth provoke ; 
 Murder 's as near to lust as flame to smoke : 
 Poison and treason are the hands of sin, 
 Ay, and the targets to put off the shame : 
 Then, lest my life be cropp'd to keep you clear, 
 By flight I '11 shun the danger which I fear. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Re-enter ANTIOCHUS. 
 
 Ant. He hath found the meaning, for the 
 
 which we mean 
 To have his head. 
 
 He must not live to trumpet forth my infamy, 
 Nor tell the world Antiochus doth sin 
 In such a loathed manner ; 
 And therefore instantly this prince must die; 
 For by his fall my honour must keep high. 
 Who attends us there? 
 
 Enter THALIARD. 
 
 Thai. ' Doth your highness call ? 
 
 Ant. Thaliard, you 're of our chamber, and 
 
 our mind 
 
 Partakes her private actions to your secrecy : 
 And for your faithfulness we will advance you. 
 Thaliard, behold here 's poison and here 's gold ; 
 We hate the Prince of Tyre, and thou must kill 
 
 him : 
 
 It fits thee not to ask the reason why, 
 Because we bid it. Say, is it done ? 
 
 Thai. My lord, 
 
 'Tis done. 
 
 Ant. Enough. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Let your breath cool yourself, telling your haste. 
 Mess. My lord, Prince Pericles is fled. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Ant. As thou 
 
 Wilt live, fly after : and as an arrow shot 
 From a well-experienc'd archer hits the mark 
 His eye doth level at, so thou ne'er return 
 Unless thou say Prince Pericles is dead. 
 
 Thai. My lord, 
 
 If I can get him once within my pistol's length 
 I '11 make him sure enough : so, farewell to your 
 
 highness. 
 Ant. Thaliard, adieu! [Exit THAL.] Till 
 
 Pericles be dead 
 My heart can lend no succour to my head. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. TYRE. A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter PERICLES. 
 
 Per. [ To thosewithout. ] Let none disturb us. 
 
 Why should this change of thoughts, 
 The sad companion, dull-ey'd melancholy, 
 Be my so us'd a guest as not an hour 
 In the day's glorious walk, or peaceful night, 
 The tomb where grief should sleep, can breed 
 
 me quiet ? 
 Here pleasures court mine eyes, and mine eyes 
 
 shun them, 
 
 And danger, which I fear'd, is at Antioch, 
 Whose aim seems far too short to hit me here : 
 Yet neither pleasure's art can joy my spirits, 
 Nor yet the other's distance comfort me. 
 Then it is thus : the passions of the mind, 
 That have their first conception by mis-dread s 
 Have after-nourishment and life by care ; 
 And what was first but fear what might be done, 
 Grows elder now, and cares it be not done. 
 And so with me : the great Antiochus, 
 'Gainst whom I am too little to contend, 
 Since he 's so great, can make his will his act, 
 Will think me speaking, though I swear to 
 
 silence ; 
 
 Nor boots it me to say I honour him, 
 If he suspect I may dishonour him : 
 And what may make him blush in being known, 
 He'll stop the course by which it might be 
 
 known ; 
 
 With hostile forces he '11 o'erspread the land, 
 And with the ostent of war will look so huge, 
 Amazement shall drive courage from the state ; 
 Our men be vanquish'd ere they do resist, 
 And subjects punish'd that ne'er thought offence .- 
 Which care of them, not pity of myself, 
 Who once no more but as the tops of trees. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 1001 
 
 Which fence the roots they grow by, and 
 
 defend them, 
 
 Makes both my body pine and soul to languish, 
 And punish that before that he would punish. 
 
 Enter HELICANUS and other Lords. 
 
 1 Lord. Joy and all comfort in your sacred 
 
 breast ! [to us, 
 
 2 Lord. And keep your mind till you return 
 Peaceful and comfortable ! 
 
 Hel. Peace, peace, my lords, and give ex- 
 perience tongue. 
 
 They do abuse the king that flatter him : 
 For flattery is the bellows blows up sin ; 
 The thing the which is flatter'd, but a spark, 
 To which that blast gives heat and stronger 
 
 Whereas reproof, obedient, and in order, 
 Fits kings, as they are men, for they may err. 
 When Signior Sooth here does proclaim a peace 
 He flatters you, makes war upon your life. 
 Prince, pardon me, or strike me if you please ; 
 I cannot be much lower than my knees. 
 
 Per. All leave us else ; but let your cares 
 
 o'erlook 
 
 What shipping and what lading 's in our haven, 
 And then return to us. [Exeunt Lords.] Heli- 
 
 canus, thou 
 Hast moved us : what seest thou in our looks ? 
 
 Hel. An angry brow, dread lord. 
 
 Per. If there be such a dart in princes' frowns, 
 How durst thy tongue move anger to our face ? 
 
 Hel. How dare the plants look up to heaven, 
 
 from whence 
 They have their nourishment ? 
 
 Per. Thou know'st I have power 
 
 To take thy life from thee. [self ; 
 
 Hel. [Kneeling. ] I have ground the axe my- 
 Do you but strike the blow. 
 
 Per. Rise, pr'ythee, rise. 
 
 Sit down, sit down: thou art no flatterer : 
 I thank thee for it ; and heaven forbid 
 That kings should let their ears hear their 
 
 faults chid ! 
 
 Fit counsellor and servant for a prince, 
 Who by thy wisdom mak'st a prince thy servant, 
 What wouldst thou have me do ? 
 
 Hel. To bear with patience 
 
 Such griefs as you yourself do layupon yourself. 
 
 Per. Thou speak'st like a physician, Heli- 
 
 canus, 
 
 That minister's! a potion unto me 
 That thou wouldst tremble to receive thyself. 
 Attend me, then : I went to Antioch, 
 Where, as thou know'st, against the face of 
 
 death, 
 I sought the purchase of a glorious beauty, 
 
 From whence an issue I might propagate, 
 Are arms to princes, and bring joys to subjects. 
 Her face was to mine eye beyond all wonder ; 
 The rest, hark in thine ear, as black as 
 
 incest : 
 
 Which by my knowledge found, the sinful father 
 Seem'd not to strike, but smooth : but thou 
 
 know'st this, 
 
 'Tis time to fear when tyrants seem to kiss. 
 Which fear so grew in me, I hither fled, 
 Under the covering of a careful night, 
 Who seem'd my good protector ; and, being here, 
 Bethought me what was past, what might 
 
 succeed. 
 
 I knew him tyrannous ; and tyrants' fears 
 Decrease not, but grow faster than their years : 
 And should he doubt it, as no doubt he doth, 
 That I should open to the listening air 
 How many worthy princes' bloods were shed 
 To keep his bed of blackness unlaid ope, 
 To lop that doubt, he '11 fill this land with arms, 
 And make pretence of wrong that I have done 
 
 him ; 
 
 When all, for mine, if I may call offence, 
 Must feel war's blow, who spares not innocence : 
 Which love to all, of which thyself art one, 
 Who now reprov'st me for it, 
 
 Hel. Alas, sir ! 
 
 Per. Drew sleep out of mine eyes, blood from 
 
 my cheeks, 
 
 Musings into my mind, with thousand doubts 
 How I might stop this tempest ere it came ; 
 And, finding little comfort to relieve them, 
 I thought it princely charity to grieve them. 
 Hel. Well, my lord, since you have given me 
 
 leave to speak, 
 
 Freely will I speak. Antiochus you fear, 
 And justly too, I think, you fear the tyrant, 
 Who either by public war or private treason 
 Will take away your life. 
 Therefore, my lord, go travel for awhile, 
 Till that his rage and anger be forgot, 
 Or till the Destinies do cut his thread of life, 
 Your rule direct to any ; if to me, 
 Day serves not light more faithful than I '11 be. 
 
 Per. I do not doubt thy faith ; 
 But should he wrong my liberties in my absence? 
 Hel. We '11 mingle our bloods together in the 
 
 earth, 
 
 From whence we had our being and our birth. 
 Per. Tyre, I now look from thee, then, and 
 
 to Tharsus 
 
 Intend my travel, where I'll hear from thee ; 
 And by whose letters I '11 dispose myself. 
 The care I had and have of subjects' good 
 On thee I lay, whose wisdom's strength can 
 
 bear it. 
 
1002 
 
 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 I'll take thy word for faith, not ask thine oath : 
 Who shuns not to break one will sure crack 
 
 both: 
 
 But in our orbs we '11 live so round and safe, 
 That time of both this truth shall ne'er convince, 
 Thou show'dst a subject's shine, I a true prince. 
 
 [Exetint. 
 
 SCENE III. TYRE. An Ante-chamber in the 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter THALIARD. 
 
 Thai. So, this is Tyre, and this the court. 
 Here must I kill King Pericles ; and if I do it 
 not, I am sure to be hanged at home : 'tis 
 dangerous. Well, I perceive he was a wise 
 fellow, and had good discretion, that, being 
 bid to ask what he would of the king, desired 
 he might know none of his secrets. Now do I 
 see he had some reason for 't : for if a king bid 
 a man be a villain, he is bound by the indenture 
 of his oath to be one. Hush ! here come the 
 lords of Tyre. 
 
 , ESCANES, and other Lords. 
 
 HeL You shall not need, my fellow peers of 
 
 Tyre, 
 
 Further to question me of your king's departure : 
 His seal'd commission, left in trust with me, 
 Doth speak sufficiently he 's gone to travel. 
 
 Thai. [Aside.'} How ! the king gone ! 
 
 HeL If further yet you will be satisfied, 
 Why, as it were unlicens'd of your loves, 
 He would depart, I '11 give some light unto you. 
 Being at Antioch, 
 
 Thai. [Aside.] What from Antioch? 
 
 Hel. Royal Antiochus, on what cause I 
 know not, [so : 
 
 Took some displeasure at him ; at leasthe judg'd 
 And doubting lest that he had err'd or sinn'd, 
 To show his sorrow, he 'd correct himself ; 
 So puts himself unto the shipman's toil, 
 With whom each minute threatens life or death. 
 
 Thai. [Aside.'} Well, I perceive 
 I shall not be hang'd now although I would ; 
 But since he 's gone, the king's ears it must please 
 He 'scap'd the land to perish on the seas. 
 I '11 present myself. Peace to the lords of Tyre ! 
 
 Hel. Lord Thaliard from Antiochus is wel- 
 come. 
 
 Thai. From him I come 
 With message unto princely Pericles ; 
 But since my landing I have understood 
 Your lord has betook himself to unknown 
 
 travels, 
 My message must return from whence it came. 
 
 Hel. We have no reason to desire it, 
 
 Commended to our master, not to us : 
 Yet, ere you shall depart, this we desire, 
 As friends to Antioch, we may feast in Tyre. 
 
 \Exettnt. 
 
 SCENE IV. THARSUS. A Room in the 
 Governor's House. 
 
 Enter CLEON, DIONYZA, and Attendants. 
 
 Cle. My Dionyza, shall we rest us here, 
 And by relating tales of others' griefs 
 See if 'twill teach us to forget our own ? 
 
 Dio. That were to blow at fire in hope to 
 
 quench it ; 
 
 For who digs hills because they do aspire 
 Throws down one mountain to cast up a higher. 
 
 my distressed lord, even such our griefs are; 
 Here they 're but felt, and seen with mischiefs 
 
 eyes, 
 But like to groves, being topp'd, they higher rise. 
 
 Cle. O Dionyza, 
 
 Who wanteth food, and will not say he wants it, 
 Or can conceal his hunger till he famish ? 
 Our tongues and sorrows do sound deep 
 Our woes into the air ; our eyes do weep, 
 Till tongues fetch breath that may proclaim 
 
 them louder ; [want, 
 
 That, if heaven slumber while their creatures 
 They may awake their helps to comfort them. 
 
 1 '11 then discourse our woes, felt several years, 
 And, wanting breath to speak, help me with 
 
 tears. 
 
 Dio. I '11 do my best, sir. 
 Cle. This Tharsus, o'er which I have the 
 
 government, 
 
 A city on whom plenty held full hand, 
 For riches strew'd herself even in the streets ; 
 Whose towers bore heads so high they kiss'd 
 
 the clouds, 
 
 And strangers ne'er beheld but wonder'd at ; 
 Whose men and dames so jetted and adorn'd, 
 Like one another's glass to trim them by : 
 Their tables were stor'd full, to glad the sight, 
 And not so much to feed on as delight ; 
 All poverty was scorn 'd, and pride so great, 
 The name of help grew odious to repeat. 
 Dio. O 'tis too true. 
 Cle. But see what heaven can do ! By this 
 
 our change, [air 
 
 These mouths, whom but of late earth, sea, and 
 Were all too little to content and please, 
 Although they gave their creatures in abundance, 
 As houses are defil'd for want of use, 
 They are now starv'd for want of exercise : 
 Those palates who, not us'd to savour hunger, 
 Must have inventions to delight the taste, 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 1003 
 
 Would now be glad of bread, and beg for it : 
 Those mothers who, to nousle up their babes, 
 Thought naught too curious, are ready now 
 To eat those little darlings whom they lov'd. 
 So sharp are hunger's teeth, that man and wife 
 Draw lots who first shall die to lengthen life : 
 Here stands a lord and there a lady weeping ; 
 Here many sink, yet those which see them fall 
 Have scarce strength left to give them burial. 
 Is not this true ? [it. 
 
 Dio. Our cheeks and hollow eyes do witness 
 Cle. O, let those cities that of Plenty's cup 
 And her prosperities so largely taste, 
 With their superfluous riots, hear these tears ! 
 The misery of Tharsus may be theirs. 
 
 Enter a Lord. 
 
 Lord. Where 's the lord governor ? 
 
 Cle. Here. [haste, 
 
 Speak out thy sorrows which thou bring'st in 
 For comfort is too far for us to expect. 
 
 Lord. We have descried, upon our neigh- 
 bouring shore, 
 A portly sail of ships make hitherward. 
 
 Cle. I thought as much. 
 One sorrow never comes but brings an heir 
 That may succeed as his inheritor ; 
 And so in ours : some neighbouring nation, 
 Taking advantage of our misery, [power, 
 
 Hath stufFd these hollow vessels with their 
 To beat us down, the which are down already ; 
 And make a conquest of unhappy we, 
 Whereas no glory 's got to overcome. 
 
 Lord. That 's the least fear ; for by the sem- 
 blance [peace, 
 Of their white flags display'd, they bring us 
 And come to us as favourers, not as foes. 
 
 Cle. Thou speak'st like him's untutor'd to 
 
 repeat : 
 
 Who makes the fairest show means most deceit. 
 But bring they what they will, and what they 
 
 can, 
 
 What need we fear ? [there. 
 
 The ground 's the lowest, and we are half way 
 Go tell their general we attend him here, 
 To know for what he comes, and whence he 
 
 comes, 
 And what he craves. 
 
 Lord. I go, my lord. [Exit. 
 
 Cle. Welcome is peace, if he on peace consist ; 
 If wars, we are unable to resist. 
 
 Enter PERICLES, with Attendants. 
 
 Per. Lord governor, for so we hear you are, 
 Let not our ships and number of our men 
 Be, like a beacon fir'd, to amaze your eyes. 
 We have heard your miseries as far as Tyre, 
 
 And seen the desolation of your streets : 
 Nor come we to add sorrow to your tears, 
 But to relieve them of their heavy load ; 
 And these our ships, you happily may think 
 Are like the Trojan horse war-stuff'd within 
 With bloody veins, expecting overthrow, 
 Are stor'd with corn to make your needy bread, 
 And give them life whom hunger starv'd half 
 dead. 
 
 All. The gods of Greece protect you ! 
 And we '11 pray for you. 
 
 Per. Rise, I pray you, rise : 
 
 We do not look for reverence, but for love, 
 And harbourage for ourself, our ships, and men. 
 
 Cle. The which when any shall not gratify, 
 Or pay you with unthankfulness in thought, 
 Be it our wives, our children, or ourselves, 
 The curse of heaven and men succeed their 
 evils ! [seen, 
 
 Till when, the which I hope shall ne'er be 
 Your grace is welcome to our town and us. 
 
 Per. Which welcome we '11 accept ; feast here 
 
 a while, 
 Until our stars that frown lend us a smile. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 Enter GOWER. 
 
 Gow. Here have you seen a mighty king 
 His child, I wis, to incest bring ; 
 A better prince, and benign lord, 
 That will prove awful both in deed and word. 
 Be quiet, then, as men should be, 
 Till he hath pass'd necessity. 
 I '11 show you those in troubles reign, 
 Losing a mite, a mountain gain. 
 The good in conversation, 
 To whom I give my benison, 
 Is still at Tharsus, where each man 
 Thinks all is writ he spoken can ; 
 And, to remember what he does, 
 Gild his statue to make him glorious : 
 But tidings to the contrary 
 Are brought your eyes : what need speak I ? 
 
 Dumb show. 
 
 Enter, at one side, PERICLES, talking with 
 CLEON ; their Trains with them. Enter, 
 at the other, a Gentleman with a letter to 
 PERICLES, who shows it to CLEON, then 
 gives the Messenger a reward, and knirhts 
 him. Exeunt PERICLES and CLEON -with 
 their Trains, severally. 
 
 Good Helicane hath stay'd at home, 
 Not to eat honey like a drone 
 
1004 
 
 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 From others' labours ; for though he strive 
 
 To killen bad, keep good alive ; 
 
 And, to fulfil his prince' desire, 
 
 Sends word of all that haps in Tyre : 
 
 How Thaliard came full bent with sin 
 
 And hid intent to murder him ; 
 
 And that in Tharsus was not best 
 
 Longer for him to make his rest. 
 
 He, knowing so, put forth to seas, 
 
 Where when men been, there 's seldom ease ; 
 
 For now the wind begins to blow ; 
 
 Thunder above and deeps below 
 
 Make such unquiet that the ship 
 
 Should house him safe is wreck'd and split ; 
 
 And he, good prince, having all lost, 
 
 By waves from coast to coast is toss'd ; 
 
 All perishen of man, of pelf, 
 
 Ne aught escapen but himself ; 
 
 Till fortune, tir'd with doing bad, 
 
 Threw him ashore, to give him glad : 
 
 And here he comes. What shall be next, 
 
 Pardon old Gower, this longs the text. 
 
 SCENE I. PENTAPOLIS. An open Place by 
 the Sea-side. 
 
 Enter PERICLES, -wet. 
 
 Per. Yet cease your ire, you angry stars of 
 heaven ! [man 
 
 Wind, rain, and thunder, remember, earthly 
 Is but a substance that must yield to you ; 
 And I, as fits my nature, do obey you : 
 Alas, the sea hath cast me on the rocks, 
 Wash'd me from shore to shore, and left me 
 
 breath 
 
 Nothing to think on but ensuing death : 
 Let it suffice the greatness of your powers 
 To have bereft a prince of all his fortunes ; 
 And having thrown him from your watery grave, 
 Here to have death in peace is all he '11 crave. 
 
 Enter three Fishermen. 
 
 1 Fish. What, ho, Pilch ! 
 
 2 Fish. Ho, come and bring away the nets ! 
 i Fish. What, Patchbreech, I say ! 
 
 3 Fish. What say you, master ? 
 
 i Fish. Look how thou stirrest now ! come 
 away, or I '11 fetch thee with a wanion. 
 
 3 Fish. Faith, master, I am thinking of the 
 poor men that were cast away before us even 
 now. 
 
 I Fish. Alas, poor souls, it grieved my heart 
 to hear what pitiful cries they made to us to 
 help them, when, well-a-day, we could scarce 
 help ourselves. 
 
 3 Fish. Nay, master, said not I as much 
 
 when I saw the porpus how he bounced and 
 tumbled ? they say they 're half fish half flesh : 
 a plague on them, they ne'er come but I look 
 to be washed. Master, I marvel how the fishes 
 live in the sea. 
 
 1 Fish. Why, as men do a-land, the great 
 ones eat up the little ones : I can compare our 
 rich misers to nothing so fitly as to a whale ; 
 'a plays and tumbles, driving the poor fry before 
 him, and at last devours them all at a mouth- 
 ful : such whales have I heard on the land, 
 who never leave gaping till they 've swallow'd 
 the whole parish, church, steeple, bells, and 
 all. 
 
 Per. [Aside.] A pretty moral. 
 3 Fish. But, master, if I had been the sex- 
 ton, I would have been that day in the belfry. 
 
 2 Fish. Why, man? 
 
 3 Fish. Because he should have swallowed 
 me too : and when I had been in his belly I 
 would have kept such a jangling of the bells 
 that he should never have left till he cast bells, 
 steeple, church, and parish up again. But ?f 
 the good King Simonides were of my mind, 
 
 Per. [Aside.] Simonides ! 
 
 3 Fish. He would purge the land of these 
 drones that rob the bee of her honey. 
 
 Per. [Aside.] How from the finny subject of 
 
 the sea 
 
 These fishers tell the infirmities of men ; 
 And from their watery empire recollect 
 All that may men approve or men detect ! 
 Peace be at your labour, honest fishermen. 
 
 2 Fish. Honest ! good fellow, what 's that ? 
 if it be not a day fits you, scratch it out of the 
 calendar, and nobody will look after it. 
 
 Per. Nay, see the sea hath cast upon your 
 coast, 
 
 2 Fish. What a drunken knave was the sea 
 to cast thee in our way. [wind 
 
 Per. A man, whom both the waters and the 
 In that vast tennis-court hath made the ball 
 For them to play upon, entreats you pity him ; 
 He asks of you that never used to beg. 
 
 1 Fish. No, friend, cannot you beg? here's 
 them in our country of Greece gets more with 
 begging than we can do with working. 
 
 2 Fish. Canst thou catch any fishes, then ? 
 Per. I never practised it. 
 
 2 Fish. Nay, then thou wilt starve, sure ; 
 for here 's nothing to be got now-a-days unless 
 thou canst fish for't. 
 
 Per. What I have been I have forgot to know; 
 But what I am want teaches me to think on : 
 A man throng'd up with cold ; my veins are 
 
 chill, 
 And have no more life than may suffice 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 1005 
 
 To give my tongue that heat to ask your help ; 
 Which if you shall refuse, when I am dead, 
 For that I am a man, pray see me buried. 
 
 1 Fish. Diequoth-a? Now gods forbid ! I 
 have a gown here ; come, put it on ; keep thee 
 warm. Now, afore me, a handsome fellow ! 
 Come, thou shalt go home, and we '11 have 
 flesh for holidays, fish for fasting-days, and 
 moreo'er puddings and flapjacks ; and thou 
 shalt be welcome. 
 
 Per. I thank you, sir. 
 
 2 Fish. Hark you, my friend, you said you 
 could not beg. 
 
 Per. I did but crave. 
 
 2 Fish. But crave! Then 111 turn craver 
 too, and so I shall scape whipping. 
 
 Per. Why, are all your beggars whipped, 
 then? 
 
 2 Fish. O, not all, my friend, not all ; for if 
 all your beggars were whipped, I would wish 
 no better office than to be beadle. But, master, 
 I '11 go draw up the net. 
 
 [Exeunt -with Third Fisherman. 
 
 Per. [Aside.} How well this honest mirth 
 becomes their labour ! 
 
 I Fish. Hark you, sir, do you know where 
 ye are ? 
 
 Per. Not well. 
 
 i Fish. Why, I '11 tell you : this is called 
 Pentapolis, and our king the good Simonides. 
 
 Per. The good King Simonides, do you call 
 him ? 
 
 I Fish. Ay, sir ; and he deserves so to be 
 called for his peaceable reign and good govern- 
 ment. 
 
 _ Per. He is a happy king, since he gains from 
 his subjects the name of good by his govern- 
 ment. How far is his court distant from this 
 shore ? 
 
 i Fish. Marry, sir, half a day's journey : and 
 I '11 tell you, he hath a fair daughter, and to- 
 morrow is her birthday ; and there are princes 
 and knights come from all parts of the world 
 to joust and tourney for her love. 
 
 Per. Were but my fortunes equal my desires 
 I could wish to make one there. 
 
 1 Fish. O, sir, things must be as they may ; 
 and what a man cannot get he may lawfully 
 deal for his wife 's soul. 
 
 Re-enter Second and Third Fishermen, draw- 
 ing up a net. 
 
 2 Fish. Help, master, help ! here 's a fish 
 hangs in the net like a poor man's right in the 
 law ; 'twill hardly come out. Ha ! bots on 't, 
 'tis come at last, and 'tis turned to a rusty 
 armour. 
 
 Per. An armour, friends ! I pray you, let me 
 
 see it. 
 
 Thanks, fortune, yet, that after all my crosses 
 Thou giv'st me somewhat to repair myself; 
 And though it was mine own, part of my heri- 
 tage, 
 
 Which my dead father did bequeath to me, 
 With this strict charge, even as he left his 
 
 life, 
 
 Keep it, my Pericles ; it hath been a shield 
 'Twixt me and death; and pointed to this 
 
 brace : 
 
 For that it sav'd me, keep it; in like necessity , 
 The which gods protect thee from ! may defend 
 
 thee. 
 
 It kept where I kept, I so dearly lov'd it : 
 Till the rough seas, that spare not any man, 
 Took it in rage, though calm'd have given 't 
 
 again : 
 I thank thee for 't : my shipwreck now 's no 
 
 ill; 
 
 Since I have here my father's gift in 's will. 
 I Fish. What mean you, sir? 
 Per. To beg of you, kind friends, this coat 
 
 of worth, 
 
 For it was sometime target to a king ; 
 I know it by this mark. He lov'd me dearly, 
 And for his sake I wish the having of it ; 
 And that you'd guide me to your sovereign's 
 
 court, 
 
 Where with it I may appear a gentleman ; 
 And if that ever my low fortunes better, 
 I '11 pay your bounties; till then rest your debtor. 
 I Fish. Why, wilt thou tourney for the lady? 
 Per. I'll show the virtue I have borne in arms. 
 
 1 Fish. Why, do you take it, and the gods 
 give thee good on 't ! 
 
 2 Fish. Ay, but hark you, my friend ; 'twas 
 we that made up this garment through the 
 rough seams of the waters: there are certain 
 condolements, certain vails. I hope, sir, if you 
 thrive, you'll remember from whence you had 
 it. 
 
 Per. Believe 't, I will. 
 By your furtherance I am cloth'd in steel; 
 And spite of all the rupture of the sea 
 This jewel holds his building on my arm: 
 Unto thy value I will mount myself 
 Upon a courser, whose delightful steps 
 Shall make the gazer joy to see him tread. 
 Only, my friends, I yet am unprovided 
 Of a pair of bases. 
 
 2 Fish. We '11 sure provide : thou shalt have 
 my best gown to make thee a pair; and I'll 
 bring thee to the court myself. 
 
 Per. Then honour be but a goal to my will; 
 This day I '11 rise, or else add ill to ill. [Exeunt. 
 
ioo6 
 
 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 SCENE II. PENTAPOLIS. A public Way or 
 Platform leading to the Lists. A Pavilion 
 by the side of it for the reception of the King, 
 Princess, Lords, &c. 
 
 Enter SIMONIDES, THAISA, Lords, and 
 Attendants. 
 
 Sim. Are the knights ready to begin the 
 
 triumph ? 
 
 I Lord. They are, my liege; 
 And stay your coming to present themselves. 
 Sim. Return them, we are ready; and our 
 
 daughter, 
 
 In honour of whose birth these triumphs are, 
 Sits here, like beauty's child, whom nature gat 
 For men to see, and seeing wonder at. 
 
 [Exit a Lord. 
 Thai. It pleaseth you, my royal father, to 
 
 express 
 
 My commendations great, whose merit 's less. 
 Sim. It's fit it should be so; for princes are 
 A model which heaven makes like to itself : 
 As jewels lose their glory if neglected, 
 So princes their renown if not respected. 
 'Tis now your labour, daughter, to explain 
 The honour of each knight in his device. 
 
 That. Which, to preserve mine honour, 
 I '11 perform. 
 
 Enter a Knight; he passes over, and his Squire 
 presents his shield to the Princess. 
 
 Sim. Who is the first that doth prefer himself? 
 7'Aai. A knight of Sparta, my renowned father; 
 And the device he bears upon his shield 
 Is a black ^Ethiop reaching at the sun ; 
 The word, 'Lux tua vita mihi. 
 
 Sim. He loves you well that holds his life of 
 you. \_The Second Knight passes. 
 
 Who is the second that presents himself? 
 
 Thai. A prince of Macedon, my royal father ; 
 And the device he bears upon his shield 
 Is an arm'd knight that 's conquer'd by a lady ; 
 The motto thus, in Spanish, Piu por dulzura 
 que porfuerza. 
 
 [The Third Knight passes. 
 Sim. And what's the third? 
 Thai. The third of Antioch ; 
 
 And his device a wreath of chivalry ; 
 The word, Me pompce provexit apex. 
 
 [The Fourth Knight passes. 
 Sim. What is the fourth? 
 Thai. A burning torch that 's turned upside 
 
 down ; 
 The word, Quod me atit, me extingiiit. 
 
 Sim. Which shows that beauty hath his 
 
 power and will, 
 Which can as well inflame as it can kill. 
 
 [The Fifth Knight passes. 
 
 ThaL The fifth, an hand environed with 
 
 clouds, [tried ; 
 
 Holding out gold that's by the touchstone 
 
 The motto thus, Sic spectanda fides. v > -ml i 
 
 [The Sixth Knight (PERICLES) passes. 
 Sim. And what's the sixth and last, the 
 
 which the knight himself 
 With such a graceful courtesy deliver'd ? 
 
 Thai. He seems to be a stranger; but his 
 
 present is 
 
 A wither'd branch, that's only green at top; 
 The motto, In hoc spe vivo. 
 
 Sim. A pretty moral ; 
 From the dejected state wherein he is, 
 He hopes by you his fortunes yet may flourish. 
 
 1 Lord. He had need mean better than his 
 
 outward show 
 
 Can any way speak in his just commend ; 
 For, by his rusty outside, he appears [lance. 
 To have practis'd more the whipstock than the 
 
 2 Lord. He well may be a stranger, for he 
 
 comes 
 To an honour'd triumph strangely furnislied. 
 
 3 Lord. And on set purpose let his armour 
 
 rust 
 Until this day, to scour it in the dust. 
 
 Sim. Opinion's but a fool, that makes us scan 
 The outward habit by the inward man. 
 But stay, the knights are coming: we will 
 
 withdraw 
 
 Into the gallery. [Exeunt. 
 
 [Great shouts within , all crying ' ' The 
 
 mean knight!" 
 
 girf, moii j^-.-'ib >:!jo.j sir: cl i& v/oH .jrarn 
 
 SCENE III. PENTAPOLIS. A Hall of State: 
 
 A Banquet prepared. 
 
 Enter SIMONIDES, THAISA, Lords, Knights, 
 and Attendants. 
 
 Sim. Knights, 
 
 To say you are welcome were superfluous. 
 To place upon the volume of your deeds, 
 As in a title-page, your worth in arms 
 Were more than you expect, or more than 's fit, 
 Since every worth in show commends itself. 
 Prepare for mirth, for mirth becomes a feast : 
 You are princes and my guests. 
 
 Thai. But you my knight and guest ; 
 
 To whom this wreath of victory I give, 
 And crown you king of this day's happiness. 
 
 Per. 'Tis more by fortune, lady, than by 
 merit. [yours ; 
 
 Sim. Call it by what you will, the day is 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 1007 
 
 And here I hope is none that envies it. 
 In framing an artist, art hath thus decreed, 
 To make some good, but others to exceed, 
 And you're her labour'd scholar. Come, 
 queen o' the feast, [place: 
 
 For, daughter, so you are, here take your 
 Marshal the rest, as they deserve their grace. 
 Knights. We are honour'd much by good 
 Simonides. [we love; 
 
 Sim. Your presence glads our days : honour 
 For who hates honour hates the gods above. 
 Marshal. Sir, yonder is your place. 
 Per. Some other is more fit. 
 
 i Knight. Contend not, sir; for we are 
 
 gentlemen 
 
 That neither in our hearts nor outward eyes 
 Envy the great, nor do the low despise. 
 Per. You are right courteous knights. 
 Sim. Sit, sir, sit. 
 
 _$&Per. By Jove, I wonder, that is king of 
 
 thoughts, 
 
 These cates resist me, she but thought upon. 
 K- Thai. By Juno, that is queen 
 Of marriage, all viands that I eat 
 Do seem unsavoury, wishing him my meat. 
 Sure he 's a gallant gentleman. 
 1^ Sim. He 's but a country gentleman ; 
 
 Has done no more than other knights have done; 
 Has broken a staff or so ; so let it pass. 
 n Thai. To me he seems like diamond to glass. 
 ^ Per. Yon king 's to me like to my father's 
 
 picture, 
 
 Which tells me in that glory once he was; 
 Had princes sit, like stars, about his throne, 
 And he the sun, for them to reverence; 
 None that beheld him but, like lesser lights, 
 Did vail their crowns to his supremacy : 
 Where now his son 's like a glowworm in the 
 
 night, 
 
 The which hath fire in darkness, none in light : 
 Whereby I see that Time 's the king of men, 
 For he 's their parent, and he is their grave, 
 And gives them what he will, not what they 
 
 crave. 
 
 Sim. What, are you merry, knights ? 
 I Knight. Who can be other in this royal 
 
 presence ? 
 Sim. Here, with a cup that 's stor'd unto the 
 
 brim, 
 
 As you do love, fill to your mistress' lips, 
 We drink this health to you. 
 
 Knights. We thank your grace. 
 
 Sim. Yet pause awhile : 
 
 Yon knight, methinks, doth sit too melancholy, 
 As if the entertainment in our court 
 Had not a show might countervail his worth. 
 Note it not you, Thaisa I 
 
 Thai. What is it 
 
 To me, my ther ? 
 
 Sim. O, attend, my daughter: 
 
 Princes, in this, should live like gods above, 
 Who freely give to every one that comes 
 To honour them : 
 
 And princes not doing so are like to gnats, 
 Which make a sound, but kill'd are wonder'd at. 
 Therefore to make his entrance more sweet, 
 Here, say we drink this standing-bowl of wine 
 to him. 
 
 Thai. Alas, my father, it befits not me 
 Unto a stranger knight to be so bold : 
 He may my proffer take for an offence, 
 Since men take women's gifts for impudence. 
 
 Sim. How! 
 Do as I bid you, or you '11 move me else. 
 
 That. [Aside.] Now, by the gods, he could 
 not please me better. 
 
 Sim. And furthermore tell him, we desire to 
 
 know of him 
 Of whence he is, his name and parentage. 
 
 Thai. The king my father, sir, has drunk 
 to you. 
 
 Per. I thank him. 
 
 Thai. Wishing it so much blood unto your 
 life. [him freely. 
 
 Per. I thank both him and you, and pledge 
 
 Thai. And further he desires to know of you 
 Of whence you are, your name and parentage. 
 
 Per. A gentleman of Tyre, my name, 
 
 Pericles ; 
 
 My education been in arts and arms ; 
 Who, looking for adventures in the world, 
 Was by the rough seas reft of ships and men, 
 And after shipwreck driven upon this shore. 
 
 Thai. He thanks your grace ; names himself 
 
 Pericles, 
 
 A gentleman of Tyre, 
 Who only by misfortune of the seas, 
 Bereft of ships and men, cast on this shore. 
 
 Sim. Now, by the gods, I pity his misfortune, 
 And will awake him from his melancholy. 
 Come, gentlemen, we sit too long on trifles, 
 And waste the time which looks for other revels. 
 Even in your armours, as you are address'd, 
 Will very well become a soldier's dance. 
 I will not have excuse, with saying this 
 Loud music is too harsh for ladies' heads, 
 Since they love men in arms as well as beds. 
 
 [ The Knights dance. 
 
 So, this was well ask'd , 'twas so well perform'd. 
 Come, sir ; 
 
 Here is a lady that wants breathing too : 
 And I have often heard you knights of Tyre 
 Are excellent in making ladies trip ; 
 And that their measures are as excellent. 
 
 r measures are as exceen 
 
 s re^tVkfc^ # w- 
 .^.J.i-,.^ * ftu* 
 
ioo8 
 
 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 Per. In those that practise them they are, 
 
 my lord. [denied 
 
 Sim. O, that's as much as you would be 
 
 Of your fair courtesy. {The Knights and 
 
 Ladies dance. ] Unclasp, unclasp : 
 Thanks, gentlemen, to all ; all have done well, 
 But you the best. [ To PERICLES. ] Pages and 
 lights, to conduct [Yours, sir, 
 
 These knights unto . their several lodgings ! 
 We have given order to be next our own. 
 Per. I am at your grace's pleasure. 
 Sim. Princes, it is too late to talk of love, 
 And that 's the mark I know you level at : 
 Therefore each one betake him to his rest ; 
 To-morrow all for speeding do their best. 
 
 \_Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. TYRE. A Room in the Governor's 
 House. 
 
 Enter HELICANUS and ESCANES. 
 
 Hel. No, Escanes, no ; know this of me, 
 Antiochus from incest liv'd not free: 
 For which, the most high gods not minding 
 longer [store, 
 
 To withhold the vengeance that they had in 
 Due to this heinous capital offence, 
 Even in the height and pride of all his glory, 
 When he was seated in a chariot [him, 
 
 Of an inestimable value, and his daughter with 
 A fire from heaven came, and shrivell'd up 
 Their bodies, even to loathing ; for they so stunk 
 That all those eyes ador'd them ere their fall 
 Scorn now their hand should give them burial. 
 
 Esca. 'Twas very strange. 
 
 Hel. And yet but justice ; for though 
 
 This king were great, his greatness was no guard 
 To bar heaven's shaft, but sin had his reward. 
 
 Esca. 'Tis very true. 
 
 Enter three Lords. 
 
 1 Lord. See, not a man in private conference 
 Or council has respect with him but he. 
 
 2 Lord. It shall no longer grieve without 
 
 reproof. [second it. 
 
 3 Lord. And curs'd be he that will not 
 i Lord. Follow me, then. Lord Helicane, 
 
 a word. [my lords. 
 
 Hel. With me ? and welcome : happy day, 
 I Lord. Know that our griefs are risen to 
 
 the top, 
 
 And now a.t length they overflow their banks. 
 Hel. Your griefs ! for what ? wrong not 
 your prince you love. [Helicane; 
 I Lord. Wrong Hot yourself, then, noble 
 But if the prince do live, let us salute him, 
 
 Or know what ground 's made happy by his 
 
 breath. 
 
 If in the world he live, we '11 seek him out ; 
 If in his grave he rest, we '11 find him there ; 
 And be resolv'd he lives to govern us, 
 Or dead, gives cause to mourn his funeral, 
 And leaves us to our free election. 
 
 2 Lord. Whose death 's indeed the strongest 
 
 in our censure : 
 
 And knowing this kingdom, if without a head, 
 Like goodly buildings left without a roof, 
 Will soon to ruins fall, your noble self, 
 That best know'st how to rule and how to reign, 
 We thus submit unto, our sovereign. 
 
 All. Live, noble Helicane ! [frages : 
 
 Hel. For honour's cause, forbear your suf- 
 If that you love Prince Pericles, forbear. 
 Take I your wish, I leap into the seas, 
 Where 's hourly trouble for a minute's ease. 
 A twelvemonth longer, let me entreat you 
 To forbear the absence of your king ; 
 If in which time expir'd, he not return, 
 I shall with aged patience bear your yoke. 
 But if I cannot win you to this love, 
 Go search like nobles, like noble subjects, 
 And in your search spend your adventurous 
 
 worth ; 
 
 Whom if you find, and win unto return, 
 You shall like diamonds sit about his crown. 
 
 I Lord. To wisdom he 's a fool that will not 
 
 yield ; 
 
 And since Lord Helicane enjoineth us, 
 We with our travels will endeavour it. 
 
 Hel. Then you love us, we you, and we J ll 
 
 clasp hands : 
 
 When peers thus knit, a kingdom ever stands. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. PENTAPOLIS. A Room in the 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter SIMONIDES, reading a letter ; the 
 Knights meet him. 
 
 1 Knight. Good-morrow to the good Simon- 
 
 ides, [you know, 
 
 Sim. Knights, from my daughter this I let 
 That for this twelvemonth she '11 not undertake 
 A married life. 
 
 Her reason to herself is only known, 
 Which yet from her by no means can I get. 
 
 2 Knight. May we not get access to her, my 
 
 lord ? [tied her 
 
 Sim. Faith, by no means ; she hath so strictly 
 To her chamber that it is impossible, [livery ; 
 One twelve moons more she'll wear Diana's 
 This by the eye of Cynthia hath she vow'd, 
 And on her virgin honour will not break it. 
 
SCENE V.] 
 
 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 1009 
 
 3 Knight. Loth to bid farewell, we take our 
 leaves. [Exeunt Knights. 
 
 Sim. So, [letter : 
 
 They are well despatch'd ; now to my daughter's 
 She tells me here she '11 wed the stranger knight, 
 Or never more to view nor day nor light. 
 'Tis well, mistress ; your choice agrees with 
 
 mine 
 
 I like that well : nay, how absolute she 's in 't, 
 Not minding whether I dislike or no ! 
 Well, I do commend her choice ; 
 And will no longer have it be delay'd. 
 Soft ! here he comes : I must dissemble it. 
 
 Enter PERICLES. 
 
 Per. All fortune to the good Simonides ! 
 
 Sim. To you as much, sir ! I am beholden 
 
 to you 
 
 For your sweet music this last night : I do 
 Protest my ears were never better fed 
 With such delightful pleasing harmony. 
 
 Per. It is your grace's pleasure to commend ; 
 Not my desert. 
 
 Sim. Sir, you are music's master. 
 
 Per. The worst of all her scholars, my good 
 lord. 
 
 Sim. Let me ask you one thing : 
 What do you think of my daughter, sir ? 
 
 Per. A most virtuous princess. 
 
 Sim. And she is fair too, is she not ? 
 
 Per. As a fair day in summer, wondrous 
 fair. [you ; 
 
 Sim. Sir, my daughter thinks very well of 
 Ay, so well that you must be her master, [it. 
 And she will be your scholar : therefore look to 
 
 Per. I am unworthy for her schoolmaster. 
 
 Sim. She thinks not so ; peruse this writing 
 else. 
 
 Per. [Aside.] What's here? 
 A letter, that she loves the knight of Tyre ! 
 'Tis the king's subtil ty to have my life. 
 O, seek not to entrap me, gracious lord, 
 A stranger and distressed gentleman, 
 That never aim'd so high to love your daughter, 
 But bent all offices to honour her. [thou art 
 
 Sim. Thou hast bewitch'd my daughter, and 
 A villain. 
 
 Per. By the gods, I have not : 
 Never did thought of mine levy offence ; 
 Nor never did my actions yet commence 
 A deed might gain her love or your displeasure. 
 
 Sim. Traitor, thou liest. 
 
 Per. Traitor I 
 
 Sim. Ay, traitor. 
 
 Per. Even in his throat, unless it be the 
 
 king, 
 That calls me traitor, I return the lie. 
 
 Sim. [Aside.] Now, by the gods, I do ap- 
 plaud his courage. 
 
 Per. My actions are as noble as my thoughts, 
 That never relish'd of a base descent. 
 I came unto your court for honour's cause, 
 And not to be a rebel to her state ; 
 And he that otherwise accounts of me, 
 This sword shall prove he 's honour's enemy. 
 
 Sim. No? 
 Here comes my daughter, she can witness it. 
 
 Enter THAISA. 
 
 Per. Then, as you are as virtuous as fair, 
 Resolve your angry father if my tongue 
 Did e'er solicit, or my hand subscribe 
 To any syllable that made love to you. 
 
 Thai. Why, sir, say if you had, [glad ? 
 
 Who takes offence at that would make me 
 
 Sim. Yea, mistress, are you so peremptory? 
 [Aside.] I am glad on't with all my heart. 
 I '11 tame you ; I '11 bring you in subjection. 
 Will you, not having my consent, 
 Bestow your love and your affections 
 Upon a stranger? [aside] who, for aught I 
 
 know, 
 
 May be, nor can I think the contrary, 
 As great in blood as I myself. 
 Therefore, hear you, mistress ; either frame 
 Your will to mine, and you, sir, hear you, 
 Either be rul'd by me, or I will make you 
 Man and wife. 
 
 Nay, come, your hands and lips must seal it 
 too : [stroy ; 
 
 And being join'd, I'll thus your hopes de- 
 And for further grief, God give you joy ! 
 What, are you both pleas'd ? 
 
 Thai. Yes, if you love me, sir 
 
 Per. Even as my life, or blood that fosters it. 
 
 Si m. What, are you both agreed ? 
 
 Both. Yes, if 't please your majesty. 
 
 Sim. It pleaseth me so well that I will see 
 
 you wed ; 
 
 And then, with what haste you can, get you to 
 bed. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Enter GOWER. 
 
 Gow. Now sleep yslaked hath the rout ; 
 No din but snores the house about, 
 Made louder by the o'er-fed breast 
 Of this most pompous marriage feast. 
 The cat, with eyne of burning coal, 
 Now couches fore the mouse's hole ; 
 And crickets sing at the oven's mouth, 
 Aye the blither for their drouth. 
 
IOIO 
 
 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 [ACT III. 
 
 Hymen hath brought the bride to bed, 
 Where, by the loss of maidenhead, 
 A babe is moulded. Be attent, 
 And time that is so briefly spent 
 With your fine fancies quaintly eche : 
 What 's dumb in show I '11 plain with speech. 
 
 Dumb Show. 
 
 Enter PERICLES #m/ SIMONIDES at one side, 
 with Attendants ; a Messenger meets them, 
 kneels, and gives PERICLES a letter: he shows 
 it to SIMONIDES ; the Lords kneel to PERI- 
 CLES. Then enter THAIS A, with child, and 
 LYCHORIDA. SIMONIDES shows his daugh- 
 ter the letter ; she rejoices: she and PERICLES 
 take leave of her father, and depart with 
 LYCHORIDA and their Attendants. Then 
 exeunt SIMONIDES, &c. 
 
 By many a dern and painful perch 
 Of Pericles the careful search, 
 By the four opposing coigns 
 Which the world together joins, 
 Is made with all due diligence 
 That horse and sail and high expense 
 Can stead the quest. At last from Tyre, 
 Fame answering the most strange inquire, 
 To the court of King Simonides 
 Are letters brought, the tenor these : 
 Antiochus and his daughter 's dead ; 
 The men of Tyrus on the head 
 Of Helicanus would set on 
 The crown of Tyre, but he will none : 
 The mutiny he there hastes t' oppress ; 
 Says to 'em, if King Pericles 
 Come not home in twice six moons, 
 He, obedient to their dooms, 
 Will take the crown. The sum of this, 
 Brought hither to Pentapolis, 
 Y-ravished the regions round, 
 And every one with claps can sound, 
 Our heir-apparent is a king! 
 Who dreanfd, who thought of such a thing? 
 Brief, he must hence depart to Tyre : 
 His queen with child makes her desire, 
 Which who shall cross ? along to go : 
 Omit we all their dole and woe : 
 Lychorida, her nurse, she takes, 
 And so to sea. Their vessel shakes 
 On Neptune's billow ; half the flood 
 Hath their keel cut : but fortune's mood 
 Varies again ; the grizzly north 
 Disgorges such a tempest forth 
 That, as a duck for life that dives, 
 So up and down the poor ship drives : 
 The lady shrieks, and, well-a-near, 
 Does fall in travail with her fear : 
 
 And what ensues in this fell storm 
 Shall for itself itself perform. 
 I nill relate, action may 
 Conveniently the rest convey ; 
 Which might not what by me is told. 
 In your imagination hold 
 This stage the ship, upon whose deck 
 The sea-toss'd Pericles appears to speak. 
 
 \Exit. 
 
 SCENE I. Enter PERICLES, on a ship at sea. 
 
 Per. Thou god of this great vast, rebuke 
 these surges, [that hast 
 
 Which wash both heaven and hell ; and thou 
 Upon the winds command, bind them in brass, 
 Having call'd them from the deep ! O, still 
 Thy deafening, dreadful thunders ; gently quench 
 Thy nimble, sulphurous flashes ! O, how, 
 Lychorida, [ously ; 
 
 How does my queen ? Thou stormest venom- 
 Wilt thou spit all thyself? The seaman's 
 
 whistle 
 
 Is as a whisper in the ears of death, 
 Unheard. Lychorida! Lucina, O 
 Divinest patroness, and midwife gentle 
 To those that cry by night, convey thy deity 
 Aboard our dancing boat ; make swift the pangs 
 Of my queen's travail ! 
 
 Enter LYCHORIDA, with an Infant. 
 
 Now, Lychorida ! 
 
 Lye. Here is a thing too young for such a 
 
 place, 
 
 Who, if it had conceit, would die, as I 
 Am like to do : take in your arms this piece 
 Of your dead queen. 
 
 Per. How, how, Lychorida ! 
 
 Lye. Patience, good sir ; do not assist the 
 
 storm. 
 
 Here 's all that is left living of your queen, 
 A little daughter : for the sake of it, 
 Be manly, and take comfort. 
 
 Per. O you gods ! 
 
 Why do you make us love your goodly gifts, 
 And snatch them straight away? We here 
 
 below 
 
 Recall not what we give, and therein may 
 Vie in honour with you. 
 
 Lye. Patience, good sir, 
 
 Even for this charge. 
 
 Per. Now, mild may be thy life ! 
 
 For a more blusterous birth had never babe : 
 Quiet and gentle thy conditions ! for 
 Thou art the rudeliest welcom'd to this world 
 That ever was prince's child. Happy what 
 
 follows ! 
 Thou hast as chiding a nativity 
 
SCENE I." 
 
 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 10 1 I 
 
 As fire, air, water, earth, and heaven can make, 
 To herald thee from the womb : even at the first 
 Thy loss is more than can thy portage quit, 
 With all thou cansL find here. Now, the good 
 
 gods 
 Throw their best eyes upon 't ! 
 
 Enter tivo Sailors. 
 
 I Sail. What courage, sir ? God save you ! 
 
 Per. Courage enough : I do not fear the flaw; 
 It hath done to me the worst. Yet, for the love 
 Of this poor infant, this fresh-new seafarer, 
 I would it would be quiet. 
 
 1 Sail. Slack the bolins there ! Thou wilt 
 not, wilt thou? Blow, and split thyself. 
 
 2 Sail. But sea-room, and the brine and 
 cloudy billow kiss the moon, I care not. 
 
 I Sail. Sir, your queen must overboard: the 
 sea works high, the wind is loud, and will not 
 lie till the ship be cleared of the dead. 
 
 Per. That 's your superstition. 
 
 1 Sail. Pardon us, sir ; with us at sea it hath 
 been still observed; and we are strong in 
 custom. Therefore briefly yield her; for she 
 must ove board straight. [queen ! 
 
 Per. As you think meet. Most wretched 
 
 Lye. Here she lies, sir. 
 
 Per. A terrible childbed hast thou had, my 
 
 dear; 
 
 No light, no fire : the unfriendly elements 
 Forgot thee utterly ; nor have I time 
 To give thee hallow'd to thy grave, but straight 
 Must cast thee, scarcely coffin'd, in the ooze ; 
 Where, for a monument upon thy bones, 
 And aye-remaining lamps, the belching whale 
 And humming water must o'erwhelm thy corpse, 
 Lying with simple shells. O Lychorida, 
 Bid Nestor bring me spices, ink and paper, 
 My casket and my jewels; and bid Nicander 
 Bring me the satin coffer : lay the babe 
 Upon the pillow: hie thee, whiles I say 
 A priestly farewell to her : suddenly, woman. 
 [Exit LYCHORIDA. 
 
 2 Sail. Sir, we have a chest beneath the 
 hatches, caulked and bitumed ready. 
 
 Per. I thank thee. Mariner, say what coast 
 is this? 
 
 2 Sail. We are near Tharsus. 
 
 Per. Thither, gentle mariner, 
 Alter thy course for Tyre. When canst thou 
 reach it? 
 
 2 Sail. By break of day, if the wind cease. 
 
 Per. O, make for Tharsus ! 
 There will I visit Cleon, for the babe 
 Cannot hold out to Tyrus: there I ''11 leave it 
 At careful nursing. Go thy ways, good mariner: 
 I '11 bring the body presently. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.- EPHESUS. A Room in 
 CERIMON'S House. 
 
 Enter CERIMON, a Servant, and some persons 
 who have been shipwrecked. 
 
 Cer. Philemon, ho ! 
 
 Enter PHILEMON. 
 
 Phil. Doth my lord call? 
 Cer. Get fire and meat for these poor men : 
 It has been a turbulent and stormy night. 
 Serv. I have been in many ; but such a night 
 
 as this, 
 
 Till now, I ne'er endur'd. [turn ; 
 
 Cer. Your master will be dead ere you re- 
 There 's nothing can be minister'd to nature 
 That can recover him. Give this to the 'pothe- 
 
 cary, 
 
 And tell me how it works. \To PHILEMON. 
 [Exeunt all but CERIMON. 
 
 Enter two Gentlemen. 
 
 1 Gent. Good-morrow, sir. 
 
 2 Gent. Good-morrow to your lordship. 
 Cer. Gentlemen, 
 
 Why do you stir so early ? 
 
 1 Gent. Sir, 
 
 Our lodgings, standing bleak upon the sea, 
 
 Shook as the earth did quake ; 
 
 The very principals did seem to rend, 
 
 And all to topple : pure surprise and fear 
 
 Made me to quit the house. [early ; 
 
 2 Gent. That is the cause we trouble you so 
 'Tis not our husbandry. 
 
 Cer. O, you say well. 
 
 I Gent. But I much marvel that your lord- 
 ship, having 
 
 Rich tire about you, should at these early hours 
 Shake off the golden slumber of repose. 
 It is most strange 
 
 Nature should be so conversant with pain, 
 Being thereto not compell'd. 
 
 Cer. I held it ever, 
 
 Virtue and cunning were endowments greater 
 Than nobleness and riches : careless heirs 
 May the two latter darken and expend ; 
 But immortality attends the former, 
 Making a man a god. 'Tis known I ever 
 Have studied physic, through which secret art, 
 By turning o'er authorities, I have, 
 Together with my practice, made familiar 
 To me and to my aid the blest infusions 
 That dwell in vegetives, in metals, stones ; 
 And I can speak of the disturbances 
 That nature works, and of her cures ; which 
 give me 
 
IOI2 
 
 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 A more content in course of true delight 
 Than to be thirsty after tottering honour, 
 Or tie my treasure up in silken bags, 
 To please the fool and death. [pour'd forth 
 2 Gent. Your honour has through Ephesus 
 Your charity, and hundreds call themselves 
 Your creatures, who by you have been restor'd : 
 And not your knowledge, your personal pain, 
 
 but even 
 
 Your purse, still open, hath built Lord Cerimon 
 Such strong renown as time shall never raze. 
 
 Enter two Servants with a chest. 
 
 I Serv. So ; lift there. 
 
 Cer. What is that? 
 
 1 Serv. Sir, even now 
 Did the sea toss upon our shore this chest : 
 'Tis of some wreck. 
 
 Cer. Set 't down, let 's look upon 't. 
 
 2 Gent. 'Tis like a coffin, sir. 
 
 Cer. Whate'er it be, 
 
 'Tis wondrous heavy. Wrench it open straight : 
 If the sea's stomach be o'ercharg'd with gold, 
 It is a good constraint of fortune that 
 It belches upon us. 
 
 2 Gent. 'Tis so, my lord. 
 
 Cer. How close 'tis caulk'd and bitum'd ! 
 Did the sea cast it up ? 
 
 1 Serv. I never saw so huge a billow, sir, 
 As toss'd it upon shore. 
 
 Cer. Wrench it open ; 
 
 Soft ! it smells most sweetly in my sense. 
 
 2 Gent. A delicate odour. 
 
 Cer. As ever hit my nostril. So, up with 
 
 it. 
 
 O you most potent gods ! what 's here ? a 
 corse ! 
 
 1 Gent. Most strange! [entreasur'd 
 Cer. Shrouded in cloth of state ; balm'cl and 
 
 With bags of spices full ! A passport too ! 
 Apollo, perfect me in the characters ! 
 
 [Reads from a scroll. 
 
 Here I give to understand, 
 
 If e'er this coffin drive a-land, 
 
 I, King Pericles, have lost 
 
 This queen, worth all our mundane cost. 
 
 Who finds her, give her burying ; 
 
 She^was the daughter of a king : 
 
 Besides this treasure for a fee, 
 
 The gods requite his charity? 
 
 lthou liv'st, Pericles, thou hast a heart 
 That even cracks for woe ! This chanc'd to- 
 night. 
 
 2 Gent. Most likely, sir. 
 
 Cer. Nay, certainly to-night ; 
 
 r For look how fresh she looks ! They were too 
 rough 
 
 That threw her in the sea. Make a fire within: 
 Fetch hither all my boxes in my closet. 
 
 [Exit a Servant. 
 
 Death may usurp on nature many hours, 
 And yet the fire of life kindle again 
 The o'erpress'd spirits. I heard of an Egyptian 
 That had nine hours lien dead, 
 Who was by good appliances recover'd. 
 
 Re-enter a Servant, with boxes, napkins, and 
 fire. 
 
 Well said, well said; the fire and cloths. 
 The rough and woeful music that we have, 
 Cause it to sound, beseech you. [block ! 
 
 The viol once more : how thou stirr'st, thou 
 The music there ! I pray you, give her air. - 
 Gentlemen, 
 
 This queen will live : nature awakes ; a warmth 
 Breathes out of her : she hath not been en- 
 
 tranc'd 
 
 Above five hours : see how she 'gins to blow 
 Into life's flower again ! 
 
 1 Gent. The heavens, 
 Through you, increase our wonder, and set up 
 Your fame for ever. 
 
 Cer. She is alive ; behold, 
 
 Her eyelids, cases to those heavenly jewels 
 Which Pericles hath lost, 
 Begin to part their fringes of bright gold; 
 The diamonds of a most praised water 
 Do appear, to make the world twice rich. Live, 
 And make us weep to hear your fate, fair 
 
 creature, 
 Rare as you seem to be. [She moves. 
 
 Thai. O dear Diana, 
 
 Where am I? Where's my lord? What 
 world is this? 
 
 2 Gent. Is not this strange? 
 
 I Gent. Most rare. 
 
 Cer. Hush, my gentle neighbours! 
 
 Lend me your hands ; to the next chamber bear 
 
 her. 
 
 Get linen : now this matter must be look'd to, 
 For her relapse is mortal. Come, come ; 
 And ^Esculapius guide us ! 
 
 [Exeunt, carrying out THAISA* 
 
 SCENE III. THARSUS. A Room in CLEON'S 
 House. 
 
 Enter PERICLES, CLEON, DIONYZA, and LY- 
 CHORIDA with MARINA in her arms. 
 
 Per. Most honour'd Cleon, I must needs be 
 
 gone; 
 
 My twelvemonths are expir'd, and Tyrus stands 
 In a litigious peace. You and your lady 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 1013 
 
 Take from my heart all thankfulness! The 
 
 gods 
 Make up the rest upon you ! 
 
 Cle. Your shafts of fortune, though they hurt 
 
 you mortally, 
 Yet glance full wanderingly on us. 
 
 Dion. O your sweet queen ! 
 
 That the strict fates had pleas d you had brought 
 
 her hither, 
 To have bless'd mine eyes ! 
 
 Per. We cannot but obey 
 
 The powers above us. Could I rage and roar 
 As doth the sea she lies in, yet the end 
 Must be as 'tis. My gentle babe Marina, 
 
 whom, 
 For she was born at sea, I have nam'd so, 
 
 here 
 
 I charge your charity withal, leaving her 
 The infant of your care ; beseeching you 
 To give her princely training, that she may 
 
 be 
 Manner'd as she is born. 
 
 Cle. Fear not, my lord, but think 
 
 Your grace, that fed my country with your 
 
 corn, 
 For which the people's prayers still fall upon 
 
 you, 
 
 Must in your child be thought on. If neglection 
 Should therein make me vile, the common body, 
 By you reliev'd, would force me to my duty : 
 But if to that my nature need a spur, 
 The gods revenge it upon me and mine 
 To the end of generation ! 
 
 Per. I believe you ; 
 
 Your honour and your goodness teach me to 't 
 Without your vows. Till she be married, 
 
 madam, 
 
 By bright Diana, whom we honour, all 
 Unscissar'd shall this hair of mine remain, 
 Though I show ill in 't. So I take my leave. 
 Good madam, make me blessed in your care 
 In bringing up my child. 
 
 Dion. I have one myself, 
 
 Who shall not be more dear to my respect 
 Than yours, my lord. 
 
 Per. Madam, my thanks and prayers. 
 
 Cle. We '11 bring your grace e'en to the edge 
 
 o' the shore, 
 
 Then give you up to the vast Neptune and 
 The gentlest winds of heaven. 
 
 Per. I will embrace 
 
 Your offer. Come, dearest madam. O, no 
 
 tears, 
 
 Lychorida, no tears: 
 
 Look to your little mistress, on whose grace 
 You may depend hereafter. Come, my lord. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. EPHESUS. A Room in CERI- 
 MON'S House. 
 
 Enter CERIMON and THAISA. 
 
 Cer. Madam, this letter, and some certain 
 
 jewels, 
 
 Lay with you in your coffer : which are now 
 At your command. Know you the character? 
 
 Thai. It is my lord's. 
 
 That I was shipp'd at sea I well remember, 
 Even on my eaning time ; but whether there 
 Deliver'd, by the holy gods, 
 I cannot rightly say. But since King Pericles, 
 My wedded lord, I ne'er shall see again, 
 A vestal livery will I take me to, 
 And never more have joy. 
 
 Cer. Madam, if this you purpose as you speak, 
 Diana's temple is not distant far, 
 Where you may abide till your date expire. 
 Moreover, if you please, a niece of mine 
 Shall there attend you. 
 
 Thai. My recompense is thanks, that 's all ; 
 
 Yet my good-will is great, though the gift 
 
 small. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Enter GOWER. 
 
 Gow. Imagine Pericles arriv'd at Tyre, 
 Welcom'd and settled to his own desire. 
 His woeful queen we leave at Ephesus, 
 Unto Diana there a votaress. 
 Now to Marina bend your mind, 
 Whom our fast growing scene must find 
 At Tharsus, and by Cleon train'd 
 In music, letters ; who hath gain'd 
 Of education all the grace, 
 Which makes her both the heart and place 
 Of general wonder. But, alack, 
 That monster envy, oft the wrack 
 Of earned praise, Marina's life 
 Seeks to take off by treason's knife. 
 And in this kind hath our Cleon 
 One daughter, and a wench full grown, 
 Even ripe for marriage-rite ; this maid 
 Hight Philoten : and it is said 
 For certain in our story, she 
 Would ever with Marina be : 
 Be 't when she weav'd the sleided silk 
 With fingers long, small, white as milk ; 
 Or when she would with sharp needle wound 
 The cambric, which she made more sound 
 By hurting it ; or when to the lute 
 She sung, and made the night-bird mute, 
 That still records with moan ; or when 
 
PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 She would with rich and constant pen 
 
 Vail to her mistress Dian ; still 
 
 This Philoten contends in skill 
 
 With absolute Marina : so 
 
 With the dove of Paphos might the crow 
 
 Vie feathers white. Marina gets 
 
 All praises, which are paid as debts, 
 
 And not as given. This so darks 
 
 In Philoten all graceful marks 
 
 That Cleon's wife, with envy rare, 
 
 A present murderer does prepare 
 
 For good Marina, that her daughter 
 
 Might stand peerless by this slaughter. 
 
 The sooner her vile thoughts to stead, 
 
 Lychorida, our nurse, is dead : 
 
 And cursed Dionyza hath 
 
 The pregnant instrument of wrath 
 
 Prest for this blow. The unborn event 
 
 I do commend to your content : 
 
 Only I carry winged time 
 
 Post on the lame feet of my rhyme-, 
 
 Which never could I so convey 
 
 Unless your thoughts went on my way. 
 
 Dionyza does appear, 
 
 With Leonine, a murderer. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE I. THARSUS. An open Place near 
 
 the Sea-shore, 
 
 Enter DIONYZA and LEONINE. 
 Dion. Thy oath remember ; thou hast sworn 
 
 to do 't. 
 
 'Tis but a blow, which never shall be known. 
 Thou canst not do a thing i' the world so soon 
 To yield thee so much profit. Let not con- 
 science, [bosom, 
 Which is but cold, inflaming love in thy 
 Inflame too nicely ; nor let pity, which 
 Even women have cast off, melt thee, but be 
 A soldier to thy purpose. 
 
 Leon. I will do't; but yet she is a goodly 
 
 creature. [her. 
 
 Dion. The fitter, then, the gods should have 
 
 Here she comes weeping for her only mistress' 
 
 death. 
 Thou art resolv'd? 
 
 Leon. I am resolv'd. 
 
 Enter MARINA with a basket of flowers. 
 Mar. No, I will rob Tellus of her weed, 
 To strew thy green with flowers: the yellows, 
 
 blues, 
 
 The purple violets, and marigolds 
 Shall as a carpet hang upon thy grave [maid, 
 While summer-days do last. Ay me ! poor 
 Born in a tempest, when my mother died, 
 This world to me is like a lasting storm, 
 Whirring me from my friends. 
 
 Dion. How now, Marina ! why do you keep 
 
 alone? 
 
 How chance my daughter is not with you? 
 
 Do not [have 
 
 Consume your blood with sorrowing : you 
 
 A nurse of me. Lord, how your favour's 
 
 chang'd 
 
 With this unprofitable woe ! Come, 
 Give me your flowers ere the sea mar them. 
 Walk with Leonine ; the air is quick there, 
 And it pierces and sharpens the stomach. 
 
 Come, 
 Leonine, take her by the arm, walk with her. 
 
 Mar. No, I pray you ; 
 I '11 not bereave you of your servant. 
 
 Dion. Come, come; 
 
 I love the king your father, and yourself, 
 With more than foreign heart. We every day 
 Expect him here : when he shall come, and find 
 Our paragon to all reports thus blasted, 
 He will repent the breadth of this great voyage ; 
 Blame both my lord and me that we have taken 
 No care to your best courses. Go, I pray you, 
 Walk, and be cheerful once again ; reserve 
 That excellent complexion, which did steal 
 The eyes of young and old. Care not for me 
 I can go home alone. 
 
 Mar. Well, I will go ; 
 
 But yet I have no desire to it. [you.-- . 
 
 Dion. Come, come, I know 'tis good for 
 Walk half an hour, Leonine, at the least : 
 Remember what I have said. 
 
 Leon. I warrant you, madam. 
 
 Dion. I'll leave you, my sweet lady, for 
 
 awhile : 
 
 Pray, walk softly, do not heat your blood : 
 What ! I must have a care of you. 
 
 Mar. My thanks, sweet madam. 
 
 [Exit. DIONYZA. 
 Is this wind westerly that blows? 
 
 Leon. South-west. 
 
 Mar. When I was born the wind was north. 
 
 Leon. Was 't so ? 
 
 Mar. My father, as nurse said, did never fear, 
 But cried, Good seamen! to the sailors, galling 
 His kingly hands with hauling of the ropes ; 
 And, clasping to the mast, endur'd a sea 
 That almost burst the deck. 
 
 Leon. When was this? 
 
 Mar. When I was born : 
 Never was waves nor wind more violent ; 
 And from the ladder-tackle washes off 
 A canvas-climber: Ha! says one, wilt out? 
 And with a dropping industry they skip 
 From stem to stern : the boatswain whistles, and 
 The master calls, and trebles their confusion. 
 
 Leon. Come, say your prayers. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 101? 
 
 Mar. What mean you? 
 
 Leon. If you require a little space for prayer, 
 I grant it : pray ; but be not tedious, 
 For the gods are quick of ear, and I am sworn 
 To do my work with haste. 
 
 Mar. Why will you kill me? 
 
 Leon. To satisfy my lady. 
 
 Mar. Why would she have me kill'd? 
 Now, as I can remember, by my troth, 
 I never did her hurt in all my life : 
 I never spake bad word, nor did ill turn 
 To any living creature : believe me, la, 
 I never kill'd a mouse, nor hurt a fly : 
 I trod upon a worm against my will, 
 But I wept for it. How have I offended, 
 Wherein my death might yield her profit, 
 Or my life imply her danger? 
 
 Leon. My commission 
 
 Is not to reason of the deed, but do it. [hope. 
 
 Mar. You will not do 't for all the world, I 
 You are well-favour'd, and your looks foreshow 
 You have a gentle heart. I saw you lately 
 When you caught hurt in parting two that 
 
 fought : 
 
 Good sooth, it show'd well in you : do so now : 
 Your lady seeks my life; come you between, 
 And save poor me, the weaker. 
 
 Leon. I am sworn, 
 
 And will despatch. 
 
 Enter Pirates "whilst MARINA is struggling. 
 
 1 Pirate. Hold, villain ! 
 
 [LEONINE runs away. 
 
 2 Pirate. A prize ! a prize ! 
 
 3 Pirate. Half-part, mates, half-part. Come, 
 let 's have her aboard suddenly. 
 
 [Exeunt Pirates with MARINA. 
 
 Re-enter LEONINE. 
 
 Leon. These roving thieves serve the great 
 
 pirate Valdes, 
 
 And they have seiz'd Marina. Let her go : 
 There 's no hope she will return. I '11 swear 
 
 she 's dead 
 
 And thrown into the sea. But I '11 see further : 
 Perhaps they will but please themselves upon 
 
 her, 
 
 Not carry her aboard. If she remain, 
 Whom they have ravish'd must by me be slain. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. MITYLENE. A Room in a Brothel. 
 Enter Pander, Bawd, and BOULT. 
 
 Pand. Boult, 
 
 Boult. Sir? 
 
 Pand. Search the market narrowly; Mity- 
 
 lene is full of gallants. We lost too much 
 money this mart by being too wenchless. 
 
 Bawd. We were never so much out of 
 creatures. We have but poor three, and they 
 can do no more than they can do; and they 
 with continual action are even as good as rotten. 
 
 Pand. Therefore let's have fresh ones, 
 whate'er we pay for them. If there be not 
 a conscience to be used in every trade we 
 shall never prosper. 
 
 Bawd. Thou sayest true ; 'tis not our bringing 
 up of poor bastards, as, I think, I have 
 brought up some eleven, 
 
 Boult. Ay, to eleven ; and brought them 
 down again. But shall I search the market? 
 
 Bawd. What else, man? The stuff we have, 
 a strong wind will blow it to pieces, they are 
 so pitifully sodden. 
 
 Pand. Thou sayest true; they are too un- 
 wholesome, o' conscience. The poor Tran- 
 sylvanian is dead, that lay with the little 
 
 Boult. Ay, she quickly pooped him; she 
 made him roast-meat for worms. But I '11 go 
 search the market. [Exit. 
 
 Pand. Three or four thousand chequins were 
 as pretty a proportion to live quietly, and so 
 give over. 
 
 Bawd. Why to give over, I pray you? is it 
 a shame to get when we are old? 
 
 Pand. O, our credit comes not in like the 
 commodity ; nor the commodity wages not with 
 the danger: therefore, if in our youths we 
 could pick up some pretty estate, 'twere not 
 amiss to keep our door hatch'd. Besides, the 
 sore terms we stand upon with the gods will be 
 strong with us for giving over. 
 
 Bawd. Come, other sorts offend as well as we. 
 
 Pand. As well as we! ay, and better too; 
 we offend worse. Neither is our profession any 
 trade; it's no calling. But here comes Boult. 
 
 Re-enter Boult, with MARINA and the Pirates. 
 
 Boult. [To MARINA.] Come your ways. 
 My masters, you say she 's a virgin? 
 
 I Pirate. O, sir, we doubt it not. 
 
 Boult. Master, I have gone through for this 
 piece, you see : if you like her, so ; if not, I 
 have lost my earnest. 
 
 Bawd. Boult, has she any qualities? 
 
 Boult. She has a good face, speaks well, 
 and has excellent good clothes: there's no 
 further necessity of qualities can make her be 
 refused. 
 
 Bawd. What's her price, Boult? 
 
 Boult. It cannot be bated one doit of a 
 thousand pieces. 
 
ioi6 
 
 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Pand. Well, follow me, my masters; you 
 shall have your money presently. Wife, take 
 her in ; instruct her what she has to do, that 
 she may not be raw in her entertainment. 
 
 [Exeunt Pander and Pirates. 
 
 Bawd. Boult, take you the marks of her, 
 the colour of her hair, complexion, height, age, 
 with warrant of her virginity ; and cry, He that 
 -will give most shall have her first. Such a 
 maidenhead were no cheap thing, if men were 
 as they have been. Get this done as I 
 command you. 
 
 Boult. Performance shall follow. [Exit. 
 
 Mar. Alack, that Leonine was so slack, so 
 
 slow ! [these pirates, 
 
 He should have struck, not spoke; or that 
 
 Not enough barbarous, had not o'erboard 
 
 thrown me 
 For to seek my mother ! 
 
 Bawd. Why lament you, pretty one? 
 
 Mar. That I am pretty. [in you. 
 
 Bawd. Come, the gods have done their part 
 
 Mar. I accuse them not. 
 
 Bawd. You are lit into my hands, where 
 you are like to live. 
 
 Mar. The more my fault 
 To 'scape his hands where I was like to die. 
 
 Bawd. Ay, and you shall live in pleasure. 
 
 Mar. No. 
 
 Bawd. Yes, indeed shall you, and taste 
 gentlemen of all fashions. You shall fare 
 well : you shall have the difference of all com- 
 plexions. What ! do you stop your ears? 
 
 Mar. Are you a woman ? 
 
 Bawd. What would you have me be, an I 
 be not a woman ? 
 
 Mar. An honest woman, or not a woman. 
 
 Bawd. Marry, whip thee, gosling: I think 
 I shall have something to do with you. Come, 
 you are a young foolish sapling, and must be 
 bowed as I would have you. 
 
 Mar. The gods defend me ! 
 
 Bawd. If it please the gods to defend you by 
 men, then men must comfort you, men must 
 feed you, men must stir you up. Boult 's 
 returned. 
 
 Re-enter BOULT. 
 
 Now, sir, hast thou cried her through the 
 market ? 
 
 Boult. I have cried her almost to the number 
 of her hairs ; I have drawn her picture with 
 my voice. 
 
 Bawd. And I pr'ythee tell me, how dost 
 thou find the inclination of the people, especi- 
 ally of the younger sort ? 
 
 Boult. Faith, they listened to me as they 
 
 would have hearkened to their father's testa- 
 ment. There was a Spaniard's mouth so 
 watered that he went to bed to her very 
 description. 
 
 Bawd. We shall have him here to-morrow 
 with his best ruff on. 
 
 Boult. To-night, to-night. But, mistress, do 
 you know the French knight that cowers i' the 
 hams? 
 
 Bawd. Who ? Monsieur Veroles ? 
 
 Boult. Ay : he offered to cut a caper at the 
 proclamation ; but he made a groan at it, and 
 swore he would see her to-morrow. 
 
 Bawd. Well, well ; as for him, he brought 
 his disease hither : here he does but repair it. 
 I know he will come in our shadow to scatter 
 his crowns in the sun. 
 
 Boult. Well, if we had of every nation a 
 traveller, we should lodge them with this 
 sign. 
 
 Bawd. [To MAR.] Pray you, come hither 
 awhile. You have fortunes coming upon you. 
 Mark me : you must seem to do that fearfully 
 which you commit willingly ; to despise profit 
 where you have most gain. To weep that you 
 live as you do makes pity in your lovers : sel- 
 dom but that pity begets you a good opinion, 
 and that opinion a mere profit. 
 
 Mar. I understand you not. 
 
 Boult. O, take her home, mistress, take her 
 home : these blushes of hers must be quenched 
 with some present practice. 
 
 Bawd. Thou sayest true, i' faith, so they 
 must ; for your bride goes to that with shame 
 which is her way to go with warrant. 
 
 Boult. Faith, some do, and some do not. 
 But, mistress, if I have bargained for the 
 joint, 
 
 Bawd. Thou mayst cut a morsel off the spit. 
 
 Boult. I may so. 
 
 Bawd. Who should deny it ? Come, young 
 one, I like the manner of your garments well. 
 
 Boult. Ay, by my faith, they shall not be 
 changed yet. 
 
 Bawd. Boult, spend thou that in the town : 
 report what a sojourner we have ; you'll lose 
 nothing by custom. When nature framed this 
 piece she meant thee a good turn ; therefore 
 say what a paragon she is, and thou hast the 
 harvest out of thine own report. 
 
 Boult. I warrant you, mistress, thunder shall 
 not so awake the beds of eels as my giving out 
 her beauty stir up the lewdly inclined. I'll 
 bring home some to-night. 
 
 Bawd. Come your ways ; follow me. 
 
 Mar. If fires be hot, knives sharp, or waters 
 deep, 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 1017 
 
 Untied I still my virgin knot will keep. 
 Diana, aid my purpose ! 
 
 Bawd. What have we to do with Diana? 
 Pray you, will you go with us ? [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. THARSUS. A Room in CLEON'S 
 House. 
 
 Enter CLEON and DIONYZA. 
 
 Dion. Why, are you foolish ? Can it be un- 
 done? 
 
 Cle. O Dionyza, such a piece of slaughter 
 The sun and moon ne'er look'd upon ! 
 
 Dion. I think 
 
 You '11 turn a child again. [world, 
 
 Cle. Were I chief lord of all the spacious 
 I 'd give it to undo the deed. O lady, 
 Much less in blood than virtue, yet a princess 
 To equal any single crown o' the earth 
 I' the justice of compare ! O villain Leonine ! 
 Whom thou hast poison'd too : [ness 
 
 If thou hadst drunk to him, 't had been a kind- 
 Becoming well thy fact : what canst thou say 
 When noble Pericles shall demand his child ? 
 
 Dion. That she is dead. Nurses are not the 
 
 fates, 
 
 To foster it, nor ever to preserve. [it? 
 
 She died at night ; I '11 say so. Who can cross 
 Unless you play the pious innocent, 
 And for an honest attribute cry out, 
 She died by foul play. 
 
 Cle. O, go to. Well, well. 
 
 Of all the faults beneath the heavens the gods 
 Do like this worst. 
 
 Dion. Be one of those that think 
 
 The petty wrens of Tharsus will fly hence, 
 And open this to Pericles. I do shame 
 To think of what a noble strain you are, 
 And of how coward a spirit. 
 
 Cle. To such proceeding 
 
 Who ever but his approbation added, 
 Though not his pre-consent, he did not flow 
 From honourable sources. 
 
 Dion. Be it so, then : 
 
 Yet none does know, but you, how she came 
 
 dead, 
 
 Nor none can know, Leonine being gone. 
 She did distain my child, and stood between 
 Her and her fortunes : none would look on her, 
 But cast their gazes on Marina's face ; 
 Whilst ours was blurted at, arid held a malkin, 
 Not worth the time of day. It pierc'd me 
 
 thorough ; 
 
 And though you call my course unnatural, 
 You not your child well loving, yet I find 
 It greets me as an enterprise of kindness 
 Perform'd to your sole daughter. 
 
 Cle. Heavens forgive it ! 
 
 Dion. And as for Pericles, [hearse, 
 
 What should he say? We wept after her 
 And yet we mourn : her monument 
 Is almost finish'd, and her epitaphs 
 In glittering golden characters express 
 A general praise to her, and care in us 
 At whose expense 'tis done. 
 
 Cle. Thou art like the harpy 
 
 Which, to betray, dost, with thine angel's face, 
 Seize with thine eagle's talons. 
 
 Dion. You are like one that superstitiously 
 Doth swear to the gods that winter kills the 
 
 flies: 
 But yet I know you '11 do as I advise. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter GOWER, before the Monument of 
 MARINA at ThSrsus. 
 
 Cow. Thus time we waste, and longest 
 
 leagues make short ; 
 
 Sail seas in cockles, have an wish but for } t ; 
 Making, to take your imagination, 
 From bourn to bourn, region to region. 
 By you being pardon'd, we commit no crime 
 To use one language in each several clime, 
 Where our scenes seem to live. I do beseech 
 
 you [you 
 
 To learn of me, who stand i' the gaps to teach 
 The stages of our story. Pericles 
 Is now again thwarting the wayward seas, 
 Attended on by many a lord and knight, 
 To see his daughter, all his life's delight. 
 Old Escanes, whom Helicanus late 
 Advanc'd in time to great and high estate, 
 Is left to govern. Bear you it in mind, 
 Old Helicanus goes along behind. [brought 
 Well-sailing ships and bounteous winds have 
 This king to Tharsus, think his pilot thought; 
 So with his steerage shall your thoughts grow 
 
 on, 
 
 To fetch his daughter home, who first is gone. 
 Like motes and shadows see them move awhile ; 
 Your ears unto your eyes I '11 reconcile. 
 
 Dumb show. 
 
 Enter, at one side, PERICLES with his Train ; 
 CLEON and DIONYZA at the other. CLEON 
 shows PERICLES the Tomb of MARINA, 
 whereat PERICLES makes lamentation, puts 
 on sackcloth, and in a mighty passion departs. 
 Then exeunt CLEON and DIONYZA. 
 
 See how belief may suffer by foul show ! 
 This borrow'd passion stands for true old woe ; 
 And Pericles, in sorrow all devour'd, 
 With sighs shot through and biggest tears o'er- 
 showerM, 
 
IOI& 
 
 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Leaves Tharsus, and again embarks. He 
 
 swears 
 
 Never to wash his face nor cut his hairs ; 
 He puts on sackcloth, and to sea. He bears 
 A tempest which his mortal vessel tears, 
 And yet he rides it out. Now please you wit 
 The epitaph is for Marina writ 
 By wicked Dionyza. 
 
 [Reads the inscription on MARINA'S 
 Monument. 
 
 The fairest, sweet'st, and best lies here, 
 
 Who wither'd in her spring of year. 
 
 She was of Tyrus the king's daughter, 
 
 On whom foul death hath made this slaughter ; 
 
 Marina was she call'd ; and at her birth, 
 
 Thetis, being proud, swallow'dsome part o' the earth : 
 
 Therefore the earth, fearing to be o'erflow'd, 
 
 Hath Thetis' birth-child on the heavens bestow'd : 
 
 Wherefore she does, and swears she '11 never stint, 
 
 Make raging battery upon shores of flint. 
 
 No visard does become black villany 
 
 So well as soft and tender flattery. 
 
 Let Pericles believe his daughter 's dead, 
 
 And bear his courses to be ordered 
 
 By Lady Fortune ; while our scene must play 
 
 His daughter's woe and heavy well-a-day 
 
 In her unholy service. Patience, then, 
 
 And think you now are all in Mitylen. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV. MITYLENE. A Street before the 
 Brothel. 
 
 Enter, from the Brothel, two Gentlemen. 
 
 1 Gent. Did you ever hear the like ? 
 
 2 Gent. No, nor never shall do in such a 
 place as this, she being once gone. 
 
 1 Gent. But to have divinity preached there ! 
 did you ever dream of such a thing ? 
 
 2 Gent. No, no. Come, I am for no more 
 bawdy-houses : shall 's go hear the vestals 
 sing? 
 
 i Gent. I Ml do anything now that is virtu- 
 ous ; but I am out of the road of rutting for 
 ever. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. MITYLENE. A Room in the 
 Brothel. 
 
 Enter Pander, Bawd, and BOULT. 
 
 Pand. Well, I had rather than twice the 
 worth of her she had ne'er come here. 
 
 Bawd. Fie, fie upon her ! she is able to 
 freeze the god Priapus, and undo a whole 
 generation. We must either get her ravished 
 or be rid of her. When she should do for 
 clients her fitment, and do me the kindness of 
 
 our profession, she has me her quirks, her 
 reasons, her master-reasons, her prayers, her 
 knees ; that she would make a puritan of the 
 devil, if he should cheapen a kiss of her. 
 
 Boult. Faith, I must ravish her, or she'll 
 disfurnish us of all our cavaliers, and make all 
 our swearers priests. [for me ! 
 
 Pand. Now, the pox upon her green-sickness 
 
 Bawd. Faith there 's no way to be rid on 't 
 but by the way to the pox. Here comes the 
 Lord Lysimachus disguised. 
 
 Boult. We should have both lord and lown 
 if the peevish baggage would but give way to 
 customers. 
 
 Enter LYSIMACHUS. 
 
 Lys. How now ! How a dozen of virgini- 
 ties? 
 
 Bawd. Now, the gods to-bless your honour ! 
 
 Boult. I am glad to see your honour in good 
 health. 
 
 Lys. You may so ; 'tis the better for you that 
 your resorters stand upon sound legs. How 
 now, wholesome iniquity? Have you that a 
 man may deal withal, and defy the surgeon ? 
 
 Bawd. We have here one, sir, if she would 
 but there never came her like in Mitylene. 
 
 Lys. If she 'd do the deed of darkness, thou 
 wouldst say. [well enough. 
 
 Bawd. Your honour knows what 'tis to say 
 
 Lys. Well, call forth, call forth. 
 
 Boult. For flesh and blood, sir, white and 
 red, you shall see a rose ; and she were a rose 
 indeed, if she had but, 
 
 Lys. What, pr'ythee? 
 
 Boult. O, sir, I can be modest. 
 
 Lys. That dignifies the renown of a bawd no 
 less than it gives a good report to a number to 
 be chaste. [Exit BOULT. 
 
 Bawd. Here comes that which grows to the 
 stalk, never plucked yet, I can assure you. 
 
 Re-enter BOULT with MARINA. 
 
 Is she not a fair creature ? 
 
 Lys. Faith, she would serve after a long 
 voyage at sea. Well, there 's for you : leave 
 us. 
 
 Bawd. I beseech your honour, give me leave: 
 a word, and I '11 have done presently. 
 
 Lys. I beseech you, do. 
 
 Bawd. First, I would have you note this is 
 an honourable man. 
 
 [ To MAR. , whom she takes aside. 
 
 Mar. I desire to find him so, that I may 
 worthily note him. 
 
 Bawd. Next, he's the governor of this 
 country, and a man whom I am bound to. 
 
SCENE V.] 
 
 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 1019 
 
 Mar. If he govern the country you are bound 
 to him indeed; but how honourable he is in 
 that I know not. 
 
 Bawd. Pray you, without any more virginal 
 fencing, will you use him kindly? He will line 
 your apron with gold. 
 
 Mar. What he will do graciously I will 
 thankfully receive. 
 
 Lys. Ha' you done? 
 
 Bawd. My lord, she 's not paced yet : you 
 must take some pains to work her to your 
 manage. Come, we will leave his honour and 
 her together. Go thy ways. 
 
 [Exeunt Bawd, Pander, and BOULT. 
 
 Lys. Now, pretty one, how long have you 
 been at this trade? 
 
 Mar. What trade, sir? 
 
 Lys. What I cannot name but I shall offend. 
 
 Mar. I cannot be offended with my trade. 
 Please you to name it. [sion ? 
 
 Lys, How long have you been of this profes- 
 
 Mar. E'er since I can remember. 
 
 Lys. Did you go to 't so young? Were you 
 a gamester at five or at seven? 
 
 Mar. Earlier too, sir, if now I be one. 
 
 Lys. Why, the house you dwell In proclaims 
 you to be a creature of sale. 
 
 Mar. Do you know this house to be a place 
 of such resort, and will come into't? I hear 
 say you are of honourable parts, and are the 
 governor of this place. 
 
 Lys. Why, hath your principal made known 
 unto you who I am ? 
 
 Mar. Who is my principal? 
 
 Lys. Why, your herb- woman ; she that sets 
 seeds and roots of shame and iniquity. O, you 
 have heard something of my power, and so 
 stand aloof for more serious wooing. But I 
 protest to thee, pretty one, my authority shall 
 not see thee, or else look friendly upon thee. 
 Come, bring me to some private place : come, 
 come. [now ; 
 
 Mar. If you were born to honour, show it 
 If put upon you, make the judgment good 
 That thought you worthy of it. 
 
 Lys. How 's this? how's this? Some more; 
 be sage. 
 
 Mar. For me, 
 
 That am a maid, though most ungentle fortune 
 Hath plac'd me in this sty, 
 Where, since I came, 
 
 Diseases have been sold dearer than physic, 
 O that the good gods 
 
 Would set me free from this unhallow'd place, 
 Though they did change me to the meanest bird 
 That flies i' the purer air ! 
 
 Lys. I did not think 
 
 Thou couldst have spoke so well ; ne'er dream'd 
 
 thou couldst. 
 
 Had I brought hither a corrupted mind, 
 Thy speech had alter'd it. Hold, here 's gold 
 
 for thee : 
 
 Perse ver in that clear way thou goest, 
 And the gods strengthen thee ! 
 
 Mar. The good gods preserve you ! 
 
 Lys. For me, be you thoughten 
 That I came with no ill intent ; for to me 
 The very doors and windows savour vilely. 
 Fare thee well. Thou art a piece of virtue, and 
 I doubt not but thy training hath been noble. 
 Hold, here's more gold for thee. 
 A curse upon him, die he like a thief, 
 That robs thee of thy goodness ! If thou dost 
 
 hear from me 
 It shall be for thy good. 
 
 Re-enter BOULT as LYSIMACHUS is putting up 
 his purse. 
 
 Boult. I beseech your honour, one piece for 
 me. [house, 
 
 Lys. Avaunt, thou damned doorkeeper ! Your 
 But for this virgin that doth prop it, 
 Would sink and overwhelm you. Away ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Boult. How 's this ? We must take another 
 course with you. If your peevish chastity, 
 which is not worth a breakfast in the cheapest 
 country under the cope, shall undo a whole 
 household, let me be gelded like a spaniel. 
 Come your ways. 
 
 Mar. Whither would you have me? 
 
 Boult. I must have your maidenhead taken 
 off, or the common hangman shall execute it. 
 Come your ways. We '11 have no more gentle- 
 men driven away. Come your ways, I say. 
 
 Re-enter Bawd. 
 
 
 Bawd. How now ! What 's the matter? 
 
 Boult. Worse and worse, mistress ; she has 
 here spoken holy words to the Lord Lysima- 
 chus. 
 
 Bawd. O abominable ! 
 
 Boult. She makes our profession as it were 
 to stink afore the face of the gods. 
 
 Bawd. Marry, hang her up for ever ! 
 
 Boult. The nobleman would have dealt with 
 her like a nobleman, and she sent him away 
 as cold as a snowball ; saying his prayers too. 
 
 Bawd. Boult, take her away; use her at thy 
 pleasure : crack the glass of her virginity, and 
 make the rest malleable. 
 
 Boult. An if she were a thornier piece of 
 ground than she is, she shall be ploughed. 
 
 Afar. Hark, hark, you gods ! 
 
IO2O 
 
 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Bawd. She conjures : away with her ! Would 
 she had never come within my doors ! Marry, 
 hang you ! She 's born to undo us. Will you 
 not go the way of womenkind? Marry, come 
 up, my dish of chastity with rosemary and 
 bays ! [Exit. 
 
 Boult. Come, mistress ; come your ways with 
 me. 
 
 Mar. Whither wilt thou have me? [so dear. 
 
 Boult. To take from you the jewel you hold 
 
 Mar. Pr'ythee, tell me one thing first. 
 
 Boult. Come now, your one thing. [be? 
 
 Mar. What canst thou wish thine enemy to 
 
 Boult. Why, I could wish him to be my 
 master, or, rather, my mistress. 
 
 Mar. Neither of these are Sb bad as thou art, 
 Since they do better thee in their command. 
 Thou hold'st a place for which the pained'st fiend 
 Of hell would not in reputation change : 
 Thou 'rt the damn'd doorkeeper to every 
 Coistrel that comes inquiring for his tib; 
 To the choleric fisting of every rogue 
 Thy ear is liable ; thy very food is such 
 As hath been belch'd on by infected lungs. 
 
 Boult. What would you have me do? go to 
 the wars, would you? where a man may serve 
 seven years for the loss of a leg, and have not 
 money enough in the end to buy him a wooden 
 one? [Empty 
 
 Mar. Do anything but this thou doest. 
 Old receptacles, or common sewers, of filth ; 
 Serve by indenture to the common hangman : 
 Any of these ways are yet better than this ; 
 For what thou professest, a baboon, could he 
 
 speak, 
 
 Would own a name too dear. O that the gods 
 Would safely deliver me from this place ! 
 Here, here 's gold for thee. 
 If that thy master would gain by me, 
 Proclaim that I can sing, weave, sew, and dance, 
 With other virtues which I '11 keep from boast ; 
 And I will undertake all these to teach. 
 I doubt not but this populous city will 
 Yield many scholars. [of? 
 
 Boult. But can you teach all this you speak 
 
 Mar. Prove that I cannot, take me home 
 
 again, 
 
 And prostitute me to the basest groom 
 That doth frequent your house. 
 
 Boult. Well, I will see what I can do for 
 thee : if I can place thee, I will. 
 
 Mar. But amongst honest women? 
 
 Boult. Faith, my acquaintance lies little 
 amongst them. But since my master and mis- 
 tress have bought you, there 's no going but by 
 their consent: therefore I will make them ac- 
 quainted with your purpose, and I doubt not 
 
 but I shall find them tractable enough. Come, 
 I '11 do for thee what I can ; come your ways. 
 
 [Exeunt* 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Enter GOWER. 
 
 Gow. Marina thus the brothel scapes, and 
 
 chances 
 
 Into an honest house, our story says. 
 She sings like one immortal, and she dances 
 As goddess-like to her admired lays ; 
 Deep clerks she dumbs; and with her needle 
 
 composes [berry, 
 
 Nature's own shape, of bud, bird, branch, or 
 That even her art sisters the natural roses; 
 Her inkle, silk, twin with the rubied cherry : 
 That pupils lacks she none of noble race, 
 Who pour their bounty on her ; and her gain 
 She gives the cursed bawd. Here we her place ; 
 And to her father turn our thoughts again, 
 Where we left him, on the sea. We there him 
 
 lost; 
 
 Whence, driven before the winds, he is arriv'd 
 Here where his daughter dwells; and on this 
 
 coast 
 
 Suppose him now at anchor. The city striv'd 
 God Neptune's annual feast to keep: from 
 
 whence 
 
 Lysimachus our Tyrian ship espies, 
 His banners sable, trimm'd with rich expense ; 
 And to him in his barge with fervour hies. 
 In your supposing once more put your sight 
 Of heavy Pericles , think this his bark : 
 Where what is done in action, more, if might, 
 Shall be discover'd ; please you, sit, and hark. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE L On board PERICLES' ship, off Mity- 
 lene. A Pavilion on deck with a curtain 
 before it; PERICLES within it, reclining on 
 a couch. A barge lying beside the Tyrian 
 vessel. 
 
 Enter two Sailors, one belonging to the Tyrian 
 -vessel, the other to the barge ; to them HELI- 
 
 Tyr. Sail.. Where is Lord Helicanus ? he 
 can resolve you. 
 
 [To the Sailor of Mitylene. 
 O, here he is. 
 
 Sir, there 's a barge put off from Mitylene, 
 And in it is Lysimachus the governor, [will? 
 Who craves to come aboard. What is your 
 Hel. That he have his. Call up some 
 
 gentlemen. 
 Tyr. Sail. Ho, gentlemen ! my lord calls. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 102 1 
 
 Enter two or three Gentlemen. 
 
 I Gent. Doth your lordship call? 
 Hel. Gentlemen, [pray, 
 
 There is some of worth would come aboard ; I 
 Greet them fairly. 
 
 [The Gentlemen and the two Sailors 
 descend, and go on board the barge. 
 
 Enter, from thence, LYSIMACHUS and Lords, 
 with the Gentlemen and the two Sailors. 
 
 Tyr. Sail. Sir, 
 
 This is the man that can, in aught you would, 
 Resolve you. 
 
 Lys. Hail, reverend sir ! The gods preserve 
 you! 
 
 Hel. And you, sir, to outlive the age I am, 
 And die as I would do. 
 
 Lys. You wish me well. 
 
 Being on shore, honouring ofNeptune's triumphs, 
 Seeing this goodly vessel ride before us, 
 I made to it, to know of whence you are. 
 
 Hel. First, what is your place? 
 
 Lys. I am the governor 
 
 Of this place you lie before. 
 
 Hel. Sir, 
 
 Our vessel is of Tyre, in it the king ; [spoken 
 A man who for this three months hath not 
 To any one, nor taken sustenance, 
 But to prorogue his grief. [ture? 
 
 Lys. Upon what ground is his distempera- 
 
 Hel. 'Twould be too tedious to repeat ; 
 But the main grief springs from the loss 
 Of a beloved daughter and a wife. 
 
 Lys. May we not see him? 
 
 Hel. You may; 
 
 But bootless is your sight, he will not speak 
 To any. 
 
 Lys. Yet let me obtain my wish. 
 
 Hel. Behold him [PERICLES discovered^. 
 
 This was a goodly person 
 Till the disaster that one mortal night 
 Drove him to this. 
 
 Lys. Sir king, all hail ! the gods preserve 
 
 you ! 
 Hail, royal sir! 
 
 Hel. It is in vain ; he will not speak to you. 
 
 i Lord. Sir, we have a maid in Mitylene, I 
 
 durst wager, 
 Would win some words of him. 
 
 Lys. 'Tis well bethought. 
 
 She, questionless, with her sweet harmony 
 And other choice attractions, would allure, 
 And make a battery through his deafen'd parts, 
 Which now are midway stopp'd : 
 She is all happy as the fairest of all, 
 And, with her fellow maids, is now upon 
 
 The leafy shelter that abuts against 
 The island's side. 
 
 [He whispers first Lord, who goes off 
 in the barge of LYSIMACHUS. 
 
 Hel. Sure, all 's effectless ; yet nothing we '11 
 omit [kindness 
 
 That bears recovery's name. But, since your 
 We have stretch'd thus far, let us beseech you 
 That for our gold we may provision have, 
 Wherein we are not destitute for want, 
 But weary for the staleness. 
 
 Lys. O, sir, a courtesy 
 
 Which if we should deny, me most just gods 
 For every graff would send a caterpillar, 
 And so afflict our province. Yet once more 
 Let me entreat to know at large the cause 
 Of your king's sorrow. 
 
 Hel. Sit, sir, I will recount it to you : 
 But, see, I am prevented. 
 
 Re-enter, from the barge, First Lord, with 
 MARINA and a young Lady. 
 
 Lys. O, here is 
 
 The lady that I sent for. Welcome, fair one ! 
 Is't not a goodly presence? 
 
 Hel. She 's a gallant lady. 
 
 Lys. She's such a one that, were I well 
 
 assur'd 
 
 Came of gentle kind and noble stock, [wed. 
 I 'd wish no better choice, and think me rarely 1 
 Fair one, all goodness that consists in bounty 
 Expect even here, where is a kingly patient : 
 If that thy prosperous and artificial feat 
 Can draw him but to answer thee in aught, 
 Thy sacred physic shall receive such pay 
 As thy desires can wish. 
 
 Mar. Sir, I will use 
 
 My utmost skill in his recovery, 
 Provided 
 
 That none but I and my companion maid 
 Be suffer'd to come near him. 
 
 Lys. Come, let us leave her; 
 
 And the gods make her prosperous i 
 
 [MARINA sings. 
 
 Lys. Mark'd he your music? 
 
 Mar. No, nor look'd on us. 
 
 Lys. See, she will speak to him. 
 
 Mar. Hail, sir ! my lord, lend ear. 
 
 Per. Hum, ha ! 
 
 Mar. I am a maid, 
 
 My lord, that ne'er before invited eyes, 
 But have been gaz'd on like a comet : she speaks, 
 My lord, that, may be, hath endur'd a grief 
 Might equal yours, if both were justly weigh'd. 
 Though wayward fortune did malign my state, 
 My derivation was from ancestors 
 Who stood equivalent with mighty kings: 
 
IO22 
 
 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 But time hath rooted out my parentage. 
 And to the world and awkward casualties 
 Bound me in servitude. [Aside. ] I will desist ; 
 But there is something glows upon my cheek, 
 And whispers in mine ear, Go not till he speak. 
 
 Fer. My fortunes parentage good parent- 
 age [you ? 
 To equal mine ! was it not thus ? what say 
 
 Alar. I said, my lord, if you did know my 
 
 parentage 
 You would not do me violence. 
 
 Per. j I do think so. 
 
 I pray you, turn your yes upon me. [woman? 
 You are like something that What country- 
 Here of these shores ? 
 
 Mar. No, nor of any shores : 
 
 Yet I was mortally brought forth, and am 
 No other than I appear. [weeping. 
 
 Per. I am great with woe, and shall deliver 
 My dearest wife was like this maid, and such 
 a one [square brows ; 
 
 My daughter might have been : my queen's 
 Her stature to an inch ; as wand-like straight ; 
 As silver voic'd ; her eyes as jewel-like, 
 And cas'd as richly ; in pace another Juno ; 
 Who starves the ears she feeds, and makes 
 them hungry [you live? 
 
 The more she gives them speech. Where do 
 
 Mar. Where I am but a stranger : from the 
 
 deck 
 You may discern the place. 
 
 Per. Where were you bred? 
 
 And how achiev'd you these endowments, which 
 You make more rich to owe? [seem 
 
 Mar. If I should tell my history, it would 
 Like lies, disdain'd in the reporting. 
 
 Per. Pr'ythee, speak: 
 
 Falseness cannot come from thee; forthou look'st 
 Modest as Justice, and thou seem'st a palace 
 For the crown'd Truth to dwell in: I will 
 
 believe thee, 
 
 And make my senses credit thy relation 
 To points that seem impossible ; for thou look'st 
 Like one I lov'd indeed. What were thy friends ? 
 Didst thou not say, when I did push thee 
 
 back, 
 Which was when I perceiv'd thee, that thou 
 
 cam'st 
 From good descending? 
 
 Mar. So indeed I did. 
 
 Per. Report thy parentage. I think thou 
 
 said'st 
 
 Thou hadst been toss'd from wrong to injury, 
 And that thou thought'st thy griefs might 
 
 equal mine, 
 If both were open'd. 
 
 Some such thing 
 
 I said, and said no more but what my thoughts 
 Did warrant me was likely. 
 
 Per. Tell thy story ; 
 
 If thine consider'd prove the thousandth part 
 Of my endurance, thou art a man, and I 
 Have suffer'd like a girl : yet thou dost look 
 Like Patience gazing on kings' graves, and 
 
 smiling 
 
 Extremity out of act. What were thy friends? 
 How lost thou them? Thy name, my most 
 
 kind virgin? 
 Recount, I do beseech thee : come, sit by me. 
 
 Mar. My name is Marina. 
 
 Per. O, I am mock'd, 
 
 And thou by some incensed god sent hither 
 To make the world to laugh at me. 
 
 Mar. Patience, good sir, 
 
 Or here I '11 cease. 
 
 Per. Nay, I '11 be patient. 
 
 Thou little know'st how thou dost startle me, 
 To call thyself Marina. 
 
 Afar. The name 
 
 Was given me by one that had some power, 
 My father, and a king. 
 
 Per. How ! a king's daughter? 
 
 And call'd Marina? 
 
 Mar. You said you would believe me ; 
 
 But, not to be a troubler of your peace, 
 I will end here. 
 
 Per. But are you flesh and blood? 
 
 Have you a working pulse? and are no fairy? 
 Motion ! Well ; speak on. Where were you 
 
 born? 
 And wherefore call'd Marina? 
 
 Mar. Call'd Marina 
 
 For I was born at sea. 
 
 Per. At sea ! what mother ? 
 
 Mar. My mother was the daughter of a king ; 
 Who died the minute I was born, 
 As my good nurse Lychorida hath oft 
 Deliver'd weeping. 
 
 Per. O, stop there a little ! 
 
 [Aside.'] This is the rarest dream that e'er dull 
 
 sleep 
 
 Did mock sad fools withal : this cannot be : 
 My daughter's buried. Well: where were 
 
 you bred? 
 
 I '11 hear you more, to the bottom of your story, 
 And never interrupt you. 
 
 Mar. You '11 scarce believe me : 'twere best I 
 did give o'er. 
 
 Per. I will believe you by the syllable 
 Of what you shall deliver. Yet give me leave, 
 How came you in these parts? where were you 
 bred ? [leave me ; 
 
 Mar. The king my father did in Tharsus 
 Till cruel Cleon, with his wicked wife, 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 1023 
 
 Did seek to murder me : and having woo'd 
 A villain to attempt it, who having drawn todo 't, 
 A crew of pirates came and rescu'd me 
 Brought me to Mitylene. But, good sir, 
 Whither will you have me? Why do you weep? 
 
 It may be 
 
 You think me an imposter : no, good faith ; 
 I am the daughter to King Pericles, 
 If good King Pericles be. 
 
 Per. Ho, Helicanus ! 
 
 Hel. Calls my lord? 
 
 Per. Thou art a grave and noble counsellor, 
 Most wise in general : tell me, if thou canst, 
 What this maid is, or what is like to be, 
 That thus hath made me weep? 
 
 Hel. I know not; but 
 
 Here is the regent, sir, of Mitylene 
 Speaks nobly of her. 
 
 Lys. She would never tell 
 
 Her parentage ; being demanded that, 
 She would sit still and weep. 
 
 Per. O Helicanus, strike me, honour'd sir ; 
 Give me a gash, put me to present pain; 
 Lest this great sea of joys rushing upon me 
 O'erbear the shores of my mortality, [hither, 
 And drown me with their sweetness. O, come 
 Thou that begett'st him that did thee beget ; 
 Thou that was born at sea, buried at Tharsus, 
 And found at sea again ! O Helicanus, 
 Down on thy knees, thank the holy gods as loud 
 As thunder threatens us: this is Marina. 
 What was thy mother's name? tell me but that, 
 For truth can never be confirm'd enough, 
 Though doubts did ever sleep. 
 
 Mar. First, sir, I pray, 
 
 What is your title? 
 
 Per. I am Pericles of Tyre : but tell me now 
 
 My drown'd queen's name, as in the rest you 
 
 said [of kingdoms, 
 
 Thou 'st been godlike perfect, thou 'rt the heir 
 
 And another life to Pericles thy father. 
 
 Mar. Is it no more to be your daughter than 
 To say my mother's name was Thaisa? 
 Thaisa was my mother, who did end 
 The minute I began. [my child. 
 
 Per. Now, blessing on thee! rise; thou art 
 Give me fresh garments. Mine own Heli- 
 canus, 
 She is not dead at Tharsus, as she should have 
 
 been 
 
 By savage Cleon : she shall tell thee all ; 
 When thou shalt kneel, and justify in knowledge 
 She is thy very princess. Who is this? 
 
 Hel. Sir, 'tis the governor of Mitylene, 
 Who, hearing of your melancholy state, 
 Did come to see you. 
 
 Per. I embrace you. 
 
 Give me my robes. I am wild in my behold- 
 ing. [music? 
 
 heavens bless my girl! But, hark, what 
 Tell Helicanus, my Marina, tell him 
 
 O'er, point by point, for yet he seems to doubt, 
 How sure you are my daughter. But, what 
 music? 
 
 Hel. My lord, I hear none. 
 
 Per. None! 
 The music of the spheres ! List, my Marina. 
 
 Lys. It is not good to cross him ; give him way. 
 
 Per. Rarest sounds ! Do ye not hear? 
 
 Lys. My lord, I hear. [Music. 
 
 Per. Most heavenly music ! 
 It nips me into listening, and thick slumber 
 Hangs upon mine eyes : let me rest. [Sleeps. 
 
 Lys. A pillow for his head : 
 So, leave himall. Well, my companion -friends, 
 If this but answer to my just belief, 
 
 1 '11 well remember you. 
 
 [Exeunt all but PERICLES. 
 
 DIANA appears to PERICLES as in a vision. 
 
 Dia. My temple stands in Ephesus : hie thee 
 
 thither, 
 
 And do upon mine altar sacrifice. [gether, 
 
 There, when my maiden priests are met to- 
 Before the people all, 
 
 Reveal how thou at sea didst lose thy wife : 
 To mourn thy crosses, with thy daughter's, call, 
 And give them repetition to the life. 
 Or perform my bidding or thou liv'st in woe; 
 Do it, and happy ; by my silver bow ! 
 Awake and tell thy dream. [Disappears. 
 
 Per. Celestial Dian, goddess argentine, 
 I will obey thee. Helicanus ! 
 
 Re-enter HELICANUS, LYSIMACHUS, 
 MARINA, &>c. 
 
 Hel. Sir? [strike 
 
 Per. My purpose was for Tharsus, there to 
 The inhospitable Cleon ; but I am 
 For other service first : toward Ephesus 
 Turn our blown sails ; eftsoons I '11 tell thee 
 why. [To HELICANUS. 
 
 Shall we refresh us, sir, upon your shore, 
 
 [To LYSIMACHUS. 
 
 And give you gold for such provision 
 As our intents will need? 
 
 Lys. Sir, 
 
 With all my heart ; and when you come ashore 
 I have another suit. 
 
 Per. You shall prevail, 
 
 Were it to woo my daughter ; for it seems 
 You have been noble towards her. 
 
 Lys. Sir, lend me your arm. 
 
 Per. Come, my Marina, [Exeunt. 
 
IO24 
 
 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Enter GOWER, before the Temple of DIANA at 
 Ephesus. 
 
 Cow. Now our sands are almost run ; 
 More a little, and then done. 
 This, my last boon, give me, 
 For such kindness must relieve me, 
 That you aptly will suppose 
 What pageantry, what feats, what shows, 
 What minstrelsy, and pretty din, 
 The regent made in Mitylin, 
 To greet the king. So he thriv'd, 
 That he is promis'd to be wiv'd 
 To fair Marina ; but in no wise 
 Till he had done his sacrifice, 
 As Dian bade : whereto being bound 
 The interim, pray you, all confound. 
 In feather'd briefness sails are fill'd, 
 And wishes fall out as they're will'd. 
 At Ephesus the temple see, 
 Our king, and all his company. 
 That he can hither come so soon, 
 Is by your fancy's thankful boon. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE \\.-The Temple 0/DiANA at Ephesus; 
 THAISA standing near the altar as high 
 priestess ; a number of Virgins on each side ; 
 CERIMON and other Inhabitants of Ephesus 
 attending. 
 
 Enter PERICLES, with his Train; LYSIMA- 
 CHUS, HELICANUS, MARINA, and a Lady. 
 
 Per. Hail, Dian ! to perform thy just com- 
 mand, 
 
 I here confess myself the King of Tyre ; 
 Who, frighted from my country, did wed 
 At Pentapolis the fair Thaisa. 
 At sea in childbed died she, but brought forth 
 A maid-child, call'd Marina ; who, O goddess, 
 Wears yet thy silver livery. She at Tharsus 
 Was nurs'd with Cleon ; who at fourteen years 
 He sought to murder : but her better stars 
 Brought her to Mitylene ; 'gainst whose shore 
 Riding, her fortunes brought the maid aboard 
 us, [she 
 
 Where, by her own most clear remembrance, 
 Made known herself my daughter. 
 
 Thai. Voice and favour ! 
 
 You are, you are O royal Pericles ! [Faints. 
 
 Per. What means the woman? she dies! 
 help, gentlemen ! 
 
 Cer. Noble sir, 
 
 If you have told Diana's altar true, 
 This is your wife. 
 
 Per. Reverend appearer, no ; 
 I threw her o'erboard with these very arms. 
 
 Cer. Upon this coast, I warrant you. 
 
 Per. 'Tis most certain. 
 
 Cer. Look to the lady; O, she's but o'ei- 
 
 joy'd. 
 
 Early in blustering morn this lady was 
 Thrown upon this shore. I op'd the coffin. 
 Found there rich jewels; recover'd her, and 
 
 plac'd her 
 Here in Diana's temple. 
 
 Per. May we see them ? 
 
 Cer. Great sir, they shall be brought you to 
 
 my house, 
 
 Whither I invite you. Look, Thaisa is 
 Recover'd. 
 
 Thai. O, let me look ! 
 If he be none of mine, my sanctity 
 Will to my sense bend no licentious ear, 
 But curb it, spite of seeing. 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? 
 
 Per. The voice of dead Thaisa ! 
 
 Thai. That Thaisa am I, supposed dead 
 And drown'd. 
 
 Per. Immortal Dian ! 
 
 Thai. Now I know you better. 
 
 When we with tears parted Pentapolis, 
 The king my father gave you such a ring. 
 
 [Shows a ring. 
 
 Per. This, this : no more, you gods ! your 
 present kindness [well, 
 
 Makes my past miseries sport : you shall do 
 That on the touching of her lips I may 
 Melt, and no more be seen. O, come, be buried 
 A second time within these arms. 
 
 Mar. My heart 
 
 Leaps to be gone into my mother's bosom. 
 
 \Kneels to THAISA. 
 
 Per. Look, who kneels here ! Flesh of thy 
 
 flesh, Thaisa ; 
 
 Thy burden at the sea, and call'd Marina 
 For she was yielded there. 
 
 Thai. Bless'd, and mine own ! 
 
 Hel. Hail, madam, and my queen ! 
 
 Thai. I know you not. 
 
 Per. You have heard me say, when I did fly 
 
 from Tyre, 
 
 I left behind an ancient substitute : 
 Can you remember what I call'd the man ? 
 I have nam'd him oft. 
 
 Thai. 'Twas Helicanus then. 
 
 Per. Still confirmation : 
 Embrace him, dear Thaisa ; this is he. 
 Now do I long to hear how you were found ; 
 How possibly preserv'd ; and who to thank, 
 Besides the gods, for this great miracle. 
 
 Thai. Lord Cerimon, my lord ; this man, 
 throueh whom 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 1025 
 
 The gods have shown their power ; 'tis he 
 That can from first to last resolve you. 
 
 Per. Reverend sir, 
 
 The gods can have no mortal officer 
 More like a god than you. Will you deliver 
 How this dead queen re-lives ? 
 
 Cer. I will, my lord. 
 
 Beseech you, first go with me to my house, 
 Where shall be shown you all was found with her; 
 How she came placed here in the temple ; 
 No needful thing omitted. [I 
 
 Per. Pure Dian, bless thee for thy vision*. 
 Will offer night-oblations to thee. Thaisa, 
 This prince, the fair-betrothed of your daughter, 
 Shall marry her at Pentapolis. And now, 
 This ornament 
 
 Makes me look dismal will I clip to form ; 
 And what this fourteen years no razor touch'd, 
 To grace thy marriage-day I '11 beautify. 
 
 Thai. Lord Cerimon hath letters of good 
 
 credit, sir, 
 My father 's dead. 
 
 Per. Heavens ma ke a star of him ! Yet there, 
 
 my queen, 
 
 We '11 celebrate their nuptials, and ourselves 
 Will in that kingdom spend our following days : 
 
 Our son and daughter shall in Tyrus reign. 
 Lord Cerimon, we do our longing stay 
 To hear the rest untold : sir, lead 's the way. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter GOWER. 
 
 Gow. In Antiochus and his daughter you 
 
 have heard 
 
 Of monstrous lust the due and just reward : 
 In Pericles, his queen and daughter, seen, 
 Although assail'd with fortune fierce and keen, 
 Virtue preserv'd from fell destruction's blast, 
 Led on by heaven, and crown'd with joy at last : 
 In Helicanus may you well descry 
 A figure of truth, of faith, of loyalty : 
 In reverend Cerimon there well appears 
 The worth that learned charity aye wears : 
 For wicked Cleon and his wife, when fame 
 Had spread their cursed deed, and honour'd name 
 Of Pericles, to rage the city turn, 
 That him and his they in his palace burn ; 
 The gods for murder seemed so content 
 To punish them, although not done, but meant. 
 So, on your patience evermore attending, 
 New joy wait on you ! Here our play has end- 
 ing. {Exit. 
 
 
 2 K 
 

 KT XT C* T T7 A "D 
 1 IN LJ JL, H, A K. 
 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 LEAR, King of Britain. 
 
 KING OF FRANCE. 
 
 DUKE OF BURGUNDY. 
 
 DUKE OF CORNWALL. 
 
 DUKE OF ALBANY. 
 
 EARL OF KENT. 
 
 EARL OF GLOSTER. 
 
 EDGAR, Son to GLOSTER. 
 
 EDMUND, Bastaid Son to GLOSTER. 
 
 CURAN, a Courtier. 
 
 Old Man, Tenant to GLOSTER. 
 
 Physician. 
 
 Fool. 
 
 no fat 
 
 OSWALD, Steward to GONERIL. 
 An Officer employed by EDMUND. 
 Gentleman attendant on CORDELIA. 
 A Herald. 
 
 Servants to CORNWALL. 
 
 ,tsf\ 
 
 ,E2LBrfT .osrfJ oJ oioiisldo-lrfgin ttjfto IliW 
 GONERIL, ) 
 
 REGAN, > Daughters to LEAR. 
 CORDELIA, J 
 
 Knights attending on the KING, Officers, Mes 
 sengers, Soldiers, and Attendants. 
 
 SCENE, BRITAIN. 
 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. A Room of State in KING LEAR'S 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter KENT, GLOSTER, and EDMUND. 
 
 Kent. I thought the king had more affected 
 the Duke of Albany than Cornwall. 
 
 Glo. It did always seem so to us : but now, 
 in the division of the kingdom, it appears not 
 which of the dukes he values most ; for equali- 
 ties are so weighed that curiosity in neither can 
 make choice of cither's moiety. 
 
 Kent. Is not this your son, my lord ? 
 
 Glo. His breeding, sir, hath been at my 
 charge : I have so often blushed to acknow- 
 ledge him that now I am brazed to it. 
 
 Kent. I cannot conceive you. 
 
 Glo. Sir, this young fellow's mother could : 
 whereupon she grew round- wombed, and had 
 indeed, sir, a son for her cradle ere she had a 
 husband for her bed. Do you smell a fault ? 
 
 Kent. I cannot wish the fault undone, the 
 issue of it being so proper. 
 
 Glo. But I have a son, sir, by order of law, 
 some year elder than this, who yet is no dearer 
 in my account : though this knave came some- 
 thing saucily into the world before he was sent 
 for, yet was his mother fair ; there was good 
 sport at his making, and the whoreson must be 
 acknowledged. Do you know this noble gentle- 
 man, Edmund? 
 
 Edm. No, my lord. 
 
 Glo. My Lord of Kent : remember him here- 
 after as my honourable friend. 
 
 - '-' "' jiia ,: 
 
 Edm. My services to your lordship. 
 
 Kent. I must love you, and sue to know you 
 better. 
 
 Edm. Sir, I shall study deserving. 
 
 Glo. He hath been out nine years, and away 
 he shall again. The king is coming. 
 
 \Sennet within. 
 
 Enter LEAR, CORNWALL, ALBANY, GONERIL, 
 REGAN, CORDELIA, and Attendants. 
 
 Lear. Attend the Lords of France and Bur- 
 gundy, 
 Gloster. 
 
 Glo. I shall, my liege. 
 
 [Exeunt GLO. and EDM. 
 Lear. Meantime we shall express our darker 
 purpose. [divided 
 
 Give me the map there. Know that we have 
 In three our kingdom : and 'tis our fast intent 
 To shake all cares and business from our age ; 
 Conferring them on younger strengths, while we 
 Unburden'd crawl toward death. Our son of 
 
 Cornwall, 
 
 And you, our no less loving son of Albany, 
 We have this hour a constant will to publish 
 Our daughters' several dowers, that future strife 
 May be prevented now. The princes, France 
 
 and Burgundy, 
 
 Great rivals in our youngest daughter's love, 
 Long in our court have made their amorous 
 sojourn, [daughters, 
 
 And here are to be answerM. Tell me, my 
 Since now we will divest us both of rule, 
 Interest of territory, ceres of state, 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 1027 
 
 Which of you shall we say doth love us most ? 
 That we our largest bounty may extend 
 Where nature doth with merit challenge. 
 
 Goneril, 
 Our eldest-born, speak first. 
 
 Gon. Sir, I love you more than words can 
 
 wield the matter ; 
 
 Dearer than eyesight, space, and liberty ; 
 Beyond what can be valu'd, rich or rare ; 
 No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, 
 
 honour ; 
 
 As much as child e'er lov'd, or father found ; 
 A love that makes breath poor and speech unable; 
 Beyond all manner of so much I love you. 
 
 Cor. [Aside.] What shall Cordelia do? Love, 
 and be silent. [to this, 
 
 Lear. Of all these bounds, even from this line 
 With shadowy forests and withchampains rich'd, 
 With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads, 
 We make thee lady : to thine and Albany's issue 
 Be this perpetual. What says our second 
 
 daughter, 
 Our dearest Regan, wife to Cornwall? Speak. 
 
 Reg. I am made of that self metal as my sister, 
 And prize me at her worth. In my true heart 
 I find she names my very deed of love ; 
 Only she comes too short, that I profess 
 Myself an enemy to all other joys [possesses ; 
 Which the most precious square of sense 
 And find I am alone felicitate 
 In your dear highness' love. 
 
 Car. [Aside.] Then poor Cordelia ! 
 
 And yet not so ; since, I am sure, my love 's 
 More ponderous than my tongue. 
 
 Lear. To thee and thine hereditary ever 
 Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom ; 
 No less in space, validity, and pleasure 
 Than that conferr'd on Goneril. Now, our joy, 
 Although the last, not least ; to whose young 
 
 love 
 
 The vines of France and milk of Burgundy 
 Strive to be interess'd ; what can you say to 
 draw [Speak. 
 
 A third more opulent than your sisters? 
 
 Cor. Nothing, my lord. 
 
 Lear. Nothing! 
 
 Cor. Nothing. [again. 
 
 Lear. Nothing will come of nothing: speak 
 
 Cor. Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave 
 My heart into my mouth : I love your majesty 
 According to my bond ; nor more nor less. 
 
 Lear. How, how, Cordelia ! mend your 
 
 speech a little, 
 Lest you may mar your fortunes. 
 
 Cor. Good my lord, 
 
 You have begot me, bred me, lov'd me: I 
 Return those duties back as are right fit, 
 
 Obey you, love you, and most honour you. 
 Why have my sisters husbands if they say 
 They love you all? Haply, when I shall wed, 
 That lord whose hand must take my plight 
 
 shall carry 
 
 Half my love with him, half my care and duty: 
 Sure I shall never marry like my sisters, 
 To Ifove my father all. 
 
 Lear. But goes thy heart with this? 
 
 Cor. Ay, good my lord. 
 
 Lear. So young and so untender? 
 
 Cor. So young, my lord, and true. 
 
 Lear. Let it be so, thy truth, then, be thy 
 
 dower: 
 
 For by the sacred radiance of the sun, 
 The mysteries of Hecate, and the night; 
 By all the operation of the orbs, 
 From whom we do exist and cease to be ; 
 Here I disdain all my paternal care, 
 Propinquity, and property of blood, 
 And as a stranger to my heart and me 
 Hold thee, from this for ever. The barbarous 
 
 Scythian, 
 
 Or he that makes his generation messes 
 To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom 
 Be as well neighbour'd, pitied, and reliev'd, 
 As thou my sometime daughter. 
 
 Kent. Good my liege, 
 
 Lear. Peace, Kent ! 
 
 Come not between the dragon and his wrath. 
 I lov'd her most, and thought to set my rest 
 On her kind nursery. Hence, and avoid my 
 
 sight ! [ To CORDELIA. 
 
 So be my grave my peace, as here I give 
 Her father's heart from her ! Call France ; 
 
 who stirs? 
 
 Call Burgundy. Cornwall and Albany, 
 With my two daughters' dowers digest th ithird: 
 Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her. 
 I do invest you jointly with my power, 
 Pre-eminence, and all the large effects 
 That troop with majesty. Ourself, by monthly 
 
 course, 
 
 With reservation of an hundred knights, 
 By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode 
 Make with you by due turns. Only we still 
 
 retain 
 
 The name, and all the additions to a king ; 
 The sway, 
 
 Revenue, execution of the rest, 
 Beloved sons, be yours : which to confirm, 
 This coronet part between you. 
 
 [Giving 1 the frown. 
 
 Kent. Royal Lear, 
 
 Whom I have ever honour'd as my king, 
 Lov'd as my father, as my master follow'd, 
 As my greit patron thought on in my prayers. 
 
1028 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 Lear. The bow is bent and drawn, make 
 
 from the shaft. 
 
 Kent. Let it fall rather, though the fork invade 
 The region of my heart : be Kent unmannerly 
 When Lear is mad. What wouldst thou do, 
 old man? [speak 
 
 Think'st thou that duty shall have dread to 
 When power to flattery bows? To plainness 
 
 honour's bound 
 
 When majesty falls to folly. Reserve thy state ; 
 And in thy best consideration check 
 This hideous rashness : answer my life my judg- 
 ment, 
 
 Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least ; 
 Nor are those empty-hearted whose low sound 
 Reverbs no hollowness. 
 
 Lear. Kent, on thy life, no more. 
 
 Kent. My life I never held but as a pawn 
 To wage against thine enemies; nor fear to 
 
 lose it, 
 Thy safety being the motive. 
 
 Lear. Out of my sight ! 
 
 Kent. See better, Lear; and let me still 
 
 remain 
 
 The true blank of thine eye. 
 Lear. Now, by Apollo, 
 Kent. Now, by Apollo, king, 
 
 Thou swear'st thy gods in vain. 
 Lear. O, vassal ! miscreant ! 
 
 \Laying his hand on his sword. 
 Alb. and Corn. Dear sir, forbear. 
 Kent. Do; 
 
 Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow 
 Upon the foul disease. Revoke thy gift; 
 Or, whilst I can vent clamour from my throat, 
 I '11 tell thee thou dost evil. 
 
 Lear. Hear me, recreant ! 
 
 On thine allegiance, hear me! 
 Since thou hast sought to make us break our 
 
 vow, 
 Which we durst never yet, and with strain'd 
 
 pride 
 
 To come betwixt our sentence and our power, 
 Which nor our nature nor our place can bear, 
 Our potency made good, take thy reward. 
 Five days we do allot thee for provision 
 To shield thee from disasters of the world ; 
 And on the sixth to turn thy hated back 
 Upon our kingdom: if, on the tenth day following, 
 Thy banish'd trunk be found in our dominions, 
 The moment is thy death. Away ! by Jupiter, 
 This shall not be revok'd. 
 
 Kent. Fare thee well, king: sith thus thou 
 
 wilt appear, 
 
 Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here. 
 
 The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid, 
 
 \To CORDELIA. 
 
 That justly think'st, and hast most rightly said ! 
 
 And your large speeches may your deeds approve, 
 
 jnsn [Ta REGAN aw^GoNERiL. 
 
 That good effects may spring from words of 
 
 love. 
 
 Thus Kent, O princes, bids you all adieu ; 
 He '11 shape his old course in a country new. 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 Flourish. Re-enter GLOSTER, with FRANCE, 
 BURGUNDY, and Attendants. 
 
 Glo. Here's France and Burgundy, my 
 noble lord. 
 
 Lear. My lord of Burgundy, 
 We first address toward you, who with this king 
 Hath rivall'd for our daughter : what in the least 
 Will you require in present dower with her, 
 Or cease your quest of love? 
 
 Bur. Most royal majesty, 
 
 I crave no more than hath your highness offer'd, 
 Nor will you tender less. 
 
 Lear. Right noble Burgundy, 
 
 When she was dear to us we did hold her so ; 
 But now her price is fall'n. Sir, there she 
 
 stands: 
 
 If aught within that little seeming substance, 
 Or all of it, with our displeasure piec'd, 
 And nothing more, may fitly like your grace, 
 She 's there, and she is yours. 
 
 Bur. I know no answer. 
 
 Lear. Will you, with those infirmities she 
 
 owes, 
 
 Unfriended, new-adopted to our hate, [oath, 
 Dower'd with our curse, and stranger'd with our 
 Take her or leave her? 
 
 Bur. Pardon me, royal sir ; 
 
 Election makes not up on such conditions. 
 
 Lear. Then leave her, sir ; for, by the powei 
 
 that made me, 
 
 I tell you all her wealth. For you, great king, 
 
 \To FRANCE. 
 
 I would not from your love make such a stray, 
 To match you where I hate ; therefore beseech 
 
 you 
 
 To avert your liking a more worthier way 
 Than on a wretch whom nature is asham'd 
 Almost to acknowledge hers. 
 
 France. This is most strange, 
 
 That she, who even but now was your best 
 
 object, 
 
 The argument of your praise, balm of your age, 
 Most best, most dearest, should in this trice of 
 
 time 
 
 Commit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle 
 So many folds of favour. Sure her offence 
 Must be of such unnatural degree 
 That monsters it, or your fore-vouch'd affection 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 1029 
 
 Fall into taint : which to believe of her 
 Must be a faith that reason without miracle 
 Could never plant in me. 
 
 Cor. I yet beseech your majesty, 
 
 If for I want that glib and oily art [intend, 
 To speak and purpose not ; since what I well 
 I '11 do 't before I speak, that you make known 
 It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness, 
 No unchaste action or dishonour'd step, 
 That hath depriv'd me of your grace and 
 favour ; [richer, 
 
 But even for want of that for which I am 
 A still-soliciting eye, and such a tongue [it 
 That I am glad I have not, though not to have 
 Hath lost me in your liking. 
 
 Lear. Better thou 
 
 Hadst not been born than not to have pleas'd 
 me better. 
 
 France. Is it but this, a tardiness in nature, 
 Which often leaves the history unspoke 
 That it intends to do? My lord of Burgundy, 
 What say you to the lady? Love 's not love 
 When it is mingled with regards that stand 
 Aloof from the entire point. Will you have her? 
 She is herself a dowry. 
 
 Bur. Royal king, 
 
 Give but that portion which yourself propos'd, 
 And here I take Cordelia by the hand, 
 Duchess of Burgundy. 
 
 Lear. Nothing : I have sworn ; I am firm. 
 
 Bur. I am sorry, then, you have so lost a father 
 That you must lose a husband. 
 
 Cor. Peace be with Burgundy ! 
 
 Since that respects of fortune are his love 
 I shall not be his wife. [being poor ; 
 
 France. Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, 
 Most choice, forsaken ; and most lov'd, despis'd ! 
 Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon : 
 Be it lawful, I take up what 's cast away. 
 Gods, gods ! 'tis strange that from their cold'st 
 
 neglect 
 
 My love should kindle to inflam'd respect. 
 Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my 
 
 chance, 
 
 Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France : 
 Not all the dukes of waterish Burgundy 
 Can buy this unpriz'd precious maid of me. 
 Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind : 
 Thou losest here, a better where to find. 
 
 Lear. Thou hast her, France : let her be thine; 
 
 for we 
 
 Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see 
 That face of hers again. Therefore be gone 
 Without our grace, our love, our benison. 
 Come, noble Burgundy. 
 [Flourish, Exeunt LEAR, BURGUNDY, CORN- 
 WALL, ALBANY, GLOSTER, and Attendants. 
 
 France. Bid farewell to your sisters. 
 
 Cor. Ye jewels of our father, with wash'd 
 
 eyes 
 
 Cordelia leaves you : I know you what you are ; 
 And, like a sister, am most loth to call 
 Your faults as they are nam'd. Love well our 
 
 father : 
 
 To your professed bosoms I commit him : 
 But yet, alas, stood I within his grace, 
 I would prefer him to a better place. 
 So, farewell to you both. 
 
 Reg. Prescribe not us our duty. 
 
 Gon. Let your study 
 
 Be to content your lord, who hath receiv'd you 
 
 At fortune's alms. You have obedience scanted, 
 
 And well are worth the want that you have 
 
 wanted. [hides : 
 
 Cor. Time shall unfold what plighted cunning 
 Who cover faults, at last shame them derides. 
 Well may you prosper ! 
 
 France. Come, my fair Cordelia. 
 
 \Exeuiit FRANCE and CORDELIA. 
 
 Gon. Sister, it is not little I have to say of 
 what most nearly appertains to us both. I 
 think our father will hence to-night. 
 
 Reg. That 's most certain, and with you ; 
 next month with us. 
 
 Gon. You see how full of changes his age is ; 
 the observation we have made of it hath not 
 been little : he always loved our sister most ; 
 and with what poor judgment he hath now cast 
 her off appears too grossly. 
 
 Reg. 'Tis the infirmity of his age : yet he 
 hath ever but slenderly known himself. 
 
 Gon. The best and soundest of his time hath 
 been but rash ; then must we look to receive 
 from his age not alone the imperfections of long- 
 engraffed condition, but therewithal the unruly 
 waywardness that infirm and choleric years 
 bring with them. 
 
 Reg. Such unconstant starts are we like to 
 have from him as this of Kent's banishment. 
 
 Gon. There is further compliment of leave- 
 taking between France and him. Pray you, let 
 us hit together : if our father carry authority 
 with such dispositions as he bears, this last 
 surrender of his will but offend us. 
 
 Reg. We shall further think of it. 
 
 Gon. We must do something, and i' the heat. 
 
 [Exettnt. 
 
 SCENE II. A Hallin the EARL OF 
 GLOSTER'S Castle. 
 
 Enter EDMUND with a letter. 
 Edm. Thou, nature, art my goddess ; to thy 
 
1030 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 My services are bound. Wherefore should I 
 Stand in the plague of custom, and permit 
 The curiosity of nations to deprive me, 
 For that I am some twelve or fourteen moon- 
 shines [base ? 
 Lag of a brother? Why bastard? wherefore 
 When my dimensions are as well compact, 
 My mind as generous, and my shape as true 
 As honest madam's issue ? Why brand they us 
 With base? with baseness? bastardy? base, 
 
 base? 
 
 WTio, in the lusty stealth of nature, take 
 More composition and fierce quality 
 Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed, 
 Go to the creating a whole tribe of fops 
 Got 'tween asleep and wake ? Well, then, 
 Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land : 
 Our father's love is to the bastard Edmund. 
 As to the legitimate : fine word, legitimate ! 
 Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed, 
 And my invention thrive, Edmund the base 
 Shall top the legitimate. I grow; I prosper. 
 Now, gods, stand up for bastards ! 
 
 Enter GLOSTER. 
 
 Glo. Kent banish'd thus ! and France in 
 choler parted ! [power ! 
 
 And the king gone to-night ! subscrib'd his 
 Confin'd to exhibition 1 All this done 
 Upon the gad ! Edmund, how now ! what 
 news? 
 
 Edm. So please your lordship, none. 
 
 [Putting up the letter. 
 
 Glo. Why so earnestly seek you to put up 
 that letter ? 
 
 Edm. I know no news, my lord. 
 
 Glo. What paper were you reading ? 
 
 Edm. Nothing, my lord. 
 
 Glo. No ? What needed, then, that terrible 
 despatch of it into your pocket ? the quality of 
 nothing hath not such need to hide itself. Let 's 
 see : come, if it be nothing, I shall not need 
 spectacles. 
 
 Edm. I beseech you, sir, pardon me : it is a 
 letter from my brother that I have not all o'er- 
 read ; and for so much as I have perused, I 
 find it not fit for your over-looking. 
 
 Glo. Give me the letter, sir. 
 
 Edm. I shall offend either to detain or give 
 it. The contents, as in part I understand them, 
 are to blame. 
 
 Glo. Let 's see, let 's see. 
 
 Edm. I hope, for my brother's justification, 
 he wrote this but as an essay or taste of my 
 virtue. 
 
 Glo. [Reads.] This policy and reverence of 
 age. makes the world bitter to the best of our 
 
 times ; keeps our fortunes from us till otir old* 
 ness cannot relish them. I begin to find an idle 
 and fond bondage in the oppression of aged 
 tyranny ; who sways, not as it hath power ; but 
 as it is suffered. Come to me, that of this I 
 may speak more. If our father would sleep till 
 I waked him, you should enjoy half his revenue 
 for ever, and live the beloved of your brother, 
 
 EDGAR. 
 
 Hum Conspiracy ! Sleep till I waked him, 
 you should enjoy half his revenue, My son 
 Edgar ! Had he a hand to write this ? a heart 
 and a brain to breed it in ? When came this to 
 you ? who brought it ? 
 
 Edm. It was not brought me, my lord, 
 there 's the cunning of it ; I found it thrown in 
 at the casement of my closet. [brother's ? 
 
 Glo. You know the character to be your 
 
 Edm. If the matter were good, my lord, I 
 durst swear it were his ; but in respect of that, 
 I would fain think it were not. 
 
 Glo. It is his. 
 
 Edm. It is his hand, my lord ; but I hope 
 his heart is not in the contents. 
 
 Glo. Hath he never before sounded you in 
 this business? 
 
 Edm. Never, my lord : but I have heard 
 him oft maintain it to be fit that sons at perfect 
 age and fathers declined, the father should be 
 as ward to the son, and the son manage his 
 revenue. 
 
 Glo. O villain, villain ! His very opinion 
 in the letter ! Abhorred villain ! Unnatural, 
 detested, brutish villain ! worse than brutish ! 
 Go, sirrah, seek him ; I '11 apprehend him. 
 Abominable villain ! Where is he ? 
 
 Edm. I do not well know, my lord. If it 
 shall please you to suspend your indignation 
 against my brother till you can derive from him 
 better testimony of his intent, you shall run a 
 certain course ; where, if you violently proceed 
 against him, mistaking his purpose, it would 
 make a great gap in your own honour, and 
 shake in pieces the heart of his obedience. I 
 dare pawn down my life for him that he hath 
 writ this to feel my affection to your honour, 
 and to no other pretence of danger. 
 
 Glo. Think you so? 
 
 Edm. If your honour judge it meet, I will 
 place you where you shall hear us confer of 
 this, and by an auricular assurance have your 
 satisfaction ; and that without any further de- 
 lay than this very evening. 
 
 Glo. He cannot be such a monster. 
 
 Edm. Nor is not, sure. 
 
 Glo. To his father, that so tenderly and 
 entirely loves him. Heaven and earth 1 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 1031 
 
 Edmund, seek him out ; wind me into him, 1 
 pray you : frame the business after your own 
 wisdom. I would unstate myself to be in a 
 due resolution. 
 
 Edm. I will seek him, sir, presently ; convey 
 the business as I shall find means, and acquaint 
 you withal. 
 
 Glo. These late eclipses in the sun and moon 
 portend no good to us : though the wisdom of 
 nature can reason it thus and thus, yet nature 
 finds itself scourged by the sequent effects: love 
 cools, friendship falls off, brothers divide : in 
 cities, mutinies ; in countries, discord ; in 
 palaces, treason ; and the bond cracked 'twixt 
 son and father. This villain of mine comes 
 under the prediction ; there 's son against 
 father : the king falls from bias of nature ; 
 there 's father against child. We have seen 
 the best of our time: machinations, hollow - 
 ness, treachery, and all ruinous disorders, fol- 
 low us disquietly to our graves. Find out this 
 villain, Edmund ; it shall lose thee nothing ; 
 do it carefully. And the noble and true- 
 hearted Ker;t banished! his offence, honesty! 
 'Tis strange. [Exit. 
 
 Edm. This is the excellent foppery of the 
 world, that, when we are sick in fortune, 
 often the surfeit of our own behaviour, we 
 make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, 
 and the stars : as i) we were villains by neces- 
 sity ; fools by heavenly compulsion ; knaves, 
 thieves, and treachers by spherical predomin- 
 ance ; drunkards, liars, and adulterers by an 
 enforced obedience ot planetary influence ; and 
 all that we are evil in, by a divine thrusting 
 on: an admirable evasion of whoremaster man, 
 to lay his goatish disposition to the charge of a 
 star ! My father compounded with my mother 
 under the dragon's tail, and my nativity was 
 under ursa major ; so that it follows I am 
 rough and lecherous. Tut, I should have been 
 that I am, had the maiden liest star in the 
 firmament twinkled on my bastardizing. 
 
 Enter EDGAR. 
 
 Pat ! he comes like the catastrophe of the old 
 comedy : my cue is villanous melancholy, with 
 a sigh like Tom o' Bedlam. O, these eclipses 
 do portend these divisions ! fa, sol, la, mi. 
 
 Edg. How now, brother Edmund ! what 
 serious contemplation are you in ? 
 
 Edm. I am thinking, brother, of a prediction 
 I read this other day, what should follow these 
 eclipses. 
 
 Edg. Do you busy yourself with that ? 
 
 Edm. I promise you, the effects he writes of 
 succeed unhappily ; as of unnaturalness between 
 
 the child and the parent ; death, dearth, dis- 
 solutions of ancient amities ; divisions in state, 
 menaces and maledictions against king and 
 nobles ; needless diffidences, banishment of 
 friends, dissipation of cohorts, nuptial breaches, 
 and I know not what. 
 
 Edg. How long have you been a sectary 
 astronomical? [father last? 
 
 Edm. Come, come; when saw you my 
 
 Edg. The night gone by. 
 
 Edm. Spake you with him ? 
 
 Edg. Ay, two hours together. 
 
 Edm. Parted you in good terms? Found 
 you no displeasure in him by word nor coun- 
 tenance? 
 
 Edg. None at all. 
 
 Edm. Bethink yourself wherein you may 
 have offended him : and at my entreaty forbear 
 his presence till some little time hath qualified 
 the heat of his displeasure ; which at this in- 
 stant so rageth in him that with the mischief of 
 your person it would scarcely allay. 
 
 Edg. Some villain hath done me wrong. 
 
 Edm. That's my fear. I pray you, have a 
 continent forbearance till the speed of his rage 
 goes slower ; and, as I say, retire with me to 
 my lodging, from whence I will fitly bring you 
 to hear my lord speak : pray you, go; there's 
 my key. If you do stir abroad, go armed. 
 
 Edg. Armed, brother ! 
 
 Edm. Brother, I advise you to the best ; I 
 am no honest man if there be any good mean- 
 ing toward you : I have told you what I have 
 seen and heard but faintly; nothing like the 
 image and horror of it : pray you, away. 
 
 Edg. Shall I hear from you anon ? 
 
 Edm. I do serve you in this business. 
 
 [Exit EDGAR. 
 
 A credulous father ! and a brother noble, 
 Whose nature is so far from doing harms 
 That he suspects none ; on whose foolish honesty 
 My practices ride easy ! I see the business. 
 Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit : 
 All with me 's meet that I can fashion fit. 
 
 [Exit. 
 !v/oawoH [<,KTRfai3sfc.Sktrj;a3 -^bssnliitss 
 
 SCENE III. A Room in the DUKE OF 
 ALBANY'S Palace. 
 
 Enter GONERIL and OSWALD. 
 
 Gon. Did my father strike my gentleman 
 for chiding of his fool ? 
 
 Osw. Ay, madam. [hour 
 
 Gon. By day and night, he wrongs me ; every 
 He flashes into one gross crime or other, 
 That sets us all at odds : I '11 not endure it : 
 
1032 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 [ACT 
 
 His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids 
 us [ing 
 
 On every trifle. When he returns from hunt- 
 I will not speak with him ; say I am sick. 
 If you come slack of former services 
 You shall do well ; the fault of it I '11 answer. 
 Osw. He 's coming, madam : I hear him. 
 
 [Horns within. 
 
 Gon. Put on what weary negligence you 
 please, [question : 
 
 You and your fellows ; I 'd have it come to 
 If he distaste it, let him to my sister, 
 Whose mind and mine, I know, in that are one, 
 Not to be overruled. Idle old man, 
 That still would manage those authorities 
 That he hath given away ! Now, by my life, 
 Old fools are babes again ; and must be us'd 
 With checks as flatteries, when they are seen 
 
 abus'd. 
 Remember what I have said. 
 
 Osw. Well, madam. 
 
 Gon. And let his knights have colder looks 
 among you ; [so : 
 
 What grows of it, no matter ; advise your fellows 
 I would breed from hence occasions, and I 
 shall, [sister 
 
 That I may speak. I '11 write straight to my 
 To hold my course. Prepare for dinner. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. A Hall in ALBANY'S Palace. 
 Enter KENT, disguised. 
 
 Kent. If but as well I other accents borrow, 
 That can my speech diffuse, my good intent 
 May carry through itself to that full issue 
 For which I rais'd my likeness. Now, ban- 
 ish'd Kent, [demn'd, 
 
 If thou canst serve where thou dost stand con- 
 So may it come, thy master, whom thou lov'st, 
 Shall find thee full of labours. 
 
 Horns within. Enter KING LEAR, Knights, 
 and Attendants. 
 
 Lear. Let me not stay a jot for dinner ; go 
 get it ready. [Exit an Attendant. ] How now ! 
 what art thou? 
 
 Kent. A man, sir. 
 
 Lear. What dost thou profess? What 
 wouldst thou with us ? 
 
 Kent. I do profess to be no less than I seem ; 
 to serve him truly that will put me in trust ; to 
 love him that is honest ; to converse with him 
 that is wise and says little ; to fear judgment ; 
 to fight when I cannot choose ; and to eat no 
 fish. 
 
 Lear. What art thou? 
 
 Kent. A very honest-hearted fellow, and as 
 poor as the king. 
 
 Lear. If thou be'st as poor for a subject as 
 he 's for a king, thou art poor enough. What 
 wouldst thou? 
 
 Kent. Service. 
 
 Lear. Who wouldst thou serve? 
 
 Kent. You. 
 
 Lear. Dost thou know me, fellow? 
 
 Kent. No, sir; but you have that in your 
 countenance which I would fain call master. 
 
 Lear. What's that? 
 
 Kent. Authority. 
 
 Lear. What services canst thou do? 
 
 Kent. I can keep honest counsel, ride, run, 
 mar a curious tale in telling it, and deliver a 
 plain message bluntly : that which ordinary men 
 are fit for, I am qualified in : and the best ot 
 me is diligence. 
 
 Lear. How old art thou? 
 
 Kent. Not so young, sir, to love a woman 
 for singing ; nor so old to dote on her for any- 
 thing : I have years on my back forty-eight. 
 
 Lear. Follow me ; thou shalt serve me : if I 
 like thee no worse after dinner, I will not part 
 from thee yet. Dinner, ho, dinner ! Where 's 
 my knave? my fool? Go you and call my fool 
 hither. [Exit an Attend. 
 
 Enter OSWALD. 
 
 You, you, sirrah, where 's my daughter? 
 
 Osw. So please you, [Exit. 
 
 Lear. What says the fellow there? Call the 
 clotpoll back. [Exit a Knight. ] Where 's my 
 fool, ho? I think the world 's asleep. 
 
 Re-enter Knight. 
 
 How now ! where 's that mongrel ? 
 
 Knight. He says, my lord, your daughter is 
 not well. 
 
 Lear. Why came not the slave back to me 
 when I called him? 
 
 Knight. Sir, he answered me in the roundest 
 manner, he would not. 
 
 Lear. He would not ! 
 
 Knight. My lord, I know not what the 
 matter is ; but, to my judgment, your highness 
 is not entertained with that ceremonious affec- 
 tion as you were wont ; there 's a great abate- 
 ment of kindness appears as well in the general 
 dependants as in the duke himself also and your 
 daughter. 
 
 Lear. Ha ! sayest thou so ? 
 
 Knight. I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, 
 if I be mistaken ; for my duty cannot be silent 
 when I think your highness wronged. 
 
 Lear. Thou but rememberest me of mine 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 1033 
 
 own conception : I have perceived a most faint 
 neglect of late ; which I have rather blamed as 
 mine own jealous curiosity than as a very pre- 
 tence and purpose of unkindness : I will look 
 further into't. But where 's my fool? I have 
 not seen him this two days. 
 
 Knight. Since my young lady's going into 
 France, sir, the fool hath much pined away. 
 
 Lear. No more of that ; I have noted it 
 well. Go you and tell my daughter I would 
 speak with her. [Exit an Attendant.] Go 
 you, call hither my fool. 
 
 [Exit another Attendant. 
 
 Re-enter OSWALD. 
 
 0, you sir, you, come you hither, sir : who am 
 
 1, sir? 
 
 Osw. My lady's father. 
 
 Lear. My lady's father ! my lord's knave : 
 you whoreson dog ! you slave ! you cur ! 
 
 Osw. I am none of these, my lord ; I be- 
 seech your pardon. 
 
 Lear. Do you bandy looks with me, you 
 rascal ? [Striking him. 
 
 Osw. I '11 not be struck, my lord. 
 
 Kent. Nor tripped neither, you base football 
 player. [Tripping up his heels. 
 
 Lear. I thank thee, fellow ; thou servest 
 me, and I '11 love thee. 
 
 Kent. Come, sir, arise, away ! I '11 teach 
 you differences : away, away ! If you will 
 measure your lubber's length again, tarry : but 
 away ! go to ; have you wisdom ? so. 
 
 [Pushes OSWALD out. 
 
 JLear. Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee : 
 there 's earnest of thy service. 
 
 [Giving KENT money. 
 
 Enter FOOL. 
 
 Fool. Let me hire him too ; here 's my cox- 
 comb. [Giving KENT his cap. 
 
 Lear. How now, my pretty knave ! how dost 
 thou? 
 
 Fool. Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb. 
 
 Kent. Why, fool? 
 
 Fool. Why, for taking one's part that 's out 
 of favour. Nay, an thou canst not smile as the 
 wind sits, thou 'It catch cold shortly: there, 
 take my coxcomb : why, this fellow has ban- 
 ish'd two on 's daughters, and did the third a 
 blessing against his will ; if thou follow him, 
 thou must needs wear my coxcomb. How now, 
 nuncle ! Would I had two coxcombs and two 
 daughters ! 
 
 Lear. Why, my boy ? 
 
 Fool. If I gave them all my living, I 'd keep 
 
 my coxcombs myself. There 's mine ; beg 
 another of thy daughters. 
 
 Lear. Take heed, sirrah, the whip. 
 Fool. Truth 's a dog must to kennel ; he 
 must be whipped out, when the lady brach may 
 stand by the fire and stink. 
 Lear. A pestilent gall to me ! 
 Fool. Sirrah, I '11 teach thee a speech. 
 Lear. Do. 
 Fool. Mark it, nuncle : 
 
 Have more than thou showest, 
 Speak less than thou knowest, 
 Lend less than thou owest, 
 Ride more than thou goest, 
 Learn more than thou trowest, 
 Set less than thou throwest ; 
 Leave thy drink and thy whore, 
 And keep in-a-door, 
 And thou shall have more 
 Than two tens to a score. 
 Kent. This is nothing, fool. 
 Fool. Then 'tis like the breath of an unfee'd 
 lawyer, you gave me nothing for 't. Can you 
 make no use of nothing, nuncle ? 
 
 Lear. Why, no, boy ; nothing can be made 
 out of nothing. 
 
 Fool. Pr'ythee, tell him, so much the rent of 
 his land comes to : he will not believe a fool. 
 
 [To KENT. 
 Lear. A bitter fool ! 
 
 Fool. Dost thou know the difference, my 
 boy, between a bitter fool and a sweet one ? 
 Lear. No, lad ; teach me. 
 Fool. That lord that counsell'd thee 
 
 To give away thy land, 
 Come place him here by me, 
 
 Do thou for him stand : 
 The sweet and bitter fool 
 Will presently appear ; 
 The one in motley here, 
 
 The other found out there. 
 Lear. Dost thou call me fool, boy? 
 Fool. All thy other titles thou hast given 
 away ; that thou wast born with. 
 
 Kent. This is not altogether fool, my lord. 
 Fool. No, faith, lords and great men will not 
 let me ; if I had a monopoly out, they would 
 have part on 't, and loads too : they will not let 
 me have all fool to myself ; they '11 be snatch- 
 ing. Nuncle, give me an egg, and I '11 give 
 thee two crowns. 
 
 Lear. What two crowns shall they be ? 
 Fool. Why, after I have cut the egg i' the 
 middle, and eat up the meat, the two crowns 
 of the egg. When thou clovest thy crown i' 
 the middle, and gavest away both parts, thou 
 borest thine ass on thy back o'er the dirt : thou 
 
1034 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 [ACT I. 
 
 hadst little wit in thy bald crown when them 
 gavest thy golden one away. If I speak like 
 myself in this, let him be whipped that first 
 finds it so. 
 
 Fools had ne'er less grace in a year ; [Singing, 
 
 For wise men are grown foppish, 
 And know not how their wits to wear, 
 
 Their manners are so apish. 
 
 Lear. When were you wont to be so full of 
 songs, sirrah? 
 
 Fool. I have used it, nuncle, e'er since thou 
 madest thy daughters thy mothers : for when 
 thou gavest them the rod, and puttest down 
 thine own breeches, 
 
 Then they for sudden joy did weep, \Singing. 
 
 And I for sorrow sung, 
 That such a king should play bo-peep, 
 
 And go the fools among. 
 
 Pr'ythee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can 
 teach thy fool to lie : I would fain learn to 
 lie. [whipped. 
 
 Lear. An you lie, sirrah, we'll have you 
 Fool. I marvel what kin thou and thy 
 daughters are : they '11 have me whipped for 
 speaking true, thou 'It have me whipped for ly- 
 ing ; and sometimes I am whipped for holding 
 my peace. I had rather be any kind o' thing 
 than a fool : and yet I would not be thee, 
 nuncle ; thou hast pared thy wit o' both sides, 
 and left nothing i' the middle: here comes 
 one o' the parings. 
 
 Enter GONERIL. 
 
 Lear. How now, daughter ! what makes 
 that frontlet on ? Methinks you are too much 
 of late i' the frown. 
 
 Fool. Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou 
 hadst no need to care for her frowning ; now 
 thou art an O without a figure: I am better 
 than thou art ; I am a fool, thou art nothing. 
 Yes, forsooth, I will hold my tongue } so your 
 face [ to GON.] bids me, though you say nothing. 
 Alum, mum, 
 
 He that keeps nor crust nor crumb, 
 Weary of all, shall want some. 
 That 's a shealed peascod. \_Pointingto LEAR. 
 
 Gon. Not only, sir, this your all-licens'd fool, 
 But other of your insolent retinue 
 Do hourly carp and quarrel ; breaking forth 
 in rank and not-to-be-endured riots. Sir, 
 I had thought, by making this well known unto 
 you, [fearful, 
 
 To have found a safe redress ; but now grow 
 By what yourself too late have spoke and done, 
 That you protect this course, and put it on 
 By your allowance ; which if you should, the 
 fault 
 
 Would netscape censure, nor the redresses sleep, 
 Which, in the tender of a wholesome weal, 
 Might in their working do you that offence, 
 Which else were shame, that then necessity 
 Will call discreet proceeding. 
 Fool. For, you know, nuncle, 
 The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long 
 That it had its head bit off by its young. 
 So, out went the candle, and we were left 
 
 darkling. 
 
 Lear. Are you our daughter ? 
 Gon. I would you would make use of your 
 
 food wisdom, 
 know you are fraught ; and put away 
 These dispositions, which of late transport you 
 From what you rightly are. 
 
 Fool. May not an ass know when the cart 
 draws the horse ? Whoop, Jug ! I love thee. 
 
 Lear. Does any here know me ? This is not 
 Lear : [his eyes ? 
 
 Does Lear walk thus ? speak thus? Where are 
 Either his notion weakens, his discernings 
 Are lethargied. Ha ! waking? 'tis not so. 
 Who is it that can tell me who I am ? 
 
 Fool. Lear's shadow. [of sovereignty, 
 
 Lear. I would learn that ; for, by the marks 
 Knowledge, and reason, 
 I should be false persuaded I had daughters. 
 
 Fool. Which they will make an obedient 
 father. 
 
 Lear. Your name, fair gentlewoman ? 
 
 Gon. This admiration, sir, is much o' the 
 
 favour 
 
 Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you 
 To understand my purposes aright : 
 As you are old and reverend, should be wise. 
 Here do you keep a hundred knights and 
 
 squires ; 
 
 Men so disorder'd, so debosh'd and bold, 
 That this our court, infected with their manners. 
 Shows like a riotous inn : epicurism and lust 
 Make it more like a tavern or a brothel 
 Than &. grac'd palace. The shame itself doth 
 
 speak 
 
 For instant remedy : be, then, desir'd 
 By her that else will take the thing she begs, 
 A little to disquantity your train ; 
 And the remainder, that shall still depend, 
 To be such men as may besort your age, 
 Which know themselves and you. 
 
 Lear. Darkness and devils ! 
 
 Saddle my horses ; call my train together. 
 Degenerate bastard ! I '11 not trouble thee : 
 Yet have I left a daughter. 
 
 Gon. You strike my people ; and your dis 
 
 order'd rabble 
 Make servants of their betters. 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 1035 
 
 Enter ALBANY. 
 
 Lear. Woe, that too late repents, \to ALB.] 
 O, sir, are you come? [horses. 
 
 Is it your will? Speak, sir. Prepare my 
 Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend, 
 More hideous when thou show'st thee in a child 
 Than the sea-monster ! 
 
 Alb. Pray, sir, be patient. 
 
 Lear. Detested kite ! thou liest : 
 
 \To GONERIL. 
 
 My train are men of choice and rarest parts, 
 That all particulars of duty know ; 
 And in the most exact regard support [fault, 
 The worships of their name. O most small 
 How ugly didst thou in Cordelia show ! 
 Which, like an engine, wrench'd my frame of 
 nature [love, 
 
 From the fix'd place ; drew from my heart all 
 And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear ! 
 Beat at this gate, that let thy folly in 
 
 {Striking his head. 
 
 And thy dear judgment out ! Go, go, my 
 people. [ignorant 
 
 Alb. My lord, I am guiltless, as I am 
 Of what hath mov'd you. 
 
 Lear. It may be so, my lord. 
 Hear, nature, hear ; dear goddess, hear 
 Suspend thy purpose if thou didst intend 
 To make this creature fruitful ! 
 Into her womb convey sterility ! 
 Dry up in her the organs of increase; 
 And from her derogate body never spring 
 A babe to honour her ! If she must teem, 
 Create her child of spleen, that it may live 
 And be a thwart disnatur'd torment to her ! 
 Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth ; 
 With cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks ; 
 Turn all her mother's pains and benefits 
 To laughter and contempt ; that she may feel 
 How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is 
 To have a thankless child ! Away, away ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Alb. Now, gods that we adore, whereof 
 comes this ? [it ; 
 
 Gon. Never afflict yourself to know more of 
 But let his disposition have that scope 
 That dotage gives it. 
 
 Re-enter LEAR. 
 
 Lear. What, fifty of my followers at a clap ! 
 Within a fortnight ! 
 
 Alb. What's the matter, sir? 
 
 Lear. I '11 tell thee, Life and death ! I am 
 asham'd [To GONERIL. 
 
 That thou hast power to shake my manhood 
 thus; 
 
 That these hot tears, which break from me 
 
 perforce, 
 Should make thee worth them. Blasts and 
 
 fogs upon thee ! 
 
 The untented woundings of a father's curse, 
 Pierce every sense about thee ! Old fond eyes, 
 Beweep this cause again, I '11 pluck you out, 
 And cast you, with the waters that you lose, 
 To temper clay. Ha! 
 Let it be so : I have another daughter, 
 Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable: 
 When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails 
 She '11 flay thy wolfish visage. Thou shalt find 
 That I'll resume the shape which thou dost 
 
 think 
 I have cast off for ever. 
 
 \Exeunt LEAR, KENT, and Attendants. 
 Gon. Do you mark that? 
 Alb. I cannot be so partial, Goneril, 
 To the great love I bear you, [ho ! 
 
 Gon. Pray you, content. What, Oswald, 
 You, sir, more knave than fool, after your 
 master. [To the Fool. 
 
 Fool. Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry,' take 
 the fool with thee. 
 
 A fox, when one has caught her, 
 And such a daughter, 
 Should sure to the slaughter, 
 If my cap would buy a halter: 
 So the fool follows after. [Exit. 
 
 Gon. This man hath had good counsel. A 
 
 hundred knights! 
 
 'Tis politic and safe to let him keep [dream, 
 At point a hundred knights : yes, that on every 
 Each buzz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike, 
 He may enguard his dotage with their powers, 
 And hold our lives in mercy. Oswald, I say ! 
 Alb. Well, you may fear too far. 
 Gon. Safer than trust too far : 
 
 Let me still take away the harms I fear, 
 Not fear still to be taken : I know his heart. 
 What he hath utter'd I have writ my sister: 
 If she sustain him and his hundred knights, 
 When I have show'd the unfitness, 
 
 Re-enter OSWALD. 
 
 How now, Oswald ! 
 
 What, have you writ that letter to my sister? 
 Osw. Ay, madam. [horse: 
 
 Gon. Take you some company, and away to 
 
 Inform her full of my particular fear ; 
 
 And thereto add such reasons of your own 
 
 As may compact it more. Get you gone ; 
 
 And hasten your return. [Exit OSWALD.] 
 No, no, my lord, 
 
 This milky gentleness and course of yours, 
 
 Though I condemn it not, yet, under pardon, 
 
1036 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 [ACT n. 
 
 You are much more attask'd for want of wisdom 
 Than prais'd for harmful mildness. [tell : 
 
 Alb. How far your eyes may pierce I cannot 
 Striving to better, oft we mar what 's well. 
 
 Gon. Nay, then, 
 
 Alb. Well, well ; the event. {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. Court before the DUKE OF 
 ALBANY'S Palace. 
 
 Enter LEAR, KENT, and Fool. 
 
 Lear. Go you before to Gloster with these 
 letters : acquaint my daughter no further with 
 anything you know than comes from her demand 
 out of the letter. If your diligence be not 
 speedy, I shall be there afore you. 
 
 Kent. I will not sleep, my lord, till I have 
 delivered your letter. {Exit. 
 
 Fool. If a man's brains were in 's heels, 
 were't not in danger of kibes? 
 
 Lear. Ay, boy. 
 
 Fool. Then, I pr'ythee, be merry; thy wit 
 shall not go slipshod. 
 
 Lear. Ha, ha, ha! 
 
 Fool. Shalt see thy other daughter will use 
 thee kindly ; for though she 's as like this as a 
 crab 's like an apple, yet I can tell what I can 
 tell. 
 
 Lear. What canst tell, boy? 
 
 Fool. She will taste as like this as a crab does 
 to a crab. Thou canst tell why one's nose 
 stands i' the middle on's face? 
 
 Lear. No. 
 
 Fool. Why to keep one's eyes of either side 's 
 nose, that what a man cannot smell out, he may 
 spy into. 
 
 Lear. I did her wrong, 
 
 Fool. Canst tell how an oyster makes his 
 shell? 
 
 Lear. No. 
 
 Fool. Nor I neither ; but I can tell why a 
 snail has a house. 
 
 Lear. Why? 
 
 Fool. Why, to put his head in ; not to give 
 it away to his daughters, and leave his horns 
 without a case. 
 
 Lear. I will forget my nature. So kind a 
 father ! Be my horses ready? 
 
 Fool. Thy asses are gone about 'em. The 
 reason why the seven stars are no more than 
 seven is a pretty reason. 
 
 Lear. Because they are not eight? 
 
 Fool. Yes, indeed: thou wouldst make a 
 good fool. 
 
 Lear. To take't again perforce! Monster 
 ingratitude ! 
 
 Fool. If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I 'd have 
 thee beaten for being old before thy time. 
 
 Lear. How's that? 
 
 Fool. Thou shouldst not have been old till 
 thou hadst been wise. [heaven ! 
 
 Lear. O, let me not be mad, not mad, sweet 
 Keep me in temper : I would not be mad ! 
 
 Enter Gentleman. 
 
 How now! are the horses ready? 
 Gent. Ready, my lord. 
 
 Lear. Come, boy. [my departure, 
 
 Fool. She that 's a maid now, and laughs at 
 
 Shall not be a maid long, unless things be cut 
 shorter. {Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. A Court within the Castle of the 
 EARL OF GLOSTER. 
 
 Enter EDMUND and CURAN, meeting. 
 
 Edm. Save thee, Curan. 
 
 Cur. And you, sir. I have been with your 
 father, and given him notice that the Duke of 
 Cornwall and Regan his duchess will be here 
 with him this night. 
 
 Edm. How comes that? 
 
 Cur. Nay, I know not. You have heard of 
 the news abroad; I mean, the whispered ones, 
 for they are yet but ear-kissing arguments? 
 
 Edm. Not I: pray you, what are they? 
 
 Cur. Have you heard of no likely wars 
 toward, 'twixt the Dukes of Cornwall and 
 Albany? 
 
 Edm. Not a word. 
 
 Cur. You may, then, in time. Fare you 
 well, sir. [Exit. 
 
 Edm. The duke be here to-night? The 
 
 better! best! 
 
 This weaves itself perforce into my business. 
 My father hath set guard to take my brother ; 
 And I have one thing, of a queasy question, 
 Which I must act : briefness and fortune 
 
 work ! 
 Brother, a word ; descend : brother, I say ! 
 
 Enter EDGAR. 
 
 My father watches : O sir, fly this place ; 
 
 Intelligence is given where you are hid ; 
 
 You have now the good advantage of the 
 
 night. [wall? 
 
 Have you not spoken 'gainst the Duke of Corn- 
 He 's coming hither ; now, i' the night, i' the 
 
 haste, 
 And Regan with him : have you nothing said 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 1037 
 
 Upon his party 'gainst the Duke of Albany? 
 Advise yourself. 
 
 Edg. I am sure on J t, not a word. 
 
 Edm. I hear my father coming: pardon me; 
 
 In cunning I must draw my sword upon you : 
 
 Draw: seem to defend yourself: now quit you 
 
 well. [here ! 
 
 Yield: come before my father. Light, ho, 
 
 Fly, brother. Torches, torches ! So, farewell. 
 
 [Exit EDGAR. 
 
 Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion 
 
 [ Wounds his arm. 
 
 Of my more fierce endeavour: I have seen 
 
 drunkards 
 
 Do more than this in sport. Father, father ! 
 Stop, stop! No help? 
 
 Enter GLOSTER, and Servants with torches. 
 
 Glo. Now, Edmund, where 's the villain? 
 
 Edm. Here stood he in the dark, his sharp 
 sword out, [moon 
 
 Mumbling of wicked charms, conjuring the 
 To stand auspicious mistress, 
 
 Glo. But where is he? 
 
 Edm. Look, sir, I bleed. 
 
 Glo. Where is the villain, Edmund? 
 
 Edm. Fled this way, sir. When by no means 
 he could, 
 
 Glo. Pursue him, ho! Go after. [Exeunt 
 Servants.] By no means what? 
 
 Edm. Persuade me to the murder of your 
 
 lordship ; 
 
 But that I told him the revenging gods 
 'Gainst parricides did all their thunders bend ; 
 Spoke with how manifold and strong a bond 
 The child was bound to the father ; sir, in fine, 
 Seeing how loathly opposite I stood 
 To his unnatural purpose, in fell motion, 
 With his prepared sword, he charges home 
 My unprovided body, lanc'd mine arm : 
 But when he saw my best alarum'd spirits, 
 Bold in thequarrel's right, rous'd to the encounter, 
 Or whether gasted by the noise I made, 
 Full suddenly he fled. 
 
 Glo. Let him fly far : 
 
 Not in this land shall he remain uncaught ; 
 And found, despatch'd. The noble duke my 
 
 master, 
 
 My worthy arch and patron, comes to-night : 
 By his authority I will proclaim it, [thanks, 
 That he which finds him shall deserve our 
 Bringing the murderous coward to the stake ; 
 He that conceals him, death. 
 
 Edm. When I dissuaded him from his intent, 
 And found him pight to do it, with curst speech 
 I threaten'd to discover him : he replied, 
 Thou unpossessing bastard I dost thou think , 
 
 If I would stand against thee, would the reposal 
 Of any trust ', virtue or worth , in thee [deny, 
 Make thy words faith 1 d? No: what I should 
 As this I would ; ay, though thou didst produce 
 My very character ; fd turn it all 
 To thy suggestion^ plot, and damned practice : 
 And thou must make a dullard of the world, 
 If they not thought the profits of my death 
 Were very pregnant and potential spurs 
 To make thee seek it. 
 
 Glo. O strong and fasten'd villain ! 
 
 Would he deny his letter? I never got him. 
 
 [Trumpets within. 
 Hark, the duke's trumpets ! I know not why 
 
 he comes. 
 
 All ports I '11 bar ; the villain shall not scape ; 
 The duke must grant me that: besides, his 
 
 picture 
 
 I will send far and near, that all the kingdom 
 May have due note of him ; and of my land, 
 Loyal and natural boy, I '11 work the means 
 To make thee capable. 
 
 Enter CORNWALL, REGAN, and Attendants. 
 
 Corn. How now, my noble friend ! since I 
 
 came hither, 
 
 Which I <xn call but now, I have heard 
 
 strange news. [short 
 
 Reg. If it be true, all vengeance comes too 
 
 Which can pursue the offender. How dost, 
 
 my lord? 
 
 Glo. O, madam, my old heart is crack'd, 
 
 it'scrack'd! [life? 
 
 Reg. What, did my father's godson seek your 
 
 He whom my father nam'd ? your Edgar ? 
 
 Glo. O lady, lady, shame would have it hid ! 
 
 Reg. Was he not companion with the riotous 
 
 knights 
 That tend upon my father ? 
 
 Glo. I know not, madam : 
 
 It is too bad, too bad. 
 
 Edm. Yes, madam, he was of that consort. 
 Reg. No marvel, then, though he were ill 
 
 affected : 
 
 'Tis they have put him on the old man's death, 
 To have the expense and waste of his revenues. 
 I have this present evening from my sister 
 Been well inform'd of them ; and with such 
 
 cautions, 
 
 That if they come to sojourn at my house, 
 I '11 not be there. 
 
 Corn. Nor I, assure thee, Regan. 
 
 Edmund, I hear that you have shown your father 
 A child-like office. 
 
 Edm. 'Twas my duty, sir. 
 
 Glo. He did bewray his practice ; and receiv'd 
 This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him. 
 
1038 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 Corn. Is he pursu'd ? 
 
 Glo. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 Corn. If he be taken he shall never more 
 Be fear'd of doing harm : make your own 
 purpose, [Edmund, 
 
 How in my strength you please. For you, 
 Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant 
 So much commend itself, you shall be ours : 
 Natures of such deep trust we shall much need ; 
 You we first seize on. 
 
 Edm. I shall serve you, sir, 
 
 Truiy, however else. 
 
 Glo. For him I thank your grace. 
 
 Corn. You know not why we came to visit 
 you, [night : 
 
 Reg. Thus out of season, threading dark-ey'd 
 Occasions, noble Gloster, of some poise, 
 Wherein we must have use of your advice : 
 Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister, 
 Of differences, which I best thought it fit 
 To answer from our home ; the several mes- 
 sengers [friend, 
 From hence attend despatch. Our good old 
 Lay comforts to your bosom ; and bestow 
 Your needful counsel to our businesses, 
 Which crave the instant use. 
 
 Glo. I serve you, madam : 
 
 Your graces are right welcome. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. Before OLDSTER'S Castle. 
 Enter KENT and OSWALD severally. 
 
 Osw. Good dawning to thee, friend : art of 
 this house ? 
 
 Kent. Ay. 
 
 Osw. Where may we set our horses ? 
 
 A'ent. I' the mire. 
 
 Osw. Pr'ythee, if thou lovest me, tell me. 
 
 Kent I love thee not. 
 
 Osw.- Why, then, I care not for thee. 
 
 Kent. If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold I 
 would make thee care for me. [thee not. 
 
 Osw. Why dost thou use me thus ? I know 
 
 Kent. Fellow, I know thee. 
 
 Osw. What dost thou know me for ? 
 
 Kent. A knave, a rascal, an eater of broken 
 meats ; a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three- 
 suited, hundred-pound, filthy, worsted-stocking 
 knave ; a lily-livered, action-taking whoreson, 
 glass-gazing, superserviceable, finical rogue ; 
 one-trunk-inheriting slave ; one that wouldst be 
 a bawd, in way of good service, and art nothing 
 but the composition of a knave, beggar, coward, 
 pander, and the son and heir of a mongrel 
 bitch : one whom I will beat into clamorous 
 whining, if thou denyest the least syllable of 
 thy addition. 
 
 Osw. Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou, 
 thus to rail on one that is neither known of 
 thee nor knows thee? 
 
 Kent. What a brazen-faced varlet art thou, 
 to deny thou knowest me ! Is it two days since 
 I tripped up thy heels and beat thee before the 
 king ? Draw, you rogue : for, though it be 
 night, yet the moon shines ; I '11 make a sop o' 
 the moonshine of you : draw, you whoreson 
 cullionly barber-monger, draw. 
 
 {Drawing his sword. 
 
 Osw. Away ! I have nothing to do with thee. 
 
 Kent. Draw, you rascal : you come with 
 letters against the king ; and take vanity the 
 puppet's part against the royalty of her father : 
 draw, you rogue, or I '11 so carbonado your 
 shanks: draw, you rascal ; come your ways. 
 
 Osw. Help, ho ! murder ! help. 
 
 Kent. Strike, you slave; stand, rogue, stand; 
 you neat slave, strike. [Beating him. 
 
 Osw. Help, ho ! murder ! murder ! 
 
 Enter EDMUND, CORNWALL, REGAN, 
 GLOSTER, and Servants. 
 
 Edm. How now ! What 's the matter ? 
 
 Kent. With you, goodman boy, if you please : 
 come, I '11 flesh you ; come on, young master. 
 
 Glo. Weapons ! arms ! What 's the mattei 
 here? 
 
 Corn. Keep peace, upon your lives ; 
 He dies that strikes again. What is the 
 matter? [king. 
 
 Reg. The messengers from our sister and the 
 
 Corn. What is your difference ? speak. 
 
