*m fcf T0 ( '^c v, V V U £# Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2007 with funding from Microsoft Corporation http://www.archive.org/details/dramaticworksofwOOshakrich »° ' THE DRAMATIC WORKS OF William £>l)akespearr. WITH A GLOSSARY. A NEW EDITION, CORRECTED AND IMPROVED LONDON: HENRY G. BOHN, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN. MDCCCLVni. > • • • "• l_ . . • • •• . • , • • • • "• • • • • . • LON DON : RICHARD CLAY, PRINTER, BRKAD STREET HILL TO THE MOST NOBLE iMttrg tUettg dFit?mattrte* t MARQUIS OF LANSDOWNE, KG., LORD PRESIDENT OF THE COUNCIL, ETC. ETC. ETC., PRE-EMINENT IN HIS APPRECIATION OF THE GOOD AND THE BEAUTIFUL, THIS EDITION OF THE DRAMATIC WRITINGS OF ttEftlltcim $!)afcr0prcirr, IS, WITH PERMISSION, INSCRIBED, BY HIS LORDSHIP'S MOST DEVOTED, HUMBLE SERVANT, Cfce ftiblfefrr. warm n gfttort&emtttt The text on which this edition of Shakespeare is based is that of Collier, carefully compared with the folio of mdcxxiii. and the impressions of Johnson, Steevens, Malone, Boswell, and Knight. Dyce's remarks have also been consulted. Of the numerous editions in one volume, there is, perhaps, hardly one of which it may not be said that the size is too great, or the print too small. It occurred to the Publisher that considerable improvements yet re- mained to be made on the plan of the Englishman's Vade-mecum. He thought that by printing the names of the characters at full length, in the centre of the text, and in red ink, considerable relief would be afforded both to the memory and the eye of the reader, and that particular passages might be referred to icith peculiar ease. He ventures, therefore, to hope that the present edition of Shakespeare may be found, in purity of text, to equal, and in convenience of form to excel, any of its countless and multiform predecessors. CONTENTS. y Page The Tempest --.«..-. i The Two Gentlemen of Verona • - - - 24 Merry Wives of Windsor - « - - - 49 Measure for Measure - . - - - 79 The Comedy of Errors - - - - - 109 Much Ado about Nothing ----- 128 Love's Labour's Lost - - - - . - 157 \ Midsummer-Night's Dream ----- 187 * Merchant of Venice ---.-- 208 As You Like It - - - - - - 234 Taming of the Shrew - 2G2 All's Well that Ends Well - - - - 291 Twelfth-night; or, What You Will - - - 322 The Winter's Tale - - - ■ - - 350 King John - - - - - - - 381 Life and Death ok King Richard II. - - 40G First Part of King Henry IV. - 433 Second Part of King Henry IV. - - - - 463 King Henry V. 496 First Part of King Henry VI. - 528 Second Part of King Henry VI. - - - 556 Third Part of King Henry VI. - - - 588 Life and Death of King Richard III. - - - 620 King Henry VIII. - - - - - - 659 Troilus and Cressida- - - - - -691 Coriolanus ------- 728 Titus Andronicus ------ 767 Romeo and Juliet ------ 792 Timon of Athens ------ 824 Julius Cesar ------- 851 Macbeth ------- 878 Hamlet, Prince of Denmark - - - - 903 King Lear ------- 944 Othello, the Moor of Venice - . - - 981 Antony and Cleopatra ----- 1018 Cymbeline ------- 1056 Pericles, Prince of Tyre - - - - -1092 Glossary - - - - - - - 1118 LIST OF ENGEAVINGS. Painted by Portrait of Shakespeare, Facsimile of the originate t» „„„„„,„,_ Portrait by \ UROEShout • Tempest. Act I. Sc. 2 Stothard . . Two Gentlemen of Verona. Act V. Sc. 3. . . . Stothard. . Merry Wives of Windsor. Act III. Sc. 3. . . . Stothard. . Measure for Measure. Act V. Sc. 1 Stothard . . Comedy of Errors. Act V. Sc. 1 Stothard . .. Much Ado About Nothing. Act III. Sc. 1. . . . Peters. . . Love's Labour's Lost. Act IV. Sc. 3 Stothard . . Midsummer Night's Dream. Act II. Sc. 2. . . . Reynolds . . Merchant of Venice. Act IV. Sc. 1 Stothard . . As You Like It. Act II. Sc. 4 Stothard . . Taming of the Shrew. _ Act IV. Sc. 3 Stothard . . All's Well That Ends Well. Act I. Sc. 3. . . . Worthington Twelfth Night ; or, What You Will. Act III. Sc. 4. Stothard . . The Winter's Tale. Act V. Sc. 3 , . Stothard . . King John. Act IV. Sc. 1 Stothard . . King Richard II. Act V. Sc. 5 Wright . . King Henry IV. Part First. Act II. Sc. 2. . . Stothard. . King Henry IV. Part Second. Act III. Sc 2. . Stothard . . King Henry V. Act V. Sc. 2 Wright . . King Henry VI. Part First. Act II. Sc. 3. . . Stothard . . King Henry VI. Part Second. Act III. Sc. 2. . Stothard . . King Henry VI. Part Third. Act V. Sc. 5. . . Stothard . . King Richard III. Act IV. Sc. 3 Stothard . . King Henry VIII. Act I. Sc. 4. . ....... Stothard. . Troilus and Cressida. Act V. Sc. 3 Kirk . . . Coriolanus. Act V. Sc. 3 Stothard . . Titus Andronicus. Act IV. Sc. 2 Kirk . . . Romeo and Juliet. Act II. Sc. 2 Stothard . . Timon of Athens. Act I. Sc. 2 Howard . . Julius Caesar. Act III. Sc. 1. Westall . . Macbeth. Act II. Sc. 2. . » . i Worthington Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. Act IV. Sc. 7. . . Westall . . King Lear. Act III. Sc. 4 . Stothard . . Othello. Act II. Sc. 1 Stothard. . Antony and Cleopatra. Act V. Sc. 2 Stothard. . Cymbeline. Act III. Sc. 6 Westall . . Pericles, Prince of Tyre. Act V. Sc. 1 Stothard . . Engraved by Page~ . . . . Front. Worthington 2 R. Graves . . 4fi Aug. Fox . . Ct Aug. Fox . . 102 Aug. Fox . . 124 A ii g. Fox . . 140 Aug. Fox . . 171 Aug. Fox . . 193 R. Graves. . 226 Aug. Fox . . 242 C. Marr . . 282 Aug. Fox . . 294 Aug. Fox . . 338 Engleheart . 379 R. Graves. . 395 S. Watts . . 431 Aug. Fox . 440 Aug. Fox . . 479 S. Watts . 524 Aug. Fox . . 536 H. Adlard . 572 Aug. Fox . 616 Aug. Fox . 647 Perkins . 6G5 T. White . 723 T. White . 762 Aug. Fox . 782 Aug. Fox . 801 T. White . 828 Aug. Fox . 8G2 Aug. Fox . 884 A ug. Fox . 934 Aug. Fox . 962 Aug. Fox . . 9S8 Aug. Fox . 1051 T. White . . 1076 Aug. Fox . . 1113 aatiUiant £hnncj3pcatc Was born at Stratford-upon-Avon, in the county of Warwicn, on the 2 5 <1 of April, 1564. His father, John Sliakcspeare, was a glover, and at various times alderman and bailiff of the town ; his mother, Mary Arden, was the daughter Of an ancient but decayed family in the county. It is most likely that the poet roeeived his education at the free-school of Stratford; and we have the assertion of Aubrey that he was for some time a schoolmaster, and the plausible conjecture of Malone, based upon the familiarity displayed in his writings with the tech- nicalities of the law, that he likewise served in the office of an attorney. Nothing certain, however, is known of his youth, but that he married, soon after the zHh November, 1582, Anne Hathaway, of Stratford; and that their first child was christened on the 26th of May, 1583. Twins were born to them in 1585, soon after which event Shakespeare went to seek his fortune in London. The well known story that he left Stratford in order to avoid the consequences of stealing deer from the park of Sir Thomas Lucy at Charlecote rests upon a tradition, picked up by Betterton, the actor, some fifty years after the poet's death, and neither shaken nor strengthened by the diligence of many sub- sequent inquirers. We first hear of him in London in 1589, as a shareholder and player in the Blackfriars Theatre; and he had doubtless already com- menced author, by altering or adapting the writings of others to the stage ; for a passage in Spenser's "Tears of the Muses," in which he seems to be alluded to as " our pleasant Willy," proves that in 1591, when the poem was first printed, he had achieved a considerable reputation as a dramatist. In 1593 he published his poem of " Venus and Adonis," and in 1594 that entitled ** Lucrece." Both works were dedicated to Henry Wriothesley, Earl of South- ampton, who rewarded the author with a gift of a thousand pounds. It was this bounty, perhaps, which enabled him to become a leading shareholder in the New Globe Theatre on the bankside in Southwark, built by the Blackfriars company, and opened in 1595. In summer, the same company used to perform at a theatre at Newington Butts. Shakespeare remained on the stage till 1604, when his name ceases to be found amongst the actors. He continued, however, to live in London — near the Bear Garden in Southwark ; and to write for the stage until 161 2 or 1613, when he took up his permanent abode at Strafford. There his gains had been from time to time invested in a substantial house called the New Place, and built by Sir Hugh Clopton in the reign of Henry VII., some other detached tenements, a hundred and seven acres of land, a garden and orchard, and the great tithes of the parish — property which may have been worth between two and three hundred pounds a year. This property must have been acquired mainly by the representations of his plays, and his own exertions as an actor. From his printed dramas he seems to have derived no profit, nor WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. to have looked for any fame ; indeed, he seems neither to have been concerned in their publication, nor to have bestowed the least care in the revision of the text. His name was even affixed during his lifetime to several plays which his friends and fellow actors saw fit to exclude from the first collected edition printed by them in 1623. Of his sonnets, written, many of them, before 1598, though not printed until 1609, the dedication to "their only begetter," Mr. W. H, initials which have as yet never been deciphered, was signed, not by the author, but by the publisher, Thomas Thorpe. Aubrey was informed that Shakespeare " did act exceedingly well." But he certainly did not hold amongst actors the prominent place which he occupied amongst authors. In his own plays, he is said to have sustained the parts of the Ghost in " Hamlet," and Adam in " As You Like It ;" he likewise acted in Ben Jorison's "Every Man in his Humour;" and his last recorded appearance on the stage was in that author's " Scjanus." His person and manners are thus briefly described by Aubrey. "He was a handsome, well-shaped man, very good company, and of a ready, and pleasant, and smooth wit." He died at Stratford on the 23rd April, 1616, aged 53 years. By his widow, who survived him till 1623, he had three children: Susanna, married to Dr. Hall, a physician of some eminence ; Hamnet, who died aged eleven in 1596 ; and Judith, the wife of Thomas Quiney, a wine merchant at Stratford. Elizabeth, daughter of Dr. Hall and widow of Sir John Bernard, who died at Abingdon in 1670, was the last lineal descendant of Shakespeare. — The poet was buried on the north side of the chancel of the great church of Stratford. Within seven years of his death a monument was erected there to his memory, containing his bust, and inscribed with these verses : — Stay, Passenger, why goest thov by so fast ? Read, if thov canst, whom enviovs Death hath plast Within this monvment : Shakspeare; with whome Quick natvre dide ; whose name doth deck y s Tombe Far more then cost; sieth all yt he hath writt Leaves living art bvt page to serve his witt Obiit ano Do*. 1616. JEtatis. 53. die 23 Apr." The house of New Place passed to the Poet's daughter, Mrs. Hall; and while in the possession of her daughter, was for three weeks the residence of Queen Henrietta Maria in 1643. It afterwards reverted to the Chptons, descendants of Sir Hugh, and at last fell into the hands of the Rev. Francis Gastrell, vicar of Frodsham, in Cheshire. Quarrelling with the magistrates of Stratford in 1756, this divine immortalized himself by razing the building to the ground, having previously cut down a mulberry tree in the garden, planted, according to the tradition, by the hand of Shakespeare. CHRONOLOGICAL CATALOGUE OF THE "WRITINGS OF SHAKESPEARE. Supposed to have been written. First printed Titus Andronicus . 1588 1600 First Part of Henry VI. . 1589 1623 Pericles . 1590 1609 Second Part of Henry VI. . 1591 1623 Third Part of Henry VL . 1591 1623 Two Gentlemen of Verona . 1591 1623 Comedy of Errors . 1592 1623 Love's Labour's Lost - . 1592 1598 Richard IL - . 1593 1597 Richard IH. - . 1593 1597 Venus and Adonis . 1593 1593 Midsummer Night's Dream - 1594 1600 Rape o/Lucrece - 1594 1594 Taming of the Shrew . 1596 1623 Romeo and Juliet . 1596 1597 Merchant of Venice - . 1597 1600 First Part of Henry IV. . 1597 1598 Second Part of Henry IV. . 1598 1600 King John - 1598 1623 All's Well that Ends Well - 1598 1623 Henry V. - . 1599 1600 As You Like It . 1599 1623 Passionate Pilgrim . 1599 1599 Much Ado about Nothing . 1600 1600 Hamlet . 1600 1603 Merry Wives of Windsor . 1601 1602 Twelfth Night . 1601 1623 Troilus and Cressida - . 1602 1609 Henry VIH. - . 1603 1623 Measure for Measure - . 1603 1623 Othello . 1604 1622 King Lear . 1605 1608 Macbeth . 1606 1623 Julius Caesar « 1607 1623 Antony and Cleopatra . 1608 1623 Cymbeline ' - . 1609 1623 Sonnets m 1609 Coriolauus . 1610 1623 Timon of Athens . . 1610 1623 Winter's Tale . 1611 1623 Tempest - 1612 1623 The Dedication prefixed to the Folio of 1623. To the most Noble and Incomparable Paire of Brethren. William Earle of Pembroke, &c. Lord Chamberlaine to the Kings most Excellent Maiesty. And Philip Earle of Montgomery, &c. Gentleman of his Maiesties Bed-Cham - ber. Both Knights of the most Noble Order of the Garter, and our singular good Lords. Right Honourable, Whilst we studie to be thankful in our particular, for the many fauors we haue receiued from your L. L we are falne vpon the ill fortune, to mingle two the most diuerse things that can bee, feare, and rashnesse ; rashnesse in the enterprize, and feare of the successe. For, when we valew the places your H. H. sustaine, we cannot but know their dignity greater, then to descend to the reading of these trifles: and, while we name them trifles, we haue depriu'd our selues of the defence of our Dedication. But since your L. L. have beene pleas'd to thinke these trifles some- thing, heeretofore ; and have prosequuted both them, and their Author liuing, with so much fauour : we hope, that (they out- liuing him, and he not having the fate, common to some, to be exequutor to his owne writings) you will vse the like in- dulgence toward them, you haue done vnto their parent. There is a great difference, whether any booke choose his Patrones, or finde them : This hath done both. For, so much were your L. L. likings of the seuerall parts, when they were acted, as before they were published, the Volume ask'd to be yours. We have but collected them, and done an office to the dead, to procure his Orphanes, Guardians ; without ambition either of selfe-profit, or fame: onely to keepe the memory of so worthy a Friend, and Fellow aliue, as was our Shakespeare, by humble offer of his playes, to your most noble patronage. Wherein, as we haue iustly obserued, no man to come neere your L. L. but with a kind of religious addresse; it hath bin the height of our care, who are the Pre- senters, to make the present worthy of yovr H. H. by the perfection. But, there we must also craue our abilities to be con- sidered, my Lords. We cannot go beyond oui owne powers. Country hands reach foorth milke, creame, fruites, or what they | haue : and many Nations, (we haue heard) that had not gummes and incense, ob- tained their requests with a leauened Cake. It was no fault to approch their Gods, by what meanes they could : And the most, though meanest, of things are made more precious, when they are dedicated to Temples. In that name therefore, we most humbly consecrate to your H.H. these remaines of your seruant Shakespeare ; that what delight is in them, may be euer your L. L. the reputation his, & the faults ours, if any be committed, by a payre so carefull to shew their gratitude both to the liuing, and the dead, as is Your Lordshippes most bounden, Iohn Heminge. Henry Condell. Address " to the great Variety of Readers " 'prefixed to * the Folio of 1623. Fkom the most able, to him that can but spell : There you are mimber'd. We had rather you were weighd. Especially, when the fate of all Bookes depends vpon your capacities : and not of your heads alone, but of your purses. Weill It is now publique, and you wil stand for your pri viledges wee know : to read, and censure. Do so, but buy it first. That doth best commend a Booke, the Stationer saies. Then, how odde soeuer your braines be, or your wisedomes, make your licence the same, and spare not. fudge your sixe- pen'orth, your shillings worth, your fiue shillings worth at a time, or higher, so as you rise to the iust rates, and welcome. But, whatever you do, Buy. Censure will not driue a Trade, or make the Iacke go. And though you be a Magistrate of wit, and sit on the Stage at Black-Friers, or the Cock-pit, to arraigne Playes dailie, know, these Playes haue had their triall alreadie, and stood out all Appeales ; and do now come forth quitted rather by a Decree of Court, then any purchas'd tet- ters of commendation. It had bene a thing, we confesse, worthie to haue bene wished, that the Author him- selfe had liu'd to haue set forth, and ouer- seen his owne writings ; But since it hath bin ordain'd otherwise, and he by death departed from that right, we pray you doe not envie his Friends, the office of their care, and paine, to have collected and [ publish'd them ; and so to haue publish'd them, as where (before) you were abus'd with divers stolne, and surreptitious copies, maimed, and deformed by the frauds and stealthes of iniurious impostors, that ex- pos'd them: even those, are now ofier'd to vour view cur'd, and perfect of their limbes ; and all the rest, absolute in their numbers, as he conceiued the": Who, as he was a happie imitator of Nature, was a most gentle expresser of it. His mind and hand went together : And what he thought, he vttered with that easinesse, that wee haue scarse receiued from him a blot in his papers. But it is not our prouince, who onely gather his works, and give them you, to praise him. It is yours that reade him. And there we hope, to your diuers capacities, you will finde enough, both to draw, and hold you : for his wit can no more lie hid, then it could be lost. Reade him, therefore; and againe, and againe : And if then you doe not like him, surely you are in some manifest danger, not to vnderstand him. And so we leaue you to other of his Friends, whom if you need, can bee your guides : if you neede them not, you can leade your selues, and others. And such Readers we wish him. Iohn Hemlnge. Henrie Condell. To the Memory of the deceased Author, Master William Shakespeare. Shake-spearb, at length thy pious fellows give The world thy works ; thy works, by which outlive Thy tomb thy name must : when that stone is rent, And time dissolves thy Stratford monument, Here we alive shall view thee still: this book, When brass and marble fade, shall make thee look Fresh to all ages ; when posterity Shall loath what's new, think all is prodigy That is not Shake-speare's, every line, each verse, Here shall revive, redeem thee from thy herse. Nor fire, nor cankering age, as Naso said Of his, thy wit-fraught book shall once invade: Nor shall I e'er believe or think thee dead, (Though miss'd) until our bankrout stage be sped ( Impossible) with some new strain t' out-do Passions of Juliet, and her Romeo; Or till I hear a scene more nobly take, Than when thy half-sword parleying Romans spake: Till these, till any of thy volume's rest, Shall with more fire, more feeling, be express'd, Be sure, our Shake-speare, thou cans't never die, But, crown'd with laurel, live eternally. L. Digues. [p To the Memory of my beloved, the Author, Mr. William Shakespeare, and what he hath left us. To draw no envy, Shakespeare, on thy name, Am I thus ample to thy book, and fame ; While I confess thy writings to be such, As neither man, nor muse, can praise too much ; Tis true, and all men's suffrage; but these ways Were not the paths I meant unto thy praise: For seeliest ignorance on these may light, Which, when it sounds at best, but echoes right ; Or blind affection, which doth ne'er advance The truth, but gropes, and urgeth all by chance ; Or crafty malice might pretend this praise, And think to ruin, where it seem'd to raise: These are, as some infamous bawd, or whore, Should praise a matron ; what could hurt her more? But thou art proof against them ; and, indeed, Above th' ill fortune of them, or the need. I, therefore, will begin: — Soul of the age, The applause, delight, the wonder of our stage, My Shakespeare, rise ! I will not lodge thee by Chaucer, or Spenser; or bid Beaumont lie A little further, to make thee a room: Thou art a monument without a tomb ; And art alive still, while thy book doth live, And we have wits to read, and praise to give. That I not mix thee so, my brain excuses ; I mean, with great but disproportion^ muses: For, if I thought my judgment were of years, I should commit thee surely with thy peers ; And tell how far thou didst our Lyly outshine, Or sporting Kyd, or Marlowe's mighty line: And though thou hadst small Latin, and less Greek, From thence to honour thee, I would not seek For names ; but call forth thundering JEschylus, Euripides, and Sophocles, to us, Pacuvius, Accius, him of Cordova dead, To life again, to hear thy buskin tread And shake a stage: or, when thy socks were on, Leave thee alone, for the comparison Of all that insolent Greece, or haughty Rome, Sent forth, or since did from their ashes come. Triumph, my Britain! thou hast one to show, To whom all scenes of Europe homage owe. He was not of an age, but for all time ; And all the muses still were in their prime, When like Apollo he came forth to warm Our ears, or like a Mercury to charm. Nature herself was proud of his designs, And joy'd to wear the dressing of his lines ; Which were so richly spun, and woven so fit, As since she will vouchsafe no other wit. The merry Greek, tart Aristophanes, Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not please ; I But antiquated and deserted lie, \ As they were not of Nature's family. ! Yet must I not give Nature all; thy art, j My gentle Shakespeare, must enjoy a part: ; For though the poet's matter nature be, i His art doth give the fashion ; and that he, ! Who casts to write a living line, must sweat, | (Such as thine are) and strike the second heat ' Upon the muses' anvil ; turn the same, ' (And himself with it) that he thinks to frame ; I Or for the laurel he may gain a scorn, For a good poet's made, as well as born : : And such wert thou. Look, how the father's face ' Lives in his issue ; even so the race I Of Shakespeare's mind, and manners, brightly shines ; In his well-torned and true-filed lines ; i In each of which he seems to skake a lance, i As brandish'd at the eyes of ignorance. I Sweet Swan of Avon, what a sight it were, I To see thee in our waters yet appear ; j And make those flights upon the banks of Thames, That so did take Eliza, and our James! But stay ; I see thee in the hemisphere Advanc'd, and made a constellation there : Shine forth, thou star of poets ; and with rage, Or influence, chide, or cheer, the drooping stage ; Which, since thy flight from hence, hath mourn 'd like night, And despairs day, but for thy volume's light 1 Ben Ionson. ,-i IfcUi THE TEMPEST ALONSO, King of Naples, f ebastian, his Brother. DRAMATIS PERSON2E. Stephano, a drunken Butler. \ Master of a Ship, Boatswain, Mariner * Prospero.'fA* right Duke of Milan. Miranda, Daughter to Prospero. Antonio, his Brother, the usurping Duke of I Ariel, an airy Spirit Milan. Iris, Ferdinand, Son to the King of Naples. Ceres, Gonzalo, an honest old Counsellor. Caliban, a savage and deformed Slave. Trinculo, a Jester. ACT I. SCENE I. On a Ship at Sea. A tempestuous noise of Thunder and Lightning, i F.ntor a Ship-master and a Boatswain. Master. OATSWAIN! iphs, i lers, J Juno, ySpirits. Nymphs, Reape Other Spirits attending on Prospero. SCENE, an uninhabited Island. Bo. atswaln. Hence ! B Boatswain. Here, master : what cheer ? Master. Good. Speak to the mariners : fall to 't yarely, i or we ruu ourselves aground : bestir, bestir. [Exit. F.nter Mariners. Boatswain. 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 1 Enter ALmso, Sebastian, Antonio, Ferdinand, Uonxali), and Others. Alonso. Good boatswain, have care. Where's the master ? Play the men. Boatswain. 1 pray now, keep below. Antonio Where is the master, boatswain ? BoattwalD. Do you not hear him ? You mar our labour. Keep your cabins ; you do assist the storm. Contalo. Nay, good, be patient. When the sea Is. Hence ! What care these roarers for the name of king? To cabin: silence ! trouble us not. Gonzalo. Good ; yet remember whom thou hast aboard. Boatswain. None that 1 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 autho- rity : 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, 1 say. Gonzalo I have great comfort from this fellow : me- think*, he hath no drowning mark upon him ; his complexion is perfect gallows. Stand fast, good fate, to his hanging 1 make the rope of his destiny our cable, for our own doth little ad- vantage ! If he be not born to be hanged, our case is miserable. [Exeunt . Re-enter Boatswain. Boatswain. Down with the top-mast : yare ; lower, lower. Bring her to try with main-course. FA cry within. A plague upon this howling ! they are louder than the weather, or our office — Re-enter Sebastian irUouio, ami (lunzalo. Yet again ! what do you here ? Shall we give o'er, and drown ? Have you a mind to sink ? Sebastian. THE TEMPEST. Act i. Sebastian. A pox o' your throat, you bawling, blasphem- ous, incharitable dog 1 Boatswain. Work you, then. Antonio. Hang, cur, hang ! you whoreson, insolent noisemaker, we are less afraid to be drowned than thou art. Gonzalo. I'll warrant him from drowning ; though the shin were no stronger than a nutshell, and as leak'' as an unstancked W3n2h. ' ' • . BkSts^ata. • ' - ' Lay her a-hold, a-hold ! Set her two«cpurses : off to ;ea agair. ; lay h3" off. <. ' " ! : ' .»'Kii,«;ei;'iliff>-ij l jfi , r{,^wjt;t» ( » # # Mariner. All lost ! to prayers, to prayers ! all lost ! [Exeunt. Boatswain. What ! must our mouths be cold ? Gonzalo. The king and prince at prayers ! let us assist For our case is as theirs. [them, Sebastian. I am out of patience. Antonio. We are merely cheated of our lives by drunk- ards.— [lie drowning, This wide-chapp'd rascal, — would, thou might'st The washing of ten tides ! Gonzalo. He'll be hanged yet, Though every drop of water swear against it, And gape at wid'st to glut him. [A confused noise, and cries within. [Mercy on us '. — We split! we split — Fare- well, my wife and children !— Farewell, brother ! — We split, we split, we split !] Antonio. Let's all sink with the king. [Exit. Sebastian. Let's take leave of him. [Exit. Gonzalo. 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 1 would fain die a dry death. [Exit. SCENE II. The Island: before the cell of Prospero. Enter Prospero and Miranda. Miranda. 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 pe- Had I been any god of power, I would [rish'd 1 Have sunk the sea within the earth, or e'er It should the good ship so have swallow'd, and The fraughting souls within her. Prospero. Be collected : No more amazement. Tell your piteous heart, There's no harm done. Miranda. O, woe the day 1 Prospero. No harm. I have done nothing but in care of thee, [who (Of thee, my dear one ! thee, my daughter !) 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. Miranda. More to know Did never meddle with my thoughts. Prospero. 'Tis time I should inform thee farther. Lend thy hand, And pluck my magic garment from me. — So : [Lays down his Mantle. Lie there my art. — Wipe thou thine eyes ; have comfort. The direful spectacle of the 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 [Sit down ; Which thou heardst cry, which thou saw'st sink. For thou must now know farther. Miranda. You have often Begun to tell me what I am ; but stopp'd, And left me to a bootless inquisition, Concluding, " Stay, not yet." Prospero. 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 ? I do not think thou canst, for then thou wast not Out three years old. Miranda. Certainly, sir, I can. Prospero. By what ? by any other house, or person ? Of any thing the image tell me, that Hath kept with thy remembrance. Miranda. '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 ? Prospero. Thou hadst, and more, Miranda. But how is it, [else That this lives in thy mind ? What seest thou i In the dark backward and abysm of time ? If thou remember'st aught, ere thou cam'st here, How thou cam'st here, thou may'st. Miranda. But that I do not. Prospero. Twelve years since, Miranda, twelve years Tby father was the duke of Milan, and [since, I A prince of power. Miranda. Sir, are not you my father ? Prospero. 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. * Miranda. 1T-B SO B> » S "3?, • Act I St. 2. Act i. Sc. n. THE TEMPEST. Miranda. O, the heavens ! What foul play had we. that we came from Or blessed was 't, we did ? [thence ? Prospero. Both, both, my girl : By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heav'd But blessedly holp hither. [theuce ; Miranda. 1 my heart bleeds To think o' the teen that I have turn'd you to, Which is from my remembrance. Please you, farther. Prospero. 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 lov'd, 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 ? Miranda. Sir, most needfully. Prospero. Being once perfected how to grant suits, How to deny them, whom t' 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 i' the state To what tune pleas'd his ear ; that now he was The ivy, which had hid my princely trunk, And suck'd my verdure out on't Thou at- tend st not. Miranda. O good sir ! I do. Prospero. I pray thee, mark me. I thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated To closeness, and the bettering of my mind With that, which but by being so retir'd O'er-priz'd all popular rate, in my false brother Award 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, i Not only with what my revenue yielded. But what my power might else exact, — like one, | Who having, unto truth, by telling of it, Made such a sinner of his memory, To credit his own lie, — he did believe He was indeed the duke ; out o' the substitution, And executing th* outward face of royalty, With all prerogative : — hence his ambition growing, — Dost thou hear? Miranda. Your tale, sir, would cure deafness. Prospero. To have no screen between this part he play'd, And him he play'd it for, he needs will be Absolute Milan. Me, poor man ! — my library Was dukedom large enough : of temporal roy- 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 unbow'd, (alas, poor Milan!) To most ignoble stooping. Miranda. O the heavens ! Prospero. Mark his condition, and th* event ; then tell me, If this might be a brother. Miranda. I should sin To think but nobly of my grandmother : Good wombs have borne bad sons. Prospero. 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 1 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. Miranda. 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. Prospero. Hear a little farther, And then I'll bring thee to the present business Which now 's upon 's ; without the which this Were most impertinent. [story Miranda. Wherefore did they not That hour destroy us ? Prospero. 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. Miranda. Alack 1 what trouble Was I then to you 1 Prospero. O ! a cherubim [smile, Thou wast, that did preserve me. Thou didst Infused with a fortitude from heaven, When I have deck'd the sea with drops full salt, Under my burden groan'd ; which rais'd in me An undergoing stomach, to bear up Against what should ensue. Miranda. How came we ashore ? Prospero. By Providence divine. Some food we had, and some fresh water, that A nohle Neapolitan, Gonzalo, Out of his charity, (who being then appointed Master THE TEMPEST. Act i. Sc. u. 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 lov'd my books, he furnish'd me, From my own library, with volumes that I prize above my dukedom. Miranda. Would I might But ever see that man ! Prospero. Now I arise : — Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow. Here in this island we arriv'd ; and here Have I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit Than other princes can, that have more time For vainer hours, and tutors not so careful. Miranda. 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 ? Prospero. 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 1 find my zenith doth depend upon A most auspicious star, whose inlluence If now I court not, but omit, my fortunes Will ever after droop. Here cease more ques- tions. Thou art iriclin'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 Arid : come ! Enter Ariel. Ariel. All hail, great master; grave sir, hail. I come To answer thy best pleasure ; be 't to fly, To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride On the curl'd clouds: to thy strong bidding task Ariel, and all his quality. Prospero. Hast thou, spirit, Perform'd to point the tempest that I bade thee ? Ariel. To every article. I boarded the king's ship ; now on the beak, Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin, I flam'd amazement : sometimes, I'd divide, And burn in many places ; on the topmast, The yards and bowsprit, would I flame distinctly, Then meet, and join. Jove's lightnings, the precursors O' the dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary And sight-outrunning were not: the fire, ana cracks Of sulphurous roaring the most mighty Neptune Seem'd to besiege, and make his bold waves Yea, his dread trident shake. [tremble, Prospero. My brave spirit ! Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil Would not infect his reason ? Ariel. 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, Theu all a-fire with me : the king's son, Ferdi- 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, Prospero. Why, that's my spirit ! But was not this nigh shore ? Ariel. Close by, my master. Prospero. But are they, Ariel, safe ? Ariel. 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 dispei s'd them 'bout the isle. The king's son have I landed by himself, Whom 1 left cooling of the air with sighs In an odd angle of the isle, and sitting, His arms in this sad knot. Prospero. Of the king's ship The mariners, say, how thou hast dispos'd, And all the rest o' the fleet ? Ariel. 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 Bermouthes, there she's The mariners all under hatches stow'd ; [hid : Whom, with a charm join'd to their suffer'd labour, I have left asleep : and for the rest o' the fleet Which I dispers'd, 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. Prospero. Ariel, thy charge Exactly is perform'd ; but there's more work. What is the time o' the day? Ariel. Past the mid season. Prospero. At least two glasses. The time 'twixt six and now Must by us both be spent most preciously. Ariel. Is there more toil ? Since thou dost give me pains, [mis'd, Let me remember thee what thou hast pro- Which is not yet perform'd me. Prospero. How now! moody? What is't thou canst demand ? Ariel. My liberty. Prospero. Before the time be out? no more. Ariel. I prithee Remember, 1 have done thee worthy service ; Told thee no lies, made thee no mistakings, serv'd [promise Without or grudge, or grumblings. Thou didst To bate me a full year. Prospero. Dost thou forget From what a torment I did free thee? Ariel. , No. Prospero. Act i. Se. 11. THE TEMPEST. Thou dost ; and thlnk'st it much, to tread the 00I« Of the s-iit deep, To run upon the sharp wind of the north, To do iii«> business In the veins o' th' earth, When it is b.ih'd with Irost. Ariel. I do not, sir. Prospero. Thou licst, malignant thing ! Hast thou for- got The foul witch Sycorax, who. with age and envy, Was grown iuto a hoop? hast thou forgot her? Ariel. No, sir. Prospero. Thou hast. Where was she born ? speak ; tell me. Ariel. Sir, in Argier. Prospero. O ! was she so ? I must, Once in a month, recount what thou hast been, Which thou forget'st. This damn'd witch, Sy- corax, For mischiefs manifold, and sorceries terrible To enter human hearing, from Argier, [did, Thou know'st, was banish'd: for one thing she Thev would not take her life. Is not this true? Ariel. Ay, sir. Prospero. This blue-ey'd hag was hither brought with child, And here was left by the sailors : thou, my slave As thou report'st thyself, was 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 Imprison'd, thou didst painfully remain A dozen years ; within which space she died, And left thee there, where thou didst vent thy groans [island As fast as mill-wheels strike. Then was this (Save for the son that she did litter here, A freckled whelp, hag-born) not honour'd with A human shape. Ariel. Yes ; Caliban, her son. Prospero. Dull tiling, I say so ; he, that Caliban, Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know'st What torment I did find thee in: thv groans Did make wolves howl, and penetrate the breasts Of ever-anpry bears. Tt was a torment To lay upon "the damn'd, which Sycorax Could not again undo: it was mine art, When 1 arriv'd and heard thee, that made gape The pine, and let thee out. Ariel. I thank thee, master. Prospero. If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an oak, And peg thee in his knotty entrails, till Thou hast howl'd away twelve winters. Ariel. Pardon, master : I will be correspondent to command, And do my spriting gently. Prospero. Do so, and after two days I will discharge thee. Ariel. That's my noble master • What shall I do? say what? what shall I do? Prospero. Go, make thyself like a nymph o' the sea : be subject To no sight hut thine and mine ; invisible To every eyeball else. Go, take this shape, And hither come in't: go; hence, with dili- gence. [Exit Ariel. A wake, dear heart, awake ! thou hast slept well ; Awake! Miranda. The strangeness of your story put Heaviness in me. Prospero. Shake it off. Come on : We'll visit Caliban, my slave, who never Yields us kind answer. Miranda. 'Tis a villain, sir, I do not love to look on. Prospero. 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 1 slave 1 Caliban! Thou earth, thou 1 speak. Caliban. [Within. There's wood enough within. Prospero. Come forth, I say: there's other business for Come, thou tortoise ! when ? [thee. Re-enter Ariel, like a water-nymph. Fine apparition ! My quaint Ariel, Hark in thine ear. Ariel. My lord, it shall he done. [Exit. Prospero. Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil him- Upon thy wicked dam, come forth ! [self Enter Caliban. Caliban. 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 ! Prospero. For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt have cramps, [urchins Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up; Shall, for that vast of night that they may work, All exercise on thee: thou shalt be pincli'd As thick as honey-comb, each pinch more Than bees that made 'em. [stinging Caliban. I must eat my dinner. This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother. Which thou tak'st from me. When thou earnest first, [would'st give me Thou strok'dst me, and mad'st mnch of 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 show'd thee all the qualities o' th' isle, The THE TEMPEST. Act i. Sc. n. The fresh springs, brine pits, barren place, and i fertile. Cursed be I that did so ! — All the charms Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you ! j 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 yon do keep from me The rest o' th' island. Prospero, Thou most lying slave, Whom stripes may move, not kindness, 1 have us'd thee, [thee Filth as thou art, with human care ; and lodg'd In mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate The honour of my child. Caliban. O ho ! Oho! — would it had been done ! T hou didst prevent me ; I had peopled else Tuis isle with Calibans. Prospero. 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 One thing or other : when thou didst not, savage, Know thine own meaning, but would'st 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 confin'd into this rock, Who hadst deserv'd more than a prison. ( idiban. You taught me language ; and my profit on't ; Is, I know how to curse. The red plague rid For learning me your language I [you, Prospero. Hag-seed, hence ! Fetch us In fuel ; and be quick, thou'rt best, To answer other business. Shrug'st thou, malice ? If thou neglect'st, or dost unwillingly What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps ; Fill all thy bones with aches ; make thee roar, That beasts shall tremble at thy din. Caliban. No, pray thee ! — [Aside. I must obey : his art is of such power, It would control my dam's god, Setebos, And make a vassal of him. Prospero. So, slave ; hence ! [Exit Caliban. Re-enter Ariel, invisible, playing and singing ; Ferdinand following him. Ariel's song. Come unto these yellow sands, And then take hands ; Court'sied when you have, and kiss'd, The wild waves whist, Foot itfeatly here and there ; And sweet sprites the burden bear. Harjt, hark I (Burden.) Bowgh, wowgh. [Dispersedly. The watch-dogs bark. (Burden.) Bowgh, wowgh. Hark, hark ! I hear The strain of strutting chanticlere Cry, Cock-a-doodle-doo. Ferdinand. Where should this music be ? i' th' air, or th* earth ? — It sounds no more ;— and sure, it waits upon Some god o' th' island. Sitting on a bank, Weeping again the king 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 folio w'd it, Or it hath drawn me rather : — but 'tis gone.— No, it begins again. Ariel sings. Full fathom Jive 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 sotnething rich and strange. Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell : [Burden : ding-dong. Hark! now I hear them, — ding-dong, bell. Ferdinand. 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. Prospero. The fringed curtains of thine eye advance And say, what thou seest yond'. Miranda. What is't ? a spirit ? Lord, how it looks about ! Believe me, sir, It carries a brave form : — but 'tis a spirit. Prospero. 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 \cs\\ him With grief, that's beauty's canker, thou migh'st A goodly person. He hath lost his fellows, And strays about to find 'em. Miranda. I might call him A thing divine, for nothing natural I ever saw so noble. Prospero. [Aside. It goes on, I see, As my soul prompts it — Spirit, fine spirit 1 I'll Within two days for this. [free thee Ferdinand. 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 1 If you be maid, or n^ ? Miranda. No wonder, sir ; But, certainly a maid. Ferdinand. My language ! heavens !— I am the best of them that speak this speech, Were I but where 'tis spoken. Prospero. How ! the best ? What wert thou, if the king of Naples heard thee? _ .. Ferdinand. A single thing, as I am now, that wonders To hear thee speak of Naples. He does hear me, Act ii. Sc. i. THE TEMPEST. An well of his friend ; his backward voice is to uster \ 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. Trinculo. Stephano! Stephano. Doth thy other mouth call me ? Mercy ! mercy I This is a devil, and no monster : I will leave him; I have no long spoon. Trinculo. Stephano .'— if thou beest Stephano, touch me, and speak to me, for I am Trinculo: — be not afeard,— thy good friend Trinculo. Stephano. If thou beest Trinculo, come forth. I'll pull thee by the lesser legs : if any be Trincu/o'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 f Trinculo. 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 overblown? I hid me under the dead moon- calf's gaberdine for fear of the storm. And art thou living, Stephano ? O Stephano! two Nea- politans 'scap'd? Stephano. Pr'ythee, do not turn me about: my stomach is not constant. Caliban. These be fine things, an if they be not sprites. That's a brave god, and bears celestial liquor : I will kneel to him. Stephano. 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 over-board, by this bottle! which I made of the bark of a tree, with mine own hands, since I was cast a-shore. Caliban. I'll swear, upon that bottle, to be thy true subject, for the liquor is not earthly. Stephano. Here ; swear, then, how thou escap'dst. Trinculo. Swam a shore, man, like a duck. I can swiro like a duck, I'll be sworn. Stephano. .' THE TEMPEST. «3 Stephana, Ili-re, kiss the book. Though thou caust ike a duck, thou art made like a goose. Trlnculo. Stephana I hast any more of this ? Stephano. The whole butt, man : my cellar is In a rock bv the tea-side, where my wine is hid. How oon-calfl how does thine ague? Caliban. Bast thou not dropped from heaven? Stephano. Out o' the moon, I do assure thee : I was the j man in the moon, when time was. Caliban. 1 have seen thee in her, and 1 do adore thee : my mistress showed me thee, and thy dog, and thy bush. Stephano. Come, swear to that ; kiss the book : 1 will furnish it anon with new contents : swear. Trlnculo. By this good light, this is a very shallow mon- ster :_ I afeard of him ! — a very weak monster. — The man i' the moon!— a most poor credu- lous monster.— Well drawn, monster, in good sooth. Caliban. I'll show thee every fertile inch o' the island ; And I will kiss thy foot. I pr'ythee, be my god. Trlnculo. By this light, a most perfidious and drunken monster: when his god's asleep, he'll rob his bottle. Caliban. I'll kiss thy foot : I'll swear myself thy subject. Stephano. Come on, then ; down, and swear. Trlnculo. I shall laugh myself to death at this puppy- headed monster. A most scurvy monster : I could find in my heart to beat him, — Stephano. Come, kiss. Trlnculo. — But that the poor monster's in drink. An abominable monster ! Caliban. I'll show thee the best springs ; I'll pluck thee berries ; I'll fish for thee, and get thee wood enough. A plague upon the tyrant that I serve ! I'll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee, Thou wondrous man ! Trlnculo. A most ridiculous monster, to make a wonder of a poor drunkard ! Caliban . I pr'ythee, let mebringthee 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'll bring thee To clustering filberds, and sometimes I'll get thee [with me? Young scamels from the rock: Wilt thou go Stephano. 1 pr'ythee now, lead the way, without any more talking. — Trinculo, the king and all our company else being drowned, we will inherit here — Here ; bear my bottle — Fellow 1 vin- culo, we'll fill him by and by again. Caliban. Farewell, master ; farewell x fareweli. [Sings drunkenly. Trlnculo. A howling monster ; a drunken monster. Caliban. No more dams I'll make for fish ; Nor fetch in firing At requiring, Nor scrape trencher, nor trash dish j 'Ban, Ban, Ca— Caliban, Has a new master — Get a new tnan. Freedom, hey-day 1 hey-day, freedom I freedom 1 hey-day 1 freedom 1 Stephano. O brave monster ! lead the way. [Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE I. Before Prospero'M Cell. Enter Ferdinand, bearing a log. Ferdinand. r P HE RE be some sports are painful, and their *• labour Delight in them sets off: some kinds of baseness Are nobly undergone ; and most poor matters Point to rich ends. This my mean task Would be as heavy to me, as odious ; but The mistress which I serve quickens what's dead, And makes my labours pleasures : O! she is Ten times more gentle than her father's crab- bed ; [remove And he's composed of harshness. I must 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 Had never like executor. I forget : [baseness But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my Most busy-less when 1 do it. [labours ; Enter Miranda; and Prospero at a distance. Miranda. Alas ! now, pray you, Work not so hard : I would the lightning had Burnt up those logs that you are enjoin'd to pile. [burns, Pray set it down, and rest you: when this 'Twill weep for having wearied you. My father Is hard at study ; pray now rest yourself: He's safe for these three hours. Ferdinand. O most dear mistress ! The sun will set, before I shall discharge What I must strive to do. Miranda. If you'll sit down, I'll bear your logs the while. Pray, give me I'll carry it to the pile. [that : Ferdinand. No, precious creature : I had rather crack my sinews, break my back, Than you should such dishonour undergo, While I sit lazy by. Mtmnda. It would become me As well as it does you ; and 1 should do it With much more ease, for my good will is to il. And yours it is against. Prospero. ii THE TEMPEST. Act hi. Sc. i. Prcspero. Poor worm ! thou art infected ; This visitation shows it. Miranda. You look wearily. Ferdinand. 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? Miranda. Miranda.— O my father 1 I have broke your hest to say so. Ferdinand. Admir'd Miranda, Indeed the top of admiration ; worth What's dearest to the world I Full many a lady I have ey'd 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 ow'd, And put it to the foil : but you, O you I So perfect, and so peerless, are created Of every creature's best. Miranda. I do not know One of my sex ; no woman's face remember, Save, from my glass, mine own ; nor have I seen [friend, More that I may call men, than you, good And my dear father : how features are abroad, I am skill-less of j but, by my modesty, (The jewel in my dower) I would not wish Any companion in the world but you ; Nor can imagination form a shape, Besides yourself, to like of. But I prattle Something too wildly, and my father's precepts I therein do forget. Ferdinand. 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 to suffer [speak : The flesh-fly blow my mouth. — Hear my soul 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. Miranda. Do you love me ? Ferdinand. 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. Miranda. I am a fool To weep at what I am glad of. Prospero. Fair encounter Of two most rare affections! Heavens rain On that which breeds between them 1 [grace Ferdinand. Wherefore weep you ? Miranda. At mine unworthiness, that dare not offer What I desire to give ; and much less take, What I shall die to want. But this is trifling ; And all the more it seeks to hide itself, The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cun- ning! And prompt me, plain and holy innocence ! I am your wife, if you will marry me ; If not, I'll die your maid: to be your fellow You may deny me ; but I'll be your servant, Whether you will or no. Ferdinand. . , . t . , , , My mistress, dearest, And I thus humble ever. Miranda. My husband then ? Ferdinand. Ay, with a heart as willing As bondage e'er of freedom : here's my hand. Miranda. And mine, with my heart in't: and now fare- Till half an hour hence. [well, Ferdinand. r _ „ A thousand thousand I [Exeunt Ferdinand and Miranda. Prospero. So glad of this as they, I cannot be, Who are surpris'd with all ; but my rejoicing At nothing can be more. I'll to my book ; For yet, ere supper time, must I perform Much business appertaining. [Exit. SCENE II. Another part of the Island. Enter Stephana and Trinculo; Caliban foriowing with a bottle. Stephano. 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 Trinculo. Servant-monster! the folly of this island! They say, there's but five upon this isle: we are three of them; if the other two be brained like us, the state totters, Stepnano. Drink, servant-monster, when I bid thee: thy eyes are almost set in thy head. Trinculo. Where should they be set else? he were a brave monster indeed, if they were set in his tail. Stephano. My man-monster hath drowned his tongue in j sack : for my part, the sea cannot drown me : I I swam, ere 1 could recover the shore, five-and- j thirty leagues, off and on, by this light. — Thou I shalt be my lieutenant, monster, or my standard. Trinculo. Your lieutenant, if you list ; he's no standard. Stephano. We'll not run, monsieur monster. Trinculo. Nor go neither ; but you'll lie, like dogs, and yet say nothing neither. Stephano. i Moon- calf, speak once in thy life, if thou beest '. a good moon-calf. „ ... ' Caliban. ! How does thy honour ? Let me lick thy shoe. ! I'll not serve him, he is not valiant. Trinculo. I Thou Hest, most ignorant monster: I am in j case to justle a constable. Why, thou deboshed ! j fish thou, was there ever man a coward, that i ! hath drunk so much sack as I to-day ? Wilt f thouj Act hi. Sc. n. THE TEMPEST. '5 tfcoa toll a monstrous lie, being but half a fish and half a monster? Caliban. I.«. how he mocks me! wilt thou let him, my lord? Trinculo. | Lord, quoth he!— that a monster should be sue li a natural 1 Caliban. ( Lo, lo, again ! bite him to death, I pr'ythee. Stephano. 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. Caliban. I thank my noble lord. Wilt thou be pleas'd to hearken once again to the suit I made to thee ? Stephano. Marry will I ; kneel and repeat it : I will stand, and so shall Trinculo. Enter Ariel, invisible. Caliban. As I told thee before, I am subject to a tyrant ; a sorcerer, that by his cunning hath cheated me of the island. Ariel. Thou liest. Caliban. Thou liest, thou jesting monkey, thou ; I would, my valiant master would destroy thee: 1 do not lie. Stephano. Trinculo, if you trouble him any more in his tale, by this hand, I will supplant some of your teeth. Trinculo. W hy, I said nothing. Stephano. Mum, then, and no more.— To Caliban. Proceed. Caliban. 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. Stephano. That's most certain. Caliban. Thou shalt be lord of it, and I'll serve thee. Stephano. How, now, shall this be compassed ? Canst thou bring me to the party ? Caliban. Yea, yea, my lord: I'll yield him thee asleep, Where thou may'st knock a nail into his head. Ariel. Thou liest ; thou canst not. Caliban. : What a pied ninny's this ! Thou scurvy patch ! — ! 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'll not ! Where the quick freshes are. [show him Stephano. Trinculo, run into no farther danger: inter- rupt the monster one word farther, and, by this hand, I'll turn mymercy out of doors, and make i a stock-fish of thee. Trinculo. Why, what did I? I did nothing. I'll go farther off. Didst thou not say, he lied ? Ariel. Thou liest. Stephano. Do I so? take thou that. [Strikes him. As you like this, give me the lie another time. Trinculo. 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 ! Caliban. Ha, ha, ha! Stephano. Now, forward with your tale. Pr'ythee stand farther off. Caliban. Beat him enough : after a little time, I'll beat him too. Stephano. Stand farther — Come, proceed. Caliban. Why, as I told thee, 'tis a custom with him I' the afternoon to sleep: there thou may'st brain Having first seiz'd his books; or with a log [him, 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'll deck withal • And that most deeply to consider is The beauty of his daughter ; he himself Calls her a nonpareil: I never saw a woman, But only Sycorax my dam, and she ; But she as far surpasseth Sycorax, As great'st does least. Stephano. Is it so brave a lass ? Caliban. Ay, lord : she will become thy bed, I warrant, And bring thee forth brave brood. Stephano. Monster, I will kill this man: his daughter and 1 will be king and queen ; (save our graces !) and Trinculo and thyself shall be viceroys. — Dost thou like the plot, Trinculo ? Trinculo- Excellent. Stephano. Give me thy hand : I am sorry I beat thee ; I but, while thou livest, keep a good tongue in thy head. Caliban. Within this half hour will he be asleep ; , Wilt thou destroy him then ? Stephano. Ay, on mine honour. Ariel. This will I tell my master. Caliban. 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 ? Stephano. \ At thy request, monster, I will do reason, any reason. Come on, Trinculo, let us sing. [Sings. Flout 'em, and skout 'em ; and skout 'em, and flout 'em ; Thought is free. Caliban i6 THE TEMPEST. Act hi. Sc. in. Caliban. That's not the tune. [Ariel plays the tune on a Tabor and Pipe. Stephano. What is this same? Trinculo. This is the tune of our catch, played by the picture of No-body. Stephano. If thou beest a man, show thyself in thy like- ness : if thou beest a devil, take't as thou list. Trinculo. O, forgive me my sins ! Stephano. He that dies, pays all debts : I defy thee. — Mercy upon us ! Caliban. Art thou afeard ? Stephano. No, monster, not I. Caliban . 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 sometime voices, That, if I then had wak'd after long sleep, [ing, Will make me sleep again : and then, in dream- The clouds, methought, would open, and show riches Ready to drop upon me, that when I wak'd I cry'd to dream again. Stephano. This will prove a brave kingdom to me, where I shall have my music for nothing. Caliban. When Prospero is destroyed. Stephano. That shall be by and Dy : I remember the story. Trinculo. The sound is going away : let's follow it, and after do our work. Stephano. Lead, monster ; we'll follow. — ] see this taborer : he lays it on. Trinculo. Wilt come ? I'll follow, Stepha ', would, I could [Exeunt. SCENE III. Another part of the Island. Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonxalo, Adrian, Francisco, and Others. Gonzalo. By'r la'kin, I can go no farther, sir; My old bones ake: here's a maze trod, indeea, Through forth -rights, and meanders! by your I needs must rest me. [patience, A Ion so. 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. Antonio. I am right glad that he's so out of hope. [Aside to Sebastian. Do not, for one repulse, forego the purpose That you resolv'd to effect. Sebastian. The next advantage Will we take thoroughly. Antonio. 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. Sebastian. 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 salutations; and, inviting the King, &c. to eat, they depart.] Alonso. What harmony is this ? my good friends, hark! Gonzalo. Marvellous sweet music 1 Alonso. Give us kind keepers, heavens! What were these? Sebastian. A living drollery. Now 1 will believe That there are unicorns ; that in Arabia There is one tree, the phoenix' throne ; one At this hour reigning there. [phcenix Antonio. I'll believe both ; i And what does else want credit, come to me, And I'll be sworn 'tis true: travellers ne'er did; Though fools at home condemn them. [lie, Gonzalo. If in Naplrs 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. Prospero. [Aside. Honest lord, Thou hast said well ; for some of you there Are worse than devils. [present, Alonso. I cannot too much muse, Such shape, such gesture, and such sound, ex- pressing (Although they want the use of tongue) a kind Of excellent dumb discourse. Prospero. [Aside. Praise in departing. Francisco. They vanish'd strangely. Sebastian. No matter, since They have left their viands behind, for we have stomachs Will't please you taste of what is here? Alonso. Not I. Gonzalo. Faith, sir, you need not fear. When we were boys, Who would believe that there were mountaineers Dew-lapp'd like bull's, whose throats had hang- ing at them -Walleti A< r iv. Sc. i. mi: TEMPEST. Wallets of flesh ? or that there were such men, \\ bote heads stood in their breasts? which now w ■ find. Each puttcr-o-.it of one for Ave will bring us Good warrant of. 1 will stand to, and feed, Although my last: no matter, since 1 feel The best is past Brother, my lord the duke, to, and do as we. , M . : ? ' -r nndlightnlng. Enter Ariel like a harpv, claps his wings upon the table, and, with a quamtdevice, the banquet vanishes. Ariel. 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; [seeing /(km \c. drRw their swords. [drown And even with such like valour men hang and Their proper selves. 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, or with bemock'd-at Kill the still-closing waters, as diminish [stabs 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, j For that's my business to you) that you three From Milan did supplant good Prospero ; Fxpos'd unto the sea, which hath requit it, Him, and his innocent child: for which foul deed The powers, delaying not forgetting, have Incens'd the seas and shores, yea, all the crea- tures, Against your peace. Thee, of thy son, Alonso, They have bereft ; and do pronounce, by me, lingering 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 Upon your heads) is nothing, but heart's sorrow, I He vanishes in thunder: then, to soft music enter the Shapes again, and dance with mocks and mowes.and carry out the table. Prospero. I Aside. Bravely the figure of this harpy hast thou Perforn/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 work, And these, mine enemies, are all knit up In their distractions: they now are in my power; And in these fits I leave them, while I visit Young F ° Prospero. 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 fall To make this contract grow ; but barren hate, Sour-ey'd 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, Ferdinand. 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, [founder'd, When I shall think, or Phoebus' steeds are Or night kept chained below. Prospero Fairly spoke. Sit then, and talk with her ; she is thine own — What, Ariel! my industrious servant Ariel! Enter Ariel. Ariel. What would my potent master r he^.1 £ ro-|>'To. i8 THE TEMPEST. Act rv. Sc. i. Prospero. Thou and thy meaner fellows your last service 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. Ariel. Prospero. Presently ' Ay, with a twink. J Ariel. 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 mowe. Do you love me, master ? no ? Prospero. Dearly, my delicate Ariel. Do not approach, Till thou dost hear me call. Ariel. Well, I conceive. [Exit. Prospero. 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. Ferdinand. I warrant you, sir ; The white-cold virgin snow upon my heart Abates the ardour of my liver. Prospero. Well.— Now come, my Ariel ! bring a corollary, • Rather than want a spirit : appear, aBd^perlly.-,- No tongue, all eyes ; be silent. T**rrmis A raasqm :. Enter Iris. Iris. ' Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and peas ; Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep, And flat meads thatch'd with stover, them to keep; Thy banks with pioned and twilled 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, steril, and rocky-hard, [sky, Where thou thyself dost air ; the queen o' the Whose watery arch and messenger am I, [grace, Bids thee leave these, and with her sovereign 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. Ceres. 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 Cere.i. 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 Some wanton charm upon this man and maid, \ Whose vows are, that no bed-right shall be paid Till Hymen's torch be lighted ; but in vain : 'Mars's 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, Ceres. Highest queen of state, Great Juno comes : I know her by her gait. Juno descends. Juno. How does my bounteous sister ? Go with me, To bless this twain, that they may prosperous And honour'd in their issue. [be, Song. Juno. Honour, riches, marriage, blessing, Long continuance, and increasing, Hourly joys be still upon you ! Juno sings her blessings on you. Ceres. Earth's increase, foison plenty, Barns, and garners never empty; Vines, with clustering 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. Ferdinand. This is a most majestic vision, and Harmonious charmingly. May I be bold To think these spirits ? Prospero. Spirits, which by mine art ; I have from their confines call'd, to enact My present fancies. Ferdinand. Let me live here ever : So rare a wonder'd father, and a wife, : \Juno and Ceres whTftper, and send Iris on employment. Prospero. ! Sweet now, silence ! ; Juno and Ceres whisper seriously ; [mute, There's something else to do , Or else our spell is marr'd. Iris. Hush, and be You nymphs, call'd Naiads, of the winding • brooks, [looks, . With your sedg'd crowns, and ever-harmless Summon'd me hither, to this short-grass'd green? 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. Ent(J5 . A contract of true love to celebrate, And some donation freely to estate On the bless'd lovers. iv. Sc. I. THE TEMPEST. i« 1 Jimtmrn'd sicklemon, of August weary, M hither from the furrow, and he merry. te hoi v- day: your rye-straw hats put on, these fresh nymphs encounter every one 1 country footing. [Inter certain Iirnprrs, properly habited: thrjf Join with the Nympbs in a graceful , towards the etui w hereof /•; us/u ro starts suddenly, and speaks; after which, . hollow, and confused noise, they heavily vanish. Prospero. [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. Ferdinand. This is strange : your father's in some passion j That works him strongly. Miranda. Never till this day, I him touch'd with anger so distemper'd. Prospero. fou do look, my son, in a mov'd sort, i if you were dismay'd : be cheerful, sir, revels now are ended. These our actors, I foretold you, were all spirits, and melted into air, into thin air: 'j like the baseless fabric of this vision, cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, solemn temples, the great globe itself, all which it inherit, shall dissolve; j like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep — Sir, I am vex'd: Bear with my weakness; my old brain is troubled : Be not disturb'd with my infirmity. If you be pleas'd retire into my ceil, And there repose : a turn or two I'll walk, To still my beating mind. Ferdinand, Miranda. We wish your peace. [Exeunt Prospero. Come with a thought !— I thank thee. — Ariel, cornel „ 4 , . , Lnter Ariel Ariel. Thy thoughts I cleave to. What's thy plea- sure? _ Prospero Spirit, We must prepare to meet with Caliban. Ariel. j Ay, my commander : when I presented Ceres, , I thought to have told thee of it ; but I fear'd, Lest I might anger thee. Prospero. Say again, where didst thou leave these varlets? Ariel. j I told you, sir, they were red-hot with drink - l So full of valour, that they smote the air [ing : For breathing in their faces ; beat the ground For kissing of their feet, yet always bending j Towards their project. Then I beat my tabor ; , At which, like unback'd colts, they prick'd their ears, Advanc'd their eye-lids, lifted up their noses, As they smelt music : so I charm 'd their ears, That, calf-like, theymy lowing follow'd, through Tooth'd briers, sharp furzes, pricking gorse, and thorns, [them Which enter'd their frail shins: at last 1 left 1' the filthy mantled pool beyond your cell, There dancing up to the chins, that the foul O'erstunk their feet. [lake Prospero. This was well done, my bird. Thy shape invisible retain thou still : The trumpery in ray house, go, bring it hither, For stale to catch these thieves. Ar,el - I go, I go. [Exit. Pros; 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. 1 will plague them all, Re-enter Arid, loaden with glistering apparel, &c. Even to roaring — Come, hang them on this line. Prospero and Ariel remain unseen. Enter Caliban, Stephana, and Trinculo, all wet. Caliban. Pray you, tread softly, that the blind mole may Hear a foot fall: we now are near his cell, [not Stephano. Monster, your fairy, which, you say, is a harm- less fairy, has done little better than played the Jack with us. Trinculo. Monster, I do smell all horse-piss, at which my nose is in great indignation. Stephano. So is mine. Do you hear, monster? If I should takea displeasure against you ; look you, — Trinculo. Thou wert but a lost monster. Caliban. Good my lord, give me thy favour still. Be patient, for the prize I'll bring thee to Shall hood- wink this mischance: therefore, speak All's hush'd as midnight yet. [softly ; Trinculo. Ay, but to lose our bottles in the pool, — Stephano. There is not only disgrace and dishonour in : that, monster, but an infinite loss. Trinculo. j That's more to me than my wetting: yet this I is your harmless fairy, monster. Stephano. I will fetch off my bottle, though I be o'er j ears for my labour. Caliban. Pr'ythee, my king, be quiet. Seest thou here. This is the mouth o' the cell : no noise, and enter : Do that good mischief, which may make this Thine own for ever, and I, thy Caliban, [island For aye thy foot-licker. , Stephano. Give me thy hand. I do begin to have bloody thoughts. Trinculo. O king Stephano! O peer! O worthy Ste- phano I look, what a wardrobe here is fpjr 4fc$e }. 20 THE TEMPEST. Act iv. Sc. z. Caliban. Let it alone, thou fool : it is but trash. Trinculo. O, ho, monster ! we know what belongs to a frippery:— O king Stephano! Stephano . Put off that gown, Trinculo: by this hand, I'll have that gown. Trinculo. Thy grace shall have it. Caliban. The dropsy drown this fool ! what do you mean, To doat thus on such luggage ? Let 't alone, And do the murder first: if he awake, From toe to crown he'll fill our skins with Make us strange stuff. [pinches ; Step': 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. Trinculo. Do, do : we steal by line and level, and't like your grace. Stephano. 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. Irmculo. Monster, come, put some lime upon your fin- gers," and away with the rest. Caliban. I will have none on't : we shall lose our time, And all be turn'd to barnacles, or to apes With foreheads villainous low. Monster, lay-to your fingers: help to bear this away, where my hogshead of wine is, or I'll turn you out of my kingdom. Go to ; carry tnis - ™ . Trinculo. And this. „ , Stephano. Ay, and this. tA noise of hunters heard. Enter divers Spirits, in shape of hounds, and hunt them about ; Prospero and Ariel setting them on. Prospero. Hey, Mountain, hey ! Ariel. Silver! there it goes, Silver! Prospero. Fury, Fury! there, Tyrant, there! hark, [Caliban, Stephano, and Trinculo are driven out. Go, charge my goblins that they grind their joints With dry convulsions ; shorten up their sinews With aged cramps, and more pinch-spotted make Than pard, or cat o' mountain. r_them, Ariel. Hark ! they roar. Prospero. Let them be hunted soundly. At this hour Lie at my mercy all mine enemies : Shortly shall all my labours end, and thou Shalt have the air at freedom : for a little. Follow, and do me service. [Exeunt. ACT y. SCENE I. Before the Cell of Prospero. Enter Prospero in his magic robes ; and Ariel. Prospero. ]y OW does my project gather to a head : [time . - L ~ My charms crack not, my spirits obey, and } Goes upright with his carriage. How's the day V Ariel. On the sixth hour ; at which time, my lord, j You said our work should cease. I did say so, When first I rais'd the tempest. Say, my spirit, J How fares the king and 's followers ? Ariel. Confin'd together | In the same fashion as you gave in charge ; ! Just as you left them : all prisoners, sir, [cell ; | In the line-grove which weather-fends your | They cannot budge till your release. The king, t His brother, andyours, abide all three distracted, j And the remainder mourning over them, j Brim-full of sorrow, and dismay ; but chiefly Him that you term'd, 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. Prospero. Dost thou think so, spirit ? Ariel. Mine would, sir, were I human. Prospero. And mine shall. Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling Of their afflictions, and shall not myself, One of their kind, that relish all as sharply Passion as they, be kindlier mov'd 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 [tent, In virtue, than in vengeance : they being peni- The sole drift of my purpose doth extend Not a frown farther. Go, release them, Ariel. My charms I'll break, their senses I'll restore, And they shall be themselves. Ariel. I'll fetch them, sir. [Exit. Prospero. 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 demy-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) 1 have be-dimm'd The noontide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds, And 'twixt the green sea and the azur'd vault Set roaring war : to the dread rattling thunder Have I given fire, and rifted Jove's stout oak With Sc. i. THE TEMPEST. 21 hit own bolt : the strong-bas'd promontory I made shake; and by the spur* pluck'd up p:ne ami cedar : graves, at my command, fi> waked their sleepers ; oped, and let them forth y so potent art. But this rough magic abjure ; and, when I have requir'd heavenly music, (which even now I do) To work mine end upon their senses, that This airy charm is for, I'll break my staff, Bury it certain fathoms in the earth, , deeper than did ever plummet sound, I'll drown my book. [Solemn music I:.- • nter Artel: alter him, Alonso, with a frantic tended by Gonzalo ; Sebastian and like manner, attended by Adrian I and Iran a sco : they all enter the circle which mere had made, and there stand charmed ; \peio observing, speaks. A solemn air, and the best comforter Vo an unsettled fancy, cure thy brains, [stand, useless, boil'd within thy skull ! There For you are spell -stopp'd. — Holy Gonzalo, honourable man, j Mine eyes, even sociable to the show of thine, Fall fellowiy drops — The charm dissolves apace ; ; And as the morning steals upon the night, Melting the darkuess, so their rising senses I 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, 1 will pay thy graces ', Home, both in word and deed. — Most cruelly Didst thou, Alonso, use me and my daughter : j Thy brother was a furtherer in the act ; — ! Thou'rt ninch'd for't now, Sebastian Flesh and blood, You brother mine, that entertain'd ambition, Expell'd remorse and nature ; who, with Se~ bastian, [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 shores, I That now he 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 dis-case me, and myself present, As I was sometime Milan — Quickly, spirit; Thou shalt ere long be free. Ariel re-enters, singing, and help* to attire Prospero. Ariel. Where the bee sucks, there suck I ; In a cowslip's bell I lie ; There I couch, when owls do cry : On the bat's back I do fly, After summer, merrily : Merrily, merrily, shall I live now Under the blossom that hangs on the b ttgh. Prospero. Why, that'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 boat- Being awake, enforce them to this place, [swain, And presently, 1 pr'ythee. I drink the air before me, and return . Or e'er your pulse twice beat. [Exit Ariel. All torment, trouble, wonder, and amazement Inhabit here : some heavenly power guide us Out of this fearful country ! ;>ero- 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 ; 1 And to thee, and thy company, I bid A hearty welcome. Alu; Whe'r 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 1 saw thee, Th' 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 Be living, and be here ? [Prospero Prospero. First, noble friend, Let me embrace thine age, whose honour cannot Be measur'd, or confin'd. Gonzalo. Whether this be, Or be not, I'll not swear. Prospero. You do yet taste Some subtleties o' the isle, that will not let you Believe things certain. — Welcome, my friends all — , But you, my brace of lords, were I so minde*d7 [Aside to Sebastian and Antonio. I here could pluck his highness' frown upon you, And justify you traitors : at this time I will tell no tales. Sebastian . [Aside. The devil speaks in him. Prospero. No j 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, I Thou must restore. Alonso. If thou beest Prospero, Give us particulars of thy preservation : [since How thou hast met us here, who three hours Were wreck'd upon this shore; where 1 have lost (How sharp the point of this remembrance is !) My dear son Ferdinand. Prospero. I am woe for't, sir. Alonso. Irreparable is the loss, and patience Says it is past her cure. Prospero. I rather think, [grace, You have not sought her help ; of whose soft For the like loss 1 have her sovereign aid, And rest myself content. Alonso. You the like loss ? M >ero. As great to me, as late ; and, supportable To make the dear loss, have I means much weaker THE TEMPEST. Act v. Sc. i. Than you may call to comfort you, for I Have lost my daughter. Alonso. 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 ? Prospero. In this last Tempest. I perceive, these lords At this encounter do so much admire, That they devour their reason, and scarce think Their eyes do offices of truth, their words Are natural breath ; but, howsoe'er you have Been justled from your senses, know for certain, That I am Prospero, and that very duke Which was thrust forth of Milan j 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, j 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 scene opens, and discovers Ferdinand and Miranda playing at chess. Miranda. Sweet lord, you play me false. Ferdinand. No, my dearest love, I would not for the world. Miranda. Yes, for a score of kingdoms you should And I would call it fair play. [wrangle, Alonso. If this prove A vision of the island, one dear son Shall I twice lose. _ , ... Sebastian. A most high miracle I Ferdinand. Though the seas threaten they are merciful : I have curs'd them $«^neels t0 Alon ^ Alonso. Now, all the blessings Of a glad father compass thee about ! Arise, and say how thou cam'st here. Miranda. O, wonder ! How many goodly creatures are there here I How beauteous mankind is ! O brave new world, That has such people in't ! Prospero. Alonso. ' Tis new t0 thee - 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 ? Ferdinand. Sir, she is mortal : But, by immortal providence, she's mine : I chose her, when I could not ask my father For his advice, nor thought I had one. She Is daughter to this famous duke of Milan, Of whom so often I have heard renown, But never saw before ; of whom 1 have Received a second life, and second father This lady makes him to me. Alonso. I am hers. But O ! how oddly will it sound, that I Must ask my child forgiveness. Prospero. There, sir, stop : Let us not burden our remembrances With a heaviness that's gone. Gonzalo. I have inly wept, Or should have spoke ere this. Look down, you i And on this couple drop a blessed crown ; [gods, For it is you that have chalk'd forth the way, j Which brought us hither ! Alonso. I say, Amen, Gonzalo. Gonzalo j Was Milan thrust from Milan, that his issue I Should become kings of Naples ? O ! rejoice ; Beyond a common joy, and set it down | With gold on lasting pillars. In one voyage i 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. Alonso. „_ „ Give me your hands : [To Ferdinand and Miranda. Let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart, ; That doth not wish you joy ! Gonzalo. Be It so: Amen. ) Re-enter Ariel, with the Master and Boatswain 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 ? [news ? : Hast thou no mouth by land? What is the Boatswain. 1 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 I We first put out to sea. Ariel. Sir, all this service 1 Have I done since I went. Prospero. My tricksy spirit ! Alonso. These are not natural events ; they strengthen From strange to stranger Say, how came you hither? Boatswain. If I did think, sir, I were well awake, I'd strive to tell you. We were dead o' 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 awak'd ; 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, £v§n A. i v. Sc. l. THE TEMPEST. Kven in a dream, wore we divided from them, Ami were brought moping hither. Ariel. Was't well done? be fn Prospero. Bravely, my diligence ! Thou shalt be^free" Alonso. Th's is as strange a maze as eer men trod ; Ami there is in tliis business more than nature i r conduct of: some oracle Must rectify our knowledge. Prospero. Sir, my liege, Do not infest your mind with beating on The strangeness of this business : at pick'd leisure, Which shall be shortly, single I'll resolve you (Which to you shall seem probable) of every These happen'd accidents ; till when, be cheerful, And think of each thing well — Come hither, spirit : [A»Me. Set Caliban and his companions free ; 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, Stephano, and Trinculo, in their stolen apparel. Stephano. Every man shift for all the rest, and let no man take care for himself, for all is but fortune. — Coraggio ! bully-monster, coraggio 1 Trinculo. If these be true spies which I wear in my head, here's a goodly sight. Caliban. O Setebos ! these be brave spirits, indeed. How fine my master is l 1 am afraid He will chastise me. Sebastian. Ha, ha ! What things are these, my lord Antonio ? Will money buy them ? Antonio. Very like : one of them Is a plain fish, and, no doubt, marketable. Prospero. Mark but the badges of these men, my lords, Then say, if they be true This mis-shapen knave, 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. Caliban. I shall be pinch'd to death. Alonso. Is not this Stephano, my drunken butler ? Sebastian. He is drunk now : where had he wine ? Alonso. And Trinculo is reeling ripe: where should they I Find this grand liquor that hath gilded »em?— < How cam'st thou in this pickle ? I have been In such a pickle, since I saw you , last, that, 1 fear me, will never out of my bones : j I shall not fear fly-blowing. 1 Why, how now, Stephano! ~ . . Stephano. : O ! touch me not : I am not Stephano, but a cramp. , You'd be king of the IKeTsirrah ? .. Stephano. I should have been a sore one then. Alonso. This is a strange thing as e'er I look'd on. [Pointing to Caliban. Prospero. [ He is as disproportioned in his manners, | As in his shape Go, sirrah, to my cell ; ■ Take with you your companions : as you look 1 To have my pardon, trim it handsomely. Caliban. » Ay, that I will ; and I'll be wise nereafter, And seek for grace. What a thrice-double ass : Was I, to take this drunkard for a god, ' And worship this dull fool ? Prospero. Go to ; away 1 Alonso. Hence, and bestow your luggage where you found it. Sebastian. Or stolj it rather. [Exeunt Caliban, Stephano, and Trinculo. Prospero. 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 ! Go quick away ; the story of my life, [it j And the particular accidents gone by, ! Since I came to this isle : and in the morn, I'll bring you to your ship, and so to Naples, Where 1 have hope to see the nuptial ! Of these our dear-beloved solemniz'd ; I And thence retire me to my Milan, where Every third thought shall be my grave. Alonso I long To hear the story of your life, which must Take the car strangely. Prospero. I'll deliver all ; And promise you calm seas, auspicious gales, And sail, so expeditious, that shall catch Your royal fleet far off". — My Ariel ; —chick, — That is thy charge : then, to the elements ; Be free, and fare thou well ! — 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, 1 must be here confin'd by you, Or sent to Naples. Let me not, Since I have my dukedom got, And 2 4 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. Act i. Sc. i. Aud pardon'd the deceiver, dwell In this bare island, by your spell ; But release me from my bands, With the help of your good hands. Gentle breath of yours my sails Must fill, or else my project fails, Which was to please. Now I want Spirits to enforce, art to enchant ; And my ending is despair, Unless I be reliev'd by prayer ; Which pierces so, that it assaults Mercy itself, and frees all faults. As you from crimes would pardon'd be, Let your indulgence set me free. THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VEEONA. DRAMATIS PERSONS. DUKE OF MILAN, Father to Silvia. Stem? 6 '] Thetwo Gentlemen. Antonio, Father to Proteus. Thurio, a foolish rival to Valentine. Eglamour, agent for Silvia in her escape. Speed, a clownish Servant to Valentine. Launce, the like to Proteus. Panthino, Servant to Antonio. . Host, where Julia lodges. I Outlaws with Valentine. I Julia, beloved of Proteus. I Silvia, beloved of Valentine. ! Lucetta, Waiting-woman to Julia. Servants, Musicians. SCENE : sometimes in Verona ; sometimes in Milan, and on the frontiers of Mantua. #-#-0-#-#'#-##- ACT I. SCENE I. An open place in Verona Enter Valentine and Proteus. Valentine- : (~^E ASE 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 sluggardiz'd at home, Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness. But since thou lov'st, love still, and thrive Even as I would, when I to love begin, [therein, Proteus. ! Wilt thou begone ? Sweet Valentine, adieu. I Think on thy Proteus, when thou haply seest Some rare note- worthy object in thy travel : IWish me partaker in thy happiness, [danger, I When thou dost meet good hap ; and in thy {If ever danger do environ thee, I (Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers, | For I will be thy bead's -man, Valentine. Valentine. And on a love-book pray for my success. Proteus. Upon some book I love, I'll pray for thee. Valentine. That's on some shallow story of deep love, How young Leander cross'd the Hellespont. Proteus. That's a deep story of a deeper love, For he was more than over shoes in love. Valentine. 'Tis true ; for you are over boots in love, And yet you never swam the Hellespont. Proteus . Over the boots ? nay, give me not the boots. Valentine. No, I will not, for it boots thee not. Proteus. What ? Valentine. 1 To be in love, where scorn is bought with groans; [moment's mirth, Coy looks, with heart-sore sighs ; one fading 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. Proteus. So, by your circumstance you call me fool. Valentine. So, by your circumstance, I fear, you'll prove. ProUHiP. Sc. i. TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. H Proteus. TU love you c&\ il at : I am not love. tine. Love Is your master, for he masters you ; Ami he that is so yoked by a fool, Methinks, should not be chronicled for wise. l'rot Yet writers say, as In the sweetest bud The eating canker dwells, so eating love Inhabits in the finest wits of all. And writers say, as the most forward bud Is eaten by the canker ere it blow, Even so by love the young and tender wit Is turn'd to folly ; blasting in the bud, Losing his verdure even in the prime, And all the fair effects of future hopes. Hut wherefore waste 1 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. Proteus. And thither will I bring thee, Valentine. Valentine. Sweet Proteus, no ; now let us take our leave. To 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. Proteus. All happiness bechance to thee in Milan. Valentine. As much to you at home ; and so, farewell, Proteus. He after honour hunts, 1 after love: 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 i.nter Speed. Speed. Sir Proteus, save you. Saw you my master ? Proteus. 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. Proteus. 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 ? Proteus. I do. Speed. Why then, my horns are his horns, whether I wake or sleep. Proteus,. A silly answer, and fitting' well a sheep. Speed. This proves me still a sheep. Prot True, and thy master a shepherd. Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance. Proteus. It shall go hard but I'll prove it by another. i The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not the •heep the shepherd ; but I seek my master, and my master seeks not me: therefore, I am no sheep. Proteus. The sheep for fodder follow the shepherd, the shepherd for food follows not the sheep ; thou for wages followest thy master, thy master for wages follows not thee : therefore, thou art a sheep. Speed . Such another proof will make me cry " baa." Proteus . But, dost thou hear ? gav'st thou my letter to Julia T 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. Proteus. Here's too small a pasture for such store of muttons. Speed. If the ground be overcharg'd, you were best stick her. „ Proteus. Nay, in that you are astray : 'twere best pound J' ou - Speed. Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve me for carrying your letter. Proteus. You mistake: I mean the pound, the pinfold. Speed From a pound to a pin ? fold it over and over, 'Tis threefold too little for carrying a letter to your lover. _. . Proteus. But what said she ? did she nod ? Speed. I. Nod, Proteus. ? why that's noddy. Speed. [Speed nods. You mistook, sir : I say she did nod, and you ask me, if she did nod ? and I say I. Proteus. And that set together, is noddy. Speed. Now you have taken the pains to set it toge- ther, take it for your pains. Proteus. No, no letter. Well, you. ; you shall have it for bearing the Speed, perceive I must be fain to bear with Proteus. ' Why, sir, how do you bear with me ? Speed. Marry, sir, the letter very orderly ; having nothing but the word noddy for my pains. Proteus. Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit. Speed. And yet it cannot overtake your slow purse. Proteus. Come, come ; said she ? open the matter in brief: what Speed. 26 TWO GENTLEMEN OE VERONA. Act i. Sc. i. Speed. Open your purse, that the money, and the matter, may be both at once deliver 'd. Proteus. Well, sir, here is for your pains. What said she' Speed. Truly, sir, I think you'll hardly win her. Proteus. Why ? Couldst thou perceive so much from her? „ a Speed. Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from her ; no, not so much as a ducat for delivering your letter ; and being so hard to me that brought your mind, I fear she'll prove as hard to you in telling your mind. Give her no token but stones, for she s as hard as steel. Proteus. 