 Osw. I am scarce in breath, my lord. 
 
 Kent. No marvel, you have so bestirr'd your 
 valour. You cowardly rascal, nature disclaims 
 in thee : a tailor made thee. 
 
 Corn. Thou art a strange fellow : a tailor 
 make a man ? 
 
 Kent. Ay, a tailor, sir : a stone-cutter or a 
 painter could not have made him so ill, though 
 they had been but two hours at the trade. 
 
 Corn. Speak yet, how grew your quarrel ? 
 
 Osw. This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I 
 have spared at suit of his gray beard, 
 
 Kent. Thou whoreson zed ! thou unnecessary 
 letter ! My lord, if you will give me leave, I 
 will tread this unbolted villain into mortar, and 
 daub the wall of a jakes with him. Spare my 
 gray beard, you wagtail ? 
 
 Corn. Peace, sirrah! 
 You beastly knave, know you no reverence ? 
 
 Kent. Yes, sir ; but anger hath a privilege. 
 
 Corn. Why art thou angry ? 
 
 Kent. That such a slave as this should wear 
 a sword, 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 1039 
 
 Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues 
 
 as these, 
 
 Like rats, oft bite the holy cords a-twain 
 Which are too intrinse t' unloose ; smooth every 
 
 passion 
 
 That in the natures of their lords rebel ; 
 Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods ; 
 Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks 
 With every gale and vary of their masters, 
 Knowing naught, like dogs, but following. 
 A plague upon your epileptic visage ! 
 Smile you my speeches, as I were a fool ? 
 Goose, if I had you upon Sarum plain 
 I 'd drive ye cackling home to Camelot. 
 
 Corn. What, art thou mad, old fellow ? 
 
 Glo. How fell you out ? 
 
 Say that. 
 
 Kent, No contraries hold more antipathy 
 Than I and such a knave. [is his fault ? 
 
 Corn. Why dost thcu call him knave ? What 
 
 Kent. His countenance likes me not. 
 
 Corn. No more, perchance, does mine, nor 
 his, nor hers. 
 
 Kent. Sir, 'tis my occupation to be plain : 
 I have seen better faces in my time 
 Than stands on any shoulder that I see 
 Before me at this instant. 
 
 Corn. This is some fellow 
 
 Who, having been prais'd for bluntness, doth 
 
 affect 
 
 A saucy roughness, and constrains the garb 
 Quite from his nature : he cannot flatter, he, 
 An honest mind and plain, he must speak 
 
 truth ! 
 
 An they will take it, so ; if not, he 's plain. 
 These kind of knaves I know, which in this 
 
 plainness 
 
 Harbour more craft and more corrupter ends 
 Than twenty silly ducking observants 
 That stretch their duties nicely. 
 
 Kent. Sir, in good faith, in sincere verity, 
 Under the allowance of your great aspect, 
 Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire 
 On flickering Phoebus' front, 
 
 Corn. What mean'st by this ? 
 
 Kent. To go out of my dialect, which you 
 discommend so much. I know, sir, I am no 
 flatterer : he that beguiled you in a plain accent 
 was a plain knave ; which, for my part, I will 
 not be, though I should win your displeasure to 
 entreat me to *t. 
 
 Corn. What was the offence you gave him ? 
 
 Osw. \ never gave him any : 
 
 It pleas'd the king his master very late 
 To strike at me, upon his misconstruction ; 
 When he, compact, and flattering his displea- 
 sure, 
 
 Tripp'd me behind ; being down, insulted, 
 
 rail'd, 
 
 And put upon him such a deal of man, 
 That worthied him, got praises of the king 
 For him attempting who was self-subdu'd ; 
 And, in the fleshment of this dread exploit, 
 Drew on me here again. 
 
 Kent. None of these rogues and cowards 
 But Ajax is their fool. 
 
 Com. Fetch forth the stocks ! 
 
 You stubborn ancient knave, you reverend 
 
 braggart, 
 We '11 teach you, 
 
 Kent. Sir, I am too old to learn : 
 
 Call not your stocks for me : I serve the king ; 
 On whose employment I was sent to you : 
 You shall do small respect, show too bold malice 
 Against the grace and person of my master, 
 Stocking his messenger. 
 
 Corn. Fetch forth the stocks ! 
 
 As I have life and honour, there shall he sit 
 
 till noon. [night too. 
 
 Reg. Till noon ! till night, my lord ; and all 
 
 Kent. Why, madam, if I were your father's 
 
 dog 
 You should not use me so. 
 
 Reg. Sir, being his knave, I will. 
 
 Corn. This is a fellow of the self-same colour 
 
 Our sister speaks of. Come, bring away the 
 
 stocks ! [Stocks brought out. 
 
 Glo. Let me beseech your grace not to do 
 
 so: 
 
 His fault is much, and the good king his 
 master [rection 
 
 Will check him for't : your purpos'd low cor- 
 Is such as basest and contemned'st wretches, 
 For pilferings and most common trespasses, 
 Are punish'd with : the king must take it ill 
 That he, so slightly valu'd in his messenger, 
 Should have him thus restrain'd. 
 
 Corn. I '11 answer that. 
 
 Reg: My sister may receive it much more 
 
 worse 
 
 To have her gentleman abus'd, assaulted, 
 For following her affairs. Put in his legs. 
 
 [KENT is put in the stocks. 
 Come, my lord, away. 
 
 [Exeunt all but GLOSTER and KENT. 
 Glo. I am sorry for thee, friend ; 'tis the 
 
 duke's pleasure, 
 
 Whose disposition, all the world well knows, 
 Will not be rubb'd nor stopp'd : I '11 entreat 
 
 for thee. 
 Kent. Pray, do not, sir : I have watch'd, 
 
 and travell'd hard ; 
 
 Some time I shall sleep out, the rest I'll 
 whistle. 
 
1040 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 [ACT II. 
 
 A good man's fortune may grow out at heels : 
 Give you good -morrow ! 
 
 670. The duke 's to blame in this ; 'twill be 
 
 ill taken. [Exit. 
 
 Kent. Good king, that must approve the 
 ^r ,iiol common saw, 
 Thou out of heaven's benediction com'st 
 To the warm sun ! 
 
 Approach, thou beacon to this under globe, 
 That by thy comfortable beams I may 
 Peruse this letter ! Nothing almost sees 
 
 miracles 
 
 But misery : I know 'tis from Cordelia, 
 Who hath most fortunately been inform'd 
 Of my obscured course ; and shall find time 
 From this enormous state, seeking to give 
 Losses their remedies, All weary and o'er- 
 
 watch'd, 
 
 Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold 
 This shameful lodging. 
 Fortune, good-night: smile once more; turn 
 
 thy wheel ! \He sleeps. 
 
 SCENE III. The open Country. 
 Enter EDGAR. 
 
 Edg. I heard myself proclaim'd ; 
 And by the happy hollow of a tree 
 Escap'd the hunt. No port is free ; no place, 
 That guard and most unusual vigilance 
 Does not attend my taking. While I may scape 
 I will preserve myself: and am bethought 
 To take the basest and most poorest shape 
 That ever penury, in contempt of man, [filth ; 
 Brought near to beast : my face I '11 grime with 
 Blanket my loins; elf all my hair in knots; 
 And with presented nakedness outface 
 The winds and persecutions of the sky. 
 The country gives me proof and precedent 
 Of Bedlam beggars, who, with roaring voices, 
 Strike in their numb'd and mortified bare arms 
 Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary ; 
 And with this horrible object, from low farms, 
 Poor pelting villages, sheep-cotes, and mills, 
 Sometime with lunatic bans, sometime with 
 prayers, [Tom ! 
 
 Enforce their charity. Poor Turlygod ! poor 
 That's something yet: Edgar I nothing am. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV. Before GLOSTER'S Castle. KENT 
 in the Stocks. 
 
 Enter LEAR, Fool, and Gentleman. 
 
 Lea)'. 'Tis strange that they should so depart 
 
 from home, 
 And not send back my messenger. 
 
 Gent. As I learn'd, 
 
 The night before there was no purpose in them 
 Of this remove. 
 
 Kent. Hail to thee, noble master ! 
 
 Lear. Ha! 
 Mak'st thou this shame thy pastime? 
 
 Kent. No, my lord. 
 
 Fool. Ha, ha ! he wears cruel garters. . Horses 
 are tied by the head ; dogs and bears by the 
 neck, monkeys by the loins, and men by the 
 legs : when a man is over-lusty at legs, then he 
 wears wooden nether-stocks. 
 
 Lear. What 's he that hath so much thy place 
 
 mistook 
 To set thee here? 
 
 Kent. It is both he and she, 
 
 Your son and daughter. 
 
 Lear. No. 
 
 Kent. Yes. 
 
 Lear. No, I say. 
 
 Kent. I say, yea. 
 
 Lear. No, no ; they would not. 
 
 Kent. Yes, they have. 
 
 Lear. By Jupiter, I swear, no. 
 
 Kent. By Juno, I swear, ay. 
 
 Lear. They durst not do 't. 
 
 They could not, would not do't; 'tis worse 
 
 than murder, 
 
 To do upon respect such violent outrage : 
 Resolve me, with all modest haste, which way 
 Thou might'st deserve or they impose this usage, 
 Coming from us. 
 
 Kent. My lord, when at their home 
 
 I did commend your highness' letters to them, 
 Ere I was risen from the place that show'd 
 My duty kneeling, came there a reeking post, 
 Stew'd in his haste, half breathless, panting forth 
 From Goneril his mistress salutations ; 
 Deliver'd letters, spite of intermission, 
 Which presently they read : on whose contents 
 They summon'd up their meiny, straight took 
 
 horse; 
 
 Commanded me to follow, and attend 
 The leisure of their answer ; gave me cold looks : 
 And meeting here the other messenger, 
 Whose welcome I perceiv'd had poison'd 
 
 mine, 
 
 Being the very fellow which of late 
 Display'd so saucily against your highness, 
 Having more man than wit about me, drew : 
 He rais'd the house with loud and coward cries. 
 Your son and daughter found this trespass worth 
 The shame which here it suffers. 
 
 Fool. Winter's not gone yet, if the wild- 
 geese fly that way. 
 Fathers that wear rags 
 
 Do make their children blind ; 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 1041 
 
 But fathers that bear bags 
 
 Shall see their children kind. 
 Fortune, that arrant whore, 
 Ne'er turns the key to the poor. 
 But, for all this, thou shalt have as many dolours 
 for thy daughters as thou canst tell in a year. 
 Lear. O, how this mother swells up toward 
 
 my heart ! 
 
 Hystericapassio, down, thou climbing sorrow, 
 
 Thy element's below ! Where is this daughter? 
 
 Kent. With the earl, sir, here within. 
 
 Lear. Follow me not ; 
 
 Stay here. [Exit. 
 
 Gent. Made you no more offence but what 
 
 you speak of? 
 
 Kent. None. [number? 
 
 How chance the king comes with so small a 
 Fool. An thou hadst been set i' the stocks for 
 that question, thou hadst well deserved it. 
 Kent. Why, fool ? 
 
 Fool. We Ml set thee to school to an ant, to 
 teach thee there 's no labouring in the winter. 
 All that follow their noses are led by their eyes 
 but blind men ; and there 's not a nose among 
 twenty but can smell him that 's stinking. Let 
 go thy hold when a great wheel runs down a 
 hill, lest it break thy neck with following it ; 
 but the great one that goes up the hill, let him 
 draw thee after. When a wise man gives thee 
 better counsel, give me mine again: I would 
 have none but knaves follow it, since a fool 
 gives it. 
 
 That sir which serves and seeks for gain, 
 
 And follows but for form, 
 Will pack when it begins to rain, 
 
 And leave thee in the storm. 
 But I will tarry ; the fool will stay, 
 
 And let the wise man fly : 
 The knave turns fool that runs away 
 
 The fool no knave, perdy. 
 Kent. Where learn'd you this, fool? 
 Fool. Not i' the stocks, fool. 
 
 Re-enter LEAR, with GLOSTKR. 
 
 Lear. Deny to speak with me? They are 
 
 sick? they are weary? 
 
 They have travell'd all the night ? Mere fetches ; 
 The images of revolt and flying off. 
 Fetch me a better answer. 
 
 Glo. My dear lord. 
 
 You know the fiery quality of the duke ; 
 How unremovable and fix'd he is 
 In his own course. [fusion ! 
 
 Lear. Vengeance ! plague ! death ! con- 
 Fiery? what quality? why, Gloster, Gloster, 
 I 'd speak with the Duke of Cornwall and his 
 wife. 
 
 Glo. Well, my good lord, I have inform'd 
 
 them so. 
 Lear. Inform'd them ! Dost thou understand 
 
 me, man? 
 
 Glo. Ay, my good lord. 
 Lear. The king would speak with Cornwall ; 
 
 the dear father [service : 
 
 Would with his daughter speak, commands her 
 Are they inform'd of this? My breath and 
 
 blood ! [that- 
 
 Fiery? the fiery duke? Tell the hot duke 
 No, but not yet : may be he is not well : 
 Infirmity doth still neglect all office 
 Whereto our health is bound ; we are not our- 
 selves [mind 
 When nature, being oppress'd, commands the 
 To suffer with the body : I '11 forbear; 
 And am fall'n out with my more headier will 
 To take the indispos'd and sickly fit 
 For the sound man. Death on my state! 
 
 wherefore [Looking on KENT. 
 
 Should he sit here? This act persuades me 
 That this remotion of the duke and her 
 Is practice only. Give me my servant forth. 
 Go tell the duke and's wife I'd speak with 
 
 them, 
 Now, presently: bid them come forth and hear 
 
 me, 
 
 Or at their chamber door I '11 beat the drum 
 Till it cry Sleep to death. 
 
 Glo. I would have all well betwixt you. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Lear. O me, my heart, my rising heart ! 
 
 but, down ! 
 
 Fool. Cry to it, nuncle, as the cockney did 
 to the eels when she put them i' the paste 
 alive ; she knapped 'em o' the coxcombs with 
 a stick, and cried, Down^ wantons, down! 
 'Twas her brother that, in pure kindness to his 
 horse, buttered his hay. 
 
 Enter CORNWALL, REGAN, GLOSTER, and 
 Servants. 
 
 Lear. Good -morrow to you both. 
 Corn. Hail to your grace ! 
 
 [KENT is set at liberty. 
 Reg. I am glad to see your highness. 
 Lear. Regan, I think you are; I know what 
 
 reason 
 
 I have to think so: if thou shouldst not be glad, 
 I would divorce me from thy mother's tomb, 
 Sepulchring an adultress. O, are you free? 
 
 [To KENT. 
 
 Some other time for that. Beloved Regan, 
 Thy sister 's naught : O Regan, she hath tied 
 Sharp-tooth'd unkindness, like a vulture, 
 here, - [Points to his heart. 
 
1042 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 TACT n. 
 
 I can scarce speak to thee ; them 'It not believe 
 With how deprav'd a quality O Regan ! [hope 
 
 Reg. I pray you sir, take patience: I have 
 You less know how to value her desert 
 Than she to scant her duty. 
 
 Lear. Say, how is that? 
 
 Reg. I cannot think my sister in the least 
 Would fail her obligation : if, sir, perchance 
 She have restrain'd the riots of your followers, 
 'Tis on such ground, and to such wholesome end, 
 As clears her from all blame. 
 
 Lear. My curses on her ! 
 
 Reg. O, sir, you are old j 
 
 Nature in you stands on the very verge 
 Of her confine : you should be rul'd and led 
 By some discretion, that discerns your state 
 Better than you yourself. Therefore, I pray you, 
 That to our sister you do make return ; 
 Say you have wrong'd her, sir. 
 
 Lea r. Ask her forgiveness ? 
 
 Do you but mark how this becomes the house : 
 Dear daughter \ I confess that I am old ; 
 
 {Kneeling. 
 
 Age is unnecessary : on tny knees I beg 
 That you ' II vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food. 
 
 Reg. Good sir, no more ; these are unsightly 
 
 tricks : 
 Return you to my sister. 
 
 Lear. {Rising.] Never, Regan: 
 She hath abated me of half my train ; 
 Look'd black upon me ; struck me with her 
 
 tongue, 
 
 Most serpent-like, upon the very heart : 
 All the stor'd vengeances of heaven fall 
 On her ingrateful top ! Strike her young bones, 
 You taking airs, with lameness ! 
 
 Corn. Fie, sir, fie ! 
 
 Lear. You nimble ligntnings, dart your 
 
 blinding flames 
 
 Into her scornful eyes ! Infect her beauty, 
 You fen-suck'd fogs, drawn by the powerful sun, 
 To fall and blast her pride I 
 
 Reg. O the blest gods ! 
 
 So will you wish on me when the rash mood is 
 on. 
 
 Lear. No, Regan, thou shalt never have my 
 
 curse: 
 
 Thy tender -hefted nature shall not give 
 Thee o'er to harshness : her eyes are fierce ; 
 
 but thine 
 
 Do comfort, and not burn. 'Tis not in thee 
 To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train, 
 To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes, 
 And, in conclusion, to oppose the bolt 
 Against my coming in : thou better know'st 
 The offices of nature, bond of childhood, 
 Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude; 
 
 Thy half o' the kingdom hast thou not forgot, 
 Wherein I thee endov/'d. 
 Reg. Good sir, to the purpose. 
 
 Lear. Who put my man i' the stocks? 
 
 [Tucket within. 
 
 Com. What trumpet 's that ? 
 
 Reg. I know't, my sister's: this approves 
 
 her letter, 
 That she would soon be here. 
 
 Enter OSWALD. 
 
 Is your lady come ? 
 Lear. This is a slave whose easy-borrow'd 
 
 pride 
 
 Dwells in the fickle grace of her he follows. 
 Out, varlet, from my sight! 
 
 Corn. What means your grace ? 
 
 Lear. Who stock'd my servant ? Regan, I 
 
 have good hope [O heavens, 
 
 Thou didst not know on 't. Who comes here? 
 
 Enter GONERIL. 
 
 If you do love old men, if your sweet sway 
 Allow obedience, if yourselves are old, [part : 
 Make it your cause ; send down, and take my 
 Art not asham'd to look upon this beard ? 
 
 [To GONERIL. 
 
 Regan, wilt thou take her by the hand ? 
 Gon. Why not by the hand, sir ? How have 
 
 I offended? 
 
 All 's not offence that indiscretion finds, 
 And dotage terms so. 
 
 Lear. O sides, you are too tough ! 
 
 Will you yet hold? How came my man i' the 
 
 stocks? [orders 
 
 Corn. I set him there, sir : but his own dis- 
 Deserv'd much less advancement. 
 
 Lear. You! did you? 
 
 Reg. I pray you, father, being weak, seem so. 
 If, till the expiration of your month, 
 You will return and sojourn with my sister, 
 Dismissing half your train, come then to me: 
 
 1 am now from home, and out of that provision 
 Which shall be needful for your entertainment. 
 
 Lear. Return to her, and fifty men dismiss'd? 
 No, rather I abjure all roofs, and choose 
 To wage against the enmity o' the air; 
 To be a comrade with the wolf and owl, 
 Necessity's sharp pinch ! Return with her? 
 Why, the hot-blooded France, that dowerless 
 
 took 
 
 Our youngest born, I could as well be brought 
 To knee his throne, and, squire-like, pension beg- 
 To keep base life a-foot. Return with her? 
 Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpter 
 To this detested groom. [ Pointing to OSWALD. 
 
 Gon. At your choice, sir. 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 1043 
 
 Lear* I pr'ythee, daughter, do not make me 
 
 mad: 
 
 I will not trouble thee, my child ; farewell : 
 We '11 no more meet, no more see one another : 
 But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my 
 
 daughter ; 
 
 Or rather a disease that 's in my flesh, 
 Which I must needs call mine : thou art a boil, 
 A plague-sore, an embossed carbuncle 
 In my corrupted blood. But I '11 not chide thee ; 
 Let shame come when it will, I do not call it : 
 I do not bid the thunder-bearer shoot, 
 Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove : 
 Mend when thou canst ; be better at thy leisure : 
 I can be patient ; I can stay with Regan, 
 I and my hundred knights. 
 
 Reg. Not altogether so : 
 
 I look'd not for you yet, nor am provided 
 For your fit welcome. Give ear, sir, to my 
 
 sister ; 
 
 For those that mingle reason with your passion 
 Must l>e content to think you old, and so 
 But she knows what she does. 
 
 Lear. Is this well spoken? 
 
 Reg. I dare avouch it, sir: what, fifty 
 
 followers? 
 
 Is it not well ? What should you need of more? 
 Yea, or so many, sith that both charge and 
 danger [house 
 
 Speak 'gainst so great a number? How in one 
 Should many people under two commands 
 Hold amity? 'Tis hard; almost impossible. 
 Gon. Why might not you, my lord, receive 
 attendance [mine? 
 
 From those that she calls servants, or from 
 Reg. Why not, my lord? If then they 
 chanc'd to slack you, [me, 
 
 We could control them. If you will come to 
 For now I spy a danger, I entreat you 
 To bring but five-and-twenty : to no more 
 Will I give place or notice. 
 Lear. I gave you all, 
 Reg. A.nd in good time you gave it. 
 
 Lear. Made you my guardians, my deposi- 
 taries ; 
 
 But kept a reservation to be follow'd [you 
 
 With such a number. What, must I come to 
 
 With five-and-twenty, Regan? said you so? 
 
 Reg. And speak 't again, my lord ; no more 
 
 with me. [well-favour'd 
 
 Lear. Those wicked creatures yet do look 
 
 When others are more wicked ; not being the 
 
 worst [thee: 
 
 Stands in some rank of praise. I'll go with 
 
 [To GONERIL. 
 
 Thy fifty yet doth double five-and-twenty, 
 And thou art twice her love. 
 
 Gon. Hear me, my lord : 
 
 What need you five-and-twenty, ten, or five, 
 To follow in a house where twice so many 
 Have a command to tend you? 
 
 Reg. What need one? 
 
 Lear. O, reason not the need: our basest 
 
 beggars 
 
 Are in the poorest thing superfluous : 
 Allow not nature more than nature needs, 
 Man's life is cheap as beast's : thou art a lady ; 
 If only to go warm were gorgeous, [wear'st, 
 Why, nature needs not what thou gorgeous 
 Which scarcely keeps thee warm. But, for 
 true need, [need ! 
 
 You heavens, give me that patience, patience I 
 You see me here, you gods, a poor old man, 
 As full of grief as age ; wretched in both ! 
 If it be you that stir these daughters' hearts 
 Against their father, fool me not so much 
 To bear it tamely ; touch me with noble anger, 
 And let not women's weapons, water-drops, 
 Stain my man's cheeks ! No, you unnatural 
 
 hags, 
 
 I will have such revenges on you both 
 That all the world shall, I will do such 
 things, [be 
 
 What they are yet I know not ; but they shall 
 The terrors of the earth. You think I '11 weep ; 
 No, I'll not weep: 
 
 I have full cause of weeping ; but this heart 
 Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws 
 Or ere .1 '11 weep. O fool, I shall go mad ! 
 
 [Exeunt LEAR, GLOSTER, KENT, and Fool. 
 Storm heard at a distance. 
 
 Corn. Let us withdraw ; 'twill be a storm. 
 
 Reg. This house is little : the old man and 
 
 his people 
 Cannot be well bestow'd. [from rest, 
 
 Gon. 'Tis his own blame ; hath put himself 
 And must needs taste his folly. [gladly, 
 
 Reg. For his particular, I '11 receive him 
 But not one follower. 
 
 Gon. So am I purpos'd. 
 
 Where is my lord of Gloster? [turn'd. 
 
 Corn. Follow'd the old man forth : he is re- 
 
 Re-enter GLOSTER. 
 
 Glo. The king is in high rage. 
 
 Corn. Whither is he going? 
 
 Glo. He calls to horse ; but will I know not 
 whither. [himself. 
 
 Corn. 'Tis best to give him way; he leads 
 
 Gon. My lord, entreat him by no means to 
 stay. [winds 
 
 Glo. Alack, the night comes on, and the high 
 Do sorely ruffle ; for many miles about 
 There 's scarce a bush. 
 
1044 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Reg. O, sir, to wilful men 
 
 The injuries that they themselves procure 
 Must be their schoolmasters. Shut up your 
 
 doors : 
 
 He is attended with a desperate train ; 
 And what they may incense him to, being apt 
 To have his ear abus'd, wisdom bids fear. 
 Corn. Shut up your doors, my lord; 'tis a 
 
 wild night : 
 
 My Regan counsels well : come out o' the storm. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. A Heath. 
 
 A storm, with thunder and lightning. Enter 
 KENT and a Gentleman, meeting. 
 
 Kent. Who's there, besides foul weather? 
 
 Gent. One minded like the weather, most 
 unquietly. 
 
 Kent. I know you. Where's the king? 
 
 Gent. Contending with the fretful elements; 
 Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea, 
 Or swell the curled waters 'bove the main, 
 That things might change or cease ; tears his 
 
 white hair, 
 
 Which the impetuous blasts, with eyeless rage, 
 Catch in their fury, and make nothing of; 
 Strives in his little world of man to out-scorn 
 The to-and-fro conflicting wind and rain. 
 This night, wherein the cub-drawn bear would 
 
 couch, 
 
 The lion and the belly-pinched wolf 
 Keep their fur dry, unbonneted he runs, 
 And bids what will take all. 
 
 Kent. But who is with him? 
 
 Gent. None but the fool; who labours to 
 
 out-jest 
 His heart-struck injuries. 
 
 Kent. Sir, I do know you ; 
 
 And dare, upon the warrant of my note, 
 Commend a dear thing to you. There is division, 
 Although as yet the face of it be cover'd 
 With mutual cunning, 'twixt Albany and Corn- 
 wall ; [stars 
 Who have, as who have not, that their great 
 Throne and set high? servants who seem no 
 
 less, 
 
 Which are to France the spies and speculations 
 Intelligent of our state ; what hath been seen, 
 Either in snuffs and packings of the dukes ; 
 Or the hard rein which both of them have borne 
 Against the old kind king ; or something deeper, 
 Whereof perchance these are but furnishings ; 
 But true it is, from France there comes a power 
 Into this scatter'd kingdom; who already, 
 
 Wise in our negligence, have secret feet 
 
 In some of our best ports, and are at point 
 
 To show their open banner. Now to you: 
 
 If on my credit you dare build so far 
 
 To make your speed to Dover, you shall find 
 
 Some that will thank you making just report 
 
 Of how unnatural and bemadding sorrow 
 
 The king hath cause to plain. 
 
 I am a gentleman of blood and breeding; 
 
 And from some knowledge and assurance offer 
 
 This office to you. 
 
 Gent. I will talk further with you. 
 
 Kent. No, do not. 
 
 For confirmation that I am much more 
 Than my out wall, open this purse, and take 
 What it contains. If you shall see Cordelia, 
 As fear not but you shall, show her this ring; 
 And she will tell you who your fellow is 
 That yet you do not know. Fie on this storm ! 
 I will go seek the king. [to say? 
 
 Gent. Give me your hand : have you no more 
 
 Kent. Few words, but, to effect, more than 
 
 all yet, [your pain 
 
 That when we have found the king, in which 
 
 That way, I '11 this, he that first lights on him 
 
 Holla the other. [Exeunt severally. 
 
 SCENE II. Another part of the Heath. 
 Storm continues. 
 
 Enter LEAR and Fool. 
 
 Lear. Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks ! 
 
 rage ! blow ! 
 
 You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout 
 Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd 
 
 the cocks ! 
 
 You sulphurous and thought-executing fires, 
 Vaunt couriers of oak-cleaving thunderbolts, 
 Singe my white head ! And thou, all-shaking 
 
 thunder, 
 
 Strike flat the thick rotundity o' the world ! 
 Crack nature's moulds, all germens spill at once, 
 That make ingrateful man ! 
 
 Fool. O nuncle, court holy water in a dry 
 
 house is better than this rain-water out o' door. 
 
 Good nuncle, in ; ask thy daughters' blessing : 
 
 here 's a night pities neither wise men nor fools. 
 
 Lear. Rumble thy bellyful! Spit, fire! 
 
 spout, rain ! 
 
 Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters: 
 I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness ; 
 I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children; 
 You owe me no subscription : then let fall 
 Your horrible pleasure ; here I stand, your slave, 
 A poor, infirm, weak, and despis'd old man : 
 But yet I call you servile ministers, 
 That will with two pernicious daughters join 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 KING LEAK. 
 
 1045 
 
 Your high-engender'd battles 'gainst a head 
 So old and white as this. O ! O ! 'tis foul ! 
 
 Fool. He that has a house to put 's head in 
 has a good head-piece. 
 
 The cod-piece that will house 
 
 Before the head has any, 
 The head and he shall louse ; 
 
 So beggars marry many. 
 The man that makes his toe 
 
 What he his heart should make 
 Shall of a corn cry woe, 
 
 And turn his sleep to wake. 
 for there was never yet fair woman but she 
 made mouths in a glass. [patience ; 
 
 Lear. No, I will be the pattern of all 
 I will say nothing. 
 
 Enter KENT. 
 
 Kent. Who's there? 
 
 Fool. Marry, here 's grace and a cod-piece ; 
 that 's a wise man and a fool. [love night 
 
 Kent. Alas, sir, are you here? things that 
 Love not such nights as these ; the wrathful skies 
 Gallovv the very wanderers of the dark, 
 And make them keep their caves: since I was 
 
 man, 
 Such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thun- 
 
 der, 
 
 Such groans of roaring wind and rain I never 
 Remember to have heard : man's nature cannot 
 
 carry 
 The affliction nor the fear. 
 
 Lear. Let the great gods, 
 
 That keep this dreadful pother o'er our heads, 
 Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou 
 
 wretch, 
 
 That hast within thee undivulged crimes, 
 Unwhipp'd of justice: hide thee, thou bloody 
 
 hand; 
 
 Thou perjur'd, and thou simular of virtue 
 That art incestuous : caitiff, to pieces shake, 
 That under covert and convenient seeming 
 Hast practis'd on man's life : close pent-up 
 
 guilts, 
 
 Rive your concealing continents, and cry 
 These dreadful summoners grace. I am a man 
 More sinn'd against than sinning. 
 
 Kent. Alack, bare-headed ! 
 
 Gracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel ; 
 Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the 
 
 tempest : 
 
 Repose you there, while I to this hard house, 
 More harder than the stones whereof 'tis rais'd ; 
 Which even but now, demanding after you, 
 Denied me to come in, return, and force 
 Their scanted courtesy. 
 
 Lear. My wits begin to turn. 
 
 Come on, my boy: how dost, my boy? art 
 cold? [fellow? 
 
 I am cold myself. Where is this straw, my 
 The art of our necessities is strange, 
 That can make vile things precious. Come, 
 your hovel. [heart 
 
 Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my 
 That 's sorry yet for thee. 
 
 FooL He that has and a little tiny wit, [Singinf. 
 
 With heigh, ho, the wind and the rain, 
 Must make content with his, fortunes fit, 
 Though the rain it raineth every day. 
 
 Lear. True, boy. Come, bring us to this 
 hovel. [Exeunt LEAR and KENT. 
 
 Fool. This is a brave night to cool a courte- 
 zan. 
 I '11 speak a prophecy ere I go : 
 
 When priests are more in word than matter ; 
 
 When brewers mar their malt with water ; 
 
 When nobles are their tailors' tutors ; 
 
 No heretics burn'd, but wenches' suitors ; 
 
 When every case in law is right ; 
 
 No squire in debt, nor no poor knight ; 
 
 When slanders do not live in tongues ; 
 
 Nor cutpurses come not to throngs ; 
 
 When userers tell their gold i' the field; 
 
 And bawds and whores do churches build ; 
 
 Then shall the realm of Albion 
 
 Come to great confusion : 
 
 Then comes the time, who lives to see 't, 
 
 That going shall be us'd with feet. 
 This prophecy Merlin shall make ; for I live 
 before his time. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III. A Room in GLOSTER'S Castle. 
 Enter GLOSTER and EDMUND. 
 
 Glo. Alack, alack, Edmund, I like not this 
 unnatural dealing. When I desired their leave 
 that I might pity him, they took from me the 
 use of mine own house ; charged me, on pain 
 of perpetual displeasure, neither to speak of 
 him, entreat for him, nor any way sustain him. 
 
 Edm. Most savage and unnatural ! 
 
 Glo. Go to ; say you nothing. There is 
 division between the dukes ; and a worse mat- 
 ter than that: I have received a letter this 
 night ; 'tis dangerous to be spoken ; I have 
 locked the letter in my closet : these injuries 
 the king now bears will be revenged home ; 
 there is part of a power already footed : we 
 must incline to the king. I will seek him, and 
 privily relieve him : go you and maintain talk 
 with the duke, that my charity be not of him 
 perceived : if he ask for me, I am ill, and gone 
 to bed. If I die for it, as no less is threatened 
 
1046 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 me, the king my old master must be relieved. 
 
 There is strange things toward, Edmund ; pray 
 
 you, be careful. [Exit. 
 
 Edm. This courtesy, forbid thee, shall the 
 
 duke 
 
 Instantly know ; and of that letter too : 
 This seems a fair deserving, and must draw me 
 That which my father loses, no less than all : 
 The younger rises when the old doth fall. 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV. A part of the Heath with a Hovel. 
 Storm continues. 
 
 Enter LEAR, KENT, and Fool. 
 
 Kent. Here is the place, my lord ; good my 
 
 lord, enter : 
 
 The tyranny of the open night 's too rough 
 For nature to endure. 
 
 Lear. Let me alone. 
 
 Kent. Good my lord, enter here. 
 Lear. Wilt break my heart ? 
 
 Kent. I had rather break mine own. Good 
 my lord, enter. [tentious storm 
 
 Lear. Thou think'st 'tis much that this con- 
 Invades us to the skin : so 'tis to thee 
 But where the greater malady is fix'd, [bear ; 
 The lesser is scarce felt. Thou 'dst shun a 
 But if thy flight lay toward the roaring sea, 
 Thou 'dst meet the bear i' the mouth. When 
 
 the mind 's free 
 
 The body 's delicate : the tempest in my mind 
 Doth from my senses take all feeling else 
 Save what beats there. Filial ingratitude ! 
 Is it not as this mouth should tear this hand 
 For lifting food to't? But I will punish home : 
 No, I will weep no more. In such a night 
 To shut me out ! Pour on ; I will endure : 
 In such a night as this ! O Regan, Goneril ! 
 Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave 
 
 all,- 
 
 O, that way madness lies ; let me shun that ; 
 No more of that. 
 
 Kent. Good my lord, enter here. 
 
 Lear. Pr'ythee, go in thyself; seek thine 
 
 own ease : 
 
 This tempest will not give me leave to ponder 
 On things would hurt me more. But I'll go 
 r/firf I i n [poverty, 
 
 In, boy ; go first {to the Fool]. You houseless 
 Nay, get thee in. I'll pray, and then I'll 
 sleep. [Fool goes in. 
 
 Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, 
 That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm, 
 How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides, 
 Your loop'd and window'd ragged ness, defend 
 you 
 
 From seasons such as these? O, I have ta'en 
 Too little care of this ! Take physic, pomp ; 
 Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel, 
 That thou mayst shake the superflux to them, 
 And show the heavens more just. 
 
 Edg. {Within.} Fathom and half, fathom 
 and half ! Poor Tom ! 
 
 [ The Fool runs out from the hovel. 
 Fool. Come not in here, nuncle, here's a 
 
 spirit. 
 Help me, help me ! 
 
 Kent. Give me thy hand. Who 's there ? 
 Fool. A spirit, a spirit : he says his name 's 
 poor Tom. [i } the straw ? 
 
 Kent. What art thou that dost grumble there 
 Come forth. 
 
 Enter EDGAR, disguised as a madman. 
 
 Edg. Away ! the foul fiend follows me ! 
 Through the sharp hawthorn blows the cold 
 
 wind. 
 Hum ! go to thy cold bed and warm thee. 
 
 Lear. Didst thou give all to thy daughters ? 
 And art thou come to this ? 
 
 Edg. Who gives anything to poor Tom ? 
 whom the foul fiend hath led through fire and 
 through flame, through ford and whirlpool, o'er 
 bog and quagmire ; that hath laid knives under 
 his pillow, and halters in his pew ; set ratsbane 
 by his porridge ; made him proud of heart, to 
 ride on a bay trotting-horse over four-inched 
 bridges, to course his own shadow for a traitor. 
 Bless thy five wits ! Tom 's a-cold. O, do 
 de, do de, do de. Bless thee from whirlwinds, 
 star-blasting, and taking! Do poor Tom some 
 charity, whom the foul fiend vexes : there 
 could I have him now, and there, and there, 
 and there again, and there. 
 
 {Storm continues. 
 
 Lear. What, have his daughters brought him 
 
 to this pass ? ['em all ? 
 
 Couldst thou save nothing ? Didst thou give 
 
 Fool. Nay, he reserved a blanket, else we 
 had been all shamed. 
 
 Lear. Now, all the plagues that in the pendu- 
 lous air [daughters ! 
 Hang fated o'er men's faults light on thy 
 
 Kent. He hath no daughters, sir. 
 
 Lear. Death, traitor ! nothing could have 
 
 subdu'd nature 
 
 To such a lowness but his unkind daughters. 
 Is it the fashion that discarded fathers 
 Should have thus little mercy on their flesh ? 
 Judicious punishment ! 'twas this flesh begot 
 Those pelican daughters. 
 
 Edg. Pillicock sat on Pillicock-hill : 
 Halloo, halloo, loo loo 1 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 1047 
 
 Fool. This cold night will turn us all to fools 
 and madmen. 
 
 Edg. Take heed o' the foul fiend : obey thy 
 parents ; keep thy word justly ; swear not ; 
 commit not with man's sworn spouse ; set not 
 thy sweet heart on proud array. Tom 's a-cold. 
 
 Lear. What hast thou been? 
 
 Edg. A serving-man, proud in heart and 
 mind ; that curled my hair ; wore gloves in my 
 cap ; served the lust of my mistress's heart, and 
 did the act of darkness V/ith her ; swore as 
 many oaths as I spake words, and broke them 
 in the sweet face of heaven : one that slept in 
 the contriving of hist, and waked to do it : 
 wine loved I deeply, dice dearly ; and in women 
 out-paramoured the Turk : false of heart, light 
 of ear, bloody of hand ; hog in sloth, fox in 
 stealth, wolf in greediness, dog in madness, 
 lion in prey. Let not the creaking of shoes nor 
 the rustling of silks betray thy poor heart to 
 woman: keep thy foot out of brothels, thy hand 
 out of plackets, thy pen from lenders' books, 
 and defy the foul fiend. Still through the 
 hawthorn blows the cold wind: says suum, 
 mun, nonny. Dolphin my boy, boy, sessa ! 
 let him trot by. [Storm still continues. 
 
 Lear. Why, thou wert better in thy grave 
 than to answer with thy uncovered body this 
 extremity of the skies. Is man no more than 
 this? Consider him well. Thou owest the 
 worm no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep no 
 wool, the cat no perfume. Ha! here's three 
 on 's are sophisticated ! Thou art the thing 
 itself: unaccommodated man is no more but 
 such a poor, bare, forked animal as thou art. 
 Off, off, you leadings ! Come, unbutton here. 
 [ Tearing off his clothes. 
 
 Fool. Pr'ythee, nuncle, be contented; 'tis a 
 naughty night to swim in. Now a little fire in 
 a wild field were like an old lecher's heart, a 
 small spark, all the rest on 's body cold. 
 Look, here comes a walking fire. 
 
 Edg. This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet : 
 he begins at curfew, and walks till the first 
 cock; he gives the web and the pin, squints 
 the eye, and makes the hare-lip ; mildews the 
 white wheat, and hurts the poor creature of earth. 
 Swithold footed thrice the old ; 
 He met the nightmare and her nine-fold ; 
 Bid her alight, 
 And her troth plight, 
 And, aroint thee, witch, aroint thee ! 
 
 Kent. How fares your grace? 
 
 Enter GLOSTER with a torch. 
 
 tear. What 'she? 
 
 Kent. Who 's there ? What is 't you seek ? 
 
 Glo. What are you there? Your names? 
 
 Edg. Poor Tom; that eats the swimming 
 frog, the toad, the tadpole, the wall-newt, and 
 the water ; that in the fury of his heart, when 
 the foul fiend rages, eats cow-dung for sallets ; 
 swallows the old rat and the ditch-dog ; drinks 
 the green mantle of the standing pool ; who is 
 whipped from tithing to tithing, and stocked, 
 punished, and imprisoned; who hath had three 
 suits to his back, six shirts to his body, horse 
 to ride, and weapon to wear ; 
 
 But mice and rats, and such small deer, 
 Have been Tom's food for seven long year. 
 Beware my follower. Peace, Smulkin; peace, 
 thou fiend ! [pany? 
 
 Glo. What, hath your grace no better com- 
 
 Edg. The prince of darkness is a gentleman : 
 Modo he's call'd, and Mahu. [so vile 
 
 Glo. Our flesh and blood, my lord, is grown 
 That it doth hate what gets :t. 
 
 Edg. Poor Tom 's a-cold. 
 
 Glo. Go in with me : my duty cannot suffer 
 To obey in all your daughters' hard commands : 
 Though their injunction be to bar my doors, 
 And let this tyrannous night take hold upon you, 
 Yet have I ventur'd to come seek you out, 
 And bring you where both fire and food is ready. 
 
 Lear. First let me talk with this philoso- 
 pher. 
 What is the cause of thunder ? 
 
 Kent. Good my lord, take his offer ; 
 Go into the house. [Theban, 
 
 Lear. I '11 talk a word with this same learned 
 What is your study? [vermin. 
 
 Edg. How to prevent the fiend and to kill 
 
 Lear. Let me ask you one word in private. 
 
 Kent. Importune him once more to go, my 
 
 lord; 
 His wits begin to unsettle. 
 
 Glo. Canst thou blame him? 
 
 His daughters seek his death : ah, that good 
 
 Kent ! 
 
 He said it would be thus, poor, banish'd 
 man ! [friend, 
 
 Thou say'st the king grows mad ; I '11 tell thee, 
 I am almost mad myself: I had a son, [life 
 Now outlaw'd from my blood ; he sought my 
 But lately, very late : I lov'd him, friend, 
 No father his son dearer : true to tell thee, 
 
 [Storm continues. 
 The grief hath craz'd my wits. What a night 's 
 
 this ! 
 I do beseech your grace, 
 
 Lear. O, cry you mercy, sir. 
 
 Noble philosopher, your company. 
 
 Edg. Tom 's a-coW. [thee warm. 
 
 Glo. In, fellow, there, into the hovel : keep 
 
1048 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 [ACT m. 
 
 Lear. Come, let 's in all. 
 Kent. This way, my lord. 
 
 Lear. With him ; 
 
 I will keep still with my philosopher. 
 
 Kent. Good my lord, soothe him; let him 
 
 take the fellow. 
 Glo. Take him you on. 
 Kent. Sirrah, come on ; go along with us. 
 Lear. Come, good Athenian. 
 Glo. No words, no words : 
 
 Hush. 
 
 Edg. Child Rowland to the dark tower came, 
 His word was still, Fie, foh, and fum, 
 I smell the blood of a British man. 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V- A Room in GLOSTER'S Castle. 
 Enter CORNWALL and EDMUND. 
 
 Corn. I will have my revenge ere I depart 
 his house. 
 
 Edm. How, my lord, I may be censured, 
 that nature thus gives way to loyalty, something 
 fears me to think of. 
 
 Corn. I now perceive, it was not altogether 
 your brother's evil disposition made him seek 
 his death; but a provoking merit, set a- work 
 by a reprovable badness in himself. 
 
 Edm. How malicious is my fortune, that I 
 must repent to be just ! This is the letter he 
 spoke of, which approves him an intelligent 
 party to the advantages of France. O heavens! 
 that this treason were not, or not I the de- 
 tector ! 
 
 Corn. Go with me to the duchess. 
 
 Edm. If the matter of this paper be certain, 
 you have mighty business in hand. 
 
 Corn. True or false, it hath made thee earl 
 of Gloster. Seek out where thy father is, that 
 he may be ready for our apprehension. 
 
 Edm. [Aside.'] If I find him comforting the 
 king, it will stuff his suspicion more fully. I 
 will persevere in my course of loyalty, though 
 the conflict be sore between that and my blood. 
 
 Corn. I will lay trust upon thee ; and thou 
 shalt find a dearer father in my love. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI. A Chamber in a Farm-house 
 adjoining the Castle. 
 
 Enter GLOSTER, LEAR, KENT, Fool, and 
 EDGAR. 
 
 Glo. Here is better than the open air ; take 
 it thankfully. I will piece out the comfort with 
 what addition I can : I will not be long from 
 you. 
 
 Kent. All the power of his wits have given 
 way to his impatience : the gods reward your 
 kindness ! [Exit GLOSTER. 
 
 Edg. Frateretto calls me ; and tells me Nero 
 is an angler in the lake of darkness. Pray, 
 innocent, and beware the foul fiend. 
 
 Fool. Pr'ythee, nuncle, tell me whether a 
 madman be a gentleman or a yeoman ? 
 Lear. A king, a king ! 
 
 Fool. No ; he 's a yeoman that has a gentle- 
 man to his son ; for he 's a mad yeoman that 
 sees his son a gentleman before him. [spits 
 Lear. To have a thousand with red burning 
 Come hissing in upon 'em, 
 
 Edg. The foul fiend bites my back. 
 Fool. He 's mad that trusts in the lameness 
 of a wolf, a horse's health, a boy's love, or a 
 whore's oath. [straight. 
 
 Lear. It shall be done ; I will arraign them 
 Come, sit thou here, most learned justicer; 
 
 [To EDGAR. 
 Thou, sapient sir, sit here [To the Fool]. Now, 
 
 you she-foxes ! 
 
 Edg. Look, where he stands and glares ! 
 Wantest thou eyes at trial, madam? 
 
 Come o'er the bourn, Bessy, to me, 
 Fool. Her boat hath a leak, 
 
 And she must not speak 
 Why she dares not come over to thee. 
 Edg. The foul fiend haunts poor Tom in the 
 voice of a nightingale. Hopdance cries in Tom's 
 belly for two white herring. Croak not, black 
 angel ; I have no food for thee. [amaz'd : 
 
 Kent. How do you, sir? Stand you not so 
 Will you lie down and rest upon the cushions? 
 Lear. I '11 see their trial first. Bring in the 
 
 evidence. 
 
 Thou robed man of justice, take thy place; 
 
 [To EDGAR. 
 And thou, his yoke-fellow of equity, 
 
 [To the Fool. 
 
 Bench by his side : you are o' the commission, 
 Sit you too. [To KENT. 
 
 Edg. Let us deal justly. 
 
 Sleepest or wakest thou, jolly shepherd? 
 
 Thy sheep be in the corn ; 
 And for one blast of thy minikin mouth 
 
 Thy sheep shall take no harm. 
 Pur ! the cat is gray. 
 
 Lear. Arraign her first ; 'tis Goneril. I here 
 take my oath before this honourable assembly, 
 she kicked the poor king her father. 
 
 Fool. Come hither, mistress. Is your name 
 Goneril? 
 
 Lear. She cannot deny it. 
 Fool. Cry you mercy, I took you for a joint- 
 stool. 
 
SCENE VI.] 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 1049 
 
 Lear. And here 's another, whose warp'd 
 
 looks proclaim [there ! 
 
 What store her heart is made on. Stop her 
 
 Arms, arms, sword, fire ! Corruption in the 
 
 place ! 
 
 False justicer, why hast thou let her 'scape? 
 Edg. Bless thy five wits ! 
 Kent. O pity ! Sir, where is the patience now 
 That you so oft have boasted to retain? 
 
 Edg. [Aside.] My tears begin to take his 
 
 part so much, 
 They '11 mar my counterfeiting. 
 
 Lear. The little dogs and all, [at me. 
 
 Tray, Blanch, and Sweetheart, see, they bark 
 Edg. Tom will throw his head at them. 
 A vaunt, you curs ! 
 
 Be thy mouth or black or white, 
 Tooth that poisons if it bite ; 
 Mastiff, greyhound, mongrel grim, 
 Hound or spaniel, brach or lym, 
 Or bobtail tike or trundle-tail, 
 Tom will make them weep and wail : 
 For, with throwing thus my head, 
 Dogs leap the hatch, and all are fled. 
 Do de, de, de. Sessa ! Come, march to 
 wakes and fairs and market-towns. Poor Tom, 
 thy horn is dry. 
 
 Lear. Then let them anatomize Regan ; see 
 what breeds about her heart. Is there any 
 cause in nature that makes these hard hearts ? 
 \_To EDGAR.] You, sir, I entertain you for one 
 of my hundred ; only I do not like the fashion 
 of your garments : you will say they are Per- 
 sian ; but let them be changed. [awhile. 
 Kent. Now, good my lord, lie here and rest 
 Lear. Make no noise, make no noise ; draw 
 
 the curtains : 
 
 So, so. We '11 go to supper i' the morning. 
 Fool. And I '11 go to bed at noon. 
 
 Re-enter GLOSTER. 
 
 Glo. Come hither, friend : where is the king 
 my master ? [wits are gone. 
 
 Kent. Here, sir; but trouble him not, his 
 
 Glo. Good friend, I pr'ythee, take him in 
 
 thy arms ; 
 
 I have o'erheard a plot of death upon him i 
 There is a litter ready ; lay him in 't, 
 And drive toward Dover, friend, where thou 
 shalt meet [master : 
 
 Both welcome and protection. Take up thy 
 If thou shouldst dally half an hour, his life, 
 With thine, and all that offer to defend him, 
 Stand in assured loss : take up, take up ; 
 And follow me, that will to some provision 
 Give thee quick conduct. 
 
 Kent. Oppress'd nature sleeps : 
 
 This rest might yet have balm'd thy broken 
 
 sinews, 
 
 Which, if convenience will not allow, 
 Stand in hard cure. Come, help to bear thy 
 
 master ; 
 
 Thou must not stay behind. [To the Fool. 
 
 Glo. Come, come, away. 
 
 [Exeunt KENT, GLOSTER, and the Fool, 
 
 bearing o/ "LEAR. 
 Edg. When we our betters see bearing our 
 
 woes, 
 
 We scarcely think our miseries our foes. 
 Who alone suffers suffers most i' the mind, 
 Leaving free things and happy shows behind : 
 But then the mind much sufferance doth o'erskip 
 When grief hath mates and bearing fellowship. 
 How light and portable my pain seems now, 
 When that which makes me bend makes the 
 
 king bow ; 
 
 He childed as I father'd ! Tom, away ! 
 Mark the high noises ; and thyself bewray, 
 When false opinion, whose wrong thought 
 
 defiles thee, 
 
 In thy just proof repeals and reconciles thee. 
 What will hap more to-night, safe 'scape the 
 
 king ! 
 Lurk, lurk. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE VII. A Room in GLOSTER'S Castle. 
 
 Enter CORNWALL, REGAN, GONERIL, 
 EDMUND, and Servants. 
 
 Corn. Post speedily to my lord your hus- 
 band ; show him this letter: the army of 
 France is landed. Seek out the traitor Gloster. 
 [Exeunt some of the Servants. 
 
 Reg. Hang him instantly. 
 
 Gon. Pluck out his eyes. 
 
 Corn. Leave him to my displeasure. Ed- 
 mund, keep you our sister company : the re- 
 venges we are bound to take upon your traitor- 
 ous father are not fit for your beholding. Advise 
 the duke, where you are going, to a most 
 festinate preparation : we are bound to the like. 
 Our posts shall be swift and intelligent betwixt 
 us. Farewell, dear sister : farewell, my lord 
 of .Gloster. 
 
 Enter OSWALD. 
 
 How now ! where 's the king ? [hence : 
 
 Osw. My lord of Gloster hath convey'd him 
 Some five or six and thirty of his knights, 
 Hot questrists after him, met him at gate ; 
 W T ho, with some other of the lord's dependents, 
 Are gone with him toward Dover ; where they 
 
 boast 
 To have well-armed friends. 
 
1050 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Corn. Get horses for your mistress. 
 
 Gon. Farewell, sweet lord and sister. 
 Corn. Edmund, farewell. 
 
 [Exeunt GON., EDM., and Osw. 
 Go seek the traitor Gloster, 
 Pinion him like a thief, bring him before us. 
 
 [Exeunt other Servants. 
 Though well we may not pass upon his life 
 Without the form of justice, yet our power 
 Shall do a courtesy to our wrath, which men 
 May blame, but not control. Who's there? 
 the traitor ? 
 
 Re-enter Servants, with GLOSTER. 
 
 Reg. Ingrateful fox ! 'tis he. 
 
 Corn. Bind fast his corky arms. 
 
 Glo. What mean your graces? Good my 
 
 friends, consider 
 You are my guests : do me no foul play, friends. 
 
 Corn. Bind him, I say. [Servants bind him. 
 
 Reg. Hard, hard. O filthy traitor ! 
 
 Glo. Unmerciful lady as you are, I 'm none. 
 
 Corn. To this chair bind him. Villain, thou 
 shall find, [REGAN///*rr his beard. 
 
 Glo. By the kind gods, 'tis most ignobly done 
 To pluck me by the beard. 
 
 Reg. So white, and such a traitor ! 
 
 Glo. Naughty lady, 
 
 These hairs which thou dost ravish from my 
 
 chin 
 
 Will quicken, and accuse thee : I am your host : 
 With robbers' hands my hospitable favours 
 You should not ruffle thus. What will you do? 
 
 Corn. Come, sir, what letters had you late 
 from France? [truth. 
 
 Reg. Be simple-answer'd, for we know the 
 
 Corn. And what confederacy have you with 
 
 the traitors 
 Late footed in the kingdom ? [lunatic king ? 
 
 Reg. To whose hands have you sent the 
 Speak. 
 
 Glo. I have a letter guessingly set down, 
 Which came from one that 's of a neutral heart, 
 And not from one oppos'd. 
 
 Corn. Cunning. 
 
 Reg. And false. 
 
 Corn. Where hast thou sent the king ? . 
 
 Glo. To Dover. 
 
 Reg. Wherefore to Dover ? Wast thou not 
 charg'd at peril, 
 
 Corn. Wherefore to Dover? Let him answer 
 that. [the course. 
 
 Glo. I am tied to the stake, and I must stand 
 
 Reg. Wherefore to Dover? 
 
 Glo. Because I would not see thy cruel nails 
 Pluck out his poor old eyes ; nor thy fierce sister 
 In his anointed flesh stick boarish fangs. 
 
 The sea, with such a storm as his bare head 
 In hell-black night endur'd, would have buoy'd 
 
 up, 
 And quench'd the stelled fires: yet, poor old 
 
 heart, 
 
 He holp the heavens to rain. 
 If wolves had at thy gate howl'd that stern 
 tune {the key, 
 
 Thou shouldst have said, Good porter, turn 
 All cruels else subscrib'd : but I shall see 
 The winged vengeance overtake such children. 
 Corn. See't shalt thou never. Fellows, 
 
 hold the chair. 
 Upon these eyes of thine I '11 set my foot. 
 
 [GLOSTER is held down in his chair, 
 -while CORNWALL plucks out one of 
 his eyes and sets his foot on it. 
 Glo. He that will think to live till he be old 
 Give me some help ! O cruel ! O you gods ! 
 Reg. One side will mock another ; the other 
 
 too. 
 
 Corn. If you see vengeance, 
 i Serv. Hold your hand, my lord : 
 
 I have serv'd you ever since I was a child ; 
 But better service have I never done you 
 Than now to bid you hold. 
 
 Reg. How now, you dog ! 
 
 i Serv. If you did wear a beard upon your 
 
 chin, 
 I'd shake it on this quarrel. What do you 
 
 mean? 
 
 Corn. My villain ! [Draws, and runs at him. 
 i Serv. Nay, then, come on, and take the 
 
 chance of anger. 
 
 [Draws. They fight. CORN, is wounded. 
 Reg. Give me thy sword [to another Servant]. 
 
 A peasant stand up thus ! 
 [Snatches a sword, comes behind, and stabs him. 
 I Serv. O, I am slain ! My lord, you have 
 
 one eye left 
 
 To see some mischief on them. O! [Dies. 
 Corn. Lest it see more, prevent it. Out, 
 
 vile jelly ! 
 Where is thy lustre now? 
 
 [Tears out GLOSTER'S other eye, and 
 
 throws it on the ground. 
 Glo. All dark and comfortless. Where's 
 
 my son Edmund ? 
 
 Edmund, enkindle all the sparks of nature, 
 To quit this horrid act. 
 
 Reg. Out, treacherous villain ! 
 
 Thou call'st on him that hates thee : it was he 
 That made the overture of thy treasons to us ; 
 Who is too good to pity thee. 
 
 Glo. O my follies ! 
 
 Then Edgar was abus'd. 
 Kind gods, forgive me that, and prosper him ! 
 
SCENE VII. 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 1051 
 
 Reg. Go thrust him out at gates, and let him 
 
 smell [look you? 
 
 His way to Dover. How is 't, my lord? How 
 
 Corn. I have receiv'd a hurt : follow me, 
 
 lady. 
 
 Turn out that eyeless villain ; throw this slave 
 Upon the dunghill. Regan, I bleed apace : 
 Untimely comes this hurt : give me your arm. 
 [Exit CORNWALL, led by REGAN ; Servants 
 unbind GLOSTER and lead him out. 
 
 2 Serv. I '11 never care what wickedness I do 
 If this man come to good. 
 
 3 Serv. If she live long, 
 And in the end meet the old course of death, 
 Women will all turn monsters. 
 
 2 Serv. Let 's follow the old earl, and get 
 
 the Bedlam [ness 
 
 To lead him where he would : his roguish mad- 
 Allows itself to anything. 
 
 3 Serv. Go thou : I '11 fetch some flax and 
 
 whites of eggs 
 
 To apply to his bleeding face. Now, heaven 
 help him ! [Exeunt severally. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 
 SCENE I. The Heath. 
 
 Enter EDGAR. 
 
 
 Edg. Yet better thus, and known to be con- 
 
 temn'd, 
 
 Than still contemn'dand flatter'd. To be worst, 
 The lowest and most dejected thing of fortune, 
 Stands still in esperance, lives not in fear : 
 The lamentable change is from the best ; 
 The worst returns to laughter. Welcome, then, 
 Thou unsubstantial air that I embrace ! 
 The wretch that thou hast blown unto the worst 
 Owes nothing to thy blasts. But who comes 
 
 here? 
 
 Enter GLOSTER, led by an Old Man. 
 
 My father, poorly led? World, world, O 
 world ! [thee, 
 
 But that thy strange mutations make us hate 
 Life would not yield to age. 
 
 Old Man. O, my good lord, I have been 
 your tenant, and your father's tenant, these 
 fourscore years. [gone : 
 
 Glo. Away, get thee away; good friend, be 
 Thy comforts can do me no good at all ; 
 Thee they may hurt. 
 
 Old Man. You cannot see your way. [eyes ; 
 
 Glo. I have no way, and therefore want no 
 I stumbled when I saw : full oft 'tis seen 
 Our means secure us, and our mere defects 
 
 Prove our commodities. O dear son Edgar, 
 The food of thy abused father's wrath ! 
 Might I but live to see thee in my touch, 
 I 'd say I had eyes again ! 
 
 Old Man. How now ! Who 's there ? 
 
 Edg. [Aside.] O gods! Who is 't can say, 
 
 / am at the worst ? 
 I am worse than e'er I was. 
 
 Old Man. 'Tis poor mad Tom. 
 
 Edg. [Aside.] And worse I may be yet: 
 
 the worst is not 
 So long as we can say, This is the worst. 
 
 Old Man. Fellow, where goest ? 
 
 Glo. Is it a beggar-man ? 
 
 Old Man. Madman and beggar too. 
 
 Glo. He has some reason, else he could not 
 
 beg. 
 
 I' the last night's storm I such a fellow saw ; 
 Which made me think a man a worm r my son 
 Came then into my mind ; and yet my mind 
 Was then scarce friends with him: I have 
 
 heard more since. 
 
 As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods, 
 They kill us for their sport. 
 
 Edg. [Aside.] How should this be? 
 Bad is the trade that must play fool to sorrow, 
 Angering itself and others. Bless thee, master ! 
 
 Glo. Is that the naked fellow? 
 
 Old Man. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Glo. Then, pr'ythee, get thee gone : if, for 
 
 my sake, 
 
 Thou wilt o'ertake us, hence a mile or twain. 
 I' the way toward Dover, do it for ancient love; 
 And bring some covering for this naked soul, 
 Which I 'II entreat to lead me. 
 
 Old Man. Alack, sir, he is mad. 
 
 Glo. 'Tis the times plague when madmen 
 
 lead the blind. 
 
 Do as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure; 
 Above the rest, be gone. [I have, 
 
 Old Man. I 'II bring him the best 'parel that 
 Come on 't what will. [Exit. 
 
 Glo. Sirrah, naked fellow, 
 
 Edg. Poor Tom 's a-cold. [Aside.] I can- 
 not daub it further. 
 
 Glo. Come hither, fellow. 
 
 Edg. [Aside.] And yet I must. Bless thy 
 sweet eyes, they bleed. 
 
 Glo. Know'st thou the way to Dover ? 
 
 Edg. Both stile and gate, horse-way and 
 footpath. Poor Tom hath been scared out of 
 his good wits: bless thee, good man's son, from 
 the foul fiend ! five fiends have been in poor 
 Tom at once ; of lust, as Obidicul ; Hobbidi- 
 dance, prince of dumbness; Mahu, of stealing ; 
 Modo, of murder ; Flibbertigibbet ', of mopping 
 and mowing, who since possesses chamber- 
 
1052 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 [ACT TV. 
 
 maids and waiting-women. So, bless thee, 
 master I 
 
 Glo. Here, take this purse, thou whom the 
 heavens' plagues [wretched 
 
 Have humbled to all strokes : that I am 
 Makes thee the happier; heavens, deal so still ! 
 Let the superfluous and lust-dieted man, 
 That slaves your ordinance, that will not see 
 Because he doth not feel, feel your power 
 
 quickly; 
 
 So distribution should undo excess, [Dover ? 
 And each man have enough. Dost thou know 
 
 Edg. Ay, master. [head 
 
 Glo. There is a cliff whose high and bending 
 Looks fearfully in the confined deep : 
 Bring me but to the very brim of it, 
 And I '11 repair the misery thou dost bear 
 With something rich about me: from that place 
 I shall no leading need. 
 
 Edg. Give me thy arm : 
 
 Poor Tom shall lead thee. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. Before the DUKE OF ALBANY'S 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter GONERIL and EDMUND ; OSWALD 
 meeting them. 
 
 Gon. Welcome, my lord : I marvel our mild 
 
 husband [master ? 
 
 Not met us on the way. Now, where 's your 
 
 Osiv. Madam, within; but never man so 
 
 chang'd. 
 
 I told him of the army that was landed ; 
 He smil'd at it : I told him you were coming ; 
 His answer was, The worse: of Gloster's 
 
 treachery, 
 
 And of the loyal service of his son, 
 When I inform'd him, then he call'd me sot, 
 And told me I had turn'd the wrong side out : 
 What most he should dislike seems pleasant to 
 
 him ; 
 What like offensive. 
 
 Gon. Then shall you go no further. 
 
 [To EDMUND. 
 
 It is the cowish terror of his spirit, 
 That dares not undertake: he '11 not feel wrongs, 
 Which tie him to an answer. Our wishes on 
 
 the way [brother ; 
 
 May prove effects. Back, Edmund, to my 
 Hasten his musters and conduct his powers : 
 I must change arms at home, and give the distaff 
 Into my husband's hands. This trusty servant 
 Shall pass between us: ere long you are like to 
 
 hear, 
 
 If you dare venture in your own behalf, 
 A mistress's command. Wear this; spare 
 
 speech; [Giving a favour. 
 
 Decline your head : this kiss, if it durst speak, 
 Would stretch thy spirits up into the air : 
 Conceive, and fare thee well. 
 
 Edm. Yours in the ranks of death. 
 
 Gon. My most dear Gloster. 
 
 [Exit EDMUND. 
 
 O, the difference of man and man ! 
 To thee a woman's services are due : 
 My fool usurps my body. 
 
 Osw. Madam, here comes my lord. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Enter ALBANY. 
 
 Gon. I have been worth the whistle. 
 Alb. O Goneril ! 
 
 You are not worth the dust which the rude wind 
 Blows in your face. I fear your disposition : 
 That nature which contemns its origin 
 Cannot be border'd certain in itself ; 
 She that herself will sliver and disbranch 
 From her material sap, perforce must wither 
 And come to deadly use. 
 
 Gon. No more ; the text is foolish. 
 
 Alb. Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem 
 
 vile : [done ? 
 
 Filths savour but themselves. What have you 
 Tige' s, not daughters, what have you perform'd? 
 A father, and a gracious aged man, 
 Whose reverence the head-lugg'd bear would 
 
 lick, [madded. 
 
 Most barbarous, most degenerate ! have you 
 Could my good brother suffer you to do it? 
 A man, a prince, by him so benefited ! 
 If that the heavens do not their visible spirits 
 Send quickly down to tame these vile offences, 
 It will come, 
 
 Humanity must perforce prey on itself, 
 Like monsters of the deep. 
 
 Gon. Milk-liver'd man ! 
 
 That bear'st a cheek for blows, a head for 
 
 wrongs ; 
 
 Who hast not in thy brows an eye discerning 
 Thine honour from thy suffering ; that not 
 
 know'st 
 
 Fools do those villains pity who are punish'd 
 Ere they have done their mischief. Where ; s 
 
 thy drum ? 
 
 France spreads his banners in our noiseless land ; 
 With plumed helm thy slayer begins threats ; 
 Whiles thou, a moral fool, sitt'st still, and criest, 
 Alack, why does he so ? 
 
 Alb. See thyself, devil ! 
 
 Proper deformity seems not in the fiend 
 So horrid as in woman. 
 
 Gon. O vain fool ! 
 
 Alb. Thou changed and self-cover'd thing, 
 
 for shame, 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 1053 
 
 Be-monster not thy feature. Were 't my fitness 
 To let these hands obey my blood. 
 They are apt enough to dislocate and tear 
 Thy flesh and bones : howe'er thou art a fiend, 
 A woman's shape doth shield thee, 
 Gon. Marry, your manhood now ! 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Alb. What news ? [wall 's dead ; 
 
 Mess. O, my good lord, the Duke of Corn- 
 Slain by his servant, going to put out 
 The other eye of Gloster. 
 
 Alb. Gloster's eyes ! 
 
 Mess. A servant that he bred, thrill'd with 
 
 remorse, 
 
 Oppos'd against the act, bending his sword 
 To his great master ; who, thereat enrag'd, 
 Flew on him, and amongst them fell'd him 
 dead ; [since 
 
 But not without that harmful stroke which 
 Hath pluck'd him after. 
 
 Alb. This shows you are above, 
 
 You justicers, that these our nether crimes 
 So speedily can venge ! But, O poor Gloster ! 
 Lost he his other eye ? 
 
 Mess. Both, both, my lord. 
 
 This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer ; 
 'Tis from your sister. 
 
 Gon. [Aside.'] One way I like this well ; 
 But being widow, and my Gloster with her, 
 May all the building in my fancy pluck 
 Upon my hateful life : another way 
 The news is not so tart. I '11 read, and 
 answer. [Exit. 
 
 Alb. Where was his son when they did take 
 his eyes? 
 
 Mess. Come with my lady hither. 
 
 Alb. He is not here. 
 
 Mess. No, my good lord ; I met him back 
 again. 
 
 Alb. Knows he the wickedness ? 
 
 Mess. Ay, my good lord ; 'twas he inform'd 
 against him ; [punishment 
 
 And quit the house on purpose that their 
 Might have the freer course. 
 
 Alb. Gloster, I live 
 
 To thank thee for the love thou show'dst the 
 
 king, [friend : 
 
 And to revenge thine eyes. Come hither, 
 
 Tell me what more thou knowest. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. The French Camp near Dover. 
 Enter KENT and a Gentleman. 
 
 Kent. Why the King of France is so sud- 
 denly gone back know you the reason ? 
 
 Gent. Something he left imperfect in the 
 
 state, which since his coming forth is thought 
 of; which imports to the kingdom so much 
 fear and danger that his personal return was 
 most required and necessary. 
 
 Kent. Who hath he left behind him general? 
 
 Gent. The Mareschal of France, Monsieur la 
 Far. 
 
 Kent. Did your letters pierce the queen to 
 any demonstration of grief? [my presence ; 
 
 Gent. Ay, sir ; she took them, read them in 
 And now and then an ample tear trill'd down 
 Her delicate cheek : it seem'd she was a queen 
 Over her passion ; who, most rebel-like, 
 Sought to be king o'er her. 
 
 Kent. O, then it mov'd her. 
 
 Gent. Not to a rage : patience and sorrow 
 strove [seen 
 
 Who should express her goodliest. You have 
 Sunshine and rain at once : her smiles and tears 
 Were like a better day : those happy smilets 
 That play'd on her ripe lip seem'd not to know 
 What guests were in her eyes ; which parted 
 thence [sorrow 
 
 As pearls from diamonds dropp'd. In brief, 
 Would be a rarity most belov'd if all 
 Could so become it. 
 
 Kent. Made she no verbal question ? 
 
 Gent. Faith, once or twice she heav'd the 
 
 name of father 
 
 Pantingly forth, as if it press'd her heart ; 
 Cried, Sisters! sisters! Shame of ladies! 
 sisters ! \f the night ? 
 
 Kent! father! sisters! What, t the storm? 
 Let pity not be belierfd! There she shook 
 The holy water from her heavenly eyes, 
 And clamour moisten'd : then away she started 
 To deal with grief alone. 
 
 Kent. It is the stars, 
 
 The stars above us, govern our conditions ; 
 Else one self mate and mate could not beget 
 Such different issues. You spoke not with her 
 since ? 
 
 Gent. No. 
 
 Kent. Was this before the king return'd? 
 
 Gent. No, since. 
 
 Kent. Well, sir, the poor distressed Lear 's 
 
 i' the town ; 
 
 Who sometime, in his better tune, remembers 
 What we are come about, and by no means 
 Will yield to see his daughter. 
 
 Gent. Why, good sir ? 
 
 Kent. A sovereign shame so elbows him : his 
 
 own unkindness, [her 
 
 That stripp'd her from his benediction, turn'd 
 
 To foreign casualties, gave her dear rights 
 
 To his dog-hearted daughters, these things 
 
 sting 
 
1054 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 His mind so venomously that burning shame 
 Detains him from Cordelia. 
 
 Gent. Alack, poor gentleman ! 
 
 Kent. Of Albany's and Cornwall's powers 
 
 you heard not? 
 Gent. 'Tis so they are a-foot. 
 Kent. Well, sir, I '11 bring you to our master 
 
 Lear, 
 
 And leave you to attend him : some dear cause 
 Will in concealment wrap me up awhile ; 
 When I am known aright, you shall not grieve 
 Lending me this acquaintance. I pray you, 
 
 go 
 Along with me. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. The French Camp. A Tent, 
 Enter CORDELIA, Physician, and Soldiers. 
 
 Cor. Alack, 'tis he : why, he was met even 
 
 now 
 
 As mad as the vex'd sea; singing aloud ; 
 Crown'd with rank fumiter and furrow weeds, 
 With harlocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers, 
 Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow 
 In our sustaining corn. A century send forth ; 
 Search every acre in the high-grown field, 
 And bring him to our eye. [Exit an Officer.] 
 
 What can man's wisdom 
 In the restoring his bereaved sense ? 
 He that helps him take all my outward worth. 
 
 Phys. There is means, madam : 
 Our foster-nurse of nature is repose, 
 The which he lacks ; that to provoke in him 
 Are many simples operative, whose power 
 Will close the eye of anguish. 
 
 Cor. All bless'd secrets, 
 
 All you unpublish'd virtues of the earth, 
 Spring with my tears ! be aidant and remediate 
 In the good man's distress ! Seek, seek for 
 
 him ; 
 
 Lest his ungovern'd rage dissolve the life 
 That wants the means to lead it. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. News, madam ; 
 
 The British powers are marching hitherward. 
 
 Cor. 'Tis known before; our preparation 
 
 stands 
 
 In expectation of them. O dear father, 
 It is thy business that I go about ; 
 Therefore great France 
 
 My mourning and important tears hath pitied. 
 No blown ambition doth our arms incite, 
 But love, dear love, and our ag'd father's 
 
 right: 
 Soon may I hear and see him ! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. A Room in GLOSTER'S Castle. 
 Enter REGAN and OSWALD. 
 
 Reg. But are my brother's powers set forth ? 
 
 Osw. Ay, madam. 
 
 Reg. Himself in person there ? 
 
 Osw. Madam, with much ado ; 
 
 Your sister is the better soldier. [at home ? 
 
 Reg. Lord Edmund spake not with your lord 
 
 O*w. No, madam. [him ? 
 
 Reg. What might import my sister's letter to 
 
 Osw. I know not, lady. [matter. 
 
 Reg. Faith, he is posted hence on serious 
 It was great ignorance, Gloster's eyes being out, 
 To let him live : where he arrives he moves 
 All hearts against us : Edmund, I think, is gone, 
 In pity of his misery, to despatch 
 His nighted life ; moreover, to descry 
 The strength o' the enemy. 
 
 Osw. I must needs after him, madam, with 
 my letter. [with us ; 
 
 Reg. Our troops set forth to-morrow ; stay 
 The ways are dangerous. 
 
 Osw. I may not, madam : 
 
 My lady charg'd my duty in this business. 
 
 Reg. Why should she write to Edmund? 
 
 Might not you 
 
 Transport her purposes by word ? Belike 
 Something, I know not what : I '11 love thee 
 
 much 
 Let me unseal the letter. 
 
 Osw. Madam, I had rather, 
 
 Reg. I know your lady does not love her 
 
 husband ; 
 
 I am sure of that : and at her late being here 
 She gave strange eyeliads and most speaking 
 looks [bosom. 
 
 To noble Edmund. I know you are of her 
 
 Osw. I, madam ? [know 't : 
 
 Reg. I speak in understanding; you are, I 
 Therefore I do advise you, take this note : 
 My lord is dead ; Edmund and I have talk'd ; 
 And more convenient is he for my hand 
 Than for your lady's. You may gather more. 
 If you do find him, pray you, give him this ; 
 And when your mistress hears thus much from 
 
 you, 
 
 I pray, desire her call her wisdom to her. 
 So, fare you well. 
 
 If you do chance to hear of that blind traitor, 
 Preferment falls on him that cuts him off. 
 
 Osw. Would I could meet him, madam ! I 
 
 should show 
 What party I do follow. 
 
 Reg. Fare thee well. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
SCENE VI. J 
 
 KING LEAK. 
 
 J055 
 
 SCENE VI. The Country near Dwtr. 
 
 Enter GLOSTER, and EDGAR dressed like a 
 peasant. 
 
 Glo. When shall I come to the top of that 
 same hill ? [labour. 
 
 Edg. You do climb up it now : look, how we 
 
 Glo. Methinks the ground is even. 
 
 Edg. Horrible steep. 
 
 Hark, do you hear the sea? 
 
 Glo. No, truly. 
 
 Edg. Why, then, your other sense., grow 
 
 imperfect 
 By your eyes' anguish. 
 
 Glo. So may it be indeed : 
 
 Methinks thy voice is alter'd ; and thou speak'st 
 In better phrase and matter than thou didst. 
 
 Edg. You are much deceiv'd : in nothing 
 
 am I chang' d 
 But in my garments, 
 
 Glo. Methinks you're better spoken. 
 
 Edg, Come on, sir; here'? the place: 
 
 stand still. How fearful 
 And dizzy 'tis to cast one's eyes so low ! [air 
 The crows and choughs that wing the midway 
 Show scarce so gross as beetles : half way down 
 Hangs one that gathers samphire, dreadful 
 
 trade ! 
 
 Methinks he seems no bigger than his head : 
 The fishermen that walk upon the beach 
 Appear like mice ; and yond tall anchoring bark 
 Diminish'd to her cock ; her cock a buoy 
 Aimost too small for sight : the murmuring 
 
 surge, 
 
 That on the unnumber'd idle pebbles chafes, 
 Cannot be heard so high. I '11 look no more ; | 
 Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight 
 Topple down headlong. 
 
 Glo. Set me where you stand. 
 
 Edg. Give me your hand : you are now 
 within a foot [moon 
 
 Of the extreme verge: for all beneath the 
 Would I not leap upright. 
 
 Glo. Let go my hand. 
 
 Here, friend, 's another purse ; in it a jewel 
 Well worth a poor man's taking : fairies and 
 
 gods 
 
 Prosper it with thee ! Go thou further off; 
 Bid me farewell, and let me hear thee going. 
 
 Edg. Now, fare you well, good sir. 
 
 [Seems to go. 
 
 Glo. With all my heart. 
 
 Edg. Why I do trifle thus with his despair 
 Is done to cure it. 
 
 Glo. O you mighty gods ! 
 
 This world I do renounce, and in your sights 
 
 Shake patiently my great affliction off : 
 
 If I could bear it longer, and not fall 
 
 To quarrel with your great opposeless wills, 
 
 My snuff and loathed part of nature should 
 
 Burn itself out. If Edgar live, O bless him ! 
 
 Now, fellow, fare thee well. 
 
 Edg. Gone, sir : farewell, 
 
 [GLOSTER leaps, and falls along. 
 And yet I know not how conceit may rob 
 The treasury of life, when life itself [thought, 
 Yields to the theft: had he been where he 
 By this had thought been past. Alive or dead ? 
 Ho, you sir 1 friend ! Hear you, sir ! speak ! 
 Thus might he pass indeed: yet he revives. 
 What are you, sir ? 
 
 Glo. Away, and let me die. 
 
 Edg. Hadst thou been aught but gossamer, 
 
 feathers, air, 
 
 So many fathom down precipitating, 
 Thou'dst shiver'd like an egg : but thou dost 
 breathe ; [art sound. 
 
 Hast heavy substance ; bleed'st not ; speak'st; 
 Ten masts at each malice not the altitude 
 Which thou hast perpendicularly fell : 
 Thy life 's a miracle. Speak yet again. 
 
 Glo. But have I fall'n, or no ? [bourn. 
 
 Edg. From the dread summit of this chalky 
 Look up a-height ; the shrill-gorg'd lark so fai 
 Cannot be seen or heard : do but look up. 
 
 Glo. Alack, I have no eyes. 
 Is wretchedness depriv'd that benefit, [fort, 
 To end itself by death? 'Twas yet some com- 
 When misery could beguile the tyrant's rage 
 And frustrate his proud will. 
 
 Edg. Give me your arm : 
 
 Up: so. How is't? Feel you your legs? 
 You stand. 
 
 Glo. Too well, too well. 
 
 Edg. This is above all strangeness. 
 
 Upon the crown o' th< cliff what thing was that 
 Which parted from you ? 
 
 Glo. A poor unfortunate beggar. 
 
 Edg. As I stood here below, methought his 
 
 eyes 
 
 Were two lull moons ; he had a thousand noses, 
 Horns whelk'd and wav'd like the enridged sea : 
 It was some fiend ; therefore, thou happy father, 
 Think that the clearest gods, who make them 
 
 honours 
 Of men's impossibilities, have preserv'd thee. 
 
 Glo. I do remember now : henceforth I '11 bear 
 Affliction till it do cry out itself, [speak of, 
 Enough, enough, and die. That thing you 
 I took it for a man ; often 'twould say, 
 The fiend, the fiend: he led me to that place. 
 
 Edg. Bear free and patient thoughts. 'But 
 who comes here ? 
 
1056 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 [ACT IV. 
 
 Enter LEAK, fantastically dressed up with 
 flowers. 
 
 The safer sense will ne'er accommodate 
 His master thus. 
 
 Lear. No, they cannot touch me for coin- 
 ing ; I am the king himself. 
 
 Edg. O thou side-piercing sight ! 
 
 Lear. Nature 's above art in that respect. 
 There 's your press-money. That fellow handles 
 his bow like a crow-keeper : draw me a 
 clothier's yard. Look, look, a mouse ! Peace, 
 peace ; this piece of toasted cheese will do 't. 
 There 's my gauntlet ; I '11 prove it on a 
 giant. Bring up the brown bills. O, well 
 flown, bird ! i' the clout, i' the clout : hewgh ! 
 Give the word. 
 
 Edg. Sweet marjoram. 
 
 Lear. Pass. 
 
 Glo. I know that voice. 
 
 Lear. Ha ! Goneril, with a white beard ! 
 They flattered me like a dog ; and told me I 
 had white hairs in my beard ere the black ones 
 were there. To say ay and no to everything I 
 said ! Ay and no, too, was no good divinity. 
 When the rain came to wet me once, and the 
 wind to make me chatter ; when the thunder 
 would not peace at my bidding ; there I found 
 'em, there I smelt 'em out. Go to, they are 
 not men o' their words : they told me I was 
 everything ; 'tis a lie, I am not ague-proof. 
 
 Glo. The trick of that voice I do well re- 
 member : 
 Is 't not the king ? 
 
 Lear. Ay, every inch a king : 
 
 When I do stare, see how the subject quakes. 
 I pardon that man's life. What was thy 
 
 cause ? 
 Adultery ? 
 
 Thou shalt not die : die for adultery ! No : 
 The wren goes to 't, and the small gilded fly 
 Does lecher in my sight. 
 
 Let copulation thrive ; for Gloster's bastard son 
 Was kinder to his father than my daughters 
 Got 'tween the lawful sheets. 
 To't, luxury, pell-mell, for I lack soldiers. 
 Behold yond simpering dame, 
 Whose face between her forks presages snow ; 
 That minces virtue, and does shake ihe head 
 To hear of pleasure's name ; 
 The fitchew nor the soiled horse goes to 't 
 With a more riotous appetite. 
 Down from the waist they are centaurs, 
 Though women all above : 
 But to the girdle do the gods inherit, 
 Beneath is all the fiends' ; there 's hell, there ^ 
 darkness, 
 
 There is the sulphurous pit, burning, scalding, 
 stench, consumption ; fie, fie, fie ! pah, pah ! 
 Give me an ounce of civet, good apothecary, 
 to sweeten my imagination : there 's money for 
 thee. 
 
 Glo. O, let me kiss that hand ! [tality. 
 
 Lear. Let me wipe it first ; it smells of mor- 
 
 Glo. O ruin'd piece of nature ! This great 
 
 world [me ? 
 
 Shall so wear out to naught. Dost thou know 
 
 Lear. I remember thine eyes well enough. 
 Dost thou squiny at me ? No, do thy worst, 
 blind Cupid; I'll not love. Read thou this 
 challenge ; mark but the penning of it. [one. 
 
 Glo. Were all the letters suns, I could not see 
 
 Edg. I would not take this from report ; 
 
 it is, 
 And my heart breaks at it. 
 
 Lear. Read. 
 
 Glo. What, with the case of eyes ? 
 
 Lear. O, ho, are you there with me ? No 
 eyes in your head nor no money in your purse ? 
 Your eyes are in a heavy case, your purse in a 
 light : yet you see how this world goes. 
 
 Glo. I see it feelingly. 
 
 Lear. What, art mad ? A man may see how 
 this world goes with no eyes. Look with thine 
 ears : see how yond justice rails upon yond 
 simple thief. Hark, in thine ear: change 
 places ; and, handy-dandy, which is the justice, 
 which is the thief? Thou hast seen a farmer's 
 dog bark at a beggar ? 
 
 Glo. Ay, sir. 
 
 Lear. And the creature run from the cur? 
 There thou mightst behold the great image of 
 authority : a dog 's obeyed in office. 
 Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand ! 
 Why dost thou lash that whore ? Strip thine 
 
 own back ; 
 
 Thou hotly lust'st to use her in that kind 
 For which thou whipp'st her. The usurer 
 
 hangs the cozener. 
 
 Through tatter'd clothes small vices do appear ; 
 Robes and furr'd gowns hide all. Plate sin 
 
 with gold, 
 
 And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks ; 
 Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw doth pierce it. 
 None does offend, none, I say, none; I'll 
 
 able 'em : 
 
 Take that of me, my friend, who have the power 
 To seal the accuser's lips. Get thee glass eyes ; 
 And, like a scurvy politician, seem [now, now: 
 To see the things thou dost not. Now, now, 
 Pull oft my boots : harder, harder : so. 
 
 Edg. O, matter and impertinency mix'd ! 
 Reason in madness I [my eyes. 
 
 Lear. If thou wilt weep my fortunes, take 
 
SCENE VI.] 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 1057 
 
 I know thee well enough ; thy name is Gloster : 
 Thou must be patient ; we came crying hither : 
 Thou know'st, the first time tliat we smell the 
 
 air 
 We waw! and cry. I will preach to thee : mark. 
 
 Glo. Alack, alack the day ! 
 
 Lear. When we are born, we cry that we 
 are come [block : 
 
 To this great stage of fools This' a good 
 It were a delicate stratagem to shoe 
 A troop of horse with felt : I '11 put 't in proof; 
 And when I have stol'n upon these sons-in-law, 
 Then kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill ! 
 
 Enter a Gentleman, with Attendants. 
 
 Gent. O, here he is : lay hand upon him. Sir, 
 Your most dear daughter, [even 
 
 Lear. No rescue? What, a prisoner? lam 
 The natural fool of fortune. Use me well ; 
 You shall have ransom. Let me have surgeons ; 
 I am cut to the brains. 
 
 Gent. You shall have anything. 
 
 Lear. No seconds ? all myself? 
 Why, this would make a man a man of salt, 
 To use his eyes for garden water-pots, 
 Ay, and for laying Autumn's dusL 
 
 Gent. Good sir, 
 
 Lear. I will die bravely, like a smug bride- 
 groom. What I 
 
 I will be jovial : come, come ; I am a king, 
 My masters, know you that. 
 
 Gent. You are a royal one, and we obey you. 
 
 Lear. Then there 's life in 3 U Nay, an you 
 get it, you shall get it by running. Sa, sa, sa, 
 sa. [Exit running ; Attendants follow. 
 
 Gent. A sight most pitiful in the meanest 
 wretch, [daughter, 
 
 Past speaking of in a king ! Thou hast one 
 Who redeems nature from the general curse 
 Which twain have brought her to. 
 
 Edg. Hail, gentle sir. 
 
 Gent. Sir, speed you : what 's your will ? 
 
 Edg. Do you hear aught, sir, of a battle 
 toward ? [that 
 
 Gent. Most sure and vulgar : every one hears 
 Which can distinguish sound. 
 
 Edg. But> by your favour, 
 
 How near 's the other army ? [descry 
 
 Gent. Near and on speedy ioot ; the main 
 Stands on the hourly thought. 
 
 Edg. I thank you, sir : that's all. 
 
 Gent. Though that the queen on special 
 
 cause is here, 
 Her army is mov'd on. 
 
 Edg. I thank you, sir. [Exit Gent. 
 
 Glo. You ever-gentle gods, take my breath 
 from me : 
 
 Let not my worser spirit tempt me again 
 To die before you please ! 
 
 Edg. Well pray you, father. 
 
 Glo. Now, good sir, what are you ? 
 
 Edg. A most poor man, made tame by 
 
 fortune's blows ; 
 
 Who, by the art of known and feeling sorrows, 
 Am pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand, 
 I ; 11 lead you to some biding. 
 
 Glo. Hearty thanks : 
 
 The bounty and the benison of heaven 
 To boot, and boot i 
 
 Enter OSWALD. 
 
 Osw. A proclaim'd prize ! Most happy ! 
 That eyeless head of thine -vas first fram'd flesh 
 To raise my fortunes. Thou old unhappy 
 
 traitor, 
 
 Briefly thyself remember : the sword is out 
 That must destroy thee. 
 
 Glo. Now let thy friendly hand 
 
 Put strength enough to it. [EDGAR interposes. 
 
 Osw. Wherefore, bold peasant, 
 
 Dar'st thou support a publish'd traitor ? Hence j 
 Lest that the infection of his fortune take 
 Like hold on thee. Let go his arm. ['casion. 
 
 Edg. Chill not let go, zir, without vurther 
 
 Osw. Let go, slave, or thou diest ! 
 
 Edg. Good gentleman, go your gait, and let 
 poor volk pass. And chud ha' been zwaggered 
 out of my life, 'twould not ha' been zo long as 
 'tis by a vortnight. Nay, come not near the 
 old man; keep out, che vor ye, or ise try 
 whether your costard or my bat be the harder : 
 chill be plain with you. 
 
 Osw. Out, dunghill ! 
 
 Edg. Chill pick your teeth, zir : come ; no 
 matter vor your foins. 
 
 [ They fight, and EDGAR knocks him down. 
 
 Osw. Slave, thou hast slain me : villain, 
 
 take my purse : 
 
 If ever thou wilt thrive, bury my body ; [me 
 And give the letters which thou find'st about 
 To Edmund Earl of Gloster ; seek him out 
 Upon the British party : O, untimely death ! 
 
 [Dies. 
 
 Edg. I know thee well : a serviceable villain ; 
 As duteous to the vices of thy mistress 
 As badness would desire, 
 
 Glo. What, is he dead? 
 
 Edg. Sit you down, father ; rest you. 
 Let's see these pockets: the letters that he 
 speaks of [sorry 
 
 May be -ny friends. He's dead; I am only 
 He had no other death's-man. Let us see : 
 Leave, gentle wax; and, manners, blame us 
 not: 
 
 21 
 
1058 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 [ACT IV. 
 
 To know our enemies' minds we'd rip their 
 
 hearts ; 
 Their papers is more lawful. 
 
 [Reads.] Let our reciprocal vows be remem- 
 bered. You have many opportunities to cut him 
 off: if your will want not, time and place will 
 be fruitfully offered. There is nothing done if 
 he return the conqueror: then am I the prisoner, 
 and his bed my gaol ; from the loathed warmth 
 whereof deliver me } and supply the place for 
 your labour. 
 
 Your (wife, so I would say) affectionate ser- 
 vant, GONERIL. 
 O undistinguish'd space of woman's will ! 
 A plot upon her virtuous husband's life ; 
 And the exchange my brother ! Here, in the 
 
 sands, 
 
 Thee I '11 rake up, the post unsanctified 
 Of murderous lechers : and in the mature time 
 With this ungracious paper strike the sight 
 Of the death-practis'd duke : for him 'tis well 
 That of thy death and business I can tell. 
 
 [Exit EDGAR, dragging out the body. 
 Glo. The king is mad: how stiff is my vile sense, 
 That I stand up, and have ingenious feeling 
 Of my huge sorrows ! Better I were distract : 
 So should my thoughts be sever'd from my griefs, 
 And woes by wrong imaginations lose 
 The knowledge of themselves. 
 
 Re-enter EDGAR. 
 
 Edg. Give me your hand : 
 
 [Drum afar off. 
 
 Far off, methinks, I hear the beaten drum : 
 Come, father, I '11 bestow you with a friend. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VII. A Tent in the French Camp. 
 LEAR on a bed asleep, soft music playing ; 
 Physician, Gentleman, and others attending. 
 
 Enter CORDELIA and KENT. 
 
 Cor. O thou good Kent, how shall I live 
 
 and work [too short, 
 
 To match thy goodness? My life will be 
 
 And every measure fail me. [paid. 
 
 Kent. To be acknowledg'd, madam, is o'er- 
 All my reports go with the modest truth ; 
 Nor more nor clipp'd, but so. 
 
 Cor. Be better suited : 
 
 These weeds are memories of those worser hours: 
 I pr'ythee, put them off. 
 
 Kent. Pardon, dear madam ; 
 
 Yet to be known shortens my made intent : 
 My boon I make it that you know me not 
 Till time and I think meet. 
 
 Cor. Then be't so, my good lord. How 
 does the king ? [ To the Physician. 
 
 Phys. Madam, sleeps still. 
 
 Cor. O you kind gods, 
 Cure this great breach in his abused nature ! 
 The untun d and jarring senses, O, wind up 
 Of this child-changed father ! 
 
 Phys. So please your majesty 
 
 That we may wake the king: he hath slept 
 
 long. [proceed 
 
 Cor. Be govern'd by your knowledge, and 
 I' the sway of your own will. Is he array'd ? 
 
 Gent. Ay, madam ; in the heaviness of sleep 
 We put fresh garments on him. [him ; 
 
 Phys. Be by, good madam, when we do awake 
 I doubt not of his temperance. 
 
 Cor. Very well. 
 
 Phys. Please you, draw near. Louder the 
 music there! 
 
 Cor. O my dear father ! Restoration hang 
 Thy medicine on my lips ; and let this kiss 
 Repair those violent harms that my two sisters 
 Have in thy reverence made ! 
 
 Kent. Kind and dear princess ! 
 
 Cor. Had you not been their father, these 
 
 white flakes 
 
 Had challeng'd pity of them. Was this a face 
 To be oppos'd against the warring winds? 
 To stand against the deep dread bolted thunder? 
 In the most terrible and nimble stroke 
 Of quick, cross lightning? to watch, poor 
 
 perdu ! 
 
 With this thin helm ? Mine enemy's dog, 
 Though he had bit me, should have stood that 
 night [father, 
 
 Against my fire; and wast thou fain, poor 
 To hovel thee with swine and rogues forlorn, 
 In short and musty straw ? Alack, alack ! 
 'Tis wonder that thy life and wits at once [him. 
 Had not concluded all. He wakes ; speak to 
 
 Phys. Madam, do you ; 'tis fittest. 
 
 Cor. How does my royal lord? How fares 
 your majesty ? [the grave : 
 
 Lear. You do me wrong to take me out o' 
 Thou art a soul in bliss ; but I am bound 
 Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears 
 Do scald like molten lead. 
 
 Cor. Sir, do you know me ? 
 
 Lear. You are a spirit, I know : when did 
 you die ? 
 
 Cor. Still, still far wide ! [awhile. 
 
 Phys. He 's scarce awake : let him alone 
 
 Lear. Where have I been ? Where am I ? 
 
 Fair daylight ? [pity 
 
 I am mightily abus'd. I should e'en die with 
 
 To see another thus. I know not what to say. 
 
 I will not swear these are my hands : let 's see ; 
 
SCENE VII. 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 1059 
 
 I feel this pin prick. Would I were assur'd 
 Of my condition ! 
 
 Cor. O, look upon me, sir, 
 
 And hold your hands in benediction o'er me. 
 No, sir, you must not kneel. 
 
 Lear. Pray, do not mock me : 
 
 I am a very foolish fond old man, [less ; 
 
 Fourscore and upward, not an hour more nor 
 And, to deal plainly, 
 
 I fear I am not in my perfect mind. [man ; 
 Methinks I should know you, and know this 
 Yet I am doubtful : for I am mainly ignorant 
 What place this is ; and all the skill I have 
 Remembers not these garments; nor I know 
 
 not 
 Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh 
 
 at me ; 
 
 For, as I am a man, I think this lady 
 To be my child Cordelia. 
 
 Cor. And so I am, I am. 
 
 Lear. Be your tears wet? yes, faith. I 
 
 pray, weep not : 
 
 If you have poison for me I will drink it. 
 I know you do not love me ; for your sisters 
 Have, as I do remember, done me wrong : 
 You have some cause, they have not. 
 
 Cor. No cause, no cause. 
 
 Lear. Am I in France? 
 
 Kent. In your own kingdom, sir. 
 
 Lear. Do not abuse me. 
 
 Phys. Be comforted, good madam : the great 
 
 rage, 
 
 You see, is kill'd in him : and yet it is danger 
 To make him even o'er the time he has lost. 
 Desire him to go in ; trouble him no more 
 Till further settling. 
 
 Cor. Will 't please your highness walk ? 
 
 Leaf. You must bear with me : 
 
 Pray you now, forget and forgive: I am old 
 and foolish. 
 
 [Exeunt LEAR, COR., Phys., and Attendants. 
 
 Gent. Holds it true, sir, that the Duke of 
 Cornwall was so slain ? 
 
 Kent. Most certain, sir. 
 
 Gent. Who is conductor of his people? 
 
 Kent. As 'tis said, the bastard son of Gloster. 
 
 Gent. They say Edgar, his banished son, is 
 with the Earl of Kent in Germany. 
 
 Kent. Report is changeable. 'Tis time to 
 look about ; the powers of the kingdom 
 approach apace. 
 
 Gent. The arbitrement is like to be bloody. 
 Fare you well, sir. [Exit. 
 
 Kent. My point and period will be throughly 
 
 wrought, 
 Or well or ill, as this day's battle's fought. 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. Th* Camp of the British Forces 
 near Dover. 
 
 Enter, with drum and colours, EDMUND, 
 REGAN, Officers, Soldiers, and others. 
 
 Edm. Know of the duke if his last purpose 
 
 hold, 
 
 Or whether since he is advis'd by aught 
 To change the course : he 's full of alteration 
 Andself-reproving: bringhis constant pleasure. 
 [ To an Officer, who goes out. 
 
 Reg. Our sister's man is certainly miscarried. 
 
 Edm. 'Tis to be doubted, madam. 
 
 Reg. Now, sweet lord, 
 
 You know the goodness I intend upon you: 
 Tell me, but truly, but then speak the truth, 
 Do you not love my sister ? 
 
 Edm. In honour'd love. 
 
 Reg. But have you never found my brothers 
 
 way 
 To the forefended place ? 
 
 Edm. That thought abuses you. 
 
 Reg. I am doubtful that you have been 
 
 conjunct 
 And bosom'd with her, as far as we call hers. 
 
 Edm. No, by mine honour, madam. 
 
 Reg. I never shall endure her: dear my lord, 
 Be not familiar with her. 
 
 Edm. Fear me not : 
 
 She and the duke her husband! 
 
 Enter, with drum and colours, ALBANY, 
 GONERIL, and Soldiers. 
 
 Gon. [Aside.'] I had rather lose the battle 
 
 than that sister 
 Should loosen him and me. 
 
 Alb. Our very loving sister, well be-met. 
 Sir, this I heard, the king is come to his 
 
 daughter, 
 
 With others whom the rigour of our state 
 Forc'd to cry out. Where I could not be honest 
 I never yet was valiant : for this business, 
 It toucheth us, as France invades our land, 
 Not bolds the king, with others whom, I fear, 
 Most just and heavy causes make oppose. 
 
 Edm. Sir, you speak nobly. 
 
 Reg. Why is this reason'd ? 
 
 Gon. Combine together 'gainst the enemy ; 
 For these domestic and particular broils 
 Are not the question here. 
 
 Alb. Let's, then, determine 
 
 With the ancient of war on our proceeding. 
 
 Edm. I shall attend you presently at your tent 
 
 Reg. Sister, you '11 go with us ? 
 
io6o 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Gon. No. 
 
 Reg* 'Tis most convenient ; pray you, go 
 
 with us. [will go. 
 
 Gon. [Aside, 1 O, ho, I know the riddle. I 
 
 As they are going- out, enter EDGAR, disguised. 
 
 Edg. If e'er your grace had speech with man 
 
 so poor, 
 
 Hear me one word. 
 
 Alb. I '11 overtake you. Speak. 
 
 [Exeunt EDM., REG., GON., Officers, 
 
 Soldiers, and Attendants. 
 Edg. Before you fight the battle, ope this 
 
 letter. 
 
 If you have victory, let the trumpet sound 
 For him that brought it: wretched though I 
 
 seem, 
 
 I can produce a champion that will prove 
 What is avouched there. If you miscarry, 
 Your business of the world hath so an end, 
 And machination ceases. Fortune 1 jve you ! 
 Alb. Stay till I have read the letter. 
 Edg. I was forbid it. 
 
 When time shall serve, let but the herald cry, 
 And I '11 appear again. 
 
 Alb. Why, fare thee well: I will o'erlook 
 thy paper. [Exit EDGAR. 
 
 Re-enter EDMUND. 
 
 Edm. The enemy 's in view ; draw up your 
 
 powers. 
 Here is the guess of their true strength and 
 
 forces 
 
 By diligent discovery ; but your haste 
 Is now urg'd on you. 
 
 Alb. We will greet the time. [Exit. 
 
 Edm. To both these sisters have I sworn 
 
 my love ; 
 
 Each jealous of the other, as the stung 
 Are of the adder. Which of them shall I 
 
 take? 
 
 Both? one? or neither? Neither can be enjoy 'd 
 If both remain alive : to take the widow 
 Exasperates, makes mad her sister Goneril ; 
 And hardly shall I carry out my side, 
 Her husband being alive. Now, then, we '11 
 
 use 
 His countenance for the battle; which being 
 
 done, 
 
 Let her who would be rid of him devise 
 His speedy taking oft As for the mercy 
 Which he intends to Lear and to Cordelia, 
 The battle done, and they within our power, 
 Shall never see his pardon: for my state 
 Stands on me to defend, not to debate. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. A Field between the two Camt>s. 
 
 Alarum within. Enter, with drum and 
 colours , LEAR, CORDELIA, and their Forces ; 
 and exeunt. 
 
 Enter EDGAR and GLOSTER. 
 
 Edg. Here, father, take the shadow of this 
 tree [thrive: 
 
 For your good host ; pray that the right may 
 If ever I return to you again 
 I '11 bring you comfort. 
 
 Glo. Grace go with you, sir ! 
 
 [Exit EDGAR. 
 
 Alarum and Retreat within. Re-enter EDGAR. 
 
 Edg. Away, old man, give me thy hand, 
 away ! [ta'en : 
 
 King Lear hath lost, he and his daughter 
 Give me thy hand ; come on. 
 
 Glo. No further, sir ; a man may rot even 
 
 here. [endure 
 
 Edg. What, in ill thoughts again? Men must 
 
 Their going hence, even as their coming hither: 
 
 Ripeness is all : come on. 
 
 Glo. And that 's true too. 
 
 [Exeunt* 
 
 SCENE III. The British Camp near Dover. 
 
 Enter, in conquest, with drum and colours, 
 EDMUND ; LEAR and CORDELIA prisoners', 
 Officers, Soldiers, <SrV. 
 
 Edm. Some officers take them away: good 
 
 guard, 
 
 Until their greater pleasures first be known 
 That are to censure them. 
 
 Cor. We are not the first 
 
 Who, with best meaning, have incurr'd the 
 
 worst. 
 
 For thee, oppressed king, am I cast down ; 
 Myself could else out-frown false fortune's 
 
 frown. [sisters? 
 
 Shall we not see these daughters and these 
 
 Lear. No, no, no, no ! Come, let 's away 
 
 to prison : 
 
 We two alone will sing like birds i' the cage : 
 When thou dost ask me blessing I '11 kneel down 
 And ask of thee forgiveness : so we '11 live, 
 And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh 
 At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues 
 Talk of court news ; and we '11 talk with them 
 
 too, [out ; 
 
 Who loses and who wins; who's in, who's 
 And take upon 's the mystery of things 
 As if we were God's spies : and we '11 wear out 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 1061 
 
 In a wall'd prison packs and sects of great ones 
 That ebb and flow by the moon. 
 
 Edm. Take them away. 
 
 Lear. Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia, 
 The gods themselves throw incense. Have I 
 caught thee ? . [heaven, 
 
 He that parts us shall bring a brand from 
 And fire us hence like foxes. Wipe thine eyes ; 
 The good years shall devour them, flesh and fell , 
 Ere they shall make us weep : we '11 see 'em 
 
 starve first 
 Come. [Exeunt LEAR and COR. , guarded. 
 
 Edm. Come hither, captain ; hark. 
 Take thou this note [giving a paper] ; go follow 
 
 them to prison : 
 
 One step I have advanc'd thee ; if thou dost 
 As this instructs thee, thou dost make thy way 
 To noble fortunes : know thou this, that men 
 Are as the time is : to be tender-minded 
 Does not become a sword : thy great employ- 
 ment 
 
 Will not bear question ; either say thou 'It do 't, 
 Or thrive by other means. 
 
 Off. I '11 do 't, my lord. 
 
 Edtn* About it ; and write happy when thou 
 
 hast done, 
 
 Mark, I say, instantly; and carry it so 
 As I have set it down. 
 
 Off. I cannot draw a cart nor eat dried oats ; 
 If it be man's work I will do 't. [Exit. 
 
 Flourish. Enter ALBANY, GONERIL, REGAN, 
 Officers, and Attendants. 
 
 Alb. Sir, you have shown to-day your valiant 
 
 strain, 
 
 And fortune led you well : you have the captives 
 Who were the opposites of this day's strife : 
 We do require them of you, so to use them 
 As we shall find their merits and our safety 
 May equally determine. 
 
 Edm. Sir, I thought it fit 
 
 To send the old and miserable king 
 To some retention and appointed guard ; 
 Whose age has charms in it, whose title more, 
 To pluck the common bosom on his side, 
 And turn our impress'd lances in our eyes 
 Which do command them. With him I sent 
 
 the queen ; 
 
 My reason all the same ; and they are ready 
 To-morrow, or at further space, to appear 
 Where you shall hold your session. At this 
 time [friend ; 
 
 We sweat and bleed: the friend hath lost his 
 And the best quarrels, in the heat, are curs'd 
 By those that feel their sharpness: 
 The question of Cordelia and her father 
 Requires a. fitter place. 
 
 Alb. Sir, by your patience 
 
 I hold you but a subject of this war, 
 Not as a brother. 
 
 Reg. That 's as we list to grace him. 
 
 Methinks our pleasure might have been de- 
 manded 
 
 Ere you had spoke so far. He led our powers ; 
 Bore the commission of my place and person ; 
 The which immediacy may well stand up 
 And call itself your brother. 
 
 Gon. Not so hot : 
 
 In his own grace he doth exalt himself, 
 More than in your addition. 
 
 Reg. In my rights, 
 
 By me invested, he compeers the best. 
 
 Gon. That were the most, if he should hus- 
 band you. 
 
 Reg. Jesters do oft prove prophets. 
 
 Gon. Holla, holla ! 
 
 That eye that told you so look'd but asquint. 
 
 Reg. Lady, I am not well; else I should 
 
 answer 
 
 From a full-flowing stomach. General, 
 Take thou my soldiers, prisoners, patrimony ; 
 Dispose of them, of me ; the walls are thine : 
 Witness the world that I create thee here 
 My lord and master. 
 
 Gon. Mean you to enjoy him ? 
 
 Alb. The let-alone lies not in your good-will. 
 
 Edm. Nor in thine, lord. 
 
 Alb. Half-blooded fellow, yes. 
 
 Reg. Let the drum strike, and prove my title 
 thine. [To EDMUND. 
 
 Alb. Stay yet; hear reason. Edmund, I 
 
 arrest thee 
 
 On capital treason ; and, in thy arrest, 
 This gilded serpent {pointing to GONERIL]. 
 
 For your claim, fair sister, 
 I bar it in the interest of my wife ; 
 'Tis she is sub-contracted to this lord, 
 And I, her husband, contradict your bans. 
 If you will marry, make your loves to me, 
 My lady is bespoke. 
 
 Gon. A r interlude ! 
 
 Alb. Thou art arrn'd, Gloster : let the 
 
 trumpet sound : 
 
 If none appear to prove upon thy person 
 Thy heinous, manifest, and many treasons, 
 There is my pledge [throwing down a glove] ; 
 
 I '11 make it on thy heart, 
 Ere I taste bread, thou art in nothing less 
 Than I have here proclaim'd thee. 
 
 Reg. Sick, O, sick! 
 
 Gon. [Aside.] If not, I '11 ne'er trust medicine. 
 
 Edm. There ' my exchange [throwing^d&tvn 
 
 a glove} : what in the world he is 
 That names me traitor, villain-like he lies s 
 
1062 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Call by thy trumpet : he that dares approach, 
 On him, on you, who not ? I will maintain 
 My truth and honour firmly. 
 
 Alb. A herald, ho! 
 
 Edm. A herald, ho, a herald ! 
 
 Alb. Trust to thy single virtue ; for thy 
 
 soldiers, 
 
 All levied in my name, have in my name 
 Took their discharge. 
 
 Reg. My sickness grows upon me. 
 
 Alb. She is not well ; convey her to my tent. 
 [Exit REGAN led. 
 
 Enter a Herald. 
 
 Come hither, herald, Let the trumpet sound, 
 And read out this. 
 
 Off. Sound, trumpet ! [A trumpet sounds. 
 
 Herald. [Reads. ~\ If any man of quality or 
 degree within the lists of the army will main- 
 tain tipon Edmund, supposed Earl of Gloster, 
 that he is a manifold traitor, let him appear by 
 the third sound of the trumpet : he is bold in 
 his defence. 
 
 Edm. Sound ! [i Tsumpet. 
 
 Herald. Again! [2 Trumpet. 
 
 Herald. Again ! [3 Trumpet. 
 
 [ Trumpet answers within. 
 
 Enter EDGAR, armed, and preceded by a 
 trumpet. 
 
 Alb. Ask him his purposes, why he appears 
 Upon this call o' the trumpet. 
 
 Herald. What are you ? 
 
 Your name, your quality? and why you answer 
 This present summons ? 
 
 Edg. Know, my name is lost ; 
 
 By treason's tooth bare-gnawn and canker-bit : 
 Yet am I noble as the adversary 
 I come to cope. 
 
 Alb. Which is that adversary? 
 
 Edg. What's he that speaks for Edmund 
 Earl of Gloster? 
 
 Edm. Himself: what say'st thou to him ? 
 
 Edg. Draw thy sword, 
 
 That, if my speech offend a noble heart, 
 Thy arm may do thee justice : here is mine. 
 Behold, it is tne privilege of mine honours, 
 My oath, and my profession : I protest, 
 Maugre thy strength, youth, place, and emin- 
 ence, 
 
 Despite thy victor sword and fire-new fortune, 
 Thy valour and thy heart, thou art a traitor ; 
 False to thy gods, thy brother, and thy father ; 
 Conspirant 'gainst this high illustrious prince ; 
 And, from the extremest upward of thy head 
 To the descent and dust below thy foot, 
 A most toad-spotted traitor. Say thou No, 
 
 This sword, this arm, and my best spirits, are 
 
 bent 
 
 To prove upon thy heart, whereto I speak, 
 Thou liest. 
 
 Edm. In wisdom I should ask thy name ; 
 But, since thy outside looks so fair and warlike, 
 And that thy tongue some say of breeding 
 
 breathes, 
 
 What safe and nicely I might well delay 
 By rule of knighthood, I disdain and spurn : 
 Back do I toss these treasons to thy head ; 
 With the hell-hated lie o'erwhelm thy heart ; 
 Which, for they yet glance by and scarcely 
 
 bruise, 
 
 This sword of mine shall give them instant way, 
 Where they shall rest for ever. Trumpets, 
 
 speak! 
 
 [Alarums. They fight. EDMUND/^//?. 
 Alb. Save him, save him J 
 Gon. This is practice, Gloster : 
 
 By the law of arms thou wast not bound to 
 
 answer 
 
 An unknown opposite ; thou art not vanquish'd, 
 But cozen'd and beguil'd, 
 
 Alb. Shut your mouth, dame, 
 
 Or with this paper shall I stop it : hold, sir ; 
 Thou worse than any name, read thine own 
 
 evil : 
 No tearing, lady ; I perceive you know it. 
 
 [Gives the letter to EDMUND. 
 Gon. Say, if I do, the laws are mine, not 
 
 thine : 
 Who can arraign me for't? 
 
 Alb. Most monstrous! 
 
 Know'st thou this paper? 
 
 Gon. Ask me not what I know. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Alb. Go after her : she 's desperate ; govern 
 her. [To an Officer, who goes out. 
 Edm. What you have charg'd me with, that 
 have I done ; [out : 
 
 And more, much more ; the time will bring it 
 'Tis past, and so am I. But what art thou 
 That hast this fortune on me ? If thou 'rt noble 
 I do forgive thee. 
 
 Edg. Let 's exchange charity. 
 
 I am no less in blood than thou art, Edmund; 
 If more, the more thou hast wrong'd me. 
 My name is Edgar, and thy father's son. 
 The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices 
 Make instruments to plague us : 
 The dark and vicious place where thee he got 
 Cost him his eyes. 
 
 Edm. Thou hast spoken right, 'tis true ; 
 The wheel is come full circle ; I am here. 
 
 Alb. Methought thy very gait did prophesy 
 A royal nobleness : I must embrace thee : 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 Let sorrow split my heart if ever I 
 Did hate thee or thy father ! 
 
 Edg. Worthy prince, I know 't. 
 
 Alb. Where have you hid yourself? 
 How have you known the miseries of your 
 father? [tale; 
 
 Edg. By nursing them, my lord. List a brief 
 And when 'tis told, O, that my heart would 
 
 burst ! 
 
 The bloody proclamation to escape, [ness ! 
 That follow'd me so near, O, our lives' sweet- 
 That with the pain of death we 'd hourly die 
 Rather than die at once ! taught me to shift 
 Into a madman's rags ; to assume a semblance 
 That very dogs disdain'd : and in this habit 
 Met I my father with his bleeding rings, 
 Their precious stones new lost; became his 
 
 E' * :, 
 d for him, sav'd him from despair ; 
 lit ! reveal'd myself unto him 
 Until some half-hour past, when I was arm'd ; 
 Not sure, though hoping, of this good success, 
 I ask'd his blessing, and from first to last 
 Told him my pilgrimage : but his flaw'd heart, 
 Alack, too weak the conflict to support ! 
 'Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief, 
 Burst smilingly. 
 
 Edm. This speech of yours hath mov'd me, 
 And shall perchance do good : but speak you on ; 
 You look as you had something more to say. 
 
 Alb. If there be more, more woeful, hold it in ; 
 For I am almost ready to dissolve, 
 Hearing of this. 
 
 Edg. This would have seem'd a period 
 
 To such as love not sorrow ; but another, 
 To amplify too much, would make much more, 
 And top extremity. [man 
 
 Whilst I was big in clamour, came there a 
 Who, having seen me in my worst estate, 
 Shunn'd my abhorr'd society ; but then, finding 
 Who 'twas that so endur'd, with his strong arms 
 He fasten'd on my neck, and bellow'd out 
 As he 'd burst heaven ; threw him on my father ; 
 Told the most piteous tale of Lear and him 
 That ever ear receiv'd : which in recounting 
 His grief grew puissant, and the strings of life 
 Began to crack : twice then the trumpet sounded, 
 And there I left him tranc'd. 
 
 Alb. But who was this ? 
 
 Edg. Kent, sir, the banish'd Kent, who in 
 
 disguise 
 
 Follow'd his enemy king, and did him service 
 Improper for a slave. 
 
 Enter a Gentleman hastily, with a bloody knife. 
 Gent. Help, help, O, help I 
 Edg. What kind of help? 
 
 Alb. Speak, man. 
 
 Edg. What means that bloody knife ? 
 
 Gent. 'Tis hot, it smokes; 
 
 It came even from the heart of O, she 's dead ! 
 
 Alb. Who dead? speak, man. 
 
 Gent. Your lady, sir, your lady: and her sister 
 By her is poison'd ; she hath confess'd it. 
 
 Edm. I was contracted to them both: all three 
 Now marry in an instant. 
 
 Edg. Here comes Kent. 
 
 Alb. Produce the bodies, be they alive or 
 
 dead : [tremble, 
 
 This judgment of the heavens, that makes us 
 
 Touches us not with pity. [Exit Gentleman. 
 
 Enter KENT. 
 
 O, is this he ? 
 
 The time will not allow the compliment 
 
 Which very manners urges. 
 
 Kent. I am come 
 
 To bid my king and master aye good-night : 
 Is he not here ? 
 
 Alb. Great thing of us forgot ! 
 
 Speak, Edmund, where 's the king? and where 's 
 Cordelia ? 
 
 [The bodies of Gow. and REG. are brought in. 
 See'st thou this object, Kent ? 
 
 Kent. Alack, why thus? 
 
 Edm. Yet Edmund was belov*d 
 
 The one the other poison'd for my sake, 
 And after slew herself. 
 
 Alb. Even so. Cover their faces. [do, 
 
 Edm. I pant for life : some good I mean to 
 Despite of mine own nature. Quickly send, 
 Be brief in it, to the castle ; for my writ 
 Is on the life of Lear and on Cordelia : 
 Nay, send in time. 
 
 Alb. Run, run, O, run! [send 
 
 Edg. To who, my lord? Who has the office? 
 Thy token of reprieve. 
 
 Edm. Well thought on : take my sword, 
 Give it the captain. 
 
 Alb. Haste thee, for thy life. 
 
 [Exit EDGAR. 
 
 Edm. He hath commission from thy wife 
 
 and me 
 
 To hang Cordelia in the prison, and 
 To lay the blame upon her own despair, 
 That she fordid herself. 
 
 Alb. The gods defend her ! Bear him hence 
 awhile. [EDMUND is borne off. 
 
 Re-enter LEAR, with CORDELIA dead in his 
 arms; EDGAR, Officer, and others following. 
 
 Lear. Howl, howl, howl, howl I O, you 
 
 are men of stones : 
 Had I your tongues and eyes, I 'd use them so 
 
1064 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 i ACT V. 
 
 That heaven's vault should crack. She '3 gone 
 
 for ever ! 
 
 I know when one is dead and when one lives ; 
 She 's dead as earth. Lend me a looking-glass; 
 If that her breath will mist or stain the stone, 
 Why, then she lives. 
 
 Kent. Is this the promis'd end? 
 
 Edg. Or image of that horror ? 
 
 Alb. Fall, and cease ! 
 
 Lear. This feather stirs ; she lives ! if it be so, 
 It is a chance which does redeem all sorrows 
 That ever I have felt. 
 
 Kent. O my good master ! [Kneeling. 
 
 Lear. Pr'ythee, away. 
 
 Edg. 'Tis noble Kent, your friend. 
 
 Lear. A plague upon you, murderers, traitors 
 all ! [ever ! 
 
 I might have say'd her; now she's gone for 
 Cordelia, Cordelia ! stay a little. Ha ! 
 What is't thou say'st? Her voice was ever 
 soft, [woman. 
 
 Gentle, and low, an excellent thing in 
 I kill'd the slave that was a-hanging thee. 
 
 Off. J Tis true, my lords, he did. 
 
 Lear. Did I not, fellow ? 
 
 I have seen the day, with my good biting 
 
 falchion, 
 
 I would have made them skip : I am old now, 
 
 And these same crosses spoil me. Who are you ? 
 
 Mine eyes are not o' the best: I'll tell you 
 
 straight. [hated, 
 
 Kent. If fortune brag of two she lov'd and 
 One of them we behold. [Kent ? 
 
 Lear. This is a dull sight. Are you not 
 
 Kent. The same, 
 
 Your servant Kent.- Where is your servant 
 Caius ? 
 
 Lear. He 's a good fellow, I can tell you that ; 
 
 He '11 strike, and quickly too : he 's dead and 
 
 rotten. [man, 
 
 Kent. No, my good lord; I am the very 
 
 Lear. I '11 see that straight [decay 
 
 Kent. That from your first of difference and 
 Have follow'd your sad steps. 
 
 Lear. You are welcome hither. 
 
 Kent. Nor no man else: all's cheerless, 
 
 dark, and deadly. 
 
 Your eldest daughters haveforedone themselves, 
 And desperately are dead. 
 
 Lear. Ay, so I think. 
 
 Alb. He knows not what he says; and vain is it 
 That we present us to him. 
 
 Edg. Very bootless. 
 
 Enter an Officer. 
 
 Off. Edmund is dead, my lord. 
 
 Alb. That 's but a trifle here. 
 
 You lords and noble friends, know our intent. 
 What comfort to this great decay may come 
 Shall be applied : for us, we will resign, 
 During the life of this old majesty, 
 To him our absolute power: you to you* 
 rights ; [ To EDGAR and KENT. 
 
 With boot, and such addition as your honours 
 Have more than merited. All friends shall taste 
 The wages of their virtue, and all foes 
 The cup of their deservings. O, see, see ! 
 
 Lear. And my poor fool is hang'd! No, 
 
 no, no, life ! 
 
 Why should a dog, a horse, a rat have life, 
 And thou no breath at all ? Thou 'It come no 
 
 more, 
 
 Never, never, never, never, never ! 
 Pray you, undo this button: thank you, sir. 
 Do you see this ? Look on her, look, her 
 
 lips, 
 Look there, look there ! \He dies. 
 
 Edg. He faints ! My lord, my lord ! 
 
 Kent. Break, heart ; I pr'ythee, break ! 
 
 Edg. Look up, my lord. 
 
 Kent. Vex not his ghost : O, let him pass ! 
 
 he hates him 
 
 That would upon the rack of this rough world 
 Stretch him out longer. 
 
 Edg. He is gone indeed. 
 
 Kent. The wonder is he hath endur'd so long: 
 He but usurp'd his life. [business 
 
 Alb. Bear them from hence. Our present 
 
 Is general woe. Friends of my soul, you twain 
 
 [ To KENT and EDGAR. 
 
 Rule in this realm, and the gor'd state sustain. 
 
 Kent. I have a journey, sir, shortly to go ; 
 My master calls me, I must not say no. 
 
 Alb. The weight of this sad time we must obey; 
 Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say. 
 The oldest hath borne most: we that are young 
 Shall never see so much nor live so Jong. 
 
 [Exeunt ', with a dead inarch* 
 

 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 ESCALUS, Prince of Verona. 
 
 PARIS, a Young Nobleman, Kinsman to the 
 
 Prince. 
 
 MONTAGUE, \ Heads of two Houses at variance 
 CAPULET, / with each other. 
 An Old Man, Uncle to CAPULET. 
 ROMEO, Son to MONTAGUE. 
 MERCUTIO, Kinsman to the Prince, and Friend 
 
 to ROMEO. 
 BENVOLIO, Nephew to MONTAGUE, and Friend 
 
 to ROMEO. 
 
 TYBALT, Nephew to LADY CAPULET. 
 FRIAR LAWRENCE, a Franciscan. 
 FRIAR JOHN, of the same Order. 
 BALTHASAR, Servant to ROMEO. 
 
 PETER, Servant to JULIET'S Nurse. 
 
 ABRAHAM, Servant to MONTAGUE. 
 
 An Apothecary. 
 
 Three Musicians. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Page to PARIS ; another Page. 
 
 An Officer. 
 
 
 LADY MONTAGUE, Wife to MONTAGUE. 
 LADY CAPULET, Wife to CAPULET. 
 JULIET, Daughter to CAPOLBT. 
 Nurse to JULIET. 
 
 Citizens of Verona ; several Men and Women, 
 relations to both Houses ; Maskers, Guards, 
 Watchmen, and Attendants. 
 
 SCENE, During the greater part of the Play in VERONA; once, in the Fifth Act, at MANTUA. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 Two households, both alike in dignity, 
 
 In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, 
 From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, 
 
 Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. 
 From forth the fatal loins of these twc foes 
 
 A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life ; 
 Whose rmsadventur'd piteous overthrows 
 
 Do witn their death bury their parents' s f rife. 
 The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love, 
 
 And the continuance of their parents' rage, 
 Which but their children's end naught come, 
 remove, 
 
 Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage? 
 The which, if you with patient ears attend, 
 What here shall miss our toil shall strive to 
 mend. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. A public Place. 
 
 Enter SAMPSON and GREGORY, armed with 
 swords and bucklers. 
 
 Sam. Gregory, o* my word, we'll not carry 
 coals. 
 
 Gre. No, for then we should be colliers. 
 
 Sam. I mean, an we be in choler we '11 draw. 
 
 Gre. Ay, while you live, draw your neck out 
 o' the collar. 
 
 Sam. I strike quickly, being moved. 
 
 ' Gre. But thou art not quickly moved to strike. 
 
 Sam. A dog D the house of Montague moves 
 me. 
 
 Grs, To move is to stir ; and to be valiant is 
 to yj?jid: therefore, if thou art moved, thou 
 rur.n'it away. 
 
 Sam. A dog of that house shall move me to 
 3tand: I will take the wall of any man or maid 
 OA Montague's. 
 
 G*'t* That shows thee a weak slave ; for the 
 weakest goes to the wall. 
 
 Sam. True ; and therefore women, being the 
 iv^atcer vessels, are ever thrust to the wall: 
 therefore I will push Montague's men from the 
 wall and thrust his maids to the wall. 
 
 Gre. The quarrel is between our masters and 
 us their men. 
 
 Sam. 'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: 
 when I have fought with the men I will be cruel 
 with the maids, and cut off their heads. 
 
 Gre. The heads of the maids ? 
 
 Sam. Ay, the heads of the maids, or their 
 maidenheads ; take it in what sense thou 
 wilt. 
 
 Gre. They must take it in sense that feel it. 
 
 Sam. Me they shall feel while I am able to 
 stand : and 'tis known I am a pretty piece of 
 flesh. 
 
 Gre. 'Tis well thou art not fish : if thou hadst. 
 
io66 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 [ACT I. 
 
 them hadst been poor-John. Draw thy tool ; 
 here comes two of the house of the Montagues. 
 
 Sam. My naked weapon is out: quarrel, I 
 will back thee. 
 
 Gre. How ! turn thy back and run? 
 
 Sam. Fear me not. 
 
 Gre. No, marry ; I fear thee ! 
 
 Sam. Let us take the law of our sides ; let 
 them begin. 
 
 Gre. I will frown as I pass by ; and let them 
 take it as they list. 
 
 Sam. Nay, as they dare. I will bite my 
 thumb at them ; which is a disgrace to them if 
 they bear it. 
 
 Enter ABRAHAM and BALTHASAR 
 
 Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir ? 
 
 Sam. I do bite my thumb, sir. 
 
 Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir ? 
 
 Sam. Is the law of our side if I say ay? 
 
 Gre. No. 
 
 Sam. No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at 
 you, sir ; but I bite my thumb, sir. 
 
 Gre. Do you quarrel, sir? 
 
 Abr. Quarrel, sir! no, sir. 
 
 Sam. If you do, sir, I am for you : I serve 
 as good a man as you. 
 
 Abr. No better. 
 
 Sam. Well, sir. 
 
 Gre. Say better: here comes one of my 
 master's kinsmen. 
 
 Sam. Yes, better, sir. 
 
 Abr. You lie. 
 
 Sam. Draw, if you be men. Gregory, re- 
 member thy swashing blow. \Theyjfight. 
 
 Enter BENVOLIO. 
 
 Ben. Part, fools ! put up your swords ; you 
 know not what you do. 
 
 \Beats down their swords. 
 
 Enter TYBALT. 
 Tyb. What, art thou drawn among these 
 
 heartless hinds? 
 
 Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death. 
 Ben. I do but keep the peace : put up thy 
 
 sword, 
 
 Or manage it to part these men with me. 
 Tyb. What, drawn, and talk of peace! I 
 
 hate the word 
 
 As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee : 
 Have at thee, coward ! \Theyjight. 
 
 Enter several of both Houses, who join the 
 fray ; then enter Citizens with clubs. 
 
 I Cit. Clubs, bills, and partisans! strike! 
 
 beat them down ! [tagues ! 
 
 Down with the Capulets ! Down with the Mon- 
 
 Enter CAPULET in his gown, and LADY 
 CAPULET. 
 
 Cap. What noise is this? Give me my long 
 
 sword, ho! 
 Lady C. A crutch, a crutch ! Why call you 
 
 for a sword? 
 Cap. My sword, I say ! Old Montague is 
 
 come, 
 And flourishes his blade in spite of me. 
 
 Enter MONTAGUE and LADY MONTAGUE. 
 
 Man. Thou villain Capulet ! Hold me not, 
 
 let me go. 
 Lady M. Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek 
 
 a foe. 
 
 Enter PRINCE, with Attendants. 
 
 Prin. Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, 
 Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel, 
 Will they not hear? What, ho you men, you 
 
 beasts, 
 
 That quench the fire of your pernicious rage 
 With purple fountains issuing from your veins, 
 On pain of torture, from those bloody hands 
 Throw your mistemper'd weapons to theground, 
 And hear the sentence of your moved prince. * 
 Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word, 
 By thee, old Capulet and Montague, 
 Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets ; 
 And made Verona's ancient citizens 
 Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments, 
 To wield old partisans in hands as old, 
 Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate: 
 If ever you disturb our streets again, 
 Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace. 
 For this time, all the rest depart away : 
 You, Capulet, shall go along with me ; 
 And, Montague, come you this afternoon, 
 To know our further pleasure in this case, 
 To old Free-town, our common judgment- 
 place. 
 Once more, on pain of death, all men depart. 
 
 [^^W/PRIN. ^Attendants; CAP., LADY 
 C., TYB., Citizens, and Servants. 
 
 Mon. Who set this ancient quarrel new 
 
 abroach ? 
 Speak, nephew, were you by when it began? 
 
 Ben. Here were the servants of your adver- 
 sary 
 
 And yours close fighting ere I did approach : 
 I drew to part them : in the instant came 
 The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar'd ; 
 Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears, 
 He swung about his head, and cut the winds, 
 Who, nothing hurt withal, hiss'd him in scorn: 
 While we were interchanging thrusts and blows, 
 
SCENE I. 
 
 KOMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 1067 
 
 Came more and more, and fought on part and 
 
 part, 
 Till the prince came, who parted either part. 
 
 Lady M. O, where is Romeo ? saw you 
 
 him to-day? 
 Right glad I am he was not at this fray, [sun 
 
 Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd 
 Peer'd forth the golden window of the east, 
 A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad ; 
 Where, underneath the grove of sycamore 
 That westward rooteth from the city's side, 
 So early walking did I see your son : 
 Towards him I made ; but he was ware of me, 
 And stole into the covert of the wood : 
 I, measuring his affections by my own, 
 That most are busied when they're most alone, 
 Pursu'd my humour, not pursuing his, 
 And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me. 
 
 Mon. Many a morning hath he there been 
 
 seen, 
 
 With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew, 
 Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep 
 
 sighs : 
 
 But all so soon as the all-cheering sun 
 Should in the furthest east begin to draw 
 The shady curtains from Aurora's bed, 
 Away from light steals home my heavy son, 
 And private in his chamber pens himself; 
 Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out, 
 And makes himself an artificial night : 
 Black and portentous must this humour prove, 
 Unless good counsel may the cause remove. 
 
 Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause? 
 
 Man. I neither know it nor can learn of him. 
 
 Ben. Have you importun'd him by any means? 
 
 Mon. Both by myself and many other friends: 
 But he, his own affections' counsellor, 
 Is to himself, I will not say how true, 
 But to himself so secret and so close, 
 So far from sounding and discovery, 
 As is the bud bit with an envious worm 
 Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air, 
 Or dedicate his beauty to the sun. 
 Could we but learn from whence his sorrows 
 
 grow, 
 We would as willingly give cure as know. 
 
 Ben. See where he comes: so please you, 
 
 step aside ; 
 1 : 11 know his grievance or be much denied. 
 
 Mon. I would thou wert so happy by thy stay 
 
 To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let 's away. 
 
 {Exeunt MONTAGUE and Lady. 
 
 Enter ROMEO. 
 
 Ben. Good-morrow, cousin. 
 
 Rom. Is the day so young? 
 
 Ben. But new struck nine. 
 
 Rom. Ay me ! sad hours seem long. 
 
 Was that my father that went hence so fast? 
 
 Ben. It was. What sadness lengthens 
 Romeo's hours? [them short. 
 
 Rom. Not having that which, having, makes 
 
 Ben. In love? 
 
 Rom. Out, 
 
 Ben. Of love? 
 
 Rom. Out of her favour where I am in love. 
 
 Ben. Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, 
 Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof! 
 
 Rom. Alas, that love, whose view is muffled 
 
 still, [will ! 
 
 Should, without eyes, see pathways to his 
 
 Where shall we dine? O me ! What fray was 
 
 here? 
 
 Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. 
 Here's much to do with hate, but more with 
 
 love : 
 
 Why, then, O brawling love ! O loving hate ! 
 O anything, of nothing first create ! 
 O heavy lightness ! serious vanity! 
 Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms ! 
 Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick 
 
 health ! 
 
 Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is! 
 This love feel I, that feel no love in this. 
 Dost thou not laugh ? 
 
 Ben. No, coz, I rather weep. 
 
 Rom. Good heart, at what? 
 
 Ben. At thy good heart's oppression. 
 
 Rom, Why, such is love's transgression. 
 Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast ; 
 Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest 
 With more of thine : this love that thou hast 
 
 shown 
 
 Doth add more grief to too much of mine own. 
 Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of sighs ; 
 Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; 
 Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears: 
 What is it else? a madness most discreet, 
 A choking gall, and a preserving sweet. 
 Farewell, my coz. [Going. 
 
 Ben. Soft! I will go along: 
 
 An if you leave me so, you do me wrong. 
 
 Rom. Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here ; 
 This is not Romeo, he 's some other where. 
 
 Ben. Tell me in sadness who is that you love. 
 
 Rom. What, shall I groan and tell thee? 
 
 Ben. Groan ! why, no ; 
 
 But sadly tell me who. [will, 
 
 Rom. Bid a sick man in sadness make his 
 Ah, word ill urg'd to one that is so ill ! 
 In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman. 
 
 Ben. I aim'd so near when I suppos'd you 
 lov'd. [fair I love. 
 
 Rom. A right good marksman ! And she 's 
 
io68 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 [ACT I. 
 
 Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest 
 hit. [be hit 
 
 Rom. Well, in that hit you miss : she '11 not 
 With Cupid's arrow, she hath Dian's wit ; 
 And in strong proof of chastity well arm'd, 
 From love's weak childish bow she lives un- 
 
 harm'd. 
 
 She will not stay the siege of loving terms 
 Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes, 
 Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold : 
 O, she is rich in beauty; only poor, 
 That, when she dies, with beauty dies her store. 
 
 Ben. Then she hath sworn that she will still 
 live chaste ? [huge waste ; 
 
 Rom. She hath, and in that sparing makes 
 For beauty, starv'd with her severity, 
 Cuts beauty off from all posterity. 
 She is too fair, too wise ; wisely too fair, 
 To merit bliss by making me despair : 
 She hath forsworn to love ; and in that vow 
 Do I live dead that live to tell it now. 
 
 Ben. Be rul'd by me, forget to think of her. 
 
 Rom. O, teach me how I should forget to 
 think. 
 
 Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes ; 
 Examine other beauties. 
 
 Rom. 'Tis the way 
 
 To call hers, exquisite, in question more : 
 These happy masks that. kiss fair ladies' brows, 
 Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair; 
 He that is strucken blind cannot forget 
 The precious treasure of his eyesight lost : 
 Show me a mistress that is passing fair, 
 What doth her beauty serve but as a note 
 Where I may read who pass'd that passing fair? 
 Farewell : thou canst not teach me to forget. 
 
 Ben. I '11 pay that doctrine or else die in debt. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. A Street. 
 Enter CAPULET, PARIS, and Servant. 
 
 Cap. But Montague is bound as well as I, 
 In penalty alike ; and 'tis not hard, I think, 
 For men so old as we to keep the peace. 
 
 Par. Of honourable reckoning are you both; 
 And pity 'tis you liv'd at odds so long. 
 But now, my lord, what say you to my suit ? 
 
 Cap. But saying o'er what I have said before : 
 My child is yet a stranger in the world, 
 She hath not seen the change of fourteen years; 
 Let two more summers wither in their pride 
 Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride. 
 
 Par. Younger than she are happy mothers 
 made. [made. 
 
 Cap. And too soon marr'd are those so early 
 Earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she, 
 
 She is the hopeful lady of my earth : 
 But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart, 
 My will to her consent is but a part ; 
 An she agree, within her scope of choice 
 Lies my consent and fair according voice. 
 This night I hold an old accustom'd feast, 
 Whereto I have invited many a guest, 
 Such as I love ; and you, among the store, 
 One more, most welcome, makes my number 
 
 more. 
 
 At my poor house look to behold this night 
 Earth- treading stars that make dark heaven 
 
 light : 
 
 Such comfort as do lusty young men feel 
 When well-apparell'd April on the heel 
 Of limping winter treads, even such delight 
 Among fresh female buds shall you this night 
 Inherit at my house ; hear all, all see, 
 And like her most whose merit most shall be : 
 Such, amongst view of many, mine being one, 
 May stand in number, though in reckoning none. 
 Come, go with me. Go, sirrah, trudge about 
 Through fair Verona ; find those persons out 
 Whose names are written there {gives a paper\ 
 
 and to them say, 
 
 My house and welcome on their pleasure stay. 
 [Exeunt CAPULET and PARIS. 
 Serv. Find them out whose names are writ- 
 ten here ! It is written that the shoemaker 
 should meddle with his yard, and the tailor 
 with his last, the fisher with his pencil, and the 
 painter with his nets ; but I am sent to find 
 those persons whose names are here writ, and 
 can never find what names the writing person 
 hath here writ. I must to the learned: in 
 good time. 
 
 Enter BENVOLIO and ROMEO. 
 
 Ben. Tut, man, one fire burns out another 's 
 
 burning, 
 
 One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish ; 
 Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning; 
 One desperate grief cures with another's 
 
 languish: 
 
 Take thou some new infection to thy eye, 
 And the rank poison of the old will die. 
 
 Rom. Your plantain -leaf is excellent for that. 
 
 Ben. For what, I pray thee ? 
 
 Rom. For your broken shin. 
 
 Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou mad ? 
 
 Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a 
 
 madman is ; 
 
 Shut up in prison, kept without my food, 
 Whipp'd and tormented, and God-den, good 
 fellow. [read ? 
 
 Serv. God gi' god-den. I pray, sir, can you 
 Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery. 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 X069 
 
 Serv. Perhaps you have learned it without 
 book : but, I pray, can you read anything you 
 see? [language. 
 
 Rom. Ay, if I know the letters and the 
 
 Serv. Ye say honestly : rest you merry ! 
 
 Rom. Stay, fellow ; I can read. [Reads. 
 
 Signior Martina and his wife and daughters _, 
 County Anselme and his beauteous sisters ; the 
 lady widow of Vitruvio ; Signior Placentio and 
 his lovely nieces ; Mercutio and his brother 
 Valentine ; mine uncle Capulet, his wife and 
 daughters ; my fair niece Rosaline; Livia ; 
 Signior Valentio and his cousin Tybalt; Lucio 
 and the lively Helena. 
 
 A fair assembly {gives back the paper] : whither 
 should they come ? 
 
 Serv. Up. 
 
 Rom. Whither? 
 
 Serv. To supper ; to our house. 
 
 Rom. Whose house ? 
 
 Serv. My master's. [before. 
 
 Rom. Indeed, I should have ask'd you that 
 
 Serv. Now I '11 tell you without asking : my 
 master is the great rich Capulet ; and if you be 
 not of the house of Montagues, I pray, come 
 and crush a cup of wine. Rest you merry ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Ben. At this same ancient feast of Capulet's 
 Sups the fair Rosaline whom thou so lov'st ; 
 With all the admired beauties of Verona : 
 Go thither ; and, with unattainted eye, 
 Compare her face with some that I shall show, 
 And I will make thee think thy swan a crow. 
 
 Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye 
 
 Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to 
 
 fires ; [die, 
 
 And these, who, often drown'd, could never 
 
 Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars ! 
 One fairer than my love ! the all-seeing sun 
 Ne'er saw her match since first the world 
 begun. [by, 
 
 Ben. Tut, you saw her fair, none else being 
 Herself pois'd with herself in either eye : 
 But in that crystal scales let there be weigh'd 
 Your lady's love against some other maid 
 That I will show you shining at this feast, 
 And she shall scant show well that now shows 
 best. 
 
 Rom. I '11 go along, no such sight to be shown, 
 But to rejoice in splendour of mine own. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. A Room in CAPULET'S House. 
 Enter LADY CAPULET and Nurse. 
 
 Lady C. Nurse, where 's my daughter ? call 
 her forth to me. 
 
 /* 
 
 Wha 
 
 Nurse. Now, by my maidenhead, at twelve 
 year old, [bird! 
 
 I bade her come. What, lamb! what lady- 
 God forbid ! where 's this girl ? what, Juliet ! 
 
 Enter JULIET. 
 
 ful. How now, who calls? 
 
 Nurse. Your mother. 
 
 'ul. Madam, I am here. 
 
 hat is your will ? 
 
 Lady C. This is the matter. Nurse, give 
 
 leave awhile, [again ; 
 
 We must talk in secret: nurse, come back 
 
 I have remember'd me, thou's hear our counsel. 
 
 Thou know'st my daughter 's of a pretty age. 
 
 Nurse. Faith, I can tell her age unto an 
 hour. 
 
 Lady C. She 's not fourteen. 
 
 Nurse. I '11 lay fourteen of my teeth, 
 
 And yet, to my teen be it spoken, I have but 
 
 four, 
 
 She is not fourteen. How lorg is it now 
 To Lammas-tide? 
 
 Lady C. A fortnight and odd days. 
 
 Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in the year, 
 Come Lammas-eve at night shall she be 
 
 fourteen. 
 
 Susan and she, God rest all Christian souls ! 
 Were of an age : well, Susan is with God ; 
 She was too good for me : but, as I said, 
 On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen ; 
 That shall she, marry ; I remember it well. 
 'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years ; 
 And she was wean'd, I never shall forget it, 
 Of all the days of the year, upon that day : 
 For I had then laid wormwood to my dug, 
 Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall ; 
 My lord and you were then at Mantua: 
 Nay, I do bear a brain : but, as I said, 
 When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple 
 Of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool, 
 To see it tetchy, and fall out with the dug ! 
 Shake, quoth the dove-house : 'twas no need, I 
 
 trow, 
 
 To bid me trudge. 
 
 And since that time it is eleven years ; 
 For then she could stand alone ; nay, by the 
 
 rood 
 
 She could have run and waddled all about ; 
 For even the day before, she broke her brow : 
 And then my husband, God be with his soul ! 
 'A was a merry man, took up the child : 
 Yea, quoth he, dost tkoufall upon thy face? 
 Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more 
 
 wit; 
 
 Wilt thou notyjule? and, by my holidame, 
 The pretty wretch left crying, and said Ay : 
 
1070 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 To see, now, how a jest shall come about ! 
 I warrant, an I should live a thousand years, 
 I never should forget it : Wilt thou not, fule ? 
 
 quoth he; 
 
 And, pretty fool, it stinted, and said Ay. 
 Lady C. Enough of this ; I pray thee, hold 
 thy peace. [but laugh, 
 
 Nurse. Yes, madam ; yet I cannot choose 
 To think it should leave ciying, and say Ay : 
 And yet, I warrant, it had upon its brow 
 A bump as big as a young cockerel's stone ; 
 A parlous knock ; and it cried bitterly. 
 Yea, quoth my husband, falPst upon thy face ? 
 Thou wilt fall backward when thou contest to age ; 
 Wilt thou notyjule? it stinted, and said Ay. 
 Jul. And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, 
 say I. [to his grace ! 
 
 Nurse. Peace, I have done. God mark thee 
 Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nurs'd : 
 An I might live to see thee married once, 
 I have my wish. [theme 
 
 Lady C. Marry, that marry is the very 
 I came to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet, 
 How stands your disposition to be married ? 
 Jul. It is an honour that I dream not of. 
 * Nurse. An honour ! were not I thine only 
 nurse, [thy teat. 
 
 I would say thou hadst suck'd wisdom from 
 Lady C. Well, think of marriage now ; 
 
 younger than you, 
 Here in Verona, ladies of esteem, 
 Are made already mothers : by my count 
 I was your mother much upon these years 
 That you are now a maid. Thus, then, in 
 
 brief; 
 The valiant Paris seeks you for his love. 
 
 Nurse. A man, young lady ! lady, such a 
 
 man 
 
 As all the world why, he 's a man of wax. 
 Lady C. Verona's summer hath not such a 
 
 flower. 
 
 Ntirse. Nay, he 's a flower ; in faith, a very 
 flower. [gentleman? 
 
 Lady C. What say you? can you love the 
 This night you shall behold him at our feast ; 
 Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face, 
 And find delight writ there with beauty's pen ; 
 Examine every married lineament, 
 And see how one another lends content ; 
 And what obscur'd in this fair volume lies 
 Find written in the margent of his eyes. 
 This precious book of love, this unbound lover, 
 To beautify him, only lacks a cover : 
 The fish lives in the sea ; and 'tis much pride 
 For fair without the fair within to hide : 
 That book in many's eyes doth share the glory 
 That in gold clasps locks in the golden story ; 
 
 So shall you share all that he doth possess, 
 
 By having him, making yourself no less. 
 
 Nurse. No less ! nay, bigger ; women grow 
 
 by men. [love ? 
 
 Lady C. Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' 
 
 Jul. I '11 look to like, if looking liking move : 
 
 But no more deep will I endart mine eye [fly. 
 
 Than your consent gives strength to make it 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. Madam, the guests are come, supper 
 served up, you called, my young lady asked 
 for, the nurse cursed in the pantry, and every- 
 thing in extremity. I must hence to wait ; I 
 beseech you, follow straight. 
 
 Lady C. We follow thee. [Exit Servant.] 
 
 Juliet, the county stays. 
 Nurse. Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy 
 days. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. A Street. 
 
 Enter ROMEO, MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, with 
 five or six Maskers, Torch-bearers, and others. 
 
 Rom. What, shall this speech be spoke for 
 
 our excuse ? 
 Or shall we on without apology ? 
 
 Ben. The date is out of such prolixity : 
 We '11 have no Cupid hoodwink'd with a scarf, 
 Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath, 
 Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper ; 
 Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke 
 After the prompter, for our entrance : 
 But, let them measure us by what they will, 
 We '11 measure them a measure, and be gone. 
 
 Rom. Give me a torch, I am not for this 
 
 ambling ; 
 Being but heavy, I will bear the light. 
 
 Mer. Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you 
 dance. 
 
 Rom. Not I, believe me : you have dancing 
 
 shoes, 
 
 With nimble soles : I have a soul of lead 
 So stakes me to the ground I cannot move. 
 
 Mer. You are a lover ; borrow Cupid's wings, 
 And soar with them above a common bound. 
 
 Rom. I am too sore enpierced with his snau 
 To soar with his light feathers ; and so bound, 
 I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe : 
 Under love's heavy burden do I sink. [love ; 
 
 Mer. And to sink in it should you burden 
 Too great oppression for a tender thing. 
 
 Rom. Is love a tender thing? it is too rough, 
 Too rude, too boisterous ; and it pricks like 
 thorn. 
 
 Mer. If love be rough with you, be rough 
 with love ; 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 1071 
 
 Prick love for pricking, and you beat love 
 
 down. 
 Give me a case to put my visage in : 
 
 [Putting on a mask. 
 A visard for a visard ! what care I 
 What curious eye doth quote deformities ? 
 Here are the beetle-brows shall blush for me. 
 
 Ben. Come, knock and enter ; and no sooner 
 
 in 
 But every rnan betake him to his legs. 
 
 Rom. A torch for me : let wantons, light of 
 
 heart, 
 
 Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels ; 
 For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase, 
 I '11 be a candle-holder, and look on, 
 The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done. 
 
 Mer. Tut, dun 's the mouse, the constable's 
 
 own word : 
 
 If thou art dun, we '11 draw thee from the mire 
 Of this sir-reverence love, wherein thou 
 
 stick'st 
 Up to the ears. Come, we burn daylight, ho. 
 
 Rom. Nay, that ! s not so. 
 
 Met. I mean, sir, in delay 
 
 We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day. 
 Take our good meaning, for our judgment sits 
 Five times in that ere once in our five wits. 
 
 Rom. And we mean well in going to this 
 
 mask; 
 But 'tis no wit to go, 
 
 Mer. Why, may one ask? 
 
 Rom. I dreamt a dream to-night 
 
 Mer. And so did I. 
 
 Rom. Well, what was yours ? 
 
 Mer. That dreamers often He. 
 
 Rom. In bed asleep, while they do dream 
 things true. [with you. 
 
 Mer. O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been 
 She is the fairies' midwife ; and she comes 
 In shape no bigger than an agate-stone 
 On the fore-finger of an alderman, 
 Drawn with a team of little atomies 
 Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep: 
 Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs; 
 The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers ; 
 The traces, of the smallest spider's web ; 
 The collars, of the moonshine's watery beams ; 
 Her whip, of cricket's bone ; the lash, of film; 
 Her waggoner, a small gray-coated gnat, 
 Not half so big as a round little worm 
 Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid : 
 Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut, 
 Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub, 
 Time out p' mind the fairies' cpachmakers. 
 And in this state she gallops night by night 
 Through lovers' brains, and then they dream 
 of love ; 
 
 O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies 
 
 straight ; 
 O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on 
 
 fees ; 
 
 O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream, 
 Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, 
 Because their breaths with sweatmeats tainted 
 
 are : 
 
 Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose, 
 And then dreams he of smelling out a suit ; 
 And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail, 
 Tickling a parson's nose as 'a lies asleep, 
 Then dreams he of another benefice : 
 Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck, 
 And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, 
 Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades, 
 Of healths five fathom deep ; and then anon 
 Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes ; 
 And, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two, 
 And sleeps again. This is that very Mab 
 That plats the manes of horses in the night ; 
 And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs, 
 Which, once untangled, much misfortune bodes; 
 This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs, 
 That presses them, and learns them first to bear, 
 Making them women of good carriage : 
 This is she, 
 
 Rom. Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace, 
 
 Thou talk'st of nothing. 
 
 Mer. True, I talk of dreams. 
 
 Which are the children of an idle brain, 
 Begot of nothing but vain fantasy ; 
 Which is as thin of substance as the air, 
 And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes 
 Even now the frozen bosom of the north, 
 And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence, 
 Turning his face to the dew-dropping south. 
 Ben. This wind you talk of blows us from 
 
 ourselves : 
 Supper is done, and we shall come too late. 
 
 Rom. I fear, too early : for my mind misgives 
 Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars, 
 Shall bitterly begin his fearful date 
 With this night's revels ; and expire the term 
 Of a despised life, clos'd in my breast, 
 By some vile forfeit of untimely death : 
 But He that hath the steerage of my course 
 Direct my sail ! On, lusty gentlemen. 
 
 Ben. Strike, drum- [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. A Hall in CAPULET'S House. 
 Musicians waiting. Enter Servants. 
 
 1 Serv. Where 's Potpan, tliat he helps not 
 to take away? he shift a trencher ! he scrape a 
 trencher ! 
 
 2 Serv. When good manners shall lie all in 
 
1072 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 [ACT I. 
 
 one or two men's hands, and they unwashed 
 too, 'tis a foul thing. 
 
 I Serv. Away with the joint-stools, remove 
 the court-cupboard, look to the plate: good 
 thou, save me a piece of marchpane; and as 
 thou lovest me let the porter let in Susan 
 Grindstone and Nell. Antony I and Potpan! 
 
 2. Serv. Ay, boy, ready. 
 
 1 Serv. You are looked for and called for, 
 asked for and sought for in the great chamber. 
 
 2 Serv. We cannot be here and there too. 
 Cheerly, boys ; be brisk awhile, and the longer 
 liver take all. \They retire behind. 
 
 Enter CAPULET, &c., with the Guests and 
 the Maskers. 
 
 Cap. Welcome, gentlemen ! ladies that have 
 
 their toes [you. 
 
 Unplagu'd with corns will have a bout with 
 
 Ah ha, my mistresses ! which of you all 
 
 Will now deny to dance? she that makes 
 
 dainty, she, 
 
 I '11 swear hath corns ; am I come near you now? 
 Welcome, gentlemen ! I have seen the day 
 That I have worn a visard ; and could tell 
 A whispering tale in a fair iady's ear, 
 Such as would please ; 'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis 
 gone: [cians, play. 
 
 You are welcome, gentlemen ! Come, musi- 
 A hall, a hall ! give room, and foot it, girls. 
 [ Music plays, and thty dance. 
 More light, you knaves ; and turn the tables up, 
 And quench the fire, the room is grown too 
 
 hot 
 
 Ah, sirrah, this unlook'd-for sport comes well. 
 Nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet; 
 For you and I are past our dancing days: 
 How long is 't now since last yourself and I 
 Were in a mask ? 
 
 2 Cap. By 'r Lady, thirty years. 
 
 Cap. What, man ! 'tis not so much, 'tis not 
 
 so much: 
 
 } Tis since the nuptial of Lucentio, 
 Come Pentecost as quickly as it will, 
 Some five-and-twenty years; and then we 
 mask'd. [sir ; 
 
 2 Cap. 'Tis more, 'tis more : his son is elder, 
 His son is thirty. 
 
 Cap. Will you tell me that? 
 
 His son was but a ward two years af o. 
 
 Rom. What lady is that which doth enrich 
 
 the hand 
 Of yonder knight? 
 
 Serv. I know not, sir. [bright ! 
 
 Rom. O, she doth teach the torches to burn 
 It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night 
 Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear ; 
 
 Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear ! 
 So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows 
 As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows. 
 The measure done, I '11 watch her place of stand, 
 And, touching hers, make blessed my rude 
 
 hand. 
 
 Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight ! 
 For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night. 
 
 Tyb. This, by his voice, should be a Mon- 
 tague. [slave 
 Fetch me my rapier, boy: what, dares the 
 Come hither, cover'd with an antic face, 
 To fleer and scorn at our solemnity ? 
 Now, by the stock and honour of my kin, 
 To strike him dead I hold it not a sin. 
 
 Cap. Why, how now, kinsman! wherefore 
 storm you so? 
 
 Tyb. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe ; 
 A villain, that is hither come in spite, 
 To scorn at our solemnity this night. 
 
 Cap. Young Romeo, is it ? 
 
 Tyb. 'Tis he, that villain, Romeo. 
 
 Cap. Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone, 
 He bears him like a portly gentleman ; 
 And, to say truth, Verona brags of him 
 To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth : 
 I would not for ihe wealth of all the town 
 Here in my house do him disparagement : 
 Therefore be patient, take no note of him, 
 It is my will ; the which if thou respect, 
 Show a fair presence and put off these frowns, 
 An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast. 
 
 Tyb. It fits, when such a villain is a guest : 
 I '11 not endure him. 
 
 Cap. He shall be endur'd: 
 
 What, goodman, boy! I say he shall; go to; 
 Am I the master here or you ? go to. [soul, 
 You '11 not endure him ! God shall mend my 
 You '11 make a mutiny among my guests ! 
 You will set cock-a-hoop ! you '11 be the man ! 
 
 Tyb. Why, uncle, 'tis a shame. 
 
 Cap. Go to, go to ; 
 
 You are a saucy boy. Is 't so, indeed ? 
 This trick may chance to scath you, I know 
 
 what: 
 
 You must contrary me ! marry, 'tis time. 
 Well said, my hearts ! You are a princox ; go : 
 Be quiet, or More light, more light ! For 
 shame I [hearts. 
 
 I'll make you quiet. What, cheerly, my 
 
 Tyb. Patience perforce with wilful choler 
 
 meeting 
 Makes my flesh tremble in their different 
 
 greeting. 
 
 I will withdraw : but this intrusion shall, 
 Now seeming sweet, convert to bitter gall. 
 
SCENE V.] 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 1073 
 
 Rom. If I profane with my unworthiest 
 hand [70JULIET. 
 
 This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this, 
 My Ups, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand 
 To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. 
 Jul. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand 
 
 too much, 
 
 Which mannerly devotion shows in this ; 
 For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do 
 
 touch, 
 
 And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss. 
 
 Rom. Have not saints lips, and holy palmers 
 
 too ? [prayer. 
 
 Jul. Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in 
 
 Rom. O, then, dear saint, let lips do what 
 
 hands do ; [despair. 
 
 They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to 
 
 Jul. Saints do not move, though grant for 
 
 prayers' sake. [I take. 
 
 Rom. Then move not while my prayer's effect 
 
 Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purg'd. 
 
 [Kissing her. 
 
 Jul. Then have my lips the sin that they 
 have took. [urg'd ! 
 
 Rom. Sin from my lips ? O trespass sweetly 
 Give me my sin again. 
 Jul. You kiss by the book. 
 
 Nurse. Madam, your mother craves a word 
 
 with you. 
 
 Rom. What is her mother ? 
 Nurse. Marry, bachelor, 
 
 Her mother is the lady of the house, 
 And a good lady, and a wise and virtuous : 
 I nurs'd her daughter that you talk'd withal ; 
 I tell you, he that can lay hold of her 
 Shall have the chinks. 
 
 Rom. Is she a Capulet? 
 
 dear account ! my life is my foe's debt. 
 Ben. Away, be gone; the sport is at the 
 
 best. 
 
 Rom. Ay, so I fear ; the more is my unrest. 
 Cap. Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be 
 
 gone; 
 
 We have a trifling foolish banquet towards. 
 Is it e'en so ? why, then I thank you all ; 
 
 1 thank you, honest gentlemen ; good-night 
 More torches here ! Come on, then let J s to 
 
 bed. [late : 
 
 Ah, sirrah [to 2 Cap.}, by my fay, it waxes 
 I '11 to my rest 
 
 [Exeunt all but JULIET and Nurse. 
 Jul. Come hither, nurse. What is yon 
 
 gentleman ? 
 
 Nurse. The son and heir of old Tiberio. 
 Jul. What's he that now is going out of 
 door ? [truchio. 
 
 Nurse. Marry, that I think be young Pe- 
 
 JuL What 's he that follows there, that would 
 not dance ? 
 
 Nurse. I know not. 
 
 Jul. Go, ask his name : if he be married, 
 My grave is like to be rny wedding-bed. 
 
 Nurse. His name is Romeo, and a Montague; 
 The only son of your great enemy. 
 
 Jul. My only love sprung from rny only hate ! 
 Too early seen unknown, and known too late! 
 Prodigious birth of love it is to me, 
 That I must love a loathed enemy. 
 
 Nurse. What's this? What's this? 
 
 Jul. A rhyme I learn'd even now 
 
 Of one I danc'd withal. 
 
 [One calls within, "Juliet." 
 
 Nurse. Anon, anon ! 
 
 Come, let 's away ; the strangers are all gone. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Chorus. 
 
 Now old desire doth in his death-bed lie, 
 
 And young affection gapes to be his heir ; 
 That fair for which love groan'd for, and 
 would die, 
 
 With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair. 
 Now Romeo is belov'd, and loves again, 
 
 Alike bewitched by the charm of looks ; 
 But to his foe suppos ; d he must complain, 
 
 And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful 
 
 hooks : 
 Being held a foe, he may not have access 
 
 To breathe such vows as lovers us'd to swear ; 
 And she as much in love, her means much less 
 
 To meet her new-beloved anywhere : [meet, 
 But passion lends them power, time means to 
 Tempering extremities with extreme sweet. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. An open place <M^WW^CA 
 Garden. 
 
 Enter ROMEO. 
 
 Rom. Can I go forward when my heart is 
 
 here? 
 
 Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out. 
 [He climbs the wall and leaps down 
 within it. 
 
 Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO. 
 
 Ben. Romeo ! my cousin Romeo ! 
 
 Mer. He is wise ; 
 
 And, on my life, hath stol'n him home to bed. 
 
 Ben. He ran this way, and leap'd this 
 
 orchard wall : 
 Call, good Mercutio. 
 
1074 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 [ACT n. 
 
 Mer. Nay, I '11 conjure too. 
 
 Romeo ! humours ! madman ! passion ! lover ! 
 Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh : 
 Speak but one rhyme and I am satisfied ; 
 Cry but, Ah me! pronounce but Love and 
 
 dove ; 
 
 Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word, 
 One nickname for her purblind son and heir, 
 Young auburn Cupid, he that shot so trim 
 When King Cophetua lov'd the beggar- 
 maid ! 
 
 He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not ; 
 The ape is dead, and I must conjure him. 
 I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes, 
 By her high forehead and her scarlet lip, 
 By her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering 
 
 thigh, 
 
 And the demesnes that there adjacent lie, 
 That in thy likeness thou appear to us ! 
 
 Ben. An if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him. 
 
 Mer. This cannot anger him : 'twould anger 
 
 him 
 
 To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle, 
 Of some strange nature, letting it there stand 
 Till she had laid it, and conjur'd it down ; 
 That were some spite : my invocation 
 Is fair and honest, and, in his mistress' name, 
 I conjure only but to raise up him. [trees. 
 
 Ben. Come, he hath hid himself among these 
 To be consorted with the humorous night : 
 Blind is his love, and best befits the dark. 
 
 Mer. If love be blind, love cannot hit the 
 
 mark. 
 
 Now will he sit under a medlar tree, 
 And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit 
 As maids call medlars when they laugh alone. 
 Romeo, good -night. I '11 to my truckle-bed ; 
 This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep : 
 Come, shall we go ? 
 
 Ben. Go, then ; for 'tis in vain 
 
 To seek him here that means not to be found. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. CAPULET'S Garden. 
 Enter ROMEO. 
 
 Rom. He jests at scars that never lelt a 
 
 wound. 
 
 [JULIET appears above at a window. 
 But, soft ! what light through yonder window 
 
 breaks ? 
 
 It is the east, and Juliet is the sun ! 
 Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, 
 Who is already sick and pale with grief, 
 That thou her maid art far more fair than she : 
 Be not her maid, since she is envious ; 
 Her vestal livery is but sick and green, 
 
 And none but fools do wear it ; cast it off. 
 It is my lady ; O, it is my love ! 
 O, that she knew she were ! 
 She speaks, yet she says nothing : what of that? 
 Her eye discourses, I will answer it. 
 I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks : 
 Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, 
 Having some business, do entreat her eyes 
 To twinkle in their spheres till they return. 
 What if her eyes were there, they in her head? 
 The brightness of her cheek would shame those 
 
 stars, 
 
 As daylight doth a lamp ; her eyes in heaven 
 Would through the airy region stream so bright 
 That birds would sing, and think it were not 
 
 night. 
 
 See how she leans her cheek upon her hand ! 
 O, that I were a glove upon that hand, 
 That I might touch that cheek ! 
 Jul. Ah me ! 
 
 Rom. She speaks : 
 
 O, speak again, bright angel ! for thou art 
 As glorious to this night, being o'er my head, 
 As is a winged messenger of heaven 
 Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes 
 Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him 
 When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds 
 And sails upon the bosom of the air. 
 Jul. O Romeo, Romeo ! wherefore art thou 
 
 Romeo ? 
 
 Deny thy father and refuse thy name ; 
 Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, 
 And I '11 no longer be a Capulet. 
 
 Rom. [Aside.'] Shall I hear more, or shall I 
 
 speak at this? 
 
 Jul. 'Tis but thy name that is my enemy ; 
 Thou art thyself though, not a Montague. 
 What 's Montague ? It is nor hand, nor foot, 
 Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part 
 Belonging to a man. O, be some other name ! 
 What's in a name? that which we call a 
 
 rose, 
 
 By any other name would smell as sweet ; 
 So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, 
 Retain that dear perfection which he owes 
 Without that title : Romeo, doff thy name ; 
 And for that name, which is no part of thee, 
 Take all myself. 
 
 Rom. I take thee at thy word : 
 
 Call me but love, and I '11 be new baptiz'd ; 
 Henceforth I never will be Romeo. 
 Jul. What man art thou, that, thus be* 
 
 screen'd in night, 
 So stumblest on my counsel ? 
 
 Rom. By a name 
 
 I know not how to tell thee who I am : 
 My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, 
 

 SCENE II.] 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 1075 
 
 Because it is an enemy to thee ; 
 Had I it written, I would tear the word. 
 Jul. My ears have not yet drunk a hundred 
 
 words [sound ; 
 
 Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the 
 Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague? 
 
 Rom. Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike. 
 Jul. How cam'st thou hituer, tell me, and 
 
 wherefore ? 
 
 The orchard walls are high and hard to climb ; 
 And the place death, considering who thou art, 
 If any of my kinsmen find thee here. 
 
 Rom. With love's light wings did I o'er- 
 
 perch these walls ; 
 
 For stony limits cannot hold love out : 
 And what love can do, that dares love attempt ; 
 Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me. 
 Jul. If they do see thee they will murder 
 
 thee. [eye 
 
 Rom. Alack, there lies more peril in thine 
 
 Than twenty of their swords : look thou but 
 
 sweet, 
 
 And I am proof against their enmity. [here. 
 Jul. I would not for the world they saw thee 
 Rom. I have night's cloak to hide me from 
 
 their sight ; 
 
 And, but thou love me, let them find me here : 
 My life were better ended by their hate 
 Than death prorogued wanting of thy love. 
 Jul. By whose direction found'st thou out 
 
 this place ? [inquire ; 
 
 Rom. By love, who first did prompt me to 
 He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes. 
 I am no pilot ; yet, wert thou as far 
 As that vast shore wash'd with the furthest sea, 
 I would adventure for such merchandise. 
 Jul. Thou know'st the mask of night is on 
 
 my face, 
 
 Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek 
 For that which thou hast heard me speak to- 
 night. 
 
 Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny 
 What I have spoke : but farewell compliment ! 
 Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say Ay ; 
 And I will take thy word : yet, if thou swear'st, 
 Thou mayst prove false ; at lovers' perjuries 
 They say Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo, 
 If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully : 
 Or, if thou think'st I am too quickly won, 
 I '11 frown, and be perverse, and say thee nay, 
 So thou wilt woo ; but else, not for the world. 
 In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond ; 
 And therefore thou mayst think my 'haviour 
 
 light : 
 
 But trust me, gentleman, I '11 prove more true 
 Than those that have more cunning to be 
 
 strange. 
 
 I should have been more strange, I must con- 
 fess, 
 
 But that thou over-heard'st, ere I was 'ware, 
 My true love's passion : therefore pardon me ; 
 And not impute this yielding to light love, 
 Which the dark night hath so discovered. 
 
 Rom. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear, 
 That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops, 
 Jul. O, swear not by the moon, the incon- 
 stant moon, 
 
 That monthly changes in her circled orb, 
 Lest that thy love prove likewise variable. 
 Rom. What shall I swear by ? 
 Jul. Do not swear at all ; 
 
 Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, 
 Which is the god of my idolatry, 
 And I '11 believe thee. 
 
 Rom. If my heart's dear love, 
 
 Jul. Well, do not swear : although I joy in 
 
 thee, 
 
 I have no joy of this contract to-night : 
 It is too rash, too unadvis'd, too sudden ; 
 Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be 
 Ere one can say, It lightens. Sweet, good- 
 night ! 
 
 This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, 
 May prove a beauteous flower when next we 
 meet. [rest 
 
 Good-night, good-night ! as sweet repose and 
 Come to thy heart as that within my breast ! 
 Rom. O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied ? 
 Jul. What satisfaction canst thou have to- 
 night ? 
 
 Rom. The exchange of thy love's faithful 
 vow for mine. [quest it : 
 
 Jul. I gave thee mine before thou didst re- 
 And yet I would it were to give again. 
 
 Rom. Wouldst thou withdraw it ? for what 
 
 purpose, love? 
 
 Jul. But to be frank, and give it thee again. 
 And yet I wish but for the thing I have : 
 My bounty is as boundless as the sea, 
 My love as deep ; the more I give to thee 
 The more I have, for both are infinite. 
 
 [Nurse calls within. 
 
 I hear some noise within ; dear love, adieu ! 
 Anon, good nurse ! Sweet Montague, be true. 
 Stay but a little, I will come again. [Exit. 
 Rom. O blessed, blessed night ! I am afeard, 
 Being in night, all this is but a dream, 
 Too flattering-sweet to be substantial. 
 
 Re-enter JULIET above. 
 
 Jul. Three words, dear Romeo, and good- 
 night indeed. 
 
 If that thy bent of love be honourable, [row, 
 Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-mor- 
 
1076 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 [ACT II. 
 
 By one that I '11 procure to come to thee, 
 Where and what time thou wilt perform the 
 
 rite ; 
 
 And all my fortunes at thy foot I '11 lay, 
 And follow thee, my lord, throughout the world. 
 
 Nurse. [Within.} Madam! [well, 
 
 Jul. I come anon. But if thou mean'st not 
 I do beseech thee, 
 
 Nurse. [Within.] Madam! 
 
 Jul. By and by, I come : 
 
 To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief: 
 To-morrow will I send. 
 
 Rom. So thrive my soul, 
 
 Jul. A thousand times good-night ! [Exit. 
 
 Rom. A thousand times the worse, to want 
 
 thy light. 
 
 Love goes toward love as school-boys from 
 
 their books; [looks. 
 
 But love from love, toward school with heavy 
 
 [Retiring slowly. 
 
 Re-enter JULIET above. 
 
 /ul. Hist ! Romeo, hist ! O for a falconer's 
 
 voice, 
 
 To lure this tassel -gentle back again ! 
 Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud ; 
 Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies, 
 And make her airy tongue more hoarse than 
 
 mine 
 With repetition of my Romeo's name. 
 
 Rom. It is my soul that calls upon my name : 
 How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, 
 Like softest music to attending ears ! 
 
 Jul. Romeo ! 
 
 Rom. My dear? 
 
 Jul. At what o'clock to-morrow 
 
 Shall I send to thee ? 
 
 Rom. At the hour of nine. 
 
 Jul. I will not fail : 'tis twenty years till then. 
 I have forgot why I did call thee back. [it. 
 
 Rom. Let me stand here till thou remember 
 
 Jul. I shall forget, to have thee still stand 
 
 there, 
 Remembering how I love thy company. 
 
 Rom. And I '11 still stay, to have thee still 
 
 forget, 
 Forgetting any other home but this. 
 
 Jul. 'Tis almost morning; I would have thee 
 
 gone: 
 
 And yet no further than a wanton's bird ; 
 Who lets it hop a little from her hand, 
 Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves, 
 And with a silk thread plucks it back again, 
 So loving-jealous of his liberty. 
 
 Rom. I would I were thy bird. 
 
 Jul. Sweet, so would I : 
 
 Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing. 
 
 Good-night, good-night ! parting is such sweet 
 
 sorrow 
 That I shall say good-night till it be morrow. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Rom. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in 
 
 thy breast! 
 
 Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest! 
 Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell, 
 His help to crave and my dear hap to tell. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III. FRIAR LAWRENCE'S Cell. 
 Enter FRIAR LAWRENCE with a basket. 
 
 Fri. L. The gray-ey'd morn smiles on the 
 frowning night, [light ; 
 
 Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of 
 And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels 
 From forth day's path and Titan's fiery wheels: 
 Now, ere the sun advance his burning eye^ 
 The day to cheer and night's dank dew to dry. 
 I must up-fill this osier cage of ours 
 With baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers. 
 The earth, that 's nature's mother, is her tomb> 
 What is her burying grave, that is her womb : 
 And from her womb children of divers kind 
 We sucking on her natural bosom find ; 
 Many for many virtues excellent, 
 None but for some, and yet all different. 
 O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies 
 In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities : 
 For naught so vile that on the earth doth live 
 But to the earth some special good doth give ; 
 Nor aught so good but, strain'd from that fair use, 
 Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse : 
 Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied ; 
 And vice sometimes by action dignified. 
 Within the infant rind of this small flower 
 Poison hath residence, and medicine power : 
 For this, being smelt, with that part cheers 
 
 each part ; 
 
 Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart. 
 Two such opposed kings encamp them still 
 In man as well as herbs, grace and rude will ; 
 And where the worser is predominant, 
 Full soon the canker death eats up that plant. 
 
 Enter ROMEO. 
 
 Rom. Good-morrow, father! 
 
 Fri. L. Benedicite! 
 
 What early tongue so sweet saluteth me ? 
 Young son, it argues a distemper'd head 
 So soon to bid good-morrow to thy bed : 
 Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye, 
 And where care lodges sleep will never lie ; 
 But where unbvuised youth with unstuff'd brain 
 Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth 
 reign: 
 
SCBNB III.] 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 1077 
 
 Therefore thy earliness doth me assure 
 Thou art uprous'd by some distemperature ; 
 Or if not so, then here I hit it right, 
 Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night. 
 
 Rom. That last is true ; the sweeter rest was 
 mine. [Rosaline ? 
 
 Fri. L. God pardon sin ! wast thou with 
 
 Rom. With Rosaline, my ghostly father ? no ; 
 I have forgot that name, and that name's woe. 
 
 Fri. L. That 's my good son : but where hast 
 thou been, then ? 
 
 Rom. I '11 tell thee ere thou ask it me again. 
 I have been feasting with mine enemy ; 
 Where, on a sudden, one hath wounded me 
 That 's by me wounded ; both our remedies 
 Within thy help and holy physic lies : 
 I bear no hatred, blessed man ; for, lo, 
 My intercession likewise steads my foe. [drift ; 
 
 Fri. L. Be plain, good son, and homely in thy 
 Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift. 
 
 Rom. Then plainly know my heart's dear 
 
 love is set 
 
 On the fair daughter of rich Capulet : 
 As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine ; 
 And all combin'd, save what thou must combine 
 By holy marriage : when, and where, and how 
 We met, we woo'd, and made exchange of vow, 
 I '11 tell thee as we pass ; but this I pray, 
 That thou consent to marry us to-day. [here! 
 
 Fri. L. Holy St. Francis ! what a change is 
 Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love so dear, 
 So soon forsaken? young men's love, then, lies 
 Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes. 
 Jesu Maria, what a deal of brine 
 Hath wash'd thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline! 
 How much salt water thrown away in waste, 
 To season love, that of it doth not taste! 
 The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears, 
 Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears ; 
 Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit 
 Of an old tear that is not wash'd off yet : 
 If e'er thou wast thyself, and these woes thine, 
 Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline : 
 And art thou chang'd? pronounce this sentence, 
 then, [men. 
 