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, henceforth : carry your letters yourself. And so, sir, I'll j commend you to my master. Proteus. Go, go, be gone, to save your ship from wreck, Which cannot perish, having thee aboard, Being destin'd 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 Pg^ unt SCENE II. The same. Jidia *s Garden. Enter Julia and Lucetta. But say, Lucetta, now we are alone, Wouldst thou, then, counsel me to fall in love ' Lucetta. Ay, madam ; so you stumble not unheedfully. ; Julia Of all the fair resort of gentlemen, That every day with parle encounter me, In thy opinion which is worthiest love ? Lucetta. Please you, repeat their names, I'll show ray! According to my shallow simple skill. [mind j Julia. What think'st thou of the fair Sir Eglamour t Lucetta. As of a knight well-spoken, neat, and fine ; But, were I you, he never should be mine. Julia. What think'st thou of the rich Mercatio t Lucetta. Well, of his wealth ; but of himself, so, so. Julia. What think'st thou of the gentle Proteus ? Lucetta. Lord, lord ! to see what folly reigns in us ! Julia. How now ! what means this passion at his name? Lucetta. Pardon, dear madam : 'tis a passing shame, That I, unworthy body as I am, Should censure thus on lovely gentlemen. Julia. Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest ? Lucetta. Then thus,— of many good I think him best Julia. Your reason ? Lucetta. I have no other but a woman's reason : I think him so, because I think him so. Julia. And wouldst thou have me cast my love on him? Lucetta. Ay, if you thought your love not cast away. Julia. Why, he, of all the rest, hath never mov'd me. Lucetta. Yet he, of all the rest, I think, best loves ye. Julia. His little speaking shows his love but small. Lucetta. Fire that's closest kept burns most of all. Julia. They do not love, that do not show their love. Lucetta. ! they love least, that let men know their love. Julia. 1 would I knew his mind. Lucetta. Peruse this paper, madam. Julia. " To Julia." Say, from whom? Lucetta. That the contents will show. Julia. Say, say, who gave it thee ? Lucetta. Sir Valentine's page; and sent, I think, from Proteus. [way, He would have given it you, but I, being in the Did in your name receive it : pardon the fault, I pray. Julia. Kow, by my modesty, a goodly broker ! Dare you presume to harbour wanton lines ? To whisper and conspire against my youth ? Now, trust me, 'tis an office of great worth, And you an officer fit for the place. There, take the paper : see it be return'd, Or else return no more into my sight. Lucetta. To plead for love deserves more fee than hate Julia. Will you be gone ? Lucetta. That you may ruminate. CExlt. Julia. And yet, I would I had o'erlook'd the letter. It were a shame to call her back again, And pray her to a fault for which I chid her. What fool is she, that knows I am a maid, And would not force the letter to my view, Since maids, in modesty, say " No," to that Which they would have the profferer construe, " Ay." Fie, fie ! how wayward is this foolish love, That like a testy babe will scratch the nurse, And presently, all humbled, kiss the rod. How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence, When Act i. Sc. in. TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. *7 When willingly I would have had her here: How angerly I taught ray brow to frown. When inward joy enforc d my heart to smile. My penance is to call Lucetta back, And ask remission for my folly past What hoi Lucetta t Reenter Lucetta. Lucetta. What would your ladyship ? Julia. Is it near dinner-time ? Lucetta. I would, it were ; That you might kill your stomach on your meat, And not upon your maid. Julia. What is't that you took up so gingerly ? Lucetta. Nothing. Julia. Why didst thou stoop, then ? Lucetta. To take a paper up That I let fall. Julia. And is that paper nothing ? Lucetta. Nothing concerning me. Julia. Then let it lie for those that it concerns. Lucetta. Madam, it will not lie where it concerns, Unless it have a false interpreter. Julia. Some love of yours hath writ to you in rhyme. Lucetta. That I might sing it, madam, to a tune. Give me a note : your ladyship can set. Julia. As little by such toys as may be possible : Best sing it to the tune of " Light o' love." Lucetta. It is too heavy for so light a tune. Julia. Heavy ? belike, it hath some burden then. Lucetta. Ay ; and melodious were it, would you sing it. Julia. And why not you ? Lucetta. I cannot reach so high. Julia. Let's see your song. — How now, minion 1 Lucetta. Keep tune there still, so you will sing it out: And yet, methinks, I do not like this tune. Julia. You do not ? Lucetta. No, madam ; it is too sharp. Julia. You, minion, are too saucy. Lucetta. Nay, now you are too flat, And mar the concord with too harsh a descant: There wanteth but a mean to fill your song. Julia. The mean is drown'd with your unruly base. Lucetta. Indeed I bid the base for Proteus. Julia. This babble shall not henceforth trouble me. Here is a coil with protestation 1 — [Tears the letter. Go, get you gone, and let the papers lie : You would be fingering them to anger me. Lucetta. I She makes it strange, but she would be best pleas 'd To be so anger'd with another letter. [Exit Julia. 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 vour stings ! I'll kiss each several paper for amends. [Julia ! Look, here is writ— "kind Julia ;" — unkind As in revenge of thy ingratitude, 1 throw thy name against the bruising stones, Trampling contemptuously on thy disdain. And here is writ — " love-wounded Proteus."— Poor wounded name 1 my bosom, as a bed, Shall lodge thee, till thy wound be thoroughly heal'd ; And thus I search it with a sovereign kiss. But twice, or thrice, was Proteus written down : Be calm, good wind, blow not a word away, Till I have found each letter in the letter, [bear Except mine own name ; that some whirlwind ; Unto a ragged, fearful, hanging rock, \ And throw it thence into the raging sea. i Lo I here in one line is his name twice writ,— i ; " Poor forlorn Proteus j passionate Proteus To the sweet Julia :"— that I'll tear away ; I 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. Ue-enter Lucetta. Lucetta Madam, ! Dinner is ready, and your father stays. Julia. ! Well, let us go. . Lucetta. mat ! shall these papers lie like tell-tale* here? , ,. Julia. If you respect them, best to take them up. Lucetta. Nay, I was taken up for laying them down ; Yet here they shall not lie for catching cold. Julia. I see, you have a month's mind to them. Lucetta. ! Ay, madam, you may say what sights you see ; I see things too, although you judge 1 wink. Julia. Come, come ; will't please you go ? [Exeunt. SCENE III. The same. A Room In Antonio's House. Enter Antonio and Panthino. Antonio. Tell me, Panthino, what sad talk was that, Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister ? Panthino. 'Twas of his nephew Proteus, your son. . , 28 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. Act i. Sc. m. Antonio. Why, what of him ? Panthino. 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 ron, was meet, And did request me to importune you To let him spend his time no more at home, Which would be great impeachment to his age, In having known no travel in his youth . Antonio. Nor need'st thou much importune me to that Whereon this month I have been hammering. I have consider'd well his loss of time, And how he cannot be a perfect man, Not being tried and tutor'd in the world : Experience is by industry achiev'd, And perfected by the swift course of time. Then, tell me, whither were I best to send him ? Panthino. I think, your lordship is not ignorant How his companion, youthful Valentine, Attends the emperor in his royal court. Antonio. I know it well. Panthino. 'Twere good, I think, your lordship sent him thither. There shall he practise tilts and tournaments, Hear sweet discourse, converse with noblemen, And be in eye of every exercise, Worthy his youth, and nobleness of birth. Antonio. 1 like thy counsel : well hast thou advis'd ; And, that thou may'st perceive how well I like it, The execution of it shall make known. Even with the speediest expedition I will dispatch him to the emperor's court. Panthino. To-morrow, may it please you, Don Alphonso, With other gentlemen of good esteem, Are journeying to salute the emperor, And to commend their service to his will. Antonio. Good company ; with them shall Proteus go : And, in good time,— now will we break with him. Enter Proteus. Proteus. Sweet love ! sweet lines ! sweet life ! Here is her hand, the agent of her heart ; Here is her oath for love, her honour's pawn. O ! that our fathers would applaud our loves, To seal our happiness with their consents ! O heavenly Julia ! Antonio. How now ! what letter are you reading there ? Proteus. May't please your lordship, 'tis a word or two Of commendations sent from Valentine, Deliver'd by a friend that came from him. Antonio. Lend me the letter: let me see what news. Proteus. There is no news, my lord, but that he writes How happily he lives, how well belov'd, And daily graced by the emperor ; Wishing me with him, partner of his fortune. Antonio. And how stand you affected to his wish ? Proteus. As one relying on your lordship's will, ; And not depending on his friendly wish. Antonio. I My will is something sorted with his wish. ; Muse not that 1 thus suddenly proceed, For what 1 will, 1 will, and there an end. ; I am resolv'd, that thou shalt spend some time With Valentinus in the emperor's court : ; What maintenance he from his friends receives, Like exhibition thou shalt have from me. To-morrow be in readiness to go : | Excuse it not, for I am peremptory. Proteus. My lord, I cannot be so soon provided : Please you, deliberate a day or two. Antonio. Look, what thou want'st shall be sent after thee : No more of stay ; to-morrow thou must go. — Come on, Panthino : you shall be employ'd To hasten on his expedition. [Exeunt Antonio and Panthino. Proteus. Thus have I shunn'd the fire for fear of burning, And drench'd me in the sea, where I am drown'd. I fear'd to show my father Julia's letter, Lest he should take exceptions to my love ; And, with the vantage of mine own excuse, | Hath he excepted most against my love. ) O ! how this spring of love resembleth i 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. Panthino. Sir Proteus, your father calls for you : He is in haste ; therefore, I pray you, go Proteus. Why, this it is : my heart accords thereto, And yet a thousand times it answers, no. [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I. Milan. A Room in the Duke's Palace. Enter Valentine and Speed. Speed. CIR, your glove. Valentine. Not mine ; my gloves are on. Speed. Whythen this may be yours, for this is but one. Valentine. Ha ! let me see ; ay, give it me, it's mine. — Sweet ornament, that decks a thing divine 1 Ah Silvia ! Silvia ! Speed. Madam Silvia ! madam Silvia ! Valentine. How now, sirrah ? Speed. She is not within hearing, sir. Valentine. Au n. Sc. i. TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. Valentine., Why, sir, who bade you call her ? ■ - Your worship, sir ; or else I mistook. Valentine. Well, you'll still be too forward. And yet I was last chidden for being too slow. Valentine. Go to, sir. Tell me, do you know madam Silvia t Speed She that your worship loves? Valentine. Why, how know you that I am in love? Speed. Marry, by these special marks. First, you have learn'd, 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 schoolboy 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 laugh'd, to crow like a cock ; when you walk'd, to walk like one of the lions ; when you fasted, it was pre- sently after dinner ; when you look'd sadly, it was for want of money ; and now you are meta- morphosed with a mistress, that, when 1 look on you, 1 can hardly think you my master. Valentine Are all these things perceived in me? Speed. They are all perceived without ye? Valentine. Without me ? they cannot. Speed Without you ? nay, that's certain ; for, with- out you were so simple, none else would: but you are so without these follies, that these follies That's because the one is painted, and the other out of all count. Valentine. How painted? and how out of count? Speed. Marry, sir, so painted to make her fair, that no man 'counts of her beauty. Valentino. How esteem'st thou me? I account of her ****• Speed. You never saw her since she was deform 'd. Valentine. How long hath she been deform 'd ? Speed. Ever since you loved her. Valentine. I have loved her ever since I saw her, and still I see her beautiful. _ Speed. If you love her, you cannot see her. Valentine. Why? 3 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 Proteus for going ungartered ! Valentine What should I see then ? Speed. Your own present folly, and her passing de- formity ; for he, being in love, could not see to garter his hose ; and you, being in love, cannot see to put on your hose. Valentine. Belike, boy, then you are in love ; for last morning you could not see to wipe my shoes. Speed. True, sir ; 1 was in love with my bed. I thank are within you, and shine through you like the 1 you, you swinged me for my love, which makes water m an urinal, that not an eye that sees you, but is a physician to comment on your malady. Valentine. But, tell me, dost thou know my lady Silvia f Speed. She, that you gaze on so, as she sits at sup- per? Valentine. Hast thou observed that? even she I mean. Speed. Why sir, I know her not. Valentine. Dost thou know her by my gazing on her, and yet know 'st her not? Speed. Is she not hard-favour 'd, sir? Valentine. Not so fair, boy, as well favour'd. Speed Sir, I know that well enough. Valentine. What dost thou know ? Speed. That she is not so fair, as (of you) well fa- vour'd. Valentine. I mean, that her beauty is exquisite, but her favour infinite. me the bolder to chide you for yours. Valentine. In conclusion, I stand affected to her. Speed. I would you were set, so your affection would cease. Valentine. Last night she enjoin'd me to write some lines to one she loves. g Dee( i And have you ? I have. Valentine. " Speed. Are they not lamely writ ? Valentine. No, boy, but as well as I can do them Peace ! here she comes. Kntcr Silvia. Speed. O excellent motion! O exceeding puppet! Now will he interpret to her. Valentine. Madam and mistress, a thousand good mor- rows. Speed. O ! "give ye good even : here's a million of maimers. gu?||L 3 o TWO GENTLEMEN OF VEKONA. Act ii. Sc. i. Silvia. Sir Valentine and servant, to you two thou- sand. Speed. He should give her interest, and she gives it him. Valentine. 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. Silvia. I thank you, gentle servant. 'Tis very clerkly done. _. , u Valentine. Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off; For, being ignorant to whom it goes, I writ at random, very doubtfully. Silvia. Perchance you think too much of so much pains ? Valentine. No, madam : so it stead you, I will write, Please you command, a thousand times as much. And yet, — „., • * ' Silvia. A pretty period. Well, I guess the sequel : And yet I will not name it ; — and yet I care not ; — And yet take this again ;— and yet I thank you, Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more. Speed. And yet you will ; and yet, another yet. i, Valentine. Whatmeans your ladyship? do you not like it? Yes, yes ; the lines are very quaintly writ, But since unwillingly, take them again. Nay, take them. Valentine< Madam, they are for you. Silvia. Ay, ay ; you writ them, sir, at my request, But 1 will none of them : they are for you. I would have had them writ more movingly. Valentine. Please you, I'll write your ladyship another. Silvia. And, when it's writ, for my sake read it over ; And, if it please you x so ; if not, why, so. valentine. If it please me, madam : what then ? Silvia. Why, if it please you, take it for your labwrcj And so good-morrow, servant. L O jest ! unseen, inscrutable, invisible, As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a steeple, [suitor, My master sues to her, and she hath taught her He being her pupil, to become her tutor. O excellent device! was there ever heard a better, [write the letter? That my master, being scribe, to himself should How now, sir 1 what, are you reasoning with yourself? Speed> Nay, I was rhyming : 'tis you that have the reason. Valentine. To do what? Speed. To be a spokesman from madam Silvia. Valentine. To whom? Speed. [ To yourself. Why, she woos you by a figure. Valentine. ; What figure ? Speed. By a letter, I should say. Valentine. ! Why, she hath not writ to me ? Speed. ! What need she, when she hath made you write ! to yourself? Why, do you not perceive the J est? xr , M Valentine. No, believe me. Speed. No believing you, indeed, sir : but did you perceive her earnest ? Valentine. She gave me none, except an angry word. Speed. Why, she hath given you a letter. Valentine. That's the letter I writ to her friend. Speed. And that letter hath she deliver'd, and there an end. , r , ,. Valentine. j I would it were no worse ! Speed. I'll warrant you, 'tis as well : For often have you writ to her, and she, in mo- desty, [reply ; Or else for want of idle time, could not again Or fearing else some messenger, that might her mind discover, [unto her lover — Her self hath taught her love himself to write All this I speak in print, for in print I found it. — Why muse you, sir? tis dinner time. Valentine. I have dined. speed. Ay, but hearken, sir : though the cameleon love can feed on the air, I am one that am nou- rish'd by my victuals, and would fain have meat. O ! be not like your mistress : be Jnoved, be moved. laxeunr. SCENE II. Verona. A Room in Jm/w's House. Enter Proteus and Julia. Proteus. Have patience, gentle Julia. Julia. I must, where is no remedy. Proteus. When possibly I can, I will return. Julia. If you turn not, you will return the sooner. Keep this remembrance for thy -{#ftf j n J$ftj ng . Proteus. Why then, we'll make exchange : here, take Julia. ItJU, w you this. n with a holy kiss, roteus. And seal the 1 Here is my hand for my true constancy ; And Act ir. Sc. n. TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. And when that hour o'er-slips me in the day, Wherein 1 sigh not, Julia, for thy sake, The next ensuing hour some foul mischance Torment me for my love's forgetfulness. My father stays my coming ; answer not. The tide is now : nay, not thy tide of tears ; That tide will stay me longer than I should. " [Exit Julia. Julia, farewell. —What! gone without a word? > true love should do : it cannot speak; For truth hath better deeds, than words, to grace it. Enter Panthino. Panthino. Sir Proteus, you are stay'd for. Proteus. Go ; I come, I come. — Alas ! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb. SCENE III. The same. A Street. Enter Launcc, leadiag a Dog. Launce. I Nay, 'twill be this hour ere I have done weep- , • ing : all the kind of the Launces have this very ' I fault. I have received my proportion, like the 1 1 prodigious son, and am going with sir Proteus 1 j 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, i 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 grandam ! having no eyes, look you, wept herself blind at my parting. Nay, I'll show you the manner of it. This shoe is my father ; —no, this left shoe ■ is my father: — no, no, this left shoe is my ' mother ;— nay, that cannot be so, neither: — yes, it is so, "it is so; it hath the worser sole. This shoe, with the hole in it, is my mother, i and this my father. A vengeance on't ! there j | 'tis : now, sir, this staff is my sister ; for, look \ ' you, she is as white as a lily, and as small as a j wand : this hat is Nan, our maid : I am the j > dog ; — no, the dog is himself, and I am the dog, ! j — O ! the dog is me, and I am myself: ay, so so. Now come I to my father ; " Father, your bless- | ! ing : " now should not the shoe speak a word ' I for weeping : now should 1 kiss my father ; well, j I he weeps on. Now, come I to my mother, ( O, I that she could speak now !) like a wood woman : I — well, I kiss her; why there 'tis; here's my ; mother's breath up and down. Now come I to I 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. Panthino. Launce, away, away, aboard: thy master is shipped, and thou art to post after with oars. What's the matter ? why weep'st thou, man ? Away, ass ; you'll lose the tide, if you tarry any lon 6 er - Launre. It is no matter if the tied were lost ; for it is the unkindest tied that ever any man tied. I What's the unkindest tide ? T.aunce. | Why, he that's tied here ; Crab, my dog. Panthino. Tut, man, I mean thou'lt lose the flood ; and, in losing the flood, lose thy voyage; and, in losing thy voyage, lose thy master ; and, in losing thy master, lose thy service, and in losing thy service, — Why dost thou stop my mouth ? Launce. For fear thou should'st lose thy tongue. Panthino. Where should I lose my tongue ? Launce* In thy tale. Panthino. In thy tail? Launce. Lose the tied, and the voyage, and the master, and the service, and the tide. Why, man, if the river were dry, I am able to fill it with my tears ; if the wind were down, I could drive the boat with my sighs. Panthino. Come ; come, away, man : I was sent to call thee. Launce. Sir, call me what thou dar'st. Panthino. ' Wilt thou go ? Launce. i Well, I will go. SCENE IV. Milan. A Room in the Duke'a Palace. Enter Valentine, Silvia, Thurio, and Speed. Silvfa. Servant.— Mistress. Valentine. Speed. Master, sir Thurio frowns on you. Valentine. Ay, boy, it's for love. Speed. Valentine. Not of you. Of my mistress, then. Speed. 'Twere good you knock'd him. Silvia. Servant, you are sad. Valentine. Indeed, madam, I seem so. Thurio. Seem you that you are n.ot ? Thurio. alentine. Haply, I do. So do counterfeits. So do you. Thurio. i What seem I that .1 am not ? Valen Wise. entine. Thurio. What instance oflhe contrary ? Your folly. Thurio- And how quote you my folly ? Valentine. 3 2 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. Act ii. Sc. iv Valentine. I quote it in your jerkin. Thurio. My jerkin is a doublet Valentine. Well, then, I'll double jour folly. Thurio. How? Silvia. What, angry, sir Thurio ? do you change: colour ? Valentine. Give him leave, madam : he is a kind of came-! leon - ~. . Thurio. That hath more mind to feed on your blood, j than live in your air. Valentine. You have said, sir. Thurio. Ay, sir, and done too, for this time. Valentine. I know it well, sir: you always end ere you, begin. Silvia. A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly: shot off. Valentine. 'Tis indeed, madam ; we thank the giver. Silvia. Who is that, servant ? Valentine. Yourself, sweet lady; for you gave the fire. 1 Sir Thurio borrows his wit from your ladyship's looks, and spends what he borrows kindly inj your company. ^^ Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I ' shall make your wit bankrupt. Valentine. I know it well, sir : you have an exchequer of' words, and, I think, no other treasure to give: your followers; for it appears by their bare; liveries, that they live by your bare words. Silvia. No more, gentlemen, no more. Here comes my father. „ ..-.'". Enter the 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 ? Valentine. My lord, I will be thankful To any happy messenger from thence. t>uke. Know you Don Antonio, your countryman ? Valentine. Ay, my good lord ; I know the gentleman To be of worth, and worthy estimation, And not without desert so well reputed. Duke. Hath he not a son ? Valentine. Ay, my good lord ; a son, that well deserves The honour and regard of such a father. Duke. You know him well? Valentine. 1 knew him, as myself; for from our infancy We have convers'd, and spent our hours to- gether : 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 one 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 good, He is as worthy for an empress' love, 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 a-while. I think, 'tis no unwelcome news to you. Valentine. Should I have wish'd a thing, it had been he. 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'll send him hither to you presently-, . n . Valentine. This is the gentleman, I told your ladyship, Had come along with me, but that his mistress Did hold his eyes lock'd in her crystal looks. Silvia. Belike, that now she hath enfranchis'd them, Upon some other pawn for fealty. Valentine. Nay, sure, I think, she holds them prisoners still. Silvia. Nay, then he should be blind ; and, being blind, How could he see his way to seek out you? Valentine. Why, lady, love hath twenty pair of eyes. Thurio. They say, that love hath not an eye at all. Valentine. To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself: Upon a homely object love can wink. Enter Proteus. Silvia. Have done, have done. Here tleman. ,. , .. Valentine. Welcome, dear Proteus ! — Mistress, I beseec you, Confirm his welcome with some special favour. Silvia. His worth is warrant for his welcome hither, If this be he you oft have wish'd to hear from. Valentine. Mistress, it is. Sweet lady, entertain him To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship. Silvia. Too low a mistress for so high a servant. Proteus. Not so, sweet lady ; but too mean a servant To have a look of such a worthy mistress. Valentine. Leave off discourse of disability. — Sweet lady, entertain him for your 8erv ^J$j teug . Ai i ii. Sc. IV. TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 33 Proteus. I My duty will I boast of, nothing else. Silvia. And duty never yet did want his meed. Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mis- tress. Trotcus. i I'll die on him that says so, but yourself. Silvia. That you are welcome ? Proteus. That you are worthless. Enter Thurto. Thurio. Madam, my lord, your father, would speak with you. . Silvia. 1 wait upon his pleasure : come, sir Thurio, Go with me.— Once more, new servant, welcome : I'll leave you to confer of home-affairs ; When you have done, we look to hear from you. Proteus. We'll both attend upon your ladyship. [Exeunt SUvja, Thurio, and Speed. Valentine. Now, tell me, how do all from whence you came? _ Proteus. Your friends are well, and have them much commended. Valentine. And how do yours ? Proteus. I left them all In health.. Valentine. How does your lady,and how thrives your love? Proteus. My tales of love were wont to weary you : I know, you joy not in a love-discourse. Valentine. Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter'd now : I have done penance for contemning love ; Whose high imperious thoughts have punish'd With bitter fasts, with penitential groans, [me With nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs j For, in revenge of my contempt of love, Love hath chas'd sleep from my enthralled eyes, And made them watchers of mine own heart's 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 I 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. Proteus. Enough : I read your fortune in your eye. Was this the idol that you worship so ? Valentine. Even she ; and is she not a heavenly saint ? Proteus. No, but she is an earthly paragon. Valentine Call her divine. _. Proteus. I will not flatter her. Valentine. 1 flatter me, for love delights in praises Proteus. When I was sick you gave me bitter pills, And I must minister the like to you. Valentine. Then speak the truth by her : if not divine, Yet let her be a principality, Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth. Proteus. Except my mistress. Valentine. Sweet, except not any, Except thou wilt except against my love. Proteus. Have I not reason to prefer mine own ? Valentine. 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 ilowes, And make rough winter everlastingly. Proteus. Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this ? Valentine. Pardon me, Proteus: all I can, is nothing To her, whose worth makes other worthies She is alone. [nothing. Proteus. Then, let her alone. Valentine. Not for the world. Why, man, she is mine And I as rich in having such a jewel, [own ; 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 love. My foolish rival, that her father likes Only for his possessions are so huge, Is gone with her along, and I must after, For love, thou know'st, is full of jealousy. Proteus. But she loves you? Valentine. Ay, and we are betroth'd; nay, more, our marriage hour, With all the cunning manner of our flight Determin'd of: how I must climb her window, The ladder made of cords, and all the means Plotted, and 'greed on for my happiness. Good Proteus, go with me to my chamber. In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel. Proteus. Go on before ; I shall enquire you forth. 1 must unto the road, to disembark Some necessaries that I needs must use, And then I'll presently attend you. Valentine. Will you make haste ? Proteus. I will— [Exit Valentine. Even as one heat another heat expels, Or as one nail by strength drives out another. So the remembrance of my former love Is by a newer object quite forgotten. Is it 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 1 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. n Methinks 3+ TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. Act ii. Sc. iv. Methinks my zeal to Valentine is cold, And that I love him not, as I was wont : O ! but I love his lady too too much ; And that's the reason I love him so little. How shall I dote on her with more advice, That thus without advice begin to love her ? 'Tis but her picture I have yet beheld, And that hath dazzled my reason's light ;• But when I look on her perfections, There is no reason but I shall be blind. If I can check my erring love, I will ; If not, to compass her I'll use my skill, [fcxit. SCENE V. The same. A Street. Enter Speed and Launce. Speed. Launce! by mine honesty, welcome to Milan. I Launce. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth, for I am not welcome. I reckon this always— that a man ■ is never undone, till he be hang'd ; nor never welcome to a place, till some certain shot be paid, \ and the hostess say, welcome. Come on, you mad-cap, I'll to the alehouse i with you presently ; where for one shot of five pence thou shalt have five thousand welcomes. But, sirrah, how did thy master part with madam Julia t . Lauuce. Marry, after they closed in earnest, they parted very fairly in jest. Speed But shall she marry him ? Launce. No - Speed. How then ? Shall he marry her ? Launce. Speed. The conclusion is, then, that it will. Launce. 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 ? Launce. I never knew him otherwise. Speed. Than how ? Launce. A notable lubber, as thou reportest him to be. Speed. Why, thou whoreson ass, thou mistak'st me. Launce. Why, fool, I meant not thee; I meant thy No, neither. Speed. What, are they broken ? Launce. No, they are both as whole as a fish. Speed. Why then, how stands the matter with them ? Launce. Marry, thus: when it stands well with him, it stands well with h< What an ass art thou ? I understand thee not. Launce. What a block art thou, that thou canst not. My staff understands jne. , What thou say'st? Launce. Ay, and what I do too: look thee; I'll but lean, and my stafT understands me. It stands under thee, indeed. Xaunce. Why, stand-under and under-stand is all one. 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. I tell thee, my master is become a hot lover. Launce. Why, I tell thee, I care not though he burn himself in love. If thou wilt go with me to the alehouse, so ; if not, thou art an Hebrew, a Jew, and not worth the name of a Christian. Speed. Why? Launce. Because thou hast not so m jch charity in thee, as to go to the ale with a Christian. Wilt thou g0? Speed. At thy service. SCENE VI. The same. An Apartment in the Palace. Enter Proteus. Proteus. 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 Provokes me to this threefold perjury : [oath. Love bad 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 t' exchange the bad for better. Fie, fie, unreverend tongue ! to call her bad, Whose sovereignty so oft thou hast preferr'd With twenty thousand soul-confirming oaths. 1 cannot leave to love, and yet I do ; But there I leave to love, where I should love. Julia I lose, and Valentine I lose : If I keep them, 1 needs must lose myself; If I lose them, thus find I, by their loss, For Valentine, myself ; for Julia, Silvia. I to myself am dearer than a friend, For love is still most precious in itself ; And Silvia, (witness heaven that made her fair !) Shows Julia but a swarthy Ethiope. I will forget that Julia is alive, Remembering that my love to her is dead ; And Valentine I'll hold an enemy, Aiming at Silvia, as a sweeter friend. I cannot now prove constant to myself Without some treachery use I to Valentine. This night, he mcaneth with a corded ladder To Act ii. Sc. vii. TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 35 To climb celestial Silvia'* chamber window; Myself In counsel, his competitor. Now, presently I'll give her father notice Of their disguising, and pretended flight; \\ ho, all enrag'd, will banish VaUntine, For Hiurio, he intends, shall wad his daughter: , Hut, I tt/rntnif being gone, I'll quickly cross By some sly trick blunt T/turiu'a dull proceeding, j Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swill, As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift ! [Exit. ' B VII. Verona. A Room in Julia's House. Knter Julia and Lucetta. Julia. Counsel, Lucetta; gentle girl, assist me : And, e'en in kind love, 1 do conjure thee, Who art the table wherein all my thoughts Are visibly character 'd and engrav'd, To lesson me ; and tell me some good mean, How, with my honour, 1 may undertake A journey to my loving Proteus. acta. Alas ! the way is wearisome and long. 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. Lucetta. Better forbear, till Proteus make return. Julia ! know'st thou not, his looks are my soul's Pity the dearth that I have pined in, [food ? Ky longing for that food so long a time. Didst thou but know the inly touch of love, Thou would'st as soon go kindle fire with snow, As seek to quench the fire of love with words. Lucetta. 1 do not seek to quench your love's hot fire, But qualify the fire's extreme rage, Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason. Julia The more thou dammit it up, the more it burns. The current, that with gentle murmur glides, Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth But, when his fair course is not hindered, [rage; He makes sweet music with the enamel'd stones, Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge He overtaketh in his pilgrimage ; And so by many winding nooks he strays With willing sport to the wild ocean. Then, let me go, and hinder not my course. I'll be as patient as a gentle stream, And make a pastime of each weary step, Till the last step have brought me to my love ; And there I'll rest, as, after much turmoil, A blessed soul doth in Elysium. Lucetta But in what habit will you go along ? Julia. 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. Lucetta. Why, then your ladyship must cut your hair. No, girl ; I'll knit it up in silken strings, With twenty odd-conceited true-love knots: To be fantastic, may become a youth Of greater time than 1 shall show to be. Lucetta. What fashion, madam, shall I make your breeches ? Julia. That fits as well, as — " tell me, good my lord, What compass will you wear your farthingale ? " Why. even what fashion thou best lik'st, Lucetta. Lucetta. You must needs have them with a codpiece, madam. Julia. Out, out, Lucetta ! that will be ill-favour'd. Lucetta. A round hose, madam, now's not worth a pin, Unless you have a codpiece to stick pins on. Julia. L.ucetta, 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 For undertaking so unstaid a journey ? [me I fear me, it will make me scandalized. Lucetta. If you think so, then stay at home, and go not. Julia. Nay, that I will not. Lucetta. Then never dream on infamy, but go. If Proteus like your journey, when you come. No matter who's displeas'd, when you are gone. I fear me, he will scarce be pleas'd withal. Julia. 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. Lucetta. All these are servants to deceitful men. Julia. Base men, that use them to so base effect ; 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. Lucetta. Pray heaven, he prove so, when you come to himl Julia. Now, as thou lov'st me, do him not that wrong, To bear a hard opinion of his truth : Only deserve my love by loving him, And presently go with me to my chamber, To take a note of what I stand in need of, To furnish me upon my longing journey. All that is mine I leave at thy dispose, My goods, my lands, my reputation ; Only, in lieu thereof, dispatch me hence. Come ; answer not, but to it presently * p_ eunt I am impatient of my tarriauce. ACT 36 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. Act hi. Sc. r. ACT III. SCENE I. Milan. An Ante-chamber in the Luke's Palace. Enter Duke, Thuno, and Proteus. Duke. SIR Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile: We have some secrets to confer about. — [Exit Thurto. Now, tell me, Proteus, what's your will with me? Proteus My gracious lord, that which I would discover, 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 determin'd to bestow her On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates ; And should she thus be stol'n away from you, It would be much vexation to your age. Thus, for my duty's sake, I rather chose To cross my friend in his intended drift, Than, by concealing it, heap on your head A pack of sorrows, which would press you down, Being unprevented, to your timeless grave. Duke. Proteus, 1 thank thee for thine honest care, Which to requite, command me while I live. This love of theirs myself have often seen, Haply, when they have judg'd me fast asleep, And oftentimes have purpos'd to forbid Sir Valentine her company, and my court ; But, fearing lest my jealous aim might err, And so unworthily disgrace the man, (A rashness that I ever yet have shunn'd) I gave him gentle looks ; thereby to find That which thyself hast now disclos'd to me. And, that thou mays't perceive my fear of this, Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested, I nightly lodge her in an upper tower, The key whereof myself have ever kept ; And thence she cannot be convey'd away. Proteus. Know, noble lord, they have devis'd a mean How he her chamber- window will ascend, And with a corded ladder fetch her down ; For which the youthful lover now is gone, And this way comes he with it presently, Where, if it please you, you may intercept him. But, good my lord, do it so cunningly, That my discov3ry 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. Proteus. Adieu, my lord : sir Valentine is coming. 3 [Exit. Enter Valentine. Duke. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast ? Valentine. 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 ? Valentine. The tenor of them doth but signify My health, and happy being at your court. Duke. Nay, then no matter : stay with me 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 1 have sought To match my friend, sir Thurio, to my daughter. Valentine. I know it well, my lord ; and sure, the match Were rich and honourable : besides, the gentle- man Is full of virtue, bounty, worth, and qualities Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter. Cannot your grace win her to fancy him ? 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 1 say to thee, this pride of hers Upon advice hath drawn my love from her ; And, where I thought the remnant of mine age Should have been cherish'd by her child-like I now am full resolv'd to take a wife, [duty, And turn her out to who will take her in: Then, let her beauty be her wedding-dower j For me and my possessions she esteems not. Valentine. 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. Valentine. Win her with gifts, if she respect not words. 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. Valentine. A woman sometime scorns what best contents Send her another ; never give her o'er, [her. 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 promis'd by her friends Unto a youthful gentleman of worth, And kept severely from resort of men, That no man hath access by day to her. Valentina. 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. Valentine. What lets, but one may enter at her window ? Duke. Act hi. Sc. i. TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 37 Duke. Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground, And built so shelving, that one cannot climb it \\ ithuut apparent haiard of his life. Valentine. Why then, a ladder quaintly made of cords, To cast up, with a pair of anchoring hooks, WOuld serve to scale another Hero $ 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. Valentine. When would you use it ? pray, sir, tell me that. Duke. This very night ; for love is like a child, Thai longs for every thing that he can come by. Valentine. By seven o'clock I'll get you such a ladder. Duke. But hark thee ; I will go to her alone. How shall I best convey the ladder thither? Valentine. It will be light, my lord, that you may bear it Under a cloak that is of any length. Duke. A cloak as long as thine will serve the turn ? Valentine. Ay, my good lord. Duke. Then, let me see thy cloak : I'll get me one of such another length. Valentine. Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my lord. 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 ?— " To Silvia?" And here an engine fit for my proceeding 1 I'll be so bold to break the seal for once. [Reads. " My thoughts do harbour with my S\\vi& nightly; And slaves they are to me, that send them fly- fag : Of could their master come and go as lightly, Himself would lodge, where senseless they are lying. My hrrald thoughts in thy pure bosom rest them; While I, their king, that thither them impor- tune, [bless'd them. Do curse the grace that with such grace hath Because myself do want my servants' fortune. J curse myself for they are sent by me, [be. ' ' That they should harbour where their lord should What's here ? " Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee : " 'Tis so ; and here's the ladder for the purpose. — Why, Pha'etjn, (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 Go, base intruder ; over-weening slave : [thee ? Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates, And think mv patience, more than thy desert, Is privilege for thy departure hence. Thank me for this, more than for all the favours Which, all too much, I have bestow'd on thee: But if thou linger in my territories Longer than swiftest expedition Will give thee time to leave our royal court. By heaven, my wrath shall far exceed the love I ever bore my daughter, or thyself. Begone : 1 will not hear thy vain excuse ; But, as thou lov'st thy lite, make speed from hence. [Exit Duke. Valentine. And why not death, rather than living tor- To die is to be banish'd from myself, [ment ? And Silvia is myself: banish'd from her, Is self from sell; a deadly banishment. What light is light, if Silvia be not seen ? What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by ? Unless it be, to think that she is by, And feed upon the shadow of perfection. Except I be by Silvia in the night, There is no music in the nightingale ; Unless I look on Silvia in the day, There is no day for me to look upon. She is my essence ; and I leave to be, If I be not by her fair influence Foster'd, illumin'd, cherish'd, kept alive. I fly not death, to fly his deadly doom : Tarry I here, I but attend on death ; But, fly I hence, I fly away from life. Enter Proteus and Launce. _ . Proteus. Run, boy ; run, run, and seek him out. _ . , . Launce. So-ho 1 so-ho I Proteus. W hat seest thou ? Launce. Him we go to find: there's not a hair on's head, but 'tis a Valentine. Valentine? No. Who then ? his Proteus. Valentine. Proteus, spirit ? Valentine. Neither. „-^ . .. Proteus. What then ? Valentine. Nothing. Launce. Can nothing speak ? master, shall I strike ? Whom wouldst thou strike ? Launce. Nothing. Proteus. Villain, forbear. Why, sir, I'll strike nodung : I pray you, — Proteus. Sirrah, I say, forbear. — Friend Valentine, a word. Valentine. My ears are stopp d, and cannot hear good news, So much of bad already hath possess'd them. Proteus. Then In dumb silence will I bury mine, For they are harsh, untuneable, and bad. Valentine. Is Silvia dead t Proteus. No, Valentine. „ „ . Valentine. . _ , No Valrnttne, indeed, for sacred Silvia .'— Hath she forsworn me ? Proteus. No, Valentine. Valentine. 38 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VEKONA. Act hi. Sc. i. Valentine. No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me ! — What is your news ? Launce. Sir, there is a proclamation that you are va- nish'd. Proteus. That thou art banish'd : O ! that is the news, From hence, from Silvia, and from me, thy friend. Valentine. ! I have fed upon this woe already, i And now excess of it will make me surfeit. Doth Silvia know that I am banished? Proteus. Ay, ay ; and she hath offer'd to the doom, (Which, unrevers'd, stands in effectual force) A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears : Those at her father's churlish feet she tender'd, With them, upon her knees, her humble self; Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became As if but now they waxed pale for woe : [them, But neither bended knees, pure hands held up, Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears, Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire, But Valentine, if he be ta'en, must die. Besides, her intercession chaf d him so, When she for thy repeal was suppliant, That to close prison he commanded her, With many bitter threats of 'biding there. Valentine. 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. Proteus. Cease to lament for that thou canst not help, And study help for that which thou lament'st. Time is the nurse and breeder of all good. Here if thou stay, thou canst not see thy love ; Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life. Hope is a lover's staff ; walk hence with that, And manage it against despairing thoughts. Thy letters may be here, though thou art hence; Which, being writ to me, shall be deliver'd Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love. The time now serves not to expostulate : Come, I'll convey thee through the city-gate, And, ere I part with thee, confer at large Of all that may concern thy love affairs. As thou lov'st Silvia, though not for thyself, Regard thy danger, and along with me. Valentine. 1 pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest my boy, Bid him make haste, and meet me at the north- gate. Proteus. Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valentine. my dear Silvia ! hapless Valentine,!^ [Exeunt Valentine and Proteus. Launce. 1 am but a fool, look you, and yet I have the wit to think, my master is a kind of a knave ; but that's all one, if he be but one knave. He lives not now, that knows me to be in love : yet I am in love ; but a team of horse shall not pluck that from me, nor who 'tis I love ; and yet 'tis a woman : but what woman, I will not tell myself; and yet 'tis a milk-maid ; 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 Christian. Here is the cate-log pulling out a paper] of her conditions. Im- Erimis, " She can fetch and carry." Why, a orse 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 ? Launce. 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 ? Launce. I The blackest news that ever thou heard'st. Speed. Why, man, how black "* Launce. Why, as black as ink. Speed. Let me read them. Launce. Fie on thee, jolt-head ! thou canst not read. Speed. Thou liest, I can. Launce. I will try thee. Tell me this : who begot thee ? Speed. Marry, the son of my grandfather. Launce. | 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. Launce. There, and saint Nicholas be thy speed ! Speed. Imprimis, " She can milk." Launce. Ay, that she can. „ * Speed. Item, " She brews good ale." Launce. And thereof comes the proverb, — Blessing of your heart, you brew good ale. Speed. Item, " She can sew." Launce. ; That's as much as to say, Can she so ? Speed. Item, " She can knit." Launce. 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." Launce. A special virtue; for then she need not be wash'd and scour'd. Speed. Item, " She can spin." Launce. Then may I set the world on wheels, when she can spin for her living. Speed. Act hi. Sc. u. TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 39 Speed. Itfin, ■ She hath many nameless virtues." ice. That's as much as to say, bastard virtues ; that, indeed, know not their fathers, and there- fore have no names. Speed. Here follow her vices. Launce. Close at the heels of her virtues. Speed. Horn, " She is not to be kissed fasting, in re- spect of her breath." Launce. Wetl, that fault may be mended with a break- fast. Read on. Speed. Item, " She hath a sweet mouth." Launce. That makes amends for her sour breath. Speed Item, " She doth talk in her sleep." Launce. It's no matter for that, so she sleep not in her Item, " She is slow in words." Launce. villain ! that set this down among her vices. To be slow in words is a woman's only virtue: I pray thee, out with't, and place it for her chief virtue. Item, " She is proud." Launce. Out with that too : it was Eve's legacy, and cannot be ta'en from her. Item, " She hath no teeth." Launce. 1 care not for that neither, because I love crusts. Speed. Item, " She is curst." Launce. Well ; the best is, she hath no teeth to bite. Item, " She will often praise her liquor." If her liquor be good, she shall : if she will not, I win ; for good things should be praised. Item, " She is too liberal." Of her tongue she cannot, for that's writ down she is slow of: of her purse she shall not, for that I'll keep shut: now, of another thing she may, and that cannot I help. Well, proceed. ■ Item, " She hath more hair than wit, and more faults than hairs, and more wealth than faults." Stop there ; I'll have her : she was mine, and not mine, twice or thrice in that last article. Rehearse that once more Item, " She hath more hair than wit," — ; . More hair than wit, — it may be ; I'll 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," — That's monstrous : O, that that were out ! — •* And more wealth than faults." Launce. Why, that word makes the faults gracious. Well, I'll have her ; and if it be a match, as nothing is impossible,— Speed. What then ? Launce. Why, then will I tell thee,— that thy master stays for thee at the north- gate. Speed. For me ? Launce. For thee ? ay ; who art thou ? he hath stay'd for a better man than thee. Speed. And must I go to him ? Launce. Thou must run to him, for thou hast stay'd so long, that going will scarce serve the turn. Speed. Why didst not tell me sooner? pox o, j love-letters 1 Launce. Now will he be swing'd for reading my letter. An unmannerly slave, that will thrust himself into secrets. — I'll after, to rejoice in the boy's correction. SCENE II. The same. An Apartment in the Duke's Palace. Enter Duke and Thurio; Duke. Proteus behind. Sir Thurio, fear not but that she will love you Now Valentine is banish'd from her sight. Since his exile she hath despis'd me most ; Forsworn my company, and rail'd at me, That 1 am desperate of obtaining her. Duke. This weak impress of love is as a figure Trenched in ice, which with an hours heat Dissolves to water, and doth lose his form. A little time will melt her frozen thoughts, And worthless Valentine shall be forgot. — How now, sir Proteus ! Is your countryman, According to our proclamation, gone ? Gone, my good Duke. My daughter takes his going grievously. A little time, my lord, will kill that grief. 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. Longer than I prove loyal to your grace, Let me not live to look upon your grace. T>jfc e# 4 o TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA Act hi. 5c. n, Duke. Thou know'st how willingly T would effect The match between sir Thurio and my daughter. Proteus. I do, my lord. Duke. And also, I think, thou art not ignorant How she opposes her against my will. Proteus. 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 ? Proteus. The best way is, to slander Valentine With falsehood, cowardice, and poor descent ; Three things that women highly hold in hate. Duke. Ay, but she'll think that it is spoke in hate Proteus. Ay, if his enemy deliver it : Therefore, it must, with circumstance, be spoken By one whom she esteemeth as his friend. Duke. Then you must undertake to slander him. Proteus. And that, my lord, I shall be loth to do : 'Tis an ill office for a gentleman, Especially, against his very friend. Duke. Where your good word cannot advantage him, Your slander never can endamage him : Therefore, the office is indifferent, Being entreated to it by your friend. Troteus. You have prevaiPd, my lord. If I can do it, By aught that I can speak in his dispraise, She shall not long continue love to him . But say, this weed her love from Valentine, It follows not that she will love sir Thurio, Thurio. 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 As 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. Proteus. 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 is the force of heaven-bred poesy. Proteus. 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 consort : to their instruments Tune a deploring dump ; the night's dead silence Will well become such sweet complaining grie- This, or else nothing, will inherit her. [vance Duke. This discipline shows thou hast been in love. Thurio. And thy advice this night I'll put in practice. 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. Proteus. We'll wait upon your grace till after supper, And afterward determine our proceedings. Duke. Even now about it : I will pardon you. [Exeunt. ACT IV. SCENE I. A Forest, between Milan and Verona. Enter certain Outlaws. 1 Outlaw. "I7ELLOWS, stand fast: I see a passenger. 2 Outlaw. If there be ten, shrink not, but down with 'em. Enter Valentine and Speed. 3 Outlaw. Stand, sir, and throw us that you have about you ; If not, we'll make ycu sit, and rifle you. Speed. Sir, we are undone. These are the villains That all the travellers do fear so much. Valentine. My friends,— 1 Outlaw. That's not so, sir : we are your enemies. 2 Outlaw. Peace ! we'll hear him. 3 Outlaw. # Ay, by my beard, will we ; for he is a prope man. _, , u Valentine. Then know, that I have little wealth to lose. A man I am, cross'd 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 Outlaw. Whither travel you? v»l«ntin B . Act iv. &. n. TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. Valentine. To Verona. 3 Outlaw. Whence came you ? V.ilentine. From Milan. 3 Outlaw. Hate you long sojourn'd there ? Valentine. Some sixteen months ; and longer might haTe stay'd, If crooked fortune had not thwarted me. 8 Outlaw What ! were you banish'd thence ? Valentine. I was. „ ^ , 9 Outlaw. For what offence ? Valentine. For that which now torments me to rehearse. I kill'd a man, whose death I much repent ; But vet 1 slew him manfully, in fight. Without false vantage, or base treachery. 1 Outlaw. Why, ne'er repent it, if it were done so. But were you banish'd for so small a fault? Valentine. I was, and held me glad of such a doom. 1 Outlaw. Have you the tongues ? Valentine. My youthful travel therein made me happy, Or else I had been often miserable. 3 Outlaw. By the bare scalp of Robin Hood's fat friar, This fellow were a king for our wild faction. 1 Outlaw. We'll have him. Sirs, a word. Speed. Master, be one of them : It is an honourable kind of thievery. Valentine. Peace, villain I 2 Outlaw. Tell us this : have you any thing to take to ? Valentine. Nothing, but my fortune. 3 Outlaw. Know then, that some of us are gentlemen, Such as the fury of ungovern'd youth Thrust from the company of awful men : Myself was from Verona banished, For practising to steal away a lady. An heir, and near allied unto the duke. 2 Outlaw. And 1 from Mantua, for a gentleman, Who, in my mood, I stabb'd unto the heart. 1 Outlaw. And I, for such like petty crimes as these. I But to the purpose ; for we cite our faults. That they may hold excus'd our lawless lives ; And, partly, seeing you are beautify'd With goodly shape ; and by your own report A linguist, and a man of such perfection, As we do In our quality much want — 3 Outlaw. 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 Outlaw. What say'st thou ? wilt thou be of our con- sort? Say, ay, and be the captain of us all. We'll do thee homage, and be rul'd by thee, Love thee as our commander, and our king. 1 Outlaw. But if thou scorn our courtesy, thou diest 2 Outlaw. Thou shalt not live to brag what we have offer d. Valentine. I take your offer, and will live with you ; Provided that you do no outrages On silly women, or poor passengers. 3 Outlaw. 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. The Court of the Palace. Enter Proteut. Proteus. 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 now I have been forsworn, In breaking faith with Julia whom I lov'd ; And, notwithstanding all her sudden quips, The least whereof would quell a lover s hope, Yet, spaniel-like, the more 6he 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. Thurio. How now, sir Proteus ! are you crept before us? Proteus. Ay, gentle Thurio ; for, you know, that love Will creep in service where it cannot go. Thurio. Ay; but I hope, sir, that you love not here. Proteus. Sir, but I do ; or else I would be hence. Thurio. Whom? Silvia t Proteus. Ay, Silvia, — for your sake. Thurio. I thank you for your own. Now, gentlemen, Let's tune, and to it lustily awhile. Enter Host and Julia, behind; Julia In boy's clothes. Host. Now, my young guest ; methinks you're ally- cholly : 1 pray you, why is it ? Julia. Marry, mine host, because I cannot be merry. Host. Come, we'll have you merry. I'll bring you where 43 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. Act iv. Sc. n. where you shall hear music, and see the gentle- man that you ask'd for. Julia. But shall I hear him speak ? Host. Ay, that you shall. _ ,. Julia. That will be music. t Music P la y 8 - Host. Hark! hark! Julia. Is he among these ? Host. Ay ; but peace ! let's hear 'cm. Song. JVho is Silvia f what is she. That all our swains commend her ? Holy, fair, and wise is she ; The heaven such grace did lend her, That she might admired 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 helped 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. How now ! are you sadder than you were be- fore ? How do you, man ? the music likes you not ' Julia. You mistake : the musician likes me not. Why, my pretty youth ? He plays false, father. How ? out of tune on the strings ? Not so ; but yet so false, that he grieves my very heart-strings. Ho^t. You have a quick ear. Ay; I would I were deaf! it makes me have Host. Gone to seek his dog ; which, to morrow, by his master's command, he must carry for a pre- sent to his lady. Julia. Peace ! stand aside : the company parts. . Proteus. Sir Thurio, fear not you : I will so plead, That you shall say my cunning drift excels. Thurio. Where meet we ? Proteus. At saint Gregory's well. Thurio. Farewell. [Exeunt Thurio and Musicians. Enter Silvia above, at her window. Proteus. Madam, good even to your ladyship. Silvia. I thank you for your music, gentlemen. Who is that, that spake ? Proteus. One, lady, if you knew his pure heart's truth, You would quickly learn to know him by hii voice. _., . Silvia. Sir Proteus, as I take it. Proteus. Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your servant. Silvia. What is your will ? a slow heart. H.^t. I perceive, you delight not in music. Julia. Not a whit, when it jars so. Host. Hark ! what fine change is in the music. Ay, that change is the spite. You would have them always play but one thin 8 ? Julia. I would always have one play but one thing. But, Host, doth this sir Proteus, that we talk on, Often resort unto this gentlewoman ? ifost. I tell you what Launce, his man, told me, he lov'd her out of all nick.. Julia. Where is Launce? That I may compass yours. You have your wish : my will is even this, That presently you hie you home to bed. Thou subtle, perjur'd, false, disloyal man ! Think'st thou, I am so shallow, so conceitless, To be seduced by thy flattery, That hast deceiv'd so many with thy vows ? Return, return, and make thy love amends. For me, by this pale queen of night 1 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. I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady ; But she is dead. Ju j. a TAside. •Twere false, if I should speak it ; For, I am sure, she is not buried. Say, that she be ; yet Valentine, thy friend, Survives, to whom thyself art witness I am betroth'd ; and art thou not asham'd To wrong him with thy importunacy ? I likewise hear, that ^Valentine is dead. And so, suppose, am I ; for in his grave, Assure thyself, my love is buried. Sweet lady, let me rake it from the earth. Go to thy lady's grave, and call her's thence ; Or, at the least, in her's sepulchre thine. [Aside. He heard not that. Proteus. iv. Sc. iv. TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 43 Madam, if your heart bo so obdurate, Bheafe me yet your picture for my love, M picture tint is hanging iu your charabei : l<> thai I'll speak, to that I'll sigh and weep; or, since the substance of your perfect tell Is mm devoted, I am but a shadow, And to your shadow will I make true love. Julia. [Aside. If 'twere a substance, you would, sure, deceive And make it but a shadow, as I am. [it, Silvia. I am very loth to be your idol, sir ; But, since your falsehood shall become you well To worship shadows, and adore false shapes, id to me in the morning, and I'll send it. so, good rest. As wretches have o'er night, wait for ex n in the morn. , „ ., . •:\eunVProteus and Stlvta Julia. Host, will you go ? Host. By my halidom, I was fast asleep. Julia. Pray you, where lies sir Proteus t Host. Marry, at my house. Trust me, I think, 'tis almost day. . .. J Julia. Not so ; but it hath been the longest night That e'er 1 watch'd, and the most heaviest. . [Exeunt SCENE III. The same. Enter Eglamour. Eglamour. This is the hour that madam Silvia Fn treated me to call, and know her mind. There's some great matter she'd employ me in.—, madam 1 Enter Silvia above, at her window. Silvia. Who calls? Eglamour . Your servant, and your friend ; One that attends your ladyship's command. Sir Eglamour, a thousand times good morrow. 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. O Eglamour, thou art a gentleman, Think not I flatter, for I swear 1 do not, Valiant, wise, remorseful, well accomplish'd. Thou art not ignoraut what dear good will 1 bear unto the banish'd Valentine; Nor how my father would enforce me marry Vain Thurio, whom my very soul abhorr'd. Thyself hast lov'd ; and I have heard thee say, No grief did ever come so near thy heart, As when thy lady and thy true love died, Upon whose grave thou vow'dst pure chastity. Sir Eglamour, I would to Valentine, To Mantua, where, I hear, he makes abode ; And, for the ways are dangerous to pass, I do desire thy worthy company, Upon whose faith and honour I repose. Urge not my father's anger, Eglamour, lint 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 hs 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. Eglamour. Madam, I pity much your grievances; Which since I know they virtuously are plac'd, I give consent to go along with you; Kecking as little what betideth me, As much 1 wish all good befortune you. When will you go? , , Silvia. This evening coming. Eglamour. Where shall I meet you? Silvia. At friar Patrick's cell, Where I intend holy confession. Eglamour. I will not fail your ladyship. Good morrow, Gentle lady. ^^ Good morrow, kind sir Eglamour. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. The same. ! Enter Launce with his dog. Launce. When a man's servant shall play the cur with him, look you, it goes hard : one that 1 brought up of a puppy ; one that I saved from drowning, when three or four of his blind brothers and sisters went to it. I have taught him, even as one would say precisely, thus I would teach a dog. I was sent to deliver him as a present to mistress Silvia from my master, and I came no i sooner into the dining-chamber, but he steps i me to her trencher, and steals her capon's leg. j 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. \f I had not had more wit than he, to take a fault upon me that he did, 1 think verily, he had been hang'd for't : sure as I live, he had sufler'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 cur is that ? " says another ; " whip him out," says the third ; 44 hang him up," says the duke. I, having 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 you wot of." He makes me no more ado, but whips me out of the chamber. How many masters would do this for his ser- vant ? Nay, I'll be sworn, I have sat in the stocks for puddings he hath stolen, otherwise he had been executed : 1 have stood on the pillory for geese he hath killed, otherwise he had sufler'd for't : thou think'st not of this now. — Nay, I remember the trick you served me, when 44 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. Act iv. Sc. iv. 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 gentlewoman's farthin- gale ? Didst thou ever see me do such a trick ? Enter Proteus and Julia. Proteus. Sebastian is thy name ? I like thee well, And will employ thee in some service presently. Julia. In what you please : I will do what I can. Proteus. I hope thou wilt — How, now, you whoreson peasant ! Where have you been these two days loitering ? Launce. Marry, sir, I carried mistress Silvia the dog you bade me. „ Proteu3. And what says she to my little jewel? Launce. Marry, she says, your dog was a cur ; and tells you, currish thanks is good enough for such a present. _. Proteus. But she receiv'd my dog ? Launce. No, indeed, did she not. Here have 1 brought him back again. ' . Proteus. What ! didst thou offer her this from me ? Launce. Ay, sir: the other squirrel was stolen from me by the hangman's boys in the market-place ; and then 1 offer'd her mine own, who is a dog as big as ten of yours, and therefore the gift the greater. Proteus. Go ; get thee hence, and find my dog again, Or ne'er return again into my sight. Away, I say ! Stayest thou to vex me here? A slave that still an end turns me to shame. [Exit Launce. Sebastian, I have entertained thee, Partly, that I have need of such a youth, That can with some discretion do my business, For 'tis no trusting to yond foolish lowt ; But, chiefly, for thy face, and thy behaviour, Which (if my augury deceive me not) Witness good bringing up, fortune, and truth : Therefore, know thou, for this I entertain thee. Go presently, and take this ring with thee : Deliver it to madam Silvia. She lov'd me well deliver'd it to me. Julia. It seems, you lov'd not her, to leave her token. She's dead, belike?,, Proteus. Not so : I think, she lives. Julia. Alas! Proteus. Why dost thou cry, alas ? Julia. I cannot choose but pity her. Proteus. Wherefore shouldst thou pity her ? Julia. Because, methinks, that she lov'd 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 ! Proteus. 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. Julia. 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 refus'd ; To praise his faith which I would have disprais'd. I am my master's true confirmed love, But cannot be true servant to my master, Unless 1 prove false traitor to myself. Yet will I woo for him ; but yet so coldly, As, heaven it knows, I would not have him speed. Enter Silvia, attended Gentlewoman, good day. I pray you, be my mean To bring me where to speak with madam Silvia. Silvia. What would you with her, if that I be she ? Julia. If you be she, I do entreat your patience To hear me speak the message I am sent on. Silvia. From whom ? „ . Julia. From my master, sir Proteus, madam. Silvia. 1 he sends you for a picture ? Julia. Ay, madam. Silvia. Ursula, bring my picture there. [A picture brought. Go, give your master this : tell him from me, One Julia, that his changing thoughts forget, Would better fit his chamber, than this shadow. Julia. Madam, please you peruse this letter. — Pardon me, madam, I have unadvis'd Deliver'd you a paper that I should not : This is the letter to your ladyship. Silvia. I pray thee, let me look on that again. Julia. It may not be : good madam, pardon me. Silvia. There, hold. I will not look upon your master's lines : I know, they are stuff'd with protestations, And full of new-found oaths, which he will As easily as I do tear his paper. [break Julia. Madam, he sends your ladyship this ring. Silvia. The more shame for him that he sends it me ; For, Act v. Sc. ii. TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 45 I or, 1 hare heard hira say, a thousand tiroes, His Juiia gave it him at his departure. Though his false ringer have profan'd the ring, Mine shall not do his JtUia so much wrong. Julia. She thanks you. Silvia. What say'st thou ? Julia. I thank vou, madam, that you tender her. Poor gentlewoman 1 my master wrongs her much. Silvia. Dost thou know her ? Julia. Almost as well as I do know myself: To think upon her woes, I do protest, That I have wept a hundred several times. Silvia. Belike, she thinks, that Proteus hath forsook her. Julia. I think she doth, and that's her cause of sor- row. Silvia. Is she not passing fair ? Julia. She hath been fairer, madam, than she is. When she did think my master lov'd her well, She, in my judgment, was as fair as you ; But since she did neglect her looking-glass, And threw her sun-expelling mask away, The air hath starv'd the roses in her cheeks, And pinch'd the lily-tincture of her face, ThHt now she is become as black as I. Silvia. How tall was she? Julia. About my stature ; for, at pentecost, When all our pageants of delight were play'd, Our youth got me to play the woman's part, And I was trimm'd in madam Julia's gown, Which served me as fit, by all men's judgments, As if the garment had been made for me : Therefore, I know she is about my height. And at that time 1 made her weep a-good, For 1 did play a lamentable part. Madam, 'twas Ariadne, passioning For Theseus' perjury, and unjust flight ; Which I so lively acted with my tears. That ray poor mistress, moved therewithal, Wept bitterly ; and, would I might be dead, If 1 in thought felt not her very sorrow. Silvia. She is beholding to thee, gentle youth Alas, poor lady ! desolate and left 1 — 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. Julia And she shall thank you for't, If e'er you know her A virtuous gentlewoman, mild, and beautiful. I I hope my master's suit will be but cold, j 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 1 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 1 flatter with myself too much. I Her hair is auburn, mine is perfect yellow : If that be all the difference in his love, I'll 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. W hat 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 1 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'll use thee kindly for thy mistress' sake, That us'd me so ; or else, by Jove I vow, I should have scratch'd out your unseeing eyes, To make my master out of love with thee. [Exit. ACT V. SCENE I. The same. An Abbey. Enter Eglumour. Eglamour. rpHE sun begins to gild the western sky, -* And now it is about the very hour, That Silvia at friar Patrick's cell should meet me. She will not fail ; for lovers break not hours, Unless it be to come before their time, So much they spur their expedition. Enter Silvia. See, where she comes !— Lady, a happy evening. Silvia. Amen, Amen ! go on, good Eglamour, Out at the postern by the abbey-wall. I fear I am attended "by some spies. Eglamour. Fear not: the forest is not three leagues off; If we recover that, we are sure enough. [Exeunt. SCENE II. The same. A Room in the Duke'* Palace. Enter Thurio, Proteus, and Julia. Thurio. Sir Proteus, what says Silvia to my suit ? Proteus O, sir ! I find her milder than she was ; And yet she takes exceptions at your person. Thurio. What ! that my leg is too long ? Proteus. No, that it is too little. Thurio. I'll wear a boot to make it somewhat rounder. Julia. [Aside. But love will not be spurr'd to what it loaths. Thurio. What says she to my face ? Proteus. She says it is a fair one. Thurio. Nay, then the wanton lies : my face is black. Proteus. But pearls are fair, and the old saying is, Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies' eyes. Julia. 4 6 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. Act v. &-.1T Julia, [Aside. Tis true, such pearls as put out ladies' eyes ; For I had rather wink than look on them. Thurio. How likes she my discourse ? Proteus. Ill, when you talk of war. Thurio. But well, when I discourse of love and peace? Julia. [Aside. But better, indeed, when you hold your peace. Thurio. What says she to my valour ? Proteus. O, sir 1 she makes no doubt of that. Julia. [Aside. She needs not, when she knows it cowardice. Thurio. What says she to my birth ? Proteus. That you are well deriv'd. Julia. [A side. True ; from a gentleman to a fool. Thurio. Considers she my possessions ? Proteus. O ! ay ; and pities them. Thurio. Wherefore ? Julia. [Aside;. That such an ass should owe them. Proteus. That they are out by lease. Julia. Here comes the Duke. Enter Duke. Duke. How now, sir Proteus ! how now, Thurio 1 Which of you saw sir Eglamour of late ? Thurio. Not I. Proteus. Nor I. Duke. Saw you my daughter ? Proteus. Neither. Duke. Why, then She's fled unto that peasant Valentine, And Eglamour is in her company. 'Tis true ; for friar Laurence met them both, J 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 [not. At Patrick's cell this even, and there she was 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, [fled. That leads towards Mantua, whither they are Dispatch, sweet gentlemen, and follow m Thurio. Why, this it is to be a peevish girl, That flies her fortune when it follows her. I'll after, more to be reveng'd on Eglamour, Than for the love of reckless Silvia. [Exit. Proteus. And I will follow, more for Silvia's love, Than hate of Eglamour, that goes with her. [Kxit. Julia. And I will follow, more to cross that love, Than hate for Silvia, that is gone for love. [Exit. SCENE Itl. The Forest. Enter Silvia and Outlaws. 1 Outlaw. Come, come: Be patient ; we must bring you to our captain, A thousand more mischances than this one Have learn 'd me how to brook this patiently. 2 Outlaw. Come, bring her away. 1 Outlaw. Where is the gentleman that was with her ? 3 Outlaw. Being nimble-footed, he hath outrun us ; But Moyses, and Valerius, follow him. Go thou with her to the west end of the wood ; There is our captain. We'll follow him that's fled: The thicket is beset ; he cannot 'scape. 1 Outlaw. Come, I must bring you to our captain's cave. Fear not ; he bears an honourable mind, And will not use a woman lawlessly. O Valentine ! this I endure for thee. [Exeunt. lExit. SCENE IV. Another Part of the Forest Enter Valentine Valentine. 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 1 Repair me with thy presence, Silvia! Thou gentle nymph, cherish thy forlorn swain! — What halloing, and what stir, is this to-day ? These are my mates, that make their wills their Have some unhappy passenger in chase, [law, ; They love me well ; yet I have much to do, To keep them from uncivil outrages. Withdraw thee, Valentine : who's .this comes here 5 [Steps aside. Enter Proteus, Silvia, and Julia. Proteus. Madam, this service I have done for you, (Though you respect not aught your servant doth) To hazard life, and rescue you from him, That would have fore'd your honour and your love. Vouchsafe me, for my meed, but one fair look ; A smaller Act s. sc a. I TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 4-7 A smaller boon than this I cannot beg, Ami less than this, 1 am sure, you cannot give. tine. [Aside. How like a dre.-xm is this, I see, and hear ! Love, lend me patience to forbear awhile. O, miserable ! unhappy that I am ! Unhappy were you, madam, ere I came ; But by my coming I have made you happy. By thy approach thou mak'st me most unhappy. Julia. [Aside. And me, when he approacheth to your pre- sence. Silvia. Had I been seized by a hungry lion, 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) 1 do detest false, perjur'd Proteus: Therefore be gone : solicit me no more. Proteus. What dangerous action, stood it next to death, Would I not undergo for one calm look. ! 'tis the curse in love, and still approv'd, When women cannot love, where they're belov'd. Silvia. When Proteus cannot love, where he's belov'd. 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. Thou hast no faith left now, unless thou'dst two, Ami that's far worse than none: better have none Than plural faith, which is too much by one. Thou counterfeit to thy true friend ! Proteus. In love Who respects friend ? Silvia. All men but Proteus. Proteus. Nay, If the gentle spirit of moving words Can no way change you to a milder form, I'll woo you like a soldier, at arms' end, [you. And love you 'gainst the nature of love: force Silvia. O heaven I __ Proteus. I'll force thee yield to my desire. Enter Valentine. Valentine. Ruffian, let go that rude uncivil touch ; Thou friend of an ill fashion ! Proteus. Valentine! .„ . Valentine. Thou common friend, that's without faith or love ; ( Tor 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, 1 have one friend alive : thou would'st disprove _„, ■*»■ [hand A ho Bhould be trusted now, when one's right Is perjur'd to the bosom ? Proteus, I am sorry 1 must never trust thee more, But count the world a stranger for thy sake. The private wound is deepest. O time most accurst ! [worst ! 'Mongst all foes, that a friend should be the Proteus. My shame and guilt confound me. — Forgive me, Valentine. If hearty sorrow Be a sufficient ransom for offence, I tender 't here : I do as truly suffer, As e'er I did commit. Valentine. Then, I am paid ; And once again I do receive thee honest. Who by repentance is not satisfied. Is nor of heaven, nor earth ; for these are pleas'd. By penitence th' Eternal's wrath's appeas'd : And, that my love may appear plain and free, All that was mine in Silvia I give thee. J Ola. O me unhappy ! Pr-teus. Look to the boy. Valentine. Why, boy ! why, wag ! how now ! what'* the matter ? look up ; speak. O good sir ! my master charg'd me to delive a ring to madam Silvia, which, out of my neglect was never done. '*US. Where is that ring, boy? Julia. Here 'tis : this is it. [Gives a ring. Proteus. How ! let me see. Why, this is the ring gave to Julia. Julia. O ! cry you mercy, sir ; I have mistook : This is the ring you sent to Silvia. [Shows another ring. Proteus. But, how cam'st thou by this ring ? At my depart I gave this unto Julia. Julia. And Julia herself did give it me ; And Julia herself hath brought it hither. Proteus. How ? Julia ! Julia. 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 1 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 Proteus. 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 Inconstancy falls off, ere it begins, [all the sins* What is in Silvia's face, but 1 may spy More fresh in Julia's, with a constant eye ? Valentine. Come, come, a hand from either. Let me be blest to make this happy close : 'Twere pity two such friends should be lone foes. TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. Act v. Sc. tv. Proteus. Bear witness, heaven, I have my wish for ever. Julia. And I mine. Enter Outlaws, with Duke anil Thurto. Outlaws. A prize ! a prize ! a prize ! Valentine. Forbear: forbear, I say; it is my lord the duke Your grace is welcome to a man disgrac'd, Banished Valentine. Duke. Sir Valentine ! Thurio Yonder is Silvia ; and Silvia's mine. Valentine. Thurio, give back, or else embrace thy death. Come not within the measure of my wrath : Do not name Silvia thine ; if once again, Verona shall not hold thee. Here she stands : Take but possession of her with a touch. I dare thee but to breathe upon my love. Thurio. 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 tier not, and therefore she is thine. Duke The more degenerate and base art 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 deriv'd : [her. Take thou thy Silvia, for thou hast deserv'd Valentine. 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. Valentine. 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 reformed, 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. Valentine. And as we walk alon°r, 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 Valentine. I warrant you, my lord, more grace than boy. Duke. What mean you by that saying ? Valentine. Please you, I'll tell you as we pass along, 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. 4 Act i. Sc i. MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. tt MEKRY WIVES OF WINDSOR DRAMATIS FEKSONiE. SIR JOHN FALSTAFF. Fen ton. Shallow, a Country Justice. Slender, Cousin to Shallow. Page' \ Tw0 Genttemen dwelling at Windsor. William Page, a Boy, Son to Mr. Page. Sir Hugh Evans, a Welsh Parson. Dr. Cains, a French Physician. Host of the Garter Inn. Bardolph, } Pistol, > Followers of Falstaff. Nym, J ACT I. Y; I. Windsor. Before Page'* Hou»e. Kotor Justice Shallow, Slender, and Sir Hugh Evans. Shallow. C 1R 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. Slender. In the county of Gloster, justice of peace, and coram. Shallow. Ay, cousin Slender, and cust-alorum. Slender. Ay, and ratolorum too ; and a gentleman born, master parson ; who writes himself armigero ; in any bill, warrant, quittance, or obligation, armigero. B shallow. Ay, that I do ; and have done any time these three hundred years. All his successors, gone before him, hath don't; and all his ancestors, that come after him, may : they may give the dozen white luces in their coat. Shallow. It is an old coat. Evans. The dozen white louses do become an old coat I well : it agrees well, passant : it is a familiar I beast to man, and signifies love. Robin, Page to Falstaff. Simple, Servant to Slender. Rugbv, Servant to Dr. Caius. Mrs. Ford. Mrs. Page. Anne Page, her Daughter, in love with Fenton. Mrs. Quickly, Servant to Dr. Caius. Servants to Page, Ford, $c. SCENE, Windsor ; and the Parts adjacent. Shallow. The luce is the fresh fish ; the salt fish is an old coat. Slender. I may quarter, coz ? Shallow. You may, by marrying. Evans, It is marring, indeed, if he quarter it. Shallow. Not a whit. Evans. Yes, per-lady : if he has a quarter of your coat, there is but three skirts for yourself, in my simple conjectures. But that is all one: if sir John Falstaff have committed disparagements unto you, I am of the church, and will be glad to do my benevolence, to make atonements and compremises between you. Shallow. The council shall hear it : it is a riot. Evans. 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. Shallow. Ha ! o' my life, if I were young again the sword should end it. Evans. It is petter that friends is the sword, and end it : and there is also another device in my prain, which, peradventure, prings goot discretions E with 5° MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. Act i. Sc. I. with it. There is Anne Page, which is daughter to master George Page, which is pretty virginity. Slender. Mistress Anne Page? She has brown hair, and speaks small, like a woman. Evans. 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 resurrections!) give, when she is able to over- take seventeen years old. It were a goot motion, if we leave our pribbles and prabbles, and desire a marriage between master Abraham, and mis- tress Anne Page. Slender. Did her grandsire leave her seven hundred pound ? Evans. Ay, and her father is make her apetter penny. Slender. I know the young gentlewoman ; she has good gifts. Evans. Seven hundred pounds, and possibilities, is good gifts. Shallow. Well, let us see honest master Page. Is Fal- staff there ? Evans. 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. 1 will peat the door for master Page. [Knocks] What, hoa 1 Got pless your house nere! Enter Page. Page. Who's there ? Evans. 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. Tage. I am glad to see your worships well. I thank you for my venison, master Shallow. Shallow. Master Page, I am glad to see you : much good do it your good heart. I wished your venison better ; it was ill kill'd. — How doth good mistress Page? — and I thank you always with my heart, la; with my heart. Page. Sir, I thank you. Shallow. Sir, I thank you ; by yea and no, I do. Page. I am glad to see you, good master Slender. Slender. How does your fallow greyhound, sir? I heard say, he was outrun on Cot sal I. It could not be judg'd,°8ir. You'll not confess, you'll not confess. That he will not ; — 'tis your fault, 'tis your fault.— 'Tis a good dog. Page. A cur, sir. Shallow. 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. Evans. It is spoke as a Christians ought to speak. Shallow. I He hath wrong'd me, master Page. Page. I Sir, he doth in some sort confess it. Shallow. If it be confess'd, it is not redress'd : is not that so, master Page? He hath wrong'd me ; indeed, he hath ; — at a word, he hath ; — believe me: — Robert Shallow, esquire, saith, he is wrong'd. Page. Here comes sir John. Enter Sir John Falstqff", Bardolph, Nym, and Pistol. Falstaff. Now, master Shallow; you'll complain of me to the king ? Shallow. Knight, you have beaten my men, killed my deer, and broke open my lodge. Falstaff. But not kiss'd your keeper's daughter ? Shallow. Tut, a pin ! this shall be answered. Falstaff. I will answer it straight :— I have done all this. — That is now answer'd. Shallow. The council shall know this. Falstaff. 'Twere better for you, if it were known in counsel : you'll be laughed at. Evans. Pauca verba, sir John; good worts. Falstaff. Good worts ? good cabbage.— Slender, I broke your head ; what matter have you against me ? Slender. i 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 after- wards picked my pocket. Bardolph. You Banbury cheese ! Slender. Ay, it is no matter. Pistol. How now, Mephostophilus ? Slender. Ay, it is no matter. Nym. Slice, I say ! pauca, pauca ; slice ! that's my humour. Slender. Where's Simple, my man?— can you tell, cousin ? Evans. Peace! I pray you. Now let us understand: there is three umpires in this matter, as I under- stand; that is— master Page, fidelicct, master Page ; and there is myself, Jidelicet, myself ; and the three party is, lastly and finally, mine host of the Garter. Paire. A.i t. Sc. i. MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 5* We three, to henr it, atid end It between them. How now, mistress Ford I 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. i „. , Falstaff. Pittol! ! „ . , 4 . Pistol. He hears with ears. Theteviland his tam!' what phrase Is this? i *' lie hears w ith ear ? " Why, it is affectations. Falstaff. Pistol, did you pick master S/ender'a purse ? Ay, by these gloves, did he, (or 1 would I might I never come in mine own great chamber again ■>f seven groats in mill-sixpences, and two Edward shovel-boards, that cost me two shilling and two pence a-piece of Yed Miller, by these 1 gloves. Falstaff Is this true, Pistol t Evans. No ; it is false, if it is a pick-purse. i Pistol. , Ha, thou mountain-foreigner !— Sir John and master mine, ! combat challenge of this lattin bilbo ; Word of denial in thy labras here ; Word of denial : froth and scum, thou liest. „ . Slender. By these gloves, then 'twas he. I _ , . Nvm. Be avised, sir, and pass good humours. I will say, " marry trap," with you, if you run the nut- hook's humour on me ; that is the very note of it. 1 _ Slender. I By this hat, then he in the red face had it ; for I though I cannot remember what I did when you made me drunk, yet I am not altogether an ass. __ Falstaff. Wnat say you, Scarlet and John f Bardolph. \\ by sir, for my part, I say, the gentleman I had drunk himself out of his five sentences. i Evans. ' It is his five senses : fie, what the ignorance is 1 Bardolph. And being fap, sir, was, as they say, ca^hier'd ; and so conclusions pass'd the carieres. Slender. j Ay, you spake in Latin then too ; but 'tis no , matter. I'll ne'er be drunk whilst I live again, , but in honest, civil, godly company, for this trick : j if I be drunk, I'll be drunk with those that have ■ the tear of God, and not with drunken knaves. I Evans. So Got 'udge me, that is a virtuous mind. Falstaff. You hear all these matters denied, gentle- men ; you hear it. Enter Anne Page with Wine ; Mistress Ford and Mistress Page following. I Nay, daughter, carry the wine in ; we'll drink within. [Exit Anne Page. _ Slender. O heaven ! this is mistress Anne Page. Mistress Ford, by my troth, you are very well met : by your leave, good mistress, [Kissing her. Wife, bid these gentlemen welcome — Come, we have a hot venison pasty to dinner : come, gentlemen, I hope we shall drink down all un- kindness. [Exeunt all but Shallow, Slender, and Evans. Slender. 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 ? Simple. Book of riddles ! why, did you not lend it to Alice Shortcake upon Allhallowmas last, a fort- night afore Michaelmas ? Shallow. 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 ? Slender. Ay, sir, you shall find me reasonable : if it be so, I shall do that that is reason. Shallow Nay, but understand me. Slender. So I do, sir. Evans. Give ear to his motions, master Slsnder. I j will description the matter to you, if you be ca- pacity of it. Slender. ! Nay, I will do as my cousin Shallow says. I ; pray you, pardon me; he's a justice of peace in his country, simple though I stand here. Evans. ; But that is not the question : the question is ( concerning your marriage. Shallow. Ay, there's the point, sir. Evans. Marry, is it, the very point of it ; to mistress Anne Page. Slender. Why, if it be so, I will marry her upon any reasonable demands. Evans. 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? Shallow. Cousin Abraham Slender, can you love her? Slender. I hope, sir, I will do, as it shall become one that would do reason. Evans. Nay, Got's lords and his ladies, you must speak possitable, if you can carry her your desires towards her. Shallow. That you must. Will you, upon good dowry, marry her ? Slender. s* MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. Act i. Sc. i. Slender. I will do a greater thing than that, upon your request, cousin, in any reason. Shallow. Nay, conceive me, conceive me, sweet coz : what I do, is to pleasure you, coz. Can you love the maid ? Slender. I will marry her, sir, at your request ; but if there be no great love in the beginning, yet heaven may decrease it upon better acquaintance, when we are married, and have more occasion to know one another : I hope, upon familiarity will grow more contempt : but if you say, " marry her," I will marry her ; that I am freely dissolved, and dissolutely. Evans. It is a fery discretion answer ; save, the fault is in the 'ort dissolutely : the 'ort is, according to our meaning, resolutely — His meaning is good. Shallow. Ay, 1 think my cousin meant well. Slender. Ay, or else I would I might be hanged, la. Re-enter Anne Page. Shallow. 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. Shallow. I will wait on him, fair mistress Anne. Evans. Od's plessed will 1 I will not be absence at the grace. [Exeunt Shallow and Sir H. Evans. Anne. Will't please your worship to come in, sir ? Slender. No, I thank you, forsooth, heartily ; I am very well. Anne. The dinner attends you, sir. Slender. I am not a-l«ungry, I thank you, forsooth. — j Go, sirrah, for all you are my man, go, wait upon i my cousin Shallow. [Exit Simple?] A justice of peace sometime may be beholding 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 1 live like a poor gentleman born. Anne. I may not go in without your worship : they will not sit, till you come. Slender. I'faith, I'll eat nothing ; I thank you as much as though I did. Anne. I pray you, sir, walk in. Slender. I had rather walk here, I thank you. I bruised my shin the other day with playing at sword and j dagger wiMi a master of fence, (three veneys for ; a dish oi stewed prunes) and, by my troth, I cannot abide the smell of hot meat since. Why j do your dogs bark so ? be there bears i' the i town? Anne. I think there are, sir ; I heard them talked of. Slender. I love the sport well ; but I shall as soon quarrel at it as any man in England. You are afraid, if you see the bear loose, are you not ? Anne. Ay, indeed, sir. Slender. That's meat and drink to me, now : I have seen Sackerson loose, twenty times, and have taken him by the chain ; but, I warrant you, the women have so cried and shriek'd at it, that ic pass'd : 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. Slender I'll eat nothing, I thank you, sir. Page. By cock and pye, you shall not choose, sir. Come come. Slender. Nay ; pray you, lead the way. Page. Come on, sir. Slender. Mistress Anne, yourself shall go first. Anne. Not I, sir ; pray you, keep on. Slender. Truly, I will not go first : truly, la, I will not do you that wrong. Anne. 1 pray you, sir. Slender. I'll rather be unmannerly, than troublesome. You do yourself wrong, indeed, la. [Exeunt. SCENE II. The same. Enter Sir Hugh Evans and Simple. Evans. 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. Simple. Well, sir. Evans. Nay, it is petter yet.— Give her this letter; for it is a 'oman that altogether's acquaintance with mistress Anne Page : and the letter is, to desire and require her to solicit your master's desires to mistress Anne Page : 1 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, Nt/m, Pistol, and Robin. Falstaff. Mine host of the Garter ! Host. What says my bully-rook ? Speak scholarly, and wisely. „ , „ Falstaff. Truly, mine host, I must turn away some of my followers. Host. Discard, bully Hercules ; cashier : let mem wag ; trot, trot. Falstaff. Acr i. Sr. in. MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. H rrimf 1 $lt at ten pounds a week. Host. Thou'rt an emperor, drsar, Keisar, and r. 1 will entertain Rardolph ; he shall dr.iw, he shall tap: said I well, bully Hector? Falstaff. Do so, good mine host. Host. I have spoke; let him follow Let me see thtv troth, and live : 1 am at a word : follow. [Exit Host. Falstaff. Bardolph, follow him. A tapster is a good trade: an old cloak makes a new jerkin ; a wi- thered servingman, a fresh tapster. Go ; adieu. Bardolph. It is a life that I have desired. I will thrive. [Exit Bardolph. Pistol. base Gongarlan wight 1 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. Falstaff. 1 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. Nyrn. The good humour is to steal at a minute's rest. Tistol. Convey the wise it call. Steal? foh! a fico for the phrase 1 Falstaff. Well, sirs, I am almost out at heels. Pistol. j Why then, let kibes ensue. Falstaff. 1 There is no remedy; I must coney- catch, I Jmust shift. Pistol. I "V oung ravens must have food. Falstaff. | Which of you know Ford of this town ? Pistol. I ken the wight : he is of substance good. Falstaff. My honest lads, I will tell you what I am Ubout. Pistol. Two yards, and more. Falstaff. 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 her familiar style ; and the hardest voice of her behaviour, to be Knglished rightly, is, " I am Isir John l-'alstajfs." I Pistol. , He hath studied her will, and translated her nviH ; out of honesty into Knglish. Nym. The anchor is deep : will that humour pass ? Falstaff. Now, the report goes, she has all the rule of Ml husband's purse ; he hath legions of angels. Pistol. As many devils entertain, and " To her, boy," say I. Nym. The humour rises; it is good: humour me the angels. Falstaff. I have writ me here a letter to her ; and here another to Pane's wife, who even now gave me good eyes too, examin'd my parts with most judicious ceiliads: sometimes the beam of her view gilded my foot, sometimes my portly belly. Pistol. Then did the sun on dunghill shine. Nym. I thank thee for that humour. Falstaff. ! 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 burning glass. Here's another letter to her : she bears the purse too; she is a region in Guiana, all gold and bounty. 1 will be cheater to them both, and they shall be exchequers to me : they shall be my East and West Indies, and 1 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. Pistol Shall I sir Pandams of Troy become, [all ! And by my side wear steel ? then, Lucifer take Nym. 1 will run no base humour : here, take the humour-letter. I will keep the 'haviour of re- putation. Falstaff. Hold, sirrah, [to Bobin,]beax you these letters tightly: Sail like my pinnace to these golden shores. — Rogues, hence 1 avaunt ! vanish like hailstones, go ; [pack ! Trudge, plod away o' the hoof; seek shelter, FalstaffiviiW learn the honour of this age, French thrift, you rogues : myself, and skirted page. [Exeunt Falstaff" and. Robin. Pistol. 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, which be humours of re- venge. Pistol. Wilt thou revenge ? Nym. By welkin, and her star. Pistol. With wit, or steel ? Nym. With both the humours, I : I will discuss the humour of this love to Page. Pistol. And I to Ford shall eke unfold. How Falstnff; varlet vile. His dove will prove, his gold will hold, And his soft couch defile. Nym. My humour shall not cool : 1 will incense Page to deal with poison ; I will possess him with yellowness, for the revolt of mine is dan- gerous: that is my true humour. Pistol. 5+ MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. Act i. Sc. iv. Pistol. Thou art the Mars of malcontents : I second thee ; troop on. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. A Room in Dr. Cuius** House. Enter Mrs. Quickly, Simple, and Rugby. Quickly. What, John Rugby ! — i pray thee, go to the casement, and see if you can see my master, master Doctor Caius, coming : if he do, i' faith, and find any body in the house, here will be an old abusing of God's patience, and the king's English. Rugby. I'll go watch. [Exit Rugby. Quickly. Go ; and we'll 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 warrant you, no tell-tale, nor no breed-bate : his worst fault is, I that he is given to prayer; he is something peevish that way, but nobody but has his fault; but let that pass. Peter Simple, you say your name is ? Simple. Ay, for fault of a better. Quickly. And master Slender , & your master ? Simple. Ay, forsooth. Quickly. Does he not wear a great round beard, like a glover's paring-knife ?„ Simple. No, forsooth : he hath but a little wee face, with a little yellow beard ; a Cam-coloured beard. Quickly. A softly-sprighted man, is he not ? Simple. Ay, forsooth ; but he is as tall a man of his hands, as any is between this and his head : he hath fought with a warrener. Quickly. How say you ?— O ! I should remember him : does he not hold up his head, as it were, and strut in his gait ? Simple. Yes, indeed, does he. Quickly. Well, heaven send Anne Page no worse for- tune ! Tell master parson Evans, I will do what I can for your master: Anne is a good girl, and I wish- Re-enter Rugby. Rugby. Out, alas I here comes my master. Quickly. We shall all be shent. Run in here, good young man ; go into this closet. [Shuts Simple m the closetrj 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 : down, adown-a," &c. and down, [Sings. Enter Dr. Caius. Caius. Vat is you sing ? I do not like dese toys. Pray you, go and vetch me in my closet un boitier vera"; a box, a green -a box: do intend vat I speak ? a green-a box. Quickly. Ay, forsooth ; I'll fetch it you. [Aside.] I am glad he went not in himself: if he had found the young man, he would have been horn-mad. Caius. Fe, Je, fe, fe! ma foi, il fait fort chaud. Je m'e7i vats & la cour,—la grande affaire. Quickly. Is it this, sir ? Caius. Ouy ; mette le au mon pocket ; depeche, quickly.— Vere is dat knave Rugby? Quickly. What, John Rugby! John! Rugby. 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. Rugby. "Pis ready, sir, here in the porch. Caius. By my trot, I tarry too long.— Od's me! Qu'ai-jeoublie? dere is some simples in my closet, dat I vill not for the varld I shall leave behind. Quickly. [Aside. Ah me I he'll find the young man there, and be mad. Caius. Odiable, diable! vat is in my closet ? — Vil- jlainy! larronl [Pulling Simple out.] Rugby, \ my rapier ! Quickly. i Good master, be content Caius. Verefore shall I be content-a ? Quickly. The young man is an honest man. Caius. Vat shall the honest man do in my closet ? dere is no honest man dat shall come in my closet. Quickly. I beseech you, be not so phlegmatic; hear the truth of it : he came of an errand to me from parson Hugh. Caius. Veil. Simple. Ay, forsooth, to desire her to — Quickly. Peace, I pray you. Caius. Peace-a your tongue ! — Speak-a your tale. To desire this honest gentlewoman, your maid, to speak a good word to mistress Anne Page for my master, in the way of marriage. Quickly. 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 littel-a while. Quickly. I am glad he is so quiet : if he had been tho- i roughly moved, you should have heard him so i loud, and so melancholy. — But notwithstanding, jman, I'll do you your master what good 1 can : and Ai i ii. Sc. i. MERBY WIVES OF WIN1>»>K, 55 and the very yea and the no Is, the French doctor, my master, — I may call him my master, look, or I keep his house; and I wash, wring, bake, scour, dress meat and drink, make the beds, and do all myself; — Simple, "lis a great charge, to come under one body's nand. Quickly. Are you avis'd o' that ? you shall find it a great charge : and to be up early and down late ; — but I 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 : 1 vill cut his troat in de park ; and I vill teach a scurvy jack-a-nape prle«t 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. Quickly. Alas 1 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? — J'.y gar, I vill kill de Jack priest ; and I have ' appointed mine Host of de Jarretiere to mea- sure our weapon. — By gar, I vill myself have ! Anne Page. Quickly. Sir, the maid loves you, and all shall be well. We must give folks leave to prate: what, the I good year 1 Cains. | Rugby, come to the court vit me — By gar, if 1 have not Anne Page, I shall turn your head Jut of my door.— Follow my heels, Rugby. [Exeunt Caius and Rugby. Quickly. 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. Fenton. [Within. Who's within there, ho ? Quickly. Who's there, I trow ? Come near the house, I pray you. Enter Fenton. Fenton. How now, good woman ! how dost thou ? Quickly. The better, that it pleases your good worship to ask. Fenton. What news? how does pretty mistress Anne. Quickly. In truth, sir, and she is pretty, and honest, and gentle ; and one that is your friend, I can t 11 you that by the way ; I praise heaven for it. Fenton. Shall I do any good, think'st thou ? Shall I not lose my suit ? Quickly. Troth, sir, all is in his hands above: but not- j withstanding, master Fenton, I'll be sworn on a ! book, she loves you. — Have not your worship a j wart above your eye ? I on. Yes, marry, have I ; what of that ? Quickly. Well, thereby hangs a tale. — Good faith, it is such another Nan ; — but, I detest, an honest 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 allichofly and musing. But for you —well, go to. Fenton. 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, commend me — Quickly. Will I ? i'faith, that we will ; and I will tell your worship more of the wart, the next time we have confidence, and of other wooers. Fenton. Well, farewell ; I am in great haste now. [Exit. Quickly. 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 ! what have I forgot? [lixit. #•#•#■#•■€■ ACT II. SCENE I. Before Page's House. Enter Mistress Page, with a Letter. Mr 8. Page. \yHAT! have I 'scaped love-letters in the * w holy-day time of my beauty, and am I now a subject for them ? Let me see. [Reads. 14 Ask me no reason why I love you ; for though love use reason for his precisian, he admits him not for his counsellor. You are not young, no more am I : go to then, there's sym- pathy. You are merry, so am 1; ha ! ha I then, there's more sympathy : you love sack, and so do 1 ; would you desire better sympathy ? Let it suffice thee, mistress Page, (at the least, if the love of soldier can suffice) that I love thee. I will not say, pity me, 'tis not a soldier-like phrase ; but I say, 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 1 What an unweighed 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 1— Why, I'll exhibit a bill in the par- liament for the putting down of fat men. How ' shall I be revenged on him ? for revenged I will ; be, as sure as his guts are made of puddings. Enter Mistress Ford. Mrs. Ford. Mistress Page ! trust me, I was going to your house. ., _ Mrs. Pa«e. 5<5 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. Act ii. Sc. i. Mrs. Page. And, trust me, I was coming to you. You look very ill. Mrs. Ford. Nay, I'll ne'er believe that : 1 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 re- ject, 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 mo- ment or so, I could be knighted. Mrs. Page. What?— thou liest. — HSir Alice Ford! — These knights will hack ; and so, thou shouldst not alter the article of thy gentry. Mrs. Ford. -light: — here, read, read; We burn day perceive how 1 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 modesty, 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 adhere and keep place together, than the hundredth psalm to the tune of "Green Sleeves." What tempest, 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 Pe- lion. 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. W hat doth he think of us ? Mrs. Page. Nay, I know not : it makes me almost ready to wrangle with mine own modesty. I'll entertain myself like one that I am not acquainted withal ; for, sure, unless he know some strain in me, that I know not myself, he would never have boarded me in this fury. Mrs. Ford. Boarding call you it? I'll be sure to keep him above deck. Mrs. Page. So will I : if he come under my hatches, I'll never to sea again. Let's be revenged 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 villainy against him, that may not sully the chariness of our honesty. O, that my husband saw this letter 1 it would give eternal food to his jealousy. Mrs. Page. Why, look, where he comes ; and my good man too : he's as far from jealousy, as I am from giving him cause ; and that, I hope, is an un- measurable 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. Pistol. Hope is a curtail dog in some affairs : Sir John affects thy wife. Ford. Why, sir, my wife is not young. Pistol. He woos both high and low, both rich and poor, Both young and old, one with another, Ford. He loves the gally-mawfry : Ford, perpend. Ford. Love my wife? Pistol. With liver burning hot : prevent, or go thou, Like sir Actteun he, with Ring-wood at thy O ! odious is the name. [heels. Ford. What name, sir ? Pistol. The horn, I say. Farewell : Take heed ; have open eye, for thieves do foot by night: [dosing,— 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 ; 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. Adieu. [Exit Nym. Page. The humour of it, quoth 'a ! here's a fellow frights English out of his wits. Ford. I will seek out Falstaff. Page. I never heard such a drawling-affecting rogue- Ford. If I do find it, well. Page. Act ii. Se. \. MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR 1 will not believe sucn a Cataian, though the phot <>' the town commended him for a true in. in. Twas a good sensible fellow : well. How now, Meg! Whither go you, Georger — Hark you. How now, sweet Frank ! why art thou me- lancholy ? Ford. 1 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.— Youll come to dinner, George? — [Aside to Mrs. Ford.] Look, who comes yonder : she shall be our messenger to this paltry knight. Enter Mrs. Quickly. Mrs. Ford. Trust me, I thought on her : she'll fit it. Mrs. Page. You are come to see my daughter Anne ? Ay, forsooth ; and, I pray, how does good mistress Anne? Mrs. Page. Co in with us, and see : we have an hour's talk with you. [Exeunt Mrs. Page, Mrs. Ford, and Mrs. Quickly. How now, master Foraf £°fr You heard what this knave told me, did you not? Yes ; and you heard wliat the other told me. Ford. Do you think there Is truth in them ? AT Hang 'em, slaves ; I do not think the knight would offer it : but these that accuse him, in his j intent towards our wives, are a yoke of his dis- i carded men ; very rogues, now they be out of service. Ford. ' Were they his men ? Page. Marry, were they. I Ford. I like it never the better for that. — Does he lie at the Garter? Page. I Ay, marry, does he. ft he should intend this j voyage towards my wife, I would turn her I loose to him; and what he gets more of her 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 itoo confident : I would have nothing lie on my head. 1 cannot be thus satisfied. Pane. | Look, where my ranting Host of the Garter comes. There Is either liquor In his pate, or money in his purse, when he looks so merrily. — How now, mine host 1 Enter Host, and Shallow. Host. How now, bully-rook! thou'rt a gentleman. Cavaliero-justice, I say. Shallow. 1 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, cavaliero-justice ; tell him, bully- rook. Shallow. Sir, there is a fray to be fought between sir Hugh, the Welch priest, and Cams, the French doctor. Ford. Good mine Host o' the Garter, a word with you. Host. What say'st thou, my bully-rook ? [They go aside. Shallow. Will you [to Page] B° with us to behold it ? My merry host hath had the measuring of their weapons, and, 1 think, 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'll 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, An-heires ? Shallow. Have with you, mine host. Page. I have heard, the Frenchman hath good skill in his rapier. Shallow. Tut, sir ! I could have told you more : in these times you stand on distance, your passes, stoc- cadoes, 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, Shallow, and Page. Ford. Though Page be a secure fool, and stands 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 farther into't ; and 1 have a disguise to sound Falstaff. If I find her honest, I lose not my labour ; if she be otherwise, 'tis labour well bestowed. [Exit. SCENE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. Act ii. Sc. u. SCENE II. A Room in the Garter Inn. Enter Falstaff and Pistol. Falstaff. I will not lend thee a penny. Pistol. Why, then the world's mine oyster, "Which I with sword will open. — Falstaff. Not a penny. I have been content, sir, you should lay 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 gemini of baboons. I am damned in hell for swearing to geutlemen, my friends, you were good sol- diers, and tall fellows: and when mistress Bridget lost the handle of her fan, I took't upon mine honour thou hadst it not. Pistol. Didst thou not share ? hadst thou not fifteen pence ? Falstaff. Reason, you rogue, reason : think'st thou, I'll 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 Pickt-hatch, go. — You'll 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, leav- ing 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-moun- tain looks, your red-lattice phrases, and your bold-beating oaths, under the shelter of your honour ! You will not do it, you ? Pistol. I do relent: what would'st thou more of man? Enter Robin. Robin. Sir, here's a woman would speak with you. Falstaff. Let her approach. Enter Mistress Quickly. Quickly. Give your worship good-morrow. Falstaff. Good-morrow, good wife. Quickly. Not so, an't please your worship. Falstaff. Good maid, then. Quickly. I'll be sworn ; as my mother was, the first hour I was born. Falstaff. 1 do believe the swearer. What with me? Quickly. Shall I vouchsafe your worship a word or Falstaff. Two thousand, fair woman ; and I'll vouch- safe thee the hearing. Quickly. There is one mistress Ford, sir: — I pray, come a little nearer this ways. — 1 myself dwell with master Doctor Caius. Falstaff. Well, on : Mistress Ford, you say, — Quickly. Your worship says very true : — I pray your worship, come a little nearer this ways. Falstaff. I warrant thee, nobody hears: — mine own people, mine own people. Quickly. Are they so ? Heaven bless them, and make them his servants ! Falstaff. i Well : Mistress Ford j— what of her ? Quickly. I Why, sir, she's a good creature. Lord, lord ! ! your worship's a wanton : well, heaven forgive you, and all of us, I pray 1 Falstaff. j Mistress Ford ; — come, mistress Ford, — Quickly. Marry, this is the short and the long of it. i 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 I brought her to such a canary ; yet there has been knights, and lords, and gentlemen, with ■ their coaches ; I warrant you, coach after coach, | I letter after letter, gift after gift ; smelling so j 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 warrant you, they could j never get an eye-wink of her. — I had myself twenty angels given me this morning; but I I defy all angels, (in any such sort, as they say,) 1 but in the way of honesty : — and, 1 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, I warrant you, all is one with her. Falstaff. But what says she to me ? be brief, my good she Mercury. Quickly. 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. Falstaff. Ten and eleven ? Quickly. 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 ! i the sweet woman leads an ill life with him ; he's I j a very jealousy man ; she leads a very fram- | j pold life with him, good heart. Falitaff. Ten and eleven. — Woman, commend me to her ; I will not fail her. Quickly. Why, you say well. But I have another mes- senger 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 i modest wife, and one (I tell you) that will not | miss you morning or evening prayer, as any is in Windsor, whoe'er be the other : and she bade me tell your worship, that her husband is sel- dom from home, but she hopes there will come a time. I never knew a woman so dote upon a man: Sc. 11. MERRY WIVES OE WINDSOR. 59 man : surely, I think you hare charms, la ; yes, in truth. Not I, 1 assure thee; setting the attraction of my good parts aside, I nave no other charms. Blessing on your neartfor't l6taff. Hut, 1 pray thee, tell me this : has Ford't wife, and /'age's wife, acquainted each other how they love me ? Quickly. That were a jest, indeed ! — they have not so little grace, I hope : — that were a trick, indeed 1 But mistress Page would desire you to send her 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 de- serves it, for if there be a kind woman in Wind- sor, she is one. You must send her your page ; no remedy. Falstaff. Why, I will. Quickly. Nay, but do so, then: and, look you, he may come and go between you both; and, in any case, have a nayword, that you may know one another's mind, and the boy never need to understand 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. Falstaff. Fare thee well : commend me to them both. There's my purse ; I am yet thy debtor — Boy, go along w ith this woman. — This news distracts me. [Exeunt Quickly and Robin. Pistol. This punk is one of CupiaTt carriers.— Clap on more sails ; pursue, up with your fights: Give fire ! She is my prize, or ocean whelm them all ! [Exit Pistol. Falstaff". 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 thou, after the expence 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. Enter Bardolph. Bardolph. Sir John, there's one master Brook below would fain speak with you, and be acquainted witli you ; and hath sent your worship a morn- ing's draught of sack. Falstaff. Brook, is his name ? Bardolph. I Ay, sir. Falstaff. ! Call him in; [Exit Bardolph.] Such Brooks i are welcome to me, that o'erflow such liquor. : Ah ! ha ! mistress Ford and mistress Page, have I encompassed you ? go to ; via I Re-enter Bardolph, with Ford disguised. ' Ford. Bless you, sir. Falstaff. And you, sir : would you speak with me ? Ford. I make bold, to press with so little preparation upon you. 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. Falstaff. 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 hath something embolden'd me to this unseasoned intrusion, for, they say, if money go before all ways do lie open. Falstafl Money is a good soldier, sir, and will on. Ford. Troth, and I have a bag of money here troubles me: if you will help to bear it, sir John, take all, or half, for easing me of the carriage. Falstaff. 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. Falstaif. Speak, good master Brook j 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 eve upon my follies, as you hear them un- folded, turn 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. Falstaff. Very well, sir ; proceed. Ford. There is a gentlewoman in this town, her husband's name is Ford. Well, sir. Falstaff. 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 1 have purchased at an infinite rate, and that hath taught me to say this : Love like a shadow flies, when substance love pursues ; Pursuing that that flies, and flying uhat pursues 1-alstaff. 6o MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. Act ii. Sc. n Fatrtaff. Have you received no promise of satisfaction her hands ? Ford. Never. Falstaff. Have you importuned her to such a purpose ? Ford. Never. Falstaff. Of what quality was your love then ? Ford. Like a fair house, built upon another man's ground ; so that 1 have lost my edifice, by mis- taking the place where I erected it. Falstaff. To what purpose have you unfolded this to e? Ford. When I have told you that, 1 have told you all . Some say, that though she appear honest to me, ret in other places she enlargeth her mirth so ar, that there is shrewd construction made of her. Now, sir John, here is the heart of my purpose : you are a gentleman of excellent breed- ing, admirable discourse, of great admittance, authentic in your place and person, generally allowed for your many war-like, court- like, and learned preparations. Falstaff. 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 Ford's wife : use your art of wooing, win her to consent to you ; if any man may, you may as soon as any. Falstaff. Would it apply well to the vehemency of your affection, that 1 should win what you would enjoy ? Methinks, you prescribe to yourself very preposterously. Ford. O ! understand my drift. She dwells so se- curely on the excellency of her honour, that the folly of my soul dares not present itself: she is too bright to be looked against. Now, could I come to her with any detection in my hand, my desires had instance and argument to commend themselves; 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 ? Falstaff. Master Brook, I will first make bold with your money ; next, give me your hand ; and last, as 1 am a gentleman, you shall, if you will, enjoy Ford's wife. Ford. good sir ! Falstaff. 1 say you shall. Ford. Want no money, sir John; you shall want none. Falstaff. Want no mistress Ford, master Brook ; you shall want none. 1 shall be with her (I may tell you) by her own appointment ; even as you came to 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 ? Falstaff. 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, would you knew Ford, sir, that you might avoid him, if you saw him. Falstaff. Hang him, mechanical salt-butter rogue ! I will stare him out of his wits ; 1 will awe him with my cudgel : it shall hang like a meteor o'er the cuckold's horns: master Brook, thou shalt know 1 will predominate over the peasant, and thou shalt lie with his wife. — Come to me soon at night. — Ford's a knave, and I will aggravate bis style ; thou, master Brook, shalt know him for a knave and cuckold. — Come to me soon at night. [Exit. Ford. What a damned Epicurean rascal is this! — 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 6hall be abused, my coffers ransacked, my repu- tation gnawn at ; and I shall not only receive this villainous wrong, but stand under the adop- tion of abominable terms, and by him that does me this wrong. Terms! names! — Amaimon sounds well ; Lucifer, well ; Barbason, 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 Welchman with my cheese, an Irishman with my aqua-vita? bottle, or a thief to walk my ambling gelding, than my wife with herself: then she plots, then she ru- minates, then she devises ; and what they think in their hearts they may effect, they will break their hearts but they will effect. Heaven be )raised for my jealousy! — Eleven o'clock the lour: 1 will prevent this, detect my wife, be revenged on Falstaff, and laugh at Page. 1 will about it ; better three hours too soon, than a minute too late. Fie, fie, fie ! cuckold ! cuckold ! cuckold I [Exit. SCENE III. Windsor Park Enter Cams and Rugby. Caius. Jack Rugby! Rugby. Sir. Caius. Vat is de clock, Jack ? Rugby. '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, j if he be come. Rugby. Act hi. 5c. i. MEKKY WIVES OF WINDSOR Si llf 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. • ■ , FysJ'y- Alas, sir ! I cannot fence. Villainy, take your rapier. Forbear ; here's company. Enter Host, Shallow, Slender, and Page. Host. Bless thee, bully doctor. Shallow. Save you, master doctor Caius. Now, good master „, „ Slender. 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 averse, 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 Ethiopian? is he dead, my Francisco? ha, bully 1 What says my JEsculapius ? my Galen ? my heart of elder ? ha 1 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. 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. Shallow. 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 ? P*8 & Master Shallow, you have yourself been a great fighter, though now a man of peace. Shallow. Bodykins, master Page, though I now be old, and oi 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. Shallow. It will be found so, master Page. Master doctor Caius, I am come to fetch you home. I am sworn of the peace ; you nave showed yourself 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, monsieur Mock-water. Calm. Mock-vater I vat is oat ? Host. Mock-water in our English tongue is valour, bully. Caius. By gar, then, I have as much mock-vater as de Englishman Scurvy jack-dog priest 1 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 Pace, and eke cavalero Slender, go you through the town to Frogmore. [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 ? Shallow. We will do it. Page, Shallow, and Slender. Adieu, good master doctor. [Exeunt Page, Shallow, and Slender. Caius. By gar, me vill kill de priest, for he speak for a jack-au-ape to Anne Page. Host. Let him die. Sheath thy impatience ; 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. Cried I, aim ? said I well ? Caius. By gar, me tank you vor dat : by gar, I love you ; and I shall procure-a you de good guest, de earl, de knight, de lords, de gentlemeu, my patients. Host. For the which I will be thy adversary toward 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. Evans. I PR AY you now, good master Slender's serv- ing-man, and friend Simple by your name, which 62 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. Act hi. Sc. i. which way have you looked for master Caius, that calls himself Doctor of Physic ? Simple. Marry, sir, the petty-ward, the park-ward, every way ; old Windsor way, and every way but the town way. Evans. I most fehemently desire you, you will also look that way. I will, sir. [Retiring. Evans. Pless my soul ! how full of cholers I am, and trempling of mind 1 — I shall be glad, if he have deceived me. — How melancholies I am! — I will knog his urinals about his knave's costard, when I have good opportunities for the 'ork : — pless my soul 1 [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 I have a great dispositions to cry. Melodious birds sing madrigals ; — When as I sat in Pabylon, — And a thousand vagram posies. To shallow — Simple. [Coming forward. Yonder he is coming, this way, sir Hugh. Evans. He's welcome. — To shallow rivers, to whose falls — Heaven prosper the right ! — What weapons is he? Simple. No weapons, sir. There comes my master, master Shallow, and another gentleman, from Frogmore, over the stile, this way. Evans. Pray you, give me my gown ; or else keep it in your arms Enter Page, Shallow, and Slender. Shallow. 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 won- derful. Slender. Ah, sweet Anne Page ! Page. Save you, good sir Hugh. Evans. Pless you from his mercy sake, all of you ! Shallow. 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? Evans. There Is reasons and causes for it. Page. We are come to you to do a good office, mas- ter parson. Evans. 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. Shallow. I have lived fourscore years, and upward, I never heard a man of his place, gravity, and learning, so wide of his own respect. Evans. What is he? Page. I think you know him ; master doctor Cams, the renowned French physician. Evans. Got's will, and his passion of my heart ! I had as lief you would tell me of a mess of por- ridge. Page. Why? Evans. He has no more knowledge in Hibbocrates and Galen, — and he is a knave besides; a cowardly knave, as you would desires to be ac- quainted withal Page. I warrant you, he's the man should fight with him. Slender. O, sweet Anne Page ! Shallow. 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. Shallow. 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? Evans. t Pray you, use your patience : in good time. Caius. ! By gar, you are de coward, de Jack dog, John jape. Evans. 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 other make you amends I will knog your urinals about your knave's cogscomb for missing your meetings land appointments. Caius. Diable! — Jack Rugby, — mine Hostde Jarre- tiere, have I not stay for him, to kill him ? have 1 not, at de place I did appoint ? Evans. As I am a Christians soul, now, look you, this is the place appointed. I'll be judgement by mine Host of the Garter. Host Peace, I say ! Gallia and Guallia, French and Welch : 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, I Act hi. Sc. u. MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. potions, and the motions. Shall I lose my par- ton ? my priest ? my sir Hugh t no ; he gives me the proverbs and the noverbs 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. Shallow. Trust me, a mad host. — Follow, gentlemen, follow. Slender. O, sweet Anne Page ! [Exeunt Shallow, Slender, Page, and Host. Caius. Ha ! do I perceive dat? have you make-a de sot of us ? ha, ha ! Evans. This is well ; he has made us his vlouting- stog. — I desire you, that we may be friends, and j let us knog our prains together to be revenge on this same scall, scurvy, cogging companion, the Host of the Garter. Caius. By gar, vit all my heart. He promise to bring me vere is Anne Page : by gar, he deceive me too Evans. Well, I will smite his noddles. — Pray you, follow. [Exeunt SCENE II. A Street in Windsor. Enter Mistress Pa«e and Robin. Mrs. Page. Nay, keep your way, little gallant : 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 ? Robin. I had rather, forsooth, go before you like a man, than follow him like a dwarf. Mrs. Fage. ! you are a nattering boy : now, I see, you'll 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 together, for | want of company. I think, if your husbands were dead, you two would marry. Mrs. Page. Be sure of that,— two other husbands. Ford. Where had you this pretty weather-cock ? Mrs. Page. 1 cannot tell what the dickens his name is my i husband had him of— What do you call your knight's name, sirrah ? Robin. 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. [Exeunt 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 inclination; he gives her folly motion, and advantage : and now she's going to my wife, and Falstaff"& boy with her. A man may hear this shower sing in the wind: — and Falstaff s boy with her! — Good plots! — they are laid; and our revolted wives share damnation toge ther. 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 Act&on ; and to these violent 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 posi- tive as the earth is firm, that Falstaff is there: I will go. Enter Page, Shallow, Slender, Host, Sir Hugh Evans, Caius, and Rugby. Page, Shallow, &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. Shallow. I must excuse myself, master Ford. Slender. 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'll speak of. Shallow. We have lingered about a match between Anne Page and my cousin Slender, and this day we shall have our answer. Slender. 1 hope, I have your good will, father Page. 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 holyday, 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 gen- tleman is of no having: he kept company 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 1 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 H MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. Act hi. Sc. u. have sport ; I will show you a monster.— Master doctor, you shall go: — so shall you, master Page ; — and you, sir Hugh. _, , Shallow. Weil, fare you well. —We shall have the freer wooing at master Page's. [Exeunt Shallow and Slender. Caius. 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'll make him dance. Will you go, gen- tles? 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,JoA-»/ what, Robert! Mrs. Page. Quickly, quickly. Is the buck-basket — Mrs. Ford. I warrant. —What, Robin, I say ! Enter Servants with a large 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 (with- out 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. Be gone, and come when you are called. [Exeunt Servants. Mrs. Page. Here comes little Robin. Enter Robin. Mrs. Ford. How now, my eyas-musket I what news with you? Robin. My master, sir John, is come in at your back- door, mistress Ford, and requests your company. Mrs. Page You little Jack-a-lent, have you been true to us? Robin. Ay, I'll 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'll 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'll go hide me. Mrs. Ford. Do so. — Go tell thy master, I am alone. Mistress 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'll use this unwholesome hu- midity, this gross watery pumpion ;— we'll teach him to know turtles from jays. Enter Falstaff. Falstaff. Have I 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 1 Mrs. Ford. O, sweet sir John ! Falstaff. Mistress Ford, I cannot cog. I cannot prate, mistress Ford. Now shall 1 sin in my wish : I would thy husband were dead, I'll speak it before the best lord, I would make thee my lady. Mrs. Ford. I your lady, sir John! alas, I should be a pitiful lady. Falstaff. Let the court of France show me such another. I see how thine eye would emulate the diamond : thou hast the right arched beauty 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. Falstaff. By the Lord, thou art a tyrant to say so : thou wouldst make an absolute courtier ; and the firm fixure 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 thy friend: come, thou canst not hide it. Mrs. Ford. Believe me, there's no such thing in me. Falstaff. What made me love thee ? let that persuade 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 Bucklersbury in simple-time: I cannot; but I love thee, none but thee, and thou deservest it. Mrs. Ford. Do not betray me, sir. I fear, you love mistress Page. Falstaff. Thou might'st as well say, I love to walk by the Counter-gate, which is as hateful 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. Falstaff. Keep in that mind ; I'll deserve it. Mrs. Ford. • o -: ••»„ « ■ M3E5E3E'Jf W^TES Off "WHKBDSQrii Act 3 . Sc. 3 . Act in. Sc. in. MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 65 Mr*. Ford. Nay, I must toll you, so you do, or else I could not ba in that mind. Robin. [Within. Mistress Ford! mistress Ford! here's mistress Pngc at the door, sweating, and blowing, and looking wildly, and would needs speak with you presently. Falstaff. She shall not see me. I will ensconce me be- hind the arras. Mrs. Ford. r ery [Falstaffhidet himself. Enter Mistress Page and Robin. What's the matter? how now ! Mrs. Page. 1 O mistress Ford! what have you done? You're shamed, you are overthrown, you're undone for ever. Mrs. Ford. What's the matter, good mistress Page? Mrs. Page. 1 O well-a day, mistress Ford! having an honest man to your husband, to give him such cause of > suspicion ! Mrs. Ford. What cause of suspicion ? Mrs. Page. What cause of suspicion? — Out upon you! how am 1 mistook in you 1 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 gentle- man, that, he says, is here now in the house, by your consent, to take an ill advantage of his absence. You are undone. Mrs. Ford. ! Tis not so, I hope. Mrs. Page. : Pray heaven it be not so, that you have such I a man here ; but 'tis most certain your husband's ; coming, with half Windsor at his heels, to search 1 for such a one: 1 come before to tell you. If \ you know yourself clear, why I am glad of it ; but if you have a friend here, convey, convey him out. Be not amazed ; call all your senses I 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 : 1 had rather than a thousand pound, he were out of the house. Mrs. Page. For shame ! never stand " you had rather," and " you had rather : " your husband's here at hand ; bethink you of some conveyance : in the I house you cannot hide him.— O, how have you 1 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 Dutchet mead. Mrs. Ford He's too big to go in there. What shall I do? Re-enter Falstaff. Falstaff. Let me see't, let me see't ! O, let me see't ! I'll in, I'll in.— Follow your friend's counsel I'll in. Mrs. Page. What ! sir John Falstaff? Are these your letters, knight ? Falstnrt. I love thee : help me away ; let me creep in here ; I'll never — [He gets into the basket : they cover him with foul linen. Mrs. Page. Help to cover your master, boy. Call your men, mistress Ford You dissembling knight 1 Mrs. Ford What, John! Robert! John! [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 Datcliet mead ; quickly, come. Enter Fori, 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 1 whither bear you this ? Servants. To the laundress, forsooth. Mrs. Ford. Why, what have you to do whither they hear 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 fou, buck, and of the season too, it shall appear. Exeunt Servants with the basket.] Gentlemen, I have dreamed to-night : I'll tell you my dream. Here, here, here be my keys : ascend my cham- ' bers, search, seek, find out : I'll warrant, we'll unkennel the fox. — Let me stop this way first : — so, now uncape. Page. i Good master Ford, be contented : you wrong ! yourself too much. Ford. True, master Page — Up, gentlemen ; you 6hall see sport anon : follow me, gentlemen. [F.xit. Evans • This is fery fantastical humours, and jea- ; lousies. Caius. By gar, 'tis no de fashion of France : it is not i jealous in France. Page. Nay, follow him, gentlemen : see the issue of , his search. (Exeunt Page, Evans, and Cams. 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 water 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 sus- ■B picion 66 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. Act hi. Sc. hi. i picion of FalstqfTs being here, for I never saw him so gross in his jealousy till now. I will lay a plot lolry trial ; and we will yet ! have more tricks with Falstaff; his dissolute disease. will scarce obey this medicine. Shall we send thafroousn carrion, mistress Quickly, to him, and excuse his throwing into the water ; and give him another hope, to betray him to another punishment ? We'll do it : let mm Decent for to-morrow eight o'clock, to have amends. Re-enter Ford, Page, Caius, and Sir Hugh Evans. I cannot find him : may De, the knave bragged of that he could not compass. Heard you that ? Mr8 ' Page - You use me well', mastetFord, do you ? Ay, I do so. Heaven make you bl'tterttian your thoughts ! Ford. Amen. You do yourself mignty wrong, master Ford. Ay, ay ; I must bear it. 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 theday of judgment. By gar, nor I too Caius. : dere is no bodies. T Evans. I pray you now, remembrance to-morrow on If there be one or two, I shall make-a de turd. r> F 9J d - Pray you go, master Page. P the lousy knave, mine Host Dat is good ; by gar, vit all my heart. . , , Evans. A lousy knave ! to have his gibes, and his mockeries. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. A Room in Page'% House. Enter Fen/on and Anne Page Fenton. I see, I cannot get thy father's love ; Therefore, no more turn me to him, sweet Nan. Alas ! how then ? Anne, .1 n Wl „. .. Pag®- Fie, fie, master Ford! are you not ashamed? What spirit, what devil suggests this imagina- tion ? I would not have your distemper in this kind for the wealth of Windsor Castle. Ford. 'Tis my fault, master Page : I suffer for it. Evans. 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'll a birding together: I have a fine hawk for the bush. Shall it be so ? Ford. Any thing. Evans. If there is one, I shall make two in the com- pany. en ton. hy, thou must be thyself. He doth object, I am too great of birth, And that my state being gall'd with my I seek to heal it only by his wealth, [expense, 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. May be, he tells you true. Fenton. No, heaven so speed me in my time to come 1 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. Shallow. Break their talk, mistress Quickly, my kins- man shall speak for himself. Slender. I'll make a shaft or a bolt on't. 'Slid, 'tis but venturing. Shallow. Be not dismay'd. Slender. No, she shall not dismay me : I care not for that, —but that I am afeard. Quickly. Hark ye ; master Slender would speak a word with you. Anne. I come to him — This is my father's choice. O ! what a world of vile ill-favour'd faults Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year 1 Quickly. And how does good master Fenton t Pray you, a word with you. Shallow. She's coming; to her, coz. O boy 1 thou hadst a father. Slender. Act in. Sc. v. MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 67 Slender. I hail a father, mistress Anne : my uncle can tall you good jests of him. — Pray you, uncle, tell mistress Anne the jest, how my father stole two geese out of a pen, good uncle. Shallow. Mistress Anne, my cousin loves you. Slender. Ay. that I do ; as well as I love any woman in rshire. Shallow. He will maintain you like a gentlewoman. Slender. Ay, that I will, come cut and long-tail, under the degree of a 'squire. Shallow. He will make you a hundred and fifty pounds jointure. Anne. Good master Shallow, let him woo for him- self. Shallow. Marry, I thank you for it ; I thank you for that good comfort. She calls you, coz : I'll leave you. Anne. Now, master Slender. Slender. Now, good mistress Anne. Anne. What is your will ? Slender. My will ? od's heartlings ! that's a pretty jest, indeed. I ne'er made my will yet, I thank heaven ; I am not such a sickly creature, I give heaven praise. Anne. I mean, master Slender, what would you with me? Slender. Truly, for mine own part, I would little or (nothing with you. Your father, and my uncle, ihave made motions : if it be my luck, so ; if not, happy man be his dole 1 They can tell you how things go, better than I can : you may ask your father ; here he comes. Enter Page and Mistress Page Page. Now, master Slender! — Love him, daughter Anne. — Why, how now ! what does master Fenton here? You wrong me, sir, thus still to haunt my house : 1 told you, sir, my daughter is dispos'd of. Fenton. Nay, master Page, be not impatient. Mrs. Page. Good master Fenton. come not to my child. Page. She is no match foryou. Fenton. Sir, will you hear me ? Page. No, good master Fenton Come, master Shallow; —come, son Slender; in.— Knowing my mind, you wrong me, master ^Exeur-t Page, Shallow, and Slender. Quickly. Speak to mistress Page. Fenton. Good mistress Page, for that daughter love your In such a righteous fashion as I do, Perforce, against all checks, rebukes, and man- 1 must advance the colours of my love, [ners, And not retire : let me have your good wilL Anne. Good mother, do not marry me to yond' fool. Mrs. Page. I mean it not ; I seek you a better husband. Quickly. That's my master, master doctor. Anne. Alas ! I had rather be set quick i' the earth, And bowl'd 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 1 find her, so am 1 affected. •Till then, farewell, sir : she must needs go in ; Her father will be angry. [Exeunt Mrs. Page and Anne. Fenton. Farewell, gentle mistress.— Farewell, Nan. Quickly. 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. Fenton. I thank thee ; and I pray thee, once to-night Give my sweet Nan this ring. There's for thy [Exit. Quickly. pains. Now, heaven send thee good fortune 1 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 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. Falstaff. Bardolph, I say 1 Here, sir. Bardolph. Falstaff. Go fetch me a quart of sack ; put a toast in't. [Exit Bardofph.J Have I lived to be carried in a basket, like a barrow of butcher's offal, and to be thrown in the Thames t Well, if I be served such another trick, I'll have my brains ta'en out, and buttered, and give them to a dog for a r year's gift. The rogues slighted me into the river with as little remorse as they would have drowned a blind bitch's 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. Bardolph. Here's mistress Quickly, sir, to speak w^hjfMf 68 MERRY WIVES OE WINDSOR. Act hi. &r^n Falstaff. Come, let me pour in some sack to the Thames water ; for my belly's as cold, as if 1 had swal- lowed snow-balls for pills to cool the reins. Call her in. Bardolph. Come in, woman. Enter Mrs. Quickly. Quickly. By your leave.— I cry you mercy : give your worship good morrow. Falstaff. Take away these chalices. Go brew me a pottle of sack finely. Bardolph. With eggs, sir ? Falstaff. Simple of itself ; I'll no pullet-sperm in my brewage.— (Exit Bardolph.] —How now 1 Quickly. Marry, sir, I come to your worship from mis- tress Ford. Falstaff. Mistress Ford! I have had ford enough: I was thrown into the ford : I have my belly full of ford. Quickly. Alas the day 1 good heart, that was not her fault : she does so take on with her men ; they mistook their erection. Falstaff. So did I mine, to build upon a foolish woman's promise. Quickly. 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 oncej more to come to her between eight and nine. I> must carry her word quickly: she'll make youj amends, I warrant you. Falstaff. 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. Quickly. I will tell her. Falstaff. Do so. Becween nine and ten, say'st thou ? Quickly. Eight and nine, sir. Falstaff. Well, be gone : I will not miss her. Quickly. Peace be with you, sir. [Exit. Falstaff. I marvel, I hear not of master Brook : he sent? me word to stay within. I like his money well. O I here he comes. Enter Ford. Ford. Bless you, sir. Falstaff. Now, master Brook ; you come to know what hath passed between me and Ford's wife ? Ford. That, indeed, sir John, is my business. Falstaff. Master Brook, I will not lie to you. I was a her house the hour she appointed rap. Ford. And sped you, sir ? Did she change her determi- .Falstaff, Very lll-favouredly, master Brook. How so, sir? " nation ? _ Falstaff. No, master Brook ; but the peaking cornuto her husband, master Brook, dwelling in a con- tinual larum of jealousy, comes me in the instant of our encounter, after we had embraced, kissed^ protested, and, as it were, spoke the prologue of our comedy ; and at his heels a rabble of his companions, thither provoked and instigated by his distemper, and, forsooth, to search his house for his wile's love Ford. What ! while you were there ? Falstaff. While I was there. Ford. And did he search for you, and could not find you? Falstaff. You shall hear. As good luck would have it, comes in one mistress Fage ; gives intelligence of Ford's approach ; and by her invention, and Ford's wife's distraction, they conveyed me into a buck-basket. Ford. A buck-basket ! Falstaff. By the Lord, a buck-basket : rammed me in with foul shirts and smocks, socks, foul stock- ings, and greasy napkins ; that, master Brook, there was the rankest compound of villainous smell, that ever offended nostril. Ford. And how long lay you there ? Fa.ataff. 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 Dalchet-lane: they took me on their shoulders ; met the jealous knave their master in the door, who asked them once or twice what they had in their basket. I quaked for fear, lest the lunatic knave would have searched it ; but fate, ordaining he should be a cuckold, held his hand. Well ; on went he for a search, and away went 1 for foul clothes. But mark the sequel, master Brook : I suffered the pangs of three several deaths : first, an intolera- ble 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 then, 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 ; that am, as subject to heat, as butter ; a man of continuali 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, likel I a Dutch dish, to be thrown into the ThumcsA and cooled, glowing hot, in that surge, like ai horse shoe ; think of that,— hissing hot, — thinki of that, master Brook. Ford. In good sadness, sir, I am sorry that for my sake you have suffered all this. My suit, then, is desperate; you'll undertake her no more? | Falstaff. Master Brook., I will be thrown into 2Etna, as; I have . Sc. i. MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. I hive been into Thames, ere I will leave her Ikui Her hushand is this morning gone a birding : I have received from her another era- 'i meeting ; 'twixt eight and nine is the hour, master Brook. Ford. 'Tis past eight already, sir. Falstaft*. Is it? I will then address me to my appoint- ment. Come to me at your convenient leisure, an I you shall know how I speed, and the con- dition shall be crowned with your enjoying In r : adieu. You shall have her, master Brook ; ■aster Brook, you shall cuckold Ford. f Exit Ford. Hum : ha ! is this a vision ? is this a dream ? do I sl^ep ? Master Ford, awake ! awake, master Ford! there's a hole made in your best coat, master Ford. This 'tis to be married : this 'tis to have linen, and buck-baskets Well, 1 will proclaim myself what I am : I will now take the lecher ; he is at my house : he cannot 'scape me ; 'tis impossible he should : he cannot creep into a halfpenny purse, nor into a pepper- box : but, lest the devil that guides him should aid him, 1 will search impossible places. Though what I am I cannot avoid, yet to be what I would not, shall not make me tame : if 1 have horns to make me mad, let the proverb go with me, I'll be horn mad. (Exit. ACT IV. SCENE I. The Street. Enter Mrs. Page, Mrs. Quickly, and William. Mrs. Page. T S he at master Ford's already, think'st thou ? 1 Quickly. i Sure, he is by this, or will be presently ; but I truly, he is very courageous mad about his throwing into the water. Mistress Ford desires you to come suddenly. Mrs. Page. I'll be with her by and by : I'll but bring my i young man here to school. Look, where his I master comes ; 'tis a playing-day, I see. Enter Sir Hugh Evans. How now, sir Hugh ! no school to day ? Evans. No ; master Slender is let the boys leave to Pliiy - Quickly. Blessing of his heart 1 Mrs. Page. ! Sir Uuzh, my husband says, my son profits nothing in the world at his book : 1 pray you, ask him some questions in his accidence. Evans. iCome hither, William : hold up your head ; come. Mrs. Page. Come on, sirrah : hold up your head ; answer your master, be not afraid. Evans. William, how many numbers is in nouns ? William. Two. Quickly. Truly, I thought there had been one number j more, because they say, od's nouns. Evans. Peace your tattlings ! — What is fair, Wil- ! Ham? William. , Fulcher. Quickly. I Pole-cats ! there are fairer things than pole- cats, sure. Evans. You arc a very simplicity 'oman : I pray you, j peace.— What is lapis, William t William. A stone. hvans. And what is a stone, William f William. j A pebble. _ Evans. No, it is lapis : I pray you remember in your William. I Lapis. Lvans. That is a good William. What is he, William, that does lend articles ? William. A rticles are borrowed of the pronoun ; and be thus declined, Singulariter, nominativo, hie, hate, hoc. _ Evans. Nominative-, hig, hag, hog ; — pray you, mark : genitivo, hujus. Well, what is your accusative prain. William. case? Accusativo, hinc. Evans. I pray you, have your remembrance, child: accusativo, hing, hang, hog. Quickly. Hang hog is Latin for bacon, I warrant you. Evans, leave your prabbles, 'oman. — What is the focative case, William t William. O — vocalivo, O. _ Evans. Remember, William ; focative is, caret. Quickly. And that's a good root. Evans. 'Oman, forbear. Mrs. Page. Peace ! _, Evans. What is your genitive case plural, William T William. Evans. Genitive case ? Ay- William. Genitive, — horum, harum, horum. Quickly. Vengeance of Jenny's case ! fie on her ! — Never name her, child, if she be a whore. Evans. For shame, 'oman ! « , , , Quickly. 7 o MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. Act iv. Sc. i Quickly. You do ill to teach the child such words — He teaches him to hick and to hack, which they'll do fast enough of themselves ; and to call horum, — fie upon you 1 Evans. 'Oman, art thou lunatics ? hast thou no under- : standings for thy cases, and the numbers of the j genders. Thou art as foolish Christian crea-; tures as I would desires. Mrs. Page. Pr'ythee hold thy peace. Evans. Show me now, William, some declensions of your pronouns. William. Forsooth, I have forgot. Evans. Tt is qui, quce, quod; if you forget your quis, your quccs, and your quods, you must be preeches. Go your ways, and play ; go. Mrs. Page. He is a better scholar, than I thought he was. Evans. He is a good sprag memory. Farewell, mis- tress Page. B Mrs. Page. Adieu, good sir Hugh. [Kxit Sir Hugh.} Get you home, boy. — Come, we stay too long. SCENE II. A Room in Ford's House. Enter FalsUff and Mrs. Ford. Falstaff. 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, Mrs. Ford, in the simple office of love, but in all the accoutrement, complement, and ceremony of it. But are you sure of your husband now? _. _ . Mrs. Ford. He's a birding, sweet sir John. Mrs. Page. [Within. What hoa ! gossip Ford ! what hoa ! Mrs. Ford. Step into the chamber, sir John^ ^^ Enter Mrs. Page. Mrs. Page. How now, sweetheart ! who's at home besides yourself? Mrs . Ford . Why, none but mine own people. Mrs. Page. Indeed? .- ., . Mrs. Ford. No, certainly — [ A «de.] Speak louder. Mrs. Page. Truly, I am so glad you have nobody here. MrsT Ford. Wh * ? 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 mankind ; 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 tameness, 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 com- pany from their sport, to make another experi- ment of his suspicion. But 1 am glad the knight is not here ; now he shall see his own foolery. Mrs. Ford. How near is he, mistress Page ? Mrs. Page. Hard by ; at street end : he will be here anon. Mrs. Ford. I am undone ! the knight is here. Mrs. Page. Why, then you are utterly shamed, and he's but a dead man. What a woman are you ! — Away with him, away with him : better shame than murder. . _ , Mrs. Ford. Which way should he go? how should \ bestow him ? Shall I put him into the basket again? Re-enter Falstaff. Falstaff. No, I'll come no more i' the basket. May I not go out, ere he come ? Mrs. Page. Alas, three of master Ford's brothers watch the door with pistols, that none shall issue out ; otherwise you might slip away ere he came. But what make you here ? Falstaff. What shall I do?-— I'll creep up into the chimney. Mrg . Ford . There they always use to discharge their bird- ing-pieces. Creep into the kiln-hole. Falstaff. 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. Falstaff. I'll go out, then. Mrs. Page. If you go out in your own semblance, you die, sir John. Unless you go out disguised, — Mrs. Ford. How might we disguise him ? Mrs. Page. Alas the day 1 I know not. There is no woman's gown big enough for him ; otherwise, he might put on a hat, a muffler, and a kerchief, and so escape. Falsta ff. 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 Act rv. Sc. n. MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR 7« he it: and there's her thrum'd hat, and her mutller too. — Hun up, tlr John. Mrt. Ford. Go, go, tweet sir John : mistrest Page and 1 will look some linen for your head. Mrt. Page. Quick, quick: we'll come dress you straight put on the gown the while. [Exit FalsTaJT- Mrt. Ford. I would, my husband would meet him in this thape : he cannot abide the old woman of Brent- ford ; he swears, she's a witch ; forbade her my house, and hath threatened to beat her. Mrt. Page. Heaven guide him to thy husband's cudgel, and the devil guide his cudgel afterwards 1 Mrs. Ford. But is my husband coming? Mrt. Page. Ay, in good sadness, is he ; and talks of the basket too, howsoever he hath had intelligence Mrt. Ford. We'll try that ; for I'll appoint my men to carry the basket again, to meet him at the door with it, as they did last time. Mrt. Page. Nay, but he'll be here presently : lets go dress him like the witch of Brentford. Mrs. Ford. 1*11 first direct my men what they shall do with the basket. Go up, I'll bring linen ibr him straight TExitr Mrt. Page. Hang him, dishonest varlet ! we cannot mis- use him enough. We'll 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 ; '1 is old but true, " Still swine eat all the dtaff." Re-enter Mrt. Ford, with two Servantt. Mrt. 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^-das- Pa C 1 Servant. Come, come, take it up. 2 Servant. Pray heaven, it be not full of knight again. 1 Servant. I hope not ; I had as lief bear so much lead. Enter Ford, Page, Shallow, Cains, 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 wile. Youth in a basket ! — O you panderly rascals ! there's a knot, a ging, a pack, aconspiracy against me: now shall the devil be shamed. — What, wife, I say ! Come, come forth : behold what honest clothes you send forth to bleaching. Why, this passes 1 Master Ford, you are not to go loose any longer ; you must be pinioned. Why, this is lunatics : this it mad as a mad dog. Shallow Indeed, master Ford, this is not well ; indeed. Enter Mrt. Ford. Ford. So say I too, tir — Come hither, mistress 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. Tord Well said, brazen-face; hold it out — Come forth, sirraJj^ the c , othef out of the Baiket . Page. This passes! MrsForty, and his dam the other, and so they shall be both bestowed. I have suffered more for their sakes, more, than the villainous inconstancy of man's disposition is able to bear. „ Quickly. And have not they suffered ? Yes, I war- ; rant ; speciously one of them : mistress Ford, good heart, is beaten black and blue, that you i cannot see a white spot about her. Falstaff. What tell'st thou me of black and blue? 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 admirable dexterity of wit, my counterfeiting the action of an old woman, deliver'd me, the knave con- stable had set mei' the stocks, i' the common stocks, for a witch. _, , . . ' Quickly. 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. Falstaff. Come up into my chamber. [Exeunt. SCENE VI. Another Room in the Garter Iun. Enter Fenton and Host. Host. Master Fenton, talk not to me : my mind is heavy ; 1 will give over all. Fenton. Yet hear me speak. Assist me in my purpose, And, as I am a gentleman, I'll give thee A hundred pound in gold more than your lf£s, s t Sc. in. MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR, 75 Host. I will hear you, master Fenion; and I will, at the least, keep your counsel. Feu ton. 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 . rshowTngthe letter. I'll show you here at large. Hark, good mine Host : [one, To-night at Heine'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, even strong against that match, And firm for Dr. Cains, 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 in- The better to denote her to the doctor, [tended, (For they must all be mask'd and vizarded) That quaint in green she shall be loose enrob'd, With ribands pendant, flaring 'bout her head ; And when the doctor spies his vantage ripe, To pinch her by the hand, and on that token The maid hath given consent to go with him. Host. Which means she to deceive ? father or mo- ther? Fen ton. Both, my good host, to go along with me : And here it rests, — that you'll procure the vicar To stay for me at church 'twixt twelve and one, And in the lawful name of marrying, To give our hearts united ceremony. Host. Well, husband your device : I'll to the vicar. Bring you the maid, you shall not lack a priest. Fenton. So shall I evermore be bound to thee ; Besides, I'll make a present recom P eQ sfE Xeun f ■9"®-0-0-# ••e--#-©"®-- racking the stones of the foresaid prunes. Froth. Ay, so I did, indeed. Clown. Why, very well : I telling you then, if you be remember'd, that such a one, and such a one, were past cure of the thing you wot of, unless they kept very good diet, as 1 told you. Froth. AH this is true. Clown. Why, very well then. Escalus. Come ; you are a tedious fool : to the purpose. — W hat was done to Elbow's wife, that he hath cause to complain of? Come me to what was done to her. Clown. Sir, your honour cannot come to that yet. Escalus. No, sir, nor I mean it not. Clown. Sir, but you shall come to it, by your honour's I leave. And, I beseech you, look into master ! Froth here, sir ; a man of fourscore pound a year, whose father died at Hallowmas. — Was't not at Hallowmas, master Froth? Froth. All-hallownd eve. Clown Why, very well : I hope here be truths. He, sir, sitting, as I say, in a lower chair, sir ; — 'twas i 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. Clown, Why, very well then: I hope here be truths. ; Angelo This will last out a night in Russia, [leave, When nights are longest there. I'll take my And leave you to the hearing of the cause, Hoping you'll find good cause to whip them all. Escalus. I think no less. Good morrow to your lord- ship. [Exit Angelo. Now, sir, come on : what was done to Elbow'* ; wife, once more? Clown. I Once, sir ? there was nothing done to her once. Elbow. I beseech you, sir, ask him what this man did to my wife. Clown. I beseech your honour, ask me. Escalus . Well, sir, what did this gentleman to her ? ('town. J I beseech you, sir, look in this gentleman's , face— Good master Froth, look upon his honour ; i 'tis for a good purpose. Doth your honour mark his face ? Escalus. j Ay, sir, very well. Clown. Nay. 1 beseech you, mark it well. Escalus. Well, 1 do so. Clown. Doth your honour see any harm in his face ? Escalus. Why, no. Clown. I'll be supposed upon a book, his face is the worst thing about him. Good then ; if his face be the worst thing about him, how could master Froth do the constable's wife any harm ? 1 would know that of your honour. Escalus. He's in the right. Constable, what say you to it? Elbow. First, an it like you, the house Is a respected house ; next, this is a respected fellow, and his mistress is a respected woman. Clown. By this hand, sir, his wife is a more respected person than any of us all. Elbow. Varlet, thou liest : thou liest, wicked varlet. The time is yet to come that she was ever re- spected with man, woman, or child. Clown. Sir, she was respected with him, before he married with her. Escalus. Which is the wiser here? Justice, or Iniquity f —Is this true ? Elbow. 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'll have mine action of battery on thee. Escalus. If he took you a box o' th' ear, you might have your action of slander too. Elbow. Marry, I thank your good worship for it. What is't your worship r s pleasure I shall do with this wicked caitiff ? Escalus. Truly, officer, because he hath some offences in him, that thou wouldst discover if thou couldst, let him continue in his courses, till thou know'st what they are. Elbow. 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 to continue. Escalus. Where were you born, friend ? Froth. Here in Vienna, sir. Escalus. Are you of fourscore pounds a year ? Froth. Yes, an't please you, sir. Escalus. So— What trade are you of, sir ? Clown. A tapster ; a poor widow's tapster. Escalus. Your mistress' name ? Clown. Mistress Over-done. Escalus. 86 MEASUKE FOR MEASURE. Act ii. Sc. i. Escalus. Hath she had any more than one husband ? Clown. Nine, sir ; Over-done by the last. Escalus. 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 own part, I never come into any room in a taphouse, but 1 am drawn in. Escalus. Well ; no more of it, master Froth : farewell. [Exit Froth.]— Come you hither to me, master tapster. What's your name, master tapster ? Clown. Escalus. What else ? Clown. Bum, sir. Escalus. '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, tompey, howsoever you colour it in being a tapster. Are you not ? come, tell me true : it shall be the better for you. Clown. Truly, sir, I am a poor fellow that would live. Escalus. How would you live, Pompey? by being a bawd ? W hat do you think of the tr ade, Pompey ? is it a lawful trade ? Clown. If the law would allow it, sir. Escalus. But the law will not allow it, Pompey ; nor it shall not be allowed in Vienna. Clown. Does your worship mean to geld and spay all the youth of the city ? Escalus. No, Pompey. Clown. Truly, sir, in my poor opinion, they will to't then. If your worship will take order for the drabs and the knaves, you need not to fear the bawds. Escalus. There are pretty orders beginning, I can tell you : it is but heading and hanging. Clown. If you head and hang all that offend that way but for ten year together, you'll be glad to give out a commission for more heads. If this law ] hold in Vienna ten year, I'll rent the fairest \ house in it after three pence a bay. If you live j to see this come to pass, say, Pompey told you so. : Escalus. Thank you, good Pompey; and, in requital of '• your prophecy, hark you : — I advise you, let me not find you before me again upon any complaint j whatsoever ; no, not for dwelling where you do : : I if 1 do, Pompey, I shall beat you to your tent, { 1 and prove a shrewd Casar to you. In plain | dealing, Pompfiy, I shall have you whipt. So, j for this time, Pompey, fare you well. |! ; , I Clown. 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. Escalus. Come hither to me, master Elbow; come hither, master constable. How long have you been in this place of constable ? Elbow. Seven year and a half, sir. Escalus. I thought, by the readiness in the office, you had continued in it some time. You say, seven years together ? Elbow. And a half, sir. Escalus. Alas 1 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 ? Elbow. Faith, sir, few of any wit in such matters. 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. Escalus. Look you bring me in the names of some six or seven, the most sufficient of your parish. Elbow. To your worship's house, sir ? Escalus. To my house. Fare you well. [Exit Elbow. What's o'clock, think you ? Justice. Eleven, sir. Escalus. I pray you home to dinner with me. Justice. I humbly thank you. Escalus. It grieves me for the death of Claudio ; But there's no remedy. Justice. Lord Angela is severe. Escalus. It is but needful : Mercy is not itself, that oft looks so ; Pardon is still the nurse of second woe. But yet, poor Claudio! — There is no remedy. Come, sir. [Exeunt. SCENE II. Another Room in the same. Enter Provost and a Servant. Servant. He's hearing of a cause : he will come straight. I'll tell him of you. Provost. Pray you, do. [Exit Servant.] I'll know His pleasure ; may be, he will relent. Alas 1 He hath but as offended in a dream : All sects, all ages smack of this vice, and he To die for it! — Enter Angela, Angelo. Now, what's the matter, provost r Provost. Is it your will Claudio shall die to-morrow ? Angelo. Act ii. Sc. u. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. *7 Ancelo. Did I not tell thee, yea? hadst thou not order ? Why dost thou ask again ? Provost. Lest I might be too rash. • 'Under your good correction, 1 have seen, When, after execution, judgment hath ited o'er his doom. Angelo. Go to ; let that be mine : Do you your office, or give up your place, And you shall well be spar'd. Provost. I crave your honour's pardon. *;s with the groanin [Juliet , What shall be done, She's very near her hour. Angelo. Dispose of her To some more fitter place, and that with speed. Re-enter Servant. Servant. 1 Here is the sister of the man condemn'd Desires access to you. Angelo. Hath he a sister ? Provost. Ay, my good lord ; a very virtuous maid, And to be shortly of a sisterhood, If not already. Angelo. Well, let her be admitted. TExit Servant. See you the fornicatress be removed : Let her have needful, but not lavish, means ; There shall be order for it. Enter Lucio and Isabella. Provost. Save your honour ! [Offering to retire. Angelo. Stay a little while [To Isabella.) Y' are welcome : what's your will ? Isabella. I am a woeful suitor to your honour, Please but your honour hear me. Angelo. Well ; what's your suit ? Isabella. 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 1 must; For which I must not plead, but that I am At war 'twixt will, and will not. Angelo. Well; the matter? Isabella. 1 I have a brother is condemn'd to die : ', I do beseech you, let it be his fault, : And not my brother. Provost. [Aside. Heaven give thee moving graces 1 Angelo. 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 fine the faults, whose fine stands in record, And let go by the actor. Isabella. O just, but severe law ! 1 had a brother then — Heaven keep your honour ! [Retiring. Lucio. [To Isabella. [ Give *t not o'er so : to him again, intreat 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, 1 say. Isabella. Must he needs die ? Angelo. Maiden, no remedy. Isabella- Yes ; I do think that you might pardon him, And neither heaven, nor man, grieve at the mercy. Angelo. I will not do't. Isabella. But can you, if you would ? Angelo. Look ; what I will not, that I cannot do. Isabella. But might you do't, and do the world no wron itch our erlls there? O. fye, fye, fye 1 Whit dost thou, or what art thou, Angela? pMl thou desire her foully for those things Th it make her good ? O, let her brother live ! 1 hieves for their robbery have authority, [her, Wl en judges steal themselves. What ! do I love That I desire to hear her speak again, »nd feast upon her eyes? What is't I dream cunning enemy, that, to catch a saint, [on ? With saints dost bait thy hook ! Most dangerous Is that temptation, that doth goad us on [pet, To sin in loving virtue. Never could the strum- 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. A Room In a TrUon. | Enter Duke, habited like a Friar, and Provost. Duke. Hail to you, provost ; so I think you are. Provost. I am the provost. What's your will, good friar r Duke. Bound by my charity, and my bless'd order. 1 come to visit the afflicted spirits 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 1 may minister To them accordingly. Provost. 1 I would do more than that, if more were needful. Enter Juliet- Look ; here comes one: a gentlewoman of mine, Who, falling in the flaws of her own youth, Hath blister'd her report. She is with child, And he that got it, sentene'd — a young man More fit to do another such offence, Than die for this. Duke. When must he die ? Provost. As I do think, to-morrow — [To Juliet. , I have provided for you : stay a while, ; And you shall be conducted. Duke. Repent you, fair one, of the sin you carry ? Juliet. 1 do, and bear the shame most patiently. Duke. I'll teach you how you shall arraign your conscience. And try your penitence, if it be sound, i Or hollowly put on. Juliet. I'll gladly learn. Duke. Love you the man that wrong'd you ? Juliet. Yes, as I love the woman that wrong'd him. Duke. So then, it seems, your most offenceful act Was mutually committed? Juliet. Mutually. Dul . Then was your sin of heavier kiad than his. Juliet I do confess it, and repent it, father. Duke. 'Tis meet so, daughter : but least you do re- pent, As that the sin hath brought you to this shame ; Which sorrow is always toward ourselves, not heaven, [it, Showing, we would not spare heaven, as we love 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. Grace go with you ! Benedicite! [Exit. Juliet. Must die to morrow I O, injurious love, That respites me a life, whose very comfort Is still a dying horror ! Provost. 'Tis pity of him. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. A Room In Angelo'* House. Enter Angelo. Angelo. When I would pray and think, I think and pray To several subjects: heaven hath my empty words WTiilst 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 1, with boot, change for an idle plume, Which the air beats for vain O place ! t ) form ! How often dost thou with thy case, thy habit, Wrench awe from fools, and tie the wiser souls > To thy false seeming 1 Blood, thou art blood : I Let's write good angel on the devil's horn, 'Tis not the devil's crest. Enter Servant. How now ! who's there ? Servant. One Isabel, a sister, Desires access to you. Angelo. Teach her the way. [Exit Servant. O heavens ! W hy does my blood thus muster to my heart, Making both it unable for itself, And dispossessing all my other parts Of necessary fitness? So play the foolish throngs with one that swoons; Come all to help him, and so stop the air By which he should revive : and even so The general, subject to a well-wish'd king, Quit their own part, and in obsequious fondness Crowd to his presence, where their untaught Must needs appear offence. [love Enter Isabella. How now fair maid ? Isabella. I am come to know your pleasure. Angelo 9 o MEASURE FOR MEASURE. -71 Act ii. Sc. iv. Angelo. That you might know it, would much better please me, [live. Than to demand what 'tis. Your brother cannot Isabella. Even so. — Heaven keep your honour ! [Retiring. Angelo, Yet may he live a while ; and, it may be, As long as you, or I : yet he must die. Isabel'a. Under your sentence ? Angelo. Yea. Isabella. When, I beseech you ? that in his reprieve, Longer or shorter, he may be so fitted, 1 hat his soul sicken not. Angelo. Ha ! Fye, these filthy vices ! It were as good To pardon liim, 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. Isabella 'Tis set down so in heaven, but not in earth. Angelo. Say you so ? then, I shall pose 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 ? Isabella. Sir, believe this, I had rather give my body thau my soul. Angelo. I talk not of your soul. Our compell'd sins Stand more for number than for accompt. Isabella. How say you ? Angelo. Nay, I'll 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 ? Isabella. Please you to do't, I'll take it as a peril to my soul : It is no sin at all, but charity. Angelo. Pleas'd you to do't, at peril of your soul, Were equal poize of sin and charity. Isabella. 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'll make it my morn-prayer To have it added to the faults of mine, And nothing of your answer. Angelo. Nay, but hear me. Jfour sense pursues not mine: either you are ignorant, Or seem so, crafty ; and that is not good. Isabella. Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good, But graciously to know 1 am no better. Angeio. 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'll speak more gross. Your brother is to die. So. Isabella. Angelo. And his offence is so, as it appears Accountant to the law upon that pain. Isabella. True. Angelo. 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-building 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 to let him suffer, What would you do ? Isabella. As much for my poor brother, as myself: That is, were I under the terms of death, Th' 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. Angelo. Then must f Your brother die. Isabella. ! And 'twere the cheaper way. i Better it were, a brother died at once, j Than that a sister, by redeeming him, I Should die for ever. Angelo. j Were not you, then, as cruel, as the sentence ! That you have slander'd so ? Isabella. Ignomy in ransom, and free pardon, jAre of two houses : lawful mercy is j Nothing akin to foul redemption. Angelo. i You seem'd of late to make the law a tyrant ; | And rather prov'd the sliding of your brother A merriment, than a vice. Isabella. 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. Angelo. We are all frail. Isabella. Else let my brother die, If not a feodary, but only he, Owe, and succeed thy weakness. Angelo. Nay, women are frail too. Isabella. Ay, as the glasses where they view them- selves, Which are as easy broke as they make forms. iWomen ! — Help heaven ! men their creation mar [frail, In profiting by them. Nav, call us ten times For Act hi. Sc. i. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 9* For we are soft as our complexions are, And credulous to false prints. Angelo. I think it well ; And from this testimony of your own sex, ( Since, I suppose, we are made to be no stronger, Than faults may shake our frames,) let me be I do arrest your words. Be that you are, [bold: That is, a woman ; if you be more, you're If you be one. (as you are well express'd [none ; By all external warrants,) show it now, By putting on the destin'd livery. Isabella. 1 have no tongue but one : gentle my lord, Let me intrcat you speak the former language. Angelo. Plainly, conceive I love you. Isabella. My brother did love Juliet ; and you tell me, That he shall die for't. Angelo. He shall not, Isabel, if you give me love. Isabella. I know, your virtue hath a licence in't, Which seems a little fouler than it is, To pluck on others. Angelo. Believe me, on mine honour, My words express my purpose. Isabella. Ha ! little honour to be much believ'd, And most pernicious purpose !_ Seeming, seeming ! — 1 will proclaim thee, Angelo ; look for't : Sign me a present pardon for my brother, Or with an outstretch'd throat I'll tell the Aloud what man thou art. [world Angelo. Who will believe thee, Isabel? My unsoil'd name, the austereness of my life, M V 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. 1 have begun, And now I give my sensual race the rein : Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite ; Lay by all nicety, and prohxious blushes, That banish what they sue for; redeem thy By yielding up thy body to my will, [brother 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'll prove a tyrant to him. As for you, Say what you can, my false o'erweighs your true. CExIt. Isabella. To whom should 1 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 law make court'sy to their will, Hooking both right and wrong to th' appetite, To follow as it draws. I'll to my brother : Though he hath fallen by prompture of theblood, Yet hath he in him such a mind of honour, That had he twenty heads to tender down On twenty bloody blocks, he'd yield them up, Before his sister should her body stoop To *uch abhorr'd pollution. Then, Isabel, live chaste, and, brother, die : More than our brother is our chastity. I'll tell him yet of Angela's request, And fit his mind to death, for his soul's rest. [Exit. 0..@..0..^.0..@..^..^..0..0. ACT III. SCENE I. A Room in the Prison. Enter Duke, as a Friar, Claudia, and Provott. Duke. CO then, you hope of pardon from lord Angela? Claudio. 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, Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing [life : — That none but fools would keep : a breath thou Servile to all the skyey influences, [art 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 run'st toward him still: thou art not noble ; For all th' 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 j Of a poor worm : thy best of rest is sleep, I And that thou oft provok'st, yet grossly fear'st j 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 forget'st. Thou art not certain ; For thy complexion shifts to strange effects, After the moon : if thou art rich, thou'rt 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, Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty, To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in this, 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. Claudio. 1 humbly thank you. To sue to live, I find, I seek to die, And, seeking death, find life : let it come on. Isabella. [Without. What, ho ! Peace here ; grace and good company. Provost. Who's there? come in: the wish deserves a welcome. Enter | 9 2 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. Act hi. Sc. i. Enter Isabella. Duke. Dear sir, ere long I'll visit you again. Claudio. Most holy sir, I thank you. Isabella. My business is a word or two with Claudio. Provost. And very welcome. Look, signior; here's your sister. Duke. Provost, a word with you. Provost. As many as you please. Duke. Bring me to hear them speak, where I may be conceal'd. [Exeunt Duke and Provost. Claudio. Now, sister, what's the comfort ? Isabella. Why, as all Comforts are : most good, most good, indeed. Lord Angelo, having affairs to heaven, Intends you for his swift ambassador, Where you shall be an everlasting leiger : Therefore, your best appointment make with To-morrow you set on. [speed ; Claudio. Is there no remedy ? Isabella. None, but such remedy, as to save a head To cleave a heart in twain. Claudio. But is there any ? Isabella. Yes, brother, you may live : There is a devilish mercy in the judge, It you'll implore it, that will free your life, But fetter you till death. Claudio. Perpetual durance ? Isabella. Ay, just ; perpetual durance : a restraint, Though all the world's vastidity you had, To a determin'd scope. Claudio. But in what nature ? Isabella. In such a one as, you consenting to't, Would bark your honour from that trunk you And leave you naked. [bear, Claudio. Let me know the point. Isabella. O ! I do fear thee, Claudio ; and I quake, Lest thou a feverous life should'st 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. Claudio. 