 Women may fall, when there's no strength in 
 
 Rom. Thou chidd'stme oft for loving Rosaline. 
 
 Fri. L. For doting, not for loving, pupil mine. 
 
 Rom. And bad'st me bury love. 
 
 Fri. L. Not in a grave, 
 
 To lay one in, another out to have. [now 
 
 Rom. I pray thee, chide not: she whom I love 
 Doth grace for grace and love for love allow ; 
 The other did not so. 
 
 Fri. L. O, she knew well 
 
 Thy love did read by rote, and could not spell. 
 But come, young waverer, come, go with me, 
 
 In one respect I '11 thy assistant be ; 
 
 For this alliance may so happy prove, 
 
 To turn your households' rancour to pure love. 
 
 Rom. O, let us hence; I stand on sudden haste. 
 
 Fri. L. Wisely and slow ; they stumble that 
 run fast. {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. A Street. 
 Enter BENVOLIO and MEKCUTIO. 
 
 Mer. Where the devil should this Romeo 
 
 be? 
 Came he not home to-night? 
 
 Ben. Not to his father's ; I spoke with his 
 man. 
 
 Mer. Ah, that same pale hard-hearted wench, 
 
 that Rosaline, 
 Torments him so that he will sure run mad. 
 
 Ben. Tybalt, the kinsman of old Capulet, 
 Hath sent a letter to his father's house. 
 
 Mer. A challenge, on my life. 
 
 Ben. Romeo will answer it. 
 
 Mer. Any man that can write may answer a 
 letter. 
 
 Ben. Nay, he will answer the letter's master, 
 how he dares, being dared. 
 
 Mer. Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead! 
 stabbed with a white wench's black eye ; shot 
 thorough the ear with a love-song ; the very 
 pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's 
 butt-shaft: and is he a man to encounter Tybalt? 
 
 Ben. Why, what is Tybalt? 
 
 Mer. More than prince of cats, I can tell you. 
 O, he is the courageous captain of compliments. 
 He fights as you sing prick-song, keeps time, 
 distance, and proportion ; rests me his minim 
 rest, one, two, and the third in your bosom : 
 the very butcher of a silk button, a duellist, a 
 duellist; a gentleman of the very first house, 
 of the first and second cause : ah, the immortal 
 passado! the punto reverse! the hay! 
 
 Ben. The what ? 
 
 Mer. The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting 
 fantasticoes ; these new tuners of accents ! 
 By Jesu^ a very good blade! a very tall man! 
 a very good whore! Why, is not this a 
 lamentable thing, grandsire, that we should be 
 thus afflicted with these strange flies, these 
 fashion-mongers, these pardonnez-mois, who 
 stand so much on the new form that they can- 
 not sit at ease on the old bench? O, their 
 bans, their bons! 
 
 Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo. 
 
 Mer. Without his roe, like a dried herring. 
 O, flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified ! Now 
 is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in : 
 
1078 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 [ACT n. 
 
 Laura, to his lady, was but a kitchen-wench, 
 marry, she had a better love to be-rhyme her ; 
 Dido, a dowdy ; Cleopatra, a gipsy; Helen and 
 Hero, hildings and harlots ; Thisbe, a gray eye 
 or so, but not to the purpose, 
 
 Enter ROMEO. 
 
 Signior Romeo, ban jour! there's a French 
 salutation to your French slop. You gave us 
 the counterfeit fairly last night. 
 
 Rom. Good-morrow to you both. What 
 counterfeit did I give you ? 
 
 Mer. The slip, sir, the slip ; can you not 
 conceive ? 
 
 Rom. Pardon, good Mercutio, my business 
 was great ; and in such a case as mine a man 
 may strain courtesy. 
 
 Mer. That 's as much as to say, such a case 
 as yours constrains a man to bow in the hams. 
 
 Rom. Meaning, to court'sy. 
 
 Mer. Thou hast most kindly hit it. 
 
 Rom. A most courteous exposition. 
 
 Mer. Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy. 
 
 Rom. Pink for flower. 
 
 Mer. Right. 
 
 Rom. Why, then is my pump well flowered. 
 
 Mer. Well said : follow me this jest now till 
 thou hast worn out thy pump ; that when the 
 single sole of it is worn, the jest may remain, 
 after the wearing, sole singular. 
 
 Rom. O single-soled jest, solely singular for 
 the singleness ! 
 
 Mer. Come between us, good Benvolio ; my 
 wits faint. 
 
 Rom. Switch and spurs, switch and spurs ; 
 or I '11 cry a match. 
 
 Mer. Nay, if thy wits run the wild-goose 
 chase, I have done ; for thou hast more of the 
 wild-goose in one of thy wits than, I am sure, 
 I have in my whole five : was I with you there 
 for the goose ? 
 
 Rom. Thou wast never with me for anything 
 when thou wast not there for the goose. 
 
 Mer. I will bite thee by the ear for that jest. 
 
 Rom. Nay, good goose, bite not. 
 
 Mer. Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting ; it is 
 a most sharp sauce. 
 
 Rom. And is it not well served in to a sweet 
 goose ? 
 
 Mer. O, here 's a wit of cheveril, that stretches 
 from an inch narrow to an ell broad ! 
 
 Rom. I stretch it out for that word, broad : 
 which added to the goose, proves thee far and 
 wide a broad goose. 
 
 Mer. Why, is not this better now than groan- 
 ing for love? now art thou sociable, now art 
 thou Romeo ; not art thou what thou art, by 
 
 art as well as by nature : for this drivelling love 
 is like a great natural, that runs lolling up and 
 down to hide his bauble in a hole. 
 
 Ben. Stop there, stop there. 
 
 Mer. Thou desirest me to stop in my tale 
 against the hair. 
 
 Ben. Thou wouldst else have made thy tale 
 large. 
 
 Mer. O, thou art deceived ; I would have 
 made it short: for I was come to the whole 
 depth of my tale ; and meant, indeed, to occupy 
 the argument no longer. 
 
 Rom. Here 's goodly gear ! 
 
 Enter Nurse and PETER. 
 
 Mer. A sail, a sail, a sail ! 
 
 Ben. Two, two ; a shirt and a smock. 
 
 Nurse. Peter ! 
 
 Peter. Anon? 
 
 Nurse. My fan, Peter. 
 
 Mer. Good Peter, to hide her face ; for her 
 fan 's the fairer face. 
 
 Nurse. God ye good-morrow, gentlemen. 
 
 Mer. God ye good-den, fair gentlewoman. 
 
 Nurse. Is it good-den ? 
 
 Mer. 'Tis no less, I tell you ; for the bawdy 
 hand of the dial is now upon the prick of noon. 
 
 Nurse. Out upon you ! what a man are you ! 
 
 Rom. One, gentlewoman, that God hath 
 made himself to mar. 
 
 Nurse. By my troth, it is well said ; for 
 himself to mar, quoth 'a? Gentlemen, can any 
 of you tell me where I may find the young 
 Romeo ? 
 
 Rom. I can tell you : but young Romeo will 
 be older when you have found him than he was 
 when you sought him: I am the youngest of 
 that name, for fault of a worse. 
 
 Nurse. You say well. 
 
 Mer. Yea, is the worst well ? very well took, 
 i' faith ; wisely, wisely. 
 
 Nurse. If you be he, sir, I desire some confi- 
 dence with you. 
 
 Ben. She will indite him to some supper. 
 
 Mer. A bawd, a bawd, a bawd ! So ho ! 
 
 Rom. What hast thou found ? 
 
 Mer. No hare, sir ; unless a hare, sir, in a 
 lenten pie, that is something stale and hoar ere 
 it be spent. \_Sings. 
 
 An old hare hoar, 
 
 And an old hare hoar, 
 Is very good meat in Lent : 
 
 But a hare that is hoar 
 
 Is top much for a score, 
 When it hoars ere it be spent. 
 
 Romeo, will you come to your father's ? we '11 
 to dinner thither. 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 1079 
 
 Rom. I will follow you. 
 
 Mer. Farewell, ancient lady; farewell, 
 [singing} lady, lady, lady. 
 [Exeunt MERCUTIO and BENVOLIO. 
 
 Nurse. Marry, farewell ! I pray you, sir, 
 what saucy merchant was this, that was so full 
 of his ropery ? 
 
 Rom. A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear 
 himself talk ; and will speak more in a minute 
 than he will stand to in a month. 
 
 Nurse. An 'a speak anything against me, I '11 
 take him down, an 'a were lustier than he is, 
 and twenty such Jacks ; and if I cannot, I '11 
 find those that shall. Scurvy knave ! I am 
 none of his flirt -gills ; I am none of his skains- 
 mates. And thou must stand by too, and 
 suffer every knave to use me at his pleasure ? 
 
 Pet. I saw no man use you at his pleasure ; 
 if I had, my weapon should quickly have been 
 out, I warrant you : I dare draw as soon as 
 another man, if I see occasion in a good quarrel, 
 and the law on my side. 
 
 Nurse. Now, afore God, I am so vexed that 
 every part about me quivers. Scurvy knave ! 
 Pray you, sir, a word : and as I told you, my 
 young lady bade me inquire you out ; what she 
 bade me say I will keep to myself: but first let 
 me tell ye, if ye should lead her into a fool's 
 paradise, as they say, it were a very gross kind 
 of behaviour, as they say : for the gentlewoman 
 is young ; and, therefore, if you should deal 
 double with her, truly it were an ill thing to 
 be offered to any gentlewoman, and very weak 
 dealing. 
 
 Rom. Nurse, commend me to thy lady and 
 mistress. I protest unto thee, 
 
 Nurse. Good heart, and, i' faith, I will tell 
 her as much : Lord, Lord, she will be a joyful 
 woman. 
 
 Rom. What wilt thou tell her, nurse ? thou 
 dost not mark me. 
 
 Nurse. I will tell her, sir, -that you do pro- 
 test ; which, as I take it, is a gentlemanlike 
 offer. [shrift 
 
 Rom. Bid her devise some means to come to 
 This afternoon ; 
 
 And there she shall at Friar Lawrence' cell 
 Be shriv'd and married. Here is for thy pains. 
 
 Nurse. No, truly, sir ; not a penny. 
 
 Rom. Go to ; I say you shall. [there. 
 
 Nurse. This afternoon, sir? well, she shall be 
 
 Rom. And stay, good nurse, behind the 
 
 abbey- wall : 
 
 Within this hour my man shall be with thee, 
 And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair ; 
 Which to the high top-gallant of my joy 
 Must be my convoy in the secret night. 
 
 Farewell ; be trusty, and I '11 quit thy pains : 
 Farewell ; commend me to thy mistress. 
 
 Nurse. Now God in heaven bless thee ! 
 Hark you, sir. 
 
 Rom. What say'st thou, my dear nurse? 
 
 Nurse. Is your man secret ? Did you ne'er 
 
 hear say 
 Two may keep counsel, putting one away ? 
 
 Rom. I warrant thee, my man 's as true as 
 steel. 
 
 Nttrse. Well, sir ; my mistress is the sweetest 
 lady, Lord, Lord ! when 'twas a little prating 
 thing, O, there's a nobleman in town, one 
 Paris, that would fain lay knife aboard ; but 
 she, good soul, had as .lief see a toad, a very 
 toad, as see him. I anger her sometimes, and 
 tell her that Paris is the properer man ; but, 
 I '11 warrant you, when I say so, she looks as 
 pale as any clout in the versa! world. Doth 
 not rosemary and Romeo begin both with ft 
 letter ? [an R. 
 
 Rom. Ay, nurse ; what of that ? both with 
 
 Nurse. Ah, mocker ! that 's the dog's name. 
 R is for the dog : no ; I know it begins with 
 some other letter : and she hath the prettiest 
 sententious of it, of you and rosemary, that it 
 would do you good to hear it. 
 
 Rom. Commend me to thy lady. 
 
 Nurse. Ay, a thousand times. [Exit ROMEO. ] 
 Peter ! 
 
 Pet. Anon? 
 
 Nurse. Peter, take my fan and go before. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. CAPULET'S Garden. 
 Enter JULIET. 
 
 Jul. The clock struck nine when I did send 
 
 the nurse ; 
 
 In half an hour she promis'd to return, [so. 
 Perchance she cannot meet him : that 's not 
 O, she is lame ! love's heralds should be 
 
 thoughts, [beams, 
 
 Which ten times faster glide than the sun's 
 Driving back shadows over lowering hills : 
 Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw love, 
 And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings. 
 Now is the sun upon the highmost hill 
 Of this day's journey ; and from nine till twelve 
 Is three long hours, yet she is not come. 
 Had she affections and warm youthful blood, 
 She 'd be as swift in motion as a ball ; 
 My words would bandy her to my sweet love, 
 And his to me : 
 
 But old folks, many feign as they were dead ; 
 Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead. 
 O God, she comes I 
 
ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 Enter Nurse and PETER. 
 
 O honey nurse, what news ? 
 Hast thou met with him ? Send thy man away. 
 Nurse. Peter, stay at the gate. 
 
 [Exit PETER. 
 Jul. Now, good sweet nurse, O Lord, why 
 
 look'st thou sad ? 
 
 Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily ; 
 
 If good, thou sham'st the music of sweet news 
 
 By playing it to me with so sour a face. 
 
 Nurse. I am a- weary, give me leave a- 
 
 while ; [had ! 
 
 Fie, how my bones ache ! what a jaunt have I 
 
 ful. I would thou hadst my bones and I thy 
 
 news : [nurse, speak. 
 
 Nay, come, I pray thee, speak ; good, good 
 
 Nurse. Jesu, what haste? can you not stay 
 
 awhile ? 
 
 Do you not see that I am out of breath ? 
 Jul. How art thou out of breath, when thou 
 
 hast breath 
 
 To say to me that thou art out of breath ? 
 The excuse that thou dost make in this delay 
 Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse. 
 Is thy news good or bad ? answer to that ; 
 Say either, and I '11 stay the circumstance : 
 Let me be satisfied, is 't good or bad ? 
 
 Nurse. Well, you have made a simple 
 choice j you know not how to choose a man : 
 Romeo ! no, not he ; though his face be better 
 than any man's, yet his leg excels all men's ; 
 and for a hand, and a foot, and a body, 
 though they be not to be talked on, yet they 
 are past compare : he is not the flower of 
 courtesy, but I '11 warrant him as gentle as a 
 lamb. Go thy ways, wench ; serve God. 
 What, have you dined at home ? 
 
 Jul. No, no : but all this did I know before. 
 What says he of our marriage ? what of that ? 
 Nurse. Lord, how my head aches ! what a 
 
 head have I ! 
 
 It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces. 
 My back o' t' other side, O, my back, my 
 
 back ! 
 
 Beshrew your heart for sending me about 
 To catch my death with jaunting up and down ! 
 Jul. I* faith, I am sorry that thou art not 
 
 well. 
 
 Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me, what says 
 
 my love? [man, 
 
 Nurse. Your love says, like an honest gentle- 
 
 And a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome, 
 
 And, I warrant, a virtuous, Whe*"e is your 
 
 mother ? 
 
 Jul. Where is my mother ! why, she is 
 within ; 
 
 Where should she be? How oddly thou re 
 
 pliest! 
 
 Your love says, like an honest gentleman^ 
 Where is your mother? 
 
 Nurse. O God ? s lady dear ! 
 
 Are you so hot ? marry, come up, I trow ; 
 Is this the poultice for my aching bones r 
 Henceforward, do your messages yourself. 
 Jul. Here 's such a coil ! come, what says 
 Romeo ? [day ? 
 
 Nurse. Have you got leave to go to shrift to- 
 Jul. I have. [cell; 
 
 Nurse. Thenhie youhence to Friar Lawrence' 
 There stays a husband to make you a wife : 
 Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks, 
 They '11 be in scarlet straight at any news. 
 Hie you to church ; I must another way, 
 To fetch a ladder, by the which your love 
 Must climb a bird s nest soon when it is dark : 
 I am the drudge, and toil in your delight ; 
 But you shall bear the burden soon at night. 
 Go ; I '11 to dinner ; hie you to the cell. 
 Jul. Hie to high fortune ! honest nurse, 
 farewell. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI. FRIAR LAWRENCE'S Cell. 
 Enter FRIAR LAWRENCE and ROMEO. 
 
 Fri. L. So smile the heavens upon this holy 
 
 act 
 That after-hours with sorrow chide us not ! 
 
 Rom. Amen, amen ! but come what sorrow 
 
 can, 
 
 It cannot countervail the exchange of joy 
 That one short minute gives me in her sight : 
 Do thou but close our hands with holy words, 
 Then love-devouring death do what he dare, 
 It is enough I may but call her mine. [ends, 
 
 Fri. L. These violent delights have violent 
 And in their triumph die ; like fire and powder, 
 Which, as they kiss, consume : the sweetest 
 
 honey 
 
 Is loathsome in his own deliciousness, 
 And in the taste confounds the appetite: 
 Therefore love moderately ; long love doth so ; 
 Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow. 
 Here comes the lady : O, so light - f oot 
 Will ne'er wear out the everlasting iiint : 
 A lover may bestride the gossamer 
 That idles in the wanton summer air 
 And yet not fall ; so light is vanity 
 
 j&a^JtJtiET. 
 
 Jul. Good-even to my ghostly confessor. 
 Fri. L. Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, 
 for us both. [much. 
 
 Jul. As much to him, else is his thanks too 
 
SCENE VI.} 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 1081 
 
 Rom. Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy 
 Be heap'd like mine, and that thy skill be more 
 To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath 
 This neighbour air, and let rich music's tongue 
 Unfold the imagin'd happiness that both 
 Receive in either by this dear encounter. 
 ful. Conceit, more rich in matter than in 
 
 words, 
 
 Brags of his substance, not of ornament : 
 They are but beggars that can count their 
 
 worth ; 
 
 But my true love is grown to such excess, 
 T cannot sum up half my sum of wealth. 
 Frt. L. Come, come with me, and we will 
 
 make r^ort work ; 
 
 For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone 
 Till holy church incorporate two in one. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE \.~Apublic Place. 
 
 Enter MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, Page, and 
 Servants. 
 
 Ben. I pray thee, good Mercutio, let 's retire : 
 The day is hot, the Capulets abroad, 
 And, if we meet, we shall not scape a brawl ; 
 For now, these hot days, is the mad blood 
 stirring. 
 
 Mer. Thou art like one of those fellows that, 
 when he enters the confines of a tavern, claps 
 me his sword upon the table, and says, God 
 send me no need of thee! and by the operation 
 of the second cup draws it on the drawer, when, 
 indeed, there is no need. 
 
 Ben. Am I like such a fellow ? 
 
 Mer. Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in 
 thy mood as any in Italy ; and as soon moved 
 to be moody, and as soon moody to be moved. 
 
 Ben. And what to ? 
 
 Mer. Nay, an there were two such, we 
 should have none shortly, for one would kill 
 the other. Thou ! why, thou wilt quarrel with 
 a man that hath a hair more or a hair less 
 in his beard than thou hast. Thou wilt quar- 
 rel with a man for cracking nuts, having no 
 other reason but because thou hast hazel eyes ; 
 what eye but such an eye would spy out such 
 a quarrel ? Thy head is as full of quarrels as 
 an egg is full of meat ; and yet thy head hath 
 been beaten as addle as an egg for quarrelling. 
 Thou hast quarrelled with a man for coughing 
 in the street, because he hath wakened thy dog 
 that hath lain asleep in the sun. Didst thou 
 not fall out with a tailor for wearing his new 
 doublet before Easter ? with another for tying 
 
 his new shoes with old riband ? and yet thou 
 wilt tutor me from quarrelling I 
 
 Ben. An I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, 
 any man should buy the fee-simple of my life 
 for an hour and a quarter. 
 
 Mer. The fee-simple ! O simple ! 
 
 Ben. By my head, here come the Capulets. 
 
 Mer. By my l.ccl, I care not. 
 
 Enter TYBALT and others. 
 
 Tyb. Follow me close, for I will speak to 
 them. Gentlemen, good-den: a word with 
 one of you. 
 
 Mer. And but one word with one of us? 
 Couple it with something ; make it a word and 
 a blow. 
 
 Tyb. You shall find me apt enough to that, 
 sir, an you will give me occasion. 
 
 Mer. Could you not take some occasion with- 
 out giving? 
 
 Tyb. Mercutio, thou consort'st with Romeo, 
 
 Mer. Consort! what, dost thou make us 
 minstrels? An thou make minstrels of us, 
 look to hear nothing but discords: here's my 
 fiddlestick ; here 's that shall make you dance. 
 Zounds, consort ! 
 
 Ben. We talk here in the public haunt of men: 
 Either withdraw unto some private place, 
 And reason coldly of your grievances, 
 Or else depart ; here all eyes gaze on us. 
 
 Mer. Men's eyes were made to look, and 
 
 let them gaze; 
 I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I. 
 
 Tyb. Well, peace with you, sir. Here comes 
 my man. 
 
 Enter ROMEO. 
 
 Mer. But I'll be hanged, sir, if he wear 
 
 your livery: 
 
 Marry, go before to field, he '11 be your follower; 
 Your worship in that sense may call him man. 
 
 Tyb. Romeo, the hate I bear thee can afford 
 No better term than this, Thou art a villain. 
 
 Rom. Tybalt, the reason that I have to love 
 
 thee 
 
 Doth much excuse the appertaining rage 
 To such a greeting. Villain am I none ; 
 Therefore, farewell ; I see thou know'st me not. 
 
 Tyb. Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries 
 That thou hast done me ; therefore turn and 
 draw. 
 
 Rom. I do protest I never injurM thee ; 
 But love thee better than thou canst devise 
 Till thou shalt know the reason of my love : 
 And so, good Capulet, which name I tendee 
 As dearly as my own.. be satisfied. 
 
1082 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 [ACT III. 
 
 Mer. O calm, dishonourable, vile submission! 
 A la stoccata carries it away. [Draws. 
 
 Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk ? 
 
 Tyb. What wouldst thou have with me ? 
 
 Mer. Good king of cats, nothing but one of 
 your nine lives; that I mean to make bold 
 withal, and, as you shall use me hereafter, dry- 
 beat the rest of the eight. Will you pluck your 
 sword out of his pilcher by the ears? make 
 haste, lest mine be about your ears ere it be out. 
 
 Tyb. I am for you. [Drawing. 
 
 Rom. Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up. 
 
 Mer. Come, sir, your passado. [ 7 hey fight. 
 
 Rom. Draw, Benvolio ; beat down their 
 
 weapons. 
 
 Gentlemen, for shame, forbear this outrage ! 
 Tybalt, Mercutio, the prince expressly hath 
 Forbidden bandying in Verona streets. 
 Hold, Tybalt ! good Mercutio. 
 
 [Exeunt TYBALT and his Partizans. 
 
 Mer. I am hurt ; 
 
 A plague o' both your houses ! I am sped. 
 Is he gone, and hath nothing ? 
 
 Ben. What, art thou hurt ? 
 
 Mer. Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch ; marry, 
 
 'tis enough. 
 
 Where is my page? go, villain, fetch a surgeon. 
 
 [Exit ~ 
 
 Rom. Courage, man ; the hurt cannot 
 much. 
 
 Mer. No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so 
 wide as a church-door ; but 'tis enough, 'twill 
 serve : ask for me to-morrow, and you shall 
 find me a grave man. I am peppered, I war- 
 rant, for this world. A plague o' both your 
 houses ! Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, a cat, 
 to scratch a man to death ! a braggart, a rogue, 
 a villain, that fights by the book of arithmetic ! 
 Why the devil came you between us ? I was 
 hurt under your arm. 
 
 Rom. I thought all for the best. 
 
 Mer. Help me into some house, Benvolio, 
 Or I shall faint. A plague o' both your houses! 
 They have made wonn's meat of me : 
 I have it, and soundly too. Your houses ! 
 
 [Exeunt MERCUTIO and BENVOLIO. 
 
 Rom. This gentleman, the prince's near ally, 
 My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt 
 In my behalf ; my reputation stain'd 
 With Tybalt's slander, Tybalt, that an hour 
 Hath been my kinsman. O sweet Juliet, 
 Thy beauty hath made me effeminate, 
 And in my temper soften'd valour's steel. 
 
 Re-enter BENVOLIO. 
 
 Ben. O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio 's 
 dead! 
 
 That gallant spirit hath aspir'd the clouds, 
 Which too untimely here did scorn the earth. 
 
 Rom. This day's black fate on more days 
 
 doth depend ; 
 This but begins the woe others must end. 
 
 Ben. Here comes the furious Tybalt back 
 again. 
 
 Rom. Alive, in triumph ! and Mercutio slain ! 
 Away to heaven, respective lenity, 
 And fire-ey'd fury be my conduct now ! 
 
 Re-enter TYBALT. 
 
 Now, Tybalt, take the villain back again 
 That late thou gav'st me ; for Mercutio's soul 
 Is but a little way above our heads, 
 Staying for thine to keep him company : 
 Either thou or I, or both, must go with him. 
 Tyb. Thou, wretched boy, that didst consort 
 
 him here, 
 
 Shalt with him hence. 
 
 Rom. This shall determine that. 
 
 [7 hey fight ; TYBALT falls. 
 Ben. Romeo, away, be gone ! 
 The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain. 
 Stand not amaz'd. The prince will doom thee 
 
 death 
 
 If thou art taken. Hence, be gone, away ! 
 Rom. O, I am fortune's fool ! 
 Ben. Why dost thou stay? 
 
 [Exit ROMEO. 
 
 Enter Citizens, &>c. 
 
 I Cit. Which way ran he that kill'd Mercutio? 
 Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he? 
 
 Ben. There lies that Tybalt. 
 
 i Cit. Up, sir, go with me ; 
 
 I charge thee in the prince's name, obey. 
 
 Enter PRINCE, attended; MONTAGUE, CAPU- 
 LET, their Wives, and others. 
 
 Prin. Where are the vile beginners of this 
 fray? 
 
 Ben. O noble prince, I can discover all 
 The unlucky manage of this fatal brawl : 
 There lies the man, slain by young Romeo, 
 That slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio. 
 
 Lady C. Tybalt, my cousin ! O my brother's 
 
 child ! 
 
 O prince ! O husband ! O, the blood is spill'd 
 Of my dear kinsman ! Prince, as thou art true, 
 For blood of ours shed blood of Montague. 
 O cousin, cousin I 
 
 Prin. Benvolio, who began this bloody fray? 
 
 Ben. Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand 
 
 did slay ; 
 
 Romeo that spoke him fair, bade him bethink 
 How nice the quarrel was, and urg'd withal 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 1083 
 
 Your high displeasure. All this, uttered 
 With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly 
 
 bow'd, 
 
 Could not take truce with the unruly spleen 
 Of Tybalt, deaf to peace, but that he tilts 
 With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast ; 
 Who, all as hot, turns deadly point to point, 
 And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats 
 Cold death aside, and with the other sends 
 It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity 
 Retorts it : Romeo he cries aloud, 
 Hold, friends! friends, part! and, swifter than 
 
 his tongue, 
 
 His agile arm beats down their fatal points, 
 And 'twixt them rushes; underneath whose arm 
 An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life 
 Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled : 
 But by and by comes back to Romeo, 
 Who had but newly entertain'd revenge, 
 And to 't they go like lightning ; for ere I 
 Could draw to part them was stout Tybalt slain ; 
 And as he fell did Romeo turn and fly. 
 This is the truth, or let Benvolio die. 
 
 Lady C. He is a kinsman to the Montague, 
 Affection makes him false, he speaks not true : 
 Some twenty of them fought in this black strife, 
 And all those twenty could but kill one life. 
 I beg for justice, which thou, prince, must give ; 
 Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live. 
 
 Prin. Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio : 
 Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe? 
 
 Mon. Not Romeo, prince, he was Mercutio's 
 friend ; [end, 
 
 His fault concludes but what the law should 
 The life of Tybalt. 
 
 Prin. And for that offence, 
 
 Immediately we do exile him hence : 
 I have an interest in your hate's proceeding, 
 My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a- 
 
 bleeding ; 
 
 But I '11 amerce you with so strong a fine 
 That you shall all repent the loss of mine : 
 I will be deaf to pleading and excuses ; 
 Nor tears nor prayers shall purchase out abuses, 
 Therefore use none : let Romeo hence in haste, 
 Else when he 's found, that hour is his last. 
 Bear hence this body, and attend our will : 
 Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. A Room in CAPULET'S House. 
 Enter JULIET. 
 
 Jul. Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, 
 Towards Phoebus' lodging ; such a waggoner 
 As Phseton would whip you to the west, 
 And bring in cloudy night immediately. 
 
 Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night! 
 That rude day's eyes may wink, and Romeo 
 Leap to these arms, untalk'd of and unseen. 
 Lovers can see to do their amorous rites 
 By their own beauties : or if love be blind, 
 It best agrees with night. Come, civil night, 
 Thou sober-suited matron, all in black, 
 And learn me how to lose a winning match, 
 Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods : 
 Hood my unmann'd blood, bating in my cheeks, 
 With thy black mantle ; till strange love, grown 
 
 bold, 
 
 Think true love acted simple modesty. 
 Come, night ; come, Romeo, come, thou day 
 
 in night ; 
 
 For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night 
 Whiter than new snow on a raven's back. 
 Come, gen tie night, come, loving black -brow'd 
 
 right, 
 
 Give me my Romeo ; and, when he shall die, 
 Take him and cut him out in little stars, 
 And he will make the face of heaven so fine 
 That all the world will be in love with night, 
 And pay no worship to the garish sun. 
 O, I have bought the mansion of a love, 
 But not possess : d it ; and, though I am sold, 
 Not yet enjoy'd : so tedious is this day, 
 As is the night before some festival 
 To an impatient child that hath new robes, 
 And may not wear them. O, here comes my 
 
 nurse, [speaks 
 
 And she brings news ; and every tongue that 
 But Romeo's name speaks heavenly eloquence. 
 
 Enter Nurse with cords. 
 
 Now, nurse, what news? What hast thou 
 
 there ? the cords 
 That Romeo bade thee fetch ? 
 
 Nurse. Ay, ay, the cords. 
 
 [Throws them down. 
 
 Jul. Ah me ! what news ? why dost thou 
 
 wring thy hands ? [he 's dead ! 
 
 Nurse. Ah, well-a-day ! he's dead, he's dead, 
 
 We are undone, lady, we are undone ! 
 
 Alack the day ! he 's gone, he 's kill'd, he 's 
 
 dead ! 
 
 Jul. Can heaven be so envious? 
 Nurse. Romeo can, 
 
 Though heaven cannot. O Romeo, Romeo! 
 Who ever would have thought it ? Romeo ! 
 Jul. What devil art thou, that dost torment 
 
 me thus ? 
 
 This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell. 
 Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but I, 
 And thai bare vowel I shall poison more 
 Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice : 
 I am not I if there be such an I ; 
 
io8 4 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Or those eyes shut that make thee answer I. 
 If he be slain, say I ; or if not, no : 
 Brief sounds determine of my weal or woe. 
 Nurse. I saw the wound, I saw it with mine 
 
 eyes, 
 
 God save the mark ! here on his manly breast: 
 A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse ; 
 Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub'd in blood, 
 All in gore-blood ; I swooned at the sight. 
 JuL O, break, my heart I poor bankrupt, 
 
 break at once ! 
 
 To prison, eyes, ne'er look on liberty ! 
 Vile earth, to earth resign ; end motion here ; 
 And thou and Romeo press one heavy bier ! 
 Nurse. O Tybalt, Tybalt ! the best friend I 
 
 hadl 
 
 O courteous Tybalt ! honest gentleman ! 
 That ever I should live to see thee dead ! 
 
 Jul. What storm is this that blows so contrary? 
 Is Romeo siaughter'd, and is Tybalt dead ? 
 My dear-lov'd cousin and my dearer lord ? 
 Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom ! 
 For who is living if those two are gone? 
 
 Nurse. Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished; 
 Romeo that kill'd him, he is banished. 
 Jul. O God ! did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's 
 
 blood? 
 
 Nurse. \\. did, it did ; alas the day, it did! 
 JuL O serpent heart, hid with a flowering face! 
 Did ever Dragon keep so fair a cave ? 
 Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical ! 
 Dove-feather'd raven! wolfish-ravening lamb! 
 Despised substance of divinest show! 
 Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st, 
 A damned saint, an honourable villain! 
 O nature, what hadst thou to do in hell 
 When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend 
 In mortal paradise of such sweet flesh ? 
 Was ever book containing such vile matter 
 So fairly bound? O, that deceit should dwell 
 In such a gorgeous palace! 
 
 Nurse. There 's no trust, 
 
 No faith, no honesty in men ; all are perjur'd, 
 All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers. 
 Ah, where 's my man? give me some aqua 
 vita. [old. 
 
 These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me 
 Shame come to Romeo! 
 
 JuL Blister'd be thy tongue 
 
 For such a wish ! he was not born to shame : 
 Upon his brow shame is asham'd to sit ; 
 For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd 
 Sole monarch of the universal earth. 
 O, what a beast was I to chide at him! 
 
 Nurse. Will you speak well of him that kill'd 
 
 your cousin ? [husband ? 
 
 //. Shall I speak ill of him that is my 
 
 Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth 
 
 thy name, [it ? 
 
 When I, thy three-hours' wife, rnve mangled 
 But wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my 
 
 cousin ? [husband : 
 
 That villain cousin would have kill'd my 
 Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring ; 
 Your tributary drops belong to woe, 
 Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy. 
 My husband lives, that Tybalt would have 
 
 slain ; [husband : 
 
 And Tybalt 's dead, that would have slain my 
 All this is comfort ; wherefore weep I, then ? 
 Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's 
 
 death, 
 
 That murder'd me : I would forget it fain ; 
 But, O, it Dresses to my memory 
 Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds : 
 Tybalt is dead, and Romeo banished. 
 That banished, that one word banished, 
 Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt's 
 
 death 
 
 Was woe enough, if it had ended there : 
 Or, if sour woe delights in fellowship, 
 And needly will be rank'd with other griefs, 
 Why follow'd not, when she said Tybalt 's dead, 
 Thy father or thy mother, nay, or both, 
 Which modern lamentation might have mov'd? 
 But, with a rear-ward following Tybalt's death, 
 Romeo is banished, to speak that word 
 Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet, 
 All slain, all dead: Romeo is banished, 
 There is no end, no limit, measure, bound, 
 In that word's death ; no words can that woe 
 
 sound. 
 
 Where is my father and my mother, nurse ? 
 Nurse. Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's 
 
 corse: 
 
 Will you go to them? I will bring you thither. 
 Jul. Wash they his wounds with tears : mine 
 
 shall be spent, 
 
 When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment. 
 Take up those cords. Poor ropes, you are 
 
 beguil'd, 
 
 Both you and I ; for Romeo is exil'd : 
 He made you for a highway to my bed ; 
 But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed. 
 Come, cords : come, nurse ; I '11 to my wedding- 
 bed ; 
 
 And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead! 
 Nurse. Hie to your chamber, I '11 find Romec 
 To comfort you : I wot well where he is. 
 Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night : 
 I '11 to him; he is hid at Lawrence' cell, [knight, 
 JuL O, find him ! give this ring to my true 
 And bid him come to take his last farewell. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 1085 
 
 SCENE III. FRIAR LAWRENCE'S CM. 
 Enter FRIAR LAWRENCE. 
 
 Fri. L. Romeo, come forth ; come forth, 
 
 thou fearful man : 
 
 Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts, 
 And thou art wedded to calamity. 
 
 Enter ROMEO. 
 
 Rom. Father, what news? what is the 
 
 prince's doom ? 
 
 What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand, 
 That I yet know not ? 
 
 Fri. L. Too familiar 
 
 Is my dear son with such sour company : 
 I bring thee tidings of the prince's doom. 
 
 Rom. What less than doomsday is the prince's 
 doom? [lips, 
 
 Fri. L. A gentler judgment vanish'd from his 
 Not body's death, but body's banishment. 
 
 Rom. Ha, banishment! be merciful, say death; 
 For exile hath more terror in his look, 
 Much more than death: do not say banishment. 
 
 Fri. L. Hence from Verona art thou banished: 
 Be patient, for the world is broad and wide. 
 
 Rom. There is no world without Verona walls, 
 But purgatory, torture, hell itself. 
 Hence-banished is banish'd from the world, 
 And world's exile is death, then banished 
 Is death mis-term'd: calling death banishment, 
 Thou cutt'st my head off with a golden axe, 
 And snail' st upon the stroke that murders me. 
 
 Fri. L. O deadly sin! O rudeunthankfulness! 
 Thy fault our law calls death; but the kind prince, 
 Taking thy part, hath brush'd aside the law, 
 And turn'd that black word death to banishment: 
 This is dear mercy, and thou see'st it not. [here 
 
 Rom. ; Tis torture, and not mercy : heaven is 
 Where Juliet lives ; and every cat, and dog, 
 And little mouse, every unworthy thing, 
 Live here in heaven, and may look on her ; 
 But Romeo may not. More validity. 
 More honourable state, more courtship lives 
 In carrion flies than Romeo : they may seize 
 On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand, 
 And steal immortal blessing from her lips ; 
 Who, even in pure and vestal modesty, 
 Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin ; 
 But Romeo may not ; he is banished, 
 This may flies do, when I from this must fly. 
 And say'st thou yet that exile is not death J 
 Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground 
 knife, [mean, 
 
 No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so 
 But banished to kill me ; banished ? 
 O friar, the damned use that word in hell ; 
 
 Howlings attend it: how hast thou the heart, 
 Being a divine, a ghostly confessor, 
 A sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd, 
 To mangle me with that word banishment ? 
 Fri. L. Thou fond mad man, hear me speak 
 
 a little, 
 
 Rom. O, thou wilt speak again of banishment. 
 Fri. L. I'll give thee armour to keep off 
 
 that word ; 
 
 Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy, 
 To comfort thee, though thou art banished. 
 
 Rom. Yet banished? Hang up philosophy! 
 Unless philosophy can make a Juliet, 
 Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom, 
 It helps not, it prevails not, talk no more. 
 Fri. L. O, then I see that madmen have no 
 ears. [have no eyes? 
 
 Rom. How should they, when that wise men 
 Fri. L. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate. 
 Rom. Thou canst not speak of what thou 
 
 dost not feel : 
 
 Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love, 
 An hour but married, Tybalt murdered, 
 Doting like me, and like me banished, 
 Then mightst thou speak, then mightst thou 
 
 tear thy hair, 
 
 And fall upon the ground, as I do now, 
 Taking the measure of an unmade grave. 
 Fri. L. Arise ; one knocks ; good Romeo, 
 hide thyself. [Knocking within. 
 
 Rom. Not I ; unless the breath of heart-sick 
 
 groans, 
 Mist-like, enfold me from the search of eyes. 
 
 [Knocking. 
 Fri. L. Hark how they knock! Who's 
 
 there ? Romeo, arise ; 
 
 Thou wilt be taken. Stay awhile ; stand up ; 
 
 [Knocking. 
 
 Run to my study. By and by. God's will! 
 What simpleness is this! I come, I come. 
 
 [Knocking. 
 Who knocks so hard ? whence come you ? 
 
 what 's your will ? 
 Nurse. [Within.} Let me come in and you 
 
 shall know my errand ; 
 I come from Lady Juliet. 
 
 Fri. L. Welcome, then. 
 
 Enter Nurse. 
 
 Nurse. O holy friar, O, tell me, holy friar, 
 Where is my lady's lord, where 's Romeo? 
 
 Fri. L. There on the ground, with his own 
 tears made drunk. 
 
 Nurse. O, he is even in my mistress' case, 
 Just in her case ! 
 
 Fri. L. O woeful sympathy I 
 
 Piteous predicament ! 
 
io86 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 [ACT ni. 
 
 Nurse. Even so lies she, [ing. 
 
 Blubbering and weeping, weeping and blubber- 
 Stand up, stand up ; stand, an you be a man : 
 For Juliet's sake, for her sake, rise and stand ; 
 Why should you fall into so deep an O ? 
 
 Rom. Nurse ! 
 
 Nurse. Ah, sir ! ah, sir ! Well, death 's the 
 end of all. [her ? 
 
 Rom. Spak'st thou of Juliet? how is it with 
 Doth she not think me an old murderer, 
 Now I have stain'd the childhood of our joy 
 With blood remov'd but little from her own ? 
 Where is she? and how doth she? and what says 
 My conceal'd lady to our cancell'd love ? 
 
 Nurse. O, she says nothing, sir, but weeps 
 
 and weeps ; 
 
 And now falls on her bed ; and then starts up, 
 And Tybalt calls ; and then on Romeo cries, 
 And then down falls again. 
 
 Rom. As if that name, 
 
 Shot from the deadly level of a gun, 
 Did murder her ; as that name's cursed hand 
 Murder'd her kinsman. O, tell me, friar, tell me, 
 In what vile part of this anatomy 
 Doth my name lodge? tell me that I may sack 
 The hateful mansion. [Drawing his sword. 
 
 Fri. L. Hold thy desperate hand : 
 
 Art thou a man? thy form cries out thou art : 
 Thy tears are womanish ; thy wild acts denote 
 The unreasonable fury of a beast : 
 Unseemly woman in a seeming man ! 
 Or ill-beseeming beast in seeming both ! 
 Thou hast amaz'd me: by my holy order, 
 I thought thy disposition better temper'd. 
 Hast thou slain Tybalt? wilt thou slay thyself? 
 And slay thy lady, too, that lives in thee, 
 By doing damned hate upon thyself? 
 Why rail'st thou on thy birth, the heaven, and 
 earth ? [meet 
 
 Since birth, and heaven and earth, all three do 
 In thee at once ; which thou at once wouldst 
 lose. [wit ; 
 
 Fie, fie ! thou sham'st thy shape, thy love, thy 
 Which, like a usurer, abound'st in all, 
 And usest none in that true use indeed [wit : 
 Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy 
 Thy noble shape is but a form of wax, 
 Digressing from the valour of a man ; 
 Thy dear love sworn, but hollow perjury, 
 Killing that love which thou hast vow'd to 
 
 cherish ; 
 
 Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love, 
 Mis-shapen in the conduct of them both, 
 Like powder in a skilless soldier's flask, 
 Is set a-fire by thine own ignorance, 
 And thou dismember'd with thine own defence. 
 What, rouse thee, man ! thy Juliet is alive, 
 
 For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead; 
 There art thou happy : Tybalt would kill thee, 
 But thou slew'st Tybalt ; there art thou happy 
 too: [friend, 
 
 The law, that threaten'd death, becomes thy 
 And turns it to exile ; there art thou happy : 
 A pack of blessings lights upon thy back ; 
 Happiness courts thee in her best array ; 
 But, like a misbehav'd and sullen wench, 
 Thou pout'st upon thy fortune and thy love: 
 Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable. 
 Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed, 
 Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her : 
 But, look, thou stay not till the watch be set, 
 For then thou canst not pass to Mantua ; 
 Where thou shalt live till we can find a time 
 To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends, 
 Beg pardon of the prince, and call thee back 
 With twenty hundred thousand times more joy 
 Than thou went'st forth in lamentation. 
 Go before, nurse : commend me to thy lady ; 
 And bid her hasten all the house to bed, 
 Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto: 
 Romeo is coming. [the night 
 
 Nurse. O Lord, I could have stay'd here all 
 To hear good counsel : O, what learning is ! 
 My lord, I '11 tell my lady you will come. 
 
 Rom. Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to 
 chide. [sir : 
 
 Nurse. Here, sir, a ring she bid me give you, 
 Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late. 
 
 \_Exit. 
 
 Rom. How well my comfort is reviv'd by this ! 
 
 Fri. L. Go hence; good-night; and here 
 
 stands all your state : 
 Either be gone before the watch be set, 
 Or by the break of day disguis'd from hence : 
 Sojourn in Mantua; I '11 find out your man, 
 And he shall signify from time to time 
 Every good hap to you that chances here : 
 Give me thy hand; 'tis late: farewell; good- 
 night. 
 
 Rom. But that a joy past joy calls out on me, 
 It were a grief so brief to part with thee : 
 Farewell. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. A Room in CAPULET'S House. 
 Enter CAPULET, LADY CAPULET and PARIS. 
 
 Cap. Things have fallen out, sir, so unluckily 
 That we have had no time to move our daughter: 
 Look you, she lov'd her kinsman Tybalt dearly, 
 And so did I ; well, we were born to die. 
 'Tis very late, she '11 not come down to-night : 
 I promise you, but for your company, 
 I would have been a-bed an hour ago. 
 
SCENE V.] 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 1087 
 
 Par. These times of woe afford no time to 
 
 woo. [daughter. 
 
 Madam, good-night: commend me to your 
 
 Lady C. I will, and know her mind early 
 
 to-morrow ; 
 To-night she 's mew'd up to her heaviness. 
 
 Cap. Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender 
 Of my child's love : I think she will be rul'd 
 In all respects by me ; nay, more, I doubt it 
 
 not. 
 
 Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed ; 
 Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love ; 
 And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday 
 
 next, 
 But, soft ! what day is this? 
 
 Par. Monday, my lord. 
 
 Cap. Monday! ha, ha! Well, Wednesday 
 
 is too soon, 
 
 O' Thursday let it be ; o' Thursday, tell her, 
 She shall be married to this noble earl. 
 Will you be ready? do you like this haste? 
 We '11 keep no great ado, a friend or two; 
 For, hark you, Tybalt being slain so late, 
 It may be thought we held him carelessly, 
 Being our kinsman, if we revel much : 
 Therefore we '11 have some half a dozen friends, 
 And there an end. But what say you to Thurs- 
 day? [to-morrow. 
 Par. My lord, I would that Thursday were 
 Cap. Well, get you gone : o' Thursday be it 
 
 then. 
 
 Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed, 
 Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day. 
 Farewell, my lord. Light to my chamber, ho! 
 Afore me, it is so very very late 
 That we may call it early by and by. 
 Good-night. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V.An open Gallery to JULIET'S 
 Chamber, overlooking the Garden. 
 
 Enter ROMEO and JULIET. 
 
 JuL Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near 
 
 day: 
 
 It was the nightingale, and not the lark, 
 That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear ; 
 Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree : 
 Believe me, love, it was the nightingale. 
 
 Rom. It was the lark, the herald of the morn, 
 No nightingale : look, love, what envious streaks 
 Dp lace the severing clouds in yonder east : 
 Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day 
 Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops. 
 I must be gone and live, or stay and die. 
 
 Jul. Yon light is not daylight, I know it, I : 
 It is some meteor that the sun exhales, 
 To be to thee this night a torch-bearer, 
 
 And light thee on thy way to Mantua : 
 Therefore stay yet, thou need'st not to be gone. 
 
 Rom. Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death; 
 I am content, so thou wilt have it so. 
 I '11 say yon gray is not the morning's eye, 
 Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow; 
 Nor that is not the lark whose notes do beat 
 The vaulty heaven so high above our heads : 
 I have more care to stay than will to go. 
 Come, death, and welcome ! Juliet wills it so. 
 How is 't, my soul ? let 's talk, it is not day. 
 
 Jul. It is, it is, hie hence, be gone, away ! 
 It is the lark that sings so out of tune, 
 Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps. 
 Some say the lark makes sweet division ; 
 This doth not so, for she divideth us : 
 Some say the lark and loathed toad change eyes; 
 O, now I would they had chang*d voices too ! 
 Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray, 
 Hunting thee hence with hunt's-up to the day. 
 O, now be gone ; more light and light it grows. 
 
 Rom. More light and light, more dark and 
 dark our woes ! 
 
 Enter Nurse. 
 
 Nurse. Madam ! 
 
 ful. Nurse ? [chamber : 
 
 Nurse. ^ Your lady mother is coming to your 
 The day is broke ; be wary, look about. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Jul. Then, window, let day in and let life out. 
 
 Rom. Farewell, farewell ! one kiss, and I '11 
 
 descend. [Descends. 
 
 /ut. Art thou gone so? my lord, my love, 
 
 my friend ! 
 
 I must hear from thee every day i' the hour, 
 For in a minute there are many days : 
 O, by this count I shall be much in years 
 Ere I again behold my Romeo ! 
 
 Rom. Farewell ! 
 I will omit no opportunity 
 That may convey my greetings, love, to thee. 
 Jul. O, think'st thou we shall ever meet 
 again ? [shall serve 
 
 Rom. I doubt it not ; and all these woes 
 For sweet discourses in our time to come. 
 
 r ul. O God ! I have an ill-divining soul ! 
 Rethinks I see thee, now thou art below, 
 As one dead in the bottom of a tomb : 
 Either my eyesight fails or thou look'st pale. 
 Rom. And trust me, love, in my eye so do 
 
 you: 
 
 Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu ! 
 
 [Exit below. 
 JuL O fortune, fortune ! all men call thee 
 
 fickle : 
 If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him 
 
 J* 
 
 Metl 
 
io88 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 [ACT HI. 
 
 That is renown'd for faith ? Be fickle, fortune ; 
 
 For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long, 
 
 But send him back. [up ? 
 
 Lady C. [Within.] Ho, daughter! are you 
 
 Jul. Who is't that calls? is it my lady 
 
 mother ? 
 
 Is she not down so late, or up so early ? 
 What unaccustom'd cause procures her hither ? 
 
 Enter LADY CAPULET. 
 
 Lady C. Why, how now, Juliet ! 
 
 Jul. Madam, I am not well. 
 
 Lady C. Evermore weeping for your cousin's 
 
 death? [tears? 
 
 What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with 
 
 An if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him 
 
 live ; [love ; 
 
 Therefore have done : some grief shows much of 
 
 But much of grief shows still seme want of wit. 
 
 Jul. Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss. 
 
 Lady C. So shall you feel the loss, but not 
 
 the friend 
 Which you weep for. 
 
 Jul. Feeling so the loss, 
 
 I cannot choose but ever weep the friend. 
 Lady C. Well, girl, thou weep'st not so much 
 
 for his death 
 
 As that the villain lives which slaughter^ him. 
 Jul. What villain, madam ? 
 Lady C. That same villain, Romeo. 
 
 Jul. Villain and he be many miles asunder. 
 God pardon hirr ! I do, with all my heart ; 
 And yet no man like he doth grieve my heart. 
 Lady C. That is because the traitor mur- 
 derer lives. [hands. 
 Jul. Ay, madam, from the reach of these my 
 Would none but I might venge my cousin's 
 
 death ! 
 Lady C. We will have vengeance for it, fear 
 
 thou not : 
 Then weep no more. I'll send to one in 
 
 Mantua, 
 
 Where that same banish'd runagate doth live, 
 Shall give him such an unaccustom'd dram 
 That he shall soon keep Tybalt company : 
 And then I hope thou wilt be satisfied. 
 Jul. Indeed I never shall be satisfied 
 With Romeo till I behold him dead- 
 Is my poor heart so for a kinsman vex'd : 
 Madam, if you could find out but a man 
 To bear a poison, I would temper it, 
 That Romeo should, upon receipt thereof, 
 Soon sleep in quiet. O, how my heart abhors 
 To hear him nam'd, and cannot come to 
 
 him, 
 
 To wreak the love I bore my cousin Tybalt 
 Upon his body that hath slaughtered him I 
 
 Lady C. Find thou the means, and I '11 find 
 
 such a man. 
 But now I '11 tell thee joyful tidings, girl. 
 
 Jttl. And joy comes well in such a needy time: 
 What are they, I beseech your ladyship ? 
 Lady C. Well, well, thou hast a careful 
 
 father, child ; 
 
 One who, to put thee from thy heaviness, 
 Hath sorted out a sudden day of joy 
 That thou expect'st not, nor I look'd not for. 
 Jul. Madam, in happy time, what day is that ? 
 Lady C. Marry, my child, early next Thurs- 
 day morn 
 
 The gallant, young, and noble gentleman, 
 The County Paris, at St. Peter's Church, 
 Shall happily make thee there a joyful bride. 
 Jul. Now, by St. Peter's Church, and Peter 
 
 too, 
 
 He shall not make me there a joyful bride. 
 I wonder at this haste ; that I must wed 
 Ere he that should be husband comes to woo. 
 I pray you, tell my lord and father, madam, 
 I will not marry yet ; and when I do, I swear 
 It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate, 
 Rather than Paris : these are news indeed ! 
 Lady C. Here comes your father ; tell him 
 
 so yourself, 
 And see how he will take it at your hands. 
 
 Enter CAPULET and Nurse. 
 
 Cap. When the sun sets, the air doth drizzle 
 
 dew; 
 
 But for the sunset of my brother's son 
 It rains downright 
 
 How now ! a conduit, girl? what, still in tears? 
 Evermore showering? In one little body 
 Thou counterfeit'st a bark, a sea, a wind : 
 For still thy eyes, which I may call the sea, 
 Do ebb and flow with tears ; the bark thy body 
 
 is, 
 
 Sailing in this salt flood ; the winds thy sighs ; 
 Who, raging with thy tears, and they with 
 
 them, 
 
 Without a sudden calm, will overset 
 Thy tempest-tossed body. How now, wife ! 
 Have you deliver'd to her our decree? 
 Lady C. Ay, sir; but she will none, she 
 
 gives you thanks. 
 
 I would the fool were married to her grave ! 
 Cap. Soft ! take me with you, take me with 
 
 you, wife. [thanks? 
 
 How! will she none? doth she not give us 
 Is she not proud? doth she not count herbless'd, 
 Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought 
 So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom? 
 Jul. Not proud you have; but thankful that 
 
 you have : 
 
SCENE V.] 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 1089 
 
 Proud can I never be of what I hate ; 
 
 But thankful even for hate that is meant love. 
 
 Cap. How now, how now, chop-logic ! What 
 
 is this? [not ; 
 
 Proud, and, I thank you, and, I thank you 
 
 And yet not proud : mistress minion, you, 
 
 Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no 
 
 prouds, 
 
 But fettle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next, 
 To go with Paris to St. Peter's Church, 
 Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither, [gage ! 
 Out, you green-sickness carrion ! out, you bag- 
 You tallow-face ! 
 
 Lady C. Fie, fie ! what, are you mad ? 
 
 Jill. Good father, I beseech you on my knees, 
 Hear me with patience but to speak a word. 
 
 Cap. Hang thee, young baggage ! disobedient 
 wretch ! [day, 
 
 I tell thee what. get thee to church o' Thurs- 
 Or never after look me in the face : 
 Speak not, reply not, do not answer me ; 
 My fingers itch. Wife, we scarce thought us 
 
 bless'd 
 
 That God had lent us but this only child; 
 But now I see this one is one too much, 
 And that we have a curse in having her : 
 Out on her, hilding ! 
 
 Nurse. God in heaven bless her ! 
 
 You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so. 
 
 Cap. And why, my lady wisdom ? hold your 
 
 tongue, 
 Good prudence ; smatter with your gossips, go. 
 
 Nurse. I speak no treason. 
 
 Cap. O, God ye good-den ! 
 
 Nurse. May not one speak ? 
 
 Cap. Peace, you mumbling fool ! 
 
 Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl, 
 For here we need it not. 
 
 Lady C. You are too hot. 
 
 Cap. God's bread ! it makes me mad : 
 Day, night, hour, tide, time, work, play, 
 Alone, in company, still my care hath been 
 To have her match'd, and having now provided 
 A gentleman of noble parentage, 
 Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train'd, 
 Stuff d, as they say, with honourable parts, 
 Proportion'd as one's heart could wish a man, 
 And then to have a wretched puling fool, 
 A whining mammet, in her fortune's tender, 
 To answer, /'// not wed, / cannot love, 
 I am too young, I pray you pardon me ; 
 But, an you will not wed, I '11 pardon you : 
 Graze where you will, you shall not house with 
 
 me : 
 
 Look to 't, think on 't, I do not use to jest. 
 Thursday is near ; lay hand on heart, advise : 
 An you be mine, I '11 give you to my friend ; 
 
 
 An you be not, hang, beg, starve, die i' the 
 
 streets, 
 
 For, by my soul, I '11 ne'er acknowledge thee, 
 Nor what is mine shall never do thee good : 
 Trust to 't, bethink you, I '11 not be forsworn. 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 Jul. Is there no pity sitting in the clouds, 
 That sees into the bottom of my grief? 
 O, sweet my mother, cast me not away ! 
 Delay this marriage for a month, a week ; 
 Or, if you do not, make the bridal bed 
 In that dim monument where Tybalt lies. 
 
 Lady C. Talk not to me, for I '11 not speak 
 
 a word ; 
 Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee. 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 Jul. O God ! O nurse ! how shall this be 
 
 prevented ? 
 
 My husband is on earth, my faith in heaven ; 
 How shall that faith return again to earth, 
 Unless that husband send it me from heaven 
 By leaving earth ? comfort me, counsel rue. 
 Alack, alack, that heaven should practise 
 
 stratagems 
 
 Upon so soft a subject as myself! tjy? 
 What say'st thou ? hast thou not a word of 
 Some comfort, nurse. 
 
 Nurse. Faith, here 'tis : Romeo 
 
 Is banished ; and all the world to nothing 
 That he dares ne'er come back to challenge you : 
 Or, if he do, it needs must be by stealth. 
 Then, since the case so stands as now it doth, 
 I think it best you married with the county. 
 O, he 's a lovely gentleman ! 
 Romeo 's a dishqjput to him ; an eagle, madam, 
 Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye 
 As Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart, 
 I think you are happy in this second match, 
 For it excels your first : or if it did not, 
 Your first is dead ; or 'twere as good he were, 
 As living here, and you no use of him. 
 
 Jul. Speakest thou from thy heart ? 
 
 Nurse. From my soul too, 
 
 Or else beshrew them both. 
 
 Jul. Amen ! 
 
 Nurse. What ? 
 
 Jul. Well, thou hast comforted me marvel- 
 lous much. 
 
 Go in ; and tell my lady I am gone, 
 Having displeas'd my father, to Lawrence' ceU 
 To make confession, and to be absolv'd. 
 
 Nurse. Marry, I will ; and this is wisely 
 done. [Exit. 
 
 Jul. Ancient damnation ! O most wicked 
 
 fiend! 
 
 Is it more sin to wish me thus forsworn, 
 Or to dispraise my lord with that same tongue 
 
 2 M 
 
logo 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 [ACT IV. 
 
 Which she hath prais'J him wiJi above compare 
 
 00 many thousand time.- ; Go, counsellor ; 
 Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be 
 
 twain. 
 
 1 '11 to the friar, to know his remedy ; 
 
 If all else fail, myself have power to die. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. FRIAR LAWRENCE'S Cell. 
 Enter FRIAR LAWRENCE and PARIS. 
 
 Fri. L. On Thursday, sir ? the time is very 
 short. 
 
 Par. My father Capulet will have it so ; 
 And I am nothing slow to slack his haste. 
 
 Fri. L. You say you do not know the lady's 
 
 mind : 
 Uneven is the course, I like it not. [death, 
 
 Par. Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's 
 And therefore have I little talk'd of love ; 
 For Venus smiles not in a house of tears. 
 Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous 
 That she doth give her sorrow so much sway ; 
 And, in his wisdom ^ hastes our marriage, 
 To stop the inundation of her tears ; 
 Which, too much minded by herself alone, 
 May be put from her by society : 
 Wow do you know the reason of this haste. 
 
 Fri. L. [Aside.] I would I knew not why it 
 
 should be slow'd. 
 Look, sir, here comes the lady towards my cell. 
 
 Enter JULIET. 
 
 Par. Happily met, my lady and my wife ! 
 Jul. That may be, sir, when I may be a wife 
 Par. That may be must be, love, on Thurs- 
 day next. 
 
 Jul. What must be shall be. 
 Fri. L. That 's a certain text. 
 
 Par. Come you to make confession to this 
 
 father? 
 
 Jul. To answer that, I should confess to you. 
 Par. Do not deny to him that you love me. 
 Jul. I will confess to you that I love him. 
 Par. So will ye, I am sure, that you love me. 
 Jul. If I do so, it will be of more price 
 Being spoke behind your back than to your face. 
 Par. Poor soul, thy face is much abus'd with 
 
 tears. 
 
 Jul. The tears have got small victory by that ; 
 For it was bad enough before their spite. 
 Par. Thou wrong'st it more than tears with 
 
 that report. 
 
 Jul. That is no slander, sir, which is a truth ; 
 And what I spake I spake it to my face. 
 
 Par. Thy face is mine, and thou hast slan- 
 der'd it. 
 
 JuL It may be so, for it is not mine own. 
 Are you at leisure, holy father, now ; 
 Or shall I come to you at evening mass? 
 
 Fri. L. My leisure serves me, pensive 
 
 daughter, now. 
 My lord, we must entreat the time alone. 
 
 Par. God shield 1 should disturb devotion ! 
 Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse you : 
 Till then, adieu ; and keep this holy kiss. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Jul. O, shut the door ! and when thou hast 
 
 done so, [help ! 
 
 Come weep with me ; past hope, past cure, past 
 
 Fri. L. Ah, Tuliet, I already know thy grief; 
 It strains me past the compass of my wits : 
 I hear thou must, and nothing may prorogue it, 
 On Thursday next be married to this county. 
 
 JuL Tell me not, friar, that thou hear'st of 
 
 this, 
 
 Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it : 
 If, in thy wisdom, thou canst give no help, 
 Do thou but call my resolution wise, 
 And with this knife I '11 help it presently. 
 God join'd my heart and Romeo's, thou our 
 
 hands ; 
 
 And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo seal'd, 
 Shall be the label to another deed, 
 Or my true heart with treacherous revolt 
 Turn to another, this shall slay them both : 
 Therefore, out of thy long-experienc'd time, 
 Give me some present counsel ; or, behold, 
 'Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife 
 Shall play the umpire ; arbitrating that 
 Which the commission of thy years and art 
 Could to no issue of true honour bring. 
 Be not so long to speak ; I long to die, 
 If what thou speak'st speak not of remedy. 
 
 Fri. L. Hold, daughter : I do spy a kind of 
 
 hope, 
 
 Which craves as desperate an execution 
 As that is desperate which we would prevent. 
 If, rather than to marry County Paris, 
 Thou hast the strength of will to slay thyself, 
 Then is it likely thou wilt undertake 
 A thing like death to chide away this shame. 
 That cop'st with death himself to scape from it; 
 And, if thou dar'st, 1 7 11 give thee remedy. 
 
 Jul. O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris, 
 From off the battlements of yonder tower ; 
 Or walk in thievish ways ; or bid me lurk 
 Where serpents are; chain me with roaring 
 
 bears ; 
 
 Or shut me nightly in a charnel-house, 
 O'er-cover'd quite with dead men's rattling 
 bones, 
 
SCENE II. j 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 1091 
 
 With reeky shanks, and yellow chapiess skulls; 
 Or bid me go into a new-made grave, 
 And hide me with a dead man in his shroud ; 
 Things that, to hear them told, have made me 
 
 tremble ; 
 
 And I will do it without fear or doubt, 
 To live an unstain'd wife to my sweet love. 
 Fri. L. Hold, then ; go home, be merry, 
 
 gire consent 
 
 To marry Paris ; Wednesday is to-morrow ; 
 To-morrow night look that thou lie alone, 
 Let not thy nurse lie with thee in thy chamber: 
 Take thou this vial, being then in bed, 
 And this distilled liquor drink thou off: [run 
 When, presently, through all thy veins shall 
 A cold and drowsy humour ; for no pulse 
 Shall keep his native progress, but surcease : 
 No warmth, no breath, shall testify thou liv'st; 
 The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade 
 To paly ashes ; thy eyes' windows fall, 
 Like death, when he shuts up the day of life ; 
 Each part, depriv'd of supple government, 
 Shall, stiff and stark and cold, appear like death: 
 And in this borrow'd likeness of shrunk death 
 Thou shall continue two-and-forty hours, 
 And then awake as from a pleasant sleep. 
 Now, when the bridegroom in the morning 
 
 comes 
 
 To rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead: 
 Then, as the manner of our country is, 
 In thy best robes, uncover'd, on the bier, 
 Thou shall be borne to that same ancient vault 
 Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie. 
 In the meantime, against thou shalt awake, 
 Shall Romeo by my letters know our drift ; 
 And hither shall he come : and he and I 
 Will watch thy waking, and that very night 
 Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua. 
 And this shall free thee from this present shame, 
 If no inconstant toy nor womanish fear 
 Abate thy valour in the acting it. 
 
 //. Give me, give me ! O, tell not me of fear! 
 Fri. L. Hold ; get you gone, be strong and 
 
 prosperous 
 
 In this resolve : I'll send a friar with speed 
 To Mantua, with my letters to thy lord. 
 
 //. Love give me strength ! and strength 
 
 shall help afford.^ 
 Farewell, dear father ! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE ll.Hall in CAPO LET'S House. 
 Enter CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, Nurse, and 
 
 Servants. 
 
 Cap. So many guests invite as here are writ. 
 [Exit first Servant. 
 Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks. 
 
 2 Serv. You shall have none ill, sir; for I '11 
 try if they can lick their fingers. 
 'Cap. How canst thou try them so? 
 
 2 Serv. Marry, sir, 'tis an ill cook that 
 cannot lick his own fingers : therefore he that 
 cannot lick his fingers goes not with me. 
 
 Cap. Go, be gone. [Exit second Servant. 
 We shall be much unfurnish'd for this time. 
 What, is my daughter gone to Friar Lawrence? 
 
 Nurse. Ay, forsooth. [on her : 
 
 Cap. Well, he may chance to do some good 
 A peevish self-will'd harlotry it is. 
 
 Nurse. See where she comes from shrift with 
 merry look. 
 
 Enter JULIET. 
 
 Cap. How now, my headstrong ! where have 
 you been gadding? [sin 
 
 Jul. Where I have learn'd me to repent the 
 Of disobedient opposition 
 To you and your behests ; and am enjoin'd 
 By holy Lawrence to fall prostrate here, 
 And beg your pardon : pardon, I beseech you ! 
 Henceforward I am ever rul'd by you. [this : 
 
 Cap. Send for the county ; go tell him of 
 I '11 have this knot knit up to-morrcw morning. 
 
 Jul. I met the youthful lord at Lawrence' cell j 
 And gave him what-becomed love I might, 
 Not stepping o'er the bounds of modesty. 
 
 Cap. Why, I am glad on 't ; this is well, 
 
 stand up, 
 
 This is as 't should be. Let me see the county ; 
 Ay, marry, go, I say, and fetch him hither. 
 Now, afore God, this reverend holy friar, 
 All our whole city is much bound to him. 
 
 //. Nurse, will you go with me into my 
 
 closet, 
 
 To help me sort such needful ornaments 
 As you think fit to furnish me to-morrow ? 
 
 Lady C. No, not till Thursday ; there is 
 time enough. 
 
 Cap. Go, nurse, go with her. We'll to 
 church to-morrow. 
 
 [Exeunt JULIET and Nurse. 
 
 Lady C. We shall be short in our provision : 
 'Tis now near night. 
 
 Cap. Tush, I will stir about, 
 
 And all things shall be well, I warrant thee, 
 
 wife: 
 
 Go thou to Juliet, help to deck up her ; 
 I '11 not to bed to-night; let me alone ; [ho! 
 I '11 play the housewife for this once. What, 
 They are all forth: well, I will walk myself 
 To County Paris, to prepare him up 
 Against to-morrow: my heart is wondrous light 
 Since this same wayward girl is so reclaim'd. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
1092 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 [ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE III. JULIET'S Chamber. 
 Enter JULIET and Nurse. 
 
 Jut. Ay, those attires are best : but, gentle 
 
 nurse, 
 
 I pray thee, leave me to myself to-night ; 
 For I have need of many orisons 
 To move the heavens to smile upon my state, 
 Which, well thou know'st, is cross and full of sin. 
 
 Enter LADY CAPULET. 
 
 Lady C. What, are you busy, ho? need you 
 my help? [saries 
 
 Jul. No, madam ; we have cull'd such neces- 
 As are behoveful for our state to-morrow : 
 So please you, let me now be left alone, 
 And let the nurse this night sit up with you ; 
 For I am sure you have your hands full all 
 In this so sudden business. 
 
 Lady C. Good-night: 
 
 Get thee to bed, and rest ; for thou hast need. 
 [Exeunt LADY CAPULET and Nurse. 
 
 ful. Farewell! God knows when we shall 
 
 meet again. 
 
 I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins, 
 That almost freezes up the heat of life : 
 I '11 call them back again to comfort me ; 
 Nurse ! What should she do here ? 
 My dismal scene I needs must act alone. 
 Come, vial. 
 
 What if this mixture do not work at all ? 
 Shall I be married, then, to-morrow morning? 
 No, no ; this shall forbid it : lie thou there. 
 [Laying down her dagger. 
 What if it be a poison, which the friar 
 Subtly hath minister'd to have me dead, 
 Lest in this marriage he should be dishonour'd, 
 Because he married me before to Romeo ? 
 I fear it is : and yet methinks it should not, 
 For he hath still been tried a holy man : 
 I will not entertain so bad a thought. 
 How if, when I am laid into the tomb, 
 I wake before the time that Romeo 
 Come to redeem me? there 's a fearful point ! 
 Shall I not then be stifled in the vault, [in, 
 To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes 
 And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes? 
 Or, if I live, is it not very like 
 The horrible conceit of death and night, 
 Together with the terror of the place, 
 As in a vault, an ancient receptacle, [bones 
 Where, for these many hundred years, the 
 Of all my buried ancestors are pack'd ; 
 Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth, 
 Lies festering in his shroud ; where, as they say, 
 At some hours in the night spirits resort ; 
 
 Alack, alack, is it not like that I, 
 
 So early waking, what with loathsome smells, 
 
 And shrieks like mandrakes' torn out of the 
 
 earth, 
 
 That living mortals, hearing them, run mad; 
 O, if I wake, shall I not be distraught, 
 Environed with all these hideous fears ? 
 And madly play with my forefathers' joints? 
 And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud? 
 And, in this rage, with some great kinsman's 
 
 bone, [brains ? 
 
 As with a club, dash out my desperate 
 O, look ! methinks I see my cousin's ghost 
 Seeking out Romeo, that did spit his body 
 Upon a rapier's point : stay, Tybalt, stay ! 
 Romeo, I come ! this do I drink to thee. 
 
 [ Throws herself on the bed. 
 
 SCENE IV. Hall in CAPULET'S House. 
 Enter LADY CAPULET and Nurse. 
 
 Lady C. Hold, take these keys, and fetch 
 
 more spices, nurse. 
 
 Nurse. They call for dates and quinces in 
 the pastry. 
 
 Enter CAPULET. 
 
 Cap. Come, stir, stir, stir! the second cock 
 
 hath crow'd, 
 
 The curfew bell hath rung, 'tis three o'clock : 
 Look to the bak'd meats, good Angelica : 
 Spare not for cost. 
 
 Nttrse. Go, you cot-quean, go, 
 
 Get you to bed; faith, you '11 be sick to-morrow 
 
 For this night's watching. [ere now 
 
 Cap. No, not a whit : what ! I have watch'd 
 
 All night for lesser cause, and ne'er been sick. 
 
 Lady C. Ay, you have been a mouse-hunt in 
 
 your time ; 
 
 But I will watch you from such watching now. 
 [Exeunt LADY CAPULET and Nurse. 
 Cap. A jealous-hood, a jealous-hood ! Now, 
 fellow, 
 
 Enter Servants, -with spits, logs, and baskets. 
 
 What 's there ? [not what. 
 
 1 Serv. Things for the cook, sir ; but I know 
 Cap. Make haste, make haste. [Exit \ Serv. ] 
 
 Sirrah, fetch drier logs : 
 Call Peter, he will show thee where they are. 
 
 2 Serv. I have a head, sir, that will find out 
 
 logs, 
 
 And never trouble Peter for the matter. [Exit. 
 
 Cap. Mass, and well said ; a merry whoreson, 
 
 ha ! [day : 
 
 Thou shalt be logger-head. Good faith, 'tis 
 
SCENE V.] 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 1093 
 
 The county will be here with music straight, 
 For so he said he would: I hear him near. 
 [Music within. 
 Nurse! wife! what, ho! what, nurse, I say! 
 
 Re-enter Nurse. 
 
 Go waken Juliet, go and trim her up ; 
 I ; 11 go and chat with Paris : hie, make haste, 
 Make haste ; the bridegroom he is come already: 
 Make haste, I say. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. JULIET'S Chamber; JULIET on 
 the bed. 
 
 Enter Nurse. 
 
 Nurse. Mistress ! what, mistress ! Juliet ! 
 
 fast, I warrant her, she : 
 Why, lamb! why, lady! fie, youslug-a-bed! 
 Why, love, I say! madam! sweetheart! why, 
 
 bride! [now; 
 
 What, not a word ? you take your pennyworths 
 Sleep for a week; for the next night, I warrant, 
 The County Paris hath set up his rest 
 That you shall rest but little. God forgive me, 
 Marry, and amen, how sound is she asleep ! 
 I must needs wake her. Madam, madam, 
 
 madam! 
 
 Ay, let the county take you in your bed ; 
 He '11 fright you up, i' faith. Will it not be ? 
 What, dress'd ! and in your clothes ! and down 
 
 again ! 
 
 I must needs wake you: lady! lady! lady! 
 Alas, alas! Help, help! my lady's dead ! 
 O, well-a-day, that ever I was born ! 
 Some aqua-vitse, ho! my lord ! my lady ! 
 
 Enter LADY CAPULET. 
 
 Lady C. What noise is here ? 
 
 Nurse. O lamentable day! 
 
 Lady C. What is the matter ? 
 
 Nurse. Look, look! O heavy day! 
 
 Lady C. O me, O me ! my child, my only 
 
 life, 
 
 Revive, look up, or I will die with thee ! 
 Help, help ! call help. 
 
 Enter CAPULET. 
 
 Cap. For shame bring Juliet forth ; her lord 
 
 is come. 
 Nurse. She 's dead, deceas'd, she 's dead; alack 
 
 the day ! 
 
 Lady C. Alack the day, she's dead, she's 
 dead, she 's dead ! [cold ; 
 
 Cap. Ha! let me see her: out, alas! she's 
 Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff ; 
 Life and these lips have long been separated : 
 Death lies on her like an untimely frost 
 
 Upon the sweetest flower of all the field. 
 Accursed time! unfortunate old man! 
 
 Nurse. O lamentable day! 
 
 Lady C. O woeful time ! 
 
 Cap. Death, that hath ta'en her hence to 
 
 make me wail, 
 Ties up my tongue, and will not let me speak. 
 
 Enter FRIAR LAWRENCE and PARIS, with 
 Musicians. 
 
 Fri. L. Come, is the bride ready to go to 
 church ? 
 
 Cap. Ready to go, but never to return: 
 O son, the night before thy wedding-day 
 Hath death lain with thy bride: there she lies, 
 Flower as she was, deflowered by him. 
 Death is my son-in-law, death is my heir ; 
 My daughter he hath wedded : I will die, 
 And leave him all ; life, living, all is death's. 
 
 Par. Have I thought long to see this 
 
 morning's face, 
 And doth it give me such a sight as this? [day! 
 
 LadyC. Accurs'd, unhappy, wretched, hateful 
 Most miserable hour that e'er time saw 
 In lasting labour of his pilgrimage ! 
 But one, poor one, one poor and loving child, 
 But one thing to rejoice and solace in, 
 And cruel death hath catch'd it from my sight! 
 
 Nurse. Owoe! O woeful, woeful, woeful day! 
 Most lamentable day, most woeful day, 
 That ever, ever, 1 did yet behold ! 
 O day! O day! O day! O hateful day! 
 Never was seen so black a day as this : 
 O woeful day, O woeful day! [slain! 
 
 Par. Beguil'd, divorced, wronged, spited, 
 Most detestable death, by thee beguil'd, 
 By cruel cruel thee quite overthrown! 
 O love! O life! not life, but love in death! 
 
 Cap. Despis'd, distressed, hated, martyr'd, 
 
 kilt'd! 
 
 Uncomfortable time, why cam'st thou now 
 To murder, murder our solemnity? [child! 
 O child ! O child ! my soul, and not my 
 Dead art thou, dead ! alack, my child is dead ; 
 And with my child my joys are buried ! 
 
 Fri. L. Peace, ho, for shame ! confusion's 
 
 cure lives not 
 
 In these confusions. Heaven and yourself 
 Had part in this fair maid; now heaven hath all, 
 And all the better is it for the maid : 
 Your part in her you could not keep from death; 
 But heaven keeps his part in eternal life. 
 The most you sought was her promotion ; 
 For 'twas your heaven she should be advanc'd : 
 And weep ye now, seeing she is advanc'd 
 Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself? 
 O, in this love, you love your child so ill 
 
1094 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 TACT v. 
 
 That you run mad, seeing that she is well : 
 She's not well married that lives married long; 
 But she 's best married that dies married young. 
 Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary 
 On this fair corse ; and as the custom is, 
 In all her best array bear her to church : 
 For though fond nature bids us all lament, 
 Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment. 
 
 Cap. All things that we ordained festival 
 Turn from their office to black funeral : 
 Our instruments to melancholy bells ; 
 Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast ; 
 Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change ; 
 Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse, 
 And all things change them to the contrary. 
 
 Fri. L. Sir, go you in, and, madam, go 
 
 with him ; 
 
 And go, Sir Paris ; every one prepare 
 To follow this fair corse unto her grave : 
 The heavens do lower upon you for some ill ; 
 Move them no more by crossing their high will. 
 
 [Exeunt C AP., LADY CAP., PARIS, and Friar. 
 
 I Mus. Faith, we may put up our pipes and 
 be gone. [put up ; 
 
 Nurse. Honest good fellows, ah, put up, 
 For, well you know, this is a pitiful case. [Exit. 
 
 i Mus. Ay, by my troth, the case may be 
 amended, 
 
 Enter PETER. 
 
 . _:?," \( 
 
 Pet. Musicians, O, musicians, Heart's ease, 
 Heart's ease: O, an you will have me live, 
 play Hearfs ease. 
 
 I Mus. Why Hearfs ease ? 
 
 Pet. O, musicians, because my heart itself 
 plays My heart is full of woe: O, play me some 
 merry dump to comfort me. [now. 
 
 i Mus. Not a dump we ; 'tis no time to play 
 
 Pet. You will not, then f 
 
 i Mus. No. 
 
 Pet. I will, then, give it you soundly. 
 
 I Mus. What will you give us ? 
 
 Pet. No money, on my faith ; but the gleek, 
 I will give you the minstrel. [creature. 
 
 I Mus. Then will I give you the serving- 
 
 Pet. Then will I lay the serving-creature's 
 dagger on your pate. I will carry no crotchets : 
 I '11 re you, I '11 7*0 you ; do you note me 1 
 
 1 Mus. An you re us and fa us, you note us. 
 
 2 Mus. Pray you, put up your dagger, and 
 put out your wit. 
 
 Pet. Then have at you with my wit ! I will 
 dry-beat you with an iron wit, and put up my 
 iron dagger. Answer me like men : 
 
 When griping grief the heart doth wound, 
 
 And doleful dumps the mind oppress, 
 Then music with her silver sound 
 
 why silver sound? why music with her silver 
 sound? What say you, Simon Catling 1 
 
 1 Mus. Marry, sir, because silver hath a 
 sweet sound. 
 
 Pet. Pretty ! What say you, Hugh Rebeck? 
 
 2 Mus. I say silver sound because musicians 
 sound for silver. [Sound-post ? 
 
 Pet. Pretty too ! What say you, James 
 
 3 Mus. Faith, I know not what to say. 
 Pet. O, I cry you mercy; you are the singer: 
 
 I will say for you. It is music with her silver 
 sound because musicians have no gold for 
 sounding : 
 
 Then music with her silver sound 
 With speedy help doth lend redress. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 1 Mus. What a pestilent knave is this same ! 
 
 2 Mus. Hang him, Jack ! Come, we '11 in 
 here ; tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner. 
 
 {Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. MANTUA. A Street. 
 Enter ROMEO. 
 
 Rom. If I may trust the flattering eye of sleep, 
 My dreams presage some joyful news at hand.' 
 My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne ; 
 And all this day an unaccustom'd spirit 
 Lifts me above the ground with cheerful 
 
 thoughts. 
 
 I dreamt my lady came and found me dead, 
 Strange dream, that gives a dead man leave to 
 
 think ! 
 
 And breath'd such life with kisses in my lips, 
 That I reviv'd, and was an emperor. 
 Ah me ! how sweet is love itself possess'd, 
 When but love's shadows are so rich in joy ! 
 
 Enter BALTHASAR. 
 
 News from Verona ! How now, Balthasar ! 
 Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar ? 
 How doth my lady ? Is my father well ? 
 How fares my Juliet ? that I ask again ; 
 For nothing can be ill if she be well. [ill : 
 
 Bal. Then she is well, and nothing can be 
 Her body sleeps in Capels' monument, 
 And her immortal part with angels lives. 
 I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault, 
 And presently took post to tell it you : 
 O, pardon me for bringing these ill news, 
 Since you did leave it for my office, sir. 
 
 Rom. Is it even so? then I defy you, stars ! 
 Thou know'st my lodging: get me ink and 
 
 paper, 
 And hire post-horses ; I will hence to-night. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 1095 
 
 Bal. I du beseech you, sir, have patience : 
 Your looks are pale and wild, and do import 
 Some misadventure. 
 
 Rom. Tush, thou art deceiv'd : 
 
 Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do. 
 Hast thou no letters to me from the friar ? 
 
 Bal. No, my good lord. 
 
 Rom. No matter : get thee gone, 
 
 And hire those horses ; I '11 be with thee 
 
 straight. [Exit BALTHASAR. 
 
 Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night. 
 
 Let 's see for means : O mischief, thou art 
 
 swift 
 
 To enter in the thoughts of desperate men ! 
 I do remember an apothecary, 
 And hereabouts he dwells, which late I noted 
 In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows, 
 Culling of simples ; meagre were his looks, 
 Sharp misery had worn him to the bones : 
 And in his needy shop a tortoise hung, 
 An alligator stufFd, and other skins 
 Of ill-shap'd fishes ; and about his shelves 
 A beggarly account of empty boxes, 
 Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds, 
 Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses, 
 Were thinly scatter'd, to make up a show. 
 Noting this penury, to myself I said, 
 An if a man did need a poison now, 
 Whose sale is present death in Mantua, 
 Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him. 
 O, this same thought did but forerun my need ; 
 And this same needy man must sell it me. 
 As I remember, this should be the house : 
 Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut. 
 What, ho ! apothecary ! 
 
 Enter Apothecary. 
 
 Ap. Who calls so loud? 
 
 Rom. Come hither, man. I see that thou 
 
 art poor ; 
 
 Hold, there is forty ducats : let me have 
 A dram of poison ; such soon-speeding gear 
 As will disperse itself through all the veins, 
 That the life-weary taker may fall dead ; 
 And that the trunk may be discharg'd of breath 
 As violently as hasty powder fir'd 
 Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb. 
 
 Ap. Such mortal drugs I have ; but Mantua's 
 
 law 
 Is death to any he that utters them. 
 
 Rom. Art thou so bare and full of wretched- 
 ness, 
 
 And fear'st to die ? famine is in thy cheeks, 
 Need and oppression starveth in thine eyes, 
 Contempt and beggary hangs upon thy back, 
 The world is not thy friend, nor the world's 
 law: 
 
 The world affords no law to make thee rich ; 
 Then be not poor, but break it, and take this. 
 
 Ap. My poverty, but not my will consents. 
 
 Rom. I pay thy poverty, and not thy will. 
 
 Ap. Put this in any liquid thing you will, 
 And drink it off; and, if you had the strength 
 Of twenty men, it would despatch you straight. 
 
 Rom. There is thy gold ; worse poison to 
 
 men's souls, 
 
 Doing more murders in this loathsome world 
 Than these poor compounds that thou mayst 
 
 not sell : 
 
 I sell thee poison, thou hast sold me none. 
 Farewell : buy food, and get thyself in flesh. 
 Come, cordial, and not poison, go with me 
 To Juliet's grave ; for there must I use thee. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. FRIAR LAWRENCE'S Cell. 
 
 Enter FRIAR JOHN. 
 
 Fri. J. Holy Franciscan friar ! brother, ho ! 
 Enter FRIAR LAWRENCE. 
 
 Fri. L. This same should be the voice of 
 
 Friar John. 
 
 Welcome from Mantua : what says Romeo ? 
 Or, if his mind be writ, give me his letter. 
 
 Fri. J. Going to find a barefoot brother out, 
 One of our order, to associate me, 
 Here in this city visiting the sick, 
 And finding him, the searchers of the town, 
 Suspecting that we both were in a house 
 Where the infectious pestilence did reign, 
 Seal'd up the doors, and would not let us forth ; 
 So that my speed to Mantua there was stay'd. 
 
 Fri. L. Who bare my letter, then, to Romeo? 
 
 Fri. J. I could not send it, here it is 
 
 again, 
 
 Nor get a messenger to bring it thee, 
 So fearful were they of infection. [hood, 
 
 Fri. L. Unhappy fortune ! by my brother- 
 The letter was not nice, but full of charge 
 Of dear import ; and the neglecting it 
 May do much danger. Friar John, go hence ; 
 Get me an iron crow, and bring it straight 
 Unto my cell. 
 
 Fri. J. Brother, I '11 go and bring it thee. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Fri. L. Now must I to the monument alone ; 
 Within this three hours will fair Juliet wake : 
 She will beshrew me much that Romeo 
 Hath had no notice of these accidents ; 
 But I will write again to Mantua, 
 And keep her at my cell till Romeo come ; 
 Poor living corse, clos'd in a dead man's tomb ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
1096 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 [ACT V. 
 
 SCENE III. A Churchyard ; in it a Monu- 
 ment belonging to the CAPULETS. 
 
 Enter PARIS, and his Page bearing flowers and 
 a torch. 
 
 Par. Give me thy torch, boy : hence, and 
 
 stand aloof ; 
 
 Yet put it out, for I would not be seen. 
 Under yond yew trees lay thee all along, 
 Holding thine ear close to the hollow ground ; 
 So shall no foot upon the churchyard tread, 
 Being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves, 
 But thou shalt hear it : whistle then to me, 
 As signal that thou hear'st something approach. 
 Give me those flowers. Do as I bid thee, go. 
 Page. [Aside.] I am almost afraid to stand 
 
 alone 
 
 Here in the churchyard ; yet I will adventure. 
 
 {Retires. 
 Par. Sweet flower, with flowers thy bridal 
 
 bed I strew : 
 
 O woe, thy canopy is dust and stones ! 
 Which with sweet water nightly I will dew ; 
 
 Or, wanting that, with tears distill'd by moans: 
 The obsequies that I for thee will keep, 
 Nightly shall be to strew thy grave and weep. 
 {The Page "whistles. 
 
 The boy gives warning something doth approach. 
 What cursed foot wanders this way to-night, 
 To cross my obsequies and true love's rite ? 
 What, with a torch ! muffle me, night, a- 
 while. {Retires. 
 
 Enter ROMEO and BALTHASAR, with a torch, 
 mattock, &c. 
 
 Rom. Give me that mattock and the wrench- 
 ing iron. 
 
 Hold, take this letter ; early in the morning 
 See thou deliver it to my lord and father. 
 Give me the light : upon thy life I charge thee, 
 Whate'er thou hear'st or seest, stand all aloof, 
 And do not interrupt me in my course. 
 Why I descend into this bed of death 
 Is partly to behold my lady's face, 
 But chiefly to take thence from her dead finger 
 A precious ring, a ring that I must use 
 In dear employment : therefore hence, be 
 
 gone : 
 
 But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry 
 In what I further shall intend to do, 
 
 By heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint, 
 
 hurchyard v 
 limbs : 
 
 And strew this hungry churchyard with thy 
 
 The time and my intents are savage-wild ; 
 More fierce and more inexorable far 
 Than empty tigers or the roaring sea. 
 
 Bal. I will be gone, sir, and not trouble you. 
 Rom. So shalt thou show me friendship. 
 Take thou that : [fellow. 
 
 Live and be prosperous : and farewell, good 
 Bal. For all this same, I '11 hide me here- 
 about : 
 His looks I fear and his intents I doubt. 
 
 {Retires. 
 Rom. Thou detestable maw, thou womb of 
 
 death, 
 
 Gorg'd with the dearest morsel of the earth, 
 Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open, 
 
 {Breaking open the door of the monument. 
 
 And, in despite, I '11 cram thee with more food ! 
 
 Par. This is that banish'd haughty Montague 
 
 That murder'd my love's cousin, with which 
 
 grief, 
 
 It is supposed, the fair creature died, 
 And here is come to do some villanous shame 
 To the dead bodies : I will apprehend him. 
 
 {Advances. 
 
 Stop thy unhallow'd toil, vile Montague ! 
 Can vengeance be pursu'd further than death ? 
 Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee : 
 Obey, and go with me ; for thou must die. 
 Rom. I must indeed ; and therefore came I 
 
 hither. 
 
 Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man ; 
 Fly hence, and leave me : think upon these 
 
 gone ; 
 
 Let them affright thee. I be'seech thee, youth, 
 Put not another sin upon my head 
 By urging me to fury : O, be gone ! 
 By heaven, I love thee better than myself ; 
 For I come hither arm'd against myself : 
 Stay not, be gone ; live, and hereafter say, 
 A madman's mercy bade thee run away. 
 
 Par. I do defy thy conjurations, 
 And apprehend thee for a felon here. 
 
 Rom. Wilt thou provoke me ? then have at 
 
 thee, boy ! {They fight. 
 
 Page. O lord, they fight ! I will go call the 
 
 watch. {Exit. 
 
 Par. O, I am slain ! {Falls.'} If thou be 
 
 merciful, 
 
 Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet. {Dies. 
 Rom. In faith, I will. Let me peruse this 
 
 face : 
 
 Mercutio's kinsman, noble County Paris ! 
 What said my man, when my betossed soul 
 Did not attend him as we rode? I think 
 He told me Paris should have married Juliet r 
 Said he not so ? or did I dream it so ? 
 Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet, 
 To think it was so ? O, give me thy hand, 
 One writ with me in sour misfortune's book ! 
 I '11 bury thee in a triumphant grave ; 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 1097 
 
 A grave ? O no, a lantern, slaughtered youth, 
 For here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes 
 This vault a feasting presence full of light. 
 Death, lie thou there, by a dead man interr'd. 
 [Laying PARIS in the monument. 
 How oft when men are at the point of death 
 Have they been merry! which their keepers call 
 A lightning before death: O, how may I 
 Call this a lightning? O my love! my wife ! 
 Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, 
 Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty : 
 Thou art not conquered ; beauty's ensign yet 
 Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, 
 And death's pale flag is not advanced there. 
 Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet ? 
 O, what more favour can I do to thee [twain 
 Than with that hand that cut thy youth in 
 To sunder his thac was thine enemy? 
 Forgive me, cousin! -Ah, dear Juliet, 
 Why art thou yet so fair? Shall I believe 
 That unsubstantial death is amorous ; 
 And that the lean abhorred monster keeps 
 Thee here in dark to be his paramour? 
 For fear of that I still will stay with thee, 
 And never from this palace of dim night 
 Depart again: here, here will I remain [here 
 With worms that are thy chambermaids ; O, 
 Will I set up my everlasting rest ; 
 And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars 
 From this world- wearied flesh. Eyes, look 
 
 your last! 
 
 Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you 
 The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss 
 A dateless bargain to engrossing death! 
 Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide ! 
 Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on 
 The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark! 
 Here's to my love! [Drinks.} O true apothe- 
 cary 1 
 
 Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die. 
 
 [Dies. 
 
 Enter, at the other end of the Churchyard, FRIAR 
 LAWRENCE, with a lantern, crow, and spade. 
 
 Fri. L. Saint Francis be my speed ! how oft 
 tc-night [there ? 
 
 Have my old feet stumbled at graves ! Who 's 
 Who is it that consorts, so late, the dead ? 
 
 Bal. Here's one, a friend, and one that 
 knows you well. [my friend, 
 
 Fri. L. Bliss be upon you! Tell me, good 
 What torch is yond that vainly lends his light 
 To grubs and eyeless skulls ? as I discern, 
 It burneth in the Capels' monument, [master, 
 
 Bal. It doth sc, holy sir; and there's ray 
 One that you love. 
 
 Fri. L. Who is it? 
 
 Bal. Romeo. 
 
 Fri. L. How long hath he been there ? 
 Bal. Full half an hour 
 
 Fri. L. Go with me to the vault. 
 Bal. I dare not, sir : 
 
 My master knows not but I am gone hence ; 
 And fearfully did menace me with death 
 If I did stay to look on his intents. 
 Fri. L. Stay, then ; I '11 go alone : fear 
 
 comes upon me ; 
 O, much I fear some ill unlucky thing. 
 
 Bal. As I did sleep under this yew tree here. 
 I dreamt my master and another fought, 
 And that my master slew him. 
 
 Fri. L. Romeo ! [Advances. 
 
 Alack, alack, what blood is this which stains 
 The stony entrance of this sepulchre? 
 What mean these masterless and gory swords 
 To lie discolour'd by this place of peace ? 
 
 [Enters the monument. 
 
 Romeo! O, pale! Who else? what, Paris too? 
 And steep'd in blood? Ah, what an unkind 
 
 hour 
 
 Is guilty of this lamentable chance ! 
 The lady stirs. QuiJET wakes and stirs. 
 
 Jul. O comfortable friar! where is my lord? 
 I do remember well where I should be. 
 And there I am : where is my Romeo ? 
 
 {Noise within. 
 Fri. L. I hear some noise. Lady, come 
 
 from that nest 
 
 Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep : 
 A greater power than we can contradict 
 Hath thwarted our intents: come, come away: 
 Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead ; 
 And Paris too : come, I '11 dispose of thee 
 Among a sisterhood of holy nuns : 
 Stay not to question, for the watch is coming; 
 Come, go, good Juliet [noise again], I dare 
 no longer stay. [away. 
 
 Jul. Go, get thee hence, for I will not 
 [Exit FRIAR LAWRENCE. 
 What 's here ? a cup, clos'd in my true love's 
 
 hand? 
 
 Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end: 
 O churl ! drink all, and leave no friendly drop 
 To help me after? I will kiss thy lips ; 
 Haply some poison yet doth hang on them, 
 To make me die with a restorative. 
 
 [Kisses him. 
 Thy lips are warm! 
 
 i Watch. [ Within.} Lead, boy: which way? 
 
 Jul. Yea, noise? then I '11 be brief. O happy 
 
 dagger ! [Snatching ROMEO'S dagger. 
 
 This is thy sheath [stabs herself} ; there rest, 
 
 and let me die. 
 
 [Falls on ROMEO'S body, and dies. 
 
1098 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Enter Watch, with the Page of PARIS. 
 
 Page. This is the place; there, where the torch 
 doth burn. [the churchyard: 
 
 1 Watch. The ground is bloody; search about 
 Go, some of you, whoe'er you find attach. 
 
 [Exeunt some of the Watch. 
 Pitiful sight ! here lies the county slain ; 
 And Juliet bleeding ; warm, and newly dead, 
 Who here hath lain these two days buried. 
 Go, tell the prince, run to the Capulets, 
 Raise up the Montagues, some others search : 
 [Exeunt others of the Watch. 
 We see the ground whereon these woes do lie ; 
 But the true ground of all these piteous woes 
 We cannot without circumstance descry. 
 
 Re-enter some of the Watch with BALTHASAR. 
 
 2 Watch. Here 's Romeo's man ; we found 
 
 him in the churchyard. 
 i Watch. Hold him in safety till the prince 
 come hither. 
 
 Re-enter others of the Watch with FRIAR 
 LAWRENCE. 
 
 3 Watch. Here is a friar, that trembles, sighs, 
 
 and weeps : 
 
 We took this mattock and this spade from him 
 As he was coming from this churchyard side. 
 I Watch. A great suspicion: stay the friar 
 
 too. 
 
 Enter the PRINCE and Attendants. 
 
 Prince. What misadventure is so early up, 
 That calls our person from our morning's rest? 
 
 Enter CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, and others. 
 
 Cap. What should it be, that they so shriek 
 abroad ? 
 
 Lady C. The people in the street cry Romeo, 
 Some Juliet, and some Paris ; and all run, 
 With open outcry, toward our monument. 
 
 Prince. What fear is this which- startles in 
 our ears ? 
 
 I Watch. Sovereign, here lies the County Paris 
 
 slain ; 
 
 And Romeo dead ; and Juliet, dead before, 
 Warm and new kill'd. 
 
 Prince. Search, seek, and know how this foul 
 murder comes. [Romeo's man, 
 
 I Watch. Here is a friar, and slaughter' d 
 With instruments upon them fit to open 
 These dead men's tombs. [daughter bleeds! 
 
 Cap. O heaven ! O wife, look how our 
 This dagger hath mista'en, for, lo, his house 
 Is empty on the back of Montague, 
 And is mis-sheathed in my daughter's bosom! 
 
 Lady C. O me! this sight of death is as a bell 
 That warns my old age to a sepulchre. 
 
 Enter MONTAGUE and others. 
 
 Prince. Come, Montague ; for thou art early 
 
 up, 
 To see thy son and heir more early down. 
 
 Man. Alas, my liege, my wife is dead to-night; 
 Grief of my son's exile hath stopp'd her breath: 
 What further woe conspires against my age ? 
 
 Prince. Look, and thou shalt see. [this, 
 
 Mon. O thou untaught ! what manners is in 
 To press before thy father to a grave? [awhile, 
 
 Prince. Seal up the mouth of outrage for 
 Till we can clear these ambiguities, 
 And know their spring, their head, their true 
 
 descent ; 
 
 And then will I be general of your woes, 
 And lead you even to death : meantime forbear, 
 And let mischance be slave to patience. 
 Bring forth the parties of suspicion. 
 
 Fri. L. I am the greatest, able to do least, 
 Yet most suspected, as the time and place 
 Doth make against me, of this direful murder ; 
 And here I stand, both to impeach and purge 
 Myself condemned and myself excus'd. 
 
 Prince. Then say at once what thou dost 
 know in this. [breath 
 
 Fri. L. I will be brief, for my short date of 
 Is not so long as is a tedious tale. 
 Romeo, there dead, was husband to that Juliet ; 
 And she, there dead, that Romeo's faithful wife : 
 I married them ; and their stol'n marriage-day 
 Was Tybalt's doomsday, whose untimely death 
 Banish'd the new-made bridegroom from this 
 
 city; 
 
 For whom, and not for Tybalt, Juliet pin'd. 
 You, to remove that siege of grief from her, 
 Betroth'd, and would have married her perforce, 
 To County Paris : then comes rhe to me, 
 And, with wild looks, bid me devise some means 
 To rid her from this second marriage, 
 Or in my cell there would she kill herself. 
 Then gave I her, so tutor'd by my art, 
 A sleeping potion ; which so took effect 
 As I intended, for it wrought on her 
 The form of death : meantime I writ to Romeo 
 That he should hither come as this dire night, 
 To help to take her from her borrow'd grave, 
 Being the time the potion's force should cease. 
 But he which bore my letter, Friar John, 
 Was stay'd by accident ; and yesternight 
 Return'd my letter back. Then all alone 
 At the prefixed hour of her waking 
 Came I to take her from hei kindred's vault ; 
 Meaning to keep her closely at my cell 
 Till I conveniently could send to Romeo: 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 1099 
 
 But when I came, some minute ere the time 
 Of her awaking, here untimely lay 
 The noble Paris and true Romeo dead. 
 She wakes ; and I entreated her come forth, 
 And bear this work of heaven with patience : 
 But then a noise did scare me from the tomb ; 
 And she, too desperate, would not go with me, 
 But, as it seems, did violence on herself. 
 All this I know ; and to the marriage 
 Her nurse is privy: and if ought in this 
 Miscarried by my fault, let my old life 
 Be sacrific'd, some hour before his time, 
 Unto the rigour of severest law. [man. 
 
 Prince. We still have known thee for a holy 
 Where's Romeo's man? what can he say in 
 
 this ? [death ; 
 
 BaL I brought my master news of Juliet's 
 And then in post he came from Mantua 
 To this same place, to this same monument. 
 This letter he early bid me give his father ; 
 And threaten'd me with death, going in the 
 
 vault, 
 If I departed not, and left him there. 
 
 Prince. Give me the letter, I will look on 
 
 it. [watch? 
 
 Where is the county's page that rais'd the 
 Sirrah, what made your master in this place ? 
 Page. He came with flowers to strew his 
 
 lady's grave ; 
 
 And bid me stand aloof, and so I did: 
 Anon comes one with light to ope the tomb ; 
 
 And by and by my master drew on him ; 
 And then I ran away to call the watch. 
 
 Prince. This letter doth make good the friar's 
 
 words, 
 
 Their course of love, the tidings of her death : 
 And here he writes that he did buy a poison 
 Of a poor 'pothecary, and therewithal 
 Came to this vault to die, and lie with Juliet. 
 Where be these enemies ? Capulet, Mon- 
 
 tague, 
 
 See what a scourge is laid upon your hate, 
 That heaven finds means to kill your joys with 
 
 love! 
 
 And I, for winking at your discords too, 
 Have lost a brace of kinsmen: all are punish'd. 
 
 Cap. O brother Montague, give me thy hand: 
 This is my daughter's jointure, for no more 
 Can I demand. 
 
 Mon. But I can give thee more: 
 
 For I will raise her statue in pure gold ; 
 That while Verona by that name is known, 
 There shall no figure at such rate be set 
 As that of true and faithful Juliet. 
 
 Cap. As rich shall Romeo by his lady lie ; 
 Poor sacrifices of our enmity ! [it brings ; 
 
 Prince. A glooming peace this morning with 
 
 The sun for sorrow will not show his head : 
 Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things; 
 
 Some shall be pardon'd and some punished : 
 For never was a story of more woe 
 Than ihis of Juliet and her Romeo. \ExeunU 
 
 
 
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MACBETH. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 DUNCAN, King of Scotland. 
 MALCOLM. 
 
 DONALBAIN, 
 
 MACDUFF, 
 LENNOX, 
 
 MENTEITH, No6 kitien of Scotland. 
 
 ANGUS, 
 
 CAITHNESS, 
 
 FLEANCE, Son to BAMQUO.. 
 
 SIWARD, Earl of Northumberland, General of 
 
 the English Forces. 
 YOUNG SIWARD, his Son. 
 
 SEYTON, an Officer attending on MACBETH. 
 BOY, Son to MACDUFF. 
 
 An English Doctor. A Scotch Doctor. A 
 Soldier. A Porter. An Old Man. 
 
 LADY MACBETH. 
 
 LADY MACDUFF. 
 
 Gentlewoman attending on LADY MACBETH. 
 
 HECATE, and three Witches. 
 
 Lords, Gentlemen, Officers, Soldiers, Mur- 
 derers, Attendants, and Messengers. 
 
 The Ghost of BANQUO, and several other 
 Apparitions. 
 
 SCENE, In the end of the Fourth Act, in ENGLAND ; through the rest of the Play, in 
 SCOTLAND ; and chiefly at MACBETH'S Castle. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. An open Place. Thunder and 
 Lightning. 
 
 Enter three Witches. 
 
 1 Witch. When shall we three meet again 
 In thunder, lightning, or in rain? 
 
 2 Witch. When the hurlyburly 's done, 
 When the battle 's lost and won. 
 
 3 Witch. That will be ere the set of sun. 
 
 1 Witch. Where the place? 
 
 2 Witch. Upon the heath. 
 
 3 Witch. There to meet with Macbeth. 
 i Witch. I come, Graymalkin ! 
 
 AIL Paddock calls: anon. 
 Fair is foul, and foul is fair : 
 Hover through the fog and filthy air. 
 
 [Witches vanish. 
 
 SCENE II. A Camp near Forres. 
 
 Alarum within. Enter KING DUNCAN, MAL- 
 COLM, DONALBAIN, LENNOX, with Atten- 
 dants, meeting a bleeding Soldier. 
 
 Dun. What bloody man is that? He can 
 
 report, 
 
 As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt 
 The newest state. 
 
 Mai. This is the sergeant, 
 
 Who, like a good and hardy soldier, fought 
 
 'Gainst my captivity. Hail, brave friend! 
 Say to the king the knowledge of the broil, 
 As thou didst leave it. 
 
 Sold. Doubtfully it stood ; 
 
 As two spent swimmers that do cling together 
 And choke their art. The merciless Macdon- 
 
 wald, 
 
 Worthy to be a rebel for to that 
 The multiplying villanies of nature 
 Do swarm upon him, from the Western isles 
 Of kerns and gallowglasses is supplied ; 
 And fortune, on his damned quarrel smiling, 
 Show'd like a rebel's whore. But all's too 
 weak : [name, 
 
 For brave Macbeth, well he deserves that 
 Disdaining fortune, with his brandish'd steel, 
 Which smok'd with bloody execution, 
 Like valour's minion, 
 
 Carv'd out his passage till he fac'd the slave ; 
 And ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to 
 him, [chaps, 
 
 Till he unseam'd him from the nave to the 
 And fix'd his head upon our battlements. 
 Dun. O valiant cousin ! worthy gentleman ! 
 Sold. As whence the sun 'gins his reflection 
 Shipwreckingstorms and direful thunders break; 
 So from that spring, whence comfort seem'd to 
 
 come, 
 Discomfort swells. Mark, King of Scotland, 
 
 mark: 
 No sooner justice had, with valour arm'd, 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 IIOI 
 
 Compell'd these skipping kerns to trust their 
 
 heels, 
 
 But the Norweyan lord, surveying vantage, 
 With furbish'd arms and new supplies of men, 
 Began a fresh assault. 
 
 Dim. Dismay'd not this 
 
 Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo? 
 
 Sold. Yes; 
 
 As sparrows eagles, or the hare the lion. 
 If I say sooth, I must report they were 
 As cannons overcharg'd with double cracks ; 
 So they 
 
 Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe : 
 Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds, 
 Or memorize another Golgotha, 
 I cannot tell : 
 But I am faint; my gashes cry for help. 
 
 Dun. So well thy words become thee as thy 
 
 wounds ; 
 
 They smack of honour both. Go, get him sur- 
 geons. [Exit Soldier, attended. 
 Who comes here ? 
 
 Mai. The worthy Thane of Ross. 
 
 Len. What a haste looks through his eyes ! 
 
 So should he look 
 That seems to speak things strange. 
 
 Enter Ross. 
 
 Ross. God save the king ! 
 
 Dun. Whence cam'st thou, worthy thane ? 
 
 Ross. From Fife, great king; 
 
 Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky 
 And fan our people cold. 
 Norway himself, with terrible numbers, 
 Assisted by that most disloyal traitor 
 The Thane of Cawdor, began a dismal conflict; 
 Till that Bellona's bridegroom, lapp'd in proof, 
 Confronted him with self-comparisons, 
 Point against point rebellious, arm 'gainst 
 
 arm, 
 
 Curbing his lavish spirit : and, to conclude, 
 The victory fell on us. 
 
 Dun. Great happiness ! 
 
 Ross. That now 
 
 Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composi- 
 tion; 
 
 Nor would we deign him burial of his men 
 Till he disbursed, at Saint Colmes-inch, 
 Ten thousand dollars to our general use. 
 
 Dun. No more that Thane of Cawdor shall 
 
 deceive 
 Our bosom interest : go pronounce his present 
 
 death, 
 And with his former title greet Macbeth. 
 
 Ross. I '11 see it done. 
 
 Dun. What he hath lost, noble Macbeth 
 hath won. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. A Heath. 
 Thunder. Enter the three Witches. 
 
 1 Witch. Where hast thou been, sister? 
 
 2 Witch. Killing swine. 
 
 3 Witch. Sister, where thou ? 
 
 1 Witch. A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her 
 
 lap, 
 And mounch'd, and mounch'd, and mounch'd : 
 
 Give me, quoth I : 
 
 Aroint thee, witch! the rump-fed ronyon cries. 
 Her husband 's to Aleppo gone, master o' the 
 
 Tiger : 
 
 But in a sieve I '11 thither sail, 
 And, like a rat without a tail, 
 I'll do, I '11 do, and I'll do. 
 
 2 Witch. I '11 give thee a wind. 
 I Witch. Thou art kind. 
 
 3 Witch. And I another. 
 
 1 Witch. I myself have all the other ; 
 And the very ports they blow, 
 
 All the quarters that they know 
 I' the shipman's card. 
 I will drain him dry as hay : 
 Sleep shall neither night nor day 
 Hang upon his pent-house lid ; 
 He shall live a man forbid: 
 Weary seven-nights nine times nine 
 Shall he dwindle, peak, and pine : 
 Though his bark cannot be lost, 
 Yet it shall be tempest-tost. 
 Look what I have. 
 
 2 Witch. Show me, show me. 
 
 T Witch. Here I have a pilot's thumb, 
 Wreck'd as homeward he did come. 
 
 [Drum within. 
 
 3 Witch. A drum, a drum ! 
 Macbeth doth come. 
 
 All. The weird sisters, hand in hand, 
 Posters of the sea and land, 
 Thus do go about, about : 
 Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine, 
 And thrice again, to make up nine: 
 Peace ! the charm 's wound up. 
 
 Enter MACBETH and BANQUO. 
 
 Macb. So foul and fair a day I have not seen. 
 
 Ban. How far is 't call'd to Forres? What 
 
 are these, 
 
 So wither'd, and so wild in their attire, 
 That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth, 
 And yet are on 't? Live you? or are you aught 
 That man may question ? You seem to under- 
 stand me, 
 
 By each at once her chappy finger laying 
 Upon her skinny lips : you should be women, 
 
1 102 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 [ACT I. 
 
 And yet your beards forbid me to interpret 
 That you are so. 
 
 Macb. Speak, if you can ; what are you ? 
 
 1 Witch. All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, 
 
 Thane of Glamis ! 
 
 2 Witch. All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, 
 
 Thane of Cawdor ! 
 
 3 Witch. All hail, Macbeth ! that shalt be 
 
 king hereafter ! [to fear 
 
 Ban. Good sir, why do you start ; and seem 
 
 Things that do sound so fair ? I' the name of 
 
 truth, 
 
 Are ye fantastical, or that indeed 
 Which outwardly ye show? My noble partner 
 You greet with present grace and great pre- 
 diction 
 
 Of noble having and of royal hope, [not : 
 
 That he seems rapt withal : to me you speak 
 If you can look into the seeds of time, [not, 
 And say which grain will grow, and which will 
 Speak then to me, who neither beg nor fear 
 Your favours nor your hate. 
 
 1 Witch. Hail! 
 
 2 Witch. Hail ! 
 
 3 Witch. Hail ! 
 
 1 Witch. Lesser than Macbeth, and greater. 
 
 2 Witch. Not so happy, yet much happier. 
 
 3 Witch. Thou shalt get kings, though thou 
 
 be none : 
 So, all hail, Macbeth and Banquo ! 
 
 I Witch. Banquo and Macbeth, all hail ! 
 Macb. Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me 
 
 more : 
 
 By Sinel's death I know I am Thane of Glamis; 
 But how of Cawdor? the Thane of Cawdor lives, 
 A prosperous gentleman ; and to be king 
 Stands not within the prospect of belief, 
 No more than to be Cawdor. Say from whence 
 You owe this strange intelligence ? or why 
 Upon this blasted heath you stop our way 
 With such prophetic greeting? Speak, I charge 
 you. [Witches vanish. 
 
 Ban. The earth hath bubbles, as the water 
 has, [ish'd? 
 
 And these are of them : whither are they van- 
 Macb. Into the air ; and what seem'd cor- 
 poral melted 
 
 As breath into the wind. Would they had 
 stay'd ! [about? 
 
 Ban. Were such things here as we do speak 
 Or have we eaten on the insane root 
 That takes the reason prisoner ? 
 
 Macb. Your children shall be kings. 
 Ban. You shall be king. 
 
 Macb. And Thane of Cawdor too ; went it 
 not so ? [Who 's here ? 
 
 Ban. To the self-same tune and words. 
 
 Enter Ross and ANGUS. 
 
 Ross. The king hath happily receiv'd, Mac- 
 beth, 
 
 The news of thy success : and when he reads 
 Thy personal venture in the rebels' fight, 
 His wonders and his praises do contend 
 Which should be thine or his : silenc'd with that, 
 In viewing o'er the rest o' the self-same day, 
 He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks, 
 Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make, 
 Strange images of death. As thick as hail 
 Came post with post ; and every one did bear 
 Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence, 
 And pour'd them down before him. 
 
 Ang. We are sent 
 
 To give thee, from our royal master, thanks ; 
 Only to herald thee into his sight, 
 Not pay thee. 
 
 Ross. And, for an earnest of a greater honour, 
 He bade me, from him, call thee Thane of 
 
 Cawdor : 
 
 In which addition, hail, most worthy thane ! 
 For it is thine. 
 
 Ban. What, can the devil speak true ? 
 
 Macb. The Thane of Cawdor lives : why do 
 
 you dress me 
 In borrow'd robes ? 
 
 Ang. Who was the thane lives yet j 
 
 But under heavy judgment bears that life 
 Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was 
 
 combin'd 
 
 With those of Norway, or did line the rebel 
 With hidden help and vantage, or that with both 
 He labour'd in his country's wreck, I know not ; 
 But treasons capital, confess'd, and prov'd, 
 Have overthrown him. 
 
 Macb. Glamis, and Thane of Cawdor : 
 
 The greatest is behind {aside}. Thanks for 
 
 your pains. 
 
 Do you not hope your children shall be kings, 
 When those that gave the Thane of Cawdor to 
 
 me 
 Promis'd no less to them ? 
 
 Ban. That, trusted home, 
 
 Might yet enkindle you unto the crown, 
 Besides the Thane of Cawdor. But 'tis strange : 
 And oftentimes to win us to our harm, 
 The instruments of darkness tell us truths ; 
 Win us with honest trifles, to betray 's 
 In deepest consequence. 
 Cousins, a word, I pray you. 
 
 Macb. Two truths are told, 
 
 As happy prologues to the swelling act 
 Of the imperial theme [aside], I thank you, 
 
 gentlemen. 
 This supernatural soliciting [Aside. 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 1103 
 
 Cannot be ill ; cannot be good : if ill, 
 Why hath it given me earnest of success, 
 Commencing in a truth? I am Thane of 
 
 Cawdor : 
 
 If good, why do I yield to that suggestion 
 Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair, 
 And make my seated heart knock at my ribs, 
 Against the use of nature ? Present fears 
 Are less than horrible imaginings : [cal, 
 
 My thought, whose murder yet is but fantasti- 
 Shakes so my single state of man, that function 
 Is smother'd in surmise ; and nothing is 
 But what is not. 
 
 Ban. Look, how our partner 's rapt. 
 
 Macb. [Aside.] If chance will have me king, 
 
 why, chance may crown me, 
 Without my stir. 
 
 Ban. New honours come upon him, 
 
 Like our strange garments, cleave not to their 
 
 mould 
 But with the aid of use. 
 
 Macb. [Aside.] Come what come may, 
 Time and the hour runs through the roughest 
 day. [leisure. 
 
 Ban. Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your 
 Macb. Give me your favour : my dull brain 
 was wrought [pains 
 
 With things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your 
 Are register'd where every day I turn 
 The leaf to read them. Let us toward the 
 king. [time, 
 
 Think upon what hath chanc'd; and, at more 
 The interim having weigh'd it, let us speak 
 Our free hearts each to other. 
 
 Ban. Very gladly. 
 
 Macb. Till then, enough. Come, friends. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. FORRES. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Flourish. Enter DUNCAN, MALCOLM, DON- 
 ALBAIN, LENNOX and Attendants. 
 
 Dun. Is execution done on Cawdor? Are 
 
 not 
 Those in commission yet return'd ? 
 
 Mai. My liege, 
 
 They are not yet come back. But I have spoke 
 With one that saw him die : who did report, 
 That very frankly he confess'd his treasons ; 
 Implor'd your highness' pardon ; and set forth 
 A deep repentance : nothing in his life 
 Became him like the leaving it ; he died 
 As one that had been studied in his death, 
 To throw away the dearest thing he ow'd, 
 As 'twere a careless trifle. 
 
 Dun. There 's no art 
 
 To find the mind's construction in the face ; 
 
 He was a gentleman on whom I built 
 An absolute trust. 
 
 Enter MACBETH, BANQUO, Ross, and ANGUS. 
 
 O worthiest cousin ! 
 The sin of my ingratitude even now 
 Was heavy on me : thou art so far before, 
 That swiftest wing of recompense is slow 
 To overtake thee. Would thou hadst less 
 deserv'd ; [ment 
 
 That the proportion both of thanks and pay- 
 Might have been mine ! only I have left to say, 
 More is thy due than more than all can pay. 
 
 Macb. The service and the loyalty I owe, 
 In doing it, pays itself. Your highness' part 
 Is to receive our duties : and our duties 
 Are to your throne and state children and 
 servants ; [everything 
 
 Which do but what they should, by doing 
 Safe toward your love and honour. 
 
 Dun. Welcome hither : 
 
 I have begun to plant thee, and will labour 
 To make thee full of growing. Noble Banquo, 
 That hast no less deserv'd, nor must be known 
 No less to have done so, let me infold thee, 
 And hold thee to my heart. 
 
 Ban. There if I grow, 
 
 The harvest is your own. 
 
 Dun. My plenteous joys, 
 
 Wanton in fulness, seek to hide themselves 
 In drops of sorrow. Sons, kinsmen, thanes, 
 And you whose places are the nearest, know, 
 We will establish our estate upon 
 Our eldest, Malcolm ; whom we name here- 
 after 
 
 The Prince of Cumberland : which honour must 
 Not unaccompanied invest him only, 
 But signs of nobleness, like stars, shall shine 
 On all deservers. From hence to Inverness, 
 And bind us further to you. [for you : 
 
 Macb. The rest is labour, which is not us'd 
 I '11 be myself the harbinger, and make joyful 
 The hearing of my wife with your approach ; 
 So, humbly take my leave. 
 
 Dun. My worthy Cawdor 
 
 Macb. [Aside.] The Prince of Cumberland ! 
 
 That is a step, 
 
 On which I must fall down, or else o'er-leap, 
 For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires ! 
 Let not light see my black and deep desires : 
 The eye wink at th* hand ! yet let that be, 
 Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see. 
 
 [Exit 
 
 Dun. True, worthy Banquo, he is full so 
 
 valiant ; 
 
 And In his commendations I am fed, 
 It is a banquet to me. Let us after him, 
 
1 104 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 [ACT I. 
 
 Whose care is gone before to bid us welcome : 
 It is a peerless kinsman. [Flourish. Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. INVERNESS. A Room in MAC- 
 BETH'S Castle. 
 
 Enter LADY MACBETH, reading a letter. 
 
 Lady M. They met me in the day of success ; 
 and I have learned by the perfectest report ', they 
 have more in them than mortal knowledge. 
 When I burned in desire to question them 
 further, they made themselves air, into which 
 they vanished. Whiles I stood rapt in the 
 wonder of it, came missives from the king, who 
 all-hailed me, Thane of Cawdor ; by which title, 
 before, these weird sisters sahitsd me, and re- 
 ferred me to the coming on of time, with Hail, 
 king that shalt be ! This have I thought good 
 to deliver thee, my dearest partner of greatness ; 
 that thou might st not lose the dues of rejoicing, 
 by being ignorant of what greatness is promised 
 thee. Lay it to thy heart, and farewell. 
 Glamis thou art, and Cawdor ; and shalt be 
 What thou art promis'd : yet do I fear thy 
 
 nature ; 
 
 It is too full o' the milk of human kindness 
 To catch the nearest way : thou wouldst be 
 
 great ; 
 
 Art not without ambition ; but without 
 The illness should attend it. What thou 
 
 wouldst highly, [faise, 
 
 That wouldst thou holily ; wouldst not play 
 And yet wouldst wrongly win : thou 'dst have, 
 
 great Glamis, [have it : 
 
 That which cries, Thus thou must do, if thou 
 And that which rather thou dost fear to do 
 Than wishest should be undone. Hie thee 
 
 hither, 
 
 That I may pour my spirits in thine ear ; 
 And chastise with the valour of my tongue 
 All that impedes thee from the golden round, 
 Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem 
 To have thee crown'd withal. 
 
 Enter an Attendant. 
 
 What is your tidings ? 
 
 Atten. The king comes here to-night. 
 
 Lady M. Thou 'rt mad to say it : 
 
 Is not thy master with him ? who, were 't so, 
 Would have inform'd for preparation. 
 
 Atten. So please you, it is true : our thane 
 
 is coming : 
 
 One of my fellows had the speed of him ; 
 Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more 
 Than would make up his message. 
 
 Lady M. Give him tending, 
 
 He brings great news. [Exit Attendant. 
 
 The raven himself is hoarse 
 That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan 
 Under my battlements. Come, you spirits 
 That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here ; 
 And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full 
 Of direst cruelty ! make thick my blood, 
 Stop up the access and passage to remorse, 
 That no compunctious visitings of nature 
 Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between 
 The effect and it ! Come to my woman's 
 breasts, [ministers, 
 
 And take my milk for gall, you murdering 
 Wherever in your sightless substances [night, 
 You wait on nature's mischief ! Come, thick 
 And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell, 
 That my keen knife see not the wound it makes, 
 Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark, 
 To cry, Hold, hold! 
 
 Enter MACBETH. 
 
 Great Glamis ! worthy Cawdor ! 
 Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter ! 
 Thy letters have transported me beyond 
 This ignorant present, and I feel now 
 The future in the instant. 
 
 Macb. My dearest love, 
 
 Duncan comes here to-night. 
 
 Lady M. And when goes hence? 
 
 Macb. To-morrow, as he purposes. 
 
 Lady M. O, never 
 
 Shall sun that morrow see ! 
 Your face, my thane, is as a book where men 
 May read strange matters : to beguile the time, 
 Look like the time ; bear welcome in your eye, 
 Your hand, your tongue : look like the inno- 
 cent flower, 
 
 But be the serpent under 't. He that 's coming 
 Must be provided for : and you shall put 
 This night's great business into my despatch ; 
 Which shall to all our nights and days to come 
 Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom. 
 
 Macb. We will speak further. 
 
 Lady M. Only look up clear ; 
 
 To alter favour ever is to fear : 
 Leave all the rest to me. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI. The same. Before the Castle. 
 Hautboys. Servants 0/" MACBETH attending. 
 
 Enter DUNCAN, MALCOLM, DONALBAIN, BAN- 
 QUO, LENNOX, MACDUFF, Ross, ANGUS, 
 and Attendants. 
 
 Dun. This castle hath a pleasant seat : the 
 
 air 
 
 Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself 
 Unto our gentle senses. 
 
SCENE VII.] 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 1105 
 
 Ban. This guest of summer, 
 
 The temple-haunting martlet, does approve, 
 By his lov'd mansionry, that the heaven's breath 
 Smells wooingly here: no jutty, frieze, buttress, 
 Nor coigne of vantage, but this bird hath made 
 His pendant bed and procreant cradle : 
 Where they most breed and haunt, I have 
 
 observ'd 
 The air is delicate. 
 
 Enter LADY MACBETH. 
 
 Dun. See, see, our honour'd hostess! 
 
 The love that follows us sometime is our trouble, 
 Which still we thank as love. Herein I teach 
 
 you 
 
 How you shall bid God ild us for your pains, 
 And thank us for your trouble. 
 
 Lady M. All our service 
 
 In every point twice done, and then done double, 
 Were poor and single business to contend 
 Against those honours deep and broad where- 
 with 
 
 Your majesty loads our house: for those of old, 
 And the late dignities heap'd up to them, 
 We rest your hermits. 
 
 Dun. Where 's the Thane of Cawdor ? 
 
 We cours'd him at the heels, and had a purpose 
 To be his purveyor : but he rides well ; [him 
 And his great love, sharp as his spur, hath holp 
 To his home before us. Fair and noble hostess, 
 We are your guest to-night. 
 
 Lady M. Your servants ever 
 
 Have theirs, themselves, and what is theirs, in 
 
 compt, 
 
 To make their audit at your highness' pleasure, 
 Still to return your own. 
 
 Dun. Give me your hand ; 
 
 Conduct me to mine host: we love him highly, 
 And shall continue our graces towards him. 
 By your leave, hostess. [Exeimt. 
 
 SCENE VII. The same. A Lobby in the 
 Castle. 
 
 Hautboys and torches. Enter, and pass over, 
 a Sewer, and divers Servants with dishes and 
 service. Then enter MACBETH. 
 
 Macb. If it were done when 'tis done, then 
 
 'twere well 
 
 It were done quickly. If the assassination 
 Could trammel up the consequence, and catch, 
 With his surcease, success ; that but this blow 
 Might be the be-all and the end-all here, 
 But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, 
 We 'd jump the life to come. But in these cases 
 We still have judgment here; that we but teach 
 Bloody instructions, which being taught, return 
 
 To plague the inventor: this even-handed justice 
 Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice 
 To our own lips. He 's here in double trust : 
 First, as I am his kinsman and his subject, 
 Strong both against the deed: then, as his host, 
 Who should against his murderer shut the door, 
 Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan 
 Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been 
 So clear in his great office, that his virtues 
 Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against 
 The deep damnation of his taking-off : 
 And pity, like a n.'ked new-born babe, 
 Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubin, hors'd 
 Upon the sightless couriers of the air, 
 Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye, 
 That tears shall drown the wind. I have nospur 
 To prick the sides of my intent, but only 
 Vaulting ambition, which o'er-leaps itself, 
 And falls on the other. 
 
 Enter LADY MACBETH. 
 
 How now! what news? 
 
 Lady M. He has almost supp'd : why have 
 you left the chamber ? 
 
 Macb. Hath he ask'd for me ? 
 
 Lady M. Know you not he has t 
 
 Macb. We will proceed no further in this 
 
 business : 
 
 He hath honour'd me of late; and I have bought 
 Golden opinions from all sorts of people, 
 Which would be worn now in their newest gloss, 
 Not cast aside so soon. 
 
 Lady M. Was the hope drunk 
 
 Wherein you dress'd yourself? hath it slept 
 
 since ? 
 
 And wakes it now, to look so green and pale 
 At what it did so freely? From this time 
 Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard 
 To be the same in thine own act and valour 
 As thou art in desire ? Wouldst thou have that 
 Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life, 
 And live a coward in thine own esteem ; 
 Letting I dare not wait upon / would, 
 Like the poor cat i' the adage ? 
 
 Macb. Pr'ythee, peace 
 
 I dare do all that may become a man ; 
 Who dares do more is none. 
 
 Lady M. What beast was 't, then, 
 
 That made you break this enterprise to me ? 
 When you durst do it, then you were a man ; 
 And, to be more than what you were, you would 
 Be so much more the man. Nor time nor place 
 Did then adhere, and yet you would make both: 
 They have made themselves, and that their fit- 
 ness now 
 
 Does unmake you. I have given suck , and know 
 How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me : 
 
no6 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 I would, while it was smiling in my face, 
 Have pluck'd my nipple from his boneless gums, 
 And dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn as 
 
 you 
 Have done to this. 
 
 Macb. If we should fail ? 
 
 LadyM. We fail! 
 
 But screw your courage to the sticking place, 
 And we '11 not fail. When Duncan is asleep, 
 Whereto the rather shall his day's hard journey 
 Soundly invite him, his two chamberlains 
 Will I with wine and wassail so convince 
 That memory, the warder of the brain, 
 Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason 
 A limbec only : when in swinish sleep 
 Their drenched natures lie as in a death, 
 What cannot you and I perform upon 
 The unguarded Duncan ? what not put upon 
 His spongy officers ; who shall bear the guilt 
 Of our great quell ? 
 
 Macb. Bring forth men-children only; 
 
 For thy undaunted mettle should compose 
 Nothing but males. Will it not be receiv'd, 
 When we have mark'd with blood those sleepy 
 
 two 
 
 Of his own chamber, and us'd their very daggers, 
 That they have don 't ? 
 
 Lady M. Who dares receive it other, 
 
 As we shall make our griefs and clamour 
 
 roar 
 Upon his death ? 
 
 Macb. I am settled, and bend up 
 
 Each corporal agent to this terrible feat. 
 Away, and mock the time with fairest show: 
 False face must hide what the false heart doth 
 
 know. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. INVERNESS. Court within the 
 Castle. 
 
 Enter BANQUO, preceded by FLEANCE with 
 a torch. 
 
 Ban. How goes the night, boy? 
 
 Fie. The moon is down; I have not heard the 
 clock. 
 
 Ban. And she goes down at twelve. 
 
 Fie. I take 't, 'tis later, sir. 
 
 Ban. Hold, take my sword. There's hus- 
 bandry in heaven ; 
 
 Their candles are all out : take thee that too. 
 A heavy summons lies like lead upon me, 
 And yet I would not sleep : merciful powers, 
 Restrain me in the cursed thoughts that nature 
 Gives way to in repose ! Give me my sword. 
 Who's there* 
 
 Enter MACBETH, and a Servant with a torch. 
 
 Macb. A friend. [a-bed : 
 
 Ban. What, sir, not yet at rest? The king 's 
 He hath been in unusual pleasure, and 
 Sent forth great largess to your officers : 
 This diamond he greets your wife withal, 
 By the name of most kind hostess; and shut up 
 In measureless content. 
 
 Macb. Being unprepar'd, 
 
 Our will became the servant to defect ; 
 Which else should free have wrought. 
 
 Ban. All 's well. 
 
 I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters : 
 To you they have show'd some truth. 
 
 Macb. I think not of them : 
 
 Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve, 
 We would spend it in some words upon that 
 
 business, 
 If you would grant the time. 
 
 Ban. At your kind'st leisure. 
 
 Macb. If you shall cleave to my consent, 
 
 when 'tis, 
 It shall make honour for you. 
 
 Ban. So I lose none 
 
 In seeking to augment it, but still keep 
 My bosom franchis'd, and allegiance clear, 
 I shall be counsell'd. 
 
 Macb. Good repose the while ! 
 
 Ban. Thanks, sir ; the like to you ! 
 
 [Exeunt BANQUO and FLEANCE. 
 
 Macb. Go bid thy mistress, when my drink 
 
 is ready, 
 She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed. 
 
 [Exit Servant 
 
 Is this a dagger which I see before me, 
 The handle toward my hand? Come, let me 
 
 clutch thee : 
 
 I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. 
 Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible 
 To feeling as to sight ? or art thou but 
 A dagger of the mind, a false creation, 
 Proceeding from the heat -oppressed brain ? 
 I see thee yet, in form as palpable 
 As this which now I draw. 
 Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going; 
 And such an instrument I was to use. 
 Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other sensesj 
 Or else worth all the rest : I see thee still ; 
 And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood, 
 Which was not so before. There's no such 
 
 thing : 
 
 It is the bloody business which informs 
 Thus to mine eyes. Now o'er the one-half 
 
 world 
 
 Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse 
 The curtain'd sleep; now witchcraft celebrates 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 1107 
 
 Pale Hecate's offerings ; and wither'd murder, 
 
 Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf, 
 
 Whose howl 's his watch, thus with his stealthy 
 
 pace, [design 
 
 With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his 
 Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set 
 
 earth, [fear 
 
 Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for 
 Thy very stones prate of my whereabout, 
 And take the present horror from the time, 
 Which now suits with it. Whiles I threat, he 
 
 lives ; 
 
 Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives. 
 
 [A bell rings. 
 
 I go, and it is done ; the bell invites me. 
 Hear it not, Duncan, for it is a knell 
 That summons thee to heaven or to hell. [Exit. 
 
 Enter LADY MACBETH. 
 
 Lady M. That which hath made them drunk 
 
 hath made me bold : 
 What hath quench'd them hath given me fire. 
 
 Hark ! Peace ! 
 
 It was the owl that shriek'd, the fatal bellman, 
 Which gives the stern'st good-night. He is 
 
 about it : 
 
 The doors are open ; and the surfeited grooms 
 Do mock their charge with snores: I have 
 
 drugg'd their possets, 
 
 That death and nature do contend about them, 
 Whether they live or die. 
 
 Macb. [Within.'} Who's there? what, ho! 
 
 Lady^M. Alack! I am afraid they have awak'd, 
 
 And 'tis not done : the attempt, and not the 
 
 deed, [ready; 
 
 Confounds us. Hark! I laid their daggers 
 He could not miss 'em. Had he not resembled 
 My father as he slept, I had done't. My 
 
 husband ! 
 
 Re-enter MACBETH. 
 
 Macb. I have done the deed. Didst thou not 
 hear a noise ? [crickets cry. 
 
 Lady M. I heard the owl scream and the 
 Did not you speak ? 
 
 Macb. When? 
 
 Lady M. Now. 
 
 Macb. As I descended? 
 
 Lady M. Ay. 
 
 Macb. Hark! 
 Who lies i' the second chamber ? 
 
 Lady M. Donalbain. 
 
 Macb. This is a sorry sight. 
 
 [Looking on his hands. 
 
 Lady M. A foolish thought to say a sorry sight. 
 
 Macb. There 's one did laugh in 's sleep, and 
 one cried Murder! 
 
 That they did wake each other: I stood and 
 heard them : [them 
 
 But they did say their prayers, and address'd 
 Again to sleep. 
 
 Lady M. There are two lodg'd together. 
 Macb. One cried, God bless ns! and, Amen, 
 the other ; [hands. 
 
 As they had seen me with these hangman's 
 Listening their fear, I could not say, Amen, 
 When they did say, God bless its. 
 
 Lady M. Consider it not so deeply. 
 
 Macb. But wherefore could not I pronounce, 
 
 Amen? 
 
 I had most need of blessing, and Amen 
 Stuck in my throat. 
 
 Lady M. These deeds must not be thought 
 After these ways ; so, it will make us mad. 
 Macb. Methought I heard a voice cry, Sleep 
 
 no more! 
 
 Macbeth does murder sleep, the innocent sleep; 
 Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleave of care, 
 The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath, 
 Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, 
 Chief nourisher in life's feast. 
 
 Lady M. What do you mean ? 
 
 Macb. Still it cried, Sleep no more ! to all the 
 
 house: [Cawdor 
 
 Glamis hath murder 1 d sleep: and therefore 
 
 Shall sleep no more, Macbeth shall sleep no 
 
 more ! [worthy thane, 
 
 Lady M. Who was it that thus cried? Why, 
 
 You do unbend your noble strength to think 
 
 So brainsickly of things, Go get some water, 
 
 And wash this filthy witness from your hand. 
 
 Why did you bring these daggers from the 
 
 place ? 
 
 They must lie there : go carry them ; and smear 
 The sleepy grooms with blood. 
 
 Macb. I '11 go no more : 
 
 I am afraid to think what I have done ; 
 Look on 't again I dare not. 
 
 Lady M. Infirm of purpose ! 
 
 Give me the daggers : the sleeping and the dead 
 Are but as pictures : 'tis the eye of childhood 
 That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed, 
 I '11 gild the faces of the grooms withal, 
 For it must seem their guilt. 
 
 [Exit. Knocking within. 
 
 Macb. Whence is that knocking? 
 
 How is 't with me, when every noise appals me? 
 
 What hands are here? Ha! they pluck out 
 
 mine eyes ! 
 
 Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood 
 Clean from my hand? No; this my hand will 
 
 rather 
 
 The multitudinous seas incarnadine, 
 Making the green one red. 
 
iio8 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 [ACT II. 
 
 Re-enter LADY MACBETH. 
 
 Lady M. My hands are of your colour; but 
 
 I shame 
 To wear a heart so white. [Knocking within. ] 
 
 I hear a knocking 
 
 At the south entry: retire we to our chamber. 
 A little water clears us of this deed : 
 How easy is it then ! Your constancy 
 Hath left you unattended. [Knocking within.'] 
 
 Hark ! more knocking : 
 
 Get on your nightgown, lest occasion call us, 
 And show us to be watchers : be not lost 
 So poorly in your thoughts. 
 
 Macb. To know my deed, 'twere best not 
 
 know myself. [Knocking within. 
 
 Wake Duncan with thy knocking! I would 
 
 thou couldst ! [Exeztnt. 
 
 Enter a Porter. Knocking within. 
 
 Porter. Here 's a knocking indeed ! If a 
 man were porter of hell-gate, he should have 
 old turning the key. [Knocking.] Knock, 
 knock, knock. Who's there, i' the name of 
 Beelzebub? Here 's a farmer that hanged him- 
 self on the expectation of plenty: come in 
 time ; have napkins enow abou t you ; here 
 you'll sweat for't. [Knocking.] Knock, 
 knock ! Who 's there, i' the other devil's name? 
 Faith, here 's an equivocator, that could swear 
 in both the scales against either scale ; who 
 committed treason enough for God's sake, yet 
 could not equivocate to heaven: O, come in, 
 equivocator. [Knocking.] Knock, knock, 
 knock! Who's there? Faith, here's an 
 English tailor come hither, for stealing out of 
 a French hose : come in, tailor, here you may 
 roast your goose. [Knocking.] Knock, 
 knock: never at quiet! What are you? But 
 this place is too cold for hell. I '11 devil-porter 
 it no further : I had thought to have let in some 
 of all professions, that go the primrose way to 
 the everlasting bonfire. [Knocking.] Anon, 
 anon ! I pray you, remember the porter. 
 
 [Opens the gate. 
 
 Enter MACDUFF and LENNOX. 
 
 Macd. Was it so late, friend, ere you went 
 to bed, that you do lie so late? 
 
 Port. Faith, sir, we were carousing till the 
 second cock : and drink, sir, is a great provoker 
 of three things. 
 
 Macd. What three things does drink especially 
 provoke ? 
 
 Port. Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and 
 urine. Lechery, sir, it provokes and it unpro- 
 vokes ; it provokes the desire, but it takes away 
 
 the performance : therefore, much drink may 
 be said to be an equivocator with lechery : it 
 makes him, and it mars him ; it sets him on, 
 and it takes him off; it persuades him, and 
 disheartens him ; makes him stand to, and not 
 stand to : in conclusion, equivocates him in a 
 sleep, and, giving him the lie, leaves him. 
 
 Macd. I believe drink gave thee the lie last 
 night. 
 
 Port. That it did, sir, i' the very throat o' 
 me : but I requited him for his lie ; and, I 
 think, being too strong for him, though he 
 took up my legs sometime, yet I made a shift 
 to cast him. 
 
 Macd. Is thy master stirring ? 
 Our knocking has awak'd him ; here he comes. 
 
 Enter MACBETH. 
 
 Len. Good-morrow, noble sir ! 
 
 Macb. Good-morrow, both ! 
 
 Macd. Is the king stirring, worthy thane ? 
 
 Macb. Not yet. 
 
 Macd. He did command me to call timely 
 
 on him : 
 I have almost slipp'd the hour. 
 
 Macb. I '11 bring you to him. 
 
 Macd. I know this is a joyful trouble to you ; 
 But yet 'tis one. 
 
 Macb. The labour we delight in physics pain. 
 This is the door. 
 
 Macd. I '11 make so bold to call. 
 
 For 'tis my limited service. [Exit MACDUFF. 
 
 Len. Goes the king hence to-day ? 
 
 Macb. He does : he did appoint so. 
 
 Len. The night has been unruly : where we 
 
 lay, [say, 
 
 Our chimneys were blown down : and, as they 
 
 Lamentings heard i' the air; strange screams 
 
 of death ; 
 
 And prophesying, with accents terrible, 
 Of dire combustion and confus'd events, 
 New hatch'd to the woeful time : the obscure 
 bird [earth 
 
 Clamour'd the live-long night: some say the 
 Was feverous, and did shake. 
 
 Macb. 'Twas a rough night. 
 
 Len. My young remembrance cannot parallel 
 A fellow to it. 
 
 Re-enter MACDUFF. 
 
 Macd. O horror, horror, horror! Tongue 
 
 nor heart 
 Cannot conceive nor name thee ! 
 
 Macb. , Len. What 's the matter ? 
 
 Macd. Confusion now hath made his master- 
 piece ! 
 Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 1109 
 
 The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence 
 The life o' the building. 
 
 Macb. What is 't you say ? the life? 
 
 Len. Mean you his majesty? [your sight 
 Macd. Approach the chamber, and destroy 
 With a new Gorgon : do not bid me speak ; 
 See, and then speak yourselves. 
 
 [Exeunt MACBETH and LENNOX. 
 Awake ! awake ! 
 
 Ring the alarum-bell : murder and treason ! 
 Banquo and Donalbain ! Malcolm ! awake ! 
 Shake off this downy sleep, death's counterfeit, 
 And look on death itself ! up, up, and see 
 The great doom's image ! Malcolm ! Banquo ! 
 As from your graves rise up, and walk like 
 
 sprites, 
 To countenance this horror ! 
 
 [Alarum-bell rings. 
 
 Re-enter LADY MACPETH. 
 
 Lady M. What 's the business, 
 
 That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley 
 The sleepers of the house ? speak, speak ! 
 
 Macd. O gentle lady, 
 
 'Tis not for you to hear what I can speak : 
 The repetition, in a woman's ear, 
 Would murder as it fell. 
 
 Re-enter BANQUO. 
 
 O Banquo, Banquo ! 
 Our royal master 's murder'd ! 
 
 Lady^ M. Woe, alas ! 
 
 What, in our house? 
 
 Ban. Too cruel any where. 
 
 Dear Duff, I pr'ythee, contradict thyself, 
 And say it is not so. 
 
 Re-enter MACBETH and LENNOX. 
 
 Macb. Had I but died an hour before this 
 chance, [slant, 
 
 I had liv'd a blessed time ; for, from this in- 
 There 's nothing serious in mortality : 
 All is but toys : renown and grace is dead ; 
 The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees 
 Is left this vault to brag of. 
 
 Enter MALCOLM and DONALBAIN. 
 
 Don. What is amiss ? 
 
 Macb. You are, and do not know 't : 
 
 The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood 
 Is stopp'd ; the very source of it is stopp'd. 
 
 Macd. Your royal father 's murder'd. 
 
 Mai. O, by whom ? 
 
 Len. Those of his chamber, as it seem'd, had 
 
 done 't : [blood ; 
 
 Their hands and faces were all badg'd with 
 
 So were their daggers, which, unwip'd, we found 
 
 Upon their pillows : 
 
 They star'd, and were distracted ; no man's life 
 
 Was to be trusted with them. 
 
 Macb. O, yet I do repent me of my fury, 
 That I did kill them. 
 
 Macd. Wherefore did you so ? 
 
 Macb. Who can be wise, amaz'd, temperate, 
 
 and furious, 
 
 Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man : 
 The expedition of my violent love 
 Out-ran the pauser reason. Here lay Duncan, 
 His silver skin lac'd with his golden blood ; 
 And his gash'd stabs look'd like a breach in 
 nature [derers, 
 
 For ruin's wasteful entrance : there, the mur- 
 Steep'd in the colours of their trade, their 
 daggers [frain, 
 
 Unmannerly breech'd with gore : who could re- 
 That had a heart to love, and in that heart 
 Courage to make 's love known ? 
 
 Lady M. Help me hence, ho ! 
 
 Macd. Look to the lady. 
 
 Mai. Why do we hold our tongues, 
 
 That most may claim this argument for ours ? 
 
 Don. What should be spoken here, where 
 
 our fate, 
 
 Hid in an auger-hole, may rush, and seize us ? 
 Let 's away ; 
 Our tears are not yet brew'd. 
 
 Mai. Nor our strong sorrow 
 
 Upon the foot of motion. 
 
 Ban. Look to the lady : 
 
 [LADY MACBETH is carried out. 
 And when we have our naked frailties hid, 
 That suffer in exposure, let us meet, 
 And question this most bloody piece of work, 
 To know it further. Fears and scruples shake us: 
 In the great hand of God I stand ; and thence, 
 Against the undivulg'd pretence I fight 
 Of treasonous malice. 
 
 Macd. And so do I. 
 
 All. So all. 
 
 Macb. Let 's briefly put on manly readiness, 
 And meet i' the hall together. 
 
 All. Well contented. 
 
 [Exeunt all but MAL. and DON. 
 
 Mai. What will you do ? Let 's not consort 
 
 with them : 
 
 To show an unfelt sorrow is an office 
 Which the false man does easy. I '11 to England. 
 
 Don. To Ireland I ; our separated fortune 
 Shall keep us both the safer : where we are, 
 There 's daggers in men's smiles : the near in 
 
 blood, 
 The nearer bloody. 
 
 Mai. This murderous shaft that 's shot 
 
 Hath not vet lighted ; and our safest way 
 
II IO 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 [ACT rn. 
 
 Is to avoid the aim. Therefore to horse ; 
 And let us not be dainty of leave-taking, 
 But shift away : there 's warrant in that theft 
 Which steals itself, when there 's no mercy left. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. The same. Without the Castle. 
 Enter Ross and an old Man. 
 
 Old M. Threescore and ten I can remember 
 
 " well: 
 
 Within the volume of which time I have seen 
 Hours dreadful and things strange ; but this 
 
 sore night 
 Hath trifled former knowings. 
 
 Ross. Ah, good father, 
 
 Thou seest, the heavens, as troubled with man's 
 
 act, [day, 
 
 Threaten his bloody stage : by the clock, 'tis 
 
 And yet dark night strangles the travelling 
 
 lamp ; 
 
 Is 't night's predominance, or the day's shame, 
 That darkness does the face of earth entomb, 
 When living light should kiss it? 
 
 Old M. 'Tis unnatural, 
 
 Even like the deed that 's done. On Tuesday 
 
 last, 
 
 A falcon, towering in her pride of place, 
 Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at and kill'd. 
 Ross. And Duncan's horses, a thing most 
 
 strange and certain, 
 
 Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race, 
 Turn'd wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung 
 out, [make 
 
 Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would 
 War with mankind. 
 
 Old M. 'Tis said they eat each other. 
 
 Ross. They did so ; to the amazement of 
 
 mine eyes, [Macduff. 
 
 That look'd upon't. Here comes the good 
 
 Enter MACDUFF. 
 
 How goes the world, sir, now? 
 
 Macd. Why, see you not ? 
 
 Ross. Is't known who did this more than 
 bloody deed ? 
 
 Macd. Those that Macbeth hath slain. 
 
 Ross. Alas, the day ! 
 
 What good could they pretend ? 
 
 Macd. They were suborn'd : 
 
 Malcolm and Donalbain, the king's two sons, 
 Are stol'n away and fled ; which puts upon them 
 Suspicion of the deed. 
 
 Ross. 'Gainst nature still : 
 
 Thriftless ambition, that wilt ravin up 
 Thine own life's means ! Then 'tis most like, 
 The sovereignty will fell upon Macbeth. 
 
 Macd. He is already nam'd ; and gone to 
 
 Scone 
 To be invested. 
 
 Ross. Where is Duncan's body ? 
 
 Macd. Carried to Colme-kill, 
 The sacred storehouse of his predecessors, 
 And guardian of their bones. 
 
 Ross. Will you to Scone ? 
 
 Macd. No, cousin, I '11 to Fife. 
 
 Ross. Well, I will thither. 
 
 Macd. Well, may you see things well done 
 
 there, adieu ! 
 Lest our old robes sit easier than our new ! 
 
 Ross. Farewell, father. [those 
 
 Old M. God's benison go with you ; and with 
 
 That would make good of bad, and friends of 
 
 foes ! [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. FORRES. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter BANQUO. 
 Ban. Thou hast it now, king, Cawdor, 
 
 Glamis, all 
 
 As the weird women promis'd ; and, I fear, 
 Thou play'dst most foully for 't ; yet it was said 
 It should not stand in thy posterity ; 
 But that myself should be the root and father 
 Of many kings. If there come truth from them, 
 As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine, 
 Why, by the verities on thee made good, 
 May they not be my oracles as well, 
 And set me up in hope;? But, hush ; no more. 
 
 Sennet sounded. Enter MACBETH as King. 
 LADY MACBETH as Queen; LENNOX, Ross, 
 Lords, Ladies, and Attendants. 
 
 Macb. Here 's our chief guest. 
 
 Lady M. If he had been forgotten, 
 
 It had been as a gap in our great feast, 
 And all-thing unbecoming. 
 
 Macb. To-night we hold a solemn supper, sir, 
 And I '11 request your presence. 
 
 Ban. Let your highness 
 
 Command upon me ; to the which my duties 
 Are with a most indissoluble tie 
 For ever knit. 
 
 Macb. Ride you this afternoon ? 
 
 Ban. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 Macb. We should have else desir'd your good 
 advice, [ous, 
 
 Which still hath been both grave and prosper- 
 In this day's council ; but we '11 take to-morrow. 
 Is 't far you ride ? 
 
 Ban. As far, my lord, as will fill up the time 
 
 'Twixt this and supper : go not my horse the 
 
 better, 
 
SCENE 1.] 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 mi 
 
 I must become a borrower of the night, 
 For a dark hour or twain. 
 
 Macb. Fail not our feast. 
 
 Ban. My lord, I will not. [stow'd 
 
 Macb. We hear our bloody cousins are be- 
 In England and in Ireland ; not confessing 
 Their cruel parricide, rilling their hearers 
 With strange invention : but of that to-morrow ; 
 When therewithal we shall have cause of state 
 Craving us jointly. Hie you to horse : adieu, 
 Till you return at night. Goes Fleance with 
 you? [upon's. 
 
 Ban. Ay, my good lord : our time does call 
 
 Macb. I wish your horses swift and sure of 
 
 foot : 
 
 And so I do commend you to their backs. 
 Farewell. [Exit BANQUO. 
 
 Let every man be master of his time 
 Till seven at night ; to make society 
 The sweeter welcome, we will keep ourself 
 Till supper-time alone : while then, God be 
 with you ! 
 
 [Exeunt LADY MACBETH, Lords, 
 
 Ladies, &c. 
 
 Sirrah, a word with you : attend those men 
 Our pleasure? [gate. 
 
 Attend. They are, my lord, without the palace 
 
 Macb. Bring them before us. 
 
 [Exit Attendant. 
 To be thus is nothing ; 
 But to be safely thus : our fears in Banquo 
 Stick deep ; and in his royalty of nature 
 Reigns that which would be fear'd : 'tis much 
 
 he dares ; 
 
 And, to that dauntless temper of his mind, 
 He hath a wisdom that doth guide his valour 
 To act in safety. There is none but he 
 Whose being I do fear : and, under him, 
 My genius is rebuk'd ; as, it is said, [sisters 
 Mark Antony's was by Caesar. He chid the 
 When first they put the name of king upon me, 
 And bade them speak to him ; then, prophet - 
 
 like, 
 
 They hail'd him father to a line of kings : 
 Upon my head they plac'd a fruitless crown, 
 And put a barren sceptre in my gripe, 
 Thence to be wrench'd with an unlineal hand, 
 No son of mine succeeding. If 't be so, 
 For Banquo's issue have I fil'd my mind ; 
 For them the gracious Duncan have I murder'd ; 
 Put rancours in the vessel of my peace 
 Only for them ; and mine eternal jewel 
 Given to the common enemy of man, 
 Tc make them kings, the seed of Banquo kings ! 
 Rather than so, come, fate, into the list, 
 And champion me to the utterance ! Who 's 
 there? 
 
 Re-enter Attendant, -with two Murderers. 
 
 Now go to the door, and stay there till we call. 
 [Exit Attendant. 
 
 Was it not yesterday we spoke together ? 
 I Mur. It was, so please your highness. 
 Macb. Well then, now 
 
 Have you consider 5 d of my speeches ? Know 
 That it was he, in the times past, which held 
 
 you 
 
 So under fortune; which you thought had been 
 Our innocent self: this I made good to you 
 In our last conference, pass'd in probation with 
 
 you, [instruments, 
 
 How you were borne in hand, how cross'd, the 
 Who wrought with them, and all things else 
 
 that might 
 
 To half a soul and to a notion craz'd 
 Say, Thus did Banquo. 
 
 I Mur. You made it known to us. 
 
 Macb. I did so ; and went further, which is 
 
 now 
 
 Our point of second meeting. Do you find 
 Your patience so predominant in your nature, 
 That you can let this go? Are you so gospell'd, 
 To pray for this good man and for his issue, 
 Whose heavy hand hath bow'd you to the grave, 
 And beggar'd yours for ever ? 
 
 1 Mur. We are men, my liege. 
 Macb. Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men ; 
 
 As hounds, and greyhounds, mongrels, spaniels 
 
 curs, 
 
 Shoughs, water-rugs, and demi- wolves are clept 
 All by the name of dogs : the valu'd file 
 Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle, 
 The house-keeper, the hunter, every one 
 According to the gift which bounteous nature 
 Hath in him clos'd ; whereby he does receive 
 Particular addition, from the bill 
 That writes them all alike : and so of men. 
 Now, if you have a station in the file, 
 And not i' the worst rank of manhood, say it ; 
 And I will put that business in your bosoms, 
 Whose execution takes your enemy off ; 
 Grapples you to the heart and love of us, 
 Who wear our health but sickly in his life, 
 Which in his death were perfect. 
 
 2 Mur. I am one, my liege, 
 Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world 
 Have so incens'd that I am reckless what 
 
 I do to spite the world. 
 
 i Mur. And I another, 
 
 So weary with disasters, tugg'd with fortune, 
 That I would set my life on any chance, 
 To mend it, or be rid on 't. 
 
 Macb. Both of you 
 
 Know Banquo was your enemy. 
 
1112 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 [ACT III. 
 
 Both Mur. True, my lord. 
 
 Macb. So is he mine ; and in such bloody 
 
 distance, 
 
 That every minute of his being thrusts 
 Against my near'st of life : and though I could 
 Withbare-fac'd power sweep him from my sight, 
 And bid my will avouch it, yet I must not, 
 For certain friends that are both his and mine, 
 Whose loves I may not drop, but wail his fall 
 Who I myself struck down : and thence it is 
 That I to your assistance do make love ; 
 Masking the business from the common eye 
 For sundry weighty reasons. 
 
 2 Mur. We shall, my lord, 
 
 Perform what you command us. 
 
 i Mur. Though our lives 
 
 Macb. Your spirits shine through you. 
 
 Within this hour at most, 
 I will advise you where to plant yourselves; 
 Acquaint you with the perfect spy o' the time, 
 The moment on 't ; for 't must be done to-night, 
 And something from the palace ; always thought 
 That I require a clearness : and with him, 
 To leave no rubs nor botches in the work, 
 Fleance his son, that keeps him company, 
 Whose absence is no less material to me 
 Than is his father's, must embrace the fate 
 Of that dark hour. Resolve yourselves apart : 
 I '11 come to you anon. 
 
 Both Mur. We are resolv'd, my lord. 
 
 Macb. I '11 call upon you straight : abide 
 within. [Exeunt Murderers. 
 
 It is concluded : Banquo, thy soul's flight, 
 If it find heaven, must find it out to-night. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. The same. Another Room in the 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter LADY MACBETH and a Servant. 
 
 Lady M. Is Banquo gone from court ? 
 
 Serv. Ay, madam, but returns again to-night. 
 
 Lady M. Say to the king, I would attend 
 
 his leisure 
 For a few words. 
 
 Serv. Madam, I will. [Exit. 
 
 Lady M. Naught 's had, all 's spent, 
 
 Where our desire is got without content : 
 'Tis safer to be that which we destroy, 
 Than, by destruction, dwell in doubtful joy. 
 
 Enter MACBETH. 
 
 How now, my lord ! why do you keep alone, 
 Of sorriest fancies your companions making ; 
 Using those thoughts which should indeed have 
 died 
 
 With them they think on ? Things without all 
 
 remedy 
 
 Should be without regard : what 's done is done. 
 Macb. We have scotch'd the snake, not 
 
 kill'd it ; [malice 
 
 She'll close, and be herself; whilst our poor 
 Remains in danger of her former tooth. 
 But let the frame of things disjoint, 
 Both the worlds suffer, 
 Ere we will eat our meal in fear, and sleep 
 In the affliction of these terrible dreams 
 That shake us nightly : better be with the dead, 
 Whom we, to gain our place, have sent to peace, 
 Than on the torture of the mind to lie 
 In restless ecstacy. Duncan is in his grave ; 
 After life's fitful fever he sleeps well ; 
 Treason has done his worst : ncr steel, nor 
 
 poison, 
 
 Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing, 
 Can touch him further. 
 
 Lady M. Come on ; 
 
 Gently my lord, sleek o'er your rugged looks ; 
 Be bright and jovial 'mong your guests to-night. 
 Macb. So shall I, love ; and so, I pray, be 
 
 you : 
 
 Let your remembrance apply to Banquo ; 
 Present him eminence, both with eye and 
 
 tongue : 
 
 Unsafe the while, that we [streams ; 
 
 Must lave our honours in these flattering 
 And make our faces vizards to our hearts, 
 Disguising what they are. 
 
 Lady M. You must leave this. 
 
 Macb. O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear 
 
 wife ! [lives. 
 
 Thou know'st that Banquo, and his Fleance, 
 
 Lady M. But in them nature's copy's not 
 
 eterne. [able ; 
 
 Macb. There 's comfort yet ; they are assail- 
 Then be thou jocund : ere the bat hath flown 
 His cloister'd flight; ere, to black Hecate's 
 
 summons, 
 
 The shard-borne beetle, with his drowsy hums, 
 Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall be 
 
 done 
 A deed of dreadful note. 
 
 Lady M. What 's to be done ? 
 
 Macb. Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest 
 
 chuck, [night, 
 
 Till thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling 
 Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day ; 
 And with thy bloody and invisible hand 
 Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond 
 Which keeps me pale ! Light thickens; and 
 
 the crow 
 
 Makes wing to the rooky wood : 
 Good things of day begin to droop and drowse; 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 Whiles night's black agents to their prey do 
 rouse. [still ; 
 
 Thou marvell'st at my words: but hold thee 
 Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill: 
 So, pr'ythee, go with me. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. The same. A Park or Lawn, 
 with a gate leading to the Palace. 
 
 Enter three Murderers. 
 
 1 Mur. But who did bid thee join with us ? 
 3 Mur. Macbeth. 
 
 2 Mur. He needs not our mistrust ; since he 
 
 delivers 
 
 Our offices, and what we have to do, 
 To the direction just. 
 
 1 Mur. Then stand with us. 
 The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day: 
 Now spurs the lated traveller apace, 
 
 To gain the timely inn ; and near approaches 
 The subject of our watch. 
 
 3 Mur. Hark ! I hear horses. 
 Ban. [Wiihin.~\ Give us a light there, ho! 
 
 2 Mur. Then 'tis he ; the rest 
 That are within the note of expectation 
 Already are i' the court. 
 
 1 Mur. His horses go about. 
 
 3 Mur. Almost a mile ; but he does usually, 
 So all men do, from hence to the palace gate 
 Make it their walk. 
 
 2 Mur. A light, a light ! 
 
 3 Mur. 'Tis he. 
 I Mur. Stand to 't. 
 
 Enter BANQUO, and FLEANCE with a torch. 
 
 Ban. It will be rain to-night. 
 I Mur. Let it come down. 
 
 [Assaults BANQUO. 
 Ban. O, treachery! Fly, good Fleance, fly, 
 
 fly, fly! 
 Thou mayst revenge. O slave! 
 
 [Dies. FI.EANCE escapes. 
 3 Mur. Who did strike out the light ? 
 
 1 Mur. Was't not the way? 
 3 Mur. There 's but one down: the son is fled. 
 
 2 Mur. We have lost best half of our affair. 
 I Mur. Well, let 's away, and say how much 
 
 is done. [Exeunt. 
 
 V /:-?.-.' I ^A '(VV."\ 
 
 SCENE IV. The same. A Room of State in 
 the Palace. A Banquet prepared. 
 
 Enter MACBETH, LADY MACBETH, Ross, 
 LENNOX, Lords, and Attendants. 
 
 Macb. You know your own degrees, sit down: 
 
 at first 
 And last the hearty welcome. 
 
 Lords. Thanks to your majesty. 
 
 Macb. Ourself will mingle with society, 
 And play the humble host. 
 Our hostess keeps her state ; but, in best time, 
 We will require her welcome. [friends ; 
 
 Lady M. Pronounce it for me, sir, to all our 
 For my heart speaks they are welcome. 
 
 Macb. See, they encounter thee with their 
 
 hearts' thanks. 
 Both sides are even : here I '11 sit i' the midst : 
 
 Enter first Murderer to the door. 
 
 Be large in mirth ; anon we '11 drink a measure 
 The table round. There 's blood upon thy face. 
 
 Mur. 'Tis Banquo's then. [within. 
 
 Macb. 'Tis better thee without than he 
 Is he despatch'd ? 
 
 Mur. My lord, his throat is cut ; that I did 
 for him. 
 
 Macb. Thou art the best o' the cut-throats : 
 
 yet he 's good 
 
 That did the like for Fleance : if thou didst it, 
 Thou art the nonpareil. 
 
 Mur. Most royal sir, 
 
 Fleance is 'scap'd. [been perfect : 
 
 Macb. Then comes my fit again : I had else 
 Whole as the marble, founded as the rock ; 
 As broad and general as the casing air : [in 
 But now I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confin'd, bound 
 To saucy doubts and fears. But Banquo 's safe? 
 
 Mur. Ay, my good lord : safe in a ditch he 
 
 bides, 
 
 With twenty trenched gashes on his head ; 
 The least a death to nature. 
 
 Macb. Thanks for that : 
 
 There the grown serpent lies ; the worm that 's 
 
 fled 
 
 Hath nature that in time will venom breed, 
 No teeth for the present. Get thee gone ; to- 
 morrow 
 We '11 hear, ourselves, again. [Exit Murderer, 
 
 Lady M. My royal lord, 
 
 You do not give the cheer : the feast is sold 
 That is not often vouch'd, while 'tis a-making, 
 'Tis given with welcome : to feed were best at 
 
 home ; 
 
 From thence the sauce to meat is ceremony; 
 Meeting were bare without it. 
 
 Macb. Sweet remembrancer! 
 
 Now, good digestion wait on appetite, 
 And health on both ! 
 
 Len. May 't please your highness sit ? 
 
 [The Ghost <?/" BANQUO rises, and sits in 
 MACBETH'S//^. 
 
 Macb. Here had we now our country's honour 
 
 roof'd, 
 Were the grac'd person of our Banquo present ; 
 
III4 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Who may I rather challenge for unkindness 
 Than pity for mischance ! 
 
 Ross. His absence, sir, 
 
 Lays blame upon his promise. Please 't your 
 
 highness 
 
 To grace us with your royal company. 
 Macb. The table 's full. 
 Len. Here's a place reserv'd, sir. 
 Macb. Where? 
 Len. Here, my lord. What is't 
 
 that moves your highness ? 
 Macb. Which of you have done this ? 
 Lords. What, my good lord ? 
 
 Macb. Thou canst not say I did it: never 
 
 shake 
 
 Thy gory locks at me. [well. 
 
 Ross. Gentlemen, rise ; his highness is not 
 Lady M. Sit, worthy friends : my lord is 
 
 often thus, 
 And hath been from his youth : pray you, keep 
 
 seat; 
 
 The fit is momentary ; upon a thought 
 He will again be well : if much you note him 
 You shall offend him, and extend his passion : 
 Feed, and regard him not. Are you a man ? 
 Macb. Ay, and a bold one, that dare look 
 
 on that 
 Which might appal the devil. 
 
 Lady M. O proper stuff ! 
 
 This is the very painting of your fear : 
 This is the air-drawn dagger which, you said, 
 Led you to Duncan. O, these flaws, and 
 
 starts, 
 
 Impostors to true fear, would well become 
 A woman's story at a winter's fire, 
 Authoriz'd by her grandam. Shame itself ! 
 Why do you make such faces? When all's done, 
 You look but on a stool. 
 
 Macb. Pr'ythee, see there ! behold ! look ! 
 
 lo ! how say you ? 
 Why, what care I ? If thou canst nod, speak 
 
 too. 
 
 If charnel-houses and our graves must send 
 Those that we bury back, our monuments 
 Shall be the maws of kites. [Ghost disappears. 
 Lady M. What, quite unmann'd in folly? 
 Macb. If I stand here, I saw him. 
 Lady M. Fie, for shame ! 
 
 Macb. Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the 
 
 olden time, 
 
 Ere human statute purg'd the gentle weal ; 
 Ay, and since too, murders have been perform'd 
 Too terrible for the ear: the times have been, 
 That, when the brains were out, the man would 
 
 die, 
 
 And there an end ; but now they rise again, 
 With twenty mortal murders on their crowns, 
 
 And push us from our stools : this is more strange 
 Than such a murder is. 
 
 Lady M. My worthy lord, 
 
 Your noble friends do lack you. 
 
 Macb. I do forget : 
 
 Do not muse at me, my most worthy friends ; 
 I have a strange infirmity, which is nothing 
 To those that know me. Come, love and health 
 to all ; [full. 
 
 Then I'll sit down. Give me some wine, fill 
 I drink to the general joy o' the whole table, 
 And to our dear friend Banquo, wnom we miss; 
 Would he were here ! to all, and him, we thirst, 
 And all to all. 
 
 Lords. Our duties, and the pledge. 
 
 Ghost rises again. 
 
 Macb. Avaunt ! and quit my sight ! let the 
 
 earth hide thee ! 
 
 Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold ; 
 Thou hast no speculation in those eyes 
 Which thou dost glare with ! 
 
 Lady M. Think of this, good peers, 
 
 But as a thing of custom : 'tis no other ; , 
 
 Only it spoils the pleasure of the time. 
 
 Macb. What man dare, I dare : 
 Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear, 
 The arm'd rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger ; 
 Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves 
 Shall never tremble : or be alive again, 
 And dare me to the desert with thy sword ; 
 If trembling I inhabit then, protest me 
 The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow ! 
 Unreal mockery, hence ! [Ghost disappears. 
 Why, so ; being gone, 
 I am a man again. Pray you, sit still. 
 
 Lady M. You have displac'd the mirth, broke 
 
 the good meeting, 
 With most admir'd disorder. 
 
 Macb. Can such things be, 
 
 And overcome us like a summer's cloud, 
 Without our special wonder? You make me 
 
 strange 
 
 Even to the disposition that I owe, 
 When now I think you can behold such sights. 
 And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks, 
 When mine are blanch'd with fear. 
 
 Ross. What sights, my lord ? 
 
 Lady M. I pray you, speak not ; he grows 
 
 worse and worse ; 
 
 Question enrages him : at once, good-night : 
 Stand not upon the order of your going, 
 But go at once. 
 
 Len. Good-night ; and better health 
 
 Attend his majesty ! 
 
 Lady M. A kind good-night to all i 
 
 [Exeunt Lords and Attendants. 
 
SCENE V.] 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 1115 
 
 Macb. It will have blood ; they say, blood will 
 have blood : [speak ; 
 
 Stones have been known to move, and trees to 
 Augurs, and understood relations, have [forth 
 By magot-pies, and choughs, and rooks, brought 
 The secret'st man of blood. What is the night? 
 
 Lady M. Almost at odds with morning, which 
 is which. [his person, 
 
 Macb. How say'st thou, that Macduff denies 
 At our great bidding ? 
 
 Lady M. Did you send to him, sir ? 
 
 Macb. I hear it by the way ; but I will send : 
 There 's not a one of them but in his house 
 I keep a servant fee'd. I will to-morrow 
 (And betimes I will) to the weird sisters : 
 More shall they speak ; for now I am bent to 
 know, [good, 
 
 By the worst means, the worst. For mine own 
 All causes shall give way : I am in blood 
 Stept in so far that, should I wade no more, 
 Returning were as tedious as go o'er : [hand ; 
 Strange things I have in head, that will to 
 Which must be acted ere they may be scann'd. 
 
 Lady M. You lack the season of all natures, 
 sleep. [self-abuse 
 
 Macb. Come, we '11 to sleep. My strange and 
 Is the initiate fear, that wants hard use : 
 We are yet but young in deed. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V.The Heath. 
 
 Thunder. Enter the three Witches, meeting 
 HECATE. 
 
 i Witch. Why, how now, Hecate ! you look 
 angerly. 
 
 Hec. Have I not reason, beldams as you are, 
 Saucy and overbold? How did you dare 
 To trade and traffic with Macbeth 
 In riddles and affairs of death ; 
 And I, the mistress of your charms, 
 The close contriver of all harms, 
 Was never call'd to bear my part, 
 Or show the glory of our art ? 
 And, which is worse, all you have done 
 Hath been but for a wayward son, 
 Spiteful and wrathful ; who, as others do, 
 Loves for his own ends, not for you. 
 But make amends now : get you gone, 
 And at the pit of Acheron 
 Meet me i' the morning: thither he 
 Will come to know his destiny. 
 Your vessels and your spells provide, 
 Your charms, and everything beside. 
 I am for the air ; this night I '11 spend 
 Unto a dismal and a fatal end. 
 Great business must be wrought ere noon : 
 Upon the corner of the moon 
 
 There hangs a vaporous drop profound ; 
 I "'1 catch it ere it come to ground : 
 And that, distill'd by magic sleights, 
 Shall raise such artificial sprites, 
 As, by the strength of their irusion, 
 Shall draw him on to his confusion : 
 He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear 
 His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace, and fear: 
 And you all know, security 
 Is mortal's chiefest enemy. 
 
 [Music and song within : Come away, comt 
 
 away &c. 
 
 Hark ! I am call'd ; my little spirit, see, 
 Sits in a foggy cloud, and stays far me. [Exit, 
 I Witch. Come, let's make haste; she'll 
 soon be back again. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI. FORRES. A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter LENNOX and another Lord. 
 
 Len. My former speeches have but hit your 
 
 thoughts, 
 
 Which can interpret further : only, I say, 
 Things have been strangely borne. The gra- 
 cious Duncan 
 
 Was pitied of Macbeth : marry, he was dead: 
 And the right- valiant Banquo walk'd too late; 
 Whom, you may say, if 't please you, Fleance 
 
 kill'd, 
 
 For Fleance fled. Men must not walk too late. 
 Who cannot want the thought, how monstrous 
 It was for Malcolm and for Donalbain 
 To kill their gracious father? damned fact ! 
 How it did grieve Macbeth ! did he not straight, 
 In pious rage, the two delinquents tear, 
 That were the slaves of drink and thralls of 
 
 sleep? 
 
 Was not that nobly done? Ay, and wisely too; 
 For 'twould have anger'd any heart alive, 
 To hear the men deny 't. So that, I say, 
 He has borne all things well : and I do think, 
 That had he Duncan's sons under his key, 
 As, an't please heaven, he shall not, they 
 
 should find 
 
 What 'twere to kill a father ; so should Fleance. 
 But, peace ! for from broad words, and 'cause 
 
 he fail'd 
 
 His presence at the tyrant's feast, I hear, 
 Macduff lives in disgrace. Sir, can you tell 
 Where he bestows himself? 
 
 Lord. The son of Duncan, 
 
 From whom this tyrant holds the due of birth, 
 Lives in the English court ; and is receiv'd 
 Of the most pious Edward with such grace 
 That the malevolence of fortune nothing 
 Takes from his high respect : thither Macduff 
 Is gone to pray the holy king, upon his aid 
 
in6 
 
 MACBETH, 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 To wake Northumberland, and warlike Siward: 
 That, by the help of these, with Him above 
 To ratify the work, we may again 
 Give to our tables meat, sleep to our nights ; 
 Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives; 
 Do faithful homage, and receive free honours, 
 All which we pine for now : and this report 
 Hath so exasperate the king that he 
 Prepares for some attempt of war. 
 
 Len. Sent he to Macduff? 
 
 Lord. He did: and with an absolute, Sir, 
 
 not 7, 
 
 The cloudy messenger turns me his back, [time 
 And hums, as who should say, You '// rue the 
 That dogs me with this answer. 
 
 Len. And that well might 
 
 Advise him to a caution, to hold what distance 
 His wisdom can provide. Some holy angel 
 Fly to the court of England, and unfold 
 His message ere he come ; that a swift blessing 
 May soon return to this our suffering country 
 Under a hand accurs'd ! 
 
 Lord. I '11 send my prayers with him ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. A dark Cave. In the middle, a 
 Caldron Boiling. 
 
 Thunder. Enter the three Witches. 
 
 1 Witch. Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd. 
 
 2 Witch. Thrice ; and once the hedge-pig 
 
 whin'd. 
 
 3 Witch. Harpier cries : 'tis time, 'tis time. 
 
 1 Witch. Round about the caldron go ; 
 In the poison'd entrails throw. 
 Toad, that under the cold stone, 
 Days and nights hast thirty-one 
 Swelter'd venom sleeping got, 
 
 Boil thou first i' the charmed pot ! 
 
 All. Double, double toil and trouble; 
 
 Fire, burn ; and, caldron, bubble. 
 
 2 Witch. Fillet of a fenny snake, 
 In the caldron boil and bake; 
 Eye of newt, and toe of frog, 
 Wool of bat, and tongue of dog, 
 Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting, 
 Lizard's leg, and howlet's wing, 
 For a charm of powerful trouble, 
 Like a hell -broth boil and bubble. 
 
 All. Double, double toil and trouble, 
 Fire, burn; and, caldron, bubble. 
 
 3 Witch. Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf, 
 Witches' mummy, maw and gulf 
 
 Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark, 
 Root of hemlock digg'd i' the dark, 
 
 Liver of blaspheming Jew, 
 Gall of goat, and slips of yew 
 Sliver'd in the moon's eclipse, 
 Nose of Turk, and Tartar's lips, 
 Finger of birth-strangl'd babe, 
 Ditch-deliver'd by a drab, 
 Make the gruel thick and slab : 
 Add thereto a tiger's chaudron, 
 For the ingredients of our caldron. 
 
 All. Double, double toil and trouble ; 
 Fire, burn; and, caldron, bubble. 
 
 2 Witch. Cool it with a baboon's blood, 
 Then the charm is firm and good. 
 
 Enter HECATE. 
 
 Hec. O, well done ! I commend your pains; 
 And every one shall share i' the gains. 
 And now about the caldron sing, 
 Like elves and fairies in a ring, 
 Enchanting all that you put in. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Black spirits and white, red spirits and gray; 
 Mingle, mingle, mingle, you that mingle may. 
 
 [Exit HECATE. 
 
 2 Witch. By the pricking of my thumbs, 
 Something wicked this way comes : 
 Open, locks, whoever knocks! 
 
 Enter MACBETH. 
 
 Macb. How now, you secret, black, and 
 
 midnight hags ! 
 What is't you do? 
 
 All. A deed without a name. 
 
 Macb. I conjure you, by that which you pro- 
 fess, 
 
 Howe'er you come to know it, answer me : 
 Though you untie the winds, and let them fight 
 Against the churches ; though the yesty waves 
 Confound and swallow navigation up ; [down; 
 Though bladed corn be lodg'd, and trees blown 
 Though castles topple on their warders' heads ; 
 Though palaces and pyramids do slope 
 Their heads to their foundations; though the 
 
 treasure 
 
 Of nature's germins tumble altogether, 
 Even till destruction sicken, answer me 
 To what I ask you. 
 
 1 Witch. Speak. 
 
 2 Witch. Demand. 
 
 3 Witch. We '11 answer, 
 i Witch. Say, if thou 'dst rather hear it from 
 
 our mouths, 
 Or from our masters? 
 
 Macb. Call 'em, let me see 'em. 
 
 I Witch. Pour in sow's blood, that hath eaten 
 
 Her nine farrow ; grease that 's sweaten 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 III7 
 
 From the murderer's gibbet throw 
 Into the flame. 
 
 All. Come, high or low ; 
 
 Thyself and office deftly show ! 
 
 Thunder. An Apparition of an armed Head 
 rises. 
 
 Macb. Tell me, thou unknown power, 
 I Witch. He knows thy thought : 
 
 Hear his speech, but say thou naught. 
 App. Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! be- 
 ware Macduff; [enough. 
 Beware the Thane of Fife. Dismiss me: 
 
 [Descends. 
 
 Macb. Whate'er thou art, for thy good cau- 
 tion, thanks; [word more, 
 Thou hast harp'd my fear aright : but one 
 I Witch. He will not be commanded : here 's 
 
 another, 
 More potent than the first. 
 
 Thunder. An Apparition of a bloody Child 
 rises. 
 
 App. Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! 
 
 Macb. Had I three ears, I'd hear thee. 
 
 App. Be bloody, bold, and resolute; laugh 
 
 to scorn 
 
 The power of man, for none of woman born 
 Shall harm Macbeth. [Descends. 
 
 Macb. Then live, Macduff: what need I fear 
 
 of thee? 
 
 But yet I '11 make assurance double sure, 
 And take a bond of fate : thou shalt not live ; 
 That I may tell pale-hearted fear it lies, 
 And sleep in spite of thunder. What is this, 
 
 Thunder. An Apparition of a Child crowned, 
 with a tree in his hand, rises. 
 
 That rises like the issue of a king, 
 
 And wears upon his baby brow the round 
 
 And top of sovereignty? 
 
 All. Listen, but speak not to 't. 
 
 App. Be lion-mettled, proud; and take no 
 
 care 
 
 Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are: 
 Macbeth shall never vanquish'd be, until 
 Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill 
 Shall come against him. [Descends. 
 
 Macb. That will never be : 
 
 Who can impress the forest ; bid the tree 
 Unfix his earth-bound root? Sweet bode- 
 
 ments ! good ! 
 
 Rebellion's head, rise never, till the wood 
 Of Birnam rise, and our high-plac'd Macbeth 
 Shall live the lease of nature, pay his breath 
 To time and mortal custom. Yet my heart 
 Throbs to know one thing : tell me, if your art 
 
 Can tell so much, shall Banquo's issue ever 
 Reign in this kingdom? 
 
 All. Seek to know no more. 
 
 Macb. I will be satisfied : deny me this, 
 
 And an eternal curse fall on you 1 Let me 
 
 know : [this ? 
 
 Why sinks that caldron? and what noise is 
 
 [Hautboys. 
 
 1 Witch. Show! 
 
 2 Witch. Show! 
 
 3 Witch. Show! 
 
 All. Show his eyes, and grieve his heart ; 
 Come like shadows, so depart ! 
 
 Eight Kings appear, and pass over in order, 
 the last with a glass in his hand; BANQU 
 following. 
 
 Macb. Thou art too like the spirit of Ban- 
 quo ; down ! [hair, 
 Thy crown does sear mine eye-balls : and thy 
 Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first :-^- 
 A third is like the former. Filthy hags ! 
 Why do you show me this? A fourth? Start, 
 
 eyes ! 
 What ! will the line stretch out to the crack of 
 
 doom? 
 
 Another yet? A seventh? I '11 see no more: 
 And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass 
 Which shows me many more ; and some I see 
 That twofold balls and treble sceptres carry: 
 Horrible sight ! Now, I see, 'tis true ; 
 For the blood-bolter'd Banquo smiles upon me, 
 And points at them for his. What ! is this so? 
 
 i Witch. Ay, sir, all this is so : but why 
 Stands Macbeth thus amazedly? 
 Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprites, 
 And show the best of our delights; 
 I '11 charm the air to give a sound, 
 While you perform your antic round; 
 That this great king may kindly say, 
 Our duties did his welcome pay. 
 [ Music. The Witches dance, and then vanish. 
 Macb. Where are they? Gone? Let this 
 
 pernicious hour 
 
 Stand aye accursed in the calendar ! 
 Come in, without there. 
 
 Enter LENNOX. 
 
 Len. What 's your grace's will? 
 
 Macb. Saw you the weird sisters? 
 
 Len. No, my lord. 
 
 Macb. Came they not by you? 
 
 Len. No, indeed, my lord. 
 
 Macb. Infected be the air whereon they ride ; 
 And damn'd all those that trust them ! I did 
 
 hear 
 The galloping of horse : who was 't came by ? 
 
iiiS 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Len* 'Tis two or three, my lord, that bring 
 
 you word 
 Macduff is fled to England. 
 
 Macb. Fled to England ! 
 
 Len. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 Macb. Time, thou anticipat'st my dread ex- 
 ploits : 
 
 The flighty purpose never is o'ertook 
 Unless the deed go with it : from this moment 
 The very firstlings of my heart shall be 
 The firstlings of my hand. And even now, 
 To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought 
 
 and done : 
 
 The castle of Macduff I will surprise ; 
 Seize upon Fife ; give to the edge o' the sword 
 His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls 
 That trace him in his line. No boasting like 
 
 a fool ; 
 
 This deed I '11 do before this purpose cool : 
 But no more sights ! Where are these gentlemen? 
 Come, bring me where they are. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. FIFE. A Room in MACDUFF'S 
 Castle. 
 
 Enter LADY MACDUFF, her Son, and Ross. 
 
 Lady Macd. What had he done, to make 
 
 him fly the land? 
 
 Ross. You must have patience, madam. 
 L. Macd. He had none : 
 
 His flight was madness : when our actions do not, 
 Our fears do make us traitors. 
 
 Ross. You know not 
 
 Whether it was his wisdom or his fear. 
 
 L. Macd. Wisdom ! to leave his wife, to 
 
 leave his babes, 
 
 His mansion, and his titles, in a place 
 From whence himself does fly ? He loves us not : 
 He wants the natural touch ; for the poor wren, 
 The most diminutive of birds, will fight, 
 Her young ones in her nest, against the owl. 
 All is the fear, and nothing is the love ; 
 As little is the wisdom, where the flight 
 So runs against all reason. 
 
 Ross. My dearest coz, 
 
 I pray you, school yourself: but, for your 
 
 husband, 
 
 He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows 
 The fits o' the season. I dare not speak much 
 
 further : 
 
 But cruel are the times, when we are traitors, 
 And do not know ourselves ; when we hold 
 
 rumour 
 
 From what we fear, yet know not what we fear, 
 But float upon a wild and violent sea 
 Each way and move. I take my leave of you : 
 Shall not be long but I '11 be here again : 
 
 Things at the worst will cease, or else climb 
 
 upward 
 
 To what they were before. My pretty cousin, 
 Blessing upon you ! [less. 
 
 L. Macd. Father'd he is, and yet he 's father- 
 
 Ross. I am so much a fool, should I stay 
 
 longer, 
 
 It would be my disgrace and your discomfort : 
 I take my leave at once. [Exit. 
 
 L. Macd. Sirrah, your father 's dead ; 
 And what will you do now ? How will you live ? 
 
 Son. As birds do, mother. 
 
 L. Macd. What, with worms and flies ? 
 
 Son. With what I get, I mean ; and so do 
 they. [net nor lime, 
 
 L. Macd. Poor bird ! thou 'dst never fear the 
 The pit-fall nor the gin. 
 
 Son. Why should I, mother? Poor birds 
 
 they are not set for. 
 My father is not dead, for all your saying. 
 
 L. Macd. Yes, he is dead : how wilt thou do 
 for a father ? 
 
 Son. Nay, how will you do for a husband ? 
 
 L. Macd. Why, I can buy me twenty at any 
 market. 
 
 Son. Then you '11 buy 'em to sell again. 
 
 L. Macd. Thou speak'st with all thy wit ; 
 
 and yet, i' faith, 
 With wit enough for thee. 
 
 Son. Was my father a traitor, mother ? 
 
 L. Macd. Ay, that he was. 
 
 Son. What is a traitor ? 
 
 L. Macd. Why, one that swears and lies. 
 
 Son. And be all traitors that do so? 
 
 L. Macd. Every one that does so is a traitor, 
 and must be hanged. [and lie ? 
 
 Son. And must they all be hanged that swear 
 
 L. Macd. Every one. 
 
 Son. Who must hang them ? 
 
 L. Macd. Why, the honest men. 
 
 Son. Then the liars and swearers are fools : 
 for there are liars and swearers enow to beat 
 the honest men, and hang up them. 
 
 L. Macd. Now, God help thee, poor mon- 
 key ! But how wilt thou do for a father ? 
 
 Son. If he were dead, you 'd weep for him : 
 if you would not, it were a good sign that I 
 should quickly have a new father. 
 
 L. Macd. Poor prattler ! how thou talk'st. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Bless you, fair dame ! I am not to 
 
 you known, 
 
 Though in your state of honour I am perfect. 
 I doubt some danger does approach you nearly: 
 If you will take a homely man's advice, 
 Be not found here ; hence, with your little ones. 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 1119 
 
 To fright you thus, methinks, I am too savage; 
 To do worse to you were fell cruelty, [you ! 
 Which is too nigh your person. 1 leaven preserve 
 I dare abide no longer. [Exit. 
 
 L. Macd. Whither should I fly ? 
 
 I have done no harm. But I remember now 
 I am in this earthly world ; where to do harm 
 Is often laudable ; to do good, sometime 
 Accounted dangerous folly: why then, alas, 
 Do I put up that womanly defence, [faces? 
 To say I have done no harm? What are these 
 
 Enter Murderers. 
 
 I Mur. Where is your husband? 
 
 L. Macd. I hope, in no place so unsanctified 
 Where such as thou mayst find him. 
 
 I Mur. He 's a traitor. 
 
 Son. Thou liest, thou shag-hair'd villain. 
 
 I Mur. What, you egg? [Stabbing him. 
 Young fry of treachery ! 
 
 Son. He has kill'd me, mother : 
 
 Run away, I pray you ! [Dies. 
 
 [.;/ LADY MACDUFF, crying Murder, 
 and pursued by the Murderers. 
 
 SCENE III. ENGLAND. Before the KING'S 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter MALCOLM and MACDUFF. 
 
 Mai. Let us seek out some desolate shade, 
 
 and there 
 Weep our sad bosoms empty. 
 
 Macd. Let us rather 
 
 Hold fast the mortal sword, and, like good men, 
 Bestride our down-fall'n birthdom: each new 
 morn [sorrows 
 
 New widows howlj new orphans cry; new 
 Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds 
 As if it felt with Scotland, and yell'd out 
 Like syllable of dolour. 
 
 Mai. What I believe, I '11 wail ; 
 
 What know, believe ; and what I can redress, 
 As I shall find the time to friend, I will. 
 What you have spoke, it may be so perchance. 
 This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our 
 tongues, [well ; 
 
 Was once thought honest : you have lov'd him 
 He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young; 
 but something [dom 
 
 You may deserve of him through me ; and wis- 
 To offer up a weak, poor, innocent lamb 
 To appease an angry god. 
 
 Macd. I am not treacherous. 
 
 Mai. But Macbeth is. 
 
 A good and virtuous nature may recoil 
 In an imperial charge. But I shaJl crave your 
 pardon ; 
 
 That which you are, my thoughts cannot trans- 
 pose; 
 
 Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell : 
 Though all things foul would wear the brows 
 
 of grace, 
 Yet grace must still look so. 
 
 Macd. I have lost my hopes. 
 
 Mai. Perchance even there where I did find 
 
 my doubts. 
 
 Why in that rawness left you wife and child, 
 Those precious motives, those strong knots of 
 
 love, 
 
 Without leave-taking? I pray you, 
 Let not my jealousies be your dishonours. 
 But mine own safeties : -you may be rightly 
 
 just, 
 Whatever I shall think. 
 
 Macd. Bleed, bleed, poor country 1 
 
 Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure, 
 For goodness dare not check thee ! wear thou 
 
 thy wrongs, 
 
 Thy title is affeer'd. Fare thee well, lord: 
 I would not be the villain that thou think'st 
 For the whole space that 's in the tyrant's grasp, 
 And the rich East to boot. 
 
 Mai Be not offended : 
 
 I speak not as in absolute fear of you. 
 I think our country sinks beneath the yoke ; 
 It weeps, it bleeds ; and each new day a gash 
 Is added to her wounds : I think, withal, 
 There would be hands uplifted in my right ; 
 And here, from gracious England, have I offer 
 Of goodly thousands : but, for all this, 
 When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head, 
 Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country 
 Shall have more vices than it had before ; 
 More suffer, and more sundry ways than ever, 
 By him that shall succeed. 
 
 Macd. What should he be ? 
 
 Mai. It is myself I mean : in whom I know 
 All the particulars of vice so grafted 
 That, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth 
 Will seem as pure as snow ; and the poor state 
 Esteem him as a lamb, being compar'd 
 With my confineless harms. 
 
 Macd. Not in the legions 
 
 Of horrid hell can come a devil more damn'd 
 In evils to top Macbeth. 
 
 Mai. I grant him bloody, 
 
 Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful, 
 Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin 
 That has a name : but there 's no bottom, none, 
 In my voluptuousness : your wives, your daugh- 
 ters, [up 
 Your matrons, and your maids, could not fill 
 The cistern of my lust ; and my desire 
 All continent impediments would o'erbear, 
 
1120 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 That did oppose my will : better Macbeth 
 Than such a one to reign. 
 
 Macd. Boundless intemperance 
 
 In nature is a tyranny ; it hath been 
 The untimely emptying of the happy throne, 
 And fall of many kings. But fear not yet 
 To take upon you what is yours : you may 
 Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty, 
 And yet seem cold, the time you may so hood- 
 wink, [be 
 We have willing dames enough ; there cannot 
 That vulture in you, to devour so many 
 As will to greatness dedicate themselves, 
 Finding it so inclin'd. 
 
 Mai. With this there grows, 
 
 In my most ill-compos'd affection, such 
 A stanchless avarice, that, were I king, 
 I should cut off the nobles for their lands ; 
 Desire his jewels, and this other's house : 
 And my more-having would be as a sauce 
 To make me hunger more ; that I should forge 
 Quarrels unjust against the good and loyal, 
 Destroying them for wealth. 
 
 Macd. This avarice 
 
 Sticks deeper ; grows with more pernicious root 
 Than summer-'seeming lust ; and it hath been 
 The sword of our slain kings : yet do not fear ; 
 Scotland hath foysons to fill up your will, 
 Of your mere own : all these are portable, 
 With other graces weigh'd. [graces, 
 
 Mai. But I have none : the king-becoming 
 As justice, verity, temperance, stableness, 
 Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness, 
 Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude, 
 I have no relish of them ; but abound 
 In the division of each several crime, [should 
 Acting it many ways. Nay, had I power, I 
 Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell, 
 Uproar the universal peace, confound 
 All unity on earth. 
 
 Macd. O Scotland ! Scotland ! 
 
 Mai. If such a one be fit to govern, speak : 
 I am as I have spoken. 
 
 Macd. Fit to govern ! 
 
 No, not to live !O nation miserable, 
 With an untitled tyrant bloody-scepter'd, 
 When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again, 
 Since that the truest issue of thy throne 
 By his own interdiction stands accurs'd, 
 And does blaspheme his breed? Thy royal 
 father [thee, 
 
 Was a most sainted king ; the queen that bore 
 Oftener upon her knees than on her feet, 
 Died every day she lived. Fare-thee-well ! 
 These evils thou repeat'st upon thyself 
 Have banish'd me from Scotland. O my breast, 
 Thy hope ends here ! 
 
 Mai. Macduff, this noble passion, 
 
 Child of integrity, hath from my soul 
 Wip'd the black scruples, reconcil'd my thoughts 
 To thy good truth and honour. Devilish Macbeth 
 By many of these trains hath sought to win me 
 Into his power ; and modest wisdom plucks me 
 From over-credulous haste : but God above 
 Deal between thee and me ! for even now 
 I put myself to thy direction, and 
 Unspeak mine own detraction ; here abjure 
 The taints and blames I laid upon myself, 
 For strangers to my nature. I am yet 
 Unknown to woman ; never was forsworn ; 
 Scarcely have coveted what was mine own ; 
 At no time broke my faith ; would not betray 
 The devil to his fellow ; and delight [ing- 
 
 No less in truth than life : my first false speak - 
 Was this upon myself : what I am truly, 
 Is thine, and my poor country's, to command : 
 Whither, indeed, before thy here-approach, 
 Old Siward, with ten thousand warlike men, 
 Already at a point, was setting forth : 
 Now we '11 together ; and the chance of goodness 
 Be like our warranted quarrel ! Why are you 
 silent? [at once 
 
 Macd. Such welcome and unwelcome things 
 'Tis hard to reconcile. 
 
 Enter a Doctor. 
 
 Mai. Well ; more anon. Comes the king 
 forth, I pray you ? [souls 
 
 Doct. Ay, sir: there are a crew of wretched 
 That stay his cure : their malady convinces 
 The great assay of art ; but, at his touch, 
 Such sanctity hath heaven given his hand, 
 They presently amend. 
 
 Mai. I thank you, doctor. [Exit Doctor. 
 
 Macd. What 's the disease he means ? 
 
 Mai. 'Tis called the evil : 
 
 A most miraculous work in this good king ; 
 Which often, since my here-remain in England, 
 I have seen him do. How he solicits heaven, 
 Himself best knows : but strangely- visited 
 
 people, 
 
 All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye, 
 The mere despair of surgery, he cures ; 
 Hanging a golden stamp about their necks, 
 Put on with holy prayers: and 'tis spoken, 
 To the succeeding royalty he leaves 
 The healing benediction. With this strange 
 
 virtue, 
 
 He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy ; 
 And sundry blessings hang about his throne, 
 That speak him full of grace. 
 
 Macd. See, who comes here ? 
 
 Mai. My countryman ; but yet I know him 
 not. 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 1121 
 
 Enter Ross. 
 
 Macd. My ever-gentle cousin, welcome hither. 
 
 Mai. I know him now. Good God, betimes 
 
 remove 
 The means that makes us strangers ! 
 
 Ross. Sir, amen. 
 
 Macd. Stands Scotland where it did ? 
 
 Ross. Alas, poor country, 
 
 Almost afraid to know itself! It cannot 
 Be call'd our mother, but our grave: where 
 
 nothing, 
 
 But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile; 
 Wnere sighs, and groans, and shrieks, that rent 
 the air, [seems 
 
 Are made, not mark'd ; where violent sorrow 
 A modern ecstacy ; the dead man's knell 
 Is there scarce ask'd for who ; and good men's 
 
 lives 
 
 Expire before the flowers in their caps, 
 Dying or ere they sicken. 
 
 Macd. O, relation 
 
 Too nice, and yet too true ! 
 
 Mai. What 's the newest grief? 
 
 Ross. That of an hour's age doth hiss the 
 
 speaker ; 
 Each minute teems a new one. 
 
 Macd. How does my wife? 
 
 Ross. Why, well. 
 
 Macd. And all my children ? 
 
 Ross. Well too. 
 
 Macd. The tyrant has not batter'd at their 
 peace? 
 
 Ross. No; they were well at peace when 
 I did leave 'em. 
 
 Macd. Be not a niggard of your speech : how 
 goes 't ? [tidings, 
 
 Ross. When I came hither to transport the 
 Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumour 
 Of many worthy fellows that were out ; 
 Which was to my belief witness'd the rather, 
 For that I saw the tyrant's power a-foot : 
 Now is the time of help ; your eye in Scotland 
 Would create soldiers, make our women fight, 
 To doff their dire distresses. 
 
 Mai. Be 't their comfort 
 
 We are coming thither : gracious England hath 
 Lent us good Siward and ten thousand men ; 
 An older and a better soldier none 
 That Christendom gives out. 
 
 Ross. Would I could answer 
 
 This comfort with the like ! But I have words 
 That would be howl'd out in the desert air, 
 Where hearing should not latch them. 
 
 Macd. What concern they? 
 
 The general cause ? or is it a fee-grief 
 Due to some single breast ? 
 
 Ross. No mind that 's honest 
 
 But in it shares some woe ; though the main part 
 Pertains to you alone. 
 
 Macd. If it be mine, 
 
 Keep it not from me ; quickly let me have it. 
 
 Ross. Let not your ears despise my tongue 
 for ever, [sound 
 
 Which shall possess them with the heaviest 
 That ever yet they heard. 
 
 Macd. Hum ! I guess at it. 
 
 Ross. Your castle is surpris'd ; your wife and 
 
 babes 
 
 Savagely slaughter^ : to relate the manner, 
 Were, on the quarry of these murder'd deer, 
 To add the death of you. 
 
 Mai. Merciful heaven ! 
 
 What, man ! ne'er pull your hat upon your 
 brows ; [speak 
 
 Give sorrow words: the grief that does not 
 Whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it 
 break. 
 
 Macd. My children too ? 
 
 Ross. Wife, children, servants, all 
 
 That could be found. 
 
 Macd. And I must be from thence ! 
 
 My wife kill'd too? 
 
 Ross. I have said. 
 
 Mai. Be comforted : 
 
 Let 's make us medicines of our great revenge, 
 To cure this deadly grief. [ones ? 
 
 Macd. He has no children. All my pretty 
 Did you say all ? O hell-kite! All? 
 What, all my pretty chickens and their dam 
 At one fell swoop? 
 
 Mai. Dispute it like a man. 
 
 Macd. I shall do so ; 
 
 But I must also feel it as a man : 
 I cannot but remember such things were, 
 That were most precious to me. Did heaven 
 
 look on, 
 
 And would not take their part ? Sinful Macduff, 
 They were all struck for thee ! naught that I am, 
 Not for their own demerits, but for mine, 
 Fell slaughter on their souls : heaven rest them 
 now ! [let grief 
 
 Mai. Be this the whetstone of your sword 
 Convert to anger ; blunt not the heart, enrage it 
 
 Macd. O, I could play the woman with mine 
 eye, [heavens. 
 
 And braggart with my tongue ! But, gentle 
 Cut short all intermission ; front to front 
 Bring thou this fiend of Scotland and myself; 
 Within my sword's length set him ; if he 'scape, 
 Heaven forgive him too ! 
 
 Mai. This tune goes manly. 
 
 Come, go we to the king ; our power is ready ; 
 Our lack is nothing but our leave : Macbeth 
 
 2 N 
 
1 122 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above 
 Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer 
 
 you may; 
 The night is long that never finds the day. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. DUNSINANE. A Room in the 
 
 Castle. 
 
 Enter a Doctor of Physic and a Waiting- 
 Gentlewoman. 
 
 Doct. I have two nights watched with you, 
 but can perceive no truth in your report. 
 When was it she last walked ? 
 
 Gent. Since his majesty went into the field, 
 I have seen her rise from her bed, throw her 
 nightgown upon her, unlock her closet, take 
 forth paper, fold it, write upon it, read it, after- 
 wards seal it, and again return to bed ; yet all 
 this while in a most fast sleep. 
 
 Doct. A great perturbation in nature, to 
 receive at once the benefit of sleep, and do the 
 effects of watching ! In this slumbery agitation, 
 besides her walking and other actual perform- 
 ances, what, at any time, have you heard her 
 say? 
 
 Gent. That, sir, which I will not report after 
 her. 
 
 Doct. You may to me; and 'tis most meet 
 you should. 
 
 Gent. Neither to you nor any one ; having 
 no witness to confirm my speech. Lo you, 
 here she comes ! 
 
 Enter LADY MACBETH, with a taper. 
 This is her very guise ; and, upon my life, fast 
 asleep. Observe her ; stand close. 
 
 Doct. How came she by that light ? 
 
 Gent. Why, it stood by her: she has light 
 by her continually ; 'tis her command. 
 
 Doct. You see, her eyes are open. 
 
 Gent. Ay, but their sense is shut. 
 
 Doct. What is it she does now? Look, how 
 she rubs her hands. 
 
 Gent. It is an accustomed action with her, to 
 seem thus washing her hands: I have known 
 her continue in this a quarter of an hour. 
 
 Lady M. Yet here 's a spot. 
 
 Doct. Hark! she speaks: I will set down 
 what comes from her, to satisfy my remembrance 
 the more strongly. 
 
 Lady M. Out, damned spot ! out, I say ! 
 One ; two : why, then 'tis time to do 't : Hell 
 is murky! Fie, my lord, fie! a soldier, and 
 afeard? What need we fear who knows it, 
 when none can call our power to account? 
 
 Yet who would have thought the old man to 
 have had so much blood in him ? 
 
 Doct. Do you mark that ? 
 
 Lady M. The Thane of Fife had a wife ; 
 where is she now? What, will these hands 
 ne'er be clean ? No more o' that, my lord, no 
 more o' that : you mar all with this starting. 
 
 Doct. Go to, go to ; you have known what 
 you should not. 
 
 Gent. She has spoke what she should not, I 
 am sure of that : heaven knows what she has 
 known. 
 
 Lady M. Here 's the smell of the blood still : 
 all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this 
 little hand. Oh, oh, oh ! 
 
 Doct. What a sigh is there! The heart is 
 sorely charged. 
 
 Gent. I would not have such a heart in my 
 bosom for the dignity of the whole body. 
 
 Doct. Well, well, well, 
 
 Gent. Pray God it be, sir. 
 
 Doct. This disease is beyond my practice : yet 
 I have known those which have walked in their 
 sleep who have died holily in their beds. 
 
 Lady M. Wash your hands, put on your 
 nightgown ; look not so pale : I tell you yet 
 again, Banquo 's buried ; he cannot come out 
 on 's grave. 
 
 Doct. Even so ? 
 
 Lady M. To bed, to bed ; there 's knocking 
 at the gate : come, come, come, come, give me 
 your hand : what 's done cannot be undone : to 
 bed, to bed, to bed. [Exit. 
 
 Doct. Will she go now to bed ? 
 
 Gent. Directly. [deeds 
 
 Doct. Foul whisperings are abroad: unnatural 
 Do breed unnatural troubles: infected minds 
 To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets. 
 More needs she the divine than the physician. 
 God, God forgive us all ! Look after her ; 
 Remove from her the means of all annoyance, 
 And still keep eyes upon her : so, good-night : 
 My mind she has mated, and amaz'd my sight : 
 I think, but dare not speak. 
 
 Gent. Good-night, good doctor. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. The Country near Dunsinane. 
 
 Enter, with drum and colours, MENTEITH, 
 CAITHNESS, ANGUS, LENNOX, and Soldiers. 
 
 Ment. The English power is near, led on 
 
 by Malcolm, 
 
 His uncle Siward, and the good Macduff. 
 Revenges burn in them ; for their dear causes 
 Would to the bleeding and the grim alarm 
 Excite the mortified man. 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 H23 
 
 Ang. Near Birnam wood 
 
 Shall we well meet them ; tha,. way are they 
 coming. 
 
 Caith. Who knows if Donalbain be with his 
 brother ? 
 
 Len. For certain, sir, he is not : I have a file 
 Of all the gentry : there is Siward's son, 
 And many unrough youths, that even now 
 Protest their first of manhood. 
 
 Ment. What does the tyrant ? 
 
 Caith. Great Dunsinane he strongly fortifies: 
 Some say he 's mad ; others, that lesser hate 
 
 him, 
 
 Do call it valiant fury : but, for certain, 
 He cannot buckle his distemper'd course 
 Within the belt of rule. 
 
 Ang. Now does he feel 
 
 His secret murders sticking on his hands ; 
 Now minutely revolts upbraid his faith-breach; 
 Those he commands move only in command, 
 Nothing in love : now does he feel his title 
 Hang loose about him, like a giant's robe 
 Upon a dwarfish thief. 
 
 Ment. Who, then, shall blame 
 
 His pester'd senses to recoil and start, 
 When all that is within him does condemn 
 Itself for being there ? 
 
 Caith. Well, march we on, 
 
 To give obedience where 'tis truly ow'd : 
 Meet we the medicine of the sickly weal ; 
 And with him pour we, in our country's purge, 
 Each drop of us. 
 
 Len. Or so much as it needs, 
 
 To dew the sovereign flower, and drown the 
 
 weeds. 
 Make we our march towards Birnam. 
 
 [Exeunt, marching. 
 
 SCENE III. DUNSINANE. A Room in the 
 Castle. 
 
 Enter MACBETH, Doctor, and Attendants. 
 
 Macb. Bring me no more reports ; let them 
 
 fly all : 
 
 Till Birnam wood remove to Duneinane 
 I cannot taint with fear. What's the boy 
 
 Malcolm ? 
 Was he not born of woman ? The spirits that 
 
 know 
 A.11 mortal consequences have pronounc'd me 
 
 thus, {woman 
 
 Fear not, Macbeth; no man that's born of 
 Shall e'er have power upon thee. Then fly, 
 
 false thanes, 
 
 And mingle with the English epicures : 
 The mind I sway by, and the heart I bear, 
 Shall never sag with doubt nor shake with fear. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 The devil damn thee black, thou cream -fac'd 
 
 loon ! 
 Where gott'st thou that goose look ? 
 
 Serv. There is ten thousand 
 
 Macb. Geese, villain ? 
 
 Serv. Soldiers, sir. 
 
 Macb. Go, prick thy face, and over-red thy 
 
 fear, 
 
 Thou lily-liver'd boy. What soldiers, patch ? 
 Death of thy soul ! those linen cheeks of thine 
 Are counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey- 
 face? 
 
 Serv. The English force, so please you. 
 
 Macb. Take thy face hence. {Exit Servant. 
 Seyton ! I am sick at heart, 
 When I behold Seyton, I say ! This push 
 Will chair me ever, or disseat me now. 
 I have liv'd long enough : my way of life 
 Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf ; 
 And that which should accompany old age, 
 As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, 
 I must not look to have ; but, in their stead, 
 Curses not loud but deep, mouth-honour, 
 breath, [dare not. 
 
 Which the poor heart would fain deny, and 
 Seyton ! 
 
 Enter SEYTON. 
 
 Sey. What is your gracious pleasure ? 
 
 Macb. What news more ? 
 
 Sey. All is confirm'd, my lord, which was 
 reported. [be hack'd. 
 
 Macb. I '11 fight till from my bones my flesh 
 Give me my armour. 
 
 Sey. 'Tis not needed yet. 
 
 Macb. I '11 put it on. 
 
 Send out more horses, skirr the country round; 
 Hang those that talk of fear. Give me mine 
 
 armour. 
 How does your patient, doctor ? 
 
 Doct. Not so sick, my lord, 
 
 As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies, 
 That keep her from her rest. 
 
 Macb. Cure her of that : 
 
 Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd ; 
 Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow ; 
 Raze out the written troubles of the brain ; 
 And with some sweet oblivious antidote 
 Cleanse the stuffd bosom of that perilous stuff 
 Which weighs upon the heart ? 
 
 Doct. Therein the patient 
 
 Must minister to himself. [of it. 
 
 Macb. Throw physic to the dogs, I '11 none 
 Come, put mine armour on ; give me my 
 staff: 
 
1124 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Seyton, send out. Doctor, the thanes fly from 
 me. [cast 
 
 Come, sir, despatch. If thou couldst, doctor, 
 The water of my land, find her disease, 
 And purge it to a sound and pristine health, 
 I would applaud thee to the very echo, 
 That should applaud again. Pull 't off, I say. 
 What rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drug, 
 Would scour these English hence? Hear'st 
 thou of them ? [tion 
 
 Doct. Ay, my good lord ; your royal prepara- 
 Makes us hear something. 
 
 Macb. Bring it after me. 
 
 I will not be afraid of death and bane, 
 Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane. 
 
 [Exeunt all except Doctor. 
 Doct. Were I from Dunsinane away and clear, 
 Profit again should hardly draw me here. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV. Country near Dunsinane : a 
 Wood in view. 
 
 Enter, with drum and colours, MALCOLM, old 
 SiWARDa^^zVSon, MACDUFF, MENTEITH, 
 CAITHNESS, ANGUS, LENNOX, Ross, and 
 Soldiers, marching. 
 
 Mai. Cousins, I hope the days are near at 
 
 hand 
 That chambers will be safe. 
 
 Ment. We doubt it nothing. 
 
 Siw. What wood is this before us? 
 
 Ment, The wood of Birnam. 
 
 Mai. Let every soldier hew him down a 
 bough, [shadow 
 
 And bear 't before him ; thereby shall we 
 The numbers of our host, and make discovery 
 Err in report of us. 
 
 Sold. It shall be done. [tyrant 
 
 Siw. We learn no other but the confident 
 Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure 
 Our setting down before 't. 
 
 Mai. 'Tis his main hope : 
 
 For where there is advantage to be given, 
 Both more and less have given him the revolt ; 
 And none serve with him but constrained things, 
 Whose hearts are absent too. 
 
 Macd. Let our just censures 
 
 Attend the true event, and put we on 
 Industrious soldiership. 
 
 Siw. The time approaches, 
 
 That will with due decision make us know 
 What we shall say we have, and what we owe. 
 Thoughts speculative their unsure hopes relate ; 
 But certain issue strokes must arbitrate : 
 Towards which advance the war. 
 
 [Exeunt^ marching. 
 
 SCENE V. DUNSINANE. Within the Castle. 
 
 Enter t with drum and colours^ MACBETH, 
 SEYTON, and Soldiers. 
 
 Macb. Hang out our banners on the out- 
 ward walls ; 
 
 The cry is still. They come: our castle's strength 
 Will laugh a siege to scorn : here let them lie 
 Till famine and the ague eat them up : 
 Were they not forc'd with those that should be 
 ours, [beard, 
 
 We might have met them dareful, beard to 
 And beat them backward home. 
 
 [A cry of women within. 
 What is that noise ? 
 Sey. It is the cry of women, my good lord. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Macb. I have almost forgot the taste of fears : 
 The time has been, my senses would have cool'd 
 To hear a night-shriek ; and my fell of hair 
 Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir 
 As life were in 't : I have supp'd full with 
 
 horrors ; 
 
 Direness, familiar to my slaught'rous thoughts, 
 Cannot once start me. 
 
 Re-enter SEYTON. 
 
 Wherefore was that cry? 
 
 Sey. The queen, my lord, is dead. 
 
 Macb. She should have died hereafter ; 
 There would have been a time for such a word. 
 To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, 
 Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, 
 To the last syllable of recorded time ; 
 And all our yesterdays have lighted fools 
 The way to dusty death. Out , out , brief candle ! 
 Life 's but a walking shadow ; a poor player, 
 That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, 
 And then is heard no more : it is a tale 
 Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, 
 Signifying nothing. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Thou com'st to use thy tongue ; thy story 
 
 quickly. 
 
 Mess. Gracious my lord, 
 I should report that which I say I saw, 
 But know not how to do it. 
 
 Macb. Well, say, sir. 
 
 Mess. As I did stand my watch upon the hill, 
 I look'd toward Birnam, and anon, methought, 
 The wood began to move. 
 
 Macb. Liar, and slave ! 
 
 [Striking him. 
 
 Mess. Let me endure your wrath, if 't be not 
 so. 
 
SCENE VI.] 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 1125 
 
 Within this three mile may you see it coming ; 
 I say, a moving grove. 
 
 Macb. If thou speak'st false, 
 
 Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive, 
 Till famine cling thee : if thy speech be sooth, 
 I care not if thou dost for me as much. 
 I pull in resolution ; and begin 
 To doubt the equivocation of the fiend 
 That lies like truth: Fear not, till Birnam wood 
 Do come to Dunsinane ; and now a wood 
 Comes toward Dunsinane. Arm, arm, and 
 
 out ! 
 
 If this which he avouches does appear, 
 There is nor flying hence nor tarrying here. 
 I 'gin to be a- weary of the sun, [done. 
 
 And wish the estate o' the world were now un- 
 Ring the alarum-bell ! Blow, wind ! come, 
 
 wrack ! 
 At least we '11 die with harness on our back. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI. The same. A Plain before the 
 Castle. 
 
 Enter ; with drum and colour s> MALCOLM, old 
 SIWARD, MACDUFF, &c., and their Army, 
 with boughs. 
 
 Mai. Now near enough ; your leafy screens 
 
 throw down, 
 And show like those you are. You, worthy 
 
 uncle, 
 
 Shall, with my cousin, your right-noble son, 
 Lead our first battle : worthy Macduff and we 
 Shall take upon 's what else remains to do, 
 According to our order. 
 
 Siw. Fare you well. 
 
 Do we but find the tyrant's power to-night, 
 Let us be beaten, if we cannot fight. 
 
 Macd. Make all our trumpets speak ; give 
 
 them all breath, 
 
 Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VII. The same. Another part of the 
 Plain. 
 
 Alarums. Enter MACBETH. 
 
 Macb. They have tied me to a stake ; I can- 
 not fly, 
 
 But, bear-like, I must fight the course. 
 What 'she 
 
 That was not born of woman ? Such a one 
 
 Am I to fear, or none. 
 
 Enter young SlWARD. 
 
 Yo. Siw. What is thy name ? 
 
 Macb. Thou' It be afraid to hear it. 
 
 Yo. Siw. No ; though thou call'st thyself a 
 
 hotter name 
 Than any is in hell. 
 
 Macb. My name 's Macbeth. 
 
 Yo. Siw. The devil himself could not pro- 
 nounce a title 
 More hateful to mine ear. 
 Macb. No, nor more fearful. 
 
 Yo. Siw. Thou liest, abhorred tyrant ; with 
 
 my sword 
 I '11 prove the lie thou speak'st. 
 
 [They fight, and young SIWARD is slain. 
 Macb. Thou wast born of woman. 
 
 But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn, 
 Brandish'd by man that 's of a woman born. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Alarums. Enter MACDUFF. 
 
 Macd. That way the noise is. Tyrant, 
 
 show thy face ! 
 
 If thou be 'st slain, and with no stroke of mine, 
 My wife and children's ghosts will haunt me 
 
 still. 
 
 I cannot strike at wretched kerns, whose arms 
 Are hir'd to bear their staves ; either thou, 
 
 Macbeth, 
 
 Or else my sword, with an unbatter'd edge, 
 I sheathe again undeeded. There thou shouldst 
 
 be; 
 
 By this great clatter, one of greatest note 
 Seems bruited. Let me find him, fortune! 
 And more I beg not. [Exit. Alarums. 
 
 Enter MALCOLM and old SIWARD. 
 
 Siw. This way, my lord ; the castle 's gently 
 
 render'd : 
 
 The tyrant's people on both sides do fight ; 
 The noble thanes do bravely in the war ; 
 The day almost itself professes yours, 
 And little is to do. 
 
 Mai. We have met with foes 
 
 That strike beside us. 
 
 Siw. Enter, sir, the castle. 
 
 [Exeunt. Alarums. 
 
 SCENE VIII. 77^ same. Another part of the 
 Plain. 
 
 Enter MACBETH. 
 
 Macb. Why, should I play the Roman fool, 
 and die [gashes 
 
 On mine own sword? whiles I see lives, the 
 Do better upon them. 
 
 Enter MACDUFF. 
 
 Macd. Turn, hell-hound, turn ! 
 
 Macb. Of all men else I have avoided thee : 
 
1 126 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 But get thee back ; my soul is too much charg'd 
 With blood of thine already. 
 
 Macd. I have no words, 
 
 My voice is in my sword : thou bloodier villain 
 Than terms can give thee out ! [ They fight. 
 
 Macb. Thou losest labour: 
 
 As easy mayst thou the intrenchant air 
 With thy keen sword impress, as make me 
 
 bleed: 
 
 Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests ; 
 I bear a charmed life, which must not yield 
 To one of woman born. 
 
 Macd. Despair thy charm ; 
 
 And let the angel whom thou still hast serv'd 
 Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb 
 Untimely ripp'd. [so, 
 
 Macb. Accursed be that tongue that tells me 
 For it hath cow'd my better part of man ! 
 And be these juggling fiends no more believ'd, 
 That palter with us in a double sense ; 
 That keep the word of promise to our ear, 
 And break it to our hope ! I '11 not fight with 
 thee. 
 
 Macd. Then yield thee, coward, 
 And live to be the show and gaze o' the time : 
 We '11 have thee, as our rarer monsters are, 
 Painted upon a pole, and underwrit, 
 Here may you see the tyrant. 
 
 Macb. I will not yield, 
 
 To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet, 
 And to be baited with the rabble's curse. 
 Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane, 
 And thou oppos'd, being of no woman born, 
 Yet I will try the last. Before my body 
 I throw my warlike shield: lay on, Macduff; 
 And damn'd be him that first cries, Bold, 
 enough! [Exeunt, fighting. 
 
 Retreat. Flourish. Enter, with drum and 
 colours, MALCOLM, old SIWARD, Ross, 
 LENNOX, ANGUS, CAITHNESS, MENTEITH, 
 and Soldiers. 
 
 Mai. I would the friends we miss were safe 
 arriv'd. [see, 
 
 Siw. Some must go off; and yet, by these I 
 So great a day as this is cheaply bought. 
 
 Mai. Macduff is missing, and your noble son. 
 Ross. Your son, my lord, has paid a soldier's 
 
 debt: 
 He only liv'd but till he was a man ; 
 
 The which no sooner had his prowess confirm'd 
 In the unshrinking station where he fought, 
 But like a man he died. 
 
 Siw. Then he is dead? 
 
 Ross. Ay, and brought off the field : your 
 
 cause of sorrow 
 
 Must not be measur'd by his worth, for then 
 It hath no end. 
 
 Siw. Had he his hurts before ? 
 
 Ross. Ay, on the front. 
 
 Siw. Why, then, God's soldier be he ! 
 
 Had I as many sons as I have hairs, 
 I would not wish them to a fairer death : 
 And, so his knell is knoll'd. 
 
 Mai. He 's worth more sorrow, 
 
 And that I '11 spend for him. 
 
 Siw. He 's worth no more : 
 
 They say he parted well, and paid his score : 
 And so, God be with him ! Here comes newer 
 comfort. 
 
 Re-enter MACDUFF, with MACBETH'S head. 
 
 Macd. Hail, king ! for so thou art : behold, 
 
 where stands 
 
 The usurper's cursed head : the time is free : 
 I see thee compass'd with thy kingdom's pearl 
 That speak my salutation in their minds ; 
 Whose voices I desire aloud with mine, 
 Hail, King of Scotland ! 
 
 All. Hail, King of Scotland ! 
 
 [Flourish. 
 
 Mai. We shall not spend a large expense of 
 
 time 
 
 Before we reckon with your several loves, 
 And make us even with you. My thanes and 
 
 kinsmen, 
 
 Henceforth be earls, the first that ever Scotland 
 In such an honour nam'd. What 's more to do, 
 Which would be planted newly with the time, 
 As calling home our exil'd friends abroad, 
 That fled the snares of watchful tyranny; 
 Producing forth the cruel ministers 
 Of this dead butcher, and his fiend-like queen, 
 Who, as 'tis thought, by self and violent hands 
 Took off her life ; this, and what needful else 
 That calls upon us, by the grace of Grace, 
 We will perform in measure, time, and place: 
 So, thanks to all at once, and to each one, 
 Whom we invite to see us crown'd at Scone. 
 
 [Flourish. Exeunt. 
 
 gfifi&f I mA 
 
HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 CLAUDIUS, King of Denmark. 
 
 HAMLET, Son to the former and Nephew to the 
 
 present King. 
 
 POLONIUS, Lord Chamberlain. 
 HORATIO, Friend to HAMLET. 
 LAERTES, Son to POLONIUS. 
 VOLTIMAND, 
 CORNELIUS, 
 ROSENCRANTZ, 
 GUILDENSTERN, 
 
 OSRIC, 
 
 A Gentleman, 
 A Priest. 
 MARCELLUS, 
 BERNARDO, 
 
 Courtiers. 
 
 *' } Officers. 
 
 FRANCISCO, a Soldier. 
 
 REYNALDO, Servant to POLONIUS. 
 
 Players. 
 
 Two Clowns, Grave-diggers. 
 
 FORTINBRAS, Prince of Norway. 
 
 A Captain. 
 
 English Ambassadors. 
 
 Ghost of HAMLET'S Father. 
 
 GERTRUDE, Queen of Denmark, and Mother 
 
 of HAMLET. 
 OPHELIA, Daughter to POLONIUS. 
 
 Lords, Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Sailors, 
 Messengers, and other Attendants. 
 
 SCENE, ELSINORE. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 -ELSINORE. A Platform before the 
 Castle. 
 
 FRANCISCO at his post. Enter to him 
 
 BERNARDO. 
 Ber. Who's there? 
 
 Fran. Nay, answer me : stand, and unfold 
 Yourself. 
 
 Ber. Long live the king ! 
 
 Fran. Bernardo ? 
 
 Ber. He. 
 
 Fran. You come most carefully upon your 
 
 hour. 
 Ber. 'Tis now struck twelve ; get thee to bed, 
 
 Francisco. 
 Fran. For this relief much thanks : 'tis bitter 
 
 cold, 
 And I am sick at heart. 
 
 Ber. Have you had quiet guard ? 
 Fran. Not a mouse stirring. 
 
 Ber. Well, good-night. 
 If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus, 
 The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste. 
 Fran. I think I hear them. Stand, ho! 
 Who is there? 
 
 Enter HORATIO and MARCELLUS. 
 Hor. Friends to this ground. 
 Mar. And liegemen to the Dane. 
 
 Fran. Give you good-night. 
 
 Mar. O, farewell, honest soldier: 
 
 Who hath reliev'd you ? 
 
 Fran. Bernardo has my place. 
 
 Give you good-night. {Exit. 
 
 Mar. Holla! Bernardo! 
 
 Ber. Say. 
 
 What, is Horatio there ? 
 
 Hor. A piece of him. 
 
 Ber. Welcome, Horatio: welcome, good 
 Marcellus. [night ? 
 
 Mar. What, has this thing appear'd again to- 
 
 Ber. I have seen nothing. 
 
 Mar. Horatio says 'tis but our fantasy, 
 And will not let belief take hold of him ^ 
 Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us : 
 Therefore I have entreated him along 
 With us to watch the minutes of this night ; 
 That, if again this apparition come 
 He may approve our eyes and speak to it. 
 
 Hor. Tush, tush, 'twill not appear. 
 
 Ber. Sit down awhile, 
 
 And let us once again assail your ears, 
 That are so fortified against our story, 
 What we two nights have seen. 
 
 Hor. Well, sit we down, 
 
 And let us hear Bernardo speak of this. 
 
 Ber. Last night of all, 
 When yon same star that 's westward from the 
 
 pole 
 
 Had made his course to illume that part of 
 heaven 
 
1 128 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 [ACT 
 
 Where now it burns, Marcellus and myself, 
 The bell then beating one, [comes again ! 
 Mar. Peace, break thee off; look where it 
 
 Enter Ghost, armed. 
 
 Ber. In the same figure, like the king that 's 
 dead. [Horatio. 
 
 Mar. Thou art a scholar ; speak to it, 
 
 Ber. Looks it not like the king ? mark it, 
 Horatio. [and wonder. 
 
 Hor. Most like: it harrows me with fear 
 
 Btr. It would be spoke to. 
 
 Mar. Question it, Horatio. 
 
 Hor. What art thou, that usurp'st this time 
 
 of night, 
 
 Together with that fair and warlike form 
 In which the majesty of buried Denmark 
 Did sometimes march? by heaven I charge 
 thee, speak! 
 
 Mar. It is offe ded. 
 
 Ber. See, it stalks away ! 
 
 Hor. Stay! speak, speak! I charge thee, 
 speak ! [Exzt Ghost. 
 
 Mar. 'Tis gone, and will not answer, [pale : 
 
 Ber. How now, Horatio ! you tremble and look 
 Is not this something more than fantasy? 
 What think you on \ ? 
 
 Hor. Before my God, I might not this believe 
 Without the sensible and true avouch 
 Of mine own eyes. 
 
 Mar. Is it not like the king ? 
 
 Hor. As thou art to thyself : 
 Such was the very armour he had on 
 When he the ambitious Norway combated ; 
 So frown'd he once when, in an angry parle, 
 He smote the sledded Polacks on the ice. 
 'Tis strange. ' [hour, 
 
 Mar. Thus twice before, and just at this dead 
 With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch. 
 
 Hor. In what particular thought to work I 
 
 know not ; 
 
 But, in the gross and scope of my opinion, 
 This bodes some strange eruption to our state. 
 
 Mar. Good now, sit down, and tell me, he 
 
 that knows, 
 
 Why this same strict and most observant watch 
 So nightly toils the subject of the land ; 
 And why such daily cast of brazen cannon, 
 And foreign mart for implements of war ; [task 
 Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore 
 Does not divide the Sunday from the week ; 
 What might be toward, that this sweaty haste 
 Doth make the night joint-labourer with the day: 
 Who is 't that can inform me ? 
 
 Hor. That on I ; 
 
 At least, the whisper goes so. Our last king, 
 Whose image even but now appear'd to us, 
 
 Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway, 
 Thereto prick'd on by a most emulate pride, 
 Dar'd to the combat ; in which our valiant 
 
 Hamlet, [him, 
 
 For so this side of our known world esteem'd 
 Did slay this Fortinbras ; who, by a seal'd 
 
 compact, 
 
 Well ratified by law and heraldry, 
 Did forfeit, with his life, all those his lands, 
 Which he stood seiz'd of, to the conqueror: 
 Against the which, a moiety com peter 
 Was gaged by our king ; which had return'd 
 To the inheriiance of Fort in bras, [covenant, 
 Had he been vanquisher ; as by the same 
 And carriage of the article design'd, [bras, 
 His fell to Hamlet. Now, sir, young Fortin- 
 Of unimproved mettle hot and full, 
 Hath in the skirts of Norway, here and there, 
 Shark'd up a list of landless rcsolutes, 
 For food and diet, to some enterprise 
 That hath a stomach in 't : which is no other, 
 As it doth well appear unto our state, 
 But to recover of us by strong hand, 
 And terms compulsative, those foresaid lands 
 So by his father lost : and this, I take it, 
 Is the main motive of our preparations, 
 The source of this our watch, and the chief head 
 Of this post-haste and romage in the land. 
 Ber. I think it be no other, but e'en so : 
 Well may it sort, that this portentous figure 
 Comes armed through our watch ; so like the 
 
 king 
 That was and is the question of these wars. 
 
 Hor. A mote it is to trouble the mind's eye. 
 In the most high and palmy state of Rome, 
 A little ere the mightiest Julius fell, [dead 
 The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted 
 Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets : 
 As, stars with trains of fire and dews of blood, 
 Disasters in the sun ; and the moist star, 
 Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands, 
 Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse : 
 And even the like precurse of fierce events, 
 As harbingers preceding still the fates, 
 And prologue to the omen coming on, 
 Have heaven and earth together demonstrated 
 Unto our climature and countrymen. 
 But, soft, behold ! lo, where it comes again ! 
 
 Re-enter Ghost. 
 
 I '11 cross it, though it blast me. Stay, illusion! 
 
 If thou hast any sound or use of voice, 
 
 Speak to me : 
 
 If there be any good thing to be done, 
 
 That may to thee do ease, and grace to me, 
 
 Speak to me : 
 
 If thou art privy to thy country's fate, 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 1129 
 
 Which, happily, foreknowing may avoid, 
 O, speak ! 
 
 Or if thou hast uphoarded in thy life 
 Extorted treasure in the womb of earth, 
 For which, they say, you spirits oft walk 
 in death, [Cock crows. 
 
 Speak of it : stay, and speak ! Stop it, Mar- 
 cellus. 
 
 Mar. Shall I strike at it with my partisan ? 
 
 Hor. Do, if it will not stand. 
 
 Ber. Tis here ! 
 
 Hor. 'Tis here ! 
 
 Mar. 'Tis gone ! [Exit Ghost. 
 
 We do it wrong, being so majestical, 
 To offer it the show of violence ; 
 For it is, as the air, invulnerable, 
 And our vain blows malicious mockery, [crew. 
 
 Ber. It was about to speak when the cock 
 
 Hor. And then it started like a guilty thing 
 Upon a fearful summons. I have heard, 
 The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn, 
 Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat 
 Awake the god of day ; and at his warning, 
 Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air, 
 The extravagant and erring spirit hies 
 To his confine : and of the truth herein 
 This present object made probation. 
 
 Mar. It faded on the crowing of the cock. 
 Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes 
 Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, 
 The bird of dawning singeth all night long : 
 And then, they say, no spirit can walk abroad ; 
 The nights are wholesome ; then no planets strike, 
 No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm ; 
 So hallow'd and so gracious is the time. [it. 
 
 Hor. So have I heard, and do in part believe 
 But, look, the morn, in russet mantle clad, 
 Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill : 
 Break we our watch up: and, by my advice, 
 Let us impart what we have seen to-night 
 Unto young Hamlet ; for, upon my life, 
 This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him : 
 Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it, 
 As needful in our loves, fitting our duty? 
 
 Afar. Let 's do 't, I pray ; and I this morn- 
 
 ing know 
 Where we shall find him most conveniently. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 \ .vfrfTjtwn oot MB! i3ff jieiY 
 SCENE II. ELSINORE. A Room of State in 
 the Castle. 
 
 , QUEEN, HAMLET, POLONIUS, 
 LAERTES, VOLTIMAND, CORNELIUS, Lords, 
 and Attendants. 
 
 King. Though yet of Hamlet our dear 
 brother's death 
 
 The memory be green ; and that it us befitted 
 To bear our hearts in grief, and our whole king- 
 dom 
 
 To be contracted in one brow of woe ; 
 Yet so far hath discretion fought with jiature 
 That we with wisest sorrow think on him, 
 Together with remembrance of ourselves. 
 Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen, 
 The imperial jointress of this warlike state, 
 Have we, as 'twere with a defeated joy, 
 With one auspicious and one dropping eye, 
 With mirth and funeral, and with dirge in 
 
 marriage, 
 
 In equal scale weighing delight and dole, 
 Taken to wife : nor have we herein barr'd 
 Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone 
 With this affair along : for all, our thanks. 
 Now follows that you know, young Fortinbras, 
 Holding a weak supposal of our worth, 
 Or thinking by our late dear brother's death 
 Our state to be disjoint and out of frame, 
 Colleagued with the dream of his advantage, 
 He hath not fail'd to pester us with message, 
 Importing the surrender of those lands 
 Lost by his father, with all bonds of law, 
 To our most valiant brother. So much for 
 
 him. 
 
 Now for ourself, and for this time of meeting : 
 Thus much the business is: we have here writ 
 To Norway, uncle of young Fortinbras, 
 Who, impotent and bed-rid, scarcely hears 
 Of this his nephew's purpose, to suppress 
 His further gait herein ; in that the levies, 
 The lists, and full proportions, are all made 
 Out of his subject : and we here despatch 
 You, good Cornelius, and you, Voltimand, 
 For bearers of this greeting to old Norway ; 
 Giving to you no further personal power 
 To business with the king more than the scope 
 Of these dilated articles allow. [duty. 
 
 Farewell; and let your haste commend your 
 
 Cor. and Vol. In that and all things will we 
 show our duty. 
 
 King. We doubt it nothing : heartily farewell. 
 [Exeunt VOL. and COR. 
 
 And now, Laertes, what's the news with you? 
 You told us of some suit ; what is 't, Laertes? 
 You cannot speak of reason to the Dane, 
 And lose your voice : what wouldst thou beg, 
 
 Laertes, 
 
 That shall not be my offer, nor thy asking? 
 The head is not more native to the heart, 
 The hand more instrumental to the mouth, 
 Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father. 
 What wouldst thou have, Laertes? 
 
 Laer. Dread my lord, 
 
 Your leave and favour to return to France ; 
 
1 130 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 From whence though willingly I came to Den- 
 mark, 
 
 To show my duty in your coronation ; 
 Yet now, I must confess, that duty done, 
 My thoughts and wishes bend again toward 
 France, [pardon. 
 
 And how them to your gracious leave and 
 
 King. Have you your father's leave? What 
 says Polonius? [slow leave 
 
 Pol. He hath, my lord, wrung from me my 
 By laboursome petition ; and at last 
 Upon his will I seal'd my hard consent: 
 I do beseech you, give him leave to go. 
 
 King. Take thy fair hour, Laertes ; time be 
 
 thine, 
 
 And thy best graces spend it at thy will ! 
 But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son, 
 
 Ham. [Aside.] A little more than kin, and 
 less than kind. [you ? 
 
 King . How is it that the clouds still hang on 
 
 Ham. Not so, my lord; I am too much i' 
 the sun. [off, 
 
 Queen. Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour 
 And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark. 
 Do not for ever with thy vailed lids 
 Seek for thy noble father in the dust : [die, 
 Thou know'st 'tis common, all that live must 
 Passing through nature to eternity. 
 
 Ham. Ay, madam, it is common. 
 
 Queen. If it be, 
 
 Why seems it so particular with thee? [seems. 
 
 Ham. Seems, madam ! nay, it is ; I know not 
 'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother, 
 Nor customary suits of solemn black, 
 Nor windy suspiration of forc'd breath, 
 No, nor the fruitful river in the eye, 
 Nor the dejected 'haviour of the visage, 
 Together with all forms, moods, shows of grief, 
 That can denote me truly : these, indeed, seem ; 
 For they are actions that a man might play : 
 But I have that within which passeth show ; 
 These but the trappings and the suits of woe. 
 
 King. 'Tis sweet and commendable in your 
 
 nature, Hamlet, 
 
 To give these mourning duties to your father : 
 But, you must know, your father lost a father ; 
 That father lost, lost his; and the survivor 
 
 bound, 
 
 In filial obligation, for some term 
 To do obsequious sorrow : but to persevere 
 In obstinate condolement is a course 
 Of impious stubbornness ; 'tis unmanly grief: 
 It shows a will most incorrect to heaven ; 
 A heart unfortified, a mind impatient; 
 An understanding simple and unschool'd : 
 For what we know must be, and is as common 
 As any the most vulgar thing to sense, 
 
 Why should we, in our peevish opposition, 
 Take it to heart? Fie ! 'tis a fault to heaven, 
 A fault against the dead, a fault to nature, 
 To reason most absurd ; whose common theme 
 Is death of fathers, and who still hath cried, 
 From the first corse till he that died to-day, 
 This must be so. We pray you, throw to earth 
 This unprevailing woe ; and think of us 
 As of a father : for let the world take note 
 You are the most immediate to our throne ; 
 And with no less nobility of love 
 Than that which dearest father bears his son 
 Do I impart toward you. For your intent 
 In going back to school in Wittenberg, 
 It is most retrograde to our desire : 
 And we beseech you bend you to remain 
 Here, in the cheer and comfort of our eye, 
 Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son. 
 Queen. Let not thy mother lose her prayers, 
 
 Hamlet : 
 
 I pray thee, stay with us ; go not to Wittenberg. 
 Ham. I shall in all my best obey you, madam. 
 King. Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply : 
 Be as ourself in Denmark. Madam, come; 
 This gentle and unforc'd accord of Hamlet 
 Sits smiling to my heart : in grace whereof, 
 No jocund health that Denmark drinks to-day 
 But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell ; 
 And the king's rouse the heavens shall bruit 
 
 again, 
 Re-speaking earthly thunder. Come away. 
 
 [Exettnt all but HAMLET. 
 Ham. O, that this too too solid flesh would 
 
 melt, 
 
 Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew ! 
 Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd [God ! 
 His canon 'gainst self-slaughter ! O God ! O 
 How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable 
 Seem to me all the uses of this world ! 
 Fie on 't ! O fie! 'tis an unweeded garden, 
 That grows to seed ; things rank and gross in 
 
 nature 
 
 Possess it merely. That it should come to this ! 
 But two months dead ! nay, not so much, not 
 
 two: 
 
 So excellent a king ; that was, to this, 
 Hyperion to a satyr : so loving to my mother, 
 That he might not beteem the winds of heaven 
 Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth ! 
 Must I remember? why, she would hang on him 
 As if increase of appetite had grown 
 By what it fed on : and yet, within a month, 
 Let me not think on 't, Frailty, thy name is 
 
 woman ! 
 
 A little month ; or ere those shoes were old 
 With which she follow'd my poor father's body, 
 Like Niobe, all tears ; why she, even she, 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 1131 
 
 God ! a beast, that wants discourse of reason, 
 Would have mourn'd longer, married with 
 
 mine uncle, [father 
 
 My father's brother; but no more like my 
 Than I to Hercules : within a month ; 
 Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears 
 Had left the flushing in her galled eyes, 
 She married : O, most wicked speed, to post 
 With such dexterity to incestuous sheets ! 
 It is not, nor it cannot come to good ; [tongue ! 
 But break, my heart, for I must hold my 
 
 Enter HORATIO, MARCELLUS, and 
 BERNARDO. 
 
 Hor. Hail to your lordship! 
 
 Ham. I am glad to see you well : 
 
 Horatio, or I do forget myself. [vant ever. 
 
 Hor. The same, my lord, and your poor ser- 
 
 Harn. Sir, my good friend ; I '11 change that 
 name with you : [tio? 
 
 And what make you from Wittenberg, Hora- 
 Marcellus? 
 
 Mar. My good lord, 
 
 Ham. I am very glad to see you. Good 
 
 even, sir. 
 But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg? 
 
 Hor. A truant disposition, good my lord. 
 
 Ham. I would not hear your enemy say so ; 
 Nor shall you do mine ear that violence, 
 To make it truster of your own report 
 Against yourself: I know you are no truant. 
 But what is your affair in Elsinore? 
 We '11 teach you to drink deep ere you depart. 
 
 Hor. My lord, I came to see your father's 
 funeral. [student ; 
 
 Ham. I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow- 
 
 1 think it was to see my mother's wedding. 
 Hor. Indeed, my lord, it follow'd hard upon. 
 Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio! the funeral- 
 
 bak'd meats 
 
 Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables. 
 Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven 
 Ere I had ever seen that day, Horatio ! 
 My father, methinks I see my father. 
 
 Hor. Where, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. In my mind's eye, Horatio. 
 
 Hor. I saw him once ; he was a goodly king. 
 
 Ham. He was a man, take him for all in all, 
 I shall not look upon his like again. 
 
 Hor. My lord, I think I saw him yesternight. 
 
 Ham. Saw who? 
 
 Hor. My lord, the king your father. 
 
 Ham. The king my father ! 
 
 Hor. Season your admiration for awhile 
 With an attent ear, till I may deliver, 
 Upon the witness of these gentlemen, 
 This marvel to you. 
 
 Ham. For God's love, let me hear. 
 
 Hor. Two nights together had these gentle- 
 men, 
 
 Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch, 
 In the dead vast and middle of the night, 
 Been thus encounter'd. A figure like your 
 
 father, 
 
 Arm'd at all points exactly, cap-a-pe, 
 Appears before them, and with solemn march 
 Goes slow and stately by them : thrice he walk'd 
 By their oppress'd and fear-surprised eyes, 
 Within his truncheon's length ; whilst they, 
 
 distill'd 
 
 Almost to jelly with the act of fear, 
 Stand dumb, and speak not to him. This to me 
 In dreadful secrecy impart they did ; 
 And I with them the third night kept the watch: 
 Where, as they had deliver'd, both in time, 
 Form of the thing, each word made true and 
 
 good, 
 
 The apparition comes: I knew your father; 
 These hands are not more like. 
 
 Ham. But where was this? 
 
 Mar. My lord, upon the platform where we 
 watch'd. 
 
 Ham. Did you not speak to it? 
 
 Hor. My lord, I did ; 
 
 But answer made it none : yet once methought 
 It lifted up its head, and did address 
 Itself to motion, like as it would speak : 
 But even then the morning cock crew loud, 
 And at the sound it shnmk in haste away, 
 And vanish'd from our sight. 
 
 Ham. 'Tis very strange. 
 
 Hor. As I do live, my honour'd lord, 'tis 
 
 true; 
 
 And we did think it writ down in our duty 
 To let you know of it. [me. 
 
 Ham. Indeed, indeed, sirs, but this troubles 
 Hold you the watch to-night ? 
 
 Mar. and Ber. We do, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Arm'd, say you ? 
 
 Mar. and Ber. Arm'd, my lord. 
 
 Ham. From top to toe ? 
 
 Mar. and Ber. My lord, from head to foot. 
 
 Ham. Then saw you not his face? 
 
 Hor. O yes, my lord ; he wore his beaver up. 
 
 Ham. What, look'd he frowningly ? 
 
 Hor. A countenance more in sorrow than in 
 anger. 
 
 Ham. Pale or red ? 
 
 Hor. Nay, very pale. 
 
 Ham. And fix'd his eyes upon you ? 
 
 Hor. Most constantly. 
 
 Ham. I would I had been there. 
 
 Hor. It would have much amaz'd you. 
 
 Ham. Very like, very like. StayM it long? 
 
1 132 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 [ACT I. 
 
 Hor. While one with moderate haste might 
 tell a hundred. 
 
 Mar. and Ber. Longer, longer. 
 
 Hor. Not when I saw \. 
 
 Ham. His beard was grizzled, no ? 
 
 Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his life, 
 A sable silver'd. 
 
 Ham. I will watch to-night ; 
 
 Perchance 'twill walk again. 
 
 Hor. I warrant it will. 
 
 Ham. If it assume my noble father's person 
 I '11 speak to it, though hell itself should gape 
 And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all, 
 If you have hitherto conceal'd this sight, 
 Let it be tenable in your silence still ; 
 And whatsoever else shall hap to-night, 
 Give it an understanding, but no tongue : 
 I will requite your loves. So, fare ye well : 
 Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve, 
 I '11 visit you. 
 
 All. Our duty to your honour. 
 
 Ham. Your loves, as mine to you : farewell. 
 [Exeunt HOR., MAR., and BER. 
 My father's spirit in arms ! all is not well ; 
 I doubt some foul play : would the night were 
 
 come! 
 
 Till then sit still, my soul : foul deeds will rise, 
 
 Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's 
 
 eyes. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III. A Room in POLONIUS'S House. 
 Enter LAERTES and OPHELIA. 
 
 Laer. My necessaries are embark'd : farewell : 
 And, sister, as the winds give benefit, 
 And convoy is assistant, do not sleep, 
 But let me hear from you. 
 
 Oph. Do you doubt that ? 
 
 Laer. For Hamlet, and the trifling of his 
 
 favour, 
 
 Hold it a fashion and a toy in blood : 
 A violet in the youth of primy nature, 
 Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting, 
 The pe'rfume and suppliance of a minute ; 
 No more. 
 
 Oph. No more but so ? 
 
 Laer. Think it no more : 
 
 For nature, crescent, does not grow alone 
 In thews and bulk ; but as this temple waxes, 
 The inward service of the mind and soul 
 Grows wide withal. Perhaps he loves you now ; 
 And now no soil nor cautel doth besmirch 
 The virtue of his will : but you must fear, 
 His greatness weigh'd, his will is not his own ; 
 For he himself is subject to his birth: 
 He may not, as unvalu'd persons do, 
 Carve for himself; for on his choice depends 
 
 The safety and the health of the whole state ; 
 And therefore must his choice be circumscrib'd 
 Unto the voice and yielding of that body 
 Whereof he is the head. Then if he says he 
 
 loves you, 
 
 It fits your wisdom so far to believe it 
 As he in his particular act and place 
 May give his saying deed ; which is no further 
 Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal. 
 Then weigh what loss your honour may sustain 
 If with too credent ear you list his songs, 
 Or lose your heart, or your chaste treasure open 
 To his unmaster'd importunity. 
 Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister ; 
 And keep within the rear of your affection, 
 Out of the shot and danger of desire. 
 The chariest maid is prodigal enough 
 If she unmask her beauty to the moon : 
 Virtue itself scapes not calumnious strokes : 
 The canker galls the infants of the spring 
 Too oft before their buttons be disclos'd ; 
 And in the morn and liquid dew of youth 
 Contagious blastments are most imminent. 
 Be wary, then ; best safety lies in fear : 
 Youth to itself rebels, though none else near. 
 Oph. I shall the effect of this good lesson 
 
 keep [brother, 
 
 As watchman to my heart. But, good my 
 Do noi, as some ungracious pastors do, 
 Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven ; 
 Whilst like a puff'd and reckless libertine, 
 Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads, 
 And recks not his own read. 
 
 Laer. O, fear me not. 
 
 I stay too long: but here my father comes. 
 
 Enter POLONIUS. 
 
 A double blessing is a. double grace ; 
 
 Occasion smiles upon a second leave, [shame ! 
 Pol. Yet here, Laertes! aboard, aboard, for 
 
 The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail, 
 
 And you are stay'd for. There, my blessing 
 with you ! 
 [Laying his hand on LAERTES'S head. 
 
 And these few precepts in thy memory 
 
 See thou character. Give thy thoughts nc 
 tongue, 
 
 Nor any unproportion'd thought his act. 
 
 Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. 
 
 The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried ; 
 
 Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel ; 
 
 But do not dull thy palm with entertainment 
 
 Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade. Be- 
 ware 
 
 Of entrance to a quarrel ; but, being in, 
 
 Bear 't that the opposed may beware of thee. 
 
 Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice : 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 "33 
 
 Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judg- 
 ment. 
 
 Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, 
 But not express'd in fancy ; rich, not gaudy : 
 For the apparel oft proclaims the man ; 
 And they in France of the best rank and station 
 Are most select and generous chief in that. 
 Neither a borrower nor a lender be : 
 For loan oft loses both itself and friend ; 
 And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. 
 This above all, to thine ownself be true ; 
 And it must follow, as the night the day, 
 Thou canst not then be false to any man. 
 Farewell : my blessing season this in thee ! 
 
 Laer. Most humbly do I take my leave, my 
 lord. [tend. 
 
 Pol. The time invites you ; go, your servants 
 
 Laer. Farewell, Ophelia; and remember well 
 What I have said to you. 
 
 Oph. 'Tis in my memory lock'd, 
 
 And you yourself shall keep the key of it. 
 
 Laer. Farewell. [Exit. 
 
 Pol. What is't, Ophelia, he hath said to you? 
 
 Oph. So please you, something touching the 
 Lord Hamlet. 
 
 Pol. Marry, well bethought : 
 'Tis told me he hath very oft of late 
 Given private time to you ; and you yourself 
 Have of your audience been most free and 
 
 bounteous : 
 
 If it be so, as so 'tis put on me, 
 And that in way of caution, I must tell you, 
 You do not understand yourself so clearly 
 As it behoves my daughter and your honour. 
 What is between you ? give me up the truth. 
 
 Oph. He hath, my lord, of late made many 
 
 tenders 
 Of his affection to me. [girl, 
 
 Pol. Affection ! pooh ! you speak like a green 
 Unsifted in such perilous circumstance. 
 Do you believe his tenders, as you call them? 
 
 Oph. I do not know, my lord, what I should 
 think. [baby ; 
 
 Pol. Marry, I '11 teach you : think yourself a 
 That you have ta'en these tenders for true pay, 
 Which are not sterling. Tender yourself more 
 
 dearly; 
 
 Or, not to crack the wind of the poor phrase, 
 Wronging it thus, you '11 tender me a fool. 
 
 Oph. My lord , he hath importun'd me with love 
 In honourable fashion. 
 
 Pol. Ay, fashion you may call it ; go to, go to. 
 
 Oph. And hath given countenance to his 
 
 speech, my lord, 
 With almost all the holy vows of heaven. 
 
 Pol. Ay, springes to catch woodcocks. I 
 do know, 
 
 When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul 
 Lends the tongue vows : these blazes, daughter, 
 Giving more light than heat, extinct in both. 
 Even in their promise, as it is a- making, 
 You must not take for fire. From this time 
 Be somewhat scanter of your maiden presence ; 
 Set your entreatments at a higher rate 
 Than a command to parley. For Lord Hamlet, 
 Believe so much in him, that he is young; 
 And with a larger tether may he walk 
 Than may be given you : in few, Ophelia, 
 Do not believe his vows ; for they are brokers, 
 Not of that dye which their investments show, 
 But mere implorators of unholy suits, 
 Breathing like sanctified and pious bawds, 
 The better to beguile. This is for all, 
 I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth, 
 Have you so slander any moment leisure 
 As to give words or talk with the Lord Hamlet. 
 Look to 't, I charge you ; come your ways. 
 Oph. I shall obey, my lord. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. The Platform. 
 Enter HAMLET, HORATIO, and MARCELLUS. 
 
 Ham. The air bites shrewdly ; it is very cold. 
 
 Hor. It is a nipping and an eager air. 
 
 Ham. What hour now ? 
 
 Hor. I think it lacks of twelve. 
 
 Mar. No, it is struck. 
 
 Hor. Indeed ? I heard it not : then it draws 
 
 near the season 
 Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk. 
 
 \A flourish of 'trumpets ; and ordnance 
 
 shot off -within. 
 What does this mean, my lord? 
 
 Ham. The king doth wake to-night, and 
 takes his rouse, [reels ; 
 
 Keeps wassail, and the swaggering up-spring 
 And, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down, 
 The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out 
 The triumph of his pledge. 
 
 Hor. Is it a custom ? 
 
 Ham. Ay, marry, is 't : 
 But to my mind, though I am native here, 
 And to the manner born, it is a custom 
 More honour'd in the breach than the observ- 
 ance. 
 
 This heavy-headed revel east and west 
 Makes us traduc'd and tax'd of other nations : 
 They clepe us drunkards, and with swinish 
 
 phrase 
 
 Soil our addition ; and, indeed, it takes 
 From our achievements, though perform'd at 
 
 height, 
 
 The pith and marrow of our attribute. 
 So oft it chances in particular men 
 
"34 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 That, for some vicious mole of nature in them, 
 As in their birth, wherein they are not guilty, 
 Since nature cannot choose his origin, 
 By the o'ergrowth of some complexion, 
 Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason ; 
 Or by some habit, that too much o'er-leavens 
 The form of plausive manners ; that these 
 
 men, 
 
 Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect, 
 Being nature's livery or fortune's star, 
 Their virtues else, be they as pure as grace, 
 As infinite as man may undergo, 
 Shall in the general censure take corruption 
 From that particular fault : the dram of eale 
 Doth all the noble substance of a doubt 
 To his own scandal. 
 
 Hor. Look, my lord, it comes ! 
 
 Enter Ghost. 
 
 Ham. Angels and ministers of grace defend 
 
 us! 
 
 Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damn'd, 
 Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from 
 
 hell, 
 
 Be thy intents wicked or charitable, 
 Thou com'st in such a questionable shape 
 That I will speak to thee : I '11 call thee Hamlet, 
 King, father, royal Dane : O, answer me ! 
 Let me not burst in ignorance ; but tell 
 Why thy canoniz'd bones, hearsed in death, 
 Have burst their cerements ; why the sepulchre, 
 Wherein we saw thee quietly in-urn'd, 
 Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws 
 To cast thee up again ! What may this mean, 
 That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel, 
 Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon, 
 Making night hideous, and we fools of nature 
 So horridly to shake our disposition 
 With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls ? 
 Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we 
 do? [Ghost beckons HAMLET. 
 
 Hor. It beckons you to go away with it, 
 As if it some impar^ment did desire 
 To you alone. 
 
 Mar. Look, with what courteous action 
 
 It waves you to a more removed ground : 
 But do not go with it. 
 
 Hor. No, by no means. 
 
 Ham. It will not speak ; then will I follow it. 
 
 Hor. Do not, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Why, what should be the fear ? 
 
 I do not set my life at a pin's fee ; 
 And for my soul, what can it do to that, 
 Being a thing immortal as itself? 
 It waves me forth again ; I '11 follow it. 
 
 Hor. What if it tempt you toward the flood, 
 my lord, 
 
 Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff 
 That beetles o'er his base into the sea, 
 And there assume some other horrible form, 
 Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason, 
 And draw you into madness ? think of it : 
 The very place puts toys of desperation, 
 Without more motive, into every brain 
 That looks so many fathoms to the sea 
 And hears it roar beneath. 
 
 Ham. It waves me still. 
 
 Go on ; I Ml follow thee. 
 
 Mar. You shall not go, my lord. 
 Ham. Hold off your hands. 
 
 Hor. Be rul'd ; you shall not go. 
 Ham. My fate cries out, 
 
 And makes each petty artery in this body 
 As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve. 
 
 [Ghost beckons. 
 
 Still am I call'd ; unhand me, gentlemen ; 
 [Breaking from them. 
 By heaven, I '11 make a ghost of him that lets 
 
 me. 
 I say, away ! Go on ; I '11 follow thee. 
 
 [Exeunt Ghost and HAMLET. 
 Hor. He waxes desperate with imagination. 
 Mar. Let 's follow ; 'tis not fit thus to obey 
 him. [come ? 
 
 Hor. Have after. To what issue will this 
 Mar. Something is rotten in the state of 
 
 Denmark. 
 
 Hor. Heaven will direct it. 
 Mar. Nay, let 's follow him. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. A more remote part of the 
 Platform. 
 
 Enter Ghost and HAMLET. 
 
 Ham. Where wilt thou lead me? speak 
 I '11 go no farther. 
 
 Ghost. Mark me. 
 
 Ham. I will. 
 
 Ghost. My hour is almost come, 
 
 When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames 
 Must render up myself. 
 
 Ham. Alas, poor ghost ! 
 
 Ghost. Pity me not, but lend thy serious 
 
 hearing 
 To what I shall unfold. 
 
 Ham. Speak ; I am bound to hear. 
 
 Ghost. So art thou to revenge, when thou 
 shall hear. 
 
 Ham. What? 
 
 Ghost. I am thy father's spirit ; 
 Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night, 
 And, for the day, confin'd to waste in fires 
 Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature 
 
SCENE V.] 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 "35 
 
 Are burnt and purg'd away. But that I am 
 
 forbid 
 
 To tell the secrets of my prison-house, 
 I could a tale unfold whose lightest word 
 Would harrow up thy soul ; freeze thy young 
 blood ; [spheres ; 
 
 Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their 
 Thy knotted and combined locks to part, 
 And each particular hair to stand on end, 
 Like quills upon the fretful porcupine : '^S 
 But this eternal blazon must not be 
 To ears of flesh and blood. List, list, O, list ! 
 Tf thou didst ever thy dear father love, 
 
 Ham. O God ! [murder. 
 
 Ghost. Revenge his foul and most unnatural 
 
 Ham. Murder ! 
 
 Ghost. Murder most foul, as in the best it is ; 
 But this most foul, strange, and unnatural. 
 
 Ham. Haste me to know't, that I, with 
 
 wings as swift 
 
 As meditation or the thoughts of love, 
 May sweep to my revenge. 
 
 Ghost. I find thee apt ; 
 
 And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed 
 That rots itself in ease on Lethe wharf, [hear: 
 Wouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, 
 'Tis given out that, sleeping in mine orchard, 
 A serpent stung me ; so the whole ear of Den- 
 mark 
 
 Is by a forged process of my death 
 Rankly abus'd : but know, thou noble youth, 
 The serpent that did sting thy father's life 
 Now wears his crown. 
 
 Ham. O my prophetic soul ! mine uncle ! 
 
 Ghost. Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate 
 beast, [gifts, 
 
 With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous 
 O wicked wit and gifts that have the power 
 So to seduce ! won to his shameful lust 
 The will of my most seeming virtuous queen : 
 
 Hamlet, what a falling-off was there ! 
 From me, whose love was of that dignity 
 That it went hand in hand even with the vow 
 
 1 made to her in marriage ; and to decline 
 Upon a wretch whose natural gifts were poor 
 To those of mine ! 
 
 But virtue, as it never will be mov'd, 
 
 Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven; 
 
 So lust, though to a radiant angel link'd, 
 
 Will sate itself in a celestial bed 
 
 And prey on garbage. 
 
 But, soft ! methinks I scent the morning air ; 
 
 Brief let me be. Sleeping within mine orchard, 
 
 My custom always in the afternoon, 
 
 Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole, 
 
 With juice of cursed hebenon in a vial, 
 
 And in the porches of mine ears did pour 
 
 The leperous distilment ; whose effect 
 Holds such an enmity with blood of man 
 That, swift as quicksilver, it courses through 
 The natural gates and alleys of the body ; 
 And with a sudden vigour it doth posset 
 And curd, like eager droppings into milk, 
 The thin and wholesome blood : so did it mine; 
 And a most instant tetter bark'd about, 
 Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust, 
 All my smooth body. 
 
 Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand, 
 Of life, of crown, of queen, at once despatch'd: 
 Cut oft even in the blossoms of my sin, 
 Unhousel'd, unanointed, unanel'd ; 
 No reckoning made, but sent to my account 
 With all my imperfections on my head : 
 O, horrible ! O, horrible ! most horrible ! 
 If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not ; 
 Let not the royal bed of Denmark be 
 A couch for luxury and damned incest. 
 But, howsoever thou pursu'st this act, 
 Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive 
 Against thy mother aught : leave her to heaven, 
 And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge, 
 To prick and sting her. Fare thee well at once! 
 The glowworm shows the matin to be near, 
 And 'gins to pale his uneffectual fire : 
 Adieu, adieu ! Hamlet, remember me. [Exit. 
 Ham. O all you host of heaven ! O earth ! 
 what else ? [heart ; 
 
 And shall I couple hell ? O, fie ! Hold, my 
 And you, my sinews, grow not instant old, 
 But bear me stiffly up. Remember thee I 
 Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat 
 In this distracted globe. Remember thee ! 
 Yea, from the table of my memory 
 I '11 wipe away all trivial fond records, 
 All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past, 
 That youth and observation copied there ; 
 And thy commandment all alone shall live 
 Within the book and volume of my brain, 
 Unmix'd with baser matter: yes, by heaven. 
 O most pernicious woman ! 
 
 villain, villain, smiling, damned villain ! 
 My tables, meet it is I set it down, 
 
 That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain; 
 At least, I am sure, it may be so in Denmark : 
 
 [ Writing. 
 
 So, uncle, there you are. Now to my word ; 
 It is, Adieu, adieu ! remember me : 
 
 1 have sworn 't. 
 
 Hor. [Within.] My lord, my lord, 
 
 Mar. [Within.} ' Lord Hamlet, 
 
 Hor. [Within.'] Heaven secure him ! 
 
 Mar. [Within.} So be it ! 
 
 Hor. [Within.} Illo, ho, ho, my lord ! 
 
 Ham. Hillo, ho, ho, boy 1 come, bird, come. 
 
H36 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 [ACT II. 
 
 Enter HORATIO and MARCELLUS. 
 
 Mar. How is 't, my noble lord ? 
 
 Hor. What news, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. O, wonderful ! 
 
 Hor. Good my lord, tell it. 
 
 Ham. No ; you '11 reveal it. 
 
 Hor. Not I, my lord, by heaven. 
 
 Mar. Nor I, my lord. 
 
 Ham. How say you, then ; would heart of 
 
 man once think it ? 
 But you '11 be secret ? 
 
 Hor. and Mar. Ay, by heaven, my lord. 
 
 Ham. There 's ne'er a villain dwelling in all 
 
 Denmark 
 But he 's an arrant knave. 
 
 Hor. There needs no ghost, my lord, come 
 
 from the grave 
 To tell us this. 
 
 Ham. Why, right ; you are i' the right ; 
 
 And so, without more circumstance at all, 
 I hold it fit that we shake hands and part : 
 You, as your business and desire shall point 
 
 you, 
 
 For every man has business and desire, 
 Such as it is ; and for mine own poor part, 
 Look you, I '11 go pray. [my lord. 
 
 Hor. These are but wild and whirling words, 
 
 Ham. I 'm sorry they ofiend you, heartily ; 
 Yes, faith, heartily. 
 
 Hor. There J s no offence, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Yes, by Saint Patrick, but there is, 
 Horatio, [here, 
 
 And much offence too. Touching this vision 
 It is an honest ghost, that let me tell you : 
 For your desire to know what is between us, 
 O'ermaster't as you may. And now, good 
 
 friends, 
 
 As you are friends, scholars, and soldiers, 
 Give me one poor request. 
 
 Hor. What is't, my lord? we will. 
 
 Ham. Never make known what you nave 
 seen to-night. 
 
 Hor. and Mar. My lord, we will not. 
 
 Ham. Nay, but swear 't. 
 
 Hor. In faith, 
 
 My lord, not I. 
 
 Mar. Nor I, my lord, in faith. 
 
 Ham. Upon my sword. 
 
 Mar. We have sworn, my lord, already. 
 
 Ham. Indeed, upon my sword, indeed. 
 
 Ghost. \_Beneath.\ Swear. 
 
 Ham. Ha, ha, boy! say'st thou so? art thou 
 there, truepenny? [age, 
 
 Come on, you hear this fellow in the cellar- 
 Consent to swear. 
 
 Hor. Propose the oath, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Never to speak of this that you have 
 
 seen, 
 Swear by my sword. 
 
 Ghost. [Beneath.] Swear. [ground. 
 
 Ham. Hie et ubique? then we'll shift our 
 Come hither, gentlemen, 
 And lay your hands again upon my sword : 
 Never to speak of this that you have heard, 
 Swear by my sword. 
 
 Ghost. [Beneath.} Swear. [earth so fast? 
 
 Ham. Well said, old mole ! canst work i' the 
 
 A worthy pioneer ! Once more remove, good 
 
 friends. [strange ! 
 
 Hor. O day and night, but this is wondrous 
 
 Ham. And therefore as a stranger give it 
 welcome. [Horatio, 
 
 There are more things in heaven and earth, 
 Than are dreamt of in your philosophy. 
 But come; 
 
 Here, as before, never, so help you mercy, 
 How strange or odd soe'er I bear myself, 
 As I, perchance, hereafter shall think meet 
 To put an antic disposition on, 
 That you, at such times seeing me, never shall, 
 With arms encumber'd thus, or this head-shake, 
 Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase, 
 As, Well, well, we know; or, We could, an 
 if we would; [they might; 
 
 Or, If we list to speak; or, There be, an if 
 Or such ambiguous giving out, to note 
 That you know aught of me: this not to do, 
 So grace and mercy at your most need help you, 
 Swear. 
 
 Ghost. [Beneath.'] Swear. 
 
 Ham. Rest, rest, perturbed spirit! So, 
 
 gentlemen, 
 
 With all my love I do commend me to you : 
 And what so poor a man as Hamlet is 
 May do, to express his love and friending to you, 
 God willing, shall not lack. Let us go in to- 
 gether ; 
 
 And still your fingers on your lips, I pray. 
 The time is out of joint : O cursed spite, 
 That ever I was born to set it right ! 
 Nay, come, let 's go together. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. A Room in POLONIUS'S House. 
 Enter POLONIUS am/ REYNALDO. 
 
 Pol. Give him this money and these notes, 
 
 Reynaldo. 
 
 Rey. I will, my lord. [Reynaldo, 
 
 Pol. You shall do marvellous wisely, good 
 
 Before you visit him, to make inquiry 
 
 Of his behaviour. 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 H37 
 
 Rey. My lord, I did intend it. 
 
 Pol. Marry, well said ; very well said. Look 
 
 you, sir, 
 
 Inquire me first what Danskers are in Paris ; 
 And how, and who, what means, and where 
 
 they keep, 
 
 What company, at what expense ; and finding, 
 By this encompassment and drift of question, 
 That they do know my son, come you more 
 
 nearer 
 
 Than your particular demands will touch it : 
 Take you, as 'twere, some distant knowledge 
 
 of him ; 
 
 As thus, / know his father and his friends , 
 And in part him ; do you mark this, Reynaldo ? 
 
 Rey. Ay, very well, my lord. \not well: 
 
 Pol. And in part him ; but, you may say, 
 But ift be he I mean, he 's very wild ; 
 Addicted so and so ; and there put on him 
 What forgeries you please ; marry, none so rank 
 As may dishonour him ; take heed of that ; 
 But, sir, such wanton, wild, and usual slips 
 As are companions noted and most known 
 To youth and liberty. 
 
 Rey. As gaming, my lord. 
 
 Pol. Ay, or drinking, fencing, swearing, 
 
 quarrelling, 
 Drabbing : you may go so far. 
 
 Rey. My lord, that would dishonour him. 
 
 Pol. Faith, no ; as you may season it in the 
 
 charge. 
 
 You must not put another scandal on him, 
 That he is open to incontinency ; 
 That 's not my meaning : but breathe his faults 
 
 so quaintly 
 
 That they may seem the taints of liberty ; 
 The flash and outbreak of a fiery mind ; 
 A savageness in unreclaimed blood, 
 Of general assault. 
 
 Rey. But, my good lord, 
 
 Pol. Wherefore should you do this ? 
 
 Rey. Ay, my lord, 
 
 I would know that. 
 
 Pol. Marry, sir, here 's my drift ; 
 
 And I believe it is a fetch of warrant : 
 You laying these slight sullies on my son, 
 As 'twere a thing a little soil'd i' the working, 
 Mark you, 
 
 Your party in converse, him you would sound, 
 Having ever seen in the prenominate crimes 
 The youth you breathe of guilty, be assur'd 
 He closes with you in this consequence ; 
 Good sir, or so ; or friend, or gentleman, 
 According to the phrase or the addition 
 Of man and country. 
 
 Rey. Very good, my lord. 
 
 Pol. And then, sir, does he this, he does, 
 
 What was I about to say? By the mass, I was 
 About to say something : where did I leave? 
 
 Rey. At closes in the consequence, 
 At friend or so, and gentleman. [marry ; 
 
 Pol. At closes in the consequence, ay, 
 He closes with you thus : I know the gentleman; 
 I saw him yesterday, or f other day, [you say, 
 Or then, or then ; with such, or such ; and, as 
 There was he gaming; there overtook in 's rouse ; 
 There falling out at tennis : or perchance, 
 / saw him enter such a house of sale ) 
 Videlicet, a brothel, or so forth. 
 See you now j 
 
 Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth: 
 And thus do we of wisdom and of reach, 
 With windlaces, and with assays of bias, 
 By indirections find directions out : 
 So, by my former lecture and advice, [not ? 
 Shall you my son. You have me, have you 
 
 Rey. My lord, I have, 
 
 Pol. God b' wi' you ; fare you well. 
 
 Rey. Good my lord ! 
 
 Pol. Observe his inclination in yourself. 
 
 Rey. I shall, my lord. 
 
 Pol. And let him ply his music. 
 
 Rey. Well, my lord. 
 
 Pol. Farewell ! [Exit REYNALDO. 
 
 Enter OPHELIA. 
 
 How now, Ophelia! what's the matter? 
 
 Oph. Alas, my lord, I have been so affrighted I 
 
 Pol. With what, i' the name of God ? 
 
 Oph. My lord, as I was sewing in my chamber, 
 Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbrac'd ; 
 No hat upon his head ; his stockings foul'd, 
 Ungarter'd, and down-gyved to his ankle ; 
 Pale as his shirt ; his knees knocking each other ; 
 And with a look so piteous in purport 
 As if he had been loosed out of hell 
 To speak of horrors, he comes before me. 
 
 Pol. Mad for thy love ? 
 
 Oph. My lord, I do not know; 
 
 But truly I do fear it. 
 
 Pol What said he ? 
 
 Oph. He took me by the wrist, and held me 
 
 hard; 
 
 Then goes he to the length of all his arm ; 
 And with his other hand thus o'er his brow, 
 He falls to such perusal of my face 
 As he would draw it. . Long stay'd he so ; 
 At last, a little shaking of mine arm, 
 And thrice his head thus waving up and down, 
 He rais'd a sigh so piteous and profound 
 That it did seem to shatter. all his bulk 
 And end his being : that done, he lets me go : 
 And, with his head over his shoulder turn'd, 
 He seem'd to find his way without his eyes ; 
 
1138 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 [ACT n. 
 
 For out o' doors he went without their help, 
 And to the last bended their light on me. 
 Pol. Come, go with me : I will go seek the 
 
 king. 
 
 This is the very ecstacy of love ; 
 Whose violent property fordoes itself, 
 And leads the will to desperate undertakings, 
 As oft as any passion under heaven 
 That does afflict our natures. I am sorry, 
 What, have you given him any hard words of 
 
 late? [command, 
 
 Oph. No, my good lord ; but, as you did 
 I did repel his letters, and denied 
 His access to me. 
 
 Pol. That hath made him mad. 
 
 I am sorry that with better heed and judgment 
 I had not quoted him : I fear'd he did but trifle, 
 And meant to wreck thee ; but, beshrew my 
 
 jealousy ! 
 
 It seems it is as proper to our age 
 To cast beyond ourselves in our opinions 
 As it is common for the younger sort 
 To lack discretion. Come, go we to the king : 
 This must be known ; which, being kept close, 
 
 might move 
 More grief to hide than hate to utter love. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 
 SCENE II. A Room in the Castle. 
 
 Enter KING, QUEEN, ROSENCRANTZ, 
 GUILDENSTERN, and Attendants. 
 
 King. Welcome, dear Rosencrantz and 
 
 Guildenstern ! 
 
 Moreover that we much did long to see you, 
 The need we have to use you did provoke 
 Our hasty sending. Something have you heard 
 Of Hamlet's transformation ; so I call it, 
 Since nor the exterior nor the inward man 
 Resembles that it was. What it should be, 
 More than his father's death, that thus hath put 
 
 him 
 
 So much from the understanding of himself, 
 I cannot dream of: I entreat you both, 
 That being of so young days brought up with 
 
 him, [humour, 
 
 And since so neighbour'd to his youth and 
 That you vouchsafe your rest here in our court 
 Some little time : so by your companies 
 To draw him on to pleasures, and to gather, 
 So much as from occasion you may glean, 
 Whether aught, to us unknown, afflicts him thus, 
 That, open'd, lies within our remedy. 
 
 Queen. Good gentlemen, he hath much talk'd 
 
 of you ; 
 
 And sure I am two men there are not living 
 To whom he more adheres. If it will please you 
 
 To show us so much gentry and good-will 
 As to expend your time with us awhile, 
 For the supply and profit of our hope, 
 Your visitation shall receive surh thanks 
 As fits a king's remembrance. 
 
 Ros. Both your majesties 
 
 Might, by the sovereign power you have of us, 
 Put your dread pleasures more into command 
 Than to entreaty. 
 
 Guil. We both obey, 
 
 And here give up ourselves, in the full bent, 
 To lay our service freely at your feet, 
 To be commanded. 
 
 King. Thanks, Rosencrantz and gentle Guil- 
 denstern. [Rosencrantz : 
 
 Queen. Thanks, Guildenstern and gentle 
 And I beseech you instantly to visit 
 My too-much-changed son. Go, some of you, 
 And bring these gentlemen where Hamlet is. 
 
 Guil. Heavens make our presence and our 
 
 practices 
 Pleasant and helpful to him ! 
 
 Queen. Ay, amen ! 
 
 [Exeunt Ros., GUIL., and some Attendants. 
 
 Enter POLONIUS. 
 
 Pol. The ambassadors from Norway, my 
 
 good lord, 
 Are joyfully return'd. 
 
 King. Thou still hast been the father of good 
 
 news 
 Pol. Have I, my lord? Assure you, my good 
 
 liege, 
 
 I hold my duty, as I hold my soul, 
 Both to my God and to my gracious king: 
 And I do think, or else this brain of mine 
 Hunts not the trail of policy so sure 
 As it hath us'd to do, that I have found 
 The very cause of Hamlet's lunacy. 
 
 King. O, speak of that ; that do I long to 
 
 hear. 
 
 Pol. Give first admittance to the ambas- 
 sadors ; 
 
 My news shall be the fruit to that great feast. 
 King. Thyself do grace to them, and bring 
 them in. [Exit POLONIUS. 
 
 He tells me, my sweet queen, that he hath found 
 The head and source of all your son's distemper. 
 Queen. I doubt it is no other but the main, 
 His father's death and our o'erhasty marriage. 
 King. Well, we shall sift him. 
 
 Re-enter POLONIUS, with VOLTIMAND and 
 CORNELIUS. 
 
 Welcome, my good friends ! 
 
 Say, Voltimand, what from our brother Norway? 
 
 Volt. Most fair return of greetings and desires. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 "39 
 
 Upon our first, he sent out to suppress 
 His nephew's levies ; which to him appear'd 
 To be a preparation 'gainst the Polack ; 
 But, better look'cl into, he truly found 
 It was against your highness : whereat griev'd, 
 That so his sickness, age, and impotence 
 Was falsely borne in hand, sends out arrests 
 On Fortinbras ; which he, in brief, obeys ; 
 Receives rebuke from Norway; and, in fine, 
 Makes vow before his uncle never more 
 To give the assay of arms against your majesty. 
 Whereon old Norway, overcome with joy, 
 Gives him three thousand crowns in annual fee ; 
 And his commission to employ those soldiers, 
 So levied as before, against the Polack : 
 With an entreaty, herein further shown, 
 
 [Gives a paper. 
 
 That it might please you to give quiet pass 
 Through your dominions for this enterprise, 
 On such regards of safety and allowance 
 As therein are set down. 
 
 King. It likes us well ; 
 
 And at our more consider'd time we '11 read, 
 Answer, and think upon this business. 
 Meantime we Lhank you for your well-took 
 
 labour : 
 
 Go to your rest ; at night we '11 feast together : 
 Most welcome home ! 
 
 [Exeunt VOLT, and COR. 
 
 Pol. This business is well ended. 
 
 My liege, and madam, to expostulate 
 What majesty should be, what duty is, 
 Why day is day, night night, and time is time, 
 Were nothing but to waste night, day, and time. 
 Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit, 
 And tediousness the limbsand outward flourishes, 
 I will be brief : your noble son is mad : 
 Mad call I it ; for to define true madness, 
 What is 't but to be nothing else but mad ? 
 But let that go. 
 
 Queen. More matter with less art. 
 
 Pol. Madam, I swear I use no art at all. 
 That he is mad, 'tis true : 'tis true 'tis pity ; 
 And pity 'tis 'tis true : a foolish figure ; 
 But farewell it, for I will use no art. 
 Mad let us grant him, then : and now remains 
 That we find out the cause of this effect ; 
 Or rather say, the cause of this defect, 
 For this effect defective comes by cause : 
 Thus it remains, and the remainder thus. 
 Perpend. 
 
 I have a daughter, have whilst she is mine, 
 Who, in her duty and obedience, mark, 
 Hath given me this : now gather, and surmise. 
 
 [Reads. 
 
 To the celestial, and my soul's idol, the most 
 beautified Ophelia^ 
 
 That 's an ill phrase, a vile phrase, beautified 
 is a vile phrase : but you shall hear. Thus : 
 
 [Reads. 
 
 In her excellent white bosom , these, &c. 
 Queen. Came this from Hamlet to her? 
 Pol. Good madam, stay awhile ; I will be 
 faithful. [Reads. 
 
 Doubt thou the stars are fire ; 
 
 Doubt that the sun doth move ; 
 Doubt truth to be a liar ; 
 But never doubt I love. 
 
 O dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers ; 
 
 I have not art to reckon my groans : but that I 
 
 love thee best, O most best, believe it. Adieu. 
 
 Thine evermore, most dear lady, whilst this 
 
 machine is to him, HAMLET. 
 
 This, in obedience, hath my daughter show'd 
 
 me: 
 
 And more above, hath his solicitings, 
 As they fell out by time, by means, and place, 
 All given to mine ear. 
 
 King. But how hath she 
 
 Receiv'd his love ? 
 
 Pol. What do you think of me? 
 
 King. As of a man faithful and honourable. 
 Pol. I would fain prove so. But what might 
 
 you th?nk, 
 
 When I had seen this hot love on the wing, 
 As I perceiv'cl it, I must tell you that, 
 Before my daughter told me, what might you, 
 Or my dear majesty your queen here, think, 
 If I had play'd the desk or table-book ; 
 Or given my heart a winking, mute and dumb; 
 Or look'd upon this love with idle sight ; 
 What might you think ? No, I went round to 
 
 work, 
 
 And my young mistress thus I did bespeak : 
 Lord Hamlet is a prince out of thy sphere ; 
 This must not be: and then I precepts gave her, 
 That she should lock herself from his resort, 
 Admit no messengers, receive no tokens. 
 Which done, she took the fruits of my advice ; 
 And he, repulsed, a short tale to make, 
 Fell into a sadness ; then into a fast ; 
 Thence to a watch ; thence into a weakness ; 
 Thence to a lightness; and, by this declension, 
 Into the madness wherein now he raves 
 And all we wail for. 
 
 King. Do you think 'tis this? 
 
 Queen. It may be, very likely. 
 
 Pol. Hath there been such a time, I'd fain 
 
 know that, 
 
 That I have positively said, Tts St;, 
 When it prov'd otherwise ? 
 
 King. Not that I know. 
 
 Pol. Take this from this, if this be otherwise: 
 [Pointing to his head and sliouldcr. 
 
1 140 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 If circumstances lead me, I will find 
 
 Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed 
 
 Within the centre. 
 
 King. How may we try it further ? 
 
 Pol. You know, sometimes he walks for 
 
 hours together 
 Here in the lobby. 
 
 Queen. So he does, indeed. 
 
 Pol. At such a time I '11 loose my daughter 
 
 to him : 
 
 Be you and I behind an arras then ; 
 Mark the encounter : if he love her not, 
 And be not from his reason fall'n thereon, 
 Let me be no assistant for a state, 
 But keep a farm and carters. 
 
 King. We will try it. 
 
 Queen. But look, where sadly the poor wretch 
 comes reading. 
 
 Pol. Away, I do beseech you, both away: 
 I '11 board him presently : O, give me leave. 
 [Exeunt KING, QUEEN, and Attendants. 
 
 Enter HAMLET, reading. 
 
 How does my good Lord Hamlet ? 
 
 Ham. Well, God-a-mercy. 
 
 Pol. Do you know me, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. Excellent, excellent well; you're a 
 fishmonger. 
 
 Pol. Not I, my lord. [man. 
 
 Ham. Then I would you were so honest a 
 
 Pol. Honest, my lord ! 
 
 Ham. Ay, sir ; to be honest, as this world 
 goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thou- 
 sand. 
 
 Pol. That 's very true, my lord. 
 
 Ham. For if the sun breed maggots in a dead 
 dog, being a god-kissing carrion, Have you a 
 daughter ? 
 
 Pol. I have, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Let her not walk i' the sun: con- 
 ception is a blessing ; but not as your daughter 
 may conceive: friend, look to't. 
 
 Pol. How say you by that? [Aside.] Still 
 harping on my daughter : yet he knew me 
 not at first ; he said I was a fishmonger : he is 
 far gone, far gone : and truly in my youth I 
 suffered much extremity for love; very near 
 this. I '11 speak to him again. What do you 
 read, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. Words, words, words. ^ 
 
 Pol. What is the matter, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. Between who ? [lord. 
 
 Pol. I mean, the matter that you read, my 
 
 Ham. Slanders, sir : for the satirical slave 
 says here that old men have gray beards ; that 
 their faces are wrinkled ; their eyes purging 
 thick amber and plum-tree gum ; and that they 
 
 have a plentiful lack of wit, together with most 
 weak hams : all which, sir, though I most 
 powerfully and potently believe, yet I hold it 
 not honesty to have it thus set down ; for you 
 yourself, sir, should be old as I am, if, like a 
 crab, you could go backward. 
 
 Pol. [Aside.] Though this be madness, yet 
 there is method in't. Will you walk out of 
 the air, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. Into my grave ? 
 
 Pol. Indeed, that is out o' the air. [Aside.] 
 How pregnant sometimes his replies are ! a 
 happiness that often madness hits on, which 
 reason and sanity could not so prosperously be 
 delivered of. I will leave him, and suddenly 
 contrive the means of meeting between him 
 and my daughter. My honourable lord, I will 
 most humbly take my leave of you. 
 
 Ham. You cannot, sir, take from me any- 
 thing that I will more willingly part withal, 
 except my life, except my life, except my life. 
 
 Pol. Fare you well, my lord. 
 
 Ham. These tedious old fools ! 
 
 Enter ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN. 
 
 Pol. You go to seek the Lord Hamlet ; there 
 he is. 
 
 Ros. [To POLONIUS.] God save you, sir 1 
 
 [Exit POLONIUS. 
 
 Guil. Mine honoured lord ! 
 
 Ros. My most dear lord ! 
 
 Ham. My excellent good friends ! How dost 
 thou, Guildenstern ? Ah, Rosencrantz ! Good 
 lads, how do ye both ? 
 
 Ros. As the indifferent children of the earth. 
 
 Guil. Happy in that we are not overhappy ; 
 On fortune's cap we are not the very button. 
 
 Ham. Nor the soles of her shoe ? 
 
 Ros. Neither, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Then you live about her waist, or in 
 the middle of her favours ? 
 
 Guil. Faith, her privates we. 
 
 Ham. In the secret parts of fortune? O, 
 most true; she is a strumpet. What's the 
 news ? [grown honest. 
 
 Ros. None, my lord, but that the world's 
 
 Ham. Then is doomsday near: but your 
 news is not true. Let me question more in 
 particular : what have you, my good friends, 
 deserved at the hands of fortune, that she sends 
 you to prison hither ? 
 
 Guil. Prison, my lord ! 
 
 Ham. Denmark 's a prison. 
 
 Ros. Then is the world one. 
 
 Ham. A goodly one; in which there are 
 many confines, wards, and dungeons, Denmark 
 being one o' the worst. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 1141 
 
 Ros. We think not so, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Why, then, 'tis none to you ; for there 
 is nothing either good or bad, but thinking 
 .makes it so : to me it is a prison. 
 
 Ros. Why, then, your ambition makes it 
 one ; 'tis too narrow for your mind. 
 
 Ham. O God, I could be bounded in a nut- 
 shell, and count myself a king of infinite space, 
 were it not that I nave bad dreams. 
 
 Guil. Which dreams, indeed, are ambition ; 
 for the very substance of the ambitious is merely 
 the shadow of a dream. 
 
 Ham. A dream itself is but a shadow. 
 
 Ros. Truly, and I hold ambition of so airy 
 and light a quality that it is but a shadow's 
 shadow. 
 
 Ham. Then are our beggars bodies, and our 
 monarchs and outstretched heroes the beggars' 
 shadows. Shall we to the court? for, by my 
 fay, I cannot reason. 
 
 Ros. and Guil. We '11 wait upon you. 
 
 Ham. No such matter : I will not sort you 
 with the rest of my servants ; for, to speak to 
 you like an honest man, I am most dreadfully 
 attended. But, in the beaten way of friend- 
 ship, what make you at Elsinore ? 
 
 Ros. To visit you, my lord ; no other occasion. 
 
 Ham. Beggar that I am, I am even poor in 
 thanks ; but I thank you : and sure, dear 
 friends, my thanks are too dear a halfpenny. 
 Were you not sent for ? Is it your own inclin- 
 ing ? Is it a free visitation ? Come, deal justly 
 with me : come, come ; nay, speak. 
 
 Guil. What should we say, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. Why, anything but to the purpose. 
 You were sent for ; and there is a kind of con- 
 fession in your looks, which your modesties 
 have not craft enough to colour : I know the 
 good king and queen have sent for you. 
 
 Ros. To what end, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. That you must teach me. But let me 
 conjure you, by the rights of our fellowship, 
 by the consonancy of our youth, by the obliga- 
 tion of our ever- preserved love, and by what 
 more dear a better proposer could charge you 
 withal, be even and direct with me, whether 
 you were sent for or no ? 
 
 Ros. What say you? [To GUILDENSTERN. 
 
 Ham. [Aside.] Nay, then, I have an eye of 
 you. If you love me, hold not off. 
 
 Guil. My lord, we were sent for. 
 
 Ham. I will tell you why ; so shall my 
 anticipation prevent your discovery, and your 
 secrecy to the king and queen moult no feather. 
 I have of late, but wherefore I know not, 
 lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exer- 
 cises ; and, indeed, it goes so heavily with my 
 
 disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, 
 seems to me a sterile promontory ; this most 
 excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave 
 o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof 
 fretted with golden fire, why, it appears no 
 other thing to me than a foul and pestilent con- 
 gregation of vapours. What a piece of work 
 is man ! How noble in reason ! how infinite 
 in faculties ! in form and moving, how express 
 and admirable ! in action, how like an angel ! 
 in apprehension, how like a god ! the beauty 
 of the world ! the paragon of animals ! And 
 yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust ? 
 man delights not me ; no, nor woman neither, 
 though by your smiling you seem to say so. 
 
 Ros. My lord, there was no such stuff in my 
 thoughts. 
 
 Ham. Why did you laugh, then, when I 
 said, Man delights not me ? 
 
 Ros. To think, my lord, if you delight not 
 in man, what lenten entertainment the players 
 shall receive from you : we coted them on the 
 way ; and hither are they coming, to offer you 
 service. 
 
 Ham. He that plays the king shall be wel- 
 come, his majesty shall have tribute of me ; 
 the adventurous knight shall use his foil and 
 target ; the lover shall not sigh gratis ; the 
 humorous man shall end his part in peace ; 
 the clown shall make those laugh whose lungs 
 are tickled o' the sere ; and the lady shall say 
 her mind freely, or the blank verse shall halt 
 for't. What players are they? 
 
 Ros. Even those you were wont to take 
 delight in, the tragedians of the city. 
 
 Ham. How chances it they travel? their 
 residence, both in reputation and profit, was 
 better both ways. 
 
 Ros. I think their inhibition comes by the 
 means of the late innovation. 
 
 Ham. Do they hold the same estimation they 
 did when I was in the city? Are they so 
 followed ? 
 
 Ros. No, indeed, they are not. 
 
 Ham. How comes it ? do they grow rusty ? 
 
 Ros. Nay, their endeavour keeps in the 
 wonted pace : but there is, sir, an aery of 
 children, little eyases, that cry out on the top 
 of question, and are most tyrannically clapped 
 for 't : these are now the fashion ; and so be- 
 rattle the common stages, so they call them, 
 that many wearing rapiers are afraid of goose- 
 quills, and dare scarce come thither. 
 
 Ham. What, are they children ? who main- 
 tains 'em ? how are they escoted ? Will they 
 pursue the quality no longer than they can sing? 
 will they not say afterwards, if they should 
 
1 142 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 [ACT n. 
 
 grow themselves to common players, as it is 
 most like, if their means are no better, their 
 writers do them wrong, to make them exclaim 
 against their own succession ? 
 
 Ros. Faith, there has been much to do on 
 both sides ; and the nation holds it no sin to 
 tarre them to controversy : there was for awhile 
 no money bid for argument, unless the poet 
 and the player went to cuffs in the question. 
 
 Ham. Is 't possible ? 
 
 Guil. O, there has been much throwing 
 about of brains. 
 
 Ham. Do the boys carry it away ? 
 
 Ros. Ay, that they do, my lord ; Hercules 
 and his load too. 
 
 Ham. It is not strange; for mine uncle is 
 king of Denmark, and those that would make 
 mouths at him while my father lived, give 
 twenty, forty, fifty, an hundred ducats a-piece 
 for his picture in little. 'Sblood, there is some- 
 thing in this more than natural, if philosophy 
 could find it out. 
 
 [Flourish of trumpets within. 
 
 Guil. There are the players. 
 
 Ham. Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsi- 
 nore. Your hands, come : the appurtenance 
 of welcome is fashion and ceremony: let me 
 comply with you in this garb ; lest my extent 
 to the players, which, I tell you, must show 
 fairly outward, should more appear like enter- 
 tainment than yours. You are welcome: but 
 my uncle-father and aunt-mother are deceived. 
 
 Guil. In what, my dear lord ? 
 
 Ham. I am but mad north-north-west : when 
 the wind is southerly I know a hawk from a 
 handsaw. 
 
 Enter POLONIUS. 
 
 Pol. Well be with you, gentlemen ! 
 
 Ham. Hark you, Guildenstern ; and you 
 too ; at each ear a hearer : that great baby 
 you see there is not yet out of his swathing- 
 clouts. 
 
 Ros. Happily he 's the second time come to 
 them ; for they say an old man is twice a child. 
 
 Ham. I will prophesy he comes to tell me of 
 the players; mark it. You say right, sir: o' 
 Monday morning ; 'twas so indeed. 
 
 Pol. My lord, I have news to tell you. 
 
 Ham. My lord, I have news to tell you. 
 When Roscius was an actor in Rome, 
 
 Pol. The actors are come hither, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Buzz, buzz ! 
 
 Pol. Upon mine honour, 
 
 Ham. Then came each actor on his ass, 
 
 Pol. The best actors in the world, either for 
 tragedy, comedy, history, pastoral, pastoral- 
 
 comical, historical -pastoral, tragical-historical, 
 tragical -comical -historical -pastoral, scene in- 
 dividable, or poem unlimited : Seneca cannot 
 be too heavy nor Plautus too light. For the 
 law of writ and the liberty, these are the only 
 men. 
 
 Ham. O Jephthah, judge of Israel, what a 
 treasure hadst thou ! 
 
 Pol. What a treasure had he, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. Why- 
 One fair daughter, and no more, 
 The which he loved passing well. 
 
 Pol. \_Aside.~} Still on my daughter. 
 Ham. Am I not i' the right, old Jephthah ? 
 Pol. If you call me Jephthah, my lord, I 
 have a daughter that I love passing well. 
 Ham. Nay, that follows not. 
 Pol. What follows, then, my lord ? 
 Ham. Why 
 
 As by lot, God wot, 
 and then, you know, 
 
 It came to pass, as most like it was, 
 the first row of the pious chanson will show you 
 more ; for look where my abridgment comes. 
 
 Enter four or five Players. 
 
 You are welcome, masters ; welcome, all : I 
 am glad to see thee well : welcome, good 
 friends. O, my old friend! Thy face is 
 valanced since I saw thee last ; comest thou to 
 beard me in Denmark ? What, my young lady 
 and mistress! By'r lady, your ladyship is 
 nearer heaven than when I saw you last, by the 
 altitude of a chopine. Pray God, your voice, 
 like a piece of uncurrent gold, be not cracked 
 within the ring. Masters, you are all welcome. 
 We'll e'en to't like French falconers, fly at 
 anything we see : we '11 have a speech straight : 
 come, give us a taste of your quality ; come, a 
 passionate speech. 
 
 i Play. What speech, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. I heard thee speak me a speech once, 
 but it was never acted ; or, if it was, not 
 above once ; for the play, I remember, pleased 
 not the million ; 'twas caviare to the general : 
 but it was, as I received it, and others whose 
 judgments in such matters cried in the top of 
 mine, an excellent play, well digested in the 
 scenes, set down with as much modesty as 
 cunning. I remember, one said there were no 
 sallets in the lines to make the matter savoury, 
 nor no matter in the phrase that might indite 
 the author of affectation ; but called it an 
 honest method, as wholesome as sweet, and by 
 very much more handsome than fine. One 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 "43 
 
 speech in it I chiefly loved : 'twas /Eneas' tale 
 to Dido ; and thereabout of it especially where 
 he speaks of Priam's slaughter: if it live in 
 your memory, begin at this line ; let me see, 
 let me see : 
 
 The rugged Pyrrhus, like the Hyrcanian beast, 
 it is not so : it begins with Pyrrhus : 
 
 The rugged Pyrrhus, he whose sable arms, 
 Black as his purpose, did the night resemble 
 When he lay couched in the ominous horse, 
 Hath now this dread and black complexion 
 
 smear'd 
 
 With heraldry more dismal ; head to foot 
 Now is he total gules ; horridly trick'd 
 With blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, 
 
 sons, 
 
 Bak'd and impasted with the parching streets, 
 That lend a tyrannous and damned light 
 To their vile murders : roasted in wrath and 
 
 fire, 
 
 And thus o'er-sized with coagulate gore, 
 With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus 
 Old grandsire Priam seeks. 
 
 So proceed you. 
 
 Pol. 'Fore God, my lord, well spoken, with 
 good accent and good discretion. 
 
 I Play. Anon he finds him [sword, 
 
 Striking too short at Greeks ; his antique 
 Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls, 
 Repugnant to command : unequal match'd, 
 Pyrrhus at Priam drives ; in rage strikes wide ; 
 But with the whiff and wind of his fell sword 
 The unnerved father falls. Then senseless 
 
 Ilium, 
 
 Seeming to feel this blow, with flaming top 
 Stoops to his base ; and with a hideous crash 
 Takes prisoner Pyrrhus' ear : for, lo ! his 
 
 sword, 
 
 Which was declining on the milky head 
 Of reverend Priam, seem'd i' the air to stick : 
 So, as a painted tyrant, Pyrrhus stood ; 
 And, like a neutral to his will and matter, 
 Did nothing. 
 
 But as we often see, against some storm, 
 A silence in the heavens, the rack stand still, 
 The bold winds speechless, and the orb below 
 As hush as death, anon the dreadful thunder 
 Doth rend the region ; so, after Pyrrhus' pause, 
 A roused vengeance sets him new a-work ; 
 And never did the Cyclops' hammers fall 
 On Mars his armour, forg'd for proof eterne, 
 With less remorse than Pyrrhus' bleeding 
 
 sword 
 
 Now falls on Priam. [gods, 
 
 Out, out, thou strumpet, Fortune ! All you 
 
 In general synod, take away her power ; 
 Break all the spokes and fellies from her 
 wheel, [heaven, 
 
 And bowl the round knave down the hill of 
 As low as to the fiends ! 
 
 Pol. This is too long. 
 
 Hani. It shall to the barber's, with your 
 beard. Pr'ythee, say on. He 's for a jig, or a 
 tale of bawdry, or he sleeps : say on ; come 
 to Hecuba. 
 
 i Play. But who, O, who had seen the 
 mobled queen, 
 
 Ham. The mobled queen ? 
 
 Pol. That 's good ; mobled queen is good. 
 
 i Play. Run barefoot up and down, 
 
 threatening the flames 
 
 With bisson rheum ; a clout upon that head 
 Where late the diadem stood ; and, for a robe, 
 About her lank and all o'er-teemed loins, 
 A blanket, in the alarm of fear caught up ; 
 Who this had seen, with tongue in venom 
 
 steep'd, [pronounc'd : 
 
 'Gainst Fortune's state would treason have 
 But if the gods themselves did see her then, 
 When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious sport 
 In mincing with his sword her husband's 
 
 limbs, 
 
 The instant burst of clamour that she made, 
 Unless things mortal move them not at all, 
 Would have made milch the burning eyes of 
 
 heaven, 
 And passion in the gods. 
 
 Pol. Look, whether he has not turn'd his 
 colour, and has tears in 's eyes. Pray you, no 
 more. 
 
 Ham. 'Tis well ; I '11 have thee speak out 
 the rest soon. Good my lord, will you see the 
 players well bestowed ? Do you hear, let them 
 be well used ; for they are the abstracts and 
 brief chronicles of the time ; after your death 
 you were better have a bad epitaph than their 
 ill report while you live. [their desert. 
 
 Pol. My lord, I will use them according to 
 
 Ham. Odd's bodikin, man, better : use every 
 man after his desert, and who should scape 
 whipping ? Use them after your own honour 
 and dignity: the less they deserve the more 
 merit is in your bounty. Take them in. 
 
 Pol. Come, sirs. 
 
 Ham. Follow him, friends: we'll hear a 
 play to-morrow. [Exit POLONIUS with all the 
 Players but the First.] Dost thou hear me, old 
 friend ; can you play the Murder of Gonzago ? 
 
 I Play. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Ham. We 11 ha't to-morrow night. You 
 
"44 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 could, for a need, study a speech of some 
 dozen or sixteen lines which I would set down 
 and insert in 't ? could you not ? 
 
 I Play. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Very well. Follow that lord; and 
 look you mock him not. [Exit First Player.] 
 My good friends [to Ros. and GUIL.], I'll 
 leave you till night : you are welcome to 
 Elsinore. 
 
 Ros. Good my lord ! 
 
 [Exeunt Ros. aw^GuiL. 
 
 Ham. Ay, so God b' wi' ye! Now I am 
 
 alone. 
 
 O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I ! 
 Is it not monstrous that this player here, 
 But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, 
 Could force his soul so to his own conceit 
 That from her working all his visage wan'd ; 
 Tears in his eyes, distraction in 's aspect, 
 A broken voice, and his whole function suiting 
 With forms to his conceit ? And all for nothing ! 
 For Hecuba? 
 
 What's Hecuba to him or he to Hecuba, [do, 
 That he should weep for her ? What would he 
 Had he the motive and the cue for passion 
 That I have? He would drown the stage with 
 
 tears, 
 
 And cleave the general ear with horrid speech ; 
 Make mad the guilty, and appal the free ; 
 Confound the ignorant, and amaze, indeed, 
 The very faculties of eyes and ears. 
 Yet I, 
 
 A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak, 
 Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause, 
 And can say nothing ; no, not for a king 
 Upon whose property and most dear life 
 A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward ? 
 Who calls me villain ? breaks my pate across ? 
 Plucks off my beard and blows it in my face ? 
 Tweaks me by the nose? gives me the lie i' the 
 
 throat, 
 
 As deep as to the lungs? who does me this, ha? 
 'S wounds, I should take it : for it cannot be 
 But I am pigeon -liver'd, and lack gall 
 To make oppression bitter ; or ere this 
 I should have fatted all the region kites 
 With this slave's offal : bloody, bawdy villain ! 
 Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless 
 
 villain ! 
 
 O, vengeance ! 
 
 Why, what an ass am I ! This is most brave, 
 That I, the son of a dear father murder'd, 
 Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell, 
 Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words, 
 And fall a-cursing like a very drab, 
 A scullion ! [heard 
 
 Fie upon 't ! foh ! About, my brain ! I have 
 
 That guilty creatures, sitting at a play, 
 Have by the very cunning of the scene 
 Been struck so to the soul that presently 
 They have proclaim'd their malefactions ; 
 For murder, though it have no tongue, will 
 speak [players 
 
 With most miraculous organ. I '11 have these 
 Play something like the murder of my father 
 Before mine uncle : I '11 observe his looks ; 
 I '11 tent him to the quick : if he but blench, 
 I know my course. The spirit that I have seen 
 May be the devil : and the devil hath power 
 To assume a pleasing shape ; yea, and perhaps 
 Out of my weakness and my melancholy, 
 As he is very potent with such spirits, 
 Abuses me to damn me : I '11 have grounds 
 More relative than this : the play 's the thing 
 Wherein I '11 catch the conscience of the king. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 bns rfi/nv: ni '* oT 
 
 1 ,1^ ACT III. 
 
 fn ,;: :,n/-. 
 
 SCENE I.- A Room in the Castle. 
 Enter KING, QUEEN, POLONIUS, OPHELIA, 
 
 ROSENCRANTZ, and GUILDENSTERN. 
 
 King. And can you, by no drift of circum- 
 stance, 
 
 Get from him why he puts on this confusion, 
 Grating so harshly all his days of quiet 
 With turbulent and dangerous lunacy? 
 
 Ros. He does confess he feels himself dis- 
 tracted ; [speak. 
 But from what cause he will by no means 
 
 Gul. Nor do we find him forward to be 
 
 sounded ; 
 
 But, with a crafty madness, keeps aloof 
 When we would bring him on to some confession 
 Of his true state. 
 
 Queen. Did he receive you well ? 
 
 Ros. Most like a gentleman. 
 
 Guil. But with much forcing of his disposition. 
 
 Ros. Niggard of question ; but, of our demands, 
 Most free in his reply. 
 
 Queen. Did you assay him 
 
 To any pastime ? 
 
 Ros. Madam, it so fell out that certain 
 players [him ; 
 
 We o'er-raught on the way: of these we told 
 And there did seem in him a kind of joy 
 To hear of it : they are about the court ; 
 And, as I think, they have already order 
 This night to play before him. 
 
 Pol. 'Tis most true : 
 
 And he beseech'd me to entreat your majesties 
 To hear and see the matter. [content me 
 
 King. With all my heart ; and it doth much 
 
SCENE I.J 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK 
 
 I I4S 
 
 To hear him so inclin'd. 
 
 Good gentlemen, give him a further edge, 
 
 And drive his purpose on to these delights. 
 
 Ros. We shall, my lord. 
 
 {Exeunt Ros. and GuiL. 
 
 King. Sweet Gertrude, leave us too ; 
 
 For we have closely sent for Hamlet hither 
 That he, as 'twere by accident, may here 
 Affront Ophelia : 
 
 Her father and myself, lawful espials, 
 Will so bestow ourselves that, seeing, unseen, 
 We may of their encounter frankly judge ; 
 And gather by him, as he is behav'd, 
 If 't be the affliction of his love or no 
 That thus he suffers for. 
 
 Queen. I shall obey you : 
 
 And for your part, Ophelia, I do wish 
 That your good beauties be the happy cause 
 Of Hamlet's wildness: so shall I hope your 
 
 virtues 
 
 Will bring him to his wonted way again, 
 To both your honours. 
 
 Oph. Madam, I wish it may. 
 
 {Exit QUEEN. 
 
 Pol. Ophelia, walk you here. Gracious, so 
 
 please you, 
 We will bestow ourselves. [To OPHELIA.] 
 
 Read on this book ; 
 
 That show of such an exercise may colour 
 Your loneliness. We are oft to blame in this, 
 'Tis too much prov'd, that with devotion's 
 
 And pious action we do sugar o'er 
 The devil himself. 
 
 King. [Aside.'} O, 'tis too true! [science! 
 How smart a lash that speech doth give my con- 
 The harlot's cheek, beautied with plastering art, 
 Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it 
 Than is my deed to my most painted word : 
 O heavy burden ! [lord. 
 
 Pol. I hear him coming : let 's withdraw, my 
 [Exeunt KING and POLONIUS. 
 
 Enter HAMLET. 
 
 Ham. To be, or not to be, that is the 
 
 question : 
 
 Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer 
 The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, 
 Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, 
 And by opposing end them? To die, to 
 
 sleep, 
 
 No more ; and by a sleep to say we end 
 The heart -ache and the thousand natural shocks 
 That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation 
 Pevoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep ; 
 To sleep! perchance to dream: ay, there's 
 
 the rub; 
 
 For in that sleep of death what dreams may 
 
 come, 
 
 When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, 
 Must give us pause : there 's the respect 
 That makes calamity of so long life ; [time, 
 For who would bear the whips and scorns of 
 The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's con- 
 tumely, 
 
 The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay, 
 The insolence of office, and the spurns 
 That patient merit of the unworthy takes, 
 When he himself might his quietus make 
 With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear, 
 To grunt and sweat under a weary life, 
 But that the dread of something after death, 
 The undiscover'd country, from whose bourn 
 No traveller returns, puzzles the will, 
 And makes us rather bear those ills we have 
 Than fly to others that we know not of? 
 Thus conscience does make cowards of us all ; 
 And thus the native hue of resolution 
 Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought; 
 And enterprises of great pith and moment, 
 With this regard, their currents turn awry, 
 And lose the name of action. Soft you now! 
 The fair Ophelia. Nymph, in thy orisons 
 Be all my sins remember'd. 
 
 Oph. Good my lord, 
 
 How does your honour for this many a day? 
 
 Ham. I. humbly thank you; well, well, well. 
 
 Oph. My lord, I have remembrances of yours, 
 That I have longed long to re-deliver ; 
 I pray you, now receive them. 
 
 Ham. No, not I ; 
 
 I never gave you aught. [you did ; 
 
 Oph. My honour'd lord, you know right well 
 And, with them, words of so sweet breath com- 
 pos'd [lost, 
 
 As made the things more rich : their perfume 
 Take these again ; for to the noble mind 
 Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind. 
 There, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Ha, ha ! are you honest? 
 
 Oph. My lord? 
 
 Ham. Are you fair? 
 
 Oph. What means your lordship? 
 
 Ham. That if you be honest and fair, your 
 honesty should admit no discourse to your 
 beauty. 
 
 Oph. Could beauty, my lord, have better 
 commerce than with honesty? 
 
 Ham. Ay, truly; for the power of beauty 
 will sooner transform honesty from what it is to 
 a bawd than the force of honesty can translate 
 beauty into his likeness : this was sometime a 
 paradox, but now the time gives it proof. I 
 did love you once. 
 
1146 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Oph. Indeed, my lord, you made me believe 
 so. 
 
 Ham. You should not have believed me; 
 for virtue cannot so inoculate our old stock but 
 we shall relish of it : I loved you not. 
 
 Oph. I was the more deceived. 
 
 Ham. Get thee to a nunnery : why wouldst 
 thou be a breeder of sinners? I am myself in- 
 different honest ; but yet I could accuse me of 
 such things that it were better my mother had 
 not born me : I am very proud, revengeful, am- 
 bitious ; with more offences at my beck than I 
 have thoughts to put them in, imagination to 
 give them shape, or time to act them in. What 
 should such fellows as I do crawling between 
 heaven and earth? We are arrant knaves, all ; 
 believe none of us. Go thy ways to a nunnery. 
 Where's your father? 
 
 Oph. At home, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Let the doors be shut upon him, that 
 he may play the fool nowhere but in's own 
 house. Farewell. 
 
 Oph. O, help him, you sweet heavens ! 
 
 Ham. If thou dost marry, I '11 give thee this 
 plague for thy dowry, be thou as chaste as 
 ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape 
 calumny. Get thee to a nunnery, go: fare- 
 well. Or, if thou wilt needs marry, marry a 
 fool; for wise men know well enough what 
 monsters you make of them. To a nunnery, 
 go ; and quickly too. Farewell. 
 
 Oph. O heavenly powers, restore him ! 
 
 Ham. I have heard of your paintings too, 
 well enough ; God has given you one face and 
 you make yourselves another: you jig, you 
 amble, and you lisp, and nickname God's crea- 
 tures, and make your wantonness your ignor- 
 ance. Go to, I '11 no more on 't ; it hath made 
 me mad. I say, we will have no more mar- 
 riages : those that are married already, all but 
 one, shall live; the rest shall keep as they are. 
 To a nunnery, go. [Exit. 
 
 Oph. O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown ! 
 The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's eye, tongue, 
 
 sword : 
 
 The expectancy and rose of the fair state, 
 The glass of fashion and the mould of form, 
 The observ'd of all observers, quite, quite 
 
 down ! 
 
 And I, of ladies most deject and wretched 
 That suck'd the honey of his music vows, 
 Now see that noble and most sovereign reason, 
 Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh ; 
 That unmatch'd form and feature of blown youth 
 Blasted with ecstasy : O, woe is me, 
 To have seen what I have seen, see what I 
 see! 
 
 Re-enter KING and POLONIUS. 
 King. Love ! his affections do not that way 
 
 tend ; [little, 
 
 Nor what he spake, though it lack'd form a 
 Was not like madness. There 's something in 
 
 his soul 
 
 O'er which his melancholy sits on brood ; 
 And I do doubt the hatch and the disclose 
 Will be some danger : which for to prevent, 
 I have in quick determination [land 
 
 Thus set it down : he shall with speed to Eng- 
 For the demand of our neglected tribute : 
 Haply, the seas and countries different, 
 With variable objects, shall expel 
 This something-settled matter in his heart ; 
 Whereon his brains still beating puts him thus 
 From fashion of himself. What think you on 't ? 
 
 Pol. It shall do well : but yet do I believe 
 The origin and commencement of his grief 
 Sprung from neglected love. How now, 
 
 Ophelia ! 
 
 You need not tell us what Lord Hamlet said ; 
 We heard it all. My lord, do as you please; 
 But if you hold it fit, after the play, 
 Let his queen mother all alone entreat him 
 To show his grief: let her be round with him ; 
 And I '11 be plac'd, so please you, in the ear 
 Of all their conference. If she find him not, 
 To England send him ; or confine him where 
 Your wisdom best shall think. 
 
 King. It shall be so : 
 
 Madness in great ones must not unwatch'd go. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. A Hall in the Castle. 
 Enter HAMLET and certain Players. 
 
 Ham. Speak the speech, I pray you, as I 
 pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue: 
 but if you mouth it, as many of your players 
 do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. 
 Nor do not saw the air too much with your 
 hand, thus; but use all gently: for in the very 
 torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, the whirl- 
 wind of passion, you must acquire and beget a 
 temperance that may give it smoothness. O, 
 it offends me to the soul, to hear a robustious 
 periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, 
 to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings, 
 who, for the most part, are capable of nothing 
 but inexplicable dumb shows and noise : I 
 could have such a fellow whipped for o'erdoing 
 Termagant ; it out-herods Herod : pray you, 
 avoid it. 
 
 I Play. I warrant your honour. 
 
 Ham. Be not too tame neither, but let your 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 1147 
 
 own discretion be your tutor : suit the action to 
 the word, the word to the action; with this 
 special observance, that you o'erstep not the 
 modesty of nature : for anything so overdone is 
 from the purpose of playing, whose end, both 
 at the first and now, was and is, to hold, as 
 'twere, the mirror up to nature ; to show virtue 
 her own feature, scorn her own image, and the 
 very age and body of the time his form and 
 pressure. Now, this overdone or come tardy 
 off, though it make the unskilful laugh, cannot 
 but make the judicious grieve ; the censure of 
 the which one must, in your allowance, o'er- 
 weigh a whole theatre of others. O, there be 
 players that I have seen play, and heard 
 others praise, and that highly, not to speak 
 it profanely, that, neither having the accent of 
 Christians, nor the gait of Christian, pagan, nor 
 man, have so strutted and bellowed that I have 
 thought some of nature's journeymen had made 
 men, and not made them well, they imitated 
 humanity so abominably. 
 
 I Play. I hope we have reformed that in- 
 differently with us, sir. 
 
 Ham. O, reform it altogether. And let 
 those that play your clowns speak no more than 
 is set down for them : for there be of them that 
 will themselves laugh, to set on some quantity 
 of barren spectators to laugh too; though, in 
 the meantime, some necessary question of the 
 play be then to be considered : that 's villan- 
 ous, and shows a most pitiful ambition in the 
 fool that uses it. Go, make you ready. 
 
 [Exeunt Players. 
 Enter POLONIUS, ROSENCRANTZ, ana 
 
 GUILDENSTERN. 
 
 How now, my lord! will the king hear this 
 piece of work? 
 
 Pol And the queen too, and that presently. 
 Ham. Bid the players make haste. 
 
 [Exit POLONIUS. 
 
 Will you two help to hasten them? 
 JRos. and Guil. We will, my lord. 
 
 [Exeunt Ros. and GUIL. 
 Ham. What, ho, Horatio! 
 
 Enter HORATIO. 
 
 Hor. Here, sweet lord, at your service. 
 
 Ham, Horatio, thou art e'en as just a man 
 As e'er my conversation cop'd withal. 
 
 Hor O, my dear lord, 
 
 Ham, Nay, do not think I flatter ; 
 
 For what advancement may I hope from thee, 
 That no revenue hast, but thy good spirits, 
 To feed and clothe thee ? Why should the poor 
 be fiatter'd? 
 
 No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp ; 
 And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee 
 Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou 
 
 hear? 
 
 Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice, 
 And could of men distinguish, her election 
 Hath seal'd thee for herself: for thou hast been 
 As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing; 
 A man that Fortune's buffets and rewards 
 Hast ta'en with equal thanks : and bless'd are 
 
 those 
 
 Whose blood and judgment are so well com- 
 mingled 
 
 That they are not a pipe for Fortune's finger 
 To sound what stop she please. Give me that 
 
 man 
 
 That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him 
 In my heart s core, ay, in my heart of heart, 
 As I do thee. Something too much of this. 
 There is a play to-night before the king ; 
 One scene of it comes near the circumstance 
 Which I have told thee of my father's death : 
 I pr'ythee, when thou see'st that act a-foot, 
 Even with the very comment of thy soul 
 Observe mine uncle : if his occulted guilt 
 Do not itself unkennel in one speech, 
 It is a damned ghost that we have seen ; 
 And my imaginations are as foul 
 As Vulcan's stithy. Give him heedful note : 
 For I mine eyes will rivet to his face ; 
 And, after, we will both our judgments join 
 In censure of his seeming. 
 
 Hor. Well, my lord : 
 
 If he steal aught the whilst this play is playing, 
 And scape detecting, I will pay the theft. 
 Ham. They are coming to the play ; I must 
 
 be idle : 
 Get you a place. 
 
 Danish march. A flourish. Enter KING, 
 QUEEN, POLONIUS, OPHELIA, ROSEN- 
 CRANTZ, GUILDENSTERN, and others. 
 
 King. How fares our cousin Hamlet ? 
 
 Ham. Excellent, i' faith; of the chameleon's 
 dish: I eat the air, promise-crammed : you 
 cannot feed capons so. 
 
 King. I have nothing with this answer, 
 Hamlet ; these words are not mine. 
 
 Ham. No, nor mine now. My lord, you 
 played once i' the university, you say? [ To POL. 
 
 Pol. That did I, my lord, and was accounted 
 a good actor. 
 
 Ham. And what did you enact ? 
 
 Pol. I did enact Julius Caesar : I was killed 
 i' the Capitol ; Brutus killed me. 
 
 Ham. It was a brute part of him to kill sc 
 capital a calf there. Be the players ready? 
 
1148 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Ros. Ay, my lord ; they stay upon your 
 patience. 
 
 Queen. Come hither, my good Hamlet, sit 
 by me. 
 
 Ham. No, good mother, here's metal more 
 attractive. 
 
 Pol. O, ho ! do you mark that? 
 
 [To the KING. 
 
 Ham. Lady, shall I lie in your lap ? 
 
 {Lying down at OPHELIA'S feet. 
 
 Oph. No, my lord. 
 
 Ham. I mean, my head upon your lap? 
 
 Oph. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Do you think I meant country matters? 
 
 Oph. I think nothing, my lord. 
 
 Ham. That's a fair thought to lie between 
 maids' legs. 
 
 Oph. What is, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. Nothing. 
 
 Oph. You are merry, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Who, I ? 
 
 Oph. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Ham. O, your only jig-maker. What 
 should a man do but be merry? for, look you, 
 how cheerfully my mother looks, and my father 
 died within 's two hours. 
 
 Oph. Nay, 'tis twice two months, ray lord. 
 
 Ham. So long? Nay, then, let the devil 
 wear black, for I '11 have a suit of sables. O 
 heavens ! die two months ago, and not forgot- 
 ten yet? Then there's hope a great man's 
 memory may outlive his life half a year : but, 
 by 'r lady, he must build churches, then ; or 
 else shall he suffer not thinking on, with the 
 hobby-horse, whose epitaph is, For, O, far, O, 
 the hobby-horse is forgot. 
 
 Trumpets sound. The dumb show enters. 
 
 Enter a King and a Queen, very lovingly ; the 
 Queen embracing him and he her. She 
 kneels, and makes show of protestation unto 
 him. He takes her up, and declines his head 
 upon her neck: lays him down upon a bank 
 of flowers: she, seeing him asleep, leaves him. 
 Anon comes in a fellow, takes off his crown, 
 kisses it, and pours poison in the King's ears, 
 and exit. The Queen returns ; finds the 
 King dead, and makes passionate action. The 
 Poisoner, with some two or three Mutes, 
 comes in again, seeming to lament with her. 
 The dead body is carried away. The Poisoner 
 wooes the Queen with gifts : she seems loth 
 and unwilling awhile, but in the end accepts 
 his love. [Exeunt. 
 
 Oph. What means this, my lord ? 
 Ham. Marry, this is miching mallecho; it 
 
 means mischief. 
 
 r. Belike this show imports the argument 
 play. 
 
 Enter Prologue. 
 
 Ham. We shall know by this fellow : the 
 players cannot keep counsel ; they '11 tell all. 
 
 Oph. Will he tell us what this show meant? 
 
 Ham. Ay, or any show that you '11 show 
 him : be not you ashamed to show, he '11 not 
 shame to tell you what it means. 
 
 Oph. You are naught, you are naught : I '11 
 mark the play. 
 
 Pro. For us, and for our tragedy, 
 
 Here stooping to your clemency, 
 We beg your hearing patiently . 
 
 Ham. Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring? 
 Oph. 'Tis brief, my lord. 
 Ham. As woman's love. 
 
 Enter a King and a Queen. 
 
 P. King. Full thirty times hath Phoebus' 
 
 cart gone round 
 
 Neptune's salt wash and Tellus' orbed ground, 
 And thirty dozen moons with borrow'd sheen 
 About the world have times twelve thirties been, 
 Since love our hearts, and Hymen did our hands 
 Unite commutual in most sacred bands. 
 P. Queen. So many journeys may the sun 
 
 and moon 
 
 Make us again count o'er ere love be done J 
 But, woe is me, you are so sick of late, 
 So far from cheer and from your former state, 
 That I distrust you. Yet, though I distrust, 
 Discomfort you, my lord, it nothing must : 
 For women's fear and love holds quantity ; 
 In neither aught, or in extremity. 
 Now, what my love is, proof hath made you 
 
 know ; 
 
 And as my love is siz'd, my fear is so : 
 Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear ; 
 Where little fears grow great, great love grows 
 
 there. [shortly too ; 
 
 P. King. Faith, I must leave thee, love, and 
 My operant powers their functions leave to do : 
 And thou shalt live in this fair world behind, 
 Honour'd, belov'd ; and haply one as kind 
 For husband shalt thou, 
 
 P. Queen. O, confound the rest ! 
 
 Such love must needs be treason in my breast : 
 In second husband let me be accurst ! 
 None wed the second but who kill'd the first. 
 
 Ham. [Aside.} Wormwood, wormwood. 
 
 P. Queen. The instances that second mar- 
 riage move 
 Are base respects of thrift, but none of love : 
 
SCENE II. j 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 1149 
 
 A second time I kill my husband dead 
 When second husband kisses me in bed. 
 
 P. King. I do believe you think what now 
 
 you speak ; 
 
 But what we do determine oft we break. 
 Purpose is but the slave to memory ; 
 Of violent birth, but poor validity : [tree ; 
 Which now, like fruit unripe, sticks on the 
 But fall unshaken when they mellow be. 
 Most necessary 'tis that we torget 
 To pay ourselves what f o ourselves is debt : 
 What to ourselves in passion we propose, 
 The passion ending, doth the purpose lose. 
 The violence of either grief or joy 
 Their own enactures with themselves destroy : 
 Where joy most revels grief doth most lament; 
 Grief joys, joy grieves, on slender accident. 
 This world is not for aye ; nor 'tis not strange 
 That even our loves should with our fortunes 
 
 change ; 
 
 For 'tis a question left us yet to prove 
 Whether love lead fortune or else fortune love. 
 The great man down, you mark his favourite 
 
 flies; 
 
 The poor advanc'd makes friends of enemies. 
 And hitherto doth love on fortune tend : 
 For who not needs shall never lack a friend ; 
 And who in want a hollow friend doth try, 
 Directly seasons him his enemy. 
 But, orderly to end where I begun, 
 Our wills and fates do so contrary run 
 that our devices still are overthrown ; [own : 
 Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our 
 So think thou wilt no second husband wed ; 
 But die thy thoughts when thy first lord is dead. 
 P. Queen. Nor earth to me give food, nor 
 
 heaven light ! 
 
 Sport and repose lock from me day and night ! 
 To desperation turn my trust and hope ! 
 An anchor's cheer in prison be my scope ! 
 Each opposite, that blanks the face of joy, 
 Meet what I would have well, and it destroy ! 
 Both here and hence, pursue me lasting strife, 
 If, once a widow, ever I be wife ! 
 
 Ham. If she should break it now ! 
 
 \To OPHELIA. 
 
 P. King. 'Tis deeply sworn. Sweet, leave 
 
 me here awhile ; 
 
 My spirits grow dull, and fain I would beguile 
 The tedious day with sleep. {Sleeps. 
 
 P. Queen. Sleep rock thy brain, 
 
 And never come mischance between us twain ! 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 Ham. Madam, how like you this play? 
 
 Queen. The lady protests too much, methinks. 
 
 Ham. O, but she '11 keep her word. 
 
 King. Have you heard the argument? Is 
 there no offence in 't ? 
 
 Ham. No, no, they do but jest, poison in 
 jest ; no offence i' the world. 
 
 King. What do you call the play? 
 
 Ham. The Mouse - trap. Marry, how ? 
 Tropically. This play is the image of a murder 
 done in Vienna : Gonzago is the duke's name ; 
 his wife, Baptista : you shall see anon ; 'tis a 
 knavish piece of work : but what o' that ? your 
 majesty, and we that have free souls, it touches 
 us not : let the galled jade wince, our withers 
 are unwrung. 
 
 Enter LuciANUS. 
 
 This is one Lucianus, nephew to the king. 
 
 Oph. You are a good chorus, my lord. 
 
 Ham. I could interpret between you and 
 your love, if I could see the puppets dallying. 
 
 Oph. You are keen, my lord, you are keen. 
 
 Ham. It would cost you a groaning to take 
 off my edge. 
 
 Oph. Still better, and worse. 
 
 Ham. So you must take your husbands. 
 Begin, murderer ; pox, leave thy damnable 
 faces and begin. Come : The croaking raven 
 doth bellow for revenge. 
 
 Luc. Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit, 
 
 and time agreeing ; 
 
 Confederate season, else no creature seeing ; 
 Thou mixture rank, of midnight weeds collected, 
 With Hecate's ban thrice blasted, thrice infected, 
 Thy natural magic and dire property 
 On wholesome life usurp, immediately. 
 
 {Pours the poison into the sleeper's ears. 
 
 Ham. He poisons him i' the garden for's 
 estate. His name 's Gonzago : the story is 
 extant, and writ in choice Italian : you shall 
 see anon how the murderer gets the love of 
 Gonzago's wife. 
 
 Oph. The king rises. 
 
 Ham. What, frighted with false fire ! 
 
 Queen. How fares my lord ? 
 
 Pol. Give o'er the play. 
 
 King. Give me some light : away ! 
 
 All. Lights, lights, lights ! 
 
 {Exeunt all but HAM. and HOR. 
 Ham. Why, let the strucken deer go weep, 
 
 The hart ungalled play;' 
 For some must watch, while some must 
 
 sleep : 
 
 So runs the world away. 
 Would not this, sir, and a forest of feathers, 
 if the rest of my fortunes turn Turk with me, 
 with two Proven cial roses on my razed shoes, 
 get me a fellowship in a cry of players, sir ? 
 
1 150 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Hor. Half a share. 
 Ham. A whole one, I. 
 
 For thou dost know, O Damon dear, 
 
 This realm dismantled was 
 Of Jove himself ; and now reigns here 
 
 A very, very pajock. 
 Hor. You might have rhymed. 
 Ham. O good Horatio, I '11 take the ghost's 
 word for a thousand pound. Didst perceive ? 
 Hor. Very well, my lord. 
 Ham. Upon the talk of the poisoning, 
 Hor. I did very well note him. 
 Ham. Ah, ha ! Come, some music ! come, 
 the recorders ! 
 
 For if the king like not the comedy, 
 Why, then, belike, he likes it not, perdy. 
 Come, some music ! 
 
 Re-enter ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN. 
 
 Guil. Good my lord, vouchsafe me a word 
 with you. 
 
 Ham. Sir, a whole history. 
 
 Guil. The king, sir, 
 
 Ham. Ay, sir, what of him ? [tempered. 
 
 Guil. Is, in his retirement, marvellous dis- 
 
 Ham. With drink, sir ? 
 
 Guil. No, my lord, rather with choler. 
 
 Ham. Your wisdom should show itself more 
 richer to signify this to his doctor ; for, for me 
 to put him to his purgation would perhaps 
 plunge him into far more choler. 
 
 Guil. Good my lord, put your discourse 
 into some frame, and start not so wildly from 
 my affair. 
 
 Ham. I am tame, sir: pronounce. 
 
 Guil. The queen, your mother in most great 
 affliction of spirit, hath sent me to you. 
 
 Ham. You are welcome. 
 
 Guil. Nay, good my lord, this courtesy is not 
 of the right breed. If it shall please you to 
 make me a wholesome answer, I will do your 
 mother's commandment : if not, your pardon 
 and my return shall be the end of my business. 
 
 Ham. Sir, I cannot. 
 
 Guil. What, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. Make you a wholesome answer ; my 
 wit 's diseased : but, sir, such answer as I can 
 make, you shall command ; or, rather, as you 
 say, my mother : therefore no more, but to the 
 matter : my mother, you say, 
 
 Ros. Then thus she says : your behaviour hath 
 struck her into amazement and admiration. 
 
 Ham. O wonderful son, that can so astonish 
 a mother ! But is there no sequel at the heels 
 of this mother's admiration ? 
 
 Ros. She desires to speak with you in her 
 closet ere you go to bed. 
 
 Ham. We shall obey, were she ten times our 
 mother. Have you any further trade with us ? 
 
 Ros. My lord, you once did love me. 
 
 Ham. So I do still, by these pickers and 
 steal ers. 
 
 Ros. Good my lord, what is your cause of 
 distemper ? you do, surely, bar the door upon 
 your own liberty if you deny your griefs to 
 your friend. 
 
 Ham. Sir, I lack advancement. 
 
 Ros. How can that be, when you have the 
 voice of the king himself for your succession in 
 Denmark ? 
 
 Ham. Ay, but While the grass grows, the 
 proverb is something musty. 
 
 Re-enter the Players, with Recorders. 
 
 O, the recorders: let me see one. To with- 
 draw with you : why do you go about to 
 recover the wind of me, as if you would drive 
 me into a toil ? 
 
 Guil. O, my lord, if my duty be too bold, 
 my love is too unmannerly. 
 
 Ham. I do not well understand that. Will 
 you play upon this pipe ? 
 
 Guil. My lord, I cannot. 
 
 Ham. I pray you. 
 
 Guil. Believe me, I cannot. 
 
 Ham. I do beseech you. 
 
 Guil. I know no touch of it, my lord. 
 
 Ham. 'Tis as easy as lying: govern these 
 ventages with your finger and thumb, give it 
 breath with your mouth, and it will discourse 
 most eloquent music. Look you, these are the 
 steps. 
 
 Guil. But these cannot I command to any 
 utterance of harmony ; I have not the skill. 
 
 Ham. Why, look you now, how unworthy a 
 thing you make of me ! You would play upon 
 me ; you would seem to know my stops ; you 
 would pluck out the heart of my mystery ; you 
 would sound me from my lowest note to the 
 top of my compass: and there is much music, 
 excellent voice, in this little organ ; yet cannot 
 you make it speak. 'Sblood, do you think that 
 I am easier to be played on than a pipe ? Call 
 me what instrument you will, though you can 
 fret me you cannot play upon me. 
 
 Enter POLONIUS. 
 
 ^ f " ^. "4^1 . 
 
 God bless you, sir ! 
 
 Pol. My lord, the queen would speak with 
 you, and presently. 
 
 Ham. Do you see yonder cloud that 's almost 
 in shape of a camel ? 
 
 Pol. By the mass, and 'tis like a camel indeed. 
 
 Ham. Methinks it is like a weasel. 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 1151 
 
 Pol. It is backed like a weasel. 
 
 Ham. Or like a whale ? 
 
 Pol. Very like a whale. 
 
 Ham. Then will I come to my mother by 
 and by. They fool me to the top of my bent. 
 I will come by and by. 
 
 Pol. I will say so. 
 
 Ham. By and by is easily said. [Exit 
 POLONIUS.] Leave me, friends. 
 
 [Exeunt Ros., GUIL., HOR., and Players. 
 'Tis now the very witching time of night, 
 When churchyards yawn, and hell itself breathes 
 out [blood, 
 
 Contagion to this world : now could I drink hot 
 And do such bitter business as the day 
 Would quake to look on. Soft ! now to my 
 mother. 
 
 heart, lose not thy nature ; let not ever 
 The soul of Nero enter this firm bosom : 
 Let me be cruel, not unnatural : 
 
 1 will speak daggers to her, but use none ; 
 My tongue and soul in this be hypocrites, 
 How in my words soever she be shent, 
 
 To give them seals never, my soul, consent ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III. A Room in the Castle. 
 
 Enter KING, ROSENCRANTZ, and GUILDEN- 
 STERN. 
 
 King. I like him not ; nor stands it safe with 
 us [you ; 
 
 To let his madness range. Therefore prepare 
 I your commission will forthwith despatch, 
 And he to England shall along with you : 
 The terms of our estate may not endure 
 Hazard so dangerous as doth hourly grow 
 Out of his lunacies. 
 
 Guil. We will ourselves provide: 
 
 Most holy and religious fear it is 
 To keep those many many bodies safe 
 That live and feed upon your majesty. 
 
 Ros. The single and peculiar life is bound, 
 With all the strength and armour of the mind, 
 To keep itself from 'noyance ; but much more 
 That spirit upon whose weal depend and rest 
 The lives of many. The cease of majesty 
 Dies not alone ; but like a guif doth draw 
 What 's near it with it : it is a massy wheel, 
 Fix'd on the summit of the highest mount, 
 To whose huge spokes ten thousand lesser things 
 Are mortis'd and adjoin'd ; which, when it falls, 
 Each small annexment, petty consequence, 
 Attends the boisterous ruin. Never alone 
 Did the king sigh, but with a general groan. 
 
 King. Arm you, I pray you, to this speedy 
 voyage ; 
 
 For we will fetters put upon this fear, 
 Which now goes too free-footed. 
 
 Ros. and Guil. We will haste us. 
 
 [Exeunt Ros. and GUIL. 
 
 Enter POLONIUS. 
 
 Pol. My lord, he's going to his mother's 
 
 closet : 
 
 Behind the arras I '11 convey myself [home : 
 To hear the process ; I '11 warrant she '11 tax him 
 And, as you said, and wisely was it said, 
 'Tis meet that some more audience thanamother, 
 Since nature makes them partial, should o'erhear 
 The speech, of vantage. Fare you well, my 
 
 liege: 
 
 I '11 call upon you ere you go to bed, 
 And tell you what I know. 
 
 King. Thanks, dear my lord. 
 
 [Exit POLONIUS. 
 
 O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven ; 
 It hath the primal eldest curse upon 't, 
 A brother's murder ! Pray can I not, 
 Though inclination be as sharp as will : 
 My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent ; 
 And, like a man to double business bound, 
 I stand in pause where I shall first begin, 
 And both neglect. What if this cursed hand 
 Were thicker than itself with brother's blood, 
 Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens 
 To wash it white as snow? Whereto serves 
 
 mercy 
 
 But to confront the visage of offence ? 
 And what 's in prayer but this twofold force, 
 To be forestalled ere we come to fall, 
 Or pardon'd being down ? Then I Ml look up; 
 My fault is past. But, O, what form of prayer 
 Can serve my turn? Forgive me my foul 
 
 murder ! 
 
 That cannot be ; since I am still possess'd 
 Of those effects for which I did the murder, 
 My crown, mine own ambition, and my queen. 
 May one be pardon'd and retain the offence ? 
 In the corrupted currents of this world 
 Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice ; 
 And oft 'tis seen the wicked prize itself 
 Buys out the law : but 'tis not so above ; 
 There is no shuffling, there the action lies 
 In his true nature ; and we ourselves compell'd, 
 Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults, 
 To give in evidence. What then? what rests? 
 Try what repentance can : what can it not ? 
 Yet what can it when one can not repent ? 
 O wretched state ! O bosom black as death ! 
 O limed soul, that, struggling to be free, 
 Art more engag'd ! Help, angels ! make assay : 
 Bow, stubborn knees; and, heart, with strings 
 
 of steel, 
 
H52 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe ! 
 
 All may be well. [Retires and kneels. 
 
 Enter HAMLET. 
 
 Ham. Now might I do it pat, now he is 
 
 praying ; 
 
 And now I '11 do 't ; and so he goes to heaven ; 
 And so am I reveng'd : that v/ould be scann'd : 
 A villain kills my father ; and for that, 
 I, his sole son, do this same villain send 
 To heaven. 
 
 O, this is hire and salary, not revenge. 
 Me took my father grossly, full of bread ; 
 With all his crimes broad blown, as flush as 
 
 May ; [heaven ? 
 
 And how his audit stands who knows save 
 But in our circumstance and course of thought 
 'Tis heavy with him: and am I, then, reveng'd, 
 To take him in the purging of his soul, 
 When he is fit and season'd for his passage ? 
 No. 
 
 Up, sword ; and know thou a more horrid hent : 
 When he is drunk, asleep, or in his rage ; 
 Or in the incestuous pleasure of his bed ; 
 At gaming, swearing ; or about some act 
 That has no relish of salvation in 't ; 
 Then trip him, that his heels may kick at 
 
 heaven ; 
 
 And that his soul may be as damn'd and black 
 
 As hell, whereto it goes. My mother stays : 
 
 This physic but prolongs thy sickly days. [Exit. 
 
 [The KING rises and advances. 
 
 King. My words fly up, my thoughts remain 
 
 below: 
 Words without thoughts never to heaven go. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV. Another Room in the Castle. 
 Enter QUEEN and POLONIUS. 
 
 Pol. He will come straight. Look you lay 
 
 home to him : [with, 
 
 Tell him his pranks have been too broad to bear 
 
 And that your grace hath screen'd and stood 
 
 between 
 
 Much heat and him. I '11 silence me e'en here. 
 Pray you, be round with him. 
 
 Ham. [Within.'] Mother, mother, mother! 
 Queen. I '11 warrant you : 
 
 Fear me not : withdraw, I hear him coming. 
 [POLONIUS goes behind the arras. 
 
 Enter HAMLET. 
 
 Ham. Now, mother, what 's the matter ? 
 Queen. Hamlet, thou hast thy father much 
 offended. [offended. 
 
 Ham,. Mother, you have my father much 
 
 Queen. Come, come, you answer with an 
 idle tongue. [tongue. 
 
 Ham. Go, go, you question with a wicked 
 
 Queen. Why, how now, Hamlet ! 
 
 Ham. What's the matter now? 
 
 Queen. Have you forgot me? 
 
 Ham. No, by the rood, not so : 
 
 You are the queen, your husband's brother's 
 
 wife ; [mother. 
 
 And, would it were not so ! you are my 
 
 Queen. Nay, then, I '11 set those to you that 
 can speak. 
 
 Ham. Come, come, and sit you down ; yoi; 
 
 shall not budge ; 
 
 You go not till I set you up a glass 
 Where you may see the inmost part of you. 
 
 Queen. What wilt thou do? thou wilt not 
 
 murder me ? 
 Help, help, ho ! 
 
 Pol. [Behind.'} What, ho! help, help, help! 
 
 Ham. How now ! a rat ? [Draws. 
 
 Dead, for a ducat, dead ! 
 
 [Makes a pass through the arras. 
 
 Pol. [Behind.'} O, I am slain! 
 
 [Falls and dies. 
 
 Queen. O me, what hast thou done ? 
 
 Ham. Nay, I know not : 
 
 Is it the king? [Draws forth POLONIUS. 
 
 Queen. O, what a rash and bloody deed is 
 this ! [mother, 
 
 Ham. A bloody deed ! almost as bad, good 
 As kill a king and marry with his brother. 
 
 Queen. As kill a king ! 
 
 Ham. Ay, lady, 'twas my word. 
 
 Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell ! 
 
 [To POLONIUS. 
 
 I took thee for thy better : take thy fortune ; 
 Thou find'st to be too busy is some danger. 
 Leave wringing of your hands : peace ; sit you 
 
 down, 
 
 And let me wring your heart: for so I shall, 
 If it be made of penetrable stuff ; 
 If damned custom have not braz'd it so 
 That it is proof and bulwark against sense. 
 
 Queen. What have I done, that thou dar'st 
 
 wag thy tongue 
 In noise so rude against me ? 
 
 Ham. Such an act 
 
 That blurs the grace and blush of modesty ; 
 Calls virtue hypocrite ; takes off the rose 
 From the fair forehead of an innocent love, 
 And sets a blister there ; makes marriage-vows 
 As false as dicers' oaths : O, such a deed 
 As from the body of contraction plucks 
 The very soul, and sweet religion makes 
 A rhapsody of words : heaven's face doth glow; 
 Yea, this solidity and compound mass, 
 
SCENE IV. J 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 "53 
 
 With tristful visage, as against the doom, 
 Is thought-sick at the act. 
 
 Queen. Ah me, what act, 
 
 That roars so loud, and thunders in the index? 
 Ham. Look here upon this picture and on 
 
 this, 
 
 The counterfeit presentment of two brothers. 
 See what a grace was seated on this brow ; 
 Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself; 
 An eye like Mars, to threaten and command ; 
 A station like the herald Mercury 
 New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill ; 
 A combination and a form, indeed, 
 Where every god did seem to set his seal, 
 To give the world assurance of a man : 
 This was your husband. Look you now, what 
 
 follows : 
 
 Here is your husband, like a milldew'd ear 
 Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you 
 
 eyes? 
 
 Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed, 
 And batten on this moor? Ha ! have you eyes? 
 You cannot call it love; for at your age 
 The hey-day in the blood is tame, it 's humble, 
 And waits upon the judgment : and what judg- 
 ment [have, 
 Would step from this to this? Sense, sure, you 
 Else could you not have motion : but sure that 
 
 sense 
 
 Is apoplex'd : for madness would not err ; 
 Nor sense to ecstasy was ne'er so thrall'd 
 But it reserv'd some quantity of choice 
 To serve in such a difference. What devil was 't 
 That thus hath cozen'd you at hoodman-blind? 
 Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight, 
 Ears without hands or eyes, smelling sans all, 
 Or but a sickly part of one true sense 
 Could not so mope. 
 
 O shame ! where is thy blush? Rebellious hell, 
 If thou canst mutine in a matron's bones, 
 To flaming youth let virtue be as wax, 
 And melt in her own fire : proclaim no shame 
 When the compulsive ardour gives the charge, 
 Since frost itself as actively doth burn, 
 And reason panders will. 
 
 Queen. O Hamlet, speak no more : 
 
 Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul ; 
 And there I see such black and grained spots 
 As will not leave their tinct. 
 
 Ham. Nay, but to live 
 
 In the rank sweat of an enseamed bed, 
 Stew'd in corruption, honeying and making love 
 Over the nasty sty, 
 
 Queen. O, speak to me no more ; 
 
 These words like daggers enter in mine ears ; 
 No more, sweet Hamlet. 
 Ham, A murderer and a villain ; 
 
 A slave that is not twentieth part the tithe 
 Of your precedent lord ; a vice of kings ; 
 A cutpurse of the empire and the rule, 
 That from a shelf the precious diadem stole, 
 And put it in his pocket ! 
 
 Queen. No more. 
 
 Ham. A king of shreds and patches, 
 
 Enter Ghost. 
 
 Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings, 
 You heavenly guards ! What would your gra- 
 cious figure? 
 
 Queen. Alas, he 's mad ! [chide, 
 
 Ham. Do you not come your tardy son to 
 That, laps'd in time and passion, lets go by 
 The important acting of your dread command? 
 O, say ! 
 
 Ghost. Do not forget : this visitation 
 Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose. 
 But, look, amazement on thy mother sils : 
 O, step between her and her fighting soul, 
 Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works, 
 Speak to her, Hamlet. 
 
 Ham. How is it with you, lady? 
 
 Queen. Alas, how is 't with you, 
 That you do bend your eye on vacancy, 
 And with the incorporal air do hold discourse ? 
 Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep; 
 And, as the sleeping soldiers in the alarm, 
 Your bedded hair, like life in excrements, 
 Starts up and stands on end. O gentle son, 
 Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper 
 Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look? 
 
 Ham. On him, on him ! Look you, how pale 
 
 he glares ! [stones, 
 
 His form and cause conjoin'd, preaching to 
 
 Would make them capable. Do not look upon 
 
 me; 
 
 Lest with this piteous action you convert 
 My stern effects : then what I have to do 
 Will want true colour; tears perchance for 
 blood. 
 
 Queen. To whom do you s| eak this? 
 
 Ham. Do you see nothing there? 
 
 Queen. Nothing at all ; yet all that is I see. 
 
 Ham. Nor did you nothing hear? 
 
 Queen. No, nothing but ourselves. 
 
 Ham. Why, look you there ! look, how it 
 
 steals away ! 
 
 My father, in his habit as he liv'd ! 
 Look, where he goes, even now, out at the 
 portal ! [Exit Ghost. 
 
 Queen. This is the very coinage of your brain: 
 This bodiless creation ecstasy 
 Is very cunning in. 
 
 Ham. Ecstasy I 
 
 My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time, 
 
 2O 
 
"54 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 And makes as healthful music: it is not madness 
 That I have utter'd : bring me to the test, 
 And I the mater will re- word ; which madness 
 Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace, 
 Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, 
 That not your trespass, but my madness speaks : 
 It will but skin and film the ulcerous place, 
 Whilst rank corruption, mining all within, 
 Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven ; 
 Repent what 's past ; avoid what is to come ; 
 And do not spread the compost on the weeds, 
 To make them ranker. Forgive me this my 
 
 virtue ; 
 
 For in the fatness of these pursy times 
 Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg, 
 Yea, curb and woo for leave to do him good. 
 Queen. O Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart 
 
 in twain. 
 
 Ham. O, throw away the worser part of it, 
 And live the purer with the other half. 
 Good-night : but go not to mine uncle's bed ; 
 Assume a virtue, if you have it not. 
 That monster custom, who all sense doth eat, 
 Of habits devil, is angel yet in this, 
 That to the use of actions fair and good 
 He likewise gives a frock or livery 
 That aptly is put on. Refrain to-night ; 
 And that shall lend a kind of easiness 
 To the next abstinence : the next more easy ; 
 For use almost can change the stamp of nature, 
 And either curb the devil, or throw him out 
 With wondrous potency. Once more, good- 
 night: 
 
 And when you are desirous to be bless'd, 
 I'll blessing beg of you. For this same lord 
 
 [Pointing to POLONIUS. 
 I do repent : but Heaven hath pleas'd it so, 
 To punish me with this, and this with me, 
 That I must be their scourge and minister. 
 I will bestow him, and will answer well 
 The death I gave him. So, again, good-night. 
 I must be cruel only to be kind: 
 Thus bad begin? and worse remains behind. 
 One word more, good lady. 
 
 Queen. What shall I do? 
 
 Ham. Not this, by no means, that I bid you 
 
 do: 
 
 Let the bloat king tempt you again to bed ; 
 Pinch wanton on your cheek ; call you his mouse; 
 And let him, for a pair of reechy kisses, 
 Or paddling in your neck with hisdamn'd fingers, 
 Make you to ravel all this matter out, 
 Thai I essentially am not in madness, [know ; 
 But mad in craft. 'Twere good you let him 
 For who that 's but a queen, fair, sober, wise, 
 Would from a paddock, from a bat, a gib, 
 Such dear concernings hide ? who would do so? 
 
 No, iu despite of sense and secrecy, 
 
 Unpeg the basket on the house's top, 
 
 Let the birds fly, and, like the famous ape, 
 
 To try conclusions, in the basket creep, 
 
 And break your own neck down. [breath 
 
 Queen. Be thou assur'd, if words be made of 
 And breath of life, I have no life to breache 
 What thou hast said to me. 
 
 Ham. I must to England ; you know that? 
 
 Queen. Alack, 
 
 I had forgot : 'tis so concluded on. 
 
 Ham. There's letters seal'd: and my two 
 
 schoolfellows, 
 
 Whom I will trust as I will adders fang'd, 
 They bear the mandate ; they must sweep my 
 
 way, 
 
 And marshal me to knavery. Let it work ; 
 For 'tis the sport to have the engineer 
 Hoist with his own petard : and \. shall go hard 
 But I will delve one yard below their mines, 
 And blow them at the moon : O, 'tis most sweet, 
 When in one line two crafts directly meet. 
 This man shall set me packing: 
 I'll lug the guts into the neighbour room. 
 Mother, good-night. Indeed, this counsellor 
 Is now most still, most secret, and most grave, 
 Who was in life a foolish prating knave. 
 Come, sir, to draw toward an end with you : ' 
 Good-night, mother. 
 
 [Exeunt severally; HAM. dragging out POL. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. A Room in the Castle. 
 Enter KING, QUEEN, ROSENCRANTZ, and 
 
 GUILDENSTERN. 
 
 King. There 's matter in these sighs, these 
 profound heaves : [them. 
 
 You must translate: 'tis fit we understand 
 Where is your son ? 
 
 Queen. Bestow this place on us a little while. 
 
 [To Ros. andGuiL., who go out. 
 
 Ah, my good lord, what have I seen to-night ! 
 
 King. What, Gertrude? How does Hamlet? 
 
 Queen. Mad as the sea and wind, when both 
 
 contend 
 
 Which is the mightier : in his lawless fit, 
 Behind the arras hearing something stir, 
 He whips his rapier out, and cries, A rat, a rat! 
 And, in this brainish apprehension, kills 
 The unseen good old man. 
 
 King. O heavy deed ! 
 
 It had been so with us had we been there : 
 His liberty is full of threats to all ; 
 To you yourself, to us, to every one. 
 Alas, how shall this bloody deed be answer'd ? 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 "55 
 
 It will be laid to us, whose providence 
 Should have kept short, restrain'd, and out of 
 
 haunt [love, 
 
 This mad young man: but so much was our 
 We would not understand what was most fit ; 
 But, like the owner of a foul disease, 
 To keep it from divulging, let it feed 
 Even on the pith of life. Where is he gone ? 
 Queen. To draw apart the body he hath 
 
 kill'd : 
 
 O'er whom his very madness, like some ore 
 Among a mineral of metals base, 
 Shows itself pure ; he weeps for what is done. 
 
 King. O Gertrude, come away ! 
 The sun no sooner shall the mountains touch 
 But we will ship him hence : and this vile deed 
 We must, with all our majesty and skill, 
 Both countenance and excuse. Ho, Guilden- 
 
 stern ! 
 
 Re-enter ROSENCRANTZ and GuiLDENSTERN. 
 
 Friends both, go join you with some further 
 
 aid: 
 
 Hamlet in madness hath Polonius slain, 
 And from his mother's closet hath he dragg'd 
 
 him : [body 
 
 Go seek him out; speak fair, and bring the 
 Into the chapel. I pray you, haste in this. 
 
 {Exeunt Ros. and GUIL. 
 
 Come, Gertrude, we '11 call up our wisest friends; 
 And let them know both what we mean to do 
 And what 's untimely done: so haply slander, 
 Whose whisper o'er the world's diameter, 
 As level as the cannon to his blank, [name, 
 Transports his poison'd shot, may miss our 
 And hit the woundless air. O, come away ! 
 My soul is full of discord and dismay. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. Another Room in the Castle. 
 Enter HAMLET. 
 
 Ham. Safely stowed. [Hamlet! 
 
 Ros. and Gutl. [Within.~\ Hamlet! Lord 
 Ham. What noise? who calls on Hamlet? 
 O, here they come. 
 
 Enter ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN. 
 
 Ros. What have you done, my lord, with 
 the dead body? [kin. 
 
 Ham. Compounded it with dust, whereto 'tis 
 
 Ros. Tell us where 'tis, that we may take it 
 
 thence, 
 And bear it to the chapel. 
 
 Ham. Do not believe it 
 
 Ros. Believe what ? 
 
 Ham. That I can keep your counsel, and 
 
 not mine own. Besides, to be demanded of a 
 sponge ! what replication should be made by 
 the son of a king? 
 
 Ros. Take you me for a sponge, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. Ay, sir ; that soaks up the king's 
 countenance, his rewards, his authorities. But 
 such officers do the king best service in the end : 
 he keeps them, like an ape, in the corner of his 
 jaw ; first mouthed, to be last swallowed : 
 when he needs what you have gleaned, it is but 
 squeezing you, and, sponge, you shall be dry 
 again. 
 
 Ros. I understand you not, my lord. 
 
 Ham. I am glad of it : a knavish speech 
 sleeps in a foolish ear. 
 
 Ros. My lord, you must tell us where the 
 body is, and go with us to the king. 
 
 Ham. The body is with the king, but the 
 king is not with the body. The king is a 
 thing, 
 
 Gut/. A thing, my lord ! 
 
 Ham. Of nothing : bring me to him. Hide 
 fox, and all after. {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. Another Room in the Castle. 
 Enter KING, attended. 
 