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. Isabella. There spake my brother : there my father's grave Did utter forth a voice. Yes, thou must die: Thou art too noble to conserve a life In base appliances. This outward-sainted deputy, Whose settled visage and deliberate word Kips youth i' the head, and follies doth enmew As falcon doth the fowl, is yet a devil ; His filth within being cast, he would appear A pond as deep as hell. Claudio. The princely Angelo ? Isabella. O, 'tis the cunning livery of hell, The damned'st body to invest and cover In princely guards 1 Dost thou think, Claudio, If 1 would yield him my virginitv, Thou might'st be freed.? Claudio. O, heavens ! it cannot be Isabella. Yes, he would give't thee from this rank offence, I 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. Claudio. Thou shalt not do't. Isabella. O ! were it but my life, I'd throw it down for your deliverance As frankly as a pin. Claudio. Thanks, dear Isabel. Isabella. Be ready, Claudio, for your death to-morrow. Claudio. 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. Isabella. Which is the least ? Claudio. If it were damnable, he being so wise, Why would he for the momentary trick Be perdurably fin'd ? — O Isabel ! Isabella. What says my brother ? Claudio. Death is a fearful thing. Isabella. And shamed life a hateful. Claudio. 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 region of thick-ribbed ice ; To be imprison'd in the viewless winds, 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. Isabella. Alas ! alas ! Claudio Sweet sister, let me live. What y Ac i in. Sc. T. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. Wli it sin you do to save a brother's life, Nature dispenses with the deed so far, That it becomes a virtue. Isabella. O, you beast ! O, faithless coward ! O, dishonest wretch 1 Wilt thou be made a man out of my vice ? Is't not a kind of incest to take life [think ? From thine own sister's shame ? What should I Heaven shield, my mother play'd my father fair, For sui'h a warped slip of wilderness Ne'er issu'd from his blood. Take my defiance : Die ; perish ! might but my bending down Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed. I'll pray a thousand prayers for thy death, No word to save thee. Claudio. Nay, hear me, Isabel. Isabella. O, fie, fie, fie 1 Thy sin's not accidental, but a trade. Mercy to thee would prove itself a bawd : 'Tis best that thou diest quickly. [Oolng. Claudio. O hear me, Isabella ! He-enter Duke. Duke. Vouchsafe a word, young sister; but one word. Isabella. What is your will ? Duke. Might you dispense with your leisure, I would by and by have some speech with you : the sa- tisfaction 1 would require, is likewise your own benefit. Isabella. I have no superfluous leisure : my stay must be stolen out of other affairs ; but I will attend you a while. Duke. Claudio. Son, I have overheard what hath past between you and your sister. Angelo had never the pur- pose to corrupt her ; only he hath made an essay i of her virtue, to practise his judgment with the ! disposition of natures. She, having the truth of | honour in her, hath made him that gracious de- '• nial which he is most glad to receive : I am con- ! fessor to Angelo, and I know this to be true ; : therefore prepare yourself to death. Do not satisfy your resolution with hopes that are fal- lible : to-morrow you must die. Go ; to your knees, and make ready. Claudio. Let me ask my sister pardon. I am so out of love with life, that 1 will sue to be rid of it. Duke. Hold you there: farewell. [F.xlt Claudio. Ke-enter Provost. Provost, a word with you. Provost. 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. Provost. In good time. [Exit Provost. Duke. The hand that hath made you fair hath made 93 you good : the goodness that is cheap in beauty makes beauty brief in goodness ; but grace, being the soul of your complexion, shall keep the body of it ever fair. The assault, that Angelo hath made to you, fortune hath convey'd to my un- derstanding ; 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 ? Isabella. 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 re- turn, 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. — Therefore, 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 re- turn to have hearing of this business. Isabella Let me hear you speak farther. 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? Isabella. I have heard of the lady, and good words went with her name. Duke. She should this Angelo have married ; he was affianced to her by oath, and the nuptial ap- pointed : between which time of the contract, and limit of the solemnity, her brother Frederick was wrecked at sea, having in that perish'd vessel the dowry of his sister. But mark how heavily this befel 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 hus- band, this well-seeming Angelo. Isabella. 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 dis- honour : in few, bestowed her on her own la- mentation, which she yet wears for his sake, and he, a marble to her tears, is washed with them, but relents not. Isabella. What a merit were it in death to take this poor maid from the world 1 What corruption in this life, that it will let this man live !— But how 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. Isabella. Show me how, good father. Duke. 94 MEASUKE FOR MEASURE. Act hi. Sc. i. Duke. This fore-named maid hath yet in her the con- tinuance of her first affection : his unjust un- kindness, 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 plausible 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, and now follows all: we shall advise this wronged maid to stead up your ap- pointment, 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 defends the deceit from reproof. What think you of it? Isabella. The image of it gives me content already, and, I trust, it will grow to a most prosperous perfec- tion. 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 dejected Mariana : at that place call upon me, and despatch with Angelo, that it may be quickly. Isabella. I thank you for this comfort. Fare you well, good father. [Exeunt. SCENE II. The Street before the Prison. Enter Duke, as a Friar : to him Elbow, Clovon, and Officers. Elbow. 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 ? Clown. 'T was never merry world, since, of two usuries, the merriest was put down, and the worser allow'd by order of law a furr'd gown to keep him warm ; and furr'd with fox and lamb-skins too, to signify that craft, being richer than in- nocency, stands for the facing. Elbow. Come your way, sir.— Bless you, good father friar. Duke. And you, good brother father. What offence hath this man made you, sir ? Elbow. Marry, sir, he hath offended the law : and, sir, we take him to be a thief too, sir ; for we have found upon him, sir, a strange pick-lock, 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, I From such a filthy vice: say to thyself, From their abominable and beastly touches j I drink, I eat, array myself, and live. i Canst thou believe thy living is a life, ! So stinkingly depending ? Go mend, go mend. Clown. Indeed, it does stink in some sort,sir ; but yet, j sir, I would prove ! Duke. j Nay, if the devil have given thee proofs for sin, Thou wilt prove his. Take him to prison, officer : i Correction and instruction must both work, Ere this rude beast will profit. Elbow. i He must before the deputy, sir ; he has given him warning. The deputy cannot abide a whore- master: 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, From our faults, as faults from seeming, free ! Enter Lucio. Elbow. His neck will come to your waist, a cord, sir. j j Clown, I spy comfort : I cry, bail Here's a gentle- j j man, and a friend of mine. Lucio. How now, noble Pompey! What, at the ! wheel* 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 thepocket and extracting it clutch'd ? What reply ? Ha ! What say'st thou to this j tune, matter, and method ? Is't not drown 'd i' the last rain ? Ha 1 What say'st thou, trot ? Is the world as it was, man ? Which is the i way ? Is it sad, and few words, or how ? The j trick of it ? Duke. Still thus, and thus : still worse ! Lucio. How doth my dear morsel, thy mistress ? Procures she still ? Ha 1 Clown. Troth, sir, she hath eaten up all her beef, and she is herself in the tub. Lucio. Why, 'tis good ; it is the right of it ; it must be so : ever your fresh whore, and your powder'd bawd : an unshunn'd consequence ; it must be so. Art going to prison, Pompey ? Clown. Yes, faith, sir. Lucio. ! Why 'tis not amiss, Pompey. Farewell. Go ; • say, I sent thee thither. For debt, Pompey, or ! how ? Elbow. For being a bawd, for being a bawd. Lucio. ! Well, then, imprison him. If imprisonment I be the due of a bawd, why, 'tis his right : bawd | is he, doubtless, and of antiquity too ; bawd- j born. Farewell, good Pompey : commend me : to the prison, Pompey. You will turn good i husband now, Pompey ; you will keep the house. Clown. I hope, sir, your good worship will be my bail. Liino. Arr :n. Sc. ii. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 95 Lucio. indeed, will I not, Pompey ; it is not the I will pray, Pompey, to increase your bondage: iryou take it not patiently, why, your in.ttle is the more. Adieu, trusty Pompey. —Bleu you, friar. Duke. And you. Lucio. Does Bridget paint still, Pompey f Ha ! Elbow. Come your ways, sir ; come. Clown. You will not bail me, then, sir ? Lucio. Then, Pompey, nor now.— What news abroad, friar? What news? Elbow. Come your ways, sir ; come. Lucio. Go ; to kennel, Pompey, go. [Exeunt Elbow, Clown, and Officers. What 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 Angela 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, I friar. Duke. It is too general a vice, and severity must 1 , cure it. Lucio. Yes, in good sooth, the vice is of a great kin- > dred : it is well allied ; but it is impossible to extirp it quite, friar, till eating and drinking be put down. They say, this A ngelo was not made by man and woman, after this downright way of creation : is it true, think you ? Duke. How should he be made then ? Lucio. Some report, a sea-maid spawn'd him : some, that he was begot between two stock-fishes ; but it is certain, that when he makes water, his urine is congeal'd ice : that I know to be true ; and he is a motion generative, that's infallible. Duke. 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 absent have done this ? Ere he would have hang'd 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 lock'd 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, unweighing, fel- low. 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 warranted need, give him a better proclamation. Let him be but testimonied in his own bringings forth, and he shall appear to the envious a scholar, a states- man, and a soldier. Therefore, you speak un- skilfully ; or, if your knowledge be more, it is much darken'd in your malice. Lucio. Sir, I know him, and I love him. Duke. Love talks with better knowledge, and know- ledge 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 I 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'll forswear this again. Lucio. I'll be hang'd 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. ' <;6 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. Act hi. Sc. ii. Lucio. Why ? for filling a bottle with a tun-dish. I would, the duke, we talk of, were return'd again : this ungenitur'd agent will unpeople the province with continency ; sparrows must not build in his house-eaves, because they are lecherous. The duke yet would have dark deeds darkly answer'd ; he would never bring them to light : would he were return'd ! Marry, this Claudia is condemn d for untrussing. 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 1 say to thee, he would mouth withi 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 ? Enter Escalus, Provost, Bawd, and Officers, Escalus. Go : away with her to prison ! Bawd. Good my lord, be good to me ; your honour is accounted a merciful man : good my lord. Kscalus . Double and treble admonition, and still forfeit ' in the same kind ? This would make mercy j swear, and play the tyrant. Provost. A bawd of eleven years' continuance, may it ! please your honour. Bawd. My lord, this is one Lurio's information against me. Mistress Kate Keep-down was with child by him in the duke's time: he promised 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 1 F. seal us. That fellow is a fellow of much licence : — let him be called before us. — Away with her to prison ! Go to ; no more words. \ Pxeunt Btnpd and QJflcer*. i Provost, my brother Angela will not be alter'd; Claudio must die to-morrow. Let him be furnished with divines, and have all charitable preparation : if my brother wrought by my pity, it should not be so with him. Provost. So please you, this friar hath been with him, and advised him for the entertainment of death. ,-, , , Escalus. Good even, good father. Duke - Bliss and goodness on you. _, , Escalus. Of whence are you ? Duke. Not of this country, though my chance is now To use it for my time : I am a brother Of gracious order, late come from the See, In special business from his holiness. road 1 the world? What news ab: 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 accurs'd. 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. Escalus. One that, above all other strifes, contended especially to know himself. Duke. What pleasure was he given to ? Escalus. Rather rejoicing to see another merry, than merry at any thing which profess'd 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 ine 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 sinister measure from his judge, but most willingly humbles himself to the determination of justice ; yet had he framed to himself, by the instruction of his frailty, many deceiving promises of life, which I, by my good leisure, have discredited to him, and now is he resolved to die. Kscalus. You have paid the heavens your function, and the prisoner the very debt of your calling. 1 have labour'd 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. ! I Kscalus. I am going to visit the prisoner. Fare you \ well. ' \\ Duke. Peace be with you ! [Exeunt Escalus and Provost. \ \ 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 Angel), 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, To draw with idle spiders' strings Most pond'rous and substantial things 1 Craft against vice I must apply. With Angelo to-night shall lie His old betrothed, but despised : So disguise shall, by the disguised, Pay with falsehood false exacting, And perform an old contracting. [Exit, A ci iv. Sc. ii. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 97 ACT IV. Vi? !. A Room at the moated Grange. ma discovered sitting : a Boy singing. Song. rpjKE, 0! 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 love, but seard in vain, seal'd in vain. Mariana. 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, My mirth is much displeas'd, but pleas'dmy woe. Duke. 'Tis good : though music oft hath such a charm, To make bad good, and good provoke to harm. I pray you, tell me, hath any body inquired for me here to-day? much upon this' time have I promis'd here to meet. Mariana. 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: maybe, 1 will call upon you anon, for some advantage to yourself. Mariana. I am always bound to you. [Exit. Duke. Very well met, and welcome. What is the news from this good deputy ? Isabella. He hath a garden circummur'd with brick, Whose western side is with a vineyard back'd j 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 upon the heavy Middle of the night to call upon him. Duke. But shall you on your knowledge find this way? Isabella. 1 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 T he way twice o'er. Duke. Are there no other tokens Between you 'greed, concerning her observance? Isabella. No, none, but only a repair i' the dark ; And that I have possess'd him my most stay Can be but brief: for 1 have made him know, I ha\ e a servant comes with me along, That stays upon me ; whose persuasion is, I come about my brother. *Tls well borne up. I have not vet 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. Isabella. .-..._, L ,„ I do desire the like. Duke. Do you persuade yourself that I respect you? Mariana. Good friar, I know you do, and have found it. Duke. Take then this your companion by the hand, Who hath a story ready for your ear. I shall attend your leisure : but make haste; The vaporous night approaches. Mariana. Will't please you walk aside ? [Exeunt Mariana and Isabella* Duke. 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 escapes of wit Make thee the father of their idle dream, And rack thee in their fancies 1 Re-enter Mariana and Isabella. Welcome 1 How agreed ? Isabella. She'll take the enterprize upon her, father, If you advise it. Duke. It is not my consent, But my entreaty too. Isabella. Little have you to say, When you depart from him, but, soft and low, 44 Remember now my brother." Mariana. Fear me not. Duke. Nor, gentle daughter, fear you not at all. He is your husband on a pre-contract : 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 tithe's to sow. [Exeunt. SCENE II. A Room in the Prison. Enter Provost and Clown. Provost. Come hither, sirrah. Can you cut off a man's head? Clown. 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. Provost. Come, sir ; leave me your snatches, and yield me a direct answer. 1 o-morrow morning are to die Claudia 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 ol imprison- ment, and your deliverance with an unpitied whipping, for you have been a notorious Jbawd. « Clown. 93 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. Act iv. Sc. ji. 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. What there ? Provost^^, ho, Abhorson! Where's Abhorson, Enter Abhorson. _ „ . Abhorson. Do you call, sir ? Sirrah, here's a fellow will help you to-morrow in your execution. If you think it meet, com- pound 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 estima- tion with you : he hath been a bawd. Enter Claudio. '. Look, here's the warrant, Claudio, for thy death : j ; 'Tis now dead midnight, and by eight to "morrow ; , Thou must be made immortal. Where's Bar-\ nardine ? Claudio. As fast lock'd up In sleep, as guiltless labour, When it lies starkly in the traveller's bones : He will not wake. Who/ Abhorson. A bawd, sir ? Fie upon him ! he will dis- : credit our mystery. Provost. j Go to, sir ; you weigh equally : a feather will turn the scale. [Exit. | 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 • mystery ? Abhorson. Ay, sir ; a mystery. Clown. Painting, sir, I have heard say, is a mystery ; and your whores, sir, being members of my oc- ; cupation, using painting, do prove my occupation j a mystery ; but what mystery there should be in hanging, if I should be hang'd, I cannot imagine. Abhorson. Sir, it is a mystery. Clown. Proof? Abhorson. Every true man's apparel fits your thief. Clown. 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. Provost. Are you agreed ? Clown. Sir, I will serve him; for I do find, your hangman is a more penitent trade than your bawd : he doth oftener ask forgiveness. Provost. You, sirrah, provide your block and your axe to-morrow, four o'clock. Abhorson. Come on, bawd ; I will instruct thee in my trade : follow. Clown. 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 kind- ness I owe you a good turn. Provost. Call hither Barnardine and Claudio : [Exeunt Clown and Abhorson. Th' one has my pity ; not a jot the other, Being a mur6V,.er, though he were my brother. can do good on him ? Well, go; prepare yourself. But hark, what noise? [Knocking within. Heaven give your spirits comfort! — By and ¥u b 7 : — 3 TExit Claudio. I hope it is some pardon, or reprieve, For the most gentle Claudio Welcome, father. Enter Duke. Duke. The best and wholsom'st spirits of the night j Envelop you, good provost! Who call'd herei of late ? Provost. rfe\ None, since the curfew rung. Duke. Provost. Not Isabel f Duke. They will then, ere't be long. What comfort is for Duke :e. There's some in hope .... , Provost. It is a bitter deputy. Duke. I Not so, not so : his life is paraliel'd Even with the stroke and line of 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 ; [Knocking within. But this being so, he's just. — Now are they come.— [Exit Provost. This is a gentle provost : seldom, when The steeled gaoler is the friend of men. [Knocking. How now ? vVhat noise ? That spirit's pos- sessed with haste, [strokes. That wounds th' unsisting postern with these Re-enter Provost. Provost. {[Speaking to one at the door. There he must stay, until the offieer Arise to let him in : he is call'd up. Duke. Have you no countermand for Claudio yet, But he must die to-morrow ? Provost. None, sir, none. Duke. As near the dawning, provost, as it is, You shall hear more ere morning. Provost. Happely, 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 Proless'd the contrary. Enter Act rv. Sc n. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 99 Enter a Messenger. Duke. This is his lordship's man. Provost. And here comes Claudio's pardon. enger. 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. Provost. I shall obey him. [Exit Messenger. Duke. This is his pardon ; purchas'd by such sin, C A side. 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 tb' offender friended.— Now, sir, what news ? I told you : Lord Angela, 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. Provost. [Reads. ! m Whatsoever you may hear to the contrary, let Claudia be executed hy four of the clock ; and, in the afternoon, Barnardine. For my \ better satisfaction, let me have Claudio's head ! sent me by five. Let this be duly perform'd ; 1 with a thought, that more depends on it than we 1 must yet deliver. Thus fail not to do your 1 office, as you will answer it at your peril." — What say you to this, sir ? Duke. What is that Barnardine, who is to be exe- cuted in the afternoon ? Provost. 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 deliver'd him to his liberty, or executed! ! him ? I have heard, it was ever his manner to ' ; do so. Provost. Hi3 friends still wrought reprieves for him : j , | and, indeed, his fact, till now in the government \ j i of Lord Angela, came uot to an undoubtful proof. Duke. It is now apparent. Provost. Most manifest, and not denied by himself. i Duke. Hath he borne himself penitently in prison ? ', How seems he to be touch d ? Provost. 1 A man that apprehends death no more drcad- i fully, but as a drunken sleep; careless, reckless, I and fearless of what's past, present, or to come : . I insensible of mortality, and desperately mortal. Duke. He wants advice. Provost. He will hear none. He hatb evermore had ! j the liberty of the prison : give him leave to J escape hence, he would not : drunk many times a day, if not many days entirely drunk. We have very oft awaked him, as if to carry him to execution, and show'd him a seeming warrant 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 warrant to execute, is no greater forfeit to the law, than Angelo who hath sentenced him. To make you understand this in a manifested effect, I crave but four days' respite, for the which you are to do me both a present and a dangerous courtesy. Provost. Pray, sir, in what ? * Duke. In the delaying death. Provo«t. 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 ? 1 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. Provost. Angelo hath seen them both, and will discover the favour. Duke. ! 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 any thing 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. Provost. Pardon me, good father : it is against my oath. Duke, Were you sworn to the duke, or to the deputy ? Provost. To him, and to his substitutes. Duke. You will think you have made no offence, if the duke avouch the justice of your dealing. Provost. 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 attempt you, I will go farther 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. Provost. 1 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, | IOO MEASUEE FOR MEASURE. Act iv Sc. il 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 present 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. SCENE 111. Another Room in the lame. Enter Clown. Clown. I am as well acquainted here, as I was in our house of profession : one would think, it were mistress Over-done* 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 Threrpile the mercer, for some four suits of peach-colour'd satin, which now peaches him a beggar. Then have we here young Dizzy, and young master Deep-vow, and master Copper- spur, and master Starve-lackey, the rapier and dagger-man, and young Drop-heir that killed Lusty Pudding, and master Forthright the tilter, and brave master Shoe-tie the great traveller, and wild Half-can that stabb'd Pots, and, 1 think, forty more, all great doers in our trade, and are now for the Lord's sake. Enter Abhorson. Abhorion. Sirrah, bring Barnardine hither. Clown. Master Barnardine! you must rise and be hang'd, master Barnardine. Abhorion. What ho, Barnardine ! Barnardine. [Within. A pox o' your throats ! Who makes that noise there 1 What are you ? Clown. Your friends, sir ; the hangman. You must be so good, sir, to rise and be put to death. Barnardine. [Within. Away, you rogue, away ! I am sleepy. Abhorson. Tell him, he must awake, and that quickly to °- Clown. Pray, master Barnardine, awake till you are executed, and sleep afterwards. Abhorson. Go in to him, and fetch him out. Clown. He is coming, sir, he is coming : I hear his straw rustle. Enter Barnard h*. Abhorson. Is the axe upon the block, sirrah ? Clown. Very ready, sir. Barnardine. How now, Abhorson? what's the news with iyou ? Abhorson. ! Truly, sir, I would desire you to clap into lyour prayers ; for, look you, the warrant's come. Barnardine. You rogue, I have been drinking all night : I am not fitted for't. „. Clown. O, the better, sir ; for he that drinks all night, and is hang'd betimes in the morning, may sleep the sounder all the next day. Enter Duke. Abhorson. Look you, sir ; here comes your ghostly father Do we jest now, think you ? Duke. Sir, induced by my charity, and hearing how hastily you are to depart, I am come to advise you, comfort you, and pray with you. Barnardine. 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 . Dukt. O, sir, you must ; and therefore, I beseech you, Look forward on the journey you shall go. Barnardine. I swear, I will not die to-day for any man's persuasion. ^^ But hear you, Barnardine. Not a word : if you have any thing to say to me, come to my ward ; for thence will not I to- dav [Kxit. 3 * Enter Provost. Duke. Unfit to live, or die. O, gravel heart ! — After him, ^^^SS^j^SS^^^ Provost. 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. proyon Here in the prison, father, There died this morning of a cruel fever One Ragozim, a most notorious pirate, A man of Claudia's years ; his beard, and head, Just of his colour. What if we do omit This reprobate, till he were well inclin'd, And satisfy the deputy with the visage Of Ragozine, more like to Claudio ? Duke. O, 'tis an accident that heaven provides ! Despatch it presently : the hour draws on Prefix'd by Angela. See, this be done, And sent according to command, whiles I 1 Persuade this rude wretch willingly to die. Provost. This shall be done, good father, presently. 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 Ac 1 IV. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 101 . Duke. this be done.— Put them in secret holds, Both Bamardine and Claurtio : Bretwtce the sun hath made his journal greeting '1\> th" under generation, you shall find \ our safety manifested. Provost. I I am your free dependant. Duke. . Quick, despatch, and send the head to Angelo. [Exit Provost. i 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 puidicly : him I'll desire To meet me at the consecrated fount, A league below the city ; and from thence, By cold gradation and weal-balanc'd form, We shall proceed with Angelo. Re-enter Provott. Provost. Here is the head ; I'll 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. Provost. I'll make all speed. [Exit. Isabella. [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. Enter Isabella. Isabella. Ho I by your leave. Duke. Good morning to you, fair and gracious daughter. Isabella. The better, given me by so holy a man. Hath yet the deputy sent'my brother's pardon ? Duke. He hath releas'd him, Isabel, from the world. His head is off, and sent to Angelo. Isabella. Nay, but it Is not so. Duke. It is no other. ; Show your wisdom, daughter, in your close patience. Isabella. I O, I will to him, and pluck out his eyes ! Duke. You shall not be admitted to his sight. Isabella. Unhappy Claudio ! Wretched Isabel ! Injurious world 1 Most damned Angelo! 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 ; your eyes : nay, dry One of our convent, ai.d fcis comessor, Gives me this instance \1r3aJy r e hath carrier Notice to Escalus aiiu Angeio, Who do prepare to meet him at the gates. There to give up the'r power, 't you can, oa'\ your wibdon In that good patn tnat i would wish ii go ; And you shall have your bosom on this wretch. Grace of the duke, revenges to your heart, And general honour. Isabella, 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'll 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, 1 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? Enter lucio. Lucio. Good even. Friar, where is the provost ? Duke. Not within, sir. Lucio. 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 beholding 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. Duke. Well, you'll answer this one day. Fare ye well. Lucio. Nay, tarry; I'll 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 ? Lucio. Yes, marry, did I ; but I was fain to forswear it: they would else have married me to the rotten medlar. Duke. Sir, your company is fairer than honest. Re«t you well. Lucio. By my troth, I'll go with thee to the lane's end. If bawdy talk offend you, we'll have very little F= 102 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. Act iv. Sc. iv. Hitcle of it. Nay, friar, r am a kind of burr ; 1 flbfiW stick. , , - t . >, [Exeunt. < SGBNE FT*. ;A R<«on>in An£elo'a House. ' j « " ','■ „ ifentqr ^ff^l any. Escalus. Escalus. Every letter he hath writ hath disvouch'd other. Angelo. In most uneven and distracted manner. His actions show much like to madness : pray His wisdom be not tainted ! [heaven, ! And why meet him at the gates, and re-deliver Our authorities there ? Escalus. I guess not. Angelo. And why should we proclaim it in an hour be- ; fore his ent'ring, that if any crave redress of j injustice, they should exhibit their petitions iu '■ the street ? Escalus. He shows his reason for that : to have a de- spatch of complaints, aud to deliver us from devices hereafter, [us. Which shall then have no power to stand against Angelo. Well, I beseech you, let it be proclaim'd : betimes i' the morn, I'll call you at your house. Give notice to such men of sort and suit, as are to meet him. Escalus. I shall, sir: fare you well. [Exit Angelo. Good night. — [pregnant, , This deed unshapes me quite, makes me un- And dull to all proceedings. A deflowered maid, And by an eminent body, that enfore'd The law against it 1— But that her tender shame Will not proclaim against her maiden loss, How might she tongue me I Yet reason dares her No : For my authority bears of 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 revenue, By so receiving a dishonour'd life [liv'd ! With ransom of such shame. Would yet he had Alack ! when once our grace we have forgot, Nothing goes right : we would, and we wpqld not. SCENE V. Fields without 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, [that, : Though sometimes you do blench from this to As cause doth minister. Go, call at Flavins' bouse, j And tell him where 1 stay : give the like notice To Valentius, Rowland, and to Crassus, And bid them bring the trumpets to tha gate ; But send me Flavius first. Friar Peter. It shall be speeded well. CExit Friar. : Enter Varrius. Duke. I thank thee, Varrius ; thou hast made good haste. Come, we will walk : there's other of our friends Will greet us here anon, my gentle Varrius. SCENE VI. Street near the City Gate. Enter Isabella and Mariana. Isabella. 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 veil full purpose. Mariana. Be rul'd by him. Isabella. Besides, he tells me, that if peradventure He speak against me on the adverse side, I should not think it strange ; for 'tis a physic, That's bitter to sweet end. Mariana. I would, friar Peter — Isabella. O, peace ! the friar is come. Enter Friar Peter. Friar Peter. Come ; I have found you out a stand most fit, Where you may have such vantage on the duke, . He shall not pass you. Twice have the trumpets sounded : The generous and gravest citizens Have hent the gates, and very near upon The duke is ent'ring : therefore hence, away. [Exeunt ACT V. SCENE I. A public Place near the City Gate. Mariana, (veil'd,) habeilii, and Peter, at a dis- tance. Enter at several doors, Duke, Vnrrim, Lords; Angela, Escn/us, Lucio, Provost, Officers, and Citizens. Duke. MY very worthy cousin, fairly met :— Our old and faithful friend, we.are glad to see you. Angelo- and Escalus. Happy return be to your royal grace I 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. Angelo. You make my bonds still greater. Duke. O I your desert speaks loud ; and I should wrong it, To lock it in the wards of covert bosom, When it deserves with characters of brass A forted residence 'gainst the tooth of time, And razure of oblivion. Give me your hand, And let the subject see, to make them know Tha* KBA.8WIB3 ?_:. ROEA.S'Oa£I That outward courtesies would fain proclaim I Favours that ke«p within. — Come, Escalus ; You must walk by us on our other hand, And good supporters are you. Friar Peter and Isabella come forward. Friar Peter. Now is your time. Speak loud, and kneel before him. Isabella. Justice, O royal duke ! Vail your regard Upon awrong'd, I would 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 given me justice, justice, justice, justice ! Duke. Relate your wrongs : in what ? by whom ? Be brief. Here is lord Angela shall give you justice : Reveal yourself to him. Isabella. O, worthy duke ! ! You bid me seek redemption of the devil. 1 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 ! Angelo. My lord, her wits, I fear me, are not firm : She hath been a suitor to me for her brother, Cut off by course of justice. Isabella. By course of justice ! Angelo. ', And she will speak most bitterly, and strange. Isabella. Most strange, but yet most truly, will I speak. j That Angelo's forsworn, is it not strange ? That Angelo's a murderer, is't not strange ? That Angelo is an adulterous thief, I An hypocrite, a virgin-violater, Is it not strange, and strange ? Duke. Nay, it is ten times strange. Isabella. 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 th' end of reckoning. Duke. Away with her — Poor soul ! She speaks this in th' infirmity of sense. Isabella. 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 1 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. No, my good lord ; Isabella. O, gracious duke I 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, j And hide the false seems true. Duke. Many that are not mad, • Have, sure, more lack of reason — What would you say ? 3 Isabella. ; I am the sister of one Claudio, ; Condemn'd upon the act of fornication ; To lose his head ; condemn'd by Angelo. I I, in probation of a sisterhood, j Was sent to by my brother ; one Lucio i 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. Isabella. That's he, indeed. Duke. You were not bid to speak. Lucio. Nor wish'd to hold my peace. Duke. J 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. Duke. The warrant's for yourself : take heed to it. Isabella. This gentleman told somewhat of my tale. Lucio. Right. Duke. It may be right ; but you are in the wrong To speak before your time Proceed. Isabella. I went To this pernicious, caitiff deputy. Duke. That's somewhat madly spoken. Isabella. Pardon it : The phrase is to the matter. Duke. Mended again : the matter ?— Proceed. Isabella. 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 repli'd, (For this was of much length) the vile conclusion I now begin with grief and shame to utter. He would not, but by gift of my chaste body To his concupiscible intemperate lust, Release mybrother ; and,aftermuch debatement, 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. j;I04 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. Act v. Sc. Isabella. 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. Isabella. And is this all ? Then, O 1 you blessed ministers above, Keep me in patience ; and, with ripen'd time, Unfold the evil which is here wrapt up [woe, In countenance ! — Heaven shield your grace from As I, thus wrong'd, hence unbelieved go ! Duke. 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 ? Isabella. One that I would were here, friar Lodowick. Duke. A ghostly father, belike. — Who knows that Lodowick? Lucio. My lord, I know him : 'tis a meddling friar ; I do not like the man : had he been lay, my lord, 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. Friar Peter. Blessed be your royal grace ! I have stood by, my lord, and I have heard Your royal ear abus'd. First, hath this woman Most wrongfully accus'd your substitute, Who is as free from touch or soil with her, As she from one ungot. Duke. We did believe no less. Know you that friar Lodowick, that she speaks of? Friar Peter. I know him for a man divine and holy : Not scurvy, nor a temporary meddler, A s he's reported by this gentleman ; And, on my trust, a man that never yet Did, as he vouches, misreport your grace. Ludo. My lord, most villainously : believe it. Friar 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 Angela, 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 To justify this worthy nobleman, [woman, 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 Ma- riana comes forward. Do you not smile at this, lord Angela t — heaven, the vanity of wretched fools ! — Give us some seats Come, cousin Angelo ; In this I'll be impartial : be you judge Of your own cause. — Is this the witness, friar ? First, let her show her face, and after speak. Mariana. Pardon, my lord, I will not show my face, Until my husband bid me. Duke. What, are you married ? Mariana. No, my lord. Duke. Are you a maid ? Mariana. No, my lord. Duke. A widow then ? Mariana. 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 To prattle for himself. [cause Lucio. Well, my lord. Mariana. My lord, I do confess I ne'er was married ; And, I confess, besides, I am no maid : 1 have known my husband, yet my husband That ever he knew me. [knows not Lucio. 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. Mariana. Now I come to't, my lord. She that accuses him of fornication, In self-same manner doth accuse my husband ; And charges him, my lord, with such a time, When, I'll depose, I had him in mine arms, With all th' effect of love. Angelo. Charges she more than me ? Mariana. Not that I know. . , Duke. Act v. Sc. i. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. i°5 ke. o ? you say, your husband. Ma: Why, just, mv lord, and that is Angelo, Who thinks, lie knows, that he ne'er knew my body, But knows, he thinks, that he knows Isabel's. Angelo. This is a strange abuse. — Let's see thy face. Mariana My husband bids me ; now I will unmask. [Unveiling This is that face, thou cruel Angelo, Which once, thou swor'st, was worth the looking on : This is the hand, which, with a vow'd contract, Was fist 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 imaghvd person. Buk.6. Know you this woman ? Lucio. Carnally, she says. Duke. Sirrah, no more. Lucio. Enough, my lord. Angelo. My lord, I must confess, I know this woman ; i And five years since there was some speech of | marriage , Betwixt myself and her, which was broke off, | j Partly, for that her promised proportions Came short of composition ; but, in chief, ; For that her reputation was disvalued i In levity : since which time of five years I I never spake with her, saw her, nor heard from Upon my faith and honour. [her, Mariana. Noble prince, As there comes light from heaven, and words from breath, I As there is sense in truth, and truth in virtue, j I am affiane'd this man's wife, as strongly [lord, As words could make up vows : and, my good ; But Tuesday night last gone, in's garden-house, ! He knew me as a wife. As this is true 1 Let me in safety raise me from my knees, Or else for ever be confixed here, I A marble monument. Angelo I did but smile till now : Now, good my lord, give me the scope of justice ; My patience here is touch'd. I do perceive, These poor informal 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 to your height of pleasure. Thou foolish friar, and thou pernicious woman, Compact with her that's gone, think'st thou, thy oaths, [saint, Though they would swear down each particular Were testimonies against his worth and credit. That's seal'd in approbation ? — You, lord Es- calus, 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 ; Let him be sent for. Friar Peter. Would he were here, my lord ; for he, Indeed, Hath set the women on to this complaint. Your provost knows the place where he abides, And he may fetch him. Duke. Co, 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 a while Will leave you ; but stir not you, till you have Determined upon these slanderers. [well Escalus. My lord, we'll do it thoroughly.— [Kxit Duke.] Signior Lucio, did not you say, you knew that friar Lodowick to be a dishonest person ? Lucio. Cucullus turn facit monachum : honest in nothing, but in his clothes ; and one that hath spoke most villainous speeches of the duke. Escalus. 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. Escalus. Call that same Isabel here once again. r.To an Attendant.] I would speak with her. Pray you, my lord, give me leave to question ; you shall see how I'll handle her. Lucio. Not better than he, by her own report. Escalus. Say you ? Lucio. Marry, sir, I think, if you handled her pri- vately, she would sooner confess : perchance, publicly she'll be ashamed. Ue-entei Officers, with Isabella : the Duke, in a Friar's habit, and Provost. Escalus. I will go darkly to work with her. Lucio. That's the way ; for women are light at mid- night. Escalus. Come on, mistress. [To Isabella.] Here's a gentlewoman denies all that you have said. Lucio. My lord, here comes the rascal I spoke of; here, with the provost. Escalus. In very good time: — speak not you to him, till we call upon you. Lucio. Mum. Escalus. Come, sir. Did you set these women on to slander lord Angelo? they have confess'd you did. Duke. 'Tis false. Escalus. How ! know you where you are ? Duke. io6 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. Act v. Sc. r. Duke. Angelo. Respect to your great place ! and let the devil ! Hark how the villain would close now, after Be sometime honour'd for his burning throne.— < his treasonable abuses. Where is the duke ? 'tis he should hear me i Escalus. speak. Escalus ' Such a fellow is not to be talk'd withal : — t>u j .i.»»- u. ... a :-- *— "■ i.„» „„„ mm i . I Away with him to prison. — Where is the pro- T It e ±, L 8 ^^ f K y P I vost?_Away with him to prison. Lay bolts Look, you speak justly. j enough upon ' him> let him £ peak no m ' ore _ Duke. i Away with those giglots too, and with the other Boldly, at least. — But, O, poor souls ! j confederate companion. Come you to seek the lamb here of the fox ? [The Provost lays hand on the Duke . Good night to your redress. Is the duke gone ? j Duke Then is your cause gone too. The duke's ; R . . . fa ... Thus to retort your manifest appeal, [unjust, I &tav ' sir ' 8tav a wnile - And put your trial in the villain's mouth, Angelo. Which here you come to accuse. ; What ! resists he ? Help him, Lucia. Lucio. Lucio. This is the rascal : this is he I spoke of. j Come, sir ; come, sir ; come, sir ; foh ! sir. j? sca | us : Why, you bald-pated, lying rascal ! you must be Why, thou unreverend and unhallow'd friar ! hooded, must you ? show your knave's visage, is't Zot enough, thou hast suborn'd ^^^S^^^SS^SSl^^ To accuseds worthy man, but, in foul mouth, ! £ Puffs °™ e , f" ,Vir ' 8 hood ' and disCOVerS And in the witness of his proper ear. ine JJUhe ' To call him villain ? And then to glance from Duke. him i Thou art the first knave, that e'er made a To the duke himself, to tax him with injustice ? duke.— Take him hence; to the rack with him:— , First, provost, let me bail these gentle three — We'll touze you : Sneak not away, sir; [To Lucio.] for the friar Joint by joint, but we will know his purpose — j and you What 1 unjust ? I Must have a word anon.— Lay hold on him. Duke - Lucio N."££ XSS & »„,ine, than h, ; Thi, „, prove ™e than hanging. Dare rack his own : his subject am I not, Duke. Nor here provincial. My business in this state j What you have spoke, I pardon ; sit you Made me a looker-on here in Vienna, down. [To Escalus. Where I have seen corruption boil and bubble, j We'll borrow place of him:— Sir, by your leave. Till it o'er-run the stew : laws for all faults, [ Fo Angela, But faults so countenane'd, that the strong i Hast thou or word, or wit, or impudence, statutes | That yet can do thee office ? If thou hast, Stand like the forfeits in a barber's shop, i Rely upon it till my tale be heard, As much in mock as mark. And hold no longer out. Escalus. Angelo. Slander to the state 1 Away with him to prison. O, my dread lord ! Angelo. \ I should be guiltier than my guiltiness, What can vou vouch against him, signior ; To think I can be undiscernible, Is this the man that you did tell us of? [Lucio ? When I perceive your grace, like power divine, t io Hath look'd upon my passes : Then, good prince >Tw ha mv lnrd Tome hither eoodman ' No lo°g er session hold upon my shame, ». J ' JRL, , w.^, ™?S gooaman . * . j b mjne QWn confession . bald-pate : do you know me ? . Immediate sentence then, and sequent death, ^ Ult i' «. j r Is a11 the S faCe l be S- I remember you, sir, by the sound of your ■ voice : I met you at the prison, in the absence of the duke. Lucio. O ! did you so ? And do you remember what you said of the duke ? Duke. Most notedly, sir. Lucio, Duke. Come hither, Mariana — Say, wast thou e'er contracted to this woman ? Angelo. I was, my lord. Duke. Go take her hence, and marry her instantly.— Do you the office, friar ; which consummate, Do you so, sir ? And was the duke a flesh- Return him here again.— Go with him, provost, monger, a fool, and a coward, as you then : [Exeunt Angelo, Mariana, Peter, and reported him to be ? Provost. Duke. Escalus. You must, sir, change persons with me, ere . ]yr y i or( i, I am more amaz'd at his dishonour, you make that my report : you, indeed, spoke Than at the strangeness of it. so of him ; and much more, much worse. Duke. Lucio. | Come hither, Isabel. O, thou damnable fellow ! Did not I pluck | your friar is now your prince : as I was then thee by the nose, for thy speeches ? ; Advertising and holy to your business, Duke. ] Not changing heart with habit, I am still I protest, I love the duke as I love myself. Attorney 'd at your service. . Sc. i. MEASUKE FOR MEASURE. 107 Isabella. O, give me pardon, . vour vassal, have employ d and pain'd Your unknown sovereignty ! Duke. You are pardon'd, Isabel: 1 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 rash remonstrance of my hidden power, Than let him so be lost. O, most kind maid 1 It was the swift celerity of his death, Which 1 did think with slower foot came on, That brain'd my purpose : but, peace be with him 1 at lift! is better life, past fearing death, an that which lives to fear. Make it your happy is your brother. [comfort, -enter Angela, Mariana, Peter, and Provost. Isabella. I do, my lord. Duke. For this new-married man, approaching here, Those salt imagination yet hath wrong'd four well-defended honour, you must pardon For Mariana's sake. But, as he adjudg'd your ( Being criminal, in double violation [brother, If sacred chastity, and of promise-breach, "lereon dependent, for your brother's life,) le very mercy of the law cries out lost audible, even from his proper tongue, An Angelo for Claudia, death for death 1 " ste still pays haste, and leisure answers leisure, [Measure, ike doth quit like, and Measure still for hen, Angela, thy fault's thus manifested, Ul, though thou would'st deny, denies thee vantage. >"e do condemn thee to the very block There Claudio stoop'd to death, and with like haste I way with him. Mariana. 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. '—Wiring to the safeguard of your honour, I thought your marriage fit ; else imputation, i For that he knew you, might reproach your life, And choke your good to come. For his pos- ' sessions, Although by confiscation they are ours ; We do instate and widow you withal, To buy you a better husband. Mariana. O, my dear lord ! I crave no other, nor no better man. Duke. Never crave him : we are definitive. Mariana. Gentle my liege,— [Kneeling. Duke. You do but lose your labour. ; Away with him to death.— Now, sir, [To Lueio.] to you. Mariana. O, my good lord ! — Sweet Isabel, take my part : Lend me your knees, and all my life to come I'll lend you ; all my life to do you service. An 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. Mariana. Isabel, Sweet Isabel, do yet but kneel by me : Hold up your hands, say nothing, I'll sj>eak all ""ley And, for the most, become much more the They say, best men are moulded out 01 speak all f faults, better For being a little bad : so may my husband O, Isabel I will you not lend a knee ? Duke. He dies for Claudio^ death. Isabella. 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 That perish'd by the way. Thoughts are no subjects, Intents but merely thoughts. Mariana. Merely, my lord. Duke. Your suit's unprofitable : stand up, I say I have bethought me of another fault— Provost, how came it Claudio was beheaded At an unusual hour ? Provost. It was commanded so. Duke. Had you a special warrant for the deed ? Provost. No, my good lord : it was by private message. Duke. For which I do discharge you of your office : Give up your keys. Provost. 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 reserv'd alive. Duke. What's he ? Provost. His name is Barnardine. Duke. I would thou had'st done so by Claudio. — Go, fetch him hither : let me look upon him. [Exit Provost. Escalus. 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. Angelo. 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 io8 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. Act v. Sc. i. Re-enter Provost, Iiamardine, Claudio, and J>d,et. Duke. Which is that Barnardine? Provost. 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 farther than this world, And squar'st thy life according. Thou'rt con- demned ; 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 fel- low's that ? Provost. This is another prisoner that I sav'd, That should havedied when Claudio lost his head, As like almost to Claudio as himself. [Unmufllcs 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. S7 this lord Angelo perceives he's safe : ethinks, I see a quick'ning in his eye. — Well, Angelo, your evil quits you well : Look that you love your wife ; her worth, worth I find an apt remission in myself, [yours. — And yet here's one in place I cannot pardon — You, sirrah, [To Lucio.] that knew me for a fool, a coward, One all of luxury, an ass, a madman : Wherein have I so deserv'd 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 whipp'd. Duke. Whipp'd first, sir, and hang'd after — Proclaim it, provost, round about the city, If any woman's wrong'd by this lewd fellow, (As I have heard him swear himself there'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 pressing to death, whipping, and hanging. Duke. Slandering a prince deserves it. — [store. — She, Claudio, that you wrong'd, look you re- 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 : Th* offence pardons itself — Dear Isabel, I have a motion much imports your good ; Whereto if you'll a willing ear incline, What's mine is yours, and what is yours is mine.— So, bring us to our palace ; where we'll show What's yet behind, that's meet you all should know. [Exeunt Act i. Sc. i. COMEDY OF ERRORS. 109 THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. SOLINUS, Duke o/Ephesus. jEgeon, a Merchant of Syracuse. Antipholus of Ephesus, (Twin Brothers, Sons to Antipholas of Syracuse, 3 iEgeon and iEmilia, Dromioo/ Ephesus, } Twin Brothers, Attendants 5,3 Dromio of Syracuse, 3 on the two Antipholuses Balthazar, a Merchant. Angelo, a Goldsmith. A Merchant, Friend to Antipholus of Syracuse. DRAMATIS PERSONS. Pinch, a Schoolmaster. , JSmilia, Wife to iEgeon. Adriana, Wife to Antipholus of Ephesus. Luciana, her Sister. Luce, Servant to Adriana. A Courtezan. Jailor, Officers, and other Attendants SCENE, Ephesus. •0-#-#-#--#-#-#-# ACT I. SCENE I. A Hall In the Duke's Palace. Enter S >linus Duke of Ephesus, &geon a : Merchant of Syracusa, Jailor, Officers, and | other Attendants. ^geon. 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 seal'd 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 Syracusians and ourselves, To admit no traffic to our adverse towns : Nay, move, if any, born at Ephesus, Be seen at any Syracusian marts and fairs ; Again, if any Syracusian 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. .Egeon. Yet this my comfort ; when your words are done, My woes end likewise with the evening sun. Duke. Well, Syracusian ; say, In brief, the cause Why thou departedst from thy native home, And for what cause thou cam'st to Ephesus. JEgeon. A heavier task could not have been 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'll 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 the great care of goods at random left Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse: From whom my absence was not six months old, 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 had she not been long, but she became A joyful mother of two goodly sons ; [other, 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, A poor mean woman was delivered Or 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 COMEDY OF ERRORS. Act i. Sc. For what obscured light the heavens did grant ' I Did but convey unto our fearful minds I A doubtful warrant of immediate death ; Which, though myself would gladly have em- Yet the incessant weepings of my wife, [brae'd, Weeping before for what she saw must come, ! And piteous plainings of the pretty babes, That mourn'd for fashion, ignorant what to fear,i Forc'd me to seek delays for them and me. And this it was,— for other means was none I 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 of his wish'd light The seas wax'd calm, and we discovered 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 off so, For we may pity, though not pardon thee. £gcon. O, had the gods done so, I had not now Worthily term'd them merciless to us ! [leagues, For, ere the ships could meet by twice five 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 unjVist 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 seized on us ; And knowing whom it was their hap to save, Gave healthful 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. Hopeless to find, yet loth 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 JEgeon, 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 1 can : Therefore, merchant, I'll 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 no, then thou art doom'd to die.— Jailor, take him to thy custody. Jailor. I will, my lord. ^geon. Hopeless and helpless, doth JEgeon wend, But to procrastinate his lifeless end. [Exeunt. And, for the sake 6? them thou sorrowest for, Do me the favour to dilate at full What hath befall'n of them, and thee, till now. JEgeon. My youngest boy, ana yet my eldest care, At eighteen years became inquisitive After his brother ; and importun'd me, That his attendant (so 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, 1 hazarded the loss of whom 1 lov'd. Five summers have I spent in farthest Greece, Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia; And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus, SCENE II. A public Place. Enter Anlipholus and Dromio of Syracuse, and a Merchant. Merchant. Therefore, give out you are of Epidamnum, Lest that your goods too soon be confiscate. This very day, a Syracusian 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. Antipholus of Syracuse. Go, bear it to the Centaur, where we host, And stay there, Dromio, till 1 come to thee. Within this hour it will be dinner-time : Till that, I'll 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. Dromio of Syracuse. Many a man would take you at your word, And go indeed, having so good a mean. [Exit. Antipholus of Syracuse. 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 ? Merchant. 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'll meet with you upon the mart, And afterwards consort you till bed- time : My present business calls me from you now. Antipholus of Syracuse. Farewell till then. I will go lose myself, And wander up and down to view the city. Merchant. Sir, I commend you to your own content. [Exit. Antipholus I Act ii. 8c. i. COMEDY OF ERRORS. in Antipholus of Syracuse. He that commends me to mine own content, Commends mc to the thing I cannot get. I to the world am like a drop of water, That in the ocean seeks another drop ; Who, falling there to fiml his fellow forth, Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself: So I, to flna a mother, and a brother, In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself. Enter Dromio of Ephcsus. Here comes the almanack of my true date. — What now ? How chance thou art return'd so soon ? Dromio of Ephesus. Return'd so soon 1 rather approach'd too late. 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 ; slave, Antipholus of Syracuse. Thy mistress' marks ! what mistress, hast thou ? Dromio of Ephesus. Your worship's wife, my mistress at the Phoenix ; She that doth fast till voucome home to dinner, And prays that you will hie you home to dinner. Antipholus of Syracuse. What, wilt thou flout me thus unto my face. Being forbid ? There, take you that, sir knave. [Strikes him. Dromio of Ephesus. What mean you, sir ? For God's sake, hold your hands. Nay, an you will not, sir, I'll take my heels. [Exit. Antipholus of Syracuse. Upon my life, by some device or other The villain is o'er-raught of all my money. You come not home, because you have no 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'll to the Centaur, to go seek this slave : greatly fear, my money is not safe. [Exit. 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. Antipholus of Syracuse. Stop in your wind, sir. Tell me this, I pray ; Where have you left the money that I gave you ? _ Dromio of Ephesus. ! sixpence, that I had o' Wednesday last To pay the saddler for my mistress' crupper. The saddler had it, sir ; I kept it not. Antipholus of Syracuse. 1 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 ? Dromio of Ephesus. I pray you. jest, sir, as you sit at dinner. I from my mistress come to you in post ; -«,„ Adriana. If I return, I shall be post indeed, ]V EITHER my husband, nor the slave re- Kor she will score your fault upon my pate. turn'd, Methinks, your maw, like mine, should be your Tliat in sucn haste 1 sent to seek his master ? clock, . Sure, Luciana, it is two o'clock. And strike you home without a messenger. Luciana. Antipholus of Syracuse. Perhaps, some merchant hath invited him, Come, Dromio, come ; these jests are out of I And fr ? m the mart he ' 8 somewhere gone to ACT II. SCENE I. A public Hace. Enter Adriana. wife to Antipholus of Ephesus, and Luciana, her sister. season: Reserve them till a merrier hour than this. Where is the gold I gave in charge to thee ? Dromio of Ephesus. To me, sir ? why you gave no gold to me. Antipholus of Syracuse. Come on, sir knave ; have' done your foolish- ness, And tell me how thou hast dispos'd thy charge. Dromio of Ephesus. My charge was but to fetch you from the mart Home to your house, the Phoenix, sir, to dinner. My mistress, and her sister, stay for you. Antipholus of Syracuse. 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 had'st of me ? Dromio of Ephesus. 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, l'erchance, you will not bear them patiently. dinner. Good sister, let us dine, and never fret: A man is master of his liberty : Time is their master ; and, when they see time, They'll go, or come : if so, be patient, sister. Adriana. Why should their liberty than ours be more ? Luciana. Because their business still lies out o' door. Adriana. Look, when I serve him so, he takes it ill. Luciana. O 1 know he is the bridle of your will. Adriana. There's none but asses will be bridled so. Luciana. Why, head-strong liberty is lashed with woe. 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' subjects, 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 Ill COMEDY OF ERRORS. Act ij. Sc. i. Are masters to their females, and their lords : Then, let your will attend on their aceords. Adriana. This servitude makes you to keep unwed. Luciana. Not this, but troubles of the marriage-bed. Adriana. But, were you wedded, you would bear some sway. Luciana. Ere I learn love, I'll practise to obey. Adriana. How if your husband start some other where ? Luciana. Till he come home again, I would forbear. Adriana. 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 ; So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee, With urging helpless patience would'st relieve But if thou live to see like right bereft, [me : This fool-begg'd patience in thee will be left. Luciana. Well, I will marry one day, but to try. — Here comes your man : now is your husband nigh. Enter Dromio of Ephesus. Adriana. ' Say, is your tardy master now at hand ? Oromio of Ephesus. Nay, he is at two hands with me, and that my two ears can witness. Adriana. Say, didst thou speak with him ? Know'st thou his mind ? Dromio of Ephesus. Ay ay; he told his mind upon mine ear. Beshrew his hand, I scarce could understand it. Luciana, Spake he so doubtfully, thou couldst not feel his meaning ? Dromio of Ephesus. Nay, he struck so plainly, I could too well feel his blows ; and withal so doubtfully, that I could scarce understand them. Adriana. But say, I pr'ythee, is he coming home ? It seems, he hath great care to please his wife. Dromio of Ephesus. Why, mistress, sure my master is horn-mad. Adriana. Horn-mad, thou villain ! Dromio of Ephesus. I mean not cuckold-mad ; But, sure, he is stark mad. When 1 desir'd him to come home to dinner, He ask'd me for a thousand marks in gold : 'Tis dinner-time, quoth I ; my gold, quoth he: Your meat doth burn, quoth I ; my gold, quoth he: Will you come, quoth I ? my gold, quoth he : Where is the thousand marks 1 gave thee, villain ? The pig, quoth I, is burn'd ; my gold, quoth he: My mistress, sir, quoth I ; hang up thy mistress ; I know not thy mistress : out on thy mistress 1 Luciana. Quoth who ? Dromio of Ephesus. Quoth my master : I know, quoth he, no house, no wife, no mistress. So that my errand, due unto my tongue, I thank him, I bear home upon my shoulders ; For, in conclusion, he did beat me there. Adriana. Go back again, thou slave, and fetch him home. Dromio of Ephesus. Go back again, and be new beaten home ? For God's sake, send some other messenger. Adriana. Back, slave, or I will break thy pate across. Dromio of Ephesus. And he will bless that cross with other beating. Between you I shall have a holy head. Adriana. Hence, prating peasant ! fetch thy master home. Dromio of Ephesus. Am I so round with you, as you with me, That like a foot-ball 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. Luciana. Fie, how impatience lowreth in your face! Adriana. His company must do his minions grace, Whilst I at home starve for a merry look. H«th homely age th' alluring beauty took From my poor cheek ? then, he hath wasted it: Are my discourses dull? barren my wit? 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. Luciana. Self-harming jealousy ! — fie ! beat it hence. Adriana. Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs dispense. I know his eye doth homage other where, 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: yet though gold 'bides still, That others touch, an often touching will Wear gold ; and no man, that hath a name, By falsehood and corruption doth it shame. Since that my beauty cannot please his eye, I'll weep what's left away, and weeping die. Luciana. How manv fond fools serve mad jealousy J [Exeunt. SCENE U. The same. Enter Antipholns of Syracuse. Antipholus of Syracuse. The Safe ie gold, I gave to Dromio, is laid up at the Centaur ; and the heedful sla Act ii. Sc. n. COMEDY OF ERRORS. 113 Is wander'd forth, In care to seek me out. I 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. I How now, sir ? is your merry humour alter'd ? ! As you love strokes, so jest with me again. I You know no Centaur? You received no gold? , Your mistress sent to have me home to dinner ? I My house was at the Phoenix f Wast thou mad, That thus so madly thou didst answer me ? Dromio of Syracuse. What answer, sir ? when spake I such a word ? Antipholus of Syracuse. Even now, even here, not half an hour since. Dromio of Syracuse. 1 did not see you since you sent me hence, Home to the Centaur, with the gold you gave me. Antipholus of Syracuse. Villain, thou didst deny the gold's receipt, And told'st me of a mistress, and a dinner ; j For which, I hope, thou felt'st I was displeas'd. Dromio of Syracuse. I am glad to see you in this merry vein. What means this jest ? I pray you, master, tell me. Antipholus of Syracuse. Yea, dost thou jeer, and flout me In the teeth ? Think'st thou, I jest ? Hold, take thou that, and that. [Beating him. Dromio of Syracuse. Hold, sir, for God's sake ! now your jest is earnest : ; Upon what bargain do you give it me ? Antipholus of Syracuse. 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. Dromio of Syracuse. ' Sconce, call you it ? so you would leave bat- ! tering, I had rather have it a head : an you use : these blows long, I must get a sconce for my head, and insconce it too ; or else I shall seek my wit in my shoulders. But, I pray, sir, why am I beaten ? Antipholus of Syracuse. Dost thou not know ? Dromio of Syracuse. Nothing, sir ; but that I am beaten. Antipholus of Syracuse. Shall I tell you why ? Dromio of Syracuse. Ay, sir, and wherefore; for, they say, every why hath a wherefore. Antipholus of Syracuse. Why, first,— for floutingme ; and then, where- fore,— for urging it the second time to me. Dromio of Syracuse. I Was there ever any man thus beaten out of season, j When, in the why, and the wherefore, is neither rhyme nor reason ? — Well, sir, 1 thank you. Antipholus of Syracuse. Thank me, sir ? for what ? Dromio of Syracuse Marry, sir, for this something, that you gave me for nothing. Antipholus of Syracuse. I'll make you amends next, to give you nothing for something. But say, sir, is it dinner-time ? Dromio of Syracuse. No, sir : I think, the meat wants that I have. Antipholus of Syracuse. In good time, sir ; what's that ? Dromio of Syracuse. Basting. Antipholus of Syracuse. Well, sir, then 'twill be dry. Dromio of Syracuse. If it be, sir, I pray you eat none of it. Antipholus of Syracuse. Your reason ? Dromio of Syracuse. Lest it make you choleric ; and purchase me another dry basting. Antipholus of Syracuse. Well, sir, learn to jest in good time : there's a time for all things. Dromio of Syracuse. I durst have denied that, before you were so choleric. Antipholus of Syracuse. By what rule, sir ? Dromio of Syracuse. Marry, sir, by a rule as plain as the plain bald pate of father Time himself. Antipholus of Syracuse. Let's hear it. Dromio of Syracuse. There's no time for a man to recover his hair that grows bald by nature. Antipholus of Syracuse. May he not do it by fine and recovery ? Dromio of Syracuse. Yes, to pay a fine for a periwig, and recover the lost hair of another man. Antipholus of Syracuse. Why is Time such a niggard of hair, being, as it is, so plentiful an excrement ? Dromio of Syracuse. Because it is a blessing that he bestows on beasts : and what he hath scanted men in hair, he hath given them in wit. Antipholus of Syracuse. Why, but there's many a man hath more hair than wit. Dromio of Syracuse. Not a man of those, but he hath the wit to lose his hair. Antipholus of Syracuse. Why, thou didst conclude hairy men plain dealers, without wit. Dromio of Syracuse. The plainer dealer, the sooner lost loseth it in a kind of jollity. Antipholus of Syracuse. For what reason ? Dromio of Syracuse. For two ; and sound ones too. Antipholus of Syracuse. Nay, not sound, I pray you. I " yet he Dromio 114- COMEDY OF ERRORS. Act ii. Sc ii Dromio of Syracuse. Sure ones then. Antipholus of Syracuse. Nay, not sure, in a thing falsing. Dromio of Syracuse. Certain ones then. Antipholus of Syracuse. Name them. Dromio of Syracuse. The one, to save the money that he spends in •tiring; the other, that at dinner they should not drop in his porridge. Antipholus of Syracuse. You would all this time have proved, there is no time for all things. Dromio of Syracuse. Marry, and did, sir ; namely, e'en no time to recover hair lost by nature. Antipholus of Syracuse. But your reason was not substantial, why there is no time to recover. Dromio of Syracuse. Thus I mend it: Time himself is bald, and therefore, to the world's end, will have bald followers. Antipholus of Syracuse. I knew, 'twould be a bald conclusion. But soft ! who wafts us yonder ? Enter Adriana and Luciana. Adriana. 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 would'st 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, or look'd, or touch'd, or carv'd to thee. [it, How comes it now, my husband, O ! how comes That thou art then estranged from thyself? Thyself I call it, being strange to me, That, undividable, incorporate, Am better than thy dear self's better part. Ah, do not tear away thyself from me ; For know, my love, as easy may'st thou fall A drop of water in the breaking gulph, 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, Should'st thou but hear I were licentious, And that this body, consecrate to thee, By ruffian lust should be contaminate ! Would'st 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 can'st ; and therefore, see, thou do I am possess'd with an adulterate blot ; [it. 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. Keep then fair league and truce with thy true I live unstain'd, thou undishonoured. [bed ; Antipholus of Syracuse. 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. Luciana. Fie, brother : how the world is chang'd with youl When were you wont to use my sister thus ? She sent for you by Dromio home to dinner. Antipholus of Syracuse. By Dromio t Dromio of Syracuse. Byrne? Adriana. 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. Antipholus of Syracuse. Did you converse, sir, with this gentlewoman? What is the course and drift of your compact ? Dromio of Syracuse. I, sir? I never saw her till this time. Antipholus of Syracuse. Villain, thou liest ; for even her very words Didst thou deliver to me on the mart. Dromio of Syracuse. I never spake with her in all my life. Antipholus of Syracuse. How can she thus then call lis by our names, Unless it be by inspiration ? Adriana. 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 wi th a more contempt. Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine ; Thou art en 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, briar, or idle moss ; Who, all for want of pruning, with intrusion Infect thy sap, and live on thy confusion. Antipholus of Syracuse. To me she speaks; she moves me for her theme 1 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'll entertain the offer'd fallacy. Luciana. Dromio, go bid the servants spread for dinner. Dromio of Syracuse. O, for my beads ! I cross me for a sinner. This is the fairy land : O, spite of spites 1 We talk with goblins, owls, and elvish sprites. If we obey them not, this will ensue, [blue. They'll suck our breath, or pinch us black and Luciana. Why prat'st thou to thyself, and answer'st not ? [sot ! Dromio, thou Dromio, thou snail, thou slug, thou Dromio of Syracuse. I am transformed, master, am I not ? Antipholus of Syracuse. I think thou art, in mind, and so am I. Dromio of Syracuse. Nay, master, both in mind and in my shape. Antipholus of Syracuse. Thou hast thine own form. Dromio d Act hi. Sc. i. COMEDY OF ERRORS. "5 Syracuse. No, I am an ape. Lactam. If thou art chang'd to aught, 'tis to an ass. Dromio of Syracu •TIs true; she rides me, and I long for grass. •Tis so, ! am an ass ; else it could never be, But 1 should know her, as well as she knows me. Adrian*. Come, come ; no longer will I be a fool, To nut the finger in the eye and weep, Whilst man and master laugh my woes to scorn. Come, sir, to dinner.— Dromio, keep the gate — Husband, I'll 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. Antipholus of Syracuse. 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'll say as they say, and persever so, And in this mist, at all adventures, go. Dromio of Syracuse. Master, shall I be porter at the gate ? Adriana. Ay ; and let none enter, lest I break your pate. Luciana. Come, come, Antipholus ; we dine too late. •@-@-#-#-# ACT III. SCENE I. The same. Enter Antipholus of Ephesus, Dromio of Ephesus. Angclo, and Balthazar. Antipholus of Ephesus. C2J.OOD 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 carkanet, And that to-morrow you will bring it home; But here's a villian, that would face me down He met me on the mart, and that I beat him, Andcharg'd him with a thousand marks in gold; And that I did deny my wife and house. — Thou drunkard, thou, what did'st thou mean by Dromio of Ephesus. Say what you will, sir; but I know what I know. [to show : That you beat me at the mart, I have your hand If the skin were parchment, and the blows vou gave were ink, [think. Your own hand-writing would tell you what I Antipholus of Ephesus. I think, thou art an ass. Dromio of Ephesus. Marry, so it doth appear, By the wrongs I suffer, and the blows J bear. 1 should kick, being kick'd ; and being at that pass, [an ass. You would keep from my heels, and beware of Antipholus of Ephesus. You are sad, signior Balthazar: pray God, our cheer [here. Mayanswermygood-will.andyour good welcome j And so tell your master. Balthazar. I hold your dainties cheap, sir, and your wel- come dear. Antipholus of Ephesus. | O, signior Balthazar, either at flesh or fish, I A table-full of welcome makes scarce one dainty dish. Balthazar. ! Good meat, sir, is common ; that every churl affords. Antipholus of Ephesus. And welcome more common, for that's nothing but words. Balthazar. Small cheer and great welcome makes a merry feast. Antipholus of Ephesus. I Ay, to a niggardly host, and more sparing guest: [part; But though my cates be mean, take them in good Better cheer may you have, but not with better heart. [in. But soft ! my door is lock'd. Go bid them let us Dromio of Ephesus. Maud, Bridget, Marian, Cicely, Gillian, Gin' I Dromio of Syracuse. [ Within. Mome, malt-horse, capon, coxcomb, idiot, patch 1 [hatch. Either get thee from the door, or sit down at the Dost thou conjure for wenches, that thou call'st for such store, [the door. When one is one too many ? Go, get thee from Dromio of Ephesus. What patch is made our porter?— My master stays in the street. Dromio of Syracuse. Let him walk from whence he came, lest he catch cold on's feet. Antipholus of Ephesus. Who talks within there? ho 1 open the door. Dromio of Syracuse. Right, sir; I'll tell you when, an you'll tell me wherefore. Antipholus of Ephesus. Wherefore ? for my dinner : I have not din'd to-day. _ , ._ * Dromio of Syracuse. Nor to-day here you must not, come again when you may. Antipholus of Ephesus. What art thou that keep'st me out from the house 1 owe ? Dromio of Syracuse. The porter for this time, sir; and my name is Dromio. Dromio of Ephesus. O villain ! thou hast stolen both mine office and my name : [blame. The one ne'er got me credit, the other mickle If thou had'st been Dromio to-day in my place, Thou would'st 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 ? Dromio of Ephesus. Let my master in, Luce. Luce. Faith no ; he comes too late ; Droinic. n6 COMEDY OF ERRORS. Act hi. Sc. i. Dromioof Ephesus. 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 ? Dromio of Syracuse. If thy name be called Luce, Luce, thou hast answer'd him well. Antipholus of Ephesus. Do you hear, you minion ? you'll let us in, 1 nope ? _ * Luce. I thought to have ask'd you. Dromio of Syracuse. And you said, no. Dromio of Ephesus. So ; come, help ! well struck ; there was blow for blow. Antipholus of Ephesus. Thou baggage, let me in. Luce. Can you tell for whose sake ? Dromio of Ephesus. Master, knock the door hard. Luce. Let him knock till it ache. Antipholus of Ephesus. You'll cry for this, minion, if I beat the door down. T Luce. What needs all that, and a pair of stocks in the town? . , , ,„„.. . Adriana. [Within. Who is that at the door, that keeps all this noise? _. , ,„ Dromio of Syracuse. By my troth, your town is troubled with un- ruly boys. Antipholus of Ephesus. Are you there, wife ? you might have come before. . . . Adriana. Your wife, sir knave? go, get you from the door. _. . -„ , Dromio of Ephesus. If you went in pain, master, this knave would go sore. . , ■ Angelo. Here is neither cheer, sir, nor welcome : we would fain have either. Balthazar. In debating which was best, we shall part with neither. Dromio of Ephesus. They stand at the door, master: bid them welcome hither. Antipholus of Ephesus. There is something in the wind, that we can- not get in. Dromio of Ephesus. You would say so, master, if your garments I were thin. [in the cold : ' Your cake here is warm within ; you stand here It would make a man mad as a buck to be so bought and sold. Antipholus of Ephesus. Go, fetch me something : I'll break ope the gate. Dromio of Syracuse. Break any breaking here, and I'll break your knave's pate. Dromio of Ephesus. A man may break a word with you, sir, and words are but wind ; Ay, and break it in your face, so he break it not behind. Dromio of Syracuse. It seems, thou want'st breaking. Out upon thee, hind 1 Dromio of Ephesus. Here's too much out upon thee ! I pray thee, let me in. Dromio of Syracuse. Ay, when fowls have no feathers, and fish have no fin. Antipholus of Ephesus. Well, I'll break in. Go, borrow me a crow. Dromio of Ephesus. A crow without feather? master, mean vou so ? [a feather. For a fish without a fin, there's a fowl without If a crow help us in, sirrah, we'll pluck a crow together. Antipholus of Ephesus. Go, get thee gone : fetch me an iron crow. Balthazar. Have patience, sir ; O ! let it not be so : Herein you war against your reputation, And draw within the compass of suspect Th' unviolated honour of your wife. [dom, Once this, — Your long experience of her wis- 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 route, 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 housed, where it gets possession. Antipholus of Ephesus. 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, 1 pray you, to the Porcupine ; For there's the house. That chain will 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'll knock elsewhere, to see if they'll disdain me. Angelo. I'll meet you at that place, some hour hence. Antipholus of Ephesus. Do so. This jest shall cost me some A^gense.. SCENE Acr in. Sc. II. COMEDY OK ERRORS. 117 SCESEll. The same. Enter Luciana, and Antipholus of Syracuse. And may it be that you have quite forgot A husband's office ? Shall, Antipholus, in the spring of love, thy love-springs rot ? Shall love, in building, grow so ruinous ? If you did wed ray sister for her wealth, Then, lor her wealth's sake use her with more kindness : Or, ifyou 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 o l . * Antipholus of Syracuse. , Sweet mistress, (Vhatyour name is else, I know not, Nor by what wonder you do hit of 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 : I^ay open to my earthly 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 held ? Are you a god ? would you create me new ? Transform me then, and to your power I'll But if that I am I, then well I know, [yield. Your weeping sister is no wife of mine, Nor to her bed no homage do 1 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, syren, for thyself, and I will dote : Spread o'er the silver waves thy golden hairs, And as a bed I'll 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 What ! are you mad, that you do reason so ? Not mad, hut mated ; now, 1 do 'not know. It is a fault that springeth from your eye. . Antipholus of Syracuse, ror gazing on your beam's, fair sun, being by. Gaze where you should,' and that will clear your sight. As good to wiAk, sweet love, as look on night Why call you me lover^call my sister so. mu ... Antipholus of Syracuse. Thy sisters slsler. That's my sister. Antipholus of Syracuse. It is thyself, mine own selfs better part ; Mine eye's clear eye, my dear heart's dearer heart ; My food, my fortune, and my sweet hope's aim, My sole earth's heaven, and my heaven's claim. No: All this my sister Luciana is, or eh se should be. Call thyself sTsfer, sweet, for Tahri thee. Thee will I love, and with thee lead my life: Thou hast no husband yet, nor 1 no wife. Give me thy hand. D, sorffsir ! hold you still : I'll fetch my sister, to get her good-will. [Exit. Enter Dromio of Syracuse hastily. - XT , . Antipholus of Syracuse , t , Why, how now, Dromio f where run'st thou so fast ? Do you know me, sir i^am I Dromio f am I your man ? am I myself ? Thou art Dromio, tnou att my man, thou art thyself. . Dromio of Syracuse. .= .. I am an ass ; I am a woman's man, and besides myself. nan's hoIusx>f S w besides thy- What woman self? Marry, sir,beside's myself, fam due toa woman; one that claims me, one that haunts me, one that will have me. Whatclaim^te^tmie^ 1 „ . Drpmio.of Syracuse. 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 tome. Whati S s^e n ? iph0,US0fSyraCU8e ' Dromio of Syracuse. A very reverend body ; ay, sucn 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. , .Antipholus of Syracuse. How dost thoU mean a fat marriage ? Marry, sir, she's" the klt'chen-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'll burn a week longer than the whole world. Antiuholus of Syracuse. What complexion' is she or ? Dromio n8 COMEDY OF ERRORS. Act hi. Sc. n. Dromio of Syracuse. Swart, like my shoe, but her face nothing like I so clean kept : for why ? she sweats ; a man may go over shoes in the grime of it. Antipholus of Syracuse. That's a fault that water will mend. Dromio of Syracuse. No, sir ; 'tis in grain: Noah's flood could not I do it. Antipholus of Syracuse. What's her name ? Dromio of Syracuse. ' Nell, sir ; but her name is three quarters, that is, an ell ; and three quarters will not measure her from hip to hip. Antipholus of Syracuse Then she bears some breadth ? Dromio of Syracuse. No longer from head to foot, than from hip to hip : she is spherical, like a globe ; 1 could And out countries in her. Antipholus of Syracuse In what part or her body stands Ireland? Dromio of Syracuse. Marry, sir, in her buttocks : I found it out by the bogs. Antipholus of Syracuse. Where Scotland? Dromio of Syracuse. I found it by the barrenness, hard, in the palm of the hand. Antipholus of Syracuse. Where France? Dromio of Syracuse. In her forehead ; arm'd and reverted, making war against her heir. Antipholus of Syracuse. Where England? Dromio of Syracuse. I look'd 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 Antipholus of Syracuse. Where Spain f Dromio of Syracuse. Faith, I saw it not ; but I felt it hot in her breath. Antipholus of Syracuse. Where America, the Indies ? Dromio of Syracuse. O ! sir, upon her nose, all o'er embellished with rubies, carbuncles, sapphires, declining their rich aspect to the hot breath of Spain, who sent whole armadoes of carracks to be ballast at her nose. Antipholus of Syracuse. Where stood Belgia, the Netherlands ? Dromio of Syracuse. O ! sir, I did not look so low. To conclude, this drudge, or diviner, laid claim to me ; call'd 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 transform 'd me to a curtail dog, and made me turn i' the wheel. Antipholus of Syracuse. Go, hie thee presently post to the road, And if the wind blow any way from shore, I will not harbour in this town to-night. If any bark put forth, come to the mart, Where 1 will walk till thou return to me. If every one knows us, and we know none, 'Tis time, I think, to trudge, pack, and begone. Dromio of Syracuse. As from a bear a man would run for life, So fly I from her that would be my wife. [Exit. Antipholus of Syracuse. 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, Fossess'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'll stop mine ears against the mermaid's song. Enter Angelo. Angelo. Master Antipholus ? Antipholus of Syracuse. Ay, that's my name. Angelo. I know it well, sir. Lo, here is the chain. I thought to have ta'en you at the Porcupine ; The chain unhnish'd made me stay thus long. Antipholus of Syracuse. What is your will that I shall do with this ? Angelo. What please yourself, sir : I have made it for you. Antipholus of Syracuse. Made it for me, sir ? I bespoke it not. Angelo. Not once, nor twice, but twenty times you have. Go home with it, and please your wife withal ; And soon at supper-time I'll visit you, And then receive my money for the chain. Antipholus of Syracuse. I pray you, sir, receive the money now, For fear you ne'er see chain, nor money, more. Angelo. You are a merry man, sir. Fare you well. [Exit. Antipholus of Syracuse. 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 ofl'er'd chain. I see, a man here needs not live by shifts, When in the streets he meets such golden gifts. I'll to the mart, and there lor Dromio stay: If any ship put out, then straight away. [Exit. ACT IV. SCENE I. The same. Enter a Merchant, Angelo, and an Officer. Merchant. 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'll attach you by this oflicer. Angelo. Act iv. Sc. l COMEDY OF ERRORS. 119 Even just the sum, that I do owe to you, Is growing to me by An tip bolus ; 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 yon walk with me down to his house, I will discharge my bond, and thank you too. Enter Antlphaht* of Fvhr/t"s. and Dromfo of Ep&ettUf from the 1 ouruzan'a. Officer. That labour may you save : see where he comes. Antinholus of Ephesus. While I go to the goldsmith's house, go thou And buy a rope's end, that will I bestow Among my wife and her confederates, For locking me out of my doors by day. — But soft, I see the goldsmith. — Get thee gone ; Buy thou a rope, and bring it home to me. Dromio of Ephesus. I buy a thousand pound a year ? I buy a rope ? [Exit. Antinholus of Ephesus. 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 chain'd together, and therefore came not. Angelo. Saving your merry humour, here's the note How much your chain weighs to the utmost caract, The fineness of the gold, and chargeful fashion, Which doth amount to three odd ducats more Than I stand debted to this gentleman : 1 pray you, see him presently discharg'd, For he is bound to sea, and stays but for it. Antinholus of Ephesus. I am not furnish 'd 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 thereof: Perchance, I will be there as soon as you. Angelo. Then, you will bring the chain to her yourself ? Antinholus of Ephesus. No ; bear it with you, lest I come not time enough. Angelo. Well, sir, I will. Have you the chain about you? Antipholus of Ephesus. An if I have not, sir, I hope you have, Or else you may return without your money. Angelo. Nay, come, I pray you, sir, give me the chain : Both wind and tide stay for this gentleman, And I, to blame, have held him here too long. Antipholus of Ephesus. 