 King. I have sent to seek him, and to find 
 
 the body. 
 
 How dangerous is it that this man goes loose ! 
 Yet must not we put the strong law on him : 
 He's lov'd of the distracted multitude, 
 Who like not in their judgment, but their eyes ; 
 And where 'tis so, the offender's scourge is 
 
 weigh'd, [even, 
 
 But never the offence. To bear all smooth and 
 This sudden sending him away must seem 
 Deliberate pause : diseases desperate grown 
 By desperate appliance are reliev'd, 
 Or not at all. 
 
 Enter ROSENCRANTZ. 
 
 How now ! what hath befallen? [lord, 
 
 Ros. Where the dead body is bestow'd, my 
 We cannot get from him. 
 
 King. But where is he ? 
 
 Ros. Without, my lord ; guarded, to know 
 your pleasure. 
 
 King. Bring him before us. 
 
 Ros. Ho, Guildenstern ! bring in my lord. 
 
 Enter HAMLET and GUILDENSTERN. 
 
 King. Now, Hamlet, where 's Polonius ? 
 Ham. At supper. 
 King. At supper ! where ? 
 Ham. Not where he eats, but where he is 
 eaten : a certain convocation of politic worms 
 
1156 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 are e'en at him. Your worm is your only 
 emperor for diet : we fat all creatures else to 
 fat us, and we fat ourselves for maggots : your 
 fat king and your lean beggar is but variable 
 service, two dishes, but to one table : that 's 
 the end. 
 
 King. Alas, alas ! 
 
 Ham. A man may fish with the worm that 
 hath eat of a king, and eat of the fish that hath 
 fed of that worm. 
 
 King. What dost thou mean by this ? 
 
 Ham. Nothing but to show you how a king 
 may go a progress through the guts of a beggar. 
 
 King. Where is Polonius ? 
 
 Ham. In heaven ; send thither to see : if 
 your messenger find him not there, seek him i' 
 the other place yourself. But, indeed, if you 
 find him not within this month, you shall nose 
 him as you go up the stairs into the lobby. 
 
 King. Go seek him there. 
 
 [ To some Attendants. 
 
 Ham. He will stay till ye come. 
 
 [Exeunt Attendants. 
 
 King. Hamlet, this deed, for thine especial 
 
 safety, 
 
 Which we do tender, as we dearly grieve 
 For that which thou hast done, must send 
 
 thee hence 
 
 With fiery quickness : therefore prepare thyself; 
 The bark is ready, and the wind at help, 
 The associates tend, and everything is bent 
 For England. 
 
 Ham. For England ! 
 
 King. Ay, Hamlet. 
 
 Ham. Good. 
 
 King. So is it, if thou knew'st our purposes. 
 
 Ham. I see a cherub that sees them. But, 
 come ; for England ! Farewell, dear mother. 
 
 King. Thy loving father, Hamlet. 
 
 Ham. My mother : father and mother is man 
 and wife ; man and wife is one flesh ; and so, 
 my mother. Come, for England ! [Exit. 
 
 King. Follow him at foot ; tempt him with 
 
 speed aboard ; 
 
 Delay it not ; I '11 have him hence to-night : 
 Away ! for everything is seal'd and done 
 That else leans on the affair: pray you, make 
 haste. [Exeunt Ros. and GUIL. 
 
 And, England, if my love thou hold'st at 
 
 aught, 
 
 As my great power thereof may give thee sense, 
 Since yet thy cicatrice looks raw and red 
 After the Danish sword, and thy free awe 
 Pays homage to us, thou mayst not coldly set 
 Our sovereign process; which imports at full, 
 By letters conjuring to that effect, 
 The present death of Hamlet. Do it, England ; 
 
 For like the hectic in my blood he rages, 
 And thou must cure me : till I know 'tis done, 
 Howe'er my haps, my joys will ne'er begin. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV. A Plain in Denmark. 
 Enter FORTINBRAS, and Forces marching. 
 
 For. Go, captain, from me greet the Danish 
 
 king: 
 
 Tell him that, by his license, Fortinbras 
 Craves the conveyance of a promis'd march 
 Over his kingdom. You know the rendezvous. 
 If that his majesty would aught with us, 
 We shall express our duty in his eye, 
 And let him know so. 
 
 Cap. I will do 't, my lord. 
 
 For. Go softly on. 
 
 [Exeunt FOR. and Forces. 
 
 Enter HAMLET, ROSENCRANTZ, GUILDEN- 
 STERN, 6-v. 
 
 Ham. Good sir, whose powers are these? 
 
 Cap. They are of Norway, sir. 
 
 Ham. How purpos'd, sir, I pray you? 
 
 Cap. Against some part of Poland. 
 
 Ham. Who commands them, sir? 
 
 Cap. The nephew to old Norway, Fortin- 
 bras. [sir, 
 
 Ham. Goes it- against the main of Poland, 
 Or for some frontier ? 
 
 Cap. Truly to speak, and with no addition, 
 We go to gain a little patch of ground 
 That hath in it no profit but the name. 
 To pay five ducats, five, I would not farm it ; 
 Nor will it yield to Norway or the Pole 
 A ranker rate should it be sold in fee. [fend it. 
 
 Ham. Why, then the Polack never will de- 
 
 Cap. Yes, it is already garrison'd. 
 
 Ham. Two thousand souls and twenty thou- 
 sand ducats 
 
 Will not debate the question of this straw : 
 This is the imposthume of much wealth and 
 peace, [out 
 
 That inward breaks, and shows no cause with- 
 Why the man dies. I humbly thank you, sir. 
 
 Cap. God b' wi' you, sir. [Exit. 
 
 Ros. Will't please you go, my lord? 
 
 Ham. I '11 be with you straight. Go a little 
 before. [Exeunt all but HAMLET. 
 How all occasions do inform against me, 
 And spur my dull revenge ! What is a man, 
 If his chief good and market of his time 
 Be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more. 
 Sure he that made us with such large discourse, 
 Looking before and after, gave us not 
 That capability and godlike reason 
 
SCENE V.j 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 1157 
 
 To fust in us unus'd. Now, whether it be 
 Bestial oblivion or some craven scruple 
 Of thinking too precisely on the event, 
 A thought which, quarter'd, hath but one part 
 
 wisdom 
 
 And ever three parts coward, I do not know 
 Why yet I live to say, This thing's to do; 
 Sith I have cause, and will, and strength, and 
 
 means 
 
 To do 't. Examples, gross as earth, exhort me : 
 Witness this army, of such mass and charge, 
 Led by a delicate and tender prince ; 
 Whose spirit, with divine ambition puff d, 
 Makes mouths at the invisible event ; 
 Exposing what is mortal and unsure 
 To all that fortune, death, and danger dare, 
 Even for an egg-shell. Rightly to be great 
 Is not to stir without great argument, 
 But greatly to find quarrel in a straw [then, 
 When honour 's at the stake. How stand I, 
 That have a father kill'd, a mother stain'd, 
 Excitements of my reason and my blood, 
 And let all sleep? while, to my shame, I see 
 The imminent death of twenty thousand men, 
 That, for a fantasy and trick of fame, 
 Go to their graves like beds ; fight for a plot 
 Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause, 
 Which is not tomb enough and continent 
 To hide the slain? O, from this time forth, 
 My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE V. ELSINORE. A Room in the Castle. 
 Enter QUEEN and HORATIO. 
 
 Queen. I will not speak with her. 
 Hor. She is importunate ; indeed, distract: 
 Her mood will needs be pitied. 
 
 Queen. What would she have? 
 
 Hor. She speaks much of her father; says 
 
 she hears 
 
 There's tricks i' the world; and hems, and 
 beats her heart ; [doubt, 
 
 Spurns enviously at straws; speaks things in 
 That carry but half sense : her speech is nothing, 
 Yet the unshaped use of it doth move 
 The hearers to collection ; they aim at it, 
 And botch the words up fit to their own 
 
 thoughts; 
 
 Which, as her winks, and nods, and gestures 
 yield them, [thought, 
 
 Indeed would make one think there might be 
 Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily. 
 'Twere good she were spoken with ; for she 
 
 may strew 
 
 Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds. 
 Queen. Let her come in. [Exit HORATIO. 
 
 To my sick soul, as sin's true nature is, 
 Each toy seems prologue to some great amiss : 
 So full of artless jealousy is guilt, 
 It spills itself in fearing to be spilt. 
 
 Re-enter HORATIO -with OPHELIA. 
 
 Oph. Where is the beauteous majesty of 
 
 Denmark? 
 Queen. How now, Ophelia ! 
 
 Oph. How should I your true love know \Sings. 
 
 From another one ? 
 By his cockle hat and staff, 
 And his sandal shoon. 
 
 Queen. Alas, sweet lady, what imports this 
 
 song? 
 Oph. Say you? nay, pray you, mark. 
 
 He is dead and gone, lady, \Sings. 
 
 He is dead and gone ; 
 At his head a grass green turf, 
 
 At his heels a stone. 
 
 Queen. Nay, but, Ophelia, 
 
 Oph. Pray you, mark. 
 
 White his shroud as the mountain {Sings. 
 snow, 
 
 Enter KING. 
 
 Queen. Alas, look here, my lord. 
 
 Oph. Larded with sweet flowers; 
 
 Which Lewept to the grave did go 
 With true-love showers 
 
 \Sings. 
 
 King. How do you, pretty lady? 
 Oph. Well, God 'ild you! They say the 
 owl was a baker's daughter. Lord, we know 
 what we are, but know not what we may be. 
 God be at your table ! 
 
 A ing. Conceit upon her father. 
 Oph. Pray you, let's have no words of this; 
 but when they ask you what it means, say you 
 this: 
 
 To-morrow is Saint Valentine's day [Sittgs. 
 
 All in the morning betime, 
 And I a maid at your window, 
 To be your Valentine. 
 
 Then up he rose, and donn'd his clothes, 
 And dupp d the chamber-door ; 
 
 Let in the maid, that out a maid 
 Never departed more. 
 
 King. Pretty Ophelia ! 
 Oph. Indeed, la, without an oath, I '11 make 
 an end on 't : 
 By Gis and by Saint Charity, [Sittgs. 
 
 Alack, and fie for shame ! 
 Young men will do 't, if they come to 't ; 
 By cock, they are to blame. 
 
 Quoth she, before you tumbled me, 
 
 You promis'd me to wed. 
 So would I ha' done, by yonder sun. 
 
 An thou hadst not come to my bed. 
 
 King. How long hath she been thus? 
 
1 158 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Oph. I hope all will be well. We must be 
 patient : but I cannot choose but weep, to think 
 they should lay him i 3 the cold ground. My 
 brother shall know of it: and so I thank you 
 for your good counsel. Come, my coach! 
 Good-night, ladies; good-night, sweet ladies; 
 good-night, good-night. [Exit. 
 
 King. Follow her close ; give her good 
 
 watch, I pray you. [Exit HORATIO. 
 O, this is the poison of deep grief; it springs 
 All from her father's death. O Gertrude, 
 
 Gertrude, 
 
 When sorrows come, they come not single spies, 
 But in battalias ! First, her father slain : 
 Next, your son gone ; and he most violent author 
 Of his own just remove : the people muddied, 
 Thick and unwholesome in their thoughts and 
 
 whispers 
 For good Polonius' death ; and we have done 
 
 but greenly 
 
 In hugger-mugger to inter him : poor Ophelia 
 Divided from herself and her fair judgment, 
 Without the which we are pictures, or mere 
 
 beasts : 
 
 Last, and as much containing as all these, 
 Her brother is in secret come from France ; 
 Feeds on his wonder, keeps himself in clouds, 
 And wants not buzzers to infect his ear 
 With pestilent speeches of his father's death ; 
 Wherein necessity, of matter beggar'd, 
 Will nothing stick our person to arraign 
 In ear and ear. O my dear Gertrude, this, 
 Like to a murdering piece, in many places 
 Gives me superfluous death. [A noise within. 
 Queen. Alack, what noise is this ? 
 
 King. Where are my Switzers? let them 
 
 guard the door. 
 
 Enter a Gentleman. 
 
 What is the matter? 
 
 Gent. Save yourself, my lord : 
 
 The ocean, overpeering of his list, 
 Eats not the flats with more impetuous haste 
 Than young Laertes, in a riotous head, 
 O'erbears your officers. The rabole call him 
 
 lord; 
 
 And, as the world were now but to begin, 
 Antiquity forgot, custom not known, 
 The ratifiers and props of every word, 
 They cry, Choose we ; Laertes shall be king! 
 Caps, hands, and tongues applaud it to the 
 
 clouds, 
 Laertes shall be king y Laertes king! 
 
 Queen. How cheerfully on the false trail they 
 
 cry! 
 
 O, this is counter, you false Danish dogs ! 
 King. The doors are broke. [Noise within. 
 
 Enter LAERTES, armed; "Danes following. 
 
 Loer. Where is this king ? Sirs, stand you 
 all without. 
 
 Danes. No, let 's come in. 
 
 Laer. I pray yoh, give me leave, 
 
 Danes. We will, we will. 
 
 [ They retire without the door. 
 
 Laer. I thank you : keep the door. O thou 
 
 vile king, 
 Give me my father ! 
 
 Queen. Calmly, good Laertes. 
 
 Laer. That drop of blood that 's calm pro- 
 claims me bastard ; 
 
 Cries cuckold to my father ; brands the harlot 
 Even here, between the chaste unsmirched brow 
 Of my true mother. 
 
 King. What is the cause, Laertes, 
 That thy rebellion looks so giant-like ? 
 Let him go, Gertrude ; do not fear our person : 
 There 's such divinity doth hedge a king, 
 That treason can but peep to what it would, 
 Acts little of his will. Tell me, Laertes, 
 Why thou art thus incens'd. Let him go, 
 
 Gertrude : 
 Speak, man. 
 
 Laer. Where is my father? 
 
 King. Dead. 
 
 Queen. But not by him. 
 
 King. Let him demand his fill. [with : 
 
 Laer. How came he dead? I '11 not be juggled 
 To hell, allegiance ! vows, to the blackest devil ! 
 Conscience and grace, to the profoundest pit ! 
 I dare damnation : to this point I stand, 
 That both the worlds I give to negligence, 
 Let come what comes ; only I '11 be reveng'd 
 Most throughly for my father. 
 
 King. Who shall stay you ? 
 
 Laer. My will, not all the world : 
 And for my means, I '11 husband them so well, 
 They shall go far with little. 
 
 King. Good Laertes, 
 
 If you desire to know the certainty 
 Of your dear father's death, is 't writ in your 
 revenge [and foe, 
 
 That, sweepstake, you will draw both friend 
 Winner and loser ? 
 
 Laer. None but his enemies. 
 
 King. Will you know them, then? 
 
 Laer. To his good friends thus wide I '11 ope 
 
 my arms ; 
 
 And, like the kind life-rendering pelican. 
 Repast them with my blood. 
 
 King. Why, now you speak 
 
 Like a good child and a true gentleman. 
 That I am guiltless of your father's death, 
 And am most sensible in grief for it, 
 
SCENE V.] 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 "59 
 
 It shall as level to your judgment pierce 
 As day does to your eye. 
 
 Danes. {Within.} Let her come in. 
 
 Laer. How now! what noise is that? 
 
 Re-enter OPHELIA, fantastically dressed with 
 straws and flowers. 
 
 O heat, dry up my brains ! tears seven times salt, 
 Burn out the sense and virtue of mine eye ! 
 By heaven, thy madness shall be paid by weight, 
 Till our scale turn the beam. O rose of May ! 
 Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia ! 
 O heavens ! is 't possible a young maid's wits 
 Should be as mortal as an old man's life ? 
 Nature is fine in love ; and where 'tis fine 
 It sends some precious instance of itself 
 After the thing it loves. 
 
 Oph. They bore him barefac'd on the bier ; {Sings. 
 Hey no npnny, nonny, hey nonny ; 
 And on his grave rain'd many a tear, 
 
 Fare you well, my dove ! 
 
 Laer. Hadst thou thy wits, and didst per- 
 suade revenge, 
 It could not move thus. 
 
 Oph. You must sing, Down a-down, an you 
 call him a-down-a. O, how the wheel becomes 
 it ! It is the false steward, that stole his 
 master's daughter. 
 
 Laer. This nothing 's more than matter. 
 
 Oph. There's rosemary, that's for remem- 
 brance ; pray, love, remember : and there is 
 pansies, that 's for thoughts. 
 
 Laer. A document in madness, thoughts 
 and remembrance fitted. 
 
 Oph. There's fennel for you, and colum- 
 bines : there 's rue for you ; and here 's some 
 for me : we may call it herb-grace o' Sundays : 
 O, you must wear your rue with a difference. 
 There's a daisy: I would give you some 
 violets, but they withered all when my father 
 died : they say, he made a good end, 
 
 For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy, \Sings. 
 Laer. Thought and affliction, passion, hell 
 
 itself, 
 She turns to favour and to prettiness. 
 
 Oph. And will he not come again? {.Sings. 
 
 And will he not come again? 
 No, no, he is dead, 
 Go to thy death-bed, 
 He never will come again. 
 
 His beard was as white as snow 
 All flaxen was his poll : 
 
 He is gone, he is gone, 
 
 And we cast away moan : 
 God ha' mercy on his soul t 
 
 And of all Christian souls, I pray God. God 
 b' wi' ye. [Exit. 
 
 Laer. Do you see this, O God ? [.grief, 
 
 King. Laertes, I must commune with your 
 Or you deny me right. Go but apart, 
 Make choice of whom your wisest friends you 
 will, [me : 
 
 And they shall hear and judge 'twixt you and 
 If by direct or by collateral hand 
 They find us touch'd, we will our kingdom give, 
 Our crown, our life, and all that we call ours, 
 To you in satisfaction ; but if not, 
 Be you content to lend your patience to us, 
 And we shall jointly labour with your soul 
 To give it due content. 
 
 Laer. Let this be so ; 
 
 His means of death, his obscure burial, 
 No trophy, sword, nor hatchment o'er his bones, 
 No noble rite nor formal ostentation, 
 Cry to be heard, as 'twere from heaven to earth, 
 That I must call 't in question. 
 
 King. So you shall ; 
 
 And where the offence is, let the great axe fall. 
 I pray you, go with me. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE \I. Another Room in the Castle. 
 Enter HORATIO and a Servant. 
 
 Hor. What are they that would speak with 
 me? 
 
 Serv. Sailors, sir: they say they have letters 
 for you. 
 
 Hor. Let them come in. [Exit Servant. 
 I do not know from what part of the world 
 I should be greeted, if not from Lord Hamlet. 
 
 Enter Sailors. 
 
 i Sail. God bless you, sir. 
 
 Hor. Let him bless thee too. 
 
 I Sail. He shall, sir, an't please him. 
 There 's a letter for you, sir ; it comes from 
 the ambassador that was bound for England ; 
 if your name be Horatio, as I am let to know 
 it is. 
 
 Hor. [Reads. .] Horatio, when thou shalt 
 have overlooked this, give these fellows some 
 means to the king: they have letters for him. 
 Ere we were two days old at sea, a pirate of 
 very warlike appointment gave us chase. 
 Finding ourselves too slow of sail, we put on a 
 compelled valour ; and in the grapple 2 boarded 
 them: on the instant they got clear of our ship; 
 so 1 alone became their prisoner. They have 
 dealt with me like thieves of mercy: but they 
 knew what they did ; 2 am to do a good turn 
 for them. Let the king have the letters 2 have 
 sent ; and repair thou to me with as much 
 haste as thou wouldst fly death. 2 have words 
 to speak in thme ear will make thee dumb ; yet 
 
ii6o 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 are they much too light for the bore of the 
 matter. These good fellows will bring thee 
 where I am. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern 
 hold their cottrse for England: of them I have 
 much to tell thee. Farewell. He that thou 
 knowest thine, HAMLET. 
 
 Come, I will give you way for these your letters ; 
 And do 't the speedier, that you may direct me 
 To him from whom you brought them. 
 
 {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VII. Another Room in the Castle. 
 Enter KING and LAERTES. 
 
 King. Now must your conscience my acquit- 
 tance seal, 
 
 And you must put me in your heart for friend, 
 Sith you have heard, and with a knowing ear, 
 That he which hath your noble father slain 
 Pursu'd my life. 
 
 Laer. It well appears : but tell me 
 
 Why you proceeded not against these feats, 
 So crimeful and so capital in nature, 
 As by your safety, wisdom, all things else, 
 You mainly were stirr'd up. 
 
 King. O, for two special reasons ; 
 
 Which may to you, perhaps, seem much un- 
 
 sinew'd, 
 But yet to me they are strong. The queen his 
 
 mother 
 
 Lives almost by his looks ; and for myself, 
 My virtue or my plague, be it either which, 
 She 's so conjunctive to my life and soul, 
 That, as the star moves not but in his sphere, 
 I could not but by her. The other motive, 
 Why to a public count I might not go, 
 Is the great love the general gender bear him ; 
 Who, dipping all his faults in their affection, 
 Would, like the spring that turneth wood to 
 
 stone, 
 
 Convert his gyves to graces ; so that my arrows, 
 Too slightly timber'd for so loud a wind, 
 Would have reverted to my bow again, 
 And not where I had aim'd them. 
 
 Laer. And so have I a noble father lost ; 
 A sister driven into desperate terms, 
 Whose worth, if praises may go back again, 
 Stood challenger on mount of all the age 
 For her perfections : but my revenge will come. 
 King. Break not your sleeps for that: you 
 
 must not think 
 
 That we are made of stuff so flat and dull 
 That we can let our beard be shook with danger, 
 And think it pastime. You shortly shall hear 
 
 more- 
 
 \ lov'd your father, and we love ourself ; 
 And that, I hope, will teach you to imagine, 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 How now ! what news ? 
 
 Mess. Letters, my lord, from Hamlet : 
 
 This to your majesty; this to the queen. 
 
 King. From Hamlet! Who brought them? 
 
 Mess. Sailors, my lord, they say ; I saw them 
 not : [them 
 
 They were given me by Claudio, he receiv'd 
 Of him that brought them. 
 
 King. Laertes, you shall hear them. 
 
 Leave us. \Exit Messenger. 
 
 [Reads. ~\ High and mighty, You shall know 
 I am set naked on your kingdom. To-morrow 
 shall I beg leave to see your kingly eyes : when 
 I shal^ first asking your pardon thereunto, 
 recount the occasions of my sudden and more 
 strange return. HAMLET. 
 
 What should this mean ? Are all ihe rest come 
 
 back ? 
 Or is it some abuse, and no such thing ? 
 
 Laer. Know you the hand ? 
 
 King. 'Tis Hamlet's character : Naked, 
 And in a postscript here, he says, alone. 
 Can you advise me ? [come ; 
 
 Laer. I am lost in it, my lord. But let him 
 It warms the very sickness in my heart, 
 That I shall live, and tell him to his teeth, 
 Thus diddest thou. 
 
 King. If it be so, Laertes, 
 
 As how should it be so ? how otherwise ? 
 Will you be rul'd by me? 
 
 Laer. Ay, my lord ; 
 
 So you will not o'errule me to a peace. 
 
 King. To thine own peace. If he be now 
 
 return'd, 
 
 As checking at his voyage, and that he means 
 No more to undertake it, I will work him 
 To an exploit, now ripe in my device, 
 Under the which he shall not choose but fall : 
 And for his death no wind of blame shall 
 
 breathe ; 
 
 But even his mother shall uncharge the practice, 
 And call it accident. 
 
 Laer. My lord, I will be rul'd ; 
 
 The rather if you could devise it so 
 That I might be the organ. 
 
 King. It falls right. 
 
 You have been talk'd of since your travel much, 
 And that in Hamlet's hearing, for a quality 
 WTierein they say you shine : your sum of parts 
 Did not together pluck such envy from him 
 As did that one ; and that, in my regard, 
 Of the unworthiest siege. 
 
 Laer. What part is that, my lord? 
 
 King. A very riband in the cap of youth, 
 Yet needful too ; for youth no less becomes 
 
SCENE VII.] 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 1161 
 
 The light and careless livery that it wears 
 Than settled age his sables and his weeds, 
 Importing health and graveness. Two months 
 
 since, 
 
 Here was a gentleman of Normandy, 
 I 've seen myself, and serv'd against, the French, 
 And they can well on horseback : but this 
 
 gallant 
 
 Had witchcraft in 't ; he grew unto his seat ; 
 And to such wondrous doing brought his horse, 
 As he had been incorps'd and demi-natur'd 
 With the brave beast : so far he topp'd my 
 
 thought, 
 
 That I, in forgery of shapes and tricks, 
 Come short of what he did. 
 
 Laer. A Norman was 't ? 
 
 King, A Norman. 
 
 Laer. Upon my life, Lamond. 
 
 King. The very same. 
 
 Laer. I know him well : he is the brooch, 
 
 indeed, 
 And gem of all the nation. 
 
 King. He made confession of you ; 
 And gave you such a masterly report 
 For art and exercise in your defence, 
 And for your rapier most especially, 
 That he cried out, 'twould be a sight indeed 
 If one could match you : the scrimers of their 
 
 nation, 
 
 He swore, had neither motion, guard, nor eye, 
 If you oppos'd them. Sir, this report of his 
 Did Hamlet so envenom with his envy, 
 That he could nothing do but wish and beg 
 Your sudden coming o'er, to play with him. 
 Now, out of this, 
 
 Laer. What out of this, my lord ? 
 
 King. Laertes, was your father dear to you ? 
 Or are you like the painting of a sorrow, 
 A face without a heart ? 
 
 Laer. Why ask you this? 
 
 King. Not that I think you did not love your 
 
 father ; 
 
 But that I know love is begun by time ; 
 And that I see, in passages of proof, 
 Time qualifies the spark and fire of it. 
 There lives within the very flame of love 
 A kind of wick or snuff that will abate it ; 
 And nothing is at a like goodness still ; 
 For goodness, growing to a pleurisy, 
 Dies in his own too much : that we would do 
 We should do when we would ; for this would 
 
 changes, 
 
 And hath abatements and delays as many 
 As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents ; 
 And then this should is like a spendthrift sigh 
 That hurts by easing. But to the quick o' the 
 ulcer : 
 
 Hamlet comes back : what would you under- 
 take 
 
 To show yourself your father's son in deed 
 More than in words? 
 
 Laer. To cut his throat i' the church. 
 
 King. No place, indeed, should murder sane- 
 tuarize ; [Laertes, 
 
 Revenge should have no bounds. But, good 
 Will you do this, keep close within your cham- 
 ber. 
 
 Hamlet return'd shall know you are come home: 
 We '11 put on those shall praise your excellence, 
 And set a double varnish on the fame [gether, 
 The Frenchman gave you ; bring you, in fine, to- 
 And wager on your heads : he, being remiss, 
 Most generous, and free from all contriving, 
 Will not peruse the foils ; so that, with ease, 
 Or with a little shuffling, you may choose 
 A sword unbated, and, in a pass of practice, 
 Requite him for your father. 
 
 Laer. I will do 't : 
 
 And, for that purpose, I '11 anoint my sword. 
 I bought an unction of a mountebank, 
 So mortal that but dip a knife in it, 
 Where it draws blood no cataplasm so rare, 
 Collected from all simples that have virtue 
 Under the moon, can save the thing from death 
 That is but scratch'd withal : I '11 touch my 
 
 point 
 
 With this contagion, that, if I gall him slightly, 
 It may be death. 
 
 King. Let 's further think of this ; 
 
 Weigh what convenience both of time and means 
 May fit us to our shape : if this should fail, 
 And that our drift look through our bad per- 
 formance, 
 
 'Twere better not assa/d : therefore this project 
 Should have a back or second, that might hold 
 If this should blast in proof. Soft ! let me 
 
 see: 
 
 We '11 make a solemn wager on your cunnings, 
 I ha't: 
 
 When in your motion you are hot and dry, 
 As make your bouts more violent to that end, 
 And that he calls for drink, I '11 have prepar'd 
 
 him 
 
 A chalice for the nonce ; whereon but sipping. 
 If he by chance escape your venom'd stuck 
 Our purpose may hold there. 
 
 Enter QUEEN. 
 
 How now, sweet queen ! 
 
 Queen. One woe doth tread upon another's 
 
 heel, [Laertes. 
 
 So fast they follow : your sister 's drown'd, 
 
 Laer. Drown'd ! O, where ? 
 
 Queen. There isa willow grows aslant a brook, 
 
1162 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 [ACT V. 
 
 That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream ; 
 There with fantastic garlands did she come 
 Of crowflowers, nettles, daisies, and long 
 
 purples, 
 
 That liberal shepherds give a grosser name, 
 But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call 
 
 them. 
 
 There, on the pendant boughs her coronet weeds 
 Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke ; 
 When down her weedy trophies and herself 
 Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread 
 
 wide ; 
 
 And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up : 
 Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes ; 
 As one incapable of her own distress, 
 Or like a creature native and indu'd 
 Unto that element : but long it could not be 
 Till that her garments, heavy with their drink, 
 Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay 
 To muddy death. 
 
 Laer. Alas, then, she is drown'd ? 
 
 Queen. Drown'd, drown'd. [Ophelia, 
 
 Laer. Too much of water hast thou, poor 
 And therefore I forbid my tears : but yet 
 It is our trick ; nature her custom holds, 
 Let shame say what it will : when these are 
 
 gone, 
 
 The woman will be out. -Adieu, my lord : 
 I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze, 
 But that this folly douts it. [Exit. 
 
 King. Let 's follow, Gertrude ; 
 
 How much I had to do to calm his rage ! 
 Now fear I this will give it start again ; 
 Therefore let 's follow. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. A Churchyard. 
 Enter two Clowns with spades, &c. 
 
 1 Clo. Is she to be buried in Christian burial 
 that wilfully seeks her own salvation ? 
 
 2 Clo. I tell thee she is ; and therefore make 
 her grave straight: the crowner hath sat on 
 her, and finds it Christian burial. 
 
 1 Clo. How can that be, unless she drowned 
 herself in her own defence ? 
 
 2 Clo. Why, 'tis found so. 
 
 I Clo. It must be se offendendo; it cannot be 
 else. For here lies the point : if I drown my- 
 self wittingly, it argues an act : and an act hath 
 three branches ; it is to act, to do, and to per- 
 form : 
 
 good : here stands the man ; good : if the man 
 go to this water and drown himself, it is, will 
 
 he, nill he, he goes, mark you that : but if 
 the water come to him and drown him, he 
 drowns not himself : argal, he that is not guilty 
 of his own death shortens not his own life. 
 2 Clo. But is this law ? 
 
 1 Clo. Ay, marry, is 't ; crowner's quest law. 
 
 2 Clo. Will you ha' the truth on 't ? If this 
 had not been a gentlewoman she should have 
 been buried out of Christian burial. 
 
 1 Clo. Why, there thou say'st : and the more 
 pity that great folk should have countenance in 
 this world to drown or hang themselves more 
 than their even Christian. Come, my spade. 
 There is no ancient gentlemen but gardeners, 
 ditchers, and grave-makers : they hold up 
 Adam's profession. 
 
 2 Clo. Was he a gentleman ? 
 
 1 Clo. He was the first that ever bore arms. 
 
 2 Clo. Why, he had none. 
 
 1 Clo. What, art a heathen? How dost 
 thou understand the Scripture ? The Scripture 
 says, Adam digged : could he dig without arms? 
 I '11 put another question to thee : if thou an- 
 swerest me not to the purpose, confess thyself, 
 
 2 Clo. Go to. 
 
 1 Clo. What is he that builds stronger than 
 either the mason, the shipwright, or the car- 
 penter ? 
 
 2 Clo. The gallows-maker ; for that frame 
 outlives a thousand tenants. 
 
 1 Clo. I like thy wit well, in good faith : the 
 gallows does well ; but how does it well ? it 
 does well to those that do ill : now thou dost 
 ill to say the gallows is built stronger than the 
 church : argal, the gallows may do well to thee. 
 To't again, come. 
 
 2 Clo. Who builds stronger than a mason, a 
 shipwright, or a carpenter ? 
 
 1 Clo. Ay, tell me that, and unyoke. 
 
 2 Clo. Marry, now I can tell. 
 
 1 Clo. To't. 
 
 2 Clo. Mass, I cannot tell. 
 
 Enter HAMLET and HORATIO, at a distance. 
 
 I Clo. Cudgel thy brains no more about it, 
 for your dull ass will not mend his pace with 
 beating ; and when you are asked this question 
 next, say a grave-maker ; the houses that he 
 makes last till doomsday. Go, get thee to 
 Yaughan ; fetch me a stoup of liquor. 
 
 [Exit Second Clown. 
 
 In youth, when I did love, did love, [Digs and sings. 
 
 Methought it was very sweet, 
 To contract, O, the time, for, ah, my behove, 
 
 O, methought there was nothing meet. 
 
 Ham. Has this fellow no feeling of bis 
 business, that he sings at grave-making ? 
 
*CNB I.j 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 1163 
 
 Hor. Custom hath made it in him a pro- 
 perty of easiness. 
 
 Ham. 'Tise'enso: the hand of little employ- 
 ment hath the daintier sense. 
 
 I Clo. But age, with his stealing steps, [Sings. 
 
 Hath claw'd me in his clutch, 
 And hath shipp'd me intil the land, 
 As if I had never been such. 
 
 [Throws tip a skull. 
 
 Ham. That skull had a tongue in it, and 
 coi Id sing once : how the knave jowls it to the 
 ground, as if it were Cain's jawbone, that did 
 the first murder ! This might be the pate of a 
 politician, which this ass now o'erreaches ; one 
 that would circumvent God, might it not ? 
 
 Hor. It might, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Or of a courtier ; which could say, 
 Good-morrow, sweet lord! How dost thou, 
 good lord ? This might be my lord such-a-one, 
 that praised my lord such-a-one's horse, when 
 he meant to beg it, might it not ? 
 
 Hor. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Why, e'en so: and now my Lady 
 Worm's ; chapless, and knocked about the 
 mazard with a sexton's spade: here's fine 
 revolution, an we had the trick to see 't. 
 these bones cost no more the breeding but t -> 
 play at loggats with 'em ? mine ache to think 
 on it. 
 
 I Clo. A pick-axe and a spade, a spade, [Sings. 
 
 For and a shrouding sheet : 
 O, a pit of clay for to be made 
 For such a guest is meet. 
 
 [Throws up another 
 
 Ham. There 's another : why may not that 
 be the skull of a lawyer ? Where be his quid- 
 dits now, his quillets, his cases, his tenures, and 
 his tricks ? why does he suffer this rude knave 
 now to knock him about the sconce with a 
 dirty shovel, and will not tell him of his action 
 of battery? Hum ! This fellow might be in 's 
 time a great buyer of land, with his statutes, his 
 recognizances, his fines, his double vouchers, 
 his recoveries : is this the fine of his fines, and 
 the recovery of his recoveries, to have his fine 
 pate full of fine dirt? will his vouchers voudi 
 him no more of his purchases, and double ones 
 too, than the length and breadth of a pair of 
 indentures ? The very conveyances of his lands 
 will hardly lie in this lx>x ; and must the in- 
 heritor himself have no more, ha ? 
 
 Hor. Not a jot more, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Is not parchment made of sheep-skins? 
 
 Hor. Ay, my lord, and of calf-skins too. 
 
 Ham. They are sheep and calves which seek 
 out assurance in that. I will speak to this 
 fellow. Whose grave's this, sir? 
 
 I Clo. Mine, sir. 
 
 O, a pit of clay for to be made [Sings. 
 For such a guest is meet. 
 
 Ham. I think it be thine indeed ; for thou 
 liest in 't. 
 
 i Clo. You lie out on 't, sir, and therefore it 
 is not yours : for my part, I do not lie in } t, and 
 yet it is mine. 
 
 Ham. Thou dost lie in 't, to be in't, and say 
 it is thine : 'tis for the dead, not for the quick; 
 therefore thou liest. 
 
 I Clo. 'Tis a quick lie, sir ; 't will away again 
 from me to you. 
 
 Ham. What man dost thou digit for? 
 
 I Clo. For no man, sir. 
 
 Ham. What woman, then ? 
 
 i Clo. For none, neither. 
 
 Ham. Who is to be buried in 't ? 
 
 I Clo. One that was a woman, sir; but, rest 
 her soul, she 's dead. 
 
 Ham. How absolute the knave is ! we must 
 speak by the card, or equivocation will undo 
 us. By the Lord, Horatio, these three years I 
 have taken note of it ; the age is grown so 
 picked that the toe of the peasant comes so near 
 the heel of the courtier, he galls his kibe. 
 How long hast thou been a grave-maker ? 
 
 I Clo. Of all the days i' the year, I came 
 to 't that day that our last King Hamlet o'er- 
 came Fortinbras- 
 
 Ham. How long is that since ? 
 
 i Clo. Cannot you tell that? every fool can 
 tell that: it was the very day that young 
 Hamlet was born, he that is mad, and sent 
 into England. [England? 
 
 Ham. Ay, marry, why was he sent into 
 
 I Clo. Why, because he was mad : he shall 
 recover his wits there ; or, if he do not, it 's no 
 great matter there. 
 
 Ham. Why? 
 
 i Clo. 'Twill not be seen in him there ; there 
 the men are as mad as he. 
 
 Ham. How came he mad ? 
 
 i Clo. Very strangely, they say. 
 
 Ham. How strangely? 
 
 i Clo. Faith, e'en with losing his wits. 
 
 Ham. Upon what ground ? 
 
 I Clo. Why, here in Denmark : I have been 
 sexton here, man and boy, thirty years. 
 
 Ham. How long will a man lie i' the earth 
 ere he rot ? 
 
 I Clo. Faith, if he be not rotten before he 
 die, as we have many pocky corses now-a- 
 days, that will scarce hold the laying in, he 
 will last you some eight year or nine year : a 
 tanner will last you nine year. 
 
 Ham. Why he more than another ? 
 
1164 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 I Clo. Why, sir, his hide is so tanned with 
 his trade that he will keep out water a great 
 while ; and your water is a sore decayer of your 
 whoreson dead body. Here 's a skull now ; 
 this skull has lain in the earth three-and-twenty 
 years. 
 
 Ham. Whose was it ? 
 
 I Clo. A whoreson mad fellow's it was : 
 whose do you think it was ? 
 
 Ham. Nay, I know not. 
 
 I Clo. A pestilence on him for a mad rogue ! 
 'a poured a flagon of Rhenish on my head once. 
 This same skull, sir, was Yorick's skull, the 
 king's jester. 
 
 Ham. This? 
 
 i Clo. E'en that. 
 
 Ham. Let me see. [Takes the skull.] Alas, 
 poor Yorick ! I knew him, Horatio ; a fellow 
 of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy : he hath 
 borne me on his back a thousand times ; and 
 now, how abhorred in my imagination it is ! 
 my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips 
 that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where 
 be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? 
 your flashes of merriment, that were wont to 
 set the table on a roar? Not one now, to 
 mock your own grinning? quite chap-fallen? 
 Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell 
 her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour 
 she must come ; make her laugh at that. 
 Pr'ythee, Horatio, tell me one thing. 
 
 Hor. What 's that, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. Dost thou think Alexander looked o' 
 this fashion i' the earth ? 
 
 Hor, E'en so. 
 
 Ham. And smelt so ? pah ! 
 
 [ Throws down the skull. 
 
 Hor. E'en so, my lord. 
 
 Ham. To what base uses we may return, 
 Horatio ! Why may not imagination trace the 
 noble dust of Alexander till he find it stopping 
 a bung-hole ? 
 
 Hor. 'Twere to consider too curiously to 
 consider so. 
 
 Ham. No, faith, not a jot ; but to follow 
 him thither with modesty enough, and likelihood 
 to lead it : as thus ; Alexander died, Alexander 
 was buried, Alexander returneth into dust ; the 
 dust is earth ; of earth we make loam ; and 
 why of that loam whereto he was converted 
 might they not stop a beer-barrel ? 
 
 Imperious Caesar, dead and turn'd to clay, 
 
 Might stop a hole to keep the wind away : 
 
 O, that that earth which kept the world in awe 
 
 Should patch a wall to expel the winter's flaw ! 
 Hut solt 1 but soft! aside. Here comes the 
 king. 
 
 Enter Priests, &c., in procession ; the Corpse of 
 OPHELIA, LAERTES and 'Mourners following; 
 KING, QUEEN, their Trains, 6rv. 
 
 The queen, the courtiers: who is that theyfoliow? 
 And with such maimed rites ? This doth betoken 
 The corse they follow did with desperate hand 
 Fordo its own life : 'twas of some estate. 
 Couch we awhile and mark. 
 
 [Retiring with HOR. 
 
 Laer. What ceremony else ? 
 
 Ham. That is Laertes, 
 
 A very noble youth : mark. 
 
 Laer. What ceremony else ? 
 
 I Priest. Her obsequies have been as far 
 
 enlarg'd [ful ; 
 
 As we have warrantise : her death was doubt- 
 
 And, but that great command o'ersways the 
 
 order, 
 
 She should in ground unsanctified have lodg'd 
 Till the last trumpet ; for charitable prayers, 
 Shards, flints, and pebbles, should be thrown 
 
 on her, 
 
 Yet here she is allowed her virgin rites, 
 Her maiden strewments, and the bringing home 
 Of bell and burial. 
 
 Laer. Must there no more be done ? 
 
 I Priest. No more be done : 
 
 We should profane the service of the dead 
 To sing a requiem, and such rest to her 
 As to peace-parted souls. 
 
 Laer. Lay her i' the earth ; 
 
 Ami from her fair and unpolluted flesh 
 May violets spring ! I tell thee, churlish priest, 
 A ministering angel shall my sister be 
 When thou liest howling. 
 
 Ham. What, the fair Ophelia! 
 
 Queen. Sweets to the sweet : farewell ! 
 
 [Scattering flowers. 
 
 I hop'd thou shouldst have been my Hamlet's 
 wife ; [maid, 
 
 I thought thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet 
 And not have strew'd thy grave. 
 
 Laer. O, treble woe 
 
 Fall ten times treble on that cursed head 
 Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense 
 Depriv'd thee of ! Hold off the earth awhile. 
 Till I have caught her once more in mine arms : 
 [Leaps into the grave. 
 
 Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead, 
 Till of this flat a mountain you have made, 
 To o'er-top old Pelion or the skyish head 
 Of blue Olympus. 
 
 Ham. [Advancing.] What is he whose grief 
 
 Bears such an emphasis? whose phrase of 
 
 sorrow [stand 
 
 Conjures the wandering stars, and makes them 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 1163 
 
 Like wonder- wounded hearers ? this is I, 
 Hamlet the Dane. \_Leaps into the grave. 
 
 Laer. The devil take thy soul ! 
 
 [Grappling with, him. 
 
 Ham. Thou pray'st not well. 
 I pr'ythee, take thy fingers from my throat ; 
 For, though I am not splenetive and rash, 
 Yet have I in me something dangerous, 
 Which let thy wkeriess fear : away thy hand. 
 
 King. Pluck them asunder. 
 
 Queen. Hamlet ! Hamlet ! 
 
 AH. Gentlemen, 
 
 Hor. Good my lord, be quiet. 
 
 [The Attendants part them, aiid they 
 come out of the grave. 
 
 Ham. Why, I will fight with him upon this 
 
 theme 
 Until my eyelids will no longer wag. 
 
 Queen. O my son, what theme? 
 
 Ham. I lov'd Ophelia ; forty thousand brothers 
 Could not, with all their quantity of love, 
 Make up my sum. What wilt thou do for her? 
 
 King. O, he is mad, Laertes. 
 
 Queen. For love of God, forbear him. 
 
 Ham. 'Swounds, show me what thou 'It do : 
 Woul 't weep? woul 't fight? woul 'tfast? woul 't 
 
 tear thyself? 
 
 Woul 't drink up eisel ? eat a crocodile ? 
 I '11 do 't. Dost thou come here to whine? 
 To outface me with leaping in her grave? 
 Be buried quick with her, and so will I: 
 And, if thou prate of mountains, let them throw 
 Millions of acres on us, till our ground, 
 Singeing his pate against the burning zone, 
 Make Ossa like a wart ! Nay, an thou 'It mouth, 
 I Ml rant as well as thou. 
 
 Queen. This is mere madness : 
 
 And thus awhile the fit will work on him ; 
 Anon, as patient as the female dove, 
 When that her golden couplets are disclos'd, 
 His silence will sit drooping. 
 
 Ham. Hear you, sir ; 
 
 What is the reason that you use me thus? 
 I lov'd you ever : but it is no matter ; 
 Let Hercules himself do what he may, 
 The cat will mew, and dog will have his day. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 King. I pray thee, good Horatio, wait upon 
 him. [Exit HORATIO. 
 
 Strengthen your patience in our last night's 
 speech; [ To LAERTES. 
 
 We'll put the matter to the present push. 
 Good Gertrude, set some watch over your son. 
 This grave shall have a living monument : 
 An hour of quiet shortly shall we see ; 
 Till then, in patience our proceeding be. 
 
 \Mxeunt. 
 
 SCLNE II. A Hall in the Castle. 
 Enter HAMLET and HORATIO. 
 
 Ham. So much for this, sir : now let me see 
 
 the other ; 
 You do remember all the circumstance? 
 
 Hor. Remember it, my lord I [fighting 
 
 Ham. Sir, in my heart there was a kind of 
 That would not let me sleep : methought I lay 
 Worse than the routines in the bilboes. Rashly, 
 And prais'd be rashness for it, let us know, 
 Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well, 
 When our deep plots do fail : and that should 
 
 teach us 
 
 There's a divinity that shapes our ends, 
 Rough-hew them how we will. 
 
 Hor. That is most certain, 
 
 Ham. Up from my cabin, 
 My sea-gown scarf'd about me, in the dark 
 Grop'd I to find out them : had my desire ; 
 Finger'd their packet ; and, in fine, withdrew 
 To mine own room again : making so bold, 
 My fears forgetting manners, to unseal 
 Their grand commission ; where I found, 
 Horatio, 
 
 royal knavery ! an exact command, 
 Larded with many several sorts of reasons, 
 Importing Denmark's health and England's too, 
 With, ho ! such bugs and goblins in my life, 
 That, on the supervise, no leisure bated, 
 
 No, not to stay the grinding of the axe, 
 My head should be struck off. 
 
 Hor. Is 't possible ? 
 
 Ham. Here's the commission: read it at 
 
 more leisure. 
 But wilt thou hear me how I did proceed ? 
 
 Hor. I beseech you. [villanies, 
 
 Ham. Being thus benetted round with 
 Ere I could make a prologue to my brains, 
 They had begun the play, I sat me down; 
 Devis'd a new commission ; wrote it fair : 
 
 1 once did hold it, as our statists do, 
 
 A baseness to write fair, and labour'd much 
 How to forget that learning ; but, sir, now 
 It did me yeoman's service. Wilt thou know , 
 The effect of what I wrote ? I 
 
 Hor. Ay, good my lord. * 
 
 Ham. An earnest conjuration from the 
 
 king, 
 
 As England was his faithful tributary ; 
 As love between them like the palm might 
 
 flourish ; 
 
 As peace should still her wheaten garland wear 
 And stand a comma 'tween their amities ; 
 And many such like as 's of great charge, 
 That, on the view and know of these contents, 
 
ii66 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Without debatement further, more or less, 
 He should the bearers put to sudden death, 
 Not shriving-time allow'd. 
 
 Hor. How was this seal'd ? 
 
 Ham. Why, even in that was heaven or- 
 
 dinant. 
 
 I had my father's signet in my purse, 
 W.uch was the model of that Danish seal : 
 Folded the writ up in form of the other ; 
 Subscrib'd it ; gave 't the impression ; plac'd it 
 saiely, [day 
 
 The changeling never known. Now, the next 
 Was our sea- fight; and what to this was sequent 
 Thou know'st already. [to 't. 
 
 Hor. So Guildenstern and Rosencrantz go 
 
 ffiim. Why, man, they did make love to this 
 
 employment ; 
 
 They are not near my conscience ; their defeat 
 Does by their own insinuation grow : 
 'Tis dangerous when the baser nature comes 
 Between the pass and fell incensed points 
 Of mighty opposites. 
 
 Hor. Why, what a king is this! 
 
 Ham. Does it not, think'st thee, stand me 
 
 now upon, [mother; 
 
 He that hath kill'd my kirg and whor'd my 
 
 Popp'd in between the election and my hopes ; 
 
 Thrown out his angle for my proper life, 
 
 And with such cozenage, is't not perfect 
 
 conscience [damn'd, 
 
 To quit him with this arm ? and is 't not to be 
 
 To let this canker of our nature come 
 
 In further evil ? [England 
 
 Hor. It must be shortly known to him from 
 What is the issue of the business there. 
 
 Ham. It will be short: the interim is mine; 
 And a man's life 's no more than to say One. 
 But I am very sorry, good Horatio, 
 That to Laertes I forgot myself ; 
 For by the image of my cause I see 
 The portraiture of his : I '11 court his favours : 
 But, sure, the bravery of his grief did put me 
 Into a towering passion. 
 
 Hor. Peace ; who comes here ? 
 
 Enter OSRIC. 
 
 Osr. Your lordship is right welcome back to 
 Denmark. 
 
 Ham. I humbly thank you, sir. Dost know 
 this water-fly ? 
 
 Hor. No, my good lord. 
 
 Hani. Thy state is the more gracious ; for 
 'tis a vice to know him. He hath much land, 
 and fertile : let a beast be lord of beasts, and 
 his crih shall stand at the king'-, mess : 'tis a 
 chough ; but, as I say, spacious in the posses- 
 sion of dirt. 
 
 Osr. Sweet lord, if your lordship were at 
 
 leisure, 
 I should impart a thing to you from his majesty. 
 
 Ham. I will receive it with all diligence of 
 
 spirit. 
 
 Put your bonnet to his right use ; 'tis for the 
 head. 
 
 Osr. I thank your lordship, 'tis very hot. 
 
 Ham. No, believe me, 'tis very cold ; the 
 wind is northerly. 
 
 Osr. It is indifferent cold, my lord, indeed. 
 
 Ham. Methinks it is very sultry and hot for 
 my complexion. 
 
 Osr. Exceedingly, my lord ; it is very sul- 
 try, as 'twere, I cannot tell how. But, my 
 lord, his majesty bade me signify to you that 
 he has laid a great wager on your head. Sir, 
 this is the matter, 
 
 Ham. I beseech you, remember, 
 
 [HAMLET moves him to put on his hat. 
 
 Osr. Nay, in good faith ; for mine ease, in 
 good faith. Sir, here is newly come to court 
 Laertes ; believe me, an absolute gentleman, 
 full of most excellent differences, of very soft 
 society and great showing : indeed, to speak 
 feelingly of him, he is the card or calendar of 
 gentry, for you shall find in him the continent 
 of what part a gentleman would see. 
 
 Ham. Sir, his definement suffers no perdi- 
 tion in you ; though, I know, to divide him 
 inventorially would dizzy the arithmetic of 
 memory, and it but yaw neither, in respect of 
 his quick sail. But, in the verity of extolment, 
 I take him to be a soul of great article ; and 
 his infusion of such dearth and rareness as, to 
 make true diction of him, his semblable is his 
 mirror ; and who else would trace him, his 
 umbrage, nothing more. [him. 
 
 Osr. Your lordship speaks most infallibly of 
 
 Ham. The concernancy, sir? why do we 
 wrap the gentleman in our more rawer breath? 
 
 Osr. Sir? 
 
 Hor. Is't not possible to understand in 
 another tongue ? You will do 't .ar, really. 
 
 Ham. What imports the nomination of this 
 gentleman ? 
 
 Osr. Of Laertes? 
 
 Hor. His purse is empty already; all's 
 golden words are spent. 
 
 Ham. Of him, sir. 
 
 Osr. I know, you are not ignorant, 
 
 Ham. I would you did, sir ; yet, in faith, if 
 you did, it would not much approve me. 
 Well, sir. 
 
 Osr. You are not ignorant of what excel- 
 lence Laertes is, 
 
 Ham. I dare not confess that, lest I should 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 1167 
 
 compare wilh him in excellence ; but to know 
 a man well were to know himself. 
 
 Osr. I mean, sir, for his weapon; but in the 
 imputation laid on him by them, in his meed 
 he 's unfellowed. 
 
 Ham. What 's his weapon ? 
 
 Osr. Rapier and dagger. 
 
 Ham. That 's two of his weapons : but, well. 
 
 Osr. The king, sir, hath wagered wilh him 
 six Barbary horses : against the which he has 
 imponed, as I take it, six French rapiers ana 
 poniards, with their assigns, as girdle, hangers, 
 and so: three of the carriages, in faith, are 
 very dear to fancy, very responsive to the hilts, 
 most delicate carriages, and cf very liberal 
 conceit. 
 
 Ham. What call you the carriages ? 
 
 Hor. I knew you must be edified by the 
 margent ere you had done. 
 
 Osr. The carriages, sir, are the hangers. 
 
 Ham. The phrase would be more german t^ 
 the matter if we could carry cannon by our 
 sides: I would it might be hangers till then. 
 But, on: six Barbary horses against six French 
 swords, their assigns, and three liberal con- 
 ceited carriages ; that 's the French bet against 
 the Danish: why is this imponed, as you call 
 it? 
 
 Osr. The king, sir, hath laid, that in a dozen 
 passes between you and him he shall not ex- 
 ceed you three hits : he hath laid on twelve for 
 nine ; and it would come to immediate trial if 
 your lordship would vouchsafe the answer. 
 
 Ham. How if I answer no? 
 - Osr. I mean, my lord, the opposition of your 
 person in trial. 
 
 Ham. Sir, I will walk here in the hall : if it 
 please his majesty, it is the breathing time of 
 day with me: let the foils be brought, the 
 gentleman willing, and the king hold his pur- 
 pose, I will win for him if I can ; if not, I will 
 gain nothing but my shame and the odd hits. 
 
 Osr. Shall I re-deliver you e'en so? 
 
 Ham. To this effect, sir ; after what flourish 
 your nature will. 
 
 Osr. I commend my duty to your lordship. 
 
 Ham. Yours, yours. [Exit OSRIC.] He 
 does well to commend it himself ; there are no 
 tongues else for 's turn. [on his head. 
 
 Hor. This lapwing runs away with the shell 
 
 Ham. He did comply with his dug before he 
 sucked it. Thus has he, and many more of 
 the same bevy, that I know the drossy age 
 dotes on, only got the tune of the time, and 
 outward habit of encounter; a kind of yesty 
 collection, which carries them through and 
 through the most fanned and winnowed opin- 
 
 ions; and do but blow them to their trial, the 
 bubbles are out. 
 
 Enter a Lord. 
 
 Lord. My lord, his majesty commended him 
 to you by young Osric, who brings back to him 
 that you attend him in the hall: he sends to 
 know if your pleasure hold to play with 
 Laertes, or that you will take longer time. 
 
 Ham. I am constant to my purposes ; they 
 follow the king's pleasure: if his fitness speaks, 
 mine is ready ; now or whensoever, provided I 
 be so able as now. [down. 
 
 Lord. The king and queen and all are coming 
 
 Ham, In happy time. 
 
 Lord. The queen desires you to use some 
 gentle entertainment to Laertes before you fall 
 to play. 
 
 Ham. She well instructs me. [Exit Lord. 
 
 Hor. You will lose this wager, my lord. 
 
 Ham. I do not think so ; since he went into 
 France I have been in continual practice: I 
 shall win at the odds. But thou wouldst not 
 think how ill all's here about my heart: but 
 it is no matter. 
 
 Hor. Nay, good my lord, 
 
 Ham. It is but foolery ; but it is such a kind 
 of gain -giving as would perhaps trouble a 
 woman. 
 
 Hor. If your mind dislike anything, obey 
 it : I will forestall their repair hither, and say 
 you are not fit. 
 
 Ham. Not a whit, we defy augury : there 's 
 a special providence in the fall of a sparrow. 
 If it be now, 'tis not to come ; if it be not to 
 come, it will be now; if it be not now, yei it 
 will come : the readiness is all : since no man 
 has aught of what he leaves, what is 't to leave 
 betimes? 
 
 Enter KING, QUEEN, LAERTES, Lords, 
 OSRIC, and Attendants with foils, &c. 
 
 King. Come, Hamlet, come, and take this 
 hand from me. 
 
 [The KING/W/J LAERTES'S hand 
 
 into HAMLET'S. 
 Ham. Give me your pardon, sir: I have 
 
 done you wrong: 
 
 But pardon 't, as you are a gentleman. 
 This presence knows, and you must needs have 
 
 heard, 
 
 How I am punish'd with sore distraction. 
 What I have done, 
 
 That might your nature, honour, and exception 
 Roughly awake, I here proclaim was madness. 
 Was 't Hamlet wrongM Laertes ? Nevei 
 Hamlet : 
 
1168 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 [ACT V, 
 
 If Hamlet from himself be ta'en away, 
 And when he 's not himself does wrong Laer- 
 tes, 
 
 Then Hamlet does it not, Hamlet denies it. 
 Who does it, then? His madness : if't be so, 
 Hamlet is of the faction that is wrong'd ; 
 His madness is poor Hamlet's enemy. 
 Sir, in this audience, 
 Let my disclaiming from a purpos'd evil 
 Free me so far in your most generous thoughts 
 That I have shot mine arrow o'er the house 
 And hurt my brother. 
 
 Laer. I am satisfied in nature, 
 
 Whose motive, in this case, should stir me most 
 To my revenge : but in my terms of honour 
 I stand aloof ; and will no reconcilement 
 Till by some elder masters of known honour 
 I have a voice and precedent of peace 
 To keep my name ungor'd. But till that time 
 I do receive your offer'd love like love, 
 And will not wrong it. 
 
 Ham. I embrace it freely ; 
 
 And will this brother's wager frankly play. 
 Give us the foils ; come on. 
 
 Laer. Come, one for me. 
 
 Ham. I'll be your foil, Laertes; in mine 
 
 ignorance 
 
 Your skill shall, like a star in the darkest night, 
 Stick fiery off indeed. 
 
 Laer. You mock me, sir. 
 
 Ham. No, by this hand. 
 
 King. Give them the foils, young Osric. 
 
 Cousin Hamlet, 
 You know the wager ? 
 
 Ham. Very well, my lord ; 
 
 Your grace hath laid the odds o' the weaker 
 side. 
 
 King. I do not fear it ; I have seen you both ; 
 But since he 's better'd, we have therefore odds. 
 
 Laer. This is too heavy, let me see another. 
 
 Ham. This likes me well. These foils have 
 all a length ? [ They prepare to play. 
 
 Osr. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 King. Set me the stoups of wine upon that 
 
 table, 
 
 If Hamlet give the first or second hit, 
 Or quit in answer of the third exchange, 
 Let all the battlements their ordnance fire ; 
 The king shall drink to Hamlet's better breath ; 
 And in the cup an union shall he throw, 
 Richer than that which four successive kings 
 In Denmark's crown have worn. Give me the 
 
 cups; 
 
 And let the kettle to the trumpet speak, 
 The trumpet to the cannoneer without, 
 The cannons to the heavens, the heavens to 
 earth, 
 
 Now the king drinks to Hamlet. Come, 
 
 begin ; 
 
 And you, the judges, bear a wary eye. 
 Ham. Come on, sir. 
 Laer. Come, my lord. 
 
 \_Theyplay. 
 
 Ham. One. 
 
 Laer. No. 
 
 Ham. Judgment. 
 
 Osr. A hit, a very palpable hit. 
 Laer. Well ; again. 
 
 King. Stay, give me drink. Hamlet, this 
 
 pearl is thine ; 
 Here's to thy health. 
 
 [ Trumpets sound, and cannon shot 
 
 off -within. 
 
 Give him the cup. [awhile. 
 
 Ham. I'll play this bom first; set it by 
 Come. Another hit ; what say you? 
 
 [They play. 
 
 Laer. A touch, a touch, I do comess. 
 King. Our son shall win. 
 Queen. He 's fat, and scant of breath. 
 Here, Hamlet, take my napkin, rub thy brows : 
 The queen carouses to thy fortune, Hamlet. 
 Ham. Good madam ! 
 
 King. Gertrude, do not drink. 
 
 Queen. I will, my lord ; I pray you, pardon 
 me. [late. 
 
 King. \ Aside.] It is the poison'd cup; it is too 
 Ham. I dare not drink yet, madam ; by and 
 
 by. 
 
 Queen, Come, let me wipe thy face. 
 Laer. My lord, I ? 11 hit him now. 
 King. I do not think 't. 
 
 Laer. [Aside.] And yet 'tis almost 'gainst 
 
 my conscience. 
 Ham. Come, for the third, Laertes: you 
 
 but dally ; 
 
 I pray you, pass with your best violence : 
 I am afeard you make a wanton of me. 
 
 Laer. Say you so ? come on. [They play. 
 Osr. Nothing, neither way. 
 Laer. Have at you now ! 
 
 [LAER. wounds HAM. ; then, in scuffling, they 
 change rapiers, and HAM. wounds LAER. 
 King. Part them ; they are incens'd. 
 
 Ham. Nay, come, again. [7^QuEEN/a//j. 
 Osr. Look to the queen there, ho ! 
 
 Hor. They bleed on both sides. How is it, 
 
 my lord ? 
 
 Osr. How is 't, Laertes ? 
 Laer. Why, as a woodcock to my own 
 
 springe, Osric; 
 
 I am justly kill'd with mine own treachery. 
 Ham. How does the queen ? 
 King. She swoons to see them bleed. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 1169 
 
 Queen. No, no, the drink, the drink, O my 
 
 dear Hamlet, 
 
 The drink, the drink ! I am poison'd. [Dies. 
 
 Ham. O villany ! I lo! let the door be lock'd : 
 
 Treachery! seek it out. [ LAERTES falls. 
 
 Laer. It is here, Hamlet : Hamlet, thou art 
 
 slain ; 
 
 No medicine in the world can do thee good ; 
 In thee there is not half an hour of life ; 
 The treacherous instrument is in thy hand, 
 Unbated and envenom'd : the foul practice 
 Hath turn'd itself on me ; lo, here I lie, 
 Never to rise again : thy mother 's poison'd : 
 I can no more : the king, the king 's to blame. 
 
 Ham. The point envenom'd too ! 
 Then venom to thy work. [Stabs the KING. 
 Osr. and Lords. Treason ! treason ! 
 King. O, yet defend me, friends ; I am but 
 
 hurt. 
 Ham. Here, thou incestuous, murderous, 
 
 damned Dane, 
 
 Drink off this potion. Is thy union here? 
 Follow my mother. [KiNG dies. 
 
 Laer. He is justly serv'd ; 
 It is a poison tempered by himself. 
 Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet : 
 Mine and my father's death come not upon 
 
 thee, 
 
 Nor thine on me ! [Dies. 
 
 Ham. Heaven make thee free of it! I 
 
 follow thee. 
 
 lam dead, Horatio. Wretched queen, adieu! 
 You that look pale and tremble at this chance, 
 That are but mutes or audience to this act, 
 Had I but time, as this fell sergeant, death, 
 Is strict in his arrest, O, I could tell you, 
 But let it be. Horatio, I am dead ; 
 Thou liv'st ; report me and my cause aright 
 To the unsatisfied. 
 
 Hor. Never believe it: 
 
 I am more an antique Roman than a Dane, 
 Here 's yet some liquor left- 
 
 Ham. As thou 'rt a man, 
 
 Give me the cup; let go; by heaven, I'll 
 
 have't 
 
 O good Horatio, what a wounded name, 
 Things standing thus unknown, shall live 
 
 behind me ! 
 
 If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart, 
 Absent thee from felicity awhile, 
 And in this harsh world draw thy breath in 
 
 pain, 
 To tell my story. 
 
 [March afar off, and shot within. 
 What warlike noise is this? 
 Osr. Young Fortinbras, with conquest come 
 from Poland, 
 
 To the ambassadors of England gives 
 This warlike volley. 
 
 Ham. O, I die, Horatio ; 
 
 The potent poison quite o'er-crows my spirit: 
 I cannot live to hear the news from England ; 
 But I do prophesy the election lights 
 On Fortinbras : he has my dying voice ; 
 So tell him, with the occurrents, more and less, 
 Which have solicited. The rest is silence. 
 
 [Dies. 
 
 Hor. Now cracks a noble heart. Good- 
 night, sweet prince, 
 
 And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest ! 
 Why does the drum come hither ? 
 
 [March within. 
 
 Enter FORTINBRAS, the English Ambassadors, 
 and others. 
 
 Fort. Where is this sight ? 
 
 Hor. What is it you would see ? 
 
 If aught of woe or wonder, cease your search. 
 
 Fort. This quarry cries on havoc. O proud 
 
 death, 
 
 What feast is toward in thine eternal cell, 
 That thou so many princes at a shot 
 So bloodily hast struck ? 
 
 I Amb. The sight is dismal ; 
 
 And our affairs from England come too late : 
 The ears are senseless that should give us 
 
 hearing, 
 
 To tell him his commandment is fulfill'd, 
 That Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead : 
 Where should we have our thanks ? 
 
 Hor. Not from his mouth. 
 
 Had it the ability of life to thank you : 
 He never gave commandment for their death. 
 But since, so jump upon this bloody question, 
 You from the Polack wars, and you from 
 
 England, 
 
 Are here arriv'd, give order that these bodies 
 High on a stage be placed to the view ; 
 And let me speak to the yet unknowing world 
 How these things came about : so shall you hear 
 Of carnal, bloody, and unnatural acts ; 
 Of accidental judgments, casual slaughters ; 
 Of deaths put on by cunning and forc'd cause ; 
 And, in this upshot, purposes mistook 
 Fall'n on the inventors' heads: all this can I 
 Truly deliver. 
 
 Fort. Let us haste to hear it, 
 
 And call the noblest to the audience. 
 For me, with sorrow I embrace my fortune : 
 I have some rights ot memory in this king- 
 dom, 
 
 Which now to claim my vantage doth invite 
 me. 
 
 Hor, Of that I shall have also cause to speak. 
 
1170 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 [ACT V. 
 
 And from his mouth whose voice will draw on 
 
 more: 
 
 But let this same be presently pe/form'd, 
 Even while men's minds are wild : lest more 
 
 mischance 
 On plots and errors happen. 
 
 Fort. Let four captains 
 
 Bear Hamlet like a soldier to the stage ; 
 For he was likely, had he been put on, 
 
 
 To have prov'd most royally: and, for his 
 
 passage, 
 
 The soldier's music and the rites of war 
 Speak loudly for him. 
 Take up the bodies. Such a sight as this 
 Becomes the field, but here shows much amiss. 
 Go, bid the soldiers shoot. [A dead march. 
 [Exeunt, bearing off the dead bodies ; aftet 
 which a peal o ordnance is shot o. 
 
 
 
 
 bhow 
 
 
 bnA 
 
 :.:-, ...,:. .-,.,-.,? i I - - 
 
 

 
 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE, 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 DUKE OF VENICE. 
 
 BRABANTIO, a Senator. 
 
 Oiher Senators. 
 
 GRATIANO, Brother to BRABANTIO. 
 
 LODOVICO, Kinsman to BRABANTIO. 
 
 OTHELLO, a noble Moor, in the service of Venice. 
 
 CASSIO, his Lieutenant. 
 
 IAGO, his Ancient. 
 
 RODERIGO, a Venetian Gentleman. 
 
 MONTANO, OTHELLO'S predecessor in the 
 
 
 government of Cyprus. 
 
 Clown, Servant to OTHELLO. 
 Herald. 
 
 DESDEMONA, Daughter to BRABANTIO, and 
 
 Wife to OTHELLO. 
 EMILIA, Wife to IAGO. 
 BIANCA, Mistress to CASSIO. 
 
 Officers, Gentlemen, Messenger, Musicians, 
 Herald, Sailor, Attendants, &c. 
 
 SCENE, The First Act in VENICE; during the rest of the Play at a Seaport in CYPRUS. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. VENICE. A Street. 
 
 Enter RODERIGO and IAGO. 
 Rod. Never tell me ; I take it much unkindly 
 That thou, lago, who hast had my purse 
 As if the strings were thine, shouldst know of 
 
 this, 
 
 lago. 'Sblood, but you will not hear me : 
 If ever I did dream of such a matter, 
 Abhor me. 
 
 Rod. Thou told'st me thou didst hold him in 
 
 thy hate. 
 lago. Despise me if I do not. Three great 
 
 ones of the city, 
 
 In personal suit to make me his lieutenant, 
 Off-capp'd to him : and, by the faith of man, 
 I know my price, I am worth no worse a 
 
 place : 
 
 But he, as loving his own pride and purposes, 
 Evades them, with a bombast circumstance 
 Horribly stuff'd with epithets of war: 
 And, in conclusion, nonsuits 
 My mediators ; for, Certes> says he, 
 / have already chose my officer. 
 And what was he ? 
 Forsooth, a great arithmetician, 
 One Michael Cassio, a Florentine, 
 A fellow almost damn'd in a fair wife ; 
 That never set a squadron in the field, 
 Nor the division of a battle knows 
 More than a spinster; unless the bookish 
 
 theoric, 
 
 Wherein the toged consuls can propose 
 As masterly as he: mere prattle, without 
 
 practice, 
 
 Is all bis soldiership. But he, sir, had the 
 
 election : 
 
 And I, of whom his eyes had seen the proof 
 At Rhodes, at Cyprus, and on other grounds, 
 Christian and heathen, must be be-lee'd and 
 
 calm'd 
 
 By debitor and creditor, this counter-caster ; 
 He, in good time, must his lieutenant be, 
 And I, God bless the mark! his Moorship's 
 
 ancient. [his hangman. 
 
 Rod. By heaven, I rather would have been 
 lago. Why, there's no remedy; 'tis the 
 
 curse of service, 
 
 Preferment goes by letter and affection, 
 And not by old gradation, where each second 
 Stood heir to the first. Now, sir, be judge 
 
 yourself 
 
 Whether I in any just tenn am affin'd 
 To love the Moor. 
 
 Rod. I would not follow him, then. 
 
 lago. O, sir, content you ; 
 I follow him to serve my turn upon him : 
 We cannot all be masters, nor all masters 
 Cannot be truly follow'd. You shall mark 
 Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave 
 That, doting on his own obsequious bondage, 
 Wears out his time, much like his master's ass, 
 For naught but provender ; and when he 's old, 
 
 cashierd : 
 
 Whip me such honest knaves. Others there are 
 Who, trimm'd in forms and visages of duty, 
 Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves ; 
 And, throwing but shows of service on their 
 
 lords, 
 Do well thrive by them, and when they have 
 
 lin'd their coats, 
 
1172 
 
 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE, 
 
 [ACTL 
 
 Do themselves homage : these fellows have 
 
 some soul; 
 
 And such a one do I profess myself. 
 For, sir, 
 
 It is as sure as you are Roderigo, 
 Were I the Moor I would not be lago: 
 In following him I follow but myself; 
 Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty, 
 But seeming so for my peculiar end : 
 For when my outward action doth demonstrate 
 The native act and figure of my heart 
 In compliment extern, 'tis not long after 
 But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve 
 For daws to peck at : I am not what I am. 
 Rod. What a full fortune does the thick lips 
 
 owe, 
 If he can carry 't thus ! 
 
 lago. Call up her father. 
 
 Rouse him : make after him, poison hisdelight, 
 Proclaim him in the streets ; incense her kins- 
 men, 
 
 And, though he in a fertile climate dwell, 
 Plague him with flies : though that his ioy be 
 
 jy 
 
 Yet throw such changes of vexation on 't 
 As it may lose some colour. [aloud. 
 
 Rod. Here is her father's house : I '11 call 
 lago. Do ; with like timorous accent and dire 
 
 yell 
 
 As when, by night and negligence, the fire 
 Is spied in populous cities. [tio, ho ! 
 
 Rod. What, ho, Brabantio ! Signior Braban- 
 lago. Awake ! what, ho, Brabantio ! thieves ! 
 thieves ! thieves ! [bags ! 
 
 Look to your house, your daughter, and your 
 Thieves ! thieves ! 
 
 BRABANTIO appears above at a window. 
 
 Bra. What is the teason of this terrible sum- 
 mons? 
 What is the matter there ? 
 
 Rod. Signior, is all your family within ? 
 
 lago. Are your doors locked ? 
 
 Bra. Why, wherefore ask you this ? 
 
 lago. Zounds, sir, you 're robb'd ; for shame, 
 put on your gown ; [soul ; 
 
 Your heart is burst, you have lost half your 
 Even now, now, very now, an old black ram 
 Is tupping your white ewe. Arise, arise ; 
 Awake the snorting citizens with the bell, 
 Or else the devil will make a grandsire of you : 
 Arise, I say. 
 
 Bra. What, have you lost your wits ? 
 
 Rod. Most reverend signior, do you know my 
 voice ? 
 
 Bra. Not I ; what are you? 
 
 Rod. My name is Roderigo. 
 
 Bra. The worser welcome i 
 
 I have charg'd thee not to haunt about my 
 
 doors ; 
 
 In honest plainness thou hast heard me say 
 My daughter is not for thee ; and now, in mad- 
 ness, 
 
 Being full of supper and distempering draughts, 
 Upon malicious bravery dost thou come 
 To start my quiet. 
 
 Rod. Sir, sir, sir, 
 
 Bra. But thou must needs be sure, 
 
 My spirit and my place have in them power 
 To make this bitter to thee. 
 
 Rod. Patience, good sir. 
 
 Bra. What tell'st thou me of robbing ? this 
 
 is Venice ; 
 My house is not a grange. 
 
 Rod. Most grave Brabantio, 
 
 In simple and pure soul I come to you. 
 
 lago. Zounds, sir, you are one of those that 
 will not serve God if the devil bid you. Be- 
 cause we come to do you service, and you think 
 we are ruffians, you'll have your daughter 
 covered with a Barbary horse ; you '11 have 
 your nephews neigh to you ; you '11 have cour- 
 sers for cousins and gennets for germans. 
 
 Bra. What profane wretch art thou ? 
 
 lago. I am one, sir, that comes to tell you 
 your daughter and the Moor are now making 
 the beast with two backs. 
 
 Bra. Thou art a villain. 
 
 lago. You are a senator. 
 
 Bra. This thou shalt answer ; I know thee, 
 Roderigo. [seech you, 
 
 Rod. Sir, I will answer anything. But I be- 
 If 't be your pleasure and most wise consent, 
 As partly I find it is, that your fair daughter, 
 At this odd-even and dull watch o' the night, 
 Transported with no worse nor better guard 
 But with a knave of common hire, a gondolier, 
 To the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor, 
 If this be known to you, and your allowance, 
 We then have done you bold and saucy wrongs; 
 But if you know not this, my manners tsll me 
 We have your wrong rebuke. Do not believe 
 That, from the sense of all civility, 
 I thus would play and trifle with your reverence: 
 Your daughter, if you have not given her 
 
 leave, 
 
 I say again, hath made a gross revolt ; 
 Tying her duty, *beauty, wit, and fortunes 
 In an extravagant and wheeling stranger [self: 
 Of here and everywhere. Straight satisfy your- 
 If she be in her chamber or your house 
 Let loose on me the justice of the state 
 For thus deluding you. 
 
 Bra. Strike on the tinder, bo J 
 

 SCENE I.] 
 
 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 "73 
 
 Give me a taper ! call up all my people ! 
 This accident is not unlike my dream : 
 Belief of it oppresses me already. 
 Light, I say ! light ! [Exit front above, 
 
 lago. Farewell ; for I must leave you : 
 
 It seems not meet nor wholesome to my place 
 To be produc'd, as if I stay I shall, 
 Against the Moor : for I do know the state, 
 However this may gall him with some check, 
 Cannot with safety cast him ; for he 's embark'd 
 With such loud reason to the Cyprus wars, 
 Which even now stand in act, that, for their 
 
 souls, 
 
 Another of his fathom they have none 
 To lead their business : in which regard, 
 Though I do hate him as I do hell pains, 
 Yet, for necessity of present life, 
 I must show out a flag and sign of love, 
 Which is indeed but sign. That you shall 
 
 surely find him, 
 
 Lead to the Sagittary the raised search ; 
 And there will I be with him. So, farewell. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Enter below, BRABANTIO, and Servants with, 
 torches. 
 
 Bra. It is too true an evil : gone she is ; 
 And what 's to come of my despised time 
 Is naught but bitterness. Now, Roderigo, 
 Where didst thou see her ? O unhappy girl ! 
 With the Moor, say'st thou ? Who would be 
 a father ! [ceives me 
 
 How didst thou know 'twas she ? O, she de- 
 Past thought. What said she to you? Get 
 
 more tapers ; 
 Raise all my kindred. Are they married, think 
 
 you ? 
 
 Rod. Truly, I think they are. 
 Bra. O heaven ! How got she out ? O 
 
 treason of the blood ! 
 Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters' 
 
 minds 
 By what you see them act. Are there not 
 
 charms 
 
 By which the property of youth and maidhood 
 May be abused ? Have you not read, Roderigo, 
 Of some such thing ? 
 
 Rod. Yes, sir, I have indeed. 
 
 Bra. Call up my brother. O, would you 
 
 had had her ! 
 
 Some one way some another. Do you know 
 Where we may apprehend her and the Moor ? 
 Rod. I think I can discover him, if you please 
 To pet good guard, and go along with me. 
 Bra. Pray you, lead on. At every house 
 
 I '11 call ; 
 I may command at most. Get weapons, ho ! 
 
 And raise some special officers of night. 
 On, good Roderigo : I '11 deserve your pains. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. VENICE. Another Street. 
 
 Enter OTHELLO, IAGO, and Attendants with 
 torches. 
 
 >. Though in the trade of war I have 
 
 slain men, 
 
 Yet do I hold it very stuff o' the conscience 
 To do no contriv'd murder : I lack iniquity 
 Sometimes to do me service : nine or ten times 
 I had thought to have yerk'd him here under 
 
 the ribs. 
 
 Otk. 'Tis better as it is. 
 lago. Nay, but he prated, 
 
 And spoke such scurvy and provoking terms 
 Against your honour, 
 That, with the little godliness I have, 
 I did full hard forbear him. But, I pray you, 
 
 sir, 
 
 Are you fast married ? Be assured of this, 
 That the magnifico is much beloved ; 
 And hath, in his effect, a voice potential 
 As double as the duke's : he will divorce you ; 
 Or put upon you what restraint and grievance 
 The law, with all his might to enforce it on, 
 Will give him cable. 
 
 Oth. Let him do his spite : 
 
 My services which I have done the signiory 
 Shall out-tongue his complaints. 'Tis yet to 
 
 know, 
 
 Which, when I know that boasting is an honour, 
 I shall promulgate, I fetch my life and being 
 From men of royal siege ; and my demerits 
 May speak unbonneted to as proud a fortune 
 As this that I have reach'd : for know, lago, 
 But that I love the gentle Desdemona, 
 I would not my unhoused free condition 
 Put into circumscription and confine 
 For the sea's worth. But, look ! what lights 
 
 come yond ? 
 lago. Those are the raised father and his 
 
 friends : 
 You were best go in. 
 
 Oth. Not I ; I must be found : 
 
 My parts, my title, and my perfect soul 
 Shall manifest me rightly. Is it they ? 
 lago. By Janus, I think no. 
 
 Enter CASSIO and certain Officers with torches* 
 
 Oth. The servants of the duke and my lieu- 
 
 tenant. 
 
 The goodness of the night upon you, friends ! 
 What is the news ? 
 
 COLS. The duke does greet you, general ; 
 
1 174 
 
 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 And he requires your haste-post-haste appear- 
 ance 
 Even on the instant. 
 
 Oth. What is the matter, think you ? 
 
 Cos. Something from Cyprus, as I may 
 
 divine : 
 
 It is a business of some heat : the galleys 
 Have sent a dozen sequent messengers 
 This very night at one another's heels ; 
 And many of the consuls, rais'd and met, 
 Are at the duke's already : you have been hotly 
 
 call'd for ; 
 
 When, being not at your lodging to be found, 
 The senate hath sent about three several quests 
 To search you out. 
 
 Oth. 'Tis well I am found by you. 
 
 I will but spend a word here in the house, 
 And go with you. [Exit. 
 
 Cas. Ancient, what makes he here ? 
 
 lago. Faith, he to-night hath boarded a land 
 
 carack : 
 If it prove lawful prize, he 's made for ever. 
 
 Cas. I do not understand. 
 
 lago. He 's married. 
 
 Cas. To who ? 
 
 Re-enter OTHELLO. 
 
 lago. Marry, to Cotoe, captain, will you go? 
 Oth. Have with you. 
 
 Cas. Here comes another troop to seek for 
 
 you. 
 
 lago. It is Brabantio. General, be advis'd ; 
 He comes to bad intent. 
 
 Enter BRABANTIO, RODERIGO, and Officers 
 with torches and weapons. 
 
 Oik. Holla ! stand there ! 
 
 Rod. Signior, it is the Moor. 
 
 Bra. Down with him, thief ! 
 
 [They draw on both sides. 
 
 Iag9. You, Roderigo ! come, sir, I am for you. 
 
 Oth. Keep up your bright swords, for the 
 dew will rust them. [years 
 
 Good signior, you shall more command with 
 Than with your weapons. 
 
 Bra. O thou foul thief, where hast thou 
 
 stow'd my daughter ? 
 
 Damn'd as thou art, thou hast enchanted her ; 
 For I '11 refer me to all things of sense, 
 If she in chains of magic were not bound, 
 Whether a maid so tender, fair, and happy, 
 So opposite to marriage that she shunn'd 
 The wealthy curled darlings of our nation, 
 Would ever have, to incur a general mock, 
 Run from her guaidage to the sooty bosom 
 Of such a thing as thou, to fear, not to delight. 
 Judge me the world, if 'tis not gross in sense 
 
 That thou hast practis'd on her with foul 
 
 charms ; 
 Abus'd her delicate youth with drugs or 
 
 minerals 
 
 That weaken motion : I '11 have 't disputed on; 
 'Tis probable, and palpable to thinking. 
 I therefore apprehend and do attach thee 
 For an abuser of the world, a practiser 
 Of arts inhibited and out of warrant. 
 Lay hold upon him : if he do resist, 
 Subdue him at his peril. 
 
 Oth. Hold your hands, 
 
 Both you of my inclining and the rest : 
 Were it my cue to fight, I should have known it 
 Without a prompter. Where will you that I go 
 To answer this your charge ? 
 
 Bra. To prison ; till fit time 
 
 Of law and course of direct session 
 Call thee to answer. 
 
 Oth. What if I do obey? 
 
 How may the duke be therewith satisfied, 
 Whose messengers are here about my side, 
 Upon some present business of the state, 
 To bring me to him. 
 
 I Off. 'Tis true, most worthy signior ; 
 
 The duke 's in council, and your noble self, 
 I am sure, is sent for. 
 
 Bra. How ! the duke in council ! 
 
 In this time of the night ! Bring him away : 
 Mine 's not an idle cause : the duke himself, 
 Or any of my brothers of the state, 
 Cannot but feel this wrong as 'twere their own ; 
 For if such actions may have passage free, 
 Bond-slaves and pagans shall our statesmen be. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. VENICE. A Council-chamber. 
 
 The DUKE and Senators sitting at a table; 
 Officers attending. 
 
 Duke. There is no composition in these newg 
 That gives them credit. 
 
 1 Sen. Indeed, they are disproportion^ ; 
 My letters say a hundred and seven galleys. 
 
 Duke. And mine a hundred and forty. 
 
 2 Sen. And mine two hundred : 
 But though they jump not on a just account, 
 As in these cases, where the aim reports, 
 
 'Tis oft with difference, yet do they all confirm 
 A Turkish fleet, and bearing up to Cyprus. 
 
 Duke. Nay, it is possible enough to judgment : 
 I do not so secure me in the error, 
 But the main article I do approve 
 In fearful sense. 
 
 Sailor. [Within.} What, ho! what, hoi 
 what, ho ! 
 
 i Off. A messenger from the galleys. 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 1175 
 
 Enter a Sailor. 
 
 Duke. Now, what 's the business ? 
 
 Sail. The Turkish preparation makes for 
 
 Rhodes; 
 
 So was I bid report here to the state 
 By Signior Angelo. 
 
 Ditke. How say you by this change ? 
 
 I Sen. This cannot be, 
 
 By no assay of reason : 'tis a pageant 
 To keep us in false gaze. When we consider 
 The importancy of Cyprus to the Turk ; 
 And let ourselves again but understand 
 That, as it more concerns the Turk than Rhodes, 
 So may he with more facile question bear it, 
 For that it stands not in such warlike brace, 
 But altogether lacks the abilities [of this, 
 
 That Rhodes is dress'd in : if we make thought 
 We must not think the Turk is so unskilful 
 To leave that latest which concerns him first ; 
 Neglecting an attempt of ease and gain 
 To wake and wage a danger profitless. 
 
 Duke. Nay, in all confidence, he 's not for 
 Rhodes. 
 
 I Off. Here is more news. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. The Ottomites, reverend and gracious, 
 Steering with due course toward the isle of 
 
 Rhodes, 
 
 Have there injointed them with an after fleet. 
 I Sen. Ay, so I thought. How many, as 
 you guess ? [stem 
 
 Mess. Of thirty sail : and now do they re- 
 Their backward course, bearing with frank 
 appearance [tano, 
 
 Their purposes toward Cyprus. Signior Mon- 
 Your trusty and most valiant servitor, 
 With his free duty recommends you thus, 
 And prays you to believe him. 
 
 Duke. 'Tis certain, then, for Cyprus. 
 Marcus Luccicos, is not he in town ? 
 I Sen. He 's now in Florence. 
 Duke. Write from us to him ; post-post-haste 
 despatch. [Moor. 
 
 I Sen. Here comes Brabantio and the valiant 
 
 Enter BRABANTIO, OTHELLO, IAGO, 
 RODERIGO, and Officers. 
 
 Duke. Valiant Othello, we must straight 
 
 employ you 
 
 Against the general enemy Ottoman. 
 I did not see you ; welcome, gentle signior ; 
 
 [To BRABANTIO. 
 
 Wdtlack'd your counsel and your help to-night. 
 hra. So did I yours. Good your grace, 
 pardon me ; 
 
 Neither my place, nor aught I heard of business 
 Hath rais'd me from my bed ; nor doth the 
 
 general care 
 
 Take hold on me ; for my particular grief 
 Is of so flood-gate and o'erbearing nature 
 That it engluts and swallows other sorrows, 
 And it is still itself. 
 
 Duke. Why, what 's the matter ? 
 
 Bra. My daughter ! O, my daughter ! 
 Duke and Senators. Dead ? 
 
 Bra. Ay, to me ; 
 
 She is abus'd, stol'n from me, and corrupted 
 By spells and medicines bought of mountebanks; 
 For nature so preposterously to err, 
 Being not deficient, blind, or lame of sense, 
 Sans witchcraft could not. [ceeding, 
 
 Duke. Whoe'er he be that, in this foul pro- 
 Hath thus beguil'd your daughter of herself, 
 And you of her, the bloody book of law 
 You shall yourself read in the bitter letter 
 After your own sense ; yea, though our proper 
 
 son 
 Stood in your action. 
 
 Bra. Humbly I thank your grace. 
 
 Here is the man, this Moor ; whom now, it 
 
 seems, 
 
 Your special mandate for the state affairs 
 Hath hither brought. 
 
 Duke and Senators. We are very sorry for 't. 
 Duke. What, in your own part, can you say 
 
 to this? [To OTHELLO. 
 
 Bra. Nothing, but this is so. [iprs, 
 
 Oth. Most potent, grave, and reverend sign- 
 My very noble and approv'd good masters, 
 That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter, 
 It is most true j true, I have married her : 
 The very head and front of my offending 
 Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my 
 
 speech, 
 
 And little bless' d with the soft phrase of peace ; 
 For since these arms of mine had seven years' 
 
 pith, [us'd 
 
 Till now some nine moons wasted, they have 
 Their dearest action in the tented field ; 
 And little of this great world can I speak, 
 More than pertains to feats of broil and battle; 
 And therefore little shall I grace my cause 
 In speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious 
 
 patience, 
 
 I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver 
 Of my whole course of love ; what drugs, what 
 
 charms, 
 
 What conjuration, and what mighty magic, 
 For such proceeding I am charg'd withal, 
 I won his daughter. 
 
 Bra. A maiden never bold : 
 
 Of spirit so still and quiet that her motion 
 
1 176 
 
 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 [ACT !. 
 
 Blush'd at herself ; and she, in spite of nature, 
 Of years, of country, credit, everything, 
 To fall iti love with what she fear'd to look on ! 
 It is a judgment maim'd and most imperfect 
 That will confess perfection so could err 
 Against all rules of nature ; and must be driven 
 To find out practices of cunning hell, 
 Why this should be. I therefore vouch again, 
 That with some mixtures powerful o'er the 
 
 blood, 
 
 Or with some dram conjur'd to this effect, 
 He wrought upon her. 
 
 Duke. To vouch this is no proof ; 
 
 Without more wider and more overt test 
 Than these thin habits and poor likelihoods 
 Of modern seeming do prefer against him. 
 
 I Sen. But, Othello, speak : 
 Did you by indirect and forced courses 
 Subdue and poison this young maid's affections? 
 Or came it by request, and such fair question 
 As soul to soul arfordeth ? 
 
 Oth. I do beseech you, 
 
 Send for the lady to the Sagittary, 
 And let her speak of me before her father 
 If you do find me foul in her report, 
 The trust, the office I do hold of you, 
 Not only take away, but let your sentence 
 Even fall upon my life. 
 
 Duke. Fetch Desdemona hither. 
 
 Oth. Ancient, conduct them ; you best know 
 the place. 
 
 {Exeunt IAGO and Attendants. 
 And, till she come, as truly as to heaven 
 I do confess the vices of my blood, 
 So justly to your grave ears I '11 present 
 How I did thrive in this fair lady's love, 
 And she in mine. 
 
 Duke. Say it, Othello. 
 
 Oth. Her father lov'd me ; oft invited me ; 
 Still question'd me the story of my life, 
 From year to year, the battles, sieges, fortunes, 
 That I have pass'd. 
 
 I ran it through, even from my boyish days 
 To the very moment that he bade me tell it : 
 Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances, 
 Of moving accidents by flood and field ; 
 Of hairbreadth scapes i' the imminent deadly 
 
 breach ; 
 
 Of being taken by the insolent foe, 
 And sold to slavery ; of my redemption thence, 
 And portance in my travel's history : 
 Wherein of antres vast and deserts idle, 
 Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads 
 
 touch heaven, 
 
 It was my hint to speak, such was the process ; 
 And of the Cannibals that each other eat, 
 The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads 
 
 Do grow beneath their shoulders. This to hear 
 
 Would Desdemona seriously incline : 
 
 But still the house affairs would draw her 
 
 thence ; 
 
 Which ever as she could with haste despatch, 
 She 'd come again, and with a greedy ear 
 Devour up my discourse : which I observing, 
 Took once a pliant hour ; and found good means 
 To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart 
 That I would all my pilgrimage dilate, 
 Whereof by parcels she had something heard, 
 But not intentively : I did consent ; 
 And often did beguile her of her tears, 
 When I did speak of some distressful stroke 
 That my youth suffer'd. My story being done, 
 She gave me for my pains a world of sighs : 
 She swore, in faith, 'twas strange, 'twas pass- 
 ing strange ; 
 
 'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful : 
 She wish'd she had not heard it ; yet she wish'd 
 That heaven had made her such a man : she 
 
 thank'd me ; 
 
 And bade me, if I had a friend that lov'd her, 
 I should but teach him how to tell my story, 
 And that would woo her. Upon this hint I 
 
 She lov'd me for the dangers I had pass'd ; 
 And I lov'd her that she did pity them. 
 This only is the witchcraft I have us'd : 
 Here comes the lady; let her witness it. 
 
 Enter DESDEMONA, IAGO, and Attendants. 
 
 Duke. I think this tale would win my 
 
 daughter too. 
 Good Brabantio, 
 
 Take up this mangled matter at the best . 
 Men do their broken weapons rather use 
 Than their bare hands. 
 
 Bra. I pray you, hear her speak : 
 
 If she confess that she was half the wooer, 
 Destruction on my head if my bad blame 
 Light oh the man ! Come hither, gentle mis- 
 tress : 
 
 Do you perceive in all this noble company 
 Where most you owe obedience ? 
 
 Des. My noble father 
 
 I do perceive here a divided duty : 
 To you I am bound for life and education; 
 My life and education both do learn me 
 How to respect you ; you are the lord of duty, 
 I am hitherto your daughter : but here 's my 
 
 husband ; 
 
 And so much duty as my mother show'd 
 To you, preferring you before her father, 
 So much I challenge that I may profess 
 Due to the Moor, my lord. 
 
 Bra, God be with you ! I have done. 
 
 fc*. 
 
 k 
 
SCENE III.j 
 
 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 1177 
 
 Please it your grace, on to the state affairs : 
 I had rather to adopt a child than get it. 
 Come hither, Moor : 
 
 I here do give thee that with all my heart, 
 Which, but thou hast already, with all my heart 
 I would keep from thee. For your sake, jewel, 
 I am glad at soul I have no other child ; 
 For thy escape would teach me tyranny, 
 To hang clogs on them. I have done, my lord. 
 
 Duke. Let me speak like yourself; and lay 
 
 a sentence, 
 
 Which, as a grise or step, may help these lovers 
 Into your favour. 
 
 When remedies are past, the griefs are ended 
 By seeing the worst, which late on hopes 
 
 depended. 
 
 To mourn a mischief that is past and gone 
 Is the next way to draw new mischief on. 
 What cannot be preserv'd when fortune takes, 
 Patience her injury a mockery makes. 
 The robb'd that smiles steals <*>mething from 
 
 the thief; 
 He robs himself that spends a lx>otless grief. 
 
 Bra. So let the Turk of Cyprus us beguile ; 
 We lose it not so long as we can smile ; 
 He bears the sentence well that nothing bears 
 But the free comfort which from thence he hears; 
 But he bears both the sentence and the sorrow 
 That, to pay grief, must of poor patience borrow. 
 These sentences, to sugar or to gall. 
 Being strong on both sides, are equivocal : 
 But words are words ; I never yet did hear 
 That the bruis'd heart was pierced through the 
 ear. [state. 
 
 I humbly beseech you, proceed to the affairs of 
 
 Duke. The Turk with a most mighty pre- 
 paration makes for Cyprus. Othello, the forti- 
 tude of the place is best known to you ; and 
 though we have there a substitute of most 
 allowed sufficiency, yet opinion, a sovereign 
 mistress of effects, throws a more safer voice 
 on you : you must therefore be content to slub- 
 ber the gloss of your new fortunes with this 
 more stubborn and boisterous expedition. 
 
 Oth. The tyrant custom, most grave senators, 
 Hath made the flinty and steel couch of war 
 My thrice-driven bed of down : I do agnize 
 A natural and prompt alacrity 
 I find in hardness ; and do undertake 
 These present wars against the Ottomites. 
 Most humbly, therefore, bending to your state, 
 I crave fit disposition /or my wife ; 
 Due reference of place and exhibition ; 
 With such accommodation and besort 
 As levels with her breeding. 
 
 Dtike. If you please, 
 
 Be 't at her father's. 
 
 Bra. I '11 not have it so. 
 
 Oth. Nor I. 
 
 Des. Nor I ; I would not there reside, 
 
 To put my father in impatient thoughts, 
 By being in his eye. Most gracious duke, 
 To my unfolding lend a gracious ear ; 
 And let me find a charter in your voice 
 To assist my simpleness. 
 
 Duke. What would you, Desdemona? 
 
 Des. That I did love the Moor to live with 
 
 him, 
 
 My downright violence and scorn of fortunes 
 May trumpet to the world : my heart 's subdu'd 
 Even to the very quality of my lord : 
 I saw Othello's visage in his mind ; 
 And to his honours and his valiant parts 
 Did I my soul and fortunes consecrate. 
 So that, dear lords, if I be left behind, 
 A moth of peace, and he go to the war, 
 The rites for which I love him are bereft me, 
 And I a heavy interim shall support 
 By his dear absence. Let me go with him. 
 
 Oth. Let her have your voices. 
 Vouch with me, heaven, I therefore beg it not 
 To please the palate of my appetite ; 
 Nor to comply with heat, the young affects 
 In me defunct, and proper satisfaction ; 
 But to be free and bounteous to her mind : 
 And heaven defend your good souls, that you 
 
 think 
 
 I will your serious and great business scant 
 For she is with me : no, when light-wing'd 
 
 toys 
 
 Of feather'd Cupid seel with wanton dullness 
 My speculative and offic'd instruments, 
 That my disports corrupt and taint my business, 
 Let housewives make a skillet of my helm, 
 And all indign and base adversities 
 Make head against my estimation ! 
 
 Duke. Be it as you shall privately determine, 
 Either for her stay or going: the affair cries 
 
 haste, 
 And speed must answer it. 
 
 i Sen. You must away to-night. 
 
 Oth. With all my heart. 
 
 Duke. At nine i' the morning here we'll 
 
 meet again. 
 
 Othello, leave some officer behind, 
 And he shall our commission bring to you ; 
 With such things else of quality and respect 
 As doth import you. 
 
 Oth. So please your grace, my ancient, 
 A man he is of honesty and trust, 
 To his conveyance I assign my wife, 
 With what else needful your good grace shall 
 
 think 
 To be sent after me. 
 
OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 [ACT I. 
 
 Duke. Let it be so. 
 
 Good-night to every one. And, noble signior, 
 [To BRABANTIO. 
 
 If virtue no delighted beauty lack, 
 Your son-in-law is far more fair than black. 
 
 I Sen. Adieu, brave Moor ; use Desdemona 
 well. [to see : 
 
 Bra. Look to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes 
 She has deceiv'd her father, and may thee. 
 
 [Exeunt DUKE, Senators, Officers, &c. 
 
 Oth. My life upon her faith ! Honest lago, 
 My Desdemona must I leave to thee : 
 I pr'ythee, let thy wife attend on her ; 
 And bring them after in the best advantage. 
 Come, Desdemona, I have but an hour 
 Of love, of worldly matters and direction, 
 To spend with thee : we must obey the time. 
 [Exeunt OTHELLO and DESDEMONA. 
 
 Rod. lago, 
 
 lago. What say's! thou, noble heart ? 
 
 Rod. What will I do, thinkest thou ? 
 
 lago. Why, go to bed and sleep. 
 
 Rod. I will incontinently drown myself. 
 
 logo. If thou dost, I shall never love thee 
 after. Why, thou silly gentleman ! 
 
 Rod. It is silliness to live when to live is 
 torment ; and then have we a prescription to 
 die when death is our physician. 
 
 lago. O villanous ! I have looked upon the 
 world for four time? seven years ; and since I 
 could distinguish betwixt a benefit and an 
 injury, I never found man that knew how to 
 love himself. Ere I would say I would drown 
 myself for the love of a Guinea-hen, I would 
 change my humanity with a baboon. 
 
 Rod. What should I do ? I confess it is my 
 shame to be so fond ; but it is not in my virtue 
 to amend it. 
 
 lago. Virtue ! a fig ! 'tis in ourselves that we 
 are thus or thus. Our bodies are gardens, to 
 the which our wills are gardeners-; so that if 
 we will plant nettles or sow lettuce, set hyssop 
 and weed up thyme, supply it with one gender 
 of herbs or distract it with many, either to 
 have it sterile with idleness or manured with 
 industry; why, the power and corrigible 
 authority of this lies in our wills. If the 
 balance of our lives had not one scale of reason 
 to poise another of sensuality, the blood and 
 baseness of our natures would conduct us to 
 most preposterous conclusions: but we have 
 reason to cool our raging motions, our carnal 
 stings, our unbitted lusts ; whereof I take this, 
 that you call love, to be a sect or scion. 
 
 Rod. It cannot be. 
 
 lago. It is merely a lust of the blood and a 
 permission of the will. Come, be a man: 
 
 drown thyself 1 drown cats and blind puppies. 
 I have professed me thy friend, and I confess 
 me knit to thy deserving with cables of per- 
 durable toughness ; I could never better stead 
 thee than now. Put money in thy purse ; 
 follow thou the wars ; defeat thy favour with 
 an usurped beard ; I say, put money in thy 
 purse. It cannot be that Desdemona should 
 long continue her love to the Moor, put 
 money in thy purse, nor he his to her: it was 
 a violent commencement, and thou shalt see 
 an answerable sequestration ; put but money 
 in thy purse. These Moors are changeable in 
 their wills ; fill thy purse with money: the 
 food that to him now is as luscious as locusts 
 shall be to him shortly as bitter as coloquintida. 
 She must change for youth : when she is sated 
 with his body she will find the error of her 
 choice : she must have change, she must : 
 therefore put money in thy purse. If thou 
 wilt needs damn thyself, do it a more delicate 
 way than drowning. Make all the money thou 
 canst : if sanctimony and a frail vow betwixt an 
 erring barbarian and a supersubtle Venetian be 
 not too hard for my wits and all the tribe of 
 hell, thou shalt enjoy her ; therefore make 
 money. A pox of drowning thyself! it is clean 
 out of the way : seek thou rather to be hanged 
 in compassing thy joy than to be drowned and 
 go without her. 
 
 Rod. Wilt thou be fest to my hopes if I 
 depend on the issue ? 
 
 lago. Thou art sure of me: go, make 
 money: I have told thee often, and I re-tell 
 thee again and again, I hate the Moor: my 
 cause is hearted; thine hath no less reason. 
 Let us be conjunctive in our revenge against 
 him : if thou canst cuckold him, thou dost thy- 
 self a pleasure, me a sport. There are many 
 events in the womb of time which will be 
 delivered. Traverse ; go ; provide thy money. 
 We will have more of this to-morrow. Adieu. 
 
 Rod. Where shall we meet i' the morning ? 
 
 lago. At my lodging. 
 
 Rod. I '11 be with thee betimes. [Roderigo? 
 
 lago. Go to ; farewell. Do you hear, 
 
 Rod. What say you ? 
 
 lago. No more of drowning, do you hear ? 
 
 Rod. I am changed : I '11 go sell all my land. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 lago. Thus do I ever make my fool my purse ; 
 For I mine own gain'd knowledge should profane 
 If I would time expend with such a snipe 
 But for my sport and profit. I hate the Moor ; 
 And it is thought abroad that 'twixt my sheets 
 He has done my office : I know not if 't be true ; 
 But I, for mere suspicion in that kind, 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 1179 
 
 Will do as if for surety. He holds me well ; 
 The better shall my purpose work on him. 
 Cassio 's a proper man : let me see now ; 
 To get his place, and to plume up my will 
 In double knavery, How, how? Let 's see : 
 After some time to abuse Othello's ear 
 That he is too familiar with his wife : 
 He hath a person, and a smooth dispose, 
 To be suspected ; fram'd to make women false. 
 The Moor is of a free and open nature, 
 That thinks men honest that but seem to be so ; 
 And will as tenderly be led by the nose 
 As asses are. 
 
 I have 't ; it is engenderM : hell and night 
 Must bring this monstrous birth to the world's 
 light. [Exit. 
 
 yd* - viT- -V/3ft^Aft9tjppP ,1'iSsi- 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. A Seaport Town in Cyprus. A 
 Platform. 
 
 Enter MONTANO and two Gentlemen. 
 
 Mon. What from the cape can you discern 
 at sea ? [flood ; 
 
 1 Gent. Nothing at all : it is a high-wrought 
 I cannot, 'twixt the heaven and the main, 
 Descry a sail. [land ; 
 
 Mon. Methinks the wind hath spoke aloud at 
 A fuller blast ne'er shook our battlements : 
 If it hath ruffian'd so upon the sea, 
 What ribs of oak, when mountains melt on 
 them, [this? 
 
 Can hold the mortise? What shall we hear of 
 
 2 Gent. A segregation of the Turkish fleet : 
 For do but stand upon the foaming shore, 
 The chidden billow seems to pelt the clouds ; 
 The wind-shak'd surge, with high and monstrous 
 
 main, 
 
 Seems to cast water on the burning Bear, 
 And quench the guards of the ever-fixed pole : 
 I never did like molestation view 
 On the enchafed flood. 
 
 Mon. If that the Turkish fleet 
 
 Be not enshelter'd and embay'd, they are 
 
 drown'd ; 
 It is impossible to bear it out. 
 
 Enter a third Gentleman. 
 
 3 Gent. News, lads ! our wars are done. 
 The desperate tempest hath so bangtt the Turks 
 That their designment halts: a noble ship of 
 
 Venice 
 
 Hath seen a grievous wreck and sufferance 
 On most part of their fleet. 
 
 Mon. How ! is this true ? 
 
 3 Gent. The ship is here put in, 
 
 A Veronessa ; Michael Cassio, 
 Lieutenant to the warlike Moor Othello, 
 Is come on shore : the Moor himself 's at sea, 
 And is in full commission here for Cyprus. 
 
 Mon. I am glad on 't ; 'tis a worthy governor. 
 
 3 Gent. But this same Cassio, though he 
 
 speak of comfort 
 
 Touching the Turkish loss, yet he looks sadly, 
 And prays the Moor be safe ; for they were 
 
 parted 
 With foul and violent tempest. 
 
 Mon. Prey heavens he be ; 
 
 For I have serv'd him, and the man commands 
 Like a full soldier. Let 's to the sea-side, ho ! 
 As well to see the vessel that 's come in 
 As to throw out our eyes for brave Othello, 
 Even till we make the main and the aerial blue 
 An indistinct regard. 
 
 3 Gent. Come, let 's do so ; 
 For every minute is expectancy 
 
 Of more arrivance. 
 
 Enter CASSIO. 
 
 Cos. Thanks you, the valiant of this warlike 
 
 isle, 
 
 That so approve the Moor ! O, let the heavens 
 Give him defence against the elements, 
 For I have lost him on a dangerous sea ! 
 
 Mon. Is he well shipp'd? [pilot 
 
 Cos. His bark is stoutly timber'd, and his 
 Of very expert and approv'd allowance ; 
 Therefore my hopes, not surfeited to death, 
 Stand in bold cure. 
 
 \_Within.\ A sail, a sail, a sail ! 
 
 Enter a fourth Gentleman. 
 Cas. What noise ? [the sea 
 
 4 Gent. The town is empty; on the brow o* 
 Stand ranks of people, and they cry, A sail! 
 
 Cas. My hopes do shape him for the governor. 
 
 [Guns within. 
 
 2 Gent. They do discharge their shot of 
 
 courtesy : 
 Our friends at least. 
 
 Cas. I pray you, sir, go forth, 
 
 And give us truth who 'tis that is arriv'd. 
 2 Gent. I shall. [Exit. 
 
 Mon. But, good lieutenant, is your general 
 wiv'd? [maid 
 
 Cas. Most fortunately: he hath achiev'd a 
 That paragons description and wild fame ; 
 One that excels the quirks of blazoning pens, 
 And in the essential vesture of creation 
 Does tire the ingener. 
 
 Re-enter second Gentleman. 
 
 How now ! who has put in ? 
 2 Gent. 'Tis one lago, ancient to the general 
 
n8o 
 
 OTHBLLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 Cos. Has had most favourable and happy 
 speed : [winds, 
 
 Tempests themselves, high seas, and howling 
 The gutter'd rocks, and congregated sands, 
 Traitors ensteep'd to clog the guiltless keel, 
 As having sense of beauty, do omit 
 Their mortal natures, letting go safely by 
 The divine Desdemona. 
 
 Man. What is she? 
 
 Cas. She that I spake of, our great captain's 
 
 captain, 
 
 Left in the conduct of the bold lago ; 
 Whose footing here anticipates our thoughts 
 A se'nnight's speed. Great Jove, Othello 
 guard, [breath, 
 
 And swell his sail with thine own powerful 
 That he may bless this bay with his tall ship, 
 Make love's quick pants in Desdemona's arms, 
 Give renew'd fire to our extincted spirits, 
 And bring all Cyprus comfort ! O, behold, 
 
 Enter DESDEMONA, EMILIA, IAGO, RODE- 
 RIGO, and Attendants. 
 
 The riches of the ship is come on shore ! 
 Ye men of Cyprus, let her have your knees. 
 Hail to thee, lady ! and the grace of heaven, 
 Before, behind thee, and on every hand, 
 Enwheel thee round ! 
 
 Des. I thank you, valiant Cassio. 
 
 What tidings can you tell me of my lord ? 
 
 Cas. He is not yet arriv'd : nor know I aught 
 But that he 's well, and will be shortly here. 
 
 Des. O, but I fear How lost you company? 
 
 Cas. The great contention of the sea and skies 
 Parted our fellowsnip : but, hark ! a sail. 
 
 [Within.'] A sail, a sail ! [Guns within. 
 
 2 Gent. They give their greeting to the cita- 
 del : 
 This likewise is a friend. 
 
 Cas. See for the news. 
 
 [Exit Gentlemen. 
 
 Good ancient, you are welcome : welcome, 
 mistress : [ 73? EMILIA. 
 
 Let it not gall your patience, good lago, 
 That I extend my manners ; 'tis my breeding 
 That gives me this bold show of courtesy. 
 
 [Kissing her. 
 
 lago. Sir, would she give you so much of her 
 
 lips 
 
 As of her tongue she oft bestows on me, 
 You 'd have enough. 
 
 Des. Alas, she has no speech. 
 
 lago. In faith, too much ; 
 I find it still when I have list to sleep : 
 Marry, before your ladyship, I grant, 
 She puts her tongue a little in her heart, 
 And chides with thinking. 
 
 Emil. You have little cause to say so. 
 
 lagc. Come on, come on ; you are pictures 
 out of doors, [kitchens, 
 
 Bells in your parlours, wild cats in your 
 Saints in your injuries, devils being offended, 
 Players in your housewifery, and housewives in 
 your beds. 
 
 Des. O, fie upon thee, slanderer ! 
 
 lago. Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk : 
 You rise to play, and go to bed to work. 
 
 Emil. You shall not write my praise. 
 
 lago. No, let me not. 
 
 Des. What wouldst thou write of me if thou 
 shouldst praise me ? 
 
 lago. O gentle lady, do not put me to 't ; 
 For I am nothing if not critical. [harbour ? 
 
 Des. Come on, assay There 's one gone to the 
 
 lago. Ay, madam. 
 
 Des. I am not merry ; but I do beguile 
 The thing I am, by seeming otherwise. 
 Come, how wouldst thou praise me ? [tion 
 
 lago. I am about it ; but, indeed, my inven- 
 Comes from my pate as birdlime does from 
 frize, [labours, 
 
 It plucks out brains and all : but my muse 
 And thus she is deliver'd. 
 If she be fair and wise, fairness and wit, 
 The one 's for use, the other useth it. [witty ? 
 
 Des. Well prais'd ! How if she be black and 
 
 lago. If she be black, and thereto have a wit, 
 She '11 find a white that shall her blackness fit. 
 
 Des. Worse and worse. 
 
 Emil. How if fair and foolish ? 
 
 lago. She never yet was foolish that was fair ; 
 For even her folly help'd her to an heir. 
 
 Des. These are old fond paradoxes to make 
 fools laugh i' the alehouse. What miserable 
 praise hast thou for her that 's foul and foolish? 
 
 lago. There 's none so foul, and foolish there- 
 unto, 
 
 But does foul pranks which fair and wise ones 
 do. 
 
 Des. O heavy ignorance ! thou praisest the 
 worst best. But what praise couldst thou be- 
 stow on a deserving woman indeed, one that, 
 in the authority of her merit, did justly put on 
 the vouch of very malice itself? 
 
 lago. She that was ever fair, and never proud; 
 Had tongue at will, and yet was never loud ; 
 Never lack'd gold, and yet went never gay ; 
 Fled from her wish, and yet said, Now / may; 
 She that, being anger'd, her revenge being nigh, 
 Bade her wrong stay and her displeasure fly ; 
 She that in wisdom never was so frail 
 To change the cod's head for the salmon's tail ; 
 She that could think, and ne'er disclose her 
 mind ; 
 
SCENE I.j 
 
 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 1181 
 
 Bee suitors following, and not look behind ; 
 She was a wight, if ever such wight were, 
 
 Des. To do what? [beer. 
 
 lago. To suckle fools and chronicle small 
 
 Des. O most lame and impotent conclusion ! 
 Do not learn of him, Emilia, though he be 
 thy husband. How say you, Cassio? is he not 
 a most profane and liberal counsellor ? 
 
 Cas. He speaks home, madam : you may 
 relish him more in the soldier than in the 
 scholar. 
 
 lago. [Asz'de.] He takes her by the palm : 
 ay, well said, whisper : with as little a web as 
 this will I ensnare as great a fly as Cassio. 
 Ay, smile upon her, do ; I will gyve thee in 
 thine own courtship. You say true ; 'tis so, 
 indeed : if such tricks as these strip you out of 
 your lieutenantry, it had been better you had 
 not kissed your three fingers so oft, which now 
 again you are most apt to play the sir in. 
 Very good; well kissed! an excellent courtesy! 
 'tis so, indeed. Yet again your fingers to your 
 lips? would they were clyster-pipes for your 
 sake ! [Trumpet within.'} The Moor ! I know 
 his trumpet. 
 
 Cas. 'Tis truly so. 
 
 Des. Let's meet him, and receive him. 
 
 Cas. Lo, where he comes ! 
 
 Enter OTHELLO and Attendants. 
 
 Oth. O my fair warrior ! 
 
 Des. My dear Othello ! 
 
 Oth. It gives me wonder great as my content 
 To see you here before me. O my soul's joy ! 
 If after every tempest come such calms, 
 May the winds blow till they have waken'd 
 
 death ! 
 
 And let the labouring bark climb hills of seas 
 Olympus-high, and duck again as low 
 As hell 's from heaven ! If it were now to die, 
 'Twere now to be most happy ; for, I fear, 
 My soul hath her content so absolute 
 That not another comfort like to this 
 Succeeds in unknown fate. 
 
 Des. The heavens forbid 
 
 But that our loves and comforts should increase 
 Even as our days do grow ! 
 
 Oth. Amen to that, sweet powers ! 
 
 I cannot speak enough of this content ; 
 It stops me here ; it is too much of joy : 
 And this, and this, the greatest discords be 
 
 \_Kissing her. 
 That e'er our hearts shall make ! 
 
 lugo. [Aside.] O, you are well tun'd now ! 
 But I '11 set down the pegs that make this music, 
 As honest as I am. 
 
 OfL Come, let us to the castle. 
 
 News, friends ; out wars are done, the Turks 
 
 are drown'd. 
 
 How does my old acquaintance of this isle ? 
 Honey, you shall be well desir'd in Cyprus ; 
 I have found great love amongst them. O my 
 
 sweet, 
 
 I prattle out of fashion, and I dote 
 In mine own comforts. I pr'ythee, good lago, 
 Go to the bay, and disembark my coffers : 
 Bring thou the master to the citadel ; 
 He is a good one, and his worthiness [mona, 
 Does challenge much respect. Come, Desde- 
 Once more well met at Cyprus. 
 
 [Exeunt OTH., DES., and Attend. 
 
 lago. Do thou meet me presently at the har- 
 bour. Come hither. If thou be'st valiant, 
 as, they say, base men being in love have then 
 a nobility in their natures more than is native 
 to them, list me. The lieutenant to-night 
 watches on the court of guard : first, I must 
 tell thee this Desdemona is directly in love 
 with him. 
 
 Rod. With him ! why, 'tis not possible. 
 
 lago. Lay thy finger thus, and let thy soul be 
 instructed. Mark me with what violence she 
 first loved the Moor, but for bragging, and 
 telling her fantastical lies : and will she love 
 him still for prating ? let not thy discreet heart 
 think it. Her eye must be fed ; and what de- 
 light shall she have to look on the devil ? When 
 the blood is made dull with the act of sport, 
 there should be, -again to inflame it, and to 
 give satiety a fresh appetite, loveliness in 
 favour ; sympathy in years, manners, and beau- 
 ties ; all which the Moor is defective in : now, 
 for want of these required conveniences, her 
 delicate tenderness will find itself abused, begin 
 to heave the gorge, disrelish and abhor the 
 Moor ; very nature will instruct her in it, and 
 compel her to some second choice. Now, sir, 
 this granted, as it is a most pregnant and un- 
 forced position, who stands so eminently in 
 the degree of this fortune as Cassio does? a 
 knave very voluble ; no further conscionable 
 than in putting on the mere form of civil and 
 humane seeming, for the better compassing of 
 his salt and most hidden loose affection ? why, 
 none ; why, none : a slippery and subtle knave ; 
 a finder of occasions ; that has an eye can stamp 
 and counterfeit advantages, though true advan- 
 tage never present itself: a devilish knave J 
 besides, the knave is handsome, young, and 
 hath all those requisites in him that folly and 
 green minds look after: a pestilent complete 
 knave ; and the woman hath found him already. 
 
 Rod. I cannot believe that in her j she is full 
 of most blessed condition. 
 
1 1 82 
 
 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 [ACT 
 
 logo. Blessed fig's end ! the wine she drinks 
 is made of grapes : if she had been blessed, she 
 would never have loved the Moor : blessed 
 pudding ! Didst thou not see her paddle with 
 the palm of his hand ? didst not mark that ? 
 
 Rod. Yes, that I did ; but that was but 
 courtesy. 
 
 lago. Lechery, by this hand ; an index and 
 obscure prologue to the history of lust and 
 foul thoughts. They met so near with their 
 lips that their breaths embraced together. 
 Villanous thoughts, Roderigo ! when these 
 mutualities so marshal the way, hard at hand 
 comes the master and main exercise, the incor- 
 porate conclusion : pish ! But, sir, be you 
 ruled by me : I have brought you from Venice. 
 Watch you to-night ; for the command, I '11 
 lay 't upon you : Cassio knows you not : I '11 
 not be far from you : do you find some occasion 
 to anger Cassio, either by speaking too loud, 
 or tainting his discipline, or from what other 
 course you please, which the time shall more 
 favourably minister. 
 
 Rod. Well. 
 
 lago. Sir, he is rash, and very sudden in 
 choler, and haply with his truncheon may strike 
 at you : provoke him that he may ; for even 
 out of that will I cause these of Cyprus to 
 mutiny, whose qualification shall come into no 
 true taste again but by the displanting of Cassio. 
 So shall you have a shorter journey to your de- 
 sires by the means I shall th .n have to prefer 
 them ; and the impediment most profitably 
 removed, without the which there were no 
 expectation of our prosperity. 
 
 Rod. I will do this, if 1 can bring it to any 
 opportunity. 
 
 lago. I warrant thee. Meet me by and by 
 at the citadel : I must fetch his necessaries 
 ashore. Farewell. 
 
 Rod. Adieu. [Exit. 
 
 lago. That Cassio loves her, I do well be- 
 lieve it ; 
 
 That she loves him, 'tis apt, and of great credit: 
 The Moor, howbeit that I endure him not, 
 Is of a constant, loving, noble nature ; 
 And, I dare think, he '11 prove to Desdemona 
 A most dear husband. Now, I do love her too; 
 Not out of absolute lust, though, peradventure, 
 I stand accountant for as great a sin, 
 But partly led to diet my revenge, 
 For that I do suspect the lusty Moor 
 Hath leap'd into my seat : the thought whereof 
 Doth, like a poisonous mineral, gnaw my in- 
 wards ; 
 
 And nothing can or shall content my soul 
 Till I am even'd with him, wife for wife ; 
 
 Or, failing so, yet that I put the Moor 
 
 At least into a jealousy so strong 
 
 That judgment cannot cure. Which thing to 
 
 If this poor trash of Venice, whom I trash 
 For his quick hunting, stand the putting on, 
 I '11 have our Michael Cassio on the hip ; 
 Abuse him to the Moor in the rank garb, 
 For I fear Cassio with my night-cap too ; 
 Make the Moor thank me, love me, and re- 
 ward me 
 
 For making him egregiously an ass, 
 And practising upon his peace and quiet 
 Even to madness. 'Tis here, but yet confus'd : 
 Knavery's plain face is never seen till us'd. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. A Street. 
 
 Enter a Herald with a proclamation ; People 
 following. 
 
 Her. It is Othello's pleasure, our noble and 
 valiant general, that, upon certain tidings now 
 arrived, importing the mere perdition of the 
 Turkish fleet, every man put himself into 
 triumph ; some to dance, some to make bon- 
 fires, each man to what sport and revels his 
 addiction leads him : for, besides these bene- 
 ficial news, it is the celebration of his nuptial : 
 so much was his pleasure should be proclaimed. 
 All offices are open ; and there is full liberty 
 of feasting from this present hour of five till 
 the bell have told eleven. Heaven bless the 
 isle of Cyprus and our noble general Othello ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. A Hall in the Castle. 
 
 Enter OTHELLO, DESDEMONA, CASSIO, and 
 Attendants. 
 
 Oth. Good Michael, look you to the guard 
 
 to-night : 
 
 Let 's teach ourselves that honourable stop, 
 Not to out-sport discretion. 
 
 Cos. lago hath direction what to do ; 
 But, notwithstanding, with my personal eye 
 Will I look to 't. 
 
 Oth. lago is most honest. 
 Michael, good -night: to-morrow with your 
 
 earliest 
 
 Let me have speech with you. Come, my dear 
 love, [To DESDEMONA. 
 
 The purchase made, the fruits are to ensue ; 
 That profit 's yet to come 'tween me and you. 
 Good-night. 
 
 [Exeunt OTH., DBS., and Attend. 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 1183 
 
 Enter IAGO. 
 
 Cas. Welcome, lago ; we must to the watch. 
 
 lago. Not this hour, lieutenant ; 'tis not yet 
 ten o' the clock. Our general cast us thus 
 early for the love of his Desdemona ; who let 
 us not therefore blame : he hath not yet made 
 wanton the night with her ; and she is sport 
 for Jove. 
 
 Cas. She 's a most exquisite lady. 
 
 lago. And, I Ml warrant her, full of game. 
 
 Cas. Indeed, she is a most fresh and delicate 
 creature. 
 
 lago. What an eye she has ! methinks it 
 sounds a parley to provocation. [modest. 
 
 Cas. An inviting eye ; and yet methinks right 
 
 lago. And when she speaks, is it not an 
 alarm to love? 
 
 Cas. She is, indeed, perfection. 
 
 lago. Weil, happiness to their sheets ! 
 Come, lieutenant, I have a stoup of wine ; and 
 here without are a brace of Cyprus gallants 
 that would fain have a measure to the health 
 of black Othello. 
 
 Cas. Not to-night, good lago : I have very 
 poor and unhappy brains for drinking : I could 
 well wish courtesy would invent some other 
 custom of entertainment. 
 
 lago. O, they are our friends ; but one cup : 
 I '11 drink for you. 
 
 Cas. I have drunk but one cup to-night, and 
 that was craftily qualified too, and, behold, 
 what innovation it makes here : I am unfortu- 
 nate in the infirmity, and dare not task my 
 weakness with any more. 
 
 logo. What, man ! 'tis a night of revels : the 
 gallants desire it. 
 
 Cas. Where are they ? [them in. 
 
 lago. Here at the door ; I pray you, call 
 
 Cas. I '11 do 't ; but it dislikes me. [Exit. 
 
 lago. If I can fasten but one cup upon him, 
 With that which he hath drunk to-night 
 
 already, 
 
 He '11 be as full of quarrel and offence 
 As my young mistress' dog. Now, my sick 
 fool Roderigo, [out, 
 
 Whom love hath turn'd almost the wrong side 
 To Desdemona hath to-night carous'd 
 Potations pottle deep ; and he 's to watch : 
 Three lads of Cyprus, noble swelling spirits, 
 That hold their honours in a wary distance, 
 The very elements of this warlike isle. 
 Have I to-night fluster'd with flowing cups, 
 And they watch too. Now, 'mongst this flock 
 
 of drunkards, 
 
 Am I to put our Cassio in some action 
 That may offend the isle : but here they come : 
 
 If consequence do but approve my dream, 
 My boat sails freely, both with wind and stream. 
 
 Re-enter CASSIO, with him MONTANO and 
 Gentlemen, followed by Servant with wine. 
 
 Cas. 'Fore heaven, they have given me a 
 rouse already. 
 
 Mon. Good faith, a little one; not past a 
 pint, as I am a soldier. 
 
 lago. Some wine, ho ! 
 
 \Singt, 
 
 And let me the canakin clink, clink ; 
 And let me the canakin clink : 
 
 A soldier 's a man ; 
 
 O, man's life 's but a span ; 
 Why, then, let a soldier drink. 
 
 Some wine, boys. 
 
 Cas. 'Fore heaven, an excellent song. 
 
 lago. I learned it in England, where, indeed, 
 they are most potent in potting : your Dane, 
 your German, and your swag-bellied Hollander, 
 Drink, ho ! are nothing to your English. 
 
 Cas. Is your Englishman so expert in his 
 drinking ? 
 
 lago. Why, he drinks you, with iacility, 
 your Dane dead drunk ; he sweats not to over- 
 throw your Almain ; he gives your Hollander 
 a vomit ere the next pottle can be filled. 
 
 Cas. To the health of our general ! 
 
 Mon. I am for it, lieutenant ; and I '11 do 
 you justice. 
 
 lago. O sweet England ! 
 
 King Stephen was and a worthy peer, \Sings. 
 
 His breeches cost him but a crown ; 
 He held them sixpence all too dear, 
 
 With that he call'd the tailor lown. 
 He was a wight of high renown, 
 
 And thou art but of low degree : 
 'TLs pride that pul.s the country down ; 
 
 Then take thine auld cloak about thee. 
 
 Some wine, ho ! 
 
 Cas. Why, this is a more exquisite song 
 than the other. 
 
 lago. Will you hear it again ? 
 
 Cas. No ; for I hold him to be unworthy of 
 his place that does those things. Well, 
 heaven 's above all ; and there be souls must 
 be saved, and there be souls must not be saved. 
 
 lago. It 's true, good lieutenant. 
 
 Cas. For mine own part, no offence to the 
 general, nor any man oi quality, I hope to be 
 saved. 
 
 lago. And so do I too, lieutenant 
 
 Cas. Ay, but, by your leave, not before me ; 
 the lieutenant is to be saved before the ancient. 
 Let 's have no more of this ; let 's to our affairs. 
 Forgive us our sins ! Gentlemen, let 's look 
 to our business. Do not think, gentlemen, I 
 am drunk: this is my ancient; this is my 
 
1 184 
 
 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE, 
 
 [ACT ii. 
 
 right hand, and this is my left hand : I am 
 not drunk now ; I can stand well enough, and 
 speak well enough. 
 
 All, Excellent well. 
 
 Cas. Why, very well, then : you must not 
 think, then, that I am drunk. [Exit. 
 
 Man. To the platform, masters ; come, let 's 
 set the watch. [before ; 
 
 lago. You see this fellow that is gone 
 He is a soldier fit to stand by Caesar 
 And give direction : and do but see his vice ; 
 'Tis to his virtue a just equinox, 
 The one as long as the other : 'tis pity of him. 
 I fear the trust Othello puts him in, 
 On some odd time of his infirmity, 
 Will shake this island. 
 
 Mon. But is he often thus ? 
 
 lago. 'Tis evermore the prologue to his sleep : 
 He '11 watch the horologe a double set 
 If drink rock not his cradle. 
 
 Mon. It were well 
 
 The general were put in mind of it. 
 Perhaps he sees it not ; or his good nature 
 Prizes the virtue that appears in Cassio, 
 And looks not on his evils : is not this true? 
 
 Enter RODERIGO. 
 
 lago. How, now, Roderigo ! [Aside to him. 
 I pray you, after the lieutenant ; go. 
 
 [Exit ROD. 
 
 Mon. And 'tis great pity that the noble Moor 
 Should hazard such a place as his own second 
 With one of an ingraft infirmity : 
 It were an honest action to say 
 So to the Moor. 
 
 lago. Not I, for this fair island ; 
 
 I do love Cassio well ; and would do much 
 To cure him of this evil. But, hark! what 
 noise? [Cry within, "Help! help!" 
 
 Re-enter CASSIO, driving in RODERIGO. 
 
 Cas. You rogue ! you rascal ! 
 
 Mon. What 's the matter, lieutenant ? 
 
 Cas. A knave teach me my duty ! 
 I '11 beat the knave into a twiggen bottle. 
 
 Rod. Beat me ! 
 
 Cas. Dost thou prate, rogue ? 
 
 [Striking RODERIGO. 
 
 Mon. Nay, good lieutenant ; 
 
 [Staying him. 
 I pray you, sir, hold your hand. 
 
 Cas. Let me go, sir, 
 
 Or I '11 knock you o'er the mazard. 
 
 Mon. Come, come, you 're drunk. 
 
 Cas. Drunk! [They fight. 
 
 lago. Away, I say ! go out, and cry a mutiny ! 
 \Aszde to ROD., who goes out. 
 
 Nay, good lieutenant, alas, gentlemen ; 
 Help, ho ! Lieutenant, sir, Montano, 
 
 sir: 
 
 Help, masters ! Here 's a goodly watch indeed ! 
 
 [Bell rings. 
 
 Who 's that which rings the bell? Diablo, ho ! 
 The town will rise : God's will, lieutenant, hold 
 You will be sham'd for ever. 
 
 Re-enter OTHELLO and Attendants. 
 
 Oth. What is the matter here ? 
 
 Mon. Zounds, I bleed still ; I am hurt to 
 
 the death. 
 
 Oth. Hold, for your lives ! [ gentlemen, 
 lago. Hold, ho ! lieutenant, sir, Montano, 
 Have you forgot all sense of place and duty ? 
 Hold! the general speaks to you; hold, for 
 shame ! [this ? 
 
 Oth. Why, how now, ho ! from whence ariseth 
 Are we turn'd Turks, and to ourselves do that 
 Which Heaven hath forbid the Ottomites? 
 For Christian shame, put by this barbarous 
 
 brawl : 
 
 He that stirs next to carve for his own rage 
 Holds his soul light ; he dies upon his motion. 
 Silence that dreadful bell ! it frights the isle 
 From her propriety. What is the matter, 
 
 masters ? 
 
 Honest lago, that look'st dead with grieving, 
 Speak, who began this ? on thy love, I charge 
 thee. [even now, 
 
 lago. I do not know : friends all but now, 
 In quarter, and in terms like bride and groom 
 Divesting them for bed ; and then, but now, 
 As if some planet had unwitteil rren, 
 Swords out, and tilting one at other's breast 
 In opposition bloody. I cannot speak 
 Any beginning to this peevish odds ; 
 And would in action glorious I had lost 
 Those legs that brought me to a part of it ! 
 Oth. How comes it, Michael, you are thus 
 
 forgot? 
 
 Cas. I pray you, pardon me ; I cannot speak. 
 Oth. Worthy Montano, you were wont to be 
 
 civil ; 
 
 The gravity and stillness of your youth 
 The world hath noted, and your name is great 
 In mouths of wisest censure : what 's the matter, 
 That you unlace your reputation thus, 
 And spend your rich opinion for the name 
 Of a night-brawler ? give me answer to it. 
 
 Mon. Worthy Othello, I am hurt to danger: 
 Your officer, lago, can inform you, 
 While I spare speech, which something now 
 
 offends me, 
 
 Of all that I do know : nor know I aught 
 By me that 's said or done amiss this night s 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 1185 
 
 Unless self-charky be sometimes a vice, 
 And to defend ourselves it be a sin 
 When violence assails us. 
 
 Oth. Now, by heaven, 
 
 My blood begins my safer guides to rule ; 
 And passion, having my best judgment collied, 
 Assays to lead the way. If I once stir, 
 Or do but lift this arm, the best of you 
 Shall sink in my rebuke. Give me to know 
 How this foul rout began, who set it on ; 
 And he that is approv'd in this offence, 
 Though he had twinn'd with me, both at a birth, 
 Shall lose me. What ! in a town of war 
 Yet wild, the people's hearts brimful of iear, 
 To manage private and domestic quarrel, 
 In night, and on the court and guard of safety ! 
 'Tis monstrous. lago, who began 't? 
 
 Man. If partially affin'd, or leagu'd in office, 
 Thou dost deliver more or less than truth, 
 Thou art no soldier. 
 
 lago. Touch me not so near : 
 
 I had rather have this tongue cut from my 
 
 mouth 
 
 Than it should do offence to Michael Cassio ; 
 iTet, I persuade myself, to speak the truth 
 Shall nothing wrong him. Thus it is, general. 
 Montano and myself being in speech, 
 There comes a fellow crying out for help ; 
 And Cassio followinghim with determin'd sword, 
 To execute upon him. Sir, this gentleman 
 Steps in to Cassio, and entreats his pause: 
 Myself the crying fellow did pursue, 
 Lest by his clamour, as it so fell out, 
 The town might tall in fright : he, swift of foot, 
 Outran my purpose ; and I return'd the rather 
 For that I heard the clink and fall of swords, 
 And Cassio high in oath ; which till-to-night 
 I ne'er might say before. When I came back, 
 For this was brief, I found them close together 
 At blow and thrust ; even as again they were 
 When you yourself did part them. 
 More of this matter cannot I report; 
 But men are men ; the best sometimes forget : 
 Though Cassio did some little wrong to him, 
 As men in rage strike those that wish them 
 
 best, 
 
 Yet surely Cassio, I believe, receiv'd 
 From him that fled some strange indignity 
 Which patience could not pass. 
 
 Oth. I know, lago, 
 
 Thy honesty and love doth mince this matter, 
 Making it light to Cassio. Cassio, I love thee ; 
 But never more be officer of mine. 
 
 Re-enter DESDEMONA, attended. 
 
 Look, if my gentle love be not rais'd up ! 
 I '11 make thee an example. 
 
 Des. What 's the mailer ? 
 
 Oth. All 's well now, sweeiing ; come away 
 
 to bed. 
 
 Sir, for your hurts, myself will be your surgeon: 
 Lead him off. [To MONTANO, who is ted off. 
 lago, look with care about the town, 
 And silence those whom this vile brawl dis- 
 tracted. 
 
 Come, Desdemona : 'tis the soldier's life 
 To have their balmy slumbers wak'd with strife. 
 [Exeunt all bttt IAGO and CASSIO. 
 
 lago. What, are ycu hurt, lieutenant? 
 
 Cas. Ay, past all surgery. 
 
 lago. Marry, heaven forbid ! 
 
 Cas. Reputation, reputation, reputation ! O, 
 I have lost my reputation ! I have lost the 
 immortal part of myself, and what remains is 
 bestial. My reputation, lago, my reputation! 
 
 lago. As I am an honest man, I thought you 
 had received some bodily wound ; there is more 
 sense in that than in reputation. Reputation 
 is an idle and most false imposition ; oft got 
 without merit, and lost without deserving : you 
 have lost no reputation at all, unless you repute 
 yourself such a loser. What, man ! there are 
 ways to recover the general again : you are but 
 now cast in his mood, a punishment more in 
 policy than in malice ; even so as one would 
 beat his offenceless dog to affright an imperious 
 lion : sue to him again, and he is yours. 
 
 Cas. I will rather sue to be despised than to 
 deceive so good a commander with so slight, so 
 drunken, and so indiscreet an officer. Drunk? 
 and speak parrot? and squabble? swagger? 
 swear? and discourse fustian with one's own 
 shadow? O thou invisible spirit of wine, if 
 thou hast no name to be known by, let us call 
 thee devil ! 
 
 lago. What was he that you followed with 
 your sword ? What had he done to you ? 
 
 Cas. I know not. 
 
 lago. Is 't possible ? 
 
 Cas. I remember a mass of things, but no- 
 thing distinctly ; a quarrel, but nothing where- 
 fore. O God, that men should put an enemy 
 in their mouths to steal away their brains ! that 
 we should, with joy, pleasance, revel, and 
 applause, transform ourselves into beasts ! 
 
 lago. Why, but you are now well enough : 
 how come you thus recovered ? 
 
 Cas. It hath pleased the devil drunkenness to 
 give place to the devil wrath: one unperfectness 
 shows me another, to make me frankly despise 
 myself. 
 
 lago. Come, you are too severe a moraler : 
 as the time, the place, and the condition of 
 this country stands, I could heartily wish this 
 
 2 P 
 
OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 bad not befallen ; but, since it is as it is, mend 
 it for your own good. 
 
 Cas. I will ask him for my place again, he 
 shall tell me I am a drunkard ! Had I as many 
 mouths as Hydra, such an answer would step 
 them all. To be now a sensible man, by and 
 by a fool, and presently a beast ! O strange ! 
 Every inordinate cup is unbless'd, and the 
 ingredient is a devil. 
 
 lago. Come, come, good wine is a good 
 familiar creature if it be well used : exclaim no 
 more against it. And, good lieutenant, I think 
 you think I love you. 
 
 Cas. I have well approved it, sir. I drunk ! 
 
 lago. You, or any man living, may be drunk 
 at a time, man. I '11 tell you what you shall 
 do. Our general's wife is now the general ; I 
 may say so in this respect, for that he hath 
 devoted and given up himself to the contempla- 
 tion, mark, and denotement of her parts and 
 graces : confess yourself freely to her ; im- 
 portune her help to put you in your place 
 again: she is of so free, so kind, so apt, so 
 blessed a disposition, she holds it a vice in her 
 goodness not to do more than she is requested : 
 this broken joint between you and her husband 
 entreat her to splinter ; and, my fortunes against 
 any lay worth naming, this crack of your love 
 shall grow stronger than it was before. 
 
 Cas. You advise me well. 
 
 lago. I protest, in the sincerity of love and 
 honest kindness. 
 
 Cas. I think it freely; and betimes in the 
 morning I will beseech the virtuous Desdemona 
 to undertake for me: I am desperate of my 
 fortunes if they check me here. 
 
 lago. You are in the right. Good-night, 
 lieutenant ; I must to the watch. 
 
 Cas. Good -night, honest lago. [Exit. 
 
 lago. And what's he, then, that says I play 
 
 the villain ? 
 
 When this advice is free I give and honest, 
 Probal to thinking, and, indeed, the course 
 To win the Moor again ? For 'tis most easy 
 The inclining Desdemona to subdue 
 In any honest suit : she 's fram'd as fruitful 
 As the free elements. And then for her 
 To win the Moor, were't to renounce his 
 
 baptism, 
 
 All seals and symbols of redeemed sin, 
 His soul is so enfetter'd to her love 
 That she may make, unmake, do what she list, 
 Even as her appetite shall play the god 
 With his weak function. How am I, then, a 
 
 villain 
 
 To counsel Cassio to this parallel course, 
 Directly to his good ? Divinity of hell 1 
 
 When devils will their blackest sins put on, 
 They do suggest at first with heavenly shows, 
 As I do now : for whiles this honest fool 
 Plies Desdemona to repair his fortunes, 
 And she for him pleads strongly to the Moor, 
 I '11 pour this pestilence into his ear, 
 That she repeals him for her body's lust ; 
 And by how much she strives to do him good 
 She shall undo her credit with the Moor. 
 So will I turn her virtue into pitch ; 
 And out of her own goodness make the net 
 That shall enmesh them all. 
 
 Enter RODERIGO. 
 
 How now, Roderigo ! 
 
 Rod. I do follow here in the chase, not like 
 a hound that hunts, but one that fills up the 
 cry. My money is almost spent ; I have been 
 to-night exceedingly well cudgelled ; and I 
 think the issue will be I shall have so much 
 experience for my pains : and so, with no 
 money at all, and a little more wit, return 
 again to Venice. [patience! 
 
 lago. How poor are they that have not 
 What wound did ever heal but by degrees ? 
 Thou know'st we work by wit, and not by 
 
 witchcraft ; 
 
 And wit depends on dilatory time. 
 Does 't not go well ? Cassio hath beaten thee, 
 And thou, by that small hurt, hast cashier'd 
 
 Cassio ; 
 
 Though other things grow fair against the sun, 
 Yet fruits that blossom first will first be ripe: 
 Content thyself awhile. By the mass, 'tis 
 
 morning ; 
 Pleasure and action make the hours seem 
 
 short. 
 
 Retire thee ; go where thou art billeted : 
 Away, I say; thou shalt know more hereafter: 
 Nay, get thee gone. [Exit ROD.] Two things 
 
 are to be done, 
 
 My wife must move for Cassio to her mistress ; 
 I '11 set her on ; 
 
 Myself the while to draw the Moor apart, 
 And bring him jump when he may Cassio find 
 Soliciting his wife. Ay, that's the way; 
 Dull not device by coldness and delay. [Exit 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. CYPRUS. Before the Castle. 
 Enter CASSIO and some Musicians. 
 
 Cas. Masters, play here, I will content 
 
 your pains, 
 
 Something that 's brief; and bid good-morrow, 
 general, 
 
SCENE T.] 
 
 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 1187 
 
 Enter Clown. 
 
 Clo. Why, masters, have your instruments 
 been in Naples, that they speak i' the nose 
 thus? 
 
 I Mus. How, sir, how! 
 
 Clo. Are these, I pray you, wind instruments? 
 
 i Mus. Ay, marry, are they, sir. 
 
 Clo. O, thereby hangs a tale. 
 
 I Mus. Whereby hangs a tale, sir ? 
 
 Clo. Marry, sir, by many a wind instrument 
 that I know. But, masters, here 's money for 
 you : and the general so likes your music that 
 he desires you, for love's sake, to make no 
 more noise with it. 
 
 i Mus. Well, sir, we will not. 
 
 Clo. If you have any music that may not be 
 heard, to't again: but, as they say, to hear 
 music the general does not greatly care. 
 
 I Mus. We have none such, sir. 
 
 Clo. Then put up your pipes in your bag, for 
 I '11 away : go ; vanish into air ; away. 
 
 [Exeunt Musicians. 
 
 Cas. Dost thou hear, mine honest friend? 
 
 Clo. No, I hear not your honest friend ; I 
 hear you. 
 
 Cas. Pr'ythee, keep up thy quillets. There 's 
 a poor piece of gold for thee: if the gentle- 
 woman that attends the general's wife be 
 stirring, tell her there 's one Cassio entreats 
 her a little favour of speech : wilt thou do this? 
 
 Clo. She is stirring, sir; if she will stir 
 hither I shall seem to notify unto her. 
 
 Cas. Do, good my friend. [Exit Clown. 
 
 Enter lAGO. 
 
 In happy time, lago. 
 
 lago. You have not been a-bed, then ? 
 
 Cas. Why, no ; the day had broke 
 Before we parted. I have made bold, lago, 
 To send in to your wife : my suit to her 
 Is, that she will to virtuous Desdemona 
 Procure me some access. 
 
 lago. I '11 send her to you presently ; 
 
 And I '11 devise a mean to draw the Moor 
 Out of the way, that your converse and business 
 May be more free. 
 
 Cas. I humbly thank you for 't. [Exit I AGO. ] 
 
 I never knew 
 A Florentine more kind and honest. 
 
 Enter EMILIA. 
 
 Emil. Good-morrow, good lieutenant : I am 
 
 sorry 
 
 For your displeasure; but all will soon be well. 
 The general and his wife are talking of it ; 
 And she speaks for you stoutly : the Moor replies 
 
 That he you hurt is of great fame in Cyprus, 
 And great affinity, and that, in wholesome 
 wisdom, [he loves you, 
 
 He might not but refuse you ; but he protests 
 And needs no other suitor but his likings 
 To take the saf 'st occasion by the front 
 To bring you in again. 
 
 Cas. Yet, I beseech you, 
 
 If you think fit, or that it may be done, 
 Give me advantage of some brief discourse 
 With Desdemon alone. 
 
 Emil. Pray you, come in : 
 
 I will bestow you where you shall have time 
 To speak your bosom freely. 
 
 Cas. I am much bound to you. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. CYPRUS. A Room in the Castle. 
 Enter OTHELLO, IAGO, and Gentlemen. 
 
 Oth. These letters give, lago, to the pilot ; 
 And by him do my duties to the senate : 
 That done, I will be walking on the works ; 
 Repair there to me. 
 
 lago. Well, my good lord, I '11 do't. 
 
 Oth. This fortification, gentlemen, shall we 
 
 see 't ? 
 Gent. We '11 wait upon your lordship. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. CYPRUS. The Garden of the 
 Castle. 
 
 Enter DESDEMONA, CASSIO, and EMILIA. 
 
 Des. Be thou assur'd, good Cassio, I will do 
 All my abilities in thy behalf. [my husband 
 
 Emil. Good madam, do : I warrant it grieves 
 As if the case were his. [doubt, Cassio, 
 
 Des. O, that's an honest fellow. Do not 
 But I will have my lord and you again 
 As friendly as you were. 
 
 Cas. Bounteous madam, 
 
 Whatever shall become of Michael Cassio, 
 He 's never anything but your true servant. 
 
 Des. I know 't, I thank you. You do love 
 my lord : [assur'd 
 
 You have known him long ; and be you well 
 He shall in strangeness stand no further off 
 Than in a politic distance. 
 
 Cas. Ay, but, lady, 
 
 That policy may either last so long, 
 Or feed upon such nice and waterish diet, 
 Or breed itself so out of circumstance, 
 That, I being absent, and my place supplied, 
 My general will forget my love and service. 
 
 Des. Do not doubt that ; before Emilia here 
 I give thee warrant of thy place : assure thee, 
 
u88 
 
 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 If I do vow a friendship, I '11 perform it 
 
 To the last article : my lord shall never rest ; 
 
 I '11 watch him tame, and talk him out of 
 
 patience ; 
 
 His bed shall seem a school, his board a shrift ; 
 I '11 intermingle everything he does 
 With Cassio's suit : therefore be merry, Cassio; 
 For thy solicitor shall rather die 
 Than give thy cause away. 
 
 Emil. Madam, here comes 
 
 My lord. 
 
 Cos. Madam, I '11 take my leave. 
 
 Des. Why, stay, 
 
 And hear me speak, 
 
 Cos. Madam, not now : I am very ill at ease, 
 Unfit for mine own purposes. 
 
 Des. Well, do your discretion. 
 
 [Exit CASSIO. 
 
 Enter OTHELLO and IAGO. 
 
 lago. Ha ! I like not that. 
 
 Oth. What dost thou say ? [what. 
 
 lago. Nothing, my lord : or if I know not 
 
 Oth. Was not that Cassio parted from my 
 wife ? [think it, 
 
 lago. Cassio, my lord ! No, sure, I cannot 
 That he would steal away so guilty-like, 
 Seeing you coming. 
 
 Oth. I do believe 'twas he. 
 
 Des. How now, my lord ! 
 I have been talking with a suitor here, 
 A man that languishes in your displeasure. 
 
 Oth. Who is 't you mean ? [lord, 
 
 Des. Why, your lieutenant, Cassio. Good my 
 If I have any grace or power to move you, 
 His present reconciliation take ; 
 For if he be not one that truly loves you, 
 That errs in ignorance, and not in cunning, 
 I have no judgment in an honest face : 
 I pr'ythee, call him back. 
 
 Oth. Went he hence now ? 
 
 Des. Ay, sooth ; so humbled 
 That he hath left part of his grief with me, 
 To sufter with him. Good love, call him back. 
 
 Oth. Not now, sweet Desdemon ; some 
 other time. 
 
 Dei. But shall't be shortly ? 
 
 Oth. The sooner, sweet, for you. 
 
 Des. Shall 't be to-night at supper ? 
 
 Oth. No, not to-night. 
 
 Des. To-morrow dinner, then ? 
 
 Oth. I shall not dine at home ; 
 
 I meet the captains at the citadel. 
 
 Des. Why, then, to-morrow night ; or Tues- 
 day morn ; [morn : 
 On Tuesday noon, or night ; on Wednesday 
 I pr'ythee, name the time ; but let it not 
 
 Exceed three days : in faith, he's penitent ; 
 And yet his trespass, in our common reason, 
 Save that, they say, the wars must make ex^ 
 
 amples 
 
 Out of the best, is not almost a fault 
 To incur a private check. When shall he come? 
 Tell me, Othello : I wonder in my soul 
 What you would ask me that I should deny, 
 Or stand so mammering on. What ! Michael 
 Cassio, [time, 
 
 That came a-wooing with you ; and so many a 
 When I have spoke of you dispraisingly, 
 Hath ta'en your part ; to have so much to do 
 To bring him in ! Trust me, I could do 
 much, [he will ; 
 
 Oth. Pr'ythee, no more ; let him come when 
 I will deny thee nothing. 
 
 Des. Why, this is not a boon ; 
 
 'Tis as I should entreat you wear your gloves, 
 Or feed on nourishing dishes, or keep you warm, 
 Or sue to you to do a peculiar profit 
 To your own person : nay, when I have a suit 
 Wherein I mean to touch your love indeed, 
 It shall be full of poise and difficult weight, 
 And fearful to be granted. 
 
 Oth. I will deny thee nothing : 
 
 Whereon, I do beseech thee, grant me this, 
 To leave me but a little to myself. 
 
 Des. Shall I deny you ? no : farewell, my lord 
 
 Oth. Farewell, my Desdemona : I '11 come 
 to thee straight. [you ; 
 
 Des Emilia, come. Be as your fancies teach 
 Whate'er you be, I am obedient. 
 
 [Exit -with EMILIA. 
 
 Oth. Excellent wretch ! Perdition catch my 
 
 soul, 
 
 But I do love thee ! and when I love thee not 
 Chaos is come again. 
 
 lago. My noble lord, 
 
 Oth. What dost thou say, lago ? 
 
 lago. Did Michael Cassio, when you woo'd 
 
 my lady, 
 Know of your love ? [thou ask ? 
 
 Oth. He did, from first to last : why dost 
 
 lago. But for a satisfaction of my thought ; 
 No further harm. 
 
 Oth. Why of thy thought, lago ? 
 
 lago. I did not think he had been acquainted 
 with her. 
 
 Oth. O, yes ; and went between us very oft. 
 
 lago. Indeed ! 
 
 Oth. Indeed ! ay, indeed : discern'st thou 
 
 aught in that ? 
 Is he not honest ? 
 
 lago. Honest, my lord ! 
 
 Oth. Honest ! ay, honest. 
 
 lago. My lord, for aught I know. 
 
SCENE III.] 
 
 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 1189 
 
 Of A. What dost thou think ? 
 
 logo. Think, my lord ! 
 
 Oth. Think, my lord ! 
 
 By heaven, he echoes me, 
 As if there were some monster in his thought 
 Too hideous to be shown. Thou dost mean 
 something : [that, 
 
 I heard thee say even now, thou lik'dst not 
 When Cassio left my wife : what didst not like? 
 And when I told thee he was of my counsel 
 In my whole course of wooing, thou criedst, 
 Indeed! [gether, 
 
 And didst contract and purse thy brow to- 
 As if thou then hadst shut up in thy brain 
 Some horrible conceit : if thou dost love me, 
 Show me thy thought. 
 
 /ago. My lord, you know I love you. 
 
 Oth. I think thou dost ; 
 
 And, for I know thou'rt full of love and 
 
 honesty, [breath, 
 
 And weigh'st thy words before thou giv'st them 
 
 Therefore these stops of thine fright me the 
 
 more : 
 
 For such things in a false disloyal knave 
 Are tricks of custom ; but in a man that 's just 
 They 're close delations, working from the heart, 
 That passion cannot rule. 
 
 lago. For Michael Cassio, 
 
 I dare be sworn I think that he is honest. 
 
 Oth. I think so too. 
 
 lago. Men should be what they seem ; 
 
 Or those that be not, would they might seem 
 none ! 
 
 Oth. Certain, men should be what they seem. 
 
 lago. Why, then, 
 
 I think Cassio 's an honest man. 
 
 Oth. Nay, yet there 's more in this : 
 I pr'ythee, speak to me as to thy thinkings, 
 As thou dost ruminate ; and give thy worst ot 
 
 thoughts 
 The worst of words. 
 
 /ago. Good my lord, pardon me : 
 
 Though I am bound to every act of duty, 
 I am not bound to that all slaves are free to. 
 Utter my thoughts? Why, say they are vile 
 
 and false, 
 
 As where 's that palace whereunto foul things 
 Sometimes intrude not? who has a breast so pure 
 But some uncleanly apprehensions 
 Keep leets and law-days, and in session sit 
 With meditations lawful ? [lago, 
 
 Oth. Thou dost conspire against thy friend, 
 If thou but think'st him wrong'd, and mak'st 
 
 his ear 
 A stranger to thy thoughts. 
 
 lago. I do beseech you, 
 
 Though I perchance am vicious in my guess, 
 
 As, I confess, it is my nature's plague 
 To spy into abuses, and of my jealousy [yet, 
 Shape faults that are not, that your wisdom 
 From one that so imperfectly conceits, 
 Would take no notice ; nor build yourself a 
 
 trouble 
 
 Out of his scattering and unsure observance : 
 It were not for your quiet nor your good, 
 Nor for my manhood, honesty, or wisdom, 
 To let you know my thoughts. 
 
 Oth. What dost thou mean ? 
 
 lago. Good name in man and woman, dear 
 
 my lord, 
 
 Is the immediate jewel of their souls : 
 Who steals my purse steals trash ; 'tis some- 
 thing, nothing ; [thousands ; 
 ''Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to 
 But he that filches from me my good name 
 Robs me of that which not enriches him, 
 And .nakes me poor indeed. 
 
 Oth. By heaven, I '11 know thy thoughts. 
 
 lago. You cannot, if my heart were in your 
 
 hand; 
 Nor shall not, whilst 'tis in my custody. 
 
 Oth. Ha! 
 
 lago. O, beware, my lord, of jealousy ; 
 It is the green-ey'd monster which doth mock 
 The meat it feeds on : that cuckold lives hi bliss 
 Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger ; 
 But, O, what damned minutes tells he o'er 
 Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly 
 loves ! 
 
 Oth. O misery ! [enough ; 
 
 lago. Poor and content is rich, and rich 
 But riches fineless is as poor as winter 
 To him that ever fears he shall be poor : 
 Good heaven, the souls of all my tribe defend 
 From jealousy ! 
 
 Oth. Why, why is this ? 
 
 Think'st thou I'd make a life of jealousy, 
 To follow still the changes of the moon 
 With fresh suspicions? No; to be once in 
 
 doubt 
 
 Is once to be resolv'd : exchange me for a goat 
 When I shall turn the business of my soul 
 To auch exsufflicate and blown surmises, 
 Matching thy inference. 'Tis not to make me 
 
 jealous, 
 
 To say my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company, 
 Is free of speech, sings, plays, and dances well; 
 Where virtue is, these are more virtuous : 
 Nor from mine own weak merits will I draw 
 The smallest fear or doubt of her revolt ; 
 For she Lad eyes, and chose me. No, lago ; 
 I '11 see before I doubt ; when I doubt, prove ; 
 And, on the proof, there is no more but this, 
 Away at once with love or jealousy ! 
 
1190 
 
 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 [ACT in. 
 
 lago. I am glad of it ; for now I shall have 
 
 reason 
 
 To show the love and duty that I bear you 
 With franker spirit : therefore, as I am bound, 
 Receive it from me : I speak not yet of proof. 
 Look to your wife ; observe her well with 
 
 Cassio ; 
 
 Wear your eye thus, not jealous nor secure : 
 I would not have your free and noble nature, 
 Out of self-bounty, be abus'd ; look to 't : 
 I know our country disposition well ; 
 In Venice they do let heaven see the pranks 
 They dare not show their husbands ; their best 
 
 conscience 
 Is not to leave undone, but keep unknown. 
 
 Oth. Dost thou say so ? [you ; 
 
 lago. She did deceive her father, marrying 
 And when she seem'd to shake and fear your 
 
 looks, 
 She lov'd them most. 
 
 Oth. And so she did. 
 
 lago. Why, go to, then ; 
 
 She that, so young, could give out such a 
 
 seeming, 
 
 To seal her father's eyes up close as oak, 
 He thought 'twas witchcraft, But I am much j 
 
 to blame ; 
 
 I humbly do beseech you of your pardon 
 For too much loving you. 
 
 Oth. I am bound to thee for ever. 
 
 lago. I see this hath a little dash'd your 
 spirits. 
 
 Oth. Not a jot, not a jot. 
 
 lago. Trust me, I fear it has. 
 
 I hope you will consider what is spoke 
 Comes from my love; but I do see you're 
 
 mov'd : 
 
 I am to pray you not to strain my speech 
 To grosser issues nor to larger reach 
 Than to suspicion. 
 
 Oth. I will not. 
 
 lago. Should you do so, my lord, 
 
 My speech should fall into such vile success 
 W T hich my thoughts aim'd not. Cassio 's my 
 
 worthy friend : 
 My lord, I see you 're mov'd. 
 
 Oth. No, not much mov'd : 
 
 I do not think but Desdemona 's honest. 
 
 lago. Long live she so ! and long live you 
 to think so ! [self, 
 
 Oth. And yet, how nature erring from it- 
 
 lago. Ay, there 's the point : as, to be 
 
 bold with you, 
 
 Not to affect many proposed matches 
 Of her own clime, complexion, and degree, 
 Whereto we see in all things nature tends, 
 Foh ! one may smell in such a will most rank, 
 
 Foul disproportion, thoughts unnatural : 
 But pardon me : I do not in position 
 Distinctly speak of her ; though I may fear 
 Her will, recoiling to her better judgment, 
 May fall to match you with her country forms, 
 And happily repent. 
 
 Oth. Farewell, farewell : 
 
 If more thou dost perceive, let me know more ; 
 Set on thy wife to observe : leave me, lago. 
 
 lago. My lord, I take my leave. [Going. 
 
 Oth. Why did I marry? This honest creature 
 
 doubtless [unfolds. 
 
 Sees and knows more, much more, than he 
 
 lago. [Returning.] My lord, I would I might 
 
 entreat your honour 
 
 To scan this thing no further ; leave it to time : 
 Although 'tis fit that Cassio have his place, 
 For, sure, he fills it up with great ability, 
 Yet, if you please to hold him off awhile, 
 You shall by that perceive him and his means: 
 Note if your lady strain his entertainment 
 With any strong or vehement importunity ; 
 Much will be seen in that. In the meantime 
 Let me be thought too busy in my fears, 
 As worthy cause I have to fear I am, 
 And hold her free, I do beseech your honour. 
 
 Oth. Fear not my government. 
 
 lago. I once more take my leave. [Exit. 
 
 Oth. This fellow 's of exceeding honesty, 
 And knows all qualities, with a learned spirit, 
 Of human dealings. If I do prove her haggard , 
 Though that her jesses were my dear heart- 
 strings, 
 
 I 'd whistle her off, and let her down the wind 
 To prey at fortune. Haply, for I am black, 
 And have not those soft parts of conversation 
 That chamberers have ; or, for I am declin'd 
 Into the vale of years, yet that 's not much, 
 She 's gone ; I am abus'd ; and my relief 
 Must be to loathe her. O curse of marriage, 
 That we can call these delicate creatures ours, 
 And not their appetites ! I had rather be a toad, 
 And live upon the vapour of a dungeon, 
 Than keep a corner in the thing I love 
 For others' uses. Yet 'tis the plague of great 
 
 ones ; 
 
 Prerogativ'd are they less than the base ; 
 'Tis destiny unshunnable, like death : 
 Even then this forked plague is fated to us 
 When we do quicken. Desdemona comes : 
 If she be false, O, then heaven mocks itself ! 
 I '11 not believe 't. 
 
 Re-enter DESDEMONA and EMILIA. 
 
 Des. How now, my dear Othello! 
 
 Your dinner, and the generous islanders 
 By you invited, do attend your presence. 
 
SCBNE III. 
 
 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 1191 
 
 Oth, I am to blame. 
 
 Des. Why do you speak so faintly? 
 
 Are you not well ? 
 
 Oth. I have a pain upon my forehead here. 
 Des. Faith, that's with watching; 'twill 
 
 away again : 
 
 Let me but bind it hard, within this hour 
 It will be well. 
 
 Oth. Your napkin is too little ; 
 
 [He puts the handkerchief from him, 
 
 and she drops it. 
 
 Let it alone. Come, I '11 go in with you. 
 Des. I am very sorry that you are not well. 
 [Exeunt OTH. and DES. 
 Emil. I am glad I have found this napkin : 
 This was her first remembrance from the Moor : 
 My wayward husband hath a hundred times 
 Woo'd me to steal it ; but she so loves the 
 
 token, 
 
 For he conjur'd her she should ever keep it, 
 That she reserves it evermore about her 
 To kiss and talk to. I '11 have the work ta'en 
 
 out, 
 
 And give 't lago : 
 
 What he '11 do with it heaven knows, not I ; 
 I nothing but to please his fantasy. 
 
 Re-enter IAGO. 
 
 lago. How now ! what do you here alone ? 
 
 Emil. Do not you chide ; I have a thing for 
 you. 
 
 lago. A thing for me ! it is a common thing. 
 
 Emil. Ha! 
 
 lago. To have a foolish wife. [now 
 
 Emil. O, is that all ? What will you give me 
 For that same handkerchief? 
 
 lago. What handkerchief? 
 
 Emil. What handkerchief ! 
 Why, that the Moor first gave to Desdemona ; 
 That which so often you did bid me steal. 
 
 lago. Hast stol'n it from her ? 
 
 Emil. No, faith; she let it drop by negligence, 
 And, to the advantage, I, being here, took 't up. 
 Look, here it is. 
 
 lago. A good wench ; give it me. 
 
 Emil. What will you do with't, that you 
 
 have been so earnest 
 To have me filch it ? 
 
 lago. Why, what 's that to you ? 
 
 [Snatching it. 
 
 Emil. If it be not for some purpose of import, 
 Give 't me again : poor lady, she '11 run mad 
 When she shall lack it. [it. 
 
 lago. Be not acknown on 't ; I have use for 
 Go, leave me. [Exit EMILIA. 
 
 I will in Cassio's lodging lose this napkin, 
 And let him find it. Trifles light as air 
 
 Are to the jealous confirmations strong 
 As proofs of holy writ : this may do something. 
 The Moor already changes with my poison : 
 Dangerous conceits are in their natures poisons, 
 Which at the first are scarce found to distaste, 
 But, with a little act upon the blood, 
 Burn like the mines of sulphur. I did say 
 so : [dragora, 
 
 Look, where he comes ! Not poppy, nor man- 
 Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world, 
 Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep 
 Which thou ow'dst yesterday. 
 
 Re-enter OTHELLO. 
 
 Oth. Ha! ha! false to me? 
 
 lago. Why, how now, general ! no more of 
 that. [the rack : 
 
 Oth. Avaunt ! be gone ! thou hast set me on 
 I swear 'tis better to be much abus'd 
 Than but to know 't a little. 
 
 lago. How now, my lord ! 
 
 Oth. What sense had I of her stol'n hours 
 
 of lust ? 
 
 I saw it not, thought it not, it harm'd not me : 
 I slept the next night well, was free and merry; 
 I found not Cassio's kisses on her lips : 
 He that is robb'd, not wanting what is stol'n, 
 Let him not know 't, and he 's not robb'd at all. 
 
 lago. I am sorry to hear this. 
 
 Oth. I had been happy if the general camp, 
 Pioneers and all, had tasted her sweet body, 
 So I had nothing known. O, now, for ever 
 Farewell the tranquil mind ! farewell content ! 
 Farewell the plumed troop and the big wars 
 That make ambition virtue ! O, farewell ! 
 Farewell the neighing steed and the shrill trump, 
 The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife, 
 The royal banner, and all quality, 
 Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war ! 
 And, O you mortal engines, whose rude throats 
 The immortal Jove's dread clamours counterfeit, 
 Farewell ! Othello's occupation 's gone ! 
 
 lago. Is't possible, my lord? 
 
 Oth. Villain, be sure thou prove my love a 
 whore, [ Taking him by the throat. 
 Be sure of it ; give me the ocular proof ; 
 Or, by the worth of mine eternal soul, 
 Thou hadst been better have been born a dog 
 Than answer my wak'd wrath ! 
 
 lago. Is 't come to this ? 
 
 Oth. Make me to see 't ; or, at the least, so 
 
 prove it 
 
 That the probation bear no hinge nor loop 
 To hang a doubt on ; or woe upon thy life ! 
 
 lago. My noble lord, 
 
 Uth. If thou dost slander her and torture me, 
 Never pray more ; abandon all remorse ; 
 
1 192 
 
 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 [ACT III. 
 
 On horror's head horrors accumulate ; 
 
 Do deeds to make heaven weep, all earth 
 
 amaz'd ; 
 
 For nothing canst thou to damnation add 
 Greater than that. 
 
 lago. O grace ! O heaven forgive me ! 
 
 Are you a man? have you a soul or sense? 
 God b' wi' you; take mine office. O wretched 
 
 fool, 
 That liv'st to make thine honesty a vice ! 
 
 monstrous world ! Take note, take note, O 
 
 world, 
 To be direct and honest is not safe. 
 
 1 thank you for this profit ; and from hence 
 
 I '11 love no friend, sith love breeds such offence. 
 
 Of A. Nay, stay : thou shouldst be honest. 
 
 lago. I should be wise ; for honesty 's a fool, 
 And loses that it works for. 
 
 Oth. By the world, 
 
 I think my wife be honest, and think she is not ; 
 I think that thou art just, and think thou art 
 not : [fresh 
 
 I '11 have some proof : her name, that was as 
 As Dian's visage, is now begrim'd and black 
 As mine own face. If there be cords or knives, 
 Poison, or fire, or suffocating streams, 
 I '11 not endure 't. Would I were satisfied ! 
 
 lago. I see, sir, you are eaten up with passion : 
 I do repent me that I put it to you. 
 Vou would be satisfied ? 
 
 Oth. Would! nay, I will. 
 
 logo. And may: but how? how satisfied, 
 
 my lord ? 
 
 Would you, the supervisor, grossly gape on, 
 Behold her tupp'd ? 
 
 Oth. Death and damnation ! O ! 
 
 lago. It were a tedious difficulty, I think, 
 To bring them to that prospect : damn them, 
 
 then, 
 
 If ever mortal eyes do see them bolster 
 More than their own ! What then? how then? 
 What shall I say? Where 's satisfaction ? 
 It is impossible you should see this, 
 Were they as prime as goats, as hot as monkeys, 
 As salt as wolves in pride, and fools as gross 
 As ignorance made drunk. But yet, I say, 
 If imputation and strong circumstances, 
 Which lead directly to the door of truth, 
 Will give you satisfaction, you may have 't. 
 
 Oth. Give me a living reason she 's disloyal. 
 
 lago. I do not like the office : 
 But, sith I am enter'd in this cause so far, 
 Prick'd to it by foolish honesty and love, 
 I will go on. I lay with Cassio lately ; 
 And, being troublea with a raging tooth, 
 I could not sleep. 
 There are a kind of men so loose of soul 
 
 That in their sleeps will mutter their affairs : 
 
 One of this kind is Cassio : 
 
 In sleep I heard him say, Sweet Desdenwna, 
 
 Let us be wary, let us hide our loves ; 
 
 And then, sir, would he gripe and wring my 
 
 hand, 
 
 Cry, O sweet creature ! and then kiss me hard. 
 As if he pluck'd up kisses by the roots, 
 That grew upon my lips : then laid his leg 
 Over my thigh, and sigh'd, and kiss'd ; and then 
 Cried, Cursed fate that gave thee to the Moor ! 
 
 Oth. O monstrous ! monstrous ! 
 
 lago. Nay, this was but his dream. 
 
 Oth. But this denoted a foregone conclusion : 
 'Tis a shrewd doubt, though it be but a dream. 
 
 lago. And this may help to thicken other 
 
 proofs 
 That do demonstrate thinly. 
 
 Oth. I '11 tear her all to pieces. 
 
 lago. Nay, but be wise : yet we see nothing 
 
 done; 
 
 She may be honest yet. Tell me but this, 
 Have you not sometimes seen a handkerchief 
 Spotted with strawberries in your wife's hand ? 
 
 Oth. I gave her such a one ; 'twas my first 
 gift. [chief, 
 
 lago. I know not that : but such a handker- 
 I am sure it was your wife's, did I to-day 
 See Cassio wipe his beard with. 
 
 Oth. If it be that, 
 
 lago. If it be that, or any that was hers, 
 It speaks against her with the other proofs. 
 
 Oth. O, that the slave had forty thousand 
 
 lives, 
 
 One is too poor, too weak for my revenge ! 
 Now do I see 'tis true. Look here, lago ; 
 All my fond love thus do I blow to heaven : 
 'Tis gone. 
 
 Arise, black vengeance, from the hollow hell ! 
 Yield up, O love, thy crown and hearted throne 
 To tyrannous hate! swell, bosom, with thy 
 
 fraught, 
 For 'tis of aspics' tongues ! 
 
 lago. Yet be content. 
 
 Oth. O, blood, lago, blood ! 
 
 lago. Patience, I say; your mind perhaps 
 may change. 
 
 Oth. Never, lago. Like to the Pontic sea, 
 Whose icy current and compulsive course 
 Ne'er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on 
 To the Propontic and the Hellespont ; 
 Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace, 
 Shall ne'er look back, ne'er ebb to humble love, 
 Till that a capable and wide revenge [heaven, 
 Swallow them up. Now, by yond marble 
 In the due reverence of a sacred vow {Kneels. 
 I here engage my words. 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 H93 
 
 logo. Do not rise yet. [Kneels. 
 
 Witness, you ever-burning lights above, 
 You elements that clip us round about, 
 Witness that here lago doth give up 
 The execution of his wit, hands, heart, 
 To wrong'd Othello's service ! Let him 
 
 command, 
 
 And to obey shall be in me remorse, 
 What bloody business ever. 
 
 Oth. I greet thy love, 
 
 Not with vain thanks, but with acceptance 
 
 bounteous, 
 
 And will upon the instant put thee to't: 
 Within these three days let me hear thee say 
 That Cassio 's not alive. [request : 
 
 lago. My friend is dead ; 'tis done at your 
 But let her live. 
 
 Oth. Damn her, lewd minx ! O, damn her ! 
 Come, go with me apart ; I will withdraw 
 To furnish me with some swift means of death 
 For the fair devil. Now art thou my lieutenant. 
 
 lago. I am your own for ever. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. CYPRUS. Before the Castle. 
 Enter DESDEMONA, EMILIA, and Clown. 
 
 Des. Do you know, sirrah, where Lieutenant 
 Cassio lies ? 
 
 Clo. I dare not say he lies anywhere. 
 
 Des. Why, man? 
 
 Clo. He 's a soldier ; and for one to say a 
 soldier lies is stabbing. 
 
 Des. Go to : where lodges he ? 
 
 Clo. To tell you where he lodges is to tell 
 you where I lie. 
 
 Des. Can anything be made of this ? 
 
 Clo. I know not where he lodges ; and for 
 me to devise a lodging, and say he lies here or 
 tie lies there were to lie in mine own throat. 
 
 Des. Can you inquire him out, and be edified 
 by report ? 
 
 Clo. I will catechize the world for him ; that 
 is, make questions, and by them answer. 
 
 Des. Seek him, bid him come hither: tell 
 him I have moved my lord on his behalf, and 
 hope all will be well. 
 
 Clo. To do this is within the compass of 
 man's wit ; and therefore I will attempt the 
 doing it. [Exit. 
 
 Des. Where should I lose that handkerchief, 
 Emilia? 
 
 Emil. I know not, madam. [purse 
 
 Des. Believe me, I had rather have lost my 
 Full of crusadoes : and, but my noble Moor 
 Is true of mind, and made of no such baseness 
 As jealous creatures are, it were enough 
 To put him to ill thinking. 
 
 Emil. Is he not jealous ? 
 
 Des. Who, he? I think the sun where he 
 
 was born 
 Drew all such humours from him. 
 
 EmJl. Look, where he comes. 
 
 Des. I will not leave him now till Cassio 
 Be call'd to him. 
 
 Enter OTHELLO. 
 
 How is 't with you, my lord ? 
 
 Oth. Well, my good lady. [Aside.'} O, 
 
 hardness to dissemble ! 
 How do you, Desdemona ? 
 
 Des. Well, my good lord. 
 
 Oth. Give me your hand : this hand is moist, 
 my lady. [sorrow. 
 
 Des. It yet hath felt no age nor known no 
 
 Oth. This argues fruitfulness and liberal 
 heart : [quires 
 
 Hot, hot, and moist : this hand of yours re- 
 A sequester from liberty, fasting and prayer, 
 Much castigation, exercise devout ; 
 For here 's a young and sweating devil here 
 That commonly rebels. 'Tis a good hand, 
 A frank one. 
 
 Des. You may indeed say so ; 
 For 'twas that hand that gave away my heart. 
 
 Oth. A liberal hand : the hearts of old gave 
 
 hands ; 
 But our new heraldry is hands, not hearts. 
 
 Des. I cannot speak of this. Come now, 
 your promise. 
 
 Oth. What promise, chuck ? 
 
 Des. I have sent to bid Cassio come speak 
 with you. 
 
 Oth. I have a salt and sorry rheum 
 Lend me thy handkerchief. 
 
 Des. Here, my lord. 
 
 Oth. That which I gave you. 
 
 Des. I have it not about me. 
 
 Oth. Not? 
 
 Des. No, indeed, my lord. 
 
 Oth. That is a fault. 
 
 That handkerchief 
 Did an Egyptian to my mother give ; 
 She was a charmer, and could almost read 
 The thoughts of people: she told her, while 
 she kept it, [father 
 
 'Twould make her amiable, and subdue my 
 Entirely to her love ; but if she lost it, 
 Or made a gift of it, my father's eye 
 Should hold her loathed, and his spirits should 
 
 hunt 
 
 After new fancies: she, dying, gave it me ; 
 And bid me, when my fate would have me wive, 
 To give it her. I did so : and take heed on 't ; 
 Make it a darling like your precious eye ; 
 
1 194 
 
 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 [ACT III. 
 
 To lose 't or give 't away were such perdition 
 As nothing else could match. 
 
 Des. Is 't possible? 
 
 Oth. 'Tis true : there 's magic in the web of it : 
 A sibyl, that had number'd in the world 
 The sun to course two hundred compasses, 
 In her prophetic fury sew'd the work ; [silk ; 
 The worms were hallow'd that did breed the 
 And it was dy'd in mummy which the skilful 
 Conserv'd of maidens' hearts. 
 
 Des. Indeed ! is 't true ? 
 
 Oth. Most veritable ; therefore look to 't well. 
 
 Des. Then would to God that I had never 
 seen 't ! 
 
 Oth. Ha! wherefore? 
 
 Des. Why do you speak so startingly and 
 rash? [the way? 
 
 Oth. Is 't lost ? is 't gone ? speak, is it out of 
 
 Des. Heaven bless us ! 
 
 Oth. Say your 
 
 Des. It is not lost ; but what an if it were ? 
 
 Oth. How! 
 
 Des. I say, it is not lost. 
 
 Oth. Fetch 't, let me see 't. 
 
 Des. Why, so I can, sir, but I will not now. 
 This is a trick to put me from my suit : 
 Pray you, let Cassio be receiv'd again. 
 
 Oth. Fetch me the handkerchief: my mind 
 misgives. 
 
 Des. Come, come ; 
 ]fou '11 never meet a more sufficient man. 
 
 Oth. The handkerchief ! 
 
 Des. I pray, talk me of Cassio. 
 
 Oth. The handkerchief ! 
 
 Des. A man that all his time 
 
 Hath founded his good fortunes on your love, 
 Shar'd dangers with you, 
 
 Oth. The handkerchief ! 
 
 Des. In sooth, you are to blame. 
 
 Oth. Away! [Exit. 
 
 Emit. Is not this man jealous? 
 
 Des. I ne'er saw this before. 
 Sure there 's some wonder in this handkerchief: 
 I am most unhappy in the loss of it. 
 
 Emil. 'Tis not a year or two shows us a man : 
 They are all but stomachs, and we all but food : 
 They eat us hungerly, and when they are full, 
 They belch us. Look you, Cassio and my 
 husband. 
 
 Enter CASSIO and IAGO. 
 
 lago. There is no other way ; 'tis she must 
 
 do't: 
 
 And, lo, the happiness ! go and importune her. 
 Des. How now, good Cassio! what's the 
 
 news with you ? [you 
 
 Cas. Madam, my former suit : I do beseech 
 
 That by your virtuous means I may again 
 Exist, and be a member of his love, 
 Whom I, with all the office of my heart, 
 Entirely honour : I would not be delay' d. 
 If my offence be of such mortal kind 
 That nor my service past, nor present sorrows, 
 Nor purpos'd merit in futurity, 
 Can ransom me into his love again, 
 But to know so must be my benefit ; 
 So shall I clothe me in a forc'd content, 
 And shut myself up in some other course, 
 To fortune's alms. 
 
 Des. Alas, thrice-gentle Cassio ! 
 
 My advocation is not now in tune ; 
 My lord is not my lord ; nor should I know him, 
 Were he in favour as in humour alter'd. 
 So help me every spirit sanctified, 
 As I have spoken for you all my best, 
 And stood, within the blank of his displeasure 
 For my free speech ! You must awhile be 
 
 patient : 
 
 What I can do I will ; and more I will 
 Than for myself I dare : let that suffice you. 
 lago. Is my lord angry? 
 Emil. He went hence but now, 
 
 And certainly in strange unquietness. 
 
 lago. Can he be angry? I have seen the 
 
 cannon, 
 
 When it hath blown his ranks into the air, 
 And, like the devil, from his very arm 
 Puff'd his own brother ; and can he be angry? 
 Something of moment, then : I will go meet 
 
 him : 
 
 There 's matter in 't indeed if he be angry. 
 Des. I pr'ythee, do so. [Exit IAGO. ] Some- 
 thing, sure, of state, 
 
 Either from Venice, or some unhatch'd practice 
 Made demonstrable here in Cyprus to him, 
 Hath puddled his clear spirit, and in such cases 
 Men's natures wrangle with inferior things, 
 Though great ones are their object. 'Tis even 
 
 so; 
 
 For let our finger ache, and it endues 
 Our other healthful members even to that sense 
 Of pain : nay, we must think men are not gods, 
 Nor of them look for such observancy 
 As fits the bridal. Beshrew me much, Emilia, 
 I was, unhandsome warrior as I am, 
 Arraigning his unkindness with my soul ; 
 But now I find I had suborn'd the witness, 
 And he 's indicted falsely. [you think, 
 
 Emil. Pray heaven it be state matters, as 
 And no conception nor no jealous toy 
 Concerning you. 
 
 Des. Alas the day, I never gave him cause ! 
 Emil. But jealous souls will not be answer'd 
 so; 
 
SCENE IV.] 
 
 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 "95 
 
 They are not ever jealous for the cause, 
 But jealous for they are jealous: 'tis a monster 
 Begot upon itself, born on itself. [mind ! 
 
 Des. Heaven keep that monster from Othello's 
 Emil. Lady, amen. [about : 
 
 Des. I will go seek him. Cassio, walk here- 
 If I do find him fit, I '11 move your suit, 
 And seek to effect it to my uttermost. 
 Cos. I humbly thank your ladyship. 
 
 [Exeunt DESDEMONA and EMILIA. 
 
 Enter BlANCA. 
 
 Bian. Save you, friend Cassio ! 
 Cas. What make you from home ? 
 
 How is it with you, my most fair Bianca? 
 I' faith, sweet love, I was coming to your house. 
 Bian. And I was going to your lodging, 
 
 Cassio. 
 What, keep a week away? seven days and 
 
 nights ? 
 Eight score eight hours? and lovers' absent 
 
 hours, 
 More tedious than the dial eight score times ? 
 
 weary reckoning ! 
 
 Cas. Pardon me, Bianca: 
 
 1 have this while with leaden thoughts been 
 
 press'd ; 
 
 But I shall in a more continuate time 
 Strike off this score of absence. Sweet Bianca, 
 [Giving her DESDEMONA'S handkerchief. 
 Take me this work out. 
 
 Bian. O Cassio, whence came this ? 
 
 This is some token from a newer friend : 
 To the felt absence now I feel a cause : 
 Is 't come to this ? Well, well. 
 
 Cas. Go to, woman ! 
 
 Throw your vile guesses in the devil's teeth, 
 From whence you have them. You are jealous 
 
 now 
 
 That this is from some mistress, some remem- 
 brance : 
 No, in good troth, Bianca. 
 
 Bian. Why, whose is it ? 
 
 Cas. I know not neither : I found it in my 
 
 chamber. 
 
 I like the work well : ere it be demanded, 
 As like enough it will, I 'd have it copied : 
 Take it, and do 't ; and leave me for this time. 
 
 Bian. Leave you ! wherefore ? 
 
 Cas. I do attend here on the general ; 
 And think it no addition, nor my wish, 
 To have him see me woman'd. 
 
 Bian. Why, I pray you ? 
 
 Cas. Not that I love you not. 
 
 Bian. But that you do not love me 
 
 I pray you, bring me on the way a little ; 
 And say if I shall see you soon at night. 
 
 Cas. 'Tis but a little way that I can bring 
 
 you, 
 
 For I attend here : but I '11 see you soon. 
 Bian. 'Tis very good ; I must be circum- 
 stanc'd. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. CYPRUS. Be/ore the Castle. 
 Enter OTHELLO and IAGO. 
 
 lago. Will you think so ? 
 
 Oth. Think so, lago ? 
 
 What, 
 
 _ 
 To kiss in private ? 
 
 Oth. An unauthoriz'd kiss. 
 
 lago. Or to be naked with her friend in bed 
 An hour or more, not meaning any harm ? 
 
 Oth. Naked in bed, lago, and not mean harm ! 
 It is hypocrisy against the devil : 
 They that mean virtuously, and yet do so, 
 The devil their virtue tempts, and they tempt 
 heaven. 
 
 lago. So they do nothing, 'tis a venial slip : 
 But if I give my wife a handkerchief, 
 
 Oth. What then ? [being hers, 
 
 lago. Why, then, 'tis hers, my lord ; and. 
 She may, I think, bestow 't on any man. 
 
 Oth. She is protectress of her honour too : 
 May she give that ? [seen ; 
 
 lago. Her honour is an essence that's not 
 They have it very oft that have it not : 
 But, for the handkerchief, [forgot it : 
 
 Oth. By heaven, I would most gladly have 
 Thou said'st, O, it comes o'er my memory 
 As doth the raven o'er the infected house, 
 Boding to all, he had my handkerchief. 
 
 lago. Ay, what of that ? 
 
 Oth. That 's not so good now. 
 
 lago. What, 
 
 If I had said I had seen him do you wrong ? 
 Or heard him say, as knaves be such abroad, 
 Who having, by their own importunate suit, 
 Or voluntary dotage of some mistress, 
 Convinced or supplied them, cannot choose 
 But they must blab, 
 
 Oth. Hath he said anything ? 
 
 lago. He hath, my lord ; but be you well 
 
 assur'd, 
 No more than he '11 unswear. 
 
 Oth. What hath he said ? 
 
 lago. Faith, that he did, I know not what 
 he did. 
 
 Oth. What? what? 
 
 lago. Lie, 
 
 Oth. With her? 
 
 lago. With her, on her ; what you wilL 
 
1196 
 
 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Oth. Lie with her ! lie on her 1 We say lie 
 on her when they belie her. Lie with her ! 
 that 's fulsome. Handkerchief, confessions, 
 handkerchief! To confess, and be hanged 
 for his labour ; first, to be hanged, and then 
 to confess. I tremble at it. Nature would 
 not invest herself in such shadowing passion 
 without some instruction. It is not words that 
 shake me thus : pish ! noses, ears, and lips. 
 Is 't possible ? Confess, handkerchief ! O 
 devil ! [Falls in a trance. 
 
 lago. Work on, [caught ; 
 
 My medicine, work ! Thus credulous fools are 
 And many worthy and chaste dames even thus, 
 All guiltless, meet reproach. What, ho ! my 
 
 lord ! 
 My lord, I say ! Othello 1 
 
 Enter CASSIO. 
 
 How now, Cassio ! 
 
 Cas. What 's the matter ? 
 
 lago. My lord is fallen into an epilepsy : 
 This is his second fit ; he had one yesterday. 
 
 Cas. Rub him about the temples. 
 
 lago. No, forbear ; 
 
 The lethargy must have his quiet course : 
 If not, he foams at mouth, and by and by 
 Breaks out to savage madness. Look, he stirs : 
 Do you withdraw yourself a little while, 
 He will recover straight : when he is gone, 
 I would on great occasion speak with you. 
 
 [Exit CASSIO. 
 
 How is it, general? have you not hurt your 
 head? 
 
 Oth. Dost thou mock me? 
 
 lago. I mock you ! no, by heaven. 
 
 Would you would bear your fortune like a man ! 
 
 Oth. A horned man 's a monster and a beast. 
 
 lago. There 's many a beast, then, in a popu- 
 lous city, 
 And many a civil monster. 
 
 Oth. Did he confess it? 
 
 lago. Good sir, be a man ; 
 
 Think every bearded fellow that 's but yok'd 
 May draw with you : there 's millions now alive 
 That nightly lie in those unproper beds 
 Which they dare swear peculiar : your case is 
 
 better. 
 
 O, 'tis the spite of hell, the fiend's arch-mock, 
 To lip a wanton in a secure couch, 
 And to suppose her chaste ! No, let me know; 
 And knowing what I am, I know what she 
 shall be. 
 
 Oth. O, thou art wise ; 'tis certain. 
 
 lago. Stand you awhile apart ; 
 
 Confine yourself but in a patient list, [grief, 
 Whilst you were here o'erwhelmed with your 
 
 A passion most unsuiting such a man, 
 Cassio came hither : I shifted him away, 
 And laid good 'scuse upon your ecstasy ; 
 Bade him anon return, and here speak with me ; 
 The which he promis'd. Do but encave your- 
 self, [scorns, 
 
 And mark the fleers, the gibes, and notable 
 That dwell in every region of his face ; 
 For I will make him tell the tale anew, 
 Where, how, how oft, how long ago, and when 
 He hath, and is again to cope your wife : 
 I say, but mark his gesture. Marry, patience ; 
 Or I shall say you are all in all in spleen, 
 And nothing of a man. 
 
 Oth. Dost thou hear, lago? 
 
 I will be found most cunning in my patience ; 
 But, dost thou hear ? most bloody. 
 
 lago. That 's not amiss ; 
 
 But yet keep time in all. Will you withdraw ? 
 [OTHELLO withdraws. 
 Now will I question Cassio of Bianca, 
 A housewife that, by selling her desires, 
 Buys herself bread and clothes : it is a creature 
 That dotes on Cassio, as 'tis the strumpet's 
 
 plague 
 ile man 
 
 To beguile many and be beguil'd by one : 
 He, when he hears of her, cannot refrain 
 From the excess of laughter : here he comes : 
 As he shall smile Othello shall go mad ; 
 And his unbookish jealousy must construe 
 Poor Cassio's smiles, gestures, and light be- 
 
 haviour 
 Quite in the wrong. 
 
 Re-enter CASSIO. 
 
 How do you now, lieutenant ? 
 Cas. The worser that you give me the ad- 
 
 dition 
 
 Whose want even kills me. [on 't. 
 
 lago. Ply Desdemona well, and you are sure 
 Now, if this suit lay in Bianca's power, 
 
 [Speaking lower. 
 How quickly should you speed ! 
 
 Cas. Alas, poor caitiff ! 
 
 Oth. [Aside.'} Look, how he laughs already ! 
 lago. I never knew woman love man so. 
 Cas. Alas, poor rogue ! I think, i' faith, 
 
 she loves me. 
 Oth. [Aside.} Now he denies it faintly, and 
 
 laughs it out. 
 
 lago. Do you hear, Cassio ? 
 Oth. [Aside. ] Now he importunes him 
 
 To tell it o'er : go to ; well said, well said. 
 lago. She gives it out that you shall marry 
 
 her: 
 Do you intend it ? 
 
 Cas. Ha, ha, ha I 
 
SCENE I.] 
 
 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 "97 
 
 Oth. [As6k.]Do you triumph, Roman? do 
 you triumph ? 
 
 Cas. I marry her ! what, a customer 1 I 
 pr'ythee, bear some charity to my wit ; do not 
 think it so unwholesome : ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Oth. [Aside.] So, so, so, so: they laugh 
 that win. [marry her. 
 
 logo. Faith, the cry goes that you shall 
 
 Cas. Pr'ythee, say true. 
 
 lago. I am a very villain else. 
 
 Oth. [Aside.] Have you scored me? Well. 
 
 Cas. This is the monkey's own giving out : 
 she is persuaded I will marry her, out of her 
 own love and flattery, not out of my promise. 
 
 Oth. [Aside.] lago beckons me ; now he 
 begins the story. 
 
 Cas. She was here even now ; she haunts me 
 in every place. I was the other day talking on 
 the sea-bank with certain Venetians, and thither 
 comes the bauble, and falls thus about my 
 neck, 
 
 Oth. [Aside.] Crying, O dear Cassiol as it 
 were : his gesture imports it. 
 
 Cas. So hangs, and lolls, and weeps upon 
 me ; so hales, and pulls me : ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Oth. [Aside.] Now he tells how she plucked 
 him to my chamber. O, I see that nose of 
 yours, but not that dog I shall throw it to. 
 
 Cas. Well, I must leave her company. 
 
 lago. Before me ! look where she comes. 
 
 Cas. 'Tis such another fitchew ! marry, a 
 perfumed one, 
 
 Enter BlANCA. 
 
 What do you mean by this haunting of me ? 
 
 Bian. Let the devil and his dam haunt you i 
 What did you mean by that same handkerchief 
 you gave me even row ? I was a fine fool to 
 take it. I must take out the work ? A likely 
 piece of work that you should find it in your 
 chamber, and not know who left it there ! 
 This is some minx's token, and I must take out 
 the work ? There, give it your hobby-horse: 
 wheresoever you had it, I '11 take out no work 
 on 't. [how now ! 
 
 Cas. How now, my sweet Bianca ! how now ! 
 
 Oth. [Aside.] By heaven, that should be my 
 handkerchief ! 
 
 Bian. An you '11 come to supper to-night, 
 you may ; an you will not, come when you are 
 next prepared for. [Exit. 
 
 lago. After her, after her. [else. 
 
 Cas. Faith, I must; she'll r?il in the street 
 
 lago. Will you sup there ? 
 
 Cas. Faith, I intend so. 
 
 lago. Well, I may chance to see you ; for I 
 would very fain speak with you. 
 
 Cas. Pr'ythee, come ; will you ? 
 
 lago. Go to ; say no more. [Exit CASSIO. 
 
 Oth. [Coming forward.] How shall I murder 
 him, lago? [vice? 
 
 lago. Did you perceive how he laughed at his 
 
 Oth. O lago ! 
 
 lago. And did you see the handkerchief? 
 
 Oth. Was that mine ? 
 
 lago. Yours, by this hand : and to see how 
 he prizes the foolish woman your wife ! she 
 gave it him, and he hath given it his whore. 
 
 Oth. I would have him nine years a-kiiling. 
 A fine woman ! a fair woman ! a sweet 
 woman ! 
 
 lago. Nay, you must forget that. 
 
 Oth. Ay, L m t her rot, and perish, and be 
 damned to-night ; for she shall not live : no, 
 my heart is turned to stone ; I strike it, and 
 it hurts my hand. O, the world hath not 
 a sweeter creature : she might lie by an 
 emperor's side, and command him tasks. 
 
 lago. Nay, that 's not your way. 
 
 Oth. Hang her ! I do bul say what she is : 
 so delicate with her needle ! an admirable 
 musician ! O, she will sing the savageness out 
 of a bear ! Of so high and plenteous wit and 
 invention ! 
 
 lago. She 's the worse for all this. 
 
 Oth. O, a thousand thousand times : and 
 then of so gentle a condition ! 
 
 lago. Ay, too gentle. 
 
 Oth. Nay, that 's certain : but yet the pity 
 of it, lago ! O lago, the pity of it, lago ! 
 
 lago. If you are so fond over her iniquity, 
 give her patent to onvnd ; for, if it touch not 
 you, it comes near nobody. 
 
 Oth. I will chop her iuio messes. Cuckold 
 me ! 
 
 lago. O, 'tis foul in her. 
 
 Oth. With mine officer ! 
 
 lago. That 's fouler. 
 
 Oth. Get me some poison, lago ; this night. 
 I '11 not expostulate with her. lest her body 
 and beauty unprovide my mind again : this 
 night, lago. 
 
 lago. Do it not with poison ; strangle her in 
 her bed, even the bed she hath contaminated. 
 
 Oth. Good, good : the justice of it pleases : 
 very good. 
 
 lago. And for Cassio, let me be his under- 
 taker : you shall hear more by midnight. 
 
 Jth. Excellent good. [A trumpet within.] 
 What trumpet is that same? 
 
 lago. Something from Venice, sure. 'Tis 
 
 Lodovico 
 
 Come from the duke: and, see, your wife is 
 with him. 
 
1 198 
 
 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Enter LODOVICO, DESDEMONA, and 
 Attendants. 
 
 Lod. Save you, worthy general ! 
 
 Oth. With all my heart, sir. 
 
 Lod. The duke and senators of Venice greet 
 you. [Gives him a packet. 
 
 Oth. I kiss the instrument of their pleasures. 
 [Opens the packet and reads. 
 
 Des. And what's the news, good cousin 
 Lodovico ? 
 
 lago. I am very glad to see you, signior ; 
 Welcome to Cyprus. [Cassio ? 
 
 Lod. I thank you. How does Lieutenant 
 
 lago'. Lives, sir. [my lord 
 
 Des. Cousin, there 's fall'n between hint and 
 An unkind breach : but you shall make all well. 
 
 Oth. Are you sure of that ? 
 
 Des. My lord? [will, 
 
 Oth. [Reads.'] This fail you not to do as you 
 
 Lod. He did not call ; he 's busy in the paper. 
 Is there division 'twixt my lord and Cassio ? 
 
 Des. A most unhappy one : I would do much 
 To atone them, for the love I bear to Cassio. 
 
 Oth. Fire and brimstone ! 
 
 Des. My lord? 
 
 Oth. Are you wise ? 
 
 Des. What, is he angry ? 
 
 Lod. May be the letter mov'd him ; 
 
 For, as I think, they do command him home, 
 Deputing Cassio in his government. 
 
 Des. Trust me, I am glad on 't. 
 
 Gih. Indeed ! 
 
 Des. My lord ? 
 
 Oth. I am glad to see you mad. 
 
 Des. Why, sweet Othello, 
 
 Oth. Devil ! [Striking her. 
 
 Des. I have not deserv'd this. 
 
 Lod. My lord, this would not be believ'd in 
 
 Venice, 
 
 Though I should swear I saw 't : 'tis very much : 
 Make her amends ; she weeps. 
 
 Oth. O devil, devil ! 
 
 If that the earth could teem with woman's tears, 
 Each drop she falls would prove a crocodile. 
 Out of my sight ! 
 
 Des. I will not stay to offend you. [Going. 
 
 Lod. Truly, an obedient lady : 
 I do beseech your lordship, call her back. 
 
 Oth. Mistress ! 
 
 Des. My lord ? 
 
 Oth. What would you with her, sir? 
 
 Lod. Who, I, my lord ? [her turn : 
 
 Oth. Ay ; you did wish that I would make 
 Sir, she can turn, and turn, and yet go on, 
 And turn again ; and she can weep, sir, weep; 
 And she 's obedient, as you say, obedient, 
 
 Very obedient. Proceed you in your tears. 
 Concerning this, sir, O well-painted passion ! 
 I am commanded home. Get you away ; 
 I'll send for you anon. Sir, I obey the man- 
 date, 
 And will return to Venice. Hence, avaunt ! 
 
 [Exit DESDEMONA. 
 
 Cassio shall have my place. And, sir, to-night, 
 
 I do entreat that we may sup together : 
 
 You are welcome, sir, to Cyprus. Goats and 
 
 monkeys ! [Exit. 
 
 Lod. Is this the noble Moor whom our full 
 
 senate 
 
 Call all-in-all sufficient ? Is this the nature 
 Whom passion could not shake? whose solid 
 
 virtue 
 
 The shot of accident nor dart of chance 
 Could neither graze nor pierce ? 
 
 lago. He is much chang'd. 
 
 Lod. Are his wits safe? is he not light of 
 
 brain ? 
 
 lago. He is that he is : I may not breathe my 
 
 censure. [not, 
 
 What he might be, if what he might he is 
 
 I would to heaven he were ! 
 
 Lod. What, stvike his wife ! 
 
 lago. Faith, that was not so well ; yet would 
 
 I knew 
 That stroke would prove the worst ! 
 
 Lod. Is it his use ? 
 
 Or did the letters work upon his blood, 
 And new-create this fault ? 
 
 logo. Alas, alas ! 
 
 It is not honesty in me to speak 
 What I have seen and known. You shall 
 
 observe him ; 
 
 And his own courses will denote him so 
 That I may save my speech: do but go after, 
 And mark how he continue^ 
 
 Lod. I am sorry that I am deceiv'd in him. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. CYPRUS. A Room in the Castle. 
 Enter OTHELLO and EMILIA. 
 
 Oth. You have seen nothing, then ? 
 
 Emil. Nor ever heard, nor ever did suspect. 
 
 Oth. Yes, you have seen Cassio and she to- 
 gether. 
 
 Emil. But then I saw no harm, and then I 
 
 heard [them. 
 
 Each syllable that breath made up between 
 
 Oth. What, did they never whisper ? 
 
 Emil. Never, my lord. 
 
 Oth. Nor send you out o' the way? 
 
 Emil. Never. [nor nothing? 
 
 Oth. To fetch her fan, her gloves, her mask, 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 1199 
 
 EmiL Never, my lord. 
 
 Oik. That 's strange. [honest, 
 
 EmiL I durst, my lord, to wager she is 
 
 Lay down my soul at stake : if you think other, 
 
 Remove your thought, it doth abuse your 
 
 bosom. 
 
 If any wretch hath put this in your head, 
 Let heaven requite it with the serpent's curse ! 
 For, if she be not honest, chaste, and true, 
 There's no man happy; the purest of their 
 
 wives 
 Is foul as slander. 
 
 Oth. Bid her come hither. Go. 
 
 {Exit EMILIA. 
 
 She says enough ; yet she 's a simple bawd 
 That cannot say as much. This is a subtle 
 
 whore, 
 
 A closet-lock-and-key of villanous secrets : 
 And yet she'll kneel and pray; I have seen 
 her do 't. 
 
 Re-enter EMILIA with DESDEMONA. 
 
 Des. My lord, what is your will ? 
 
 Oth. Pray, chuck, come hither. 
 
 Des. What is your pleasure ? 
 
 Oth. Let me see your eyes ; 
 
 Look in my face. 
 
 Des. What horrible fancy 's this ? 
 
 Oth. Some of your function, mistress ; 
 
 [ To EMIT.. 
 
 Leave procreants alone, and shut the door ; 
 Cough, or cry hem, if any body come: 
 Your -mystery, your mystery; nay, despatch. 
 [Exit EMILIA. 
 
 Des. Upon my knees, what doth your speech 
 
 import ? 
 
 I understand a fury in your words, 
 But not the words. 
 
 Oth. Why, what art thou ? 
 
 Des. You wife, my lord ; your true 
 
 And loyal wife. 
 
 Oth. Come, swear it, damn thyself; 
 
 Lest, being like one of heaven, the devils 
 themselves [damn'd. 
 
 Should fear to seize thee : therefore be double- 
 Swear thou art honest. 
 
 Des. Heaven doth truly know it. 
 
 Oth. Heaven truly knows that thou art false 
 as hell. [am I false ? 
 
 Des. To whom, mv lord? with whom? How 
 
 Oth. Ah, Desdemona ! away ! away ! away ! 
 
 Des. Alas the heavy day! Why do you weep? 
 Am I the motive of these tears, my lord ? 
 If haply you my father do suspect 
 An instrument of this your calling back, [him, 
 Lay not your blame on me : if you have lost 
 Why, I have lost him too. 
 
 Oth. Had it pleas'd heaven 
 
 To try me with affliction ; had they rain'd 
 All kinds of sores and shames on my bare head ; 
 Steep'd me in poverty to the very lips ; 
 Given to captivity me and my utmost hopes ; 
 I should have found in some place of my soul 
 A drop of patience : but, alas, to make me 
 The fixed figure of the time, for scorn 
 To point his slow and moving finger at ! 
 Yet could I bear that too ; well, very well : 
 But there, where I have garner'd up my heart ; 
 Where either I must live, or bear no life, 
 The fountain from the which my current runs, 
 Or else dries up ; to be discarded thence ! 
 Or keep it as a cistern for foul toads [there, 
 To knot and gender in ! turn thy complexion 
 Patience, thou young and rose-lipp'dcherubin, 
 Ay, there, look grim as hell ! 
 
 Des. I hope my noble lord esteems me 
 honest. 
 
 Oth. O, ay; as summer flies are in the 
 
 shambles, 
 That quicken even with blowing. O thou 
 
 weed, 
 
 Who art so lovely fair, and smell'st so sweet, 
 That the sense aches at thee, would thou 
 hadst ne'er been born ! 
 
 Des. Alas, what ignorant sin have I com- 
 mitted ? 
 
 Oth. Was this fair paper, this most goodly 
 
 book, 
 
 Made to write whore upon ? What committed ! 
 Committed ! O thou public commoner 1 
 I should make very forges of my cheeks, 
 That would to cinders burn up modesty, 
 Did I but speak thy deeds. What committed ! 
 Heaven stops the nose at it, and the moon 
 
 winks ; 
 
 The bawdy wind, that kisses all it meets, 
 Is hush'd within the hollow mine of earth, 
 And will not hear it. What committed ! 
 Impudent strumpet ! 
 
 Des. By heaven, you do me wrong. 
 
 Oth. Are not you a strumpet ? 
 
 Des. No, as I am a Christian : 
 
 If to preserve this vessel for my lord 
 From any other foul unlawful touch 
 Be not to be a stnimpet, I am none. 
 
 Oth. What, not a whore ? 
 
 Des. No, as I shall be sav'd. 
 
 Oth. Is 't possible ? 
 
 Des. O, heaven forgive us ! 
 
 Oth. I cry you mercy, then : 
 
 I took you for that cunning whore of Venice 
 That married with Othello. You, mistress, 
 That have the office opposite te Saint Petei., 
 And keep the gate of hell ! 
 
1200 
 
 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 [ACT iv. 
 
 Re-enter EMILIA. 
 
 You, you, ay you ! 
 We have done our course ; there 's money for 
 
 your pains : 
 
 I pray you, turn the key, and keep our counsel. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Emil. Alas, what does this gentleman con- 
 ceive? [lady? 
 How do you, madam ? how do you, my good 
 Des. Faith, half asleep. [my lord? 
 Emil. Good madam, what 's the matter with 
 Des. With who? 
 
 Emil. Why, with my lord, madam. 
 Des. Who is thy lord ? 
 Emil. lie that is yours, sweet lady. 
 
 Des. I have none : do not talk to me, Emilia ; 
 I cannot weep ; nor answer have I none, 
 But what should go by water. Pr'ythee, to- 
 night [her ; 
 Lay on my bed my wedding sheets, remem- 
 And call thy husband hither. 
 
 Emil. Here 's a change indeed 1 [Exit. 
 Des. 'Tis meet I should be us'd so, very meet. 
 How have I been behav'd, that he might stick 
 The small'st opinion on my least misuse ? 
 
 Re-enter EMILIA with IAGO. 
 
 lago. What is your pleasure, madam ? How 
 is 't with you ? [young babes 
 
 Des. I cannot tell. Those that do teach 
 Do it with gentle means and easy tasks : 
 He might have chid me so ; for, in good faith, 
 I am a child to chiding. 
 
 lago. What 's the matter, lady ? 
 
 Emil. Alas, lago, my lord hath so bewhor'd 
 
 her, 
 
 Thrown such despite and heavy terms upon her 
 As true hearts cannot bear. 
 
 Des. Am I that name, lago ? 
 
 lago. What name, fair lady? 
 
 Des. Such as she says my lord did say I was. 
 
 Emil. lie call'd her whore: a beggar in his 
 
 drink 
 Could not have laid such terms upon his callat. 
 
 lago. Why did he so ? [such. 
 
 Des. I do not know ; I am sure I am none 
 
 lago. Do not weep, do not weep: alas, the 
 day ! [matches, 
 
 Emil. Hath she forsook so many noble 
 Her father, and her country, and her friends, 
 To be call'd whore? would it not make one 
 weep? 
 
 Des. It is my wretched fortune. 
 
 lago. Beshrew him for 't ! 
 
 How comes this trick upon him ? 
 
 Des. Nay, heaven doth know. 
 
 Emil. I will be hang'd if some eternal villain, 
 
 Some busy and insinuating rogue, 
 
 Some cogging, cozening slave, to get some office, 
 
 Have not devis'd this slander ; I 11 be hang'd 
 
 else. [possible. 
 
 lago. Fie, there is no such man ; it is im- 
 
 Des. If any such there be, heaven pardon 
 
 him ! [his bones ! 
 
 Emil. A halter pardon him ! and hell gnaw 
 
 Why should he call her whore? who keeps her 
 
 company ? 
 
 What place? what time? what form? what likeli- 
 hood ? 
 The Moor's abus'd by some most villanous 
 
 knave, 
 
 Some base notorious Lnave, some scurvy 
 fellow : 
 
 heaven, that such companions thou 'dst unfold, 
 And put in every honest hand a whip 
 
 To lash the rascals naked through the world 
 Even from the east to the west ! 
 
 lago. Speak within door. 
 
 Emil. O, fie upon him ! some such squire 
 
 he was 
 
 That turn'd your wit the seamy side without, 
 And made you to suspect me with the Moor. 
 
 lago. You are a fool ; go to. 
 
 Des. Alas, lago, 
 
 What shall I do to win my lord again ? 
 Good friend, go to him ; for, by this light of 
 heaven, 
 
 1 know not how I lost him. Here I kneel : 
 If e'er my will did trespass 'gainst his love, 
 Either in discourse of thought or actual deed ; 
 Or that mine eyes, mine ears, or any sense, 
 Delighted them in any other form ; 
 
 Or that I do not yet, and ever did, 
 And ever will, though he do shake me off 
 To beggarly divorcement, love him dearly, 
 Comfort forswear me! Unkindness may do 
 
 much ; 
 
 And his unkindness may defeat my life, 
 But never taint my love. I cannot say whore, 
 It does abhor me now I speak the word ; 
 To do the act that might the addition earn, 
 Not the world's mass of vanity could make me. 
 
 lago. I pray you, be content; 'tis but his 
 
 humour : 
 
 The business of the state does him offence, 
 And he does chide with you. 
 
 Des. If 'twere no other, 
 
 lago. It is but so, I warrant. 
 
 [ Trumpets within. 
 
 Hark, how these instruments summon to supper ! 
 1'he messengers of Venice stay the meat : 
 Go in, and weep not ; all things shall be well. 
 [Exeunt DESDKMONA and EMILIA. 
 
SCENE II. J 
 
 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 1 20 1 
 
 Enter RODERIGO. 
 
 How now, Roderigo ! 
 
 Rod. I do not find that thou dealest justly 
 with me. 
 
 lago. What in the contrary? 
 
 Rod. Every day thou daffest me with some 
 device, lago ; and rather, as it seems to me 
 now, keepest from me all conveniency than 
 suppliest me with the least advantage of hope. 
 I will, indeed, no longer endure it ; nor am I 
 yet persuaded to put up in peace what already 
 I have foolishly suffered. 
 
 lago. Will you hear me, Roderigo? 
 
 Rod. Faith, I have heard too much ; for your 
 words and performances are no kin together. 
 
 lago You charge me most unjustly. 
 
 Rod. With naught but truth. 1 have wasted 
 myself out of my means. The jewels you have 
 had from me to deliver to Desdemona would 
 half have corrupted a votarist: you have told 
 me she hath received them, and returned me 
 expectations and comforts of sudden respect 
 and acquaintance ; but I find none. 
 
 lago. Well ; go to ; very well. 
 
 Rod. Very well ! go to ! I cannot go to, man ; 
 nor 'tis not very well : nay, I think it is scurvy, 
 and begin to find myself fobbed in it. 
 
 lago. Very well. 
 
 Rod. I tell you 'tis not very well. I will 
 make myself known to Desdemona : if she will 
 return me my jewels, I will give over my suit, 
 and repent my unlawful solicitation ; if not, 
 assure yourself I will seek satisfaction of you. 
 
 lago. You nave said now. 
 
 Rod. Ay, and said nothing but what I protest 
 intendment ot doing. 
 
 lago. Why, now I see there 's mettle in thee ; 
 and even from this instant do build on thee a 
 better opinion than ever before. Give me thy 
 hand, Roderigo: thou hast taken against me a 
 most just exception ; but yet, I protest, I have 
 dealt most directly in thy affair. 
 
 Rod. It hath not appeared. 
 
 lago. I grant, indeed, it hath not appeared ; 
 and your suspicion is not without wit and judg- 
 ment. But, Roderigo, if thou hast that in thee 
 indeed, which I have greater reason to believe 
 now than ever, I mean purpose, courage, and 
 valour, this night show it : if thou the next 
 night following enjoy not Desdemona, take me 
 from this world with treachery, and devise 
 engines for my life. 
 
 Rod. Well, what is it? is it within reason 
 and compass? 
 
 lago. Sir, there is especial commission come 
 from Venice to depute Cassio in Othello's place. 
 
 Rod. Is that true? why, then Othello and 
 Desdemona return again to Venice. 
 
 Ia<?o. O, no ; he goes into Mauritania, and 
 takes away with him the fair Desdemona, 
 unless his abode be lingered here by some 
 accident : wherein none can be so determinate 
 as the removing of Cassio. 
 
 Rod. How do you mean removing of him ? 
 
 lago. Why, by making him uncapable of 
 Othello's place, knocking out his brains. 
 
 Rod. And that you would have me to do ? 
 
 lago. Ay, if you dare do yourself a profit 
 and a right. He sups to-night with a harlotry, 
 and thither will I go to him : he knows not 
 yet of his honourable fortune. If you will 
 watch his going thence, which I will fashion 
 to fall out between twelve and one, you may 
 take him at your pleasure : I will be near to 
 second your attempt, and he shall fall between 
 us. Come, stand not amazed at it, but go 
 along with me ; I will show you such a 
 necessity in his death that you shall think 
 yourself bound to put it on him. It is now 
 high supper-time, and the night grows to 
 waste : about it. 
 
 Rod. I will hear further reason for this. 
 
 lago. And you shall be satisfied. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. CYPRUS. Another Room in 
 the Castle. 
 
 Enter OTHELLO, LODOVICO, DESDEMONA, 
 EMILIA, and Attendants. 
 
 Lod. I do beseech you, sir, trouble yourself 
 
 no further. [walk. 
 
 Oth. O, pardon me ; 'twill do me good to 
 
 Lod. Madam, good-night ; I humbly thank 
 
 your ladyship. 
 
 Des. Your honour is most welcome. 
 Oth. Will you walk, sir ? 
 
 O, Desdemona, 
 Des. My lord? 
 
 Oth. Get you to bed on the instant ; I will 
 be returned forthwith : dismiss your attendant 
 there : look 't be done. 
 Des. I will, my lord. 
 
 [Exeunt OTH., LOD., and Attendants. 
 Emil. How goes it now? he looks gentler 
 
 than he did. 
 
 Des. He says he will return incontinent : 
 He hath commanded me to go to bed, 
 And bade me to dismiss you. 
 
 Emil. Dismiss me ! 
 
 Des. It was his bidding; therefore, good 
 
 Emilia, 
 
 Give me my nightly wearing, and adieu : 
 We must not now displease him. 
 
1202 
 
 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 [ACT IV. 
 
 Emil. I would you had never seen him ! 
 
 Des. So would not I : my love doth so ap- 
 prove him, [frowns, 
 That even his stubbornness, his checks, his 
 Pr'ythee, unpin me, have grace and favour in 
 them. [on the bed. 
 
 Emil. I have laid those sheets you bade me 
 
 Des. All 's one. Good faith, how foolish are 
 
 our minds ! 
 
 If I do die before thee, pr'ythee, shroud me 
 In one of those same sheets. 
 
 Emil. Come, come, you talk. 
 
 Des. My mother had a maid call'd Barbara : 
 She was in love ; and he she lov'd prov'd mad, 
 And did forsake her : she had a song of willow ; 
 An old thing 'twas, but it express'd her fortune, 
 And she died singing it : that song to-night 
 Will not go from my mind ; I have much to do, 
 But to go hang my head all at one side, 
 And sing it like poor Barbara. Pr'ythee, 
 despatch. 
 
 Emil. Shall I go fetch your night-gown ? 
 
 Des. No, unpin me here. 
 
 This Lodovico is a proper man. 
 
 Emil. A very handsome man. 
 
 Des. He speaks well. 
 
 Emil. I know a lady in Venice would have 
 walked barefoot to Palestine for a touch of his 
 nether lip. 
 
 Des. The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree, 
 
 [Sings. 
 
 Sing all a green willow ; 
 Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee. 
 
 Sing willow, willow, willow : 
 
 The fresh streams ran by her, and murmur'd her 
 moans ; 
 
 Sing willow, willow, willow ; 
 Her salt tears fell from her and soften'd the stones ; 
 
 Lay by these : 
 
 Sing willow, willow, willow ; {Sings. 
 Pr'ythee, hie thee ; he '11 come anon : 
 
 Sing all a green willow must be my garland. 
 [Sings. 
 Let nobody blame him ; his scorn I approve, 
 
 Nay, that's not next. Hark! who is't that 
 
 knocks ? 
 Emil. It 's the wind. 
 
 Des. I call d my love false love ; but what said he 
 then? [Sings. 
 
 Sing willow, willow, willow : 
 If I court mo women, you '11 couch with mo men. 
 
 So, get thee gone ; good-night. Mine eyes do 
 
 itch; 
 
 Doth that bode weeping? 
 Emil. 'Tis neither here nor there. 
 
 Des. I have heard it said so. O, these men, 
 these men !- 
 
 Dost thou in conscience think, tell me, 
 
 Emilia, 
 
 That there be women do abuse their husbands 
 In such gross kind ? 
 
 Emil. There be some such, no question. 
 
 Des. Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the 
 world ? 
 
 Emil. Why, would not you ? 
 
 Des. No, by this heavenly light ! 
 
 Emil. Nor I neither by this heavenly light ; 
 I might do 't as well i' the dark. [world ? 
 
 Des. Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the 
 
 Emil. The world 's a huge thing : it is a 
 
 great price 
 For a small vice. 
 
 Des. In troth, I think thou wouldst not. 
 
 Emil. In troth, I think I should ; and un- 
 do 't when I had done. Marry, I would not do 
 such a thing for a joint-ring, nor for measures 
 of lawn, nor for gowns, petticoats, nor caps, 
 nor any petty exhibition ; but for the whole 
 world, why, who would not make her hus- 
 band a cuckold to make him a monarch? I 
 should venture purgatory for 't. 
 
 Des. Beshrew me, if I would do such a 
 wrong for the whole world. 
 
 Emil. Why, the wrong is but a wrong i' the 
 world ; and having the world for your labour, 
 'tis a wrong in your own world, and you might 
 quickly make it right. 
 
 Des. I do not think there is any such woman. 
 
 Emil. Yes, a dozen ; and as many to the 
 vantage as would store the world they play'd for. 
 But I do think it is their husbands' faults 
 If wives do fall : say that they slack their duties, 
 And pour our treasures into foreign laps ; 
 Or else break out in peevish jealousies, [us, 
 Throwing restraint upon us ; or say they strike 
 Or scant our former having in despite ; 
 Why, we have galls ; and though we have 
 
 some grace, 
 
 Yet have we some revenge. Let husbands know 
 Their wives have sense like them : they see and 
 
 smell, 
 
 And have their palates both for sweet and sour, 
 As husbands have. What is it that they do 
 When they change us for others ? Is it sport ? 
 I think it is : and doth affection breed it ? 
 I think it doth : is't frailty that thus errs? 
 It is so too. And have not we affections, 
 Desires for sport, and frailty, as men have ? 
 Then let them use us well : else let them know 
 The ills we do their ills instruct us to. 
 
 Des. Good-night, good-night : heaven me 
 
 such usage send, 
 Not to pick bad from bad, but by bad mend J 
 
/ SCENE I.] 
 
 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 1203 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. CYPRUS. A Street. 
 Enter IAGO and RODERIGO. 
 
 lago. Here, stand behind this bulk ; straight 
 
 will he come : 
 
 Wear thy good rapier bare, and put ir home : 
 Quick, quick ; fear nothing ; I '11 be at thy 
 
 elbow : 
 
 It makes us or it mars us ; think on that, 
 And fix most firm thy resolution. 
 
 Rod. Be near at hand ; I may miscarry in 't. 
 lago. Here, at thy hand : be bold, and take 
 
 thy stand. [Retires to a little distance. 
 
 Rod. I have no great devotion to the deed ; 
 
 And yet he hath given me satisfying reasons : 
 
 'Tis but a man gone. Forth, my sword ; he 
 
 dies. [Goes to his stand, 
 
 lago. I have rubb'd this young quat almost 
 
 to the sense, [Cassio 
 
 And he grows angry. Now, whether he kill 
 Or Cassio him, or each do kill the other, 
 Every way makes my gain : live Roderigo, 
 He calls me to a restitution large 
 Of gold and jewels that I bobb'd from him 
 As gifts to Desdemona ; 
 It must not be : if Cassio do remain, 
 He hath a daily beauty in his life 
 That makes me ugly ; and, besides, the Moor 
 May unfold me to him ; there stand I in much 
 
 peril . 
 No, he must die. But, so, I hear him coming. 
 
 Enter CASSIO. 
 
 Rod. I know his gait, 'tis he. Villain, thou 
 
 diest ! 
 
 [Rushes out, and makes a pass at CASSIO. 
 Cas. That thrust had been mine enemy in- 
 deed, 
 
 But that my coat is better than thou know'st : 
 I will make proof of thine. 
 
 [Draws, and wounds RODERIGO. 
 Rod. O, I am slain ! 
 
 [IAGO rushes from his post, cuts CASSIO 
 
 behind in the leg, and exit. 
 Cas. I am maim'd for ever. Help, ho ! mur- 
 der ! murder ! [Falls. 
 
 Enter OTHELLO at a distance. 
 
 Oth. The voice of Cassio : lago keeps his 
 
 word. 
 
 Rod. O, villain that I am ! 
 Oth. It is even so. 
 
 Cas. O, help, ho ! light ! a surgeon ! 
 Oth. 'Tis he : O brave lago, honest and just 
 
 That hath such noble sense of thy friend's 
 
 wrong ! 
 
 Thou teachest me, minion, your dear lies dead, 
 And your unbless'd fate hies. Strumpet, I 
 
 come ! [blotted ; 
 
 Faith of my heart those charms, thine eyes, are 
 Thy bed. lust-stain'd, shall with lust's blood be 
 
 spotted. [Exit. 
 
 Enter LODOVICO and GRATIANO at a distance. 
 
 Cas. What, ho ! no watch ? no passage ? 
 
 murder ! murder ! [direful. 
 
 Gra. J Tis some mischance ; the voice is very 
 Cas. O, help ! 
 Lod. Hark! 
 
 Rod. O wretched villain ! [night : 
 
 Lod. Two or three groan : it is a heavy 
 
 These may be counterfeits : let 's think 't unsafe 
 
 To come in to the cry without more help. 
 
 Rod. Nobody come? then shall I bleed to 
 
 death. 
 
 Lod. Hark! 
 Gra. Here's one comes in his shirt, with 
 
 light and weapons. 
 
 Re-enter IAGO with a light. 
 
 lago. Who 's there ? whose noise is this that 
 cries on murder ? 
 
 Lod. We do not know. 
 
 lago. Did not you hear a cry r 
 
 Cas. Here, here ! for heaven's sake, help me ! 
 
 lago. What 's the matter ? 
 
 Gra. This is Othello's ancient, as I take it. 
 
 Lod. The same indeed ; a very valiant fellow. 
 
 lago. What are you here that cry so griev- 
 ously ? [villains ! 
 
 Cas. lago? O, I am spoil'd, undone by 
 Give me some help. [done this ? 
 
 lago. O me, lieutenant ! what villains have 
 
 Cas. I think that one of them is hereabout, 
 And cannot make away. 
 
 lago. O treacherous villains ! 
 
 What are you there ? come in, and give some 
 
 help. [To LODOVICO and GRATIANO. 
 
 Rod. O, help me here ! 
 
 Cas. That 's one of them. 
 
 lago. O murderous slave ! O villain ! 
 
 [Stabs RODERIGO. 
 
 Roa. O damn'd lago ! O inhuman dog ! 
 
 lago. Kill men i' the dark ! Where be these 
 
 bloody thieves ? 
 
 How silent is this town ! Ho ! murder ! mur- 
 der ! 
 What may you be ? are you of good or evil ? 
 
 Lod. As you shall prove us, praise us. 
 
 lago. Signior Lodovico? 
 
 Lod. He, sir. 
 
1204 
 
 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 [ACTV. 
 
 lago. I cry you mercy. Here 's Cassio hurt 
 
 by villains. 
 Gra. Cassio! 
 logo. How is 't, brother ? 
 Cos. My leg is cut in two. 
 lago. Marry, heaven forbid ! 
 
 Light, gentlemen : I '11 bind it with my shirt. 
 
 Enter BIANCA. 
 
 Bian. What is the matter, ho? who is't 
 
 that cried ? 
 
 lago. Who is 't that cried ! 
 Bian. O my dear Cassio ! my sweet Cassio ! 
 O Cassio, Cassio, Cassio ! 
 
 lago. O notable strumpet ! Cassio, may you 
 
 suspect [you ? 
 
 Who they should be that have thus mangled 
 
 Cas. No. 
 
 Gra. I am sorry to find you thus: I have 
 
 been to seek you. 
 
 lago. Lend me a garter : so. O, for a chair, 
 To bear him easily hence ! [Cassio ! 
 
 Bian. Alas, he faints! O Cassio, Cassio, 
 lago. Gentlemen all, I do suspect this trash 
 To be a party in this injury. 
 Patience awhile, good Cassio. Come, come ; 
 Lend me a light. Know we this face or no? 
 Alas, my friend and my dear countryman 
 Roderigo? no: yes, sure ; O heaven 1 Roderigo. 
 Gra. What, of Venice ? 
 lago. Even he, sir : did you know him ? 
 Gra. Know him I ay. 
 
 lago. Signior Gratiano? I cry you gentle 
 
 pardon ; 
 
 These bloody accidents must excuse my manners, 
 That so neglected you. 
 
 Gra. I am glad to see you. 
 
 lago. How do you, Cassio? O, a chair, a 
 
 chair 1 
 
 Gra. Roderigo ! 
 
 lago. He, he, 'tis he. O, that's well said ; 
 
 the chair : [A chair brought in. 
 
 Some good man bear him carefully from hence ; 
 
 I'll fetch the general's surgeon. For you, 
 
 mistress, [To BiANCA. 
 
 Save you your labour. He that lies slain here, 
 
 Cassio, [you ? 
 
 Was my dear friend : what malice was between 
 
 Cas. None in the world nor do I know the 
 
 man. 
 
 Togo. [To BIAN.] What, look you pale? 
 O, bear him out o' the air. 
 
 [CAS. and ROD. are borne off. 
 Stay you, good gentlemen. Look you pale, 
 
 mistress ? 
 
 Do you perceive the gastness of her eye? 
 Nay, if you stare, we shall hear more anon. 
 
 Behold her well ; I pray you, look upon her : 
 Do you see, gentlemen? nay, guiltiness will 
 
 speak 
 Though tongues were out of use. 
 
 Enter EMILIA. 
 
 Emil. 'Las, what 's the matter ? what 's the 
 
 matter, husband? 
 
 lago. Cassio hath here been set on in the dark 
 By Roderigo, and fellows that are 'scap'd : 
 He 's almost slain, and Roderigo dead. 
 Emil. Alas, good gentleman ! alas, good 
 Cassio ! [thee, Emilia, 
 
 lago. This is the fruit of whoring. Pr'y- 
 Go know of Cassio where he supp'd to-night. 
 What, do you shake at that ? 
 Bian. He supp'd at my house ; but I there- 
 fore shake not. 
 
 lago. O, did he so? I charge you, go with me. 
 Emil. Fie, fie upon thee, strumpet ! 
 Bian. I am no strumpet ; but of life as honest 
 As you that thus abuse me. 
 Emil. As I ! foh ! fie upon thee ! 
 
 lago. Kind gentlemen, let's go see poor 
 
 Cassio dress'd. 
 
 Come, mistress, you must tell 's another tale. 
 Emilia, run you to the citadel, 
 And tell my lord and lady what hath happ'd. 
 Will you go on afore ?--\Aside.} This is the 
 
 night 
 That either makes me or fordoes me quite. 
 
 \_Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. CYPRUS. A Bedchamber in the 
 Castle: DESDEMONA in bed asleep; a light 
 burning. 
 
 Enter OTHELLO. 
 
 Oth. It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul, 
 Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars ! 
 It is the cause. Yet I '11 not shed her blood ; 
 Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow, 
 And smooth as monumental alabaster. 
 
 [Takes off his sword. 
 
 Yet she must die, else she '11 betray more men,, 
 Put out the light, and then put out the light : 
 If I quench thee, thou flaming minister, 
 I can again thy former light restore, [light, 
 Should I repent me: but once put out thy 
 Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature, 
 I know not where is that Promethean heat 
 That can thy light relume. When I have 
 
 pluck'd thy rose, 
 
 I cannot give it vital growth again, 
 It needs must wither: I'll smell it on the 
 
 tree. [Kissing her. 
 
 O balmy breath, that dost almost persuade 
 
SCENE II. J 
 
 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 1205 
 
 Justice to break her sword ! One more, one 
 
 more. [thee, 
 
 Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill 
 
 And love thee after. One more, and that's 
 
 the last : 
 
 So sweet was ne'er so fatal. I must weep, 
 But they are cruel tears : this sorrow's heavenly; 
 It strikes where it doth love. She wakes. 
 
 Des. Who's there? Othello? 
 
 Oth. Ay, Desdemona. 
 
 Des. Will you come to bed, my lord ? 
 
 Oth. Have you prayM to-night, Desdemon ? 
 
 Des. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Oth. If you bethink yourself of any crime 
 Unreconcil'd as yet to heaven and grace, 
 Solicit for it straight. [that ? 
 
 Des. Alack, aiy lord, what may you mean by 
 
 Oth. Well, do it, and be brief ; I will walk 
 
 by: 
 
 I would not kill thy unprepared spirit ; [soul. 
 No, heaven forfend ! I would not kill thy 
 
 Des. Talk you of killing ? 
 
 Oth. Ay, I do. 
 
 Des. Then heaven 
 
 Have mercy on me ! 
 
 Oth. Amen, with all my heart ! 
 
 Des. If you say so, I hope you will not kill 
 me. 
 
 Oth. Hum! [then 
 
 Des. And yet I fear you ; for you are fatal 
 
 When your eyes roll so : why I should fear I 
 
 know not, [fear. 
 
 Since guiltiness I know not ; but yet I feel I 
 
 Oth. Think on thy sins. 
 
 Des. They are loves I bear to you. 
 
 Oth. Av, and for that thou diest. [loving. 
 
 Des. Taat death's unnatural that kills for 
 Alas, why gnaw you so your nether lip ? 
 Some bloody passion shakes your very frame : 
 These are portents ; but yet I hope, I hope, 
 They do not point on me. 
 
 Oth. Peace, and be still ! 
 
 Des. I will so. What 's the matter ? 
 
 Oth. That handkerchief which I so lov'd and 
 
 gave thee 
 Thou gav'st to Cassio. 
 
 Des. No, by my life and soul ! 
 
 Send for the man and ask him. 
 
 Oth. Sweet soul, take heed, 
 
 Take heed of perjury ; thou 'rt on thy death-bed. 
 
 Des. Ay, but not yet to die. 
 
 Oth. Yes, presently : 
 
 Therefore confess thee freely of thy sin ; 
 For to deny each article with oath 
 Cannot remove nor choke the strong conception 
 That I do groan withal. Thou art to die. 
 
 Des. Then, Lord have mercy on me 1 
 
 Oth. I say, amen. 
 
 Des. And have you mercy too ! I never did 
 Offend you in my life ; never lov'd Cassio 
 But with such general warranty of heaven 
 As I might love : I never gave him token. 
 
 Oth. By heaven, I saw my handkerchief in 's 
 hand. 
 
 perjur'd woman ! thou dost stone my heart, 
 And mak'st me call what I intend to do 
 
 A murder, which I thought a sacrifice : 
 
 1 saw the handkerchief. 
 
 Des. He found it, then ; 
 
 I never gave it him : send for him hither ; 
 Let him confess a truth. 
 
 Oth. He hath confess'd. 
 
 Des. What, my lord ? 
 
 Oth. That he hath us'd thee. 
 
 Des. How? unlawfully? 
 
 Oth. Ay. 
 
 Des. He will not say so. 
 
 Oth. No, his mouth is stopp'o : 
 
 Honest lago hath ta'en order for 't. [dead i 
 
 Des. O, my fear interprets ! What, is he 
 
 Oth. Had all his hairs been lives, my great 
 
 revenge 
 Had stomach for them all. 
 
 Des. Alas, he is betray 'd, and I undone ! 
 
 Oth. Out, strumpet ! Weep'st thou for him 
 to my face ? 
 
 Des. O, banish me, my lord, but kill me not ! 
 
 Oth. Down, strumpet I 
 
 Des. Kill me to-morrow ; let me live to-night! 
 
 Oth. Nay, if you strive, 
 
 Des. But half an hour ! 
 
 Oth. Being done, there is no pause. 
 
 Des. But while I say one prayer ! 
 
 Oth. It is too late. {Smothers her. 
 
 Emil. [Within.} My lord, my lord ! what, 
 ho ! my lord, my lord ! 
 
 Oth. What noise is this? Not dead? not 
 
 yet quite dead ? 
 
 I that am cruel am yet merciful ; 
 I would not have thee linger in thy pain : 
 So, so. [lord ! 
 
 Emil. [Within.} What, ho! my lord, my 
 
 Oth. Who's there? 
 
 Emil. \Within.~\ O, good my lord, I would 
 speak a word with you ! [dead. 
 
 Oth. Yes : 'tis Emilia : by and by. She 's 
 'Tis like she comes to speak of Cassio's death ; 
 The noise was high. Ha ! no more moving? 
 Still as the grave. Shall she come in? Were 't 
 good ? [do ? 
 
 I think she stirs again : no. What's best to 
 If she come in she '11 sure speak to my wife : 
 My wife! my wife! what wife? I have no wife* 
 O, insupportable 1 O heavy hour 1 
 
1206 
 
 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE, 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 Methinks it should be now a huge eclipse 
 
 Of sun and moon, and that the affrighted globe 
 
 Should yawn at alteration. 
 
 Emil. [Within.'] I do beseech you 
 
 That I may speak with you, O, good my lord ! 
 
 Oth. I had forgot thee : O, come in, Emilia: 
 Soft, by and by: let me the curtains draw. 
 Where art thou? [Unlocks the door. 
 
 Enter EMILIA. 
 
 What's the matter with thee now? 
 
 Emit. O, my good lord, yonder 's foul mur- 
 ders done ! 
 
 Oth. What, now? 
 
 Emil. But now, my lord. 
 
 Oth. It is the very error of the moon ; 
 She comes more nearer earth than she was wont, 
 And makes men mad. [Venetian 
 
 Emil. Cassio, my lord, hath kill'd a young 
 Call'd Roderigo. 
 
 Oth. Roderigo kill'd ! 
 
 And Cassio kill'd ! 
 
 Emil. No, Cassio is not kill'd. 
 
 Oth. Not Cassio kill'd ! then murder 's out 
 
 of tune, 
 And sweet revenge grows harsh. 
 
 Des. O, falsely, falsely murder'd ! 
 
 Emil. Alas, what cry is that? 
 
 Oth. That! what! [voice. 
 
 Emil. Out and alas! that was my lady's 
 Help ! help, ho ! help ! O lady, speak again ! 
 Sweet Desdemona ! O sweet mistress, speak ! 
 
 Des. A guiltless death I die. 
 
 Emil. O, who hath done this deed? 
 
 Des. Nobody; I myself. Farewell: 
 Commend me to my kind lord : O, farewell ! 
 
 [Dies. 
 
 Oth. Why, how should she be murder'd ? 
 
 Emil. Alas, who knows ? 
 
 Oth. You heard her say herself it was not I. 
 
 Emil. She said so : I must needs report the 
 truth. 
 
 Oth. She 's, like a liar, gone to burning hell : 
 'Twas I that kill'd her. 
 
 Emil. O, the more angel she, 
 
 And you the blacker devil ! 
 
 Oth. She turn'd to folly, and she was a whore. 
 
 Emil. Thou dost belie her, and thou art a 
 devil. 
 
 Oth. She was false as water. 
 
 Emil. Thou art rash as fire, to say 
 
 That she was false : O, she was heavenly true ! 
 
 Oth. Cassio did tup her ; ask thy husband else. 
 O, I were damn'd beneath all depth in hell, 
 But that I did proceed upon just grounds 
 To this extremity. Thy husband knew it all, 
 
 EmiL My husband! 
 
 Oth. Thy husband. 
 
 Emil. That she was false to wedlock? 
 
 Oth. Ay, with Cassio. Nay, had she been 
 
 true, 
 
 If heaven would make me such another world 
 Of one entire and perfect chrysolite, 
 I 'd not have sold her for it. 
 
 Emil. My husband ! 
 
 Oth. Ay, 'twas he that told me first: 
 
 An honest man he is, and hates the slime 
 That sticks on filthy deeds. 
 
 Emil. My husband ! 
 
 Oth. What needs this iterance, woman? I say 
 thy husband. [with love ! 
 
 Emil. O mistress, villany hath made mocks 
 My husband say that she was false ! 
 
 Oth. He, woman ; 
 
 I say thy husband : dost understand the word ? 
 My friend, thy husband, honest, honest lago. 
 
 Emil. If he say so, may his pernicious soul 
 Rot half a grain a day ! he lies to the heart : 
 She was too fond of her most filthy bargain. 
 
 Oth. Ha! 
 
 Emil. Do thy worst : 
 
 This deed of thine is no more worthy heaven 
 Than thou wast worthy her. 
 
 Oth. Peace, you were best. 
 
 Emil. Thou hast not half that power to do 
 
 me harm 
 
 As I have to be hurt. O gull ! O dolt ! 
 As ignorant as dirt ! thou hast done a deed, 
 I care not for thy sword ; I '11 make thee known, 
 Though I lost twenty lives. Help! help, ho! 
 help ! [murder ! 
 
 The Moor hath kill'd my mistress ! murder ! 
 
 Enter MoNTANO, GRATIANO, and IAGO. 
 
 Mon. What is the matter? How now, 
 general ! [well, 
 
 EmiL O, are you come, lago ? you have done 
 That men must lay their murders on your neck. 
 
 Gra. What is the matter ? [man : 
 
 Emil. Disprove this villain, if thou be'st a 
 He says thou told'st him that his wife was false : 
 I know thou didst not, thou 'rt not such a villain : 
 Speak, for my heart is full. [no more 
 
 lago. I told him what I thought ; and told 
 Than what he found himself was apt and true. 
 
 EmiL But did you ever tell him she was false? 
 
 lago. I did. 
 
 EmiL You told a lie ; an odious, damned 
 
 lie; 
 
 Upon my soul, a lie ; a wicked lie : 
 She false with Cassio! Did you say with 
 
 Cassio ? 
 
 lago. With Cassio, mistress. Go to, charm 
 your tongue. 
 
SCENE II.] 
 
 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 1207 
 
 Emit. I will not eharm my tongue ; I am 
 
 bound to speak : 
 
 My mistress here lies murder'd in her bed, 
 AIL O heavens forfend ! 
 EmiL And your reports have set the murder 
 
 on. ' [indeed. 
 
 Oth. Nay, stare not, masters: it is true, 
 Gra. 'Tis a strange truth. 
 Man. O monstrous act ! 
 EmiL Villany, villany, villany ! 
 
 f think upon 't, I think, I smell 't ; O 
 villany! [grief: 
 
 I thought so then; I'll kill myself for 
 
 villany, villany ! 
 
 lago. What, are you mad? I charge you, 
 get you home. [speak : 
 
 EmiL Good gentlemen, let me have leave to 
 'Tis proper I obey him, but not now. 
 Perchance, lago, I will ne'er go home. 
 
 Oth. O ! O ! O ! {Hanging over his wife. 
 
 Emit. Nay, lay thee down and roar ; 
 
 For though hast kill'd the sweetest innocent 
 That e'er did lift up eye. 
 
 Oth. O, she was foul ! 
 
 [Rising. 
 
 1 scarce did know you, uncle: there lies your 
 
 niece, 
 Whose breath, indeed, these hands have newly 
 
 stopp'd : 
 I know this act shows horrible and grim. 
 
 Gra. Poor Desdemona! I am glad thy 
 
 father 's dead : 
 
 Thy match was mortal to him, and pure grief 
 Shore his old thread in twain : did he live now, 
 This sight would make him do a desperate turn, 
 Yea, curse his better angel from his side, 
 And fall to reprobance. 
 
 Oth. 'Tis pitiful ; but yet lago knows 
 That she with Cassio hath the act of shame 
 A thousand times committed ; Cassio confess'd 
 
 it: 
 
 And she did gratify his amorous works 
 With that recognizance and pledge of love 
 Which I first gave her ; I saw it in his hand : 
 It was a handkerchief, an antique token 
 My father gave my mother. 
 
 EmiL O heaven ! O heavenly powers ! 
 
 lago. Come, hold your peace. 
 
 EmiL 'Twill out, 'twill out: I peace ! 
 
 No, I will speak as liberal as the north : 
 Let heaven and men and devils, let them all, 
 All, all, cry shame against me, yet I '11 speak. 
 
 lago. Be wise, and get you home. 
 
 EmiL I will not. 
 
 [!AGO offers to stab his wife. 
 
 Gra. Fie ! 
 
 Your sword upon a woman? 
 
 EmiL O thou dull Moor ! that handkerchief 
 
 thou speak 'st of 
 
 I found by fortune, and did give my husband ; 
 For often, with a solemn earnestness, 
 More than, indeed, belong' d to such a trifle, 
 He begg'd of me to steal it. 
 
 lago. Villanous whore ! 
 
 EmiL She give it Cassio ! no, alas, I found it, 
 And I did give 't my husband. 
 
 lago. Filth, thou liest ! 
 
 EmiL By heaven, I do not, I do not, gentle- 
 men. 
 
 O murderous coxcomb 1 what should such a fool 
 Do with so good a wife ? 
 
 [lAGO stabs EMILIA, and then runs out. 
 
 Oth. Are there no stones in heaven 
 
 But what serve for the thunder? Precious 
 
 villain ! [wife. 
 
 Gra. The woman falls ; sure he hath kill'd his 
 
 EmiL Ay, ay : O, lay me by my mistress' 
 
 side. 
 
 Gra. He 's gone, but his wife 's kill'd. 
 Mon. 'Tis a notorious villain. Take you this 
 
 weapon, 
 
 Which I have here recover'd from the Moor : 
 Come, guard the door without ; let him not pass, 
 But kill him rather. I '11 after that same villain, 
 For 'tis a damned slave. 
 
 {Exeunt MON. and GRA. 
 Oth. I am not valiant neither, 
 
 But every puny whipster gets my sword : 
 But why should honour outlive honesty ? 
 Let it go all. 
 
 EmiL What did thy song bode, lady ? 
 Hark, canst thou hear me? I will play the 
 
 swan, 
 
 And die in music : Willow, willow, willow. 
 
 [Sings. 
 Moor, she was chaste ; she lov'd thee, cruel 
 
 Moor ; 
 
 So come my soul to bliss, as I speak true ; 
 So speaking as I think, I die, I die. [Dies. 
 Oth. I have another weapon in this chamber ; 
 It is a sword of Spain, the ice-brook's temper: 
 O, here it is. Uncle, I must come forth. 
 Gra. [Within.1\i thou attempt it, it will 
 
 cost thee dear : 
 
 Thou hast no weapon, and perforce must suffer. 
 Oth. Look in upon me, then, and speak with 
 
 me, 
 Or, naked as I am, I will assault thee. 
 
 Re-enter GRATIANO. 
 
 : ,i?r>v !!ivV 
 
 Gra . What is the matter ? 
 
 Oth. Behold, I have a weapon ; 
 
 A better never did itself sustain 
 Upon a soldier's thigh : I have seen the day 
 
1208 
 
 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 [ACT v. 
 
 That, with this little arm and this good sword, 
 I have made my way through more impediments 
 Than twenty times your stop : but, O vain 
 
 boast ! 
 
 Who can control his fate? 'tis not so now. 
 Be not afraid though you do see me weapon'd ; 
 Here is my journey's end, here is my butt, 
 And very sea-mark of my utmost sail. 
 Do you go back dismay'd ? 'tis a lost fear ; 
 Man but a rush against Othello's breast, 
 And he retires : where should Othello go ? 
 Now, how dost thou look now? O ill-starr'd 
 
 wench ! [compt, 
 
 Pale as thy smock ! when we shall meet at 
 This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven, 
 And fiends will snatch at it. Cold, cold, my 
 
 girl! 
 
 Even like thy chastity. 
 O cursed, cursed slave ! Whip me, ye devils, 
 From the possession of this heavenly sight ! 
 Blow me about in winds ! roast me in sulphur ! 
 Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire ! 
 O Desdemon ! dead, Desdemon ! dead ! O 1 
 
 Enter LODOVICO, MONTANO, CASSIO, carried 
 in a chair i and Officers, with IAGO prisoner. 
 
 Lod. Where is this rash and most unfortun- 
 ate man ? 
 
 Oth. That 's he that was Othello ; here I am. 
 Lod. Where is that viper ? bring the villain 
 
 forth. 
 Oth. I look down towards his feet, but 
 
 that's a fable. 
 If that thou be'st a devil, I cannot kill thee. 
 
 [ Wounds IAGO, 
 
 Lod. Wrench his sword from him. 
 logo. I bleed, sir ; but not kill'd. 
 
 Oth. I am not sorry neither : I 'd have thee 
 
 live; 
 For, in my sense, 'tis happiness to die. 
 
 Lod. O thou Othello, that wert once so good, 
 Fall'n in the practice of a damned slave, 
 What shall be said to thee ? 
 
 Oth. Why, anything : 
 
 An honourable murderer, if you will ; 
 For naught I did in hate, but all in honour. 
 Lod. This wretch hath part confess'd his 
 
 villany : 
 
 Did you and he consent in Cassio's death ? 
 Oth. Ay. 
 
 Cos. Dear general, I never gave you cause. 
 Oth. I do believe it, and I ask your pardon. 
 Will you, I pray, demand that demi-devil 
 Why he hath thus ensnar'd my soul and body ? 
 logo. Demand me nothing : what you know, 
 
 you know : 
 From this time forth I never will speak word. 
 
 Lod. What, not to pray ? 
 
 Gra. Torments will ope your lips. 
 
 Oth. Well, thou dost best. [falrn, 
 
 Lod. Sir, you shall understand what hath be- 
 Which, as I think, you know not. Here is a 
 
 letter 
 
 Found in the pocket of the slain Roderigo ; 
 And here another : the one of them imports 
 The death of Cassio to be undertook 
 By Roderigo. 
 
 Oth. O villain! 
 
 Cos. Most heathenish and most gross ! 
 
 Lod. Now here 's another discontented paper, 
 Found in his pocket toe ; and this, it seems, 
 Roderigo meant to have sent this damned 
 
 villain ; 
 
 But that, belike, lago in the interim 
 Came in and satisfied him. 
 
 Oth. O the pernicious caitiff ! 
 
 How came you, Cassio, by that handkerchief 
 That was my wife's ? 
 
 Cas. I found it in my chamber : 
 
 And he himself confess'd but even now 
 That there he dropp'd it for a special purpose 
 Which wrought to his desire. 
 
 Oth. O fool ! fool $ fool ! 
 
 Cas. There is besides in Roderigo's letter, 
 How he upbraids lago that he made him 
 Brave me upon the watch ; whereon it came 
 That I was cast : and even but now he spake, 
 After long seeming dead, lago hurt him, 
 lago set him on. 
 
 Lod. You must forsake this room, and go with 
 
 us: 
 
 Your power and your command is taken off, 
 And Cassio rules in Cyprus. For this slave, 
 If there be any cunning cruelty 
 That can torment him much and hold him long, 
 It shall be his. You shall close prisoner rest 
 Till that the nature of your fault be known 
 To the Venetian state. Come, bring away. 
 
 Oth. Soft you ; a word or two before you go. 
 I have done the state some service, and they 
 
 know \ ; 
 
 No more of that. I pray you, in your letters, 
 When you shall these unlucky deeds relate, 
 Speak of me as I am ; nothing extenuate, 
 Nor set down aught in malice : then must you 
 
 speak 
 
 Of one that lov'd not wisely, but too well ; 
 Of one not easily jealous, but, being wrought, 
 Perplex'd in the extreme ; of one whose hand, 
 Like the base Judean, threw a pearl away 
 Richer than all his tribe ; of one whose subdu'd 
 
 eyes, 
 
 Albeit unused to the melting mood, 
 Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees 
 
SCENE II. j 
 
 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 1209 
 
 Their medicinal gum. Set you down this ; 
 And say, besides, that in Allepo once, 
 Where a malignant and a turban'd Turk 
 Beat a Venetian and traduc'd the state, 
 I took by the throat the circumcised dog. 
 And smote him thus. [Stabs himself. 
 
 Lod. O bloody period ! 
 
 Gra. All that 's spoke is marr'd. 
 
 Oth. I kiss'd thee ere I kill'd thee : no way 
 
 but this, [Falling upon DESDEMON A. 
 
 Killing myself, to die upon a kiss. [Dies. 
 
 Cos. This did I fear, but thought he had no 
 
 weapon ; 
 For he was great of heart. 
 
 Lod. [To IAGO.] O Spartan dog, 
 
 More fell than anguish, hunger, or the sea! 
 Look on the tragic loading of this bed ; 
 This is thy work : the ooject poisons sight ; 
 Let it be hid Gratiano, keep the house, 
 And seize upon the fortunes of the Moor, 
 For they succeed on you. To you, lord 
 
 governor, 
 
 Remains the censure of this hellish villain ; 
 The time, the place, the torture, O, enforce 
 
 it! 
 
 Myself will straight aboard ; and to the state 
 This heavy act with heavy heart relate 
 
 [Extunt. 
 
 wolf 
 
 
 
 jtfs>qq... u 
 
 tt A 
 >H 
 
 

 
 VENUS AND ADONIS, 
 
 * Vilia miretur vulgus, mihi flavus Apollo 
 Pocula Castalia plena ministret aqua.' OVID. 
 
 *rfl o} 
 
 TO THE 
 
 RIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY, 
 
 EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON, AND BARON OF TITCHFIELD. 
 
 iriJ Jttd 
 
 RIGHT HONOURABLE, 
 
 I KNOW not how I shall offend in dedicating my unpolished lines to your lordship, nor 
 how the world will censure me for choosing so strong a prop to support so weak a burthen : 
 only if your honour seem but pleased, I account myself highly praised, and vow to take advan- 
 tage of all idle hours till I have honoured you with some graver labour. But if the first heir of 
 my invention prove deformed, I shall be sorry it had so noble a godfather, and never after ear so 
 barren a land, for fear it yield me still so bad a harvest I leave it to your honourable survey, 
 and your honour to your heart's content ; which I wish may always answer your own wish, and 
 the world's hopeful expectation. 
 
 Your Honour's in all duty, 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 EVEN as the sun with purple-colour'd face 
 Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn, 
 Rose-cheek'd Adonis hied him to the chase ; 
 Hunting he lov'd, but love he laugh'd to scorn ; 
 Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him, 
 And like a bold-fac'd suitor 'gins to woo him. 
 
 * Thrice fairer than myself,' thus she began, 
 
 * The field's chief flower, sweet above compare, 
 Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man, 
 More white and red than doves or roses are ; 
 
 Nature that made thee, with herself at strife, 
 Saith that the world hath ending with thy life. 
 
 * Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed, 
 And rein his proud head to the saddle-bow ; 
 If thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed 
 A thousand honey-secrets shall thou know : 
 
 Here come and sit, where never serpent hisses, 
 And being set I '11 smother thee with kisses ; 
 
 * And yet not cloy thy lips with loath'd satiety, 
 But rather famish them amid their plenty, 
 Making them red and pale with fresh variety, 
 Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty : 
 
 A summer's day will seem an hour but short, 
 Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport.' 
 
 With this she seizeth on his sweating palm. 
 The precedent of pith and livelihood, 
 
 And, trembling in her passion, calls it balm, 
 Earth's sovereign salve to do a goddess good : 
 Being so enrag'd, desire doth lend her force, 
 Courageously to pluck him from his horse. 
 
 Over one arm the lusty courser's rein, 
 Under her other was the tender boy, 
 Who blush'd and pouted in a full disdain, 
 With leaden appetite, unapt to toy ; 
 
 She red and hot as coals of glowing fire, 
 He red for shame, but frosty in desire. 
 
 The studded bridle on a ragged bough 
 Nimbly she fastens ; (O how quick is love ! ) 
 The steed is stalled up, and even now 
 To tie the rider she begins to prove : 
 
 Backward she push'd him, as she would be 
 
 thrust, 
 
 And govern'd him in strength, though not in 
 lust. 
 
 So soon was she along, as he was down, 
 Each leaning on their elbows and their hips : 
 Now doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he 
 
 frown, 
 And 'gins to chide, but soon she stops his 
 
 lips; 
 And kissing speaks, with lustful language 
 
 broken, 
 * If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open,' 
 
VENUS AND ADONIS. 
 
 I2II 
 
 He burns with bashful shame ; she with her tears 
 Doth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks : 
 Then with her windy sighs, and golden hairs, 
 To fan and blow them dry again she seeks : 
 
 He saith she is immodest, blames her 'miss ; 
 
 What follows more she murders with a kiss. 
 
 Even as an empty eagle, sharp by fast, 
 Tires with her beak on feathers, flesh, and bone, 
 Shaking her wings, devouring all in haste, 
 Till either gorge be stuff'd, or prey be gone ; 
 Even soshekiss'd his brow, his cheek, his chin, 
 And where she ends she doth anew begin. 
 
 Forc'd to content, but never to obey, 
 Panting he lies, and breatheth in her face ; 
 She feedeth on the steam, as on a prey, 
 And calls it heavenly moisture, air of grace, 
 
 Wishing her cheeks were gardens full of 
 flowers, [showers. 
 
 So they were dew'd with such distilling 
 
 Look how a bird lies tangled in a net, 
 So fastened in her arms Adonis lies ; 
 Pure shame and aw'd resistance made him fret, 
 Which bred more beauty in his angry eyes j 
 Rain added to a river that is rank, 
 Perforce will force it overflow the bank. 
 
 Still she entreats, and prettily entreats, 
 For to a pretty ear she tunes her tale ; 
 Still is he sullen, still he low'rs and frets, 
 'Twixt crimson shame, and anger ashy pale ; 
 Beingred,she loves him best; and being white, 
 Her best is better'd with a more delight. 
 
 Look how he can, she cannot choose but love; 
 And by her fair immortal hand she swears 
 From his soft bosom never to remove, 
 Till he take truce with her contending tears, 
 
 Which long have rain'd, making her cheeks 
 all wet ; [debt. 
 
 And one sweet kiss shall pay this countless 
 
 Upon this promise did he raise his chin, 
 Like a dive-dapper peering through a wave, 
 Who, being looted on, ducks as quickly in ; 
 So offers he to give what she did crave'; 
 But when her lips were ready for his pay, 
 He winks, and turns his lips another way. 
 
 Never did passenger in summer's heat [turn : 
 More thirst for drink, than she for this good 
 Her help she sees, but help she cannot get ; 
 She bathes in water, yet her fire must burn : 
 
 O, pity,' 'gan she cry, ' flint-hearted boy 1 
 but a kiss I beg ; why art thou -coy? 
 
 'Tis 
 
 ' I have been woo'd, as I entreat thee now, 
 Even by the stern and direful god of war, 
 Whose sinewy neck in battle ne'er did bow, 
 Who conquers where he comes, in every jar ; 
 Yet hath he been my captive and my slave, 
 And begg'd for that which thou unask'd shalt 
 have. 
 
 ' Over my altars hath he hung his lance, 
 His batter'd shield, his uncontrolled crest, 
 And for my sake hath learn'd to sport and dance, 
 To toy, to wanton, dally, smile, and jest ; 
 Scorning his churlish drum and ensign red, 
 Making my arms his field, his tent my bed. 
 
 V J ru4? oiW >.:T*oi;.$as;,'j:>'~> -j^dT 
 
 * Thus he that overrul'd I oversway'd, 
 Leading him prisoner in a red-rose chain : 
 Strong-temperd steel his stronger strength 
 
 * obey'd, 
 Yet was he servile to my coy disdain. 
 
 O, be not proud, nor brag not of thy might, 
 For mastering her that foil'd the god of fight ! 
 
 * Touch but my lips with those fair lips of thine, 
 (Though mine be not so fair, yet are they red. ) 
 The kiss shall be thine own as well as mine : 
 What seest thou in the ground? hold up thy 
 
 head; 
 
 Look in mine eyeballs, there thy beauty lies : 
 Then why not lips on lips, since eyes in eyes? 
 
 ' Art thou asham'd to kiss? then wink again, 
 And I will wink, so shall the day seem night : 
 Love keeps his revels where there are but twain ; 
 Be bold to play, our sport is not in sight : 
 These blue-vein'd voilets whereon we lean 
 Never can blab, nor know not what we mean. 
 
 ' The tender spring upon thy tempting lip 
 
 Shows thee unripe ; yet mayst thou well be 
 tasted ; 
 
 Make use of time, let not advantage slip ; 
 
 Beauty within itself should not be wasted : 
 Fair flowers thatare notgather'd in their prime 
 Rot and consume themselves in little time. 
 
 * Were I hard-favour'd, foul, or wrinkled-old, 
 Ill-nurtur'd, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice, 
 O'er-worn, despised, rheumatic, and cold, 
 Thick-sighted, barren, lean, and lacking juice, 
 
 Then mightst thou pause, for then I were 
 
 not for thee ; 
 But having no defects, why dost abhor me ? 
 
 1 Thou canst not see one wrinkle in my brow ; 
 Mine eyes are grey, and bright, and quick in 
 turning; 
 
1212 
 
 VENUS AND ADONIS. 
 
 His lowering brows o'erwhelming his fair sight, 
 Like misty vapours when they blot the sky, 
 
 Souring his cheeks, cries, ' Fie, no more of 
 love! 
 
 The sun doth burn my face ; I must remove.' 
 
 'Ah me,' quoth Venus, 'young, and so unkind ! 
 What bare excuses mak'st thou to begone ! 
 I '11 sigh celestial breath, whose gentle wind 
 Shall cool the heat of this descending sun ; 
 
 I '11 make a shadow for thee of my hairs ; 
 
 If they burn too, I '11 quench them with my 
 tears. 
 
 ' The sun that shines from heaven shines but 
 
 warm, 
 
 And lo, I lie between that sun and thee : 
 The heat I have from thence doth little harm. 
 Thine eye darts forth the fire that burneth me : 
 And were I not immortal, life were done, 
 Between this heavenly and earthly sun. 
 
 ' Art thou obdurate, flinty, hard as steel, 
 Nay, more than flint, for stone at rain relenteth? 
 Art thou a woman's son, and canst not feel 
 What 'tis to love? how want of love tormenteth ? 
 O had thy mother borne so hard a mind, 
 She had not brought forth thee, but died 
 unkind. 
 
 ' What am I, that thou shouldst contemn me this ? 
 
 Or what great danger dwells upon my suit ? 
 
 What were thy lips the worse for one poor kiss ; 
 
 Speak, fair; but speak fair words, or else be mute: 
 Give me one kiss, I '11 give it thee again, 
 And one for interest, if thou wilt have twain. 
 
 ' Fie, lifeless picture, cold and senseless stone, 
 Well-painted idol, image dull and dead, 
 Statue contenting but the eye alone, 
 Thing like a man, but of no woman bred ; 
 
 Thou art no man, though of a man's com- 
 plexion, 
 
 For men will kiss even by their own direction.' 
 
 This said, impatience chokes her pleading 
 
 tongue, 
 
 And swelling passion doth provoke a pause ; 
 Red cheeks and fiery eyes blaze forth her wrong; 
 Being judge in love, she cannot right her cause : 
 And now she weeps, and now she fain would 
 
 speak, 
 And now her sobs do her intendments break. 
 
 Sometimes she shakes her head, and then his 
 
 hand, 
 Now gazeth she on him, now on the ground ; 
 
 My beauty as the spring doth yearly grow, 
 My flesh is soft and plump, my marrow burning ; 
 
 My smooth moist hand, were it with thy hand 
 felt, 
 
 Would in thy palm dissolve, or seem to melt. 
 
 ' Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear, 
 Or, like a fairy, trip upon the green, 
 Or, like a nymph, with long dishevell'd hair, 
 Dance on the sands, and yet no footing seen : 
 Love is a spirit all compact of fire, 
 Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire. 
 
 ' Witness this primrose bank whereon I lie ! 
 These forceless flowers like sturdy trees sup- 
 port me ; 
 Two strengthless doves will draw me through 
 
 the sky, 
 From morn to night, even where I list to sport 
 
 me : 
 
 Is love so light, sweet boy, and may it be 
 That thou shouldst think it heavy unto thee? 
 
 ' Is thine own heart to thine own face affected? 
 
 Can thy right hand seize love upon thy left ? 
 
 Then woo thyself, be of thyself rejected, 
 
 Steal thine own freedom, and complain on theft. 
 Narcissus so himself himself forsook, 
 And died to kiss his shadow in the brook. 
 
 ' Torches are made to light, jewels to wear, 
 Dainties to taste, fresh beauty for the use, 
 Herbs for their smell, and sappy plants to bear ; 
 Things growing to themselves are growth's 
 
 abuse : 
 Seeds spring from seeds, and beauty breedeth 
 
 beauty, 
 Thou wast begot, to get it is thy duty. 
 
 * Upon the earth's increase why shouldst thou 
 feed, 
 
 Unless the earth with thy increase be fed ? 
 
 By law of Nature thou art bound to breed, 
 
 That thine may live, when thou thyself art dead ; 
 And so in spite of death thou dost survive, 
 In that thy likeness still is left alive.' 
 
 By this the love-sick queen began to sweat, 
 For, where they lay, the shadow had forsook 
 
 them, 
 
 And Titan, 'tired in the mid-day heat, 
 With burning eye did hotly overlook them ; 
 Wishing Adonis had his team to guide, 
 So he were like him, and by Venus' side. 
 
 And now Adonis, with a lazy spright, 
 And with a heavy, dark, disliking eye, 
 
VENUS AND ADONIS. 
 
 1213 
 
 Sometimes her arms infold him like a band ; 
 
 She would, he will not in her arms be bound ; 
 And when from thence he struggles to be gone, 
 She locks her lily fingers one in one. 
 
 * Fondling,' she saith, * since I have hemm'd 
 thce here, 
 
 Within the circuit of this ivory pale, 
 
 I '11 be a park, and thou shall be my deer ; 
 
 Feed where thou wilt, on mountain or in dale: 
 Graze on my lips; and if those hills be dry, 
 Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie. 
 
 * Within this limit is relief enough, 
 Sweet bottom -grass, and high delightful plain, 
 Round nsing hillocks, brakesobscure and rough, 
 To shelter thee from tempest and from rain ; 
 
 Then be my deer, since I am such a park ; 
 
 No dog shall rouse thee, tho' a thousand bark. ' 
 
 At this Adonis smiles as in disdain, 
 That in each cheek appears a pretty dimple : 
 Love made those hollows, if himself were slain, 
 He might be buried in a tomb so simple ; 
 Foreknowing well if there he came to lie, 
 Why there Love liv'd and there he could not 
 die. 
 
 These lovely caves, these round enchanting 
 
 pits, 
 
 Open'd their mouths to swallow Venus' liking : 
 Being mad before, how doth she now for wits? 
 Struck dead at first, what needs a second 
 
 striking ? 
 
 Poor queen of love, in thine own law forlorn, 
 To love a cheek that smiles at thee in scorn ! 
 
 Now which way shall she turn? what shall she 
 
 say? 
 
 Her words are done, her woes the more increas- 
 ing, 
 
 The time is spent, her object will away, 
 And from her twining arms doth urge releasing : 
 ' Pity ' she cries, ' some favour some re- 
 morse ' 
 Away he springs, and hasteth to his horse. 
 
 But lo, from forth a copse that neighbours by, 
 A breeding jennet, lusty, young, and proud, 
 Adonis' trampling courser doth espy, 
 And forth she rushes, snorts, and neighs aloud : 
 
 The strong-neck'd steed, being tied unto a 
 tree, 
 
 Breaketh his rein, and to her straight goes he. 
 
 Imperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds, 
 And now his woven girths he breaks asunder ; 
 
 The bearing earth with his hard hoof he wounds, 
 Whose hollow womb resounds like heaven's 
 
 thunder ; 
 
 The iron bit he crushes 'tween his teeth, 
 Controlling what he was controlled with. 
 
 His ears up-prick'd ; his braided hanging mane 
 Upon his compass'd crest now stand on end ; 
 His nostrils drink the air, and forth again, 
 As from a furnace, vapours doth he send : 
 His eye, which scornfully glisters like fire, 
 Shows his hot courage and his high desire. 
 
 Sometimes he trots, as if he told the steps, 
 With gentle majesty, and modest pride ; 
 Anon he rears upright, curvets, and leaps, 
 As who should say, lo! thus my strength is 
 
 tried ; 
 
 And this I do to captivate the eye 
 Of the fair breeder that is standing by. 
 
 ; ' ^ * "i.'ii 
 
 What recketh he his rider's angry stir, 
 His flattering ' holla,' or his ' Stand, I say '? 
 What cares he now for curb, or pricking spur ? 
 For rich caparisons, or trapping gay ? 
 
 He sees his love, and nothing else he sees, 
 Nor nothing else with his proud sight agrees. 
 
 Look, when a painter would surpass the life, 
 In limning out a well-proportion d steed, 
 His art with nature's workmanship at strife, 
 As if the dead the living should exceed ; 
 So did this horse excel a common one, 
 In shape, in courage, colour, pace, and bone. 
 
 Round-hooPd, short -jointed, fetlocks shag and 
 long, [wide, 
 
 Broad breast, full eye, small head, and nostril 
 
 High crest, short ears, straight legs, and pass- 
 ing strong, 
 
 Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender 
 
 hide: 
 Look what a horse should have, he did not 
 
 lack, 
 Save a proud rider on so proud a back. 
 
 Sometime he scuds far off, and there he stares ; 
 Anon he starts at stirring of a feather ; 
 To bid the wind a base he now prepares, 
 And whe'r he run, or fly, they knew not whether ; 
 For thro' his mane and tail the high wind 
 
 sings, 
 
 Fanning the hairs, who wave like feather'd 
 wings. 
 
 He looks upon his love and neighs unto her ; 
 She answers him as if she knew his mind : 
 
1214 
 
 VENUS AND ADONIS- 
 
 Being proud, as females are, to see him woo her, 
 
 She puts on outward strangeness, seems unkind ; 
 
 Spurns at his love, and scorns the heat he feels, 
 
 Beating his kind embracements with her heels. 
 
 Then, like a melancholy malecontent, 
 He vails his tail, that, like a falling plume, 
 Cool shadow to his melting buttock lent ; 
 He stamps, and bites the poor flies in his fume : 
 His love, perceiving how he is enrag'd, 
 Grew kinder, and his fury was assuag'd. 
 
 His testy master goeth about to take him ; 
 When lo, the unback'd breeder, full of fear, 
 Jealous of catching, swiftly doth forsake him, 
 With her the horse, and left Adonis there : 
 As they were mad unto the wood they hie them, 
 Out-stripping crows that strive to over-fly them. 
 
 All swoln with chasing, down Adonis sits, 
 Banning his boisterous and unruly beast ; 
 And now the happy season once more fits, 
 That love-sick Love by pleading may be blest; 
 For lovers say the heart hath treble wrong, 
 When it is barr'd the aidance of the tongue. 
 
 An oven that is stopp'd, or river stay'd, 
 Burneth more hotly, swelleth with more rage : 
 So of concealed sorrow may be said ; 
 Free vent of words love's fire doth assuage ; 
 But when the heart's attorney once is mute, 
 The client breaks, as desperate in his suit. 
 
 He sees her coming, and begins to glow, 
 Even as a dying coal revives with wind, 
 And with his bonnet hides his angry brow ; 
 Looks on the dull earth with disturbed mind, 
 Taking no notice that she is so nigh, 
 For all askaunce he holds her in his eye. 
 
 O what a sight it was, wistly to view 
 
 How she came stealing to the wayward boy ! 
 
 To note the fighting conflict of her hue ! 
 
 How white and red each other did destroy ! 
 But now her cheek was pale, and by and by 
 It flash'd forth fire, as lightning from the sky. 
 
 Now was she just before him as he sat, 
 And like a lowly lover down she kneels ; 
 With one fair hand she heaveth up his hat, 
 Her other tender hand his fair cheek feels : 
 
 His tenderer cheek receives her soft hand's 
 print 
 
 As apt as new-fallen snow takes any dint. 
 
 O what a war of looks was then between them J 
 Her eyes, petitioners, to his eyes suing : 
 
 His eyes saw her eyes as they had not seen them; 
 Her eyes woo'd still, his eyes disdain'd the 
 
 wooing : 
 
 And all this dumb play had his acts made plain 
 With tears, which, chorus-like, her eyes did 
 rain. 
 
 Full gently now she takes him by the hand, 
 
 A lily prison'd in a gaol of snow, 
 
 Or ivory in an alabaster band ; 
 
 So white a friend engirts so white a foe : 
 This beauteous combat, wilful and unwilling, 
 Show'd like two silver doves that sit a-billing. 
 
 Once more the engine of her thoughts began : 
 ' O fairest mover on this mortal round, 
 Would thou wert as I am, and I a man, 
 My heart all whole as thine, thy heart my wound; 
 For one sweet look thy help I would assure 
 
 thee, 
 
 Though nothing but my body's bane would 
 cure thee.' 
 
 4 Give me my hand,' saith he, ' why dost thou 
 
 feel it ? ' 
 ' Give me my heart,' saith she, * and thou shalt 
 
 have it ; 
 
 give it me lest thy hard heart do steel it, 
 And being steel'd, soft sighs can never grave it ; 
 
 Then love's deep groans I never shall regard, 
 Because Adonis heart hath made mine hard.' 
 
 ' For shame,' he cries, ' let go, and let me go ; 
 My day's delight is past, my horse is gone, 
 And 't is your fault I am bereft him so ; 
 
 1 pray you hence, and leave me here alone : 
 For all my mind, my thought, my busy care, 
 Is how to get my palfrey from the mare.' 
 
 Thus she replies : c Thy palfrey, as he should, 
 Welcomes the warm approach of sweet desire. 
 Affection is a coal that must be cool'd ; 
 Else, suffer'd, it will set the heart on fire : 
 
 The sea hath bounds, but deep desire hath 
 none, 
 
 Therefore no marvel though thy horse begone. 
 
 ' How like a jade he stood, tied to the tree, 
 Servilely master'd with a leathern rein ! 
 But when he saw his love, his youth's fair fee, 
 He held such petty bondage in disdain ; 
 
 Throwing the base thong from his bending 
 crest, 
 
 Enfranchising his mouth, his back, his breast. 
 
 1 Who sees his true love in her naked bed, 
 Teaching the sheets a whiter hue than white, 
 
VENUS AND ADONIS. 
 
 1215 
 
 But, when his glutton eye so full hath fed, 
 His other agents aim at like delight ? 
 Who is so faint that dare not be so bold 
 To touch the fire, the weather being cold ? 
 
 * Let me excuse thy courser, gentle boy ; 
 And learn of him, I heartily beseech thee, 
 
 To take advantage on presented joy ; [thee. 
 
 Though I were dumb, yet his proceedings teach 
 O learn to love ; the lesson is but plain, 
 And, once made perfect, never lost again.' 
 
 ' I know not love,' quoth he, * nor will not know 
 
 it, 
 
 Unless it be a boar, and then I chase it : 
 'Tis much to borrow, and I will not owe it ; 
 My love to love is love but to disgrace it ; 
 For I have heard it is a life in death, 
 That laughs, and weeps, and all but with a 
 breath. 
 
 * Who wears a garment shapeless and unfinish'd? 
 Who plucks the bud before one leaf put forth ? 
 If springing things be any jot diminish'd, 
 They wither in their prime, prove nothing worth: 
 
 The colt that 's back'd and burthen'd being 
 
 young 
 Loseth his pride, and never waxeth strong. 
 
 ' You hurt my hand with wringing ; let us part, 
 And leave this idle theme, this bootless chat : 
 Remove your siege from my unyielding heart ; 
 To love's alarm it will not ope the gate. 
 
 Dismiss your vows, your feigned tears, your 
 
 flattery ; 
 
 For where a heart is hard, they make no 
 battery.' 
 
 1 What ! canst thou talk,' quoth she, hast thou 
 a tongue ? 
 
 would thou hadst not, or I had no hearing ! 
 Thy mermaid's voice hath done me double 
 
 wrong ; 
 
 1 had my load before, now press'd with bearing: 
 
 Melodious discord, heavenly tune harsh 
 
 sounding, [wounding. 
 
 Ear's deep-sweet music, and heart's deep-sore 
 
 * Had I no eyes, but ears, my ears would love 
 That inward beauty and invisible : 
 
 Or, were I deaf, thy outward parts would move 
 Each part in me that were but sensible : 
 
 Though neither eyes nor ears, to hear nor see, 
 Yet should I be in love, by touching thee. 
 
 ' Sav that the sense of feeling were bereft me, 
 And that I could not see, nor hear, nor touch, 
 
 And nothing but the very smell were left me, 
 Yet would my love to thee be still as much ; 
 For from the still'tory of thy face excelling 
 Comes breath perfum'd, that breedeth love 
 by smelling. 
 
 ' But O, what banquet wert thou to the taste, 
 Being nurse and feeder of the other four ! 
 Would they not wish the feast might ever last, 
 And bid Suspicion double-lock the door ? 
 Lest Jealousy, that sour unwelcome guest, 
 Should, by his stealing in, disturb the feast. 
 
 Once more the ruby-colour'd portal open'd, 
 Which to his speech did honey passage yield ; 
 Like a red morn, that ever yet betoken'd 
 Wreck to the seaman, tempest to the field, 
 Sorrow to shepherds, woe unto the birds, 
 Gusts and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds. 
 
 This ill presage advisedly she marketh : 
 Even as the wind is hush'd before it raineth, 
 Or as the wolf doth grin before it barketh, 
 Or as the berry breaks before it staineth, 
 Or like the deadly bullet of a gun, 
 His meaning struck her ere his words begun. 
 
 And at his look she flatly falleth down, 
 For looks kill love, and love by looks reviveth: 
 A smile recures the wounding of a frown, 
 But blessed bankrupt, that by love so thriveth ! 
 
 The silly boy, believing she is dead, [red ; 
 
 Claps her pale cheek, till clapping makes it 
 rud m :\i-r/ '.'rfj 
 
 And all-amaz'd brake off his late intent, 
 For sharply he did think to reprehend her, 
 Which cunning love did wittily prevent : 
 Fair fall the wit that can so well defend her ! 
 
 For on the grass she lies as she were slain, 
 
 Till his breath breatheth life in her again. 
 
 He wrings her nose, he strikes her on the cheeks, 
 He bends her fingers, holds her pulses hard ; 
 He chafes her lips, a thousand ways he seeks 
 To mend the hurt that his unkindness marr'd ; 
 He kisses her ; and she, by her good will, 
 Will never rise so he will kiss her still. 
 
 The night of sorrow now is turn'd to day : 
 Her two blue windows faintly she upheaveth, 
 Like the fair sun, when in his fresh array 
 He cheers the morn, and all the world relieveth : 
 And as the bright sun glorifies the sky, 
 So is her face illumin'd with her eye : 
 
 Whose beams upon his hairless face are fix'd, 
 As if from thence they borrow'd all their shine. 
 
I2l6 
 
 VENUS AND ADONIS. 
 
 Were never four such lamps together mix'd, 
 Had not his clouded with his brows' repine ; 
 
 But hers, which thro' the crystal tears gave 
 light, 
 
 Shone like the moon in water seen by night. 
 
 'O, where am I?' quoth she, 'in earth or 
 
 heaven, 
 
 Or in the ocean drench'd, or in the fire ? 
 What hour is this? or morn, or weary even? 
 Do I delight to die, or life desire ? 
 
 But now I liv'd, and life was death's annoy ; 
 
 But now I died, and death was lively joy. 
 
 * O thou didst kill me ; kill me once again : 
 Thy eyes' shrewd tutor, that hard heart of thine, 
 Hath taught them scornful tricks, and such dis- 
 dain [mine ; 
 
 That they have murder'd this poor heart of 
 And these mine eyes, true leaders to their 
 
 queen, 
 But for thy piteous lips no more had seen. 
 
 * Long may they kiss each other, for this cure ! 
 O never let their crimson liveries wear ! 
 
 And as they last, their verdure still endure, 
 To drive infection from the dangerous year ! 
 That the star-gazers, having writ on death, 
 May say the plague is banished by thy breath. 
 
 * Pure lips, sweet seals in my soft lip imprinted, 
 What bargains may I make, still to be sealing ? 
 To sell myself I can be well contented, 
 
 So thou wilt buy, and pay, and use good deal- 
 ing; 
 
 Which purchase if thou make, for fear of slips, 
 Set thy seal-manual on my wax-red lips. 
 
 ' A thousand kisses buys my heart from me ; 
 And pay them at thy leisure, one by one. 
 What is ten hundred touches unto thee ? 
 Are they not quickly told, and quickly gone ? 
 
 Say, for non-payment that the debt should 
 double, 
 
 Is twenty hundred kisses such a trouble ? ' 
 
 ' Fair queen/ quoth he, ' if any love you owe 
 
 me, 
 
 Measure my strangeness with my unripe years; 
 Before I know myself seek not to know me ; 
 No fisher but the ungro-vn fry forbears : 
 
 The mellow plum doth fall, the green sticks 
 
 fast, 
 Or being early pluck'd is sour to taste. 
 
 * Look, the world's comforter, with weary gait, 
 His day's hot task hath ended in the west : 
 
 The owl, night's herald, shrieks, 'tis very late; 
 The sheep are gone to fold, birds to their nest ; 
 
 And coal-black clouds that shadow heaven's 
 light 
 
 Do summon us to part, and bid good night. 
 
 ' New let me say "good night," and so say you; 
 If you will say so, you shall have a kiss.' 
 'Good night,' quoth she; and, ere he says 
 
 * adieu,' 
 The honey fee of parting tender'd is : 
 
 Her arms do lend his neck a sweet embrace; 
 
 Incorporate then they seem ; face grows to face. 
 
 Till, breathless, he disjoin'd, and backward 
 
 drew 
 
 The heavenly moisture, that sweet coral mouth, 
 
 Whose precious taste her thirsty lips well knew, 
 
 Whereon they surfeit, yet complain on drouth : 
 
 He with her plenty press'd, she faint with 
 
 dearth, 
 (Their lips together glued,) fall to the earth. 
 
 Now quick Desire hath caught the yielding prey, 
 And glutton-like she feeds, yet never filleth ; 
 Her lips are conquerors, his lips obey, 
 Paying what ransom the insulter willeth ; 
 
 Whose vulture thought doth pitch the price 
 so high, 
 
 That she will draw his lips' rich treas'.t2 dry. 
 
 And having felt the sweetness of the spoil, 
 With blindfold fury she begins to forage ; 
 Her face doth reek and smoke, her blood doth 
 
 boil, 
 
 And careless lust stirs up a desperate courage ; 
 Planting oblivion, beating reason back, 
 Forgetting shame's pure blush, and honour's 
 wrack. 
 
 Hot, faint, and weary, with her hard embracing, 
 Like a wild bird being tam'd with too much 
 
 handling, 
 
 Or as the fleet-foot roe that 's tir'd with chasing, 
 Or like the froward infant still'd with dandling, 
 He now obeys, and now no more resisteth, 
 While she takes all she can, not all she listeth. 
 
 What wax so frozen but dissolves with temper- 
 ing* 
 
 And yields at last to every light impression ? 
 Things out of hope are compass'd oft with ven- 
 turing, 
 
 Chiefly in love, whose leave exceedscommission: 
 Affection faints not like a pale-fac'd coward, 
 But then wooes best when most his choice is 
 froward, 
 
VENUS AND ADONIS, 
 
 1217 
 
 When he did frown, O, had she then gave over, 
 Such nectar from his lips she had not suck'd. 
 Foul words and frowns must not repel a lover; 
 What though the rose have prickles, yet 'tis 
 
 pluck'd : 
 
 Were beauty under twenty locks kept fast, 
 Yet love breaks through, and picks them all 
 at last. 
 
 For pity now she can no more detain him ; 
 
 The poor fool prays her that he may depart : 
 
 She is resolv'd no longer to restrain him ; 
 
 Bids him farewell, and look well to her heart, 
 The which, by Cupid's bow she doth protest, 
 He carries thence incaged in his breast. 
 
 ' Sweet boy,' she says, * this night I '11 waste in 
 
 sorrow, 
 
 For my sick heart commands mine eyes to watch. 
 Tell me, love's master, shall we meet to-morrow? 
 Say, shall we? shall we? wilt thou make the 
 
 match ? ' 
 
 He tells her, no ; to-morrow he intends 
 To hunt the boar with certain of his friends. 
 
 ' The boar ! ' quoth she, whereat a sudden pale, 
 Like lawn being spread upon the blushing rose, 
 Usurps her cheeks ; she trembles at his tale, 
 And on his neck her yoking arms she throws : 
 She sinketh down, still hanging by his neck, 
 He on her belly falls, she on her back. 
 
 Now is she in the very lists of love, 
 
 Her champion mounted for the hot encounter : 
 
 All is imaginary she doth prove, 
 
 He will not manage her, although he mount her; 
 That worse than Tantalus' is her annoy, 
 To clip Elysium, and to lack her joy. 
 
 Even as poor birds, deceiv'd with painted grapes, 
 Do surfeit by the eye, and pine the maw, 
 Even so she languisheth in her mishaps, 
 As those poor birds that helpless berries saw : 
 
 The warm effects which she in him finds 
 missing, 
 
 She seeks to kindle with continual kissing. 
 
 But all in vain ; good queen, it will not be : 
 She hath assay'd as much as may be prov'd ; 
 Her pleading hath deserv'd a greater fee ; 
 She 's Love, she loves, and yet she is not lov'd. 
 
 ' Fie, fie,' he says, ' you crush me ; let me go; 
 
 You have no reason to withhold me so.' 
 
 'Thou hadst been gone,' quoth she, 'sweet boy, 
 
 ere this, [boar. 
 
 But that thou told'st me thou wouldst hunt the 
 
 O be advis'd ! thou know'st not what it is 
 With javelin's point a churlish swine to gore, 
 Whose tushes never sheath'd he whetteth still, 
 Like to a mortal butcher, bent to kill. 
 
 ' On his bow-back he hath a battle set 
 
 Of bristly pikes, that ever threat his foes ; 
 
 His eyes like glowworms shine when he doth 
 fret: 
 
 His snout digs sepulchres where'er he goes ; 
 Being mov'd, he strikes whate'er is in his way, 
 And whom he strikes his cruel trshes slay. 
 
 ' His brawny sides, with hairy bristles arm'd, 
 Are better proof than thy spear's point can 
 
 enter ; 
 
 His short thick neck cannot be easily harm'd ; 
 Being ireful on the lion he will venture : 
 
 The thorny brambles and embracing bushes, 
 As fearful of him, part ; through whom he 
 rushes. 
 
 ' Alas, he nought esteems that face ot thine, 
 To which Love's eyes pay tributary gazes ; 
 Nor thy soft hands, sweet lips, and crystal eyne, 
 Whose full perfection all the world amazes ; 
 But having thee at vantage, (wondrous dread !) 
 Would root these beauties as he roots the 
 mead. 
 
 ' O, let him keep his loathsome cabin still ! 
 Beauty hath nought to do with such foul fiends: 
 Come not within his danger by thy will : 
 They that thrive well take counsel of their friends. 
 
 When thou didst name the boar, not to dis- 
 semble, [ble. 
 
 I fear'd thy fortune, and my joints did trem^ 
 
 ' Didst thou not mark my face ? Was it not 
 
 white ? 
 
 Saw'st thou not signs of fear lurk in mine eye ? 
 Grew I not faint ? And fell I not downright ? 
 Within my bosom, whereon thou dost lie, 
 My boding heart pants, beats, and takes no 
 
 rest, 
 
 But, like an earthquake, shakes thee on my 
 breast. 
 
 ' For where Love reigns, disturbing Jealousy 
 Doth call himself Affection's sentinel ; 
 Gives false alarms, suggesteth mutiny, 
 And in a peaceful hour doth cry, " kill, kill ; " 
 Distempering gentle Love in his desire, 
 As air and water do abate the fire. 
 
 * This sour informer, this bate-breeding spy, 
 This canker that eats up love's tender spring, 
 
 2Q 
 
1218 
 
 VENUS AND ADONIS. 
 
 This carry-tale, dissentious Jealousy, 
 
 That sometime true news, sometime false doth 
 
 bring, 
 
 Knocks at my heart, and whispers in mine ear, 
 That if I love thee I thy death should fear : 
 
 ' And, more than so, presenteth to mine eye 
 The picture of an angry-chafing hoar, 
 Under whose sharp fangs on his back doth lie 
 An image like thyself, all stain'd with gore ; 
 Whose blood upon the fresh flowers being 
 
 shed 
 
 Doth make them droop with grief, and hang 
 the head. 
 
 * What should I do, seeing thee so indeed, 
 That tiemble at the imagination? 
 
 The thought of it doth make my faint heart 
 bleed, 
 
 And fear doth teach it divination : 
 
 I prophesy thy death, my living sorrow, 
 If thou encounter with the boar to-morrow. 
 
 ' But if thou needs will hunt, be rul'd by me ; 
 Uncouple at the timorous flying hare, 
 Or at the fox, which lives by subtilty, 
 Or at the roe, which no encounter dare : 
 Pursue these fearful creatures o'er the downs, 
 And on thy well-breath'd hon>e keep with 
 thy hounds. 
 
 * And when thou hast on foot the purblind hare, 
 Mark the poor wretch, to overshoot his troubles, 
 How he outruns the wind, and with what care 
 He cranks and crosses, with a thousand doubles: 
 
 The many musits through the which he goes 
 Are like a labyrinth to amaze his foes. 
 
 ' Sometime he runs among a flock of sheep, 
 To make the cunning hounds mistake their 
 
 smell, 
 
 And sometime where earth-delving conies keep, 
 To stop the loud pursuers in their yell ; 
 
 And sometime sorteth with a herd of deer ; 
 
 Danger deviseth shifts ; wit waits on fear : 
 
 * For there his smell with others being mingled, 
 The hot scent-snuffing hounds are driven to 
 
 doubt, 
 
 Ceasing their clamorous cry till they have singled 
 With much ado the cold fault cleanly out ; 
 Then do they spend their mouths : Echo 
 
 replies, 
 As if another chase were in the skies. 
 
 * By this, poor Wat, far off upon a hill, 
 Stands on his hinder legs with listening ear, 
 
 To hearken if his foes pursue him still ; 
 
 Anon their loud alarums he doth hear ; 
 And now his grief may be compared well 
 To one sore sick that hears the passing bell. 
 
 ' Then shalt thou see the dew -bedabbled wretch 
 Turn, and return, indenting with the way ; 
 Each envious briar his weary legs doth scratch, 
 Each shadow makes him stop, each murmur stay : 
 For misery is trodden on by many, 
 And being low never reliev'd by any. 
 
 ' Lie quietly, and hear a little more ; 
 Nay, do not struggle, for thou shalt not rise : 
 To make thee hate the hunting of the boar, 
 Unlike myself thou hear'st me moralize, 
 
 Applying this to that, and so to so ; 
 
 For love can comment upon every woe. 
 
 'Where did I leave?' 'No matter where,' 
 
 quoth he ; 
 
 * Leave me, and then the story aptly ends : 
 The night is spent.' 'Why, what of that?' 
 
 quoth she. 
 
 ' I am,' quoth he, ' expected of my friends ; 
 And now 'tis dark, and going I shall fall.' 
 * In night,' quoth she, ' desire sees best of all. 
 
 4 But if thou fall, O then imagine this, 
 The earth in love with thee thy footing trips, 
 And all is but to rob thee of a kiss. [lips 
 
 Rich preys make true men thieves : so do thy 
 Make modest Dian cloudy and forlorn, 
 Lest she should steal a kiss, and die forsworn. 
 
 ' Now of this dark night I perceive the reason: 
 Cynthia for shame obscures her silver shine, 
 Till forging nature be condemn'd of treason, 
 For stealing moulds from heaven that were 
 divine, [despite, 
 
 Wherein she fram'd thee in high heaven's 
 To shame the sun by day, an3 her by night. 
 
 1 And therefore hath she brib'd the Destinies, 
 To cross the curious workmanship of nature, 
 To mingle beauty with infirmities, 
 And pure perfection with impure defeature ; 
 Making it subject to the tyranny 
 Of mad mischances and much misery ; 
 
 1 As burning fevers, agues pale and faint, 
 Life-poisoning pestilence, and frenzies wood, 
 The marrow-eating sickness, whose attaint 
 Disorder breeds by heating of the blood : 
 
 Surfeits, imposthumes, grief, and damn'd 
 despair, 
 
 Swear Nature's death for framing thee so fair. 
 
VENUS AND ADONIS. 
 
 1219 
 
 ' And not the least of all these maladies, 
 But in one minute's fight brings beauty under : 
 Both favour, savour, hue, and qualities, 
 Whereat the impartial gazer late did wonder, 
 Are on the sudden wasted, thaw'd and done, 
 As mountain-snow melts with the midday sun. 
 
 * Therefore, despite of fruitless chastity, 
 Love-lacking vestals, and self-loving nuns, 
 That on the earth would breed a scarcity 
 And barren dearth of daughters and of sons, 
 
 Be prodigal : the lamp that burns by night 
 Dries up his oil to lend the world his light. 
 
 * What is thy body but a swallowing grave, 
 Seeming to bury that posterity [have, 
 Which by the rights of time thou needs must 
 If thou destroy them not in dark obscurity ? 
 
 If so, the world will hold thee in disdain, 
 Sith in thy pride so fair a hope is slain. 
 
 * So in thyself thyself art made away ; 
 
 A mischief worse than civil home-bred strife, 
 Or theirs whose desperate hands themselves do 
 
 slay 
 
 Or butcher-sire, that reaves his son of life. 
 Foul cankering rust the hidden treasure frets, 
 But gold that 's put to use more gold begets. 3 
 
 ' Nay, then,' quoth Adon, ' you will fall again 
 Into your idle over-handled theme ; 
 The kiss I gave you is bestow'd in vain, 
 And all in vain you strive against the stream ; 
 
 For by this black-fac'd night, desire's foul 
 nurse, [worse. 
 
 Your treatise makes me like you worse and 
 
 * If love have lent you twenty thousand tongues, 
 And every tongue more moving than your own, 
 Bewitching like the wanton mermaid's songs, 
 Yet from mine ear the tempting tune is blown; 
 
 For know, my heart stands armed in mine ear, 
 And will not let a false sound enter there ; 
 
 * Lest the deceiving harmony should run 
 Into the quiet closure of my breast ; 
 
 And then my little heart were quite undone, 
 In his bedchamber to be barr'd of rest. 
 
 No, lady, no ; my heart longs not to groan, 
 But soundly sleeps, while now it sleeps alone. 
 
 ' What have you urg'd that I cannot reprove ? 
 The path is smooth that leadeth on to danger ; 
 I hate not love, but your device in love, 
 That lends embracements unto every stranf ?r. 
 
 You do it for increase ; O strange excuse ! 
 
 When reason is the bawd to lust's abuse. 
 
 ' Call it not love, for love to heaven is fled, 
 Since sweating lust on earth usurp'd his name ; 
 Under whose simple semblance he nath fed 
 Upon fresh beauty, blotting it with blame ; 
 Which the hot tyrant stains, and soon bereaves, 
 As caterpillars do the tender leaves. 
 
 ' Love comforteth like sunshine after rain, 
 But lust's effect is tempest after sun ; 
 Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain, 
 Lust's winter comes ere summer half be done. 
 Love surfeits not; lust like a glutton dies : 
 Love is all truth ; lust full of forged lies. 
 
 * More I could tell, but more I dare not say ; 
 
 The text is old, the orator too green. 
 
 Therefore, in sadness, now I will away ; 
 
 My face is full of shame, my heart of teen ; 
 Mine ears that to your wanton talk attended, 
 Do burn themselves for having so offended.' 
 
 With this he breaketh from the sweet embrace 
 Of those fair arms which bound him to her 
 breast, [apace ; 
 
 And homeward through the dark laund runs 
 Leaves Love upon her back deeply distress'd. 
 Look how a bright star shooteth from the sky, 
 So glides he in the night from Venus' eye ; 
 
 Which after him she darts, as one on shore 
 Gazing upon a late-embarked friend, 
 Till the wild waves will have him seen no more, 
 Whose ridges with the meeting clouds contend ; 
 So did the merciless and pitchy nifht 
 Fold in the object that did feed her sight. 
 
 Whereat amaz'd, as one that unaware 
 Hath dropp'd a precious jewel in the flood, 
 Or 'stonish'd as night-wanderers often are, 
 Their light blown out in some mistrustful wood ; 
 Even so confounded in the dark she lay, 
 Having lost the fair discovery of her way. 
 
 And now she beats her heart, whereat it groans, 
 
 That all the neighbour-caves, as seeming 
 troubled, 
 
 Make verbal repetition of her moans ; 
 
 Passion on passion deeply is redoubled : [woe V 
 'Ah me!' she cries, and twenty times, 'woe, 
 And twenty echoes twenty times cry so. 
 
 She, marking them, begins a wailing note, 
 And sings extemp'rally a woeful ditty; [dote; 
 How love makes young men thrall, and old men 
 How love is wise in folly, foolish-witty : 
 Her heavy anthem still concludes in woe, 
 And still the choir of echoes answer so. 
 
1220 
 
 VENUS AND ADONIS. 
 
 Her song was tedious, and outwore the night, 
 
 For lovers' hours are long, though seeming short: 
 
 If pleas'd themselves, others, they think, delight 
 
 In such like circumstance, with such like sport : 
 
 Their copious stories, oftentimes begun, 
 
 End without audience, and are never done. 
 
 For who hath she to spend the night withal, 
 
 But idle sounds resembling parasites, 
 
 Like shrill-tongued tapsters answering every 
 
 call, 
 Soothing the humour of fantastic wits ? 
 
 She says, ' 'tis so : ' they answer all, ' 'tis so;' 
 And would say after her, if she said * no.' 
 
 Lo ! here the gentle lark, weary of rest, 
 From his moist cabinet mounts up on high , 
 And wakes the morning, from whose silver 
 
 breast 
 The sun ariseth in his majesty ; 
 
 Who doth the world so gloriously behold, 
 The cedar-tops and hills seem burnish'd gold. 
 
 Venus salutes him with this fair good-morrow : 
 ' O thou clear god, and patron of all light, 
 From whom each lamp and shining star doth 
 
 borrow 
 
 The beauteous influence that makes him bright, 
 There lives a son, that suck'd an earthly 
 
 mother, 
 May lend thee light, as thou dost lend to other.' 
 
 This said, she hasteth to a myrtle grove, 
 Musing the morning is so much o'erworn, 
 And yet she hears no tidings of her love : 
 She hearkens for his hounds, and for his horn : 
 Anon she hears them chant it lustily, 
 And all in haste she coasteth to the cry. 
 
 And as she runs, the bushes in the way 
 
 Some catch her by the neck, some kiss her 
 face, 
 
 Some twine about her thigh to make her stay; 
 
 She wildly breaketh from their strict embrace, 
 Like amilchdoe, whose swelling dugs do ache, 
 Hasting to feed her fawn, hid in some brake. 
 
 By this she hears the hounds are at a bay, 
 Whereat she starts, like one that spies an adder 
 Wreath'd up in fatal folds, just in his way, 
 The fear whereof doth make him shake and 
 
 shudder ; 
 
 Even so the timorous yelping of the hounds 
 Appals her senses, and her spright confounds. 
 
 For now she knows it is no gentle chase , 
 But the blunt boar, rough bear, or lion proud, 
 
 Because the cry remaineth in one place, 
 Where fearfully the dogs exclaim aloud : 
 
 Finding their enemy to be so curst, [first. 
 
 They all strain court'sy who shall cope him 
 
 This dismal cry rings sadly in her ear, 
 Through which it enters to surprise her heart, 
 Who, overcome by doubt and bloodless fear, 
 With cold-pale weakness numbs each feeling 
 part : [yield, 
 
 Like soldiers, when their captain once doth 
 They basely fly, and dare not stay the field. 
 
 Thus stands she in a trembling ecstasy ; 
 Till, cheering up her senses sore-dismay'd, 
 She tells them 'tis a causeless fantasy, 
 And childish error that they are afraid ; 
 
 Bids them leave quaking, bids them fear no 
 more ; [boar ; 
 
 And with that word she spied the hunted 
 
 Whose frothy mouth, bepainted all with red, 
 Like milk and blood being mingled both together, 
 A second fear through all her sinews spread, 
 Which madly hurries her she knows not whither: 
 This way she runs, and now she will no further. 
 But back retires, to rate the boar for murther. 
 
 A thousand spleens bear her a thousand ways ; 
 
 She treads the path that she untreads again ; 
 
 Her more than haste is mated with delays, 
 
 Like the proceedings of a drunken brain, 
 Full of respect, yet nought at all respecting, 
 In hand with all things, nought at all effecting. 
 
 Here kennell'd in a brake she finds a hound, 
 And asks the weary caitiff for his master ; 
 And, there another licking of his wound, 
 'Gainst venom'd sores the only sovereign plaster; 
 And here she meets another sadly scowling, 
 To whom she speaks, and he replies with 
 howling. 
 
 When he hath ceas'd his ill -resounding noise, 
 Another flap-mouth'd mourner, black and grim. 
 Against the welkin volleys out his voice ; 
 Another and another answer him, 
 
 Clapping their proud tails to the ground 
 below, [go. 
 
 Shaking their scratch'd ears, bleeding as they 
 
 Look, how the world's poor people are amaz'd 
 At apparitions, signs, and prodigies, 
 Whereon with fearful eyes they long have gaz'd t 
 Ir Busing them with dreadful prophecies : 
 So she at these sad signs draws up her breath, 
 And, sighing it again, exclaims on Death. 
 
VENUS AND ADONIS. 
 
 1221 
 
 ' Hard-favour'd tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean, 
 Hateful divorce of love,' (thus chidesshe Death, ) 
 
 * Grim-grinning ghost, earth's worm, what dost 
 
 thou mean 
 To stifle beauty, and to steal his breath, 
 
 Who when he liv'd, his breath and beauty set 
 Gloss on the rose ; smell to the violet ? 
 
 ' If he be dead, O no, it cannot be, 
 Seeing his beauty, thou shouldst strike at it 
 O yes, it may ; thou hast no eyes to see, 
 But hatefully at random dost thou hit. 
 
 Thy mark is feeble age ; but thy false dart 
 Mistakes that aim, and cleaves an infant's 
 heart. 
 
 ' Hadst thou but bid beware, then he had spoke, 
 
 And hearing him thy power had lost his power. 
 
 The Destinies will curse thee for this stroke ; 
 
 They bid thee crop a weed, thoupluck'sta flower : 
 Love's golden arrow at him should have fled, 
 And not Death's ebon dart, to strike him dead. 
 
 * Dost thou drink tears, that thou provok'st 
 
 such weeping? 
 
 What may a heavy groan advantage thee ? 
 Why hast thou cast into eternal sleeping 
 Those eyes that taught all other eyes to see ? 
 Now Nature cares not for thy mortal vigour, 
 Since her best work is ruin'd with thy rigour.' 
 
 Here overcome, as one full of despair, 
 She vail'd her eyelids, who, like sluices, stopp'd 
 The crystal tide that from her two cheeks fair 
 In the sweet channel of her bosom dropp'd ; 
 
 But through the floodgates breaks the silver 
 rain, 
 
 And with his strong course opens them again. 
 
 O how her eyes and tears did lend and borrow ! 
 Her eyes seen in the tears, tears in her eye ; 
 Both crystals, where they view'd each other's 
 
 sorrow, 
 
 Sorrow, that friendly sighs sought still to dry ; 
 But like a stormy day, now wind, now rain, 
 Sighs dry her cheeks, tears make them wet 
 again. 
 
 Variable passions throng her constant woe, 
 As striving who should best become her grief; 
 All entertain'd, each passion labours so 
 That every present sorrow seemeth chief, 
 But none is best ; then join they all together, 
 Like many clouds consulting for foul weather. 
 
 By this, far off she hears s^me huntsmen hollo : 
 A nurse's song ne'er pleas'd her babe so well : 
 
 The dire imagination she did follow 
 This sound of hope doth labour to expel ; 
 For now reviving joy bids her rejoice, 
 And flatters her it is Adonis' voice. 
 
 Whereat her tears began to turn their tide, 
 Being prison'd in her eye, like pearls in glass ; 
 Yet sometimes falls an orient drop beside, 
 Which her cheek melts, as scorning it should 
 
 pass, 
 
 To wash the foul face of the sluttish ground, 
 Who is but drunken when she seemeth 
 drown'd. 
 
 hard-believing love, how strange it seems 
 Not to believe, and yet too credulous ! 
 
 Thy weal and woe are both of them extremes, 
 Despair and hope make thee ridiculous : 
 
 The one doth flatter thee in thoughts unlikely, 
 In likely thoughts the other kills thee quickly. 
 
 Now she unweaves the web that she hath 
 
 wrought ; 
 
 Adonis lives, and Death is not to blame ; 
 It was not she that called him all -to naught : 
 Now she adds honours to his hateful name ; 
 She clepes him king of graves, and grave for 
 
 kings, 
 Imperious supreme of all mortal things. 
 
 ' No, no,' quoth she, ' sweet Death, I did but 
 
 jest; 
 
 Yet pardon me, I felt a kind of fear, 
 When as I met the boar, that bloody beast, 
 Which knows no pity, but is still severe ; 
 Then, gentle shadow (truth I must confess), 
 I rail'd on thee, fearing my love's decease. 
 
 ' 'Tis not my fault : the boar provok'd my 
 
 tongue ; 
 
 Be wreak'd on him, invisible commander ; 
 'Tis he, foul creature, that hath done thee 
 
 wrong ; 
 
 1 did but act, he 's author of thy slander : 
 
 Grief hath two tongues, and never woman yet 
 Could rule them both, without ten women's 
 wit. ' 
 
 Thus, hoping that Adonis is alive, 
 Her rash suspect she doth extenuate ; 
 And that his beauty may the better thrive, 
 With Death she humbly doth insinuate ; [stories 
 Tells him of trophies, statues, tombs ; and 
 His victories, his triumphs, and his glories. 
 
 ' O Jove,' quoth she. ' how much a fool was I, 
 To be of such a weak and silly mind, 
 
1222 
 
 VENUS AND ADONIS. 
 
 To wail his death who lives, and must not die, 
 Till mutual overthrow of mortal kind ! 
 
 For he being dead, with him is beauty slain, 
 And, beauty dead, black chaos comes again. 
 
 ' Fie, fie, fond love, thou art so full of fear 
 As one with treasure laden, hemm'd with 
 
 thieves, 
 
 Trifles, unwitnessed with eye or ear, 
 Thy coward heart with false bethinking grieves. ' 
 Even at this word she hears a merry horn, 
 Whereat she leaps that was but late forlorn. 
 
 As falcon to the lure away she flies ; 
 
 The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light ; 
 
 And in her haste unfortunately spies 
 
 The foul boar's conquest on her fair delight ; 
 
 Which seen, her eyes, as murder'd with the 
 view, [drew. 
 
 Like stars asham'd of day, themselves with- 
 
 Or, as the snail, whose tender horns being hit, 
 Shrinks backward in his shelly cave with pain, 
 And there, all smother'd up, in shade doth sit, 
 Long after fearing to creep forth again ; 
 So, at his bloody view, her eyes are fled 
 Into the deep dark cabins of her head ; 
 
 Where they resign their office and their light 
 
 To the disposing of her troubled brain ; 
 
 Who bids them still consort with ugly night, 
 
 And never wound the heart with looks again ; 
 
 Who, like a king perplexed in his throne, 
 
 By their suggestion gives a deadly groan. 
 
 Whereat each tributary subject quakes : 
 As when the wind, imprison'd in the ground, 
 Struggling for passage, earth's foundation 
 shakes, [found, 
 
 Which with cold terror doth men's minds con- 
 The mutiny each part doth so surprise, 
 That from their dark beds once more leap 
 her eyes ; 
 
 And, being open'd, threw unwilling light 
 Upon the wide wound that the boar had 
 
 trench'd 
 
 In his soft flank ; whose wonted lily white 
 With purple tears, that his wound wept, was 
 
 drench'd : 
 
 No flower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf, or 
 
 weed, [bleed. 
 
 But stole his blood, and seem'd with him to 
 
 This solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth ; 
 Over one shoulder doth she hang her head ; 
 Dumbly she passions, franticly she doteth ; 
 She thinks he could not die, he is not dead. 
 
 Her voice is stopp'd, her joints forget to bow; 
 
 Her eyes are mad that they have wept till now. 
 
 Upon his hurt she looks so steadfastly, 
 
 That her sight dazzling makes the wound seem 
 
 three ; 
 
 And then she reprehends her mangling eye 
 That makes more gashes where no breach 
 
 should be : 
 
 His face seems twain, each several limb is 
 
 doubled ; [troubled. 
 
 For oft the eye mistakes, the brain being 
 
 ' My tongue cannot express my grief for one, 
 And yet,' quoth she, 'behold two Adons dead ! 
 My sighs are blown away, my salt tears gone, 
 Mine eyes are turn'd to fire, my heart to lead ; 
 
 Heavy heart's lead melt at mine eyes' red 
 fire ! 
 
 So shall I die by drops of hot desire. 
 
 ' Alas, poor world, what treasure hast thou lost! 
 What face remains alive that 's worth the view- 
 ing ? [boast 
 Whose tongue is music now ? what canst thou 
 Of things long since, or anything ensuing ? 
 The flowers are sweet, their colours fresh and 
 
 trim ; 
 But true-sweet beauty liv'd and died with him. 
 
 ' Bonnet nor veil henceforth no creature wear ! 
 
 Nor sun nor wind will ever strive to kiss you : 
 
 Having no fair to lose, you need not fear ; 
 
 The sun doth scorn you, and the wind doth hiss 
 
 you: 
 
 But when Adonis liv'd, sun and sharp air 
 Lurk'd like two thieves to rob him of his fair; 
 
 ' And therefore would he put his bonnet on, 
 Under whose brim the gaudy sun would peep ; 
 The wind would blow it off, and, being gone, 
 Play with his locks; then would Adonis weep: 
 And straight, in pity of his tender years, 
 They both would strive who first should dry 
 his tears. 
 
 ' To see his face the lion walk'd along [him : 
 Behind some hedge, because he would not fear 
 To recreate himself, when he hath sung, 
 The tiger would be tame and gently hear him : 
 If he had spoke the wolf would leave his prey, 
 And never fright the silly lamb that day. 
 
 ' When he beheld his shadow in the brook, 
 The fishes spread on it their golden gills ; 
 When he was by, the birds such pleasure took 
 That some would sing, some other in their bills 
 
 Would bring him mulberries, and ripe-red 
 cherries ; [berries. 
 
 He fed them with his sight, they him with 
 
 ' But this foul, grim, and urchin-snouted boar, 
 Whose downward eye still looketh for a grave^ 
 
VENUS AND ADONIS. 
 
 1223 
 
 Ne'er saw the beauteous livery that he wore ; 
 
 Witness the entertainment that he gave ; 
 If he did see his face, why then I know 
 He thought to kiss him, and hath kill'd him so. 
 
 * 'Tis true, 'tis true ; thus was Adonis slain ; 
 He ran upon the boar with his sharp spear, 
 Who did not whet his teeth at him again, 
 But by a kiss thought to persuade him there ; 
 
 And nuzzling in his flank the loving swine 
 Sheath'd, unaware, the tusk in his soft groin. 
 
 * Had I been tooth'd like him, I must confess, 
 With kissing him I should have kill'd him first ; 
 But he is dead, and never did he bless 
 
 My youth with his ; the more am I accurst.' 
 With this she falleth in the place she stood, 
 And stains her face with his congealed blood. 
 
 She looks upon his lips, and they are pale ; 
 
 She takes him by the hand, and that is cold ; 
 
 She whispers in his ears a heavy tale, 
 
 As if they heard the woeful words she told : 
 She lifts the coffer-lids that close his eyes, 
 Where, lo ! two lamps, burnt out, in dark- 
 ness lies : 
 
 Two glasses where herself herself beheld 
 A thousand times, and now no more reflect ; 
 Their virtue lost, wherein they late excell'd, 
 And every beauty robb'd of his effect : 
 
 'Wonder of time,' quoth she, 'this is my spite, 
 That you being dead the day should yet be 
 light. 
 
 * Since thou art dead, lo ! here I prophesy, 
 Sorrow on love hereafter shall attend ; 
 
 It shall be waited on with jealousy, 
 
 Find sweet beginning but unsavoury end ; 
 
 Ne'er settled equally, but high or low ; [woe. 
 
 That all love's pleasure shall not match his 
 
 ' It shall be fickle, false, and full of fraud ; 
 
 Bud and be blasted in a breathing while ; 
 
 The bottom poison, and the top o'erstraw'd 
 
 With sweets that shall the truest sight beguile: 
 The strongest body shall it make most weak, 
 Strike the wise dumb, and teach the fool to 
 speak. 
 
 ' It shall be sparing, and too full of riot, 
 Teaching decrepit age to tread the measures ; 
 The staring ruffian shall it keep in quiet, 
 Pluck dov/n the rich, enrich the poor with 
 
 treasures : 
 
 It shall be raging mad, and silly mild, 
 Make the young old, the old become a child. 
 
 * It shall suspect where is no cause of fear ; 
 It shall not fear where it should most mistrust; 
 It shall be merciful, and too severe, 
 And most deceiving when it seems most just ; 
 
 Perverse it shall be where it shows most 
 toward, 
 
 Put fear to valour, courage to the coward. 
 
 ' It shall be cause of war and dire events, 
 And set dissension 'twixt the son and sire ; 
 Subject and servile to all discontents, 
 As dry combustious matter is to fire ; 
 
 Sith in his prime death doth my love destroy, 
 They that love best their love shall not enjoy.' 
 
 By this, the boy that by her side lay kill'd 
 Was melted like a vapour from her sight, 
 And in his blood that on the ground lay spill'd, 
 A purple flower sprung up, chequer'd with white, 
 Resembling well his pale cheeks, and the blood 
 Which in round drops upon their whiteness 
 stood. 
 
 She bows her head, the new-sprung flower to 
 
 smell, 
 
 Comparing it to her Adonis' breath ; 
 And says, within her bosom it shall dwell, 
 Since he himself is reft from her by death : 
 She crops the stalk, and in the breach appears 
 Green dropping sap, which she compares to 
 tears. 
 
 ' Poor flower,' quoth she, ' this was thy father's 
 
 guise, 
 
 (Sweet issue of a more sweet-smelling sire,) 
 For every little grief to wet his eyes : 
 To grow unto himself was his desire, 
 
 And so 'tis thine ; but know, it is as good 
 To wither in my breast as in his blood. 
 
 ' Here was thy father's bed, here in my breast; 
 Thou art the next of blood, and 'tis thy right : 
 Lo ! in this hollow cradle take thy rest, 
 My throbbing heart shall rock thee day and 
 
 night : 
 
 There shall not be one minute in an hour 
 Wherein I will not kiss my sweet love's flower.' 
 
 Thus weary of the world, away she hies, 
 And yokes her silver doves ; by whose swift aid 
 Their mistress, mounted, through the empty 
 
 skies 
 In her light chariot quickly is convey'd, 
 
 Holding their course to Paphos, where their 
 
 queen 
 Means to immure herself, and not be seen. 
 

 
 -,- . -.-/ 
 
 THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 RIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY, 
 
 EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON, AND BARON OF TITCHFIELD. 
 
 THE love I dedicate to your Lordship is without end ; whereof this pamphlet, without begin- 
 ning, is but a superfluous moiety. The warrant I have of your honourable disposition, not the 
 worth of my untutored lines, makes it assured of acceptance. What I have done is yours, what 
 I have to do is yours ; being part in all I have, devoted yours. Were my worth greater my 
 duty would show greater : meantime, as it is, it is bound to your Lordship, to whom I wish 
 long life, still lengthened with all happiness. 
 
 Your Lordship's in all duty, 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 Lucius TARQUINIUS (for his excessive pride surnamed Superbus), after he had caused his own 
 father-in-law, Servius Tullius, to be cruelly murdered, and, contrary to the Roman laws and 
 customs, not requiring or staying for the people's suffrages, had possessed himself of the king- 
 dom, went, accompanied with his sons and other noblemen of Rome, to besiege Ardea. Dur- 
 ing which siege, the principal men of the army meeting one evening at the tent of Sextus 
 Tarquinius, the king's son, in their discourses after supper, every one commended the virtues of 
 his own wife ; among whom, Collatinus extolled the incomparable chastity of his wife Lucretia. 
 In that pleasant humour they all posted to Rome ; and intending by their secret and sudden 
 arrival to make trial of that which every one had before avouched, only Collatinus finds his 
 wife (though it were late in the night) spinning amongst her maids : the other ladies were all 
 found dancing and revelling, or in several disports. Whereupon the noblemen yielded Colla- 
 tinus the victory, and his wife the fame. At that time Sextus Tarquinius, being inflamed with 
 Lucrece's beauty, yet smothering his passions for the present, departed with the rest back to 
 the camp ; from whence he shortly after privily withdrew himself, and was (according to his 
 estate) royally entertained and lodged by Lucrece at Collatium. The same night he treacher- 
 ously stealeth into her chamber, violently ravished her, and early in the morning speedeth away. 
 Lucrece, in this lamentable plight, hastily despatcheth messengers, one to Rome for her father, 
 another to the camp for Collatine. They came, the one accompanied with Junius Brutus, the 
 other with Publius Valerius ; and, finding Lucrece attired in mourning habit, demanded the 
 cause of her sorrow. She, first taking an oath of them for her revenge, revealed the actor and 
 whole manner of his dealing, and withal suddenly stabbed herself. Which done, with one con- 
 sent they all vowed to root out the whole hated family of the Tarquins ; and, bearing the dead 
 body to Rome, Brutus acquainted the people with the doer and manner of the vile deed, with 
 a bitter invective against the tyranny of the king ; wherewith the people were so moved, that 
 with one consent and a general acclamation the Tarquins were all exiled, and the state govern- 
 ment changed from kings to consuls. 
 
 FROM the besieged Ardea all in post, 
 Borne by the trustless wings of false desire, 
 Lust - breathed Tarquin leaves the Roman 
 
 host, 
 
 And to Collatium bears the lightless fire 
 Which, in pale embers hid, lurks to aspire, 
 And girdle with embracing flames the waist 
 Of Collatine's fair love, Lucrece the chaste. 
 
 Haply that name of chaste unhapp'ly set 
 This bateless edge on his keen appetite ; 
 When Collatine unwisely did not let 
 To praise the clear unmatched red and white 
 Which triumph'd in that sky of his delight, 
 
 Where mortal stars, as bright as heaven's 
 beauties, 
 
 With pure aspects did him peculiar duties. 
 
THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 1225 
 
 For he the night before, in Tarquin's tent, 
 Unlock'd the treasure of his happy state, 
 What priceless wealth the heavens had him lent 
 In the possession of his beauteous mate ; 
 Reckoning his fortune at such high-proud 
 
 rate, 
 
 That kings might be espoused to more fame, 
 But king nor peer to such a peerless dame. 
 
 O happiness enjoy'd but of a few ! 
 And, if possess'd, as soon decay'd and done 
 As is the morning's silver-melting dew 
 Against the golden splendour of the sun ! 
 An expir'd date, cancell'd ere well begun : 
 Honour and beauty, in the owner's arms, 
 Are weakly fortress'd from a world of harms. 
 
 Beauty itself doth of itself persuade 
 The eyes of men without an orator ; 
 What needeth then apologies be made 
 To set forth that which is so singular ? 
 Or why is Collatine the publisher 
 
 Of that rich^jewel he should keep unknown 
 From thievish ears, because it is his own ? 
 
 Perchance his boast of Lucrece' sovereignty 
 Suggested this proud issue of a king ; 
 For by our ears our hearts oft tainted be : 
 Perchance that envy of so rich a thing, 
 Braving compare, disdainfully did sting 
 
 His high-pitch'd thoughts, that meaner men 
 should vaunt, 
 
 That golden hap which their superiors want. 
 
 But some untimely thought did instigate 
 His all-too-timeless speed, if none of those : 
 His honour, his affairs, his friends, his state, 
 Neglected all, with swift intent he goes 
 To quench the coal which in his liver glows. 
 O rash false heat, wrapp'd in repentant cold, 
 Thy hasty spring still blasts, and ne'er grows 
 old ! 
 
 When at Collatium this false lord arriv'd, 
 Well was he welcom'd by the Roman dame, 
 Within whose face beauty and virtue striv'd 
 Which of them both should underprop her fame : 
 When virtue bragg'd, beauty would blush for 
 
 shame ; 
 
 When beauty boasted blushes, in despite 
 Virtue would stain that or with silver white. 
 
 But beauty, in that white intituled, 
 From Venus' doves doth challenge that fair field : 
 Then virtue claims from beauty beauty's red, 
 Which virtue gave the golden age, to gild 
 Their silver cheeks, andcall'd it then their shield ; 
 
 Teaching them thus to use it in the fight, 
 When shame assail'd, the red should fence the 
 white. 
 
 This heraldry in Lucrece' face was seen, 
 Argued by beauty's red, and virtue's white : 
 Of cither's colour was the other queen, 
 Proving from world's minority their right : 
 Yet their ambition makes them still to fight ; 
 The sovereignty of either being so great, 
 That oft they interchange each other's seat. 
 
 This silent war of lilies and of roses 
 Which Tarquin view'd in her fair face's field, 
 In their pure ranks his traitor eye encloses ; 
 Where, lest between them both it should be 
 
 kill'd, 
 
 The coward captive vanquished doth yield 
 To those two armies that would let him go, 
 Rather than triumph in so false a foe. 
 
 Now thinks he that her husband'? shallow tongue 
 (The niggard prodigal that prais'd her so) 
 In that high task hath done her beauty wrong, 
 Which far exceeds his barren skill to show : 
 Therefore that praise which Collatine doth owe, 
 Enchanted Tarquin answers with surmise, 
 In silent wonder of still-gazing eyes. 
 
 This earthly saint, adored by this devil, 
 Little suspecteth the false worshipper ; 
 For unstain'd thoughts do seldom dream on 
 
 evil ; 
 
 Birds never lim'd no secret bushes fear : 
 So guiltless she securely gives good cheer 
 And reverend welcome to her princely guest, 
 Whose inward ill no outward harm express'd : 
 
 For that he colour'd with his high estate, 
 Hiding base sin in plaits of majesty ; 
 That nothing in him seem'd inordinate, 
 Save sometime too much wonder of his eye, 
 Which, having all, all could not satisfy ; 
 But, poorly rich, so wanteth in his store 
 That cloy'dwith much he pineth still formore. 
 
 But she, that never cop'd with stranger eyes, 
 Could pick no meaning from their parling looks, 
 Nor read the subtle-shining secrecies 
 Writ in the glassy margents of such books ; 
 She touch'd no unknown baits, nor fear'd no 
 
 hooks ; 
 
 Nor could she moralize his wanton sight, 
 More than his eyes were open'd to the light. 
 
 He stories to her ears her husband's fame, 
 Won in the fields of fruitful Italy ; 
 
1226 
 
 THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 And decks with praises Collatine's high name, 
 Made glorious by his manly chivalry, 
 With bruised arms and wreaths of victory ; 
 Her joy with heav'd-up handshedoth express, 
 And, wordless, so greets heaven for his success. 
 
 Far from the purpose of his coming thither 
 He makes excuses for his being there. 
 No cloudy show of stormy blustering weather 
 Doth yet in his fair welkin once appear ; 
 Till sable Night, mother of Dread and Fear, 
 Upon the world dim darkness doth display, 
 And in her vaulty prison stows the day. 
 
 For then is Tarquin brought unto his bed, 
 Intending weariness with heavy spright ; 
 For, after supper, long he questioned 
 With modest Lucrece, and wore out the night : 
 Now leaden slumber with life's strength doth 
 
 fight; 
 
 And every one to rest themselves betake, 
 Save thieves? and cares, and troubled minds, 
 that wake. 
 
 As one of which doth Tarquin lie revolving 
 The sundry dangers of his will's obtaining ; 
 Yet ever to obtain his will resolving, [staining 
 Though weak-built hopes persuade him to ab- 
 Despair to gain doth traffic oft for gaining ; 
 And when great treasure is the meedpropos'd, 
 Though death be adjunct, there's no death 
 suppos'd. 
 
 [ jyaj \ ' ' 
 
 Those that much covet are with gain so fond 
 That what they have not, that which they possess 
 They scatter and unloose it from their bond, 
 And so, by hoping more, they have but less ; 
 Or, gaining more, the profit of excess 
 Is but to surfeit, and such griefs sustain, 
 That they prove bankrupt in this poor-rich 
 gain. 
 
 The aim of all is but to nurse the life 
 With honour, wealth, and ease, in waning age ; 
 And in this aim there is such thwarting strife, 
 That one for all, or all for one we gage ; 
 As life for honour in fell battles' rage ; [cost 
 Honour for wealth ; and oft that wealth doth 
 The death of all, and all together lost. 
 
 So that in vent' ring ill we leave to be 
 
 The things we are, for that which we expect ; 
 
 And this ambitious foul infirmity, 
 
 In having much, torments us with defect 
 
 Of that we have : so then we do neglect 
 
 The thing we have, and, all for want of wit, 
 Make something nothing, by augmenting it. 
 
 Such hazard now must doting Tarquin make. 
 Pawning his honour to obtain his lust ; 
 And for himself himself he must forsake : 
 Then where is truth if there be no self-trust ? 
 When shall he think to find a stranger just, 
 When he himself himself confounds, betrays 
 To slanderous tongues, and wretched hateful 
 days? 
 
 Now stole upon the time the dead of night, 
 When heavy sleep had clos'd up mortal eyes ; 
 No comfortable star did lend his light, [cries ; 
 No noise but owls' and wolves' death-boding 
 Now serves the season that they may surprise 
 
 The silly lambs ; pure thoughts are dead and 
 still, 
 
 While lust and murder wake to stain and kill. 
 
 And now this lustful lord leap'd from his bed, 
 
 Throwing his mantle rudely o'er his arm ; 
 
 Is madly toss'd between desire and dread ; 
 
 Th' one sweetly flatters, th' other feareth harm ; 
 
 But honest Fear, bewitch'd with lust's foul charm, 
 Doth too too oft betake him to retire, 
 Beaten away by brain-sick rude Desire. 
 
 His falchion on a flint he softly smiteth, 
 That from the cold stone sparks of fire do fly, 
 Whereat a waxen torch forthwith he lighteth, 
 Which must be lode-star to his lustful eye ; 
 And to the flame thus speaks advisedly : 
 ' As from this cold flint I enforc'd this fire, 
 So Lucrece must I force to my desire.' 
 
 Here pale with fear he doth premeditate 
 The dangers of his loathsome enterprise, 
 And in his inward mind he doth debate 
 What following sorrow may on this arise ; 
 Then looking scornfully, he doth despise 
 His naked armour of still-slaughter'd lust, 
 And justly thus controls his thoughts unjust : 
 
 ' Fair torch, burn out thy light, and lend it not 
 To darken her whose light excelleth thine ! 
 And die, unhallow'd thoughts, before you blot 
 With your uncleanness that which is divine ! 
 Offer pure incense to so pure a shrine : 
 
 Let fair humanity abhor the deed [weed. 
 
 That spots and stains love's modest snow-white 
 
 ' O shame to knighthood and to shining arms ! 
 
 O foul dishonour to my household's grave ! 
 
 O impious act, including all foul harms ! 
 
 A martial man to be soft fancy's slave ; 
 
 True valour still a true respect should have ; 
 Then my digression is so vile, so base, 
 That it will live engraven in my face. 
 
THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 1227 
 
 ' Yea, though I die, the scandal will survive, 
 And be an eyesore in my golden coat ; 
 Some loathsome dash the herald will contrive, 
 To cipher me how fondly I did dote ; 
 That my posterity, sham'd with the note, 
 Shall curse my bones, and hold it for no sin 
 To wish that I their father had not been. 
 
 * What win I if I gain the thing I seek ? 
 
 A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy: 
 
 Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week ? 
 
 Or sells eternity to get a toy? 
 
 For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy? 
 Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown, 
 Would with the sceptre straight be strucken 
 down? 
 
 ' If Collatinus dream of my intent, 
 Will he not wake, and in a desperate rage 
 Post hither, this vile purpose to prevent ? 
 This siege that hath engirt his marriage, 
 This blur to youth, this sorrow to the sage, 
 This dying virtue, this surviving shame, 
 Whose crime will bear an ever-during blame? 
 
 ' O what excuse can my invention make 
 
 When thou shalt charge me with so black a deed? 
 
 Will not my tongue be mute, my frail joints 
 shake? 
 
 Mine eyes forego their light, my false heart bleed ? 
 
 The guilt being great, the fear doth still exceed ; 
 And extreme fear can neither fight nor fly, 
 But, coward-like, with trembling terror die. 
 
 ' Had Collatinus kill'd my son or sire, 
 Or lain in ambush to betray my life, 
 Or were he not my dear friend, this desire 
 Might have excuse to work upon his wife ; 
 As in revenge or quittal of such strife : 
 
 But as he is my kinsman, my dear friend. 
 
 The shame and fault finds no excuse nor end. 
 
 ' Shameful it is ; ay, if the fact be known : 
 Hateful it is ; there is no hate in loving ; 
 I '11 beg her love ; but she is not her own ; 
 The worst is but denial, and reproving : 
 My will is strong, past reason's weak removing. 
 Who fears a sentence or an old man's saw 
 Shall by a painted cloth be kept in awe.' 
 
 Thus, graceless, holds he disputation 
 'Tween frozen conscience and hot -burning will, 
 And with good thoughts makes dispensation, 
 Urging the worser sense for vantage still ; 
 Which in a moment doth confound and kill 
 All pure effects, and doth so far proceed, 
 That what is vile shows like a virtuous deed. 
 
 Quoth he, ' She took me kindly by the hand, 
 And gaz'd for tidings in my eager eyes, 
 Fearing some hard news from the warlike band 
 Where her beloved Collatinus lies. 
 O how her fear did make her colour rise ! 
 First red as roses that on lawn we lay, 
 Then white as lawn, the roses took away. 
 
 ' And how her hand, in my hand being lock'd, 
 Forc'd it to tremble with her loyal fear ; 
 Which struck her sad, and then it faster rock'd, 
 Until her husband's welfare she did hear ; 
 Whereat she smiled with so sweet a cheer, 
 That had Narcissus seen her as she stood, 
 Self-love had never drown'd him in the flood. 
 
 ' Why hunt I then for colour or excuses ? 
 
 All orators are dumb when beauty pleadeth ; 
 
 Poor wretches have remorse in poor abuses ; 
 
 Love thrives not in the heart that shadows 
 dreadeth : 
 
 Affection is my captain, and he leadeth ; 
 And when his gaudy banner is display'd, 
 The coward fights, and will not be dismayed 
 
 ' Then, childish fear, avaunt ! debating, die ! 
 Respect and reason wait on wrinkled age ! 
 My heart shall never countermand mine eye j 
 Sad pause and deep regard beseem the sage ; 
 My part is youth, and beats these from the stage : 
 
 Desire my pilot is, beauty my prize ; 
 
 Then who fears sinking where such treasure 
 lies?' 
 
 As corn o'ergrown by weeds, so heedful fear 
 Is almost chok'd by unresisted lust. 
 Away he steals with opening, listening ear, 
 Full of foul hope, and full of fond mistrust ; 
 Both which, as servitors to the unjust, 
 
 So cross him with their opposite persuasion, 
 That now he vows a league, and now invasion. 
 
 Within his thought her heavenly image sits, 
 And in the selfsame seat sits Collatine : 
 That eye which looks on her confounds his wits; 
 That eye which him beholds, as more divine, 
 Unto a view so false will not incline ; 
 
 But with a pure appeal seeks to the heart, 
 Which once corrupted takes the worser part; 
 
 And therein heartens up his servile powers, 
 Who, flatter'd by their leader's jocund show, 
 Stuff up his lust, as minutes fill up hours ; 
 And as their captain, so their pride doth grow, 
 Paying more slavish tribute than they owe. 
 By reprobate desire thus madly led, 
 The Roman lord marcheth to Lucrece' bed. 
 
1228 
 
 THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 The locks between her chamber and his will, 
 Each one by him enforc'd retires his ward ; 
 But as they open they all rate his ill, 
 Which drives the creeping thief to some regard, 
 The threshold grates the door to have him heard ; 
 
 Night-wand'ring weasels shriek to see him 
 there ; 
 
 They fright him, yet he still pursues his fear. 
 
 As each unwilling portal yields him way, 
 Through little vents and crannies of the place 
 The wind wars with his torch, to make him 
 
 stay, 
 
 And blows the smoke of it into his face, 
 Extinguishing his conduct in this case ; 
 
 But his hot heart, which fond desire doth 
 
 scorch, 
 Puffs forth another wind that fires the torch : 
 
 And being lighted, by the light he spies 
 Lucretia's glove, wherein her needle sticks ; 
 He takes it from the rushes where it lies, 
 And griping it, the neeld his finger pricks : 
 As who should say r this glove to wanton tricks 
 
 Is not inur'd ; return again in haste ; 
 
 Thou seest our mistress' ornaments are chaste, 
 
 But all these poor forbiddings could not stay 
 
 him ; 
 
 He in the worst sense construes their denial : 
 The doors, the wind, the glove that did delay 
 
 him, 
 
 He takes for accidental things of trial ; 
 Or as those bars which stop the hourly dial, 
 Who with a lingering stay his course doth 
 
 let, 
 Till every minute pays the hour his debt. 
 
 * So, so,' quoth he, ' these lets attend the time, 
 Like little frosts that sometime threat the spring, 
 To add a more rejoicing to the prime, 
 And give the sneaped birds more cause to sing. 
 Pain pays the income of each precious thing ; 
 
 Huge rocks, high winds, strong pirates, 
 shelves and sands, 
 
 The merchant fears, ere rich at home he lands.' 
 
 Now is he come unto the chamber door 
 That shuts him from the heaven of his thought, 
 Which with a yielding latch, and with no more, 
 Hath barr'd him from the blessed thing he sought. 
 So from himself impiety hath wrought, 
 That for his prey to pray he doth begin, 
 As if the heaven should countenance his sin. 
 
 But in the midst of his unfruitful prayer, 
 Having solicited the eternal power, 
 
 That his foul thoughts might compass his fair 
 
 fair, 
 
 That they would stand auspicious to the hour, 
 Even there he starts : quoth he, ' I must de- 
 flower ; 
 
 The powers to whom I pray abhor this fact, 
 How can they then assist me in the act ? 
 
 ' Then Love and Fortune be my gods, my guide! 
 My will is back'd with resolution : [tried, 
 
 Thoughts are but dreams till their effects be 
 The blackest sin is clear'd with absolution ; 
 Against love's fire fear's frost hath dissolution. 
 The eye of heaven is out, and misty night 
 Covers the shame that follows sweet delight.' 
 
 This said, his guilty hand pluck'd up the latch, 
 And with his knee the door he opens wide : 
 The dove sleeps fast that this night-owl will catch ; 
 Thus treason works ere traitors be espied. 
 Who sees the lurking serpent steps aside : 
 But she, sound sleeping, fearing no such thing, 
 Lies at the mercy of his mortal sting. 
 
 Into the chamber wickedly he stalks, 
 And gazeth on her yet unstained bed. 
 The curtains being close, about he walks, 
 Rolling his greedy eyeballs in his head : 
 By their high treason is his heart misled ; 
 
 Which gives the watchword to his hand full 
 soon, 
 
 To draw the cloud that hides the silver moon. 
 
 Look, as the fair and fiery-pointed sun, 
 Rushing from forth a cloud, bereaves our sight ; 
 Even so, the curtain drawn, his eyes begun 
 To wink, being blinded with a greater light : 
 Whether it is that she reflects so bright, 
 
 That dazzleth them, or else some shame 
 supposed ; [closed. 
 
 But blind they are, and keep themselves en- 
 
 O, had they in that darksome prison died, 
 Then had they seen the period of their ill ! 
 Then Collatine again by Lucrece' side 
 In his clear bed might have reposed still : 
 But they must ope, this blessed league to kill ; 
 And holy-thoughted Lucrece to their sight 
 Must sell her joy, her life, her world's delight. 
 
 Her lily hand her rosy cheek lies under, 
 Cozening the pillow of a lawful kiss ; 
 Who therefore angry, seems to part in sunder, 
 Swelling on either side to want his bliss ; 
 Between whose hills her head entombed is : 
 Where, like a virtuous monument, she lies, 
 To be admir'd of lewd unhallow'd eyes. 
 
THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 1229 
 
 Without the bed her other fair hand was, 
 On the green coverlet ; whose perfect white 
 Show'd like an April daisy on the grass, 
 With pearly sweat, resembling dew of night. 
 Her eyes, like marigolds, had sheath'd their 
 
 light, 
 
 And canopied in darkness sweetly lay, 
 Till they might open to adorn the day. 
 
 Her hair, like golden threads, play'd with her 
 
 breath ; 
 
 O modest wantons ! wanton modesty ! 
 Showing life's triumph in the map of death, 
 And death's dim look in life's mortality : 
 Each in her sleep themselves so beautify, 
 As if between them twain there were no strife, 
 But that life liv'd in death, and death in life. 
 
 Her breasts, like ivory globes circled with blue, 
 A pair of maiden worlds unconquered, 
 Save of their lord no bearing yoke they knew, 
 And him by oath they truly honoured. 
 These worlds in Tarquin new ambition bred : 
 Who like a foul usurper went about 
 From this fair throne to heave the owner 
 out. 
 
 What could he see but mightily he noted ? 
 
 What did he note but strongly he desir'd? 
 
 What he beheld on that he firmly doted, 
 
 And in his will his wilful eye he tir'd. 
 
 With more than admiration he admir'd 
 Her azure veins, her alabaster skin, 
 Her coral lips, her snow-white dimpled chin. 
 
 As the grim lion fawneth o'er his prey, 
 
 Sharp hunger by the conquest satisfied, 
 
 So o'er this sleeping soul doth Tarquin stay, 
 
 His rage of lust by gazing qualified ; 
 
 Slack'd, not suppress'd ; for standing by her 
 
 side, 
 
 H ; s eye, which late this mutiny restrains, 
 Unto a greater uproar tempts his veins : 
 
 And they, like straggling slaves for pillage 
 
 fighting, 
 
 Obdurate vassals, fell exploits effecting, 
 In bloody death and ravishment delighting, 
 Nor children's tears, nor mother's groans re- 
 specting, 
 
 Swell in their pride, the onset still expecting : 
 Anon his beating heart, alarum striking, 
 Gives the hot charge, and bids them do their 
 liking. 
 
 His drumming heart cheers up his burning eye, 
 His eye commends the leading to his hand ; 
 
 His hand, as proud of such a dignity, [stand 
 Smoking with pride, march'd on to make his 
 On her bare breast, the heart of all her land ; 
 
 Whose ranks of blue veins, as his hand did 
 scale, 
 
 Left their round turrets destitute and pale. 
 
 They, mustering to the quiet cabinet 
 Where their dear governess and lady lies, 
 Do tell her she is dreadfully beset, 
 And fright her with confusion of their cries : 
 She, much amaz'd, breaks ope her lock'd-up 
 
 eyes, 
 
 Who, peeping forth this tumult to behold, 
 Are by his flaming torch dimm'd and con- 
 troll'd. 
 
 Imagine her as one in dead of night 
 From forth dull sleep by dreadful fancy waking, 
 That thinks she hath beheld some ghastly sprite, 
 Whose grim aspect sets every joint a shaking ; 
 What terror 'tis ! but she, in worser taking, 
 From sleep disturbed, needfully doth view 
 The sight which makes supposed terror true. 
 
 Wrapp'd and confounded in a thousand fears, 
 Like to a new-kill'd bird she trembling lies ; 
 She dares not look ; yet, winking, there appears 
 Quick-shifting antics, ugly in her eyes : 
 Such shadows are the weak brain's forgeries : 
 W T ho, angry that the eyes fly from their lights, 
 In darkness daunts them with more dreadful 
 sights. 
 
 His hand, that yet remains upon her breast, 
 (Rude ram, to batter such an ivory wall !) 
 May feel her heart, poor citizen, distress'd, 
 Wounding itself to death, rise up and fall, 
 Beating her bulk, that his hand shakes withal. 
 This moves in him more rage, and lesser pity, 
 To make the breach, and enter this sweet city. 
 
 First, like a trumpet, doth his tongue begin 
 To sound a parley to his heartless foe, 
 Who o'er the white sheet peers her whiter chin, 
 The reason of this rash alarm to know, 
 Which he by dumb demeanour seeks to show ; 
 But she with vehement prayers urgeth still 
 Under what colour he commits this ill. 
 
 Thus he replies : ' The colour in thy face 
 (That even for anger makes the lily pale, 
 And the red rose blush at her own disgrace) 
 Shall plead for me, and tell my loving tale : 
 Under that colour am I come to scale 
 
 Thy never-conquer'd fort : the fault is thine, 
 For those thine eyes betray thee unto mine. 
 
1230 
 
 THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 4 Thus I forestall thee, if thou mean to chide : 
 Thy beauty hath ensnar'd thee to this night, 
 Where thou with patience must my will abide, 
 My will that marks thee for my earth's delight, 
 Which I to conquer sought with all my might ; 
 But as reproof and reason beat it dead, 
 By thy bright beauty was it newly bred, 
 
 ' I see what crosses my attempt will bring ; 
 I know what thorns the growing rose defends ; 
 I think the honey guarded with a sting : 
 All this, beforehand, counsel comorehends : 
 But will is deaf, and hears no heedful friends ; 
 Only he hath an eye to gaze on beauty, 
 And dotes on what he looks, 'gainst law or 
 duty. 
 
 ' I have debated, even in my soul, 
 
 What wrong, what shame, what sorrow I shall 
 
 breed ; 
 
 But nothing can Affection's course control, 
 Or stop the headlong fury of his speed. 
 I know repentant tears ensue the deed, 
 
 Reproach, disdain, and deadly enmity ; 
 
 Yet strive I to embrace mine infamy/ 
 
 This said, he shakes aloft his Roman blade, 
 Which, like a falcon towering in the skies, 
 Coucheth the fowl below with his wing's shade, 
 Whose crooked beak threats if he mount he 
 
 dies : 
 So under his insulting falchion lies 
 
 Harmless Lucretia, marking what he tells 
 With trembling fear, as fowl hear falcon's 
 bells. 
 
 * Lucrece,' quoth he, * this night I must enjoy 
 
 thee : 
 
 If thou deny, then force must work my way, 
 For in thy bed I purpose to destroy thee ; 
 That done, some worthless slave of thine I '11 
 
 slay, 
 
 To kill thine honour with thy life's decay ; 
 And in thy dead arms do I mean to place 
 
 him, 
 Swearing I slew him, seeing thee embrace him. 
 
 * So thy surviving husband shall remain 
 The scornful ,nark of every open eye ; 
 
 Thy kinsmen hang their heads at this disdain, 
 Thy issue blnrr'd with nameless bastardy : 
 And thou, the author of their obloquy, 
 
 Shalt have "ny trespass cited up in rhymes, 
 And sung by children in succeeding times. 
 
 ' But if thou yield I rest thy secret friend : 
 The fault unknown is as a thought unacted ; 
 
 A little harm, done to a great good end, 
 
 For lawful policy remains enacted. 
 
 The poisonous simple sometimes is compacted 
 
 In a pure compound ; being so applied, 
 
 His venom in effect is purified. 
 
 ' Then, for thy husband and thy children's sake, 
 Tender my suit : bequeath not to their lot 
 The shame that from them no device can take, 
 The blemish that will never be forgot ; 
 Worse than a slavish wipe, or birth-hour's blot : 
 For marks descried in men's nativity 
 Are nature's faults, not their own infamy.' 
 
 Here with a cockatrice' dead-killing eye 
 He rouseth up himself, and makes a pause ; 
 While she, the picture of pure piety, 
 Like a white hind under the grype's sharp claws, 
 Pleads in a wilderness, where are no laws, 
 
 To the rough beast that knows no gentle 
 right, 
 
 Nor aught obeys but his foul appetite : 
 
 But when a black -fac'd cloud the world doth 
 
 threat, 
 
 In his dim mist the aspiring mountains hiding, 
 From earth's dark womb some gentle gust doth 
 
 get, 
 Which blows these pitchy vapours from their 
 
 biding, 
 
 Hindering their present fall by this dividing ; 
 So his unhallow'd haste her words delays, 
 And moody Pluto winks while Orpheus plays. 
 
 Yet, foul night- waking cat, he doth but dally, 
 While in his holdfast foot the weak mouse 
 
 panteth ; 
 
 Her sad behaviour feeds his vulture folly, 
 A swallowing gulf that even in plenty wanteth : 
 His ear her prayers admits, but his heart 
 
 granteth 
 
 No penetrable entrance to her plaining : 
 Tears harden lust, though marble wear with 
 
 raining. 
 
 Her pity-pleading eyes are sadly fix'd 
 In the remorseless wrinkles of his face ; 
 Her modest eloquence with sighs is mix'd, 
 Which to her oratory adds more grace. 
 She puts the period often from his place, 
 And 'midst the sentence so her accent breaks, 
 That twice she doth begin ere once she 
 speaks. 
 
 She conjures him by high almighty Jove, 
 By knighthood, gentry, and sweet friendship's 
 oath* 
 
THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 1231 
 
 By her untimely tears, her husband's love, 
 By holy human law, and common troth, 
 By heaven and earth, and all the power of both, 
 That to his borrow'd bed he make retire, 
 And stoop to honour, not to foul desire. 
 
 Quoth she, ' Reward not hospitality [tended ; 
 
 With such black payment as thou hast pre- 
 
 Mud not the fountain that gave drink to thee ; 
 
 Mar not the thing that cannot be amended ; 
 
 End thy ill aim, before thy shoot be ended : 
 He is no woodman that doth bend his bow 
 To strike a poor unseasonable doe. 
 
 ' My husband is thy friend, for his sake spare 
 
 me ; 
 
 Thyself art mighty, for thine own sake leave me; 
 Myself a weakling, do not then ensnare me ; 
 Thou look'st not like deceit ; do not deceive me; 
 My sighs, like whirlwinds, labour hence to 
 
 heave thee. 
 
 If ever man were mov'd with woman's moans, 
 Be moved with my tears, my sighs, my groans : 
 
 * All which together, like a troubled ocean, 
 Beat at thy rocky and wreck-threatening heart ; 
 To soften it with their continual motion ; 
 
 For stones dissolv'd to water do convert. 
 O, if no harder than a stone thou art, 
 
 Melt at my tears, and be compassionate ! 
 
 Soft pity enters at an iron gate. 
 
 * In Tarquin's likeness I did entertain thee ; 
 Hast thou put on his shape to do him shame ? 
 To all the host of heaven I complain me, 
 Thou wrong' st his honour, wound'st his princely 
 
 name. 
 
 Thou art not what thou seem'st ; and if the same, 
 Thou seem'st not what thou art, a god, a king j 
 For kings like gods should govern everything. 
 
 * How will thy shame be seeded in thine age, 
 When thus thy vices bud before thy spring ! 
 If in thy hope thou dar'st do such outrage, 
 What dar'st thou not when once thou art a king! 
 O be remember'd, no outrageous thing 
 
 From vassal actors Can be wip'd away ; 
 Then kings' misdeeds cannot be hid in clay. 
 
 ' This deed will make thee only lov'd for fear, 
 But happy monarchs still are fear'd for love : 
 With foul offenders thou perforce must bear, 
 When they in thee the like offences prove : 
 If but for fear of this thy will remove ; 
 
 For princes are the glass, the school, the 
 book, [look. 
 
 Where subjects' eyes do learn, do read, do 
 
 ' And wilt thou be the school where Lust shall 
 
 learn ? 
 
 Must he in thee read lectures of such shame : 
 Wilt thou be glass, wherein it shall discern 
 Authority for sin, warrant for blame, 
 To privilege dishonour in thy name ? 
 
 Thou back'st reproach against long-lived laud, 
 And mak'st fair reputation but a bawd. 
 
 ' Hast thou command ? by him that gave it thee, 
 From a pure heart command thy rebel will : 
 Draw not thy sword to guard iniquity, 
 For it was lent thee all that brood to kill. 
 Thy princely office how canst thou fulfil, 
 
 When, pattern'd by thy fault, foul Sin may 
 say, [way? 
 
 He learn'd to sin, and thou didst teach the 
 
 ' Think but how vile a spectacle it were 
 To view thy present trespass in another. 
 Men's faults do seldom to themselves appear ; 
 Their own transgressions partially they smother: 
 This guilt would seem death-worthy in thy 
 
 brother, 
 
 O how are they wrapp'd in with infamies, 
 That from their own misdeeds askaunce their 
 eyes ! 
 
 ' To thee, to thee, my heav'd-up hands appeal, 
 Not to seducing lust, thy rash rel'er ; 
 I sue for exil'd majesty's repeal ; 
 Let him return and flattering thoughts retire : 
 His true respect will 'prison false desire, 
 And wipe the dim mist from thy doting eyne, 
 That thou shalt see thy state, and pity mine.' 
 
 * Have done,' quoth he ; ' my uncontrolled tide 
 Turns not, but swells the higher by this let. 
 Small lights are soon blown out, huge fires 
 
 abide, 
 
 And with the wind in greater fury fret : 
 The petty streams that pay a daily debt 
 
 To their salt sovereign, with their fresh falls' 
 
 haste, 
 Add to his flow, but alter not his taste.' 
 
 ' Thou art,' quoth she, ' a sea, a sovereign king; 
 And lo, there falls into thy boundless flood 
 Black lust, dishonour, shame, misgoverning, 
 Who seek to stain the ocean of thy blood. 
 If all these petty ills c hall change thy good, 
 Thy sea within a puddle's womb is hears'd, 
 And not the puddle in thy sea dispers'd. 
 
 ' So shall these slaves be king, and thou their 
 
 slave ; 
 Thou nobly base, they basely dignified ; 
 
1232 
 
 THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 Thou their fair life, and they thy fouler grave ; 
 
 Thou loathed in their shame, they in thy pride : 
 
 The lesser thing should not the greater hide ; 
 
 The cedar stoops not to the base shrub's foot, 
 
 But low shrubs wither at the cedar's root. 
 
 * So let thy thoughts, low vassals to thy state ' 
 ' No more,' quoth he ; 'by heaven, I will not 
 
 hear thee : 
 
 Yield to my love ; if not, enforced hate, 
 Instead of love's coy touch, shall rudely tear 
 
 thee ; s 
 
 That done, despiteful ly I mean to bear thee 
 Unto the base bed of some rascal groom, 
 To be thy partner in this shameful doom.' 
 
 This said, he sets the foot upon the light, 
 For light and lust are deadly enemies ; 
 Shame folded up in blind concealing night, 
 When most unseen, then most doth tyrannize. 
 The wolf hath seiz'd his prey, the poor lamb 
 
 cries 
 Till with her own white fleece her voice con- 
 
 troll'd 
 Entombs her outcry in her lips' sweet fold : 
 
 For with the nightly linen that she wears 
 He pens her piteous clamours in her head ; 
 Cooling his hot face in the chastest tears 
 That ever modest eyes with sorrow shed. 
 O, that prone lust should stain so pure a bed ! 
 The spots whereof could weeping purify, 
 Her tears should drop on them perpetually. 
 
 But she hath lost a dearer thing than life, 
 And he hath won what he would lose again. 
 This forced league doth force a further strife, 
 This momentary joy breeds months of pain, 
 This hot desire converts to cold disdain : 
 Pure Chastity is rifled of her store, 
 And Lust, the thief, far poorer than before. 
 
 Look, as the full-fed hound or gorged hawk, 
 Unapt for tender smell or speedy flight, 
 Make slow pursuit, or altogether balk 
 The prey wherein by nature they delight ; 
 So surfeit-taking Tarquin fares this night : 
 His taste delicious, in digestion souring, 
 Devours his will that liv'd by foul devouring. 
 
 O deeper sin than bottomless conceit 
 Can comprehend in still imagination ! 
 Drunken desire must vomit his receipt, 
 Ere he can see his own abomination. 
 While lust is in his pride no exclamation 
 Can curb his heat, or rein his rash desire, 
 Till, like a jade, self-will himself doth tire. 
 
 And then with lank and lean discolour'd cheek, 
 With heavy eye, knit brow, and strengthless 
 
 pace, 
 
 Feeble desire, all recreant, poor, and meek, 
 Like to a bankrupt beggar wails his case : 
 The flesh being proud, desire doth fight with 
 
 grace, 
 
 For there it revels ; and when that decays, 
 The guilty rebel for remission prays. 
 