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. Merchant. The hour steals on : I pray you, sir, dispatch. Angelo. You hear, how he importunes me : the chain— Antipholus of Ephesus. Why, give it to my wife, and fetch your money. Come, come ; you know, I gave it you eren now. [token. Either send the chain, or send me by some Antipholus of Ephesus. Fie 1 now you run this humour out of breath. Come whereas the chain ? I pray you, let me see it. Merchant. My business cannot brook this dalliance. Good sir, say, whe'r you'll answer me, or no? If not, I'll leave him to the officer. Antipholus of Ephesus. I answer you ! what should I answer you ? Angelo. The money that you owe me for the chain. Antipholus of Ephesus. I owe you none, till I receive the chain. Angelo. You know, I gave it you half an hour since. Antipholus of Ephesus. You gave me none : you wrong me much to say so. Angelo. You wrong me more, sir, in denying it : Consider how it stands upon my credit. Merchant. Well, officer, arrest him at my suit Officer. I do, and charge you in the duke's name to obey me. Angelo. This touches me in reputation. — Either consent to pay this sum for me, Or I attach you by this officer. Antipholus of Ephesus. Consent to pay thee that lnever had ? Arrest me, foolish fellow, if thou dar'st. Angelo Here is thy fee : arrest him, officer. — I would not spare my brother in this case, If he should scorn me so apparently. Officer. I do arrest you, sir. You hear the suit. Antipholus of Ephesus. I do obey thee, till I give tnee bail. — But, sirrah, you shall buy this sport as dear, A 8 all the metal in your shop will answer. Angelo. Sir, sir, I shall have law in Ephesus, To your notorious shame, I doubt it not. Enter Dromio of Syracuse. Dromio of Syracuse. Master, there is a bark of Epidamnum, That stays but till her owner comes aboard, And then, sir, she bears away. Our fraughtage, I have convey'd aboard, and I have bought [sir, The oil, the balsamum, and aqua-vita?. The ship is in her trim : the merry wind [all, Blows fair from land ; they stay for naught at But for their owner, master, and yourself. Antipholus of Ephesus. How now ? a madman ! Why, thou peevish sheep, What ship of Epidamnum stays for me ? Dromio of Syracuse. A ship you sent me to, to hire wattage. Antipholus of Ephesus. Thou drunken slave, I sent thee for a rope ; And told thee to what purpose, and what end. Dromio COMEDY OF ERRORS. Act iv. Sc. i. Dromio of Syracuse. You sent me for a rope's end as soon. You sent me to the bay, sir, for a bark. Antipholus of Ephesus. I will debate this matter at more leisure, And teach your ears to list me with more heed. To Adriana, villain, hie thee straight ; Give her this key, and tell her, in the desk l 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, [gone. ■ And that shall bail me. Hie thee, slave, be j I On, officer, to prison till it come. [Exeunt Merchant, Angela, Officer, and An- \ tipholus of Ephesus. Dromio of Syracuse. 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, j SCENE II. The «ame. Enter Adriana and Luciano. Adriana. Ah ! Luciano, 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 ? i What observation mad'st thou in this case, Of his heart's meteors tilting in his face ? Luciana. First he denied you had in him no right. Adriana. He meant, he did me none : the more my spite. Luciana. Then swore he, that he was a stranger here. Adriana. And true he swore, though yet forsworn he were. Luciana. Then pleaded I for you. Adriana. And what said he ? Luciana. That love I begg'd for you, he begg'd of me. Adriana. With what persuasion did he tempt thy love ? Luciana. With words that in an honest suit might move. First, he did praise my beauty ; then, my speech. Adriana. Did'st speak him fair ? Luciana. Have patience, I beseech. Adriana. I cannot, nor I will not hold me still ; [will. My tongue, though not my heart, shall have his He is deformed, crooked, old, and sere, Ill-fac'd, worse bodied, shapeless every where ; Vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind, Stigmatical in making, worse in mind. Luciana. Who would be jealous, then, of such a one ? No evil lost is wail'd when it is gone. Adriana. Ah ! but I think him better than 1 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. Dromio of Syracuse. Here, go : the desk 1 the purse ! sweet, now make haste. Luciana. How hast thou lost thy breath ? Dromio of Syracuse. By running fast. Adriana. Where is thy master, Dromio ? is he well ? Dromio of Syracuse. No, he's in Tartar limbo, worse than hell : 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 The passages of alleys, creeks, and narrow lands : A hound that runs counter, and yet draws dry- foot well ; [souls to hell. One that, before the judgment, carries poor Adriana. Why, man, what is the matter ? Dromio of Syracuse. I do not know the matter : he is 'rested on the case. Adriana. What, is he arrested ? tell me, at whose suit. Dromio of Syracuse. 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 his desk ? Adriana. Go fetch it, sister.— This I wonder at; [Exit Luciano. That he, unknown to me, should be in debt : — Tell me, was he arrested on a band ? Dromio of Syracuse. Not on a band, but on a stronger thing ; A chain, a chain : do you not hear it ring ? Adriana. What, the chain ? Dromio of Syracuse. No, no, the bell. 'Tis time that I were gone : It was two ere I left him, and now the clock strikes one. Adriana. The hours come back ! that did I never hear. Dromio of Syracuse. O yes ; if any hour meet a serjeant, 'a turns back for very fear. Adriana. As if time were in debt ! how fondly dost thou reason 1 Dromio of Syracuse. Time is a very bankrupt, and owes more than he's worth, to season. [say, Nay, he's a thief too : have you not heard men That time comes stealing on by night and day ? If he be in debt and theft, and a serjeant in the way, [day ? Hath he not reason to turn back an hour in a Re-enter Luciana. Adriana. Go, Dromio : there's the money, bear it straight, And Act iv. Sc. iv. COMEDY OF ERRORS. i*i And bring thy master home immediately.— Come, sister ; 1 am press'd down with conceit, Conceit, my comfort, and my injury. [Exeunt. SCESE III. The lame. Filter Antipholus of Syracuse. Antipholus of Syracu--- There's not a man I meet Tmt doth salute me, As if 1 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 methanks for kindnesses ; Some offer me commodities to buy : Even now a tailor call'd me in bis 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. Dromio of Syracuse. Master, here's the gold you sent me for. What have you got the picture of old Adam new apparell'd ? Antipholus of Syracuse. What gold is this ? What Adam dost thou mean? Dromio of Syracuse. Not that Adam that kept the paradise, but that Adam that keeps the prison : he that goes in the calfs-skin that was kill'd for the prodigal : he that came behind you, sir, like an evil angel, and bid you forsake your liberty. Antipholus of Syracuse. I understand thee not. Dromio of Syracuse. 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 sob, 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. Antipholus of Syracuse. What, thou mean'st an officer ? Dromio of Syracuse. Ay, sir, the Serjeant or 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 ! " Antipholus of Syracuse. Well, sir, there rest in your foolery. Is there any ship puts forth to-night ? may we be gone ? Dromio of Syracuse. Why, sir, I brought you word an hour since, that the bark Expedition put forth to-night ; and then were you hindered by the Serjeant to tarry for the hoy Delay. Here are the angels that you sent for to deliver you. Antipholus of Syracuse. The fellow Is distract, and" so am I, And here we wander in illusions. Some blessed power deliver us from hence ! Enter a Courtezan. Courtezan. 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 ? Antipholus of Syracuse. Satan, avoid I I charge thee, tempt me not ! Dromio of Syracuse. Master, is this mistress Satan f Antipholus of Syracuse. It is the devil. Dromio of Syracuse. 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 I 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. Courtezan. Your man and you are marvellous merry, sir. Will you go with me ? we'll mend our dinner here. Dromio of Syracuse. Master, if you do, expect spoon-meat, or be- speak a long spoon. Antipholus of Syracuse. Why, Dromio ? Dromio of Syracuse. Marry, he must have a long spoon that must eat with the devil. Antipholus of Syracuse. Avoid then, fiend ! what tell'st thou me of Thou art, as you are all, a sorceress : [supping ? I conjure thee to leave me, and be gone. Courtezan. Give me the ring of mine you had at dinner, Or for my diamond the chain you promis'd, And I'll be gone, sir, and not trouble you. Dromio of Syracuse. Some devils ask but the parings 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. Courtezan. I pray you, sir, my ring, or else the chain. I hope you do not mean to cheat me so. Antipholus of Syracuse. Avaunt, thou witch 1 Come, Dromio, let us go. Dromio of Syracuse. Fly pride, says the peacock : mistress, that you know. [Exeunt Antipholus and Dromio. Courtezan. 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 [trance. Of his own doors being shut against his en- 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, j 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 Aniipholus of Ephestis, and a Jailor. Antipholus of Ephesus. , Fear me not, man ; I will hot break away: I'll give thee, ere I leave thee, so much money, ia* COMEDY OF EKKORS. Act iv. Sc. iv. 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 Ephestis, I tell you, 'twill sound harshly in her ears. Enter Dromio of Ephesus with a rope's-end. Here comes my man: I think he brings the money. — How now, sir ? have you that I sent you for ? Dromio of Ephesus. Here's that, I warrant you, will pay them all. Antipholus of Ephesus. But where's the money ? Dromio of Ephesus. Why, sir, I gave the money for the rope. Antipholus of Ephesus. Five hundred ducats, villain, for a rope ? Dromio of Ephesus. I'll serve you, sir, five hundred at the rate. Antipholus of Ephesus. To what end did I bid thee hie thee home ? Dromio of Ephesus. To a rope's end, sir ; and to that end am I return'd. Antipholus of Ephesus. And to that end, sir, I will welcome you. [Beating him. Jailor. Good sir, be patient. Dromio of Ephesus. Nay, 'tis for me to be patient ; I am in ad- versity. Jailor. Good now, hold thy tongue. Dromio of Ephesus. Nay, rather persuade him to hold his hands. Antipholus of Ephesus. Thou whoreson, senseless villain ! Dromio of Ephesus. I would I were senseless, sir ; that I might not feel your blows. Antipholus of Ephesus. Thou art sensible in nothing but blows, and so is an ass. Dromio of Ephesus. I am an ass, indeed : you may prove it by my long ears. I have serv'd 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 wak'd with it, when I sleep ; rais'd with it, when I sit ; driven out of doors with it, when I go from home ; welcom'd home with it, when I return : 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. Antipholus of Ephesus. Come, go along: my wife is coming yonder. Enter Adriana, Luciana, the Courtezan, and a Schoolmaster called Pinch. Dromio of Ephesus. Mistress, resptce finem, respect your end ; or rather the prophecy, like the parrot, " Be- ware the rope's end." Antipholus of Ephesus. Wilt thou still talk ? [Beats him. Courtezan. How say you now ? is not your husband mad ? Adrians. His incivility confirms no less. — Good doctor Pinch, you are a conjurer ; Establish him in his true sense again, And 1 will please you what you will demand. Luciana. Alas, how fiery and how sharp he looks ! Courtezan. Mark, now he trembles in his ecstasy ! Pinch. Give me your hand, and let me feel jour pulse. Antipholus of Ephesus. There is my hand, and let it feel your ear. Pinch. 1 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. Antipholus of Ephesus. Peace, doting wizard, peace ! I am not mad. Adriana. O, that thou wert not, poor distressed soul I Antipholus of Ephesus. You minion, you ; are these your customers ? 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 ? Adriana. O husband, God doth know, you din'd at home ; Where 'would you had remain'd until this time, Free from these slanders, and this open shame I Antipholus of Ephesus. Din'd at home 1 Thou, villain, what say'st thou? Dromio of Ephesus. Sir, sooth to say, you did not dine at home. Antipholus of Ephesus. Were not my doors lock'd up, and I shut out? Dromio of Ephesus. Perdy, your doors were lock'd, and you shut out. Antipholus of Ephesus. And did not she herself revile me there ? Dromio of Ephesus. Sans fable, she herself revil'd you there. Antipholus of Ephesus. Did not her kitchen-maid rail, taunt, and scorn me ? Dromio of Ephesus. Certes, she did; the kitchen-vestal scorn'd you. Antipholus of Ephesus. And did not I in rage depart from thence ? Dromio of Ephesus. In verity, you did : —my bones bear witness, That since have felt the vigour of his rage. Adriana. Is't good to soothe him in these contraries ? Pinch. It is no shame : the fellow finds his vein, And, yielding to him, humours well his frenzy. Antipholus of Ephesus. Thou hast suborn'd the goldsmith to arrest me. Adriana. Alas, I sent you money to redeem you, By Dromio here, who came in haste for it Act iv. Sc. iv. COMEDY OF ERRORS. »»3 Dromio of Ephesus. Money by me! heart and good-will you might ; But, surely, master, not a rag of money. Antipholus of Ephesus. Went'st not thou to her for a purse of ducat* ? Adrians. He came to me, and I deliver'd it. Luciana. And I am witness with her that she did. Dromio of Ephesus. 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. Antipholus of Ephesus. Say, wherefore didst thou lock me forth to- day, And why dost thou deny the bag of gold ? Adriana. I did not, gentle husband, lock thee forth. Dromio of Ephesus. And, gentle master, I receiv'd no gold ; But I confess, sir, that we were lock'd out. Adriana. Dissembling villain I thou speak'st false in both. Antipholus of Ephesus. Dissembling harlot ! thou art false in all, And art confederate with a damned pack To make a loathsome, abject scorn of me ; But with these nails I'll pluck out these false eyes, That would behold in me this shameful sport. Enter three or four, and bind Antipholus and Dromio. Adriana. hii bind him, bind him I let him not come near me. Pinch. More company! — the fiend is strong within him. Luciana. Ah me ! poor man, how pale and wan he looks. Antipholus of Ephesus. What, will you murder me ? Thou jailor, thou, I am thy prisoner : wilt thou suffer them To make a rescue ? Jailor. Masters, let him go : He is my prisoner, and you shall not have him. Pinch. Go, bind this man, for he is frantic too. Adrian*. What wilt thou do, thou peevish officer ? Hast thou delight to see a wretched man Do outrage and displeasure to himself? Jailor. He is my prisoner : if I let him go, The debt he owes will be requir'd of me. Adriana. 1 will discharge thee, ere I go from thee. Bear me forthwith unto his creditor, I And, knowing how the debt grows, I will pay | Good master doctor, see him safe convey'd [it. i Home to my house O, most unhappy day I Antipholus of Ephesus. O, most unhappy strumpet 1 to of Ephesus. Master, I am here enter'd in bond for you. Antipholus of Ephesus. Out on thee, villain ! wherefore dost thou mad me ? Dromio of Ephesus. Will you be bound for nothing ? be mad, good master ; Cry, the devil— Luciana. God help, poor souls ! how idly do they talk. . Adriana. Go bear him hence. — Sister, go you with me. — [Exeunt Pinch and assistants With Antipholus and Dromio. Say now, whose suit is he arrested at ? Jailor. One Angelo, a goldsmith ; do you know him ? Adriana. I know the man. What is the sum he owes ? Jailor. Two hundred ducats. Adriana. Say, how grows it due ? Jailor. Due for a chain your husband had of him. Adriana. He did bespeak a chain for me, but had it not. Courtezan. 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. Adriana. It may be so, but I did never see it Come, jailor, bring me where the goldsmith is : I long to know the truth hereof at large. Knter Antipholus of Syracuse, with his rapier drawn, and Dromio of Syracuse. Luciana. God, for thy mercy ! they are loose again. Adriana. And come with naked swords. Let's call more To have them bound again. [help, Jailor. Away ! they'll kill us. TExeunt Adriana, Luciana, and Jailor. Antipholus of Syracuse. I see, these witches are afraid of swords. Dromio of Syracuse. She, that would be your wife, now ran from you. Antipholus of Syracuse. Come to the Centaur ; fetch our stuff from thence : I long, that we were safe and sound aboard. Dromio of Syracuse. 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 j claims marriage of me, I could find in my heart to stay here still, and turn witch. Antipholus of Syracuse. I will not stay to-night for all the town ; Therefore away, to get our stuff aboard. [Exeunt. ACT 1*4 COMEDY OF ERRORS. Act v. Sc. l ACT V. SCENE I. The same. Before an Abbey. Enter Merchant and Angelo. T AM sorry, sir, that fhave hinder'd you ; x But, I protest, he had the chain of me, Though most dishonestly he doth deny it. iere in the city ? Of very reverend reputation, sir, Of credit infinite, highly belov'd, Second to none that lives here in the < ity : His word might bear my wealth at any time. Speak softly: yonder , as I" think, he walks. Enter Antipholus and Dromio of Syracuse. 'Tis so ; and that' serf chain about his neck, Which he forswore most monstrously to have. Good sir, draw near to me, I'll 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 : Beside 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 ? I think, I^H^vefcuffaiHFit. Yes, that you did, sir ; and forswore it too. Who heard me^to deny it? or C fors'wear it ? 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. Thou art a villain to impeach me thus. I'll prove mine honour and mine honesty Against thee presently, if thou dar'st stand. I dare, and do derythee'nVr a villain. [They draw. Enter Adriana, Luciana, Courtezan, and others. 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. Run, master, run ; Mr God's sake take a house ! This is some priory : — in, or we are spoil'd. [Exeunt Antipholus and Dromio to the Abbey. Enter the Lady Abbess Re quiet, people. VVherefore throng you hi- ther? To fetch my poor distracted husband hence. Let us come m, that we may bind him fast, And bear him home for his recovery. I knew, he was nbt ! 'fri his perfect wits. I am sorry now, Ihaf t'efta' draw on him. How long hath this possession held the man ? This week he hathbeen''heavy, sour, sad ; And much different from the man he was ; But, till this afternoon, his passion Ne'er brake into extremity of rage. Hath he not lost muclTwealth by wreck of sea ?: 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 ? To none of these, eSccepffit be the last ; Namely, some love, that drew him oft from home. You should for that have reprehended him. Why, so I did. Adriana. Ay,but not rough enough, As roughly, as my modesty would let me. Haply, in private Abbess. Adriana. And in assemblies, too. Ay, but not enough Adriana.. It was the copy ofour 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 glanc'd it : Still did I tell him it was vile and bad. 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 hinder'd by thy railing, And thereof comes it, that his head is light. Thou say'st, his meat was saue'd with thy up- Unquiet meals make ill digestions ; [braidings : 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 heast. The consequence is, then, thy jealous fits Have scar'd thy husband from the use of wits. She never reprehended nim but mildly, When he demean'd himself rough, rude, and wildly. — Why bear you these rebukes, and answer not ? Adriana. COKKSIDT ©IF lS3m©I&S. Art. ? Act v. Sc. i. COMEDY OF ERRORS. 125 Adriaua. She did betray me to my own reproof — Good people, enter, and lay hold on him. Abbes/. No ; not a creature enters in my house. Adrian*. Then, let your servants bring my husband forth. ... Abbtaa Neither : he took this place for sanctuary, And it shall privilege him from your hands, Till I have brought him to his wits again, Or lose my labour in essaying it. Adrians. 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. Abbess. Be patient ; for I will not let him stir, Till 1 have us'd 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. Adriana. I will not hence, and leave my husband here ; And ill it doth beseem your holiness To separate the husband and the wife. Abbess. Be quiet, and depart : thou shalt not have him. Luciana. ; Complain unto the duke of this indignity. Adriana. i Come, go : I will fall prostrate at his feet, And never rise, until my tears and prayers I ' Have won his grace to cbme in person hither, : And take perforce my husband from the abbess. Merchant. By this, I think, the dial points at five: Anon, I'm sure, the duke himself in person Comes this way to the melancholy vale, I I The place of death and sorry execution, Behind the ditches of the abbey here. Angelo. Upon what cause ? Merchant. To see a reverend Syracusian merchant, : j Who put unluckily into this bay Against the laws and statutes of this town, Beheaded publicly for his offence. Angelo. See, where they come : we will behold his death. T . Luciana. Kneel to the duke before he pass the abbey. Enter Duke attended ; JEgeon bare-headed ; with the Headsman and other Officer*. 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. Adriana. Justice, most sacred duke, against the abbess 1 Duke. She is a virtuous and a reverend lady : It cannot be, that she hath done thee wrong. Adriana. May it please your grace, Antipholus, my hus- Whom I made lord of me, and all I had, [band, 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 Kings, jewels, any thing 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, Chas'd us away ; till, raising of more aid, We came again to bind them. Then they fl fcd 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. 1 Long since thy husband serv'd me in my wars, « And I to thee engag'd a prince's word, j 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. Servant. 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 sing'd off with brands of ; And ever as it blazed they threw on him [fire ; Great pails of puddled mire to quench the hair. My master preaches patience to him, and the while His man with scissars nicks him like a fool ; And, sure, unless you send some present help, Between them they will kill the conjurer. Adriana. Peace, fool ! thy master and his man are here: And that is false, thou dost report to us. Servant. 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. ! Hark, hark, I hear him, mistress : fly, be gone. Duke. Come, stand by me; fear nothing. Guard with halberds I Adriana. 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 Drotnio of Ephesus. Antipholus of Ephestw. Justice, most gracioQs duke 1 O I 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. 126 COMEDY OF ERRORS. Act v. Sc. i. iEgeon. Unless the fear of death doth make me dote, I see my son Antipholus, and Dromiol Antipholus of Ephesus. 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. Duke. Discover how, and thou shalt find me just. Antipholus of Ephesus. This day. great duke, she shut the doors upon me, While she with harlots feasted in my house. Duke. A grievous fault. Say, woman, did'st thou so ? Adrian a. No, my good lord : myself, he, and my sister, To-day did dine together. So befal my soul, As this is false he burdens me withal. Luciana. Ne'er may I look on day, nor sleep on night, But she tells to your highness simple truth. Angelo. O perjur'd woman ! They are both forsworn: In this the madman justly chargeth them. Antipholus of Ephesus. My liege, T am advised what T 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 Could witness It, for he was with me then ; [her, Who parted with me to go fetch a chain, Promising to bring it to the Porcupine, Where Balthazar and 1 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, W T hich, 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 1 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-fae'd A mere anatomy, a mountebank, [villain, 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, out-facing 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 jour grace, whom I beseech To give me ample satisfaction For these deep shames, and great indignities. Angelo. . My lord, in truth, thus far I witness with him, That he dined not at home, but was lock'd out. Duke. But had he such a chain of thee, or no ? Angelo. He had, my lord; and when he ran in here, These people saw the chain about his neck. Merchant. 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. Antipholus of Ephesus. I never came within these abbey walls, Nor ever did'st thou draw thy sword on me. I never saw the chain, so help me heaven I And this is false you burden me withal. Duke. Why, what an intricate impeach is this J I think, you all have drunk 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, be dined at home ; the goldsmith here Denies that saying Sirrah, what say you ? Dromio of Ephesus. Sir, he dined with her, there, at the Porcupine. Courtezan. He did, and from my finger snatch'd that ring. Antipholus of Ephesus. 'Tis true, my liege ; this ring I had of her. Duke. Saw'st thou him enter at the abbey here ? Courtezan. 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. JEgeon. Most mighty duke, vouchsafe me speak a Haply, I see a friend will save my life, [word. And pay the sum that may deliver me. Duke. Speak freely, Syracusian, what thou wilt. iEgeon. Is not your name, sir, call'd Antipholus, And is not that your bondman Dromio? Dromio of Ephesus. Within this hour I was his bondman, sir ; But he, I thank him, gnaw'd in two my cords : Now am I Dromio, and his man, unbound. iEgeon. I am sure you both of you remember me. Dromio of Ephesus. 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 ? JEgcon. Why look you strange on me ? you know me well. Antipholus of Ephesus. I never saw you in my life, till now. iEgeon. O ! grief hath changM 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 ? Antipholus of Ephesus. Neither. iEgeon J] A- •! v. So. I. COMEDY OF ERRORS. 117 JEgcon. Dromio, nor thou ? Dromio or Ephesus. No, trust me, sir, nor I. iEgeon. 1 am sure thou dost. Dromio of Ephesus. Ay, sir ; but I am sure I do not ; and what- soever a man denies, you are now bound to believe him. JEgcon. Not know my voice ? O, time's extremity ! Hast thou so crack'dand splittedmypoor 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 Antiphoius. Antipholus of Ephesus. I never saw my father in my life. IEgeon. But seven years since, in Syracusa, boy, Thou k now'st we parted. But, perhaps, my son, Thou sham'st to acknowledge me in misery. Antipholus of Ephesus. 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, Syracusian, 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 Abbess, with Antipholus of Syracuse and Dromio of Syracuse. Abbess. Most mighty duke, behold a man much wrong'd. [All gather to see them. Adriana. I see two husbands, or mine eyes deceive me 1 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 ? Dromio of Syracuse. I, sir, am Dromio : command him away. Dromio of Ephesus. I, sir, am Dromio : pray let me stay. Antipholus of Syracuse. JEgcon, art thou not ? or else his ghost ? Dromio of Syracuse. O, my old master ! who hath bound him here ? Abbess. Whoever bound him, I will loose his bonds, And gain a husband by his liberty— Speak, old Mgeon, if thou be'st the man That hadst a wife once call'd Emilia, That bore thee at a burden two fair sons. O ! if thou be'st the same JEgeon, speak, And speak unto the same JEmilia I ^gcon. If I dream not, thou art JEmilia. If thou art she. tell me, where is that son That floated with thee on the fatal raft ? Abbess. 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 lelt with those of Epidamnum. What then became of them, I cannot tell ; I, to this fortune that you see me in. l)uk<-. Why, here begins his morning story right. These two Antipholus', 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. Antipholus of Syracuse. No, sir, not I : I came from Syracuse. Duke. Stay, stand apart : I know not which it which, Antipholus of Ephesus. I came from Corinth, my most gracious lord. Dromio of Ephesus. And I with him. Antipholus of Ephesus. Brought to this town by that most famoui warrior, Duke Menaphon, your most reuowned uncle. Adriana. Which of you two did dine with me to-day ? Antipholus of Syracuse. I, gentle mistress. Adriana. And are not you my husband ? Antipholus of Ephesus. No ; I say nay to that. Antipholus of Syracuse. And so do I, yet did she call me so ; And this fair gentlewoman, her sister here, Did call me brother. — W T hat I told you then, I hope, I shall have leisure to make good, If this be not a dream I see, and hear. Angelo. That is the chain, sir, which you had of me. Antipholus of Syracuse. I think it be, sir : I deny it not. Antipholus of Ephesus. And you, sir, for this chain arrested me. Angelo. I think I did, sir : I deny it not. Adriana. I sent you money, sir, to be your bail, By Dromio i but I think, he brought it not. Dromio of Ephesus. No, none by me. Antipholus of Syracuse. This purse of ducats I received from you, 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 all arose. Antipholus of Ephesus. These ducats pawn I for my father here. Duke. It shall not need : thy father hath bis life. Courtezan. Sir, I must have that diamond from you. Antipholus of Ephesus. There, take it; and much thanks for my good cheer. Abbess. n8 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. Act i. So. i Abbess. Renowned duke, vouchsafe to take the pains To go with us into the abbey here, And hear at large discoursed all our fortunes ; And all that are assembled in this place, That by this sympathized one day's error Have suffered wrong, go, keep us company, And we shall make full satisfaction. Twenty-five years have I but gone in travail Of you, my sons ; and 'till this present hour My heavy burden ne'er 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 1 Duke. With all my heart : I'll gossip at this feast. CExeunt Duke, Abbess, Mzeon, Courtezan, Merchant, Angela, and Attendants. Dromio of Syracuse. Master, shall I fetch your stuff from ship- board? Antipholus of Ephesus. Dromio, what stuff of mine hast thou em- bark'd? Dromio of Syracuse. Your goods, that lay at host, sir, in the Cen- taur. Antipholus of Syracuse He speaks to me. — T am your master, Dromio: Come, go with us ; we'll look to that anon. Embrace thy brother there ; rejoice with him. [Exeunt Antipholus of Syracuse and Ephe- sus, Adriana, and Luciano. Dromio of Syracuse. 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. Dromio of Ephesus. 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 ? Dromio of Syracuse. Not I, sir ; you are my elder. Dromio of Ephesus. That's a question : how shall we try it ? Dromio of Syracuse. We'll draw cuts for the senior : till then, lead thou first. Dromio of Ephesus Nay, then thus : We came into the world, like brother and brother ; And now, let's go hand in hand, not one before another. one I [Kxe MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. DRAMATIS PERSONS. DON PEDRO, Prince of Arragon. John, his bastard Brother. Claudio, a young Lord of Florence. Benedick, a young Lord of Padua. Leonato, Governor of Messina. Antonio, his Brother. Balthazar, Servant to Don Pedro cZT^fo^ers of John. Ve^^ Officers. Friar Francis. A Sexton. A Boy. Hero, Daughter to Leonato. Beatrice, Niece to Leonato. Ursula 6 *' I Gentleu > omen attending on Hero. Messengers, Watchmen, and Attendants. SCENE. Messina. ACT I. SCENE I. Before Leonato's House. Enter Leonato, Hero, Beatrice, and others, with a Messenger. Leonato. I LEARN in this letter, that Don Pedro of Arragon comes this night to Messina. Messenger. He Is very near by this: he was not three- leagues off when 1 left him. Leonato. How many gentlemen have you lost in thfr action ? Messenger. But few of any sort, and none of name. Act l Sc. l MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. ia 9 Leonato. Lconato. A victory is twice itself, when the achiever ' You must not, sir, mistake my niece. There brings home full numbers. 1 find here, that is a kind of merry war betwixt signior Benedick Don Pedro hath bestowed much honour on a and her: they never meet, but there's a skirmish young Florentine, called Claudia Messenger. Much deserved on his part, and equally re- membered 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, of wit between them. Beatrice. Alas ! he gets nothing by that In our last conflict four of his five wits went halting off, and now is the whole man governed with one ; so that if he have wit enough to keep himself better bettered expectation, than you must ex- [ warm, let him bear it for a difference between I pect of me to tell you how. himself and his horse ; for it is all the wealth Lconato. j that he hath left to be known a reasonable He hath an uncle here in Messina will be very creature. - Who is his companion now ? He much clad of it hatn every month a new sworn brother. Messenger. Messenger. I have already delivered him letters, and ' is't possible ? there appears much joy in him ; even so much Beatrice. that joy could not show itself modest enough withoat a badge of bitterness. Leonato. Did he break out into tears ? Messenger. In great measure. Leonato. 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 ? Beatrice. I pray you, is signior Montanto returned from the wars, or no ? . . Messenger. I know none of that name, lady : there was none such in the army of any sort. Leonato. What is he that you ask for, niece ? Hero. My cousin means signior Benedick of Padua. Messenger. 1 he is returned, and as pleasant as ever he Beatrice. He set up his bills here in Messina, and chal- lenged 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. Lconato. Very easily possible: he wears his faith but as the fashion of his hat, it ever changes with the next block. MefSenger . I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your books. Beatrice No; an he were, I would burn my study. But, I pray you, who is his companion ? Is there no joung squarer now, that will make a voyage with him to the devil ? Messenger. He is most in the company of the right noble Claudia. Beatrice Lord ! he will hang upon him like a disease : he is sooner caught than the pestilence, and the taker runs presently mad. God help the noble Claudio I if he have caught the Benedick, it will cost him a thousand pounds ere he be cured. Messenger. 1 will hold friends with you, lady. Beatrice. Do, good friend. LeonatQ You will never nm mad, niece. Beatrice. No, not till a hot January. Messenger. Don Pedro is approached. Enter Don Pedro, John, Claudio, Benedick, Bal- thenar, and others. Don Pedro- Faith, niece, you tax signior Benedick too Good signer Leonato, are you come to meet much ; but he 11 be meet with you, I doubt it your trouble ? the fashion of the world is to uof • Messenger. avoid cost, and you encounter it. He hath done good service, lady, in these ; . T ', . . ,..,.. wars . * * " Never came trouble to my house in the like- Beatrice, ness of your grace; for trouble being gone, You had musty victual, and he hath holp to comfort should remain, but when you depart eat it: he is a very valiant trencher-man; he J™™ me > »°rrow abides, and happiness takes hath an excellent stomach. hls leay e. n VttArn Messenger. And a good soldier too, lady. Beatrice. And a good soldier to a lady ; but what is he to a lord ? Messenger. A lord to a lord, a man to a man ; stuffed with all honourable virtues. Beatrice. It is so, indeed : he is no less than a stuffed man; but for the stuffing,— Well, we are all mortal. You embrace your charge too willingly. I think, this is your daughter. Leonato. Her mother hath many times told me so. Benedick. Were you in doubt, sir, that you asked her ? Leonato. Signior Benedick, no ; for then were you a child. Don Pedro. You have it full, Benedick : we may guess th s 130 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. Act i. Sc. i. this what you are, being a man. — Truly, the lady fathers herself. — Be happy, lady, for you are like an honourable father. Benedick. If signior Lconato be her father, she would not have his head on her shoulders for all Messina, as like him as she is. Beatrice. I wonder that you will still be talking, signior Benedick: no body marks you. Benedick. What, my dear lady Disdain! are you yet living? Beatrice. Is it possible disdain should die, while she hath such meet food to feed it, as signior Bene- dick? Courtesy itself must convert to disdain, if you come in her presence. Benedick. Then is courtesy a turn-coat. But it is certain, I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted ; and I would I could find in my heart that I had not a hard heart, for, truly, I "love none. Beatrice. 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. Benedick. God keep your ladyship still in that mind ; so some gentleman or other shall 'scape a predesti- nate scratched face. Beatrice. Scratching could not make it worse, an 'twere such a face as yours were. Benedick. Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher. Beatrice. A bird of my tongue is better than a beast of yours. Benedick. I would, my horse had the speed of your tongue, and so good a continuer. But keep your way o' God's name ; 1 have done. Beatrice. You always end with a jade's trick : I know you of old. Don Pedro. This is the sum of all. — Leonato, — signior j 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 | j heartily prays some occasion may detain us longer : 1 dare swear he is no hypocrite, but prays from his heart. Leonato. If you swear, my lord, you shall not be for- sworn. — Let me bid you welcome, my lord: being reconciled to the prince your brother, I owe you all duty. John. I thank you : 1 am not of many words, but I thank you. Leonato. Please it your grace lead on ? Don Pedro. Your hand, Leonato : we will go together. [Exeunt all but Benedick and Claudio. Claudio. Benedick, didst thou note the daughter of aignior Leonato t Benedick. I noted her not ; but I looked on her. Claudio. Is she not a modest young lady ? Benedick. 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 pro- fessed tyrant to their sex ? Claudio. No ; I pray thee, speak in sober judgment. Benedick. Why, i'faith, methinks she's too low for a high praise, too brown for a fair praise, and too little for a great praise: only this commendation I can afford her; that were she other than she is, she were unhandsome, and being no other but as she is, I do not like her. Claudio. Thou thinkest, I am in sport : I pray th'ee, tell me truly how thou lik'st her. Benedick. Would you buy her, that you inquireafter her ? Claudio. Can the world buy such a jewel ? Benedick. 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 ? Claudio. In mine eye she is the sweetest lady that ever I looked on. Benedick. 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 De- cember. But I hope, you have no intent to turn husband, have you ? Claudio. I would scarce trust myself, though I had sworn the contrary, if Hero would be my wife. Benedick. Is't come to this, i'faith ? Hath not the world one man, but he will wear his cap with sus- picion ? Shall I never see a bachelor of three- score 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. Don Pedro. What secret hath held you here, that you fol- lowed not to Leonato's ? Benedick. I would your grace would constrain me to tell. Don Pedro. I charge thee on thy allegiance. Benedick. 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 whom? — now that is your grace's part. — Mark, how short his answer is :— with Hero, Leonato's short daughter. Claudio. If this were so, so were it uttered. Benedick. Like the old tale, my lord : it is not so, nor 'twas i Act i, Sc. i. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. Hi 'twas not »o ; but, indeed, God forbid it should Claudio. If my passion change not shortly, God forbid it should be otherwise. Don Fedro. Amen, if you love her ; for the lady is very well worthy. Cl.uidio. You speak this, to fetch me in, my lord. Don l'edro. By my troth, I speak my thought. Claudio. And in faith, my lord, I spoke mine. Benedick. And by ray two faiths, and troths, my lord, I spoke mine. Claudio. That I love her, I feel. Don Pedro. That she is worthy, I know. Benedick. 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. Don Pedro. Thou wast ever an obstinate heretic in the despite of beauty. 3 Claudio. And never could maintain his part, but in the force of his will. Benedick. That a woman conceived me, I thank her: that she brought me up, I likewise give her most humble thanks ; but that 1 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 thera the wrong to mistrust any, I will do myself the right to trust none ; aud tne fine is, (for the which I may go the finer,) 1 will live a bachelor. Don Pedro. I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale with love. Benedick. 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 ballacl- maker's pen, and hang me up at the door of a brothel-house for the sign of blind Cupid. Don Pedro. Well, if ever thou dost fall from this faith, thou wilt prove a notable argument. Benedick. If 1 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. Don Pedro. Well, as time shall try : " In time the savage bull doth bear the yoke." Benedick. The savage bull may, but if ever the sensible ; Benedick bear it, pluck off the bull's horns, and set them in my forehead ; and let me be vilely ; painted, and in such great letters as they write, ; " Here is good horse to hire," let them signify under my sign, — " Here yon may see Benedick the married man." Claudio. If this should ever happen, thou would'st be horn-mad. Don Pedro. Nay, if Cupid have not spent all his quiver In Venice, thou wilt quake for this shortly. Benedick. I look for an earthquake too, then. Don Pedro. Well, you will temporize with the hours. In the mean time, good signior Benedick, repair to l.eonatu'* : commend me to him, and tell him, I will not fail him at supper ; for, indeed, he hath made great preparation. Benedick. I have almost matter enough In me for such an embassage ; and so I commit you — Claudio. To the tuition of God : from my house, if I had it. — Don Pedro. The sixth of July ; your loving friend, Bene- dick. Benedick. Nay, mock not, mock not. The body of your discourse is sometime guarded with fragments, i and the guards are but slightly basted on | neither : ere you flout old ends any farther, , examine your conscience, and so 1 leave you. [Exit Benedick. Claudio. ; My liege, your highness now may do me good. Don 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. Claudio. Hath Leonato any son, my lord ? Don Pedro. No child but Hero, she's his only heir. Dost thou affect her, Claudio t Claudio. O ! my lord, , When you went onward on this ended action, ; I look'd upon her with a soldier's eye, i That lik'd, but had a rougher task in hand, ; Than to drive liking to the name of love ; i But now I am return'd, and that war-thoughts i Have left their places vacant, in their rooms i Come thronging soft and delicate desires, All prompting me how fair young Hero is. Saying, I lik'd her ere I went to wars — Don 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 ? Claudio. How sweetly do you minister to love, I That know love's grief by his complexion ! : But lest my liking might too sudden seem, j I would have salv'd it with a longer treatise. Don Pedro. What need the bridge much broader than the • 1 The fairest grant is the necessity. [flood ? ! Look, what will serve is fit : 'tis once, thou : And I will fit thee with the remedy. [lovest, I know we shall have revelling to-night : 1 will assume thy part in some disguise, And tell fair Hero I am Claudio ; ', And In her bosom I'll unclasp my heart, , And take her hearing prisoner with the force, And strong encounter of my amorous tale: I Then, after, to her father will I break : Aud ij* MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. Act i. Sc. n. And, the conclusion is, she shall be thine. lu practice let us put it presently. [Exeunt. SCENE II. A Room in Leonato's House. Enter Leonato and Antonio. Leonato. How now, brother ? Where is my cousin, your son ? Hath he provided this music ? Antonio. He is very busy about it. But, brother, I can tell you strange news that you yet dreamt not of. Leonato. Are they good ? Antonio. 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 dis- covered to Claudio that he loved my niece your daughter, and meant to acknowledge it this night in a dance ; and, if he found her accordant, he meant to take the present time by the top, and instantly break with you of it. Leonato. Hath the fellow any wit, that told you this ? Antonio. A good sharp fellow : I will send for him, and question him yourself. Leonato. 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 i lie stag'-.] Cousins, you know what you have to do. — O, I cry you mercy, friend ; go you with me, and I will use your skill.— -Good cousin, have a care this busy time. [Excuut. SCENE III. Another Room in Leonato** House. Enter John and Conrade Conrade. What the good year, my lord ! why are you thus out of measure sad ? John. There is no measure in the occasion that breeds, therefore the sadness is without limit. Conrade. You should hear reason. John. And when I have heard it, what blessing brings it? Conrade. If not a present remedy, at least a patient sufferance. . . 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 mischief. 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 on no man's business ; laugh when I am merry, and claw no man in his humour. Conrad*. Yea ; but you must not make the full show of this, till you may do it without controlment. 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. 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 but I am a plain-dealing villain. I am trusted with a muzzle, and enfranchised with a clog; therefore I have decreed not to sing in my cage. If I had my mouth, I would bite ; if I had my liberty, I would do my liking: in the mean time, let me be that I am, and seek not to alter me. Conrade. Can you make no use of your discontent ? John. I make all use of it, for 1 use it only. Who comes here ? W hat news, Borachio ? Enter Borachio. Borachio. 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. John. Will it serve for any model to build mischief on ? What is he, for a fool, that betroths himself to unquietness ? Borachio. Marry, it is your brother's right hand. John. Who ? the most exquisite Claudio t Borachio. Even he. . , John. A proper squire ! And who, and who ? which way looks he? Borachio. Marry, on Hero, the daughter and heir of Leonato. . , John. A very forward March-chick 1 How came you to this ? _ ■ Borachio. Being entertained for a perfumer, as I w»as smoking a musty-room, comes me the prince and Claudio, hand in hand, in sad conference : 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. 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 ? Conrade. To the death, my lord. 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? ' .. Borachio. We'll wait upon your lordship. [Exeunt. Act u. Sc. i. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 133 head, and say, " Get you to heaven, Beatrice, gut you to heaven; here's no place for you maids : " so, deliver I up my apes, and away to ACT II. SCENE I. A Hall Id Leonato's House. Enter Leonato, Antonio, Hero, Beatrice, and others. Leonato. Vy AS not count John here at supper ? Antonio. I saw him not. Beatrice. How tartly that gentleman looks : I never can see him, but I am heart-burned an hour after. Hero. He is of a very melancholy disposition. Beatrice. 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. Leonato. Then, half signior Benedick's tongue in count John's mouth, and half count John's melancholy in signior Benedick's face,— Beatrice. With a good leg, and a good foot, uncle, and money enough in his purse, such a man would win any woman in the world,— if a' could get 1 her good will. Leonato. By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get thee a husband, if thou be so shrewd of thy tongue. Antonio. In faith, she's too curst Beatrice. 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. Leonato. So, by being too curst, God will send you no , horns? Beatrice. 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 : 1 had rather lie in the woollen. Leonato. You may light on a husband that hath no beard. Beatrice. What should I do with him ? dress him in my apparel, and make him my waiting gentle- woman ? He that hath a beard is more than a youth, and he that hath no beard is less than a man ; and he that is more than a youth is not for me ; and he that is less than a man I am not for him : therefore I will even take sixpence in earnest of the bear-ward, and lead his apes into hell. Leonato. Well then, go you into hell ? Beatrice. No ; but to the gate ; and there will the devil meet me, like an old cuckold, with horus on his Saint /'(•/(•/■ for the heavens : he shows me where the bachelors sit, and there live we as merry as the day is long. Antonio. Well, niece, [to Hero,} \ trust, you will be ruled by your father. Beatrice. Yes, faith ; It is my cousin's duty to make courtesy, and say, " Father, as it please you : " but yet for all that, cousin, let him be a hand- some fellow, or else make another courtesy, and say, " Father, as it please me." Leonato. Well, niece, I hope to see you one day fitted with a husband. Beatrice. Not till God make men of some other metal than earth. Would it not grieve a woman to be overmastered with a piece of valiant dust ? to make an account of her life to a clod of way- ward marl ? No, uncle, I'll none : Adam's sons are my brethren ; and truly, I hold it a sin to match in my kindred. Leonato. Daughter, remember, what I told you : if the prince do solicit you in that kind, you know your answer. Beatrice. The fault will be in the music, cousin, if you be not woo'd 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. Leonato. Cousin, you apprehend passing shrewdly. Beatrice. I have a good eye, uncle : I can see a church by day-light. Leonato. The revellers are entering, brother. Make good room ! Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, Baltha- zar; John, Borachio, Margaret, Ursula, and maskers. Don 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. Don Pedro. With me in your company ? Hero. I may say so, when I please. Don Pedro. And when please you to say so ? Hero. When I like your favour ; for God defend, the lute should be like the case I Don Pedro. My visor is Philemon's roof; within the house is Jove. Hero. ; 3+ MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. Act ii. Sc. i. Hero. Why, then your visor should be thatch'cl Don Pedro. Speak low, if you speak love. [Takes her aside. Balthazar. Well, I would you did like me. Margaret. So would not I, for your own sake ; for I have many ill qualities. Balthazar. Which is one ? Margaret I say my prayers aloud. Balthazar. I love you the better ; the hearers may cry Amen. God match me with a good dancer 1 Balthazar Amen. And God keep him out of my sight, when the dance is done ! — Answer, clerk. ttaitnazar. No more words : the clerk is answered. Ursula. , . I know you well enough: you are signior Antonio. Antonio. At a word, I am not. Ursula. I know you by the waggling of your head. 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 villainy, for he both pleases men, and angers them, and then they laugh at him, and beat him. I am sure, he is in the fleet ; 1 would he had I boarded me ! Benedick. [ When I know the gentleman, I'll tell him ' what you say. Beatrice. j Do, do : he'll but break a comparison or two ! on me ; which, peradventure, not marked, or not laughed at, strikes him into melancholy ; and ' then there's a partridge' wing saved, for the fool ; will eat no supper that night. [Music within.] ! We must follow the leaders. Benedick. In every good thing. Beatrice. Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will leave them at the next turning. [Dance. Then, exeunt all but Juhn % Bora- chio, and Claudio. 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. Borachlo. And that is Claudio: I know him by his bear- ing. John. Are not you signior Benedick ? tntonio. ( To tell you true, Y counterfeit him. You could never do him so ill-well, unless you were the very man. Here's his dry hand up and dowu : you are he, you are he. Claudio. ill: I : At a word, I am no Antonio, •t. 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. Beatrice. Will you not tell me who told you so ? Benedick. No, you shall pardon me. Nor will you not tell me who you are ? Benedick. Not now. 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. You know me well: I am he. John Signior, you are very near my brother in his love : he is enamoured on Hero. I pray you, dissuade him from her ; she is no equal for his birth : you may do the part of an honest man in it. Claudic e lc What's he ? Beatrice. hi" - I am sure, you know him well enough. Benedick. Not I, believe me. Did he never make you laugh ? I pray vou, what is he i? Why, he is the prince's jester : a very dull How know you he loves her ? I heard him swear his affection. Borachio. , So did I too ; and he swore he would marry her to-night. . John. Come, let us to the banquet. [Exeunt John and Borachio. . , Claudio- _ 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 Let every eye negotiate for itself, [tongues ; And trust no agent, for beauty is a witch, Against whose charms faith melteth into blood. Tiiis is an accident of hourly proof, [Hero ! Which I mistrusted not. Farewell, therefore, Count Claudio t Yea, the same. Re-enter Benedick. Benedick. Claudio. Come, will you go with me ? Claudio, Whither ? Benedick. Act ii. Sc. i. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 135 Benedick. Even to the next willow, about your own busi- ness, county. What fashion will you wear the garland of? About your neck, like an usurer's chain, or under your arm, like a lieutenant's sen f P You must wear it one way, for the prince hath got your Hero. Claudio. I wish him joy of her. Benedick. Why, that's spoken like an honest drover: so the- sell bullocks. But did you think, the prince would have served you thus ? Claudio. 1 pray you, leave me. Benedick. Ho 1 now you strike like the blind man : 'twas the boy that stole your meat, and you'll beat the post. Claudio. If it will not be, I'll leave you. [Exit. Benedick. Alas, poor hurt fowl ! Now will he creep into sedges But, that my lady Beatrice should know me, and not know me ! fhe prince's fool ! — Ha 1 it may be, I go under that title, because I am merry. — Yea j but so I am apt to do myself wrong: I am not so reputed: it is the base, though bitter disposition of Beatrice, that puts the world into her person, and so gives me out. Well, I'll be revenged as I may. Re-enter Don Pedro* Don Pedro. Now, signior, where's the count ? Did you see him ? Benedick. Troth, my lord, T have played the part of lady Tanw. I found him here as melancholy as a lodge in a warren : I told him, and, 1 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. Don Pedro. To be whipped ! What's his fault ? Benedick. The flat transgression of a school-boy ; who, being overjoy'd with finding a bird's nest, shows it his companion, and he steals it. Don Pedro. Wilt thou make a trust a transgression ? The transgression is in the stealer. Benedick. 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 bestow'd on you, who, as I take it, have stolen his bird's nest. Don Pedro. I will but teach them to sing, and restore them to the owner. Benedick. If their singing answer your saying, by my faith, you say honestly. Don Pedro. The lady Beatrice hath a quarrel to you : the gentleman, that danced with her, told her she is much wronged by you. Benedick. O 1 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 1 was the prince's jester ; that I was duller than a great thaw; huddling jest upon jest, with such I Impossible conveyance, upon me, that I stood J like a man at a mark, with a whole army shooting at me. She speaks poignards, and I every word stabs: if her breath were as terrible ! as her terminations, there were no living near I her ; she would infect to the north star. I j would not marry her, though she were endowed with all that Adam had left him before he trans- 1 gressed : she would have made Hercules have ; turned spit, yea, and have cleft his club to make the lire 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, because they would go thither, so, indeed, all disquiet, horror, and perturbation follow her. Enter Claudio, Beatrice, Hero, and Leonato. Don Pedro. j Look, here she comes. Benedick. j Will your grace command me any service 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 of 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 ? Don Pedro. None, but to desire your good company. Benedick. O God, sir, here's a dish I love not : 1 cannot endure my lady Tongue. [Exit. Don Pedro. Come, lady, come ; you have lost the heart of signior Benedick. Beatrice. Indeed, my lord, he lent it me a while ; 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. Don Pedro. You have put him down, lady ; you have put him down. Beatrice. 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. Don Pedro. Why, how now, count ? wherefore are you sad ? Claudio. Not sad, my lord. Don Pedro. How then? Sick? Claudio. Neither, my lord. Beatrice. The count is neither sad, nor sick, nor merry, nor well ; but civil, count, civil as an orange, i 3 6 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. Act it. Sc. i. orange, and something of that jealous com- plexion. I'faith, lady, I think your blazon to be true; though, I'll be sworn, if he be so, his conceit is false. Here, Claudio, I have wooed in thy name, and fair Hero is won; I have broke with her father, and, his good will obtained, name the day of marriage, and God give thee joy 1 Count, take of me my daughter, and with her my fortunes : his grace hath made the match, and all grace say Amen to it ! „ t hi Beatrice. Speak, count, tis your cue. Silence is the perfectest herald of joy : I were but little happy, if I could say how much. — Lady, as you are mine, I am yours : I give away myself for you, and dote upon the exchange. Beatrice. Speak, cousin ; or, if you cannot, stop his mouth with a kiss, and let him not speak neither. . ... . „ Don Pedro. In faith, lady, you have a merry heart. 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. Claudio. And so she doth, cousin. Beatrice, Good lord ! for alliance thus goes every one to the world but I, and I am sun-burned: I may sit in a corner, and cry, heigh ho ! for a husband. Lady Beatrice, 1 will get you one. . Beatrice. „ , . I would rather have one of your father's get- ting. Hath your grace ne'er a brother like you ? Your father got excellent husbands, if a maid could come by them. Doc Will you have me, 1; Fyf - No, my lord, unless 1 might have another for working-days : your grace is too costly to wear every day.— But, 1 beseech your grace, pardon me; I was born to speak all mirth, and no matter. Your silence most ofl&nds me, and to be merry best becomes you ; for, out of question, you were born in a merry hour. Beatrice. 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 ! Leonato. , • Niece, will you look to those things I told you of? Beatrice. „ I cry you mercy, uncle. — By your grace's pardon. [Exit Beatrice. Don Pedro. By my troth, a pleasant-spirited lady. Leonato. There's little of the melancholy element m her, my lord : she is never sad, but when she sleeps ; and not ever sad then, for I have heard my daughter say, she hath often dreamed of un- happiness, and waked herself with laughing. Don Pedro. She cannot endure to near tell of a husband. Leonato. O ! by no means, she mocks all her wooers out of suit. She were an excellent wife for Benedick. O lord ! my lord, if they were but a week married, they would talk themselves mad. _ _ Don Pedro. County Claudio, when mean you to go to church ? To-morrow, my lord 1 . Time goes on crutches, till love have all his rites. Leonato. 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. Don Pedro. Come, you shake the head at so long a breath- ing; but, I warrant thee, Claudio, the time shall not go dully by us. I will, in the interim, undertake one of Hercules' labours, which is, to bring signior Benedick and the lady Beatrice into a mountain of affection, the one with the other. I would fain have it a match ; and I doubt not but to fashion it, if you three will but minister such assistance as I shall give you di- rection. My lord, I am for you, though it cost me ten nights' watchings. A Claudio. And I, my lord. Don Pedro. ' e Hero f And you too, gentl Hero. I will do any modest office, my lord, to help my cousin to a good husband. Don Pedro. And Benedick is not the unnopefullest husband that I know. Thus far can 1 praise him : he is of a noble strain, of approved valour, and con- firmed 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. SCENE II. Another Room in Leonato's House. Enter John and Borachio. It is so : the count Claudio shall marry the daughter of Leonato. Borachio. Borachio. Yea, my lord ; but T can cross it John. . ,. Any bar, any cross, any imped ment will be medicinable 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 ? Borachio. Act ii. Sc. in. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. M7 rait* « tiio. Not honestly, my lord; but so covertly that uo dishonesty shall appear in me. John. Show me briefly how. Borachio. I think, I told your lordship, a year since, how much I am in the favour of Margaret, the ~ ing-gcntlewoman to Hero. John. I remember. Borachio. I can, at any unseasonable Instant of the night, appoint her to look out at her lady's chamber- j window. John. What life is in that to be the death of this marriage ? Borachio. The poison of that lies in you to temper. Go vou to the prince your brother: spare not to tell him, that he hath wronged his honour in marrying the renowned Claudio (whose cstima- . tion do you mightily hold up) to a contaminated j stale, such a one as Hero. John. What proof shall I make of that ? Borachio. Proof enough to misuse the prince, to vex | Claudio, to undo Hero, and kill Leonaio. Look j you for any other issue ? John. Only to despite them I will endeavour any thing. Borachio. 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 semblance of a maid) that you have discovered thus. They will scarcely believe this without trial : offer them instances, which shall bear no less likeli- hood than to see me at her chamber -window, hear me call Margaret Hero ; hear Margaret term me Borachio ; and bring them to see this tire very night before the intended wedding: for in the mean time I will so fashion the matter, that Hero shall be absent, and there shall appear such seeming truth of Hero's disloyalty, that Jealousy shall be call'd assurance, and all the preparation overthiown. John. Grow this to what adverse issue it can, 1 will put it in practice. Be cunning in the working this, and thy fee is a thousand ducats. Borachio. lie you constant in the accusation, and my cunning shall not shame me. Benedick. Tn my chamber-window lies a book ; bring it hither to me in the orchard. Boy. I am here already, sir. Benedick. I know that ; [Exit Boy.} but I would hav« thee hence, and here again. I do much wonder, that one man, seeing how much another man is a fool when he dedicates his behaviours to lore, will, after he hath laughed 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 the 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 turn'd 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 ; 1 think not : I will not be sworn, but love may transform me to an oyster ; but I'll take my oath on it, till he have made an oyster of me, he shall never make me such a fool. One woman is fair, yet 1 am well : another is wise, yet I am weil : another virtuous, yet I am well ; but till all graces be in one woman, one woman shall not come in my grace. Rich she shall be, that's certain ; wise, or I'll none ; virtuous, or I'll never cheapen her ; fair, or I'll 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, Leonaio, and Claudio. Don Pedro. Come, shall we hear this music ? Claudio. Yea, my good lord. How still the evening is, As hush'd on purpose to grace harmony ! Don Pedro. See you where Benedick hath hid himself ? Claudio. O, very well, my lord: the music ended, We'll fit the kid-fox with a penny-worth. Enter Balthazar, with music. John.. >fej I will presently go learn their day of marriage. [Exeunt. Boy SCENE III. Leonato'i Garden. Enter Benedick. Benedick. Signior. Enter a Boy. Boy. Come, Balthazar, we' rear that song again. Balthazar, d, tax not so bad a voice O ! good my lor To slander music any more than once It is the witness still ofexcellency, To put a strange face on his own perfection I pray thee, sing, and let me woo no more. . _ Balthazar. _ . Because you talk of wooing, I will sing ; Since many a wooer doth commence his snit To her he thinks not worthy ; yet he woos, Yet will he swear, he loves. Don Pedro. .. Nay, pray thee, come : Or, if thou wilt hold longer argument, Do it in notes. Balthazar. «3« MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. Act ii. Sc. hi. Balthazar. Note thU oefore my notes ; There's not a note of mine that's worth the noting. Don Pedro. Why these a»"; very crotchets that he speaks ; Note notes, forsooth, and nothing I [Music. Benedick. [Aside. Now, divine air ! now is his soul ravish'd ! — 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. The Song. Balthazar. Sigh no more, 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 teas ever so, Since summer first was leavy. Then sigh not so, &c. Don Pedro. By my troth, a good song. Balthazar. And an ill singer, my lord. Don Pedro. Ha ? no, no ; faith, thou singest well enough for a shift. Benedick. T A side. An he had been a dog that should have howled thus, they would have hang'd 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. Don Pedro. Yea, marry: dost thou hear, Balthazar? I pray thee, get us some excellent music, for to- morrow night we would have it at the lady Hero's chamber window. Balthazar. The best I can, my lord. Don Pedro. Do so: farewell. [Exeunt Balthazar and musicians J Come hither, Leonato : what was it you told me of to-day? that your niece Beatrice was in love with signior Benedick ? Claudio. [Aside to Pedro. O, ay: — stalk on, stalk on; the fowl sits. [Aloud.] I did never think that lady would have loved any man. Leonato. 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. Benedick. [Aside. Is't possible ? Sits the wind in that corner ? Leonato. By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell what to think of it, but that she loves him with an en- raged affection : it is past the infinite of thought. Don Pedro. May be, she doth but counterfeit. Claudio. 'Faith, like enough. Leonato. God ! counterfeit ! There was never coun- terfeit of passion came so near the life of passion, as she discovers it. Don Pedro. Why, what effects of passion shows she? Claudio. [Aside. Bait the hook well : this fish will bite. Leonato. What effects, my lord ? She will sit you,— you heard my daughter tell you how. Claudio. \ She did, indeed. Don Pedro. How, how, I pray you? You amaze me: I would have thought her spirit had been invin- cible against all assaults of affection. Leonato. 1 would have sworn it had, my lord; espe- i daily against Benedick. Benedick. [Aside. I should think this a gull, but that the white- bearded fellow speaks it : knavery cannot, sure, hide himself in such reverence. Claudio. [Aside. He hath ta'en the infection : hold it up. Don Pedro. Hath she made her affection known to Benedick ? Leonato. No, and swears she never will: that's her torment. Claudio. 'Tis true, indeed ; so your daughter says : " Shall I," says she, " that have so oft encoun- tered him with scorn, write to him that I love him ? " Leonato. This says she, now, when she is beginning to write to him ; for she'll 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. Claudio. Now you talk of a sheet of paper, I remember a pretty jest your daughter told us of. Leonato. O ! — when she had writ it, and was reading it over, she found Benedick and Beatrice be- tween the sheet ? — Claudio. That. Leonato. O ! she tore the letter into a thousand half- pence ; railed at herself, that she should be so immodest to write to one that she knew would flout her: — " I measure him," says she, "by my own spirit ; for 1 should flout him, if he writ to me ; yea, though I love him, 1 should." Claudio. Then down upon her knees she falls, weeps, sobs, beats her heart, tears her hair, prays, curses;— " O sweet Bent dick! God give me patience ! " Leonato. She doth indeed : my daughter says so ; and the ecstasy hath so much overborne her, that my Act il Sc. hi. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 39 my daughter is sometimes afoard she will do a dwbporaFe outrage to herself. It Is very true. Don I It were good, that Benedick know of it by ' some ott»r, if IM will not discover it. To what end ? Ho would but make a sport of it, and torment the poor lady worse. Don 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. Claudio. And she is exceeding wise. Don Pedro. In every thing, but in loving Benedick. Leonato. ! my lord, wisdom and blood combating in so tender a body, we have ten proofs to one, that blood hath the victory. 1 am sorry for her, as I have just cause, being her uncle and her guardian. Don Pedro. 1 would, she had bestowed this dotage on me ; I would have dafTd all other respects, and made her half myself. I pray you, tell Benedick of it, and hear what a' will say. Leonato. Were it good, think you? Claudio. | Hero thinks surely, she will die ; for she says, : she will die if he love her not, and she will die ere she make her love known, and she will die if he woo her, rather than she will 'bate one breath of her accustomed crossness. Don Pedro. i She doth well : if she should make tender of her love, 'tis very possible he'll scorn it ; for , the man, as you know all, hath a contemptible spirit. Claudio. He is a very proper man. Don Pedro. He hath, indeed, a good outward happiness. Claudio. Before God, and in my mind, very wise. Don Pedro. He doth, indeed, show some sparks that are like wit. Leonato. And I take him to be valiant. Don 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 discretion, or under- takes them with a most Christian- like fear. Leonato. If he do fear God, he must necessarily keep peace : if he break the peace, he ought to enter i into a quarrel with fear and trembling. Don 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 i niece. Shall we go seek Benedick, and tell him I of her love ? Claudio. Never tell him, my lord : let her wear it out : with good counsel. Leonato. Nay, that's impossible ; she may wear her j heart out first. Don I Well, we will hear farther of it by your daughter : let it cool the while. I love Benedick well, and I could wish he would modestly ex- amine himself, to see how much he is unworthy so good a lady. Leonato. My lord, will you walk ? dinner is ready. Claudio. [Aside. If he do not dote on her upon this, I will never trust my expectation. Don Pedro. [Aside. Let there be the same net spread for her ; and that must your daughter and her gen- tlewomen 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. [Exeunt Don Pedro, Claudio, and Leonato. Benedick. [Advancing from the Arbour. 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 af- fections have their full bent. Love me I why, it must be requited. 1 hear how 1 am censured: they say, 1 will bear myself proudly, if I per- ceive the love come from her : they say, too, that she will rather die than give any sign of af- fection. — I did never think to marry. — I must not seem proud Happy are they that hear their detractions, and can put them to mending. They say, the lady is fair ; 'tis a truth, I can bear them witness : and virtuous ; 'tis so, I cannot reprove it : and wise, but for loving me ; by my troth, it is no addition to her wit, nor no great argument of her folly, for I will be horribly in love with her. 1 may chance have some odd quirks and remnants of wit broken on me, be- cause 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. Beatrice. Against my will, I am sent to bid you come in to dinner. Benedick. Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains. Beatrice. I took no more pains for those thanks, than you take pains to thank me: if it had been pain- ful, I would not have come. Benedick. You take pleasure, then, in the message ? Beatrice. Yea, just so much as you may take upon a knife's point, and choke a daw withal. — You have no stomach, signior : fare you well. [Exit. Benedick. Ha ! " Against my will I am sent to bid you come in to dinner" — there's a double meaning in that. " I 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, 1 am 14.0 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. Act hi. Sc. h am a villain : if I do not love her, I am a Jew. I will go get her picture. [Exit. ACT III. SCENE I. Lennato's Garden. Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula. Hero. OOD Margaret, run thee to the parlour ; ^There shalt thou find my cousin Beatrice Proposing with the prince and Claudia : 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 honey-suckles, 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. Margaret. I'll make her come, I warrant you, presently. [Exit. Hero Now, Ursula, when Beatrice doth come, As we do trace this alley up and down, Our talk must only be of Benedick : When I do name him, let it be thy part To praise him more than ever man did merit. My talk to thee must be, how Benedick Is sick in love with Beatrice : of this matter Is little Cupid's crafty arrow made, That only wounds by hearsay. Now begin ; Enter Beatrice, behind. For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs Close by the ground, to hear our conference. Ursula. 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 — No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful ; I know, her spirits are as coy and wild As haggards of the rock. Ursula. But are you sure That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely ? Hero. So says the prince, and my new-trothed lord. Ursula. And did they bid you tell her of it, madam ? Hero. They did intreat 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. Ursula. Why did you so ? Doth not the gentleman I Deserve as full, as fortunate a bed, I As erer Beatrice shall couch upon ? Hero. O God of .ove ! I know, he doth deserve As much as may be yielded to a man ; But nature never fram'd a woman's heart Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice : Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes, Misprising 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. Ursula. 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, How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featur'd, But she would spell him backward : if fair-fae'd, She'd swear the gentleman should be her sister : If black, why, nature, drawing of an antick, Made a foul blot : if tall, a lance ill-headed : If low, an agate very vilely cut : If speaking, why, a vane blown with all 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. Ursula. Sure, sure, such carping is not commendable. Hero. No ; not to be so odd, and from all fashions As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable. But who dare tell her so ? If I should speak,. She would mock me into air : 1 she would laugh me Out of myself, press me to death with wit. Therefore let Benedick, like cover'd fire, Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly : It were a better death than die with mocks, Which is as bad as die with tickling. Ursula. Yet tell her of it : hear what she will say. Hero. No ; rather I will go to Benedick, And counsel him to fight against his passion : And, truly, I'll devise some honest slanders To stain my cousin with. One doth not know, How much an ill word may empoison liking. Ursula. 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. Ursula. 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. Ursula. His excellence did earn it ere he had it. — When are you married, madam ? Hero. Whv, every day ;— to-morrow. Come, go In « I'll show thee some attires, and have thy counsel, Which is the best to furnish me to-morrow. Ursula. anjTsia abb® AiB®T!T?r sjoiraisFjf; • <> , » u Act hi. Sc. ii. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. Ursula. [Atlde. She's lim'd, I warrant you : we have caught her, madam. Hero. [Aside. If it prove so, then loving goes by haps : Some fed kill, -t^rr e OW n ., F me w^ra^ Beatrice. [Advancing. What fire is In mine ears ? Can this be true ? Stand I condemn'd for pride and scorn so much? Contempt, farewell 1 and maiden pride, adieu ! No glory lives behind the back of such. And, Henedick, 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 ; lor others say thou dost deserve, and I Believe it better than reportingly. [Exit. SCENE II. A Room In Leonato'a House Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, and Leo- ruxto. Don Fedro. I do but stay till your marriage be consum- mate, and then go 1 toward Arragun. Claudio. I'll bring you thither, my lord, if you'll vouch- safe me. Don 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 company; for from the crown of his head to the sole of his foot, he is all mirth : he hath twice or thrice cut Cupid's bow-string, and the little hangman dare not shoot at him. He hath a heart as sound as a bell, and his tongue is the clapper ; for what his heart thinks, his tongue speaks. Benedick. Gallants, I am not as I have been. Leonato. So say I : methinks, you are sadder. Claudio. I hope, he be in love. Don Podro Hang him, truant ! there's no true drop of blood In him, to be truly touch'd with love. If he be sad, he wants money. Benedick. I have the tooth -ache. Don Pedro. Draw It. Benedick. Hang it ! Claudio. You must hang it first, and draw it after- wards. Don Pedro. What ! sigh for the tooth-ache ? Leonato. Where is but a humour, or a worm ? Benedick. Well, every one can master a grief, but he that has it. Claudio. Yet say I, he is in love. Don Pedro. There is no appearance of fancy in him. un- less 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, a* it ap- pears he hath, he is no fool for fancy, as you would have it appear he is. Claudio. If he be not in love with some woman, there is no believing old signs : a' brushes his hat o' mornings ; what should that bode ? Don Pedro. Hath any man seen him at the barber's ? Claudio. No, but the barber's man hath been seen with him, and the old ornament of his cheek hath already stuffed tennis-balls. Leonato. Indeed, he looks younger than he did, by the loss of a beard. Don Pedro. Nay, a' rubs himself with civit : can you smell him out by that ? Claudio. That's as much as to say the sweet youth's In love. „ Don Pedro. The greatest note of it Is his melancholy. Claudio. And when was he wont to wash his face? Don Pedro. Yea, or to paint himself? for the which, I hear i what they say of him. Claudio. Nay, but his jesting spirit, which is now j crept into a lutestring, and now governed by stops. Don Pedro. i Indeed, that tells a heavy tale for him. Con- clude, conclude, he is in love. Claudio. Nay, but I know who loves him. Don Pedro. That would I know too : I warrant, one that knows him not. Claudio. Yes, and his ill conditions ; and in despite of all dies for him. Don Pedro. Shall she be buried with her face upwards ? Benedick. Yet is this no charm for the tooth-ache. — Old signior, walk aside with me: 1 have studied eight or nine wise words to speak to you, which these hobby-horses must not hear. [Exeunt Benedick and Leonato. Don Pedro. For my life, to break with him about Beatrice. Claudio. '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 John. John. My lord and brother, God save you. Don Pedro. Good den, brother. John. If your leisure served, 1 would speak with you. Don Pedro. In private ? John. 14 z MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. Act hi. Sc. n. John. If it please you ; yet count Claudia may hear, for what I would speak of concerns him. Don Pedro. What's the matter ? John. [To Claudio. Means your lordship to be married to-morrow? Don Pedro. You know, he does. John. I know not that, when he knows what 1 know. Claudio. If there be any impediment, I pray you dis- cover it. . | John. You may think, I love you not : let that ap- pear hereafter, and aim better at me by that I now will manifest. For my brother. 1 think, he holds you well, and in clearness of heart hath holp to effect your ensuing marriage; surely, suit ill spent, and labour ill bestowed 1 Don Pedro. Why, what's the matter ? John. I came hither to tell you ; and. circumstances shortened, (for she has been too long a talking of,) the lady is disloyal. Claudio. Who? Herot John. Even she : Leonato's Hero, your Hero, every man's Hero. Claudio. Disloyal ? John. The word is too good to paint out her wicked- ness : I could say, she were worse: think you of a worse title, and 1 will fit her to it. Wonder not till farther warrant: go but with me to- night, you shall see her chamber-window en- tered, 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. Claudio. May this be so ? Don Pedro. 1 will not think it. John. If you dare not trust that vou see, confess not that you know. If you wifl follow me, I will 6how you enough ; and when you have seen more, and heard more, proceed accordingly. Claudio. If I see any thing to-night, why I should not marry her tomorrow, in the congregation, where 1 should wed, there will I shame her. Don Pedro. And, as I wooed for thee to obtain her, I will join with thee to disgrace her. John. I will disparage her no farther, till you are my witnesses : bear it coldly but till midnight, and let the issue show itself. Don Pedro. O day untowardly turned ! Claudio. O mischief sfrangely thwarting I John. O plague right well prevented ! So will you »ay, when you have seen the sequel. [Exeunt. SCENE III. A Street. Enter Dogberry and Verges, with the Watch. Dogberry. Are you good men and true ? Verges. Yea, or else it were pity but they should suffer salvation, body andsoul. Dogberry. Nay, that were a punishment too good for them, if they should have any allegiance in them, being choseu for the prince's watch. Verge*. Well, give them their charge, neighbour Dog- bemj. „ . Dogberry. First, who think you the most desartless man to be constable ? 1 Watchman. Hugh Oatcake, sir, or George Seacoal, for they can write and read. Dogberry. . Come hither, neighbour Seacoal. God hath blessed you with a good name: to be a well- favoured man is the gift of fortuue, but to write and read comes by nature. 2 Watchman. Both which, master constable, Dogberry. 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 tit man for the con- stable of the watch ,• therefore bear you the lantern. This is your charge. You shall com- prehend all vagrom men: you are to bid any man stand, in the prince's name. 2 Watchman. How, if a' will not stand ? Dogberry. 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. Verges. If he will not stand when he is bidden, he is none of the prince's subjects. Dogberry. 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 Watchman. We will rather sleep than talk; we know what belongs to a watch. Dogberry. 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 those that are drunk get them to bed. 2 Watchman. How, if they will not ? Dogberry. 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 Watchman. Well, sir. „ , Dogberry. Act hi. Sc. in. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. i+3 Dogberry. 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 laM you meddle or make with them, why, the more is for your honesty. 2 Watchman. If we know him to be a thief, shall we not lay hands on him ? Dogberry. 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. Verges. You have been always called a merciful man, partner. Dogberry. Truly, I would not hang a dog by my will ; much more a man who hath any honesty in him. Verges. If you hear a child crym the night, you must call to the nurse, and bid her still it. 2 Watchman. How, if the nurse be asleep, and will not hear us? Dogberry. Why then, depart in peace, and let the child wake her with crying ; for the ewe that will not hear her lamb when it baes, will never answer a calf when he bleats. Verges. 'Tis very true. Dogberry. This is the end of the charge. You, constable, are to present the prince's own person : if you meet the prince in the night, you may stay him. Verges. Nay by'r lady, that, I think, a* cannot. Dogberry. Five shillings to one on't, with any man that knows the statutes, 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. Verges. By'r lady, I think, it be so. Dogberry. Ha, ha, ha ! Well, masters, good night : an there be any matter of weight chances, call up me. Keep your fellows' counsels and your own, and good night. Come, neighbour. 2 Watchman. Well, masters, we hear our charge: let us go sit here upon the church-bench till two, and then all to-bed. Dogberry. 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 vigitant, I beseech y° u - [Exeunt Dogberry and Verges. Rnter Borachio and Conrade. _, Borachio. What! Conrade I _ Watchman. Peace ! stir not. Borachio. turn-tide, 1 say I Conrade. Here, man ; I am at thy »llv>w. [Aside. Borachio. Mass, and my elbow itched ; I thought, there i would a scab follow. Conrade. I will owe thee an answer for that ; and now forward with thy tale. Borachio. Stand thee close, then, under this penthouse, for it drizzles rain, and 1 will, like a true drunkard, utter all to thee. Watchman. [Aside. Some treason, masters ; yet stand close. Borachio. Therefore know, I have earned of Don John a thousand ducats. Conrade. I Is it possible that any villainy should be 60 Borachio. Thou should'st rather ask, if it were possible any villainy should be so rich ; for when rich | villains have need of poor ones, poor ones may j make what price they will. Conrade. I wonder at it. Borachio. i That shows thou art unconfirmed. Thou | knowest, that the fashion of a doublet, or a hat, 1 or a cloak, is nothing to a man. Conrade. Yes, it is apparel. Borachio. I mean, the fashion. Conrade. Yes, the fashion is the fashion. Borachio. I Tush ! I may as well say, the fool's the fool. But seest thou not what a deformed thief this fashion is ? Watchman. [Aside. > I know that Deformed; a' has been a vile j thief this seven year : a' goes up and down like : a gentleman. I remember his name. Borachio. 1 Didst thou not hear somebody ? Conrade. 1 No : 'twas the vane on the house. Borachio. Seest thou not, I say, what a deformed thief j this fashion is? how giddily a' turns about all j the hot bloods between fourteen and five and j thirty ? sometime, fashioning them like Pha- raoh s soldiers in the reechy painting ; some- time, like god Bel's priests in the old church j window ; sometime, like the shaven Hercules in j the smirched worm-eaten tapestry, where his ! cod-piece seems as massy as his club ? Conrada. i All this I see, and I 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 ? Borachio. Not so, neither; but know, that I have to- night wooed Margaret, the lady Hero's gentle- woman, by the name of Hero ; she leans me out at her mistress' chamber window, bids mo 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, I and possessed by my master Don John, saw afar i off in the orchard this amiable encounter. Conrade. 14* MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. Act iii. Sc. iii. Conrade. Margaret And thought they Margaret was Hero t By my troth, it's but a night-gown in respect Borachio. } °f yours: cloth o' gold, and cuts, and laced Two of them did, the prince and Claudioj but| ^ ith silver ' set with pearls, down sleeves, side] the devil, my master, knew she was Margaret^ K, ee . v ? s ' . and , sk l ! rts / ound >. under-borne with a| and partly by his oaths, which first possessed bu " sh tln , se V, bu .^ for a nne > Quaint, graceful.i them, partly by the dark night, which did de-! and excellent fashion, yours is worth ten on't. | ceive them, but chiefly by my villainy, which Hero. did confirm any slander that Don John had! God give me joy to wear it, for my heart is made, away went Claudio enraged ; swore he| exceeding heavy 1 Margaret would meet her, as he was appointed, next morning at the temple, and there, before the whole congregation, shame her with what hel saw over-night, and send her home again without' a husband. 1 Watchman. We charge you in the prince's name, stand. | 2 Watchman. 'Twill be heavier soon by the weight of a man. Hero. Fie upon thee ! art not ashamed ? Margaret. Of what, lady ? of speaking honourably ? Is not marriage honourable in a beggar " Call up the right master constable. We have, your lord honourable without marriage ? here recovered the most dangerous piece of le- il Is not 1 chery, that ever was known in the common wealth. 1 Watchman. And one Deformed is one of them : I know him, a' wears a lock. Conrade. Masters, masters ! 