 So fares it with this faultful lord of Rome, 
 Who this accomplishment so hotly chas'd ; 
 For now against himself he sounds this doom, 
 That through the length of times he stands 
 
 disgrac'd : 
 
 Besides, his soul's fair temple is defac'd ; 
 To whose weak ruins muster troops of cares, 
 To ask the spotted princess how she fares. 
 
 She says, her subjects with foul insurrection 
 Have batter' d down her consecrated wall, 
 And by their mortal fault brought in subjection 
 Her immortality, and make her thrall 
 To living death, and pain perpetual ; 
 
 Which in her prescience she controlled still, 
 But her foresight could not forestall their will. 
 
 Even in this thought through the dark night he 
 
 stealeth, 
 
 A captive victor that hath lost in gain ; 
 Bearing away the wound that nothing healeth, 
 The scar that will, despite of cure, remain, 
 Leaving his spoil perplex'd in greater pain. 
 She bears the load of lust he left behind, 
 And he the burthen of a guilty mind. 
 
 He like a thievish dog creeps sadly thence ; 
 She like a wearied lamb lies panting there j 
 He scowls, and hates himself for his offence ; 
 She, desperate, with her nails her flesh doth tear; 
 He faintly flies, sweating with guilty fear ; 
 
 She stays, exclaiming on the direful night ; 
 
 He runs, and chides his vanish'd, loath'd 
 delight. 
 
 He thence departs a heavy convertite ; 
 
 She there remains a hopeless castaway : 
 
 He in his speed looks for the morning light ; 
 
 She prays she never may behold the day ; 
 
 ' For day,' quoth she, ' night's scapes doth open 
 
 lay; 
 
 And my true eyes have never practis'd how 
 To cloak offences with a cunning brow. 
 
 * They think not but that every eye can see 
 The same disgrace which they themselves 
 behold ; 
 
THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 1233 
 
 And therefore would they still in darkness be, 
 To have their unseen sin remain untold ; 
 For they their guilt with weeping will unfold, 
 And grave, like water, that doth eat in steel, 
 Upon my cheeks what helpless shame I feel.' 
 
 Here she exclaims against repose and rest, 
 And bids her eyes hereafter still be blind. 
 She wakes her heart by beating on her breast, 
 And bids it leap from thence, where it may find 
 Some purer chest, to close so pure a mind. 
 
 Frantic with grief thus breathes she forth her 
 spite 
 
 Against the unseen secrecy of night : 
 
 * O comfort-killing night, image of hell ! 
 Dim register and notary of shame ! 
 Black stage for tragedies and murders fell ! 
 Vast sin-concealing chaos ! nurse of blame ! 
 Blind muffled bawd ! dark harbour for defame ! 
 
 Grim cave of death, whispering conspirator, 
 With close-tongued treason and the ravisher ! 
 
 * O hateful, vaporous, and foggy night, 
 Since thou art guilty of my cureless crime, 
 Muster thy mists to meet the eastern light, 
 Make war against proportioned course of time ! 
 Or if thou wilt permit the sun to climb 
 
 His wonted height, yet ere he go to bed, 
 Knit poisonous clouds about his golden head. 
 
 ' With rotten damps ravish the morning air ; 
 Let their exhal'd unwholesome breaths make sick 
 The life of purity, the supreme fair, 
 Ere he arrive his weary noontide prick ; 
 And let thy misty vapours march so thick, 
 That in their smoky ranks his smother'd light, 
 May set at noon, and make perpetual night. 
 
 'WereTs 
 
 The silver- 
 
 Her twinkli: 
 
 Through night's black bosom' should not peep 
 again ; 
 
 So should I have copartners in my pain : 
 And fellowship in woe doth woe assuage, 
 As palmers' chat makesshort their pilgrimage. 
 
 * Where now I have no one to blush with me, 
 To cross their arms, and hang their heads with 
 
 mine, 
 
 To mask their brows, and hide their infamy ; 
 But I alone alone must sit and pine, 
 Seasoning the earth with showers of silver brine, 
 Mingling my talk with tears, my grief with 
 
 groans, 
 Poor wasting monuments of lasting moans. 
 
 1 O night, thou furnace of foul -reeking smoke, 
 Let not the jealous day behold that face 
 Which underneath thy black all-hiding cloak 
 Immodestly lies martyr'd with disgrace ! 
 Keep still possession of thy gloomy place, 
 That all the faults which in thy reign are made. 
 May likewise be sepulchred in thy shade ! 
 
 ' Make me not object to the tell-tale day ! 
 The light will show, character'd in my brow, 
 The story of sweet chastity's decay, 
 The impious breach of holy wedlock vow : 
 Yea, the illiterate, that know not how 
 To 'cipher what is writ in learned books, 
 Will quote my loathsome trespass in my looks. 
 
 ' The nurse, to still her child, will tell my story, 
 And fright her crying babe with Tarquin's name ; 
 The orator, to deck his oratory, 
 Will couple my reproach to Tarquin's shame : 
 Feast-finding minstrels, tuning my defame, 
 Will tie the hearers to attend each line, 
 How Tarquin wronged me, I Collatine. 
 
 ' Let my good name, that senseless reputation, 
 For Collatine's dear love be kept unspotted : 
 If that be made a theme for disputation, 
 The branches of another root are rotted, 
 And undeserv'd reproach to him allotted, 
 That is as clear from this attaint of mine, 
 As I, ere this, was pure to Collatine. 
 
 ' O unseen shame ! invisible disgrace ! 
 O unfelt sore ! crest-wounding, private scar ! 
 Reproach is stamp' d in Collatinus' face, 
 And Tarquin's eye may read the mot afar, 
 How he in peace is wounded, not in war. 
 Alas, how many bear such shameful blows, 
 Which not themselves but he that gives them 
 knows ! 
 
 * If, Collatine, thine honour lay in me, 
 From me by strong assault it is bereft. 
 My honey lost, and I, a drone-like bee, 
 Have no perfection of my summer left, 
 But robb'd and ransack'd by injurious theft : 
 
 In thy weak hive a wandering wasp hath 
 crept, [kept. 
 
 And suck'd the honey which thy chaste bee 
 
 ' Yet am I guilty of thy honour's wrack, 
 Yet for thy honour did I entertain him ; 
 Coming from thee, I could not put him back, 
 For it had been dishonour to disdain him : 
 Besides of weariness he did complain him, 
 And talk'd of virtue : O, unlook'd for evil, 
 When virtue is profan'd in such a devil J 
 
1234 
 
 THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 * Why should the worm intrude the maiden bud? 
 Or hateful cuckoos hatch in sparrows' nests ? 
 Or toads infect fair founts with venom mud ? 
 Or tyrant folly lurk in gentle breasts ? 
 
 Or kings be breakers of their own behests ? 
 JBut no perfection is so absolute, 
 That some impurity doth not pollute. 
 
 ' The aged man that coffers up his gold [fits, 
 Is plagued with cramps, and gouts, and painful 
 And scarce hath eyes his treasure to behold, 
 But like still-pining Tantalus he sits, 
 And useless barns the harvest of his wits ; 
 Having no other pleasure of his gain 
 But torment that it cannot cure his pain. 
 
 ' So then he "hath it, when he cannot use it, 
 And leaves it to be master'd by his young ; 
 Who in their pride do presently abuse it : 
 Their father was too weak, and they too strong, 
 To hold their cursed-blessed fortune long, 
 The sweets we wish for turn to loathed sours, 
 Even in the moment that we call them ours. 
 
 * Unruly blasts wait on the tender spring ; 
 Unwholesome weeds take root with precious 
 
 flowers ; 
 
 The adder hisses where the sweet birds sing ; 
 What virtue breeds iniquity devours : 
 We have no good that we can say is ours, 
 But ill-annexed Opportunity 
 Or kills his life, or else his quality. 
 
 * O Opportunity ! thy guilt is great : 
 
 'Tis thou that execut'st the traitor's treason ; 
 Thou sett'st the wolf where he the lamb may get; 
 Whoever plots the sin, thou 'point'st the season; 
 'Tis thou that spurn'st at right, at law, at reason; 
 
 And in thy shady cell, where none may spy 
 him, 
 
 Sits Sin, to seize the souls that wander by him. 
 
 ' Thou mak'st the vestal violate her oath ; 
 
 Thou blow'stthe fire when temperance 10 thaw'd ; 
 
 Thou smother'st honesty, thou murther'st troth; 
 
 Thou foul abettor ! thou notorious bawd ! 
 
 Thou plantest scandal, and displaces! laud : 
 Thou ravisher, thou traitor, thou false thief, 
 Thy honey turns to gall, thy joy to grief ! 
 
 * Thy secret pleasure turns to open shame, 
 Thy private feasting to a public fast ; 
 Thy smoothing titles to a ragged name ; 
 
 Thy sugar'd tongue to bitter wormwood taste : 
 
 Thy violent vanities can never last. 
 How comes it then, vile Opportunity, 
 Being so bad, such numbers seek for thee ? 
 
 ' When wilt thou be the humble suppliant's friend, 
 And bring him where his suit may be obtain'd? 
 When wilt thou sort an hour great strifes to end? 
 Or free that soul which wretchedness hath 
 
 chain'd ? 
 
 Give physic to the sick, ease to the pain'd ? 
 The poor, lame, blind, halt, creep, cry out 
 
 for thee; 
 But they ne'er meet with Opportunity, 
 
 ' The patient dies while the physician sleeps ; 
 The orphan pines while the oppressor feeds ; 
 Justice is feasting while the widow weeps ; 
 Advice is sporting while infection breeds ; 
 Thou grant'st no time for charitable deeds : 
 
 Wrath, envy, treason, rape, and murder's 
 rages, 
 
 Thy heinous hours wait on them astheir pages. 
 
 ' When truth and virtue have to do with thee, 
 A thousand crosses keep them from thy aid ; 
 They buy thy help : but Sin ne'er gives a fee, 
 He gratis comes ; and thou art well appay'd 
 As well to hear as grant what he hath saioU 
 My Collatine would else have come to fiae 
 When Tarquin did, but he was stay'd by thee. 
 
 * Guilty thou art of murder and of theft ; 
 
 Guilty of perjury and subornation 5 
 
 Guilty of treason, forgery, and shift j 
 
 Guilty of incest, that abomination : 
 
 An accessary by thine inclination 
 
 To all sins past, and all that are to come) 
 From the creation to the general doom. 
 
 ' Mis-shapen Time, copesmate of ugly night> 
 Swift subtle post, carrier of grisly Care, 
 Eater of youth, false slave to false delight, 
 Base watch of woes, sin's packhorse, virtue's 
 
 snare ; 
 Thou nursest all, and murtherest all that are. 
 
 O hear me then, injurious, shifting Time ! 
 
 Be guilty of my death, since of my crime. 
 
 ' Why hath thy servant, Opportunity, 
 Betray'd the hours thou gav st me to repose ? 
 Cancell'd my fortunes and enchained me 
 To endless date of never-ending woes ? 
 Time's office is to fine the hate of foes ; 
 To eat up errors by opinion bred, 
 Not spend the dowry of a lawful bed. 
 
 ' Time's glory is to calm contending kings, 
 To unmask falsehood, and bring truth to light, 
 To stamp the seal of time in aged things, 
 To wake the morn, and sentinel the night, 
 To wrong the wronger till he render right ; 
 
THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 "35 
 
 To ruinate proud buildings with thy hours, 
 And smear with dust their glittering golden 
 
 ' To fill with worm-holes stately monuments, 
 To feed oblivion with decay of things, 
 To blot old books, and alter their contents, 
 To pluck the quills from ancient ravens' wings, 
 To dry the old oak's sap, and cherish springs ; 
 To spoil antiquities of hammer'd steel, 
 And turn the giddy round of Fortune's wheel ; 
 
 * To show the beldame daughtersof her daughter, 
 To make the child a man, the man a child, 
 To slay the tiger that doth live by slaughter, 
 To tame the unicorn and lion wild, 
 To mock the subtle, in themselves beguil'd ; 
 To cheer the ploughman with increaseful crops, 
 And waste huge stones with little water-drops. 
 
 ' Why work'st thou mischief in thy pilgrimage, 
 Unless thou couldst return to make amends ? 
 One poor retiring minute in an age 
 Would purchase thee a thousand thousand 
 
 friends, 
 
 Lending him wit that to bad debtors lends : 
 O, this dread night, wouldst thou one hour 
 
 come back, 
 I could prevent thisstorm, and shun thy wrack ! 
 
 'Thou ceaseless lackey to eternity, 
 With some mischance cross Tarquin in his flight : 
 Devise extremes beyond extremity, 
 To make him curse this cursed crimeful night : 
 Let ghastly shadows his lewd eyes affright, 
 And the dire thought of his committed evil 
 Shape every bush a hideous shapeless devil. 
 
 ' Disturb his hours of rest with restless trances, 
 Afflict him in his bed with bedrid groans ; 
 Let there bechance him pitiful mischances, 
 To make him moan, but pity not his moans : 
 Stone him with hardened hearts, harder than 
 
 stones ; 
 
 And let mild women to him lose their mildness, 
 Wilder to him than tigers in their wildness. 
 
 ' Let him have time to tear his curled hair, 
 Let him have lime against himself to rave, 
 Let him have time of Time's help to despair, 
 Let him have time to live a loathed slave, 
 Let him have time a beggar's orts to crave ; 
 And time to see one that by alms doth live 
 Disdain to him disdained scraps to give. 
 
 1 Let him have time to see his friends his foes, 
 And merry fools to mock at him resort ; 
 
 Let him have time to mark how slow time goes 
 In time of sorrow, and how swift and short 
 His time of folly and his time of sport : 
 And ever let his unrecalling crime 
 Have time to wail the abusing of his time. 
 
 ' O Time, thou tutor both to good and bad, 
 Teach me to curse him that thou taught' st this 
 
 ill! 
 
 At his own shadow let the thief run mad ! 
 Himself himself seek every hour to kill ! 
 Such wretched hands such wretched blood 
 
 should spill : 
 
 For who so base would such an office have 
 As slanderous death's-man to so base a slave? 
 
 ' The baser is he, coming from a king, 
 To shame his hope with deeds degenerate. 
 The mightier man, the mightier is the thing 
 That makes him honour'd, or begets him hate ; 
 For greatest scandal waits on greatest state. 
 The moon being clouded presently is miss'd, 
 But little stars may hide them when they list. 
 
 ' The crow may bathe his coal-black wings in 
 
 mire, 
 
 And unperceiv'd fly with the filth away, 
 But if the like the snow-white swan desire, 
 The stain upon his silver down will stay. 
 Poor grooms are sightless night, kings glorious 
 
 day. 
 
 Gnats are unnoted wheresoe'er they fly, 
 But eagles gaz'd upon with every eye. 
 
 ' Out, idle words, servants to shallow fools ! 
 
 Unprofitable sounds, weak arbitrators! 
 
 Busy yourselves in ski 11 -con ten ding schools, 
 
 Debate where leisure serves with dull debaters; 
 
 To trembling clients be you mediators : 
 For me, I force not argument a straw, 
 Since that my case is past the help of law. 
 
 ' In vain I rail at Opportunity, 
 At Time, at Tarquin, and uncheerful night ; 
 In vain I cavil with my infamy, 
 In vain I spurn at my confirm'd despite : 
 This helpless smoke of words doth me no right 
 The remedy indeed to do me good, 
 Is to let forth my foul, defiled blood. 
 
 ' Poor hand, why quiver'st thou at this decree? 
 Honour thyself to rid me of this shame ; 
 For if I die my honour lives in thee, 
 But if I live thou liv'st in my defame : 
 Since thou couldst not defend thy loyal dame, 
 And was afear'd to scratch her wicked foe, 
 Kill both thyself and her for yielding so.' 
 
1236 
 
 THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 This said, from her betumbled couch she starteth, 
 To find some desperate instrument of death : 
 But this no-slaughter-house no tool imparteth, 
 To make more vent for passage of her breath, 
 Which thronging through her lips so vanisheth 
 As smoke from ^Etna, that in air consumes, 
 Or that which from discharged cannon fumes. 
 
 ' In vain,' quoth she, * I live, and seek in vain 
 Some happy mean to end a hapless life. 
 I fear'd by Tarquin's falchion to be slain, 
 Yet for the self- same purpose seek a knife : 
 But when I fear'd I was a loyal wife ; 
 
 So am I now : O no, that cannot be ; 
 
 Of that true type hath Tarquin rifled me. 
 
 * O ! that is gone for which I sought to live, 
 And therefore now I need not fear to die. 
 To clear this spot by death, at least I give 
 A badge of fame to slander's livery ; 
 A dying life to living infamy ; 
 
 Poor helpless help, the treasure stolen away, 
 To burn the guiltles 
 
 less casket where it lay ! 
 
 * Well, well, dear Collatine, thou shall not know 
 The stained taste of violated troth ; 
 
 I will not wrong thy true affection so 
 To flatter thee with an infringed oath ; 
 This bastard graff shall never come to growth : 
 He shall not boast who did thy stock pollute 
 That thou art doting father of his fruit. 
 
 ' Nor shall he smile at thee in secret thought, 
 Nor laugh with his companions at thy state ; 
 But thou shalt know thy interest was not bought 
 Basely with gold, but stolen from forth thy gate. 
 For me, I am the mistress of my fate, 
 
 And with my trespass never will dispense, 
 Till life to death acquit my forc'd offence. 
 
 * I will not poison thee with my attaint, 
 Nor fold my fault in cleanly-coin'd excuses ; 
 My sable ground of sin I will not paint, 
 
 To hide the truth of this false night's abuses : 
 My tongue shall utter all ; mine eyes like sluices, 
 As from a mountain-spring that feeds a dale, 
 Shall gush pure streams to purge my impure 
 
 By this, lamenting Philomel had ended 
 The well-tun'd warble of her nightly sorrow, 
 And solemn night with slow-sad gait descended 
 To ugly hell ; when lo, the blushing morrow 
 Lends light to all fair eyes that light will borrow : 
 But cloudy Lucrece shames herself to see, 
 And therefore still in night would cloister'd 
 be. 
 
 Revealing day through every cranny spies, 
 And seems to point her out where she sits 
 
 weeping, 
 
 To whom she sobbing speaks : ' O eye of eyes, 
 Why pryest thou through my window? leave 
 
 thy peeping ; 
 Mock with thy tickling beams eyes that are 
 
 sleeping : 
 
 Brand not my forehead with thy piercing light, 
 For day hath nought to do what 's done by 
 
 night.' 
 
 Thus cavils she with everything she sees : 
 
 True grief is fond and testy as a child, 
 
 Who wayward once, his mood with nought 
 
 agrees. 
 
 Old woes, not infant sorrows, bear them mild ; 
 Continuance tames the one ; the other wild, 
 Like an unpractis'd swimmer plunging still 
 With too much labour drowns for want of 
 skill. 
 
 So she, deep-drenched in a sea of care, 
 Holds disputation with each thing she views, 
 And to herself all sorrow doth compare ; 
 No object but her passion's strength renews ; 
 And as one shifts, another straight ensues : 
 Sometime her grief is dumb and hath no words j 
 Sometime 'tis mad, and too much talk affords. 
 
 The little birds that tune their morning's joy 
 Make her moans mad with their sweet melody. 
 For mirth doth search the bottom of annoy ; 
 Sad souls are slain in merry company : 
 Grief best is pleas'd with griefs society : 
 True sorrow then is feelingly suffic'd 
 When with like semblance it is sympathiz'd. 
 
 'Tis double death to drown in ken of shore ; 
 He ten times pines that pines beholding food ; 
 To see the salve doth make the wound ache 
 
 more ; 
 
 Great grief grieves most at that would do it good ; 
 Deep woes roll forward like a gentle flood, 
 Who, being stopp'd, the bounding banks o'er- 
 
 flows: 
 Grief dallied with noi law nor limit knows. 
 
 'You mocking birds/ quoth she, 'your tunes 
 
 entomb 
 
 Within your hollow-swelling feather'd breasts, 
 And in my hearing be you mute and dumb ! 
 (My restless discord loves no stops nor rests ; 
 A woeful hostess brooks not merry guests :) 
 Relish your nimble notes to pleasing ears ; 
 Distress like dumps when time is kept with 
 tears. 
 
THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 1237 
 
 ' Come, Philomel, that sing'st of ravishment, 
 Make thy sad grove in my dishevell'd hair. 
 As the dank earth weeps at thy languishment, 
 So I at each sad strain will strain a tear, 
 And with deep groans the diapason bear : 
 For burthen-wise I '11 hum on Tarquin still, 
 While thou on Tereus descant'st better skill. 
 
 * And whiles against a thorn thou bear'st thy part, 
 To keep thy sharp woes waking, wretched I, 
 To imitate thee well, against my heart 
 
 Will fix a sharp knife, to affright mine eye ; 
 
 Who, if it wink, shall thereon fall and die. 
 These means, as frets upon an instrument, 
 Shall tune our heartstrings to true languish- 
 ment. 
 
 ' And for, poor bird, thou sing'st not in the day, 
 As shaming any eye should thee behold, 
 Some dark deep desert, seated from the way, 
 That knows nor parching heat nor freezing cold, 
 We will find out ; and there we will unfold 
 
 To creatures stern sad tunes, to change their 
 kinds: [minds.' 
 
 Since men prove beasts, let beasts bear gentle 
 
 As the poor frighted deer, that stands at gaze, 
 Wildly determining which way to fly, 
 Or one encompass'd with a winding maze, 
 That cannot tread the way out readily ; 
 So with herself is she in mutiny, 
 
 To live or die which of the twain were better, 
 When life is sham'd, and Death reproach's 
 debtor. 
 
 'To kill myself,' quoth she, *alack! whatwereit, 
 But with my body my poor soul's pollution ? 
 They that lose half with greater patience bear it 
 Than they whose wholeis swallow'd in confusion. 
 That mother tries a merciless conclusion 
 
 Who, having two sweet babes, when death 
 takes one, 
 
 Will slay the other, and be nurse to none. 
 
 * My body or my soul, which was the dearer? 
 When the one pure, the other made divine. 
 Whose love of either to myself was nearer ? 
 When both were kept for heaven and Collatine. 
 Ah, me ! the bark peel'd from the lofty pine, 
 
 His leaves will wither, and his sap decay ; 
 So must my soul, her bark being peel'd away. 
 
 'Her house is sack'd, her quiet interrupted, 
 
 Her mansion batter'd by the enemy ; 
 
 Her sacred temple spotted, spoil'd, corrupted, 
 
 Grossly engirt with daring infamy: 
 
 Then let it not be call'd impiety 
 
 If in this biemish'd fort I make some hole 
 Through which I may convey this troubled 
 soul. 
 
 ' Yet die I will not till my Collatine 
 Have heard the cause of my untimely death ; 
 That he may vow, in that sad hour of mine, 
 Revenge on him that made me stop my breath. 
 My stained blood to Tarquin I '11 bequeath, 
 Which by him tainted shall for him be spent, 
 And as his due writ in my testament. 
 
 ' My honour I '11 bequeath unto the knife 
 That wounds my body so dishonoured. 
 'Tis honour to deprive dishonour'd life ; 
 The one will live, the other being dead : 
 So of shame's ashes shall my fame be bred ; 
 For in my death I murther shameful scorn : 
 My shame so dead, mine honour is new-born. 
 
 ' Dear lord of that dear jewel I have lost, 
 What legacy shall I bequeath to thee ? 
 My resolution, Love, shall be thy boast, 
 By whose example thou reveng'd mayst be. 
 How Tarquin must be used, read it in me : 
 
 Myself, thy friend, will kill myself, thy foe ; 
 
 And, for my sake, serve thou false Tarquin so. 
 
 ' This brief abridgment of my will I make : 
 
 My soul and body to the skies and ground; 
 
 My resolution, husband, do thou take ; 
 
 Mine honour be the knife's that makes my 
 wound ; 
 
 My shame be his that did my fame confound ; 
 And all my fame that lives disbursed be 
 To those that live, and think no shame of me. 
 
 ' Thou, Collatine, shalt oversee this will ; 
 How was I overseen that thou shalt see it ! 
 My blood shall wash the slander of mine ill ; 
 My life's foul deed my life's fair end shall free it. 
 Faint not, faint heart, but stoutly say, " so be it." 
 
 Yieid to my hand ; my hand shall conquer thee ; 
 
 Thou dead, both die, and both shall victors be.' 
 
 This plot of death when sadly she had laid, 
 And wip'd the brinish pearl from her bright eyes, 
 With untun'd tongue she hoarsely call'd her maid, 
 Whose swift obedience to her mistress hies ; 
 For fleet-wing'd duty with thought's feathers 
 
 flies. 
 
 Poor Lucrece' cheeks unto her maid seem so 
 As winter meads when sun doth melt their 
 
 Her mistress shedoth give demure good-morrow, 
 With soft-slow tongue, true mark of modesty, 
 
1238 
 
 THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 And sorts a sad look to her lady's sorrow, 
 (For why? her face wore sorrow's livery,) 
 But durst not ask of her audaciously 
 
 Why her two suns were cloud-eclipsed so, 
 Nor why her fair cheeks over- wash'd with woe. 
 
 But as the earth doth weep, the sun being set, 
 Each flower moisten'd like a melting eye ; 
 Even so the maid with swelling drops 'gan wet 
 Her circled eyne, enforc'd by sympathy 
 Of those fair suns, set in her mistress' sky, 
 Who in a salt-wav'd ocean quench their light, 
 Which makes the maid weep like the dewy 
 night. 
 
 A pretty while these pretty creatures stand, 
 Like ivory conduits coral cisterns filling : 
 One justly weeps ; the other takes in hand 
 No cause, but company, of her drops spilling : 
 Their gentle sex to weep are often willing ; 
 Grieving themselves to guess at others' smarts, 
 And then they drown their eyes, or break 
 their hearts. 
 
 For men have marble, women waxen minds, 
 And therefore are they form'd as marble will ; 
 The weak oppress'd, the impression of strange 
 
 kinds 
 
 Is form'd in them by force, by fraud, or skill : 
 Then call them not the authors of their ill, 
 No more than wax shall be accounted evil, 
 Wherein is stamp'd the semblance of a devil. 
 
 Their smoothness, like a goodly champaign 
 
 plain, 
 
 Lays open all the little worms that creep ; 
 In men, as in a rough-grown grove, remain 
 Cave-keeping evils that obscurely sleep : 
 Through crystal walls each little mote will peep: 
 Though men can cover crimes with bold 
 
 stern looks, 
 Poor women's faces are their own faults' 
 
 books. 
 
 No man inveigh against the wither'd flower, 
 But chide rough winter that the flower hath 
 
 kiird 
 
 Not that devour'd, but that which doth devour 
 Is worthy blame. O, let it not be hild 
 Poor women's faults that they are so fulfill'd 
 With men's abuses ! those proud lords, to 
 
 blame, 
 Make weak-made women tenants to their 
 
 shame. 
 
 The precedent whereof in Lucrece view, 
 Assail'd by night with circumstances strong 
 
 Of present death, and shame that might ensue 
 By that her death, to do her husband wrong : 
 Such danger to resistance did belong, 
 
 That dying fear through all her body spread ; 
 
 And who cannot abuse a body dead ? 
 
 By this, mild Patience bid fair Lucrece speak 
 To the poor counterfeit of her complaining : 
 ' My girl,' quoth she, 'on what occasion break 
 Those tears from thee, that down thy cheeks 
 
 are raining ? 
 
 If thou dost weep for grief of my sustaining, 
 Know, gentle wench, it small avails my 
 
 mood : 
 If tears could help, mine own would do me 
 
 good. 
 
 'But tell me, girl, when went' (and there she 
 
 stay'd 
 
 Till after a deep groan) 'Tarquin from hence?' 
 ' Madam, ere I was up,' replied the maid, 
 ' The more to blame my sluggard negligence : 
 Yet with the fault I thus far can dispense ; 
 Myself was stirring ere the break of day, 
 And, ere I rose, was Tarquin gone away. 
 
 ' But, lady, if your maid may be so bold, 
 She would request to know your heaviness.' 
 ' O peace ! ' quoth Lucrece ; ' if it should be 
 
 told, 
 
 The repetition cannot make it less ; 
 For more it is than I can well express : 
 And that deep torture may be call'd a hell, 
 When more is felt than one hath power to tell. 
 
 ' Go, get me hither paper, ink, and pen 
 Yet save that labour, for I have them here. 
 What should I say? One of my husband's men 
 Bid thou be ready, by and by, to bear 
 A letter to my lord, my love, my dear ; 
 Bid him with speed prepare to carry it : 
 The cause craves haste, and it will soon be 
 writ.' 
 
 Her maid is gone, and she prepares to write, 
 First hovering o'er the paper with her quill : 
 Conceit and grief an eager combat fight ; 
 What wit sets down is blotted straight with will; 
 This is too curious-good, this blunt and ill : 
 Much like a press of people at a door, 
 Throng her inventions, which shall be before. 
 
 At last she thus begins : ' Thou worthy lord 
 Of that unworthy wife that greeteth thee, 
 Health to thy person ! next vouchsafe to afford 
 (If ever, love, thy Lucrece thou wilt see) 
 Some present speed to come and visit me : 
 
THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 1239 
 
 So I commend me from our house in grief; 
 My woes are tedious, though my words are 
 
 brief.' 
 
 Here folds she up the tenor of her woe, 
 Her certain sorrow writ uncertainly. 
 By this short schedule Collatine may know 
 Her grief, but not her griefs true quality ; 
 She dares not thereof make discovery, 
 
 Lest he should hold it her own gross abuse, 
 Ere she with blood had stain'd her stain'd 
 
 Besides, the life and feeling of her passion 
 She hoards, to spend when he is by to hear her ; 
 When sighs, and groans, and tears may grace 
 
 the fashion 
 
 Of her disgrace, the better so to clear her 
 From that suspicion which the world might 
 
 bear her. 
 To shun this blot, she would not blot the 
 
 letter [better. 
 
 With words, till action might become them 
 
 To see sad sights moves more than hear them 
 
 told; 
 
 For then the eye interprets to the ear 
 The heavy motion that it doth behold, 
 When every part a part of woe doth bear. 
 'Tis but a part of sorrow that we hear : 
 
 Deep sounds make lesser noise than shallow 
 
 fords, [words. 
 
 And sorrow ebbs, being blown with wind of 
 
 Her letter now is seal'd, and on it writ, 
 * At Ardea to my lord with more than haste ; ' 
 The post attends, and she delivers it, 
 Charging the sour-fac'd groom to hie as fast 
 As lagging fowls before the northern blast. 
 
 Speed more than speed but dull and slow 
 she deems : 
 
 Extremity still urgeth such extremes. 
 
 The homely villain court'sies to her low ; 
 And blushing on her, with a steadfast eye 
 Receives the scroll, without or yea or no, 
 And forth with bashful innocence doth hie. 
 But they whose guilt within their bosoms He 
 
 Imagine every eye beholds their blame ; 
 
 For Lucrece thought he blusb'd to see her 
 shame ; 
 
 When, silly groom ! God wot, it was defect 
 Of spirit, life, and bold audacity. 
 Such harmless creatures have a true respect 
 To talk in deeds, while others saucily 
 Promise more speed, but do it leisurely : 
 
 Even so, this pattern of the worn-out age 
 Pawn'd honest looks, but laid no words to gage. 
 
 His kindled duty kindled her mistrust, 
 That two red fires in both their faces blaz'd ; 
 She thought he blush'd as knowing Tarquin's 
 
 lust, 
 
 And, blushing with him, wistly on him gaz'd ; 
 
 Her earnest eye did make him more amaz'd : 
 
 The more she saw the blood his cheeks 
 
 replenish, [blemish. 
 
 The more she thought he spied in her some 
 
 But long she thinks till he return again, 
 And yet the duteous vassal scarce is gone. 
 The weary time she cannot entertain, 
 For now 'tis stale to sigh, to weep, and groan : 
 So woe hath wearied woe, moan tired moan, 
 That she her plaints a little while doth stay, 
 Pausing for means to mourn some newer way. 
 
 At last she calls to mind where hangs a piece 
 Of skilful painting, made for Priam's Troy ; 
 Before the which is drawn the power of Greece, 
 For Helen's rape the city to destroy, 
 Threat'ning cloud-kissing Ilion with annoy ; 
 Which the conceited painter drew so proud, 
 As heaven (itseem'd) to kiss the turrets bow'd. 
 
 A thousand lamentable objects there, 
 In scorn of Nature, Art gave lifeless life : 
 Many a dry drop seem'd a weeping tear, 
 Shed for the slaughter'd husband by the wife : 
 The red blood reek'd to show the painter's strife; 
 And dying eyesgleam'd forth their ashy lights, 
 Like dying coals burnt out in tedious nights. 
 
 There might you see the labouring pioneer 
 Begrim'd with sweat, and smeared all with dust; 
 And from the towers of Troy there would appear 
 The very eyes of men through loopholes thrust, 
 Gazing upon the Greeks with little lust : 
 
 Such sweet observance in this work was had, 
 That one might see those far-off eyes look sad. 
 
 In great commanders grace and majesty 
 You might behold, triumphing in their faces ; 
 In youth, quick bearing and dexterity ; 
 And here and there the painter interlaces 
 Pale cowards, marching on with trembling 
 
 paces ; 
 
 Which heartless peasants did so well resemble, 
 That one would swear he saw them quake 
 and tremble. 
 
 In Ajax and Ulysses, O what art 
 Of physiognomy might one behold ! 
 
I2 4 
 
 THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 The face of either 'cipher'd cither's heart ; 
 Their face their manners most expressly told : 
 In Ajax' eyes blunt rage and rigour roll'd ; 
 But the mild glance that sly Ulysses lent 
 Show'd deep regard and smiling government. 
 
 There pleading might you see grave Nestor 
 
 stand, 
 
 As 't were encouraging the Greeks to fight ; 
 Making such sober action with his hand 
 That it beguil'd attention, charm'd the sight : 
 In speech, it seem'd, his beard all silver white 
 Wagg'd up and down, and from his lips did 
 
 fly 
 Thin winding breath, which purl'd up to the 
 
 sky. 
 
 About him were a press of gaping faces, 
 Which seem'd to swallow up his sound advice ; 
 All jointly listening, but with several graces, 
 As if some mermaid did their ears entice ; 
 Some high, some low, the painter was so nice : 
 The scalps of many, almost hid behind, 
 To jump up higher seem'd to mock the mind. 
 
 Here one man's hand lean'd on another's head, 
 His nose being shadow'd by his neighbour's 
 
 ear ; 
 Here one being throng'd bears back, all boll'n 
 
 and red ; 
 
 Another smother'd seems to pelt and swear ; 
 And in their rage such signs of rage they bear, 
 As, but for loss of Nestor's golden words, 
 It seem'd they would debate with angry 
 
 swords. 
 
 For much imaginary work was there ; 
 Conceit deceitful, so compact, so kind, 
 That for Achilles' image stood his spear, 
 Grip'd in an armed hand ; himself, behind, 
 Was left unseen, save to the eye of mind : 
 A hand, a foot, a face, a leg, a head, 
 Stood for the whole to be imagined. 
 
 And from the walls of strong-besieged Troy 
 When their brave hope, bold Hector, march'd 
 
 to field, 
 
 Stood many Trojan mothers, sharing joy 
 To see their youthful sons bright weapons wield; 
 And to their hope they such odd action yield, 
 
 That through their light joy seemed to appear 
 (Like bright things stain'd) a kind of " 
 
 fear. 
 
 heavy 
 
 And, from the strond of Dardan where they 
 
 fought, 
 To Simois reedy banks, the red blood ran, 
 
 Whose waves to imitate the battle sought 
 With swelling ridges ; and their ranks began 
 To break upon the galled shore, and than 
 Retire again, till meeting greater ranks 
 They join, and shoot their foam at Simois' 
 banks. 
 
 t ysrri -onthBiLcQ ^in.Lp'TM UQ;'- .- 
 To this well-painted piece is Lucrece come, 
 To find a face where all distress is stell'd. 
 Many she sees where cares have carved some, 
 But none where all distress and dolour dwell'd, 
 Till she despairing Hecuba beheld, 
 
 Staring on Priam's wounds with her old eyes, 
 Which bleeding under Pyrrhus' proud foot 
 lies. 
 
 KW.-I3 VfUU ?-H:3j" i boi ,-dgiri fWif/ 
 
 In her the painter had anatomiz'd 
 
 Time's ruin, beauty's wrack, and grim care's 
 
 reign ; 
 Her cheeks with chaps and wrinkles were dis- 
 
 guis'd ; 
 
 Of what she was no semblance did remain : 
 Her blue blood, chang'd to black in every vein, 
 Wanting the spring that those shrunk pipes 
 
 had fed, 
 Show'd life imprison'd in a body dead. 
 
 ...? 'j.'.i oj o>.'-.''':!r9y;j ->.a'. S-^' <K>/i J 
 On this sad shadow Lucrece spends her eyes, 
 And shapes her sorrow to the beldame's woes, 
 Who nothing wants to answer her but cries, 
 And bitter words to ban her cruel foes : 
 The painter was no god to lend her those ; 
 And therefore Lucrece swears he did her 
 
 wrong, 
 To give her so much grief, and not a tongue. 
 
 ' Poor instrument,' quoth she, * without a sound, 
 I '11 tune thy woes with my lamenting tongue : 
 And drop sweet balm in Priam's painted wound, 
 And rail on Pyrrhus that hath done him wrong, 
 And with my tears quench Troy that burns so 
 
 long; 
 
 And with my knife scratch out the angry eyes 
 Of all the Greeks that are thine enemies. 
 
 ' Show me the strumpet that began this stir, 
 That with my nails her beauty I may tear. 
 Thy heat of lust, fond Paris, did incur 
 This load of wrath that burning Troy doth 
 
 bear; 
 
 Thy eye kindled the fire that burneth here : 
 And here in Troy, for trespass of thine eye, 
 The sire, the son, the dame, and daughter, 
 die. 
 
 ' Why should the private pleasure of some one 
 Become the public plague of many mo ? 
 
THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 1241 
 
 Let sin, alone committed, light alone 
 Upon his head that hath transgressed so. 
 Let guiltless souls be freed from guilty woe : 
 For one's offence why should so many fall, 
 To plague a private sin in general ? 
 
 ' Lo, here weeps Hecuba, here Priam dies, 
 Here manly Hector faints, here Troilus 
 
 swounds ; 
 
 Here friend by friend in bloody channel lies, 
 And friend to friend gives unadvised wounds, 
 And one man's lust these many lives confounds : 
 Had doting Priam check'd his son's desire, 
 Troy had been bright with fame, and not 
 with fire. 
 
 Here feelingly she weeps Troy's painted woes : 
 For sorrow, like a heavy-hanging bell, 
 Once set on ringing, with his own weight goes ; 
 Then little strength rings out the doleful knell : 
 So Lucrece set a- work sad tales doth tell 
 
 To pencill'd pensiveness and colour'd sorrow ; 
 
 She lends them words, and she their looks 
 doth borrow. 
 
 She throws her eyes about the painting round, 
 
 And whom she finds forlorn she doth lament : 
 
 At last she sees a wretched image bound, 
 
 That piteous looks to Phrygian shepherds lent ; 
 
 His face, though full of cares, yet show'd content : 
 
 Onward to Troy with the blunt swains hegoes, 
 
 So mild that Patience seem'd to scorn his woes. 
 
 In him the painter labour'd with his skill 
 To hide deceit, and give the harmless show 
 An humble gait, calm looks, eyes wailing still, 
 A brow unbent, that seem'd to welcome woe ; 
 Cheeks neither red nor pale, but mingled so 
 That blushing red no guilty instance gave, 
 Nor ashy pale the fear that false hearts have. 
 
 But, like a constant and confirmed devil, 
 He entertain'd a show so seeming just, 
 And therein so ensconc'd his secret evil, 
 That jealousy itself could not mistrust 
 False-creeping craft and perjury should thrust 
 Into so bright a day such black-fac'd storms, 
 Or blot with hell -born sin such saint-like forms. 
 
 The well-skill'd workman this mild image drew 
 For perjur'd Sinon, whose enchanting story 
 The credulous old Priam after slew ; [glory 
 Whose words, like wildfire, burnt the shining 
 Of rich-built Ilion, that the skies were sorry, 
 And little stars shot from their fixed places, 
 When their glass fell wherein they view'd 
 their faces. 
 
 This picture she advisedly perus'd, 
 And chid the painter for his wondrous skill ; 
 Saying, some shape in Sinon's was abus'd, 
 So fair a form lodg'd not a mind so ill ; 
 And still on him she gaz'd, and gazing still. 
 Such signs of truth in his plain face she spied, 
 That she concludes the picture was belied. 
 
 ' It cannot be,' quoth she, 'that so much guile' 
 (She would have said) ' can lurk in such a look ;' 
 But Tarquin's shape came in her mind the 
 
 while, 
 And from her tongue * can lurk ' from ' cannot ; 
 
 took ; 
 
 ' It cannot be ' she in that sense forsook, 
 And turn'd it thus : ' It cannot be, I find, 
 But such a face should bear a wicked mind : 
 
 ' For even as subtle Sinon here is painted, 
 So sober-sad, so weary, and so mild, 
 (As if with grief or travail he had fainted,) 
 To me came Tarquin armed ; so beguil'd 
 With outward honesty, but yet defil d 
 
 With inward vice : as Priam him did cherish, 
 So did I Tarquin ; so my Troy did perish. 
 
 ' Look, look, how listening Priam wets his eyes, 
 To see those borrow'd tears that Sinon sheds. 
 Priam, why art thou old, and yet not wise ? 
 For every tear he falls a Trojan bleeds ; 
 His eye drops fire, no water thence proceeds ; 
 
 Those round clear pearls of his that move thy 
 pity 
 
 Are balls of quenchless fire to burn thy city. 
 
 ' Such devils steal effects from lightless hell ; 
 For Sinon in his fire doth quake with cold, 
 And in that cold hot-burning fire doth dwell ; 
 These contraries such unity do hold 
 Only to flatter fools, and make them bold ; 
 So Priam's trust false Sinon's tears doth 
 
 flatter, 
 
 That he finds means to burn his Troy with 
 water.' 
 
 Here, all enrag'd, such passion her assails, 
 That patience is quite beaten from her breast. 
 She tears the senseless Sinon with her nails, 
 Comparing him to that unhappy guest 
 Whose deed hath made herself herself detest ; 
 
 At last she smilingly with this gives o'er ; 
 
 ' Fool ! fool ! ' quoth she, ' his wounds will 
 not be sore.' 
 
 Thus ebbs and flows the current of her sorrow, 
 And time doth weary time with her complain- 
 ing. 
 
1242 
 
 THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 She looks for night, and then she longs for 
 
 morrow, 
 
 And both she thinks too long with her remain- 
 ing : 
 
 Short time seems long in sorrow's sharp sustain- 
 ing. 
 
 Though woe be heavy, yet it seldom sleeps ; 
 And they that watch see time how slow it 
 
 Which all this time hathoverslipp'd her thought, 
 That she with painted images hath spent ; 
 Being from the feeling of her own grief brought 
 By deep surmise of others' detriment ; 
 Losing her woes in shows of discontent. 
 It easeth some, though none it ever cur'd, 
 To think their dolour others have endur'd. 
 
 But now the mindful messenger, come back, 
 Brings home his lord and other company ; 
 Who finds his Lucrece clad in mourning black ; 
 And round about her tear-distained eye 
 Blue circles stream'd, like rainbows in the sky. 
 These water-galls in her dim element 
 Foretell new storms to those already spent. 
 
 Which when her sad-beholding husband saw, 
 
 Amazedly in her sad face he stares : 
 
 Her eyes, though sod in tears, look'd red and 
 
 raw, 
 
 Her lively colour kill'd with deadly cares. 
 He hath no power to ask her how she fares, 
 But stood like old acquaintance in a trance, 
 Met far from home, wondering each other's 
 chance. 
 
 At last he takes her by the bloodless hand, 
 And thus begins : * What uncouth ill event 
 Hath thee befallen, that thou dost trembling 
 
 stand ? 
 Sweet love, what spite hath thy fair colour 
 
 spent ? 
 
 Why art thou thus attir'd in discontent ? 
 Unmask, dear dear, this moody heaviness, 
 And tell thy grief, that we may give redress.' 
 
 Three times with sighs she gives her sorrow 
 
 fire, 
 
 Ere once she can discharge one word of woe : 
 At length address'd to answer his desire, 
 She modestly prepares to let them know 
 Her honour is ta'en prisoner by the foe ; 
 While Collatine and his consorted lords 
 With sad attention long to hear her words. 
 
 And now this pale swan in her watery nest 
 Begins the sad dirge of her certain ending : 
 
 ' Few words,' quoth she, ' shall fit the trespass 
 
 best, 
 
 Where no excuse can give the fault amending : 
 In me more woes than words are now depend- 
 ing ; [long, 
 And my laments would be drawn out too 
 To tell them all with one poor tired tongue. 
 
 * Then be this all the task it hath to say : 
 Dear husband, in the interest of thy bed 
 
 A stranger came, and on that pillow lay 
 Where thou wast wont to rest thy weary head; 
 And what wrong else may be imagined 
 By foul enforcement might be done to me, 
 From that, alas ! thy Lucrece is not free. 
 
 * For in the dreadful dead of dark midnight, 
 With shining falchion in my chamber came 
 A creeping creature, with a flaming light, 
 And softly cried, Awake, thou Roman dame, 
 And entertain my love ; else lasting shame 
 
 On thee and thine this night I will inflict, 
 If thou my love's desire do contradict. 
 
 'For somehard-favour'dgroom of thine,quoth he, 
 Unless thou yoke thy liking to my will, 
 I '11 murder straight, and then I '11 slaughter thee, 
 And swear I found you where you did fulfil 
 The loathsome act of lust, and so did kill 
 The lechers in their deed : this act will be 
 My fame, and thy perpetual infamy. 
 
 ' With this I did begin to start and cry, 
 And then against my heart he set his sword, 
 Swearing, unless I took all patiently, 
 I should not live to speak another word : 
 So should my shame still rest upon record, 
 And never be forgot in mighty Rome 
 The adulterate death of Lucrece and her 
 groom. 
 
 ' Mine enemy was strong, my poor self weak, 
 And far the weaker with so strong a fear : 
 My bloody judge forbade my tongue to speak ; 
 No rightful plea might plead for justice there : 
 His scarlet lust came evidence to swear 
 
 That my poor beauty had purloin'd his eyes, 
 And when the judge is robb'd, the prisoner dies. 
 
 ' O teach me how to make mine own excuse ! 
 
 Or, at the least, this refuge let me find ; 
 
 Though my gross blood be stain'd with this 
 abuse, 
 
 Immaculate and spotless is my mind ; 
 
 That was not forc'd ; that never was inclin'd 
 To accessary yieldings, but still pure 
 Doth in her poison'd closet yet endure.' 
 
THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 1243 
 
 Lo here, the hopeless merchant of this loss, 
 With head declin'd, and voice damm'd up with 
 
 woe, 
 
 With sad-set eyes, and wretched arms across, 
 From lips new-waxen pale begins to blow 
 The grief away that stops his answer so : 
 But wretched as he is he strives in vain ; 
 What he breathes out his breath drinks up 
 again. 
 
 As through an arch the violent roaring tide 
 Outruns the eye that doth behold his haste ; 
 Yet in the eddy boundeth in his pride 
 Back to the strait that forc'd him on so fast ; 
 In rage sent out, recall'd in rage, being past : 
 Even so he sighs, his sorrows make a saw. 
 To push grief on, and back the same grief 
 draw. 
 
 Which speechless woe of his poor she attendeth, 
 And his untimely frenzy thus awaketh : 
 
 * Dear lord, thy sorrow to my sorrow lendeth 
 Another power ; no flood by raining slaketh. 
 My woe too sensible thy passion maketh 
 
 More feeling-painful : let it then suffice 
 To drown one woe, one pair of weeping eyes. 
 
 * And for my sake, when I might charm thee so, 
 For she that was thy Lucrece, now attend me; 
 Be suddenly revenged on my foe, [fend me 
 Thine, mine, his own ; suppose thou dost de- 
 From what is past: the help that thou shalt 
 
 lend me 
 
 Comes all too late, yet let the traitor die ; 
 For sparing justice feeds iniquity. 
 
 'But ere I name him, you, fair lords,' quoth 
 
 she, 
 (Speaking to those that came with Colktine) 
 
 * Shall plight your honourable faiths to me, 
 With swift pursuit to venge this wrong of mine ; 
 For 'tis a meritorious fair design 
 
 1 o chase injustice with revengeful arms : 
 Knights, by their oaths, should right poor 
 ladies' harms.' 
 
 At this request, with noble disposition 
 Each present lord began to promise aid, 
 As bound in knighthood to her imposition, 
 Longing to hear the hateful foe bewray'd. 
 But she, that yet her sad task hath not said, 
 
 The protestation stops. 'O speak,' quoth 
 she, [me ? 
 
 4 How may this forced stain be wip'd from 
 
 1 What is the quality of mine offence, 
 
 Being constrain'd with dreadful circumstance ? 
 
 May my pure mind with the foul act dispense, 
 
 My low-declined honour to advance ? 
 
 May any terms acquit me from this chance ? 
 
 The poison'd fountain clears itself again ; 
 
 And why not I from this compelled stain ? ' 
 
 With this, they all at once began to say, 
 Her body's stain her mind untainted clears ; 
 While with a joyless smile she turns away 
 The face, that map which deep impression bears 
 Of hard misfortune, carv'd in it with tears. 
 
 4 No, no,' quoth she, ' no dame, hereafter 
 living, 
 
 By my excuse shall claim excuse's giving.' 
 
 Here with a sigh, as if her heart would break, 
 She throws forth Tarquin's name : ' He, he/ 
 she says, [speak ; 
 
 But more than ' he ' her poor tongue could not 
 Till after many accents and delays, 
 Untimely breathings, sick and short assays, 
 She utters this : ' He, he, fair lords, 'tis he, 
 That guides this hand to give this wound to 
 me.' 
 
 Even here she sheathed in her harmless breast 
 A harmful knife, that thence her soul un- 
 
 sheath'd : 
 
 That blow did bail it from the deep unrest 
 Of that polluted prison where it breath'd : 
 Her contrite sighs unto the clouds bequeath'd 
 Her winged sprite, and through her wounds 
 
 doth fly 
 Life's lasting date from canceli'd destiny. 
 
 Stone-still, astonish'd with this deadly deed, 
 Stood Collatine and all his lordly crew ; 
 Till Lucrece' father that beholds her bleed, 
 Himself on her self-slaughter'd body threw ; 
 And from the purple fountain Brutus drew 
 The murderous knife, and as it left the place, 
 Her blood, in poor revenge, held it in chase ; 
 
 And bubbling from her breast, it doth divide 
 In two slow rivers, that the crimson blood 
 Circles her body in on every side, 
 Who like a late-sack'd island vastly stood 
 Bare and unpeopled, in this fearful flood. ^ 
 Some of her blood still pure and red remain'd, 
 And some look'd black, and that false Tar- 
 quin stain'd. 
 
 About the mourning and congealed face 
 Of that black blood a watery rigol goes, 
 Which seems to weep upon the tainted place : 
 And ever since, as pitying Lucrece' woes, 
 Corrupted blood some watery token shows ; 
 
1244 
 
 THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 And blood untainted still doth red abide, 
 Blushing at that which is so putrefied. 
 
 ' Daughter, dear daughter,' old Lucretius cries, 
 ' That life was mine which thou hast here de- 
 
 priv'd. 
 
 If in the child the father's image lies, 
 Where shall I live now Lucrece is unliv'd ? 
 Thou wast not to this end from me deriv'd. 
 If children predecease progenitors, 
 We are their offspring, and they none of ours. 
 
 ' Poor broken glass, I often did behold 
 In thy sweet semblance my old age new born ; 
 But now that fair fresh mirror, dim and old, 
 Shows me a barebon'd death by time outworn; 
 O, from thy cheeks my image thou hast torn ! 
 And shiver'd all the beauty of my glass, 
 That I no more can see what once I was. 
 
 * O time, cease thou thy course, and last no 
 longer, 
 
 If they surcease to be that should survive. 
 
 Shall rotten death make conquest of the stronger, 
 
 And leave the faltering feeble souls alive ? 
 
 The old bees die, the young possess their hive : 
 Then live, sweet Lucrece, live again, and see 
 Thy father die, and not thy father thee ! ' 
 
 By this starts Collatine as from a dream, 
 And bids Lucretius give his sorrow place ; 
 And then in key-cold Lucrece' bleeding stream 
 He falls, and bathes the pale fear in his face, 
 And counterfeits to die with her a space ; 
 Till manly shame bids him possess his breath, 
 And live, to be revenged on her death. 
 
 The deep vexation of his inward soul 
 Hath serv'd a dumb arrest upon his tongue ; 
 Who, mad that sorrow should his use control, 
 Or keep him from heart-easing words so long, 
 Begins to talk ; but through his lips do throng 
 
 Weak words, so thick come, in his poor 
 heart's aid, 
 
 That no man could distinguish what he said. 
 
 Yet sometime Tarquin was pronounced plain, 
 But through his teeth, as if the name he tore. 
 This windy tempest, till it blow up rain, 
 Held back his sorrow's tide, to make it more ; 
 At last it rains, and busy winds give o'er : 
 Then son and father weep with equal strife, 
 Who should weep most for daughter or for 
 wife. 
 
 The one doth call her his, the other his, 
 Yet neither may possess the claim they lay, 
 
 The father says, ' She 's mine,' ' O, mine she 
 
 is,' 
 
 Replies her husband : ' do not take away 
 My sorrow's interest ; let no mourner say 
 He weeps for her, for she was only mine, 
 And only must be wail'd by Collatine.' 
 
 ' O,' quoth Lucretius, ' I did give that life 
 Which she too early and too late hath spill'd.' 
 'Woe, wos,' quoth Collatine, 'she was my 
 
 wife, 
 
 I ow'd her, and 'tis mine that she hath kill'd.' 
 ' My daughter ! ' and ' My wife ! ' with clamours 
 
 fill'd 
 
 The dispers'd air, who, holding Lucrece' life, 
 Answer'd their cries, ' My daughter ! ' and 
 ' My wife ! ' 
 
 Brutus, who pluck'd the knife from Lucrece' 
 
 side, 
 
 Seeing such emulation in their woe, 
 Began to clothe his wit in state and pride, 
 Burying in Lucrece' wound his folly's show. 
 He with the Romans was esteemed so 
 As silly jeering idiots are with kings, 
 For sportive words, and uttering foolish 
 things. 
 
 But now he throws that shallow habit by, 
 
 Wherein deep policy did him disguise ; 
 
 And arm'd his long-hid wits advisedly, 
 
 To check the tears in Collatinus' eyes. 
 
 ' Thou wronged lord of Rome,' quoth he, 
 
 ' arise ; 
 
 Let my unsounded self, suppos'd a fool, 
 Now set thy long-experienc'd wit to school. 
 
 ' Why, Collatine, is woe the cure for woe ? 
 
 Do wounds help wounds, or grief help grievous 
 deeds? 
 
 Is it revenge to give thyself a blow, 
 
 For his foul act by whom thy fair wife bleeds ? 
 
 Such childish humour from weak minds pro- 
 ceeds : 
 
 Thy wretched wife mistook the matter so, 
 To slay herself, that should have slain her 
 foe. 
 
 ' Courageous Roman, do not steep thy heart 
 In such relenting dew of lamentations, 
 But kneel with me, and help to bear thy part, 
 To rouse our Roman gods with invocations, 
 That they will suffer these abominations, 
 (Since Rome herself in them doth stand dis- 
 
 grac'd,) 
 
 By our strong arms from forth her fair streets 
 chas'd. 
 
THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 1245 
 
 'Now by the Capitol that we adore, 
 
 And by this chaste blood so unjustly stain'd, 
 
 By heaven's fair sun that breeds the fat earth's 
 
 store, 
 
 By all our country rights in Rome maintain'd, 
 And by chaste Lucrece'soul that late complain'd 
 Her wrongs to us, and by this bloody knife, 
 We will revenge the death of this true wife.' 
 
 This said, he struck his hand upon his breast, 
 And kiss'd the fatal knife to end his vow ; 
 And to his protestation urg'd the rest. 
 
 Who, wondering at him, did his words allow ; 
 
 Then jointly to the ground their knees they bow ; 
 And that deep vow which Brutus made before, 
 He doth again repeat, and that they swore. 
 
 When they had sworn to this advised doom, 
 They did conclude to bear dead Lucrece thence ; 
 To show her bleeding body thorough Rome, 
 And so to publish Tarquin's foul offence : 
 Which being done with speedy diligence, 
 The Romans plausibly did give consent 
 To Tarquin's everlasting banishment. 
 

 SONNETS. 
 
 TO . THE . ONLIE . BEGETTER . OP 
 
 THESE . INSUING . SONNETS . 
 
 MR. W. H. ALL . HAFPINESSE . 
 
 AND . THAT . ETERNITIE . 
 
 PROMISED . 
 
 BY . 
 OUR . EVER -LIVING . POET .^} 
 
 WISHETH . 
 
 THE . WELL - WISHING . 
 
 ADVENTURER . IN . 
 
 SETTING . 
 
 FORTH . 
 
 T,T. 
 
 FROM fairest creatures we desire increase. 
 That thereby beauty's rose might never die, 
 But as the riper should by time decrease, 
 His tender heir might bear his memory : 
 But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes, 
 Feed's! thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel, 
 Making a famine where abundance lies, 
 Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel. 
 Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament, 
 And only herald to the gaudy spring, 
 Within thine own bud buriest thy content, 
 And, tender churl, mak'st waste in niggard ing. 
 Pity the world, or else this glutton be, 
 To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee. 
 
 II. 
 
 When forty winters shall besiege thy brow, 
 And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field, 
 Thy youth's proud livery, so gaz'd on now, 
 Will be a tatter'd weed, of small worth held : 
 Then being ask'd where all thy beauty lies, 
 Where all the treasure of thy lusty days ; 
 To say, within thine own deep sunken eyes, 
 Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise. 
 How much more praise deserv'd thy beauty's use, 
 If thou couldst answer c This fair child of mine 
 Shall sum my count, and make my old ex- 
 cuse ' 
 
 Proving his 'beauty by succession thine ! 
 This were to be new-made when thou art old, 
 And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it 
 cold 
 
 in. 
 
 Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest, 
 Now is the time that face should form another ; 
 Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest, 
 Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some 
 
 mother. 
 
 For where is she so fair whose unear'd womb 
 Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry ? 
 Or who is he so fond will be the tomb 
 Of his self-love, to stop posterity ? 
 Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee 
 Calls back the lovely April of her prime : 
 So thou through windows of thine age shalt 
 
 see, 
 
 Despite of wrinkles, this thy golden time. 
 But if thou live, remember'd not to be, 
 Die single, and thine image dies with thee. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend 
 Upon thyself thy beauty's legacy ? 
 Nature's bequest gives nothing, but doth lend, 
 And, being frank, she lends to those are free. 
 Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse 
 The bounteous largess given thee to give ? 
 Profitless usurer, why dost thou use 
 So great a sum of sums, yet canst not live ? 
 For having traffic with thyself alone, 
 Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive. 
 Then how, when nature calls thee to be gone, 
 What acceptable audit canst thou leave ? 
 The nnus'd beauty must be tomb'd with thee, 
 Which, used, lives th' executor to be. 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 1247 
 
 Those hours that with gentle work did frame 
 The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell, 
 Will play the tyrants to the very same, 
 And that unfair which fairly doth excel ; 
 For never- resting time leads summer on 
 To hideous winter, and confounds him there ; 
 Sap check'd with frost, and lusty leaves quite 
 
 gone, 
 
 Beauty o'ersnow'd. and bareness everywhere : 
 Then, were not summer's distillation left, 
 A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass, 
 Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft, 
 Nor it, nor no remembrance what it was. 
 
 But flowers distill'd, though they with winter 
 meet, [sweet. 
 
 Leese but their show j their substance still lives 
 
 VI. 
 
 Then let not winter's ragged hand deface 
 In thee thy summer, ere thou be distill'd : 
 Make sweet some phial j treasure thou some 
 
 place 
 
 With beauty's treasure, ere it be self-kill'd. 
 That use is not forbidden usury, 
 Which happies those that pay the willing loan ; 
 That 's for thyself to breed another thee, 
 Or ten times happier, be it ten for one ; 
 Ten times thyself were happier than thou art, 
 If ten of thine ten times rehgur'd thee : 
 Then what could Death do if thou shouldst 
 
 depart, 
 
 Leaving thee living in posterity? 
 Be not self-will'd, for thou art much too fair 
 To be Death's conquest and make worms thine 
 
 heir. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Lo, in the orient when the gracious light 
 Lifts up his burning head, each under eye 
 Doth homage to his new-appearing sight, 
 Serving with looks his sacred majesty ; 
 And having climb'd the steep-up heavenly hill, 
 Resembling strong youth in his middle age, 
 Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still, 
 Attending on his golden pilgrimage ; 
 But when from high-most pitch, with weary car, 
 Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day, 
 The eyes, 'fore duteous, now converted are 
 From his low tract, and look another way : 
 So thou, thyself outgoing in thy noon, 
 Unlook'd on diest, unless thou get a son. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly? 
 Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy, 
 
 Why lov'st thou that which thou receiv'st not 
 
 gladly? 
 
 Or else receiv'st with pleasure thine annoy? 
 If the true concord of well-tuned sounds 
 By unions married, do offend thine car, 
 They do but sweetly chide thee who confounds 
 In singleness the parts that thcu shouldst bear. 
 Mark how one string, sweet husband to another 5 
 Strikes each in each by mutual ordering ; 
 Resembling sire and child and happy mother, 
 Who, all in one, one pleasing note do sing : 
 Whose speechless song, being many, seeming 
 
 one, 
 Sings this to thee, ' thou single wilt prove none.* 
 
 IX. 
 
 Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye 
 That thou consum'st thyself in single life ? 
 Ah ! if thou issueless shalt hap to die, 
 The world will wail thee, like a makeless wife ; 
 The world will be thy widow, and still weep 
 That thou no form of thee hast left behind, 
 When every private widow well may keep, 
 By children's eyes, her husband's shape, in mind. 
 Look, what an unthrift in the world doth spend 
 Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it : 
 But beauty's waste hath in the world an end, 
 And kept unus'd, the user so destroys it. 
 No love toward others in that bosom sits, 
 That on himself such murderous shame com- 
 mits. 
 
 For shame ! deny that thou bear'st love to any, 
 Who for thyself art so unprovident. 
 Grant if thou wilt thou art belovM of many, 
 But that thou none lov'st is most evident j 
 For thou art so possess'd with murderous hate, 
 That 'gainst thyself thou stick'st not to conspire, 
 Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate, 
 Which to repair should be thy chief desire. 
 O change thy thought, that I may change my 
 
 mind ! 
 
 Shall hate be fairer lodg'd than gentle love ? 
 Be, as thy presence is, gracious and kind, 
 Or to thyself, at least, kind-hearted prove ; 
 Make thee another self, for love of me, 
 That beauty still may live in thine or thee. 
 
 XI. 
 
 As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow'st 
 In one of thine, from that which thou departest ; 
 And that fresh blood which youngly thou 
 bestow'st, [convertest. 
 
 Thou mayst call thine, when thou from youth 
 Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase : 
 Without this folly, age, and cold decay. 
 
I2 4 8 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 If all were minded so the times should cease, 
 And threescore years would make the world 
 
 away. 
 
 Let those whom Nature hath not made for store, 
 Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish : 
 Look whom she best endow'd, she gave the 
 
 more ; [cherish ; 
 
 Which bounteous gift thou shouldst in bounty 
 
 She carv'd thee for her seal, and meant thereby 
 
 Thou shouldst print more, nor let that copy 
 
 die. 
 
 >2 8S3 
 
 When I do count the clock that tells the time, 
 And see the brave day sunk in hideous night ; 
 When I behold the violet past prime, 
 And sable curls, all silver'd o'er with white ; 
 When lofty trees I see barren of leaves, 
 Which erst from heat did canopy the herd, 
 And summer's green all girded up in sheaves, 
 Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard ; 
 Then of thy beauty do I question make, 
 That thou among the wastes of time must go, 
 Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake, 
 And die as fast as they see others grow ; 
 
 And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make 
 defence [hence. 
 
 Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee 
 
 XIII. 
 
 O that you were yourself: but, love, you are 
 No longer yours than you yourself here live : 
 Against this coming end you should prepare, 
 And your sweet semblance to some other give. 
 So should that beauty which you held in lease 
 Find no determination : then you were 
 Yourself again, after yourself s decease, 
 When your sweet issue your sweet form should 
 
 bear. 
 
 Who lets so fair a house fall to decay, 
 Which husbandry in honour might uphold 
 Against the stormy gusts of winter's day, 
 And barren rage of death's eternal cold? 
 
 O ! none but unthrifts : Dear my love, you 
 know 
 
 You had a father ; let your son say so. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck ; 
 And yet methinks I have astronomy, 
 But not to tell of good or evil luck, 
 Of plagues, of dearths, or season's quality : 
 Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell, 
 Pointing to each his thunder, rain, and wind, 
 Or say with princes if it shall go well, 
 By oft predict that I in heaven find : 
 
 But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive, 
 And (constant stars) in them I read such art, 
 As truth and beauty shall together thrive, 
 If from thyself to store thou wouldst convert ; 
 Or else of thee this I prognosticate, 
 Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date, 
 
 _/-.: Vrr-v 
 XV. 
 
 When I consider every thing that grows 
 Holds in perfection but a little moment, 
 That this huge state presenteth nought but shows 
 Whereon the stars in secret influence comment ; 
 When I perceive that men as plants increase, 
 Cheered and check'd even by the self-same sky ; 
 Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease, 
 And wear their brave state out of memory ; 
 Then the conceit of this inconstant stay 
 Sets you most rich in youth before my sight, 
 Where wasteful time debateth with decay, 
 To change your day of youth to sullied night ; 
 And, all in war with Time, for love of you, 
 As he takes from you, I engraft you new. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 But wherefore do not you a mightier way 
 
 Make war upon this bloody tyrant, Time ? 
 
 And fortify yourself in your decay 
 
 With means more blessed than my barren rhyme? 
 
 Now stand you on the top of happy hours ; 
 
 And many maiden gardens, yet unset, 
 
 With virtuous wish would bear your living 
 
 flowers, 
 
 Much liker than your painted counterfeit : 
 So should the lines of life that life repair, 
 Which this. Time's pencil, or my pupil pen, 
 Neither in inward worth, nor outward fair, 
 Can make you live yourself in eyes of men. 
 
 To give away yourself keeps yourself still ; 
 
 And you must live, drawn by your own sweet 
 skill. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Who will believe my verse in time to come, 
 If it were fill'd with your most high deserts ? 
 Though yet, Heaven knows, it is but as a tomb 
 Which hides your life, and shows not half your 
 
 parts. 
 
 If I could write the beauty of your eyes, 
 And in fresh numbers number all your graces, 
 The age to come would say, this poet lies, 
 Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly 
 
 faces. 
 
 So should my papers, yellow'd with their age, 
 Be scorn'd, like old men of less truth than 
 
 tongue ; 
 
 And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage, 
 And stretched metre of an antique song : 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 1249 
 
 But were some child of yours alive that time, 
 You should live twice; in it, and in my 
 rhyme. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Shall I compare thee to a summer's day ? 
 Thou art more lovely and more temperate : 
 Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, 
 And summer's lease hath all too short a date : 
 Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, 
 And often is his gold complexion dimm'd ; 
 And every fair from fair sometime declines, 
 By chance, or nature's changing course, un 
 
 trimm'd ; 
 
 But thy eternal summer shall not fade, 
 Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest ; 
 Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his 
 
 shade, 
 
 When in eternal lines to time thou growest ; 
 So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, 
 So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws, 
 And make the earth devour her own sweet 
 
 brood ; 
 
 Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws, 
 And burn the long-liv'd phoenix in her blood ; 
 Make glad and sorry seasons, as thou fleets, 
 And do whatever thou wilt, swift-footed Time, 
 To the wide world, and all her fading sweets ; 
 But I forbid thee one most heinous crime : 
 O carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow, 
 Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen ; 
 Him in thy course untainted do allow, 
 For beauty's pattern to succeeding men. 
 Yet, do thy worst, old Time : despite thy wrong, 
 My love shall in my verse ever live young. 
 
 XX. 
 
 A woman's face, with nature's own hand painted, 
 Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion ; 
 A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted 
 With shifting change, as is false woman's 
 
 fashion ; [rolling, 
 
 An eye more bright than theirs, less false in 
 Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth ; 
 A man in hue, all hues in his controlling. 
 Which steals men's eyes, and women's souls 
 
 amazeth. 
 
 And for a woman wert thou first created ; 
 Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting, 
 And by addition me of thee defeated, 
 By adding one thing to my purpose nothing. 
 But since she prick'd thee out for women's 
 
 pleasure, [treasure. 
 
 Mine be thy love, and thy love's use their 
 
 XXI. 
 
 So is it not with me as with that muse, 
 Stirr'd by a painted beauty to his verse ; 
 Who heaven itself for ornament doth use, 
 And every fair with his fair doth rehearse ; 
 Making a couplement of proud compare. 
 With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich 
 gems, [rare 
 
 With April's first-born flowers, and all things 
 That heaven's air in this huge rondure hems. 
 O let me, true in love, but truly write, 
 And then believe me, my love is as fair 
 As any mother's child, though not so bright 
 As those gold candles fix'd in heaven's air : 
 
 Let them say more that like of hearsay well ; 
 
 I will not praise, that purpose not to sell. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 My glass shall not persuade me I am old, 
 So long as youth and thou are of one date ; 
 But when in thee time's furrows I behold, 
 Then look I death my days should expiate. 
 For all that beauty that doth cover thee 
 Is but the seemly raiment of my heart, 
 Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me j 
 
 How can I then be elder than thou art ? 
 
 
 O therefore, love, be of thyself so wary, 
 As I not for myself but for thee will ; 
 Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary 
 As tender nurse her babe from faring ill. 
 
 Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain ; 
 
 Thou gav'st me thine, not to give back again. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 r\oire : fcyn: vriT 
 
 As an imperfect actor on the stage, 
 Who with his fear is put besides his part, 
 Cr some fierce thing replete with too much rage, 
 Whose strength's abundance weakens his own 
 
 heart ; 
 
 So I, for fear of trust, forget to say 
 The perfect ceremony of love's rite, 
 And in mine own love's strength seem to decay, 
 O'ercharg'd with burthen of mine own love's 
 
 might. 
 
 O let my books be, then, the eloquence 
 And dumb presagers of my speaking breast ; 
 Who plead for love, and look for recompense 
 More than that tongue that more hath more 
 
 express'd. 
 
 O learn to read what silent love hath writ : 
 To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Mine eye hath play'd the painter, and hath 
 
 stell'd 
 Thy beauty's form in table of my heart ; 
 
 E 
 
1250 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 My body is the frame wherein 'tis held, 
 And perspective it is best painter's art. 
 For through the painter must you see his skill, 
 To find where your true image pictur'd lies, 
 Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still, 
 That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes. 
 Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have 
 
 done : 
 Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for 
 
 me [sun 
 
 Are windows to my breast, where-through the 
 
 Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee ; 
 
 Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art, 
 
 They draw but what they see, know not the 
 
 heart. 
 
 xxv.rf) ,*! 
 
 Let those who are in favour with their stars, 
 Of public honour and proud titles boast, 
 Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars, 
 Unlook'd for ioy in that I honour most. 
 Great princes favourites their fair leaves spread 
 But as the marigold at the sun's eye ; 
 And in themselves their pride lies buried, 
 For at a frown they in their glory die. 
 The painful warrior famoused for fight, 
 After a thousand victories once foil'd, 
 Is from the book of honour razed quite, 
 And all the rest forgot for which he toil'd : 
 Then happy I, that love and am belov'd 
 Where I may not remove, nor be remov'd. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage 
 Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit, 
 To thee I send this written embassage, 
 To witness duty, not to show my wit. 
 Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine 
 May make seem bare, in wanting words to 
 
 show it ; 
 
 But that I hope some good conceit of thine 
 In thy soul's thought, all naked, will bestow it : 
 Till whatsoever star that guides by moving, 
 Points on me graciously with fair aspect, 
 And puts apparel on my tatter'd loving, 
 To show me worthy of thy sweet respect : 
 Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee, 
 Till then, not show my head where thou mayst 
 prove me. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed, 
 The dear repose for limbs with travel tir'd ; 
 But then begins a journey in my head, 
 To work my mind, when body's work 's expir'd : 
 For then my thoughts (from far where I abide) 
 Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee, 
 
 And keep my drooping eyelids open wide, 
 Looking on darkness which the blind do see : 
 Save that my soul's imaginary sight 
 Presents thy shadow to my sightless view, 
 Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night, 
 Makes black night beauteous, and her old faee 
 
 new. 
 
 Lo. thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind 
 For thee, and for myself, no quiet find. 
 
 ."ooirir! -n-r'f >;:;' " ri ooj rw'Jonior:! 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 How can I then return in happy plight, 
 That am debarr'd the benefit of rest ? 
 When day's oppression is not eas'd by night, 
 But day by night and night by day oppress'd ? 
 And each, though enemies to cither's reign, 
 Do in consent shake hands to torture me, 
 The one by toil, the other to complain 
 How far I toil, still farther off from thee. 
 I tell the day, to please him, thou art bright, 
 And dost him grace when clouds do blot the 
 
 heaven : 
 
 So flatter I the swart-complexion'd night ; 
 When sparkling stars twire not, thou gild'iit 
 
 the even. 
 
 But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer, 
 And night doth nightly make griefs strength 
 
 seem stronger. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, 
 I all alone beweep my outcast state, [cries, 
 And trouble deaf Heaven with my bootless 
 And look upon myself, and curse my fate, 
 Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, 
 Featur'd like him, like him with friends pos- 
 
 sess'd, 
 
 Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope, 
 With what I most enjoy contented least ; 
 Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, 
 Haply I think on thee, and then my state 
 (Like to the lark at break of day arising 
 From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's gate; 
 
 For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth 
 brings, 
 
 That then I scorn to change my state with 
 kings. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 When to the sessions of sweet silent thought 
 I summon up remembrance of things past, 
 I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, 
 And with old woes new wail ray dear times' 
 
 waste : 
 
 Then can I drown an eye, unus'd to flow, 
 For precious friends hid in death's dateless 
 
 night, 
 

 SONNETS. 
 
 1251 
 
 And weep afresh love's long-since cancell'd woe, 
 And moan ihe expense of many a vanish'd 
 
 sight. 
 
 Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, 
 And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er 
 The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, 
 Which I new pay as if not paid before. 
 But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, 
 All losses are restor'd, and sorrows end. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts, 
 Which I by lacking have supposed dead ; 
 And there reigns love and all love's loving parts, 
 And all those friends which I thought buried. 
 How many a holy and obsequious tear 
 Hath dear religious love stolen from mine eye, 
 As interest of the dead, which now appear 
 But things remov'd, that hidden in thee lie ! 
 Thou art the grave where buried love doth live, 
 Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone, 
 Who all their parts of me to thee did give ; 
 That due of many now is thine alone : 
 Their images I lov'd I view in thee, 
 And thou (all they) hast all the all of me. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 If thou survive my well -contented day, 
 
 When that churl Death my bones with dust 
 
 shall cover, 
 
 And shalt by fortune once more re-survey 
 These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover, 
 Compare them with the bettering of the time ; 
 And though they be outstripp'd by every pen, 
 Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme, 
 Exceeded by the height of happier men. 
 O then vouchsafe me but this loving thought ! 
 ' Had my friend's muse grown with this grow- 
 ing age, 
 
 A dearer birth than this his love had brought, 
 To march in ranks of better equipage : 
 But since he died, and poets better prove, 
 Theirs for their style I '11 read, his for his love.' 
 
 Full many a glorious morning have I seen 
 Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye, 
 Kissing with golden face the meadows green, 
 Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchymy ; 
 Anon permit the basest clouds to ride 
 With ugly rack on his celestial face, 
 And from the forlorn world his visage hide, 
 Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace : 
 Even so my sun one early morn did shine 
 With all triumphant splendour on my brow ; 
 But out ! alack ! he was but one hour mine, 
 The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now. 
 
 Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth ; 
 Suns of the world may stain, when heaven's 
 sun staineth. 
 
 xxxiv. 
 
 Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day, 
 And make me travel forth without my cloak, 
 To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way, 
 Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke? 
 'Tis not enough that through the cloud thou 
 
 break, 
 
 To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face, 
 For no man well of such a salve can speak, 
 That heals the wound, and cures not the dis- 
 grace : 
 
 Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief ; 
 Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss : 
 The offender's sorrow lends but weak relief 
 To him that bears the strong offence's cross, 
 
 Ah ! but those tears are pearl which thy love 
 sheds, ' 
 
 And they are rich, and ransom all ill deeds. 
 
 xxxv. 
 
 No more be griev'd at that which thou hast 
 
 done : 
 
 Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud ; 
 Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun, 
 And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud. 
 All men make faults, and even I in this, 
 Authorising thy trespass with compare, 
 Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss, 
 Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are : 
 For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense, 
 (Thy adverse party is thy advocate,) 
 And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence : 
 Such civil war is in my love and hate, 
 That I an accessary needs must be 
 To that sweet thief which sourly robs from 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Let me confess that we two must be twain, 
 Although our undivided loves are one : 
 So shall those blots that do with me remain, 
 Without thy help, by me be borne alone. 
 In our two loves there is but one respect, 
 Though in our lives a separable spite, 
 Which though it alter not love's sole effect, 
 Yet dotn it steal sweet hours from love's 
 
 delight. 
 
 I may not evermore acknowledge thee, 
 Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame , 
 Nor thou with public kindness honour me, 
 Unless thou take that honour from thy name : 
 But do not so ; I love thee in such sort,}, ^7^ 
 As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report 
 
1252 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 As a decrepit father takes delight 
 To see his active child do deeds of youth, 
 So I, made lame by fortune's dearest spite, 
 Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth ; 
 For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit, 
 Or any of these all, or all, or more, 
 Entitled in thy parts do crowned sit, 
 I make my love engrafted to this store : 
 So then I am not lame, poor, nor despis'd, 
 Whilst that this shadow dost such substance give, 
 That I in thy abundance am suffic'd, 
 And by a part of all thy glory live. 
 
 Look what is best, that best I wish in thee ; 
 
 This wish I have ; then ten times happy me ! 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 How can my muse want subject to invent, 
 While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my 
 
 verse 
 
 Thine own sweet argument, too excellent 
 For every vulgar pap^r to rehearse? 
 O, give thyself the thanks, if aught in me 
 Worthy perusal stand against thy sight ; 
 For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee, 
 When thou thyself dost give invention light ? 
 Be thou the tenth muse, ten times more in 
 
 worth 
 
 Than those old nine which rhymers invocate ; 
 And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth 
 Eternal numbers to outlive long date. [days, 
 If my slight muse do please these curious 
 The pain be mine, but thine shall be the 
 
 praise. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 O, how thy worth with manners may I sing, 
 When thou art all the better part of me ? 
 What can mine own praise to mine own self 
 
 bring ? 
 
 And what is 't but mine own, when I praise thee? 
 Even for this let us divided live, 
 And our dear love lose name of single one, 
 That by this separation I may give 
 That due to thee, which thou deserv'st alone. 
 O absence, what a torment wouldst thou prove, 
 Were it not thy sour leisure gave sweet leave 
 To entertain the time with thoughts of love, 
 (Which time and thoughts so sweetly doth 
 
 deceive,) 
 
 And that thou teachest how to make one twain, 
 By praising him here, who doth hence remain ! 
 
 XL. 
 
 Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all ; 
 What hast tho>i then more than thou hadst 
 before? 
 
 No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call; 
 All mine was thine, before thou hadst this more. 
 Then if for my love thou my love receivest, 
 I cannot blame thee for my love thou usest ; 
 But yet be blam'd, if thou thyself deceivest 
 By wilful taste of what thyself refusest. 
 I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief, 
 Although thou steal thee all my poverty ; 
 And yet, love knows, it is a greater grief 
 To bear love's wrong, than hate's known in- 
 jury. 
 
 Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows, 
 j Kill me with spites; yet we must not be foes. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits 
 When I am sometime absent from thy heart, 
 Thy beauty and thy years full well befits, 
 For still temptation follows where thou art. 
 Gentle thou art, and therefore to be won, 
 Beauteous thou art, therefore to be assail'd ; 
 And when a woman wooes, what woman's son 
 Will sourly leave her till she have prevail'd ? 
 Ah me ! but yet thou mightst my seat forbear, 
 And chide thy beauty and thy straying youth, 
 Who lead thee in their riot even there 
 Where thou art forc'd to break a twofold truth; 
 Hers, by thy beauty tempting her to thee, 
 Thine, by thy beauty being false to me. 
 
 XLI I. 
 
 That thou hast her, it is not all my grief, 
 An^. yet it may be said I lov'd her dearly ; 
 That she hath thee, is of my wailing chief, 
 A loss in love that touches me more nearly. 
 Loving offenders, thus I will excuse ye : 
 Thou dost love her, because thou knew'st I 
 
 love her ; 
 
 And for my sake even so doth she abuse me, 
 Suffering my friend for my sake to approve her, 
 If I lose thee, my loss is my love's gain, 
 And, losing her, my friend hath found that loss j 
 Both find each other, and I lose both twain, 
 And both for my sake lay on me this cross : 
 
 But here 's the joy ; my friend and I are one; 
 
 Sweet flattery ! then she loves but me alone. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see, 
 For all the day they view things unrespected ; 
 But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee, 
 And, darkly bright, are bright in dark directed; 
 Then thou whose shadow shadows doth make 
 
 bright, 
 
 How would thy shadow's form form happy show 
 To the clear day with thy much clearer light, 
 When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so J 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 "53 
 
 How would (I say) mine eyes be blessed made 
 By looking on thee in the living day, 
 When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade 
 Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth 
 
 stay ? 
 
 All days are nights to see, till I see thee, 
 And nights, bright days, when dreams do 
 show thee me. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 If the dull substance of my flesh were thought, 
 Injurious distance should not stop my way ; 
 For then, despite of space, I would be brought 
 From limits far remote, where thou dost stay. 
 No matter then, although my foot did stand 
 Upon the farthest earth remov'd from thee, 
 For nimble thought can jump both seaand land, 
 As soon as think the place where he would be. 
 But ah ! thought kills me, that I am not thought, 
 To leap large lengths of miles when thou art 
 
 gone, 
 
 But that, so much of earth and water wrought, 
 I must attend time's leisure with my moan ; 
 Receiving nought by elements so slow 
 But heavy tears, badges of cither's woe : 
 
 XLV. 
 
 The other two, slight air and purging fire, 
 Are both with thee, wherever I abide ; 
 The first my thought, the other my desire, 
 These present -absent with swift motion slide. 
 For when these quicker elements are gone 
 In tender embassy of love to thee, 
 My life, being made of four, with two alone 
 Sinks down to death, oppress'd with melan- 
 choly ; 
 
 Until life's composition be recur'd 
 By those swift messengers return'd from thee, 
 Who even but now come back again, assur'd 
 Of thy fair health, recounting it to me : 
 This told, I joy ; but then no longer glad, 
 I send them back again, and straight grow sad. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war, 
 How to divide the conquest of thy sight ; 
 Mine eye my heart thy picture's sight would 
 
 My heart mine eye the freedom of that right. 
 My heart doth plead that thou in him dost lie, 
 (A closet never pierc'd with crystal eyes,) 
 But the defendant doth that plea deny, 
 And says in him thy fair appearance lies. 
 To 'cide this title is impannelled 
 A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart ; 
 And by their verdict is determined [part : 
 
 The clear eye's moiety, and the dear heart's 
 
 As thus ; mine eye's due is thine outward part, 
 And my heart's right thine in ward love of heart 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 u'T 
 
 Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took, 
 And each doth good turns now unto the other: 
 When that mine eye is famish'd for a look, 
 Or heart in love with sighs himself doth smother, 
 With my love's picture then my eye doth feast, 
 And to the painted banquet bids my heart ; 
 Another time mine eye is my heart's guest, 
 And in his thoughts of love doth share a part : 
 So, either by thy picture or my love, 
 Thyself away art present still with me ; 
 For thou not farther than my thoughts canst 
 
 move, 
 
 And I am still with them, and they with thee ; 
 Or if they sleep, thy picture in my sight 
 Awakes my heart tc heart's and eye's delight. 
 
 XLVI 1 1. 
 
 How careful was I when I took my way, 
 Each trifle under truest bars to thrust, 
 That, to my use, it might unused stay 
 From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust! 
 But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are, 
 Most worthy comfort, now my greatest grief, 
 Thou, best of dearest, and mine only care, 
 Art left the prey of every vulgar thief. 
 Thee have I not lock'd up in any chest, 
 Save where thou art not, though I feel thou art, 
 Within the gentle closure of my breast, 
 From whence at pleasure thou mayst come and 
 
 part; 
 
 And even thence thou wilt be stolen I fear, 
 For truth proves thievish for a prize so dear. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 Against that time, if ever that time come, 
 When I shall see thee frown on my defects, 
 Whenas thy love hath cast his utmost sum, 
 Call'd to that audit by advis'd respects ; 
 Against that time, when thou shalt strangely 
 
 pass, 
 
 And scarcely greet me with that sun, thine eye, 
 When love, converted from the thing it was, 
 Shall reasons find of settled gravity ; 
 Against that time do I ensconce me here 
 Within the knowledge of mine own desert, 
 And this my hand against myself uprear, 
 To guard the lawful reasons on thy part : 
 To leave poor me thou hast the strength of laws, 
 Since, why to love, I can allege no cause. 
 
 How heavy do I journey on the way, 
 When what I seek my weary travel's end 
 
1254 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 Doth teach that ease and that repose to say, 
 *Thus far the miles are measur'd from thy 
 
 friend ! ' 
 
 The beast that bears me, tired with my woe, 
 Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me, 
 As if by some instinct the wretch did know 
 His rider lov'd not speed, being made from 
 
 thee : 
 
 The bloody spur cannot provoke him on 
 That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide, 
 Which heavily he answers with a groan, 
 More sharp to me than spurring to his side ; 
 For that same groan doth put this in my mind, 
 My grief lies onward, and my joy behind. 
 
 LI. 
 
 Thus can my love excuse the slow offence 
 Of my dull bearer, when from thee I speed : 
 From where thou art why should I haste me 
 
 thence ? 
 
 Till I return, of posting is no need. 
 O what excuse will my poor beast then find, 
 When swift extremity can seem but slow ? 
 Then should I spur, though mounted on the 
 
 wind ; 
 
 In winged speed no motion shall I know : 
 Then can no horse with my desire keep pace ; 
 Therefore desire, of perfect'st love being made, 
 Shall neigh (no dull flesh) in his fiery race ; 
 But love, for love, thus shall excuse my jade ; 
 Since from thee going he went wilful slow, 
 Towards thee I '11 run, and give him leave to 
 
 go- 
 
 LIT. 
 
 So am I as the rich, whose blessed key 
 Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure, 
 The which he will not every hour survey, 
 For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure. 
 Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare, 
 Since seldom coming, in the long year set, 
 Like stones of worth they thinly placed are, 
 Or captain jewels in the carcanet. 
 So is the time that keeps you, as my chest, 
 Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide, 
 To make some special instant special-blest, 
 By new unfolding his imprison' d pride. 
 Blessed are you, whose worthiness gives scope, 
 Being had, to triumph, being lack'd, to hope. 
 
 Lin. 
 
 What is your substance, whereof are you made, 
 That millions of strange shadows on you tend? 
 Since every one hath, every one, one's shade, 
 And you, but one, can every shadow lend. 
 Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit 
 Is poorly imitated after you ; 
 
 On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set, 
 And you in Grecian tires are painted new : 
 Speak of the spring, and foison of the year ; 
 The one doth shadow of your beauty show, 
 The other as your bounty doth appear, 
 And you in every blessed shape we know. 
 In all external grace you have some part, 
 But you like none, none you, for constant 
 heart. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 O how much more doth beauty beauteous seem, 
 By that sweet ornament which truth doth give! 
 The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem 
 For that sweet odour which doth in it live. 
 The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye 
 As the perfumed tincture of the roses, 
 Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly 
 When summer's breath their masked buds dis- 
 closes : 
 
 But v for their virtue only is their show, 
 They live unwoo'd, and unrespected fade ; 
 Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so ; 
 Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made: 
 And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth, 
 When that shall fade, by verse distils your 
 truth. 
 
 LV. 
 
 Not marble, nor the gilded monuments 
 Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme; 
 But you shall shine more bright in these contents 
 Than unswept stone, besmear'd with sluttish 
 
 time. 
 
 When wasteful war shall statues overturn, 
 And broils root out the work of masonry, 
 Nor Mars his sword nor war's quick fire shall 
 
 burn 
 
 The living record of your memory. 
 'Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity 
 Shall you pace forth ; your praise shall still find 
 
 room, 
 
 Even in the eyes of all posterity 
 That wear this world out to the ending doom. 
 So, till the judgment that yourself arise, 
 You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 Sweet love, renew thy force ; be it not said, 
 Thy edge should blunter be than appetite, 
 Which but to-day by feeding is allay'd, 
 To-morrow sharpen'd in his former might : 
 So, love, be thou ; although to-day thou fill 
 Thy hungry eyes, even till they wink with 
 
 fulness, 
 
 To-morrow see again, and do not kill 
 The spirit of love with a perpetual dulness. 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 1255 
 
 Let this sad interim like the ocean be 
 Which parts the shore, where two contracted-new 
 Come daily to the banks, that, when they see 
 Return of love, more blest may be the view ; 
 Or call it winter ; which, being full of care, 
 Makes summer's welcome thrice more wish'd, 
 
 more rare. 
 
 LVIJ. 
 
 Being your slave, what should I do but tend 
 Upon the hours and times of your desire ? 
 I have no precious time at all to spend, 
 Nor services to do, till you require. 
 Nor dare I chide the world- without-end hour, 
 Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you, 
 Nor think the bitterness of absence sour, 
 When you have bid your servant once adieu ; 
 Nor dare I question with my jealous thought 
 Where you may be, or your affairs suppose, 
 But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought, 
 Save, where you are how happy you make 
 
 those : 
 
 So true a fool is love, that in your will 
 (Though you do anything) he thinks no ill. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 That God forbid, that made me first your slave, 
 I should in thought control your times of 
 
 pleasure, 
 
 Or at your hand the account of hours to crave. 
 Being your vassal, bound to stay your leisure ! 
 O, let me suffer (being at your beck) 
 The imprison'd absence of your liberty, 
 And patience, tame tosufferance, bide each check 
 Without accusing you of injury. 
 Be where you list ; your charter is so strong, 
 That you yourself may privilege your time : 
 Do what you will, to you it doth belong 
 Yourself to pardon of self-doing crime. 
 
 I am to wait, though waiting so be hell ; 
 
 Not blame your pleasure, be it ill or well. 
 
 L1X. 
 
 If there be nothing new, but that which is 
 Hath been before, how are our brains beguil'd, 
 Which labouring for invention bear amiss 
 The second burthen of a former child ! 
 O, that record could with a backward look, 
 Even of five hundred courses of the sun, 
 Show me your image in some antique book, 
 Since mind at first in character was done ! 
 That I might see what the old world could say 
 To this composed wonder of your frame ; 
 Whether we are mended, or whe'r better th^y, 
 Or whether revolution be the same. 
 O ! sure I am, the wits of former days 
 To subjects worse have given admiring praise. 
 
 LX. 
 
 Like as the waves make towards the pebbled 
 
 shore, 
 
 So do our minutes hasten to their end ; 
 Each changing place with that which goes before, 
 In sequent toil all forwards do contend. 
 Nativity, once in the main of light, 
 Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd, 
 Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, 
 And Time, that gave, doth now his gift confound. 
 Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth, 
 And delves the parallels in beauty's brow ; 
 Feeds on the rarities ot nature's truth, 
 And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow. 
 Andyet, to times in hope, my verse shall stand, 
 Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 Is it thy will thy image should keep open 
 My heavy eyelids to the weary night ? 
 Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken, 
 While shadows, like to thee, do mock my sight ? 
 Is it thy spirit that thou send'st from thee 
 So far from home, into my deeds to pry ; 
 To find out shames and idle hours in me, 
 The scope and tenor of thy jealousy ? 
 O no ! thy love, though much, is not so great ; 
 It is my love that keeps mine eye awake ; 
 Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat, 
 To play the watchman ever for thy sake : 
 
 For thee watch I, whilst thou dost wake else- 
 where, 
 
 From me far off, with others all-too-near. 
 
 LXII. 
 
 Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye, 
 And all my soul, and all my every part ; 
 And for this sin there is no remedy, 
 It is so grounded inward in my heart. 
 Methinks no face so gracious is as mine, 
 No shape so true, no truth of such account, 
 And for myself mine own worth to define, 
 As 1 all other in all worths surmount. 
 But when my glass shows me myself indeed, 
 Beated and chopp'd with tann'd antiquity, 
 Mine own self-love quite contrary I read, 
 Self so self-loving were iniquity. 
 'Tis thee (myself) that for myself I praise, 
 Painting my age with beauty of thy day;. 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 Against my love shall be, as I am now, 
 
 With Time's injurious hand crush'd and o'er worn ; 
 
 When hours have drain'd his blood, and fill'd his 
 
 brow 
 With lines and wrinkles; when his youthful morn 
 
1256 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 Hath travell'd on to age's steepy night ; 
 And all those beauties, whereof now he 's king, 
 Are vanishing or vanish'd out of sight, 
 Stealing away the treasure of his spring ; 
 For such a time do I now fortify 
 Against confounding age's cruel knife, 
 That he shall never cut from memory 
 My sweet love's beauty, though my lover's life. 
 His beauty shall in these black lines be seen, 
 And they shall live, and he in them, still green. 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 When I have seen by Time's fell hand defac'd 
 The rich-proud cost of outworn buried age ; 
 When sometime lofty towers I see down-ras'd, 
 And brass eternal, slave to mortal rage ; 
 When I have seen the hungry ocean gain 
 Advantage on the kingdom of the shore, 
 And the firm soil win of the wat'ry main, 
 Increasing store with loss, and loss with store ; 
 When I have seen such interchange of state, 
 Or state itself confounded to decay ; 
 Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate- 
 That Time will come and take my love away, 
 This thought is as a death, which cannot choose 
 But weep to have that which it fears to lose. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless 
 
 sea, 
 
 But sad mortality o'ersways their power, 
 How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, 
 Whose action is no stronger than a flower ? 
 O, how shall summer's honey breath hold out 
 Against the wreckful siege of battering days, 
 When rocks impregnable are not so stout, 
 Nor gates of steel so strong, but time decays ? 
 O fearful meditation ! where, alack ! 
 Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid? 
 Or what strong hand can hold hisswift foot back? 
 Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid ? 
 O none, unless this miracle have might, 
 That in black ink my love maystill shinebright. 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 Tir'd with all these, for restful death I cry, 
 As, to behold desert a beggar born, 
 And needy nothing trimm'd in joiiity, 
 And purest faith unhappily forsworn, 
 And gilded honour shamefully misplac'd, 
 And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, 
 And right perfection wrongfully disgrac'd, 
 And strength by limping sway disabled, 
 And art made tongue-tied by authority, 
 And folly (doctor-like) controlling skill, 
 And simple truth miscall'd simplicity, 
 And captive good attending captain ill : 
 
 Tir'd with all these, from these would I be 
 
 gone, 
 Save that, to die, I leave my love alone. 
 
 LXVIl. 
 
 Ah ! wherefore with infection should he live, 
 And with his presence grace impiety, 
 That sin by him advantage should achieve, 
 And lace itself with his society ? 
 Why should false painting imitate his cheek, 
 And steal dead seeing of his living hue ? 
 Why should poor beauty indirectly seek 
 Roses of shadow, since his rose is true ? 
 Why should he live now Nature bankrupt is, 
 Beggar 3 d of blood to blush through lively veins? 
 For she hath no exchequer now but his, 
 And, proud of many, lives upon his gains. 
 
 O, him she stores, to show what wealth she 
 had 
 
 In days long since, before these last so bad. 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn, 
 When beauty liv'd and died as flowers do now, 
 Before these bastard signs of fair were born, 
 Or durst inhabit on a living brow 5 
 Before the golden tresses of the dead, 
 The right of sepulchres, were shorn away, 
 To live a second life on second head, 
 Ere beauty's dead fleece made another gay: 
 In him those holy antique hours are seen, 
 Without all ornament, itself, and true, 
 Making no summer of another's green, 
 Robbing no old to dress his beauty new ; 
 And him as for a map doth Nature store, 
 To show false Art what beauty was of yore. 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view 
 Want nothing that the thought of hearts can 
 
 mend : 
 
 All tongues (the voice of souls) give thee that due, 
 Uttering bare truth, even so as foes commend. 
 Thine outward thus with outward praise is 
 
 crown'd ; 
 But those same tongues that give thee so thine 
 
 own, 
 
 In other accents do this praise confound, 
 By seeing farther than the eye hath shown. 
 They look into Ae beauty of thy mind, 
 And that, in guess, they measure by thy deeds ; 
 Then (churls) their thoughts, although their eyes 
 
 were kind, 
 
 To thy fair flower add the rank smell of weeds : 
 But why thy odour matcheth not thy show, 
 The sol ve is this, that thou dost common grow. 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 1257 
 
 That thou art blam'd shall not be thy defect. 
 For slander's mark was ever yet the fair ; 
 The ornament of beauty is suspect, 
 A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air. 
 So thou be good, slander doth but approve 
 Thy worth the greater, being woo'd of time ; 
 For canker vice the sweetest buds doth love, 
 And thou present's! a pure unstained prime. 
 Thou hast pass'd by the ambush of young days, 
 Either not assail'd, or victor being charg'd ; 
 Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise, 
 To tie up envy, evermore enlarg'd : 
 If some suspect of ill mask'd not thy show, 
 Then thou alone kingdoms of hearts shouldst 
 owe. 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 No longer mourn for me when I am dead 
 Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell 
 Give warning to the world that I am fled 
 From this vile world, with vilest worms to 
 
 dwell : 
 
 Nay, if you read this line, remember not 
 The hand that writ it ; for I love you so, 
 That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot, 
 If thinking on me then should make you woe. 
 O, if (I say) you look upon this verse, 
 When I perhaps compounded am with clay, 
 Do not so much as my poor name rehearse ; 
 But let your love even with my life decay : 
 Lest the wise world should look into your moan, 
 And mock you with me after I am gone. 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 O, lest the world should task you to recite 
 What merit liv'd in me, that you should love 
 After my death, dear love, forget me quite, 
 For you in me can nothing worthy prove ; 
 Unless you would devise some virtuous He, 
 To do more for me than mine own desert, 
 And hang more praise upon deceased I 
 Than niggard truth would willingly impart : 
 O, lest your true love may seem false in this, 
 That you for love speak well of me untrue, 
 My name be buried where my body is, 
 And live no more to shame nor me nor you. 
 For I am sham'd by that which I bring forth, 
 And so should you, to love things nothing 
 worth. 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 That time of year thou mayst in me behold 
 When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang 
 Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, 
 Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds 
 sang. 
 
 In me thou seest the twilight of such day 
 As after sunset fadeth in the west, 
 Which by and by black night doth take away, 
 Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. 
 In me thou seest the glowing of such fire, 
 That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, 
 As the death-bed whereon it must expire, 
 Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by. 
 
 This thou perceiv'st which makes thy love 
 more strong, 
 
 To love that well which thou must leave ere 
 long: 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 But be contented : when that fell arrest 
 Without all bail shall carry me away, 
 My life hath in this line some interest, 
 Which for memorial still with thee shall stay. 
 When thou reviewest this, thou dost review 
 The very part was consecrate to thee. 
 The earth can have but earth, which is his due ; 
 My spirit is thine, the better part of me : 
 So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life, 
 The prey of worms, my body being dead ; 
 The coward conquest of a wretch's knife, 
 Too base of thee to be remembered. 
 The worth of that, is that which it contains, 
 And that is this, and this with thee remains. 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 So are you to my thoughts, as food to life, 
 Or as sweet-season'd showers are to the ground, 
 And for the peace of you I hold such strife 
 As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found : 
 Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon 
 Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure ; 
 Now counting best to be with you alone, 
 Then better'd that the world may see my 
 
 pleasure : 
 
 Sometime all full with feasting on your sight, 
 And by and by clean starved for a look ; 
 Possessing or pursuing no delight, 
 Save what is had or must from you be took. 
 
 Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day. 
 
 Or gluttoning on all, or all away. 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 Why is my verse so barren of new pride ? 
 So far from variation or quick change ? 
 Why, with the time, do I not glance aside 
 To new-found methods and to compounds 
 
 strange ? 
 
 Why write I still all one, ever the same, 
 And keep invention in a noted weed, 
 That every word doth almost tell my name, 
 Showing their birth, and where they did pro- 
 ceed? 
 
I2 5 8 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 O know, sweet love, I always write of you, 
 And you and love are still my argument ; 
 So all my best is dressing old words new, 
 Spending again what is already spent ; 
 For as the sun is daily new and old, 
 So is my love still telling what is told. 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear, 
 Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste ; 
 The vacant leaves thy mind's imprint will bear, 
 And of this book this learning mayst thou taste. 
 The wrinkles which thy glass will truly show, 
 Of mouthed graves will give thee memory ; 
 Thou by thy dial's shady stealth mayst know 
 Time's thievish progress to eternity. 
 Look what thy memory cannot contain, 
 Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shaltfind 
 Those children nurs'd, deliver'd from thy brain, 
 To take a new acquaintance of thy mind. 
 These offices, so oft as thou wilt look, 
 Shall profit thee, and much enrich thy book. 
 
 So oft have I invok'd thee for my muse, 
 
 And found such fair assistance in my verse, 
 
 As every alien pen hatli got my use, 
 
 And under ihee their poesy disperse. 
 
 Thine eyes, that taught the dumb on high to 
 
 sing, 
 
 And heavy ignorance aloft to fly, 
 Have added feathers to the learned's wing, 
 And given grace a double majesty. 
 Yet be most proud of that which I compile, 
 Whose influence is thine, and born of thee : 
 In others' works thou dost but mend the style, 
 And arts with thy sweet graces graced be ; 
 But thou art all my art, and dost advance 
 As high as learning my rude ignorance. 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid, 
 My verse alone had all thy gentle grace ; 
 But now my gracious numbers are decay'd, 
 And my sick muse doth give another place. 
 I grant, sweet love, thy lovely argument 
 Deserves the travail of a worthier pen ; 
 Yet what of thee thy poet doth invent, 
 He robs thee of, and pays it thee again. 
 He lends thee virtue, and he stole that word 
 From thy behaviour ; beauty doth he give, 
 And found it in thy cheek ; he can afford 
 No praise to thee but what in thee doth live. 
 Then thank him not for that which he doth say, 
 Since what he owes thee thou thyself dost 
 
 pay. 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 O, how I faint when I of you do write, 
 Knowing a better spirit doth use your name, 
 And in the praise thereof spends all his might, 
 To make me tongue-tied, speaking of your fame 1 
 But since your worth (wide as the ocean is) 
 The humble as the proudest sail doth bear, 
 My saucy bark, inferior far to his, 
 On your broad main doth wilfully appear. 
 Your shallowest help will hold me up afloat, 
 Whilst he upon your soundless deep doth ride ; 
 Or, being wreck'd, I am a worthless boat, 
 He of tall building, and of goodly pride : 
 Then if he thrive, and I be cast away, 
 The worst was this ; my love was my decay. 
 
 | LXXXI. 
 
 Or I shall live your epitaph to make, 
 Or you survive when I in earth am rotten ; 
 From hence your memory death cannot take, 
 Although in me each part will be forgotten. 
 Your name from hence immortal life shall have, 
 Though I, once gone, to all the world must die : 
 The earth can yield me but a common grave, 
 When you entombed in men's eyes shall lie. 
 Your monument shall be my gentle verse, 
 Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read ; 
 And tongues to be, your being shall rehearse, 
 When all the breathers of this world are dead ; 
 You still shall live (such virtue hath my pen) 
 Where breath most breathes, even in the 
 mouths of men. 
 
 LXXXI1. 
 
 I grant thou wert not married to my muse, 
 And therefore mayst without attaint o'erlook 
 The dedicated words which writers use 
 Of their fair subject, blessing every book. 
 Thou art as fair in knowledge as in hue, 
 Finding thy worth a limit past my praise ; 
 And therefore art enforc'd to seek anew 
 Some fresher stamp of the time-bettering days. 
 And do so, love ; yet when they have devis'd 
 What strained touches rhetoric can lend, 
 Thou truly fair wert truly sympathiz'd 
 In true plain words, by thy true-telling friend , 
 And their gross painting might be better us'd 
 Where cheeks need blood ; in thee it is abus'd. 
 
 I never saw that you did painting need, 
 And therefore to your fair no painting set. 
 I found, or thought 1 found, you did exceed 
 The barren tender of a poet's debt : 
 And therefore have I slept in your report 
 That you yourself, being extant, well might show 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 1259 
 
 How far a modern quill doth come too short, 
 Speaking of worth, what worth in you doth grow. 
 This silence for my sin you did impute, 
 Which shall be most my glory, being dumb ; 
 For I impair not beauty being mute, 
 When others would give life, and bring a tomb, 
 There lives more life in one of your fair eyes 
 Than both your poets can in praise devise. 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 Who is it that says most ? which can say more 
 Than this rich praise, that you alone are you ? 
 In whose confine immured is the store 
 Which should example where your equal grew ? 
 Lean penury within that pen doth dwell, 
 That to his subject lends not some small glory ; 
 But he that writes of you, if he can tell 
 That you are you, so dignifies his story, 
 Let him but copy what in you is writ, 
 Not making worse what nature made so clear, 
 And such a counterpart shall fame his wit, 
 Making his style admired everywhere. 
 You to your beauteous blessings add a curse, 
 Being fond on praise, which makes your 
 praises worse. 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 My tongue-tied muse in manners holds her still, 
 While comments of your praise x richly compil'd, 
 Reserve their character with golden quill, 
 And precious phrase by all the muses fil'd. 
 I think good thoughts, while others write good 
 
 words, 
 
 And, like unlettered clerk, still cry ' Amen ' 
 To every hymn that able spirit affords, 
 In polish'd form of well-refined pen. 
 Hearing you prais'd, I say, ' 'Tis so, 'tis true,' 
 And to the most of praise add something more ; 
 But that is in my thought, whose love to you, 
 Though words come hindmost, holds his rank 
 
 before. 
 
 Then others for the breath of words respect, 
 Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect. 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 Was it the proud full sail of his great verse, 
 Bound for the prize of all-too-precious you, 
 That did my ripe thoughts in my brain in- 
 hearse, [grew ? 
 
 Making their tomb the womb wherein they 
 Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write 
 Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead ? 
 No, neither he, nor his compeers by night 
 Giving him aid, my verse astonished. 
 He, nor that affable familiar ghost 
 Which nightly gulls him with intelligence, 
 
 As victors, of my silence cannot boast ; 
 
 I was not sick of any fear from thence. 
 But when your countenance fil'd up his line, 
 Then lack'd I matter ; that enfeebled mine. 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 Farewell ! thou art too dear for my possessing, 
 And like enough thou know'st thy estimate : 
 The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing ; 
 My bonds in thee are all determinate. 
 For how do I hold thee but by thy granting ? 
 And for that riches where is my deserving ? 
 The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting, 
 And so my patent back again is swerving. 
 Thyself thou gav'st, thy own worth then not 
 
 knowing, 
 
 Or me, to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking; 
 
 So thy great gift, upon misprision growing, 
 
 Comes home again, on better judgment making. 
 
 Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter, 
 
 In sleep a king, but, waking, no such matter. 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 When thou shalt be dispos'd to set me light, 
 And place my merit in the eye of scorn, 
 Upon thy side against myself I '11 fight, 
 And prove thee virtuous, though thou art for. 
 
 sworn : 
 
 With mine own weakness being best acquainted. 
 Upon thy part I can set down a story 
 Of faults conceal'd, wherein I am attainted ; 
 That thou, in losing me, shall win much glory : 
 And I by this will be a gainer too ; 
 For bending all my loving thoughts on thee, 
 The injuries that to myself I do, 
 Doing thee vantage, double-vantage me. 
 Such is my love, to thee I so belong, 
 That for thy right myself will bear all wrong. 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault, 
 And I will comment upon that offence : 
 Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt ; 
 Against thy reasons making no defence. 
 Thou canst not, love, disgrace me half so ill, 
 To set a form upon desired change, 
 As I '11 myself disgrace : knowing thy will, 
 I will acquaintance strangle, and look strange ; 
 Be absent from thy walks ; and in my tongue 
 Thy sweet-beloved name no more shall dwell ; 
 Lest I (too much profane) should do it wrong, 
 And haply of our old acquaintance tell. 
 For thee, against myself I '11 vow debate, 
 For I must ne'er love him whom thou dost hate. 
 
 xc. 
 
 Then hate me when thou wilt ; if ever, now ; 
 Now while the world is bent my deeds to cross, 
 
1260 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow, 
 
 And do not drop in for an after-loss : 
 
 Ah ! do not, when my heart hath scap'd this 
 
 sorrow, 
 
 Come in the rearward of a conquer'd woe ; 
 Give not a windy night a rainy morrow, 
 To linger out a purpos'd overthrow. 
 If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last, 
 When other petty griefs have done their spite, 
 But in the onset come ; so shall I taste 
 At first the very worst of fortune's might ; 
 
 And other strains of woe, which now seem 
 woe, 
 
 Compar'd with loss of thee will not seem so. 
 
 xci. 
 
 Some glory in their birth, some in their skill, 
 Some in their wealth, some in their body's 
 
 force ; 
 Some in their garments, though new-fangled 
 
 ill ; [horse ; 
 
 Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their 
 And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure, 
 Wherein it finds a joy above the rest ; 
 But these particulars are not my measure, 
 All these I better in one general best. 
 Thy love is better than high birth to me, 
 Richer than wealth, prouder than garments' 
 
 cost, 
 
 Of more delight than hawks and horses be ; 
 And, having thee, of all men's pride I boast. 
 Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst take 
 All this away, and me most wretched make. 
 
 xci I. 
 
 But do thy worst to steal thyself away, 
 For term of life thou art assured mine ; 
 And life no longer than thy love will stay, 
 For it depends upon that love of thine. 
 Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs, 
 When in the least of them my life hath end. 
 I see a better state to me belongs 
 Than that which on thy humour doth depend: 
 Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind, 
 Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie. 
 O what a happy title do I find, 
 Happy to have thy love, happy to die ! 
 But what 's so blessed-fair that fears no b^t? 
 Thou mayst be false, and yet I know it not : 
 
 xcnr. 
 
 So shall I live, supposing thou art true, 
 Like a deceived husband ; so love's face 
 May still seem love to me, though alter'd new ; 
 Thy looks with me, thy heart in other place : 
 For there can live no hatred in thine eye, 
 Therefore in that I cannot know thy change. 
 
 In many's looks the false heart's history 
 
 Is writ, in moods and frowns and wrinkles 
 
 strange ; 
 
 But heaven in thy creation did decree 
 That in thy face sweet love should ever dwell ; 
 Whate'er thy thoughts or thy heart's workings 
 be, ' [tell. 
 
 Thy looks should nothing thence but sweetness 
 How like Eve's apple doth thy beauty grow, 
 If thy sweet virtue answer not thy show ? 
 
 xciv. 
 
 They that have power to hurt and will do none, 
 That do not do the thing they most do show, 
 Who, moving others, are themselves as stone, 
 Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow ; 
 They rightly do inherit Heaven's graces, 
 And husband nature's riches from expense ; 
 They are the lords and owners of their faces, 
 Others but stewards of their excellence. 
 The summer's flower is to the summer sweet 
 Though to itself it only live and die ; 
 But if that flower with base infection meet, 
 The basest weed outbraves his dignity : 
 
 For sweetest things turn sourest by their 
 deeds : 
 
 Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds. 
 
 XCV. 
 
 How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame, 
 Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose, 
 Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name ! 
 O, in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose ! 
 That tongue that tells the story of thy days, 
 Making lascivious comments on thy sport, 
 Cannot dispraise but in a kind of praise : 
 Naming thy name blesses an ill report. 
 O, what a mansion have those vices got 
 Which for their habitation chose out thee ! 
 Where beauty's veil doth cover every blot, 
 And all things turn to fair, that eyes can see ! 
 
 Take heed, dear heart, of this large privilege ; 
 
 The hardest knife ill-used doth lose his edge. 
 
 xcvr. 
 
 Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness ; 
 Some say thy grace is youth and gentle sport ; 
 Both grace and faults are lov'd of more and 
 
 less: 
 
 Thou mak'st faults graces that to thee resort. 
 As on the finger of a throned queen 
 The basest jewel will be well esteem'd ; 
 So are those errors that in thee are seen 
 To truths translated, and for true things deem'd. 
 How many lambs might the stern wolf betray, 
 If like a lamb he could his looks translate ! 
 

 SONNETS. 
 
 1261 
 
 How many gazers mightst thou lead away, 
 If thou wouldst use the strength of all thy state ! 
 But do not so ; I love thee in such sort, 
 As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report. 
 
 xcvu. 
 
 How like a winter hath my absence been 
 From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year ! 
 What freezings have I felt, what dark days 
 
 seen ! 
 
 What old December's bareness everywhere ! 
 And yet this time remov'd was summer's time, 
 The teeming autumn, big with rich increase, 
 Bearing the wanton burden of the prime, 
 Like widow'd wombs after their lords' decease ; 
 Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me 
 But hope of orphans, and unfather'd fruit ; 
 For summer and his pleasures wait on thee, 
 And, thou away, the very birds are mute j 
 Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer, 
 That leaves look pale, dreading the winter 's 
 near. 
 
 XCVIII. 
 
 From you have I been absent in the spring, 
 When proud-pied April, dress'd in all his trim, 
 Hath put a spirit of youth in everything, 
 That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him. 
 Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell 
 Of different flowers in odour and in hue, 
 Could make me any summer's story tell, 
 Or from their proud lap pluck them where they 
 
 grew: 
 
 Nor did I wonder at the lilies white, 
 Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose ; 
 They were but sweet, but figures of delight, 
 Drawn after you, you pattern of all those. 
 Yet seem'd it winter still, and you, away, 
 As with your shadow I with these did play : 
 
 xcix. 
 
 The forward violet thus did I chide ; 
 Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet 
 
 that smells, 
 
 If not from my love's breath ? The purple pride 
 Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells, 
 In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dy'd 
 The lily I condemned for thy hand, 
 And buds of marjoram had stolen thy hair : 
 The roses fearfully on thorns did stand, 
 One blushing shame, another white despair ; 
 A third, nor red nor white, had stolen of both, 
 And to his robbery had annex'd thy breath ; 
 .But for his theft, in pride of all his growth 
 A vengeful canker eat him up to death. 
 More flowers I noted, yet I none could see, 
 But sweet or colour it had stolen from thee. 
 
 c. 
 
 Where art thou, Muse, that thou forgett'st so 
 
 long 
 
 To speak of that which gives thee all thy might? 
 Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song, 
 Darkening thy power, to lend base subjects 
 
 light ? 
 
 Return, forgetful Muse, and straight redeem 
 [n gentle numbers time so idly spent ; 
 Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem, 
 And gives thy pen both skill and argument. 
 Rise, resty Muse, my love's sweet face survey, 
 tf Time have any wrinkle graven there ; 
 If any, be a satire to decay, 
 And make Time's spoils despised everywhere. 
 
 Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life ; 
 
 So thou prevent'st his scythe and crooked knife. 
 
 Cl. 
 
 O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends 
 For thy neglect of truth in beauty dy'd ? 
 Both truth and beauty on my love depends ; 
 So dost thou too, and therein dignified. 
 Make answer, Muse : wilt thou not haply say, 
 ' Truth needs no colour with his colour fix'd, 
 Beauty no pencil, beauty's truth to lay ; 
 But best is best, if never intermix' d ? ' 
 Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb? 
 Excuse not silence so ; for it lies in thee 
 To make him much outlive a gilded tomb, 
 And to be prais'd of ages yet to be. 
 Then do thy office, Muse ; I teach thee how 
 To make him seem long hence as he shows 
 now. 
 
 cn. 
 My love is strengthen'd, though more weak in 
 
 seeming ; 
 
 I love not less, though less the show appear ; 
 That love is merchandiz'd whose rich esteeming 
 The owner's tongue doth publish everywhere. 
 Our love was new, and then but in the spring, 
 When I was won't to greet it with my lays ; 
 As Philomel in summer's front doth sing, 
 And stops her pipe in growth of riper days : 
 Not that the summer is less pleasant now 
 Than when her mournful hymns did hush the 
 
 night, 
 
 But that wild music burthens every bough, 
 And sweets grown common lose their deaf 
 
 delight. 
 
 Therefore, like her, I sometime hold my tongue, 
 Because I would not dull you with my song. 
 
 cm. 
 
 Alack 1 what poverty my Muse brings forth, 
 That having such a scope to show her pride, 
 
1262 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 The argument, all bare, is of more worth, 
 Than when it hath my added praise beside. 
 O blame me not if I no more can write ! 
 Look in your glass, and there appears a face 
 That over-goes my blunt invention quite, 
 Dulling my lines, and doing me disgrace. 
 Were it not sinful, then, striving to mend, 
 To mar the subject that before was well ? 
 For to no other pass my verses tend, 
 Than of your graces and your gifts to tell ; 
 And more, much more, than in my verse can sit, 
 Your own glass shows you, when you look in it. 
 
 civ. 
 
 To me, fair friend, you never can be old, 
 For as you were when first your eye I eyed, 
 Such seems your beauty still. Three winters' 
 cold [pride ; 
 
 Have from the forests shook three summers' 
 Three beauteous springs toyellowautumnturn'd 
 In process of the seasons have I seen ; 
 Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd, 
 Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green. 
 Ah ! yet doth beauty, like a dial-hand, 
 Steal from his figure, and no pace perceiv'd ; 
 So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth 
 
 stand, 
 
 Hath motion, <5 nd mine eye may be deceiv'd. 
 For fear of wh ich, hear this, thou age unbred, 
 Ere you were born, was beauty's summer dead. 
 
 Let not my love be call'd idolatry, 
 Nor my beloved as an idol show, 
 Since all alike my songs and praises be, 
 To one, of one, still such, and ever so. 
 Kind is my love to-day, to-morrow kind, 
 Still constant in a wondrous excellence ; 
 Therefore my verse, to constancy confin'd, 
 One thing expressing, leaves out difference. 
 Fair, kino, and true, is all my argument, 
 Fair, kind, and true, varying to other words ; 
 And in this change is my invention spent, 
 Three themes in one, which wondrous scope 
 
 affords. 
 
 Fair, kind, and true, have often liv'd alone, 
 Which three, till now, never kept seat in one. 
 
 cvi. 
 
 When in the chronicle of wasted time 
 I see descriptions of the fairest wights, 
 And beauty making beautiful old rhyme, 
 In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights, 
 Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best, 
 Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, 
 I see their antique pen would have express'd 
 Even such a beauty as you master now. 
 
 So all their praises are but prophecies 
 Of this our time, all you prefiguring ; 
 And, for they look'd but wkh divining eyes, 
 They had not skill enough your worth to sing : 
 For we, which now behold these present days, 
 Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to 
 praise. 
 
 Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul 
 Of the wide world dreaming on things to come, 
 Can yet the lease of my true love control, 
 Suppos'd as forfeit to a confin'd doom. 
 The mortal moon hath her eclipse endur'd, 
 And the sad augers mock their own presage ; 
 Incertainties now crown themselves assur'd, 
 And peace proclaims olives of endless age. 
 Now with the drops of this most balmy time 
 My love looks fresh, and Death to me subscribes, 
 Since spite of him I '11 live in this poor rhyme, 
 While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes. 
 And thou in this shalt find thy monument, 
 When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are 
 spent. 
 
 CVIII. 
 
 What 's in the brain that ink may character, 
 Which hath not figur'd to thee my true spirit ? 
 What's new to speak, what new to register, 
 That may express my love, or thy dear merit ? 
 Nothing, sweet boy ; but yet, like prayers divine, 
 I must each day say o'er the very same ; 
 Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine, 
 Even as when first I hallow'd thy fair name. 
 So that eternal love in love's fresh case 
 Weighs not the dust and injury of age, 
 Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place, 
 But makes antiquity for aye his page ; 
 Finding the first conceit of love there bred, 
 Where time and outward form would show it 
 dead. 
 
 cix. 
 
 O, never say that I was false of heart, 
 Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify ! 
 As easy might I from myself depart, 
 As from my soul, which in thy breast doth lie : 
 That is my home of love : if I have rang'd, 
 Like him that travels, I return again ; 
 Just to the time, not with the time exchang'd, 
 So that myself bring water for my stain. 
 Never believe, though in my nature reign'd 
 All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood, 
 That it could so preposterously be stain'd, 
 To leave for nothing all thy sum of good ; 
 For nothing this wide universe I call, 
 Save thou, my rose ; in it thou art my all. 
 

 SONNETS. 
 
 1263 
 
 ex. 
 
 Alas, 'tis true, I have gone here and there, 
 And made myself a motley to the view, 
 Gor'd mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is 
 
 most dear, 
 
 Made old offences of affections new. 
 Most true it is, that I have look'd on truth 
 Askance and strangely ; but, by all above, 
 These blenches gave my heart another youth, 
 And worst essays prov'd thee my best of love. 
 Now all is done, have what shall have no end : 
 Mine appetite I never more will grind 
 On newer proof, to try an older friend, 
 A God in love, to whom I am confin'd. 
 
 Then give me welcome, next my heaven the 
 best, 
 
 Even to thy pure and most most loving breast. 
 
 D '.:''.* i:(!9. O fnti :i. KOI VOW ^O jfl/gur Int) JSHJ U 
 CXI. 
 
 O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide, 
 The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, 
 That did not better for my life provide, 
 Than public means, which public manners 
 
 breeds. 
 
 Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, 
 And almost thence my nature is subdued 
 To what it works in, like the dyer's hand : 
 Pity me then, and wish I were renew'd ; 
 Whilst, like a willing patient, I will drink 
 Potions of eysell, 'gainst my strong infection ; 
 No bitterness that I will bitter think, 
 Nor double penance, to correct correction. 
 Pity me then, dear friend, and I assure ye, 
 Even that your pity is enough to cure me. 
 
 CXII. 
 
 Your love and pity doth the impression fill 
 Which vulgar scandal stamp'd upon my brow ; 
 For what care I who calls me well or ill, 
 So you o'ergreen my bad, my good allow ? 
 You are my all-the-world, and I must strive 
 To know my shames and praises from your 
 
 tongue ; 
 
 None else to me. nor I to none alive, 
 That my steel'd sense or changes, right or wrong. 
 In so profound abysm I throw all care 
 Of other's voices, that my adder's sense 
 To critic and to flatterer stopped are. 
 Mark how with my neglect I do dispense ; 
 You are so strongly in my purpose bred, 
 That all the world besides methinks are dead. 
 
 CXIII. 
 
 Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind ; 
 And that which governs me to go about 
 Doth part his function, and is partly blind, 
 Seems seeing, but effectually is out ; 
 
 For it no form delivers to the heart 
 Of bird, of flower, or shape, which it doth latch [ 
 Of his quick objects hath the mind no part, 
 Nor his own vision holds what it doth catch ; 
 For if it see the rud'st or gentlest sight, 
 The most sweet favour, or deformed'st creature, 
 The mountain or the sea, the day or night, 
 The crow, or dove, it shapes them to your 
 
 feature. 
 
 Incapable of more, replete with you, 
 My most true mind thus maketh mine untrue. 
 
 cxiv. 
 
 Or whether doth my mind being crown'd with 
 
 you, 
 
 Drink up the monarch's plague, this flattery, 
 Or whether shall I say mine eye saith true, 
 And that your love taught it this alchymy, 
 To make of monsters and things indigest 
 Such cherubins as your sweet self resemble, 
 Creating every bad a perfect best, 
 As fast as objects to his beams assemble ? 
 O, 'tis the first ; 'tis flattery in my seeing, 
 And my great mind most kingly drinks it up t 
 Mine eye well knows what with his gust is 
 
 'greeing, 
 
 And to his palate doth prepare the cup : 
 If it be poison'd, 'tis the lesser sin 
 That mine eye loves it, and doth first begin. 
 
 cxv. 
 
 Those lines that I before have writ, do lie ; 
 Even those that said I could not love you dearer; 
 Yet then my judgment knew no reason why 
 My most full flame should afterwards burn 
 
 clearer. 
 
 But reckoning time, whose million'd accidents 
 Creep in 'twixt vows, and change decrees of 
 
 kings, 
 
 Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp'st intents, 
 Divert strong minds to the course of altering 
 
 things ; 
 
 Alas ! why, fearing of Time's tyranny, 
 Might I not then say, ' Now I love you best,' 
 When I was certain o'er incertainty, 
 Crowning the present, doubting of the rest ? 
 Love is a babe ; then might I not say so, 
 To give full growth to that which still doth 
 
 grow? 
 
 CXV1. 
 
 .: :.;;, . OJ <5tpqc{l: i#ir, ; t e3qtjii i)j IBP** SM 1 ^'^ 
 
 Let me not to the marriage of true minds 
 
 Admit impediments. Love is not love 
 
 Which alters when it alteration finds, 
 
 Or bends with the remover to remove : 
 
 O no ; it is an ever-fixed mark, 
 
 That looks on tempests, and is never shaken ; 
 
1264 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 It is the star to every wandering bark, 
 Whose worth 's unknown, although his height 
 
 be taken. 
 Love 's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and 
 
 cheeks 
 
 Within his bending sickle's compass come ; 
 Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, 
 But bears it out even to the edge of doom. 
 If this be error, and upon me prov'd, 
 I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd. 
 
 cxvu. 
 
 Accuse me thus ; that I have scanted all 
 Wherein I should your great deserts repay ; 
 Forgot upon your dearest love to call, 
 Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day ; 
 That I have frequent been with unknown minds, 
 And given to time your own dear-purchas'd 
 
 right ; 
 
 That I have hoisted sail to all the winds 
 Which should transport me farthest from your 
 
 sight. 
 
 Book both my wilfulness and errors down, 
 And on just proof surmise accumulate, 
 Bring me within the level of your frown, 
 But shoot not at me in your waken'd hate : 
 Since my appeal says, I did strive to prove 
 The constancy and virtue of your love. 
 
 CXVIII. 
 
 Like as, to make our appetites more keen, 
 With eager compounds we our palate urge ; 
 As, to prevent our maladies unseen, 
 We sicken to shun sickness, when we purge ; 
 Even so, being full of your ne'er-cloying sweet- 
 ness, 
 
 To bitter sauces did I frame my feeding, 
 And, sick of welfare, found a kind of meetness 
 To be diseas'd, ere that there was true need- 
 ing. 
 
 Thus policy in love, to anticipate 
 The ills that were not, grew to faults assured, 
 And brought to medicine a healthful state, 
 Which, rank of goodness, would by ill be cured. 
 But thence I learn, and find the lesson true, 
 Drugs poison him that so fell sick of you. 
 
 cxix. 
 
 What potions have I drunk of Siren tears, 
 Distill'd from limbecs foul as hell within, 
 Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears, 
 Still losing when I saw myself to win ! 
 What wretched errors hath my heart committed, 
 Whilst it hath thought itself so blessed never ! 
 How have mine eyes out of their spheres been 
 
 fitted, 
 In the distraction of this madding fever ! 
 
 O benefit of ill ! now I find true 
 That better is by evil still made better ; 
 And ruin'd love, when it is built anew, 
 Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far 
 
 greater. 
 
 So I return rebuk'd to my content, 
 And gain by ill thrice more than I have spent. 
 
 cxx. 
 
 That you were once unkind, befriends me now. 
 And for that sorrow, which I then did feel, 
 Needs must I under my transgression bow, 
 Unless my nerves were brass or hammer'd steel. 
 For if you were by my unkindness shaken, 
 As I by yours, you have pass'd a hell of time ; 
 And I, a tyrant, have no leisure taken 
 To weigh how once I suffer'd in your crime. 
 
 that our night of woe might have remember'd 
 My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits, 
 And soon to you, as you to me, then tender' d 
 The humble salve which wounded bosoms fits! 
 
 But that your trespass now becomes a fee ; 
 Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me. 
 
 CXXI. 
 
 'Tis better to be vile than vile esteem'd. 
 When not to be receives reproach of being, 
 And the just pleasure lost, which is so deem'd 
 Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing. 
 For why should others' false adulterate eyes 
 Give salutation to my sportive blood ? 
 Or on my frailties why are frailer spies, 
 Which in their wills count bad what I think 
 
 good? 
 
 No. I am that I am ; and they that level 
 At my abuses, reckon up their own : [bevel ; 
 
 1 may be straight, though they themselves be 
 By their rank thoughts my deeds must not be 
 
 shown ; 
 
 Unless this general evil they maintain, 
 All men are bad, and in their badness reign 
 
 cxx 1 1. 
 
 Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain 
 Full, character'd with lasting memory 
 Which shall above that idle rank remain, 
 Beyond all date, even to eternity : 
 Or at the least so long as brain and heart 
 Have faculty by nature to subsist ; 
 Till each to raz'd oblivion yield his part 
 Of thee, thy record never can be miss'd. 
 That poor retention could not so much hold, 
 Nor need I tallies thy dear love to score ; 
 Therefore to give them from me was I bold, 
 To trust those tables that receive thee more : 
 To keep an adjunct to remember thee, 
 Were to import forgetfulness in me. 
 

 SONNETS. 
 
 1265 
 
 CXXIII. 
 
 No ! Time, thou shalt not boast that I do 
 
 change : 
 
 Thy pyramids built up with newer might 
 To me are nothing novel, nothing strange ; 
 They are but dressings of a former sight. 
 Our dates are brief, and therefore we admire 
 What thou dost foist upon us that is old ; 
 And rather make iihem born to our desire, 
 Than think that we before have heard them 
 
 told. 
 
 Thy registers and thee I both defy, 
 Not wondering at the present nor the past ; 
 For thy records and what we see do lie, 
 Made more or less by thy continual haste t 
 This I do vow, and this shall ever be, 
 I will be true, despite thy scythe and thee : 
 
 CXXIV. 
 
 If my dear love were but the child of state, 
 It might for Fortune's bastard be unfather'd, 
 As subject to Time's love, or to Time's hate, 
 Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers 
 
 gathered. 
 
 No, it was builded far from accident ; 
 It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls 
 Under the blow of thralled discontent, 
 Whereto the inviting time our fashion calls : 
 It fears not policy, that heretic, 
 Which works on lease? of short-number'd hours, 
 But all alone stands hugely politic, [showers. 
 That it nor grows with heat, nor drowns with 
 To this I witness call the fools of time, 
 Which die for goodness, who have liv'd for 
 crime, 
 
 cxxv. 
 
 Were it aught to me I bore the canopy, 
 With my extern the outward honouring, 
 Or laid great bases for eternity, 
 Which prove more short than waste or ruining? 
 Have I not seen dwellers on form and favour 
 Lose all, and more, by paying too much rent, 
 For compound sweet foregoing simple savour, 
 Pitiful thrivers, in their gazing spent ? 
 No ; let me be obsequious in thy heart, 
 And take thou my oblation, poor but free, 
 Which is not mixM with seconds, knows no art, 
 But mutual render, only me for thee. 
 Hence, thou suborn'd informer ! a true soul, 
 When most impeach'd, stands least in thy 
 control. 
 
 CXXVI. 
 
 O thou, my Lovely boy, who in thy power 
 Dost hold Time's fickle glass, his sickle, hour ; 
 
 Who hast by waning grown, and therein show'st 
 Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self grow'st! 
 If Nature, sovereign mistress over wrack, 
 As thou goest onwards, still will pluck thee 
 
 back, 
 
 She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill 
 May time disgrace, and wretched minutes kill. 
 Yet fear her, O thou minion of her pleasure ; 
 She may detain, but not still keep her treasure : 
 
 Her audit, though delay'd, answer'd must be, 
 
 And her quietus is to render thee. 
 
 cxxv 1 1. 
 
 In the old age black was not counted fair, 
 Or if it were, it bore not beauty's name ; 
 But now is black beauty's successive heir, 
 And beauty slanderM with a bastard shame : 
 For since each hand hath put on nature's power, 
 Fairing the foul with art's false borrow* d face, 
 Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy hour, 
 But is profan'd, if not lives in disgrace. 
 Therefore my mistress' eyes are raven black, 
 Her eyes so suited ; and they mourners seem 
 At such, who, not born fair, no beauty lack, 
 Slandering creation with a false esteem : 
 Yet so they mourn, becoming of their woe, 
 That every tongue says, beauty should look 
 
 CXXVIII. 
 
 How oft, when thou, my music, music play'st, 
 Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds 
 With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently 
 
 sway'st 
 
 The wiry concord that mine ear confounds, 
 Do I envy those jacks, that nimble leap 
 To kiss the tender inward of thy hand, 
 Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvest 
 
 reap, 
 
 At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand! 
 To be so tickled, they would change their state 
 And situation with those dancing chips, 
 O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait, 
 Making dead wood more bless'd than living lips. 
 Since saucy jacks so happy are in this, 
 Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss. 
 
 cxxix. 
 
 The expense of spirit in a waste of shame 
 Is lust in action ; and till action, lust 
 Is perjur'd, murderous, bloody, full of blame, 
 Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust ; 
 Enjoy'd no sooner, but despised straight j 
 Past reason hunted ; and no sooner had, 
 Past reason hated, as a swallow'd bait, 
 On purpose laid to make the taker mad : 
 
1266 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 Mad in pursuit, and in possession so ; 
 Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme ; 
 A bliss in proof, and prov'd, a very woe ; 
 Before, a joy propos'd ; behind, a dream : 
 
 All this the world well knows ; yet none knows 
 well 
 
 To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell. 
 
 cxxx. 
 
 My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun ; 
 Cpral is far more red than her lips' red : 
 If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; 
 If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. 
 I have seen roses damask'd, red and white, 
 But no such roses see I in her cheeks ; 
 And in some perfumes is there more delight 
 Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. 
 I love to hear her speak, yet well I know 
 That music hath a far more pleasing sound ; 
 I grant I never saw a goddess go, 
 My mistress when she walks, treads on the 
 
 ground ; 
 
 And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare 
 As any she belied with false compare. 
 
 cxxxi. 
 
 Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art, 
 
 As those whose beauties proudly make them 
 
 cruel ; 
 
 For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart 
 Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel, 
 Yet, in good faith, some say that thee behold, 
 Thy face hath not the power to make love 
 
 groan : 
 
 To say they err, I dare not be so bold, 
 Although I swear it to myself alone, 
 And, to be sure that is not false I swear, 
 A thousand groans, but thinking on thy face, 
 One on another's neck, do witness bear 
 Thy black is fairest in my judgment's place. 
 In nothing art thou black, save in thy deeds, 
 And thence this slander, as I think, proceeds. 
 
 CXXXII. 
 
 Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me, 
 
 Knowing thy heart torments me with disdain, 
 
 Have put on black, and loving mourners be, 
 
 Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain. 
 
 And truly not the morning sun of heaven 
 
 Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east, 
 
 Nor that full star that ushers in the even 
 
 Doth half that glory to the sober west, 
 
 As those two mourning eyes become thy face : 
 
 O, let it then as well beseem thy heart 
 
 To mourn for me, since mourning doth thee 
 
 grace, 
 And suit thy pity like in every part. 
 
 Then will I swear beauty herself is black, 
 And all they foul that thy complexion lack. 
 
 CXXXIII. 
 
 Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to 
 groan [me ! 
 
 For that deep wound it gives my friend and 
 Is 't not enough to torture me alone, 
 But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must be? 
 Me from myself thy cruel eye hath taken, 
 And my next self thou harder hast engross'd ; 
 Of him, myself, and thee, I am forsaken ; 
 A torment thrice three-fold thus to be cross'd. 
 Prison my heart in thy steel bosom's ward, 
 But then my friend's heart let my poor heart 
 
 bail; 
 
 Who e'er keeps me, let my heart be his guard; 
 Thou canst not then use rigour in my gaol : 
 And yet thou wilt ; for I, being pent in thee 
 Perforce am thine, and all that is in me. 
 
 CXXXIV. 
 
 So now I have confess'd that he is thine, 
 And I myself am mortgag'd to thy will ; 
 Myself I '11 forfeit, so that other mine 
 Thou wilt restore, to be my comfort still : 
 But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free, 
 For thou art covetous, and he is kind ; 
 He learn'd but, surety-like, to write for me, 
 Under that bond that him as fast doth bind. 
 The statute of thy beauty thou wilt take, 
 Thou usurer, that putt'st forth all to use, 
 And sue a friend, came debtor for my sake ; 
 So him I lose through my unkind abuse. 
 
 Him have I lost ; thou hast both him and me; 
 
 He pays the whole, and yet am I hot free. 
 
 cxxxv. 
 
 Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy will, 
 And will to boot, and will in over-plus ; 
 More than enougn am I that vex thee still, 
 To thy sweet will making addition thus. 
 Wilt thou, whose will is large and spacious, 
 Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine ? 
 Shall will in others seem right gracious, 
 And in my will no fair acceptance shine ? 
 The sea, all water, yet receives rain still, 
 And in abundance addeth to his store ; 
 So thou, being rich in will, add to thy will 
 One will of mine, to make thy large will more- 
 Let no unkind, no fair beseechers kill ; 
 Think all but one, and me in that one Will. 
 
 cxxxvi. 
 
 If thy soul check thee that I come so near, 
 Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy Will, 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 1267 
 
 And will, thy soul knows, is admitted there ; 
 Thus far for love, my love-suit, sweet, fulfil. 
 Will will fulfil the treasure of thy love, 
 Ay, fill it full with wills, and my will one, 
 In things of great receipt with ease we prove ; 
 Among a number one is reckon'd none. 
 Then in the number let me pass untold, 
 Though in thy stores' account I one must be ; 
 For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold 
 That nothing me, a something sweet to thee ; 
 
 Make but my name thy love, and love that 
 still, [Will. 
 
 And then thou lov'st me, for my name is 
 
 CXXXVII. 
 
 Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine 
 
 eyes, 
 
 That they behold, and see not what they see ? 
 They know what beauty is, see where it lies, 
 Yet what the best is, take the worst to be. 
 If eyes, corrupt by over-partial looks, 
 Be anchor'd in the bay where all men ride, 
 Why of eyes' falsehood hast thou forged hooks, 
 Whereto the judgment of my heart is tied? 
 Why should my heart think that a several plot, 
 Which my heart knows the wide world's com- 
 mon place ? 
 
 Or mine eyes, seeing this, say this is not, 
 To put fair truth upon so foul a face? 
 In things right true my heart and eyes have 
 err'd, [ferr'd. 
 
 And to this false plague are they now trans- 
 
 CXXXVIII. 
 
 When my love swears that she is made of truth, 
 I do believe her, though I know she lies ; 
 That she might think me some untutor'd youth, 
 Unlearned in the world's false subtleties. 
 Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young, 
 Although she knows my days are past the best, 
 Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue ; 
 On both sides thus is simple truth supprest, 
 But wherefore says she not she is unjust? 
 And wherefore say not I that I am old ? 
 O, love's best habit is in seeming trust, 
 And age in love loves not to have years told : 
 Therefore I lie with her, and she with me, 
 And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be. 
 
 CXXXIX. 
 
 O, call not me to justify the wrong 
 That thy unkindness lays upon my heart ; 
 Wound me not with thine eye, but with thy 
 
 tongue ; 
 
 Use power with power, and slay me not by art. 
 Tell me thou lov'st elsewhere ; but in my sight, 
 Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside. 
 
 What need'st thou wound with cunning, when 
 
 thy might 
 
 Is more than my o'erpress'd defence can 'bide? 
 Let me excuse thee : ah ! my love well knows 
 Her pretty looks have been mine enemies ; 
 And therefore from my face she turns my foes, 
 That they elsewhere might dart their injuries : 
 Yet do not so : but since I am near slain, 
 Kill me outright with looks, and rid my pain. 
 
 CXL. 
 
 Be wise as thou art cruel ; do not press 
 My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain ; 
 Lest sorrow lend me words, and words express 
 The manner of my pity- wanting pain. 
 If I might teach thee wit, better it were, 
 Though not to love, yet, love, to tell me so ; 
 (As testy sick men, when their deaths be near, 
 No news but health from their physicians know;) 
 For, if I should despair, I should grow mad, 
 And in my madness might speak ill of thee : 
 Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad, 
 Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be. 
 That I may not be so, nor thou belied, 
 Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud 
 heart go wide. 
 
 .iiibSwoIo-j t fii:rr '.;# uha-x loeiow- odT 
 CXLI. [ o.' 
 
 \ i** nwrc~vi* * T* 
 
 In faith I do not love thee with mine eyes, 
 For they in thee a thousand errors note ; 
 But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise, 
 Who in despite of view is pleased to dote. 
 Nor are mine ears with thy tongue's tune 
 
 delighted ; 
 
 Nor tender feeling, to base touches prone, 
 Nor taste nor smell, desire to be invited 
 To any sensual feast with thee alone : 
 But my five wits, nor my five senses can 
 Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee. 
 Who leaves unsway'd the likeness of a man, 
 Thy proud heart's slave and vassal wretch to 
 
 be: 
 
 Only my plague thus far I count my gain, 
 That she that makes me sin, awards me pain. 
 
 CXLI I. 
 
 Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate, 
 Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving : 
 O, but with mine compare thou thine own state, 
 And thou shalt find it merits not reproving ; 
 Or, if it do, not from those lips of thine, 
 That have profan'd their scarlet ornaments, 
 And seal'd false bonds of love as oft as mine ; 
 Robb'd others' beds' revenues cf their rents. 
 Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lov'st those 
 Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee : 
 
1268 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 Root pity in thy heart, that, when it grows, 
 
 Thy pity may deserve to pitied be. 
 If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide, 
 By self-example mayst thou be denied ! 
 
 CXLIII. 
 
 Lo, as a careful housewife runs to catch 
 One of her feather'd creatures broke away, 
 Sets down her babe, and makes all swift 
 
 despatch 
 
 In pursuit of the thing she would have stay ; 
 Whilst her neglected child holds her in chace, 
 Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent 
 To follow that which flies before her face, 
 Not prizing her poor infant's discontent ; 
 So runn'st thou after that which flies from thee, 
 Whilst I thy babe chase thee afar behind ; 
 But if thou catch thy hope, turn back to me, 
 And play the mother's part, kiss me, be kind : 
 So will I pray that thou mayst have thy Will, 
 If thou turn back, and my loud crying still. 
 
 CXLIV. 
 
 Two loves I have of comfort and despair, 
 Which like two spirits do suggest me still ; 
 The better angel is a man right fair, 
 The worser spirit a woman, colour' d ill. 
 To win me soon to hell, my female evil 
 Tempteth my better angel from my side. 
 And would corrupt my saint to be a devil, 
 Wooing his purity with her foul pride. 
 And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend, 
 Suspect I may, yet not directly tell ; 
 But, being both from me, both to each friend, 
 I guess one angel in another's hell. 
 Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt, 
 Till my bad angel fire my good one out. 
 
 CXLV. 
 
 Those lips that Love's own hand did make 
 Breath'd forth the sound that said, ' I hate,' 
 To me that languish'd for her sake : 
 But when she saw my woeful state, 
 Straight in her heart did mercy come, 
 Chiding that tongue, that ever sweet 
 Was used in giving gentle doom ; 
 And taught it thus anew to greet : 
 ' I hate ' she alter'd with an end, 
 That follow'd it as gentle day 
 Doth follow night, who like a fiend 
 From heaven to hell is flown away. 
 ' I hate ' from hate away she threw, 
 And savM my life, saying ' not you.' 
 
 CXLV I. 
 
 Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth, 
 Fool'd by these rebel powers that thee array, 
 
 Why dost thou pine within, and suffer dearth, 
 Painting thy outward walls so costly gay? 
 Why so large cost, having so short a lease, 
 Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend ? 
 Shall worms, inheritors of this excess, 
 Eat up thy charge ? Is this thy body's end ? 
 Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss, 
 And let that pine to aggravate thy store ; 
 Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross ; 
 Within be fed, without be rich no more : 
 
 So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on 
 men, [then. 
 
 And, Death once dead, there 's no more dying 
 
 CXLVII. 
 
 My love is as a fever, longing still 
 For that which longer nurseth the disease ; 
 Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, 
 The uncertain sickly appetite to please. 
 My reason, the physician to my love, 
 Angry that his prescriptions are not kept, 
 Hath left me, and I desperate now approve 
 Desire is death, which physic did except. 
 Past cure I am, now reason is past care, 
 And frantic mad with evermore unrest ; 
 My thoughts and my discourse as mad men's 
 
 are, 
 At random from the truth vainly expressed ; 
 
 For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee 
 bright, 
 
 Who art as black as hell, as dark as night. 
 
 CXLVIII. 
 
 O me ! what eyes hath love put in my head, 
 Which have no correspondence with true sight ! 
 Or, if they have, where is my judgment fled, 
 That censures falsely what they see aright ? 
 If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote, 
 What means the world to say it is not so? 
 If it be not, then love doth well denote 
 Love's eye is not so true as all men's : no, 
 How can it ? O how can Love's eye be true, 
 That is so vex'd with watching and with tears? 
 No marvel then though I mistake my view ; 
 The sun itself sees not till heaven clears. 
 
 O cunning Love 1 with tears thou keep'st me 
 blind, 
 
 Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find. 
 
 CXLIX. 
 
 Canst thou, O cruel ! say I love thee not, 
 When I, against myself, with thee partake? 
 Do I not think on thee, when I forgot 
 Am of myself, all tyrant, for thy sake? 
 Who hateth thee that I do call my friend ? 
 On whom frown'st thou that I do fawn upon ? 
 
 ; ' 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 1269 
 
 Nay if thou low'rst on me, do I not spend 
 Revenge upon myself with present moan ? 
 What merit do I in myself respect, ^ 
 That is so proud thy service to despise, 
 When all my best doth worship thy defect, 
 Commanded by the motion of thine eyes ? 
 
 But, love, hate on, for now I know thy mind ; 
 
 Those that can see thou lov'st, and I am blind, 
 
 CL. 
 
 O, from what power hast thou this powerful 
 
 might, 
 
 With insufficiency my heart to sway ? 
 To make me give the lie to my true sight, 
 And swear that brightness doth not grace the 
 
 day? 
 
 Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill, 
 That in the very refuse of thy deeds 
 There is such strength and warrantise of skill, 
 That in my mind, thy worst all best exceeds ? 
 Who taught thee how to make me love thee 
 
 more, 
 
 The more I hear and see just cause of hate ? 
 O, though I love what others do abhor, 
 With others thou shouldst not abhor my state ; 
 If thy unworthiness rais'd love in me, 
 More worthy I to be belov'd of thee. 
 
 Love is too young to know what conscience is : 
 Yet who knows not, conscience is born of love ? 
 Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss, 
 Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove. 
 For thou betraying me, I do betray 
 My nobler part to my gross body's treason ; 
 My soul doth tell my body that he may 
 Triumph in love ; flesh stays no farther reason ; 
 But, rising at thy name, doth point out thee 
 As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride, 
 He is contented thy poor drudge to be, 
 To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side, 
 No want of conscience hold it that I call 
 Her love, for whose dear love I rise and fall. 
 
 GUI. 
 
 In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn, 
 But thou art twice forsworn, to me love swear- 
 ing ; 
 
 In act thy bed-vow broke, and new faith 
 
 torn, 
 
 In vowing new hate after new love bearing. 
 But why of two oaths' breach do I accuse thee, 
 When I break twenty ? I am perjur'd most ; 
 For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee, 
 And all my honest faith in thee is lost : 
 For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kind- 
 ness, 
 
 Oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy constancy ; 
 And, to enlighten thee, gave eyes to blindness, 
 Or made them swear against the thing they 
 
 see ; 
 
 For I have sworn thee fair : more perjur'd I, 
 To swear, against the truth, so foul a lie ! 
 
 CL1II. 
 
 Cupid lay by his brand, and fell asleep : 
 A maid of JDian's this advantage found, 
 And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep 
 In a cold valley-fountain of that ground ; 
 Which borrow'd from this holy fire of love 
 A dateless lively heat, still to endure, 
 And grew a seething bath, which yet men prove 
 Against strange maladies a sovereign cure. 
 But at my mistress' eye Love's brand new-fir'd, 
 The boy for trial needs would touch my breast ; 
 I, sick withal, the help of bath desir'd, 
 And thither hied, a sad distempered guest, 
 But found no cure : the bath for my help lies 
 Where Cupid got new fire, my mistress eyes. 
 
 CLIV. 
 
 The little love-god, lying once asleep 
 Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand, 
 Whilst many nymphs that vow'd chaste life to 
 
 keep 
 
 Came tripping by ; but in her maiden hand 
 The fairest votary took up that fire 
 Which many legions of true hearts had warm'd ; 
 And so the general of hot desire 
 Was sleeping by a virgin hand disarm'd. 
 This brand she quenched in a cool well by, 
 Which from Love's fire took heat perpetual, 
 Growing a bath and healthful remedy 
 For men diseas'd ; but I, my mistress' thrall, 
 Came there for cure, and this by that I prove, 
 Love's fire heats water, water cools not love. 
 
 
 

 
 
 A LOVER'S COMPLAINT. 
 
 , ! "idri 
 
 FROM off a hill whose concave womb re-worded 
 A* plaintful story from a sistering vale, 
 My spirits to attend this double voice accorded, 
 And down I laid to list the sad-tun'd tale ; 
 Ere long espied a fickle maid full pale, 
 Tearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain, 
 Storming her world with sorrow's wind and rain. 
 
 Upon her head a platted hive of straw, 
 Which fortified her visage from the sun, 
 Whereon the thought might think sometime it 
 
 saw 
 
 The carcase of a beauty spent and done. 
 Time had not scythed all that youth begun, 
 Nor youth all quit ; but, spite of Heaven's fell 
 
 rage, [age. 
 
 Some beauty peep'd through lattice of sear'd 
 
 Oft did she heave her napkin to her eyne, 
 Which on it had conceited characters, 
 Laund'ring the silken figures in the brine 
 That season'd woe had pelleted in tears, 
 And often reading what contents it bears ; 
 As often shrieking undistinguish'd woe, 
 In clamours of all size, both high and low. 
 
 Sometimes her levell'd eyes their carriage ride ; 
 As they did battery to the spheres intend ; 
 Sometimes diverted their poor balls are tied 
 To th s orbed earth : sometimes they do extend 
 Their view right on ; anon their gazes lend 
 To every place at once, and nowhere fix'd, 
 The mind and sight distractedly commix'd. 
 
 Her hair, nor loose, nor tied in formal plat, 
 Proclaim'd in her a careless hand of pride ; 
 For some, untuck'd, descended her sheav'd hat, 
 Hanging her pale and pined cheek beside ; 
 Some in her threaden fillet still did bide, 
 And, true to bondage, would not break from 
 
 thence, 
 Though slackly braided in loose negligence. 
 
 A thousand favours from a maund she drew 
 Of amber, crystal, and of bedded jet, 
 Which one by one she in a river thiew, 
 Upon whose weeping margent she was set ; 
 Like usury, applying wet to wet, 
 Or monarch's hands, that let not bounty fall 
 Where want cries * some,' but where excess begs 
 all. 
 
 Of folded schedules had she many a one, 
 Which she perus'd, sigh'd, tore, and gave the 
 
 flood; 
 
 Crack'd many a ring of posied gold and bone, 
 Bidding them find their sepulchres in mud ; 
 Found yet mo letters sadly penn'd in blood, 
 With sleided silk feat and affectedly 
 Enswath'd, and seal'd to curious secresy. 
 
 These often bath'd she in her fluxive eyes, 
 And often kiss'd, and often gave to tear ; 
 Cried, ' O false blood, thou register of lies, 
 What unapproved witness dost thou bear ! 
 Ink would have seem'd more black and damned 
 
 here ! ' 
 
 This said, in top of rage the lines she rents, 
 Big discontent so breaking their contents. 
 
 A reverend man that graz'd his cattle nigh, 
 
 Sometime a blusterer, that the ruffle knew 
 
 Of court, of city, and had let go by 
 
 The swiftest hours, observed as they flew, 
 
 Towards this afflicted fancy fastly drew ; 
 
 And, privileg'd by age, desires to know 
 
 In brief, the grounds and motives of her 
 
 So slides he down upon his grained bat, 
 And comely-distant sits he by her side ; 
 When he again desires her, being sat, 
 Her grievance with his hearing to divide : 
 If that from him there may be aught applied 
 Which may her suffering ecstasy assuage, 
 'Tis promis'd in the charity of age. 
 
 ' Father,' she says, ' though in me you behold 
 The injury of many a blasting hour, 
 Let it not tell your judgment I am old ; 
 Not age, but sorrow, over me hath power : 
 I might as yet have been a spreading flower, 
 Fresh to myself, if I had self- applied 
 Love to myself, and to no love beside. 
 
 ' But woe is me ! too early I attended 
 A youthful suit (it was to gain my grace) 
 Of one by nature's outwards so cpmmended, 
 That maiden's eyes stuck over all his face : 
 Love lack'd a dwelling, and made him her 
 
 place ; 
 
 And when in his fair parts she did abide, 
 She was new lodg'd, and newly deified. 
 

 A LOVER'S COMPLAINT. 
 
 1271 
 
 * His browny locks did hang in crooked curls ; 
 And every light occasion of the wind 
 
 Upon his lips their silken parcels hurls. 
 What 's sweet to do, to do will aptly find : 
 Each eye that saw him did enchant the mind ; 
 For on his visage was in little drawn, 
 What largeness thinks in paradise was sawn. 
 
 ' Small show of man was yet upon his chin ; 
 His phcenix down began but to appear, 
 Like unshorn velvet, on that termless skin, 
 Whose bare out-bragg'd the web it seem'd to 
 
 wear ; 
 
 Yet show'd his visage by that cost more dear ; 
 And nice affections wavering stood in doubt 
 If best 'twere as it was, or best without. 
 
 * His qualities were beauteous as his form, 
 For maiden-tongued he was, and thereof free ; 
 Yet, if men mov'd him, was he such a storm 
 As oft 'twixt May and April is to see, [be. 
 When winds breathe sweet, unruly though they 
 His rudeness so with his authoriz'd youth 
 
 Did livery falseness in a pride of truth. 
 
 ' Well could he ride, and often men would say 
 That horse his mettle from his rider takes : 
 Proud of subjection, noble by the sway, 
 What rounds, what bounds, what course, what 
 
 stop he makes ! 
 
 And controversy hence a question takes, 
 Whether the horse by him became his deed, 
 Or he his manage by the well-doing steed. 
 
 ' But quickly on this side the verdict went ; 
 His real habitude gave life and grace 
 To appertainings and to ornament, 
 Accomplish'd in himself, not in his case : 
 All aids, themselves made fairer by their place, 
 Can for additions ; yet their purpos'd trim 
 Piec'd not his grace, but were all grac'd by him. 
 
 ' So on the tip of his subduing tongue 
 All kind of arguments and question deep, 
 All replication prompt, and reason strong, 
 For his advantage still did wake and sleep : 
 To make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep, 
 He had the dialect and different skill, 
 Catching all passions in his craft of will ; 
 
 ' That he did in the general bosom reign 
 Of young, of old ; and sexes both enchanted, 
 To dwell with him in thoughts, or to remain 
 In personal duty, following where he haunted : 
 Consents bewitch'd, ere hedesire, have granted ; 
 And dialogued for him what he would say, 
 Ask'd their own wills, and made their wills obey. 
 
 ' Many there were that did his picture get, 
 To serve their eyes, and in it put their mind ; 
 Like fools that in the imagination set 
 The goodly objects which abroad they find 
 Of lands and mansions, theirs in thought as- 
 
 sign'd; 
 
 And labouring in mo pleasures to bestow them, 
 Than the true gouty landlord which doth owe 
 
 them : 
 
 ' So many have, that never touch'd his hand, 
 Sweetly suppos'd them mistress of his heart. 
 My woeful self, that did in freedom stand, 
 And was my own fee-simple, (not in part,) 
 What with his heart in youth, and youth in art, 
 Threw my affections in his charmed power, 
 Reserv'd the stalk, and gave him all my flower, 
 .>rtii ** nwo 9 nlta iJ .^havil ni gj^Drf ;q^ 
 ' Yet did I not, as some my equals did, 
 Demand of him, nor being desired yielded ; 
 Finding myself in honour so forbid, 
 With safest distance I mine honour shielded : 
 Experience for me many bulwarks builded 
 Of proofs new-bleeding, which remain'd the foil 
 Of this false jewel, and his amorous spoil. 
 
 * But ah ! who ever shunn'd by precedent 
 
 The destin'd ill she must herself assay? 
 
 Or forc'd examples, 'gainst her own content, 
 
 To put the by-pass'd perils in her way? 
 
 Counsel may stop a while what will not stay; 
 
 For when we rage, advice is often seen 
 
 By blunting us to make our wits more keen. 
 
 ' Nor gives it satisfaction to our blood, 
 That we must curb it upon others' proof, 
 To be forbid the sweets that seem so good, 
 For fear of harms that preach in our behoof. 
 O appetite, from judgment stand aloof ! 
 The one a palate hath that needs will taste, 
 Though reason weep, and cry It is thy last. 
 
 : bn-jifijs ob son^iLKi vfosDiL liarfj ^iiijii^ >!/:v// 
 ' For further I could say, This man 's untrue, 
 And knew the patterns of his foul beguiling ; 
 Heard where his plants in others' orchards grew, 
 Saw how deceits were gilded in his smiling ; 
 Knew vows were ever brokers to defiling ; 
 Thought characters and words, merely but art, 
 And bastards of his foul adulterate heart. 
 
 ' And long upon these terms I held my city, 
 Till thus he 'gan besiege me : Gentle maid, 
 Have of my suffering youth some feeling pity, 
 And be not of my holy vows afraid : 
 That 's to you sworn, to none was ever said ; 
 For feasts of love I have been call'd unto, 
 Till now did ne'er invite, nor never vow. 
 
1275 
 
 A LOVER'S COMPLAINT. 
 
 ' All my offences that abroad you see 
 Are errors of the blood, none of the mind ; 
 Love made them not ; with acture they may 
 
 be, 
 
 Where neither party is nor true nor kind : 
 They sought their shame that so their shame did 
 
 find; 
 
 And so much less of shame in me remains, 
 By how much of me their reproach contains. 
 
 * Among the many that mine eyes have seen, 
 Not one whose flame my heart so much as 
 
 warm'd, 
 
 On my affection put to the smallest teen, 
 Or any of my leisures ever charm'd : 
 Harm have I done to them, but ne'er was 
 
 harm'd ; 
 
 Kept hearts in liveries, but mine own was free, 
 And reign'd, commanding in his monarchy. 
 
 ' Look here what tributes wounded fancies sent 
 
 me, 
 
 Of paled pearls, and rubies red as blood ; 
 Figuring that they their passions likewise lent 
 
 me 
 
 Of grief and blushes, aptly understood 
 In bloodless white and the encrimson'd mood ; 
 Effects of terror and dear modesty, 
 Encamp'd in hearts, but righting outwardly. 
 
 * And lo ! behold the talents of their hair, 
 With twisted metal amorously impleach'd, 
 I have receiv'd from many a several fair, 
 (Their kind acceptance weepingly beseech'd,) 
 With the annexions of fair gems enrich'd, 
 And deep-brain'd sonnets that did amplify 
 Each stone's dear nature, worth, and quality. 
 
 ' The diamond, why 'twas beautiful and hard, 
 Whereto his invis'd properties did tend ; 
 The deep-green emerald, in whose fresh regard 
 Weak sights their sickly radiance do amend ; 
 The heaven-hued sapphire and the opal blend 
 With objects manifold ; each several stone, 
 With wit well blazon'd, smil'd or made some 
 moan. 
 
 * Lo ! all these trophies of affections hot, 
 Of pensiv'd and subdued desires the tender, 
 Nature hath charg'd me that I hoard them not, 
 But yield them up where I myself must render, 
 That is, to you, my origin and ender : 
 
 For these, of force, must your oblations be, 
 Since I their altar, you enpatron me. 
 
 * O then advance of yours that phraseless hand, 
 Whose white bears down the airy scale of praise ; 
 
 Take all these similes to your own command, 
 Hallow'dwith sighs that burning lungs did raise; 
 What me your minister, for you obeys, 
 Works under you ; and to your audit comes 
 Their distract parcels in combined sums. 
 
 * Lo ! this device was sent me from a nun, 
 Or sister sanctified of holiest note ; 
 Which late her noble suit in court did shun, 
 Whose rarest havings made the blossoms dote ; 
 For she was sought by spirits of richest coat, 
 But kept cold distance, and did thence re- 
 move, 
 To spend her living in eternal love. 
 
 ' But O, my sweet, what labour is 't to leave 
 The thing we have not, mastering what not 
 
 strives ? 
 
 Paling the place which did no form receive, 
 Playing patient sports in unconstrained gyves: 
 She that her fame so to herself contrives, 
 The scars of battle 'scapeth by the flight, 
 And makes her absence valiant, not her might. 
 
 ' O pardon me, in that my boast is true ; 
 The accident which brought me to her eye, 
 Upon the moment did her force subdue, 
 And now she would the caged cloister fly: 
 Religious love put out religion's eye : 
 Not to be tempted, would she be immur'd, 
 And now, to tempt all, liberty procur'd. 
 
 ' How mighty then you are, O hear me tell ! 
 The broken bosoms that to me belong 
 Have emptied all their fountains in my well, 
 And mine I pour your ocean all among : 
 I strong o'er them, and you o'er me being 
 
 strong, 
 
 Must for your victory us all congest, 
 As compound love to physic your cold breast. 
 
 ' My parts had power to charm a sacred sun, 
 Who, disciplin'd and dieted in grace, 
 Believ'd her eyes when they to assail begun, 
 All vows and consecrations giving place. 
 O most potential love ! vow, bond, nor space, 
 In thee hath neither sting, knot, nor confine, 
 For thou art all, and all things else aie thine. 
 
 ' When thou impresses!, what are precepts worth 
 Of stale example ? When thou wilt inflame, 
 How coldly those impediments stand forth, 
 Of wealth, of filial fear, law, kindred, fame ! 
 Love's arms are peace, 'gainst rule, 'gainst sense, 
 
 'gainst shame, 
 
 And sweetens, in the suffering pangs it bears, 
 The aloes of all forces, shocks, and fears. 
 
A LOVER'S COMPLAINT. 
 
 1273 
 
 ' Now all these hearts that do on mine depend, 
 Feeling it break, with bleeding groans they 
 
 pine, 
 
 And supplicant their sighs to you extend, 
 To leave the battery that you make 'gainst 
 
 mine, 
 
 Lending soft audience to my sweet design, 
 And credent soul to that strong-bonded oath, 
 That shall prefer and undertake my troth. 
 
 c This said, his watery eyes he did dismount, 
 Whose sights till then were levell'd on my face; 
 Each cheek a river running from a fount 
 With brinish current downward flow'd apace : 
 O how the channel to the stream gave grace ! 
 Who, glaz'd with crystal, gate the glowing roses 
 That flame through water which their hue 
 encloses. 
 
 * O father, what a hell of witchcraft lies 
 In the small orb of one particular tear ! 
 But with the inundation of the eyes 
 What rocky heart to water will not wear ? 
 What breast so cold that is not warmed here ? 
 O cleft effect ! cold modesty, hot wrath, 
 Both fire from hence and chill extincture hath! 
 
 ' For lo ! his passion, but an art of craft, 
 Even there resolv'd my reason into tears ; 
 There my white stole of chastity I daff 'd, 
 Shook off my sober guards, and civil fears ; 
 Appear to him, as he to me appears, [bore, 
 All melting ; though our drops this difference 
 His poison'd me, and mine did him restore. 
 
 ' In him a plenitude of subtle matter, 
 
 Applied to cautels, all strange forms receives, 
 
 Of burning blushes or of weeping water, 
 
 Or swooning paleness ; and he takes and leaves, 
 
 In cither's aptness, as it best deceives, 
 
 To blush at speeches rank, to weep at woes, 
 
 Or to turn white and swoon at tragic shows ; 
 
 ' That not a heart which in his level came 
 Could scape the hail of his all-hurting aim, 
 Showing fair nature is both kind and tame ; 
 And, veil'd in them, did win whom he would 
 
 maim : 
 
 Against the thing he sought he would exclaim; 
 When he most burn'd in heart-wish'd luxury, 
 He preach'd pure maid, and prais'd cold chas- 
 tity. 
 
 ' Thus merely with the garment of a Grace 
 The naked and concealed fiend he cover'd, 
 That the unexperienc'd gave the tempter place, 
 Which, like a cherubin, above them hover'd. 
 Who, young and simple, would not be so 
 
 lover'd ? 
 
 Ah me ! I fell ; and yet do question make 
 What I should do again for such a sake. 
 
 nuno MCI 
 
 ' O, that infected moisture of his eye, 
 O, that false fire which in his cheek so glow'd, 
 O, that forc'd thunder from his heart did fly, 
 O, that sad breath his spongy lungs bestow'd, 
 O, all that borrow'd motion, seeming ow'd, 
 Would yet again betray the fore-betray'd, 
 And new pervert a reconciled maid ! ' 
 
 tod t>nin| 03 eqil 
 
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 THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM 
 
 - 
 
 I. 
 
 DID not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye, 
 'Gainst whom the world could not hold argu- 
 ment, 
 
 Persuade my heart to this false perjury ? 
 Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment. 
 A woman I forswore ; but I will prove, 
 Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee : 
 My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love ; 
 Thy grace being gain'd cures all disgrace in me. 
 My vow was breath, and breath a vapour is ; 
 Then, thou fair sun, that on this earth doth 
 
 shine, 
 
 Exhale this vapour vow ; in thee it is : 
 If broken, then it is no fault of mine. 
 If by me broke, what fool is not so wise 
 To lose an oath, to win a paradise ? 
 
 II. 
 
 Sweet Cytherea, sitting by a brook 
 With young Adonis, lovely, fresh, and green, 
 Did court the lad with many a lovely look, 
 Such looks as none could look but beauty's 
 
 queen. 
 
 She told him stories to delight his ear ; 
 She show'd him favours to allure his eye ; 
 To win his heart, she touch'd him here and 
 
 there : 
 
 Touches so soft still conquer chastity. 
 But whether unripe years did want conceit, 
 Or he refus'd to take her figur'd proffer, 
 The tender nibbler would not touch the bait, 
 But smile and jest at every gentle offer : 
 Then fell she on her back, fair queen, and 
 
 toward ; 
 He rose and ran away ; ah, fool too froward ! 
 
 in. 
 
 If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear 
 to love ? 
 
 O never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow'd: 
 
 Though to myself forsworn, to thee I '11 con- 
 stant prove; [osiers bow'd. 
 
 Those thoughts, to me like oaks, to thee like 
 
 Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine 
 eyes, 
 
 Where all those pleasures live that art can com- 
 prehend. 
 
 If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall 
 suffice ; [commend ; 
 
 Well learned is that tongue that well can thee 
 
 All ignorant that soul that sees thee without 
 
 wonder ; [admire : 
 
 Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts 
 
 Thine eye Jove's lightning seems, thy voice his 
 
 dreadful thunder, [fire. 
 
 Which (not to anger bent) is music and sweet 
 
 Celestial as thou art, O do not love that wrong, 
 
 To sing the heavens' praise with such an 
 
 earthly tongue. 
 
 Scarce had the sun dried up the dewy morn, 
 And scarce the herd gone to the hedge for 
 
 shade, 
 
 When Cytherea, all in love forlorn, 
 A longing tarriance for Adonis made, 
 Under an osier growing by a brook, 
 A brook where Adon used to cool his spleen. 
 Hot was the day ; she hdtter that did look 
 For his approach, that often there had been. 
 Anon he comes, and throws his mantle by, 
 And stood stark naked on the brook's green 
 
 brim ; 
 
 The sun look'd on the world with glorious eye, 
 Yet not so wistly as this queen on him : 
 
 He, spying her, bounc'd in, whereas he stood; 
 
 O Jove, quoth she, why was not I a flood ? 
 
 V. 
 
 Fair is my love, but not so fair as fickle ; 
 
 Mild as a dove, but neither true nor trusty ; 
 
 Brighter than glass, and yet, as glass is, brittle; 
 
 Softer than wax, and yet, as iron, rusty : 
 A lily pale, with damask die to grace her, 
 None fairer, nor none falser to deface her. 
 
 Her lips to mine how often hath she join'd, 
 Between each kiss her oaths of true love swear- 
 ing ! 
 
 How many tales to please me hath she coin'd, 
 Dreading my love, the loss thereof still fearing ! 
 Yet in the midst of all her pure pretestings, 
 Her faith, her oaths, her tears, and all were 
 jestings. 
 
 She burn'd with love, as straw with fire flameth, 
 She burn'd out love, as soon as straw out 
 burneth ; [framing, 
 
 She fram'd the love, and yet she foil'd the 
 She bade love last, and yet she fell a turning. 
 
 Was this a lover, or a lecher whether ? 
 
 Bad in the best, though excellent in neither. 
 

 THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM. 
 
 1275 
 
 VI. 
 
 If music and sweet poetry agree, 
 
 As they must needs, the sister and the brother, 
 
 Then must the love be great 'twixt thee and 
 
 me, 
 
 Because thou lov'st the one, and I the other. 
 Dowland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch 
 Upon the lute doth ravish human sense ; 
 Spencer to me, whose deep conceit is such, 
 As, passing all conceit, needs no defence. 
 Thou lov'st to hear the sweet melodious sound 
 That Phoebus' lute, the queen of music, makes; 
 And I in deep delight am chiefly drown'd, 
 Whenas himself to singing he betakes. 
 
 One god is god of both, as poets feign ; 
 
 One knight loves both, and both in thee 
 remain. 
 
 Fair was the morn, when the fair queen of love, 
 * * . * * * * 
 
 Paler for sorrow than her milk-white dove, 
 For Adon's sake, a youngster proud and wild ; 
 Her stand she takes upon a steep-up hill : 
 Anon Adonis comes with horn and hounds ; 
 She, silly queen, with more than love'sgood will, 
 Forbade the boy he should not pass those 
 
 grounds ; 
 
 Once, quoth she, did I see a fair sweet youth 
 Here in these brakes deep-wounded with a 
 
 boar, 
 
 Deep in the thigh, a spectacle of ruth ! 
 See in my thigh, quoth she, here was the 
 
 sore : 
 She showed hers ; he saw more wounds than 
 
 one, 
 And blushing fled, and left her all alone. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Sweet rose, fair flower, untimely pluck'd, soon 
 
 vaded, 
 
 Pluck'd in the bud, and vaded in the spring ! 
 Bright orient pearl, alack ! too timely shaded ! 
 Fair creature, kill'd too soon by death's sharp 
 
 sting ! 
 
 Like a green plum that hangs upon a tree, 
 And falls, through wind, before the fall should 
 be. 
 
 I weep for thee, and yet no cause I have ; 
 For why ? thou left'st me nothing in thy will. 
 And yet thou left'st me more than I did crave; 
 For why ? I craved nothing of thee still : 
 
 O yes, dear friend, I pardon crave of thee ; 
 
 Thy discontent thou didst bequeath to me. 
 
 Venus, with Adonis sitting by her, 
 Under a myrtle shade, began to woo him : 
 She told the youngling how god Mars did try 
 
 her, 
 
 And as he fell to her, she fell to him. 
 Even thus, quoth she, the warlike god embrac'd 
 
 me ; 
 
 And then she clipp'd Adonis in her arms : 
 Even thus, quoth she, the warlike god unlac'd 
 
 me; 
 
 As if the boy should use like loving charms. 
 Even thus, quoth she, he seized on my lips, 
 And with her lips on his did act the seizure ; 
 And as she fetched breath, away he skips, 
 And would not take her meaning nor her 
 
 pleasure. 
 
 Ah ! that I had my lady at this bay, 
 To kiss and clip me till I run away J 
 
 x. 
 
 Crabbed age and youth 
 
 Cannot live together ; 
 Youth is full of pleasance, 
 
 Age is full of care : 
 Youth like summer morn, 
 
 Age like winter weather ; 
 Youth like summer brave, 
 
 Age like winter bare. 
 Youth is full of sport, 
 Age's breath is short, 
 
 Youth is nimble, age is lame : 
 Youth is hot and bold, 
 Age is weak and cold ; 
 
 Youth is wild, and age is tame. 
 Age, I do abhor thee, 
 Youth, I do adore thee ; 
 
 O, my love, my love is young ! 
 Age, I do defy thee ; 
 O sweet shepherd, hie thee, 
 
 For methinks thou stay'st too long. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good, 
 
 A shining gloss, that vadeth suddenly ; 
 
 A flower that dies, when first it 'gins to bud ; 
 
 A brittle glass, that 's broken presently : 
 A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower, 
 Lost, vaded, broken, dead within an hour. 
 
 And as goods lost are seld or never found, 
 As vaded gloss no rubbing will refresh, 
 As flowers dead lie wither'd on the ground, 
 As broken glass no cement can redress, 
 So beauty, blemish'd once, for ever 's lost, 
 In spite of physic, painting, pain, and cost. 
 
1276 
 
 THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM. 
 
 Good night, good rest Ah ! neither be my 
 
 share: 
 
 She bade good night, that kept my rest away ; 
 And daff'd me to a cabin hang'd with care, 
 To descant on the doubts of my decay. 
 Farewell, quoth she, and come again to- 
 morrow ; 
 Fare well I could not, for I supp'd with sorrow. 
 
 Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile, 
 In scorn or friendship, nill I construe whether : 
 'T may be, she joy'd to jest at my exile, 
 'T may be, again to make me wander thither : 
 Wander^ a word for shadows like myself, 
 As take the pain, but cannot pluck the pelf. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Lord, how mine eyes throw gazes to the east ! 
 My heart doth charge the watch ; the morning 
 rise 
 
 Doth cite each moving sense from idle rest. 
 
 Not daring trust the office of mine eyes, 
 While Philomela sits and sings, I sit and mark, 
 And wish her lays were tuned like the lark ; 
 
 For she doth welcome daylight with her ditty, 
 And drives away dark dismal-dreaming night : 
 The night so pack'd, I post unto my pretty ; 
 Heart hath his hope, and eyes their wished 
 sight ; [sorrow ; 
 
 Sorrow chang'd to solace, solace mix'd with 
 For why ? she sigh'd, and bade me come to- 
 morrow. 
 
 > :^ fl{ L bill: 
 
 .ao^Jsd.srf T>abf^a"cJ ll&mid g^narfW 
 Were I with her, the night would post too soon; 
 But now are minutes added to the hours ; 
 To spite me now. each minute seems a moon ; 
 Yet not for me, shine sun to succour flowers ! 
 Pack night, peep day ; good day, of night now 
 borrow ; [morrow. 
 
 Short, night, to-night, and length thyself to- 
 
 T9H 
 
 
 rt?H 
 
 uodi a^fnirfism 'l 
 
 >nA 
 
 
&3rto% Y-HO 
 
 
 *rV 1-iVfi-J ' 6f ' 9f<W 
 
 SONNETS TO SUNDRY NOTES OF 
 
 MUSIC 
 
 ft was a lording's daughter, the fairest one of 
 
 three, [be. 
 
 That liked of her master as well as well might 
 
 Till looking on an Englishman, the fairest that 
 
 eye could see, 
 Her fancy fell a turning. 
 Long was the combat doubtful, that love with 
 love did fight, [knight ; 
 
 To leave the master loveless, or kill the gallant 
 To put in practice either, alasjfcwas a spite 
 
 Unto the silly damsel. [pain, 
 
 But one must be refused, more mickle was the 
 
 That nothing could be used, to turn them both 
 
 to gain, [with disdain : 
 
 For of the two the trusty knight was wounded 
 
 Alas, she could not help it ! [the day, 
 
 Thus art, with arms contending, was victor of 
 
 Which by a gift of learning did bear the maid 
 
 away ; 
 Then lullaby, the learned man hath got the lady 
 
 ^^ - A A 
 
 For now my song is ended. 
 II. 
 
 On a day (alack the day !), 
 Love, whose month was ever May, 
 Spied a blossom passing fair, 
 Playing in the wanton air : 
 Through the velvet leaves the wind, 
 All unseen, 'gan passage find ; 
 That the lover, sick to death, 
 Wish'd himself the heaven's breath. 
 Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow ; 
 Air, would I might triumph so ! 
 But, alas, my hand hath sworn 
 Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn : 
 Vow, alack, for youth unmeet, 
 Youth, so apt to pluck a sweet, 
 Thou for whom Jove would swear 
 Juno but an Ethiope were ; 
 And deny himself for Jove, 
 Turning mortal for thy love. 
 
 in. 
 
 My flocks feed not, 
 
 My ewes breed not, 
 
 My rams speed not, 
 
 All is amiss : 
 
 Love is dying, 
 Faith 's defying, 
 Heart 's denying, 
 
 Causer of this. 
 
 All my merry jigs are quite forgot, 
 All my lady's love is lost, God wot : 
 Where her faith was firmly fix'd in love, 
 There a nay is plac'd without remove. 
 One silly cross 
 Wrought all my loss ; 
 
 O frowning Fortune, cursed, fickle dame ! 
 For now I see, 
 Inconstancy 
 
 More in women than in men remain. 
 
 1021 r* : 
 In black mourn I, 
 
 All fears scorn I, 
 Love hath forlorn me, 
 
 Living in thrall : 
 Kf^ is bleeding, 
 All help needing, 
 (O cruel speeding !) 
 
 i norfJ bnA 
 
 Fraughted with gall. 
 My shepherd's pipe can sound no deal, 
 My wether's bell rings doleful knell ; 
 My curtail dog, that wont to have play'd, 
 Plays not at all, but seems afraid ; 
 With sighs so deep, 
 Procures to weep, 
 
 In howling-wise, to see my doleful plight. 
 How sighs resound 
 Through heartless ground, [fight ! 
 
 Like a thousand vanquish'd men in bloody 
 
 Clear wells spring not, 
 Sweet birds sing not, 
 Green plants bring not 
 
 Forth ; they die : 
 Herds stand weeping, 
 Flocks all sleeping, 
 Nymphs back peeping 
 
 Fearfully. 
 
 All our pleasure known to us poor swains, 
 All our merry meetings on the plains, 
 All our evening sport from us is fled, 
 All our love is lost, for Love is dead. 
 Farewell, sweet lass, 
 Thy like ne'er was 
 
 For a sweet content, the cause of all my moans 
 
 vadT 
 
1278 
 
 SONNETS TO SUNDRY NOTES OF MUSIC. 
 
 Poor Coridon 
 Must live alone, 
 Other help for him I see that there is none. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Whenas thine eye hath chose the dame, 
 And stall'd the deer that thou shouldst 
 
 strike, 
 
 Let reason rule things worthy blame, 
 As well as fancy, partial might : 
 Take counsel of some wiser head, 
 Neither too young, nor yet unwed. 
 
 And when thou com'st thy tale to tell, 
 Smooth not thy tongue with filed talk, 
 Lest she some subtle practice smell ; 
 (A cripple soon can find a halt :) 
 But plainly say thou lov'st her well, 
 And set her person forth to sell. 
 
 What though her frowning brows be bent, 
 Her cloudy looks will calm ere night ; 
 And then too late she will repent. 
 That thus dissembled her delight ; 
 And twice desire, ere it be day, 
 That which with scorn she put away. 
 
 What though she strive to try her strength, 
 And ban and brawl, and say thee nay, 
 Her feeble force will yield at length, 
 When craft hath taught her thus to say : 
 ' Had women been so strong as men, 
 In faith you had not had it then.' 
 
 And to her will frame all thy ways ; 
 
 Spare not to spend, and chiefly there 
 
 Where thy desert may merit praise, 
 
 By ringing in thy lady's ear : 
 The strongest castle, tower, and town, 
 The golden bullet beats it down. 
 
 Serve always with assured trust, 
 And in thy suit be humble, true ; 
 Unless thy lady prove unjust, 
 Press never thou to choose anew : 
 When time shall serve, be thou not slack 
 To proffer, though she put thee back. 
 
 The wiles and guiles that women work, 
 Dissembled with an outward show, 
 The tricks and toys that in them lurk, 
 The cock that treads them shall not know. 
 Have you not heard it said full oft, 
 A woman's nay doth stand for nought ? 
 
 Think women still to strive with men, 
 To sin, and never for to saint : 
 
 There is no heaven, by holy then, 
 When time with age shall them attaint. 
 Were kisses all the joys in bed, 
 One woman would another wed. 
 
 But soft ; enough, too much I fear, 
 Lest that my mistress hear my song ; 
 She '11 not stick to round me i' th' ear, 
 To teach my tongue to be so long : 
 Yet will she blush, here be it said, 
 To hear her secrets so bewray'd. 
 
 v. 
 
 Live with me, and be my love, 
 And we will all the pleasures prove 
 That hills and valleys, dales and fields, 
 And all the craggy mountains yields. 
 
 There will^e sit upon the rocks, 
 And see the shepherds feed their flocks. 
 By shallow rivers, by whose falls 
 Melodious birds sing madrigals. 
 
 There will I make thee a bed of roses, 
 With a thousand fragrant posies, 
 A cap of flowers and a kirtle 
 Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle. 
 
 A belt of straw and ivy buds, 
 With coral clasps and amber studs ; 
 And if these pleasures may thee move? 
 Then live with me, and be my love. 
 
 LOVE'S ANSWER. 
 
 
 If that the world and love were young, 
 And truth in eveiy shepherd's tongue, 
 These pretty pleasures might me move 
 To live with thee and be thy love. 
 
 ,dli9b oJ jbia t iovol <nfJ JsdT 
 VI. 
 
 As it fell upon a day, 
 In the merry month of May, 
 Sitting in a pleasant shade 
 Which a grove of myrtles made, 
 Beasts did leap, and birds did sing, 
 Trees did grow, and plants did spring : 
 Everything did banish moan, 
 Save the nightingale alone : 
 She, poor bird, as all forlorn, 
 Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn, 
 And there sung the dolefull'st ditty 
 That to hear it was great pity : 
 Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry, 
 Teru, Teru, by and by : 
 That to hear her so complain, 
 Scarce I could from tears refrain ; 
 
 >nA 
 
 vM 
 
SONNETS TO SUNDRY NOTES OF MUSIC. 
 
 1279 
 
 For her griefs so lively shown, 
 
 Made me think upon mine own. 
 
 Ah thought 1, thou mourn'st in vain ; 
 
 None take pity on thy pain : 
 
 Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee ; 
 
 Ruthless bears, they will not cheer thee. 
 
 King Pandion, he is dead ; 
 
 All thy friends are lapp'd in lead ; 
 
 All thy fellow-birds do sing, 
 
 Careless of thy sorrowing. 
 
 Even so, poor bird, like thee, 
 
 None alive will pity me. 
 
 Whilst as fickle fortune smil'd, 
 
 Thou and I were both beguil'd. 
 
 Every one that flatters thee 
 
 Is no friend in misery. 
 
 Words are easy like the wind ; 
 
 Faithful friends are hard to find. 
 
 Every man will be thy friend, 
 
 Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend ; 
 
 But if store of crowns be scant, 
 
 No man will supply thy want. 
 If that one be prodigal, 
 Bountiful they will him call : 
 And with such-like flattering 
 ' Pity but he were a king.' 
 If he be addict to vice, 
 Quickly him they will entice ; 
 If to women he be bent, 
 They have him at commandement ; 
 But if fortune once do frown, 
 Then farewell his great renown : 
 They that fawn'd on him before, 
 Use his company no more. 
 He that is thy friend indeed, 
 He will help thee in thy need ; 
 If thou sorrow, he will weep ; 
 If thou wake, he cannot sleep : 
 Thus of every grief in heart 
 He with thee doth bear a part. 
 These are certain signs to know 
 Faithful friend from flattering foe. 
 
 Atll vbuni 
 
 bnr, esrrr 
 
 
 
 nr,"t n ;>vo 
 .; MIO ni jiid sfOrt<*3 aril 
 :-SMion noh.'vib ,, 
 .aisle -gw ovol-n; of;>rfj 
 
 di js! 
 
 
 ovol ftis; ! 
 as?. slftv} 
 

 
 
 THE PHOENIX AND THE TURTLE. 
 
 LET the bird of loudest lay, 
 
 On the sole Arabian tree, 
 
 Herald sad and trumpet be, 
 
 To whose sound chaste wings obey. 
 
 But thou, shrieking harbinger, 
 Foul pre-currer of the fiend, 
 Augur of the fever's end, 
 To this troop come thou not near. 
 
 From this session interdict 
 Every fowl of tyrant wing, 
 Save the eagle, feather'd king : 
 Keep the obsequy so strict. 
 
 Let the priest in surplice white, 
 That defunctive music can, 
 Be the death-divining swan, 
 Lest the requiem lack his right. 
 
 And thou, treble-dated crow, 
 That thy sable gender mak'st 
 With the breath thou giv'st and tak'st, 
 'Mongst our mourners shalt thou go. 
 
 Here the anthem doth commence : 
 Love and constancy is dead ; 
 Phoenix and the turtle fled 
 In a mutual flame from hence. 
 
 So they lov'd, as love in twain 
 Had the essence but in one ; 
 Two distincts, division none : 
 Number there in love was slain. 
 
 Hearts remote, yet not asunder ; 
 Distance, and no space was seen 
 'Twixt the turtle and his queen ; 
 But in them it were a wonder. 
 
 So between them love did shine, 
 That the turtle saw his right 
 
 Flaming in the phoenix' sight : 
 Either was the other's mine. 
 
 Property was thus appall'd, 
 That the self was not the same ; 
 Single nature's double name 
 Neither two nor one was call'd. 
 
 Reason, in itself confounded, 
 Saw division grow together ; 
 To themselves yet either-neither, 
 Simple were so well compounded 
 
 That it cried how true a twain 
 Seemeth this concordant one ! 
 Love hath reason, reason none 
 If what parts can so remain. 
 
 Whereupon it made this threne 
 To the phoenix and the dove, 
 Co-supremes and stars of love ; 
 As chorus to their tragic scene. 
 
 THRENOS. 
 
 Beauty, truth, and rarity, 
 Grace in all simplicity, 
 Here enclos'd in cinders lie. 
 
 Death is now the phoenix' nest : 
 And the turtle's loyal breast 
 To eternity doth rest, 
 
 Leaving no posterity : 
 'Twas not their infirmity, 
 It was married chastity. 
 
 Truth may seem, but cannot be : 
 Beauty brag, but 'tis not she ; 
 Truth and beauty buried be. 
 
 To this urn let those repair 
 That are either true or fair ; 
 For these dead birds sigh a prayer. 
 
INDEX TO THE CHARACTERS 
 
 IN 
 
 SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS, 
 
 Aaron, ... 
 
 Abbot of Westminster, 
 Abergavenny, Lord, 
 Abhor son, . , .' 
 Abram, . . ... 
 Achilles, " . ^ ' 
 Adam, . :}&><, . 
 Adrian,. . . , 1T .- , :' 
 Adriana, *.;.. 7. r . 
 
 Emilia, 
 
 lius Lepidus, .? 
 
 Agamemnon, ^,".vr->j;j ^rff} 
 Agrippa, H ^ jteVflo' 
 Agrippa, Menenius, 
 Ague-Cheek, Sir Andrew, 
 Ajax, . . .. .,,; 
 Alar bus, . ... v^ 
 Albany, Duke of, . 
 Alcibiades, 
 
 Ale neon, Duke of, . ' .'*' 
 Alexander, . f ./"..,. < 
 Alexander Iden, 
 Alexas, .... 
 
 Alonso, . . . 
 Amiens,. 
 
 Andromache, . - o .,- 
 Andronicus, Marcus, 
 Andronicus, Titus, 
 Angelo, ... 
 Angela 
 
 Anne, Lady, . 
 
 Anne Bull&n, . 
 
 Antenor, 
 
 Antigonus, 
 
 Antiochus, 
 
 Antiochus, Daughter of, 
 
 Antiphohis of Ephestts, 
 
 Antipholus of Syracuse, 
 
 Antonio, 
 
 Antonio \ 
 
 Antonio, , 
 
 Antonio, 
 
 A Moor, beloved by Tamora, 
 
 An Exeeu tioner, ' r. . ' ; ."" J | ' ' '.,;,' V 
 Servant of Montague, ,,",'. ." ' -j 
 A Grecian Commander, . . / 
 Servant to Oliver, . V , / 
 A Lord of Naples, . .- . 
 Wife of Antipholus of Ephesus, . 
 A Merchant of Syracuse, . . ' 
 An Abbess at Ephesus, . YT, 
 A Noble Roman, . \, \ '.'/ 
 A Roman Triumvir, . . "" 
 A Trojan Commander, 
 A Grecian General, . "..,*., T..- j .-> 
 A Friend of Caesar, . '..' "/. . 
 Friend of Coriolanus, ',' , .'.'.'v* '- 
 
 A Grecian Commander, . * '.'_' 
 Son of Tamora, . / /, " V.. 
 
 An Athenian General, p.T - - / 
 
 Servant to Cressida, . V -.-,. , 
 
 A Kentish Gentleman, "* ^ ',' ... 
 
 Attendant on Cleopatra, . t . [ 
 
 Attendant on Princess Katharine, 
 
 King of Naples, 
 
 A Lord attendant on the Exiled Duke, 
 
 Wife of Hector, 
 
 Tribune, Brother of Titus, . 
 
 General against the Goths, . 
 
 A Goldsmith, . . . " ,. ..;.' 
 
 Deputy of Duke of Vienna, ' .., ' ' 
 
 A Scottish Nobleman, 
 
 Widow of Edward Prince of Wales, 
 
 Afterwards Queen, . ... 
 
 A Trojan Commander, _. ; T.V, 
 
 A Sicilian Lord, . % . !."'T 
 
 King of Antioch, .. : .^Y '-' .'". 
 
 /"Twin Brothers ; Sons of ^Egeon, \ 
 \ but unknown to each other, . ) 
 
 The Merchant of Venice, . , .. 
 
 Usurping Duke of Milan, . 
 
 A Sea Captain, . . ' % J -' : '' !l . 
 
 Brother of Leonato, . 
 
 Titus Andronicus. 
 Richard II. 
 King Henry VIII. 
 Measure for Measure, 
 Romeo and Juliet. 
 Troilus and Cressida. 
 As You Like It. 
 Tempest. 
 
 Comedy of Errors. 
 Comedy of Errors. 
 Comedy of Errors. 
 Titus Andronicus. 
 Julius Csesar. 
 Troilus and Cressida. 
 Troilus and Cressida. 
 Antony and Cleopatra. 
 Coriolanus. 
 Twelfth Night. 
 Troilus and Cressida. 
 Titus Andronicus. 
 King Lear. 
 Timon of Athens. 
 King Henry VI., Parti. 
 Troilus and Cressida. 
 King Henry VI., Part II. 
 Antony and Cleopatra. 
 King Henry V. 
 Tempest. 
 As You Like It. 
 Troilus and Cressida. 
 Titus Andronicus. 
 Titus Andronicus. 
 Comedy of Errors. 
 Measure for Measure. 
 Macbeth. 
 
 King Richard III. 
 King Henry VIII. 
 Troilus and Cressida. 
 Winter's Tale. 
 Pericles. 
 Pericles. 
 
 Comedy of Errors. 
 
 Merchant of Venice. 
 
 Tempest. 
 
 Twelfth Night. 
 
 Much Ado About Nothing. 
 
1282 
 
 INDEX TO THE CHARACTERS IN 
 
 Antonio, . ; " . 
 Antony r , Marc, . **- 
 Apemantus, . 
 Apothecary, An, 
 Archbishop of Canterbury, 
 Archbishop of Canterbury, 
 Archbishop of Canterbury, 
 Archbishop of York, 
 Archbishop of York, 
 Archduke of Austria, . 
 Archibald, . 
 Archidamus, . . 
 Ariel, .... 
 Armado, Don Adrtano de, 
 Arragon, Prince of, 
 Arthur, . . , 
 
 Artimidorus, . . , 
 ArviraguSi 
 
 Audrey, .... 
 Aufidius, Tullus, . .", 
 Aumerle, Duke of, . 
 Aittolycus, 
 Auvergne, Countess of t . 
 
 Bagot, . 
 
 Balthazar, . L * . 
 
 Balthazar, . . 
 Balthazar, 
 
 Balthazar, , . 
 Banquo, 
 
 Banished Duke, . 
 Baptista, 
 
 Bardolph, . % . 
 
 Bardolph, .' v /V 
 Bardolph, 
 Bardolph, Lord, 
 
 Bamardine, . ' '^ 
 
 Basset, . v . ,.-;-.'' 
 
 JSassanio, . . 
 
 Bassianus, . 
 Bastard of Orleans ^ 
 Bates, . 
 Beatrice, 
 Beau, Le^ 
 Beaufort, Cardinal, 
 Beaufort, Henry, . 
 Beaufort, John, , 
 Beaufort, Thomas, 
 Bedford, Duke of, . 
 Bedford, Duke of, . 
 Belarius, 
 
 Belch, Sir Toby, . 
 Benedick, 
 
 Benvolio, . ..J ~ 
 Berkley, Earl, 
 Bernardo^ 
 
 Father of Proteus, 
 
 A Triumvir, 
 
 A Churlish Philosopher, 
 
 " 
 
 Cranmer, . , . - 
 Cardinal Bouchier, 
 
 Scroop, 
 
 Thomas Rotherham, . 
 
 Earl of Douglas, . i<J V u 
 
 A Bohemian Lord, 
 
 An Airy Spine, . 
 
 A Fantastical Spaniard, 
 
 Suitor to Portia, 
 
 Elder Brother of King John, 
 
 A Sophist of Cnidos, . 
 
 Son of Cymbeline, . ^ 
 
 A Country Wench, . ' . 
 
 Volscian General, 
 
 Son of Duke of York, 
 
 A Rogue, .... 
 
 " Creature" of Richard II., 
 
 A Merchant, 
 
 Servant to Portia, 
 
 Servant to Don Pedro, 
 
 Servant to Romeo, 
 
 A General. '' . 
 
 A Rich Gentleman of Padua, 
 Soldier in King's Army, . . 
 A Follower of Falstaff, 
 Follower of Sir John Falstaff, . 
 Enemy to the King, . 
 A dissolute Prisoner, . 
 Of the Red Rose Faction, . 
 Friend of Antonio, the Merchant 
 of Venice, .... 
 Brother of Satuminus, 
 
 Soldier in King's Army, 
 Niece of Leonato, 
 A Courtier, 
 
 Bishop of Winchester, . . 
 Bishop of Winchester, 
 Earl of Somerset, . . 
 Duke of Exeter, ;. -1 V ^^ ;I ' f 
 Brother of Henry V. , [ * 1 : \3 ff ;' 
 Regent of France, .. ^ ' .". 
 A Banished Lord, . . . ::J )' ' 
 Uncle of Olivia, . . * 
 A Young Lord of Padua, . * 
 Friend of Romeo, 
 
 An Officer, 
 
 Two Gentlemen of Verona. 
 
 Antony and Cleopatra. 
 
 Timon of Athens. 
 
 Romeo and Juliet. 
 
 King Henry VIII. 
 
 King Richard III. 
 
 King Henry II. 
 
 King Henry I V.,Pts. I., 1 1, 
 
 King Richard III. 
 
 King John 
 
 King Henry IV., Pts. I., II. 
 
 Winter's Tale. 
 
 Tempest. 
 
 Love's Labour's Lost. 
 
 Merchant of Venice. 
 
 King John. 
 
 Julius Caesar. 
 
 Cymbeline. 
 
 As You Like It. 
 
 Coriolanus. 
 
 King Richard II. 
 
 Winter's Tale. 
 
 King Henry VI., Part I. 
 
 King Richard II. 
 Comedy of Errors. 
 Merchant of Venice. 
 Much Ado About Nothing. 
 Romeo and Juliet. 
 Macbeth. 
 As You Like It. 
 Taming of the Shrew. 
 King Henry II. 
 Merry Wives of Windsor. 
 King Henry IV., Pts. I. ,11. 
 King Henry IV., Part II. 
 Measure for Measure. 
 King Henry VI., Part I. 
 
 Merchant of Venice. 
 
 Titus Andronicus. 
 
 King Henry VI., Part I. 
 
 King Henry V. 
 
 Much Ado About Nothing. 
 
 As You Like It. 
 
 King Henry VI., Part II. 
 
 King Henry VI., Part I. 
 
 King Henry VI., Part I. 
 
 King Henry VI., Part I. 
 
 King Henry V. 
 
 King Henry VI., Parti. 
 
 Cymbeline. 
 
 Twelfth Night. 
 
 Much Ado About Nothing. 
 
 Romeo and Juliet. 
 
 King Richard II. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 i 
 
SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. 
 
 .1283 
 
 All's Well that Ends Well. 
 
 Othello. 
 
 Taming of the Shrew. 
 
 King John. 
 
 Taming of the Shrew. 
 
 Bertram, . *f I ^:ii Count of Rousil Ion, . wKiKt 
 Bianca, . . ;/ ;* nornD" Mistress of Cassio, . w;.'T>3. 
 Bianca, . . n.".H ^rv/i Sister of Katharine, . **Jfc 
 Bigot, Robert, n o-:jji* Earl of Norfolk, -iti.v :.,->rw::iav.^, 
 Biondello, .;?*fi>fi*-o:>:jf ' Servant of Lucentio, . 
 Biron, . ! r i ^-rr^r -rk A Lord Attendant xjn the King 
 
 of Navarre, . Love's Labour 's Lost. 
 
 Bishop of Carlisle, King Richard IL 
 
 Bishop of Ely, King Henry V. 
 
 Bishop of Ely, . . John Morton, .... King Richard HI. 
 
 Bishop of Lincoln, King Henry VIIL 
 
 Bishop of Winchester, . Gardiner, . . i*V , w . . King Henry VIIL 
 
 Blanch,. . r;; >:.:>. Niece of King John, . . King John. 
 
 B hunt, Sir James, ; <tn. King Richard III. 
 
 .5/ww/, Ar #fcter, . Friend of Henry IV., ) ,..* , King Henry IV., Pts, L, IL 
 
 Bolingbroke, in* '*;! vJ>" A Conjuror, .... King Henry VI M Part II. 
 
 Bolingbroke, . y) /u:L'. Afterwards Henry IV., ;.. >. % King Richard II. 
 
 ^a, . i.a-JiJ.yoY*/ Sister of the French Quteen, . King Henry V.I. , Part III, 
 
 Borachio, ,^ t *i / -jl ' -j("l Follower of Don John, .ftiq->.' Much Ado About Nothing* 
 
 Bottom,. . . . The Weaver, /r-> :?.'' .SK..1.A Midsummer Night's Dream. 
 
 j&>#, .... A Servant, . . !;^-./;./ Pericles. 
 
 Bourbon, Duke of, King Henry V. 
 
 Bouchier, Cardinal, . Archbishop of Canterbury, . . King Richard III. 
 Boyet, .... A Lord attending on the Princess 
 
 of France, . : \l -'h^gai?* Love's Labour's Lost 
 
 Brabantio, . . . A Senator, . . T^o:iV Othello. 
 
 Brakenbury, Sir Robert, . Lieutenant of the Tower, *Vl Kir/ King Richard III. 
 
 Brandon, .twru'l./ King Henry VIIL 
 
 Brutus, Junius, . . Tribune of the People, .;>-jh'l. . Coriolattus. 
 
 Brutus, Marcus, . . A Roman Conspirator, -g^"--'-l. ' Julius Caesar. 
 
 Buckingham, Duke of, King Richard III. 
 
 Buckingham, Duke of, . Of the King's Party, *;'.) ^a: . King Henry VI., Part II. 
 
 Buckingham, Duke of , fc.:l W". . King Henry VIIL 
 
 Bullcalf, . . . A Recruit, . ,;..; U ifw- King Henry IV., Part II. 
 
 Bullen, Anne, . . Afterwards Queen, ^.M'.' ami* /. , King Henry VIIL 
 
 Burgundy, Duke of, u" : f ;inuo\'.>. King Henry V. 
 
 Burgimdy, D^^ke of, . . ... . . . King Henry VI. , Part I. 
 
 Burgimdy, Duke of, King Lear. 
 
 Bushy, . "Creature" of Richard II., . King Richard II. 
 
 Butts, Dr. . .<-;bii-^ Physician to Henry VIIL, !-'-vc*r King Henry VIIL 
 
 Cade,Jack^ . A Rebel, . . .- - : ^ -':,^ ; King Henry VI., Part IL 
 
 Cadwal, . <<i^H jia Arviragus in Disguise, . . Cymbeline. 
 
 Ccesar, Octavius, A Triumvir, . . :>.in.r.'v Antony and Cleopatra. 
 
 Caithness, . -n W/raf A Scottish Nobleman, : ' lo ><^ Macbeth. 
 
 Caz'w^, Dr., . A French Physician, . -' .vifivv^ Merry Wives of Windsor. 
 
 Caius, Lucius, General of Roman Forces, . Cymbeline. 
 
 Caius Marcius Coriolanu , A Noble Roman, . . Coriolanus. 
 
 Calchas, . .' y;vX A Trojan Priest, . -r: * M Troilus and Cressida. 
 
 Caliban, . A Savage and Deformed S ave, . The Tempest. 
 
 Calphumia, . Wife of Caesar, . --U Jo wv . Julius Caesar. 
 
 Cambridge, Earl of A Conspirator, . . . King Henry V. 
 
 Camilla, . A Sicilian Lord, .-.-VA Vxv^i r-y:' Winter's Tale. 
 
 Campeitis, Cardinal, King Henry VIIL 
 
 Canidius, . . . Lieutenant-General of Antony, . Antony and Cleopatra* 
 
 Canterbury, Archbishop of, Cardinal Bouchier, c*j-.;H alrfoVi/ King Richard III. 
 
 Canterbury, Archbishopof, King Henry V. 
 
1284 
 
 INDEX TO THE CHARACTERS IN 
 
 Canterbury, Archbishopof, 
 
 Cranmer, . .-- *rff :.'! i^-.'/I jc Jr^-J 
 
 King Henry VIII. 
 
 Caphis, .... 
 
 A Servant, . . . ori^f/. 
 
 Timon of Athens. 
 
 Capucius, , - KV-iuJfryi'T 
 
 Ambassador from Charles V. , 
 
 King Henry VIII. 
 
 Capulet, , i^I. 3?J^ 
 
 At variance with Montague, ' lv: i 
 
 Romeo and Juliet. 
 
 Capulet, Lady, K>.uarys.T 
 
 Wife of Capulet, . . .uvj^ 
 
 Romeo and [uliet. 
 
 Cardinal Beaufort, 
 
 Bishop of Winchester, 'A .fcwJ. A 
 
 King Henry" VI., Part II. 
 
 Cardinal Bouchier, ':, ''*. \ 1 
 
 Archbishop of Canterbury, 
 
 King Richard III. 
 
 
 
 King Henry VIII. 
 
 Cardinal Paiidulph , . .; i;i >I 
 
 The Pope's Legate, . 
 
 King John. 
 
 Cardinal Wolsey, . i.i/. 
 
 ' . . . . h(}M :itf-/; 
 
 King Henry VIII. 
 
 Carlisle, Bishop of, '; '^ 
 
 
 King Richard II. 
 
 Casca, . . . "i-yi 
 Cassandra, . i; r . y;;*-- 
 
 A Roman Conspirator, . :':>.;.. 
 Daughter of Priam, . 
 
 Julius Caesar. 
 Troilus and Cressida. 
 
 Cassio, . . .:",. -^ .v'^.i 
 
 Lieutenant to Othello, 
 
 Othello. 
 
 Cassius, 
 
 A Roman Conspirator, . 'V/ji-i -.; 
 
 Julius Caesar. 
 
 Catesby, Sir William, . 
 
 . . . { to's if tried A 
 
 King Richard III. 
 
 Cato, Young,. bj^' grjJM 
 
 Friend of Brutus and Cassius, . 
 
 Julius Caesar. 
 
 Cfe//a, . . tall a 1 ^- 
 
 Daughter of Frederick, 
 
 As You Like it. 
 
 Cmtf, /- f ; ;o4>. ofaA rbu' ' 
 
 A Spirit, . . . . .ofu/'l 
 
 The Tempest. 
 
 Cerimon, " iHpinabiM 
 
 A Lord of Ephesus, . s -.;;// o;.'T 
 
 Pericles. 
 
 Charles, . .^br^l 
 
 A Wrestler, .... 
 
 As You Like it. 
 
 Charles, . -;;H >v>; 
 
 The Dauphin, .... 
 
 King Henry VI., Part I. 
 
 Charles VI., . ^iM. ojX 
 
 King of France, 3 U> qoci;tfnatA 
 
 King Henry V. 
 
 Charmian, 
 
 Attendant on Cleopatra } . toJ.A 
 
 Antony and Cleopatra. 
 
 Chatillon, 'iyocf/TtJ 2 1 9V<?1 
 
 Ambassador from France, . i "IQ- 
 
 King John. 
 
 Chiron, . . -> r i^iv;O 
 
 Son of Tamora, .... 
 
 Titus Andronicus. 
 
 CJiorus, . . 'oi/I >'v > 
 Christopher Sly, . .iv7 
 
 As a Prologue, . .-: ^ : , ( .ijf.">Jt/^vI 
 A Drunken Tinker, . 
 
 King Henry V. 
 Taming of the Shrew. 
 
 Christopher Urswick, '..>'.- 
 
 A Priest, . . . . V>nn:'s.;^ 
 
 King Richard III. 
 
 Cicero, . . -O tr !:[ 
 
 A Roman Senator, . 3 nsirro LA 
 
 Julius Caesar. 
 
 Cinna, . v'^iii-i^-L ;,' - 
 
 A Poet, 
 
 Julius Caesar. 
 
 Cinna, . . . .* - ; 
 
 A Roman Conspirator, . ;;[;. 
 
 Julius Caesar. 
 
 Clarence, Duke of, 
 
 Brother of Edward IV., . 
 
 King Richard III. 
 
 Clarence, Thomas, Duke of 
 
 Son of Henry IV., . . ;.>>C A 
 
 King Henry IV., Part II., 
 
 Claudia, [1'jC !, '^j ! ;*.. 
 
 A Young Gentleman, gbjuv.-istfA 
 
 Measure for Measure. 
 
 Claudia, . T ^vi;..l; w -i 
 
 A Young Florentine Lord, 
 
 Much Ado About Nothing. 
 
 Claudius, ; vi:"<u' >}* - ' 
 
 King of Denmark, 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Claudiiis, . Hi". i 'jujyt 
 
 Servant of Brutus, 
 
 Julius Caesar. 
 
 Cleomenes, I ins:'-^^- _,,. ( 
 
 A Sicilian Lord, >i \-j : ' i-i?Ti--5-j " 
 
 Winter's Tale. 
 
 Cleon, . IV in/t^i ^- : 
 
 Governor of Tharsus, ! ivi'. .,v l i 
 
 Pericles. 
 
 Cleopatra, 
 Clifford, Lord, . ,!! 7^r/i 
 
 Queen of Egypt, 
 Of the King's Party, . 
 
 Antony and Cleopatra. 
 Henry VI., Parts II. & III. 
 
 Clifford, Young, :a\-*^. .., -.., 
 
 Son of Lord Clifford, i r^ginn-sA 
 
 King Henry VI., Part II. 
 
 Clitus, . . ;r, v -.. / 
 
 Servant of Brutus, . ^ivcfit/iill A 
 
 Julius Caesar. 
 
 Cloten, . . .sl^dD^*/. 
 
 Son of the Queen, . 1 il?iJJo^. A 
 
 Cy mbeline . 
 
 Clown, . {3.S3&V&- -\ . :i 1 ' 
 
 Servant to Mrs. Overdone, i ri A 
 
 Measure for Measure. 
 
 Clown, . . . niiaL:;.,/ > 
 
 Servant to Olivia, . . ,isni>O 
 
 Twelfth Night. 
 
 Cobweb, . . '**;..'_.) 
 
 
 Midsummer Night's Dream, 
 
 Colville, Sir John, . 4^'x' 
 
 Enemy to the King, . 1 -rui^oiT. A 
 
 King Henry IV., Part II. 
 
 Cominius, . jivT s^;T 
 
 General against the Volscians, 
 
 Coriolanus. 
 
 Conrade, . -fv) , ^?ii;i 
 
 Follower of Don John, . > oliyJ/ 
 
 Much Ado About Nothing, 
 
 Constable of France, 
 
 . rftiqanc'* A 
 
 King Henry V. 
 
 Constance, .j'jiT gVjiniW 
 
 Mother of Arthur, . _{ niiibiS A 
 
 King John. 
 
 Cordelia, (' viiT^H j.-vvt 
 
 Daughter of Lear, . ... ^ 
 
 King Lear. 
 
 Corin, . . nq&^aoia^ 
 
 A Shepherd, . - ;V' 1 -. 
 
 As You Like it. 
 
 Coriolanus, . i>i ^; i>i 
 
 A Noble Roman, 
 
 Coriolanus. 
 
 Cornelius, * '{in.kil grtC$ 
 
 A Courtier, . . . ' 
 
 I lamlet. 
 
SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. 
 
 1285 
 
 Cornelius , . . - * 
 Cornwall, Duke of, 
 Costard^ . i" 
 
 Count of Rousillon, 
 Countess of Auvergne, 
 Countess of Rousillon, 
 
 A Physician, 
 
 Cranmer, 
 Cressida, 
 Cromwell^ 
 Cur an) . 
 
 Curtis, . 
 
 Dame Quickly, 
 DardaniuS) . .'* 
 Dauphin) The) 
 Davy) . . /'' 
 Decius Brutus ) .-'^ 
 DeiphobuS) . .'-* 
 DemetiiuS) 
 Demetrius, 
 Demetrius ) ; 1 T ''' ; 
 Dennis ) . . <H 
 Denny ) Sir Anthony) 
 DercetaS) 
 
 Diana) . 
 Diana, . 
 
 A Clown, 
 
 Mother to Bertram, . 
 
 Soldier in King's Army, 
 
 Archbishop of Canterbury, 
 
 Daughter to Calchas, 
 
 Servant to Wolsey, . 
 
 A Courtier, .... 
 
 Attendant on the Duke of Illyria, 
 
 Servant to Petruchio, . 
 
 King of Britain, . . . -j ' '.1 
 
 Hostess of a Tavern, . 4 <-i j: 
 Servant to Brutus, . -'i c;- 
 Louis, . . >^crt5 -i.;'-;: 
 Servant to Shallow, . 
 A Roman Conspirator, 
 Son to Priam, . 
 Friend to Antony, 
 In Love with Hermione, . 
 Son to Tamora, : . ^ 'ii 
 Servant to Oliver, 
 
 Friend to Antony, . 2- ; '3 
 Wife to Othello, us'U^ni^ 
 Daughter to Widow, . Jjn'^ 
 
 DiomedeS) 
 
 DiomedeS) 
 
 Dion, . > s ('' r; -; i - .- v 
 
 Dionyza, . *>- .= -> 
 
 Doctor Butts ) 
 
 Doctor CaiuS) V 
 
 Dogberry) 
 
 Doll Tearsheet) .' ' - V- 
 
 Dolabella, 
 
 Domitius EnobarbuS) 
 
 Don Adriano de ArmadO) 
 
 Don John, 
 
 Don Pedro, . 
 
 DorcaS) . . 
 Dorset) Marquis of) 
 Douglas ) Earl of ) . 
 Dromio of EphesuS) 
 Droniio of Syracuse ) 
 Duchess of Gloster) 
 Dtichess of York) . 
 Duress of York, . 
 Duke) The) . 
 Duke of Albany , . 
 Duke of AlencoH) . 
 Dnke of Aumerle, . 
 
 A Follower of Jack Cade, . 
 A Grecian Commander, 
 Attendant on Cleopatra, 
 A Sicilian Lord, - "'.' > :'j <V r 
 Wife to Cleon, . . ;>* i 
 Physician to Henry VIII., 
 A French Physician, . .>. : a'v?n 
 A Foolish Officer, . -Ji: ^ic 
 A Bawd, . . . : ;.vX 
 Friend to Caesar, arrsfcteo^Ho 
 Friend to Antony, 
 A Fantastical Spaniard, 
 Bastard Brother to Don Pedro, 
 Prince of Arragon, . .'.bijsdi 
 Son to King Duncan, : i ipi 
 A Shepherdess, . . - . 
 
 Cymbeline. 
 
 King Lear. 
 
 Love's Labour's Lost. 
 
 All 's Well that Ends Well. 
 
 King Henry VI. , Part I. 
 
 All 's Well that Ends Well. 
 
 King Henry V. 
 
 King Henry VIII. 
 
 Troilus and Cressida. 
 
 King Henry VIII. 
 
 King Lear. 
 
 Twelfth Night. 
 
 Taming of the Shrew. 
 
 Cymbeline. 
 
 Archibald, . ryioM.nj.' 
 /Twin Brothers : Attendants on 
 \ two Antipholuses, . 
 
 Mother to King Edward IV. , 
 Living in Exile, .- . 
 
 Son to Duke of York, . . 
 
 King Henry IV., Pts. I., II. 
 
 Julius Caesar. 
 
 King John. 
 
 King Henry IV., Part II. 
 
 Julius Caesar. 
 
 Troilus and Cressida. 
 
 Antony and Cleopatra. 
 . Midsummer Night's Dream. 
 
 Titus Andronicus. 
 
 As You Like it. 
 
 King Henry VIII. 
 
 Antony and Cleopatra. 
 
 Othello. 
 
 All 's Well that Ends Well. 
 
 Pericles. 
 
 King Henry VI., Part II. 
 
 Troilus and Cressida. 
 
 Antony and Cleopatra. 
 i<v> Winter's Tale. 
 ^ ' Pericles. 
 
 King Henry VIII. 
 
 Merry Wives of Windsor. 
 
 Much Ado About Nothing. 
 
 King Henry IV., Part II. 
 
 Antony and Cleopatra. 
 
 Antony and Cleopatra. 
 
 Love's Labour 's Lost. 
 
 Much Ado About Nothing, 
 
 Much Ado About Nothing, 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Winter's Tale. 
 
 King Richard III. 
 
 King Henry IV., Part I. 
 
 the | Comedy of Errors. 
 
 King Richard II. 
 King Richard II. 
 King Richard III. 
 As You Like it. 
 King Lear. 
 
 JO King Henry VI., Part I. 
 King Richard II. 
 
1286 
 
 INDEX TO THE CHARACTERS IN 
 
 Duke of Bedford, . 
 Duke of Bedford, . 
 Duke of Bourbon, . '- v 
 Duke of Buckingham, '. 
 Duke of Buckingham, ^ 
 Duke of Buckingham, s,\ 
 Duke of Burgundy, 3 
 Duke of Burgundy, 
 Duke of Burgundy, l 
 Duke of Clarence, . 
 Duke of Clarence, Thomas, 
 Duke of Cornwall, . 
 Duke of Exeter^ \& 
 Duke of Exeter, ;>v* 
 Z>wtf of Florence, . 
 Duke of Gloster, . 
 Duke of Gloster, 
 Duke of Gloster * , 
 
 Z>w^ 0^ Lancaster, . 
 Z>w>& of Milan, a 
 Z>&? of Norfolk, . 
 Z>&? of Norfolk, . 
 Duke of Norfolk, . 
 Z>&? ofNorfolk^.\ 
 Duke of Orleans, . 
 Z>/k ^ Oxford, a* 
 Duke of Somerset, . 
 Duke of Suffolk, . 
 Z>w&? of Suffolk, 
 Duke of Surrey, ,rt 
 Z>#/& <?/" Venice, n* 
 Zto/fe ^/" Venice, 
 Duke of York, 
 Duke of York, . 
 
 Brother to King Henry V., 
 Regent of France, 
 
 H 
 
 Duntain, 
 Duncan, 
 
 Earl Berkley, .iVs* 
 Earl of Cambridge, 
 Earl of Douglas, ,A, b^ 
 Earl of Essex, 
 Earl of Gloster, &* ;n * 
 Earl of Kent, 
 Earl of March, *H ^i 
 Earl of March t . r-^. 
 Earl of Northumberland, 
 Earl of Northumberland, 
 Earl of Northumberland, 
 Earl of Northumberland, 
 Earl of Oxford, :.. io*/" 
 Earl of Pembroke^ *>J poi 
 Earl of Pembroke , H gni 
 Earl of Richmond^ . 
 
 Of the King's Party, . 
 
 Brother to King Edward IV., 
 Son to King Henry IV. , . 
 
 Uncle to King Henry V., . 
 Of the King's Party, . HJ 
 
 Afterwards King Richard 
 Brother to King Henry V. 
 Uncle and Protector to 
 
 Henry VI., . 
 Uncle to King Richard II 
 Father to Silvia, 
 Thomas Mowbray, 
 
 III., . 
 'King 
 
 Of the Duke's Party, 
 
 Of the King's Party, . 
 Of the King's Party, . 
 Of the King's Party, . 
 
 Cousin to the King, . . ; \-'-'\ 
 Uncle to King Richard II., . -V 
 Son to King Edward IV., . 
 A Constable, .... 
 A Lord attendant on the King 
 of Navarre, .... 
 King of Scotland, . ,:> s>> bntjii 
 
 A Conspirator, . : - .-*-: 
 
 Archibald, . 
 
 Geoffrey Fitz- Peter, . 
 
 Edward Mortimer, . . 
 Afterwards King Edward IV., 
 
 Henry Percy, , . . . . ; 
 
 Enemy to the King, . - . . 
 
 Of the King's Party, . J. ? .;. 
 
 William Mareshall, ! .' '!'' * 
 
 Of the Duke's Party, . . 
 
 King Henry V. 
 
 King Henry VI., Part I. 
 
 King Henry V. 
 
 King Richard III. 
 
 King Henry VI. , Parti. 
 
 King Henry VIII. 
 
 King Lear. 
 
 King Henry V. 
 
 King Henry VI. , Parti. 
 
 King Richard III. 
 
 King Henry IV., Part II. 
 
 King Lear. 
 
 King Henry V. 
 
 King Henry VI., Part III. 
 
 All 's Well that Ends Well. 
 
 King Richard III. 
 
 King Henry V. 
 
 King Henry VI. , Part HI. 
 
 King Richard II. 
 
 Two Gentlemen of Verona. 
 
 King Richard II. 
 
 King Richard III. 
 
 King Henry VI., Part II L 
 
 King Henry VIII. 
 
 King Henry V. 
 
 King Henry VI., Part IIL 
 
 Henry VI. , Parts II. , III. 
 
 King Henry VI., Part II. 
 
 King Henry VIII. 
 
 King Richard II. 
 
 Merchant of Venice. 
 
 Othello. 
 
 King Henry V. 
 
 King Richard II. 
 
 King Richard III. 
 
 Love's Labour's Lost. 
 
 Love's Labour 's Lost. 
 Macbeth. 
 
 King Richard II. 
 
 King Henry V. 
 
 King Henry IV., Part I. 
 
 King John. 
 
 King Lear. 
 
 King Lear. 
 
 King Henry IV., Part I. 
 
 King Henry VI., Part III. 
 
 King Richard II. 
 
 KingHenryIV.,Pts.I.,Il 
 
 King Henry IV. , Part II. 
 
 King Henry VI., Part III. 
 
 King Richard III. 
 
 King John. 
 
 King Henry VI., Part III. 
 
 King Richard III. 
 
SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. 
 
 1287 
 
 Earl of Salisbury, . 
 Earl of Salisbury, . 
 Earl of Salisbury, . '. 
 Earl of Salisbury, . . 
 Earl of Suffolk, 
 Earl of Surrey, . .^ 
 Earl of Surrey, 
 Earl of Warwick, . 
 Earl of Warwick, . 
 Earl of Warwick, . 
 Earl of Westmoreland, . 
 Earl of Westmoreland, . 
 Earl of Westmoreland, . 
 Earl of Worcester , j Uj;. 
 Earl River s t ."^V"".'"' '' '*' 
 Edgar, . ^' / '> ' vr |' 
 Edm und, P" 7 ! * y . 'P$1 
 Edmund, . . i " rf - : J~ 
 Edmund Mortimer, 
 Edmund Mortimer, 
 Edmund of Langley, 
 Edward, 
 Edward, 
 
 Edward Prime of Wales, 
 Edward I V. , King, 
 Edward Earl of March, . 
 Egeus, . ' ''' "I ' " f ' : ."' ' '-.' 
 Eglamour, . - r v I>;i ' ;i; J' 
 Elbow, .... 
 Eleanor, . r ' * . r$ 
 Elinor, .... 
 Elizabeth, . ." : ,- %' 
 
 William Longsword, . 
 
 Of the York Faction, . 
 Son to Duke of Norfolk, 
 Of the King's Party, . 
 
 Of the York Faction, . 
 Friend to King Henry IV., 
 
 Of the King's Party, . ' ly 
 Thomas Percy, . . -T.T-* 
 
 Son to Gloster, . Cl'ojfcawijii: 
 Earl of Rutland, . - 
 Bastard Son to Gloster, 
 Earl of March, . 
 Earl of March, . 
 Duke of York, . 
 Prince of Wales, 
 Son to Plantagenet, . 
 Son to King Henry VI. , . 
 
 Afterwards King Edward IV. 
 Father to Hermia, . ^^tt 
 Agent for Silvia, . w * 
 A Simple Constable, . 
 Duchess of Gloster, 
 
 Ely, Bishop of, *.'^ 
 Emilia,. --" -'' ' -- "' 
 Emilia, . . J r-"/" 
 Enobarbus, Domitius, 
 Eros, .... 
 Erpingham, Sir Thomas, 
 Escalus, 
 
 Escalus, . . 
 Escanes, 
 Essex, Earl of, 
 Eitphronius, . ,. _ . 
 Evans, Sir Hugh, . 
 Exeter, Duke of, . 
 Exeter, Duke of, . 
 Exiled Duke, 
 
 Mother to King John, 
 Queen to King Edward IV., 
 John Morton, . . ~ 7 
 
 Wife to lago, . >( . w<4 
 A Lady, . . ; ^ -;..' X 
 Friend to Antony, 
 Friend to Antony, . * ; 'i 
 Officer in the King's Army, 
 A Lord of Vienna, 
 Prince of Verona, 
 A Lord of Tyre, 
 Geoffrey Fitz-Peter, r ' ~l 
 An Ambassador, ' ' '. f>* 
 A Welsh Parson, . " (j 
 Uncle to Henry V., . i''i 
 Of the King's Party, . 
 
 Fabian, .... Servant to Olivia, . .--"j'S 
 Falconbridge, Lady, . Mother to Robert and Philip, 
 Falconbridge, Philip, . Bastard Son to King Richard L, 
 Falconbridge, Robert, . Son to Sir Robert Falconbridge, 
 
 Falstaff, Sir John, 
 
 Falstaff, Sir John, . 
 
 Fang, . 
 
 Fastolfe, Sir John, . 
 
 "A Sheriffs Officer, . 
 
 King John. 
 
 King Richard II. 
 
 King Henry V. 
 
 King Henry VI., Pts. I., II. 
 
 King Henry VI., Parti. 
 
 King Richard III. 
 
 King Henry VIII. 
 
 King Henry IV. , Part II. 
 
 King Henry V. 
 
 Henry VI., Pts. I., II., III. 
 
 King Henry IV., Pts. I., II. 
 
 King Henry V. 
 
 King Henry VI., Part III. 
 
 King Henry IV., Pts. L, II. 
 
 King Richard III. 
 
 King Lear. 
 
 King Henry VI., Part III. 
 
 King Lear. 
 
 King Henry IV., Part I. 
 
 King Henry VI., Parti. 
 
 King Richard II. 
 
 King Richard III. 
 
 King Henry VI., Part II. 
 
 King Henry VI., Part III. 
 
 King Richard III. 
 
 King Henry VI., Part III. 
 
 Midsummer Night's Dream. 
 
 Two Gentlemen of Verona. 
 
 Measure for Measure. 
 
 King Henry VI., Part II. 
 
 King John. 
 
 King Richard III. 
 
 King Richard III. 
 
 King Henry V. 
 
 Othello. 
 
 Winter's Tale. 
 
 Antony and Cleopatra. 
 
 Antony and Cleopatra. 
 
 King Henry V. 
 
 Measure for Measure. 
 
 Romeo and Juliet. 
 
 Pericles. 
 
 King John. 
 
 Antony and Cleopatra. 
 
 Merry Wives of Windsor. 
 
 King Henry V. 
 
 King Henry VI., Part IIL 
 
 As You Like It. 
 
 Twelfth Night. 
 
 King John. 
 
 King John. 
 
 King John. 
 
 King Henry IV., Pts. I., II. 
 
 Merry Wives of Windsor. 
 
 King Henry IV., Part II. 
 
 King Henry VI., Part I. 
 
1288 
 
 INDEX TO THE CHARACTERS IN 
 
 Feeble, . . .': f wl 
 
 
 King Henry IV. , Part II. 
 
 Fenton, . . :,. 
 Ferdinand^ ' r . ( : . - , 
 Ferdinand, 
 Fitz-Peter, Geoffrey, 
 
 .;i J 'i A Young Gentleman, 
 ij.'iwl King of Navarre, 
 Son to the King of Naples, ;l! "O 
 SniX ; Earl of Essex, .... 
 
 Merry Wives of Windsor. 
 Love's Labour 's Lost. 
 The Tempest. 
 King John. 
 King Richard II. 
 
 Flaminius, " . r.:'-..-li 
 Flavius, 71. ;:.,.. 'I 
 Flavins, ."/. ./-' :_>JI ; 
 Fleance, . . VI 71 
 Florence, Duke of, . 
 
 :;riivL Servant to Timon, 
 gfliX A Roman Tribune, . ;'>], sd VO 
 inLX Steward to Timon, . ' . 
 nail Son to Banquo, . j i; .'. x-'<L s ; j: > 
 
 Timon of Athens. 
 Julius Caesar. 
 Timon of Athens. 
 Macbeth. 
 All's Well that Ends Well. 
 All 's Well that Ends Well. 
 
 Florizel, . 
 Fluellen, J\p&&\ 
 Flute, . -nfiihiSL ; 
 ^br^, J/r., . -jj ^ 
 /^/, ^/rj-., . sH j 
 Fortinbras, . t*I j 
 France, King of , >\\ * 
 France, King of , . 
 
 jfiw! Son to Polixenes, . . ?>i .;.;[' k 
 pt>I Officer in King's Army, 
 ulfai-i The Bellowsmender, . 
 jni/i A Gentleman Dwelling at Windsor, 
 
 jd^ Prince of Norway, . '- * .;-.': 
 
 Winter's Tale. 
 King Henry V. 
 Midsummer Night's Dream. 
 Merry Wives of Windsor. 
 Merry Wives of Windsor. 
 Hamlet. 
 All 's Well that Ends Well. 
 King Lear. 
 Love's Labour 's Lost. 
 
 Francisca, Ix/:;-^! ; 
 Francisco, ' . ^ noil ^ 
 Francisco, t .-nrtaH J 
 Frederick, . .jjf] r 
 Friar John, . /s,[ ; 
 Friar Lawrence, .,.-.. 
 Froth, . )fW9lift.V)< 
 
 A Nun, . . .,.^7/-- J . ,;,-, 
 |0i# A Soldier, . . *:.jjf5J.oi n8 
 . v; A Lord of Naples, . . , ; - 
 i : aiJ Brother to the Exiled Duke, 
 jfiKtf A Franciscan, . < .;r!' r f :^j ^./,.<>W. 
 f;if/[ A Franciscan, . .ii'i^H. r.-j-f.>ri;'-i 
 ,vjbT A Foolish Gentleman, ^ j : . ,-./_ 
 
 Measure for Measure. 
 Hamlet. 
 The Tempest. 
 As You Like It. 
 Romeo and Juliet. 
 Romeo and Juliet. 
 Measure for Measure. 
 
 Gadshill, . .{ If: .^i o n i;-{ 
 
 Galhis, . . .nil->T gm* 
 
 Gardiner, 
 
 Gargrave, Sir Thomas, . 
 
 Geoffrey Fitz-Peter, 
 
 George, .... 
 
 George, . .N.T fh^c.iJf 
 
 George, . . i rapport* A 
 
 Gertrude, 
 
 Ghost of Hamlets Father, 
 
 Glansdale, Sir William, 
 
 Glendower, Owen, ., ^ra^/L 
 
 Gloster, Duchess of, . 
 
 Gloster, Duke of, [ ^nr^ 
 
 Gloster, Duke of, ,/ao j >/. 
 
 Gloster, Duke of, . 
 
 Gloster, Earl of, . 
 
 Gloster, Prince Htimphrey 
 
 Gobbo, Launcelot, . 
 
 Gobbo, Old, . 
 
 Gonerili 
 
 Gonzalo, 
 
 Gower, .... 
 
 Gower, . 
 
 Cower, . . .yivjl/I 
 
 Grandpree, . i\\:1JI 
 
 Gratiano, . . , 
 
 Follower of Sir John Falsiaff, 
 Friend to Caesar, j.;.; 1 - C : *j >d 
 Bishop of Winchester, c > . 
 
 Earl of Essex, . 
 
 A Follower of Cade, . 
 
 Duke of Clarence, . , v ; .,. 
 
 Duke of Clarence, . ; ; 
 
 Queen of Denmark, . ,.o>^i 
 
 Brother to King Henry V. , 
 Uncle and Protector to King 
 
 Henry VI 
 
 Afterwards King Richard III., . 
 
 of, Son to King Henry IV., . 
 Servant to Shylock, . 
 Father to Launcelot Gobbo, 
 Daughter to King Lear, .^'/Wl 
 Councillor of Naples,. : -, rf\z\r.ti 
 As Chorus, . . .- , v 
 Of the King's Party, T, '. . %: 
 Officer in King's Army . ^ ', 
 A French Lord, 
 Brother to Brabantio, 
 
 King Henry IV., Part I. 
 
 Antony and Cleopatra. 
 
 King Henry VIII. 
 
 King Henry VI., Parti. 
 
 King John. 
 
 King Henry VI., Part II. 
 
 King Henry VI., Part III. 
 
 King Richard III. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 King Henry VI., Parti. 
 
 King Henry IV., Part I. 
 
 King Richard II. 
 
 King Henry V. 
 
 King Henry VI., Part III. 
 
 King Richard III. 
 
 King Lear. 
 
 King Henry IV., Part II. 
 
 Merchant of Venice. 
 
 Merchant of Venice. 
 
 King Lear. 
 
 The Tempest. 
 
 Pericles. 
 
 King Henry IV., Part II. 
 
 King Henry V. 
 
 King Henry V. 
 
 Othello. 
 
SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. 
 
 1289 
 
 Gratiano, c ">'' r ,..- 
 
 Friend to Antonio and Bassanio, 
 
 Merchant of Venice. 
 
 Green, . .', . ; "''- 
 
 " Creature " to King Richard II., 
 
 King Richard II. 
 
 Gregory, ''/''T*'. "'* ' 
 
 Servant to Capulet, . . ~1 / 
 
 Romeo and Juliet. 
 
 . 
 Gremio, . . . J /S 
 
 Suitor to Bianca, 
 
 Taming of the Shrew. 
 
 Grey, Lady, . . ;;*"/ 
 
 Queen to King Edward IV. , 
 
 King Henry VI., Part III. 
 
 Grey, I^ord, . 
 
 
 King Richard III. 
 
 Grey, Sir Thomas, 
 
 A Conspirator, .... 
 
 King Henry V. 
 
 Griffith, '*' ' : "' v--' 
 
 Gentleman- Usher to Queen Katharine 
 
 ,King Henry VIII. 
 
 Grumio, 
 
 Servant to Petruchio, 
 
 Taming of the Shrew. 
 
 Guiderius, . . -' 
 
 Son to Cymbeline, . . -"'j '1. 
 
 Cymbeline. 
 
 Guildenstern , . >'-'* 
 
 A Courtier, '-'~ , * '{i*sJ H 3 ;irvj!>r 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Gttildford, Sir Henry, ^y*. 
 
 . ".*/. : 'sA yi '-"j 'jtflC' 
 
 King Henry VIII. 
 
 Gurney, James, 
 
 Servant to Lady Falconbridge, . 
 
 King John. 
 
 Hamlet, .'l^'.il .*'.>./ 
 
 Prince of Denmark, . "'.-* hio.1 "A 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Harcourt, . . i f ' 
 
 Of the King's Party, . "J iyjHgurf 
 
 King Henry IV., Part 11. 
 
 Hastings, Lord, . j>-"-' ; 
 
 Enemy to the King, . , o/. 1 - iyj! 
 
 King Henry IV., Part II. 
 
 Hastings, Lord, '.M ;;yi^ 
 
 Of the Duke's Party, . r ; ! o'i /. 
 
 Kfng Henry VI., Part III. 
 
 
 
 King Richard III. 
 
 Hecate, . ~t o^r :;.>;' 
 
 A Witch, . . . .;,^n/n''l7, 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Hector, . '.'''';,;- 
 
 Son to Priam, .... 
 
 Troilus and Cressida. 
 
 Helen, . . ;:'*; 
 
 Woman to Imogen, . u;.l.lo -br-UCt 
 
 Cymbeline. 
 
 Helen 
 
 Wife to Menelaus, . -rii>l o? e*? 
 
 Troilus and Cressida. 
 
 Helena, . ' ,^'v '?"' -'^ 
 
 A Gentlewoman, fi '; !TI --JT < J tor 
 
 All 's Well that Ends Well. 
 
 Helena, . T / /- .-; > ^r^i 
 
 In Love with Demetrius, . " '* 1. 
 
 Midsummer Night's Dream. 
 
 Helenus, rrrabgbO .,.'] 
 
 Son to Priam, . *.; ^ ' : 4 /bn I 7 
 
 Troilus and Cressida. 
 
 Helicanus, - ': *>.-'.* i-.--?:.^}/ 
 
 A Lord of Tyre, . ... 
 
 Pericles. 
 
 Henry, . r ':; i "V-! 
 
 Earl of Richmond, 
 
 King Richard III. 
 
 Henry Bolingbroke, 
 
 Afterwards King Henry IV., 
 
 King Richard II. 
 
 Henry, Earl of Richmond, 
 
 A Youth, 
 
 King Henry VI., Part III. 
 
 Henry Percy, . v f ' : 
 
 Son to Earl of Northumberland, 
 
 King' Richard II. 
 
 Henry Percy (Hotspur), 
 
 Son to Earl of Northumberland, 
 
 King Henry IV., Pts. I., II. 
 
 Henry Percy, 
 
 Earl of Northumberland, . 
 
 King Henry IV., Pts. I., II. 
 
 Henry, Prince, . .!"-- 
 Henry, Prince of Wales, 
 
 Son to King John, . . "'*"'. 
 Son to King Henry IV., . "foU A 
 
 King John. 
 King Henry IV., Pts. I., 1 1. 
 
 Henry IV., King, . r J 
 
 
 King Henry IV., Pts. I., II. 
 
 
 
 King Henry V. 
 
 Henry VI., King, . I0L-I 
 
 
 King Henry VI., Pts. I., II. 
 
 Henry VIII., King, ;'- : 
 
 ..... 
 
 King Henry VIII. 
 
 Herbert, Sir Walter, 
 
 
 King Richard III. 
 
 Hermia, . ^ - 
 
 Daughter to Egeus, . 
 
 Midsummer Night's Dream. 
 
 Hermione, . ;-> 
 
 Queen to Sicilia, 
 
 Winter's Tale. 
 
 Hero, 
 
 Daughter to Leonato, 
 
 Much Ado About Nothing. 
 
 Hippolyta, 
 Holofernes, 
 
 Queen of the Amazons, 
 A Schoolmaster, 
 
 Midsummer Night's Dream. 
 Love's Labour's Lost. 
 
 Horatio, 
 
 Friend to Hamlet, 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Horner, Thomas, . 
 
 An Armourer, .... 
 
 King Henry VI., Part II. 
 
 Hortensio, 
 
 Suitor to Bianca, 
 
 Taming of the Shrew. 
 
 Hortensius, . :'i/1 
 
 
 Timon of Athens. 
 
 Hostess, . 
 
 Character in the Induction, 
 
 Taming of the Shrew. 
 
 Hostess Quickly, . 
 
 Hostess of a Tavern, . . ^ '/*/ 
 
 King Henry IV., Pts. I., II. 
 
 Hotspur (Henry Percy), 
 
 Son to Earl of Northumberland, 
 
 King Henry IV., Pts. I., II. 
 
 Hubert de Burgh, . 
 
 Chamberlain to King John, :'jd: 7 . f 
 
 King John. 
 
 Hume, . . .'-". 
 
 A Priest, .... inui> 
 
 King Henry VI., Part II. 
 
 Humphrey, Duke of Gloster, Uncle to King Henry VI., 
 Humphrey, Prince o/ Gfaster,Son to Henry IV., . .-'. c 
 Huntsmen^ . . . Characters in the Induction, 
 
 King Henry VI., Part II. 
 King Henry IV., Part II. 
 Taming of the Shrew. 
 
1 290 
 
 INDEX TO THE CHARACTERS IN 
 
 lachimo, 
 
 lago, 
 
 Iden, Alexander, 
 
 Imogen, . < 
 
 Iras, 
 
 Iris, . IJ>ij 
 
 Isabel, . 
 
 Isabella, '> . . v 
 
 Friend to Philario, 
 Ancient to Othello, . 
 A Kentish Gentleman, 
 Daughter to Cymbeline, 
 Attendant on Cleopatra, 
 A Spirit, . 
 Queen of France, 
 Sister to Claudio, 
 
 Katharine, Princess, 
 Katharine, Queen, 
 Kent, Earl of, 
 King Edward IV. , 
 King Henry IV., . 
 King Henry V., 
 King Henry VI., . 
 King Henry VI II., 
 King John, . 
 King of France, ..! 
 King of France, 
 King Richard II. , . 
 King Richard III. , 
 
 Lady Anne, 4 T v^-nj 
 Lady Capulet, 
 Lady Fakonbridge, 
 
 Lady Grey, / \\\\\ 
 Lady Macbeth, 
 Lady Macduff, 
 
 Cymbeline. 
 
 Othello. 
 
 King Henry VI., Part II. 
 
 Cymbeline. 
 
 Antony and Cleopatra. 
 
 The Tempest. 
 
 King Henry V. 
 
 Measure for Measure. 
 
 King Henry VI., Part II. 
 
 King John. 
 
 King Henry V. 
 
 Love's Labour 's Lost. 
 
 As You Like It. 
 
 As You Like It. 
 
 Merchant of Venice. 
 
 King Henry VI., Parti. 
 
 King Henry IV., Part II. 
 
 Much Ado About Nothing. 
 
 Romeo and Juliet. 
 
 King John. 
 
 King Richard II. 
 
 King Henry IV., Pts. I., II. 
 
 King Henry VI., Part I. 
 
 King Henry VI. , Part II. 
 
 Two Gentlemen of Verona. 
 
 Measure for Measure. 
 
 Romeo and Juliet. 
 
 Julius Caesar. 
 
 Coriolanus. 
 
 The Tempest. 
 
 King Henry IV., Part II. 
 
 Taming of the Shrew. 
 
 of France, .... Love's Labour 's Lost. 
 Daughter to Chas. VI., King of France, King Henry V. 
 Wife to King Henry VIII., . King Henry VIII. 
 
 King Lear. 
 
 King Richard III. 
 
 King Henry IV., Pts. I., II. 
 
 King Henry V. 
 
 Henry VI., Pts. I., II., III. 
 
 King Henry VIII. 
 
 King John. 
 
 All's Well that Ends Well. 
 
 King Lear. 
 
 King Richard II. 
 . King Richard III. 
 
 Widow to Edward Prince of Wales, King Richard III. 
 
 Wife to Capulet, . . . Romeo and Juliet. 
 Mother to Robert and Philip Fal- 
 
 conbridge, .... King John. 
 Afterwards Queen to King Edward IV., King Henry VI., Part III. 
 
 Wife to Macbeth, . . , Macbeth. 
 
 Wife to Macduff, . . . Macbeth. 
 
 J CtC /V \s U'W'C' 9 . 
 
 James Gurney, ,. .telrriel 1 
 
 Servant to Lady Falconbridge, . 
 
 Jamy, . . fns>[( v*M 
 
 Officer in King's Army, 
 
 Jaquenetta, . grfo{ , ^sDi 
 
 A Country Wench, . . inavjis? 
 
 Jaques, . . . '. 
 
 Son to Sir Rowland de Bois, 
 
 Jaques, . . .Jufmell 
 
 A Lord attendant on Exiled Duke, 
 
 Jessica, . . >!-*iJ i^,, 1 
 
 Daughter to Shylock, 
 
 Joan la Puce lie, ru.-H ;:>-./? 
 
 Joan of Arc, . . f|j oi vm*n!: 
 
 John, . < Y <->'tt>fl jj*'V 
 
 A Follower of Cade, . . brfiH 
 
 John, Don, . . ' j % iii; 
 
 Bastard Brother to Don Pedro, . 
 
 John, Friar, . 
 
 A Franciscan, .... 
 
 John, King, . '*. x : VJ 
 
 .... -IJUtJl Ol iHOr 
 
 John of Gaunt, . ':/'"< 
 
 Duke of Lancaster, . ;.M;nm*)'/ 
 
 John, Prince of Lancaster, 
 
 Son to King Henry IV., . 3 sti'f. 
 
 John Talbot, . 
 
 Son to Lord Talbot, . 
 
 Jourdain, Margery, ->&i!/! 
 
 A Witch, . . . r,-.?v< I n 
 
 Julia, . . . <!ifc-..'i 
 
 A Lady of Verona, . 
 
 Juliet, .... 
 
 
 Juliet, . . rfviifl S 0LH 
 
 Daughter to Capulet, i-urV ! ?*' 
 
 Julius Ctzsar, 
 
 . -.""* t y!:'i^J. ' . : >iA^v.ji'-vh'^}': t 
 
 Junius Brutus, (;!{ (>' 
 
 Tribune of the People, . j-.'* / 
 
 Juno, . . <<ii/l'3i;H 
 
 A Spirit, . . / i- i-; . ; rf{ o j io< 
 
 Justice Shallow, 
 
 A Country Justice, . ia.it o: *oc 
 
 Katharina, . .'irio"! f 'jit>A 
 
 The Shrew, . . . ; *<_' 
 
 Katharine, . : n* H ' ga ' >f 
 
 A Lady attending on the Princess 
 
SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. 
 
 1291 
 
 Lady Montague, '> 
 Lady Mortimer, . v 
 Lady Northumberland, . 
 Lady Percy. . 
 Laertes, .... 
 Lafeu, . . J ! - : -i l r 
 Lancaster, Duke, of 
 Lancaster, Prince John of 
 Launce, .... 
 Launcelot Gobbo, .- r.mfi 
 Lawrence, Friar, .ftoBtigl 
 Lavinia, . -; i a s ^ 3>< vi 
 
 Le Beau, *iwaqHi 
 
 Lennox, . .>: 
 
 Leonardo, 
 
 Leonato, . . ' 
 Leonatus^Posthunius, 
 Leonine, . .' 
 Leontes, ... 
 Lepidus, M. 
 Ligarius, 
 
 Lincoln, Bishop of, 
 ' 
 
 Wife to Montague, . O'V^.i 
 Daughter to Glendower, . 
 
 Wife to Hotspur, 
 Son to Polonius, 
 An Old Lord, . 
 Uncle to King Richard II., 
 Son to King Henry IV., . 
 Servant to Proteus, . i f ' . 
 Servant to Shylock, , : ! . 
 A Franciscan, . . * ' i- 
 Daughter to Titus, 
 King of Britain, -v-'^ '-* 
 A Courtier, . ^ J "''-' 4'- 
 A Scottish Nobleman, -> '-if 
 Servant to Bassanio, . 
 Governor of Messina, -> ^ 
 Husband to Imogen, , r ' *. 
 Servant to Dionyza, . V 
 King of Sicilia, . PwjDJiM e 
 A Triumvir, , < '>* 
 A Roman Conspirator, 
 
 Lodovico, 
 Longaville, 
 
 Romeo and Juliet. 
 
 King Henry IV., PartL 
 
 King Henry IV.,, Part II. 
 
 King Henry IV., Part I. 
 
 Hamlet 
 
 All 's Well that Ends Well. 
 
 King Richard II. 
 
 King Henry IV., Pts,L y II. 
 
 Two Gentlemen of Verona, 
 
 Merchant of Venice. 
 
 Romeo and Juliet 
 
 Titus Andronicus. 
 
 King Lear. 
 
 As You Like It 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Merchant of Venice. 
 
 Much Ado About Nothing. 
 
 Cymbeline. 
 
 Pericles. 
 
 Winter's Tale. 
 
 Antony and Cleopatra. 
 
 Julius Caesar. 
 
 King Henry VIIL 
 
 Midsummer Night's Dream. 
 
 Othello. 
 
 A Character in the Interlude 
 
 Kinsman to Brabantio, 
 
 A Lord attendant on the King of 
 
 Navarre, -JO "'-';' . . Love's Labour's Lost 
 
 Longsivord, William, . Earl of Salisbury, ^>n<\<o . King John. 
 
 Lord, A, . -/ J 1 ;' Character in the Induction, . Taming of the Shrew. 
 
 Lord Abergavenny, M\\\}\ .... . . ;.jT *.%v!rj;l./' King Henry VIIL 
 
 Lord Bardolph, . . Enemy to the King r Y~> r ^ , King Henry IV., Part II. 
 
 Lord Chief-Justice, . . Of the King's Bench, Ofoi<iHA King Henry IV., Part II. 
 
 Lord Clifford, ui% I , ; . y ! Of the King's Party, iwy I^o h^'i King Henry VI., Pts. II., III. 
 
 Lord Fitzwater, . ; ^ . ^i;<t^ pujje-v' King Richard 1 1. 
 
 Lord Grey, . . . Son to Lady Grey, \ fv " ^i'^:> -v King Richard III. 
 
 Lord Hastings r *\.\ -:\\ ^;nf?.:j King Richard III. 
 
 Lord Hastings, '' ; ;- 'vi Enemy to the King, '& o. wo' <;V King Henry IV., Part II. 
 
 Zprfl? Hastings, U ; ^ v Of the Duke's Party, . . . King Henry VI., Part IIL 
 
 LordLovel, . v ; '- King Richard III. 
 
 Lord Mewbray^ U ^u 1 ^ Enemy to the King, . . **\?1 j:- King Henry IV., Part II. 
 
 Lord Rivers, . . . Brother to Lady Grey, - I/- King Henry VI., Part IIL 
 
 Lord Ross, . King Richard II. 
 
 Lord Sands, , King Henry VIIL 
 
 Lord Say, . % ?.' Itf. . , % King Henry VI., Part II. 
 
 Z0r<a? 5z/^, . -oi t>/inasV- Governor of the Tower, ^C sii'i" King Henry VL, Part II. 
 
 Lord Scroop, . &3nif A Conspirator, .... King Henry V. 
 
 Lord Stajford, <$ yni/I Of the Duke's Party, . . : .jfc King Henry VL T Psart IIL 
 
 Lord Stanley, -U a^' . ' - "^ s King Richard III. 
 
 Zord? Talbet, . : -. Afterwards Earl of Shrewsbury, . King Henry VT M Part I. 
 
 Lord Wilkughby, ...... ^Ji'J.o; rtqe King Richard II. 
 
 Lorenzo,. . . . The Lover of Jessica . . , Merchant of Venice. 
 
 Louis, the Dauphin, *3& oj^ooiv King John. 
 
 Z<wzV, ^<? Dauphin, King Henry V. 
 
 Louis XL, . . . King of France, sroQ^ oj>ni)ivl King Henry VL, Part IIL 
 
 Lovel, Lord, ij^sq^C^ oj>i 3 ivi King Richard III. 
 
 Lovell, Sir Thomas, . . . . . y/. oJ^flJo^ King Henry VIIL 
 
 . Servant to Luciana, QJ o3 jMiaixl Comedy of Errors. 
 
1292 
 
 INDEX TO THE CHARACTERS IN 
 
 Lucentio, ".j[ or:;-.?- mvi 
 Lucetta, '/I.TpcfslI ;,ntX 
 Luciana, I.'/i-n^tl ^n!vl 
 Lucilius, I. < , : 1 1 gni/f 
 Lucilitts, . .a'gim.&ri 
 Lucio, . v !<// ?.MIA 
 
 Son to Vincentio, . M *.' ott"*Y 
 Waiting- woman to Julia, . ^ -; { 
 Sister to Adriana, 
 Friend to Brutus and Cassius, 
 Servant to Timon, , V.-H-ot fK*fJ 
 A Fantastic, . . . Q ;V. 
 A Lord : Flatterer of Timon 
 
 Taming of the Shrew. 
 Two Gentlemen of Verona, 
 Comedy of Errors. 
 Julius Caesar. 
 Timon of Athens. 
 Measure for Measure. 
 
 Lucius , . '' L vinrH yriH 
 
 A Servant, . . - '. 
 
 Timon of Athens. 
 
 Lucius, . ;? : ;;*>' i:rT 
 Lucius, . 7.K, jfw;f f --::C : 
 Luculhis, . . .naI 
 Lucy, Sir William, vii'T 
 
 Servant to Brutus, 
 Son to Titus, . . tris-nrt 
 A Lord . Flatterer of Timon, 
 
 Julius Caesar. 
 Titus Andronicus. 
 Timon of Athens. 
 King Henry VI Part I 
 
 Lychorida, 
 Ly sander, r *>>ILf *;oY aA 
 Lysimachus, . .''tteijoaM 
 
 Macbeth, .'A obA rkn/l/T 
 Macbeth, Lady, -rUaJm/) 
 Macduff, . .asbiWf 
 Macduff, Lady, ^tainii'Y 
 Macmorris, . -, .vr;- -> rr A 
 Malcolm, . :i) ^i/r(tj^ 
 Malvolio, /.vin^II ijiiiH 
 Mamillius, 
 Marc Antony, '*oil- diO 
 
 Nurse to Marina, . * f }<; V -vi 
 In Love with Hermione, . 'j ./ 
 
 Governor of Mitylene, ; -.;*,,, --;>../.. 
 
 General of the King's Army, 
 Wife to Macbeth, . fourl-iiU 
 A Scottish Nobleman, . ; . *- 
 Wife to Macduff, . n -: k- gnfcH 
 Officer in King's Army, . iT^x 
 Son to King Duncan, fomt/A \ 
 Steward to Olivia, . . . . 
 Son to Leontesj m-rtJ-jjw^riO^. 
 
 Pericles. 
 Midsummer Night's Dream 
 Pericles. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 Macbeth. 
 Macbeth. 
 Macbeth. 
 King Henry V. 
 Macbeth. 
 Twelfth Night. 
 Winter's Tale. 
 Antony and Cleopatra. 
 
 Marcellus, 
 
 An Officer, . . = , i <, ] % - 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 March, Earl of, j. >V/c*I 
 MarciuSf Young, 
 Marcus Andronicits, .fjT 
 Marcus Antonius, . 
 Marcus Brutus, -\\ [ yfeA 
 Mardictn, . ,\\ ^r.'~/l 
 Mareshall, William, aVA 
 Margarelon, . >\X ^tri'l 
 Margaret, . j'tirl v' ff t>j; 
 Margaret, r *: ,rf-)i-.i -jifriX 
 Margaret, . -^H :? -v-r 
 Margaret, Queen, . :l>. 
 Margaret, . -)i^{ ^ifi/L 
 Margery Jourdain, 
 Maria, . "/,7Tn3iI paii/r 
 
 Edward Mortimer, . g.-sc/K/l* 
 Son to Coriolanus, . x . h s : i 
 Tribune: Brother to Titus, .ir.iilJ 
 A Roman Triumvir, . 
 A Roman Conspirator, oj^/.-notki 
 Attendant on Cleopatra, . 'j V 
 Earl of Pembroke, . .;iTt y : -'j V 
 Bastard Son to Priam, 
 Daughter to Reignier, . : &+--. 
 Queen to King Henry VI., 
 Widow to King Henry VI., rj >i 
 
 Attendant on Hero, . 
 A Witch, .... ru,;*! 
 A Lady attending on the Princess 
 
 King Henry IV., Part I. 
 Coriolanus. 
 Titus Andronicus. 
 Julius Caesar. 
 Julius Caesar. 
 Antony and Cleopatra. 
 King John. 
 Troilus and Cressida. 
 King Henry VI., Parti. 
 King Henry VI., Part II. 
 King Richard III. 
 King Henry VI., Part III. 
 Much Ado About Nothing. 
 King Henry VI., Part II. 
 
 Love's Labour 's Lost. 
 
 Maria, . 'f.'pa-jll ^n'&l 
 Mariana, . ,>II ptri/T 
 Mariana, /Vn;MH^ : ::i'i 
 Marina, ~ f. ^a^lT -ni/f 
 Marquis of Dorset, ijw-1 
 Marquis of Montague, 
 Martext, Sir Oliver, 
 
 Attendant on Olivia, . 
 Neighbour to Widow of Florence, 
 The Betrothed of Angelo, . / _^ > 
 Daughter to Pericles, . nicmoO *'. 
 Son to Lady Grey, . -IjjCku/fi V> 
 Of the Duke's Party, . . .... 
 
 Twelfth Night. 
 All 's Well that Ends Well. 
 Measure for Measure. 
 Pericles. 
 King Richard III. 
 King Henry VI., Part III- 
 As You Like It. 
 
 Martius, 
 
 Son to Titus, . . '~l.\ . 
 
 Titus Andronicus. 
 
 Marullus, ' 7 ^ jrrjfffoaeJ/! 
 Mecaenas, . . -i [ 
 Melun, . . . :ii{ 
 Menas, .... 
 Menecrates, f.-r-'ilif gnijf 
 Menelatts, . .if ;jr^vi 
 Menenius Agrippa, -^ 
 
 A Roman Tribune, 
 Friend to Caesar, . ... ' . . 
 A French Lord, . . j . . ^ . , 
 Friend to Pompey, 
 Friend to Pompey, 
 Brother to Agamemnon, 
 Friend to Coriolanus,. 
 
 Julius Caesar. 
 Antony and Cleopatra. 
 King John. 
 Antony and Cleopatra. 
 Antony and Cleopatra. 
 Troilus and Cressida. 
 Coriolanus. 
 
SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. 
 
 1293 
 
 Menteith, ... A Scottish Nobleman, 
 Mercadc, A Lord attending on the Princes 
 of France, 
 Merctitio, . . . Friend to Romeo, 
 Messala, . . . Friend to Brutus and Cassius, 
 Metellus Cimber, . . A Roman Conspirator, 
 Michael, ... A Follower of Cade, . 
 Michael, Sir, , . Friend to Archbishop of York, 
 Milan, Duke of, . . Father to Silvia, i*i*>l 
 Miranda, . . . Daughter to Prospero, 
 Mr. Ford, . . . A Gentleman dwellmgat Windsor 
 Mrs. Ford, .raca ';" : - t . 
 
 Macbeth. 
 lA 
 
 Love's Labour 's Lost. 
 Romeo and Juliet. 
 Julius Caesar. 
 Julius Caesar. 
 King Henry VI., Part II. 
 King Henry IV. , Parts I. , It 
 Two Gentlemen of Verona. 
 The Tempest, 
 i. : Merry Wives of Windsor. 
 Merry Wives of Windsor. 
 
 Mrs. Overdone, . . A Bawd, .... 
 
 Measure for Measure. 
 
 Mr. Page, ... A Gentleman dwelling at Wind 
 
 Meriy Wives of Windsor. 
 
 Mrs. Page, .1 !-.<' -!;, >. 
 
 Merry Wives of Windsor. 
 
 Mrs. Anne Page, . 
 Mrs. Quickly, 
 Mrs. Quickly, J-J gtai 
 Mrs. Quickly, Ji ^lu! 
 Montague, 
 
 Montague, Marquis of, . 
 Montague, Lady, 
 Montana, 
 
 Montgomery, Sir John, . 
 Moonshine, .z^.'ivy \riai 
 Mopsa, .... 
 Morgan, . ..f;t\&\ .ytni. 
 Morocco, Prince of, . 
 Mortimer, Edmund, 
 Mortimer, Edmund, 
 Mortimer, Lady, . 
 Mortimer, Sir Hugh, 
 Mortimer, Sir John, 
 Morton, John, t v: J; -iV 
 Morton, . . t/fn&h| 
 Moth, . V.Tiuij/vrn*' 
 
 Mouldy, . . ^ ;<>;iiJ. 
 Mount joy, -'. \ -, ; : - J ; .: . jj; 
 Mowbray, Thomas, 
 Mowbray, Lord, 
 Mtistardseed, . 
 Mutius, ..-. . 
 
 Nathaniel, Sir, -hy.aiy 
 Nerissa, . *sbh* c 
 
 Nestor, . . *rjzBa& 
 Norfolk, Duke of, . .v 
 Norfolk, Duke of, . ;; 
 Norfolk, Duke of, . 
 Northumberland, Lady, . 
 Northumberland, Ear I of, 
 Northumberland, Ear I of, 
 Northumberland, Ear I of, 
 Northumberland, Ear I of, 
 Nurse of Juliet, 
 
 Daughter to Mrs. Page, 
 
 Hostess of a Tavern, . 
 
 A hostess : Wife to Pistol, 
 
 Servant to Dr. Caius, 
 
 At variance with Capulet, . 
 
 Of the Duke's Party, 
 
 Wife to Montague, 
 
 Othello's Predecessor in Office, 
 
 A Character in the Interlude, 
 A Shepherdess, . 
 Belarius in disguise, . 
 Suitor to Portia, . ...:nj 
 
 Earl of March, . . .IvLoj 
 Earl of March, . . , T^ 
 Daughter to Glendower, 
 Uncle to Duke of York, 
 Uncle to Duke of York, 
 Bishop of Ely, . 
 Servant to Northumberland, 
 A Fairy, . . . ;iiv,,r- 
 Page to Armado, r^aiA * 
 A Recruit, . >v M fnu 
 
 A French Herald, . V* 
 Duke of Norfolk, . y ^> : . '.'_. . 
 Enemy to the King, . -^ <- 
 A Fairy, .... 
 Son to Titus, 
 
 A Curate, . 
 
 Waiting-maid to Portia, 
 A Grecian Commander, 
 
 Of the Duke's Party, . 
 
 Enemy to the King, . 
 
 Henry Percy, 
 
 Of the King's Party, . 
 
 Merry Wives of Windsor. 
 
 King Henry IV. , Parts I. , II. 
 
 King Henry V. 
 
 Merry Wives of Windsor. 
 
 Romeo and Juliet. 
 
 King Henry VI., Part III. 
 
 Romeo and Juliet. 
 
 Othello. 
 
 King Henry VI., Part III. 
 
 Midsummer Night's Dream. 
 
 Winter's Tale. 
 
 Cymbeline. 
 
 Merchant of Venice. 
 
 King Henry IV. Part I. 
 
 King Henry VI. Part I. 
 
 King Henry IV. Part I. 
 
 King Henry VI. Part III. 
 
 King Henry VI. Part III. 
 
 King Richard III. 
 
 King Henry IV., Part II. 
 
 Midsummer Night's Dream. 
 
 Love's Labour 's Lost. 
 
 King Henry IV., Part II. 
 
 King Henry V. 
 
 King Richard II. 
 
 King Henry IV., Part II. 
 
 Midsummer Night's Dream. 
 
 Titus Andronicus. 
 
 Love 's Labour 's Lost. 
 Merchant of Venice. 
 Troilus and Cressida. 
 King Richard II. and III. 
 King Henry VI., Part III. 
 King Henry VIII. 
 King Henry IV., Part II. 
 King Richard II. 
 King Henry IV., Part II. 
 King Henry IV. , Parts I. , IL 
 King Henry VI., Part III. 
 Romeo and Juliet. 
 
1394 
 
 INDEX TO THE CHARACTERS IN 
 
 Nym, . . 4J->cb,pJ-* 
 Nym, . . , . , v - 
 
 Oberon, . . . fl |^ 
 Octavia, . . S: V ^jjifl 
 Octavius Cccsar-, ! v BU1 %1 
 Octavius Ccesar, 
 Old Go&fo, - v .l on^HsnjX 
 Oliver, . . >Ja^O 07/T 
 Olivia, . ^oqapf stfT 
 
 Orl&nao^ . 
 
 Orleans, Duke of, . 
 Orsino, .... 
 
 Osric, ' ' j i "* ' ' / - 1 vi Vj y n 4! /. 
 Oswald, lo/i'jvfV/ YJ-'-^V 
 
 Soldier in King's Army, 
 A Follower of Falstaff, . icx :. '. 
 
 King of the Fairies, . 
 Wife to Antony, ttrtin3 oj La*jji' % [ 
 A Roman Triumvir, . ; riji^'t ;I.A 
 A Roman Triumvir, . ir-j'Afr. .K-.'i. A 
 Father to Lamicelot Gobbo, Dnay'i 
 Son to Sir Rowland de Bois, 
 A Rich Countess, . ^ i^uI^i^'J 
 Daughter to Polonius, . '.-.: -' ' 
 Son to Sir Rowland de Bois, 
 
 Duke of Illy ria, . . . ' 1 1 ui J no i A / : 
 A Courtier, . . . ,104 
 
 King Henry V. 
 Merry Wives of Windsor. 
 
 Midsummer Night's Dream 
 Antony and Cleopatra. 
 Julius Caesar. 
 Antony and Cleopatra. 
 Merchant of Venice. 
 As You Like It. 
 Twelfth Night. 
 Hamlet. 
 As You Like It. 
 King Henry V.. 
 Twelfth Night. 
 Hamlet. 
 King Lear. 
 
 Othello, . '-^sr/r// 
 Overdone, Mrs. ' '-*' r : 'V /; 
 
 The Moor, . . i v.'f^ii^I 
 A Bawd, . . . iV.^., :,,.) 
 
 Othello. 
 Measure for Measure. 
 
 0w Glendower, . 
 Oxford, Duke of, . 
 Oxford, Earl of, ' V ' " : V; ( 
 
 /V* ^ 'il> r i '-'"V> r 
 
 Of the King's Party, . oi.Jncviaa 
 A Gentleman dwellingat Windsor, 
 
 King Henry IV., Part I. 
 King Henry VI., Part III 
 King Richard III. 
 
 Merry Wives of Windsor. 
 Merry Wives of Windsor. 
 
 /fc^, /J^rj. Anne, . 
 Page, William, 
 Pandarus, . ' gSirtniW 
 Pandulph, Cardinal, (y -* 
 Panthino, '- V> !<jfhr;k 
 Paris, . '! 'i? '-'" I 8*4? 
 
 Parolles, 1 \ {inaj { v :; . -i 
 Patience, 4 vin-^I ;^ry>i 
 Patroclus, vinaji ^;f4^ 
 Paulina^ '' ".A-ii^J gf^X 
 Peasblossom, ifrsyrt ^(^A 
 Pedant, . 
 
 Daughter to Mrs. Page, 
 Son to Mr. Page, ; * i;rf \ i 
 Uncle to Cressida, . 'i -ii''. ^ 
 The Pope's Legate, tjLe0hsbH 
 Servant to Antonio, ,ou/^ 
 Son to Priam, . - t jvu;f'4 lo !T^>! 
 A Young Nobleman, if-!^ ^> fw '1 
 A Follower of Bertram, 
 Woman to Queen Katharine, 
 A Grecian Commander, . ^Io.c(j 
 Wife to Antigonus, . T \g ''.io;i'<{ifl 
 A P'airy, . . . \oJjnBvvc: 
 Personating Vincentio, {. ^n's'i.A 
 Prince of Arsagon, . tiA/xt asju*! 
 
 Merry Wives of Windsor. 
 Merry Wives of Windsor. 
 Troilus and Cressida. 
 King John. 
 Two Gentlemen of Verona. 
 Troilus and Cressida. 
 Romeo and Juliet. 
 All 's Well that Ends Well 
 King Henry VIIL 
 Troilus and Cressida. 
 Winter's Tale. 
 Midsummer Night's Dream, 
 Taming of the Sluew. 
 Much Ado About Nothing. 
 
 PembvoJte, Earl of , 
 Pembroke, Earl of, 
 Percy, Hemy, 
 Percy, Henry, 
 Percy, Henry (Hotspur), 
 Percy, Lady, . 
 Percy, Thomas, 
 Perdtia,. . ^X '>'-''.-* 
 Pericles^. 
 Peter, .... 
 
 /V/<?^ of Pomfrst; . 
 Peto, .... 
 
 William Mareshall, . ^v^H. A 
 Of the Duke's Pajty, . i itoTi.A 
 Earl of Northumberland, . uJy' r " 
 Son to Earl of Northumberland, 
 Son to Earl of Northumberland, 
 Wife to- Hotspur, miT, o; ;i v ^ 
 Earl of Worcester, 
 Daughter to Hermione, . t/XA 
 Prince of Tyre, . t ^Jan-^mif4^/ 
 A Friar, . . ^ry 1 n yrmO.A 
 Horner's Man, * - 
 A Prophet, . . 
 A Follower of Sir John Falstaff, 
 
 King John. 
 King Henry VI.,, Part III. 
 King Henry IV., Pts. L, II. 
 King Richard II. 
 King Henry IV. r Pts. L, II. 
 King Henry IV., Part I. 
 King Henry IV., Pts. I.,II- 
 Winter's Tale. 
 Pericles. 
 Measure for Measure. 
 King Henry VL,. Part II. 
 King John. 
 King Henry IV., Pts. L, IL 
 
 Petruchio, 
 
 Philario -Vj 
 Philemon, 
 Philip, . . ii>i 
 
 A Gentleman of Verona, Suitor 
 to Katharina, . . . f . 
 A Shepherdess 
 Friend to Posthumus 
 Servant to Cerimon, . 
 King of France, . . 
 
 Taming of the Shrew. 
 As You Like It. 
 Cymbeline. 
 Pericles, 
 King John. 
 
SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. 
 
 1295 
 
 Philip Falconbridge, 
 Philo, . . . -{'jj/1 
 Philostrate, . . .nr,.ll 
 
 Philotus . '-> ' -a * ' 
 
 Bastard Son to King Richard I.., 
 Friend to Antony, . aA.io 5>iwO 
 Master of the Revels, . -vjfoc 
 
 King John. 
 Antony and Cleopatra. 
 Midsummer Night's Dream, 
 Timon of Athens. 
 
 Phrynia, 
 
 Mistress to Alcibiades, 
 
 Timon of Athens. 
 King Richard II 
 
 Pinch .... 
 
 A Schoolmaster and Conjurer, 
 
 Comedy of Errors. 
 
 Pindarus, . . . 
 Pisanio,. . 
 Pistol, . . . *>: 
 /Yjto/, . . . 4*i/i 
 
 /&/<?/, . . i *;/] 
 
 Plantagenet, Richard, . 
 Players,. 
 
 Servant to Cassius, 
 Servant to Posthumus, 
 A Follower of Sir John Falstaff, . 
 A Follower of Sir John Falstaff,. 
 A Soldier in King's Army, . 
 Duke of York, . . . -./ < t 
 Characters in the Induction, 
 Characters in 
 
 Julius Csesar. 
 Cymbeline. 
 Merry Wives of Windsor. 
 King Henry IV., Part II. 
 King Henry V. 
 Henry VI., Pts. I., IL, IIL 
 Taming of the Shrew. 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Poins, . . :-'J,- ;. r "/ 
 Polixenes, . . *;.' 
 Polonius, . . -ait"' 
 Polydore, . . *" 
 Pompeius Sextus, . T>J : 
 Popilius Lena, 
 Portia, .... 
 
 Posthitmus Leonatus, } f 
 Priam, . < w >k > ^:t .! 
 Prince Henry, . >; 
 Prince Humphrey ofGloster, 
 Prince John of Lancaster, 
 Prince of Arragon, . 
 Prince of Morocco, . i*>iv 
 Prince of Wales, . _& 
 Prince of Wales, Henry, 
 Princess Katharine, 
 
 A Follower of Sir John Falstaff, . 
 King of Bohemia, . . .'i*i / 
 Lord Chamberlain, . . -/: I J 
 Guiderius in Disguise, . : i-'i / 
 Friend to Antony, 
 A Roman Senator, . . ."'v.-yAJ 
 A Rich Heiress, . . /{ ^ t 
 Wife to Brutus, . . . i ;* 
 Husband to Imogen, . **.>' i / 
 King of Troy, .... 
 Son to King John, . . ->..<i r 
 Son to King Henry IV., . 
 Son to King Henry IV., . >> u 
 Suitor to Portia, . . ---^4 ' 
 Suitor to Portia, . . -ir-jy. 
 Son to King Edward IV., . - ,** 
 Afterwards King Henry V., 
 Daughter to King Charles VI., . 
 
 King Henry IV., Pts. I., II. 
 Winter's Tale. 
 Hamlet. 
 Cymbeline. 
 Antony and Cleopatra. 
 Julius Caesar. 
 Merchant of Venice. 
 Julius Caesar. 
 Cymbeline. 
 Troilus and Cressida. 
 King John. 
 King Henry IV., Part II. 
 King Henry IV., Part IL 
 Merchant of Venice. 
 Merchant of Venice. 
 King Richard III. 
 King Henry IV., Part II. 
 King Henry V. 
 Love's Labour 's Lost. 
 
 Proculeius, . . *-iv 
 Prophetess, . -.3>-i -.a;/; 
 Prospero, . *' ^tfi'/i 
 Proteus, : . jiV v . * : ! ' '( i ,/i 
 Publius, .!.' isil^M -^^J 
 Publius, . ., . -j.-i,,;-' 
 Pucelle, Joan la, . -it>i 
 
 Friend to Caesar, . -?\,/t>^ 'T; j 
 Cassandra, . . ;'fr /U iniii;*".^ 
 Rightful Duke of Milan, . 
 A Gentleman of Verona, . -:-;ij. ! 
 A Roman Senator, 
 Son to Marcus, . :-''s.<^'J -~; '/mv.f; 
 
 Antony and Cleopatra. 
 Troilus and Cressida. 
 The Tempest. 
 Two Gentlemen of Verona. 
 Julius Caesar. 
 Titus Andronicus. 
 King Henry VI., Part I. 
 
 
 
 Midsummer Night's Dream. 
 
 Pyramus, . . iJL>l 
 
 A Character in the Interlude, 
 
 Midsummer Night's Dream. 
 
 Queen, .... 
 
 Queen Elizabeth, . 
 
 Queen Katharine, . 
 
 Queen Margaret, 
 
 Queen of King Richard II. , 
 
 Quickly, Mrs., . v^T 
 
 Quickly, Mrs., 
 
 Quickly, Mrs., 
 
 Quince, .... 
 
 Quintus, 
 
 Rambures, 
 
 Ratdiff, Sir Richard, . 
 
 Wife to Cymbeline, . 
 Queen to King Edward IV 
 Wife to King Henry VIII. 
 Wife to King Henry VI., 
 
 Hostess of a Tavern, . 
 A Hostess : Wife to Pistol 
 Servant to Dr. Caius, 
 The Carpenter, . * itnT 
 Son to Titus, . n<yo/ 
 
 A French Lord, 
 
 Cymbeline. 
 
 King Richard III. 
 
 King Henry VIII. 
 
 King Henry VI., Part IIL 
 
 King Richard II. 
 
 King Henry IV., Pts. I., II. 
 
 King Henry V. 
 
 Merry Wives of Windsor. 
 
 Midsummer Night's Dream, 
 
 Titus Andronicus. 
 
 King Henry V. 
 King Richard III. 
 
1296 
 
 INDEX TO THE CHARACTERS IN 
 
 Regan, . 
 
 Reignier, 
 
 Reynaldo, 
 
 Richard, 
 
 Richard, 
 
 Richard, Duke of Gloster, 
 
 Richard, Duke of York, . 
 
 Richard Plantagenet, 
 
 Richard II., King, -:lm'-( 
 
 Richard III., King, 
 
 Richmond, Earl of, 
 
 Rivers, Earl, 
 
 Rivers, Lord, , . \. 1 y t a-. I 
 
 Robert Bigot, t<* ;.; n r < . a 
 
 Robert Falconbridge, 
 
 Robin, .... 
 
 &?m Goodfellow (Ptick), 
 
 Roderigo, 
 
 Rogero, . 
 
 Romeo, . 
 
 Rosalind, 
 
 Rosaline, 
 
 Rosencrantz, . 
 
 . 
 
 Rotheram, Thomas, 
 Rousillon, Count of, 
 Rousillon, Countess of, 
 Rugby, . 
 Rumour, 
 
 Daughter to King Lear, 
 Duke of Anjou, . . 
 Servant to Polonius, . .: tp i: 
 Son to Plantagenet, . ' 
 Afterwards Duke of Gloster, 
 Afterwards King Richard III., 
 Son to King Edward IV., . 
 Duke of York, . . o;,a 
 
 Afterwards King Henry VII., . 
 Brother to Lady Grey, 
 Brother to Lady Grey, . y$f 
 Earl of Norfolk, . .-Jo/.-usr! 
 Son to Sir Robert Falconbridge, 
 A Page to Sir John Falstaff, 
 A Fairy, . . jfiirye'i. ;. '. ;:>; 
 A Venetian Gentleman, ., j r ;o 
 A Sicilian Gentleman, ni ?j^f:>v; 
 Son to Montague, . . briryi 
 Daughter to the Banished Duke, 
 A Lady attending on the Princess 
 of France, .... 
 A Courtier, . . . ; trui-^ 
 
 A Scottish Nobleman, 
 Archbishop of York, . .-.><; 
 Bertram, . . ;:. : i ;,K^ o! or 
 Mother to Bertram, . M y; ;o'. 
 Servant to Dr. Caius, /I oJ io^r 
 As a Prologue, . . ^nl^L CJ c 
 
 Salanio, , TT -nn#H gai/ 1 
 Salarino, ' n;oi IsoJ t :'-3 A -- 1 
 Salerio, . ,n vaofe:/ 
 Salisbury, Earl of, wfifcil 
 
 Friend to Antonio and Bassanio, 
 Friend to Antonio and Bassanio, 
 A Messenger from Venice, 
 William Longsword, . 
 
 Salisbury, Earl of, "j t *,-.'"' 
 
 Of the York Faction, 
 
 Sampson, . , -,^.'. 
 
 Servant to Capulet, ^rmsM j % 
 
 Saturninus, . 
 
 Emperor of Rome, . . , ( yiii~J 
 
 Scales, Lord, , . . 
 Scarus, . , .caffcJn*- r *" 
 Scroop, . . . r , fl f.i 
 Scroop, Lord, . 
 Scroop, Sir Stephen, 
 Sebastian, 
 Sebastian, 
 Seleucus, 
 Sempronius, . 
 Servilius, 
 Sextus Pompeitis, . 
 Seyton, .... 
 Shadow, ~tf YiTIT -nm} 
 
 Governor of the Tower, 
 Friend to Antony, .fr-T.Ooloi 
 Archbishop of York, . /.>] r^ 
 A Conspirator, .u^K ^niy| o? ^i 
 
 Brother to the King of Naples, . 
 Brother to Viola, , ; ~ r. fo^oja: 
 Attendant on Cleopatra, 
 A Lord : Flatterer of Timon, 
 Servant to Timon, ^JfWcruO ' 
 Friend to Antony, . ,?JiTT o? a 
 Officer attending on Macbeth, . 
 A Recruit, . . . . . 
 
 Shallow, . 
 
 A Country Justice, 
 
 King Lear. 
 
 King Henry VI., Part I. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 King Henry VI., Part II. 
 
 King Henry VI., Part III, 
 
 King Richard III. 
 
 King Richard III. 
 
 HenryVI.,Pts.I., II. , III 
 
 King Richard II. 
 
 King Richard III. 
 
 King Richard III. 
 
 King Richard III. 
 
 King Henry VI., Part III. 
 
 King John. 
 
 King John. 
 
 Merry Wives of Windsor 
 
 Midsummer Night's Dream. 
 
 Othello. 
 
 Winter's Tale. 
 
 Romeo and Juliet. 
 
 As You Like It. 
 
 Love's Labour's Lost. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 King Richard II. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 King Richard III. 
 
 All 's Well that Ends Well. 
 
 All's Well that Ends Well. 
 
 Merry Wives of Windsor. 
 
 King Henry IV., Part II. 
 
 Merchant of Venice. 
 
 Merchant of Venice. 
 
 Merchant of Venice. 
 
 King John. 
 
 King Henry V. 
 
 King Henry VI., Pts. I., II. 
 
 King Richard II. 
 
 Romeo and Juliet. 
 
 King Henry VIII. 
 
 Titus Andronicus. 
 
 King Henry VI., Part II. 
 
 King Henry VI., Part II. 
 
 Antony and Cleopatra. 
 
 King Henry I V.,Pts. I., II. 
 
 King Henry V. 
 
 King Richard II. 
 
 The Tempest. 
 
 Twelfth Night. 
 
 Antony and Cleopatra. 
 
 Timon of Athens. 
 
 Timon of Athens. 
 
 Antony and Cleopatra. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 King Henry IV., Part II. 
 
 King Henry IV., Part II. 
 
SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. 
 
 1297 
 
 Shalloiv, gi A Country Justice, . J.- i/lA Merry Wives of Windsor. 
 
 Shylock,. ;f>;;'- vi/ovT A Jew, . . 'i- .* ' \' I '. Merchant of Venice. 
 
 Sicinius Vein us, Tribune of the People, *' I ! J Coriolanus. 
 
 Silence, . fm-lf 7: v, A Country Justice, . . King Henry IV., Part II. 
 
 Silius, . ' 7 f ' M y* An Officer of Ventidius's Army, Antony and Cleopatra. 
 
 Silvia, . .v?.'' K Daughter to the Duke of Milan, Two Gentlemen of Verona. 
 
 Silvius, v. ' : A Shepherd, ... As You Like It. 
 
 Simonides, King of Pentapolis, .. .Vi ' -jtfi'l Pericles. 
 
 Simpcox, An Impostor, . . . King Henry VI., Part II. 
 
 Simple, . Servant to Slender, . . Merry Wives of Windsor. 
 
 Sir Andrew Apuecheek, itn . ^ ; ;Vo : . Twelfth Night. 
 
 Sir Anthony Denny, .... ^n.f:'i i\ . . King Henry VIII. 
 
 &> J7*ry Guildford, King Henry VIII. 
 
 Sir Hugh Evans, il: ' < '^ A Welsh Parson, . Merry Wives of Windsor. 
 
 &V /&/* Mortimer, Uncle to Duke of York, King Henry VI., Part III. 
 
 Sir Humphrey Stafford, . ,- r; *>>? King Henry VI., Part II. 
 
 Sir fames Blount, . ... King Richard III. 
 
 Sir James Tyrrel, . ... King Richard III. 
 
 Sir John Coleville, . Enemy to the King, * ; . . King Henry IV., Part II. 
 
 Sir John Falstaff, *:, . . . i .'vwviiriA King Henry IV., Pts. I., I L 
 
 Sir John Falstaf, . ... > n'-.at-f Merry Wives of Windsor. 
 
 Sir John Fastolfe, . .- ;^> r-Hsaaro T).Jn*o:uv"i King Henry VI., Part I. 
 
 Sir John Montgomery, .... *>/,. .a A King Henry VI., Part III. 
 
 Sir John Mortimer, Uncle to Duke of York, o j .tl^{\ King Henry VI., Part III. 
 
 Sir John Somerville, . . . . . . King Henry VI., Part III. 
 
 Sir John Stanley, ; ? K I5 av&j. * King Henry VI., Part II. 
 
 Sir Michael, . vr^l f ' Friend to Archbishop of York, King Henry IV., Pts. I., IL 
 
 Sir Nathaniel, . A Curate, . . . 4.1}-.:^ , Love's Labour 's Lost. 
 
 Sir Nicholas Vaux ,15 iV-i ; King Henry VIII. 
 
 Sir Oliver Martext, . A Vicar, ^.VI ^i ::oii ;ini. o; . As You Like It. 
 
 Sir Pierce of Exton, ^-vir:.*""' *i King Richard II. 
 
 Sir Richard Ratdiff, King Richard III. 
 
 Sir Richard Vernon, k^A/OJ I*vjJ King Henry IV., Part I. 
 
 Sir Robert Brakenbury, . Lieutenant of the Tower, rf bwxi'- King Richard III. 
 
 Sir Stephen Scroop, King Richard II. 
 
 Sir Thomas Erpingham, Officer in King's Army, . = -. : j ' >^/. King Henry V. 
 
 Sir Thomas Gargrave King Henry VI., Part I. 
 
 Sir Thomas Grey, .- . A Conspirator, , :? "], *\i\' . : . King Henry V. 
 
 Sir Thomas Lovell, . . . *o ; ^ ; . :; ^ } ;-.. King Henry VIII. 
 
 Sir Thomas Vaughan, -, . . *'}< ')4V % '-- ? .rr> r iel King Richard III. 
 
 Sir Toby Belch, . . Uncle to Olivia, 4. .;. ---. Twelfth Night. 
 
 Sir Walter Blunt, . . Friend to King Henry IV., . King Henry IV., Pts. L, II 
 
 Sir Walter Herbert, King Richard III. 
 
 Sir William Catesby, . . . . ; .r : *h.s> .:;:' ; >: r: King Richard III. 
 
 Sir William Glansdale, . . .- .<,;..; .w< ;v / King Henry VI., Part I. 
 
 Sir William Lticy, r ^{ . . . . . . . .' . . ^\^\ /. King Henry VI., Part I. 
 
 Sir William Stanley, ^ffifiha o; ao5 King Henry VI., Part III. 
 
 Siward, V " >r.&rfo\aV Earl of Northumberland, . , / Macbeth. 
 
 Si-ward, Young, .. Son to Siward, . *ff*O*i.s' vli,Y Macbeth. 
 
 Slender, . v. Cousin to Justice Shallow, . . Merry Wives of Windsor. 
 
 Smith the Weaver, . A Follower of Cade, . . . King Henry VI., Part II. 
 
 .SVfcm?, . . . A Sheriff s Officer, ., -.. . King Henry IV., Part II. 
 
 Snout, . . . The Tinker Midsummer Night's Dream. 
 
 Snug, . . . The Joiner, .... Midsummer Night's Dream, 
 
 Solinus, . . Duke of Ephesus, . V " oa -i 1 Comedy of Errors. 
 
 Somerset, Duke of, . Of the King's Party, . ,-.. ,f t - T ,>* / Henry VI., Pts. IL, III. 
 
 Somerville, Sir fohn< . . , , i^ erihno JrtebndWA King Henry VI., Part III. 
 
1298 
 
 INDEX TO THE CHARACTERS IN 
 
 Soutkwell t :W v 
 Speed, . . t*.-;:i 
 Stafford, Lord, ukioh 
 Stafford, Sir Humphrey ', 
 
 A Priest, . . . vu)' 
 
 King Henry VI., Part II. 
 Two Gentlemen of Verona. 
 King Henry VI., Part III. 
 / King Henry VI., Part II. 
 Kin^ Richard III. 
 f.U King Henry VI., Part II. 
 King Henry VI., Part III. 
 t: Midsuinmer Night's Dream. 
 rA The Tempest. 
 Merchant of Venice. 
 Julius Caesar. 
 King Henry VI., Part II. 
 King Henry VIII. 
 King Henry VI., Part I. 
 King Richard II, 
 King Richard III. 
 King Henry VIIL 
 
 King Henry VL, Part I. 
 King Henry VI., Part I. 
 Titus Andronicus,. 
 Antony and Cleopatra. 
 King Henry IV., Part II, 
 Pericles. 
 Pericles. 
 - Troilus and Cressida. 
 Midsummer Night's Dream, 
 Midsummer Night's Dream. 
 Measure for Measure. 
 King Henry IV., Part II. 
 King Henry VI., Part H. 
 Macbeth. 
 Two Gentlemen of Veronsu 
 Antony and Cleopatra. 
 Timon of Athens. 
 Winter's Tale, 
 . Timon of Athens. 
 Midsummer Night's Dream. 
 Julius Caesar. 
 . Titus Andronicus. 
 Coriolanus. 
 As You Like It. 
 Taming of the Shrew. 
 King Henry IV., Part II. 
 Julius Caesar, 
 The Tempest. 
 Troilus and Cressida. 
 Merchant of Venice. 
 Coriolanus. 
 Romeo and Juliet. 
 King Richard III. 
 
 Troilus and Cressida. 
 Much Ado About Nothing-. 
 King Richard III. 
 
 Two Gentlemen of Verofia, 
 , Twelfth Night 
 
 A Clownish Servant, . 
 Of the Duke's Party, . ..sn >.i 
 
 Hartley, Sir John, 
 Stanley, Sir Willie 
 Starveling^ . 
 Stephana, \ I y 
 Stephana, -\<-, 
 Strata, . .iii^r 
 Suffolk t Duke of, 
 Suffolk, Diike of, 
 Stiffolk, Earl of, 
 Surrey, Duke of, 
 Surrey, Earl of , 
 Surrey, Earl of , 
 
 Talbot, John, i; 
 Talbot, Lord, 
 Tamora, ..:/ ;" 
 Taurus, .i' ^n 
 Tearsheet, Doll, 
 Thaisa, . ' ^tn 
 Thaliard, 
 Thersites, 
 Theseus, 
 Thisbe, . . ' 
 Thomas, 
 Thomas, Duke of C 
 Thomas Horner, 
 Three Witches, 
 Thurio, -VJ vm 
 Thyreus, ^\&\\: 4 
 Timandra, Jufrti- 
 Time, . . 'p'Tq 
 Timon, '3 ,. r ; xiry 
 Titania., . 
 Titinius, i v'v 
 7>Vj Andronicus, 
 Titus Lartius, 
 Touchstone, .1 'ru? 
 Tranio, . 
 Trovers, *** 
 Trebonius, , 
 Trinculo, . 
 Troilus, 
 Tubal, . 
 Tullus Aufidius, 
 Tybalt, . 
 Tyrrel, Sir Jamts, 
 
 Ulysses, . 
 Ursula, . 
 Urswick, Christoph 
 
 Valentine, 
 Valentine^ 
 
 
 ',nt, 
 laren 
 
 er, 
 
 
 The Tailor, . t^Jnt^Uo 
 
 A Drunken Butler, ..TOtegqrrfl 
 Servant to Portia, \*\'<? ci 'ri> / 
 Servant to Brutus, 
 Of the King's Party, . 
 
 . KWlJjfi 4' T./' 
 
 Son to Duke of Norfolk, . 
 
 Son to Lord Talbot, . * '(' n ^ 
 Afterwards Earl of Shrewsbury, 
 Queen of the Goths, . 
 Lieutenant- General to Caesar, 
 A Bawd, .... 
 Daughter to Simonides, - (1 < 
 A Lord of Antioch, . 
 A Deformed Grecian, 
 Duke of Athens, 
 A Character in the Interlude, 
 A Friar, .... 
 f e? Son to King Henry IV., % iB3tV 
 An Armourer, . 
 
 Rival to Valentine, . . . ' ' 
 Friend to Caesar, 
 Mistress to Alcibiades, 
 As Chorus, . ,-:?'/' f-j "' -' 
 A Noble Athenian, . 
 Queen of the Fairies, . itpn< 
 Friend to Brutus and Cassius, 
 General against the Goths, 
 General against the Volscians, 
 
 Servant to Lucentio, . 
 Servant to Northumberland, 
 A Roman Conspirator, 
 A Jester, . 
 Son to Priam, . . *" 
 A Jew, Friend to Shylock, > h 
 Volscian General, . >ty/45 *>j f| 
 Nephew to Capulet, -y frit*.; 
 
 A Grecian Commander, 
 Attendant on Hero, . 
 
 A Gentleman of Verona, . 
 Attendant on the Duke of Illyria 
 
SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. 
 
 1299 
 
 Valeria, . . . Friend to Virgilia, . > T *~\ 
 Varrius, , . . Friend to Pompey, . i. \J 
 
 Varrius, . . ' ' %v '. Servant to Duke of Vienna, 
 Varro, .... Servant to Brutus, . . 
 Vaughan, Sir Thomas, . . . . . . ,. 
 Vaux . . - 
 
 Coriolanus. 
 Antony and Cleopatra. 
 Measure for Measure. 
 Julius Caesar. 
 King Richard III. 
 King Henry VI., Part II. 
 King Henry VIII. 
 Coriolanus. 
 Ottello. 
 Merchant of Venice. 
 Timon of Athens. 
 Antony and Cleopatra. 
 Much Ado About Nothing. 
 King Henry VI., Part I. 
 King Henry IV., Part I. 
 Measure for Measure. 
 Taming of the Shrew. 
 Twelfth Night. 
 All 's Well that Ends WeH. 
 Coriolanus. 
 Hamlet 
 Coriolanus. 
 Julius Caesar. 
 
 King Henry IV., Pts. I., II. 
 King Richard III. 
 King Henry VI. > Part II. 
 King Henry IV., Part IL 
 King Henry IV., Part II. 
 King Henry V. 
 Henry VI., Parts I., IL, III. 
 King Richard U. 
 King Henry V. 
 King Henry IV. , Pis. 1. 1 11 . 
 King Henry VL, Part III. 
 King Henry VI., Part II. 
 As You Like It. 
 King John. 
 King Jobo, 
 Meriy Wives of Windsor, 
 King Henry V.. 
 King Richard IL 
 King Henry VUL 
 King Henry VHL 
 King Henry VI., Part L 
 KiogHenrylV^Pts.!.,!!, 
 
 King Henry IV., Pts. I., U. 
 King Richard III. 
 King Richard II. 
 King Richard III. 
 King FTenry V. 
 King Richard II. 
 King Richard III. 
 Julius Caesar. 
 King Henry VI., Part II. 
 Coriolanus. 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Vaux, Sir Nichola, 
 Velutus, Siciniits, 
 Venice, Duke of, 
 Venice^ Duke of, 
 Ventidius, 
 Ventidius, 
 Verges, , 
 Vernon, 
 Vernon, Sir Richa 
 Vicentio, 
 Vincent io, yi " 
 Viola, . 
 Violenta, 
 Virgilia, 
 Voltimand, *j** 
 Volumnia, 
 Volumnius, 
 
 Wales, Henry, P-n 
 Wales, Prince of, 
 Walter Whitmore, 
 
 
 Tribune of the People, . iv .. } 
 
 A False Friend, . . . 
 . Friend to Antony, . -^';wj ,-' 
 A Foolish Officer, 
 >n . Of the White-Rose Faction, 
 d, ........ 
 ' ( . Duke of Vienna, 
 '. An Old Gentleman of Pisa, 
 ! . In love with the Duke of Illyria, 
 Neighbour to Widow of Florence, 
 Wife to Coriolanus, . 
 1 ' , A Courtier, .... 
 
 Mother to Coriolanus, . *jp* 
 Friend to Brutus and Cassius, 
 
 tee of, Son to King Henry IV. , . 
 Son to Kiog Edward IV., . 
 
 Wart, . . .A Recruit,. .... 
 Warwick, Earl of, , J& Of the King's Party, . 
 Warwick, Earl of ", *i. ; v 
 Warwick, Earl of, . Ot the York Faction, . 
 Westminster, Abbot of , . '.tfpqifw. iw*:'. 1 -^ ^ 
 Westmoreland^ Earl of, . . 
 Westmoreland, Earl of, . Friead to King Henry IV., 
 Westmoreland, Earl of, . Of the King's Party, . . * - - 
 Whitmore, Walter, .-.*;..-?*,..,-... . . . .*:;.., 
 William, A Country Fellow, . 
 William Longsword, . Earl of Salisbury, 
 William Mareshall, ., Eari of Pembroke, . 
 William Page, .... . Son to Mrs. Page, . . --. ii, ^ 
 Williams, . . . Soldier in King's Army, . 
 Willoughby, Lord, .... 
 
 Winchester, Bishop 
 Wolsey, Cardinal. 
 Woodville, . 
 Worcester, Earl of , 
 
 York, Archbishop 3 
 York, Archbishop 4 
 York, Duchess of, 
 York, Duchess of, 
 York, Duke of, 
 York, Duke of, 
 York, Duke of, 
 Young Cato, . 
 Young Clifford, 
 Young Marcius, 
 Young Siward, 
 
 
 Lieutenant of the Tower, . 
 .-. Thomas Percy, . . . ; toa 
 
 . Thomas Rotheram, . 
 
 Mother to King Edward IV., . 
 Cousin to the King, . . i ' f j" " 
 Uncle to King Richard II., . 1IO! 
 Son to King Edward IV., . 
 Friend to Brutus and Cassius, . 
 ^ . Son to Lord Clifford, 
 ^ ' . Son to Coriolanus, . . * >1rl 
 *- . Son to Siward, . . 
 
GLOSSARY. 
 
 ABATE, to depress, sink, subdue 
 
 ABC-book, a catechism 
 
 Able, to qualify or uphold 
 
 Absolute, highly accomplished, perfect 
 
 Aby, to pay retribution for 
 
 Abysm, abyss 
 
 Action, direction by mute signs, charge or accu- 
 sation 
 
 Action-taking', litigious 
 
 Additions, titles or descriptions 
 
 Address, to make ready 
 
 Addressed or addrest, ready 
 
 Adversity, contrariety 
 
 Advertisement, admonition 
 
 Advertising, attentive 
 
 Advise, to consider, recollect 
 
 Advised, not precipitant, cautious 
 
 Affect, love 
 
 Affection, affectation, imagination, disposition, 
 quality 
 
 Affections, passions, desires 
 
 Affeered, confirmed 
 
 Affied, betrothed 
 
 Affined, joined by affinity 
 
 Affront, to meet or face 
 
 Affy, to betroth in marriage 
 
 Aglet-baby, a diminutive being 
 
 Agnize, acknowledge, confess 
 
 A-good, in good earnest 
 
 Aim, guess, encouragement, suspicion 
 
 Alder-liefest, most dear of all things 
 
 Ale, a merry meeting 
 
 Allow, to approve 
 
 Allowance, approbation 
 
 Ames-ace, lowest chance of the dice 
 
 Amort, sunk and dispirited 
 
 Anchor, anchoret 
 
 Ancient, an ensign 
 
 Anight, in the night 
 
 Answer, retaliation 
 
 Antick, the fool of the old farces 
 
 Antiquity, old age 
 
 Antres, caves and dens 
 
 Appeal, to accuse 
 
 Appointment, preparation 
 
 Apprehensive, quick to understand 
 
 Approbation, entry on probation 
 
 Approof, proof, approbation 
 
 Approve, to justify, to make good, to establish, 
 to recommend to approbation 
 
 Approved, felt, convicted by proof 
 
 Approvers, persons who try 
 
 Aqua-vita, brandy, eau-de-vie 
 
 Arch, chief 
 
 Argentine, silvery 
 
 Argier, Algiers 
 
 Argosies, great ships, galleons 
 
 Argument, subject for conversation, evidence, 
 
 proof 
 
 Arm, to take up in the arms 
 Aroint, avaunt, begone 
 A -row, successively, one after another 
 Articulate, to enter into articles 
 Articulated, exhibited in articles 
 Artificial, ingenious, artful 
 Aspersion, sprinkling 
 Assinego, a he-ass 
 Assurance, conveyance or deed 
 Assured, affianced 
 Astringer, a falconer 
 Ates, instigation from Ale, the mischievous 
 
 goddess that incites bloodshed 
 Atomies, minute particles discernable in a 
 
 stream of sunshine that breaks into a 
 
 darkened room, atoms 
 Attasked, reprehended, corrected 
 Attended, waited for 
 Attent, attentive 
 Attorney, deputation 
 Attorneyship, the discretional agency of 
 
 another 
 
 Attornied, supplied by substitution of embassies 
 Avaunt, contemptuous dismission 
 Audacious, spirited, animated 
 Audrey, a corruption of Etheldreda 
 Authentic, an epithet applied to the learned 
 
 Baccare, stand back, give place 
 
 Bale, misery, calamity 
 
 Bateful, baneful 
 
 Balked, bathed or piled up 
 
 Balm, the oil of consecration 
 
 Band, bond 
 
 Bank, to sail along the banks 
 
 Bar, barrier 
 
 Barbed, caparisoned in a warlike manner 
 
 Barful, full of impediments 
 
 Barn or bairn, a child 
 
 Base, a rustic game, called prison-base 
 
 Bases, a kind of dress used by knights on 
 
 horseback 
 
 Basilisks, a species of cannon 
 Basta, Spanish, 'tis enough 
 Bastard, raisin wine 
 

 GLOSSARY. 
 
 1301 
 
 Bat, a club or staff 
 
 Bate, strife, contention 
 
 Bate, to flutter as a hawk 
 
 Batlet, an instrument used by washers of clothes 
 
 Battle, army 
 
 Bavin, brushwood 
 
 Ba-wcock, a jolly cock 
 
 Bay, the space between the main beams of a 
 
 roof 
 
 Beak, the forecastle, or the boltsprit 
 Beard, to oppose in a hostile manner, to set at 
 
 defiance 
 
 Bearing-cloth, a mantle used at christenings 
 Beat, in falconry, to flutter 
 Beetle, to hang over the base 
 Being, abode 
 Belongings, endowments 
 Be-mete, be-measure 
 Be-moiled, be-draggled, be-mired 
 Bending, unequal to the weight 
 Benefit, beneficiary 
 
 Bent, the utmost degree of any passion 
 Best, bravest 
 
 Bestowed, left, stowed, or lodged 
 Bestraught, distraught or distracted 
 Beteem, to give, to pour out, to permit or suffer 
 Bewray, betray, discover 
 Bezonian, a term of reproach 
 Biding, place, abiding 
 Bigging, a kind of cap 
 
 Bilbo, a Spanish blade of peculiar excellence 
 Bilboes, a species of fetters 
 Bill, a weapon carried by watchmen 
 Bird-bolt^ a species of arrow 
 Bisson, blind 
 Blank, the white mark at which an arrow is 
 
 shot 
 
 Blast, burst 
 Blear, to deceive 
 Blench, to start off 
 Blent, blended, mixed 
 Blood-boltered, daubed with blood 
 Blows, swells 
 Blunt, stupid, insensible 
 Board, to accost, to address 
 Bobb, to trick, to make a fool of 
 Bodged, boggled, made bungling work 
 Bolting-hatch, the receptacle in which the meal 
 
 is bolted 
 
 Bombard, or bunibard, a barrel 
 Bombast, the stuffing of clothes 
 Bona-robas, strumpets 
 Bond, bounden duty 
 Book, paper of conditions 
 Bore, demeaned 
 Bore t the calibre of a gun 
 Bores, stabs or wounds 
 
 Bosom, wish, heart's desire 
 
 Bots, worms in the stomach of a horse 
 
 Bourn, boundary, rivulet 
 
 Bow, yoke 
 
 Brace, armour for the arm, state of defence 
 
 Brack, a species of hound 
 
 Braid, crafty or deceitful 
 
 Bravery, showy dress 
 
 Brawl, a kind of dance 
 
 Breach, of the sea, breaking of the sea 
 
 Breast, voice, surface 
 
 Breathed, inured by constant practice 
 
 Breathing, complimentary 
 
 Breeched, sheathed 
 
 Breeching, liable to school-boy punishment 
 
 Brize, the gad or horse-fly 
 
 Broached, spitted, transfixed 
 
 Broke, to deal with a pander 
 
 Broken, toothless 
 
 Broker, a matchmaker, a procuress or pimp 
 
 Brow, height 
 
 Bruited, reported with clamour 
 
 Brush, detrition, decay 
 
 Buckle, to bend, to yield to pressure 
 
 Bugs, bugbears, terrors 
 
 Bulk, the body 
 
 Bunting, a bird like a skylark 
 
 Burgonet, a kind of helmet 
 
 Bush, the sign of a public-house 
 
 Butt-shaft, an arrow to shoot at butts 
 
 Btucom*, obedient, under command 
 
 By^rlakin, by our ladykin, or little lady 
 
 Caddis, a narrow worsted galloon 
 
 Cade, a barrel 
 
 Cadent, falling 
 
 Cage, a prison 
 
 Cain-coloured, yellow 
 
 Caliver, a species of musket 
 
 Callet, a lewd woman 
 
 Calling, appellation 
 
 Calm, qualm 
 
 Canary, a sprightly nimble dance 
 
 Candle-wasters, those who sit up all night to 
 
 drink 
 
 Canker, the dog-rose 
 Canstick, candlestick 
 Cantle, a piece of anything 
 Cantons, cantos 
 Cap, the top, the principal 
 Cap, to salute by taking off the cap 
 Capitulate, to make head 
 Capon, metaphor for a letter 
 Capricious, lascivious 
 Captious, capacious or recipient 
 Carack, a ship of great bulk 
 Carbonadoed, scotched like meat for the gridiron 
 
1302 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 Care, inclination 
 
 Careires, the motion of a horse 
 
 Carkanet, necklace or chain 
 
 Carl, clown or husbandman 
 
 Carlot, peasant 
 
 Carren, a critic 
 
 Carpet-consideration, on a carpet, a festivity 
 
 Carriage, import 
 
 Carry, to prevail over 
 
 Case, skin, outside garb 
 
 Case, to strip naked 
 
 Cast, to empty, to dismiss or reject 
 
 Castilian, an opprobrious term 
 
 Castiliano vulgo, a term of contempt 
 
 Catalan, some kind of sharper 
 
 Catling, a lute-string made of catgut 
 
 Catitelous, insidious, cautious 
 
 Cavaleroes, airy, gay fellows 
 
 Caviare, a delicacy made of the roe of sturgeon 
 
 Cease, decease, die, to stop 
 
 Censure, to judge 
 
 Centuries, companies of an hundred 
 
 Ceremonies, honorary ornaments, tokens of 
 
 respect 
 
 Ceremonious, superstitious 
 Cess, measure 
 Chace, a term at tennis 
 Chair, throne 
 
 Chamber, ancient name for Londbn 
 Chamber, a species of great gun 
 Chamberers, men of intrigue 
 Character, to wrke, to infix strongly 
 Charactery, the matter with which letters are 
 
 made 
 
 Chares, taskwork 
 Charge-house, the free-school 
 Charitable, dear, endearing 
 Charneco, a sort of sweet wine 
 Chaudron, entrails 
 Cheater, escheator, an officer in the exchequer, 
 
 a gamester 
 
 Check, command, control 
 Cheer, countenance 
 Chevry-pit, a play with cherry-stones 
 Cheveril, soft or kid leather 
 Chew, to ruminate, consider 
 Chewet, a noisy chattering biret 
 Chide, to resound, to echo 
 Chiding, sound 
 
 Childing, unseasonably pregnant 
 Chopin, a nagh shoe or dog 
 Christom, the white cloth put on a new- baptized 
 
 child 
 
 Chrystals, eyes 
 
 Chuck, chicken, a term of endearment 
 Chuff, rich, avaricious 
 ite y to incite, to show, to prove 
 
 Civil, grave or solemn 
 
 Civil, human creature, anything human 
 
 Clack-dish, a beggar's dish 
 
 Claw, to flatter 
 
 Clinquant, glittering, shining 
 
 Clip, to embrace, to infold 
 
 Clout, the mark archers aim at 
 
 Coach-fellow, one who draws with a confederate 
 
 Coasting, conciliatory, inviting 
 
 Cobloaf, a crusty, uneven loaf 
 
 Cotk, cock-boat 
 
 Cockle, a weed 
 
 Cockled, inshelled like a cockle 
 
 Cockshut-time , twilight 
 
 Codling, anciently an immature apple 
 
 Coffin, the cavity of a raised pie 
 
 Cog, to falsify, to lie. to defraud 
 
 Coigne, corner 
 
 Coil, bustle, stir 
 
 Collect, to assemble by observation 
 
 Collection, corollary, consequence 
 
 Collied, black, smutted with coal 
 
 Collier, a term of the highest reproach 
 
 Colt, to fool, to trick 
 
 Co-mart, a joint bargain 
 
 Combinate, betrothed 
 
 Comforting, aiding 
 
 Commended, committed 
 
 Commonty, a comedy 
 
 Compact, made up of 
 
 Company, companion 
 
 Comparative, a dealer in comparisons 
 
 Compassed, round 
 
 Compliments, accomplishments 
 
 Complexion, humour 
 
 Comply, to compliment 
 
 Compose, to come to a composition 
 
 Composition, contract or bargain, consistency, 
 
 concordancy 
 
 Composture, composition, cowipost 
 Comptible, submissive 
 Con, to know 
 Conclusions, experiments 
 Concupy, concupiscence 
 Condolement, sorrow 
 Coney -catched, cheated 
 Coney -catcher i a cheat, or sharper 
 Confession, profession 
 Conject, conjecture 
 
 Confound, to destroy, to expend to consume 
 Confounded, worn or wasted 
 Consigned, sealed 
 Consist, to stand upon 
 Continent, the thing which contains 
 Continents, banks of rivers 
 Contraction, marriage contract 
 Contrive, to spend and wear out 
 
GLOSSARY. 
 
 I3<>3 
 
 Control, to confute 
 
 Convent, to serve or agree 
 
 Convented, cited, summoned 
 
 Converse, interchange 
 
 Convey, to perform sleight-of-hand 
 
 Conveyance, theft, fraud 
 
 Convince, to overpower, subdue, convict 
 
 Convive, to feast 
 
 Cope, covering 
 
 Copped, rising to a cope, or head 
 
 Copy, theme 
 
 Coragio, a word of encouragement 
 
 Corinthian, a wencher 
 
 Corky, dry, withered, husky 
 
 Corollary, surplus 
 
 Corrigible, corrected 
 
 Costard, the head 
 
 Coster-monger, meanly, mercenary 
 
 Cote, to overtake 
 
 Coted, quoted, observed, or regarded 
 
 Cotsale, Cotswold in Gloucestershire 
 
 Covered, hollow 
 
 Count Confect, a specious nobleman 
 
 Countenance, false appearance, hypocrisy 
 
 Counterpoints, counterpanes 
 
 Cotmty, count, earl 
 
 Cower, to sink by bending the hams 
 
 Cowl-staff, a staff for carrying a tub 
 
 Coy, to soothe or stroke 
 
 Coyed, condescended unwillingly [fellow 
 
 Coystril, a coward cock, a mean or drunken 
 
 Cozier, a tailor or botcher 
 
 Crack, dissolution 
 
 Crack, a boy, or child, a boy-child 
 
 Cranks, windings 
 
 Grants, chants 
 
 Crare, a small trading vessel 
 
 Create, compounded, or made up 
 
 Credit, a light set upon a beacon 
 
 Cressive, increasing 
 
 Crestless, having no right to arms 
 
 Crisp, curling, winding, curled, bent 
 
 Critic, cynic 
 
 Crosses, money stamped with a cross 
 
 Crow-keeper, a scarecrow 
 
 Crown, to conclude 
 
 Crowned, dignified, adorned 
 
 Crownet, last purpose 
 
 Cry, a troop or pack 
 
 Cue, in stage cant, the last words of the preced- 
 ing speech 
 
 Cuisses, armour for the thighs 
 
 Cullion, a despicable fellow 
 
 Cunning, sagacity, knowledge 
 
 Curb, to bend or truckle 
 
 Curiosity, finical delicacy, scrupulousness or 
 captiousness 
 
 Curious, scrupulous 
 
 Curled, ostentatiously dressed 
 
 Currents, occurrences 
 
 Curst, crabbed, shrewish, angry 
 
 Curtail, a cur of little value 
 
 Curtal, a docked horse 
 
 Curtle-axe, or cutlass, a short sword 
 
 Custard-coffin, the crust of a pie 
 
 Customer, a common woman 
 
 Cut, a horse 
 
 Cyprus, a transparent stuff 
 
 Daff, or doff, to do off, to put aside 
 
 Danger, reach or control 
 
 Danskers, natives of Denmark 
 
 Dark-house, a house made gloomy by discon- 
 tent 
 
 Darraign, to arrange, put in order 
 
 Daub, to disguise 
 
 Daubery, falsehood and imposition 
 
 Day-bed, a couch 
 
 Day-woman, dairy-maid 
 
 Dear, best, important, dire 
 
 Dearn, lonely, solitary 
 
 Death-tokens, spots appearing on those infected 
 by the plague 
 
 Decay j misfortunes 
 
 Deck, to cover, a pack 
 
 Decline, to run through from first to last 
 
 Deem, opinion, surmise 
 
 Defeat, destruction 
 
 Defence, art of fencing 
 
 Defend, to forbid 
 
 Defiance, refusal 
 
 Delay, to let slip 
 
 Demise, to grant 
 
 Denay, denial 
 
 Denier, the twelfth part of a French sous 
 
 Denotements, indications or discoveries 
 
 Depend, to be in service 
 
 Deracinate, to force up by the roots 
 
 Derogate, degraded, blasted 
 
 Descant, a term in music 
 
 Dick, dit or do it 
 
 Dickon, familiarly for Richard 
 
 Die, gaming 
 
 Diffused, extravagant, irregular 
 
 Digression, transgression 
 
 Dint, impression 
 
 Direction, judgment, skill 
 
 Disable, to undervalue 
 
 Disappointed, unprepared 
 
 Disclose, to hatch 
 
 Discontenting, discontented 
 
 Discourse, reason 
 
 Disease, uneasiness, discontent 
 
 Diseases, sayings 
 
GLOSSARY. 
 
 Disgrace, hardship, injury 
 
 Dis limns, 'unpaints, obliterates 
 
 Dispose, to make terms, to settle matters 
 
 Distaste, to corrupt, to change to a worse 
 state 
 
 Distemper, intoxication 
 
 Distemper ature, perturbation 
 
 Distractions, detachments, separate bodies 
 
 Division, the pauses or parts of musical com- 
 position 
 
 Doctrine, skill 
 
 Dole, lot, allowance 
 
 Dolphin, the Dauphin of France 
 
 Don, to do on, to put on 
 
 Dotant, dotard 
 
 Dout, to do out, extinguish 
 
 Dowle, a feather 
 
 Down-gyved, hanging down like what confines 
 the fetters round the ankles 
 
 Drab, whoring 
 
 Drawn, embowelled, exenterated 
 
 Dread, epithet applied to kings 
 
 Drew, assembled 
 
 Dribbling, a term of contempt 
 
 Drive, to fly with impetuosity 
 
 Drollery, a show performed by puppets 
 
 Drugs, drudges 
 
 Drumblt, to act lazily and stupidly 
 
 Ducdame, due ad me, bring him to me 
 
 Dudgeon, the handle of a dagger 
 
 Due, to endue, to deck, to grace 
 
 Dump, a mournful elegy 
 
 Dup, to do up, to lift up 
 
 Eager, sour, sharp, harsh 
 
 Eanlings, lambs just dropped 
 
 Ear, to plough 
 
 Easy, slight, inconsiderable 
 
 EC he, to eke out 
 
 Ecstasy, alienation of mind, madness 
 
 Effects, affects, actions, deeds effected 
 
 Eftest, deftest, readiest 
 
 Egypt, a gipsy 
 
 Eld, old time or persons 
 
 Element, initiation, previous practice 
 
 Embossed, enclosed, swollen, puffy 
 
 Embowelkd, exhausted 
 
 Embraced, indulged in 
 
 Empery, dominion, sovereign command 
 
 Emulous, jealous of higher authority 
 
 Encave, to hide 
 
 Engross, to fatten, to pamper 
 
 Engrossments, accumulations 
 
 Enmew, to coop up 
 
 Ensconce, to protect as with a fort 
 
 Enseamed, greasy 
 
 Entertain, to retain in service 
 
 Entertainment, the pay of an army, admission 
 
 to office 
 
 Ephesian, a cant term for a toper 
 Equipage, stolen goods 
 Erring, wandering 
 Escoted, paid 
 
 Esil, a river so called, or vinegar 
 Esperance, the motto of the Percy family 
 Essential, existent, real 
 Estimate, price 
 Estimation, conjecture 
 Excrement, the beard 
 
 Excrements, the hair, nails, feathersof birds, etc. 
 Execute, to employ, to put to use 
 Execution, employment of exercise 
 Executors, executioners 
 Exercise, exhortation, lecture, or confession 
 Exhale, hale or lug out 
 Exhibition, allowance 
 Exigent, end 
 Expedient, expeditious 
 Expiate, fully completed 
 Expostiire, exposure 
 Express, to reveal 
 Expulsed, expelled 
 
 Exsufflicate, contemptible, abominable 
 Extend, to seize 
 
 Extent, in law, violence In general 
 Extravagant, wandering 
 Eyases, young nestlings 
 Eyas musket, infant lilliputian 
 Eye, a small shade of colour 
 Eyliads, glances, looks. See Oeiliads 
 Eyne, eyes 
 
 Face, to carry a foolish appearance 
 
 Facinorous, wicked 
 
 Fact, guilt 
 
 Factious, active 
 
 Faculties, medicinal virtues, office, exercise of 
 
 power 
 
 Fadge, to suit or fit 
 Fading, the burthen of a song 
 Faithful, not an infidel 
 Faitors, traitors, rascals 
 Fall, an ebb 
 Falsing, falsifying 
 Fancy, love 
 Fans, ancient 
 Fap, drunk 
 Far, extensively 
 Farced, stuffed 
 Fashions, farcens or farcy 
 Fast, determined, fixed 
 Fat, dull 
 Favour, countenance, features,, indulgence 
 
 pardon, appearance 
 
GLOSSARY. 
 
 Feat) ready, dexterous 
 
 Feated, formed, made neat 
 
 Federary, a confederate 
 
 Fee-grief, a peculiar sorrow 
 
 Feeder, an eater, a servant 
 
 Feere, or Pheere, a companion, a husband 
 
 Feet, footing 
 
 Fell, skin 
 
 Fell-feats, savage practices 
 
 Feodary, an accomplice, a confederate 
 
 Festinately , hastily 
 
 Festival term, splendid phraseology 
 
 Fet, fetched 
 
 Fico, a fig 
 
 Fielded, in the field of battle 
 
 Fig, to insult 
 
 Fights, clothes hung round a ship to conceal 
 
 the men from the enemy 
 Filed, gone an equal pace with 
 Fills, the shafts 
 Filths, common sewers 
 Fine, full of fineness, artful 
 Fine, to make showy or specious 
 Fire-new, bran-new, new from the forge 
 Fir A, to chastise 
 Fit, a division of a song 
 Fitchew, a pole -cat 
 Fives, a distemper in horses 
 Flap-dragon, a small inflammable substance 
 
 which topers swallow in a glass of wine 
 Flap-jacks, pancakes 
 Fleet, to float 
 
 Fleshment, first act of military service 
 Flewed, having the flews or chaps of a hound 
 Flight, a sort of shooting 
 Flourish, ornament 
 Flote, wave 
 Flush, mature, ripe 
 Foin, to thrust in fencing 
 Poison, plenty 
 Folly, depravity of mind 
 Fond, foolish, or prized by folly 
 Fonder, more weak or foolish 
 Fondly, foolishly 
 
 Fools' zanies, baubles with the head of a fool 
 Foot-cloth, a housing covering the body of the 
 
 horse, and almost reaching to the ground 
 Forced, false 
 Fordid, destroyed 
 Fordo, to undo, to destroy 
 Foredone, overcome 
 Foreslow, to be dilatory, to loiter 
 Forgetive, inventive, imaginative 
 Forked, horned 
 Former, foremost 
 
 For spoke, contradicted, spoken against 
 Forthcoming, in custody 
 
 Foul, homely, not fair 
 
 Fox, a cant word for a sword 
 
 Foxship, mean, cunning 
 
 Frampold, peevish, fretful, or cross 
 
 Frank, a sty 
 
 Franklin, a little gentleman or freeholder 
 
 Fret, the stop of a musical instrument, which 
 
 regulates the vibration of the string 
 Frippery, a shop where old clothes were sold 
 Prize, a cloth made in Wales 
 Frontier, forehead 
 Frush, to break or bruise 
 Fulfilling, filling till there be no room for more 
 Fullams, loaded dice 
 Fumiter, fumitory 
 
 Gabardine, a loose felt cloak 
 
 Gain-giving, misgiving 
 
 Galliard, an ancient dance 
 
 Galliasses, a species of galleys 
 
 Gallowglasses, heavy armed foot 
 
 Callow, to scare or frighten 
 
 Gallymawfry, a medley 
 
 Gamester, a frolicsome person, a wanton 
 
 Garboils, commotion, stir 
 
 Gasted, frightened 
 
 Gaudy, a festival day 
 
 Gawds, baubles, toys 
 
 Geek, a fool 
 
 Generosity, high birth 
 
 Generous, most noble 
 
 Gentility, urbanity 
 
 Gentle, noble, high-mindeo 
 
 Gentry, complaisance 
 
 German, akin 
 
 Gest, a stage or journey 
 
 Gib, a cat 
 
 Giglot, a wanton wench 
 
 Gilder, a coin valued at is. 6d. or 2s 
 
 Gild, gilding, golden money 
 
 Gimmal, a ring or engine 
 
 Ging, a gang 
 
 Gird, a sarcasm or gibe, emotion 
 
 Gleek, to joke or scoff, to beguile 
 
 Gloze, to expound, to comment upon 
 
 Good-deed, indeed, in very deed 
 
 Good-den, good -evening 
 
 Good-life, of a moral or jovial turn 
 
 Good-jer, gougere, morbus gallicus 
 
 Gorbellied, fat and corpulent 
 
 Government, evenness of temper, decency of 
 
 manners 
 
 Gourds, a species of dice 
 Gouts, drops 
 
 Gramercy, grand mercy, great thanks 
 Grange, the farm-house of a monastery 
 Gratillily, gratuity 
 
1306 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 Grave, to entomb 
 
 Graves, of greaves, armour for the legs 
 
 Greasily, grossly 
 
 Greek, a bawd or pander 
 
 Greenly, awkwardly, unskilfully 
 
 Greets, pleases 
 
 Grise, a step 
 
 Grossly, palpably [playhouse 
 
 Groundlings, the frequenters of the pit in the 
 
 Growing, accruing 
 
 Guard, to fringe or lace 
 
 Guarded, ornamented 
 
 Guards, badges of dignity 
 
 Guinea-hen, a prostitute 
 
 Gules, red, a term in heraldry 
 
 Gulf, the swallow, the throat 
 
 Gun-stones, cannon-balls woo 
 
 Gust, taste, rashness 
 
 Gyve, to catch, to shackle 
 
 Haggard, a species of hawk 
 Hair, complexion or character 
 Hardiment, bravery, stoutness 
 Harlocks, wild mustard 
 Harlot, a cheat 
 
 Harrow, to conquer, to subdue 
 Harry, to use roughly, to harass 
 Having, estate or fortune 
 Haunt, company 
 Hay, a term in the fencing-school 
 Head, body of forces 
 Heart, the most valuable part 
 Heat, violence of resentment 
 Heavy, slow 
 Hebenon, henbane 
 Hefted, heaved 
 Hefts, heavings 
 
 Hell, an obscure dungeon in a prison 
 Helmed, steered through 
 Hent, seized or taken possession of 
 Hereby, as it may happen 
 Hermits, beadsmen 
 Hest, behest, command 
 Hight, called 
 
 Hilding, a paltry cowardly fellow 
 Hiren, a harlot 
 His, often used for its 
 Hit, to agree 
 Hold, to esteem 
 Holla, a term of the manege 
 Holy, faithful 
 
 Home, completely, in full extent 
 Honey-stalks, clover flowers 
 Hoop, a measure 
 Hox, to hamstring 
 
 Hull, to drive to and fro upon the water with- 
 out sails or rudder 
 
 Humorous, changeable, humid, moist 
 Hitngry, sterile, unprolific 
 Himt-counter, base tyke, worthless dog 
 Hunt-stip, the name of a tune 
 f&trly, noise 
 
 Hurtling, merry with impetuosity 
 Husbandry, thrift, frugality 
 Huswife, a jilt 
 
 Images, children, representatives 
 
 Imbare, to lay open or display to view 
 
 Immunity, barbarity, savageness 
 
 Immediacy, close connection 
 
 Imp, to supply 
 
 Imp, progeny 
 
 Impair, unsuitable 
 
 Impartial, sometimes used for partial 
 
 Imperious, imperial 
 
 Impeticos, to impetticoat or impocket 
 
 Importance, importunacy 
 
 Importance, the thing imported 
 
 Impress, a device or motto 
 
 Incapable, unintelligent 
 
 Incarnardine, to stain of a red colour 
 
 Incensed, incited, suggested 
 
 Inclip, to embrace 
 
 Include, to shut up, to conclude 
 
 Incony, or kony, fine, delicate 
 
 Incorrect, ill- regulated 
 
 Indent, to bargain and article 
 
 Index, something preparatory to 
 
 Indifferent, sometimes for different, impartial 
 
 Indite, to convict 
 
 Induction, entrance, preparations 
 
 Indurarue, delay, procrastination 
 
 Iti&aged, sometimes for unengaged 
 
 Inkhorn-mate, a book-mate 
 
 Inkle, tape, crewel, or worsted 
 
 Inland, civilized, not rustic 
 
 Insconce, to fortify 
 
 Insuit, solicitation 
 
 Intend, to pretend 
 
 Intending, regarding 
 
 Intendment, intention or disposition 
 
 Intenible., incapable of retaining 
 
 Intention, eagerness of desire 
 
 Interessed, interested 
 
 Intrenchant, that which cannot be cut 
 
 intrinse, intrinsicate 
 
 Inwardness, intimacy, confidence 
 
 Iron, clad in armour 
 
 Irregulous, lawless, licentious 
 
 Jack, a term of contempt 
 
 Jack-a-lent, a puppet thrown at in Lent 
 
 Jack guardant, a jack in office 
 
 Jaded, treated with contempt, worthless 
 
GLOSSARY. 
 
 Jar, the noise made by the pendulum of a 
 
 clock 
 
 Jatmcing, jaunting 
 Jesses, straps of leather by which the hawk is 
 
 held on the fist 
 Jest, to play a part in a mask 
 Jet, to strut 
 
 Jovial, belonging to Jove 
 Journal, daily 
 
 Jump, to agree with, to agitate 
 Jump, hazard, to venture at 
 Jump, just 
 
 Kam, awry, crooked 
 
 Keech, a solid lump or mass 
 
 Keel, to cool 
 
 Keisar, Caesar 
 
 Kerns, light-armed Irish foot 
 
 Key, the key for tuning 
 
 Kicksy-ivicksy, a wife 
 
 Kiln-hole, a place into which coals are put 
 
 under a stove 
 
 Kind, nature, species, child 
 Kindless, unnatural 
 Kindly, naturally 
 Kindly, kindred 
 Kinged, ruled by 
 Kirtle, part of a woman's dress 
 Knave, servant 
 Knots, figures planted in box 
 Know of, to consider 
 
 Labras, lips 
 
 Laced mutton, a woman of the town 
 
 Lackeying, moving like a lackey or page 
 
 Lag, the meanest persons 
 
 Land-damn, to destroy in some way 
 
 Lands, landing-places 
 
 Large, licentious 
 
 Latch, to lay hold of 
 
 Latched* or letcked, licked over 
 
 Latten, thin as a lath 
 
 Lavoltas, a kind of dances 
 
 Laund, lawn 
 
 Lay, a wager 
 
 Leather-coats, a species of apple 
 
 Leave, to part with, to give away 
 
 Leech, a physician 
 
 Leer^ feature, complexion 
 
 Leet, court-leet, or court of the manor 
 
 Legerity, lightness, nimbleness 
 
 Leges, alleges 
 
 Leiger, resident 
 
 Lenten^ short and spare 
 
 V envoy, moral, or conclusion of a poem 
 
 Lei, to hinder 
 
 Lethe, death 
 
 Libbard, or Ittbbar^ a leopard 
 
 Liberal, licentious or gross in language 
 
 Liberty, libertinism 
 
 License, an appearance of licentiousness 
 
 Liefest, dearest 
 
 Lifter, a thief 
 
 Light o' love, a dance tune 
 
 Livelihood, appearance of life 
 
 Lodged, laid by the wind 
 
 Loffe, to laugh 
 
 Loggats, a game played with pias of wood 
 
 Longiy, longingly 
 
 Loof, to bring a vessel close to the wind 
 
 Lop, the branches 
 
 Lot, a prize 
 
 Lottery, allotment 
 
 Lowted, treated with contempt 
 
 Lowts, clowns 
 
 Lozel, worthless, dishonest 
 
 Lullaby, sleeping-house, i.e., cradle 
 
 Lunes, lunacy, frenzy 
 
 Lurch, to win 
 
 Lustick, lusty, cheerful, pleasant 
 
 Lym t a species of dog 
 
 Madt t enriched 
 
 Magnificent, glorying, boasting 
 
 Make, to bar, to shut 
 
 Makest, dost 
 
 Mall, Mrs. alias Mary Frith, or Moil Cutpurse 
 
 Mallecho, mischief 
 
 Mammock, to cut in pieces 
 
 Man, to tame a hawk 
 
 Marchpane, a species of sweetmeat 
 
 Martial-hand, a careless scrawl 
 
 Martlemas, the latter spring 
 
 Match, an appointment, a compact 
 
 Mate, to confound 
 
 Mated, amated, dismayed 
 
 Meacock, a dastardly creature 
 
 Mean, the tenor in music 
 
 Means, interest, pains 
 
 Measure, the reach . ,.**; 
 
 Measure, means 
 
 Meazels, lepers 
 
 Medicine, a she-physician 
 
 Meet, a match 
 
 Meiny, people, domestics 
 
 Mephistophilus, the name of a spirit or familiar 
 
 Mercatante, a merchant 
 
 Mered, mere 
 
 Mermaid, syren 
 
 Messes, degrees about court 
 
 Micher, a truant, a lurking thief 
 
 Misery , avarice 
 
 Mistress, the jack in bowling 
 
 or mabled t vailed, grossly covered 
 
1308 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 Modern, trite, common, meanly pretty 
 
 Modesty, moderation 
 
 Moe, to make mouths 
 
 Mome, a blockhead, a dolt 
 
 Month's mind, a popish anniversary 
 
 Mortal-staring, that which stares fatally 
 
 Motion, a kind of puppet-show 
 
 Motion, divinatory agitation 
 
 Motions, indignation 
 
 Moiise-hunt, a weasel 
 
 Mousing, gorging, devouring 
 
 Moy, a piece of money or a measure of corn 
 
 Much, an expression of disdain 
 
 Much, strange, wonderful 
 
 Muleters, muleteers 
 
 Mummy, balsamic liquor 
 
 Mure, a wall 
 
 Musit or Muset, a gap in a hedge 
 
 Muss, a scramble 
 
 Nay-word, a watchword or by-word 
 
 Neat, finical 
 
 Neeld, needle 
 
 Neglection, neglect 
 
 Neif, fist 
 
 Nephew, a grandson, or any lineal descendant 
 
 Nether-stocks, stockings 
 
 Nicely, scrupulously 
 
 Nick, reckoning or count 
 
 Nick, to set a mark of folly on 
 
 Nicked, emasculated 
 
 Night-rule, frolic of the night 
 
 Nill, will not 
 
 Nine men's morris, a game 
 
 Noble, a coin 
 
 Noddy, a game at cards ; also, a noodle 
 
 Noise, music 
 
 Nonce, on purpose, for the turn 
 
 Nook-shotten, that which shoots into capes 
 
 Northern man, vir borealis, a clown 
 
 Novum, some game at dice 
 
 Nowl, a head 
 
 Nuthook, a thief 
 
 Ob, obolum, a halfpenny 
 
 Obidicut, a fiend 
 
 Obsequious, serious, as at funeral obsequies, 
 
 careful of 
 
 Observing, religiously attentive 
 Obstacle, obstinate 
 Oddly, unequally 
 Odds, quarrel 
 
 Ocfs pittikins, God me pity 
 Oe, a circle 
 
 Oeiliad, a cast or glance of the eye 
 O* er-r aught, over-reached 
 Of, through 
 
 Offering, the assailant 
 
 Old, frequent, more than enough 
 
 Oneyers, accountants, bankers, 
 
 Opinion, obstinacy, conceit, character 
 
 Opposition, combat 
 
 Or, before 
 
 Orbs, circles made by the fairies on the ground 
 
 Order, to take, to adapt measures 
 
 Orient, pellucid, lustrous 
 
 Ordinance, rank 
 
 Orgulous, proud, disdainful 
 
 Orts, scraps 
 
 Ostent, show, ostentation 
 
 Ousel-cock, the blackbird 
 
 Overblow, to drive away, to keep off 
 
 Overlook, to bewitch 
 
 Oversee, to execute, to superintend 
 
 Ouph, fairy, goblin 
 
 Out, full, complete - . -.'< 
 
 Outlook, to face down 
 
 Outvied, a term at the game of gleek 
 
 Outward, not in the secret of affairs 
 
 Owches, bosses of gold set in diamonds 
 
 Packed, confederate 
 
 Paddock, a toad 
 
 Pagan, a loose vicious person 
 
 Paid, punished 
 
 Pajock, peacock 
 
 Palabras, words 
 
 Pale, to empale, encircle with a crown 
 
 Palliament, a robe 
 
 Palter, to juggle or shuffle 
 
 Pantaloon, the Italian 
 
 Paper, to write down, or appoint by writing 
 
 Paper, written securities 
 
 Parcel, reckon up 
 
 Parcel-gilt, gilt only on certain parts 
 
 Parish-top, a large top formerly kept in every 
 
 village to be whipped for exercise 
 Paritor, an apparitor, an officer of the bishop's 
 
 court 
 
 Parle, speech 
 Parlous, keen, shrewd 
 Partake, to impart, to participate 
 Parted, endowed with parts 
 Partisan, a pike 
 Parts, party 
 Pash, a head 
 
 Pash, to strike with violence 
 Pashed, bruised, crushed 
 Pass, to decide, to assure or convey 
 Passed, excelling, past all expression or bounds 
 Passes, what has passed 
 Passing, eminent, egregious 
 Passionate, a prey to mournful sensations 
 Passioning, being in a passion 
 
GLOSSARY. 
 
 1309 
 
 Passy-measure, a dance 
 
 Pastry, the room where pastry was made 
 
 Patch, a term of reproach 
 
 Patchery, roguery, villany 
 
 Patine, a dish used in the Eucharist 
 
 Pavin, a dance 
 
 Paucas, few 
 
 Pay, to beat, to hit 
 
 Peat, a pet 
 
 Pedant, a schoolmaster 
 
 Pedascuk, a pedant 
 
 Peize, to balance, to keep in suspense 
 
 Pelting, paltry, petty, inconsiderable 
 
 Penthesilea, Amazon 
 
 Perfections, liver, brain, and heart 
 
 Periapts, charms worn about the neck 
 
 Perjure, a perjurer 
 
 Pestered, impeded 
 
 Pheeze, to teaze, comb, or curry 
 
 Philip, a name for the sparrow 
 
 Physical, medicinal 
 
 Pick, to pitch 
 
 Pickers, the hands 
 
 Picking, piddling, insignificant 
 
 Pickt-hatch, a place noted for brothels 
 
 Pied ninny, a jester, a fool 
 
 PieFd, shaven 
 
 Pight, pitched, fixed 
 
 Pilcher, an outer garment of leather 
 
 Pin and web, disorders of the eye 
 
 Placket, a petticoat 
 
 Plain song, the chant, in piano cantu 
 
 Planched, made of brands 
 
 Plant, the foot 
 
 Plantage, the moon's influence over plants 
 
 Plates, silver coin 
 
 Platforms, plans, schemes 
 
 Pleached, folded together 
 
 Plurisy, repletion 
 
 Point, hook for the hose or. breeches 
 
 Point-device, with the utmost exactness 
 
 Poize, weight or moment 
 
 Polacks, Polanders 
 
 Pomander, a ball of perfume 
 
 Pomewater, a species of apple 
 
 Porpentine, porcupine 
 
 Port, show, state, appearance 
 
 Portage, portholes 
 
 Portance, carriage, behaviour 
 
 Patch, to push violently 
 
 Poulter, a poulterer 
 
 Pouncet-box, a small box for perfumes 
 
 Powder, to salt 
 
 *Praise t to appraise 
 
 Prank, to dress ostentatiously, to plume 
 
 Precedent, original draft 
 
 Precepts, warrants 
 
 Pregnancy, readiness 
 
 Pregnant, ready, evident, apposite 
 
 Pregnant enemy, the enemy of mankind 
 
 Premised, sent before the time 
 
 Prenominate, forenamed 
 
 Presence, the presence-chamber 
 
 Prest, ready 
 
 Pretence, design, device 
 
 Pretty, petty, little 
 
 Prevent, to anticipate 
 
 Pricks, prickles, skewers 
 
 Prime, prompt 
 
 Primero, a game at cards 
 
 Principality, first or principal of women 
 
 Principals, rafters of a building 
 
 Princox, a coxcomb, or spoiled child 
 
 Prize, privilege 
 
 Preface, much good may it do you 
 
 Profession, end and purpose of coming 
 
 Project, to shape 
 
 Prompture, suggestion, temptation 
 
 Prone, sometimes humble 
 
 Proof, confirmed state of manhood 
 
 Proper-false, fair, false, deceitful 
 
 Propertied, taken possession of 
 
 Property, due performance 
 
 Prorogue, to deaden or benumb 
 
 Prune, to plume 
 
 Pugging, thievish 
 
 Pun, to pound 
 
 Purchase, stolen goods 
 
 Purchased, acquired by unjust methods 
 
 Quaint-mazes, a game running the figure of 
 
 eight 
 
 Quaintly, clever, adroit 
 Quality, confederates 
 Quarry, a pile of slaughtered game 
 Quart (fecu, fourth of a French crown 
 Quat, a pimple 
 Quell, to murder, to destroy 
 Question, to converse 
 Questrist, one who seeks for another 
 Quests, reports 
 
 Quick, alive, quickening, quick-witted 
 Quiddits, subtilties 
 Quillets, law chicane 
 Quilt, a flock bed 
 
 Quintain, post for various exercises 
 Quit, to requite 
 
 Quittance, requital, to make requital 
 Quiver, nimble, active 
 
 Rabalo, an ornament for the neck 
 Rack, to exaggerate 
 Rack, the fleeting away of the clouds 
 Racking, in rapid motion 
 
GLOSSARY. 
 
 Rag, a term of contempt 
 
 Rank, rate or pace 
 
 Rapture^ a fit 
 
 Rascal, applied to lean deer 
 
 Raught, reached 
 
 Ravined, glutted with prey 
 
 Rayed, bewrayed 
 
 Razed, slashed, opened 
 
 Razes, roots 
 
 Rear-mouse, a bat 
 
 Reason, to discourse 
 
 Rebeck, an old musical instrument 
 
 Receiving, ready apprehension 
 
 RecheatCy a sound to call back dogs 
 
 Reck, to care for, to mind, to attend to 
 
 Record, to sing 
 
 Recorder, a kind of flute or flageolet 
 
 Recure, to recover 
 
 Rede, counsel, advice 
 
 Red-lattice, the sign of an alehouse 
 
 Reduce, to bring back 
 
 Reechy, discoloured by smoke, greasy 
 
 Refell, to refute 
 
 Regard, reflection 
 
 Regret, exchange of salutation 
 
 Reguerdon, recompense, return 
 
 Remembered, reminded 
 
 Remotion, removal or remoteness 
 
 Removed, remote, private 
 
 Render, a confession, an account 
 
 Renege, to renounce 
 
 Repeal, to recall from exile 
 
 Reports, reporters 
 
 Reproof, confutation 
 
 Repugn, to resist 
 
 Reputing, boasting of 
 
 Resolve, to dissolve 
 
 Respective, cool, considerate 
 
 'Rest, arrest 
 
 Retire, to withdraw 
 
 Reword, to echo 
 
 Rib, to enclose 
 
 Rigol, a circle 
 
 Rim, a part of the intestines 
 
 Rivage, the bank or shore 
 
 Rivality, equal rank 
 
 Rivals, partners 
 
 Romage, rummage 
 
 Ronyon, a scurvy woman 
 
 Rook, to squat down 
 
 Ropery, roguery 
 
 Rope-tricks, abusive language 
 
 Rounded, whispered 
 
 Roundel, a country dance 
 
 Rondure, circle 
 
 Rouse, a draught of jollity 
 
 Roynish, mangy or scabby 
 
 Ruddock, the redbreast 
 Rudesby, blusterer, swaggerer 
 Ruff, the folding of the tops of boots 
 Ruffle, to riot, to create disturbance 
 Ruth, pity, compassion 
 
 Sacred, accursed 
 
 Sag, or swagg, to sink down 
 
 Sallet, a helmet 
 
 Saltiers, corruption of satyrs 
 
 Saucy, lascivious 
 
 Saw , the whole tenor of any discourse 
 
 Say, silk, a sample, a taste, or relish 
 
 Scaffoldage, gallery of the theatre 
 
 Scald, a word of contempt, poor> filthy 
 
 Scaling, weighing 
 
 Scall, an old word of reproach 
 
 Scamels, or sea-mells, sea-birds 
 
 Scotched, cut slightly 
 
 Scrimers, fencers 
 
 Scroyles, scabby fellows 
 
 Sculls, numbers of fish together 
 
 Scutched, whipped, carted 
 
 Seam, lard 
 
 Sear, to stigmatize, to close 
 
 Sect, a cutting in gardening 
 
 Secure, to assure 
 
 Seeling, blinding 
 
 Septentrion, the north 
 
 Sequester, a separation 
 
 Serpigo, a kind of tetter 
 
 Serve, to accompany 
 
 Set, a term in music 
 
 Setebos, a species of devil 
 
 Shale, a case, a shell 
 
 Shard-borne, borne by scaly wings 
 
 Shards, broken pots, a beetle's wings 
 
 Sheer, pellucid, transparent 
 
 Shent, ruined, rebuked, ashamed 
 
 Shot, shooter 
 
 Shoughs, shocks, a species of dog 
 
 Siege, stool, seat, rank 
 
 Sightless, unsightly 
 
 Single, weak, small, void of guile 
 
 Sink-a-pace, cinque-pace, a dance 
 
 Sir-reverence, save-your-reverence 
 
 Sithence, thence 
 
 Sizes, allowances of victuals 
 
 Skains-mates, loose companions 
 
 Skill, cunning, design, reason 
 
 Skills not, is of no importance 
 
 Skirr, to scour, to ride hastily 
 
 Sledded, riding in a sled or sledge 
 
 Sliver, to cut a piece or slice 
 
 Slower, more serious 
 
 Smoke, to discover 
 
 Smoothed, fawned on 
 
GLOSSARY. 
 
 Sneap, to check or rebuke, a rebuke 
 
 Sneaping, nipping 
 
 Sneck-up, cant phrase, " go hang yourself' 
 
 Snipe, a fool, a blockhead 
 
 Snuffs, tiffs 
 
 Solicit, to excite 
 
 Solidares, ancient coin 
 
 Sooth, sweetness 
 
 Sort, the lot 
 
 Sort and suit, figure and rank 
 
 Sot, a fool 
 
 Sow I, to pull by the ears 
 
 Speak to, to aspire or lay claim to 
 
 Sped, done, settled 
 
 Speed, event 
 
 Sperr, to shut up, defend by bars, etc. 
 
 Spotted, wicked 
 
 Sprag or spackt, apt to learn 
 
 Sprighted, haunted 
 
 Sprightly, ghostly 
 
 Square, to quarrel 
 
 Squash, an immature peascod 
 
 Squire, a square or rule 
 
 Stale, a bait or decoy to catch birds 
 
 Standing bowls, bowls elevated on feet 
 
 Stannyel, a kind of hawk 
 
 Star, a scar of that appearance 
 
 Starve, to perish 
 
 Station, the act of standing 
 
 Sternage, steerage, course 
 
 Sticking-place, the stop in a machine 
 
 Sticklers, arbitrators, judges, sidesmen 
 
 Sttgmatic, one on whom nature has set a mark 
 
 of deformity 
 
 Still, constant or continual 
 Stoup, somewhat more than half a gallon 
 Stover, a kind of thatch 
 Strachy, a kind of domestic office 
 Strain, lineage, difficulty, doubt 
 Stratagem, great or dreadful event 
 Stuck, a thrust in fencing 
 Subscribe, to yield, to surrender 
 Sur-reined, over-worked, or ridden 
 Swashing, noisy, bullying 
 Swath, the dress of a new-born child 
 Sway, the whole weight, momentum 
 Sweeting, a species of apple 
 Swinge-bucklers, rakes, rioters 
 
 Table, the palm of the hand extended 
 
 Table, a picture 
 
 Tables, table-books, memoranda 
 
 Tabourines, drums 
 
 Take, to strike with a disease, to blast 
 
 Take-iip, to contradict, call to account 
 
 Take-up, to levy 
 
 Talents ; riches 
 
 Tallow keech, the fat of an ox or cow 
 Tarre, to stimulate, to excite, provoke 
 Tartar, Tartarus, the fabled place of future 
 
 punishment 
 
 Task, to keep busied with scruples 
 Taurus, heart in medical astrology 
 Taxation, censure or satire 
 Teen, sorrow, grief 
 Tent, to take up residence 
 Tercel, the male hawk 
 Testern, to gratify with a sixpence 
 Tharborough, a peace-officer 
 Thick-pleached, thickly interwoven 
 Thozight, melancholy 
 Thrasonical, boastful, bragging 
 Three-man-beetle, for driving piles 
 Thrummed, made of coarse woollen cloth 
 Tib, a strumpet 
 
 Tickle-brain, some strong liquor 
 Tightly, briskly, promptly 
 Tilly-valley, an interjection of contempt 
 Tire, to fasten, to fix the talons on 
 Tod, to yield a tod, or 28 pounds 
 Tokened, spotted as in the plague 
 Touch, exploit, particle, touchstone 
 Touches, features 
 Touched, tried 
 
 Toys, rumours, idle reports, fancies 
 Toze, to pull or pluck 
 Tranect, a ferry 
 Tray-trap, some kind of game 
 Treachers, treacherous persons 
 Trick, peculiarity of voice, face, etc. 
 Trick, smeared, painted, in heraldry 
 Tricking, dress 
 Trojan, cant word for a thief 
 Troll-my -dames, a game 
 Turleygood, or turlupin, a gipsy 
 Turn, to become sour 
 Twangling, an expression of contempt 
 Twigging, wickered 
 
 Umbered, discovered by gleam of fire 
 
 Unbolt, to explain 
 
 Unaccustomed, unseemly, indecent 
 
 Unaneled, without extreme unction 
 
 Unbarbed, untrimmed, unshaven 
 
 Unbatedy not blunted 
 
 Unbolted, coarse 
 
 Uncoined, real, unrefined, unadorned 
 
 Under-generation, the antipodes 
 
 Under-skinker, a tapster 
 
 Undertaker, one who takes upon himself the 
 
 quarrel of another 
 Uneath, scarcely, not easily 
 Unhappy, waggish, unlucky 
 Unhoused, free from domestic cares 
 
1312 
 
 GLOSSARY* 
 
 Unhouseled, not having received the sacra- 
 ment 
 
 Union, a species of pearl 
 Unmastered, licentious 
 Unproper, common 
 Unqualified, disarmed of his faculties 
 Unrough, smooth-faced, unbearded 
 Unsisted, untried 
 
 Unsisting, always opening, never at rest 
 Unsquared, unadapted to their subject 
 Unstanched. incontinent 
 Undented, unsearchable 
 Untraced, singular, not in common use 
 Utis, a merry festival 
 Utterance, a phrase in combat 
 
 Valanced, fringed with a beard 
 
 Vantbrace, armour for the arm 
 
 Vaunt, the avaunt, what went before 
 
 Velure, velvet 
 
 Venew, a bout, a term in fencing 
 
 Venies, hits in fencing 
 
 Via, a cant phrase of exultation 
 
 Virtue, the most efficacious part, valour 
 
 Virtuous, salutiferous 
 
 Vixen, or fixen, a female fox 
 
 Vozaments, advisements 
 
 Wannion, vengeance 
 Warden, a species of pears 
 Watch, a watch-light 
 Water-work, water colours 
 Way of life, periphrasis for life 
 Weet, to know 
 
 Wheel, refrain, burden of a ballad 
 Whelked, having protuberances 
 Whiffler, the first in processions 
 Whiles, until 
 
 Whip, the crack, the best 
 
 Whipping-cheer, flogging 
 
 Whist, silent, at peace, hushed 
 
 White death, the chlorosis 
 
 Whiting-time, bleaching time, spring 
 
 Whitsters, the bleachers of linen 
 
 Whoobub, hubbub 
 
 Whooping, measure or reckoning 
 
 Wilderness, wildness 
 
 Windows, eye-lids 
 
 Winter Aground, to protect from winter 
 
 Wish, to recommend 
 
 Wistly, wistfully 
 
 Wit-snapper, one who affects repartee 
 
 Wittol, knowing, conscious of 
 
 Woman-tired, henpecked 
 
 Wondered, able to perform wonders 
 
 Wood, crazy, frantic 
 
 Woodcock, a simpleton 
 
 Woolward, a phrase appropriated to pilgrims 
 
 and penitentiaries 
 Workings, labours of thought 
 World, to go to the, to be married 
 Worm, a serpent 
 
 Wrest, an instrument for tuning the harp 
 Writhled, wrinkled 
 Wroth, misfortune 
 
 Yarely, readily, nimbly 
 
 Yeild, inform, condescend, reward 
 
 Yellowness, jealousy 
 
 Yeoman, a sheriff's officer 
 
 Yerk, to jerk, to thrust with a quick motion 
 
 Yexen, or waxen, to hiccough 
 
 Yield, to report 
 
 Zany, a fool or gull 
 Zealous, pious 
 
 COLLINS' CLEAR-TYPE PRESS, LONDON AND GLASGOW 
 
3515 
 
 $537! 
 
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