2 Watchman. You'll be made bring Deformed forth, I warrant you Conrade. Masters, — Never speak to go with us. [BUS? 1 Watchman. we charge you, let us obey you Borachio. We are like to prove a goodly commodity, oeing taken up of these men's bills. Conrade. A commodity in question, I warr; Come, we'll obey you. SCENE IV. A Room in Leonato'a House. Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula. Hero. Good Ursula, wake my cousin Beatrice, and desire her to rise. w , Ursula. I will, lady. Hero. And bid her come hither. Ursula. Well. [Exit Ursula. Margaret. Troth, I think, your other rabato were better. Hero. No, pray thee, good Meg, I'll wear this. Margaret. 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 another. I'll wear none but this. Margaret. 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. think, you would have me say, saving your reverence, — a husband : an bad thinking do not wrest true speaking, I'll offend no body. 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. Beatrice. Good morrow, sweet Hero. Hero. Why, how now? do you speak in the sick tune ? Beatrice. I am out of all other tune, methinks. Margaret. Clap us into — " Light o' love ; " that goes without a burden: do you sing it, and I'll dance it. n Beatrice. Yea, " Light o' love," with your heels ! — then, if your husband have stables enough, you'll see he shall lack no barns. Margaret. illegitimate construction I I scorn that with my heels. „ Beatrice. 'Tis almost five o'clock, cousin : 'tis time you were ready. By my troth, I am exceeding ill. - Heigh ho I Margaret. For a hawk, a horse, or a husband ? Beatrice. For the letter that begins them all, H. Margaret. Well, an you be not turned Turk, there's no more sailing by the star. Beatrice. What means the fool, trow ? Margaret. Nothing I ; but God send every one their heart's desire 1 IT Hero. These gloves the count sent me, they are an excellent perfume. Beatrice. 1 am stuffed, cousin, I cannot smell. Margaret. A maid, and stuffed 1 there's goodly catching of cold. Beatrice. Act iit. Sc. v. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. H5 Beatrice. O, God help me ! Cod help me ! how long have you profess'd apprehension ? .r, t. Ever since you left It. Doth not my wit become me rarely ? Beatrice. It Is not seen enough , you should wear it in your cap. — By my troth, I am sick. Margaret. Get you some of this distilled cardnus bene- dictus, and lay it to your heart : it is the only thing for a qualm. Hero. There thou prick'st her with a thistle. Beatrice. Benedictus ! why benedictus ? you have some moral in this benedictus. Margaret. 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, 1 am not such a fool to think what I list ; nor I list not to think what I can ; nor, indeed, 1 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. Beatrice. What pace is this that thy tongue keeps ? Margaret. Not a false gallop. Re-enter Ursula. Ursula. 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't House. Enter Leonato, with Dogberry and Verges. Leonato. What would you with me, honest neighbour ? Dogberry. Marry, sir, I would have some confidence with you, that decerns you nearly. I.eonato. Brief, I pray you ; for, you see, it is a busy time with me. Dogberry. Marry, this it is, sir. Verges. Yes, in truth it is, sir. Leonato. What is it, my good friends ? Dogberry. 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. :e». Yes, I thank God, T am as honest as any man living, that is an old man, and no honeater than I. Dogberry. Comparisons are odorous : palabras. neighbour Verges. Leonato. Neighbours, you are tedious. Doybcrry. 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 your worship. Leonato. All thy tediousness on me ? ha 1 Dogberry. Yea, an 'twere a thousand pound more than I '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. Verges. And so am I. Leonato. I would fain know what you have to say. Verges. Marry, sir, our watch to-night, excepting your worship's presence, have ta'en a couple of as arrant knaves as any in Messina. Dogberry. A good old man, sir; he will be talking: as they say, when the age is in, the wit is out. God help us 1 it 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 ! Leonato. Indeed, neighbour, he comes too short of you. Dogberry. Gifts, that God gives. Leonato. I must leave you. Dogberry. One word, sir. Our watch, sir, have, Indeed, comprehended two aspicious persons, and we would have them this morning examined before your worship. Leonato. Take their examination yourself, and bring it me : I am now in great haste, as it may appear unto you. Dogberry. It shall be suffigance. Leonato. Drink some wine ere you go. Fare you well. Enter a Messenger. Messenger My lord, they stay for you to give your daugh. ter to her husband. Leonato. I'll wait upon them : I am ready. (Exeunt Leonato and Messenger. Dogberry. Go, good partner, go ; get you to Francis Sea- coal ; bid him bring his pen and inkhorn to the gaol : we are now to examination these men. Verges. And we must do it wisely. Dogberry. 14.6 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. Act iv. Sc. i. We will spare for no wit, I warrant you ; here's that 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 Church. Enter Don Pedro, John, Leonato, Friar, Claudio, Benedick, Hero, Beatrice, &c. fOME, friar Franc?s]%e brief: only to the v plain form of marriage, and you shall re- count their particular duties afterwards. You come hither, my lord, to marry this lady ? ., Claudio. No. To be married to her ; friar, you come to marry Lady, you come hither to be married to this count ? . , Hero. I do. Friar, I:' either of you know any inward impediment, why you should not be conjoined, I charge you on your souls to utter it. „ ..Claudio. Know you any, Hero 7 , a Hero - None, my lord. „ Friar. Know you any, Count ? . Leonato. I dare make his answer ; none. _ , . Claudio. O, what men dare do J what men may do ! what men daily do, not knowing what they do ! How now ! Interjections ?" Why then, some be of laughing, as, ha ! ha 1 he ! Claudio, Stand thee by, friar.— Father, by your leave : Will you with free and unconstrained soul Give me this maid, your daughter ? God did give her me. As freely, son, as Claudio. And what have I to give you back, whose worth May counterpoise this rich and precious gift ? Nothing, unless you ren Don Pedro, ider her Claudio. again. Sweet prince, you learn me noble thankful- ness. — 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 : O, what, authority and show of truth Can cunning sin cover itself withal I Comes not that blood, as modest evidence, To witness simple virtue ? Would you not swear, All you that see her, that she were a maid, By these exterior shows ? But she is none : She knows the heat of a luxurious bed ; Her blush is gultiness, not modesty. Leonato. What do you mean, my lord? Claudio. Not to be married, Not to knit my soul to an approved wanton. Leonato. Dear my lord, if you, in your own proof, Have vanquish'd the resistance of her youth, And made defeat of her virginity, Claudio. I know what you would say : if 1 have known her, You'll say, she did embrace me as a husband, And so extenuate the 'forehand sin : No, Leonato, I never tempted her with word too large ; But, as a brother to his sister, showed Bashful sincerity, and comely love. Hero. And seem'd I ever otherwise to you? Claudio. Out on the 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. Hero. Is my lord well, that he doth speak so wide ? Leonato. Sweet prince, why?peak not you ? Don Pedro. What should I speak ? l stand dishonour'd. that have gone about To link my dear friend to a common stale. Leonato. Are these things spoken, or do I but dream ? John. Sir, they are spoken, and these things are true. Benedick. This looks not like a nuptial. Hero. True? O God i Claudio. Leonato, stand I here ? Is this the prince ? Is this the prince's brother ? Is this face Hero's ? Are our eyes our own ? Leonato. All this is so ; but what of this, my lord ? Claudio. Let me but move one question to your daugh- And, by that fatherly and kindly power [ter, That you have in her, bitl her answer truly. Leonato. I charge thee do so, as thou art my child. Hero. O God, defend me ! how am I beset ! — What kind of catechizing call you this ? Claudio. To make you answer truly to your name. Hero. Is it not Hero t Who can blot that name With any just reproach ? Claudio. Act iv. St. i. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. »47 Claudlo. Marry, that can Hero : Hrro itself can blot nut Hero's virtue. What man was lie. talk'd with you yesternight Out at your window, betwixt twelve and one ? Now, if you are a maid, answer to this. Hero. 1 talk'd with no man at that hour, my lord. Don Pedro. Why. then are you no maiden. — Leonato, I am sorry you must hear : upon mine honour, Myself, my brother, and this grieved count. Did see her, hear her, at that hour last night, Talk with a ruffian at her chamber window ; Who hath, indeed, most like a liberal villain, Confess'd the vile encounters they have had A thousand times in secret. John. Fie, fie ! they are not to be nam'd, my lord, Not to be spoke of. There is not chastity enough in language, Without offence to utter them. Thus, pretty lady, I am sorry for thy much mlsgovernment. ("laudio. 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 ! farewell, Thou pure impiety, and impious purity I For thee I'll lock up all the gates of love, And on my eye-lids shall conjecture hang, To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm, And never shall it more be gracious. Leonato. Hath no man's dagger here a point for me ? [Hero swoons. Beatrice. Why, how now, cousin ! wherefore sink you down ? John. Come, let us go. These things, come thus to light, Smother her spirits up. [Exeunt Don Pedro, John, and Claudia. Benedick. How doth the lady ? Beatrice. Dead, I think : — help, uncle ! — Hero: why, Hero! — Uncle !— Signior Bene- dick ! — friar I Leonato. O fate ! take not away thy heavy hand : Death is the fairest cover for her shame, That may be wish'd for. Beatrice. How now, cousin Hero f Friar. Have comfort, lady. Leonato. Dost thou look up? Friar. Yea ; wherefore should she not ? Leonato. 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 would'st not quickly die, Thought 1 thy spirits were stronger than thy shames, Myself would, on the rearward of reproaches, Strike at thy life. Griev'd I, 1 had but one t Chid 1 for that at frugal nature's frame ? (), one too much by thee ! Why had I one ? W hy ever wast thou lovely in my eyes ? Why had 1 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, I This shame derives itself from unknown loins ? " But mine, and mine 1 lov'd, and mine I prais <\, I And mine that 1 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 ! Benedick. Sir, sir, be patient. For my part. I am so attir'd in wonder, I know not what to say. Beatrice. O, on my soul, my cousin is belied I Benedick. Lady, were you her bedfellow last night ? Beatrice No, truly, not ; although, until last night, I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow. Leonato. 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 1 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 [shames To start into her face ; a thousand innocent In angel whiteness, beat away those blushes ; And in her eye there hath appear'd a fire, To burn the errors that these princes hold Against her maiden truth Call me a fool; Trust not my reading, nor my observations, Which with experimental seal doth warrant The tenour of my book ; trust not my age, My reverence, calling, nor divinity, If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here Under some bitmg error. Leonato. 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 t Friar. Lady, what man is he you are accus'd 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 t onvers'd At hours unmeet, or that I yesternight [ture, Maintain'd the change of words with any crea- Hefuse me. hate me, torture me to death. _ Friar. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. Act iv. Sc. i. Friar. There is some strange misprision in the princes. Benedick. Two of them have the very bent of honour ; And if their wisdoms be misled in this, The practice of it lives in John the bastard, Whose spirits toil in frame of villanies. Leonalo. 1 know not. If they speak but truth of her, These hands shall tear her : if they wrong her honour, 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 or 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. Inai Pause a while, 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 h burial. Leonato What shall becomeof this? What will this do? Friar. Marry, this, well carried, shall on her behalf Change slander to remorse ; that is some good : But not for that dream I on this Grange course, Hut 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, More moving, delicate, and full of life, Into the eye and prospect of his soul, [mourn, Than when she liv'd indeed: — then shall he (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. Benedict. Signior Leonato, let the friar advise you : And though you know, my inwardness and love Is very much unto the prince and Claudfo, Yet, by mine honour, I will deal in this As secretly and justly, as your soul Should with your body. Leonato. 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 prolong'd : have patience, and endure. [Exeunt Friar, Hero, and Leonato. Benedick. Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while ? Beatrice. Yea, and I will weep a while longer. Benedick. I will not desire that. Beatrice. You have no reason ; I do it freely. Benedick. Surely, I do believe your fair cousin is wronged. Beatrice. Ah, how much might the man deserve of me that would right her. Benedick. Is there any way to show such friendship ? Beatrice. A very even way, but no such friend. Benedick. May a man do it ? Beatrice. It is a man's office, but not yours. Benedick. I do love nothing in the world so well as you. Is not that strange ? Beatrice. As strange as the thing I know not. It were as possible for me to say, I loved nothing so well as you ; but believe me not, and yet 1 lie not: I confess nothing, nor I deny nothing.— I am sorry for my cousin. Benedick. By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me. Beatrice. Do not swear by it, and eat it. Benedick. I will swear by it, that you love me; and I will make him eat it, that says I love not you. Beatrice. Will you not eat your word ? Benedick. With no sauce that can be devised to it. I protest, I love thee. Beatrice. Why then, God forgive me 1 Benedick. What offence, sweet Beatrice? Beatrice. You have stayd me in a happy hour: 1 was about to protest, I loved you. Benedick. And do it with all thy heart. Beatrice. I love you with so much of my heart, that none is left to protest. Benedick. Come, bid me do any thing for thee. Beatrice. Kill Claudio. Benedick. Ha ! not for the wide world. Beatrice. Act iv. Sc. n. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. H9 You kill me to deny It. Farewell. Benedick. Tarry, tweet Beatrice. Beatrice. I am gone, though 1 am here:— there Is no love in you Nay, I pray you, let me go. Benedick. Beatrice— _ , . Beatrice. In faith, 1 will go. Benedick. We'll be friends first. Beatrice. You dare easier be friends with me, than fight with mine enemy. Benedick. Is Claudio thine enemy ? Beatrice. 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. Benedick. Hear me, Beatrice— Beatrice. Talk with a man out at a window 1 — a proper saying. Benedick. Nay, but Beatrice— Beatrice. Sweet Hero!— she is wronged, she is slan- dered, she is undone. Benedick. Beat— Beatrice. Princes, and counties ! Surely, a princely testimony, a goodly count, 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 1 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. Benedick. Tarry, good Beatrice. By this hand, I love Beatrice. i Use it for my love some other way than swearing bv it. Benedick. Think you in your soul the count Claudio hath wronged Hero t Beatrice. Yea, as sure as I have a thought, or a soul. Benedick. Enough ! I am engaged, 1 will challenge him. I will kiss your hand, and so I leave you. By this hand, Claudio shall render me a dear ac- count. As you hear of me, so think of me. Go, comfort your cousin: I must say she is Head; nnd so, farewell. [Exeunt. thee SCENE II. A Prison. Enter Dogberry, Verges, and Sexton, in gowm ; and the Watch, with Conrade, and Borachio. Dogberry. Is our whole disscmbly appeared ? Verges. ! a stool and a cushion for the sexton. Sexton. Which be the malefactors ? Dogberry. Marry, that am I and my partner. Verge*. Nay, that's certain : we have the exhibition to examine. Sexton. But which are the offenders that are to be examined ? let them come before master con- stable. Dogberry. Yea, marry, let them come before me.— What is you name, friend ? Borachio. Borachio. Dogberry. Pray write down Borachio. Yours, sirrah? Conrade. 1 am a gentleman, sir, and my name is Con- rade. - Dogberry. Write down master gentleman Conrade Masters, do you serve God ? Conrade and Borachio. Yea, sir, we hope. Dogberry. Write down — that they hope they serve God : — and write God first ; for God defend 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 ? Conrade. Marry, sir, we say we are none. Dogberry. 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. Borachio. Sir, I say to you, we are none. Dogberry. 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 ex- amine : you must call forth the watch that are their accusers. Dogberry. Yea marry, that's the eftest way : — Let the watch come forth.— Masters, I charge you, in the prince's name, accuse these men. 1 Watchman. This man said, sir, that Don John, the prince's brother, was a villain. Dogberry. Write down — prince John a villain. — Why, this is flat perjury, to call a prince's brother, villain. Borachio. Master constable— Dogberry. !5° MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. Act iv. Sc. n t. .u r ,. D °S berr y- , . , Leonato. Pray thee, fellow, peace : I do not like thy I pray thee, cease thy counsel, look, 1 promise thee. j Which falls into mine ears as profitless Sexton. ! As water in a sieve. Give not me counsel ; What heard you him say else ? 2 Watchmai Nor let no comforter delight mine ear, But such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine: Marry, that he had received a thousand ducats I ^ring m e a father that so lov'd his chiid, of Don John, for accusing the lady Hero wrong- | Whose joy of her is overwhelmed like mine fully. And bid him speak of patience; Dogberry. Flat burglary as ever was committed. Verges. Yea, by the mass, that it is. Sexton. What else, fellow ? 1 Watchman. And that Count Claudio did mean, upon his words, to disgrace Hero before the whole as- sembly, and not marry her. Dogberry. O villain ! thou wilt be condemned into ever- lasting redemption for this. Sexton. What else ? 2 Watchman. 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, lee these men be bound, and brought to Leonato's : I will go before, and show him their examination. [lixit. Dogberry. Come, let them be opinioned. Verges. Let them be in the hands — Conrade. Off, coxcomb ! Dogberry. God's my life! where "a the sexton? let him writedown the prince's officer, coxcomb Come, bind them. — Thou naughty varlet I Courade Away ! you are an ass ; you are an ass. Dogberry. Dost thou not suspect my place ? Dost thou j 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, j yet forget not that I am an ass. — No, thou vil- ! Iain, thou art full of piety, as shall be proved j upon thee by good witness. I am a wise fellow ; I and, which is more, an officer ; and, which is j more, a householder ; and, which is more, as pretty a piece of flesh as any is in Messina ; and j one that knows the law, go to ; and a rich fellow enough, go to ; and a fellow that hath had losses; I and one that hath two gowns, and every thing j handsome about him. Bring him away. O, that I 1 had been writ down an ass 1 [Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE I. Before Leonato's House. Fnter Leonato and Antonio. 1 Antonio. F you go on thus, you will kill yourself; And 'tis not wisdom thus to second grief Against yourself. Measure his woe the length and breadth of mine, j And let it answer every strain for strain ; I 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 ; And sorrow, wag 1 cry hem, when he should groan ; [drunk Patch grief with proverbs; make misfortune With candle- wasters ; bring him yet to me, j And ! of him will gather patience. I But there is no such man ; for, brother, men i 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, I Charm ache with air, and agony with words. No, no ; 'tis all men's office to speak patience To those that wring under the load of sorrow, But no man's virtue, nor sufficiency, To be so moral when he shall endure The like himself. Therefore give me no coun- My griefs cry louder than advertisement, [sel : Antonio. Therein do men from children nothing differ. Leonato. I pray thee, peace ! I will be flesh and blood ; For there was never yet philosopher, That could endure the tooth -ache patiently, However they have writ the style of gods, And made a push at chance and sufferance. Antonio. Yet bend not all the harm upon yourself: Make those that do offend you suffer too. Leonato. There thou speak 'st reason: nay, I will do so. My soul doth tell me Hero is belied, [prince, And that shall Claudio know ; so shall the And all of them, that thus dishonour her. Luter Don Pedro and Claudio. Antonio. Here comes the prince, and Claudio hastily. Don Pedro. Good den, good den. Claudio. Good day to both of you. Leonato. Hear you, my lords,— Don Pedro. We have some haste, Leonato Leonato. Some haste, my lord! — well, fare you well my lord : — Are you so hasty now ? — well, all is one. Don Pedro. Nay, do not quarrel with us, good old man. Antonio. If he could right himself with quarrelling, Some of us would lie low. Claudio. Who wrongs him P Leonato. An v. Sc. I. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. '5' Leonato. Marry, thou dost wrong me; thou, dissem- bler, thou.— Nay. new r lav thy hand upon thy sword, the* not. ulio. Marry, beshrcw my hand. If it should give your age such cause of foar. In faith, my nana meant nothing to my sword. Leonato. Tush, tush, man ! never fiVer and jest at me: I speak not like a dotard, nor a fool ; As. under privilege of age, to brag [do, What 1 have done being young, or what would Were 1 not old. Know, Claudio, to thy head, Thou hast so wrong'd mine innocent child and That I am fore'd to lay my reverence by, [me, And with grey 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, O ! In a tomb where never scandal slept, Save this of hor's, fram'd by thy villainy. Claudio. My villainy? Leonato. Thine, Claudio; thine, I say. Don Pedro. You say not right, old man. Leonato. 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 lustyiiood. Claudio. Away 1 I will not have to do with you. Leonato. Canst thou so daff me ? Thou hast kill'd my child: If thou kill'st me, boy, thou shalt kill a man. Antonio. 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, sir boy, come, follow me. Sir boy, I'll whip vou from your foining fence ; Nay. as I am a gentleman, I will. Leonato. Brother — Antonio. Content yourself. God knows, I lov'd my niece ; And she is dead ; slander'd to death by villains, That dare as well answer a man, indeed, As I dare take a serpent by the tongue. Boys, apes, braggarts, Jacks, milksops ! — Leonato. Brother Antony — Antonio. 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 lie, and cog, and flout, deprave and slander, Go antickly, and show outward hideousness, And speak off half a dozen dangerous words. How they might hurt their enemies, if thev And this is all ! [durst, Leonato. But. brother Antnny — Antonio. Come, 'tis no matter : Do not you meddle, let me deal in this. Don 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. Leonato. My lord, my lord 1 — Don Pedro. I will not hear you. Leonato. No? Come, brother, away. — I will be heard Antonio. And shall, or some of us jwill smart for it. [Exeunt Leonato and Antonio. Enter Benedick. Don Pedro. See, see : here comes the man we went to seek. Claudio. Now, signior, what news ? Benedick. Good day, my lord. Don Pedro. Welcome, signior : you are almost come to part almost a fray. _ y * Claudio. We had like to have had our two noses snapped off with two old men without teeth. Don Pedro. Leonato and hi< brother. W T hat think'st thou? Had we fought, I doubt, we should have been too young for them. Benedick. In a false quarrel there is no true valour. 1 ca:ne to seek you both. Claudio. 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 ? Benedick. It is in my scabbard : shall 1 draw it ? Don Pedro. Dost thou wear thy wit by thy side ? Claudio. 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. Don Pedro. As I am an honest man, he looks pale. — Art thou sick, or angry ? Claudio. What 1 courage, man ! What though care killed a cat, thou hast mettle enough in thee to kill care. Benedick. Sir, I shall meet your wit in the career, an you charge it against me. — I pray you, choose another subject ,„ „ Claudio. Nay then, give him another staff: this last was broke cross. i% „ , Don Pedro. By this light, he changes more and more. I think he be angry indeed. Claudio. If he be, he knows how to turn his gifdle.. . 1 5 z MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. Act v. Sc. j. cheer "Benedick. Shall I speak a word in your ear ? Claudio. God bless me from a challenge ! Benedick. You are a villain. — I jest not : — 1 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. Claudio. Well, 1 will meet you, so I may have good Don Pedro. What, a feast ? a feast "* Claudio. I'faith, I thank him ; he hath bid me to a calfs-head and a capon, the which If I do not carve m<>st curiously, say my knife's naught Shall 1 not find a woodcock too ? Benedick. Sir, your wit ambles well : it goes easily. Don Pedro. I'll tell thee how Beatrice praised thy wit the other day. I said, thou hadst a fine wit : " True," said she, " a fine little one : " " No," said 1, " a great wit : " " Right," said 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 forswore on Tuesday morning : there's a double tongue ; there's two tongues." Thus did she, an hour together, trans-shape thy particular virtues ; yet at last she concluded with a sigh, thou wast the properest man in *■* Claudio. For the which she wept heartily, and said she cared not. _ „ , Don Pedro. Yea, that she did ; but yet, for all that, an if »he did not hate him deadly, she would love him dearly. The old man's daughter told us all. Claudio. All. all ; and moreover, God saw him when he was hid in the garden. Don Pedro. But when shall we set the savage bull's horns on the sensible Benedicks head ? Claudio. Yea, and text underneath, " Here dwells Benedick the married man ! " Benedick. 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 1 thank you : I "must dis- continue your company. Your brother, the bastard, is fled from Messina : you have, among you, killed a sweet and innocent lady. For my lord Lack beard, there, he and 1 sh '" and till then, peace be with him Don Pedro. He is in earnest. Claudio. In most profound earnest; and, I'll warrant you, for the love of Beatrice. , lall meet ; [Exit Benedick. Don Pedro. And hath challenged thee ? Claudio. Most sincerely. Don Pedro. What a pretty thing man is, when he goes in his doublet and hose, and leaves off his wit I Claudio. He is then a giant to an ape : but then is an ape a doctor to such a man. Don Pedro. But, soft you ; let me be : pluck up, my heart, and be sad ! Did he not say, my brother was fled? Enter Dogberry, Verges, and the Watch, with Conrade and Borachio. Dogberry. 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. Don Pedro. How now ! two of my brother's men bound ? Borachio, one ? „. ,. Claudio. Hearken after their offence, my lord ! Don Pedro. Officers, what offence have these men done ? Dogberry. Marry, sir, they have committed false re- port ; 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. _ _ , ' ° Don Pedro. First, I ask thee what they have done ? thirdly, 1 ask thee what's their offence ? sixth and lastly, why they are committed? and, to conclude, what you lay to their charge? Claudio. Rightly reasoned, and in his own division ; and, by my troth, there's one meaning well suited. _ „ , Don Pedro. Whom have you offended, masters, that you are thus bound to your answer ? this learned constable is too cunning to be understood. What's your offence ? Borachio. Sweet prince, let me go no farther 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 villainy they have upon record, which I had rather seal with my death, than repeat over to my shame. The lady is dead upon mine and my master's false accusa- tion ; and, briefly, I desire nothing but the reward of a villain. Don Pedro. Runs not this speech like iron through your blood ? Claudio. I have drunk poison whiles he utter'd it. _ Don Act v. Sc. 11. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 1'edro. But did my brother set thee on to this ? Bom Yea; and paid me richly for the practice of it. Don 1' He is comnos'd and fram'd of treachery. — And fled he is upon this villainy. Claudio. Sweet Hero ! now thy image doth appear In the rare semblance that 1 loved it first. Dogberry '53 Leonuto. To-morrow, then. I will expect your coming: To-night I take my leave. — This naughty man Shall Hue to face be brought to Margaret, Who, I believe, was pact in all this wrong, Ilir'd to it by your brother. Borachio. No, by my soul, she was not ; j Nor knew not what she did, when she spoke to I Bui always hath been just and virtuous, [me ; In any thing that 1 do know by her. Dogberry. Moreover, sir, which, indeed, is not under Come ; bring away the plaintiffs : by this time | white and black, this plaintiff here, the offender, our sexton hath reformed signior Leonato ol the | did call me ass: I beseech you, let it be re matter. And masters, do not forget to specify, when time and place shall serve, that 1 am an ass. Verges. Here, here comes master signior Leonato, and the sexton too. Re-enter Leonato, Antonio, and the Sexton. Leonato. 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 ? Borachio. If you would know your wronger, look on me. Leonato. Art thou the slave, that with thy breath hast Mine innocent child ? [kill'd Borachio. Yea, even I alone. Leonato. No, not so. villain ; thou beliest 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. Claudio. I know not how to pray your patience, Yet 1 must speak. Choose your revenge your- self; Impose me to what penance your invention Can lay upon my sin : yet siun'd I not, But in mistaking. Don Pedro. By my soul, nor I ; And yet, to satisfy this good old man, I would bend under any heavy weight That he'll enjoin me to. Leonato. I cannot bid you bid my daughter live ; That were impossible ; but, I pray you both, Possess the people in Messina, here, How innocent she died : and. if your love Can labour aught in sad invention, Hang her an epitaph upon her tomb. And sing it to her bones: sing it to-night To-morrow morning come you to my house, And since you could not be my son in-law. Be yet mv nephew. My brother hath a daugh- Almost the copy of my child that's dead, [ter, And she alone is heir to both of us : Give her the right you should have given her And so dies my revenge. [cousin, Claudio. O ! noble sir, Your over- kindness doth wring tears from me. I do embrace vour ofTer, and dispose For henceforth of poor Claudio. membered in his punishment. And also, the watch heard them talk of one Deformed ; they say, he wears a key in his ear, and a lock hang- ing by it, and borrows money 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 Leonato. I thank thee for thy care and honest pains. Dogberry. Your worship speaks like a most thankful and reverend youth, and 1 praise God for you. Leonato. There's for thy pains. Dogberry. God save the foundation 1 Leonato, Go: I discharge thee of thy prisoner, and I thank thee. Dogberry. I leave an arrant knave with your worship : which, I beseech your worship, to correct your- self for the example of others God keep your worship ; I wish your worship well : God re- store you to health I humbly give you leave to depart, and if a merry meeting may be wished, God prohibit it — Come, neighbour. [Exeunt Dogberry, Verges, and Watch. Leonato. Until to-morrow morning, lords, farewell. Antonio. Farewell, my lords : we look for you to- morrow. Don Pedro. We will not fail. Claudio. To-night I'll mourn with Hero. [Exeunt Don Pedro and Claudio. Leonaio. Bring you these fellows on ; we'll talk with Margaret, How her acquaintance grew with this lewd fellow. [Exeunt. SCENE II. Leonato's Garden. Eater Benedick and Margaret, meeting. Benedick. Pray thee, sweet mistress Margaret, deserve well at my hands by helping me to the speech of Beatrice. Margaret. Will you, then, write me a sonnet in praise of my beauty ? Benedick. In so high a style, Margaret, that no man living shall come over it : truth, thou deservest it. for, in most comely Margaret. *54 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. Act v. Sc. u. Margaret. To have no man come over me ? why shall I always keep below stairs ? Benedick. Thy wit is as quick as the greyhound's mouth ; it catches. Margaret. And your's as blunt as the fencer's foils, which hit, but hurt not. Benedick. A most manly wit, Margaret; it will not hurt a woman : and so, I pray thee, call Beatrice. I give thee the bucklers. Margaret Give us the swords, we have bucklers of our own. Benedick. If you use them, Margaret, you must put in the pikes with a vice ; and they are dangerous weapons for maids. Margaret. Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who I think, hath legs. [Exit Margaret. Benedick. And therefore will come. The god of love, [Singing. That sits above. And knows me, and knows me, How pitiful I deserve, — I mean, in singing ; but in loving, Leaudcr the good swimmer, Truilus the first employer of panders, 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, 1 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 end- ings. No, 1 was not born under a rhyming planet, nor I cannot woo in festival terms" — Knter Beatrice. Sweet Beatrice, would'st thou come when I called thee ? Beatrice. Yea, signior ; and depart when you bid me. Benedick. O, stay but till then ! Beatrice. " Then " is spoken ; fare you well now: — and yet, ere I go, let me go with that I came for ; which is. with knowing what hath passed be- tween you and Claudio. Benedick. Only foul words ; and thereupon I will kiss thee. Beatrice. Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is but foul breath, and foul breath is noisome ; therefore I will depart unkissed. Benedick. 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 1 will subscribe him a coward. And, I pray thee now, tell me, for which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me? Beatrice. For them altogether ; which maintained so politic a state of evil, that they will not admit any good part to intermingle with them. But for which of my good parts did you first suffer love for me ? Benedick. Suffer love ! a good epithet. I do suffer love, indeed, for 1 love thee against my will. Beatrice. In spite of your heart, I think Alas, poor heart I If you spite it for my sake, I will spite it for yours ; for I will never love that which my friend hates. Benedick. Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably. Beatrice. It appears not in this confession : there's not one wise man among twenty that will praise himself. Benedick. 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. Beatrice. And how long is that, think you ? Benedick. Question:— why an hour in clamour, and a quarter in rheum : therefore is it most expedient for the wise, (if Don Worm, his conscience, find no impediment to the contrary,) to be the trumpet of his own virtues, as 1 am to myself. So much for praising myself, who, I myself will bear wit- ness, is praiseworthy. And now tell me, how doth your cousin ? Beatrice. Very ill. Benedick. And how do you ? Beatrice. Very ill too. Benedick. Serve God, love me, and mend. There will I leave you too, for here comes one in haste. Enter Ursula. Ursula. Madam, you must come to your uncle. Yon- der's old coil at home : it is proved, my lady Hero hath been falsely accused, the prince and Claudio mightily abused ; and Don John is the author of all, who is fled and gone. Will you come presently ? Beatrice. Will you go hear this news, signior ? Benedick. I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes ; and, moreover, I wi" with thee to thy uncle's. .will .xeunr SCENE III. The Inside of a Church. Filter Don Pedro, Claudio, and Attendants, with music rind tapers. Claudio. Is this the monument of Leonato t Attendant. It is, my lord, Claudio. Epitaph. Done to death by slanderous tongues Was the Hero that here lies : [Reads. Death Act v. Sc. iv. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTJilXC. >55 Death, in guerdon of her wrongs, (J ires her fame which never dies. So th • life, that died with shame, Lives in death with glorious fame . Hang thou there upon the tomb. Trailing her when 1 am dumb — Now, music, sound, and sing your solemn hymn. Song. Pardon, gjdd ^T °» * **" *»* Dull, a Constable. Pfincess. Costard, a Clown. SCENE, Navarre. ACT I. SCENE I. Nararre. A Park, with a Palace in it. Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and Dumaine. King. T ET fame, that all hunt after in their live*, -*-* Live register'd upon our brazen tombs, And then grace us in the disgrace of death ; When, spite of cormorant devouring time, Th' endeavour of this present breath may buy That honour, which shall bate his scythe's keen And make us heirs of all eternity. [edge, Therefore, brave conquerors ! — for so you are, Th;\t war against your own affections, And the huge army of the world's desires, — Our late edict shall strongly stand in force. Navarre shall be the wonder of the world : Our court shall be a little Academe, Still and contemplative in living art. You three, Biron, Dumaine, and Longaville, Have sworn for three years' term to live with me, My fellow-scholars, and to keep those statutes, That are recorded in this schedule here : Your oaths are past, and now subscribe your names, That his own hand may strike his honour down, That violates the smallest branch herein. If you are arm'd to do, as sworn to do, Subscribe to your deep oaths, and keep it too. Longaville. I am resolv'd : 'tis but a three years' fast. The mind shall banquet, though the body pine : Fat paunches have lean pates ; and dainty bits Make rich the ribs, but bankrupt quite the wits. Dumaine. My loving lord, Dumaine 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, 1 hope well, is not enrolled there : j And, one day in a week to touch no food, And but one meal on every day beside, j 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. I O ! these are barren tasks, too hard to keep, I N ot to see ladies, study, fast, not sleep. King. I Your oath is pass'd to pass away from these. Biron. I Let me say no, my liege, and if you please. j I only swore to study with your grace, j And stay here in your court for three years' space. Longaville. I You swore to that, Biron, and to the rest. Biron. By yea, and nay, sir, then I swore in jest. ; What is the end of study, let me know ? I King. M« LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. Act i. Sc i King. Why, that to know which else we should not know. Biron. Things hid and barr'd, you mean, from com- mon sense ? King. Ay, that is study's god-like recompense. Biron. Come on, then : 1 will swear to study so, To know the thing 1 am forbid to know ; As thus, — to study where I well may .line, When I to feast"expressly r.m forbid ; Or study where to meet some mistress fine, When i nv.stresses 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 1 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, [looks : That will not be deep-search'd with saucy Small have continual plodders ever won, Save base authority from others' books. These earthly goifathers of heaven's lights, That give a name to every fixed star, Have no more profit of their shining nights, Than those that walk, and wot not what they are. Too much to know is to know nought but fame; And every godfather can give a name. King. How well he's read, to reason against read- ing! Dumaine Proceeded well, to stop all good proceeding I Longaville. He weeds the corn, and still lets grow the weeding. Biron. The spring is near, when green geese are a breeding. Dumaine. How follows that? Biron. Fit in his place and time. Dumaine In reason nothing. Biron. Something, then, in rhyme. King. Biron is like an envious snoaping frost, That bites the first-born infants of the spring. Biron. Well, say I am : why should proud summer boast, Before the birds have any cause to sing ? Why should 1 joy in any abortive birth ? I At Christmas I no more desire a rose, I Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled shows j But like of each thing that in season grows. So you. to study now it is too late, Cliinb o'er the "house to unlock the little gate. King. Well, sit you out : go home, Biron : adieu ' Biron. No, my good lord ; I have sworn to stay with you : And, though 1 have for barbarism spoke more. Than for that angel knowledge you can say. Yet confident 111 keep what 1 have swore, And bide the penance of each three years' day. Give me the paper : let me read the same ; And to the strict'st decrees I'll write my name. King. How well this yielding rescues thee from shame! Biron, [Heads Item, " That no woman shall come within a mile of my court." — Hath this been proclaimed'!' Longaville. Four davs ago. Biron. Let's see the penalty. [Reads.] " On pain of losing her tongue." — Who devis'd this penalty ? Longaville. Marry, that did I. Biron. Sweet lord, and why ? Longaville. To fright them hence with that dread penalty. 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 speak,— A maid of grace, and complete majesty,— I About surrender up of Aquitain To her decrepit, sick, and bed-rid father : j Therefore, this article is made in vain, t Or vainly comes th' admired princess hither. King. What say you, lords ? why, this was quite forgot." Biron. So study evermore is overshot : While it doth study to have what it would, !t doth forget to do the thing it should ; And when it hath the thing it hunteth most, ' 1 is won, as towns with fire ; so won, so lost. King. We must of force dispense with this decree: She must lie here on mere necessity. Biron. Necessity will make us all forsworn fspace ; Three thousand times within this three years' 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, 1 am forsworn on mere necessity — So to the laws at large I write my name ; [Subscribes. I And he, that breaks them in the least degree, I Stands in attainder of eternal shame. Suggestions are to others, as to me ; But, Act i. Sc. i. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 59 But, I believe, although I seem so loth, I am the last that will last keep his oath. But is there no quick recreation granted ? King. Ay, that there is. Our court, you know, 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 min of complements, whom right and wrong Have those as umpire of their mutiny : 1 his child of fancy, that Armatto hight, For interim to our studies, shall relate la 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. Longaville. Costard, the swain, and he shall be our sport ; Aud so to study, three years is bat short. Enter Dull, with a letter, and Costard. Dull. Which is the duke's own person ? Biron. This, fellow. What would'st ? Dull. I myself reprehend his own person, for I am his grace's tharborough : but 1 would see his own person in flesh and blood. Biron. This is he. Dull. Signior Arm— Arm — commends you. There's villainy abroad : this letter will tell you more. Costard. Sir, the contempts thereof are as touching me. Kiiijg. A letter from the magnificent Armado. Biron. How low soever the matter, I hope in God for high words. Longaville. A high hope for a low heaven : God grant us patience ! Biron. To hear, or forbear hearing ? Longaville. 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. Costard. The matter is to me, sir, as concerning Jaquenetta. The manner of it is, I was taken with the manner. Biron. In what manner ? Costard. In manner and form follow ing, sir ; all those three: 1 was seen with her in the manor house, sitting with her upon the form, and taken fol- lowing her into the park ; which, put together, i», in manner and form following. Now, sir, jto say wherewith." 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 ? Costard. 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. Costard. Such is the simplicity of man to hearken after the flesh. King. [Beads. " Great deputy, the welkin's vicegerent, and I sole dominator of Navarre, my soul's earth's God, and body's fostering patron, — " Costard. Not a word of Costard yet. King. 1 " So it is,—" Costard. It may be so ; but if he say it is so, he is, in (telling true, but so, — King. Peace! Costard. — be to me, and every man that dares not fight. King. i No words. Costard. | —of other men's secrets, I beseech you. King, i *' So it is, besieged with sable-coloured melan- choly, I did commend the black-oppressing humour to the most wholesome physic of thy 'health-giving air; and, as I am a gentleman, betook myself to walk. The time when ? About the sixth hour; when beasts most graze, biids best peck, and men sit down to that nourishment which is called supper. So much for the ti iri e w lien. Now for the ground which; which, I mean, I i walked upon: it is ycleped thy park. Then for the place where ; whore, I mean, I did encounter that obscene and most preposterous event, that jdraweth from my snow-white pen the ebon- | coloured ink, which here thou vie west, beholdest, jsurveyest, or seest. But to the place, where: — 'it standeth north-north-east and by east from jthe west corner of thy curious-knotted garden : there did I see that low-spirited swain, that base minnow of thy mirth," Costard. Me. King, "—that unletter'd small-knowing soul," Costard Me. King. '* — that shallow vassal," Costard. Still me. King. " —which, as I remember, hight Costard," Costard. O ! me. King. " —sorted and consortf d, contrary to thy esta- blished proclaimed edict and continent canon, l with— with,— O ! with— but with this 1 passion Costard. i6o LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. Act i. Ac. i. With a wench. Costard. King. " —with a child of our grandmother Eve, a female ; or, for thy more sweet understanding, a woman. Him 1 (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. "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 complements of de- voted 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 •ay you to this ? Costard. Sir, I confess the wench. King. Did you hear the proclamation ? Costard. I do confess much of the hearing it, but little of the marking of it. King. It was proclaimed a year's imprisonment to be taken with a wench. Costard. I was taken with none, sir : I was taken with a damsel. King. Well, it was proclaimed damsel. Costard. This was no damsel neither, sir : she was a virgin. King. It is so varied, too, for it was proclaimed virgin. Costard. If it were, I deny her virginity : I was taken with a maid. King. This maid will not serve your turn, sir. Costard. This maid will serve my turn, sir. King. Sir, I will pronounce your sentence : you shall fast a week with bran and water. Costard. I had rather pray a month with mutton and porridge. King. And Don Armado shall be your keeper. — My lord Biron, see him deliver'd o'er : And go we, lords, to put in practice that Which each to other hath so strongly sworn. [Exeunt King, Longaville, and Dwnaine. Biron. Ill lay my head to any good man's hat, These oaths and laws will prove an idle I Sirrah, come on. [scorn — Costard. for the truth, sir : for true it is, I was taken with Jaquenetta, and Jaquenetta is a true girl; and, therelore, welcome the sour cup ol prosperity ! Affliction may one day smile again, and till then, set thee down, sorrow ! [Exeunt. SCENE II. Armado 's House in the Park. Enter Armado, and Moth, his page. _ ... Armado. Boy, what sign is it, when a man of great spirit grows melancholy ? Moth. A great sign, sir, that he will look sad. Armado. Why ? sadness is one and the self-same thing, dear imp. Moth. No, no ; O lord ! sir, no. Armado. How canst thou part sadness and melancholy, my tender juvenal ? Moth. By a familiar demonstration of the working, my tough senior. Armado. Why tough senior ? why tough senior ? Moth. Why tender juvenal ? why tender juvenal ? Armado. I spoke it, tender juvenal, as a congruent epi- theton 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. Armado. Pretty, and apt. Moth. How mean you, sir ? I pretty, and my saying apt ; or 1 apt, and my saying pretty ? Armado. Thou pretty, because little. Motli. Little pretty, because little. Wherefore apt ? Armado. And therefore apt, because quick. Moth. Speak you this in my praise, master t Armado. In thy condign praise. Moth. I will praise an eel with the same praise. Armado. What, that an eel is ingenious ? Moth. That an eel is quick. Armado. I do say, thou art quick in answers. Thou heatest my blood. Moth. I I am answered, sir. Armado. I love not to be crossed. Moth. [Aside. I He speaks the mere contrary : crosses love not 'him? Armado. I have promised to study three years with the j duke. Moth. Act i. Sc. n. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 161 Moth. You may do it in an hour, sir. Armado. Impossible. Moth How many is one thrice told ? Armado. I am ill at reckoning : it fitteth the spirit of a tapster - Moth. You are a gentleman, and a gamester, sir. Armado. 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. Armado. It doth amount to one more than two. Moth- Which the base vulgar do call three. Armado. True. Armado. Is that one of the four complexions ? Moth. As I have read, sir; and the best of them too. Armado. 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. .. A . Moth. It was so, sir, for she had a green wit. Armado. My love is most immaculate white and red. Moth. Most maculate thoughts, master, are masked under such colours. Armado. Define, define, well-educated infant. Moth. My father's wit, and my mother's tongue, assist me ! .-, imado Sweet invocation of a child ; most pretty, and Moth. pathetical 1 Moth Why, sir, is this such a piece of study ? Now, : here is three studied ere you'll thrice wink ; and how easy it is to put years to the word three, and study three years in two words, the dancing; horse will tell you. An i, ado. A most fine figure ! Moth. To prove you a cypher, Armado. .Aside. 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. Ij think scorn to sigh: methinks, I should out-? •wear Cupid. Comfort me, boy. What great; men have been in love ? Hercules, master. Armado. Most sweet Hercules! — More authority, dear! boy, name more ; and, sweet my child, let them be men of good repute and carnage. Samson, master : he was a man of good car- ' riage, great carriage ; for he carried the town-! gates on his back, like a porter, and he was in love. ado. If she be made of white or 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 Armado Is there not a ballad, boy, of the King and the O well-knit Samson ! strong-jointed Samson t 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 t Moth. A woman, master. Armado. Of what complexion * Moth. Of all the four, or the three, or the two, or one of the four. Armado. Tell me precisely of what complexion. Moth. Of the sea- water green, sir. Beggar ? 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. I will have that subject newly writ o'er, that I may example my digression by some mighty precedent. Boy, I do love that country girl, that I took in the park with the rational hind Costard : she deserves weil. Moth To be whipped ; and yet a better love than my master. Armado. Sing, boy: my spirit grows heavy in love. Moth. And that's great marvel, loving a light wench. Armado. I say, sing. Moth. Forbear till this company be past. Ent; — You sheep, and I pasture: shall that finish the jest ? So y« 1 grant pasture for me. [Offering to kits her. Maria. Not so, gentle beast. My lips are no common, though several they be. Boyet. Belonging to whom ? Maria. To my fortunes and me. Priru Good wits will be jangling ; but, gentles, agree. This civil war of wits were much better used On Navarre and his book-men, for here 'tis abused. Hovet. If my observation, (which very seldom lies,) By the heart's still rhetoric, disclosed with eyes, Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected. With what ? Boyet. With that which we lovers entitle, affected. Rosaline. Ay, our way to be gone. Boyet. You are too hard for me. [Exeunt. of hearing. Concolinel . Your reason ? l'rim'e>8 ACT in. SCENE I. Another part of the same Enter Armado and Moth. Armado. \yARBLE, child: make passionate my of hearing. Moth. [Singing. Armado. 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? Armado How meanest thou ? brawling in French ? Moth. No, my complete master ; but to jig off a tune Why, all his behaviours did make their retire To the court of his eye, peeping thorough desire : His heart, like an agate, with your print im- pressed, Proud with his form, in his eye pride expressed : 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 fairestflsV fair. Methought.all his senses were fock'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 race's own margin did quote such amazes, That all eyes saw his eyes enchanted with gazes. I'll give you Aquitain, and all that is his, An you give him for my sake but one loving kiss. Princess. Come to our pavilion : Boyet is dispos'd— Boyet. But to speak that in words, which his eye hath disclos'd. | I only have made a mouth of his eye, By adding a tongue, which I know will not lie. : Rosaline. Thou art an old love-monger, and speak'st skilfully. Maria - He Is Cupid's grandfather, and learns news of him. Rosaline. Then was Venus like her mother, for her ' father is but grim. Boyet. Do you hear, my mad wenches ? Maria. No. Boyet. j What, then, do you see ? j 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 i 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's doublet, like a rabbit on a spit ; or your hands in your . pocket, like a man after the old painting ; and keep not too long in one tune, but a snip and away. These are complements, these are hu- [ mours ; these betray nice wenches, that would be betrayed without these, and make them men of note, (do you note, men?) that most are affected to these. Armado. How hast thou purchased this experience ? Moth. By my penny of observation. Armado. But 0,— but O,— Moth. — the hobby-horse is forgot. Armado. 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 ? Armado. Almost I had. Moth. Negligent student I learn her by heart. Armado. By heart, and in heart, boy. Moth. And out of heart, master: all those three I will prove. Armado. What wilt thou prove ? Moth. A man, If I live : and this, by, in, and without, upon i66 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. Act hi. Sc. 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. 1 am all these threet. And three times as much more, and yet no- thing at all. Armado Fetch hither the swain : he must carry me a letter. Moth. A message well sympathised: a horse to be ambassador for an ass. Armado. Ha, ha I what sayest thou ? Moth. ' Marry, sir, you must send the ass upon the horse, for he is very slow-gaited ; but I go. Armado. The way is but short. Away ! Moth. As swift as lead, sir. Armado. Thy meaning, pretty ingenious ? Is not lead a metal heavy, dull, and slow ? Moth. Minime, honest master ; or rather, master, no. Armado. say, lead is slow. Moth. You are too swift, sir, to say so : Is that lead slow which is fir'd from a gun ? Armado. Sweet smoke of rhetoric ! [he : — He reputes me a cannon ; and the bullet, that's 1 shoot thee at the swain. Moth. Thump then, and I flee. t Exit - Armado. A most acute ju venal ; 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. lie-cuter Moth with Costard. Moth. A wonder, master 1 here's a Costard broken in a shin. Armado. Some enigma, some riddle : come, — thy Ven- voy;— begin. Costard. No egma, no riddle, no V envoy] no salve in the male, sir : O, sir, plantain, a plain plantain! no Venvoy, no Venvoy; no salve, sir, but a plan- tain - Armado. 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 1 Doth the inconsiderate take salve for Venvoy, and the word Venvoy for a salve? mm »u Moth. Do the wise think them other ? is not Venvoy a salve ? Armado. No, page : it is an epilogue, or discourse, to make plain 'Some obscure precedence that hath tofore been 1 1 will example it : [sain. The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, Were still at odds, being but three. ! There's the moral : now the Venvoy. Moth. I will add the Venvoy. Say the moral again. Armado. 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 1 begin your moral, and do you follow with my Venvoy. The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, Were still at odds, being but three. Aimado. Until the goose came out of door, Staying the odds by adding four. A good Venvoy, ending in the goose. W T ou!d you desire more ? . . . , 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 Venvoy ; ay, that's a fat goose. Armado, Come hither, come hither. How did this ar- gument begin ; Moth. By saying that a Costard was broken in a shin. ■ Then call'd you for the Venvoy. Costard. True, and I for a plantain : thus came your argument in ; [bought, | Then the boy's fat Venvoy, the goose that you ! And he ended the market. Armado. ; But tell me ; how was there a Costard broken in a shin ? Moth. I will tell you sensibly. Costard . Thou hast no feeling of it, Moth : I will speak that Venvoy. 1, Costard, running out, that was safely within, Fell over the threshold, and broke my shin. Armado. We will talk no more of this matter. Costard. Till there be more matter in the shin. Armado. Sirrah Costard, I will enfranchise thee. Costard. I O ! marry me to one Frances ?— I smell some j Venvoy, some goose, in this. I Armado. By my sweet soul, I mean, setting thee at ! liberty, enfreedoming thy person : thou wert immured, restrained, captivated, bound. Costard. ! True, true ; and now you will be my purga- i tion, and let me loose. Armado. I give thee thy liberty, set thee from durance ; and, in lieu thereof, impose on thee nothing but this: Act iv. Sc. i. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. .67 thi.s : hear this significant to the country maid Jaquenetta. There is remuneration ; for the ben ward of mine honour is rewarding my de- pendents. Moth, follow. [Exit. Moth. Like the sequel, I — Signior Costard, adieu. Costard. My sweet ounce of man's flesh ! my incony Jew !— [Exit Moth. I Now will I look to his remuneration. Remune- ration 1 O ! that's the Latin word for three far- ! things: three farthings, remuneration. — " What's the price of this inkle ? a penny : — No, I'll give ' you a remuneration : " why, it carries it. — Ke- I muneration I — why, it is a fairer name than ] French crown. 1 will never buy and sell out of ! this word. I- nter Biron. Biron. 1 O, my good knave Costard! exceedingly well ; met. Costard , Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon may a man buy for a remuneration ? What is a remuneration ? Marry, sir, half- penny farthing. 1 why then, three-Farthing-worth of silk. 1 thank your worship. ' God be wi' 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. When would you haveit done, sir ? ~ . , . 's coctus ! — O, thou monster ignorance, how deformed dost thou look! Nathaniel. Sir, he hath never fed of the dainties that are ; bred in a book ; he hath not eat paper, as it 1 were ; he hath not drunk ink : his intellect is j not replenished ; he is only an animal, only 1 sensible in the duller parts ; i And such barren plants are set before us, that we thankful should be I (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, [him in a school : So, were there a patch set on learning, to see But, omne bene, say I ; being of an old father's mind, [wind. Many can brook the weather, that love not the Dull. You two are book men : can you tell by your wit, [not five weeks old as yet ? What was a month old at Cain"* birth, that's Holofernes. Dictynna, good man Dull; Dictynna, good man Dull. Dull. What is Dictynna t Nathaniel. A title to Phoebe, to Luna, to the moon. Holofernes. IZ2L LOVE'S LABOUK'S LOST. Act iv. Sc. n. Holofernes. 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. ceit in a turf of earth ; fire enough for a flint, pearl enough for a swine: 'tis pretty; it is well. Jaquenetta. Good master parson, be so good as read me this letter : it was given me by Costard, and sent me from Don Armado : I beseech you, read Tis true indeed: the collusion holds in the ' *'• u„i„r ,„„. Holofernes. Fauste, precor gelidd quando pecus omne sub ' umbra ] Rwninat,— and so forth . Ah, good old Mantuan ! I may speak of thee as the traveller doth of Venice : — Venegia, Venegia, Chi non te vede, ci non te pregia. Old Mantuan ! old Mantuan ! Who under- standeth thee not, loves thee not. — Ut, re, sol, exchange. Holofernes. God comfort thy capacity ! I say, the allusion holds in the exchange. Dull. And I 6ay 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 princess kill'd. u . . Holofernes Sir, Nathaniel, will you hear an extemporal | J* ™;/^T Und u er pardo ^' sir « wl epitaph on the death of the deer? and, to contents? or. rather, as He humour the ignorant, I have call'd the deer the princess kill'd, a pricket. Nathaniel. Perge, good master Holofernes, perge; so it shall please you to abrogate scurrility. Holofernes. I will something affect the letter, for it argues If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear facility. to love ? The preyful princess piere'd and prick'd a pretty Ah > **". Jaith could hold, if not to beauty contents ? or, rather, as Horace says in his — What, my soul, verses ? Nathaniel. Ay, sir, and very learned. Holofernes. Let me hear a staff, a stanza, a verse: lege, domine. Nathaniel. pleasing pricket ; [sore with shooting. Some say, a sore ; but not a sore, till now made The dogs did yell ; put I to sore, then sorel jumps from thicket ; [hooting. Or pricket sore, or else sorel ; the people fall a If sore be sore, then I to sore makes fifty sores ; sore I ! [one more I. Of one sore I an hundred make, by adding but Nathaniel. A rare talent ! Dull. If a talent be a claw, look how he claws him i with a talent. „ , . Hololernes. This is a gift that I have, simple, simple ; a i foolish extravagant spirit, full of forms, figures, ■tapes, objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions, ! revolutions : these are begot in the ventricle of j 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. Nathaniel. Sir, I praise the Lord for you, and so may my parishioners ; for their sons are well tutored by vowed! [prove, Though to myself forsworn, to thee Til faithful Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like osiers bowed. C^^» Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine Where all those pleasures live, that art would comprehend : If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall st{ffice. Well learned is that tongue, that well can thee commend ; [toonder ; All ignorant that soul, that sees thee without Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire. [dreadful thunder, Thy eye Jove's lightning bears, thy voice his Which, not to anger bent, is music, and sweet fire. Celestial, as thou art, ! pardon, love, this wrong, That sings heaven's praise with such an earthly tongue! Holofernes. 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 odoriferous flowers you, and their daughters profit very greatly I of fancy, the jerks of invention? Imitari is under you : you are a good member of the com- monwealth. ; ■ Holofernes. Mehercle! 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 saluteth us. Enter Jaquenella and Costard. Jaquenetta. God give you good morrow, master person. Holofernes. Master person, — quasi pers-on. An if one should be pierced, which is the one ? Costard. Marry, master schoolmaster, he that is likest to a hogshead. Holofernes. Of piercing a hogshead ! a good lustre of con- nothing" : so doth the hound is master, the ape his keeper, the 'tired horse his rider. But damosella, virgin, was this directed to you ? Jaquenetta. Ay, sir, from one Monsieur Biron, one of the strange queen's lords. Holofernes I will overglance the superscript. " To the snow-white hand of the most beauteous Lady Rosaline." I will look again on the intellect of j the letter, for the nomination of the party writing I to the person written unto : " Your ladyship's, I in all desired employment, Biron." Sir Natha- niel, this Biron is one of the votaries with the j king ; and here he hath framed a letter to a se- ! quent of the stranger queen's, which, accideu- I tally, or by the way of progression, hath mis- ; carried Trip and go, my sweet: deliver this paper into the royal hand of the king ; it may concern JLOT1ES 3LAIBOWKS 3L<0>§T. Act ♦. 5c. 3. Act iv. Sc. in. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. I7i concern much. Stay not thy compliment ; II forgive thy duty : adieu. Jaqucnetta. Good Costard, go with me. — Sir, God sate your life ! Costard. Have with thee, my girl. nnt Costard and Jarjuatrtta. Nathaniel. Sir, you have done this in the fear of God, religiously; and, as a certain father very saith Holofernes. Sir, tell not me of the father ; I do fear colour- able colours. But, to return to the verses : did they please you, sir Nathaniel t Nathaniel. Marvellous well for the pen. Holofernes, 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, undertake your ben venuto ; where I will prove those verses to be very unlearned, neither savouring of poetry, wit, nor invention. I beseech your society. Nathaniel. And thank you too ; for society (saith the text) is the happiness of life. Holofernes. And, certes, the text most infallibly concludes it— Sir, [To Du!i,"< I do invite you too: you shall not say me nay: paucaverba. Away ! the gentles are at their game, and we will to our recreation. [Exeunt. SCENE III. Another part of the same. Enter b'iron, with a paper. Biron. The king he is hunting the deer ; I am cours- ing myself : they have pitch'd a toil ; I am toil- ' ing in a pitch — pitch that defiles. Defile ? a foul word. Well, set thee down, sorrow ! for so, j they say, the fool said, and so say I, and I the i 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 o' my side ! I will not love ; if I do, hang me : i'faith, I will not. ! but her eye,— by this light, but for her eye, 1 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, 1 do love, and it hath taught me to rhyme, and to be melancholy ; and here is part of my rhyme, and here my melan- choly. Well, she hath oneo' 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 Eater the King, with a paper. King. Ay me! ._ L .B ir JS? n - . rAside. Shot, by heaven! — Proceed, sweet Cupid: ! 1 thou hast thump'd him with thy bird-bolt under 1 the left pap.— In faith, secrets !— I King. [Beads. , ; So street a kiss the golden sun gives not To those fresh morning drops upon the rose. As thy eye-beams, 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. queen of queens, how far dost thou excel! No thought can think, nor tongue of mortal tell. How shall she know my griefs ? I'll drop the paper. Sweet leaves, shade folly. Who is he comes here? [Steps aiidc. Lnlcr Longavillc, with a paper. [AaMe.1 What, Longaville! and reading? listen, ear. Biron. f Aside. Now, in thy likeness, one more fool appear ! Longaville Ay me I I am forsworn. Biron. | Aside. Why, he comes in like a perjurer, wearing papers. King. [Aside. In love, I hope. Sweet fellowship in shame. Biron. [Aside. One drunkard loves another of the name. Longaville. Am I the first that have been perjur'd so ? Biron. [Aside. I could put thee in comfort : not by two that I know. [society, Thou mak'st the triumviry, the corner-cap ol The shape of love's Tyburn, that hangs up sim- plicity. Longaville. 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 Disfigure not his slop. [hose : Longaville. This same shall go. — [He reads the sonnet. Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye, 'Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument, Persuade my heart to this false perjury ? Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment. A woman I forswore ; but I will prove, Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee : My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love ; Thy grace, being gain'd, cures alldisgrace in me. Vows are but breath, and breath a vapour is : Then thou, fair sun, which on my earth dost ExhaTst this vapour-vow ; in thee it is : [shine, If broken, then, it is no fault of mine. If by me broke, what fool is not so wise. To lose an oath, to win a paradise ? Biron. [Aside. This is the liver vein, which makes flesh a deity ; A green goose, a goddess : pure, pure Idolatry. God amend us, God amend ! we are much out o' the way. Enter i7i LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. Act iv. Sc. in. Enter Dumaine, with a paper. By whom shall I send this ?— Company ! stay. [Steps 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 I O heavens I I have my wish : Dumaine transform 'd ? four woodcocks in a dish ! Dumaine. O most divine Kate ! Biron. [Aside. most profane coxcomb I „ . Dumaine. By heaven, the wonder of a mortal eye! Biron. [Aside. By earth, she is not :— corporal ; there you lie. Dumaine Her amber hairs for foul have amber quoted. Biron. [Aside. An amber-colour'd raven was well noted. Dumaine. As upright as the cedar. Biron. [Aside. Stoop, I say : Her shoulder is with child. Dumaine. As fair as day. Biron- [Aside. Ay, as some days : but then no sun must shine. Dumaine. O, that 1 had my wish ! [,ongaville. [Aside. And 1 had mine ! King. [Aside. And I mine too, good lord ! Biron. [Aside. Amen, so 1 had mine. Is not that a good word ? Dumaine- 1 would forget her ; but a fever she Reigns in my blood, and will remember'd be. Biron. [Aside. A fever in your blood ? why, then incision j Would let her out in saucers: sweet misprision I Dumaine. Once more I'll read the ode that I have writ. Biron. [Aside. Once more I'll mark how love can vary wit. Dumaine. 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, '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 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 Jove would swear Juno but an Ethiop were / And deny htmselffor Jove, Turning mortal for thy love. This will I send, and something else more plain, That shall express my true love's fasting pain. 0, would the King, Biron, and Longaville, Were lovers too 1 111, to example ill, Would from mv forehead wipe a perjur'd note ; For none offend, where all alike do dote. Longaville. [Advancing. . Dumaine, thy love is far from charity, That in love's grief desir'st society : You may look pale, but I should blush, I know, To be o'erheard, and taken napping so. King- [Advancing. Come, sir, 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, I Nor never lay his wreathed arms athwart His loving bosom, to keep down his heart. 1 have been closely shrouded in this bush, And mark'd you both, and for you both did blush. [fashion, I heard your guilty rhymes, observ'd your Saw sighs reek from you, noted well your passion : Ay 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 Longaville. And Jove for your love would infringe an oath. [ lo Dumaine. i What will Biron say, when that he shall hear Faith infringed, which such zeal did swear ? How will he scorn ! how will he spend his wit ! How will he triumph, leap, and laugh at it 1 For all the wealth that ever 1 did see, I would not have him know so much by me. Now step I forth to whip hypocrisy. — [Descends from the tree, j Ah, good my liege, I pray thee pardon me : iGood heart! what grace hast thou, thus to reprove These worms for loving, that art most in love ? ; Your eyes do make no coaches ; in your tears ! There is no certain princess that appears : j You'U not be perjur'd, 'tis a hateful thing: j Tush ! none but minstrels like of sonneting. But are you not asham'd ? nay, are you not, j All three of you, to be thus much o'ershot ? ; You found his mote ; the king your mote did • But I a beam do find in each of three. [see ; ; O ! what a scene of foolery have I 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 to tune a jig, And Netfor play at push-pin with the boys, And critic Timon laugh at idle toys ! Where lies thy grief? 1 tell me, good Dumaine : And, gentle Longaville, where lies thy pain ? And where my hege's ? all about the breast : — A caudle, ho 1 King. Too bitter is thy jest. Are we betrayed thus to thy over-view ? Biron. Not you by me, but I betray'd to you : 1, that am honest ; I, that hold it sin To Act iv. Sc. in. LOVE S LABOUR'S LOST. 171 To break the vow I am engaged in ; 1 am betray'd, by keeping company With men, 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 1 Whither away so fast ? A true man, or a thief, that gallops so ? Biron. I post from love ; good lover, let me go. Kntt-r Jaquenetta and Custard Jaquenetta. God bless the king 1 King. What present hast thou there ? Costard. Some certain treason. King. What makes treason here ? Oostani . Nay, it makes nothing, sir. King. If it mar nothing neither, The treason and you go in peace away together. JaqnenetU. I beseech your grace, let this letter be read : Our parson misdoubts it ; 'twas treason, he said. King. Biron, read it over. [Biron reads the letter. Where had'st thou it? Jaquenetta. Of Costard. King. Where had'st thou it ? t/ostard. Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio. King. How now ! what is in you ? why dost thou tear it ? Birou. A toy, my liege, a toy : your grace needs not fear it ? tvflle. It did move him to passion, and therefore let's hear it. Dumalne. It Is Biron't writing, and here is his name. [Picking up the pieces. Biron. Ah, you whoreson loggerhead ! [To Coitard.] you were born to do me shame. — Guilty, my lord, guilty I I confess, 1 confess. King What? Blrou. That you three fools lack'd me, fool, to make up the mess. He, he, and you, and you my liege, and I, Are pick-purses in love, and we deserve to die. O 1 dismiss this audience, and I shall tell you more. Dumaiue Now the number is even. Biron. True, true ; we are four. — Will these turtles be gone ? King. Hence, sirs ; away I Coitard. Walk aside the true folk, and let the traitors stay. [l-.xeunt Costard and Jaquenetta. 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 doth 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, stricken 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 Biron. 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 1 O 1 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 1 King. By heaven, thy love is black as ebony. BirAD Is ebony like her ? O wood divine I A wife of such wood were felicity. O 1 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. O 1 if in black my lady's brows be deck'd, 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. DumaiiiP. To look like her are chimney-sweepers black, i Longaville. »7+ LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. Act iv. Sc. m. ! Longaville. And since her time are colliers counted bright. King. And Ethiops of their sweet complexion crack. Dumaine. Dark needs no candles now, for dark is light. Biron. Your mistresses dare never come in rain, For fear their colours should be wash'd away. King. Twere good, yours did ; for, sir, to tell you plain, I'll find a fairer face not wash'd today. Biron. I'll prove her fair, or talk till doomsday here. King. No devil will fright thee then so much as she. Dumaine. I never knew man hold vile stuff so dear. Longaville. Look, here's thy love : my foot and her face 6ee. „. Biron. O I if the streets were paved with thine eyes, Her feet were much too dainty for such tread. Dumaine. O vile ! then, as she goes, what upward lies The street should see, as she walk'd over head. Tr . King. But what of this ? Are we not all in love ? Biron. O 1 nothing so sure ; and thereby all for- j sworn. King. Then leave this chat ; and, good Biron, now • prove Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn. Dumaine. Ay, marry, there ; some flattery for this evil. Longaville. O ! some authority how to proceed ; Some tricks, some quillets, how to cheat the; devil. Oummne Some salve for perjury. Biron O ! tis more than need. — i 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 ? For when would you, my lord, or you, or you, \ Have found the ground of study's excellence, i Without the beauty of a woman's face ? From women's eyes this doctrine I derive : They are the ground, the books, the Academes, \ From whence doth spring the true Promethean ! Why, universal plodding prisons up [fire, j The nimble spirits in the arteries, As motion, and long-during action, tires The sinewy vigour of the traveller. Now, for not looking on a woman's face, You have in that forsworn the use of eyes, And study, too, the causer of your vow ; For where is any author in the world, Teaches such beauty as a woman's eye ? Learning is but an adjunct to ourself, And where we are, our learning likewise is : Then, when ourselves we see in ladies' eyes, With ourselves, Do we not likewise see our learning there? O ! we have made a vow to study, lords, And in that vow we have forsworn our books ; For when would you, my liege, or you, or you, In leaden contemplation have found out Such fiery numbers, as the prompting eyes Of beauty's 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 For valour is not love a Hercules, [taste. Still climbing trees in the Hesperides? Subtle as sphinx ; as sweet, and musical, As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair ; And, when love speaks, the voice of all the gods Makes heaven drowsy with the harmony. Never durst poet touch a pen to write, Until his ink were temper'd with love's sighs ; O 1 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 ! Biron. Advance your standards, and upon them, lords! Pell-mell, down with them ! but be first advis'd, In conflict that you get the sun of them. Longaville. 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 thitber ; 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, Fore-run fair Love, strewing her way with flowers. Km«. lOT V- Sc. I. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. '7* King. Away, away ! no time shall be omitted. That will be time, and may by us be fitted. Biron. AUons! aUons! — Sow'd cockle reap'dnocorn; And justice always whirls in equal measure: Light wenches may prove plagues to men for- sworn. If so, our copper buys no better treasure. 9 [Exeunt ACT V. SCENE I. Another part of the same. Enter Halojemes, Sir Nathanul, and Dull. Holofernes. OA TIS quod sufficit. Nathaniel. I praise God for you, sir : your reasons at din- ner have been sharp and sententious ; pleasant without scurrility, witty without affection, au- dacious without impudency, learned without opinion, and strange without heresy. I did converse this quondam day with a companion of the king's, who is intituled, nominated, or called, Don Adriano de Atmado. 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 thra- sonical. He is too picked, too spruce, too af- fected, too odd, as it were, too perigrinate, as I may call it. Nathaniel. A most singular and choice epithet [Draws out his table-book. Holofernes. He draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer than the staple of his argument. I abhor such fanatical phantasms, such insociable and point-devise companions ; such rackers of or- thography, as to speak dout, fine, when he should say, doubt ; det, when he should pronounce, debt— d, e, b, t, not d, e, t: he clepeth a calf, I cauf; half, hauf; neighbour vocatur nebour ; neigh abbreviated ne. This is abhominable, I (which he would call abominable,) it insinuateth me of insanie : ne intetligis dominef to make frantic, lunatic. Nathaniel. Laus Deo, bone intelligo. Holofernes. Bone? — bone, for bene : Priscian a little scratch'd ; 'twill serve. Enter Armado, Moth, and Costard. Nathaniel. Fidesne quis venitf Holofernes. I Video, et gaudeo. Armado. Chirrah I [To Moth. Holofernes. Quare Chirrah, not sirrah ? ; Armado. Men of peace, well encounter'd. Holoit i Most military sir, salutation. Moth. They have been at a great feast of languages, and stolen the scraps. Costard. ! they have lived long on the alms-basket of words. I marvel thy master hath not eaten thee for a word j for thou art not so long by the head as honorificabilitudinitattbus ; thou art easier swallowed than a flap-dragon. Moth. Peace ! the peal begins. Armado. Monsieur, [To Holofernes.} are you not let- tered ? 3 Moth. Yes, yes ; he teaches boys the horn-book.— What is a, b, spelt backward with the horn on his head ? Holofernes. Ba, pueritia, with a horn added. Moth. Ba ! most silly sheep, with a horn You hear his learning. Holofernes. Quis, quis, thou consonant ? Moth. The third of the five vowels, if you repeat them; or the fifth, if I. Holofernes. 1 will repeat them, a, e, i.— Moth. The sheep : the other two concludes it ; o, u. Armado. Now, by the salt wave of the Mediterranean, a sweet touch, a quick venew of wit ! snip, snap, quick and home: it rejoiceth my intellect ; true wit! Moth. Offer'd by a child to an old man ; which is wit-old. Holofernes. What is the figure ? what is the figure ? Moth. Horns. Holofernes. Thou disputest like an infant: go, whip thy gig- Moth. Lend me your horn to make one, and I will whip about your infamy circum circd. A gig of a cuckold's horn I Costard. 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 half-penny 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 would'st thou make me. Go to ; thou hast it ad dunghill, at the fingers' ends, as they say. Holofernes. O ! I smell false Latin ; dunghill for unguem. Armado. Arts-man, prceambula : we will be singled from the barbarous. Do you not educate youth at the charge-house on the top of the mountain ? Holofernes. Or mons, the hill. Armado. At your sweet pleasure for the mountain. Holofernes. *li LOVE'S LABOUli'S LOST. Act v. Sc. l Holofernes. I do, sans question. Armado. 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. Holofernes. The posterior of the day, most generous sir, is liable, congruent, and measurable for the after- noon : the word is well cull'd, chose ; sweet and apt, I do assure you, sir ; I do assure. Armado. Sir, the king is a noble gentleman, and my familiar, I do assure you, very good friend. — I For what is inward between us, let it pass — I do beseech thee, remember thy courtesy; — I, beseech thee, apparel thy head : — and among other important and most serious designs, — and of great import indeed, too, — but let that pass ; — for 1 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, 1 recount 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 pass — The very all of all is, —but, sweet heart, 1 do implore secrecy, — that the king would have me present the princess, sweet chuck, with some delightful ostentation, or show, or pageant, or antick, or fire-work. I Now, understanding that the curate and your i sweet self are good at such eruptions, and sudden breaking out of mirth, as it were, I have ac- 1 quainted you withal, to the end to crave your assistance. ., , , Holofernes Sir, you shall present before her the nineS Worthies. — Sir Nathaniel, as concerning some 1 entertainment of time, some show in the poste- rior of this day, to be rendered by our assistance, — the king's command, and this most gallant, illustrate, and learned gentleman, — before the princes*, 1 say, none so fit as to present the nine Worthies. Nathaniel Where will you find men worthy enough to present them 1 , , . , Holofernes Joshua, yourself ; myself, or this gallant gen- tleman, Judas Maccabeus ; this swain, (because of his great limb or joint,) shall pass Pompey the great ; the page, Hercules. Armado. Pardon, sir ; error : he is not quantity enough for that worthy's thumb : he is not so big as the end of his club. Holofernes. Shall I have audience ? he shall present Her- cules in minority: his enter and exit shall be strangling a snake ; and I will have an apology for that purpose „ . r v Moth. An excellent device 1 so, if any of the audience [ hiss, you may cry, " Well done, Hercules I now i thou crustiest the snake 1" that is the way to make an offence gracious, though few have the j grace to do it. Armado. For the rest of the Worthies ?— Holofernes. I will play three myself. Moth. Thrice-worthy gentleman 1 Armado. Shall I tell you a thing ? Holofernes. We attend. Armado. We will have, if this fadge not, an antick. I beseech you, follow. Holofernes. Via! — Goodman Dull, thou hast spoken no word all this while. Dull. Nor understood none neither, sir. Holofernes. AUons ! we will employ thee. Dull. I'll make one in a dance, or so ; or I will play on the tabor to the Worthies, and let them dance the hay. Holofernes. Most dull, honest Dull To our sport, away ! r [exeunt. SCENE II. Another part of the same. Before the Princess's Pavilion. Enter the Princess, Katharine, Maria. Jlosaline, and Princess. Sweet hearts, we shall be rich ere we depart, If fairings come thus plentifully in : A lady wall'd about with diamonds 1 — Look you, what I have from the loving king. Rosaline. Madam, came nothing else along with that ? Princess. Nothing but this ? yes ; as much love in rhyme, As would be cramm'd up in a sheet of paper, Writ on both sides the leaf, margin and all, That he was fain to seal on Cupid's name. Rosaline. That was the way to make his god-head wax ; For he hath been five thousand years a boy. Katharine. Ay, and a shrewd unhappy gallows too. Rosaline. You'll ne'er be friends with him: a' kill'd your sister. Katharine. He made her melancholy, sad, and heavy ; And so she died : had she been light, like you, Of such a merry, nimble, stirring spirit, She might a' been a grandam ere she died ; And so may you, for a light heart lives long. Rosaline. What's your dark meaning, mouse, of this light word ? Katharine. A light condition in a beauty dark. Rosaline. We need more light to find your meaning out. Katharine. You'll mar the light by taking it in snuff; Therefore, I'll darkly end the argument. Rosaline. Look, what you do, you do it still i' the dark. Katharine. So do not you, for you are a light wench. ' * ' 6 Rosaline. Act v. i'c. u. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. ■77 Rosaline. Indeed, I weigh not you, and therefore light. Katharine. You weigh me not?— O ! that's you care not for me. Rosaline. Great reason ; for, past cure is still past care. Princess. Well bandied both ; a set of wit well play'd. But Rosaline, you have a favour too : Who sent it ? and what is it ? Rosaline. I would you knew : An if my face were but as fair as your's, My favour were as great : be witness this. Nay, 1 have verses too, I thank liiron. [too, The numbers true ; and, were the numb'ring I were the fairest goddess on the ground : I am compar'd to twenty thousand fairs. O 1 he hath drawn my picture in his letter. Princess. Any thing like ? Rosaline. Much, in the letters, nothing in the praise. Princess. Beauteous as ink : a good conclusion. Katharine. Fair as a text B in a copy-book. Rosaline. 'Ware pencils ! How ? let me not die your debtor, My red dominical, my golden letter : O, that your face were not so full of O's 1 Princess. A pox of that jest I and I beshrew all shrows ! But, Katharine, what was sent to you from fair Dumaine ? Katharine. Madam, this glove. Princess. Did he not send you twain ? Katharine. Yes, madam ; and, moreover. Some thousand verses of a faithful lover : A huge translation of hypocrisy. Vilely compil'd, profound simplicity. Maria. This, and these pearls to me sent LongaviUe : The letter is too long by half a mile. Princess. I think no less. Dost thou not wish in heart, The chain were longer, and the letter short ? Maria. Ay, or I would these hands might never part. Princess. We are wise girls to mock our lovers so. Rosaline They are worse fools to purchase mocking so. That same Biron I'll torture ere 1 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 behests, 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. Princess 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 Rosaline. The blood of youth burns not with such excess, As gravity's revolt to wantonness. Maria. Folly in fools bears not so strong a note, As foolery in the wise, when wit doth dote; Since all the power thereof it doth apply, To prove by wit worth in simplicity. Enter Boyet. Princess. Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his face. Boyet. O ! I am stabb'd with laughter. Where's her grace ? Princess. Thy news, Boyet t Boyet. Prepare, madam, prepare I Arm, wenches, arm ! encounters mounted are Against your peace. Love doth approach dis- guis'd, Armed in arguments : you'll be surpris'd. Muster your wits ; stand in your own defence, Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly hence. Princess. Saint Dennis to saint Cupid ! What are they, That charge their breath against us ? say, scout, say. Boyet. Under the cool shade of a sycamore, I thought to close mine eyes some half an hour, When, lo 1 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 shalt thou see ; Yet fear not thou, but speak audaciously." The boy replied, " An angel is not evil ; 1 should have feared 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 his elbow thus, and fleer'dand swore A better speech was never spoke before : Another, with his tinger and his thumb, Ory'd *' Via ! we will dot, come what will come:" [well:" The third he caper'd, and cried, " All goes The fourth turn'd on the toe, and down he fell. With that, they all did tumble on the ground, With such a zealous laughter, so profound, That in this spleen ridiculous appears, To check their folly, passion's solemn tears. Princess. But what, but what, come they to visit us ? Boyet. They do, they do ; and are apparel'd thus,— Like Muscovites, or Russians : as I guess, Their purpose is, to parle, to court, and dance ; And every one his love-feat will advance Unto his several mistress ; which they'll know By favours several which they did bestow. K Princess. / i/8 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. Acr v. Sc. ii. Princess. 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.— [loves And change you favours, too; so shall your Woo contrary, deceiv'd by these removes. Rosaline. Come on then : wear the favours most in sight. Katharine. But in this changing what is your intent ? Princess. 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. Rosaline. But shall we dance, if they desire us to't ? Princess. 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. Princess. Therefore I do it ; and, I make no doubt, The rest will ne'er come in, if he be out. There's no such sport, as sport by sport o'er. thrown ; To make theirs ours, and ours none but our own : So shall we stay, mocking intended game ; And they, well mock'd, depart away with shame. [Trumpets sound within. Boyet. The trumpet sounds : be mask'd, the maskers come. [The Ladies mask. Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and Dumaine, in Russian habits, and masked ; Moth, Musi- cians, and Attendants. Moth. " All hail, the richest beauties on the earth ! " Biron. Beauties no richer than rich taffata. Moth. " A holy parcel of the fairest dames, [The Ladies turn their backs to him. That ever lurn'd their backs to mortal views ! " Biron. " Their eyes," villain, '« their eyes." Moth. " That ever tum'd their eyes to mortal views ! Out—" Boyet. True ; " out," indeed. Moth. " Out of your favours, heavenly spirits, vouch- Not to behold"— [safe Biron. " Once to behold," rogue. Moth. " Once to behold with your sun-beamed eyes, with your sun-beamed eyes " — Boyet. They will not answer to that epithet ; You were best call it daughter-beamed eyes. Moth. They do not mark me, and that brings me out. Biron. Is this your perfectness ? be gone, you rogue. Rosaline. What would these strangers? know their minds, Boyet. If they do speak our language, 'tis our will That some plain man recount their purposes. Know what they would. Boyet. What would you with the princess ? Biron. Nothing but peace, and gentle visitation. Rosaline. What would they, say they ? Boyet. Nothing but peace, and gentle visitation. Rosaline. Why, that they have ; and bid them so be gone. Boyet. She says, you have it, and you may be gone. King. Say to her, we have measur'd many miles, To tread a measure with her on this grass. Boyet. They say, that they have measur'd many a mile, To tread a measure with you on this grass. Rosaline. 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. Biron. Tell her, we measure them by weary steps. Boyet. She hears herself. Rosaline. 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. Rosaline. My face is but a moon, and clouded too. King. Blessed are clouds, to do as such clouds do ! Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, to shine (Those clouds removed) upon our watery eyne. Rosaline. O, vain petitioner ! beg a greater matter ; Thou now request'st but moonshine in the water. King. Act v. Sc. ii. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. i; 9 King. Then, in our measure do but youchsafe one change. Thou bid'st me beg ; this begging is not strange. Rosaline. Play, music, then I 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 estranged ? Rosaline. You took the moon at full, but now she's changed. King. Yet still she is the moon, and I the man. The music plays : vouchsafe some motion to it. Rosaline. Our ears vouchsafe it. King. But your legs should do it. Rosaline. 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 ? Rosaline. Only to part friends Court'sy, sweet hearts ; and so the measure ends. King. More measure of this measure : be not nice. Rosaline. We can afford no more at such a price. King. Prize you yourselves ? What buys your com- pany? Rosaline. Your absence only. King. That can never be. Rosaline. 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. Rosaline. In private then. King. I am best pleas'd with that [They converse apart. Biron. White-handed mistress, one sweet word with thee. Princess. Honey, and milk, and sugar: there are three. Biron. Nay then, two treys, (an if you grow so nice) Metheglin, wort, and malmsey. — Well run, dice 1 There's half a dozen sweets. Princess. Seventh sweet, adieu. Since you can cog, I'll play no more with you. Biron. One word in secret. Princess. Let it not be sweet. . Biron. Thou griev'st my gall. calf? Princess. Gall ? bitter. Biron. Therefor* meet. [They converse apart. Dumaine. Will you vouchsafe with me to change a word ? Maria. Name it. Dumaine. Fair lady,— Maria. Say you so ? Fair lord — Take that for your fair lady. Dumaine. Please it you, As much in private, and I'll bid adieu. [They converse apart. Katharine. What, was your visor made without a tongue? Longaville. I know the reason, lady, why you ask. Katharine. O, for your reason l quickly, sir ; I long. Longaville. You have a double tongue within your mask, And would afford my speechless visor half. Katharine. Veal, quoth the Dutchman — Is not veal a Longaville. A calf, fair lady ? Katharine. No, a fair lord calf. Longaville. Let's part the word. Katharine. No ; I'll not be your half : Take all, and wean it : it may prove an ox. Longaville. Look, how you butt yourself in these sharp mocks. Will you give horns, chaste lady ? do not so. Katherine. Then die a calf, before your horns do grow. Longaville. One word in private with you, ere I die. Katharine. 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, Rosaline. Not one word more, my maids: break off, break off. Biron. By heaven, all dry-beaten with pure scoff 1 King. Farewell, mad wenches: you have simple wits. [Exeunt King, Lords, Moth, Music, and Attendant* Princess, j Jo LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. Act v. Se. il Princess. Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovites. — Are these the breed of wits so wonder'd at ? Boyet. Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths puflF'd out. Rosaline. Well-liking wits they have ; gross, gross ; fat, fat. Princess. O, poverty in wit, kingly-poor flout ! [night, Will they not, think you, hang themselves to- Or ever, but in visors, show their faces ? This pert Biron was out of countenance quite. Rosaline. They were all in lamentable cases ! The king was weeping-ripe for a good word. Princess. Biron did swear himself out of all suit. Maria. Dumaine was at my service, and his sword : No point, quoth I : my servant straight was mute. Katharine. Lord Longaville said, I came o'er his heart ; And trow you, what he call'd me ? Princess. ., . Qualm, perhaps. Katharine. Yes, in good faith. Princess. Go, sickness as thou art ! Rosaline. Well, better wits have worn plain statute- caps. But will you hear ? the king is my love sworn. Princess. And quick Biron hath plighted faith to me. Katharine. And Longaville was for my service born. Maria. Dumaine is mine, as sure as bark on tree. Boyet. Madam, and pretty mistresses, give ear. Immediately they will again be here In their own shapes ; for it can never be, They will digest this harsh indignity. Princess. Will they return ? Boyet. They will, they will, God knows ; And leap for joy, though they are lame with blows : [pair, Therefore, change favours ; and, when they re- Blow like sweet roses in this summer air. Princess. How blow ? how blow ? speak to be under- stood. Boyet. Fair ladies, mask'd, are roses in their bud : Dismask'd, their damask sweet commixture shown, Are angels vailing clouds or roses blown. Princess. Avaunt perplexity ! What shall we do, If they return in their own shapes to woo ? Rosaline. Good madam, if by me you'll be advis'd, Let's mock them still, as well, known, as dis- guis'd. Let us complain to them what fools were liere, 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. Boyet. Ladies, withdraw : the gallants are at hand. Princess. Whip to our tents, asroes run over land. [Exeunt Princess, Rosaline, Katharine, and Maria. Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and Du- maine, in their proper habits. King. Fair sir, God save you ! Where is the prin- cess? Boyet. Gone to her tent : please it your majesty, 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 pedler, and retails his wares At wakes, and wassails, 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. A' 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 whales bone ; And consciences, that will not die in debt, Pay him the due of honey-tongued Boyet. King. A blister on his sweet tongue, with my heart, That put Armada's page out of his part ! Enter the Princess, ushered by Boyet ; Rosa- line, Maria % Katharine, and Attendants. Biron. See where it comes I — Behaviour, what wert thou, [now ? Till this man show'd thee ? and what art thou King. All hail, sweet madam, and fair time of day ! Princess. Fair, in all hail, is foul, as 1 conceive. King. Construe my speeches better, if you may. Princess. 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. Princess. 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 eve must break my oath. Prmcess. Act v. Sc. ii. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 181 Princes*. You nick-name virtue; vice you should have spoke, For virtue's office never breaks men's troth. Now, by my maiden honour, yet as pure As the unsullied lily. I protest, A world of torments though I should endure, I would not yield to be your house's guest ; So much I hate a breaking cause to be Of heavenly oaths, vow'd with integrity. King. ! you have liv'd in desolation here, Unseen, un visited ; much to our shame. Princess. Not so, my lord ; it is not so, I swear : We have had pastimes here, and pleasant game. A mess of Russians left us but of late. King. How, madaui ! Russians ? Princess. Ay, in truth, my lord ; Trim gallants, full of courtship, and of state. Rosaline. 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 were with four In Russian habit : here they stay'd an hour, And talk'd apace ; and in that hour, my lord, They did not bless us with one happy word. 1 dare not call them fools j but this 1 think. When they are thirsty, fools would fain have drink. Blron. This jest is dry to me.— Gentle sweet, Your wit makes wise things foolish : when we greet, With eyes best seeing, heaven's fiery eye, By light we lose light: youi capacity Is of that nature, that to your huge store Wise things seem foolish, and rich things but poor. Rosaline. This proves you wise and rich, for in my eye,— Biron. I am a fool, and full of poverty. Rosaline. But that you take what doth to you belong, It were a fault to suatch words from my tongue. O I I am yours, and all that I possess. ?osaline. Biron. I cannot give you less. Rosaline. Which of the visors was it, that you wore ? Blron. Where ? when ? what visor ? why demand you this ? There, then, that visor ; that superfluous case, That hid the worse, and show'd the better face. We are descried : theyll mock us now down- right. Let us confess, an Amaz'd, my lord ? Why iooks your highness sad? Sumaine. turn it to a jest. Rosaline. Help ! hold his brows ! he'll swoon. Why look you pale ? — Sea-sick, I think, coming from Muscovy. Blron. 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 ; [ranee ; Thrust thy sharp wit quite through my igno- Cut me to pieces with thy keen conceit ; And I will wish thee never more to dance, Nor never more in Russian habit wait. 1 never will I trust to speeches penn'd, Nor to the motion of a school -boy's tongue ; Nor never come in visor to my friend ; Nor woo in rhyme, like a blind harper's song; Taffata phrases, silken terms precise, Three-pil'd hyperboles, spruce affection, Figures pedantical : these summer flies Have blown me full of maggot ostentation. 1 df 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. Rosaline. | Sans sans, I pray you. Biron Yet I have a trick Of the old rage :— bear with me, I am sick ; I'll leave it by degrees. Soft ! let us see : — Write " Loni 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 1 see. Princess. No, they are free that gave these tokens to us. Biron. Our states are forfeit : seek not to undo us. Rosaline. It is not so ; for how can this be true, That you stand forfeit, being those that sue ? Biron. Peace 1 for I will not have to do with you. Rosaline. Nor shall not, if I do as I intend. Biron. Speak for yourselves : my wit is at an end. King. Teach us, sweet madam, for our rude trans- Some fair excuse. [gression. Princess. The fairest is confession. Were you not here, but even now, disguis'd ? King. Madam, I was. Princesi. And were you well advis'd ? King. I was, fair madam. Princess. When you then were here, What did you whisper in your lady's ear ? King. That more than all the world I did respect her. Princess 1 82 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOS1. Act v. Sc. u. Princess. When she shall challenge this, you will reject her. King. Upon mine honour, no. Princess. Peace ! peace S forbear : Your oath once broke, you force not to forswear. King. Despise me, when I break this oath of mine. Princess. I will ; and therefore keep it.— Rosaline, What did the Russian whisper in your ear ? Rosaline. Madam, he swore, that he did hold me dear As precious eye-sight, and did value me Above this world : adding thereto, moreover, That he would wed me, or else die iny lover. Princess. 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, 1 never swore this lady such an oath. Rosaline. By heaven, you did ; and to confirm it plain, You gave me this : but take it, sir, again. King. My faith, and this, the princess I did give : 1 knew her by this jewel on her sleeve. Princess. Pardon me, sir, this jewel did she wear; And lord Biron, I thank him, is my dear. — What ! will you have me, or your pearl again ? Biron. Neither of either ; I remit both twain. — I see the trick on't: — here was a consent, 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-knighti 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 allow'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. Costard. O Lord, sir, they would know, Whether the three Worthies shall come in, or no. Biron. What, are there but three ? Costard. No, sir ; but it is vara fine, For every one pursents three. Biron. And three times thrice is nine. Costard. Not so, sir ; under correction, sir, I hope, it is not so. [know what we know : You cannot beg us, sir, I can assure you, sir; we I hope, sir, three times thrice, sir, — Biron. Is not nine. Costard. Under correction, sir, we know whereuntil it doth amount. Biron. By Jove, I always took three threes for nine. Costard. O Lord ! sir, it were pity you should get your living, by reckoning, sir. Biron. How much is it ? Costard. Lord ! sir, the parties themselves, the actors, sir, will show whereuntil it doth amount : for mine own part, I am, as they say, but to perfect one man, — e'en one poor man — Pompion the great, sir. Biron. Art thou one of the Worthies ? Costard. It pleased them, to think me worthy of Pom- pry 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. Costard. We will turn it finely off, sir : we will take some care. [Exit Costard. King. Biron, they will shame us ; let them not ap- proach. Biron. We are shame-proof, my lord ; and 'tis some policy [his company. To have one show worse than the king's and King. 1 say, they shall not come. Princess. Nay, my good lord, let me o'er-rule you now. 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 most form in mirth ; [birth. i When great things labouring perish in their Biron. A right description of our sport, my lord. Enter Armado. Armado. Anointed, I implore so much expense of thy royal sweet breath, as will utter a brace of | words. [Armado converses with the Ktng, and de- livers a paper to him. Princess. Doth this man serve God ? Biron. Why ask you ? Princess. Act v. Sc 11. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. «*3 Princesi. He speaks not like a man of God his making. Armado. That's all one, my fair, sweet, honey monarch ; for, I protest, the school-master is exceeding fantastical ; too, too, vain ; too, too, vain : but we will put it, as they say, to fortuna delta gucrra. I wish you the peace of mind, most royal cou- plement 1 [Exit Armado, King. good i He presents Hector of Troy ; the swain, Pompey Here is like to be a good presence of Worthies. the great; the parish curate, Alexander; Ar- mado's page, Hercules ; the pedant, Judas Mac- cabitts. 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 : — Abate throw at novum, and the whole world again, [vein. Cannot pick out five such, take each one in his King. The ship is under sail, and here she comes amain. Enter Costard armed, for Pompey. Costard. " I Pompey am, " Boyet. t You lie, you are not he. Costard. " I Pompey am, " Boyet. With libbard's head on knee. Biron. Well said, old mocker : I must needs be friends with thee. Costard. " I Pompey am, Pompeii surnam'd the big, — " Dumaine. The great. Costard. It is great, sir ;— " Pompey surnam'd the great ; That oft in field, with targe and shield, did make my foe to sweat : [by chance. And travelling along this coast I here am come And lay my arras before the legs of this sweet lass of France." [I had done. If your ladyship would say, " Thanks, Pompey," Princess. Great thanks, great Pompey. Costard. 'Tis not so much worth ; but, I hope, I was perfect. I made a little fault in, " great." Biron. My hat to a halfpenny, Pompey proves the best Worthy. Enter Sir Nathaniel armed, for Alexander. Nathaniel. " When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's commander ; [quering might : By east, west, north, and south, I spread my con- My 'scutcheon plain declares, that I am Ali- sander." Boyet. Your nose says, no, you are not ; for it stands too right. Biron. Your nose smells, no, in this, most tender- smelling knight Princess. The conqueror is dismay'd. Proceed, good Alexander. Nathaniel. " When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's commander ; " — Boyet. Most true ; 'tis right : you were so, Alisander. Biron. Pompey the great, Costard. Your servant, and Costard. Biron. Take away the conqueror, take away Ali- sander. Costard. % O ! sir [To Nathaniel] you have overthrown Alisander the conqueror. You will be scraped out of the painted cloth for this : your lion, that holds his poll-axe 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. [Nathaniel retires .J There, an't shall please j*ou: a foolish mild man ; an honest man, look you, and soon dash'd ! He is a marvellous good neighbour, faith, and a very good bowler ; but, for Alisander, alas I you see, how 'tis ; — a little o'erparted. — But there are Worthies a coming will speak their mind in some other sort. Princess. Stand aside, good Pompey. Enter Holofernes armed, for Judas, and Moth armed, for Hercules. Holofernes. " Great Hercules is presented by this imp, Whose club kill'd Cerberus, that three-headed cam's ; And, when he was a babe, a child, a shrimp. Thus did he strangle serpents in his ma nut. Quoniam, he seemeth in minority, Ergo, I come with this apology — Keep some state in thy exit, and vanish. [Exit Moth. Holofernes. "Judas I am," — Dumaine. A Judas! Holofernes. Not Iscariot, sir. — " Judas I am, yclep'd Maccabeus." Dumaine. Judas Maccabeus dipt is plain Judas. Biron. A kissing traitor. — How art thou prov'd Judas? Holofernes. "Judas I am," — Dumaine. The more shame for you, Judas. Holofernes. What mean you, sir ? Bovet. To make Judas hang himself. Holofernes. Begin, sir : you are my elder. Biron. J 84 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. Act v. Sc. ti. Biron. Well follow d : Judas was hang'd on an elder. Holofernes. I will not be put out of countenance. Blron. Because thou hast no face. Holofernes. What is this ? Boyet. A cittern head. Dumaine. The head of a bodkin. Biron. A death's face in a ring. Longaville. The face of an old Roman coin, scarce seen. Boyet. The pummel of Catsar'a faulchion. Dumaine. The carv'd-bone face on a flask. t Biron. S. George's half-cheek in a brooch. Dumaine. Ay, and in a brooch of lead. Blron. Ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth-drawer. And now forward, for we have put thee in countenance. Holofernes. You have put me out of countenance. Biron. False : we have given thee faces. Holofernes. But you have out-fae'd 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 I nay, why dost thou stay ? Dumaine. For the latter end of his name. Biron. For the ass to the Jude? give it him:— | Jud-as, away. Holofernes. This is not generous, not gentle, not humble Boyet. A light for monsieur Judas! it grows dark, he may stumble. Princess. Alas, poor Maccabeus, how hath he been baited t Enter Armado armed, for Hector. Biron. Hide thy head, Achilles : here comes Hector in arms. Dumaine. Though my mocks come home by me, I will now be merry. King. Hector was but a Trojan in respect of this. Boyet. But is this Hector ? King. I think Hector was not so clean-timber'd. Longaville. His leg is too big for Hector'*. Dumaine. More calf, certain. Boyet. No ; he is best indued in the small. Biron. This cannot be Hector. Dumaine. He's a god or a painter : for he makes faces. Armado. " The armipotent Mars, of lances the al- Gave Hector a gift, — " [mighty, Dumaine. A gilt nutmeg. Blron. A lemon. Longaville. Stuck with cloves. Dumaine. No, cloven, Armado. Peace ! " The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty, Gave Hector a gift, the heir of I lion ; A man so breath'd, that certain he would fighf , yea, From morn till night, out of his pavilion. 1 am that flower, — " Dumaine. That mint. Longaville. That columbine. Armado. Sweet lord Longaville, rein thy tongue. Longaville. I must rather give it the rein, for it runs against Hector. Dumaine. Ay, and Hector's a greyhound. Armado. 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 1 will forward with my device. Sweet royalty, bestow on me the sense of hearing. [Biron wnispers Costard. Princess. Speak, brave Hector : we are much delighted. Armado. I do adore thy sweet grace's slipper. Boyet. Loves her by the foot. Dumaine. He may not by the yard. Armado. u This Hector far surmounted Hannibal,"' — Costard. The party is gone : fellow Hector, she is gone ; she is two months on her way. Armado. What meanest thou ? Costard. Faith, unless you play the honest Trojan, the Eoor wench is cast away : she's quick ; the child rags in her belly already : 'tis yours. Armado. Dost thou infamonize me among potentates ? Thou shalt die. Costard. Then shall Hector be whipp'd for Jaquenetta that is quick by him, and hang'd for Pompey that is dead by him. Boyet, Act r. Sc. ii. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 185 Dumaine. Most rare Pompey ! Doyet. Renowned Pompey ! Biron. Greater than great, great, great, great Pom- pry I Pompey the huge ! Dumaine. Hector trembles. Biron. Pompey is moved. — More Ates, more Ates ! stir ihem on ! stir them on 1 Dumaine. Hector will challenge him. Biron. Ay, if a' have no more man's blood in's belly than will sup a flea. Armado. By the north pole, I do challenge thee. Costard. 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. Dumaine. Room for the incensed Worthies ! Costard. I'll do it in my shirt. Dumaine. 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. Armado. Gentlemen, and soldiers, pardon me ; I will not combat in my shirt. Dumaine. You may not deny it : Pompey hath made the challenge. Armado. Sweet bloods, I both may and will. Biron. What reason have you for't ? Armado. The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt. 1 go woolward for penance. Boyet. True, and it was enjoin'd him in Rome for want of linen; since when, I'll be sworn, he wore none, but a dish-clout of Jaquenettu\ and that a' wears next his heart for a favour. Enter Monsieur Mercade, a Messenger. Mercade. God save you, madam. Princes*. Welcome, Mercade. But that thou interrupt'st our merriment. Mercade. I am sorry, madam, for the news I bring Is heavy in my tongue. The king your father- Princess. Dead, for my life ! Mercade. Even so : my tale is told. Biron. Worthies, away ! The scene begins to cloud. Armado. For mine own part, I breathe free breath. 1 have seen the day of wrong through the little hole of discretion, and I will right myself like a soldier. [Exeunt Worthies. King. How fares your majesty ? Princess. Boyet, prepare : I will away to-night. King. Madam, not so ; I do beseech you, stay. Princesi. I Prepare, I say. — I thank you, gracious lords, i For all your fair endeavours ; and entreat, I Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe j In your rich wisdom to excuse, or hide, j The liberal opposition of our spirits : If over-boldly we have borne ourselves I In the converse of breath, your gentleness Was guilty of it. Farewell, worthy lord I A heavy heart bears not a humble tongue. Excuse me so, coming too short of thanks For my great suit so easily obtain'd. King. The extreme parts of time extremely form I All causes to the purpose of his speed ; , : And often, at his very loose, decides ; That which long process could not arbitrate : j And though the mourning brow of progeny f Forbid the smiling courtesy of love The holy suit which fain it would convince ; 1 Yet, since love's argument was first on foot, j Let not the cloud of sorrow jnstle it [lost From what it purpos'd ; since, to wail friends ! Is not by much so wholesome, profitable, j As to rejoice at friends but newly found. Princes*. I I understand you not : my griefs are double. Biron. j Honest plain words best pierce the ear of grief ; And by these badges understand the king. For your fair sakes have we neglected time, Play'd foul play with our oaths: your beauty, ladies, Hath much deform'd us, fashioning our humours Even to the opposed end of our intents ; And what in us hath 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 misbecome 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 tho«e that make us both,— fair ladies, you : And even that falsehood, in itself a sin, Thus purifies itself, and turns to grace. Princes*. We have receiv'd your letters full of love ; 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 In their own fashion, like a merriment, [love* Dumaine. Our letters, madam, show'd much more than jest. Longaville. 1*6 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. Act v. *5c. ii. Longaville. So did our looks. Rosaline. We did not quote them so. King. Now, at the latest minute of the hour, Grant us your loves. Princes*. 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, [deserts, Come challenge me, challenge me by these And bv this virgin palm, now kissing thine, I will be thine ; and, till that instant, shut My woful self up in a mourning 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 ? Rosaline. You must be purged too, your sins are rank: You are attaint with faults and perjury ; Therefore, if you my favour mean to get, A twelvemonth shall you spend, and never rest, But seek the weary beds of people sick. Dumaine. But what to me, my love ? but what to me ? Katharine A wife ! — A beard, fair health, and honesty ; With three-fold love I wish you all these three. Dumaine. O ! shall I say, I thank you, gentle wife ? Katharine. Not so, my lord. A twelvemonth and a day I'll mark no words that smooth-fae'd wooers say : Come when the king doth to my lady come, Then, if I have much love, I'll give you some. Dumaine. I'll serve thee true and faithfully till then. Katharine. Yet swear not, lest you be forsworn again. Longaville. What says Maria ? Maria. At the twelvemonth's end, I'll change my black gown for a faithful friend. Longaville. I'll stay with patience; but the time is long. Maria. The likcr 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. Rosaline. Oft have I heard of you, my lord Biron, Before 1 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, [day, You shall this twelvemonth term, from day to Visit the speechless sick, and still converse With groaning wretches ; and your task shall he, With all the tierce 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. Rosaline. 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, Deaf'd with the clamours of their own dear groans, Will hear your idle scorns, continue then, And I will have you, and that fault withal ; But, if they will not, throw away that spirit, And I shall find you empty of that fault, Right joyful of ybur reformation. Biron. A twelvemonth ? well, befal what will befal, I'll jest a twelvemonth in an hospital. Princess. Ay, sweet my lord ; and so I take my leave. [To the king. King. No, madam ; we will bring you on your way. Biron. Our wooing doth not end like an old play ; Jack hath not Jill : these ladies' courtesy- Might well have made our 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. Armado. Sweet majesty, vouchsafe me, — Princess. Was not that Hector ? Dumaine. The worthy knight of Troy. Armado. I will kiss thy royal finger, and take leave. I am a votary : I have vowed to Jaquenetta to hold the plough for her sweet love three years. But, most esteemed greatness, will you hear the dia- logue 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. Armado. .V i I. 5c. i. MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. i«7 Arm ; Holla! approach. 1". mcr Holof ernes, Nathaniel, Moth, Costard, and others. This side is Hiems, winter ; this Ver, the spring ; the one maintained by the owl, the other by the cuckoo. Ver, begin. Song. Spring. When daisies pied, and violets blue, And lady-smocks all silver-white, And cuckoo-buds qfyelluw hue. Do paint the meadows with delight. The cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married men, for thus sings he ; Cuckoo, Cuckoo, cuckoo, — word of fear I Unpleasing to a married ear. 11. When shepherds pipe on oaten straws, And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks, When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws, And maidens bleach their summer smocks, The cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married men, for thus sings he , Cuckoo, Cuckoo, cuckoo,— word of fear I 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 frozen home in pail, When blood is nipp'd, and ways befoul, Then nightly sings the staring owl, To-who, Tu-whit, to-who, a mem/ note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. IV. When all aloud the wind doth blow, And coughing drowns the parson's saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow, And Marian's note 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. Armado. The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo. You, that way : we, this way. MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. DRAMATIS PERSONS. THESEUS, Duke of Athens. Egeus, Father to Hermia. temettius ,} in love «*» Hermia - Philostrate, Master of the Revels to Theseus. Quince, a Carpenter. Snug, a Joiner. Bottom, a Weaver. Flute, a Bellows-mender. Snout, a Tinker. Starveling, a Tailor. Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons. Hermia, in love with Lysander. Helena, in love with Demetrius. Oberon, King of the Fairies. Titania, Queen of the Fairies. l'uck, or Robin-Goodfellow. Peas-blossom,"] Cobweb, I »_*_£_ Moth, > Pontes. Mustard-seed J Pyramus, "I Thisbe, Wall, > Characters in the Interlude. Moonshine, Lion, J Other Fairies attending their King and Queen. Attendants on Theseus and Hippolyta. SCENE, Athens, and a W r ood not far from it. #-#-#-f>-0-#-#-e- ACT I. SCENE I. Athens. A Room in the Talace of Theseus. Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate, and Attendants. Theseus. OW, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour Draws on apace : ("our happy days bring in N Another moon ; but, oh, methinks, how slow This old moon wanes ! she lingers my de- sires, Like to a step-dame, or a dowager, Long withering out a young man's revenue. Hippolyta. 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 i88 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S BEE AM. Act i. Sc. i. New bent tn heaven, shall behold the night Of our solemnities. Theseus. Go, Philostrate, Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments ; Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth : Turn melancholy forth to funerals, The pale companion is not for our pomp. — [Exit 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, with his daughter Hermia, Lysander, and Demetrius. Egeus. Happy be Theseus, our renowned duke ! Theseus. Thanks, good Egeus: what's the news with thee? Egeut. 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 man hath bewitch'd the bosom of my child ; Thou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes, And interchang'd love-tokens with my child : Thou hast by moon-light at her window sung, With feigning voice, verses of feigning love ; And stol'n the impression of her fantasy [ceits, With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gawds, con- Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweet- meats (messen- gers Of strong prevailment in unharden'd youth,) With cunning hast thou filch'd my daughter's heart ; Turn'd her obedience, which is due to me, To stubborn harshness. — And, my gracious duke, Be it so, she will not here, before your grace, Consent to marry with Demetrius, I beg the ancient privilege of Athens, As she is mine, I may dispose of her, Which shall be either to this gentleman, Or to her death, according to our law Immediately provided in that case. Theseus. 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. Hermia. So is Lysander. Theseus. In himself he is ; But, in this kind, wanting your father's voice, The other must be held the worthier. Hermia. I would, my father look'd but with my eyes ! Theseus. ■ Rather, your eyes must with his judgment look. Hermia. 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 befal mc in this case, If I refuse to wed Demetrius. Theseus. 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 all your life, Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon. Thrice blessed they, that master so their blood, To undergo such maiden pilgrimage ; But earthly happier is the rose distill'd. Than that which, withering on the virgin thorn, Grows, lives, and dies, in single blessedness. Hermia. 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. Theseus. 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. Demetrius. Relent, sweet Hermia ; — and, Lysander, yield Thy crazed title to my certain right. Lysander. You have her father's love, Demetrius ; Let me have Hernia's : do you marry him. Egpus. 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 1 do estate unto Demetrius. Lysander. I am, my lord, as well deriv'd as he, As well possess 'd ; my love is more than his ; My fortunes every way as fairly rank'd, (If not with vantage,) as Demetrius' '; And, which is more than all these boasts can be, I am belov'd of beauteous Hermia. Why should not I then prosecute my right ? Demetrius, I'll avouch it to his head, Made love to Nedar's daughter, Helena, And won her soul ; and she, sweet lady, dotes, Devoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry. Upon this spotted and inconstant man. Theseus. 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 Egcus, go along : I must employ you in some business Against our nuptial, and confer with you Of something nearly that concerns yourselves, Egeus. Act i. Sc. i. MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DHEAM. 189 Egcus. With dutj and desire we follow you. t Theseus, Hippolyta, agcus, Deme- ■ Lys. How now, my love ? Why Is your cheek so pnle ? How chance the roses there do fade so fast* Hermia. Belike, for want of rain, which I could well Beteem them from the tempest of mine eyes. Lysander. Ah me ! for aught that I could ever read, Could ever hear by tale or history, The course of true love never did run smooth ; But, either it was different in blood,— Hermia. O cross 1 too high to be enthrall'd to low I Lysander. Or else misgraffed, in respect of years ; — Hermia. O spite ! too old to be engag'd to 3'oung ! Lysander. Or else it stood upon the choice of friends : — Hermia. I O hell ! to choose love by another's eyes ! Lysander. Or, if there were a sympathy in choice, War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it, Making it momentany as a sound, I Swift as a shadow, short as any dream ; 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 ! t The jaws of darkness do devour it up : So quick bright things come to confusion. Hermia. j If, then, true lovers have been ever cross'd, I It stands as an edict in destiny ■ Then, let us teach our trial patience, J Because it is a customary cross, ' As due to love as thoughts, and dreams, and sighs, j Wishes, and tears, poor fancy's followers. Lysander. A good persuasion : therefore, hear me, Her- 1 have a widow aunt, a dowager [tnia. Of great revenue, and she hath no child : From Athens is her house remote seven leagues ; And she respects me as her only son. I There, gentle Henna, may 1 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, I 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. Hermia. My good Lysander ! I swear to thee by Cupid's strongest bow, 1 By his best arrow with the golden head, ; By the simplicity of Venus' doves, I By that which knitteth souls, and prospers loves, I And by that fire which burn'd the Carthage queen, I When the false Trojan under sail was seen ; By all the vows that ever men have broke. In number more than ever women spoke ; 1 In that same place thou hast appointed me, f To-morrow truly will 1 meet with thee. Lysander. Keep promise, love. Look, here comes Helena. Enter Helena. Hermia. God speed fair Helena ! Whither away ? Helena. Call you me fair ? that fair again unsay. Demetrius loves your fair : O happy fair 1 { 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 1 Your words I catch, fair Hermia ; ere 1 go, My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye, My tongue should catch your tongue's sweet melody. Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated, The rest I'll give to be to you translated. O ! teach me how you look, and with what art You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart. Hermia. I frown upon him, yet he loves me still. Helena. O, that your frowns would teach my smiles such skill 1 Hermia. I give him curses, yet he gives me love. Helena. O, that my prayers could such affection move 1 Hermia. The more I hate, the more he follows me. Helena. The more I love, the more he hateth me. Hermia. ( His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine. Helena. None, but your beauty : would that fault were mine! Hermia. Take comfort : he no more shall see my face ; • I Lysander and myself will fly this place — Before the time I did Lysander see, Seem'd Athens as a paradise to me : O then, what graces in my love do dwell, That he hath turn'd a heaven into hell 1 Lysander. Helen, to you our minds we will unfold. To-morrow night when Phoebe doth behold Her silver visage in the wat'ry glass, Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass. (A time that lovers' flights doth still conceal,) Through Athens' gates have we devis'd to steal. Hermia. And in the wood, where often you and 1 Upon faint primrose-beds were wont to lie, Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet, There my Lysander and myself shall meet ; And thence, from Athens, turn away our eyes, To seek new friends and stranger companies. , Farewell, sweet plaj fellow : pray thou for us. And good luck grant thee thy Demetrius ! — Keep word, Lysander : we must starve our sight From lovers' food, till morrow deep midnight. [Exit Hermia. Lysander. I will, my Hermia. — Llelena, adieu : As you on him, Demetrius dote on you. [Exit Lysander. Helena. How happy some, o'er other some can be ! Through Ath-ns 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 190 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. Act 1. Sc. 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 every where ; For ere Demetrius look'd on Hermia's eyne, He hail'd down oaths that he was only mine ; 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 Quince, Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout, and Starveling. Quince. Is all our company here ? Bottom. You were best to call them generally, man by man, according to the scrip. Quince 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. Bottom. First, good Peter Quince, say what the play treats on ; then read the names of the actors, and so grow to a point. Quince. Marry, our play is — The most lamentable comedy, and most cruel death of Pyramus and Thishy. Bottom 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. „ . Quince. Answer, as I call you. — Nick Bottom, the weaver. „ Bottom. Ready. Name what part I am for, and pro. ceed. . Quince. Yon, Nick Bottom, are set down for Pyramus. Bottom. What is Pyramus ? a lover, or a tyrant ? Quince. A lover, that kills himself most gallant for love. ' 4 Bottom. 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 ; 1 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 shivering shocks, «« Shall break the locks " Of prison-gates : " And Phibbus' car ** Shall shine from far, " And make and mar " The foolish fates." This was lofty! — Now name the rest of the players. — This is Ercles' vein, a tyrant's vein ; a lover is more condoling. Quince. Francis Flute, the bellows-mender. Flute. Here, Peter Quince. Quince. You must take Thisby on you. Flute. What is Thisby ? a wandering knight ? Quince. It is the lady that Pyramus must love. Flute. Nay, faith, let me not play a woman : I have a beard coming. Quince. That's all one. You shall play it in a mask, and you may speak as small as you will. Bottom. An I may hide my face, let me play Thisby too. I'll speak in a monstrous little voice: — 44 Thisne, Thisne— Ah, Pyramus, my lover dear ! thy Thisby dear, and lady dear 1 " Quince. No, no ; you must play Pyramus, and, Flute % you Thisby. Bottom. Well, proceed. Quince. Robin Starveling, the tailor. Starveling. Here, Peter Quince. Quince. Robin Starveling, you must play Thisby'* mother. — Tom Snout, the tinker. Snout. Here, Peter Quince. Quince. You, Pyramus's father ; myself, Thisbi/'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. Quince. You may do it extempore, for it is nothing but roaring. Bottom Let me play the lion too. I will roar, that I will do any man's heart good to hear me : I will roar, that I will make the duke say, " Let him roar again : let him roar again." Quince. An you should do it too terribly, you would fright the duchess and the ladies, that they would shriek ; and that were enough to hang us All. That would hang us, every mother's son. Bottom. 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 aggra- vate my voice so, that I will roar you as gently A. i ii. «S'c. I. midsummer-nights dream. 191 as any sucking dove : I will roar you an 'twere any nightingale. Quince. You can play no part but Pyramus ; for Py- rumus is a sweet-faced man ; a proper man, as one shall see in a summer's day, a most lovely, gentlemanlike man ; therefore, you must needs play I'yramus. Bottom. Well, I will undertake it. What beard were I best to play it in ? Quince. Why, what you will. Bottom. I will discharge it in either your straw-colour beard, your orange-tawny beard, your purple-in- grain beard, or your French-crown-colour beard, your perfect yellow. Quince. Some of your French crowns have no hair at all, and then you will play bare-faced. — But masters, here are your parts ; and 1 am to en- treat you, request you, and desire you, to con them by to-morrow night, and meet me in the palace wood, a mile without the town, by moon- light : there will we rehearse ; for if we meet in the city, we shall be dog'd with company, and our devices known. In the mean time I will draw a bill of properties, such as our play wants. I pray you, fail me not. Bottom. We will meet ; and there we may rehearse more obscenely, and courageously. Take pains ; be perfect ; adieu. Quince. At the duke's oak we meet. Bottom. Enough, hold, or cut bow-strings. [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I. A Wood near Athens. Enter a Fairy and Puck from opposite sides. Fuck. J_J O W now, spirit ! whither wander you ? Fairy . Over hill, over dale, Thorough bush, thorough brier, Over park, over pale, Thorough flood, thorough Are, I do wander every where, Swifter than the moon's sphere ; And I serve the fairy queen, To dew her orbs upon the green : The cowslips tall her pensioners be ; In their gold coats spots you see. Those be rubies, fairy favours, In those freckles live their savours : I must go seek some dew-drops here, And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear. Farewell, thou lob of spirits : I'll be gone. Our queen and all her elves come here anon. 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 star-light sheen, But they do Rquare ; that all their elves, for fear, Creep into acorn cups, and hide them there. Fairy. Either I mistake your shape and making quite, Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite, Call'd Robin Good-fellow. Are you not he, That frights the maidens of the villagery ; Skims milk, and sometimes labours in the quern, And bootless makes the breathless housewife churn ; And sometime makes the drink to bear no barm ; Misleads night-wanderers, laughing at their harm? Those that Hobgoblin call you, and sweet Puck, You do their work, and they shall have good Are not you he ? [luck. Puck. Thou speak'st aright ; I am that merry wanderer of the night. I jest to Oberon, and make him smile, When 1 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 1 from her bum, down topples she, And " tailor " cries, and falls into a cough ; And then the whole quire hold their hips, and laugh, [swear And waxen in their mirth, and sneeze, and A merrier hour was never wasted there. — But room, Fairy : here comes Oberon. Fairy. And here my mistress. — Would that he were gone I Enter Oberon, from one side, with his train, and Titania, from the other, with hers. Oberon. Ill met by moon-light, proud Titania. Titania. What, jealous Oberon ! Fairy, skip hence : I have forsworn his bed and company. Oberon. Tarry, rash wanton. Am not I thy lord ? Titania. 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. • Oberon. How canst thou thus, for shame, Titania, Glance at my credit with Hippolyta, Knowing I know thy love to Theseus ? Didst thou not lead him through the glimmering From Perigenia, whom he ravished ? [night And make him with fair Mglc break his faith, With Ariadne, and Anliopa f Titania. 192 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. Act 11. Sc. 1. Titania. 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 margin of the sea, To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind, But with thy brawls thou hast distuib'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 held, 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 Hyems' thin 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 'mazed world, By. their increase, now knows not which is which. And this same progeny of evils comes From our debate, from our dissension : We are their parents and original. Oberon. Do you amend it then ; it lies in you. Why should Titania cross her Oberon t I do but beg a little changeling boy, To be my henchman. Titania. Set your heart at rest : The fairy land buys not the child of me. His mother was a" votaress 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 th' 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 merchandize. 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. Oberon. Htrw long within this wood intend you stay ? Titania. Perchance, till after Theseus' wedding-day. 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. Oberon. Give me that boy, and I will go with thee. Titania. Not for thy fairy kingdom Faries, away ! We shall chide downright, if I longer stay. [Exit Titania, with her train. Oberon. Well, go thy way : thou shalt not from this Till I torment thee for this injury. — [grove, 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. Pack. I remember. Oberon. That very time I saw (but thou could'st not), Flying between the cold moon and the earth, Cupid all arm'd : a certain aim he took At a fair vestal throned by the west, And loos'd his love-shaft smartly from his bow, As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts : But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft Quench'd in the chaste beamsof the wat'rymoon, 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. [once : Fetch me that flower ; the herb I show'd thee The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid, Will make or man or woman madly dote Upon the next live creature that it sees. Fetch me this herb ; and be thou here again, Ere the leviathan can swim a league. Puck I'll put a girdle round about the earth In forty minutes. [Exit Puck. Oberon. Having once this juice, I'll watch Titania when she is asleep, And drop the liquor of it in her eyes : The next thing then she waking looks upon, (Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull, On meddling monkey, or on busy ape,) She shall pursue it with the soul of love ; And ere I take this charm off from her sight, (As I can take it with another herb) I'll make her render up her page to me. But who comes here ? I am invisible, And I will over-hear their conference. Enter Demetrius, Helena following him Demetrius. I love thee not, therefore pursue me not. Where is Lysander, and fair Hermiaf The one I'll stay, the other stayeth me. Thou told'st me thoy were stol'n into this wood, And here am I, and wood within this wood, Because I cannot meet my Hermia. Hence ! get thee gone, and follow me no more. Helena. You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant ; But yet you draw not iron, for my heart Is true as steel : leave you your power to draw, And I shall have no power to follow you. Demetrius. 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 ? Helen*. And even for that do I love you the more. I am your spaniel ; and, Demetriits, The Act 11. Sc. u. MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. »93 The more you boat 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 1 am, to follow you. What worser place can 1 beg in your love, (And yet a place of high respect with me,) Than to be used as you use your dog ? Demetrius. Tempt not too much the hatred of my spirit, For I am sick when I do look on thee. Helena. And I am sick when I look not on you. Demetrius. 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. Helena. Your virtue is my privilege for that. It is not night, when 1 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 ? Demetrius. I'll run from thee, and hide me in the brakes, And leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts. Helena. 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 griflin ; the mild hind Makes speed to catch the tiger. Bootless speed 1 When cowardice pursues, and valour flies. Demetrius. I will not stay thy questions : let me go ; Or, if thou follow me, do not believe But I shall do ihee mischief in the wood. Helena. Ay, in the temple, in the town, the field, You do me mischief. Fie, Demetrius I 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. Fll follow thee, and make a heaven of hell, To die upon the hand I love so well. [Kxeunt Demetrius and Helena. .. Oberon. Fare thee well, nymph : ere he do leave this grove, Thou shalt fly him, and he shall seek thy love Re-enter Puck. Hast thou the flower there? Welcome, wan- derer. Puck. Ay, there it is. Oberon. I pray thee, give it me. I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, Where ox-lips, and the nodding violet grows ; Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine: There sleeps Titania, some time of the night, Lull'd in these flowers with dances and delight ; And there the snake throws her enamel I'd skin, Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in : And with the juice of this I'll streak her eyes, And make her full of hateful fantasies, [grove : Take thou some of it, and seek through this 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 shall know the man By the Athenian garments he hath on. Effect it with some care, that he may prove More fond on her, than she upon her love. And look thou meet me ere the first cock crow Puck. Fear not, my lord : your servant shall do so. [Exeunt. SCENE II. Another part of the Wood. Enter Titania, with her train. Titania. 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 rear-mice for their leathern wings, [back To make my small elves coats ; and some keep The clamorous owl, that nightly hoots, and wonders At our quaint spirits. Sing me now asleep ; Then to your offices, and let me rest. Fairies' Song. 1 Fairy. You spotted snakes, wfth double tongue, Thorny hedge-hogs, be not seen. Newts, and blind-worms, do no wrong ; Come not near our fairy queen : Chorus. Philomel, with melody, Sing in our sweet lullaby ; Lulla, lulla, lullaby ; lulla, lulla, lullaby : Never harm. Nor spell nor charm, Come our lovely lady nigh ; So, good night, with' lullaby. II. 2 Fairy Weaving spiders, come not here ; Hence, you longlegg'd spinners, hence : Beetles black, approach not near; Worm, nor snail, do no offence. Chorus. Philomel, with melody, &c. 2 Fairy. Hence, away ! now all is well. One, aloof, stand sentinel. [Exeunt Fairies. Titania sleeps. Enter Oberon. Oberon. What thou seest, when thou dost wake, [Squeezes the flower on Titania's eye-lids. Do it Tor 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 Hcrmia. Lysander. Fair love, you faint with wandering in the wood ; And to speak troth, I have forgot our way : We'll rest us, Hermia, if you think it good, And tarry for the comfort of the day. Hcrmia. Be it so, Lysander : find you out a bed, For I upon this bank will rest my head. o Lysander. 194- MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. Act ii. Sc. n. Lysander. One turf shall serve as pillow for us both : One heart, one bed, two bosoms, and one troth. Hermia. Nay, good Lysander : for my sake, my dear, Lie further off yet : do not lie so near. Lysander. 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. Hermia. 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 further 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 I Lysander. Amen, amen, to that fair prayer, say I ; And then end life, when I end loyalty 1 Here is my bed : sleep give thee all his rest ! Hermia. With half that wish the wisher's eyes be press'd 1 [They sleep. Enter Puck. Puck. Through the forest have I gone. But Athenian found I none, On whose eyes I might approve This flower's force in stirring love. Night and 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 1 must now to Oberon. [Exit Enter Demetrius and Helena, running. Helena. Stay, though thou kill me, sweet Demetrius. Demetrius. I charge thee, hence ; and do not haunt me thus. Helena. O 1 wilt thou darkling leave me ? do not so. Demetriut. Stay, on thy peril : I alone will go. [Exit Demetrius. Helena O ! I am out of breath in this fond chase. The more my prayer, the lesser is my grace. Happy is Hermia, wheresoe'er she lies, For she hath blessed and attractive eyes. How came her eyes so bright ? Not with salt tears : If so, my eyes are oftener wash'd than her's. No, no, 1 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 compare with Hermia' % 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. Lysander. And run through fire I will, for thy sweet sake. [Waking. Transparent Helena ! Nature here shows art. That through thy bosom makes me see thy heart. Where is Demetrius ? O, how fit a word Is that vile name to perish on my sword ! Helena. Do not say so, Lysander ; say not so. What though he love your Hermia ? Lord 1 what though ? Yet Hermia still loves you : then be content. Lysander. Content with Hermia t No : I do repent The tedious minutes I with ber 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. Helena. i Wherefore was 1 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 1 did never, no, nor never can. Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye, But you must flout my insufficiency ? [do, Good troth, you do me wrong ; good sooth, you 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 I [Exit Lysander. She sees not Hermia Hermia, sleep thou there ; And never may'st thou come Lysander near ; For, as a surfeit of the sweetest things The deepest loathing to the stomach brings ; Or, as the heresies, that men do leave, Are hated most of those they did deceive ; So thou, my surfeit, and my heresy, Of all be hated, but the most of me. And, all my powers, address your love and might, To honour Helen, and to be her knight. [Exit. Hermia. [Starting. Help me, Lysander, help me ! do thy best, To pluck this crawling serpent from my breast. Ah, me, for pity I — what a dream was here I Lysander, look, how I do quake with fear. Methough a serpent eat my heart away, And you sat smiling at his cruel prey. — \ Lysander! what, remov'd? Lysander! lord I 1 What, out of hearing ? gone ? no sound, no word? 1 Alack ! where are you ? speak, an if you hear ; Speak, of all loves I I swoon almost with fear. No ? — then I well perceive you are not nigh : Either death, or you, I'll find immediately. [Exit. ACT Act 111. Sc. l MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 195 ACT IIL SCENE I. The lame. The Queen of Fairies lying asleep. Enter Quince, Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout, and Starveling. Bottom. A RE we all met ? Quince. Pat, pat ; and here's a marvellous convenient Elace for our rehearsal. This green plot shall e our stage, this hawthorn brake our 'tiring- house ; and we will do it in action, as we will do it before the duke. Bottom. Peter Quince,— What say'st thou, buliy Bottom t Bottom. There are things in this comedy of " Pyramus and Thisby" that will never please. First, Pyramus must draw a sword to kill himself, which the ladies cannot abide. How answer you that ? Snout. By'rlakin, a parlous fear. Starveling. I believe, we must leave Che killing out, when all is done. Bottom. Not a whit : 1 have a device to make all well. Write me a prologue ; and let the prologue seem to say, we will do no harm with our swords, and that Pyramus is not killed indeed : and, for the more better assurance, tell them, that I, Pyramus, am not Pyramus, but Bottom the weaver. This will put them out of fear. Well, we will have such a prologue, and it shall ba written in eight and six. Bottom. No, make it two more: let it be written in eight and eight. Snout. Will not the ladies be afeard of the lion ? t c :.. i .Starveling. I fear it, 1 promise you. Bottom. Masters, you ought to consider with your- selves : to bring in, God shield us 1 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. Bottom. 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. Quince. Well, it shall be so. But there is two hard things : that is, to bring the moonlight into a chamber ; for you kuow, Pyramus and Thisby meet by moonlight. Snug. Doth the moon shineth at night we play our play? Bottom. A calendar, a calendar ! look in the almanack j find out moonshine, find out moonshine. Quince. Yes, it doth shine that night. Bottom. Why, then you may leave a casement of the great chamber window, where we play, open : and the moon may shine in at the casement. Quince. Ay ; or else one must come in with a bush of thorns and a lanthorn, and say, he comes to disfigure, or to present, the person of moon- shine. Then, there is another thing : we must have a wall in the great chamber ; for Pyramus and Thisby (says the story,) did taBe through the chink of a wall. Snug. You can never bring in a wall What say you, Bottom t Bottom. 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. Quince. If that may be, then all is well. Come, sit down, every mother's son, and rehearse your parts. Pyramus, you begin. When you have spoken your speech, enter into that brake ; and so every one according to his cue. Enter Puck behind. Puck. What hempen home-spuns have we swagger- ing here, So near the cradle of the fairy queen ? What, a play toward ? I'll be an auditor ; An actor too, perhaps, if 1 see cause. Quirxto. Speak, Pyramus. — Thisby, stand forth. I 'y ram us. " Thisby, the flowers of odious savours sweet," — Quince. Odours, odours. Pyramus. " odours savours sweet : So hath thy breath, my dearest Thisby, dear.— But, hark, a voice ! stay thou but here a while, And by and by I will to thee appear." [Exit. Puck. A stranger Pyramus than e'er play'd here ! I Exit. i'hisbe. Must I speak now ? Quince. Ay, marry, must you ; for you must under- stand, he goes but to see a noise that he heard, and is to come again. Thisbe. " Most radiant Pyramus, most lily-white of hue, Of colour like the red rose on triumphant brier, Most 196 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. Act hi. Sc t [Exeunt Clowns. Most brisky juvenal, and eke most lovely Jew, As true as truest horse, that yet would never tire, I'll meet thee, Pyramus, at Ninny's tomb." Quince. Ninus' tomb, man. Why you must not speak that yet ; that you answer to Pyramus. You speak all your part at once, cues and all.— Pyramus, enter : your cue is past ; it is, •• never tire." Re-enter Puck, and Bottom with an ass's head. Thisbe. O !— " As true as truest horse, that yet would never tire." Pyramus. 44 If I were, fair Thhby, I were only thine : "— Quince. O monstrous ! O strange ! we are haunted. Pray, masters ! fly, masters ! help " Puck I'll follow you, I'll lead you about a round, Through bog, through bush, through brake, through brier : Sometime a horse I'll be, sometime a hound, A hog, a headless bear, sometime a fire ; And neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, and burn, Like horse, hound, hog, bear, fire, at every turn. [Exit. Bottom. Why do they run away ? this is a knavery of them, to make me afearu. Re-enter Snout. Snout. Bottom! thou art changed: what do I see on thee? [Exit. Bottom. What do you see? you see an ass's head of your own, do you ? Re-enter Quince. Quince. Bless thee, Bottom! bless thee! thou art translated. [Exit. Bottom. 1 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 heal I am not afraid. [Sings. The oosel-cock, so black of hue, With orange-tawney bill, The throstle with his note so true, The wren with little quill. Tltania. What angel wakes me from my flowery bed ? [Waking. Bottom. The finch, the sparrow, and the lark, The plain-song cuckoo gray, Whose note full many a man doth mark, And dares not answer, nay; for, indeed, who would set his wit to so foolish a bird ? who would give a bird the lie, though he cry " cuckoo " never so ? Titania. 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. Bottom. 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. Tltania. Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful. Bottom Not so, neither ; but if I had wit enough to get out of this wood, I have enough to serve mine own turn. Titania. Out of this wood do not desire to go : Thou shalt remain here, whether thou wilt or I am a spirit of no common rate ; [no. The summer still doth tend upon my state, And I do love thee: therefore, go with me; I'll give thee fairies to attend on thee ; And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep, And sing while thou on pressed flowers dost sleep : And 1 will purge thy mortal grossness so, That thou shalt like an airy spirit go. — {seed! Peas-blossom! Cobweb! Moth! and Mustard- Ready. Enter four Fairies 1 Fairy. And I. 2 Fairy. 3 Fairjr. And I. 4 Fairy. All. And I. Where shall we go ? Titanic. Be kind and courteous to this gentleman : Hop in his walks, and gambol in his eyes ; Feed him with apricocks, and dewberries, With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries. The honey bags steal from the humble-bees, And for night tapers crop their waxen thighs, And light them at the fiery glow-worm's eyes, To have my love to bed, and to arise ; And pluck the wings from painted butterflies, To fan the moon-beams from his sleeping eyes. Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies. Hail, mortal ! Hail! Hail! 1 Fairy. 2 Fairy. 3 Fairy. 4 Fairy. Hail! Bottom. I cry your worship's mercy, heartily. — I be- seech, your worship's name. Cobweb. Cobweb. Bottom. 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-blossom. Peas-blossom. Bottom. 1 pray you, commend me to mistress Squash, your mother, and to master Peascod, your fa- ther. Good master Peas-blossom, I shall desire you of more acquaintance too.— Your name, 1 beseech you, sir ? Mustard- Act in. Sc. u. MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DKEAM. Mustard-seed. Mustard teed. Bottom . Good master Mustard-seed, I know your pa- tience well : that same cowardly, giant-like ox- bi'i-i hath devoured many a gentleman of your house. I promise you, your kindred hath made my eye* water ere now. I desire you more ac- quaintance, good master Mustard-seed. Titanla. Come, wait upon him : lead him to my bower. The moon, metninks, looks with a waterv eye, j And when she weeps, weeps every little flower, Lamenting some enforced chastity. Tie up my lover's tongue, bring him silently. [Exeunt. SCENE 1 1 . Another part of the Wood- Enter Oberon. Obcron. 1 wonder, if Titania be awak'd ; Then, what it was that next came in her eye, Which she must dote on in extremity. Enter Puck. Here comes my messenger 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 thick-skin of that barren sort, Who I'y ramus 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 thorns at their apparel snatch, Some, sleeves, some, hats, from yielders all things catch. I led them on in this distracted fear, And left sweet Pyramus translated there ; When in that moment (so it came to pass,) Titania wak'd, and straightway lov'd an ass. Oberon. This falls out better than 1 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 Hcrmia. Oberon. Stand close: this Is the same Athenian. Tuck. This is the woman ; but not this the man. I 9 7 iK'imtrius. ! why rebuke you him that loves you to ? Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe. Hermia. 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'll believe as soon, This whole earth may be bor'd, and that the moon May through the centre creep, and so displease Her brother's noon tide with th' Antipodes. It cannot be but thou hast murder'd him : So should a murderer look, so dead, so grim. Demetrius. 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. Hermia. What's this to my Lysander? where is he ? Ah, good Demetrius, wilt thou give him me "* Demetrius. 1 had rather give his carcase to my hounds. Hermia. Out, dog ! out, cur ! thou driv'st me past the bounds Of maiden's patience. Hast thou slain him then ? Henceforth be never number 'd among men ! ! once tell true, tell true, e'en 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. Demetrius. You spend your passion on a mispris'd mood : 1 am not guilty of Lysander'* blood, Nor is he dead, for aught that 1 can tell. Hermia. I pray thee, tell me, then, that he is well. Demetrius. And, if I could, what should I get therefore ? Hermia. A privilege, never to see me more And from thy hated presence part 1 so ; See me no more, whether he be dead or no. [Exit. Demetrius. There is no following her in this fierce vein: Here, therefore, for a while I will remain. So sorrow's heaviness doth heavier grow For debt that bankrupt sleep doth sorrow owe ; Which now in some slight measure it will pay, If for his tender here I make some stay. [Lies down. Obeion. What hast thou done ? thou hast mistaken quite, And laid ttie love-juice on some true-love's sight : Of thy misprision must perforce ensue [true. Some true-love turn'd, and not a false turn'd i'uek. Then fate o'er-rules ; that one man holding troth, A million fail, confounding oath on oath 6b 198 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. Act hi. Sc. 11. Oberon. About the wood go swifter than the wind, And Helena of A (hens look thou find : All fancy-sick she is, and pale of cheer [dear. With sighs of love, that cost the fresh blood By some illusion see thou bring her here : I'll 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. Oberon. Flower of this purple die, Hit with Cupid's archery, Sink in apple of his eye. "When his love he doth espy, Let her shine as gloriously As the Venus of the sky, — When thou wak'st, if she be by, Beg of her for remedy. Re-enter 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 ! Oberon. Stand aside : the noise they make Will cause Demetrius to awake. Puck. Then will two at once woo one ; That must needs be sport alone ; And those things do best please me, That befal preposterously. Enter Lysander and Helena- Lysander. Why should you think that I should woo in scorn ? Scorn and derision never come in tears : Look, when 1 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 ? Helena. 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 : Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothing Your vows, to her and me, put in two scales, Will even weigh, and both as light as tales. Lysander. I had no judgment, when to her I swore. Helena. Nor none, m my mind, now you give her o'er. Lysander. Demetrius loves her, and he loves not you. Demetrius. [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 1 Helena. 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 iiyury. Can you not hate me, as I know you do, { But you must join in souls to mock me too ? 1 If you were men, as men vou are in show, ; You would not use a gentle lady so ; 1 To vow, and swear, and superpraise my parts, I When, 1 am sure, you hate me with your hearts. ; You both are rivals, and love Hermia, i And now both rivals to mock Helena. j A trim exploit, a manly enterprise, \ To conjure tears up in a poor maid's eyes W ith your derision i none of noble sort Would so offend a virgin, and extort A poor soul's patience, all to make you sport. I.yFnnder. You are unkind, Demetrius ; be not so, For you love Hermia ; this, you know, 1 know : And here, with all good will, with all my heart, In Hermia's love I yield yon up my part ; And yours of Helena to me bequeath, Whom I do love, and will do till my death. Helena. Never did mockers waste more idle breath. Demetrius. Lysander, keep thy Hermia : I will none : If e'er I lov'd her, all that love is gone. My heart to her but as guest-wise sojourn'd, And now to Helen is it home return'd, There to remain. Lysander. Helen, it is not so. Demetrius. 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. Hermia. Dark night, that from the eye his function 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 ? Lysander. Why should he stay, whom love doth press to go ? Hermia. What love could press Lysander from my side? Lysander. Lysander's love, that would not let him bide, 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 ? Hermia. You speak not as you think : it cannot be. Helena. 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. I Injurious Hermia! most ungrateful maid ! Have you conspir'd, have you with these con- To bait me with this foul derision ? [triv'd I Is all the counsel that we two have shar'd, iThe sisters' vows, the hours that we have spent, ! When we have chid the hasty-footed time iFor parting us,— O ! is all forgot ? [cence ? I All school days' friendship, childhood inno- jWe, Hermia, like two artificial gods, ; Have with our needles created both one flower, Both Act hi. Sc ii. MIDSUMMER-NIGHTS DREAM. 199 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 an union in partition ; Two lovely berries moulded on one stem, So, with two seeming bodies, but one heart ; Two of the first, like coats in heraldry, Due but to one, and crowned with one crest. And will you rend 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. Hermia. I am amazed at your passionate words. I scorn you not : it seems that you scorn me. Helena. Have you not set Lysander, as in scorn, To follow me, and praise my eyes and face, And made your other love, Demetrius, (Who even but now did spurn me with his foot,) To call me god'tess, 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. Hennla. I understand not what you mean by this. Helena. Ay, do, persever, counterfeit sad looks, Make mouths 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. Lysander. Stay, gentle Helena ! hear my excuse : My love, my life, my soul, fair Helena I Helena. excellent l Hennla. Sweet, do not scorn her so. Demetrius. If she cannot entreat, I can compel. Lysander. 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. Demetrius. 1 say, I love thee more than he can do. Lysander. If thou say so, withdraw, and prove it too. Demetrius. Quick, come,— Hermia. Lysander, whereto tends all this ? Lysander. Away, you Ethiop ! Demetrius. No, no, sir, Seem to break loose ; take on, as you would follow ; But yet come not. You are a tame man, go ! Lysander. Hang ofT, thou cat, thou burr 1 vile thing, let loose, Or I will shake thee from me like a serpent. Hermia. Why are you grown so rudo ? what change Is Sweet love ? C tm *» Lysander. Thy love ? out, tawny Tartar, out I Out, loathed medicine 1 O hated poison, hence 1 Hermia. Do you not jest ? Helena. Yes, 'sooth ; and so do you. Lysander. Demetrius, I will keep my word with thee. Demetrius. I would, I had your bond ; for, I perceive, A weak bond holds you : I'll not trust your word. I Lysander. ! What ! should I hurt her, strike her, kill her dead? Although I hate her, I'll not harm her so. Hermia. What ! can you do me greater harm than hate ? Hate me I wherefore ? O me ! what news, my love? Am not I Hermia t Are not you Lysander f I am as fair now, as I was erewhile. [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 ? Lysander. Ay, by my life ; And never did desire to see thee more. Therefore, be out of hope, of question, of doubt.* Be certain, nothing truer : 'tis no jest, That I do hate thee, and love Helena. Hermia. me !— you juggler ! you canker-blossom ! You thief of love ! what, have you come by night, And stol'n my love's heart from him ? Helena. Fine, 1' faith I Have you no modesty, no maiden shame, No touch of bashfulness ? What, will you tear ! Impatient answers from my gentle tongue ? Fie, fie 1 you counterfeit, you puppet you 1 Hermia. Puppet ! why so ? Ay, that way goes the game. Now I perceive that she hath made compare Between our statures : she hath urg'd her height, And with her personage, her tall personage, Her height, forsooth, she hath prevail'd with him And are you grown so high in his esteem, Because I am so dwarfish, and so low ? How low am I, thou painted maypole ? speak ; How low am I ? I am not yet so low, But that my nails can reach unto thine eyes. Helena. 1 pray you, though you mock me, gentlemen, Let her not hurt me : I was never curst ; 1 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 is something lower than myself, That I can match her. Hermia. lOO MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. Act hi. Sc. n. Hermia. Lower ! hark, again. Helena. 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, 1 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 further. Let me go ; You. see how simple and how fond I am. Hermia. Why, get you gone. Who is't that hinders you? J Hdcna. A foolish heart, that I leave here behind. Hermia. What, with Lysander ? Helena. With Demetrius. Lysander. Be not afraid : she shall not harm thee, He- lena. Demetrius. No, sir ; she shall not, though you take her part. Helena. O ! when she is angry, she is keen and shrewd. She was a vixen, when she went to school ; And, though she be but little, she is fierce. Hermia. Little again ? nothing but low and little ? — Why will you suffer her to flout me thus? Let me come to her. Lysander. Get you gone, you dwarf ; You minimus, of hindering knot-grass made; You bead, you acorn. Demetrius. 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. . Lysander. Now she hold's me not, Now follow, if thou dar'st, to try whose right, Of thine or mine, is most in Helena. Demetrius. Follow ? nay, I'll go with thee, cheek by jowl. fExcunt Lysander and Demetrius. Hermia. You, mistress, all this coil is 'long of you. Nay, go not back. Helena. T 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. Hermia. I am amaz'd, and know not what to say. [Exit. Oberon. This is thy negligence : still thou mistak'st, Or else commit'st tby 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 ? j And so far blameless proves my enterprize, I 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. Oberon. 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 Lysander's eye ; Whose liquor hath this virtuous property, To take from thence all error with his might, And make his eye-balls roll with wonted sight. When they next wake, all this derision Shall seem a dream, and fruitless vision ; And back to Athens shall the lovers wend, With league, whose date till death shall never Whiles I in this affair do thee employ, [end. I'll to my queen, and beg her Indian boy ; And then I will her charmed eye release [peace. From monster's view, and all things shall be 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 ; [there, At whose approach, ghosts, wandering here and Troop home to church yards : damned spirits That in cross-ways and floods have burial, [all, Already to their wormy beds are gone ; For fear lest day should look their shames upon, They wilfully themselves exile from lif-ht, And must for aye consort with black-brow'd night. M Oberon. But we are spirits of another sort, 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. C Exit Oberon. Tuck. 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. Enter Lysander. Lysander. Where art thou, proud Demetrius? speak thou now. Puck. Here, villain! drawn and ready. Where art thou ? Lysander. I will be with thee straight. Puck. Follow me then To plainer ground. [Exit Lysander as following the voice. Enter Demetrius. Demetrius. Lysander! jpeak again. Thou | An iv. Sc. U MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DIIEAM. 20I Thou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled ? I I Speak ! In some bush ? Where dost thou hide thy head ? i Thou coward 1 art thou bragging to the stars, Telling the bushes that thou look'st for wars. And wilt not come? Come, recreant; come, thou child ; t I'll whip thee with a rod : he Is defil'd, That draws a sword on thee. Demetrius. Yen ; art thou there ? Puck. Follow my voice : we'll try no manhood here. [Exeunt Re-enter Lysauder. Ly sander. He goes before me, and still dares me on : When I come where he calls, then he is gone. The villain is much lighter heel'd than I : I follow'd fast, but faster he did fly ; That fallen am I in dark uneven way, And here will rest me. Come, thou gentle day! [Lies down. For if but once thou show me thy grey light, I'll find Demetrius, and revenge this spite. [Sleeps. Re-enter Puck and Demetrius. Puck. Ho ! ho ! ho ! Coward, why com'st thou not? Demetrius. 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 now ? Puck Come hither : I am here. Demetrius. Nay, then thou mock'st me. Thou shalt buy If ever I thy face by daylight see: [this dear, Now, go thy way. Faihtness 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. Helena. weary night ! O, long and tedious night ! Abate thy hours : shine, comforts, from the That I may back to Athens, by day- light, [east, From these that my poor company detest. And sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow's eye, Steal me a while from mine own company. [Sleeps. Puck. Yet but three ? Come one more ; Two of both kinds make up four. Here she comes, curst and sad. Cupid- is a knavish lad, Thus to make poor females mad. Enter Ilcrmia. Hermia. Never so weary, never so in woe, Bedabbled with the dew, and torn with briers : 1 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. Heavens shield Lysander, if they mean a fray ! ri-ies down. Puck. On the ground sleep sound : I'll apply to your eye, Gentle lover, remedy. [Squeezing the Juice on I.ysander** 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 wakii g shall be shown: Jack shall have Jill ; Nought shall go ill ; The man shall have his mare again, And all shall be well. [Exit Puck. — Demetrius, Helena, &c. sleep. ACT IV. SCENE I. The same. Enter Titania and Bottom ; Fairies attending : Oberan behind unseen. Titania. C^OME, sit thee down upon this flowery bed, J 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. Bottom. Where's Peas-blossom f Peas-blossom. Ready. Bottom. Scratch my head, Peas-blossom Where's monsieur Cobweb ? Cobweb. Ready. Bottom. Monsieur Cobweb; good monsieur, get your weapons in your hand, and kill me a red-hipped humble-bee on the top of a thistle ; and, good monsieur, bring me the honey-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 mon- sieur Mustard-seed f Mustard-seed. Ready. Bottom. Give me your neif, monsieur Mustard-seed. Pray you, leave your courtesy, good monsieur. Mustard-seed. What's your will ? Bottom. Nothing, good monsieur, but to help cavalery Cobweb to scratch. I must to the barber's, monsieur ; for, methinks, I am marvellous hairy about the face, and I am such a tender ass, if my hair do but tickle me, I must scratch. Titania. What, wilt thou hear some music, my sweet love ? Bottom. I have a reasonable good ear in music : let's have the tongs and the bones. Titania. Or, say, sweet love, what thou desir'st to eat. Bottom. Truly, a peck of provender : I could munch your good dry oats. Methinks, 1 have a great desire to a bottle of hay : good bay, rreet hay, hath no fellow. Titania. ao* MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. Act iv. Sc. i. tI Titania. I have a venturous fairy that shall seek The squirrel's hoard, and fetch thee new nuts. Bottom. 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. Titania. Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my arms. Fairies, he gone, and be all ways away. So doth the woodbine, the sweet honeysuckle, Gently entwist : the female ivy so Enrings the barky fingers of the elm. O, how I love thee 1 how I dote on thee ! (They sleep. Enter Puck. Oberon. [Advancing. Welcome, good Rohin. Seest thou this sweet Her dotage now I do begin to pity ; [sight ? For meeting her of late behind the wood, Seeking sweet savours for this hateful fool, 1 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 j Was wont to swell like round and orient pearls, | Stood now within the pretty flow'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 1 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 ; 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. Titania. My Oberon! what visions have I seen I Methought, 1 was enamour'd of an ass. Oberon. There lies your love. Titania. How came these things to pass ? O, how mine eyes do loath his visage now I Oberon. Silence, a while. — Robin, take off this head Titania, music call ; and strike more dead Than common sleep of all these five the sense. Titania. Music, ho ! music ! such as charmeth sleq>. Puck. Now, when thou wak'st,with thine own fool's eyes peep. Oberon. Sound, music 1 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. Oberon. Then, my queen, in silence sad, Trip we after the night's shade ; We the globe can compass soon, Swifter than the wandering moon. Titania. 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. Theseus. 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 : let them go ! — Despatch, I say, and find the forester We will, fair queen, up to the mountain's top, And mark the musical confusion Of hounds and echo in conjunction. Hippolyta. 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. 1 never heard So musical a discord, such sweet thunder. Theseus. 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 ; [bells, Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouth like Each under each. A cry more tuneable Was never halloo'd to, nor cheer'd with horn, In Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly : Judge, when you hear. — But, soft! what nymphs are these ? Egeus. My lord, this is my daughter here asleep ; And this, Lysander ; this Demetrius is ; This Helena, old Nedar's Helena : I wonder of their being here together. Theseus. 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? Egeus. It is, my lord. Theseus. Go, bid the huntsmen wake them with their horns. [Horns, and shout within. Demetrius, Ly- sander, Hermia, and Helena, wake and start up. Theseus. Good-morrow, friends. Saint Valentine U past; Begin these wood-birds but to coupi? now ? Lysander. Pardon, my lord. [ lie and the rest kneel. Theseus. Act iv. 5c. n. MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. »Oj Theseus. 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 ? Lysamler. My lord, I shall reply amazedly, Half sleep, half waking : but as yet, I swear, I cannot truly say how 1 came here ; But, as 1 think, (for truly would I speak,— And now 1 do bethink me, so it is) 1 came with Hermia hither : our intent Was to be gone from Athens, where we might Without the peril of the Athenian law — Egeut. 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. Demetrius. 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 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 1 betroth 'd ere I saw Hermia: But, like in sickness, did I loath this food ; But, as in health, come to my natural taste, Now do I wish it, love it, long for it, And will for evermore be true to it. Theseus. Fair lovers, you are fortunately met. Of this discourse we more will hear anon.— Egeus, I will overbear your will, For in the temple, by and by with us, These couples shall eternally be knit. And, for the morning now is something worn, Our purpos'd hunting shall be set aside. Away, with us, to Athens : three and three, We'll hold a feast in great solemnity. — Come, Hippolyta. [Exeunt Theseus, Hippolyta, Egeus, and Train. Demetrius. These things seem small, and undistinguish- able, Like far-oflf mountains turned into clouds. Hermia. Methinks, I see these things with parted eye, When every thing seems double. Helen. So methinks : And 1 have found Demetrius, like a jewel, Mine own, and not mine own. Demetrius. Are you sure That we are awake ? It seems to me That yet we sleep, we dream. — Do not you think The duke was here, and bid us follow him ? Hermia. Yea ; and my father. Helena. And Hippolyta. Lysander. And he did bid us follow to the temple. Demetrius. Why then, we are awake. Let's follow him ; And by the way let us recount our dreams. [Exeunt. Bottom. [Waking. When my cue comes, call me, and I will i answer: — my next is, "Most fair Pyramus." j Hey, ho I— Peter Quince! Flute, the bel- lows-mender 1 Snout, the tinker ! Starveling ! i God's my life 1 stolen hence, and left me asleep. j 1 have had a most rare vision. 1 have had a ' dream, — past the wit of man to say what dream j it was : man is but an ass, if he go about to ex- pound this dream. Methought I was — there is ! no man can tell what. Methought I was, and i 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 hand 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, before the duke : peradventure, to make it the more gracious, I shall sing it at her death. [Exit. SCENE II. Athens. A Room iu Quince's House. Enter Quince, Flute, Snout, and Starveling. Quince. Have you sent to Bottom's house ? is he come home yet ? Starveling. He cannot be heard of. Out of doubt, he is transported. Flute. If he come not, then the play is marred. It goes not forward, doth it 9 Quince. It is not possible : you have not a man in all Athens able to discharge Pyramus, but he. Flute. No ; he hath simply the best wit of any handycraft man in Athens. Quince. Yea, and the best person too ; and he is a very paramour for a sweet voice. Flute. You must say, paragon : a paramour is, God bless us I a thing of nought. Enter Snug. Snug. Masters, the duke is coming from the temple, and there is two or three lords and ladies more married. If our sport had gone forward, we had all been made men. Flute. 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 Py- ramus, I'll be hanged ; he would have deserved it : sixpence a-day in Pyramus, or nothing. Enter ao4 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM Act iv. 7c. n. Enter Bottom. Bottom. Where are these lads ? where are these hearts ? Quince. Bottom ! — . most courageous day I O most happy hour 1 Bottom. Masters, I am to discourse wonders ; but ask me not what, for, if I tell you, I am no true Athenian. I will tell you everv thin?, right as it fell out. Quince. Let us hear, sweet Bottom. Bottom. Not a word of me. All that I will tell you is, that the duke hath dined. Get your apparel to- gether; good strings to your beards, new rib- bons to your pumps: meet presently at the palace ; every man look o'er his part ; for, the short and the long is, our play is preferred. In any case let Thisljy 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 1 go ; away I [Exeunt. •#-'#####-#-0--#-0- ACT V. SCENE I. The game. An Apartment in the Palace of Theseus. Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate, Lords, . and Attendants. Hippolyta. "J 1 IS strange, my Theseus, that these lovers -* speak of. Theseus. More strange than true: I never may believe These antic fables, nor these fairy toys. Lovers, and madmen, have suih 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 And, as imagination bodies forth [to heaven ; The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing A local habitation, and a name. Such tricks hath strong imagination, That, if it would but apprehend some joy, It comprehends some bringer of that joy ; Or in the night, imagining some fear, How easy is a bush suppos'd a bear ? Hippolyta. But all the story of the night told over, And all their minds transfigur'd so together, More witnesseth than fancy's images, And grows to something ot great constancy, But, howsoever, strange, and admirable. Theseus. Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth. Enter Lysander, Demetrius, Hermia, and Helena. Joy, gentle friends ! joy, and fresh days of love, Accompany your hearts 1 Lysander. More than to us Wait in your royal walks, your board, your bed ! Theseus. Come now; what masks, what dances shall we have, To wear away this long age of three hours, Between our after-supper, and bedtime? 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. Philostrate. Here, mighty Theseus. Theseus. j Say, what abridgment have you for this evening ? What mask? what music? How shall we be- The lazy time, if not with some delight ? [guile Philostrate. There is a brief how many sports are ripe ; Make choice of which your highness will see first. [Giving a paper. Theseus. [Reads. " The battle with the Centaurs, to be sung By an Athenian eunuch to the harp." We'll none of that: that have I told my love, In glory of my kinsman Hercules. " The riot of the tipsy Bacchanals, Tearing the Thracian singer in their rage." That is an old device; and it was play'd When 1 from Thebes came last a conqueror. " The thrice three Muses mourning for the death Of learning, late deceas'd in beggary." That is some satire, keen, and critical, Not sorting with a nuptial ceremony. " A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus, And his love Thisbe; very tragical mirth." Merry and tragical I Tedious and brief ! That is, hot ice, and wondrous strange snow. ; How shall we find the concord of this discord ? Philostrate. 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 1 saw rehears'd, 1 must confess, Made mine eyes water ; but more merry tears The passion of loud laughter never shed. Tbeseut. What are they, that do play it ? Philostrate. 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. Theseus. And we will hear it. Philostrate. 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. _,, Theseus. Act v. Sc. i. MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 205 These ik. I will hear that play: For never any thing can be amiss, When simpleness and duty tender it. Go, bring them in;— and take your places, ladies. [Exit Phihstrate. Hlppolyta. I love not to see wretchedness o'ercharg'd, And duty in his service perishing. Thcsem. Why, gentle sweet, you shall see no such thing. Hippohta. He says they can do nothing in this kind. Theseus. The kinder we, to give them thanks for no- thing. 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 P hilost rate Phi lost rate. So please your grace, the prologue is addrest. Theseus. Let him approach. [Flourish of trumpets. Enter the Prologue. Prologue. " If we offend, it is with our good will. That you should think, we come not lo offend, But with good-will. To show our simple skill, That is the true beginning of our end. Consider then, we come but in despite. We do not come as minding to content you, Our true intent is. All for your delight, We are not here. That you should here repent you, The actors are at hand ; and, by their show, You shall know all, that you are like to know." Theseus. This fellow doth not stand upon points. Lv«ander He hath rid his prologue like a rough colt; he knows not the stop. A good moral, my lord : it is not enough to speak, but to speak true. Hippolyta. Indeed, he hath played on this prologue, like a child on a recorder; a sound, but not in government. Theseu*. His speech was like a tangled chain, Nothing impair'd, but all disordered. Who is next ? Enter Pyramus and Thisbe, Walt, Afoonshine, ' and Lion, as in dumb show. Prologue. ** Gentles, perchance, you wonder at this show ; But wonder on, till truth make all things plain. This man is Pyramus, if you would know ; This beauteous lady Thisby is, certain. This man, with lime and rough-cast, doth pre- sent [sunder ; Wall, that vile wall which did these lovers And through wall's chink, poor souls, they are content To whisper, at the which let no man wonder. This man, with lantern, dog, and bush of thorn, Presenteth 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 lion bight by name, 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 Py ramus, 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 Prologue, Thisbe, Lion, and Moonshine. Theseus. I wonder, if the lion be to speak. Demetrius. No wonder, my lord : One lion may, when many asses do. Wall. " In this same interlude, it doth befal, That I, one Snout by name, present a wall ; And such a wall, as I would have you think, That had in it a cranny'd hole, or chink, Through which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisby, Did whisper often very secretly. [show This lime, 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 whis- per." Theseus. Would you desire lime and hair to speak better ? Demetrius. It is the wittiest partition that ever I heard discourse, my lord. Theseus. Pyramus draws near the wall : silence ! Enter Pyramus. Pyramus. 41 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 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 lingers. Thanks, courteous wall: Jove shield thee well for this 1 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 ! " Theseus. The wall, methinks, being sensible, should curse again. Pyramus. No, in truth, sir, he should not.— "Deceiving me," ao6 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. Act v. Sc. i. me," is Thisby'a cue : she is to enter now, and I am to spy her through the wall. You shall see, it will Call pat as I told you.— Yonder she comes. Enter Thisbe. Thisbe. " O wall, full often hast thou heard my moans, For parting ray fair Py ramus and me : My cherry lips have often kiss'd thy stones ; Thy stones with lime and hair knit up in thee." Pyramus. " I see a voice : now will I to the chink. To spy an I can hear my Tkisby's face. Thisby!" Thisbe. '• My love 1 thou art my love, I think." Pyramus. ,c Think what thou wilt, I am thy lover's And like Limander am I trusty still." [grace ; Thisbe. «• And I like Helen, till the fates me kill." Pyramus. 44 Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true." Thisbe. " As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you." Pyramus. *' O ! kiss me through the hole of this vile wall." Thisbe. •* I kiss the wall's hole, not your lips at all." Pyramus. " Wilt thou at Ninny\ tomb meet me straight- way ? " Thisbe. "'Tide life, 'tide death, 1 come without de- lay." Wall. " Thus have I, wall, my part discharged so ; \ And, being done, thus wall away doth go." I Exeunt Wall, Pyramus, and Thisbe. \ Theseus. Now is the mural down between the two j neighbours. Demetrius. No remedy, my lord, when walls are so wilful ; to hear without warning. Hippolyta. This is the silliest stuff that e'er I heard. Theseus. The best in this kind are but shadows ; and ' the worst are no worse, if imagination amend them. Hippolyta. It must be your imagination then, and not ' theirs. Theseus. If we imagine no worse of them, than they of themselves, they may pass for excellent men. j Here come two noble beasts In, a man and a lion. Enter Lion and Moonshine. Lion. •* You, ladies, you, whose gentle hearts do fear ; The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on j floor, [here, May now, perchance, both quake and tremble 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 on my life." Theseus. A very gentle beast, and of a good conscience. Demetrius. The very best at a beast, my lord, that e'er I saw. Lysander. This lion is a very fox for his valour. Theseus. True ; and a goose for his discretion. Demetrius. Not so, my lord ; for his valour cannot carry his discretion, and the fox carries the goose. Theseus. 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. Moonshine. " This lantern doth the horned moon present ;" Demetrius. He should have worn the horns on his head. Theseus. He is no crescent, and his horns are invisible within the circumference. Moonshine. " This lantern doth the horned moon present ; Myself the man i'the moon do seem to be." Theseus. 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 ? Demetrius He dares not come there for the candle ; for, you see, it is already in snuff. Hippolyta. I am aweary of this moon : would, he would change ! Theseus. It appears by his small light of discretion, that he is in the wane ; but yet, in courtesy, in all reason, we must stay the time. Lysander. Proceed, moon. Moonshine. 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. Demetrius. Why, all these should be in the lantern ; for all these are in the moon. But, silence ! here comes Thisbe. Enter Thisbe. Thisbe. " This is old Ninny's tomb. Where Is my love?" Lion. " Oh—." [The Lion Toars.— Thisbe runs off. Demetrius. Well roared, lion. Theseus. Well run, Thisbe. Hippolyta. Well shone, moon Truly, the moon shines with a good grace. [The Lion tears Thisbe' 's mantle, and exit. Theseus. Well moused, lion. Demetrius. And then came Fyratnu*. Lysander. Act v. Sc. ii. MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DEEAM. 207 Lysander. And so the lion vanished. Enter Pyramus. Pyramus. " Sweet moon, I thank thee for thy sunny beams ; I thank thee, moon, for shining now so bright. For, bv thy gracious, golden, glittering streams, 1 trust to taste of truest Thisby sight. But stay ;— O spite 1 But mark, poor knight, What dreadful dole is here ! Eyes, do you see ? How can it be ? C dainty duck ! O dear ! Thy mantle good, What ! stain'd with blood ? Approach, ye furies fell ! O fates ! come, come ; Cut thread and thrum ; Quail, crush, conclude, and quell 1" Theseus. This passion, and the death of a dear friend, would go near to make a man look sad. Ilippolyta. Beshew my heart, but I pity the man. Pyramus. ■ O, wherefore, nature, didst thou lions frame, Since lion vile hath here deflour'd my dear ? Which is,— no, no— which was the fairest dame, That liv'd, that lov'd, 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 : — Thus die I, thus, thus, thus 1 Now am I dead, Now am 1 fled ; My soul is in the sky : Tongue, lose thy light ! Moon, take thy flight 1 Now die, die, die, die, die." [Dies.— Exit Moonshine. Demetrius. No die, but an ace, for him ; for he is but one. Lytander. I.ess than an ace, man, for he is dead ; he is nothing. Theseus. With the help of a surgeon, he might yet re- cover, and yet prove au ass. Ilippolyta. How chance moonshine is gone, before Thisbe comes back and finds her lover ? Theseus She will find him by starlight. — Here she comes, and her passion ends the play. Enter Thithr. Hippolyta. Methinks. she should nbt use a long one for such a Pyramus : 1 hope she will be brief. Demetrius A mote will turn the balance, which Pyramus, which Thisbe, is the better ; he for a man, God warrant us ; she for a woman, God bless us. I.ysander. She hath spied him already with those sweet eyes. Demetrius. And thus she moans, videlicet ThUbo. " Asleep, my love ? What, dead, my dove? O Pyramus ! arise : Speak, speak ! Quite dumb ? Dead, dead ? A tomb Must cover thy sweet eye*. These lily lips, 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." Theseus. [Dies. j Moonshine and lion are left to bury the dead. Demetrius. ; Ay, and wall too. Bottom. No, I assure you ; the wall is down that parted ! their fathers. Will it please you to see the epi- logue, or to hear a Bergomask dance between two of our company ? Theseus. No epilogue, I pray you ; for your play needs no excuse. Never excuse, for when the players are all dead, there need none to be blamed. Marry, if he that writ it, had play'd Pyramus, and hanged himself in TAisbe's garter, it would have been a fine tragedy ; and so it is, truly, and very notably discharged. But come, your Ber- gomask : let your epilogue alone. [A dance. 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 be^uil'd The heavy gait of night. — Sweet friends, to • A fortnight hold we this solemnity, [bed.— In nightly revels, and new jollity. I Exeunt 94&NB II. Enter Puck Puck. Now the hungry lion roars, And the wolf behowls the moo.n ; Whilst the heavy ploughman snores, All with weary task fordone. Now the wasted brands do glow. Whilst the screech-owl, screeching 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 his 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 : 1 am sent with broom before, To sweep the dust behind the door. lata 2o8 MERCHANT OF VENICE. Act i. Sc. h Enter Uberon and Titania, with all their Train. Oberon. Through the 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. Titania. 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. Oberon. 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 ; 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 gait, And each several chamber bless. Through this palace with sweet peace ; Ever shall in safety rest, And the owner of it blest. Trip away ; make no stay ; Meet me all by break of day. [Exeunt Oberon, Titania, and Train. Puck. If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended, That you have but slumber 'd here, While these visions did appear ; And this weak ani idle theme, No more yielding but a dream, Gentles, do not reprehend : If you pardon, we will mend. Arid, 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. l8 tExiL S*g MERCHANT OF VENICE. DRAMATIS PERSONS. DUKE OF VENICE. Antonio, the Merchant of Venice : Bassanio, his Friend. Gratiano.T Salanio, J- Friends to Antonio and Bassanio. Salarino, 3 Lorenzo, in love with Jessica. Shy lock, a Jew : Tubal, a Jew, his Friend. Launcelot Gobbo, a Clown. Old Gobbo, Father to Launcelot. Salerio, a Messenger. Leonardo, Servant to Bassanio. Balthazar, ) Servants to Portia. ACT I. SCENE I. Venice. A Street. Enter Antonio, Salarino, and Salanio. Antonio. TN sooth, I know not why 1 am so sad. I It wearies me : you say, it wearies you ; I But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, Stephano Portia, a rich Heiress Nerissa, her Waiting-woman. Jessica, Daughter to Shylock. Miignificoes of Venice, Officers of the Court of Justice, Jailors, Servants, and other Attend- ants. SCENE, partly at Venice, and partly at Belmont I What stuff'tis made of, whereof it is born, ! I am to learn ; j And such a want-wit sadness makes of me, I That I have much ado to know myself. Salarino. Your mind is tossing on the ocean, | There, where your argosies with portly sail, | Like signiors and rich burghers on the flood I Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea, Do Act i. Sc. i. MERCHANT OF VENICE. 209 Do overpeer the petty traffickers, That curt'sy to them, do them reverence, As they fly by them with their woven wings. •.mt>. 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. My wind, cooling my broth, Would blow me to an ague, when 1 thought What harm a wind too great might do at sea. 1 should not see the sandy hour-glass run, But 1 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 bechane'd would make me But, tell not me: I know, Antonio [sad ? Is sad to think upon his merchandize. Believe me, no. I thank my fortune for it, My ventures are not in one bottom trusted, Nor to one place ; nor is my whole estate Upon the fortune of this present year : Therefore, my merchandize makes me not sad. ! Salanio Why, then you are in love. Antonio Fie, fie! Salanio. 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 fram'd strange fellows in her time: Some that will evermore peep through their eyes, And laugh, like parrots, at a bag-piper ; And other of such vinegar aspect, That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile, Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable. Enter Bassanio, Lorenzo, and Gratiano. Salanio. Here comes Bassanio, vour most noble kins- Gratiano, and Lorenzo, rare you well : [man, We leave you now with better company. Salarino. I would have stay'd till I had made you merry, If worthier friends had not prevented me. Antonio. Your worth is very dear in my regard. I take it, your own business calls on you, And you embrace the occasion to depart. Salarino. Good morrow, my good lords. Bassanio. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh ? Say when? You grow exceeding strange : must it be so ? Salarino. We'll make our leisures to attend on yours. [Exeunt Salarino ami Salanio. Lorenzo. My lord Bassanio, since you have found An- tonio, We two will leave you ; but at dinner-time, I pray you, have in mind where we must meet. Bassanio. I will not fail you. Gratiano. You look not well, signlor 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. Antonio I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano ; A stage, where every man must play a part, And mine a sad one. Gratiano. 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 ! " ! my Antonio, I do know of these, That therefore only are reputed wise, For saying nothing ; when, I am very sure, If they should speak, would almost damn those ears, [fools. Which, hearing them, would call their brothers I'll tell thee more of this another time: But fish not, with this melancholy bait, For this fool -gudgeon, this opinion Come, good Lorenzo. — Fare ye well, awhile: I'll end my exhortation after dinner. Lorenzo. Well, we will leave you, then, till dinner-time. 1 must be one of these same dumb wise men, For Gratiano never lets me speak. Gratiano. Well, keep me company but two vears more, Thou shalt not know trie sound of thine own tongue. Antonio. Farewell : I'll grow a talker for this gear. Gratiano. Thanks, i'faith ; for silence is only commend- able [ible. In a neat's tongue dried, and a maid not vend- [ Exeunt Gratiano and Lorenzo. Antonio. It is that :— any thing now. Bassanio. 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 j \ chaff: you shall seek all day ere you find them !. MEECHANT OF VENICE. Act i. Sc. h and when you have them, they are not worth the search Antonio. Well ; tell me now, what lady is the same To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage, That you to-day promis'd to tell me of? Bassanio. "fis not unknown to you, Antonio, How much I have disabled mine estate, By something showing a more swelling port Than my faint means would grant continuance: Nor do 1 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 gaged. To you, Antonio, I owe the most, in money, and in love ; And from your love 1 have a warranty To unburthen all my plots and purposes, How to get clear of all the debts I owe. Antonio. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it ; 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. Bassanio. In my school-days, when I had lost one shaft, I shot liis fellow of the self-same flight The self-same way with more advised watch. To find the other forth; and by adventuring both, 1 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 1 owe is lost; but if you please To shoot another arrow that self way Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt, As 1 will watch the aim, or to find both, Or bring your latter hazard back again, And thankfully rest debtor for the first. Antonio. You know me well, and herein spend but time, To wind about my love with circumstance ; 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 prest unto it : therefore, speak. Bassanio In Belmont is a lady richly left, And she is fair, and, fairer than that word, Of wondrous virtues : sometimes from her eyes 1 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 winds blow in from every coast Renowned suitors ; and her sunny locks Hang on her temples like a golden fleece ; Which makes her seat of Belmont Colchos' strand, And many Jasons come in quest of her. O, my Antonio ! had I but the means To hold a rival place with one of them, I have a mind presages me such thrift, That I should questionless be fortunate. Antonio. Thou know'st.that all my fortunes are at sea; 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. T Kxeun *- SCENE 11. Belmont. An Apartment in Portia's House. Enter Portia and Nerissa. Portia. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary of this great world. ., . You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries were in the same abundance as your good for- tunes 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 happiness, therefore, to be seated in the mean : superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but competency lives longer. portia Good sentences, and well pronounced. Nerissa. They would be better, if well followed. Portia. 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 leapi o'er a cold decree: such a hare is madness, the youth, to skip o'er the meshes of good counsel, the cripple. But this reasoning is not in the fashion to choose me a husband.— O me ! the word choose ! 1 may neither choose whom I wou'd, 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, Ne)issa, that I cannot choose one, nor refuse none? Nerh9a Your father was ever virtuous, and holy men at their death have good inspirations ; therefore, the lottery, that he hath devised in these three chests of gold, silver, and lead (whereof who chooses his meaning, chooses you), will, no doubt, never be chosen by any rightly, but one whom you shall rightly love. But what warmth is there in your affection towards any of these princely suitors that are already come ? Portia. I pray thee, over-name them, and as thou namest them, I will describe them ; and, ac- cording to my description, level at my affection. Nerissa. First, there is the Neapolitan prince. Portia. 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. Nerissa. Then, is there the county Palatine. Portia. He doth nothing but frown, as who should | say, " An you will not have me, choose." He | hears merry tales, and smiles not : I fear he will , prove the weeping philosopher when he grows old, being so full of unmannerly sadness in his | youth. I had rather be married to a death's, i head | Act i. Sc. in. MERCHANT OF VENICE. an head with a bone in his mouth, than to either uf these. God defend me from these two 1 Ncrlfga. How say you by the French lord, Monsieur Le Bonf Fort:*. 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 >n 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, I would forgive him ; for if he love me to mad- ness, I shall never requite him. Nerissa. What say you, then, to Faulconbridge, the young baron of England f Portia. You know, I say nothing to him, for he under, stands 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 penny-worth in the English. He is a proper man's picture ; but, alas ! who can converse with a dumb show ? How oddly he is suited 1 I think he bought his doublet in Italy, his round hose in France, his bonnet in Germany, and his behaviour every where. Nerissa. What think you of the Scottish lord, his neighbour ? Portia. That he hath a neighbourly charity in him ; for he borrowed a box of the ear of the English- man, and swore he would pay him again, when he was able: I think, the 1-renchman became hit surety, and sealed under for another. Nerissa. How like you the young German, the duke of Saxony's nephew ? Portia. 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. N en-la 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. Purtltt. Therefore, for fear of the worst, I pray thee, set a deep glass of Rhenish wine on the con- trary casket ; for, if the devil be within, and that temptation without, 1 know he will choose it. I will do any thing, Nerissa, ere 1 will be mar- ried to a spunge. 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. If I live to be as old as Sibylla, I will die as chaste as Diana, unless 1 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 de- parture. Nerissa. 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 Mi)ntfcrrat t Portia. Yes, yes ; it was Dassanio : as I think, so was he called. Nerissa. True, madam : he, of all the men that ever my foolish eyes looked upon, was the best de- serving a fair lady. Portia. I remember him well, and I remember him worthy of thy praise How now ? what news ? Enter a Servant. Servant. 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. Portia. If I could bid the fifth welcome with so good heart, as I can bid the other four farewell, 1 should be glad of his approach : if he have the condition of a saint, and the complexion of a devil, 1 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. SCENKM. Venice. A public Place. Enter Bassanio and ShyUick. Shylock. i Three thousand ducats,— well. Eassanio. Ay, sir, for three mon Shvlock. For three months,— well. Bassanio. For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be bound. Shy lock. Antonio shall become bound,— well. Itassaniq. May you stead me ? Will you pleasure me ? Shall I know your answer ? Three thousa Antonio bound Shylock. Three thousand ducats for three months, and Bassanio- Your answer to that. . Shylock. Antonio is a good mail. . Kmanip. Have you heard any Imputation to the con- , trary ? Shylock Ho ! no, no, no, no : — my meaning, in say- I ing 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 i to Tripolis, another to the Indies : I understand j moreover upon the Rialto, he hath a third at ! Mexico, a fourth for England, and other ven- 1 tures 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, 212 MERCHANT OF VENICE. Act i. Sc. in. I mean, pirates : and then, there is the peril of waters, winds, and rocks. The man is, notwith- standing, sufficient : three thousand ducats. — I think, I may take his bond. Bassanto. Be assured you may. Shy lock. I will be assured, 1 may ; and, that 1 may be assured, 1 will bethink me. May I speak with Antonio ? „ Bassanio. If it please you to dine with us. Shylock. Yes, to smell pork ; to eat of the habitation which your prophet, the Nazarite; conjured the devil into. I will buy with you, sell with you, talk with you, walk with you, and so following ; but I will not eat with you, drink with you, nor pray with you. What news on the Rialto ? — Who is he comes here ? Enter Antonio. Bassanio. This is signior Antonio. Shylock. [Aside. \ How like a fawning publican he looks ! I hate him for he is a Christian ; But more, for that, in low simplicity, Me 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, 1 will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. He hates our sacred nation ; and he rails, Rventherewheremerchants most do congregate, On me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift, Which he calls interest. Cursed be my tribe, If I forgive him ! _ ■ Bassanio. Shylock, do you hear ? Shylock. I am debating of my present store, And, by the near guess of my memory, 1 cannot instantly raise up the gross Of full three thousand ducats. What of that ? Tubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tribe, Will furnish me. But soft ! how many months Do you desire ?— Rest you fair, good , signior: . Your worship was the last man in our mouths. Antonio. Shylock, albeit I neither lend nor borrow, By taking, nor by giving of excess, Yet, to supply the ripe wants of my friend, I'll break a custom.— Is he yet possess'd, How much you would ? Shylock. Ay, ay, three thousand ducats. Antonio. And for three months. - Shylock. I had forgot : — three months ; you told me so. Well then, your bond; and let me see— But hear you : Methought, you said, you neither lend nor borrow Upon advantage. Antonio I do never use it. Shylock. When Jacob graz'd his uncle Laban'a sheep, This Jacob from our holy Abraham was (As his wise mother wrought in his behalf,) The third possessor ; ay, he was the third. Antonio. And what of him ? did he take interest ? Shylock. 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 eanlings which were streak'd, and pied, Should fall as Jacob'shlre, ths ewes, being rank, 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-coloured 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. Antonio. This was a venture, sir, that Jacob serv'd for ; A thing not in his power to bring to pass, Butsway'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 ? Shylock. I cannot tell : I make it breed as fast — But note me, signior. Antonio Mark you this, Bassanio, The devil ran 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 ! Shylock . Three thousand ducats;— 'tis a good round sum. [rate. Three months from twelve, then let me see the Antonio. Well, Shylock, shall we be beholding to you ? Shylock. Signior Antonio, many a time and oft, In the Rialto, you have rated me About my monies, 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, " Shylock, we would have monies : " you say so ; You, that did void your rheum upon my beard, And foot me as you spurn a stranger cur Over your threshold : monies is your suit. What should I say to you ? Should I not say, " Hath a dog money ? Is it possible, A cur can lend three thousand ducats ? " or Shall I bend low, and in a bondman's key, With 'bated breath, and whispering humbleness, Say this: " Fair sir, you spit on me on H'ednesday last ; You spurn'd me such a day ; another time You call'd me dog ; and for these courtesies I'll lend you thus much monies ? " Antonio. 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 A breed for barren metal of his friend ? But lend it rather to thine enemy ; Who An i M. Sc. ii. MERCHANT OF VENICE. ai3 Who if he break, thou may'st with better face Exact the penalty. Shy! Why, look you, how you storm ! I would be friends with you, and have your love, Forget the shames that you have stain'd me with, Supply your preseut wants, and take no doit Of usance for my monies, And you'll not hear me. This is kind I offer. Antonio. Thi3 were kindness. Shy lock. 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. Antonio. Content, in faith : I'll seal to such a bond, And say there is much kindness in the Jew. Bassanio. You shall not seal to such a bond for me : I'll rather dwell in my necessity. Antonio. Why, fear not, man ; I will not forfeit it : Within these two months, that's a month before This bond expires, 1 do expect return Of thrice three times the value of this bond. Shy lock. O, father Abraham! what these Christians are, Whose own hard dealings teaches them suspect The thoughts of others ' — Pray you, tell me this ; If he should break his day, what should I gain By the exaction of the forfeiture ? A pound of man's flesh, taken from a man, Is not so estimable, profitable neither, As flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say, To buy his favour 1 extend this friendship : If he will take it, so ; if not, adieu ; And, for my love, I pray you, wrong me not. Ye«, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond. Shyk-ck. Then meet me forthwith at the notary's. Give him direction for this merry bond, A id I will go and purse the ducats straight ; See to my h»use, left in the fearful guard Of an unthrifty knave, and presently I will be with you. [Exit. Antonio- Hie thee, gentle Jew. The Hebrew will turn Christian : he grows kind. Bassanio. I like not fair terms, and a villain's mind. Antonio. Come on : in this there can be no dismay, My ships come home a month before the day. [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I Belmont. An Apartment in Portia^ House. Enter the Prince of Morocco, and his Fottotoert; Portia, Nerissa, and other of her Tratn. nourish Cornets. Morocco. MlsLIKE 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 Phabus' 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 fear'd 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. Portia. 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. Morocco. 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 Soli/man, — 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. Portia. 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. Morocco. Nor will not : come, bring me unto my chance Portia. First, forward to the temple : after dinner Your hazard shall be made. Morocco. Good fortune then, [Cornets. To make me blest, or cursed'st among men 1 [Exeunt. SCENE II. Venice. A Street. Enter Launcetot Gobbo. Launcelot. Certainly, my conscience will serve me to run from this Jew, my master. The fiend is at mine elbow, *1±. MERCHANT OF VENICE. Act ii. Sc. il 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 Laun- celot Gobbo ; do not run ; scorn running with thy heels." Well, the most courageous fiend bids me pack ; " Via ! " says the fiend ; "* away I " says the fiend ; " for the heavens, rouse up a brave mind," says thefiend, " 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 some- thing smack, something grow to, he had a kind of taste: — well, my conscience says, "Laun- celot, 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 himself. Certainly, the Jew is the very devil incarnation ; and, in my conscience, my conscience is but a kind of hard conscience to offer to counsel me to stay with the Jew. The fiend gives the more friendly counsel: I will run, fiend ; my heels are at your commandment ; I will run. Enter Old Gobbo, with a Basket. Gobbo. Master, young man, you ; I pray you, which is the way to master Jew > s 1 , . , Launcelot. [Aside O heavens ! this Is my true begotten father, who, being more than sand-blind, high-gravel blind, knows me not: — I will try conclusions with him. Gobbo Master, young gentleman, I pray you, which is the way to master Jew's? Launcelot. Turn up on your right hand at the next turn- ing, 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. Gobbo. 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 ? Launcelot. . .Talk, you of young master Launcelot? — lASiae-j m^v me now . now will 1 raise the waters.-i ° " nnT J Talk you of young master Launcelot? Gobbo No master, sir, but a poor man's son: his father, though 1 say it, is an honest exceeding poor man; and, God be thanked, well to live. Launcelot. Well, let his father be what a' will, we talk of young master Launcelot. Gobbo. Your worship's friend, and Launcelot, sir. But I pray you, ergo, old man, ergo, I beseech i you, talk you of young master Launcelot? Of Launcelot, an't please your mastership. Launcelot. Ergo, master Launcelot. Talk not of master j Launcelot, father; for the young gentleman I (according to fates and destinies, and such odd j sayings, the sisters three, and such branches of [ learning,) is, indeed, deceased ; or, as you would ■ say, in plain terms, gone to heaven. j TSobbo. i Marry, God forbid ! the boy was the very staff j of my age, my very prop. Launcelot. [Aside. ! Do I look like a ,cudgel» or a hovel-post, a staff, or a prop?— i ' ° him .3 rj y OU k n0 w me, 1 father? _ ,, Gobbo. Alack the day ! 1 know you not, young gentle- man ; but, I pray you, tell me, is my boy, (God \ rest his soul !) alive, or dead? Launcelot. Do you not know me, father? Gobbo. I Alack, sir, I am sand-blind; I know you not. Launcelot. Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you might ! fail of the knowing me: it is a wise father that j I knows his own child. Well, old man, I will j ! tell you news of your son. [Kneels.] Give me ' ! your blessing: truth will come to light; murder , cannot be hid long, a man's son may, but in the : end truth will out. _ , , Gobbo. Pray you, sir, stand up. I am sure you are I not Launcelot, my boy. Launcelot. Pray you, let's have no more fooling about it, but give me your blessing: 1 am Launcelot, your boy that was, your son that is, your child that shall be. „ . .; Gobbo. I cannot think you are my son. Launcelot. I know not what I shall think of that ; but I am Launcelot, the Jew's man, and, 1 am sure, Margery, your wife, is my mother. Gobbo. Her name is Margery, indeed: I'll be sworn, if thou be Launcelot, thou art mine own flesh and blood. Lord! worshipp'd might he be! what a beard hast thou got: thou hast got more hair on thy chin, than Dobbin my phill-horse has on his tail. . , . Launcelot. It should seem, then, that Bobbin's tail grows backward: I am sure he had more hair of his tail, than I have of my face, when 1 last saw him ' Gobbo. Lord ! how art thou changed ! How dost thou and thy master agree? 1 have brought him a present. How agree you now? Launcelot. 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: 1 am famish'd in his service; you may tell every finger I have with my ribs. Father, I am glad you are come : give me your present to one master Bassanio, who, indeed, gives rare new liveries. If 1 serve not him, 1 will run as far as God has any ground. — O rare fortune ! here comes the man:— to him, father; tor 1 am a Jew, if 1 serve the Jew any longer. Knter Bassanio, with Leonardo, and Followers. Bassanio. You may do so ; — but let it be so hasted, that supper] Act il Sc. ii. MERCHANT OF VENICE. supper be ready at the farthest by five of the clock. See the»e letters delivered: put the liveries to making and desire Gratia/to to come anon to my lodging. [K xit a Servant. _ ., ___ Launcelot. To him, father. dge of a feather-bed :— here are simf} W rship! God bless your woi Gramercy. WouUrst tnou aught with me ? „ . , Gobbo. . Here's my son, sir, a poor boy, Not a poor boy, sir, nut 'the rich Jew's man, that would, sir,— as my father shall specify. He hath a great Infection, sir, as one would •ay, to serve Indeed, the short and the long is, I serve the ! Jew, and have a desire, — as my father shall specify. His master and he (saving your worship's reverence,) are scarce cater-cousins. 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. I have here a dish ofcloves, that I would be- ; stow upon your worship; and my suit is, In very brief, the suit is impertinent to myself, as your lordship shall know by this honest old man ; and, though 1 say it, though old man, yet, j poor man, my father. One speak for both. —What would you ? Launcelot Serve you, sir. That is the very defect o"f the matter, sir. 1 know thee well: thou' hast obtain'd thy suit. ShyVjck, 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. The old provevbis very well parted between my mas f er Shylnck and you, sir: you have the grace of God, sir, and he hath enough. Thou speak'st Uweif.l^Go, father, with thy son — Take leave of thy old master, and inquire My lodging out. — Give him a livery More guarded than his fellows: see It done.' „ .. . . Launcelot. Father, in. — I cannot get a service, —no; I have ne'er a tongue in my head. — Well ; [Looking, on his £alrry] J ( * n 2 ™ n in IM V nave a Tairer table, wnrch doth offer to swear upon a book. — 1 shall have good fortune. — Go to; here's 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 coming-in for one man; and then, to 'scape drowning thrice, and to be in peril of my life with the 'scapes ! Well, if fortune be a woman, she's good wench for this gear. — Father, come; I'll take my leave of the Jew in the twinkling of an eve ' [Exeunt Launcelot and Old Gobbo. I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this. These things being bought, and orderly be- Return in haste, for I do feast to-night [stow'd, My best-esteem 'd acquaintance: hie thee; go. My best endeavours shall be done herein. Euter Gratiano. Where i. your m^rT - oaa i Yonder, sir, he walks. [Exit Isonarda. Signior Bassanio! _ .. Rassanio. Grattano. . . ,,. . Gratiano I have a suit to you. ssa You have obtain'd it. „ . . Gratiano, You must not deny me. I must go with you to Belmont. Why, then you murt"; but hear thee, Gra- tiano. 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 ot modesty Thy skipping spirit, lest through thy wild be- haviour, I be misconstrued in the place I go to, And lose my hopes. STgnior' Bassanio, hear me : If I do not put on a sober habit, Talk with respect, and swear but now and then, Wear prayer-books in my pocket, look de- murely ; [eyes Nay more, while grace Is saying, hood mine 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. Well, we shall see your bearing. Nay, but I bar tolnight: you shall not gage me By what we do to-night. Rassanio- .. . 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. And I must to Lorenzo, and the rest ; But we will visit you at supper-time. rRxeunt SCENE n6 MERCHANT OF VENICE. Act ii. Sc. ni SCENE 1 1 1. The same. A B oom in Shylock'a House. Enter Jessica and Launcelot. Jessica. 1 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. Launcelot. 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 I these foolish drops do somewhat drown my manly spirit: adieu 1 [Exit. Jessica. 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 Gratiimo r Lorenzo, Salarino, and Salanio. Lorenzo. Nay, we will slink away in supper-time, Disguise us at my lodging, and return All in an hour. Gratiano. We have not made good preparation. Salarino. We have not spoke us yet of torch-bearers. Salanio. 'Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly order'd, And better, in my mind, not undertook. Lorenzo. 'Tis now but four o'clock : we have two hours To furnish us. — Enter Launcelot, with a letter. Friend Launcelot, what's the news ? Launcelot. An it shall please you to break up this, it shall seem to signify. [Giving a letter. Lorenzo. I know the hand : in faith, 'tis a fair hand ; And whiter than the paper it writ on, Is the fair hand that writ. Gratiano. Love-news, in faith. Launcelot. By your leave, sir. Lorenzo. Whither goest thou ? Launcelot. Marrv, sir, to bid my old master, the Jew, to sup to-night with my new master, the Christian. Lorenzo. Hold here, take this. — Tell gentle Jessica, I will not fail her : — speak it privately ; Go. — Gentlemen, [Exit Launc lot. Will j'ou prepare you for this masque to-night I am provided of a torch- bearer. Salarino. Ay, marry, I'll be gone about it straight. Salanio. " And so will I. Lorenzo. Meet me. and Gratiano, At Gratiano's lodging some hour hence. Salarino. 'Tis good we do so. [Exeunt Salarino and Sahinio. Gratiano. Was not that letter from fair Jessica t Lorenzo. 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'a House. Enter Shylock and Launcelot. Shylock. 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 1 Launcelot. Why, Jessica I Shylock. Who bids thee call ? I do not bid thee call. Launcelot , Your worship was wont to tell me, that I could do nothing without bidding. Enter Jessica. Jessica. Call you ? What is your will ? Shylock. I am bid forth to supper, Jessica : [go ? There are my keys But wherefore should I I am not bid for love ; they flatter me : But yet I'll 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. Launcelot. I beseech you, sir, go : my young master doth expect your reproach. Shylock. So do I his. Launcelot. 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- Wed- nesday was four year in the afternoon. Shylock. What! are there masques ?— Hear you me Jessica : And Act ii. Sc. vi. MERCHANT OF VENICE. 217 Lock up my doors ; and when you hear the drum, And the vile squealing 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 casements : Let not the sound of shallow foppery enter My sober house.— My Jacob's staff, 1 swear, 1 have no mind of feasting forth to-night ; But I will go— Go you before me, sirrah : Say, 1 will come. Launcelot. 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. fExit Launcelot. Shylock. What says that fool of Hagar's offspring ? hal Jessica. His words were, farewell mistress ; nothing else. Shylock. The patch is kind enough ; but a huge feeder, Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day [me ; More than the wild cat: drones hive not with Therefore I part with him, and part with him To one that 1 would have him help to waste His borrow 'd purse. — Well, Jessica, go in : Perhaps 1 will return immediately. Do, as 1 bid you ; shut doors after you : Fast bind, fast find, A proverb never stale in thrifty mind. [Exit. Jessica. Farewell ; and if my fortune be not crost, I have a father, you a daughter, lost. [Exit SCENE VI. The same. Enter Gratiano and Salarino, masqued. Gratiano. This is the pent-house, under which Lorenzo Desir'd us to make stand. Salarlno. His hour is almost past. Gratiano. And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour, For lovers ever run before the clock. Salarino. O ! ten times faster Venus'' pigeons fly [wont To seal love's bonds new-made, than they are To keep obliged faith unforfeited ! Gratiano. That ever holds : who riseth from a feast, With that keen appetite that he sits down ? Where is the horse that rloth un tread again His tedious measures, with the unbated fire That he did pace them first? All things that Are with more spirit chased than enjoy'd. [are, 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 a prodigal doth she return : With over-weather'd ribs, and ragged sails, Lean, rent, and beggar'd by the strumpet wind ! Enter Lorenzo. Salarino. Here comes Lorenzo :— more of this hereafter. Lorenzo. Sweet friends, your patience for my long abode; Not I, by my affairs have made you wait : When you shall please to play the thieves for wives, I'll whate as long for you then — Approach ; Here dwells my father Jew : — Hoi who's within? Enter Jessica above, in boy's clothes. Jessica. Who are you ? Tell me for more certainty, Albeit I'll swear that I do know your tongue. Lorenzo. Lorenzo, and thy love. Jessica. Lorenzo, certain ; aud my love, indeed, For whom love I so much ? And now who But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours ? [knows, Lorenzo. Heaven, and thy thoughts are witness that thou art. Jessica. Here, catch this casket: it is worth the pains. I am gvad 'tis night, you do not look on me, For 1 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 To see me thus transformed to a boy. _, , Lorenzo. Descend, for you must be my torch-bearer. Jessica. What ! must I hold a candle to my shames ? They in themselves, good sooth, are too too Why, 'tis an office of discovery, love, [light And I should be obscur'd. Lorenzo. So are you, sweel. Even in the lovely garnish of a boy. But Clime at once : For the close night doth play the run -away, And we are stay'd for at Bassanio's feast. Jessica. I will make fast the doors, and gild myself J With some more ducats, and be with you straight. [Exit, from above. ! Now, by my hood,V Gentue, and no Jew. 1 « . Lorenzo. . Beshrew me, but I love her heartily ; j 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, What, art thou come?— On, gentlemen; away! Our masquing mates by this time for us stay. [Exit with Jessica and Salarino. Enter Antonio. Who's there? AntonI °' Signior Antonio f'™ m °' Antonio. Fie, fie, Gratiano! where are all the rest? 'Tis nine o'clock •, our friends all stay for you. No masque to-night: the wind is come about, Bassanio presently will go aboard : 1 have sent twenty out to seek for you. Gratiano. I am glad on't : I desire no more delight, Than to be under sail, and gone to-night. [Exeunt. ! SCENE j zi8 MERCHANT OF VENICE. Act ii. Sc. vn. SCENE VII. Bfbnont. An Apartment in Portia's House. Enter Portia, with trie Prince of Morocco, and both their Trains. Portia. Go, draw aside the curtains, and discover The several caskets to this noble prince — Now make your choice. Morocco. The first, of gold, who this inscription bears ; " Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire." The second, silver, whi' h this promise carries ; — ■ Who chooseth me shall get as much as he This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt ; — " Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath." How shall I know if I do choose the right ? Poitia. The one of them contains my picture, prince : If you choose that, then I am yours withal. Morocco. Some god direct my judgment ! Let me see, I will survey th* inscriptions back again : What says this leaden casket ? [hath." " 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'll then nor give, nor hazard, aught for lead. What says the sliver, with her virgin hue? " Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves." As much as he deserves ? — Pause there, Morocco, And weigh thy value with an even hand. K 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 1 deserve ? — Why, that's the lady : 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 farther, but chose here ? — Let's see once more this saying grav'd in gold : " Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire." Why, that's the lady ; all the world desires her: 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 thorough -fares now, For princes to come view fair Portia : The wat'ry kingdom, whose ambitious head Spiti 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 rib 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 1 Never so rich a gem Was set in worse than gold They have in England 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 ! Portia. There, take it, prince ; and if my form lie Then I am yours. [there, [ He unlocks the golden casket,. Morocco. O hell ! what have we here ? A carrion death, within whose empty eye There is a written scroll. I'll 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. Portia. A gentle riddance. — Draw the curtains : go. Let all of his complexion choose me so. [Exeunt. SCENE VIII. Venice. A Street. Enter Salarino and Salanio. Salarino. Why man, I saw Bassanio under sail : With him is Gratiano gone along ; And in their ship, I'm sure Lorenzo is not. Salanio. The villain Jew with outcries rais'd the duke, Who went with him to search Bassanio'* ship. Salarino. 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 certified the duke, They were not with Bassanio in his ship. Salanio. I never heard a passion so confus'd. So strange, outrageous, and so variable, As the dog Jew did utter in the streets : " My daughter ! — () myducats ! — O my daughter! Fled with a Christian ?— O my Christian ducats ! Justice ! the law ! my ducats, and my daughter ! A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats, Of double ducats, stol'n from mebymy daughter ! And jewels ! two stones, two rich and precious stones, Stol'n by my daughter !— Justice I find the girl ! She hath the stones upon her, and the ducats !" Salarino. Why, all the boys in Venice follow him. Crying, his stones, his daughter, and his ducats. Salanio. Let good Antonio look he keep his day, Or he shall pay for this. Salarino. 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. Salanio. Act ii. Sc. ix. MERCHANT OF VENICE. *i 9 Salanio. You were best to tell Antonio wh.it you hear ; Yrt do not suddenly, for It may grieve him. Salarluo. A kinder gentleman treads not the earth. 1 saw liassnnio and Antonio part. Baasaniu told him, he would make some speed Of his return : he answer'd— " Do not so ; Slubber not business for my sake, Basianio, But stay the very riping of the time : 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 chiefest thoughts To courtship, and such 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. Btknlo. 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. Salarlno. Do we so. [Exeunt. SCENE IX. Belmont. An Apartment In Portia'* House. Enter Nerissa, with a Servitor. Nerissa. Quick, quick, I pray thee; draw the curtain; straight. The prince of Arragon hath ta'en his oath, And comes to his election presently. Knter the Prince of Arragon, Portia, and their Trains. Flourish cornets, rortia. 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. Arragon. I am enjoln'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. Portia. To these injunctions every one doth swear, That comes to hazard for my worthless self. Arragon. And so have I address'd me. Fortune now To my heart's hope 1 — Gold, silver, and base lead. [he nath : " " Who chooseth me must give and hazard all You shall look fairer, ere I give, or hazard. What says the golden chest r 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 th' 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 de>ire, Because 1 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 boar : " Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves ; " And well said too ; for who shall go about To cozen fortune, and be honourable, Without the stamp of merit ? Let none presume To wear an undeserved dignity. ! that estates, degrees, and offices, [honour Were not deriv'd corruptly ! and that clear 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 From the true seed of honour ; and how much honour Pick'd from the chaff* and ruin of the fimes, To be new varnish'd 1 Well, but to my choice : " Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves." 1 will assume desert : — Give me a key for this. And instantly unlock my fortunes here. Portia. Too long a pause for that which you find there. Arragon. What's here ? the portrait of a blinking idiot, Presenting me a schedule ? I will read it. How much unlike art thou to Portia ! How much unlike my hopes, and my deservings ! " Who chooseth 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 ? Portia. To offend, and judge, are distinct offices, And of opposed natures. Arragon. What is here ? " The fire seven times 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 begone : you are sped." Still more fool I shall appear By the time I linger here : With one fool's head I came to woo, Bnt I go away with two Sweet, adieu. I'll keep my oath, Patiently to bear my wroth. [Exeunt Arragon, and Train Portia. Thus hath the candle sing'd the moth. O. these deliberate fools 1 when they do choose. They have the wisdom by their wit to lose. Nerissa. The ancient saying is no heresy : — Hanging and wiving goes by destiny. Portia. Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa. Enter a Messenger. Messenger. W r here is my lady ? Portia. Here ; what would my lord ? Messenger. Madam, there is alighted at your gate A young 220 MERCHANT OF VENICE. Act ii. Sc. lx. 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 ricli 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 fore-spurrer comes before his lord. Portia. No more, T pray thee : I am half afeard, Thou wilt say anon he is some kin to thee, Thou spend'st such high-day wit in praising him.— Come, come, Nerissa ; for I long to see Quick Cupid' & post, that comes so mannerly. Kerissa. Bassanio, lord Love, if thy will it be. [Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE I. Venice. A Street. Enter Salanio and Salarino Salanio. TV OVV, what news on the Riatto? Salarino. Why, yet it lives there uncheck'd, th»t Antonio hath a* ship of rich lading wreck'd on the narrow seas ; the Goodwins, 1 think they call the place: a very dangerous flat, and fatal, where the car- casses of many a tall ship lie buried, as they say, if my gossip, report, be an honest woman of her word. Salanio. I would she were as lying a gossip in that, as ever knapped ginger, or made her neighbours believe she wept for the death of a third husband. But it is true, without any slips of prolixity, or crossing the plain high-way of talk, that the good Antonio, the honest Antonio, — O. that I had a title good enough to keep his name com- pany 1 — Salarino. Come, the full stop. Salanio. Ha! — what say'st thou? — Why the end is, he hath lost a ship. Salarino. 1 would it might prove the end of his losses. Salanio. 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 ? Shylock. You knew, none so well, none so well as you, of my daughter's flight. Salarino. That's certain : I, for my part, knew the tailor that made the wings she flew withal. ' Salanio. And Shylock, for his own part, knew the bird was fledg'd : and then, it is the complexion of them all to leave the dam. Shylock. She is damned for it. Salarino. That's certain, if the devil may be her judge. Shylock. My own flesh and blood to rebel ! Salanio. Out upon it, old carrion ! rebels it at these years ? Shylock. 1 say, my daughter is my flesh and blood. Salarino. There is more difference between thy flesh and hers, than between jet and ivory ; more be- tween 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? Shylock. There I have another bad match : a bankrupt, a prodigal, who dare scarce show his head on the liialto ; — a beggar, that 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. Salarino Why, 1 am sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt not take his flesh : what's that good for ? Shvlock. To bait fish withal: if it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced me, and hindered me half a million ; laughed at my losses, mocked at my gains, scorned my na- tion, thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, heated mine enemies ; and what's his reason ? 1 am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes ? hath not a .lew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions ? fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject 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 ? re- venge. If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian example? why, revenge. The villainy you teach me, I will exe- cute ; and it shall go hard but I will better the instruction. Enter a Servant. Servant. Gentlemen, my master Antonio is at his house, and desires to speak with you both. Salarino. We have been up and down to seek him. Salanio. Here comes another of the tribe: a third cannot be matched, unless the devil himself turn Jew. [ Exeunt Salanio, Salarino, and Servant. Enter Tubal. Shylock. How now, Tubal? what news from Genoa f hast thou found my daughter ? Tubal. I often came where I did hear of her, but can- not find her. Shylock. Why there, there, there, there ! a diamond gone, cost me two thousand ducats in Frankfort. The Act hi. Sc. II. MERCHANT OF VENICE. The curie 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 1 No h.as of them ? — Why, so; — and 1 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' iny shoulders ; no sighs, but o' my breathing ; no tears, but o' my shedding. Tubal. Yes, other men have ill luck too. Antonio, as 1 heard in Genoa, — Shylock. What, what, what ? ill luck, ill luck ? Tubal. — hath an argosy cast away, coming from Tripoli* . Shylock. I thank God I I thank God ! Is it true? is it true? Tubal. I spoke with some of the sailors that escaped the wreck. Shylock. I thank thee, good Tubal. — Good news, good news ! ha ! ha !— Where ? in Genoa f Tubal. Your daughter spent in Genoa, as I heard, one night, fourscore ducats. Shylock. Thou stick'st a dagger in me. I shall never see my gold again. Fourscore ducats at a sit- ting ! fourscore ducats I There came divers of Antonio's creditors in my company to Venice, that swear he cannot choose but break. 1 am very glad of it. I'll plague him ; I'll torture him : I am glad of it. Tubal One of them showed me a ring that he had of your daughter for a monkey. Shylock. Out upon her ! Thou torturest me, Tubal; it was my turquoise ; I had it of Leah, when 1 wa* a bachelor : I would not have given it for a wilderness of monkeys. Tubal. But Antonio is certainly undone, Shylock. Nay, that's true, that's very true. Go, Tubal, fee me an officer ; bespeak him a fortnight l>efore. I will have the heart of him, if he forfeit ; for were he out of Venice, I can make what merchandize I will. Go, Tubal, and meet me at our synagogue: go, good Tubal^at our synagogue, Tubai. [Exeunt. SCENE II. Belmont. An Apartment in Portia's House. Muter Bassanio, Portia, Gratiano, Nerissa, and their Attendants. The caskets set out. Portia. I pray you tarry : pause a day or two, Before you hazard ; for, in choosing wrong, 1 lose your company : therefore, forbear a while. There'* something tells me, (but it is not 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 1 am forsworn ; So will I never be : so may you miss me ; But if you do, you'll make me wish a sin, That I had been forsworn. Beshrewyour eyes, They have o'er-look'd me, and divided me; One half of me is yours, the other half yours, — Mine own, I would say ; but If mine, then yours, And so all yours ! O 1 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. 1 speak too long ; hut 'tis to peize the time, To eke it, and to draw it out in length, To stay you from election. Bassanio. Let me choose ; For, as I am, I live upon the rack. Portia Upon the rack, Bassanio? then confess What treason there is mingled with your love. Bassanio None, but that ugly treason of mistrust, Which makes me fear th' enjoying of my love. There may as well be amity and life 'Tween snow and fire, as treason and my love. Portia Ay, but, I fear, you speak upon the rack, Where men enforced do speak any thing. Bassanio. Promise me life, and I'll confess the truth. Portia. Well then, confess, and live. Hassanio Confess, and love, Had been the very sum of my confession. O, happy torment, when my torturer Doth teach me answers for deliverance ! But let me to my fortune and the caskets, rortia Away then. I am lock'd in one of them : If you do love me, you will find me out. — 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 watery death-bed for him. He may win, And what is music then ? then music is Kven 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 Alcidrs, 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 th' exploit. Go, Hercules ! Live thou, I live: — with much, much more dismay I view the fight, than thou that mak'st the fray. A Song, whilst Bassanio comments on the caskets to himself. Tell me, where is fancy bred, Or in the heart, or in the head f Hou> %%% MERCHANT OF VENICE. Act hi. Sc. u. How begot, how nourished ? Reply, reply. It is engendered in the eyes, With gazing fed ; and fancy diet In the cradle where it lies. Let us all ring fancy's knell ; I U begin it, Ding, dong, bell. All. Ding, dong, bell. Bassanio. So may the outward shows be least them- selves : The world is still deceiv'd with ornament. In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt, But, being season'd with a gracious toice, 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. Ix>ok 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, [wind, Which make such wanton gambols with the Upon supposed fairness, often known To be the dowry of a second head, The scull 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 Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee, [gold, Nor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge 'T ween man and man : but thou, thou meagre lead, aught, Which rather threat'nest than dost promise Thy paleness moves me more than eloquence, And here choose I Joy be the consequence 1 Portia. How all the other passions fleet to air, As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embrac'd de- spair, And shuddering fear and green-ey'd jealousy. love ! be moderate ; allay thy ecstasy ; In measure rein thy joy ; scant this excess : 1 feel too much thy blessing ; make it less, For fear I surfeit 1 Bassanio. What find I here ? [Ogenlng 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 ; so sweet a bar Should sunder such sweet friends. Here, in her hairs, The painter plays the spider, and hath woven A golden mesh t' entrap the hearts of men, Faster than gnats in cobwebs ; but her eyes ! — How could he see to do them ? having made one, [his, Methinks, it should have power to steal both 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 1 Since this fortune falls to you, Be content, and seek no new. If you be well pleas'd 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 ; I come by note, to give, and to receive. [Kissing tar. Like one of two contending in a prize, That thinks lie 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. Portia. 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 nothing ; which, to term in gross, j Is an unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, unpractis'd : Happy in this, she is not yet so old j But she may learn ; happier than this, She is not bred so dull but she can learn ; I Happiest of all is, that her gentle spirit ' Commits itself to yours to be directed, I As from her lord, her governor, her king. j 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; 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. Bassanio. 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 I By a beloved prince, there doth appear i Among the buzzing pleased multitude ; Where every something, being blent together, Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy, : Express'd, and not express'd. But when this ring [hence : I Parts from this finger, then parts life from ! O 1 then be bold to say, Bassanio's dead. Nerissa j My lord and lady, it is now our time, ; That have stood by, and seen our wishes prosper j To cry, good joy. Good joy, my lord, and lady Gratiano. ! My lord Bassanio, and my gentle lady, i 1 wish you all the joy that you can wish, For, I am sure, you can wish none from me ; And, when your honours meau to solemnize The bargain of your faith, I do beseech you, Even at that time I may be married too. Bassanio. Act hi. Sc. h. MEKCIIANT OF VENICE. Bassanio. With all my heart, 10 thou can'st get a wife. GraUaao. 1 thank your lordship, you have got me one. Mv eves, 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 ptttthll to mc, my lord, than you. Your fortune stood upon the caskets there, And so did mine too, as the matter falls ; For wooing here, until 1 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. Portia. I» this true, Nernsa ? Nerissa. , it is, so you stand pleas'd withal. Bassanio. And do you, Gratiano, mean good faith ? Gratiauo. Yes, 'faith, my lord. Bassanio. Our feast shall be much honoured in your marriage. Gratiano. We'll play with them the first boy for a thousandilucata, „, , ^ Nerissa. What ! and stake down ? Gratiano. No ; we shall ne'er win at that sport, and stake down But who comes here? Lorenzo, and his in- fidel? What ! and my old Venetian friend, Salerio ? Knter Lorenzo, Jetsica t and Salerio. Bassanio. Lorenzo, and Salerio, 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. Portia. So do I, my lord : They are entirely welcome, Lorenxo. I thank your honour. — For my part, my, lord, My purpose was not to huve seen you here, But meeting with Salerio by the way, He did entreat me, past all saying nay, To come with him along. Sal-' I did, my lord. And I have reason for it. Siguior Antonio Commends him to you. [Gives Bananio a letter Bassanio. Ere I ope his letter, I pray you, tell me how my good friend doth. Salerio. Not sick, my lord, unless it be in mind ; Nor well, unless in mind : his letter there Will show you his estate. Gratiano. AVrwj.i, cheer yon stranger ; bid her welcome, Your hand, Salerio: what's the news f\ V en ice t How doth that royal merchant, good Antonio t I know, he will be glad of our success : We are the Jasons, we have won the fleece. 8alerio. 1 would you had won the fleece that he hath lost! Portia. There are some shrewd contents in yon same paper. That steal the colour from Bassanio's cheek : Some d.-ar friend dead, else nothing in the world Could turn so much the constitution Of any constant m.in. V\ hat. worse and worse? — With leave, Hassanio ; I am half yourself, And I must freely have the half of any thing That this same paper brings you. Bassanio. O sweet Portia t Here are a few of the unpleasant'st words That ever blotted paper. Gentle lady, When I did first impart my love to you, 1 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 1 was a braggart. When I told you My state was nothing, I should then have told fou, was worse than nothing ; for, indeed, 1 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, Salerio f 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-marring rocks ? Balerip, Not one, my lord. Besides, it should appear, that if he had The present money to discharge the Je*, He would not take it. Never did 1 know A creature, that did bear the shape of man, So keen Hnd 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 Gin drive him from the envious plea Of forfeiture, of justice, and bis bond. Jessica. When I was with him I have heard him swear To Tubal, and to Cbus, his countrymen. That he would rather have Antonio's flesh, Than twenty time- 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. Portia. Is it your dear friend that is thus in trouble ? Hassanio. 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 iu Italy. Portia. What sum owes he the Jew ? 224- MERCHANT OF VENICE. Act hi. Sc. 11. Bassanio. For me, three thousand ducats. Portia. 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 timps over. When it is paid, bring your true friend along. My maid Nerissa and myself, mean time, Will live as maids and widows. Come, away 1 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. Bassanio. [Heads. " Sweet Bassanio, my ships have all mis- carried, 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 I, if I might but see you at my death. Notwith- standing, use your pleasure : if your love do not persuade you to come, let not my letter." Portia. love ! despatch all business, and begone. Bassanio. Since I have your good leave to go away, 1 will make haste ; but till I come again, No bed shall e'er be guilty of my stay, Nor rest be interposer 'twixt us twain. [Exeunt SCENE III. Venice. A Street. Enter Shylock, Salanio, Antonio, and Jailor Shylock. Jailor, look to him : tell not me of mercy.— . This is the fool that lent out money gratis Jailor, look to him. Antonio. Hear me yet, good Shylock. Shylock. I'll have my bond ; speak not against my bond : I have sworn an oath th.it 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 jailor, that thou art so fond To come abroad with him at his request. Antonio. I pray thee, hear me speak. Shylock. I'll have my bond ; 1 will not hear thee speak : I'll have my bond, and therefore speak no more. I'll 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'll have no speaking: I will have my bond. [Exit Shylock. Salanio. It is the most impenetrable cur, That ever kept with men. Antonio. Let him alone : I'll 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. Salanio. I am sure, the duke Will never grant this forfeiture to hold. Antonio. 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 1 shall hardly spare a pound of flesh To-morrow to my bloodv creditor. — Well, j lilor, on — Pray God, Bassanio come To see me pay his debt, and then 1 care not ! [Exeunt. SCENE IV. Belmont. A Room in Portia's House. Enter Portia, Nerissa, Lorenzo, Jessica, and Balthazar, Lorenzo. Madam, although I speak it in your presence You have a noble and a true conceit Of god-like amity ; which appears most strong. In bearing thus the absence of your lord. But, if you knew to whom you show this honou 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. Portia. 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 ; Which 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 1 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. Lorenzo. Madam, with all my heart I shall obey you in all fair commands. Portia. My people do already know my miud, And will acknowledge you and Jessica In place of lord Bassanio and myself. So fare you well, till we shall meet again. Lorenzo. Fair thoughts, and happy hours, attend an you 1 Jessica. I wish your ladyship all heart's content. ' ' K Portia. Act in. Sc. v. MERCHANT OF VENICE. **5 FortU. I thank you for your wish, and am well pleas'd To wish it back on you: fare you well, Jestka — i Jessica and Lorenzo. i Now, Balthazar, ■ As I have ever found thee honest, true, ; So let rae find thee still. Take this same letter, I And use thou all the endeavour of a man, ; In speed to Padua : see thou render this Into my cousin's haud, doctor Bcilario ; And, look, what notes and garments he doth give thee, j Bring them, 1 pray thee, with imagin'd speed ' Unto the Tranect, to the common ferry Which trades to Venice. Waste no time in words, But get thee gone : I shall be there before thee. Bait! Madam, I go with all convenient speed. [Fxlt. I'Ortij Come on, Nerissa : I have work in hand, That you yet know not of. We'll see our hus- Before they think of us. [bands, Nerissa. Shall they see us ? Portia They shall. Nerissa : but in such a habit, That they shall think we are accomplished With that we lack. 1*11 hold thee any wager, When we are both accoutred like young men, I'll 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 Into a manly stride ; and speak of frays, Like a fine bragging youth ; and tell quaint lies, How honourable ladies >ought my love, Which 1 denying, they fell sick and died ; I could not do withal : — then, I'll repent. And wish, for all that, that I had not kill'd them. And twenty of these puny lies I'll 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. Nerissa. Why, shall we turn to men ? Portia. Fie ! what a question's that. If thou wert near a lewd Interpreter. But come : I'll 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. flsxeunt. SCENE V. The tame. A Garden. F.ntcr Launcelot and Jessica. Launcelot. Yes, truly; for, look you, the sins of the father are to be laid upon the children ; there- fore, I promise you, I fear you. I was always plain with you, and so now 1 speak my agitation of the matter : therefore, be of good cheer ; for, trulv, 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. Jessica. And what hope is that, I pray thee ? Launcelot. Marry, you may partly hope that your father got you not ; that you are not the Jew's daugh- ter. Jessica. That were a kind of bastard hope, indeed : so the sins of my mother should be visited upon me. launcelot. Truly, then, I fear you are damned both by father and mother: thus when I shun Scylla, your father, I fall into Charybdit, your mother. Well, you are gone both ways. •lea. I shall be saved by my husband ; he hath made me a Christian. l.'umcelot. Truly, the more to blame he : we were Chris- tians 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. Filter LorcnxH. Jessica. I'll tell my husband, Launcelot, what you say: here he comes. Lorenzo. I shall grow jealous of you shortly, Launcelot, if you thus get my wife into corners. Jessica. Nay. you need not fear 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 converting Jews to Christians you raise the price of pork. Loren 10. I shall answer that better to the common- wealth, than you can the getting up of the negro's belly : the Moor is with child by you, Launcelot. Launcelot. 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. Lorenzo. 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. — Go in, sirrah : bid them prepare for dinner. Launcelot. That is done, sir ; they have all stomachs. Lorenzo. Goodly lord, what a wit-snapper are you ! then, bid them prepare dinner. Launcelot. That is done too, sir ; only, cover is the word. Lorenzo. Will you cover then, sir ? Launcelot. Not so, sir, neither ; I know my duty. Lorenso. 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. Launcelot. For the table, sir, it shall be served in ; for the meat, sir, it shall be covered ; for your coming 226 MERCHANT OF VENICE. Act hi. Sc. v. 1 in to dinner, sir, why, let it be,.as humours and : conceits shall govern. LExit XaunceJot. Lorenzo. O, dear discretion, how his words are suited I ; The fool hath planted in his memory An army of good words ; and 1 do know A many fools, that stand in better place, Garni sh'd like him, that for a tricksy word Defy the matter. How cheer'st thou, Jessica t And now, good sweet, say thy opinion ; How dost thou like the lord Bassanio's wife ? Jessica. 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, if 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. Lorenzo. Even such a husband Hast thou of me, as she is for a wife. Jessica. Nay, but ask my opinion, too, of that. Lorenzo. I will anon ; first, let us go to dinner. Jessica. Nay, let me praise you, while I have a stomach. Lorenzo. No, pray thee, let it serve for table-talk ; Then, howsoe'er thou speak'st, 'mong other I shall digest it. Jessica. [things Well, I'll set you forth. [IBwanL ACT IV. SCENE I. Venice. A Court of Justice. Enter the Duke ; the Magn\ficoes ; Antonio, Bassanio, Gratiano, Salarino, Salanio, and others. Duke. "Y^HAT, is Antonio here ? Antonio. Ready, so please your grace. Duke. 1 am sorry for thee : thou art come to answer A stony adversary, an inhuman wretch Uncapable of pity, void and empty From any dram of mercy. Antonio. I have heard, Your grace hath ta'en great pains to qualify His rigorous course ; but since he stands ob- durate, 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. Salanio. He's ready at the door. He comes, my lord. 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 penaltv, Which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh, Thou wilt not only loose 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, Enow 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. Shylock. 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'll ask me, why I rather choose to have A weight of carrion flesh, than to receive i Three thousand ducats ? I'll not answer that : 1 But, say, it is my humour : is it answer'd ? 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 bag-pipe sings i' the nose, Cannot contain their urine ; for affection, Master of passion, sways it to the mood Of what it likes, or loaths. 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 woollen bag-pipe ; 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 ? Bassanio. This is no answer, thou unfeeling man, To excuse the current of thy cruelty. Shylock. I am not bound to please thee with my answer. Bassanio. Do all men kill the things they do not love ? Shylock. Hates any man the thing he would not kill ? Bassanio. Every offence is not a hate at first. Shylock. W T hat ! would'st thou have a serpent sting thee twice ? Antonio. I pray you, think you question with the Jew. You may as well go stand upon the beach, And bid the main flood bate his usual height ; You MEmCHAHTr OIF V3EWECE. Act * Sc 1. Aci iv. Sc. l. MEKUIIANT OF VENICE. 227 You may as well use question with the wolf, win be bath made th<- ewe ule.it tor the lamb; You may as well forbid the mountain pines To wag their high tons, ami to make no noise, When they are lietten with tin; gu>ts of heaven; You may as well do any thing most hard, As seek to soften that (than which what's harder?) His Jewish heart Therefore, I do beseech you, Make no more offers, use no farther means, Hut with all brief and plain convenlency, Let me have judgment, and the Jew his will. Bassanio. For tby three thousand ducats here is six. Shy lock. If every ducat In six' thousand ducats Were in six parts, and every part a ducat, I would not draw them : 1 would have my bond. Duke. How shalt thou hope for mercy, rendering none? Shylock. What judgment shall I dread, doing no wrong? /ou have among you many a purchas'd slave, Which, like your asses, and your dogs, and i ou use in abject and in slavish parts, [mules, 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 an- swer, The slaves are ours. — So do I answer you : The pound of flesh, which I demand of him, Is dearly bought, 'tis mine, and 1 will have it. If you deny me, fie upon your law 1 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. Salarino. My lord, here stays without A messenger with letters from the doctor, New come from Padua. Duke. Bring us the letters : call the messenger. Bassanio. Good cheer, Antonio! What man, courage yet ! [all, The Jew shall have my flesh, blood, bones, and Ere thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood. Antonio. I am a tainted wether of the flock, Meetest for death : the weakest kind of fr uit Drops earliest to the ground, and so let me. You cannot better be employ'd, Bassanio, Than to live still, and write mine epitaph. Knter Xeritsa, dressed like a lawyer's clerk. Duke. Came you from Padua, from Bellario T Nerissa. From both, my lord. Bellario greets your grace. [Presents a letter. Bassanio. Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly ? Shylock. To cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt there. Ciratiano. Not on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh Jew, Thou mak'st thy knife keen ; but no inetal can, No, uot the hangman's axe, hear half the keen- ness Of thy sharp envy. Can no prayers pierce thee ? Shylock. No, none that thou hast wit enough to make. Gratiauo. 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 Pythanoras, That souls of animals infuse themselves Intotho 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. Shylock. 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 ? Nerissa. lie attendeth here hard by, To know your answer, whether you'll admit him. Duke. With all my heart :— some three or four of you, Go give him courteous conduct to this place.— Mean time, the court shall hear Bellario'a 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 Balthazar. 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 learn- ing, the greatness whereof I cannot enough commend, comes with him, at my importunity, to fill up your grace's request in my stead. I beseech you, let his lack of years be no impedi- ment to let him lack a reverend estimation, for 1 never knew so young a body with so old a head. I leave him to your gracious acceptance, whose trial shall better publish his commenda- tion." 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 Bel- lario t Portia. I did, my lord. Duke. You are welcome : take your place. Are you acquainted with the difference That holds this present question in the court ? I'ortia. I am informed throughly of the cause. — Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew? Duke. 128 MERCHANT OF VENICE. Act iv. Sc. h Duke. Antonio and old Shylock, both stand forth. Portia. Is your name Shylock t Shylock. Shylock is my name. Portia. Of a strange 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 ? Ay, so he says. I do. MM, Antonio. Portia. Do you confess the bond ? Antonio. Portia. Then must the Jew be merciful. Shylock. On what compulsion must I ? tell me that Portia. 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 Ttie 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 ; But mercy is above this sceptred sway : It is enthroned in the hearts 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, — 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. Shylock. My deeds upon my head. I crave the law ; The penalty and forfeit of my bond. Portia. Is he not able to discharge the money ? Bassanio. 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 That malice bears down truth : and, I beseech Wrest once the law to your authority : [you, To do a great right, do a little wrong, And curb this cruel devil of his will. Portia. It must not be. There is no power in Venice 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. Shylock. A Daniel come to judgment ! yea, a Daniel!— O, wise youug judge, how do I honour thee I Portia. I pray you, let me look upon the bond. Shylock. Here 'tis, most reverend doctor ; here it is. Portia. Shylock, there's thrice thy money offered thee. Shylock. An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven : Shall I lay perjury upon my soul ? No, not for Venice. Portia. Why, this bond is forfeit, And lawfully by this the Jew may claim A pound of flesh, to be by him cut off Nearest the merchant's heart. — Be merciful ; Take thrice thy money : bid me tear the bond. Shy lock. When it is paid according to the tenour. — 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. Antonio. Most heartily I do beseech the court To give the judgment. Portia. Why then, thus it is : — You must prepare your bosom for his knife. Shylock. O, noble judge I O, excellent young man I Portia. For the intent and purpose of the law, Hath full relation to the penalty Which here appeareth due upon the bond. Shylock. 'Tis very true. O, wise and upright judge ! How much more elder art thou than thy looks ! Portia. Therefore, lay bare your bosom. Shylock. Ay, his breast ; So says the bond: — doth it not, noble judge? — Nearest his heart : those are the very words. Portia. It is so. Are there balance here to weigh The flesh ? Shylock. I have them ready. Portia. Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge, To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death. Shylock. Is it so nominated in the bond ? Portia. It is not so express'd ; but what of that ? 'Twere good you do so much for charity. Shylock. I cannot find it : 'tis not in the bond. Portia. You, merchant, have you any thing to say ? Antonio. But little : I am arm'd, and well prepar'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 Act iv. Sc. i. MERCHANT OF VENICE. 229 Of such misery doth she cut me off. Commend mc to your honourable wife : Tell li bars me the place of a brother, and, as much as i in him lies, mines my gentility with my educa- i tion. This is it, Adam, that grieves me ; and ! the spirit of my father, which I think is within me, Act i. 8c. i. AS YOU LIKE IT. *35 mo, begm* to mutiny against this servitude. I I become a gentleman, or give me the poor allot- vill do longer endure it, though yet I know no I tery my father left me by testament: with that rdy how to avoid it. ' I will go buy my fortunes. Adam. Oliver. Yonder comes my master, your brother. J And what wilt thou do? leg, when that is Orlando j •pent ? Well, sir, get you in: 1 will not long r . „„„_» W/mi „/j t . n „ . .. . _ . . i be troubled with you ; you shall have some part ar how he of Jour wi n. j p f ay fa i^g me# Orlando. will shake me up. Enter Oliver. Oliver. Now, sir 1 what make you here ? Orlando. Nothing : I am not taught to make any thing. Oliver. What mar you then, sir ? Orlando. Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that which God made, a poor unworthy brother of yours, with idleness. Oliver. Marry, sir, be better employed, and be naught awhile. Orlando. Shall I keep your hogs, and eat husks with them ? What prodigal portion have 1 spent, that I should come to such penury ? Oliver. Know you where you are, sir ? Orlando. O ! sir, very well : here, in your orchard. Oliver. Know you before whom, sir ? Orlando. Ay, better than he 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 con- fess, your coming before me is nearer to his reverence. Oliver. What, boy 1 Orlando. Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this. Oliver. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain ? Orlando. 1 am no villain : I am the youngest son of sir Rowland de Lots; he was my father, and he is i I no ; for the duke's daughter, her cousir thrice a villain, that says, such a father begot j g0 love8 her, being ever from their cradles breo. r? n , S \u- 1 i 1 ?" no . t u m Z brot fet I . wo i? ld ! together, that she would have followed her not take this hand from thy throat, till this other exile , r have died to stay behind her. She is had pulled out thy tongue for saying so: thou at the court, and no less beloved of her uncle I will no Airther offend you, than becomes me for my good. Oliver. 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 1 he would not have spoke such a word. [Exeunt Orlando and Adam. Oliver. Is it even so ? begin you to grow upon me ? I will physic your rankness, and yet give no thousand crowns neither. Hola, Dennis I Enter Dennis. Dennis. Calls your worship ? Oliver. Was not Charles, the duke's wrestler, here to speak with me ? Dennis. So please you, he Is here at the door, and im- portunes access to you. Oliver. Call him In* [Exit D<7in